#and all the other girls gettin emotional
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ma’am no one told me i was going to need tissues for this untucked
#i need 3-5 business days to recover from all this love#luxxs family is amazing and i love them#and all the other girls gettin emotional#and the Sasha Colby love!!!#i cant#i cant!
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Miles 42 headcanons?
no one asked but i’ll deliver !!
Miles!42 x Fem!Reader random headcanons
also a lot of snippets :)
You/Reader: Blue
Miles Morales: Purple
Mama Rio/Rio Morales: Pink
Uncle Aaron/Aaron Morales: Orange
Random/stranger: Black
—
gift giving love language duhhh
Will have you walk with him through malls and whatever you look at for a second too long he buys
You don’t catch on until you’re both eating at a nice restaurant, absentmindedly staring at some plant when a lull in conversation happens.
He purchases the plant.
“Fuck you mean I can’t buy it?”
“Sir, the plants aren’t for sale, this is a dining establishment.”
“Establish the fact I’m gettin’ that plant.”
“Sir—“
50 bucks down and a plant 🆙
He will damn right die if you refuse him. He’ll get all grumpy and pouty when you say he should save for a house, not for you.
convinced you just get shy when bought things (you do).
is even more motivated to buy things
“Miles, baby, you need to save up. Not spend on me!”
“This would look so good on you, Ma.”
“Are you listening??”
“Fuck, and this.”
“Oh my god.”
gets so jealous it’s unbelievable
but only when someone goes too far with you
it’s like 1–100 real quick
he’s not usually the prowling type (ha)
but when someone pushes the line he loses his shit
other than that he’s a supportive bbg all the way
“Wanna go home with me, butterface?”
“Fuck you just say?”
“Nothing homie just get outta here.”
“Say that shit again ‘homie’.”
“Chill the fuck out. Let the lady speak for herself.”
“I’ll fucking speak for my girl all I want, homeboy.”
maybe got a liiiiittle bit of an anger issue
guy went home with a broken nose and a missing tooth
better hope he can afford fill ins
he would never get mad at you though
he gets frustrated you don’t listen sometimes, but it’s never to the point of anger
feel like he has the patience of a fucking SAINT
calm and collected baby u know the deal
“Mami, we gonna have a problem?”
“”
“Didn’t think so.”
a SWEETHEART at times
stand by him being raised right
mama rio taught him to be a romantic
wanted him to take after his dad
so flowers and gifts and chocolates
followed by lovin of any kind
probably a baby for affection but doesn’t show it
so when you get all emotional about being gifted roses for the first time
and hug him and smother him
give him stupid little kisses all over
he’s fainting
poor boy doesn’t know love like u show him
“Baby, are these for me?”
“Yeah, Chiquita. They okay?”
“Wh… They’re perfect.”
“Are you cryin’? I can return ‘em.”
“No! No, no, don’t do that.
I love them, C’mere.”
when you guys get rlly comfortable, like a year and some dating, he ends up getting more chatty
willingly talking w you for hours
feels like you’re the only person he can rlly do that with
rambles so rarely that you kind of just sit in awe when it happens
doesn’t catch himself until he’s trying to name your future kids
“I’ll marry you one day, we’ll have like two, three kids. Get all nice an cozy.
You want a boy or girl? I kinda want both. Definitely not girl first, never having a girl without a brother to protect ‘er.
You’d be such a good Mami.
What’d you wan’ name ‘em? I have a few ideas—“
“..”
“But you could choose the girl cause I don’t know any pretty names. And i’ll choose—“
“..”
“..”
“You gon’ let me keep goin?”
“I love your voice.”
“Tranquila, mami.”
Takes you to every family event he ever has
sits you regularly with Rio and Aaron
they insist you call them uncle and ma
you do, obviously
miles doesn’t need to meet your family if you don’t want him to, but if he ever does he’s totally suave with them
like weirdly smooth
able to get on ur carers good side quick
when you meet his extended family they’re just as loving
his whole family is this bright dash of colour
and you fit right the fuck in
“¡Oh, hija estás preciosa!”
“Dice la estrella de la fiesta!”
“You flatter me, Hija.”
“Miles, come get your girl.”
“You look nice too, Uncle Aaron.”
“..Thanks, kid.”
“Hey Mami, havin’ fun?”
“Aight, I’m out.”
when you find out he’s the prowler you’re not really shocked
he’s hella nervous to tell you and kinda puts it off for a while
as long as you’re not in harms way, nothin matters, yeah?
no
the guilt eats him alive
he’s already lost so much, if he doesn’t do things right with you, then loses you too
he’d probably lose himself
so he tells you
“The Prowler?”
“Yeah.”
“The.. Panther guy I keep seeing on the news-?”
“Mm.”
“Miles are you—
..—Are you killing people?”
“Mami, it’s not like that—“
“oh my god.”
“These men— I kill,”
“Oh my god, oh my god.”
“,They’re bad, you understand.”
“Miles..”
“[Name]. Do you understand?”
“Yeah.. Yeah I understand.”
“You can’t tell anyone.”
“I won’t.”
“…”
“Are you mad.”
“I’m not happy.”
“Okay.”
you’re kind of devastated he’s killing people
but you eventually get it
like it takes a while
say a month or so
but you forgive quick
i mean, who knows what those men are doing, right?
(ur delulu but it’s ok)
he lets you have your space but talking with mama rio when she realises your absence knocks some sense into him
mans is going to GROVEL
he will fucking beg on his damn knees
knocks on your door and is already kneeling
will plead with you to come back to him
like i said a whole ass romantic
you know what’s romantic? a man who can get on his knees
he will suffocate you in gifts and affection
oh you like (insert sanrio esc character) ? look over there at that lifesize plushie woahhhh wonder who that’s forrrrrr
“Hello?”
“Mami, don’t close the door.”
“Miles, go home.”
“And please stop kneeling, the floor is dirty.”
“I’m not leaving ‘til you hear me out.”
looooong sigh
“Okay, fine— whatever, come inside. You have two minutes.”
“God, I missed you. You’re so beautiful Chiquita.”
“Three minutes.”
You talk it out easy, he’s a real smooth talker when he wants to be
“Okay Miles, I’ll see you tomorrow yeah?”
“Yeah, Ma. See you soon.”
“Wh—.. What is that?”
“Ohhh…”
“Why the fuck is it so big?”
“It said “Life Size” on the site? I was thinking like two feet tall.”
“You bought that?”
“Yeah.. I was thinkin’ you wouldn’t let me in. Would have to bribe you.”
“…That’s really cute.”
Annnnnd that’s all i can come up with i’ll probably do more later :P
#miles morales x reader#earth 42 miles morales#miles x reader#miles morales#earth 42 miles morales x reader#rio morales#uncle aaron#aaron morales#into the spider verse
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babydaddy!jj still being hopelessly in love with reader. constantly finding reason to be at her place, fixing anything if it breaks, having play dates with your daughter that lead you him sleeping over and waking up to you making him breakfast while he feeds your daughter. all the emotions come running back and he just knows he wants to make you his wife. maybe he’d just blurt it out because he can’t help himself
this. he is relentless. constantly showing up unannounced just to ask you the most random question.
୨ৎ . ⸝⸝ ! 🌙 ꒱
when you open the door you look all stressed and tired and you have coffee down your top and he just wants to make your life easier and help you so bad! cocomelon is on full blast, your baby is loudly babbling and shouting and you’re just simultaneously relieved at his presence but also stubborn, shaking your head at him. “jj this could have been a text.” you respond briskly and his eyes dart between you and your hallway before wedging himself through your door slightly.
“yeah, no for sure uh— i was just in the area, y’know how it is and my phone died so… hold on a minute, what’s this?” he points to the small side table in your hallway and you furrow your brows, too exhausted for the conversation.
“a table.” you answer in deadpan.
“well, you’re damn right about that— but look, right here. this!” he points to the corner. “you know, soon enough our lil girl is gonna start crawlin’ and when she does things like this are gonna be a total danger to her and her squishy head. what if she falls, huh? rams right into it? did’ya consider that?” he’s being totally theatrical, nudging his foot against the low table on the ground.
“i’m sure we’ll manage, jay—”
“nope. you got tape? i’m baby proofin’ the shit outta this house.” he slides into your home, walking straight through to the living room where you hear him greet your baby. “theres my favourite little gremlin!”
you lean against the wall for a second, disorientated from lack of sleep before following him in and dropping down on the couch. “the tapes in the kitchen drawer. just watch her for a little would you? just gonna close my eyes for a second.” you hum, sinking into the couch. you feel the seat dip beside you, and a hand on your arm.
“hey, you been gettin’ any sleep?” his voice is gentler now, concerned.
“m’fine.” you rasp, half asleep already. he sighs out his nose.
“di’nt i tell you to call me if you needed me to take her? dont gotta do this all by yourself, mama.” he softly reprimands and you shrug, too sleepy to argue and he lets it go, watching you for a moment.
you wake up, in your bed at around 2AM — JJ clearly having taken over for the whole night, putting you and the baby to sleep. you shoot up, disorientated and concerned, going to sprint from your bed but accidentally stepping on the blonde sleeping on the floor beside it.
“ow, jeez woman!” he groans, sitting up.
“jay— you, where’s —”
“asleep. you’re meant to be sleepin’ too. you knocked the hell out, aaand… i didn’t wanna wake you n’stuff so…” he explains, running a hand through matted hair. you blink yourself more awake, looking around before back at him.
“why are you down there?” you exasperate and he blinks back at you.
“uh…”
“‘can sleep in here with me jj, it’s fine. you put a baby in me for gods sake you don’t have to act so repulsed.” you grumble before rolling over to face the other way, making room for him. at this, he shoots up, appearing directly behind you in bed.
“hey, woah — quite the accusation there. s’not true, alright? i was being…respectful. that’s my bad.” he holds his hands up and you unclench your muscles slightly, relaxing more into the bed.
“‘kay.” your tone softens and so does he, laying down and getting comfortable beside you, staring at the ceiling. after a moment he speaks again, quietly.
“repulsed… yeah right, dude. i’m like the freakin’ opposite. you have no clue.”
in the morning he’s not by your side, but when you pad out into the kitchen — you find your baby in her high-chair, being spoon fed by her blonde father.
“look who it is, say riiiise and shine, mama.” jj, cheerful as ever grins as he spoons more mush into the babies mouth. she babbles out spitty sounds in retaliation, equally thrilled to see you. “yeah, close enough.” he chuckles, wiping the mess on her chin.
“good morning baby!” you coo, leaning forward to kiss her soft head. “and good morning daddy.” you gently place your hand on his back as you pass him making his heart skip a beat, watching you rifle the cabinet for your mug to make some coffee.
“oo, i remember when you used t’call me that.” he smirks to himself, spooning up more baby food and you whip your head around to give him a look.
“jj! not infront of the baby.” you huff, light heartedly and he holds up a hand.
“my bad, my bad.”
his smile doesn’t fade, and when you turn you back to pick out a mug — you grow one of your own.
୨ৎ . ⸝⸝ ! 🌙 ꒱
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lali i luvvvv your writing for graves <3
if you have time, could you write something for graves again ? yk the scene from mw3 when he’s in a suit… lookin all fineeee… yeah, i think you know where i’m going with this lol
lots of luv <3
his perfect assistant
COD - Phillip Graves x fem!reader
wc: ~ 1.2k
[18+]
masterlist
[photos found on pinterest, all credit to original owners of the photos above]
warnings: NSFW, slight MW3 spoilers, some proofreading, no use of Y/N nor too many details on reader’s appearance, pet names (babydoll, baby, naughty girl), slightly possessive graves (if you squint), references to oral (m! and f! receiving), unprotected sex, squirting, creampie
a/n: hi fern! you are so sweet, ily! 🤍🥹. thank you for this request! this is written all in Graves' POV. i hope you enjoy!
A nationally televised court hearing in front of congress would make any person nervous.
Instead, Phillip is ecstatic. You’ve practically melted into the leather couch with the force of his fucking. One hand holds your thigh while the other pinches and squeezes your swollen nipples. Whines and kitten-like mewls fall from your open mouth, pretty sounds he loves so much.
He walked into his office after the hearing to find you slightly bent over his desk, fixing his things and organizing the many reports that littered the surface. The black dress you wore, bordering on inappropriate for an office environment, stretched deliciously over the curve of your ass.
Like the perfect assistant you are, you immediately dropped to your knees and offered your warm mouth to him. He pushed his heavy dick down your throat, then had you sit on his desk amongst the papers while he devoured your pussy. The hearing was almost forgotten in his mind, Phillip not too bothered by the proceedings anyway.
He can hear passing footsteps and chatter outside his office door, but that doesn’t stop him from reaching a hand down to rub your clit with his thumb. You choke back a moan, slapping both hands over your mouth to muffle the noise.
“Shhh, babydoll,” Phillip whispers,” don’t want us gettin’ caught, right?”
“ ‘m s–sorry, Commander,” your voice comes out in a broken whimper.
He thrusts in a little harder than he should, his brain going fuzzy at you calling him Commander. The sound of your voice and the way you address him even when your legs are spread makes him crazy. Your warm pussy grips him tighter and your hips lift to meet his thrusts. Phillip watches your eyes dilate to almost black, eyebrows scrunching in pleasure.
“Doin’ so good for me baby,” he croons,” takin’ your Commander’s cock so well.”
His navy blue dress pants have a growing wet stain from the drool of your pussy. It’s going to be difficult for him to exit the office without anyone noticing the state of his clothes, if they haven’t already noticed what’s going on from the noises you’re making. Phillip slows down his thrusts, groaning once he sees the white ring formed around his cock from the slick of your cunt.
You were so nervous for him earlier today, helping him fix his red tie and press the wrinkles out of his white dress shirt before his hearing. You tried not to show it, always good at hiding your emotions. But he could see the anxious flicker in your eyes and the shaky smile you gave him.
He made you wait for him at base, not wanting to expose you to the ferocity of politics. Phillip knew you could handle it, you’re always so cool-headed and prepared. But he likes keeping you to himself, in his office and at his company.
Phillip reaches up to move your hands from your mouth, pushing his thumb onto your tongue. You immediately respond, sucking his digit as if it was his cock. Each pull of your mouth sends shocks of heat down to his heavy balls. He can feel his orgasm creeping up his spine.
You’re completely naked, warm and soft skin on display. Beads of sweat gather on your hairline and tears prick the corner of your eyes. You move a hand to grip his tie and tug to get his attention. He immediately drops his head, moving his thumb out of your mouth to land a kiss to your lips.
You suck his tongue into your mouth and he begins thrusting it in at the same rhythm of his cock. You twist your hips and moan loudly into his mouth when he manages to plunge deep into your cunt, bumping right at your cervix. He gives you one more rough kiss then leans back.
“I know babydoll, I know… feels so good, doesn’t it?” Phillip murmurs, angling his hips to keep hitting that spot.
“Yes, y–yes, yes, sir. Fe–feels so good.”
He plants one hand above your head and the other on your side, gaining momentum in his thrusts. Your tits bounce and jiggle in his face, leaving him salivating. He leans down to catch a nipple into his mouth and sucks the peaked tip. Your tight little cunt pulses and flutters around him, more wetness dripping out of you.
Phillip feels your fingers pull and tug at his hair once he switches to your other bouncing tit. His pants are most likely done for… I’ll buy new ones, he thinks. He releases your tit with a wet pop from his mouth.
“You’re makin’ such a mess, naughty girl… all over my new couch,” he murmurs.
“ ‘m sorry,” you whine,”… you just–just fuck me so go–good, commander.”
Your words almost take him over the edge, but he needs you there first. He wishes he could stay here forever, locked in the warm embrace of your slick cunt. But his balls twitch at the need to finish deep inside of you.
“I’m gonna go faster,” Phillip says through gritted teeth,” I need you to come f’me, okay baby?”
You nod quickly, twisting your hips in small circles as his thumb reaches to repeatedly swipe over your clit. Your hands reach to grip his waist and you stare up at him with pretty eyes. You look completely cock-drunk and perfect to him.
“Come ins–inside me, please. I want your come, s–sir.”
“Fu-fuck,” he stutters,”I’ll give you my come, babydoll.”
Phillip pistons inside of you faster, almost bending you in half. He sees and feels the moment a harsh orgasm rips through you. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and your mouth forms a perfect little o-shape. No words fall from your lips but your body stiffens and you gush around him, slapping his hand away from your overstimulated button.
His balls twitch and he releases long spurts of thick come into your fluttering cunt. He keeps going, plunging and plunging and plunging inside. Phillip’s head falls forward as he lets the force of his orgasm take over his body.
He can barely hear the squeaks and whimpers that leave you, too focused on the blood rushing to his ears and the white hot electricity that invades his body. His thrusts become sloppy and his body eventually gives out. A tiny dribble of come leaks out of your swollen cunt and lands on the already wet couch.
Your body continues to shake with the aftershocks and you hold onto Phillip, your arms wrapped around him and your tits pressed against his sweaty face. You stay locked like that for who knows how long, almost falling asleep from the exhaustion, until someone knocks on the door.
“Commander? You in there?” a soldier asks.
Phillip lifts his head and presses a kiss to your sweaty chest before responding. “Not now, I’m busy.”
Phillip leans back up, smiling as you giggle underneath him.
“Naughty girl, don’t laugh. We almost got caught ‘cuz of you.”
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I Could Be Yours
hozier x f!reader
part one of lullabies <3
hi i have risen from the dead... new matt stone will be coming soon i promise!! i've just become infatuated with hozier recently so i had no choice but to devote a new fic to him <3
i didn't proof read because it's bedtime, i will fix tomorrow if there's any errors!! soz
cw: none really... just a shitty boyfriend and drinking. still 18+
word count: 3.5k
“That’s your man, ‘uh?” The deep voice behind me made me jump, forcing me to peel my eyes from Joe and the leggy blonde he was laughing with.
“Stop doing that!” I gasp, clutching a hand over my chest, jokingly punching Andrew in the arm. “But yes. That’s him,” I sigh, wanting to cut the conversation before it had a chance to start. Andrew was far too friendly to be talking to my walking storm cloud of a boyfriend.
“I didn’t know his sister was playing tonight,” he confessed casually, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt. “Which one is she?”
“He doesn’t have a sister,” I shake my head, quirking an eyebrow at the human tower before me. “Where’d you hear that?”
“Huh?” He played dumb, though a soft pink blush tinted his cheeks, looking like he wished he could eat his words.
“Where did you hear that?” I repeated, the room suddenly too hot for comfort, despite Joe's protests that I was dressed like a 'tart,' in his words.
“I’m sure I misheard, hearing’s a bit shot,” he lied through his teeth, and he must be a fool to believed I'd let him play it off.
“Andy," I faced him now, trying to force him to meet my eyes he was so desperately avoiding. "Who did he say that to?”
“That woman,” his voice sounded pained, as if he were almost ashamed to tell me. He was too smart, he could read me, and if anyone could read the room, it was him. I just went quiet, his warm calloused hand placed on my shoulder, feeling like it might burn a hole in my dress. “You deserve better,” he professed sincerely, pulling that horrid face at me, the type you pull when you feel really sorry for someone.
I huffed some pathetic excuse of a response, forcing my eyes to the ground. There seemed to be a magnetic pull, forcing my eyes back to Joe, hurting my own feelings again and again. I can’t recall a time he’d ever looked that interested in me. Not unless he was trying to bed me, which was usually after a stressful day at work or after a massive fight.
“If you were my girl, every man and their dog would know. You’re too good for him,” his voice was warm, like being pulled from a frozen over lake and straight into an oven. His Irish brogue more apparent than ever, and I cursed myself for the way my heart leapt in my chest.
He just slipped past me onto the stage for his set, unaware that he just made me feel nearly every emotion in the span of two minutes.
“That’s not even a real job,” Joe scoffed, shaking his head indignantly like he always did, as if everyone were beneath him. He’s always looked down at others for as long as I’ve known him. His Napoleon Complex makes him feel like he’s six foot eleven, when in reality, I barely have to tilt my head to kiss him.
I bit my cheek to suppress an angry concoction of insults, swallowing it down and opting for, “so my job isn’t a real job?”
“Babe,” he groaned, one soft hand slipping off the steering wheel onto my thigh. “You know that’s not what I meant. It’s just not very manly, is all. He should be doing something that’s not just for chicks.”
“He’s a carpenter, actually,” I lied, arms barricaded across my chest as I tried to focus on the London Bridge we were rolling over. “Manly enough for you?”
“Could you relax? Jesus Christ…” he pulled his hand from me quicker than he placed it there, sighing emphatically. “You gettin’ your period or something?”
“No!” It was my turn to scoff now, turning to face him. His stupid face was contorted like it always was, as if he’d smelt something rotten. “You’ve hurt my feelings, Joe.”
“Oh, everything hurts your fucking feelings,” he seethed, hooking a turn so sharp I just about fell into the driver’s side. I muttered under my breath, gripping onto the handle at the top of my door, as it was highly likely I was going to need it for the rest of the trip. That’s my Joe. Sickly sweet when you first meet him, then cold and sharp when he drops the act. “I don’t know how much longer I can put up with this shit.”
“Excuse me?” I straightened up, my stomach twisting in that familiar nauseating knot.
“You. Your shit,” he rolled his eyes for what felt like the thousandth time, turning his head to me, deadpan. “Constantly starting arguments, whining about everything. You’re exhausting me.”
Then the rest of the entourage strides in on cue. The searing pain in my throat, the tears prickling into my eyes. The shame and embarrassment that pummel me like waves in a storm. Oh, God, the embarrassment. I feel my cheeks glow red, and suddenly the chill of late Autumn is comparable to a sauna, and there’s not enough air in the passenger side to satiate my lungs.
“Don’t cry,” he groans again, refusing to look at me again. And suddenly, I’m twelve again, trying to cry silently in my father’s car. Sigmund Freud would be laughing in his grave right now. “I’m sorry," he sighs, reaching for my leg again. I jerk away. "Shouldn’t have taken it so far.”
Though his apologies are just words at this point. I’ve walked this road too many times to not know any better. The rest of the ride home is silent, my knees pressed into the passenger door, trying to focus on anything but the fact that I will probably never leave. I will board this train wreck until he beats me down to nothing.
"He just has this weird infatuation for you. A blind man could see it," he tsked, shaking his head as if it were my fault. "And you just egg him on. He's a proper knob."
"He's the knob? What'd you think of your sister's set, hm?" I seethed, silently letting the tears fall as if I were in some sappy drama.
We didn't speak for the rest of the night, Joe slamming his car door, storming inside to lock himself in our bedroom. I washed my face in the kitchen sink and fell asleep on the couch in the small hours of the morning.
Joe didn't come to my show tonight, opting for the local pub with his work mates. I can't lie and say I was upset about it. Another thing I couldn't lie about is how Andrew's words played on a loop in my head for the rest of that night and all day today. I know he was just saying it to comfort me, but is it sad that I've never been so flattered?
"Hey," I smiled, the condensation from my breath hanging between us as I walked up to Andy. “Thought you were quitting.”
He was leaning against the brick wall outside the bar, a halfway smoked cigarette to his lips. He looked nice tonight. His usual unruly curls framing his face so perfectly, two layers under his dark denim jacket. He grinned infectiously as always, never once tearing his eyes from mine as he shrugged, “I’m no quitter.”
“Shut up,” I groaned, finding my spot beside him, now pressing my back to the cold bricks.
“So, where’s Jake tonight?” Now his eyes were fixed on the busy street before us, his arm brushing mine each time he’d put the cigarette to his lips.
“It’s Joe,” I corrected with an eye roll, though there was no malice in my expression. “And he’s watching the game with his mates. We’ve barely spoken since last night.” My heart ached a bit at the reminder of what he’d said to me on the drive home. You’re exhausting me. If his wish was for me to rethink the past five years, he certainly got it.
He gave me that pathetic poor you look again. "Come on. I'll buy ya' a drink. I insist."
"Who am I to deny you?" I grinned, following close behind him as he stubbed his cigarette out under his boot, holding the bar door open for me.
He ordered himself a whiskey on the rocks, a coconut margarita for me. We slid into a small booth at the back, the walls practically vibrating from the drunken chatter and the obnoxious drum solo on the stage.
"She's busy tonight, eh?" He half shouted across to me, leaning over his drink.
"I know, right? I've never seen the place like this," I agreed, taking in just how alive the atmosphere was tonight. "Remember me when you're famous."
"You're not easy to forget. You remember me!" He grinned at me, taking a large swig of his drink. I couldn't tear my eyes from his Adam's apple bobbing with each sip, his eyes dark in the dim lighting. I felt extreme guilt, forcing my eyes anywhere but his direction.
He must've sensed it. This man could read me like a book. Thankfully, he steered the conversation smoothly, "what're you playing tonight?"
"Oh, no. I'm not singing tonight," I shook my head, polishing off my drink in a sip a little bit too big for my mouth. "Want another drink? My shout."
"Why aren't you singing?" He ignored me, pulling a face that screamed, are you mad? "If there's any night for it, it's tonight."
"Honestly, I just want to get pissed and be the observer for once." I smiled sweetly, hoping he couldn't see through the facade. "What're you singing then?"
"An original," he smiled coyly, eyes faltering.
"Oh, Andy! How exciting," I cheered, genuinely happy for him. He'd shown me some of his poetry, and with such a beautiful voice, there's no possibility he could go wrong. "You're going to blow the roof off. This calls for another drink."
"As you wish," he grinned, holding eye contact as he finished off his glass, the faintest pink tinge to his cheeks.
When I made my way back to the table, my heart sunk a bit when I saw a girl leaning against our table giggling, tucking thick red locks behind her ears. He was laughing too, body language practically begging for more. I might be exaggerating. Why did I even care? I am in a committed relationship.
Funny, he looks just as amused as Joe did last night.
I made my way to the table, sliding his drink to him.
"Hi, I'm Harper," she smiled wide, a beautiful array of pearly teeth on full display.
"Lovely to meet you. Y/N," I smiled back, unable to look at Andrew. "I'm gonna go watch the show. I'll leave you to it."
I turned my back just as he was about to protest, sipping at my drink as I kept my word, finding a seat before the stage. I couldn't really focus on the music though, my mind reeling over what Joe was up to. He hadn't even texted or calls. His location was off too. I grabbed another couple drinks, bumping into Andrew when I made my way back to the stage.
"Y/N," he reached for my arm, a sincerely apologetic tone to his voice. "I'm sorry for earlier, that was rude."
"No it wasn't," I replied a bit too quick, brushing off the apology. "You're single, you can do whatever."
"I meant having someone at our table," shit. Was that the wrong thing to say? Their margaritas are always too strong. "I was enjoying just having you and I time."
"No worries, there's always next time," I smiled sweetly, though really, I just wanted to get in the nearest cab, pack all my shit at home and move back to Bristol. "You're nearly on! I'll be front row." I turned away again, finding my way back to the nice girls I made small talk with earlier.
Sure enough, Andrew was up within the next fifteen minutes. The announcer, somewhere hidden backstage spoke, "please give your warmest welcome to our absolute favourite, Andrew Hozier-Byrne!"
He walked onto the stage, acoustic guitar hanging from his neck as he awkwardly made his way onto the stage, adjusting the microphone to his height as he did each night.
"Ehm, this song is called I Could Be Yours," he offered a tight lipped smile to the crowd, a few cheers heard here and there. "Thanks guys."
I couldn't help but grin at his shyness, the complete opposite of how he was with me.
I could be soft and sweet, I could be hard and loud.
I could be everything you'd ever need somehow.
Why don't you hear me sing out from the lost and found,
I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.
He seemed to be scanning the crowd, probably for Harper, meanwhile all eyes were on him, basking in his glory. As if he were rain in a drought, not a single soul in the audience not mesmerised by his syrupy voice. Myself included, wide eyed, the epitome of awe.
Why don't you try on me? Why don't you take me home?
I'll match the colour scheme of your bedroom walls.
Oh, take a dose of me, it doesn't hurt at all.
I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.
His skilled fingers danced along the strings, his eyes, when not scanning the crowd focused on his measured movements. To say I was moved was an understatement. His voice thick and sweet as honey, his eyes shining under the stage lights, the hypnotic effect he had on the crowd. Unlike anything I had ever experienced.
Then his eyes found mine. It was almost like nothing existed in the same realm as him and I. Just us.
Oh God, I'd benefit from your sweet tenderness.
Oh, thank God, it could've been, 'cause nothing comes from it.
That'd be a helpful thought if I could remember it,
but I could be yours, I could be yours, I could be yours.
"Thanks," he nodded awkwardly to the crowd, eyes leaving mine as he did the stage, the audience cheering and clapping.
I couldn't put into words the feelings I felt if you held a gun to my head. No doubt my eyes glistened back at his, tears of joy swimming at my waterline, completely estranged from last nights'.
"He was looking right at you!" One of the women I'd met shouted over the cheers, shaking me by the shoulder. I just hummed some response, smiling and beelining for the exit.
The bite of the outdoors was a stark comparison to the warmth of the bar, my nervous system seeming to reset instantaneously. I pulled out my phone and checked the time. 8:45pm. I told Joe I wouldn't be home til midnight and not to wait up for me.
It was wrong to feel this way about Andrew. He was my friend. I had Joe. Even if we had our rough patches.
My phone buzzed wildly in my hand, and when I checked the caller ID, I nearly didn't pick up.
I sighed. "Hello?"
"Hey," Andrew spoke loudly over the drunken chatter, a few good one mate, and, good on ya's here and there. "Where'd you run off to?"
"I, uh, had too much to drink," I lied through my teeth, kicking at the gravel beneath my feet. "I'm just heading home."
"Oh..."
"I'm out the front," I piped up, not wanting him to think he caused this. Or that I was running away. Because I was not. Right?
He hung up and shortly after, his tall figure emerged, his shadow reaching me before he did.
He opened his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. "Great song, Andy. Really beautiful." I meant it.
"Oh, yeah. Thank you," he smiled, looking down at his boots. "How're you getting home?"
"I was gonna get a cab, or an Uber, or something." I shrugged, acutely aware of how breathy I sounded. Beyond tired. I wasn't lying when I said I'd had too much to drink.
"No need, I'll take you." He offered, digging his hands into his pockets and gesturing with his head for me to follow.
"It's okay, Andy, really," I countered, giving him my must sincere smile I could muster. I was too confused right now. Nobody had ever made me feel this way while I've been with Joe. "Get in there and mingle. They loved you."
"I'd rather know you're safe."
I ended up in the passenger seat of his car. He'd kindly put the heater on full blast, though no doubt, he'd be sweating under all those layers. I protested, but he kept fretting about how red my nose was from the cold.
"You alright?" He asked, my head leaned against his window.
"Yeah," I breathed, struggling to keep my eyes open, though my mind was very much awake and racing.
"You've been acting funny, did I upset you?" He glanced over at me, concern written all over his features. Had he always been this handsome?
"It's not you. I'm sorry," I lifted my head to look at him. Tequila and I are not friends. I flipped down the visor mirror to see a tiny it of smudged mascara under my eyes. I wiped it away, sighing for the hundredth time. "Joe just... things aren't going well. I slept on the couch last night. Well, barely. He's just so mean, you know?" I babbled drunkenly, a huge weight lifting after finally telling someone. "He always picks at everything I do. You complain all the time. You put too much salt in this. That isn't a real sustainable job, babe. We never shag anymore... Shag? Isn't that disgusting, Andy?"
I continued my drunken spiel, probably including more details than I should have. Andrew just kept his eyes on the road, sharing glances here and there to let me know he was listening.
The grande finale, "why can't all men just be like you? You would make a wonderful husband, you know. You wouldn't tell your girlfriend she's too lively in bed, would you?"
"No, I wouldn't," he laughed, shaking his head. He looked at me fondly. For once, it wasn't a look of sympathy. It was kind of sad, almost.
"I've said too much, haven't I?" I probably looked like a kicked puppy at the realisation, but one smile from him eased any disconcertion I had.
"Not at all," he sighed, staring at his hands on the wheel. "I have a lot to say. I just don't think I should be the one saying it."
"Well, now you have to tell me," I countered, lolling my head to the side to face him.
"He's a fuckwit," he shook his head, his grip on the wheel tightening. "He doesn't deserve you. Not even a little bit. He's going to fuck it up and won't realise what he's lost until it's too late. And you know what? Good."
He pulled onto the road before my house with perfect timing, getting out of the car to open my door for me. He took my hand in his, helping me out, and thank goodness he did, because I still nearly rolled my ankle. I laughed and let myself fall into his chest, steadying myself after a hearty, obnoxious laugh.
"Oh my God, I've made a complete fool of myself tonight," I sighed, this time it felt like a release, not a breath weighing me down. "Thank you for taking care of me, Andy."
"Anytime at all," he grinned leaning against his car. I couldn't help myself, lurching forward at him, wrapping my arms around his torso. My head barely reached his shoulder, even when standing on the curb.
"I loved your song," I murmured against his chest, pulling back to grab his face. He turned ghost white. "You are my favourite singer. Ever."
His cheeks darkened as he looked away, chuckling softly with the shake of his head.
"Drink lots of water for me tonight. That's an order as your favourite singer."
"Yes, Mr. Hozier-Byrne," I grinned, turning on my heels and heading for the door. The garage door was 1/4 open. Joe must be home early.
I fumbled through my purse for my keys, finding them after what felt like an eternity of great difficulty. I was going in with a good attitude. I was going to sit him down and hash this out. We can fix this. We've been together nearly 6 years, this is just a rough patch.
I walked up to my bedroom, sure my ears were deceiving me. When I opened my bedroom door, I saw red.
omg angst... just hear me out i have good direction for this one. i hope u enjoyed <3
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i love you, evangeline
og post | p1 | p2 | p3 | p4
~🌷🌻~
“evie, babe, darling, my love. you gotta stop stressing so much. dustin’s going to like whatever you make, everything you cook is great. you’re going to pace holes into the floor and we won’t get our security deposit back,” robin says and places her hands on evie’s shoulders. the girl’s been panicking over the pasta on the stovetop, having already restarted her sauce for the third time now.
“i- i know, i know. but it’s not…about the food, robs,” evie says and tips her head back to face the ceiling once she feels tears welling behind her eyes. she can’t let her mascara run. it’s expensive.
“honey, hey,” robin is snatching a napkin off the counter to dab at evie’s waterline, her other hand cupping her face. “dustin is going to love you, no matter what. do you know how long he’s been waiting for this day? every time i see or talk to him, it’s all ‘where’s steve why are you hiding him is he dead can i see him’. he’s going to be over the moon.”
“that’s just it, robin. he misses steve and i’m not him. what if he’s disappointed, or disgusted, or he hates me, or he won’t accept it? oh my god, i don’t know if i can do this,” she can feel her breathing picking up and robin is instantly placing her hands on her shoulders.
“okay, no, hey, we’re not going to do that. we are not panicking. everything is going to go amazing. nothing bad is going to happen. you just finished a glass of wine, your emotions are gettin’ high, you are okay. we are okay. let’s breathe, yeah?” slowly, she guides evie through deep breaths, rubbing her shoulders all throughout. after a few moments, evie shuts her eyes, a sigh of relief leaving her body and her shoulders dropping. she pulls robin into a hug.
“you’re right. everything’s okay. thanks,” she mumbles into her shoulder.
“anytime. now, get out of your head, dingus. if you burn this sauce, i’m not letting you start over again,” robin smirks and pulls back to finish her setting of the small kitchen table.
just as she finishes lighting the candles in the center of the table, there’s a knock to the tune of “skunk in the barnyard”. robin’s head snaps over to evie, seeing the girl freeze just as she was about to fill their glasses.
“okay…here we go,” robin whispers and walks to the door. she pulls it open, stepping in the doorway to greet the kid, well adult, on the other side. “dustin!”
“robin!” dustin answers her cheer, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug that’s got her feet off the ground.
“oh my god, i’ve missed you so much. when did you grow?!” robin laughs once he puts her down and they pull back to look each other in the eye.
“everyone keeps asking me that! i’ve missed you too,” he smiles and she can still see the kid he used to be. “also, what on earth is that smell because if i don’t get to consume whatever that is immediately, things may get violent.”
“that, me dear nerd, would be ms evangeline’s cooking awaiting us inside,” she smiles proudly, tilting her chin back as she prepares herself. she steps out of the way to let him in.
“dude, you didn’t tell me she can cook too! and you mean you haven’t proposed to her-“ dustin freezes as he’s about halfway through the entryway, the table in view. evie stands up straight, her cheeks tinging pink as her nerves spiked.
“dustin…” evie says softly, her voice wavering just slightly. she watches as he looks her all over. from her long, loosely curled hair, to the sparkly earrings and her makeup, pausing briefly on her figure, before going back to her face. “hey.”
“oh my god…” dustin breathes out and he’s moving in an instant. he rushes forward and his arms are tight around her waist, squeezing hard. “oh my god! oh my god, you’re alive.”
“i’m alive. i’m here,” she sniffles, one arm going around his neck, the other ruffling his hair. she doesn’t bother to fight her own tears this time when she feels and hears dustin crying in her shoulder.
“i can’t believe you’re you. holy shit,” he cries out years of waiting, years of wondering, years of confusion and betrayal. he’s so…relieved. “i missed you.”
“i missed you too, kid. fuck, i missed you.” they hold on for a few more minutes, not a word shared before dustin decides to pull back. his face is red and tear stained but he has a smile evie hasn’t seen since eddie woke up in the hospital.
“you look so good! ohohoh this is amazing!” dustin gushes, giggling excitedly. robin’s leaning against the counter with a huge smile and tears of her own she’s not so subtly trying to wipe away.
“really? you’re…okay with this?” evie asks, every ounce of insecurity dripping into her voice as she looks down at herself.
“are you kidding me? dude, i love you. every form of you. i thought you died! oh shit, should i not call you dude?” dustin pauses, eyes wide and a hand coming to cover his mouth.
“what? oh, no! dude’s fine,” she clarifies, a bit awkward.
robin snorts and walks closer, taking her own turn in ruffling dustin’s hair. “trust, she’ll let you know when somethings not.”
“so…does this mean i can stay here instead of the hotel?” dustin glances between them with his best puppy eyes.
robin and evie look over at each other, a quick silent conversation. “well i guess you can,” evie says dramatically and drops into her seat at the table.
she hides her smile behind her wine glass at dustin’s whoop of excitement.
~🌷🌻~
taggie waggies:
@lololol-1234 @xo-r4e @paintsplatteredandimperfect @homohomohoe @charlies-candid-corner @tartarusfairy @howincrediblysapphicofyou @steddie-as-they-go @bestwifehaver @sexymothmanincarnate @zoeweee @romanticdestruction @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @breadboi66 @shadowofaliar @mollymawkwrites @lofaewrites @estrellami-1 @ronance-is-my-wife @afewproblems @heartsong18 @discount-izukumidoriya @mightbeasleep @bookbinderbitch @justforthedead89 @onehandedbitch @anxiouseds @sunfloweringstories @cyranyx @thegingerrapunzel @hequet @herebedragons404 @magpiemuseum @scheodingers-muppet @the-ghost-in-your-curtains @background-noise-headache @steddieloverrr @punctualhowell @musical-theatre-gay
#stranger things#steve harrington#robin buckley#dustin henderson#steve harrington au#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington fic#robin buckley au#robin buckley fic#robin buckley fanfic#dustin henderson fic#codependent stobin#platonic stobin#modern stobin#pre steddie#transfem!steve harrington#trans!steve harrington#transfem steve harrington#trans!steve#trans steve harrington#stranger things au#stranger things fic
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BLACK CAT
Leon X Fem! reader
P in V, smut
[ no tw, vanillaish idk ]
1.2k wrd
”Woah, woah, slow down” Leon chuckled as you started explaining another cool story to him.
Your relationship was like the definition of a black cat and a golden retriever. You always have so much energy and are nice to almost everyone. Leon on the other hand is a tough agent who doesn’t really enjoy showing much emotion. He’s pretty stern towards others— but his softspot for you is clear.
”Okay, i’m listening. Tell me” He said while you were walking together with your fingers interlocked.
"okay okay! So THEN after Fluttershy wrote an entire song, rainbow dash just decides to throw it out? Ugh she's such a bitch. Don't you agree? I mean her friend went through all the trouble to try and get them to win the battle of the bands but she's so selfish.." you said, going on about a children's movie. You loved cute things, hello kitty, my little pony, really anything a 12 year old girl would be obsessed with, wearing cute little outfits and rambling about pointless stuff. But hey it made you happy and Leon thought it was adorable
"Mhm, yeah, so selfish" Leon couldn’t help but chuckle a little about how into the movie she was. by now he knew EVERYTHING about these stupid colourful horses, rainbowdash, fluttershy, twilight, pinkie, apple jack, list goes on. Honestly from what he knew rarity seemed like the best- I mean she was a boss bitch.
He found the whole thing pretty amusing, you were just so excited about it and he’s glad you have stuff you're so.. passionate about
"I mean, it would probably get annoying if her friend just wasted all that effort right? " He said trying to show his interest in her story.
"exactly! Ugh finally you get it" you said smiling up to him, leaning closer into his side as you two walked down back home, it was a long day. Like REALLY long, you took Leon shopping, got your nails done, bought some new skirts, and a new album. All that sort of stuff, but y'know dragging Leon aside you cause someone had to carry the shit, you were gettin really close to the outside of your house, skipping beside Leon holding hands. Life was like a dream.
But the long day out had Leon pretty tired— he had to drag a lot of your stuff around and you insisted they go to multiple stores (you tried to be nice and let him pick something out but he was too tired and grumpy, I know right such a dick head?)
When you were about to arrive home, he looked at you as you skipped around excitedly and smiled softly. Despite what he’s put through, he can’t deny that he finds your behavior adorable.
He squeezed your hand and chuckled a little before you guys got in front of your door.
"Oo Leon tomorrow we should watch rainbow rocks, then you'll understand what I'm talking about better" you say giggling as you step into your house, taking off your little boots and walking away from Leon plopping your ass on the leather sofa, even if you were like if you gave a six year old crack mixed with sour gummy worms even you could get kinda tired. Right, ain't that surprising? Little princess bitch face getting tired, after crawling over Leon like a little kid and skipping everywhere, runnin, jumping, god doing everything known to fucken man kind
“don’t know if we’ll have the time because of..” Leon muttered under his breath, he didn’t want to upset you and ruin your mood when you’re so excited.
He walked over to the couch and sat beside you silently and just observed you as you started talking about the movie. He placed a hand over your thigh, brushing up and down just silently smiling hearing you decribe your weird ass fictional horse people argue with other creatures from mythology, honestly sometimes he wondered if you needed to be checked into a mental hospital. Little grippy sock princess
“Wellll, maybe we can watch it tomorrow..” He shrugged. “I mean, i’ll do anything you want” Leon chuckled looking over at you.
He wrapped his arm around you and pulled you closer to him, his body was pretty warm given how hot the day was and his arm was pretty comfortable.
He kissed you forehead before wrapping his other arm around you, squeezing you a little. You loved when he was affectionate, but not in a creepy way, a cute way. But after a long day a girl can get a bit needy, like sue me but when you have a hot ass man cradling you and taking you everywhere, GOD it's like an angel is sent from heaven to fuck you. But fuck you in a good homemade porno way, not one of thoes shitty ones with a whole plotline. Just straight raw fucking
You turn around, breaking his grip on you before climbing onto his lap, placing yourself onto his thigh "Woah Woah, calm down- y'know I'm tire-" he was trying to speak, silly men. You land a big fat kiss on his lips to shut him up, slowly moving yourself on his thigh, pulling away from him getting a breath, saliva dripping down your face like an animal, staring at him in the eyes, his face slightly shocked you made the first move. But you felt something perk up, bingo. Always know what can make your man want ya
"God I can't just stare at your handsome face and do nothing-" you mutter under your breath, pushing yourself closer into him, kissing his face like a big ol' dog, your free hand finding its way to his jean zipper, undoing it his fat dick springing up, he grabs you by your hips, pulling your panties aside, slapping you onto his cock, a groan coming from his lips, honestly didn't expect the day to end like this, went from talkin ponies to getting your brains fucked out. Like a good girl you ride him, his hands are placed on your hips moving you at a decent pase, bit fast but he did do A LOT of work today, guess he deserves it. Nothing else in the world matters right now, euphoric feeling, he thrusted up into you, taking one hand off your hip and grabbing your face, making you look at him, god his eyes make you MELT. He could take care of you, he was real nice with it. He groped your tits sometimes in public, but just made you love him more.
You're at your high, he knows that. Few more thrusts and you whine, feeling your body melt like butter, your weight collapses onto him, but he's not done practically druling on him, limp body he keeps fucken like a doll, if you still have a tight pussy thats all that matters, few moments and he finishes, pressing you down onto him, filling your cervix, still collapsed on him both of you breathen all heavy. "So babydoll, what happened next?" He groaned, a sly ass smirk on his face. "Mm that cunt rainbow got put in her place and they play fluttershys song" you mutter, pushing on his fat chest, rollin off him like a little kid, pussy dripping. His pants stained with you, and a heavy chest.
"I wanna-"
"No"
"Pleaseee"
#cupidscruel🍡#leon kennedy#leon resident evil#leon s kennedy#re4 remake#re4 leon#leon kennedy re4#resident evil#leon kennedy smut#leon smut#leon x you#leon x reader#resident evil smut#smutstuck#smut#short smut#fluff and smut#black cat x golden retriever#golden retriever reader#dark and happy#black cat and golden retriever#golden retriever girl#black cat bf#leon kennedy x reader#resident evil 4#re4#re smut#fiction#writers on tumblr#cross posted on ao3
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omg jade!! this just popped into my head but do u think u could write smth ab roan gettin a tinyyyy bit jealous when reader gives attention to another kid? pls feel free to ignore if u dont like it hehe j smth i thought ab! ily!!
this request is from october I'm so sorry it took this long, thank you for requesting, ily ♥︎ fem!reader
Eddie’s friend Gareth has two kids.
Twin boys, they hang off of him one to each arm and might be the cutest kids you’ve ever seen that aren’t Roan. One is much, much cuddlier than the other, and when he climbs into your lap you really, honestly can’t say no. He’s practically a baby still, two and half years old and chatty without real words.
When he strokes your face with your hand, you look over his little head at Eddie where he’s sitting at the same picnic table and pout at him.
“You want one?” he asks, raising his eyebrows.
You rub the back of the baby’s head, hand stroking over fine, sandy brown hair. “Stop it.”
It’s a very cheeky joke considering you and Eddie haven’t been together that long. And besides, you think he might have his work cut out for him with his own baby girl, he doesn’t need another right now.
Said baby girl has taken to holding your hand basically everywhere you go. You adore Roan and if she wants to hold your hand whenever she sees you, it’s an improvement from her wanting to always be carried. She’d been holding your hand five minutes ago before she proclaimed her need to pee.
She emerges from the house and into the garden with her little hands dripping and Eddie beckons her over. You can hear their hushed conversation as he wipes her hands dry with his t-shirt.
“Did you flush?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah, daddy.”
“Did you wipe the right way?”
She looks a little embarrassed, and then that embarrassment gets eaten by Munson rage. “Yeah, dad.”
Eddie only laughs. “Okay, alright. Thanks, mini me. Kiss for a job well done?”
Roan gives him a quick kiss and then throws her gaze to you. You watch what looks to be excitement shrivel up and dissolve into dust, her eyes widened and then pinched with hurt.
“What’s the matter, baby?” you ask, hand splayed over the small back of your newfound charge.
She doesn’t talk to you. Roan turns on her heel and climbs straight into Eddie’s lap, small thighs either side of his waist and face falling into his t-shirt. He’s as confused as you are, dropping his face down closer to hers and murmuring something too quiet to hear. Her tiny black bunches bounce as she shakes her head.
He tucks a loose curl behind her ear. “Tell me, sweetheart,” he says gently.
Roan pushes her face deeper into his chest and sighs.
You’re at that stage of knowing and loving Roan where all of her upsets still feel huge to you. Eddie, having experienced her change in emotion every single day of her life, is much less affected. Not any less loving, or any less caring, but he doesn’t get so stressed. He pats her little back for what’s left of his friends garden party, and you say goodbye to your clinger when it’s time for their nap.
“Let’s go home, should we?” Eddie asks gently, forehead tapped against Roan’s.
She grumbles irritably and Eddie picks her up, her face quickly hidden in his neck. When all the goodbyes have been exchanged you follow him back to his car, nibbling your lip intermittently. Roan isn’t prone to being quiet like this unless she’s sick or tired, and it’s hours from bedtime, so she has to be sick.
"She's not warm," Eddie tells you.
"Do you feel sick?" you ask her anyways, not because you don't believe Eddie's capabilities as a dad, but for your own peace of mind — you don't like worrying about Roan. It gnaws at you.
She doesn't speak to you. In fact, she doesn't speak to you for hours. Not when you get home, not at the dinner table, and not during cartoons before bed. She doesn't hug you goodnight, and that's when Eddie gives a knowing, amused snort.
"What?" you ask, pulling your gaze from her retreating back to him. "What's funny? Your baby doesn't like me anymore, this is the opposite of funny."
"She's just jealous." You scoot away from him. He pulls you back in with an eye roll. "Not of me, dork. Of Henry."
You blink. "Gareth's kid?"
"Yes." His head lolls lazily to the side, and his smile is more a smirk than anything else. "Come on, sweet thing. Use your brain."
You would glare at him if the cogs weren't turning in your head. "Well, what do I do?" You stand up. "I gotta say sorry."
Eddie catches your hand. When you look at him, he shakes his head. You love and hate how smug he is as a dad, how he simultaneously knows all the answers but has to call Wayne at least once a week with some whacky question.
"What?"
"You don't have to say sorry to her for hugging another kid, just… explain that she's your favourite."
"She is my favourite."
"I know."
You look down the hall and then back to your boyfriend. "Will you come with me?"
"Always." Eddie gets up, and you hold hands all the way to Roan's bedroom, though the slim hallway makes it difficult.
He knocks on Roan's door. "Babe?"
"Daddy?"
He pushes open the door. Roan isn't sleeping, she usually doesn't until Eddie comes in to tuck her into bed and kiss her goodnight. She's sitting by the bottom of the bed with her big paper sketchbook and a crayon in hand, but she hasn't drawn anything yet. She drops the crayon and looks up at you both suspiciously.
"Y/N wants to talk to you. Do you wanna sit in the bed together?" he asks her.
She nods. Too soon, Eddie's pulling his hand out of yours and scooping Roan up deftly, and he climbs into her tiny princess bed with little hesitation. She looks small in his lap.
You sit gingerly opposite.
Eddie gives you an encouraging smile, worming his thumb into the palm of her hand.
"Roan," you start, awkward because Eddie's listening, hesitant because you don't wanna mess this up. You decide to go for the straightforward approach. "You know you're my favourite girl, yeah?"
She glares at you.
Not what you'd been expecting.
You try again. "I… I love you very much. Like, so much it squeezes out of me when you hug me, and you gotta push it all back in for me."
An inkling of a smile appears. She loves that game, and she's stronger than she looks. It really does feel like she's squeezing all the air from your lungs sometimes.
"And-" You continue, prompted by Eddie's voracious nodding. "And even though sometimes other boys and girls want to give me a hug, none of them ever give me hugs as good as yours. I just want you to know that your hugs are my favourite."
Roan leans back heavy into Eddie's chest. He kisses the top of her head unthinking, lips hidden by her dark brown curls.
Then, his lips move down to her ear, and he says, in his professional parenting voice that's all soft and warm, "I know you were unhappy when Y/N gave baby Henry a cuddle, but just 'cause she gave him a hug doesn't mean she can't give you one too. And ignoring people isn't something we like to do, is it?"
Roan frowns at him. "But she was holding my hand first."
"I know. You gotta share her, though. Like right now, you're in my lap, and Y/N isn't complaining. Maybe she wants to be in my lap, or maybe she wants you in hers."
You take the queue. "I miss my goodnight hug," you say, hands moving forward. You pout at her. "Please, Roan."
You wouldn't force Roan into a hug if you didn't think she wanted one. You're right, thankfully, and Roan stands up, wobbling across the mattress in her pink pyjamas and straight into your chest.
You curl your arms around her too tight and send Eddie your most thankful, loving look as Roan snuggles your neck.
"Missed you, princess," you murmur, hand creeping up her back to play in the soft ends of her hair.
You hug. Roan turns to mush, boneless, limp, every word for it, putty in your hands. Eddie had told you once that he thinks she likes your hugs because you're so soft.
He wiggles his eyebrows. "Think about it," he whispers. "You could have two of her. Three."
You close your eyes so you don't have to look at him, flustered but so happy you end up laughing.
"Kiss?" you ask Roan.
She nods. You cover her in kisses, every inch of her perfect face.
#eddie and roan#stranger things x reader#stranger things fic#stranger things#eddie munson x reader#dad!eddie munson x reader#dad!eddie munson#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x reader blurb#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#stranger things 4#stranger things fanfic#stranger things fanfiction
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some more of @aka-indulgence's lovely HMF Sans... tw, a fight and some blood, but it's over pretty quickly.
---
“E-erm... so... what can I get for you all?”
... You weren’t prepared for this. Nothing could ever prepare you for this. You hardly had the emotional capacity to serve one frightening mob guy, and he did little more than stare at you and order the same one thing every day.
Today? There were three other men at his table with him.
I didn’t sign up for this.
They were human, but they looked important- pretty damn important. Expensive cut suits, fine cigars in their mouths, they weren’t the usual rabble that stumbled into this bar. They looked like the kinds of people who would consider Sans their peer.
... Though notably, they sat across the table from him, none willing to sit close to the beast himself. It seemed like even those at Sans’ level of society were afraid of him.
You couldn’t blame them.
You had waited until they’d all stopped talking before you approached. You were terrified of being accused of eavesdropping on something you weren’t supposed to hear. Your hands shifted around your notepad, and you glanced at the skeleton... he was quietly tapping a claw against the table. For some reason, you couldn’t pin why, you were slightly comforted by the fact that Sans was far more frightening than any of the new men- though the human men certainly were intimidating none of them even came close to being as scary as the massive skeleton monster you’d been serving the past few days. He absolutely dwarfed them, both physically, and in terms of sheer presence. Like a tiger sitting at a table with a few alleycats.
(Would that make you a mouse, then?)
... Sans looked just as ‘pleased’ as you to have them there; you’d been around him enough to start recognising a few of his expressions, and the one he was wearing at that moment was a scowl sharp enough to cut glass, jagged and scarred face shadowed heavily by his hat. The whole time you’d been watching them, waiting for the right moment to come in and ask for their order, the human men had been exclusively the ones talking- Sans had barely moved from his slightly slouched position, and he hadn’t said a single word. He usually chose the seat closest to the wall, but today, he’d chosen the seat closest to the edge. You momentarily considered that he might want to be closer to you... but you disregarded the thought. It was probably because he wanted to leave.
“What an ugly bar, Sans. Why did you make us come here?” said the guy directly opposite Sans. You were half offended, half inclined to agree, it probably just wasn’t the kind of place he was used to visiting. “It’s out of the way, I’ll give you that. But it’s dark, and it stinks.”
... He turned to you. You didn’t like the way his moustache moved when he grinned at you. You could smell smoke on his breath, your hair prickled.
His voice was patronising. “Took yer damn time gettin’ over here. Get us a few beers, yeah, girl? And try to pick up the pace a little.”
He leaned over... and smacked your ass.
You barely had time for the disgust to hit you.
Sans reached across the table and slammed the guy’s head, face first, into the table’s surface. Full force. The slam was so loud you felt it in your chest, and the force of the impact sent the little ashtray flying and spitting cigarette butts into the air. You let out a tiny scream of terror and jumped back, dropping your notepad- the two other men at the table startled like spooked horses, the one sitting closest to the offending human swore loudly and moved in his seat like he wanted to jump up and run.
The man sat up, clutching his nose, blood trailing from between his fingers. You staggered away. But Sans wasn’t done, he stood, suddenly at his full height, looming over the human men like the goliath he was... his face was obscured by shadow, but you had never seen his eyelight that bright or small, constricted in total fury. He reached over again, grabbing the guy by the collar of his expensive shirt, dragging the struggling human up with him as he left the table.
He cleared the bar floor in a few moments, he walked like he was carrying little more than a bag of groceries; moving like he wasn’t thinking. He threw the guy up against the counter, grabbed a loose beer glass in his offhand, and crashed it hard around his head- glass shards sprayed out at all angles, showering the countertop. Everyone was watching Sans throw this guy around like a ragdoll.
...
Sans paused. He looked over his shoulder; his eyelight landed on you. Your back was against a table, hands twisted in your apron in fear. When he looked at you, you flinched.
...
He exhaled sharply through his nasal cavity. He turned back to the battered, bleeding human- but now, something was missing from his massive body. You didn’t know what it was. He unceremoniously dragged the guy away from the counter, to the doorway.
... Sans kicked open the door, and literally threw him out. Lobbing the human out into the street, as if just tossing the trash. The miniscule amount of effort he needed to (one-handedly) toss a fully grown man a significant distance was a terrifying visual testament to the strength the whole bar had just witnessed.
Turning around, he probably knew the everyone’s eyes were on him. The total silence said everything. But he didn’t seem to care... he made his way back to the table, passing you wordlessly.
He sat heavily into his seat.
...
He wouldn’t make eye contact with you. He suddenly looked like a child, caught in a lie, hunched and avoidant.
...
You didn’t know what to say.
...
One of the two men shuffled in his seat. You glanced over at him- looked at you, and spoke.
“I’ll, uhm... just get a water. Please.” He said, quietly. “ ...Miss.”
...
“S-sure. I’ll... get that for you now.” You said.
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I LITERALLY ONLY FINISHED EP 1 OF TLOU BEFORE WRITING THIS 😭 this man just has me going fucking insane rn i had to word vomit. spent my whole day on this bc im delulu
warning: homophobia and transphobia, trans fetishization, degradation/humiliation, slurs, vaginal sex, rough oral sex, NASTY daddy kink (like… borderline incest rp and ddlb maybe idk i just work here), hanky code, spit kink, breeding kink, gags, drug dealing (weed and opioids), reader is a sex worker/weed dealer with clit piercings
anatomical terms: cunt/pussy/kitty, clit/(t-)dick
It started as a drug deal. A bad habit picked up after top surgery. A rumor that this guy sold opioids. A wink and a nod of the head from across the plaza during a hanging. A few hankies tucked in your jeans, two shades of blue on the right, light green and a flag on the left. You were never sure if he knew what they meant. You’d never had the chance to ask. Until today, you happened to have a favor to ask him.
“Look, you know I’m usually reliable, right? If you could just gimme more time, I promise I’ll get you an ounce on Monday, on me.” That was a pretty decent offer. You usually gave him a quarter of bud every trade, so an ounce for the same price was surely nothing to sneeze at.
“If you’re not ready today, you ain’t gettin’ shit today. Sorry, kid.” Fuck. Ah, well. At least he wasn’t mad at you. Plus, he always called you ‘kid’. It made sense, since he was definitely old enough to be your dad. Maybe he had a soft spot for you. And he certainly met the diagnostic criteria for DILF, but goddamnit, your gaydar couldn’t get a reading on him. You figured the best way to find out for sure would be to offer up your other goods and services and see if he takes the bait.
“Well, uh… maybe there’s…” You took a step closer to him, putting all your weight into your hips hoping they’d jump out at him, “…something else I can offer you?”
They didn’t. His stare never shifted from your face. “Like what?” Joel asked unclockably.
You took the tips of your hankies between your fingers and held them out to him, spreading your wings, a display for attracting mates not unlike that of a peacock. “You know what these mean?” You asked with a quirk in the brow and some devious faggotry in your voice.
Joel crossed his arms and leaned back against the wall, a cocky, almost sort of try me type stance. “What do they mean?”
You named your hankies, one-by-one. Green, “This one means I’m a sex worker,” Trans, “This one means I have a pussy,” Navy, “This one means I get fucked,” and Cyan, “This one means I suck co-“
“I’m sorry, that one means what?” Joel interrupted, and pointed at your trans flag. He wasn’t just gonna let you gloss over that, just as you’d hoped.
“Oh, this one?” You pinched the tail of the trans flag and let the rest fall to your sides. A cheeky, cherubic, chaotic smile on your face as you taunted him. “It means I have a pussy. I’m trans.”
Joel’s face contorted in a few spasms of different emotions. A blink of shock, a blip of disgust, a second of intrigue, ‘til he landed on confusion. “So, uh…” His eyes crawled downwards to your crotch, then back up to you. “…how’s that work?”
Sure, you could give him the polite conversation explanation of the transmasculine identity, gender dysphoria and its treatments. Or, you could give the simplest and sexiest possible definition that would appeal to Schrödinger’s Straight Man over here. “Was born a girl, cut my tits off, shot up testosterone, and now I’m a man, but I kept my cunt.”
“Fuckin’ Christ…” He grunted, then cleared his throat, trying his damndest to remain calm and bloodbend his newfound erection away. Today was the wrong day for the light wash jeans. His growing bulge was the visual feedback of your influence on him.
A by-the-book boypussy sales pitch. Testing well with the focus group. You took another step with a sway of the hips, encroaching on his personal space but not penetrating it just yet. “Well? Whaddaya think?”
Joel bit his lip and said nothing for a moment. It seemed he was taking his time to figure out what exactly he did think about your revelation. “…Just 2 pills?”
“Just 2 pills…” You nodded, “Just enough to last me the weekend…” and took another step closer, then one more, until you could reach out and rub his bicep. “I’ll bump you up to an ounce, get it to you on Monday…” Your curious fingers started to trail down his arms and over to his delightfully soft dad-bod tummy. “And I’ll show you a good time today… Show you something you’ve never seen before…”
To say you were coming on pretty strong would be a massive understatement. And, hell, touching him? You were coming on like you had a death wish. Your hand slid downward, down to the heat he was packing in his pants, and stroking his rifle in your game of tactile Russian Roulette.
You loaded the chamber…
“All for just two little pills. So?”
Spun the barrel…
“What do you say?”
And pulled the trigger.
“Please, Daddy?”
And with those two whorish words, he snapped. Joel grabbed you by the wrist and slammed you into the brick wall behind him. You gasped in shock and winced in pain. It happened so fast, you barely had any time to think about the mistake you’d just made, but before you could choke out an I’m sorry, his lips were on yours. You moaned into the kiss and he snarled into it, slobbering all over each other in a fit of lust.
“Bratty little fuckin’ queer. So you’re saying you have a cunt, huh, boy? No bullshit?” Joel sneered as he shoved his hand between your legs. He grabbed your crotch and squeezed it tight, delighted to find no bulge, nothing in his way but a few layers of clothing. “Ooh, damn, kiddo, guess you’re right. Ain’t you fuckin’ special…” He let your wrist fall so he could grab your jaw. “Open,” he commanded, and your lips obliged. He spat into your open mouth, and then his lips were back on you.
Your hands scrambled for purchase on his back, eventually clutching his hair and his shirt for lifelines. The second you’d laid eyes on this guy, you knew he’d be a good fuck, and you couldn’t believe your luck. That monumental gamble you took just now had won you the jackpot, and now it was time to bask in your victory.
Joel grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked you out of the kiss. “You want your fuckin’ pills, cuntboy?”
“Yeees…” That was why you originally came to him, yes, but now you wanted a whole lot more.
“You want those fuckin’ pills?”
“Yeees, yes, I wan-em…”
“Say please.”
“Pleeease…”
“Please, what?”
“Pleeease, Daddyyy… P-Please, Daddy, I wan- I wan’ the pills…”
“You gonna suck your Daddy’s cock for ‘em?”
“Y-Yeees, Daddyyy…”
“So do it.”
Joel dropped you and let you stumble onto your knees in front of him. You rocked back and forth impatiently as he undid his belt and fished his cock out of his jeans. As you suspected, it was massive, flushed an angry shade of red, and throbbing painfully. He gave it a tantalizing stroke, peeling back the foreskin and pulling it taut on the rebound. You licked your lips at the precum leaking from its slit, waiting for his instruction.
“Open,” He demanded once more. You acquiesced, opening your mouth wide enough for him to stuff his cock in your throat. He let out a deep, husky, growl as he slid down your airway. “Yeahhh, that’s it… That’s it, kiddo…”
Even in your dickdrunk, cockgagged haze, you could guess what was coming next. In preparation, you braced yourself with your hands on his hips, and relaxed your throat as best you could for him to fuck it. Turns out, your intuition was right.
“Fuck, yeah, fuckin’… Fuckin’ choke on it, whore… Choke on Daddy’s cock.” He grunted, grabbed your hair, and held you still while he thrusted into your mouth unforgivably. Tears, snot, and drool were running down your face in no time, and Joel was loving it. “Aw, look at that, yeah, good boy…”
You whined reflexively at the praise, accidentally sucking some spit into your windpipe and choking you in a less sexy and more dangerous manner than intended. Your eyes bulged open and you slapped his thigh twice, tapping out. Thankfully, he got the hint and let you go.
You coughed up the spit and smacked your own chest to clear your airway. “Sorry… Wrong pipe…”
“Take your time.” Joel replied, “Not try’na kill ya.”
Once you could regulate your breathing and you were sure you weren’t at risk of death by blowjob, you got back to work, at your own pace this time. You had the chance to explore him. Stroking and squeezing his shaft and his sack, fluttering your tongue underneath his tip, licking long stripes from the balls to the head. Less force, but no less intensity.
“Ngh, little faggot sure knows his way around a cock, don’t he?” Joel snickered and ruffled your hair. “So good at this, I would’a never believed you don’t got one yourself.”
True, you may not have been blessed with a cock attached to you, but you’d gotten plenty inside you. Not exactly your hometown, but familiar terrain nonetheless. When you felt like you could, you swallowed his length whole, swiping your tongue along his balls as you gagged. Joel threw his head back and moaned into the air, and then, you rode him with your throat again.
“Fu-u-uck, oh, shit, yeah… Yeah, you suck Daddy’s cock… Suck your old man’s cock for pills, and you’ll get ‘em, son... You’ll get ‘em, you fuckin’ junkie.”
You’d honestly forgotten this was about pills. You just got so caught up in the love of the sport, it had totally slipped your mind. Though dangling the carrot of oxies in front of your spit-drenched face was as good an incentive as any, and despite the burning in your windpipe, you sucked him with more power, more speed, more emotion, and more determination. You could taste victory leaking and throbbing on your tongue.
“F-Fuck… I-… I can’t…” Joel’s face was a picture of overwhelming pleasure. He had to pull you off. His wet, pulsating cock popped out of your mouth, and he huffed and puffed wiping sweat from his brow. “As much as I’d like to dump a load in your stomach…” He nudged his boot in between your legs, right up against your burning cunt. “I need to see your specialty, first.” He extended a hand to help you off your knees, then when you stood, hugged you to him and spanked each of your ass cheeks, jiggling them both as he gave his next order. “Take off your pants and bend over. Let Daddy see that pretty kitty of yours.”
You giggled, a goofy, stupid slutty smile on your face, and nodded. “Hehehe, okay… Okay…” You unbuckled your pants and let your jeans drop to the dirt. You stepped out of them and kicked them aside. You turned 90 degrees, put your hands on the brick wall, and stuck your ass out to Joel. He took his place behind you, grabbed your ass, and spread you open to take a peek at your holes. You shivered as the cool breeze ran over your dripping cunt.
“Fuck, I can’t even remember the last time I saw a cunt like this…” Two of his fingers traced your slit then spread your lips, exposing yourself even more to him. He chuckled when he saw your dick piercing. “‘Specially not one with these fancy hood ornaments.” He couldn’t resist the urge to tug on the jewelry.
Naturally, your knees buckled beneath you and you slid down the wall. “A-Ah!” You squeaked, “F-Fuck! S-Sen-Sensitive!” You tried to warn him, but really you were showing off your weak point with the conspicuousness of a video game boss fight.
“Oh, yeah?” Joel scoffed and supplemented it with a smack on the ass. You could feel him kneel down behind you, and he said, “Good.”
And then his lips were on your t-dick and sucking it like a leech.
You had to scream, bad, but it was broad fucking daylight and FEDRA could show up at any second. Instead, you bit down on your hand, sinking all the energy into your teeth as your body collapsed in on itself. Before long, your cunt was dripping down into his mouth, so much so, that there was an audible splash when his lips let you go.
“Christ, you’re a mess. Gonna ruin my fuckin jeans, ‘f I don’t take ‘em off.” Joel stood up and out of his own pants then tossed them beside yours. You heard some more rustling of clothing, felt a swipe up your pussy, then a tap on your lips with wet fingertips. “Open,” he instructed yet again.
You opened your mouth to lick and suck at his fingers, or so you thought. Instead, they pulled away and gagged you with one of your own hankies. Judging purely by the texture, you deduced that it was the trans flag. You relaxed and let him tie the gag more comfortably.
“There.” Joel said, patting you on the ass affirmatively. “Now I don’t gotta worry ‘bout you bein’ a fuckin’ screamer.” Two strong hands took your hips and lined him up with his target. You could feel his head prodding, but not breaching your hole. “Ready?”
You bit down on the gag and nodded feverishly at him. He poked your hole once, then twice, then started to push in and ohmyfuckinggodhe’shugeimeanyouknewthatalreadybutfuckitfeelsbetterthanyouthoughtitwould.
Without the ability to articulate any of those words, you whimpered through the gag and clawed at the wall like a cat trying to get in the bathroom.
“Biiig stretch, kiddo, that’s it…” Joel groaned, “That’s a good boy… Daddy’s almost in…”
Almost in? What the fuck did he mean by-ohshitthatswhatthefuckhemeantbyalmostin… He was so fucking thick that the stretch nearly burned, and long enough to feel like he was excavating your pussy to make room for himself. It was mind-numbing how big he was. He took up not only all the space in your cunt but in your brain as well. You’d never had someone dig so fucking deep.
“There you go, nice and full.” He leaned down to kiss your neck and pin your wrists together above your head. “Daddy’s perfect little cocksleeve…”
He withdrew his hips, practically taking your cunt with him on the way out since it refused to let go, and then speared his cock back into you. His thrust was a shockwave that rocked through your whole body. You let out a garbled moan into the spit-drenched fabric each time he did it. Eventually, he had a steady tempo going.
“Nghhh, so fucking tight… Real fuckin’ tight for a whore. And you’re fuckin’ soaked…” He gave your ass another swat, then stopped moving for a moment. “C’mon, slut, fuck yourself back on your Daddy’s dick. Ride your Daddy’s dick, now-yeahhh, that’s it…” He purred as you started to bounce your ass on him. For a little extra encouragement, he reached out to pet your hair. And for some guidance and a little extra oomph, he slammed his hips forward in time with yours, making his cock hit you twice as hard. “That’s a good boy…”
It was unbelievable, almost intolerable how good he felt. You almost couldn’t bear the thought of fucking any of your regular clients ever again. This was a Flowers for Algernon-type dicking, the absolute pinnacle of nasty sex for just a little while, and you’ll spend the rest of your sex life downhill from here. You’d like to hope that wouldn’t be the case, but none of the other dick you’d gotten in the past could even compare.
And it all stemmed from asking for a front on some oxies.
Joel reminded you of that when he said, “Next time you’re needing a front, I’ll-ngh… I’ll make you work for it, whore… Take you home and fuck you in the ass instead… Let you scream as loud as you need to… Let that little pussy weep for me and it’s gettin’ nothin’… You want some painkillers, then you gon’ hurt for ‘em, son…”
Honestly, the idea of a ‘next time’ had you excited regardless of what hole he wanted to bust open. If you were lucky, maybe it’d be out of mutual enjoyment rather than an exchange. Soon, he struck that special spot inside you, that inner button that has you seeing stars and screaming obscenities into the flag gag. Your hands balled into fists and pounded at the wall. It was getting to be too much to bear. Of course, with your flag in the way, your cries of Fuck! Fuck! I’m gonna come! sounded as, “Auck! Auck! Ah gah-ah cah!”
Luckily, Joel spoke fluent slut. “You’re gonna cum? Gonna cum for your daddy?” He knotted his fingers in your hair and yanked you up against his chest. He shoved you both forward until you hit brick, and without an inch of space for you to squirm, he rutted into you relentlessly. “Then do it, slut. Cum on your daddy’s cock. Daddy wants to feel his little man cum all over him.”
God, how could a sentence be so nurturing and so nasty at the same time? So sweet and yet so fucking sick? Regardless of Sigmund Freud screaming ‘I told you so’ somewhere in your head, you came buckets, splashing Joel’s thighs with pussy juice on his every thrust. Your legs gave out around the fourth or fifth gush, and Joel had to hold you up for him to finish.
“Fuck, yeah, keep coming, keep coming, baby, Daddy’s close…” Joel groaned. Every word he said grew more vile and more primal than the last. His only need was to breed. “Daddy’s gonna knock you up, son… Gonna dump some brothers and sisters into ya… ‘N’ you’re gonna fuckin’ take it… Ngh, gonna take my fuckin’ load in ya ‘cause you’re a little cumdump pussyboy whore… ‘S what you’re meant for-shit… Shit!”
He squeezed your body tight and growled into your ear. Hot spurts of his cum flooded your battered cunt. On any other occasion, you’d cringe at some rando calling his load your siblings, but it just felt so good. You couldn’t give less of a fuck what he called it. And it’s not like he was your actual father. He was committing to the bit, a bit that had you mewing and sobbing with pleasure and repressed emotion, but that was a problem for your therapist later.
The world went still as you both came down from orbit. The rest of the QZ didn’t exist in that moment. It was just you and your “daddy”, a man twice your age that you trade drugs with and who just busted a nut in you. Honestly, still a better father figure than most. Closest thing to a dad you had for damn sure.
You felt that paternal vibe from him as he kissed the side of your neck. “You okay, little guy?” Joel asked tenderly. He untied the gag and tossed the flag by your jeans, letting you answer him.
“Mm… Mhm… I’m okay…” You stuttered, still counting on his grip to keep you standing.
“Good boy.” A few quick pecks to your neck and he slipped out, a few drops of his kids pooling in the dirt below you. “Now get dressed. I got shit to do.” He demanded with a final slap on your ass.
You stumbled over to your pants, leaning onto the wall to guide yourself. Even after dressing himself, Joel got to them first, and held them out for you to step into.
“Yeah, there you go, kid. You’re okay.” He cooed, and then clapped you on the shoulders to get your attention. Your head snapped up to see him reach into his pocket and pull out a plastic bag wrapped in tinfoil. He fished out two white pills and gave them to you, just as you agreed to.
“Thanks. I really appreciate it,” You gave him a shy smile, feeling grateful for the front and the frenzied faux-father-son fucking he just bestowed upon you. “Oh, and, uh… I… I had a good time, s-so if you ever wanna-“
“I’ll see you Monday, kid.”
#i am UNWELL#the last of us#joel miller#joel miller x reader#joel miller smut#the last of us x reader#the last of us smut#tlou x reader#tlou smut#what the FUCK do i tag this#dd/lb#daddy k!nk#slurs
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a bird in your teeth, epilogue
masterlist
pairing: joel miller x f!reader
warnings: mentions of past trauma, ptsd, nightmares. so much fluff
a/n: a little palate cleanser. sun bleached flies joel is on the naughty step rn
December 24th, (five years later)
God only knows, what I'd be without you...
The TV turned black as the credits rolled, only the warm flickering lights from the Christmas tree left to illuminate the room.
You took a steady breath in through your nose and locked eyes with Sarah, both suppressing a laugh before simultaneously turning to finally face Joel, who had been trying to silently bite back small sobs for the past forty-five minutes.
"How you holding up, boys?" Sarah teased, lovingly.
"You girls are damn evil. Pickin' such an emotional film on Christmas Eve."
"It's heartwarming!" You interjected.
"My heart is feelin' a lot of things right now but warm ain't one of 'em." Tommy murmured, wiping his eyes with the back of his sweatshirt.
"I just can't believe neither of you had ever watched Love Actually."
"May 'swell have, the number of times I've seen you two watchin' it, all damn year round," Joel said.
"Keep talking like that, Miller, and I won't make you an Irish coffee." You warned, earning oooh's from Tommy and Sarah.
You pulled yourself off the sofa and moved to the kitchen, proving your threat entirely empty. As you pottered around the room, collecting all of the ingredients for the drinks, you listened to the noise of the three people you loved most in the world simply existing in the room next to you. The haze of their laughter mixed with the song still warbling through the TV was softened by the wall separating you, a honeyed prayer just for you.
Somehow, life kept moving after that night. Everything thereafter seemed to be measured in the passing of time. Four days for your lip to heal. Three weeks for you to return Daisy's calls. Seven months until you could stop taking the long route to pick Sarah up and drive down that street again. Two years for the panic attacks to stop, for good. Five years, and counting, for an uninterrupted night's sleep.
Two months passed before your tenancy was over, but you had woken beside Joel each morning nonetheless. Sometimes, before the others had risen for the day, you would creep down the stairs and pour yourself a cup of coffee, sit on the porch, and look at that house across the street. You would watch the lights slowly turn on, see the silhouette of life taking shape. A young family had taken over your lease, and it comforted you to know another life was being nurtured within those walls.
Neither you nor Joel had ever discussed what happened that morning in that apartment. And you didn't need to know; you were content with the understanding you both did what you needed to go on. Call it closure.
"What's goin' on in that head of yours, pretty girl?" You felt his chest pressing against your back, his arms leaning on either side of your body, entrapping you against the counter.
His face nuzzled in the curve of your neck, breath tickling your hair against your skin.
"Just wondering if you're on the nice list this year." You turned to face him, staring up through your lashes at the man you love.
"That so? We've got about," he checked his watch, "two hours until midnight. M'sure I can do enough to make it on each of your nice lists for the next twenty years."
"You're planning on keeping me around for that long? Maybe I'll have a love affair with a real cowboy." You teased.
"Good luck gettin' him to watch a Hugh Grant film with ya."
You rested your hands on his face, using your thumb to trace his cheek lightly.
"How did I get so lucky?" You smiled, shaking your head softly in disbelief.
There had always been a surplus of love inside you, even when you were little. Throughout your life, you had poured it into the wrong people, time and time again. Belittled, taken for granted, chastised. Even though the love remained, you had grown to fear it. It would be like riding an escalator and instinctively grabbing the handrail, but being zapped by an electric shock. Each time thereafter, your hand would hesitate in reaching for the supportive grip. Sometimes it would tentatively hover above, trying to gage the sting of electricity a few millimetres away.
But loving Joel came so easy. Everything about him made you want to tear yourself open and offer him everything you had, everything you ever had been, and all you ever would be. You would wake in the night simply craving the feeling of his skin against yours. And every single time you reached out to him, even in his sleep, he would pull you in.
From the other room, an old Christmas song hummed through the walls.
Merry Christmas, baby / Sure did treat me nice...
"I should be the one askin' that question, darlin'." His right hand flexed in and out of a tight fist, the same way it did when he felt a bout of anxiety rise in his chest.
"Are you okay, sweetheart?" You asked, concern digging itself into the furrow of your brows.
"I'm no good at this, you know that."
"No good at what, Joel?"
He pulled away from you slightly, lowering himself onto one knee, suppressing the groan you knew he desperately wanted to release at the tightness of his back and knees.
"My sweet girl, I will never understand why y'picked me. Out of all the men in this damn world, even Hugh Grant, I get to be the one who calls you mine."
"Joel..."
"I don't know much, but I know that I need t'spend the rest of my life by your side. And I need you by mine. Would you do me the honour of being my wife?"
"Oh my god, yes! Of course, I will, Joel."
Joel slipped the ring he had presented from a small box in his back pocket onto your finger. His smile showed off the creases by his eyes that you often wished you could dive into and engulf yourself in each feeling that caused them to deepen.
"Get up, you idiot. Your poor back. I don't want to be pushing you around in a wheelchair just yet." You laughed into his kiss, your bodies merging together like it was all they had ever been made to do.
"Can we come in yet?" Sarah called from around the corner.
"Yes! Come in, both of you." You replied, cheeks wet and aching from the smile etched into your face.
"No chance of those Irish coffees, I guess?" Tommy smirked, you softly clipped him round the back of the head before suffocating him into a hug. "Welcome to the family, Mrs Miller."
Merry Christmas, honey / Everything here is beautiful, I love you, baby / For everything that you give me.
#joel miller x f!reader#joel miller x reader#my fic#joel miller x female reader#joel tlou#the last of us#tlou fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal characters#a bird in your teeth#a bird in your teeth fic#dee writes
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“it’s hot when you talk back” with mr Munson? Because i can definitely see the fucker saying this mid argument
“C’mon, sweetheart, don't be like that.”
You ignored the boy, slamming the van door shut much more harshly than you should’ve before stomping up the stairs to the trailer door. It was too late for you to realise that it was locked, Wayne’s car gone from the makeshift driveway and you burned when you heard Eddie’s cough of laughter from behind you.
You refused to turn, to move, too annoyed to look at the boy’s knowing smile so you just folded your arms across your chest and huffed, staring at the door. You didn’t flinch when you heard the thud of Eddie’s boots on the steps behind you, one, two, three, slow moving until he was standing on the one below you, far too close.
He was still so much taller than you and you could feel the way he was smiling against your hair. He didn’t say anything as he curled his arms around your waist, barely touching, just needling his arms around you so he could shove the key into the lock. You could smell him, smoke and bourbon, brown sugar and spice, and before he had the chance to lean into you anymore, you flung the door open at the sound of the click, stomping into the empty trailer.
Shoes were kicked off, your purse flung on the table and the whole while, Eddie was trailing after you, keeping a relatively safe distance, eyes stupidly fond on you despite the anger that was rolling off of you in waves.
“Baby,” he tried, following you into his bedroom. You ignored him, pulling at your shirt, twisting it off over your head. “Baby.”
His hand caught your wrist and pulled you to him, grinning when you didn’t protest, turning pliant in his arms. Eddie pushed at your chin, holding it between his thumb and fingers to get you to look at him. You were still pouting, eyes downcast and still flashing with emotions he’d never really witnessed on you before. His girl, his shy girl, all jealous and calling the shots at a party you’d not really wanted to go to in the first place.
“Don’t, Eddie,” you warned him, hand wrapping around his wrist, trying to feebly pull him off of you.
But he tutted, pushed his thumb to the dip under your bottom lip a little firmer and you eventually caved, gazing up at him. He was all messy hair and big, brown eyes, a knowing smile and dimples. You flushed, knowing he wanted to tease, but you were still angry, a simmer in your chest that felt like a strange buzz of possessiveness.
‘Cause that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? Shouldered that girl out of the way that had spent far too long talking to Eddie, curled yourself around his side and shut her rude, passive comments down with sharp words and sharper looks.
“What?” Eddie asked you, his other hand smoothing up your bare sides, fingering the strap of your bra. “Still feelin’ jealous? Hmm?”
You didn’t get the chance to reply, a small ‘oopmh’ falling from your lips when Eddie shoved you back onto his bed, not meanly, just with big, strong hands. He crawled over you from where you lay, a knee between your legs and he wasted no time tucking his face into the crook of your neck.
“Don’t need to feel like that, sweetheart,” he whispered to you, kissing and sucking pretty marks into your skin. “Don’t think I could forget about you if I fuckin’ tried.”
You were huffing at his teasing touches, wiggling against Eddie and his sheets until his thigh rucked up under your skirt and gave you the friction you were looking for.
“So pretty,” he told you, slanting his mouth over your own, licking into you with the same kind of neediness and pent up frustration that you felt. “So hot when you talk back, fuck, yeah? My sweet girl gettin’ all bossy, tellin’ people off? Christ, you’re too much, s’posed to be a shy little thing.”
God, you felt too warm.
“Eddie,” your voice sounded weak and you couldn’t really find it in you to care. “Please?”
“Please what, princess? What d’you want?” Eddie was still hovering over you, letting you grind down against his thigh, getting his jeans wet and messy. He was a solid warmth against you but Jesus Christ, it wasn’t enough.
You didn’t answer him, not with words, anyway. You just made quick work of his belt buckle, used your toes to push at the waistband of his jeans as you hitched your own skirt up, messy and pretty around your hips, all while the boy lost his shit above you.
“Christ, baby, shit,” he was mumbling, hair wild as he wrenched his shirt over his head, pulling himself free from his boxers and leaning back down into you. He gave himself a few lazy strokes, kissed you dirty and slow as you tugged at the cotton edge of your underwear, moving it to the side, hoping Eddie would take the hint.
You didn’t want foreplay, you wanted Eddie. That hot, burning feeling in your chest was still bubbling and there was an awful part of you that wanted nothing more than to stake your claim on the boy. You wanted him inside you, that hot stretch, that feeling of being full. You wanted him on you, hands in your hair, a little rough, wrists pinned down and to make a mess of him.
So when Eddie bumped the head of his cock against your clit, sliding himself up and down between your folds to get himself slick, he knew what you wanted by the dirty moan you let out. He watched your back arch, eyes clenched shut, lips parted and hands clawing for purchase at his stomach.
“Oh my sweet thing,” he cooed, “don’t you worry, I’m gonna make you forget all about that other girl.”
#eddie munson#eddie baby blurb#eddie munson x y/n#eddie munson x you#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson fic#eddie munson oneshot#eddie munson smut#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson x fem!reader smut
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God I just had a massive angsty thought about Johnny’s girl, or captive for a better word, having to hide her pregnancy from the rest of the family. Nancy would be the only exception to this. Her sixth sense is crazy. But I was thinking about the delivery not going so smoothly, especially considering all the stress on the reader. You have to pretty much do it by yourself in a barn on a makeshift bed made of hay and a blanket, with Johnny only taking quick peeks in every now and then. The baby wouldn’t show any vital signs at first, and you’d like to think Johnny looks more concerned than he appears. You’re finally able to call him over, and get his help with things. The baby starts crying, though never having been a mother before, the reader knows the baby needs more right now than her and Johnny could both provide. Someone with more knowledge. You’d have to hand your infant over to Nancy and trust her with it for the first couple of days, not even knowing if it was going to be okay by the time it was returned to you. Johnny looks after you, despite feeling irritated and tied down in a seperate room in the house, arguments sprout over him thinking you’re overreacting, never having a hope in the world of understanding the emotions a new mother goes through.
Johnny Slaughter x reader
Daddy's a Killer
Contains: heavy angst, childbirth, and a mention of breastfeeding
MINORS DNI
Nancy never concealed her displeasure when Johnny decided to house you in the barn. A few months later, when he vented his frustration about you, she felt relief—finally, her son recognized you as the burden she always knew you were. Yet, when she and Johnny went to the barn to bring you back to slaughter, the sight of you stirred an unexpected reaction.
"You foolish boy," she muttered, eyes narrowing and shifting to Johnny.
"What, ma? I'm gettin' rid of her like you been sayin' to!" he retorted. One of his hands muffled your anguished screams, while the other gripped your wrists, holding you in front of him as you desperately tried to twist away.
"How many times has Drayton told ya not to mess with the meat?" she scolded, her nose crinkling.
"Ma, I—" he began to protest.
"She's pregnant," Nancy stated flatly.
Color drained from Johnny's already pale face. "W-what?"
"Can't kill 'er. She's got your blood." Nancy grimaced. "You think you want rid of her now, just you wait 'till she's hormonal."
In his shock, Johnny's grip slackened, and you managed to wriggle free, falling to your knees in front of Nancy. "Please, let me go," you pleaded. "If you want to be rid of me, I'll never speak a word. I'll disappear, I swear it!"
The stern, dark-haired woman displayed no signs of sympathy as a smile stretched across her face. "Honey, you got my grandbaby in there, and every baby needs a family. You ain't leavin'."
You looked up from her shoes to her cold eyes, tears streaming down your face as Johnny harshly pulled you back up. The realization set in that there was nothing you could do.
–
The subsequent months unfolded in an unusual manner. Nancy, with an insistence to have Johnny treat you better for the sake of the baby, managed to curb his physical abuse. However, his relentless verbal tirades persisted beyond her control.
During those prolonged months, a subtle transformation occurred within Johnny. The sensation of feeling his baby through your stomach seemed to evoke genuine affection in his eyes. Strangely, this newfound tenderness extended to his "relationship" with you. He provided a pillow and blankets for the barn, heated your food, and even allowed you some fresh air daily.
Despite the improved conditions, humane treatment remained a distant concept. His anger flared, and the majority of your days were still spent in the old barn.
The difficulty of your pregnancy grew, confining you to bedrest (as much as hay covered in blankets could be considered a bed) during the final weeks. At this point, Nancy visited more frequently than Johnny, yet her conversations were solely centered around the baby.
"Bet it's a girl," she remarked one day. "You got that girl shine. When I was pregnant with my girls, I looked the same way."
Inquiring about her pregnancies, she revealed none of them came to fruition, hastily correcting herself. "'Cept for my little angel Johnny, of course!"
Suspicion regarding Nancy's authenticity as Johnny's mother lingered, but in the grand scheme, it seemed inconsequential. Revealing your thoughts to Johnny might only worsen the situation.
Then, the day of your contractions arrived. Within hours, the pain became so intense that screams were your only outlet. When Johnny returned home, he came to see you, and instantly regretted it.
"Ma, why is she so pale?" he asked.
"Somethin's wrong," his mother replied, replacing the towel on your forehead. In the throes of labor, you lay on your back, pushing with all your weakened might.
Your strength had dwindled daily, and Johnny, not the most adept caretaker, had left you spending more time with Nancy in the last month of your pregnancy. Despite her care, you knew it was only for her grandchild's sake.
"Push! Come on now, I see their head!" she shouted, urging you on. You screamed, head thrown back into the sweat-drenched pillow. Johnny, stationed outside, smoked like a freight train, only peeking in occasionally. Comfort was beyond his capacity, a fact you came to understand long ago.
"One last push," Nancy urged, and you obeyed, your child slipping into her waiting hands. "It's a girl!" she exclaimed, but then fell silent, her face stricken.
"Is she okay?" you asked wearily, attempting to raise your head higher to see her. The baby had dark brown hair, like her daddy. She was limp.
Nancy flipped her over, holding her head and body, rubbing and slapping her back.
"What's going on?" Johnny said as he appeared at your side. You'd like to think he sounded worried. Your attention, however, remained fixed on your lifeless baby. Silent screams of anguish echoed as you witnessed Nancy's attempts to revive the child who had been kicking happily in your stomach that very morning.
Then, your daughter coughed, rasping for air. Water bubbled out of her lungs, wetting the barn floor. Nancy cradled her close, attempting to soothe the wailing newborn.
"Is she okay? Can I see her?" you asked, reaching out desperately. Nancy, however, refused to look at you.
"Always knew you was a piece of work, girl. Can't even birth a baby right when it don't die in your womb. She's weak and frail, like you. You don't deserve this girl," she said coldly, bouncing the baby gently as it laid against her shoulder, still crying.
"Please give me my baby," you wailed, stretching your arms out for her desperately.
Surprisingly, it was Johnny who took your little girl from Nancy. His mother glared at him with steely eyes as he placed his daughter in your arms.
"A baby needs their mama," he said, watching your face as it filled with affection for your perfect, tiny baby girl. He turned back to his mom. "She gotta feed her. You can take her back when she's done, but she won't get better without her mama."
"Fine," she spat, sitting up straight, the blood from your baby staining her dress. "But she's mine any time she's not eatin'. I gotta make sure she gets better, and your slut clearly don't know how to take care of a baby."
Johnny agreed, and you knew protesting would only strain your chances of spending time with her at all. It was true; she was your first baby, and you could tell she was sick by the bluish tone to her skin and her struggle to latch onto you. Yet, she was alive, in your arms, and that was all that mattered.
"Bring your girl into the spare bedroom. Better 'n me havin' to go out to the barn just to feed the baby," Nancy said, and Johnny obeyed, picking you up with what you could delude yourself into thinking was genuine care before bringing you inside his mother's house, your baby clutched tightly to your chest all the way.
–
As you recuperated in Johnny's mom's house, Johnny reluctantly assumed the role of caretaker. He assisted with your baths, helped you get dressed, and, surprisingly, inquired about your well-being at least once a day. It felt odd—a begrudging care, tinged with resentment, yet undeniably present. He wasn't accustomed to showing empathy.
During the feeding sessions with your baby, occurring five to eight times a day, Johnny surprisingly chose to be present more often than not, expressing a peculiar tenderness. He'd stroke your hair, murmuring, "She's gettin' stronger every day. She'll be okay in no time."
Yet, in moments when your baby was not present, Johnny's patience wore thin with your perpetual concerns.
"My ma's got her! You ain't gotta be so whiny!" he complained, rolling his eyes.
"But the last time I saw her, she seemed kind of out of it. Can you at least check on her?" you asked anxiously.
"Ma would tell me if she needed somethin'. You're overreacting like ya always do."
The desire to shout, to hurl the bedside lamp at him, surged within you, but you knew it would be futile. Johnny would never take you seriously.
After all, you were a year past your "expiration date", Johnny liked to "joke". You needed to make yourself useful, to show your thanks for the fact you were still alive. Your daughter needed you for now, but when she got older, Nancy could take over… and she wouldn't even remember you.
The thought made your stomach tie in knots. And as you looked into the fed-up eyes of your captor, you knew your place in his world would only become more and more tenuous. You had to be perfect for him. For your daughter.
Forever.
#johnny slaughter#johnny sawyer#johnny slaughter x reader#johnny sawyer x reader#texas chainsaw massacre game#tcm game#texas chainsaw game#tcm#x reader#pregnancy#childbirth#black nancy
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One Last Dance | Chapter 15
pairing: Minho x fem reader
genre: smau, crack, angst, fluff, non!idol au, major character death (I am apologizing now), friends to lovers, soul mates, first love, roommates
pov: 1st/2nd person (depending on how you view it)
warnings: suggestive (well I mean more than suggestive but it's not smut), mention of food, swearing, non consensual kissing (twice!)
summary: Childhood best friends Lee Minho and L/n Y/n are in their final year of university. While both of them are in love with each other, the only thing keeping them apart is Minho’s fear of change. As both dancers prepare for their lives after college, will Minho finally let fear rule him and his emotions or will he finally gain courage before he loses Y/n forever?
word count: 6,168
screenshot count: 11
taglist: closed!
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©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.
In hindsight, you should have told Chan that you wanted to have a more low-key celebration. Maybe at a nice, quiet restaurant. Or even movies and ice cream. Things, you're now realizing, that you'd do with Minho whenever something good happened in your lives. Minho passed an English test? Ice cream. You nailed a particularly difficult dance routine? Lunch at a restaurant you like. The two of you got into your dream school? Celebratory trip to Lotte World.
Chan, on the other hand, appeared to like more flashy forms of celebration. He brought you to a bar, which you might as well consider to be a club. The music is way too loud, you can feel the beats in your chest. The lights are too dark to be considered safe. And while you weren't opposed to the idea of hanging out in a bar, you work at one and don't like the idea of spending your night off with drunken idiots after a week of doing so.
"Sorry, what was that?" You shout over the music. Chan has been trying to hold a conversation with you but you can't hear him over the music.
Changbin, who sits on your left, is making out with some girl he met within the first 10 minutes of you guys getting to the bar. Jisung is at the bar, talking to two girls who look like they're already too drunk to be having any sort of meaningful conversation. Chan brought them along so it would feel "more like a celebration." Right now it just feels like another pointless party.
Chan's arm snakes around your waist, resting his hand on your upper thigh. He pulls himself closer to you than he already is. The scent of his cologne and the soda he is drinking fills your nose. He smells good, familiar. Like the practice room after class as all the guys quickly spray themselves before leaving. But something is missing.
"I was just asking if you knew which offer you were going to take yet?" Chan lowers his head so he's talking directly in your ear.
"Not sure yet," You lean in close to his ear, "I have to sit there and think about each company. Plus looking at how much they're offering me wouldn't hurt. I still have a few months before graduation so there isn't a huge rush right now."
Chan pushes your drink closer to you. Chan is the only one not drinking, taking his responsibilities as designated driver seriously. But as a result, he's been pushing you to drink. So that you can "drink for the two of you" so to speak. You take your cup and take another large sip.
"If you choose the one in Australia, I can show you around. Like your own personal tour guide." He adds after you take a sip.
"Yeah? Show me your old haunts? And then to one of your infamous hook-up spots." You tease.
"I'm not like that Y/n. Honestly," He takes another sip of his soda, "you should have a bit more faith in me."
"You told me not too long ago that you were purposely blasting your music to get my attention. So, I have zero faith in you."
"Did it, or did it not work?" He asks after thinking for a moment.
"Running into me on a girls' night out while I was plastered worked. You playing your music that loud worked in getting through my auditions."
"Still, it worked because here you are." You think to yourself for a moment. He's not exactly wrong.
"Changbin hyung, come up for air!" Jisung says as he walks to the table with the two girls in tow. He sets down about 10 bottles of soju before sitting down in between both girls.
"Why!" Changbin whines loudly, making the girl he's making out with laugh.
"It's a celebration, let's play some drinking games." He adds as he passes out the bottles. Chan takes the bottle Jisung passed to him and places it in front of you.
"I'm driving," He tells Jisung.
"That's fine, just keep drinking your stupid soda." He throws back. He has to be a little drunk, you know he wouldn't talk to Chan like that otherwise out of fear of repercussions.
"Or noona can drink for him," Changbin adds. Chan turns to you with quirked eyebrows.
"Don't worry, I'm good at drinking games. Plus, I'm the only sober one here so I have an advantage."
You think for a moment. He is the only one who is completely clear-headed right now, even if you're feeling a bit buzzed. You probably wouldn't have to drink much anyway, you're relatively good at games in general.
"Yeah, okay," You hum.
***
It doesn't that Chan is good at playing drinking games, you are the absolute worst. You're beyond drunk and you're about to get drunk as you watch the shot glass of soju sink to the bottom of the beer glass.
"Drink, noona, drink!" Jisung yells as he slams a fist on the table.
"Wow, noona, you suck at drinking games." Changbin laughs as you pick up the glass and start drinking.
You're so drunk you can't hear a single thought in your head. It's like your conscience clocked out for the night and you were alone with your impulsive thoughts. You're leaning into Chan with your right hand resting on his thigh to keep yourself upright.
"'m shit a drinking games but I can out dance all of you. Let's have a dance battle right now!" You shout, standing up quickly. You immediately stumble from how fast you stand up and fall back down, landing in Chan's lap.
"Okay, I'm going to take Y/n for some fresh air," Chan says as he places both of his hands on your waist to help you up. He keeps his hands on you as he leads you out of the bar.
His grip on you is tight as he maneuvers you through the bar, past all the couples making out and hammered dancers. Eventually, the cool, fresh air hits your face, a sigh leaves your throat. You didn't realize how hot and stuffy it was inside the bar until right now. You were hot when you were inside, naturally, but you thought it was just the alcohol warming you up.
"Look at the moon!" You shout excited when you get outside. The moon is big and full.
"Wow, you really are drunk, huh." Chan laughs, still holding on to you.
"'m not drunk." You hum, twirling around in Chan's hands.
"I don't see how you're not. You drank about 5 bottles of soju by yourself. How you're still awake right now is a miracle."
"'m not a lightweight. Look, I can prove I'm not drunk." You wiggle out of Chan's grip and walk a little bit away from him.
You wink at Chan before managing to do 6 pirouettes. Just as you put your foot down to stabilize yourself again, you become dizzy and stumble. Before you can fall, you're suddenly in Chan's arms again. It feels nice, to be held in his arms, but it feels cold and unfamiliar. Not like Minho's warm and familiar hold.
"Okay, I believe you. Let's not do that again, okay?" He chuckles as he pulls you upright.
He walks you backward until your back is flat against the wall. Your head is still spinning so you grab his forearms to keep yourself from falling. As if it would help. You squeeze your eyes shut, slowly opening them only when you feel a little less dizzy. Your eyes focus on Chan's face illuminated by the back alley lights. On his hooded, yet soft brown eyes. The curve of his perfect nose. His soft pink lips.
"Has anyone told you that you're pretty?" You breathe.
"You think I'm...pretty?" Chan's mouth quirks upward into a smirk.
"Mhm!" You nod quickly at him.
Chan's hands leave your waist and move to the wall behind you, resting on either side of your head. He leans in closer to you, only stopping about halfway to your face.
"Am I still pretty?" He whispers. If your face isn't already red from drinking, it definitely is now.
Your breath gets caught in your throat. All you can do is nod in agreement. Chan smirks yet again and pulls in even closer. He's right in front of your face, his breath tickling your face.
"How about now?" His lips barely brush against yours.
"If...you get any closer 'm gonna get cross-eyed." You mumble.
"Is that a promise?" He whispers before pressing his lips into yours.
The sudden feel of Chan's lips on yours sobers you up a little bit. It's not unfamiliar, you've kissed him before under similar circumstances. You're drunk and heartbroken just like you were the first time. The only difference is, Chan's not drunk. Maybe he wasn't drunk the first time either. But something about this time feels...different. His lips are just as soft and desperate as you remember but they feel wrong. This feels wrong.
Chan's hands drop from the wall back down to your waist, slightly lifting your shirt. His touch feels hot against your skin, burning you almost. Chan pulls away from your lips and attaches himself to your neck, nipping at the soft skin and sucking. He slides one hand down, his thumb toying with the waistband of our jeans. His other hand moves to the small of your back. Each act seemingly wakes you up slowly, his touch still burning your skin.
Wrong. This is all wrong.
"Channie...stop," You whisper, trying to push him off.
"Hmm...?" He hums against your skin as he moves down to your collarbone.
"Chan, please stop."
"Why?"
You're not sure if it's your natural fight-or-flight instinct or something else entirely, but you can't stop yourself as your right knee quickly jerks upwards. Chan quickly pulls away from you and doubles over. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, trying to process everything that happened.
"What the fuck, Y/n?" Chan turns back to you, holding his stomach. You must have missed, but you still hit him hard enough.
"I told you to stop!"
"If you waited 2 seconds, I was going to." He grits through his teeth.
"You should have stopped the first time. This isn't...it's...you're not--" You stammer trying to find the right words. As you do, Minho's face pops into your head.
"I'm not who?"
You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head. Nothing is making sense. You didn't exactly hate Chan's touch or kiss. And you were starting to enjoy the night with Chan. And normally, drunk or not, you would have simply gone along with Chan, no matter how disgusting the back alley of the bar is. So why are you thinking about Minho?
"Are you serious, Y/n? You're thinking about him? Right now?" Chan scoffs, finally standing upright.
"I--I'm not!" You lie.
"Y/n, it's been months. He doesn't give a single fuck about you. Never has, never will. While you're rejecting the guy who's right in front of you, he's probably out fucking some girl he doesn't know the name of."
"Minho isn't like that." You shake your head again. Minho isn't like that.
Sure he can be cold at times, but that's when he's trying to hide how he's really feeling. He's the type of person who will drive down to your job at three in the morning, even after a day of classes and a full work shift just to make sure you get home safely. Sure, he'll complain about it the whole time, but you know he doesn't mean it. He's the type of person who will spend hours cooking you a meal he's never made before because you mentioned it once. He's the type of person who will give you his last pudding cup if you ask. And if you didn't he'd give you the first and last bite. He's the type of person who will learn your entire dance routine to help you figure out the one part you're struggling with. He's the type of person who will stay home with you when you're sick just so you're not alone. He's the type of person who cares. Always has been, and always will be.
"You really are fucking pathetic. You know that, right?" Chan says, cooly.
"What...?" Your breath escapes your throat, unsure where this new version of Chan is coming from. Your head swirling in confusion.
"I tried being nice. I tried being patient but there's no point. You're forever going to be hung up on a guy who doesn't care for you anymore. And I'm right here. Hell Changbin and Jisung are probably in line waiting for me to be done with you. But you know what? You're not worth it." Chan laughs.
"I...I don't understand. What's happening right now?" You rub your hands over your face as if that will help you sober up faster.
"You don't understand?" Chan walks closer to you, keeping his distance this time just in case. "Princess, I was only being nice to you so I could sleep with you. And I was going to toss you aside when I was done. But you're not worth all that effort. It's not fun anymore. You're all looks and no substance. I've fucked bimbos with more personality than you. And they're not still hung up over their--Well I'd say ex but you guys weren't even together."
"You're a dick," You spit.
"Maybe, but it's all good fun." He smirks. You've never wanted to hit someone more in your entire life
"Take me home, now." You quietly demand.
"Find a new way home. I'm going back inside to have some more fun." Chan leaves you standing there in disbelief in the alley, confused as to what just happened.
You hate to admit it, but he's right. Not entirely, but he's right. You are pathetic. You're hung up over a guy who would rather let you walk out of his life than be with you. You're holding out hope, for what? That one day he'll wake up and take everything back? Would you even go to him if he did? You're wasting time on him when you could be happier with someone who would be happy to be with you without any fear.
You crouch down to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest. Today, you were meant to celebrate you and your accomplishments. Now, it's a complete shitshow and you can't help but wish Minho was there to comfort you. To stroke your hair and tell you how proud of you he is. To hug you and make you feel better. To make some dumb joke that would make you giggle. You need him, and you hate that you do. Hate that you allowed him to consume so much of your life. Even if Chan wasn't being a total asshat, you know that you would have pushed him away anyway for the simple fact that he's not Minho nor will he ever be. And for that, you hate yourself a little too.
***
"Ugh..." You groan as you wake up. Your head is pounding and the room is spinning. You can't even bear to open your eyes, scared of the light that you know is awaiting to burn your retinas the second you open them.
You lay there in silence for a moment, letting the cool air hit your face. You furrow your brows in confusion. Ma-Ri likes the room to be warm, so why is it ice cold? You slowly open your eyes, trying to minimize the burning sensation you know you're going to feel from the sunlight.
You blink a few times, allowing your eyes to adjust to the light. Still, with your eyes barely open, you look around the room. Everything begins to look familiar. The pictures on the walls. The hoodie slung over the desk chair. The organized mess on the dresser.
"What the hell...?" You mutter as you sit up.
You're in your room back at Minho's apartment. You're not entirely sure how or when you go here. The last thing you remember is arguing with Chan in the back alley of the bar.
"Whoever this is, you better be dying."
"I hate you,"
"Y/n?"
"I really, really hate you. You keep ruining everything for me. Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Y/n, where are you right now?"
"I wish I never fell in love with you. I wish...I wish we never became friends in the first place"
"We'll talk about that later. Just tell me where--"
Click.
That's right, you called Minho last night while in your drunken state. He must have gotten worried and came to pick you up. Why he brought you back to the apartment and not the dorm is beyond you. You're not even sure how he got you home. If you called him just to tell him that you hate him, there's no way you willingly went home with him.
"Minho, put me down!"
"So you can be a brat and run away? No thank you,"
"Put me down, put me down, put me down!"
"Jesus, you're loud as hell-- Ow! Did you just bite my back?"
"Put. Me. Down!"
"You're never allowed to drink again."
...He carried you home like a sack of potatoes because you refused to go with him. You sit up and hold your head in your hand out of embarrassment. He came all the way to you in the middle of the night to take you home, and you acted like a brat.
"I'm never drinking again," you groan, regretting everything that happened last night, even the stuff you can't remember.
You slowly swing your legs over the side of your bed. Immediately, as you start to get up, you notice something is off. You look down at your clothes and notice you’re wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts.
“C’mon, put your arms up,”
“I’m sorry,”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I shouldn’t have been carrying you like that.”
“Yeah, but I threw up! That’s not cute,”
“You threw up and you’re worried about looking cute?”
“Don’t laugh at me, asshole.”
“Okay, okay. Here, put your shorts on yourself, I’ll go get you a toothbrush and some mouthwash.”
If there was ever a moment for a whole to open up and swallow you whole, now would be the time. Why, why did you have to call Minho? For all you know, he thinks you're spiraling even though you've been doing just fine without him. He had to come to your rescue on your one off day.
You slowly walk over to your closet to find something to walk home in. If you're quiet enough, you might be able to leave without running into Minho or the cats. You know that if you run in Soonie, Doongie, or Dori, you're going to want to stay and cuddle with them. Hopefully, they're sleeping in Minho's room with him. In your closet, you find your favorite pair of sweatpants and and the matching hoodie. You grab a random shirt and get dressed as quickly as the pounding in your head will allow.
After you get dressed, you scan the room, looking for your phone, student ID, and key to Ma-Ri's dorm. You find them on your bedside table. Your phone is charging and faced down with your ID in the case and key attached to the case. Sitting right next to your things, a bottle of water and two aspirins. You let out a deep sigh and take the pills, silently thanking MInho.
You take the bottle of water with you as you quietly leave the room, looking back one last time to see if there is anything you want to take back with you. Your eyes fall on your half of the seashell necklace at your desk. You contemplate taking it for a moment, before closing your door. You slowly close the door, being careful to not make too much noise. Once you turn around, you lock eyes with Doongie, who is sitting on the arm of the couch,
"Fuck," you mutter under your breath.
Doongie hops off the arm of the chair and walks towards you. Doonige begins to purr as he walks between your legs, pressing his body against you. You bite your bottom lip and look up at the ceiling. There is nothing more that you want to do than to pick him up and hug him. But you know you can't you don't have time. Soonie and Dori come from their hiding places and start meowing at you, being more vocal than you remember them being.
"I know, I know. I miss you too but I really need you guys to--"
"Guys, I know you're excited but mom needs to--Oh, you're awake. Minho walks into the living room in an apron, holding a wooden spoon. The front of his hair is up in a ponytail with one of your clips that he stole. Stole is too aggressive. You clipped his bangs up for him during a dance practice because it was frustrating him and he never gave it back.
"I...I am. Thank you for picking me up...and taking care of me. I need to get going." You say quickly, averting your eyes.
"Wait, don't leave yet. I made you haejang-guk." He says quickly, putting his hands up as you start to walk away.
"You made me haejang-guk?" Your head tilts to the side.
"I figured you could use something in your stomach after last night. Eat some before you run away again."
Ba dump. Ba dump.
The idea of Minho waking up early just to make you hangover soup makes your heart skip a beat. It's not a complicated recipe, a fairly simple one. But you also know that when Minho cooks for someone, it's a labor of love. And for that, your heart is a little hopeful.
"Yeah, sure," You nod.
The two of you quietly walk to the dining room. You sit in your usual spot like usual, not thinking much of it until Minho freezes for a second, staring at you with a small smile as he brings you out a bowl of soup. You silently thank him and wait for him to come back with his own bowl out of habit. Once he's back, he gestures for you to start eating.
You pick up the spoon and blow on it for a second before putting the cooled spoon in your mouth. The saltiness of the soup hits your tongue, quickly ridding your mouth of that nauseating bitter aftertaste you were starting to notice. The heat from the soup starts to warm up your body. It's hard to explain, but Minho's cooking reminds you of home. His cooking tastes nothing like your mother's, but it feels like home. You're more homesick for him than you are for your parents.
"How's your head?" He asks, breaking the silence.
"Better," You take another spoonful of soup and quickly swallow/ "Thanks for the aspirin."
"No need to thank me. I know how cranky you can get when you're not feeling well. I did it for Ma-Ri's sake." He teases.
It feels almost normal, sitting here eating breakfast with Minho. Like you haven't been ignoring him for the past couple of months. Going home for the holidays was difficult. You two almost got into a fight on Christmas morning in front of your parents when you opened one of your gifts from Minho to find your half of the scallop shell made into a necklace. And now the two of you are being civil as you eat soup. Maybe you're too tired and hungover to fight right now.
"I have a question," Minho asks again.
"What?"
"How does Ma-Ri sleep with your snoring?"
"I don't snore. You know I don't snore."
"Must be new. You were snoring last night." Miho smirks.
"How would you know that I was snoring last ni--"
"Minho, wait,"
"What's wrong?"
"Can you stay with me?"
"I don't know that's a good idea."
"Please?"
"Y/n,"
"What...What if I throw up again? I could asphyxiant."
"Don't roll over then. I put you on your side for a reason."
"Minho, please. Just this once."
"...Fine. But only until you fall asleep."
Seriously, you're never drinking again. You put your spoon down and hold your head in your hands just as Minho starts laughing. You let out a pained groan at your stupidity. How could drunk you abandon your morals like that?
"I probably only snored because I was so drunk." You mumble as you pick your spon back up and start to eat your soup again.
"Surn,"
"Minho," You set your hand on the table, "Why are you being nice to me?"
"We'll talk after breakfast," He says quickly.
"I'm going home after I finish eating." You watch as Minho's face slightly twists when you say home because he knows you don't mean the apartment.
You watch as Minho's eyes shift up like they normally do when he's thinking. Like the thoughts are written on his brain and he is trying to physically see it. Cute.
"Y/n," He says suddenly.
"Yes?" You quirk your eyebrow at him.
"Let's talk," He places his spoon down on the table.
"Are we not already talking?"
"No--I mean yes, we are--but that's not what I mean." You watch in confusion as Minho starts to get flustered.
"Min?"
"None of this is how I planned it but something tells me that I'm not going to get another choice."
"Another chance for what?"
"Y/n," Minho sits up a little straighter in his seat. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for telling you that we should pretend that we had a one-night stand after we slept together. I'm sorry for being a coward for all these years and hiding my feelings from you. And I'm sorry--"
"Min, breathe." You say as Minho speaks fast, not taking a single breath.
"Sorry, it's just-- I love you, Y/n. I am truly, madly, deeply in love with you. And these past couple of months without you have been hell. I need you in my life. And I want to be with you, and I mean really be with you. Even if it scares me. Especially if it does." Minho stares at you, maintaining eye contact with you. There's a twinkle in his eyes, determination maybe.
The two of you sit in silence for a moment. Minho waits for your response, feeling as if he's said everything I was able to. You, on the other hand, process everything that just happened. You can't help but let out a small laugh.
"Why...are you laughing?" Minho asks, his voice laced with concern and fear.
"Because you have shit timing." You explain as you set down your spoon.
"What do you mean?" He tilts his head as he stares at you.
"I love you too, and if you asked me months ago, I would have asked for this exact scenario."
"I need context, I can't guess. You know I’m not a mind reader."
“I’m not going the be here in a few months.” You say simply, unsure of how to explain. Or if you should even try to.
“Neither am I. We’re graduating.”
“No I mean,” You take a second to let out a sigh, “I don’t want to go back home and run the dance studio. That’s always been more your thing than mine. I want to travel and being in Japan last summer made me realize that. I spent most of the school year auditioning for overseas companies. And I got a few offers."
"Oh," Minho's expression drops to an unreadable one.
"And judging by that reaction, you're not going to be able to handle a long-distance relationship."
You pick up your bowl and quickly drink the rest of your soup. Once you're done, you use your spoon to scoop the leftover veggies from the soup and shove them in your mouth before quickly standing up. Soonie, Doongie, and Dori come out from under the table and follow you as you walk towards the front door.
"Y/n, wait! Let's talk about this." You hear Minho's chair fall to the floor as he quickly gets up and rushes to you.
"You've been so scared of me leaving all these years. Wouldn't me moving away after a little over 2 months of dating be the same thing for you? Can you honestly tell me that you wouldn't start panicking once I'm gone?" You turn back to face Minho, who is standing about three feet from you.
He stands there puzzled, unable to answer. Or, he knows the answer and is unwilling to share it with you. Both of you know deep down that it'd be difficult for him, that his fear would settle in and he'd up breaking up with you. Or maybe that's your own fear and it's just easier to project that onto him.
What's wrong with you? You've wanted nothing more than to date Minho since you two were 15. And now that he finally got over his fears, you shut it down. Maybe you were a little grateful over the years for not being with Minho. That being near him was enough. But now that the opportunity to be with him, fully and deeply, you're terrified. You've spent years making fun of Minho for being a coward, but at the end of the day, you're just like him.
"That's what I thought. Maybe it's better we stay friends." You open the door and hesitate leaving Minho for a second time. "I wish you had this epiphany sooner. Maybe we would have had a chance."
You pause the music and let out a frustrated groan. For some reason,y you can't nail one of the moves in your routine. It's making you want to rip all of your hair out. It's a simple move, you've done it before in other routines, but for some reason, you can't hit it now and it's pissing you off.
You don't look up when you hear the door to the practice room open, too focused on the dance tutorial on your phone, hoping to see if there is anything you can do differently to hit the move and call it for the day.
"I still have this room for another hour," You call out, not looking up to see who walked into the practice room.
Still focused on the video, you don't notice that the door doesn't open again. You don't notice the rapid footsteps that make their way to you. Nothing you feel two hands cup your face and lips press to yours. You freeze for a second, alarmed by the sudden touch until you see that it's Minho kissing you. Your eyes slowly close as your heart begins to pound in your chest. It's a simple kiss, not going past his lips touching your lips, but it's enough to make you melt into his touch. His calloused fingers rough against your skin. Your hands find their way to the front of his shirt, barely gripping the fabric between your fingers.
After what feels like an eternity, Minho finally pulls away. Your eyes remain closed, afraid of opening them and Minho disappearing. Your grip tightens on Minho's shirt as you slowly open your eyes. You blink a couple of times to make sure he's really there and you're not dreaming. With each blink, Minho's serious face stares back at you.
"What…what the fuck was that?" You whisper. Minho's simple kiss seems to have taken away your voice.
"I don't care," Minho says softly.
"Excuse me?" Your grip loosens on Minho's shirt.
"I don't care that you're leaving. Go, live your dream, I'll be here. I just want to be with you. And if that means I can't physically be with you, I'm okay with that. I did some thinking. I'm perfectly okay with being long-distance with you. I just want to be with you. I'm tired of being scared."
Minho's hopeful eyes, stare into your confused ones. Realization and hope settle into you the longer Minho is quiet. He means it, truly. You can tell. You've known him long enough to know that he does. You can feel his hands shake against your face in anticipation. Part of you wonders if he can feel your heart pounding. You can feel your heart banding against your ribcage in every inch of your body.
"I'm going to be living overseas." You whisper slowly.
"Did I break your brain?" Minho laughs, "I told you, I don't care. I can come visit you. Or, I can move with you. I can find work as a dance teacher anywhere."
You shake your head, gripping his shirt so tight you're almost certain that you're stretching out the soft blue cotton.
"No, taking over the studio back home is your dream. It always has been. I can't let you give that up." You say firmly.
"No, you're my dream. Always has and always will be. I wanted to run the dance studio with you because I wanted to be with you, not because I love the studio. As long as I'm near you, I'm happy. I don't care where we are."
Minho looks down with downcast eyes, slowly losing hope the longer you take to reply. You love him, with your whole body and soul. You want nothing more than to be with him, so why are you hesitating? You know you've always held a special place in Minho's heart. But how do you know that this isn't just his anxiety talking? What if you two start dating and he says that it was a mistake again? Like he did after you two slept together. How can you truly know that he loves you in the way that you love? The way that you want--no need?
"Y/n?" Minho whispers.
"Yeah?" You whisper back, closing your eyes.
"I first fell in love with you during Dream a Little Dream of Me." He says suddenly.
"My jazz solo from when we were twelve?" You cock your head to the side in confusion.
"It was your first dance solo. And you placed. First place to be exact."
"I remember,"
"Do you want to know what I remember?" Minho's hands slide down from your face down to your waists and just rest there.
"What?"
"I remember watching you struggle with the routine for weeks before the competition. Hell, I was worried, I thought you weren't going to nail it in time. You even refused my help and didn't hang out with me in our free time between school and our extracurriculars. I remember you getting yelled at by the instructor because you were struggling so much. And I remember you walking on that stage the day of the competition and I was in awe of you. I remember standing in the wings waiting for you, ready to comfort you just in case something went wrong. I remember that pale blue dress and the way it sparkled under the stage lights. I remember how gracefully you danced on stage and thinking you were just like a butterfly. I knew that I always wanted to be there to experience you in all your glory. I knew in that moment, you were it. You're still it for me, I don't want to be with anyone else."
You remember that competition. Jazz wasn't your strongest dance style but your coach had faith in you. You'd practice in all of your free time to make sure you got the routine down perfectly. As tiresome as it was, that was the same time you decided to take dance seriously and pursue it professionally.
"That…that was twelve years ago." Your voice cracks, tears welling in your eyes.
"I've loved you for twelve years. And I'll love you for twelve more. And twelve years after that. I'll love you in multiples of twelve for all of eternity. Until death do us part, and even then I'll still love you beyond death. Like I said, you're it for me."
You bite your bottom lip, the butterflies in your stomach doing somersaults. If he didn't feel your heart pounding before, he surely can hear it now. Something in you tells you to trust him. The same thing in you that's always told you to trust him, even when that trust was baseless.
"And you're it for me," You pull on Minho's shirt, bringing him closer to you. His lips crash into yours, you can feel his lips turn into a smile as you both decide to trust that everything is going to be alright.
—
Buy me a coffee?
—
Taglist
Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you (either at all or properly)
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I was scrolling through and you spoke about an evil arc (like Nogitsune from Teen Wolf). I am so hyped (even though it would come up way later). Can you give some spoilers?
Here ya go, Nonnie! Hope you enjoy! An extra little treat this week since I left this week's episode on a cliffhanger ;)
SEASON FOUR TEASER!!! SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!
Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, mentions of torture
Word Count: 704
After the woman Sam had over before Dean and Bobby showed up left, Dean glared at him, arms crossed. “So tell me, what'd it cost?”
Sam grinned. “The girl? I don't pay, Dean.”
Dean remained stern. “That's not funny, Sam. To bring me back. What'd it cost? Was it just your soul, or was it something worse?”
“You think I made a deal?” Sam scoffed.
Bobby chimed in harshly, “That's exactly what we think.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
Dean’s gaze hardened further. “Don't lie to me.”
“I’m not lying!”
The older brother advanced on Sam. “So, what now, I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this.”
Sam stood to face his brother. “Look, Dean, I wish I had done it, alright?”
“There’s no other way this could’ve gone down,” Dean roared, grabbing Sam’s shirt. “Now tell the truth!”
Sam broke out of Dean’s grip. “I tried everything! That's the truth. I tried opening the Devil's Gate. Hell, I tried to bargain, Dean, but no demon would deal, alright? You were rotting in Hell for months. For months, and I couldn't stop it. So I'm sorry it wasn't me, alright? Dean, I'm sorry.”
Noticing Sam was growing quite emotional, Dean finally let off. “It's okay, Sammy. You don't have to apologize, I believe you.”
“Don't get me wrong, I'm glad that Sam's soul remains intact,” Bobby said, “but it does raise a sticky question.”
“If he didn't pull me out, then what did?” A horrible realization crossed Dean’s mind. “It must’ve been (Y/N). Dammit! Where is she?!” He turned and ran a hand through his hair.
“Dean…” Bobby trailed off, “I haven’t seen her in months.”
He turned back to Bobby quite shocked. “What?”
“Me, neither,” replied Sam. “She… uh, she hasn’t returned any of my calls, either.”
Dean looked to Bobby frantically, and Bobby shook his head. “Sorry, kid. I wish I knew where to tell ya to start lookin’. Nobody’s seen her.”
“So… So she could be dead for all we know,” Dean worried.
Sam nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry, Dean.”
***
But you weren’t dead, you were very much alive; physically, anyway. Dean figured that out a few days later when he was watching the news.
“Authorities are searching for this woman—” a grainy image of you wearing a wig, a hood, and jeans appeared on screen, and he supposed it’d been caught on CCTV, “—whose identity is unknown, but she has been potentially connected to at least seven murders over the past four months; all of well-respected, family-oriented men across multiple state lines. She is considered to be armed and dangerous, and if you have any information, please call—”
Dean’s mind ran a mile a minute. His anxiety raced at the idea that you may be possessed or possibly even turned while he was in Hell. “Sammy!” Dean called from Bobby’s couch.
Sam appeared moments later and looked at the television in front of his brother. “Holy crap,” he breathed out.
“Yeah, man, this is bad,” Dean stood and ran a hand through his hair while he paced, “whatever’s wearin’ her face is gettin’ her in a ton of trouble. We gotta—”
“Wait, Dean, slow down,” Sam said. “She has the tattoo. There’s nothing gettin’ in her.”
“Yeah, well, maybe something scratched it off,” Dean continued. “Maybe a shapeshifter got a hold of her—”
“Or maybe that’s just (Y/N),” Bobby stated, causing the two boys to turn to him.
“What?” they asked in unison.
“A demon wouldn’t be concerned about hiding (Y/N)’s identity, and a shifter wouldn’t keep one meat suit for that long,” Bobby continued. “Boys, I think that’s just her.”
***
You whistled along to the Bernadette Caroll record playing in the corner of the cabin, and turned around at the sound of rustling and moaning coming from behind you. The man behind you lolled his head to the side and shifted painfully.
“Thought I lost you there for a bit,” you cooed, approaching the restrained man. You put the end of your knife under his chin and tipped it up so his eyes were on yours. “Are you gonna start playing nicely, or what?”
Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-liebgott @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @iloveshawn @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @davina-clairee @chervbs @thepocketverse @simpingdeadcharacters @elqsiian @stillhere197 @stephshaww @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @here-for-the-extravaganza @seninjakitey @berarenado
#dean winchester x reader#dean winchester x you#dean winchester x y/n#dean x reader#dean x you#dean x y/n#dean winchester#supernatural#spn#supernatural series rewrite#spn series rewrite
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⇁high school sweethearts | leon kennedy | pt. 2
resident evil 4 remake leon s. kennedy x fem!band-student!reader high school au
oboes are fuckin' expensive. much to you and your brother's dismay, the school is making you pay for the damages instead of your newfound enemy. oh, and his dad wants you to tutor his daughters!
pt. 1 pt.3
content contains: mild angst, enemies to lovers, mean leon, cliches, story is told in first person, reader is a bit shy and is an oboe and trumpet player!, leon and reader are in their juniour year, fictional town set around 1980!
not proofread i am sleepy
2252 words
song rec: "the mercy of the wind" by million eyes
still on the slower side, but alas.
"Ms. (L/n)? They're asking for you at the guidance office," Mr. Kay coughs during our water break. I look up at him, confused for a moment, but I realize it was most likely to talk about that awful interaction that happened before this period between Damien, Leon, and me.
"Oh... Oka-"
"Let me go with her, Mr. Kay," Sammy demands, setting her flute down in her case beneath her seat. Before the director can say anything, the ravenette drags me by the sleeve of my shirt out of the door. She's got this pout on her lips, and I know that she's still angry.
"I can't believe that fuckin' asshole just thought it was a good idea to drop your oboe like that!" She fumes. I swear I can steam come out of her ears as she grumbles profanities about the ace soccer player. "Y'know, you'd think that he knows how expensive those things can be since he has two sisters in band, but nnooooo, he just had to go on 'n do that to you, huh? I'll show him...!"
"Sammy, it's fi-" The five-foot-nine beauty stopped in her tracks, turning on her heel to face me and slam her palms onto my shoulder.
"Sugar, it's not fine," she sighs, seeing how shocked I looked. "That oboe is your baby. You can beat up your trumpet as much as you want, but that oboe is what's gettin' you into college," she reminds me. I look down at the toes of my converse, a bit embarrassed by how I was so easily putting off my emotions. I feel Sammy give my cheek a soft caress with her thumb.
"Don't lie to yourself and put Kennedy in a shinin' light. He did something awful to you, and that's a fact. Me 'n your brother are gunna make him pay hell," the girl assures me, and I nod at her words.
"Thank you, Sammy... I'm glad you love me enough to tell me I'm being an idiot," I chuckle dryly. She slaps my shoulder softly.
"That's what best friends are for, (Y/n)!" Sammy gives me a comforting smile, and we begin walking again. The journey is a bit long considering the band room is on the opposite end of the high school, but it was fun because of how Sammy described the most grotesque ways of torturing the new boy in town. Eventually, we made it to the guidance office, and inside was my counselor, my older brother, and the devil incarnate.
"Ah, there you are," my conselor, Ms. Penelope smiles. She nods at Samantha, and I figure she's okay with my friend being here. I sit down awkwardly between Leon and Damien, shrinking in my spot to take up as little space possible. My best friend sits next to Damien, furthest away from the ex-Greenvale resident. The silence is deafening, and I feel as if I could cut the tension with a knife.
"So..." Ms. Penelope clears her throat, resting her dainty hands atop her desk. "I think we all know why you three are in here," she motions towards the boys and me. Damien grunts, and Leon is dead silent. I decide to speak up.
"How will my oboe be repaired?" I question. I see Ms. Penelope's expression turn a bit somber. Through gritted teeth, she responds.
"Well, I had asked some other people before I called you in, and they said it would be best not to penalize Mr. Kenne-"
"What.," Damien and Sammy eyes narrowed as they spoke in unison. I hear Leon stifle a giggle, and my brother immediately stands up, about to pounce.
"Don't fucking laugh, you piece of shit!" He roars, fist tight at his sides. "That thing was hard-earned, dipshit!"
"Mr. (L/n), sit down, now!" Ms. Penelope gasps.
"Please," Leon scoffs. "Nothing from your family is hard-earned. As far as I know, you bribed your coach to be team captain. It's too bad that money's all wasted, Dami-poo~ I'm here now," the blonde smiles devilishly, and I see my brother is getting ready to rip his throat out.
"You little-!"
"Boys! Settle down, please! You are not making this situation any better," Ms. Penelope orders. Like a kicked puppy, Damien retreats back into his seat, crossing his arms beneath his chest like a child being scolded by his mother.
"Ugh, Ms. Penelope, this doesn't make any sense. That was an advanced-level instrument. If (Y/n) can't get it repaired or replaced soon, she won't have anything to play for our concert season," Samantha said, trying to reason. "Surely he can pitch in a little money. This is his fault, after all."
"I'm sorry... I have no control over this. If I had it my way, I'd have him pay in full, but it was a request from our principal. The best I could do was have a fundraising event approved for your band," the brunette woman explain, her frown worsening.
"Great. Can I leave now? My study hall is about to end, and I've got an English class to catch," Leon yawned out, the sleeve of his Greenvale High letterman straightening as he stretched. Ms. Penelope pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly irritated dealing with ignorant high schoolers.
"Yes, yes. Go 'head, Mr. Kennedy," she eagerly dismisses him. Immediately, he saunters out the door of her office, seemingly very happy with himself. The door shuts with a click, and it's just us four left. Tears begin to swell in the corner of my eyes.
"Erm... So, w-what's the fundraiser going to b-be?" I stutter out, not wanting to show weakness. The counselor hands me a slip of paper.
"I recommended a bake sale. It's simple, and I know our little town never says no to a sweet treat, especially with how nice the weather's been recently," she smiles gently at me, and I feel my heart squeeze. Samantha takes the pink sheet out of my hands and grins from ear to ear.
"Thanks, Ms. Penelope. I'll be telling our director about this. Is that all you needed from us?" Sammy asks, standing up from her spot. The brunette shakes her head as a no and has us leave her alone. Damien sighs when the door closes behind us, and I can tell he wants to blow up. I take his hand in mine, softly squeezing it.
"You okay, Dami?" I frown. He looks at me, clearly distraught.
"I guess..." he huffs. "I just wish he were dead," his eyes narrow, and I know he's thinking about Leon.
"Tch, you 'n me both," Sammy clicks her tongue.
"You gunna be okay, sis? I can get Ma to pick you up if you need," Damien asks me, worried. I think for a moment, and I nod as a yes. It's a Friday anyways, and there won't be any games until two weeks. Sammy leaves Damien and me on our own, deciding to get back to the band room to retrieve my belongings. My dear big brother takes me to the front off and requested the desk-lady to call our mom. After a bit, he left me with a chaste kiss on my forehead and told me to wait for Mom and Samantha.
I sat alone in the office, patiently waiting for my mom with my broken oboe in my lap.
"Hey, (Y/n)? Can you come down here for a second?" I hear Mom call from the bottom of the stairs. I slug myself out of the bed, not wanting to leave my room. My slippers drag against the floor as I slump down the stairs, wanting to get this over with and just sleep for the rest of the day. We don't have dinner until an hour or two, so I'm curious as to why Mom would call me down so early. When I make it down the stairs, I see Mom sitting in the living room with a familiar man, happily talking to him.
"She's had a bit of a rough day, so give her a moment," I hear her tell him. I walk in, still in my school clothing. My fingers fiddle with the fabric of my shirt as I sit down next to my mother, looking at the man confused.
It's Leon's dad...
"Honey, this is Mr. Kennedy. He wants to ask you a favour," Mom sets a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it softly. I swallow dryly, a tight feeling in my chest as I stare at the blonde man across me. His hair is slicked back, dressed in black dress pants, and a maroon button-up. His eyes are a gentle chocolate brown, a stark difference compared to his son's harsh and icy hues. Mr. Kennedy nods at me, smiling gently.
"Nice to meet you, (Y/n)," he grins at me. "I got a suggestion from my little ones' band directors about private lessons for trumpet. I was wondering if you were perhaps interested? I'm willing to pay you 20$ an hour if so," he asks me, crossing his legs. My eyes widen at his price.
"O-oh, uhm...!?" I bite my bottom lip, unsure of what to say. I shoot a look at my mom to my left, silently begging for guidance. She gives me only a reassuring smile, and I look back at Mr. Kennedy.
"Well?"
"Uhm... sure," I cough. "Is it alright if they're after school every Monday, Tuesday, and some Friday nights? I would like her to have some experience with our marching band as well, if you're both okay with it," I ask him. He thinks for a moment before nodding.
In the end, we agree with the schedule. Every Monday and Tuesday, his daughters will come over to practice with me. For Fridays, they'll only accompany during home football games to get some experience playing more advanced pep-tunes, but only if they want to. I tried to tell him that 20$ an hour was a bit much, but he insisted, claiming that his daughters can be rowdy. Eventually, he leaves, and I'm left alone with my mom in the kitchen to drink some tea. Slumping in my seat, I sigh annoyedly.
"Do you think he knows about my...?"
"Maybe," Mom murmurs as she washes dishes, sometimes looking at the stove to check on the boiling pasta. "But I'm assuming not," she hums, and I frown. I didn't have the heart to tell him his son is a heartless person, and it made me feel a bit worse than it should have. I leave the kitchen without another word, stumbling back into my room to cry a bit more...
It's sunny today.
"Oi, thumper, wake up," Damien raps at my bedroom door, opening it enough to poke his head in. I'm already up, sitting in my window nook while I look through some music I played in middle school to get ready for tutoring. I look up from the sheets, staring blankly at my brother.
"Ready?" I ask him. He looks surprised that I'm awake, but he nods.
"Mom's letting me take Pa's car today," my older brother smirks, dangling the silver keys in the air. I chuckle, knowing how much he loves Dad's little Impala. I get up from my spot in my plush nook, following Damien downstairs and out the door after we bid our parents goodbye. The two of us race to the car childishly, giggling all along as we throw ourselves into the noir Chevrolet. We settle into the cool leather seats, and I immediately pop on our cassette tape that’s stored in the center console. Immediately, Toto’s “Hold the Line” begins, and we begin to pull out of the driveway. As Damien hums along to the song, I look out of the window to my left.
Today, we’re going out to get a hand-me-down oboe from a local shop that is generous enough to give me one since I’m there so often. A little temporary deal until my personal one can be repaired or replaced. As we pull out of the drive way, I catch sight of the devil across the street.
He’s sitting on the porch, and I’m confused as to how I didn’t notice him before. In Leon’s lap is what looks like a guitar, and he’s got this ugly scowl on his face as he glares at us from his home.
“What an ugly bastard,” Damien white-knuckles the wheel, glaring at him through the rearview. I glance over to my brother, seeing his brows furrow as he stares down the blonde boy across the street.
A large part of me wanted to defend Leon’s beauty. I know I should hate him, but he’s just so… charming. From the rearview, I notice how his hair is a little damp, and I assume he had showered this morning. His shirt is simply white, and I can’t see the rest of his outfit from the way he sat behind his porch. My fingers clutch the at fabric of my sleeves, holding myself back from saying something about Leon’s looks. We drive past the Kennedy household, and I can’t help but stare through the window.
Leon’s gaze pierces through the glass, and I feel myself shrink into my seat, my heart drumming against my ribcage as we lock eyes. His lips are formed in a straight line as his icy glare follows the Impala I rode in, and I can’t bring myself to look away.
Is it wrong to want to talk to him, despite what he did to me?
uhh its still slow but yk i think thats what will make it good or not i honestly just type out my scrambled thoughts and hope it works!
pt.3 here!
some lovelies�� @vampiramaeve @kurawooooooo @umooooo74 @estre11afugaz
#resident evil#leon kennedy x reader#fanfic#leon kennedy#leon s kennedy#resident evil 4 remake#resident evil/biohazard#biohazard#angst#mild angst#slowburn#leon s kennedy x reader#high school au#>>high school sweethearts: lsk
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