#and i was telling my friend that that's the only new bar in town I haven't checked out yet and probably never will
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1.1 Major
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader
Summary: Lily McIntire, trainer for new SHIELD recruits at the Avengers Tower, has been in love with her best friend, Bucky Barnes, from the moment she met him. She's been content with her role of the #1 girl in Bucky's life, even if it means she has to sabotage a romantic relationship or two. It'll be worth it when he realizes that they're meant for each other, right? There's just one small problem: Lily McIntire never expected Bucky Barnes to fall for You.
Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, alcohol consumption, slight objectification of men.
Word Count: 1.6k
Previously On...: Lily McIntyre met Bucky Barnes. Everything had changed, and now it's only him that matters.
A/N: You know what? Fuck it. Turns out I write more when I'm actively writing for all of you. Plus, I miss you, besties. Yes, I know-- it's only been two days, but I don't care. You guys give me the strength to face the day, and when I'm interacting with you, I'm happiest. So, we're starting the full roll-out of With Friends Like These... Now, there won't be multiple postings per day, so I won't be dropping a bunch at once. We're going to start nice and slow, lol. I hope you like it!
NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates
Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!
You stood outside the door to the bar, nervous as fuck. It wasn’t every day a girl got invited to spend an evening out on the town with the goddamned Avengers, and though you’d only known Natasha Romanoff for about six months now, you were honored she liked you enough to extend an invitation for you to join her and her friends on their off time.
Giving yourself a once over in the reflection of the bar’s window, you double checked to make sure you looked good– your hair and makeup were on point, your dark wash skinny jeans hugged your curves in the best possible way, and the black satiny top you wore under your leather jacket showed just enough cleavage to be tantalizing, but not trashy.
You got this, you told yourself. You took a breath, and walked inside.
The place was dimly lit, but not too crowded. You were able to spot Natasha easily– it wasn’t as if the striking redhead was hard to miss. She sat at a high top with another redhead, nursing a vodka tonic. Catching her eye, you waved and made your way over.
“Major!” Nat greeted you, going in for a friendly hug, which you happily returned. “I’m so glad you made it!” She pointed to the other redhead– Wanda Maximoff, The Scarlet Witch, you remembered now from having seen her on the news– and introduced you. “Major, this is Wanda; Wanda, Major.” You shook hands as the other woman offered you a kind, welcoming smile.
“Finally, some balance to the force,” she joked. At your questioning look, she elaborated: “We are desperately outnumbered in the girl department when it comes to our friend group,” she said. “It’s just me and Nat versus the boys.”
“There’s Lily, too,” Nat interjected.
“Please.” Wanda said, waving Nat’s words off dismissively. “We all know that Lily is not one of us.”
Nat snorted into her drink. “Lily’s just not really a girl’s-girl,” she offered to you in explanation. “Very much sees herself as ‘one of the guys,’ if you catch my meaning.”
You nodded; you’d had plenty of experience with pick-me girls in the past. “Yeah, I know the type.” You waved down a waitress and put in an order for a frozen margarita.
“So, Major,” Wanda said, taking a sip of her beverage once the waitress had gone, “which one of our lucky bachelors is going to catch your eye tonight?”
“I don’t follow,” you said, confused.
Wanda turned to Nat and playfully hit her on the shoulder. “You bitch! You didn’t tell her?”
Nat had the decency to look sheepish. “I wanted it to be organic,” she said, offering you an apologetic smile.
“Natasha Romanoff,” you said, realization dawning on you, “did you invite me out tonight to try and set me up with one of your teammates?”
Nat frowned, looking remorseful. “I know I should have said something, but you’re always complaining about how you never have luck with dating, and it just so happens I live in a compound literally full of eligible men, so I thought… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have overstepped.”
The waitress brought over your margarita and you raised it, toasting to Nat. “Fuck apologies; you want to hook me up with an Avenger? Girl, remind me to send you a gift basket!”
Nat and Wanda both laughed, raising their own glasses to toast with you. Wanda leaned over toward you, her voice a conspiratorial whisper.
“Alright, don’t be obvious about it,” she said, “but our fine gentlemen are over at the pool table.” You followed her line of sight and were met with an array of some of the most attractive men you had ever seen. Yeah, you’d seen them on tv, and in magazines, but they were always wearing costumes and masks. But up close? And in person?
“Woof,” you said softly.
“Okay,” said Nat, leaning in on your other side. “Let’s size up our options. First, we’ve got Captain America, himself, Steve Rogers. All-American, corn-fed, take-home-to-mamma kinda guy. Such a gentleman, could bench press four of you. Knows how to treat a girl right.”
“And bore her to tears,” Wanda added.
“Wands!” Nat flashed her eyes. “We’re supposed to be talking them up!”
Wanda shrugged. “Facts are facts,” she said. “A sweetheart, really, but very old fashioned.”
“Fine,” Nat said, exasperated. “Moving on, we have Sam Wilson, our resident Falcon. He’s funny, charming, a great dancer.”
“Seriously good moves,” Wanda added with an enthusiastic nod.
“Smart, good listener,” Nat offered. “Incredibly loyal.”
“You make him sound like a puppy,” you said, laughing.
“Oooh, oooh, my turn!” Wanda said enthusiastically. “Next up is our resident himbo, the one and only Thor Odinson. Unbelievably endearing, the body of a literal god: Great hair, an ass you could bounce a quarter off of, arms that could snap your tiny little body right in half if he had half a mind to…”
“Down, girl,” Nat said, flicking some droplets of water from her water glass at Wanda. “Damn, we’re here for Major, not you.”
“Sorry,” said Wanda, ducking down to hide her blush behind her hair. “He’s just so… big. And… beefy. Like, what does one even do with that much man?” she asked, before muttering so low you could barely hear her: “I would really like to find out.”
You and Nat stifled your laughter. “Okay, definitely not going to be Thor for me, then,” you offered. Across the room, another man caught your eye, one Nat and Wanda hadn’t mentioned yet. “Who’s that?” you asked them.
Nat craned her neck. “Oh, that’s Parker. I dunno; he’s kinda on the young side for my taste, but the kid is 18, so if that’s what you’re into–”
“Ugh, no– pass,” you said, realizing she had been referring to the skinny teenager who was hanging on Steve Rogers’ every word. “No, I mean the brunet. Who’s he?” The more you studied him, the more you realized he just may be the most handsome man you’d ever seen. He was currently leaning against a pool cue, engrossed in conversation with Sam. He had a slight smirk on his face, as if he was keeping in a very humorous secret, and it painted his features in an adorably boyish light.
While you were looking at him, he turned his head and saw you watching him. You should have been mortified at being caught staring but instead, you were taken aback by how striking his crystal blue eyes were. You offered him a soft smile, and were delighted when his own widened in return, his cheeks taking on a dusky hue in the low light, before Sam elbowed him, bringing his attention back to the game of pool. He shot you another look, running his tongue along his bottom lip, before refocusing his attention.
“Oh,” said Nat, following your gaze. “Oh, no, no, no. That’s Bucky Barnes. He’s… not on the menu.”
You turned back toward her, disappointed. “Oh. Of course, guy that good looking’s got to have a girlfriend, right?”
Nat and Wanda exchanged glances. “Not exactly,” Nat said.
“Remember how we mentioned Lily not being a girl’s-girl?” Wanda asked, nodding her chin toward where the boys were racking the balls for a new game. You hadn’t noticed the woman in their midst before– petite, blond, and athletic.
“Yeah, Lily’s more of a Bucky’s-girl,” Nat added. “Just, you know, Bucky’s not aware of it.”
You must have looked very confused, because Wanda was quick to clarify. “Bucky only joined the team… what? Four years ago?” She looked to Nat for confirmation, and Nat nodded. “He was like a totally different guy back then. Didn’t go out, didn’t want to be around people.”
“Like Oscar the Grouch, but if you took him out of the trash can and gave him moderately better grooming standards,” Nat offered.
“Yeah,” Wanda continued, nodding in agreement, “and for the longest time, the only person he would talk to was Steve. But then, like, Lily made it her life’s work to become his best friend.”
“I remember it annoyed the shit out of him in the beginning,” Nat added. “Poor guy just wanted to be left alone to process his trauma.” She sighed. “But the girl was relentless. She’s got tenacity, I’ll say that for her.”
“That’s actually kind of sweet,” you said. “That she wouldn’t give up trying to be there for him.”
“No, sorry,” Nat said. “We’re not explaining this well. She basically made being Bucky’s best friend her entire fucking personality. It was like, any other friend she had just–poof! Stopped existing to her. We no longer mattered; everything became about Bucky.”
“It’s a bit much,” Wanda said. “She’s very… I don’t want to say protective is the right word for it, but very possessive of him.”
“It’s like no girl Bucky’s ever dated has been good enough to pass her standards,” Nat said. “And she’s had no problem making that abundantly clear, and I know she’s been the reason for at least a couple of his relationships ending. Poor guy’s balls must be so blue by now, they’re practically black; she never lets him get any action.”
You took a sip of your margarita. “Well, they’ve got to be sleeping together, right?” you asked. Nat and Wanda both looked at you. “I mean, that would explain it, right?”
“Oh, they are definitely not,” Nat said. “Though I’m sure she wishes. I heard him tell Steve she reminds him of his dead kid sister.”
You sucked in a breath. “Ouch,” you said. “Just what every girl wants to hear, I’m sure.” You looked back over to the pool table, admiring the way Bucky bent over to take a shot. “It’s too bad,” you said, turning back to girls. “I mean, he’s hot as hell, but no man’s worth taking on that kind of drama.”
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#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes#bucky barnes fanfic#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes fanfiction#james bucky buchanan barnes#james buchanan barnes#mcu bucky barnes#james barnes
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damn...crazy how i keep falling into this pattern of irl friends who don't give a shit about me
#tell me why i had sushi with my close friend but i felt so alone#she talked abt her life & i was engaged#but when i tried to talk abt mine it was just. zero interest from her end#'oh the sushi is here' when im mid-sentence#and then focus on the food by talking abt it#or i'd trail off and she wouldn't even notice or pick the conversation up#my mom pointed out she's an energy vampire & i didnt want to believe her but...sure feels like that now#'wanna go to the comedy club? or our coffeeshop?' 'no...i want sushi.'#which is fine!!!! except its become a habit where i will vocalize what i want to do & then she doesn't want to do any of it#like holy shit she invited me to a new bar in town so i went & she got jealous i fit in/enjoyed it#so she made us leave lmao#idk it's getting radioactive in here. i'd rather be alone alone at this point#she and my other buddy are the only people i hang out with irl#tried talking to her abt a book im reading or the novel im planning and she didnt even respond#we sat in silence for a while
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welp back to bed with me.. beenn up for literally like 5 hours and I've been told my internship will probably fall through, though I won't know until literal days before I'm supposed to start. had to cancel what little plans I had for my birthday because of the weather and I haven't eaten anything in like 48 hours..
#vent post#you think you have some things settled and then everything just falls apart#I was fine with grilling alone with my parents and wife because at least I'd get to eat that day without feeling guilty for spending money#but since it's gonna be raining for the next week straight I think I'm just gonna cancel it all together#like wow you'll buy food to grill as a birthday present but not give me money for groceries.. just letting us starve... cool.. fuck you too#i also really wanted to go to the new queer bar for my birthday because they're doing their 1 year anniversary event the same day#but i have like... no friends#to the point that i only found out that a queer bar had been open in this town for 11 months a week ago#after a literal decade with no lgbt spaces in this part of the country#but hey what do you expect when your last interaction with an irl friend you had was “hey do y'all wanna go to this concert together”#just to be told they had bought tickets weeks in advance and didn't feel like telling you lol... last december
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what is it about showers and solving every problem you had during your teenage years
#i need to start showering with music otherwise my mind will just go 'hey remember this thing that happened ten years ago'#ahah wouldn't it be funny ahah solving it now??? ahah#like no??? leave me alone#I haven't talked to those people in years nor do i feel the need to talk to them again#in my defense i think the conversation i had with my friend the other day started this train of thoughts#this guy i used to know when i was 15 or smt back in my hometown opened this bar#and like if you're there and you want to go out somewhere you can only go to a bar bc there's nothing else#and i was telling my friend that that's the only new bar in town I haven't checked out yet and probably never will#bc shit went down with the group me and this guy were in back then#and I haven't talked to any of them since then#and honestly I'd like to go there and sit at a table and be like hi#but i also cannot remember in what terms we left things like how ugly it was#bc my brain does this funny thing where it erases stuff#survival instinct much?#love treating this blog like my personal diary#sorry i make you read my stupid tags#oversharing all the way#also that whole group? insane! i surely did something i shouldn't have done but it surely didn't start from me#I'm so glad adolescence is just a phase jfc
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Steve has this bar he loves in Chicago. It's a little bit dive-y, a little bit dirty, but it's quiet. A good place for when he needs to clear his head.
Only, tonight, the place is packed. Music pounding from the jukebox, no space at the bar, patrons at the dartboard and pool table. In three years he's never seen it like this.
He has a second to wonder what's going on before he sees exactly who is going on, and for him to catch Steve looking.
"Stevie!" Eddie Munson cries. He leaps from the bar top, the people below scrambling away from the stomp of his big black boots.
He hasn't seen Eddie in years. Can't actually remember the last time. Max and Lucas's wedding? Robin and Nancy's baby shower?
Steve considers booking it out of there, escaping in the crush of the crowd. By the time he has the thought, though, Eddie's already pulling him into a hug.
He's excited to see his friend. He is! Really. He loves Eddie. But that's kind of the problem.
Steve fell in love and Eddie left town.
Well, maybe it wasn't so dramatic as all that. It wasn't until six months after they packed the last box in the back of Eddie's van that Steve could name his feelings for what they were. And by then, Corroded Coffin were building buzz and Eddie had a huge whole life outside of the people he saved the world with.
Over the years, as Eddie's fame grew, he came around less and now they hardly see each other. They still talk from time to time, Steve still buys all the band's records, and Eddie's still close with all the kids, Nancy and Robin too.
Eddie releases him, those big eyes bright, a pure and genuine smile stretching his face. Steve's stomach twists, heart skipping a beat.
"Gotta be honest with you, man. Never expected to see Steve Harrington in a place like this."
Steve snorts. "There's lots of place I go you wouldn't expect."
Eddie's smile wobbles, Steve thinks. It's gone in a blink, though, and Eddie laughs. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart. Have time for a drink with me?"
Eddie navigates to the bar, returns with two beers in hand. He presses his palm to the small of Steve's back, directing him to the single empty table in the corner as far from the jukebox as possible.
"How's life treating you, Stevie?" Eddie asks after a sip. "Nance told me the store is doing really well."
"It's good, yeah. Finally turning a profit. Wasn't sure about Dustin having us add a game section, but he was right. It's really taken off."
"Oh, he told me," Eddie smirks.
Steve rolls his eyes. "I'm sure that he did. He hasn't let me hear the end of it."
"That tone," Eddie says, voice soft.
"What brings you to Chicago?" He asks to hide the way all the fucking love he feels for this man is bleeding out of him.
"Not really supposed to be," he laughs. "Flight got diverted to O'Hare, can't get another one until tomorrow. Have to make it to LA in time to play a show."
They both know Eddie loves it; the rush, the adrenaline, that comes with performing, to making it to shows at the very last minute. It's how they got here in the first place.
"Working on new music?"
Eddie leans back, dimples popping with the pleased lift of his lips. "Oh, Harrington, you don't even know what we have in store." He leans over the table and launches into tales of rehearsals and writing. Steve drinks his beer and can't take his eyes off his friend, Eddie the sun Steve orbits around, helpless to his gravitational pull.
"So, Stevie," Eddie says, once there's no more to tell about music. "You seeing anyone?"
Steve hides his cringe with a chuckle. Picks up his beer to buy time and finds it empty. "Not anyone of note."
"C'mon, how is that possible? You're easily the hottest guy in this place."
He grimaces. "That's a low bar."
"Oooh, still bitchy after all these years." Eddie snickers, takes a swig from his bottle.
"Shut-up."
"Seems like it's been a while since you dated."
"You interrogating my love life now, Munson?"
"No, not at all. Just curious."
"Okay, who are you dating? Still that guy from People?"
"Gossip," Eddie frowns.
"Anyone else you got your eye on?"
"No one new," Eddie says. He stares at Steve hard for a second, like he wants to dig into his brain, like it holds the answer to all life's question.
"There is someone, then." Steve tries to ignore the jealousy licking down his spine. Eddie isn't his and never will be.
Eddie picks at the label on his now empty beer. "Not--not really." He licks his lips, leaning over the table again. "Is there a reason you don't seem to date anymore, man? It's just--you wouldn't hurt for options, right?"
Steve freezes, trying to figure out a way to answer that won't end up breaking his own heart. "Ah, it's--you know, things got busy with opening the store and everything. Stopped being a priority."
"Are you lonely?"
"Are you?" He snaps before he can stop himself. "Sorry, I'm--sorry."
"Yeah, man. I'm lonely as hell." Eddie answers as though Steve didn't give him an out.
"I--you ever have someone where the timing is always wrong?"
"Think it's a hazard of my profession. Who's yours?"
"What?" Steve clunks his bottle too hard against the table.
"The one that got away?"
"It's--it--I--it doesn't matter."
Eddie's smile is all jagged edges. "Nancy?"
"God, no. Nance and I are good with being friends. No lingering feelings there. Who's yours?"
"Ahh," Eddie sits back a little, eyes glittering with an emotion Steve can't place. "The best boy I ever met. Can't get over him, can't forget him. I think they guys are going to start banning my 'pathetic gay yearning songs'. Gareth's words."
Something in Steve's chest crumbles to dust. There's someone. Has always been someone. Of course. Eddie is beautiful and hot and charismatic and fucking famous. And Steve is--just a guy who runs a struggling bookstore with a couple of his best friends.
"That's--I'm sorry it didn't work out." He's trying to stop his voice from breaking, from giving Eddie any hint of what he's feeling, just knows he has to get out. "Listen, man, thanks for the beer. Great to catch up. You should hit up Robin and Nancy the next time you're in town. I gotta get going."
"Wait, Steve--"
"See you around."
He doesn't wait. He pushes through the people, and races out the door, into the crisp Chicago fall air. He squeezes his eyes closed, practices his breathing exercises, tries to relax the clench of his teeth, ease the screaming in his lungs.
Three steps away from the building is as far as he gets before he hears, "Steve, please wait." A hand catches his hip, holding him in place.
"Eddie, I don't--"
"It's you," Eddie says. His face is pale, stricken. "You're the one who got away, Steve."
"What?"
"I've never been able to work up the nerve to confess. I've been trying for years, but. Too afraid of losing you to tell the truth."
"Years?" Steve's brain is trying to wrap around what's happening. That Eddie has feelings for him? That he's the source of the pathetic gay yearning?
"God, since 1986, at least."
Steve doesn't know what to say; what to do. He's been waiting for this moment so long, and his brain goes on pause.
"It's okay if you don't feel the same," Eddie rambles. "Hell, I'd be surprised if you did, but--"
"You're mine too," the words tumble out.
"What?"
"You're the one who got away. For me. You're mine."
"Steve," Eddie breathes. "Is this--are you serious?"
"Pathetic gay yearning and all."
Eddie's laugh is a bright spot in the darkness, relief and happiness mixed with the hope of what's next.
Steve can't help but giggle. "We're so dumb," he says.
Eddie looks at him with a raised eyebrow before bursting into giggles of his own. "So dumb, Steve, oh my god."
"It's been a decade!"
"Fuck," Eddie cackles.
They collapse against each other, chests heaving with their mirth. As they catch their breath, Steve nuzzles against Eddie's neck, relishing the closeness. It's easy for him to change the angle so their lips meet in a kiss frantic with ten years of longing.
"Your place or mine?" Eddie asks once they part.
Steve laughs. "You think I'm that easy, Munson?"
"Oh, Steve," Eddie smirks. "I know it."
"Asshole." Steve presses a kiss to his jaw. "How many songs did you write about me?"
Eddie smiles so hard his dimples pop. "All of them, baby. Every single one."
Steve rests their foreheads together, body fizzing like freshly uncorked champagne, "Take me home, Ed."
#steddie#steve x eddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#ficlet#oneshot#angst#friends to lovers#angst with a happy ending#idiots in love#mutual pining#famous eddie munson#rockstar eddie munson#regular guy steve harrington#pathetic gay yearning#fluff#the one that got away#second chances#getting together
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games and other fun — rafe cameron x reader
HAPPY NYE FUCKERS HERES A TOXIC MAN THAT SHOULD DEFINITELY BE LEFT IN 2024 BUT NOT ON THIS BLOG HAHA
this is the hottest rafe scene and if you disagree i think ur silly
as always, warnings: smut, daddy kink, choking, slapping, dom!rafe, alcohol consumption, p in v sex, unprotected sex (please for the love of god wrap it), talk of drugs
anyways… here’s games and other fun:
…
the summer you got hot was coincidentally the same summer you moved to the outerbanks.
the climate was hotter than back hot, but… so were the men.
you and your friends had moved for the new adventure, and thankfully you had found a job in your field pretty quickly. while your friends looked for jobs in their field, they acquired jobs at some of the restaurants, bars, and catering gigs in town.
that was how your best friend met topper.
when she first told you the story, the blush on her cheeks had never been brighter. him and his buddies had been out that night — at the bar she worked at. almost immediately, topper started flirting with her. she claims she played it cool, but from her giggling you can tell that she was excited to talk to him as he was to talk to her. you were so, so happy for her.
…until she mentioned how he had a friend.
“absolutely not,” you stated, shaking your head,
“why not?!” she demanded. “the friend said you were cute!”
you raised an eyebrow at her. “you showed him my picture?”
she nodded. “he was cute! i swear!”
you sighed. “what’s his name?”
“kelce.” a mischievous smile began to play at her lips. “him and topper want to meet us at a party their other friend is throwing this weekend.”
“did you meet that friend?” you asked. “do you think he’d be cool with us coming?”
she dismissed you with a playful wave of her hand. “rafe’s a kook. they wouldn’t be kooks if they didn’t show off their wealth to the whole island.”
you laughed. “okay, fine — i’ll go, but who the fuck names their kid rafe?”
only the richest man on the entire fucking island did, apparently.
you were excited to meet kelce, but you couldn’t help but be curious as to who exactly rafe cameron was. your friend didn’t meet him, neither of you looked him up, but then again — there was a double date to prepare for.
your best friend had gotten ready together after the work day. bikins under levi cutoff shorts, crop tops, and sandals were sported, but the main event was how somehow you both mastered the beachy blowout and natural makeup look in this humidity. once you were done, you both caught an uber and headed straight for the cameron residence.
it was fucking massive.
there was no other word.
and, honestly… it was like something out of project x.
strobe lights, music blasting, and loud laughter and screams. your best friend was more of the partier, so she didn’t look too phased — but you? you were fucking bright-eyed. you hadn’t experienced anything like this before, and even if the date didn’t work out… at least there would be other things to occupy you.
once the uber had parked in front, you spotted a man waiting on the front stoop with his phone in his hands. your friend typed a quick text, hit sent, and through the window you watch the man on the front stoop smile.
place your bets now, you thought. that’s definitely topper.
and that he was.
when you both had met him on the front stoop, he engulfed your friend in a cute hug. afterwards, he extended a smile and his hand to you, and you shook his hand appreciatively.
a man that knew boundaries and manners… fuck yes, bestie.
he led you both inside and you had to stop your jaw from dropping. the party looked crazy from the outside, but nothing could compare to the absolute mayhem that was occurring inside. pong, lines being cut on a few tables, people jumping into the pool from the roof… you name it.
“this is awesome,” you spoke absentmindedly to no one in particular.
“i know,” topped laughed. “kelce’s around here somewhere... drinks?”
he led you both to the kitchen. if you were being honest, you knew that topper and your friend would hit it off pretty quickly and you didn’t want to cock-block them. you were hoping that kelce would find his way to you so you both could have your own fun, and leave your friends to their own devices.
…that was until topper started trying to call kelce over. topper, a bit drunk at this point, didn’t really get the memo from his friend that was turned around, basically back into the corner… that kelce did not want to be disturbed. in fact, when kelce finally got the message, he ripped away from whatever had caught his attention, and turned towards topper’s voice angrily. when he turned away… there was a petite woman pushed into the corner. she seemed very pissed off that kelce had broken their kiss.
who could blame her? he was hot.
no one could blame you for being a little upset, but you wouldn’t tell anyone that.
topper was at a loss for words. you almost felt bad.
letting the liquor provide comic relief, you spoke, “she’s hot. can’t blame him.”
topper laughed and then stuttered, trying to find the words to fight the embarrassment of the situation. even drunk, his manners were impeccable. his and your friend’s eyes revealed a mixture of guilty and sympathy, and you couldn’t deal with how uncomfortable it made you feel. your first instinct was to pretend it didn’t bother you… and if other people ignored your pain, you could too. it gnawed at you in the back of your throat — a rock lodged in your esophagus. your voice was tight, your cheeks were hot, and frustrated and embarrassed tears were pickling at your eyes.
“guys, don’t worry about it,” you laughed, trying to brush it off. “top, where’s the bathroom?”
maybe you couldn’t save yourself from embarrassment, but you could save them from secondhand embarrassment. once he directed you, you gave them both a smile and set off.
if you were being honest… it did hurt that had happened. it was fucking embarrassing. nothing horrible, but combined with having drank in a while, and you were already tipsy? you were feeling emotional, and that wasn’t a good luck. you needed a few minutes in the bathroom to cool off.
you texted your friend that you were going to find the pool after and that she shouldn’t wait up for you — you wanted her to have fun with topper.
you were barely in the bathroom for a few minutes when you heard banging on the door.
“hurry up!” a gruff voice from the other side of the door called.
you shut the water off and brushed away the loose tear. your eyes were red, and your face was a bit puffy, but you figured you’d be fine. you’d probably never see the guy on the other side of the door anyway.
as you opened the door, he went to bang on it again. with his weight forward, he accidentally stumbled into the bathroom while you were still in it.
“sorry, dude, uh —“ he rasped, standing before you and staring awkwardly down at you.
“you’re good…” you spoke, before trying to brush past him.
he caught your upper arm.
“woah, dude,” you laughed hesitantly, trying to step away from him. “i’m leaving, don’t worry.”
“sorry —“ he let go of your arm, still peering down at you. “you’re crying.”
“what? no,” you faked a laugh. “heat got to me s’all. needed some air.”
he eyed you. “never seen you before. not from around here?”
“no,” you shook your head. “my friend and i were invited.”
“by who?” he asked, raising a brow.
you took a step back, not particularly enjoying the third degree in a small space. “this guy she likes… topper.”
his eyes widened, almost in realization. “yeah, yeah… he told me about that. said there was another girl… for kelce.”
you laughed, but with a slight scoff in your voice. “he’s a bit… preoccupied at the moment. with someone else. i was going to go play pong after i… saw.”
“knew he had a pretty girl coming, and did that? guy’s a dick.”
you laughed, and shook your head — brushing off his comment. “‘m sure he’s fine. i don’t know who his friends are — not really in the mood to talk shit about someone i don’t know.”
“sweetheart, he’s one of my best friends — guy’s a dick.”
a smile played at your lips as you raised an eyebrow at the man. “and who are you?”
“the owner of this house,” he replied. “i’m rafe.”
you smiled, and introduced yourself as well. “i’ll, um — leave you to it, then. see you around.”
you turned to leave, when you heard him say your name. while peering down at you, he spoke, “nah… let’s mess with him.”
you shouldn’t have been excited… but you couldn’t deny that you were.
rafe led you back into the kitchen and you smiled at your friend. topper turned to look at you, and his eyes immediately perked up when he saw rafe walking directly behind you.
you greeted them both, but barely before rafe had picked you up by the hips and placed you on the counter next to your friend. you bit back a squeal at the motion, but rafe had leaned against your side as he cracked a beer.
topper turned to you. “i don’t know how you found him, or how you got him out of the woodwork… but the man barely comes to his own parties. nice job.”
you laughed, and let topper and your friend continue their fun.
“so…” you began, turning to rafe. “if you don’t come to your own parties, how do you have fun at things like this?”
a smirk played at the corner of his lips. “they’ve been kind of boring for me, lately, i don’t know… i’m usually in the corner somewhere, smoking.”
sarcastically, with a grin, you asked, “are you telling me i can’t convince you to be my pong partner?”
he laughed, shaking his head. “you could convince me to do a shot with you.”
mischief danced in your eyes. rafe was quick to notice, and the look in his eyes matched yours.
he immediately went for glasses and liquor.
“and you got him to lay off the snow?” asked topper, mouth wide. he looked back to your best friend, grinning. “you’re both coming to the next one.”
rafe poured four shots and handed them off to topper and your best friend. they smiled and laughed to themselves before linking arms, and taking their shots.
“i like to take mine a different way,” rafe rasped, eyes peering down at your lips. “especially since my boy kelce has been staring us down since i put you on this counter.”
a smirk was beginning to form on your lips. in a sultry voice, you asked, “are you suggesting we give your friend a show, rafe?”
you stared into his piercing eyes before he spoke. his lips were parted, and he almost looked hungry. the heat was getting to the both of you making a shiny sheen of sweat glow because of the strobe lights. his eyes were focused on you, and really on you. it threw you off how rafe could have so many things going on around him, barely knowing you — and you were the apple of his eye. the next words rolled off his tongue like sugar, “that’s exactly what i’m suggesting, sweetheart.”
your teeth sank into your bottom lip as a blush rose across your cheeks. with a boldness you were a stranger to, you lifted your shirt above your head to reveal your string black bikini that barely hid your chest.
you figured rafe was lying about kelce — but that was until you saw him and the girl separate, and were now closer to where you and rafe stood. kelce had thrown a few glances your way every now and then, but now? now he was blatantly ignoring the girl next to him as he stared at your rack and rafe.
you threw back your shot, bending your chest towards rafe. you looked back to him with a smile on your face, and plucked his shot from his hands. holding your beasts together and placing the glass in your cleavage, you threw him a wink. rafe’s gaze darkened — and you knew you were in for it.
rafe rested a hand on your waist before he dipped his head lower. his lips wrapped around the circumference of the glass, and threw his head back with ease. your eyes drifted downwards to his broad shoulders, the thickness of his neck, and the muscles in his arms….
oh… you were in for it, alright.
before you knew it, rafe placed his glass down and connected his lips with yours. a whine of surprise rose and died in your throat after rafe placed both of his large hands on the warm skin of your waist. you held rafe’s strong jaw in both of your hands as you kissed him back, letting your tongue dance at his bottom lip.
“you’ve been too sweet to me tonight,” you whispered against his lips. “when are you going to let me be sweet to you?”
“fuck…” he rasped, stealing another kiss. “as soon as i know kelce knows what he missed out on.”
you laughed. “he’s been staring, rafe, come on…”
rafe had wrapped his arms under your ass and hoisted you against his chest. your hair cascaded down around you both, shielding the rest of the party goers for how your lips couldn’t leave his.
“if my dick wasn’t so hard right now — i’d shove it in his face more,” rafe spat. “teach that prick a lesson about how he should treat a beautiful woman.”
you giggled against his lips. “another time — please, rafe. i need you.”
a deep growl went off in his chest, and he let you swallow it whole. rafe kissed you once more before he swung you over his shoulder, one hand firmly planted on your ass to keep you steady, and began walking towards the upstairs.
laughing, you raised your heard to wave goodbye to topper and your best friend — who were laughing and happy for you as they waved back.
with each step towards an empty room, you giggled at rafe as he was cursing at people who got in his way. he kicked a couple of people out of the room before he let you fall onto your back on the bed. your giggles died within you as he began to crawl over you.
“what if i wanted to ride you, baby?” you whispered, running a thumb along his cheek as you bit your lip.
he kissed the inside of your hand as his eyes never left yours. “no, sweetheart — never had such a sexy woman below me. i’m taking my fuckin’ time.”
“taking your time?” you asked. “you’re the host of the party.”
“fuck ‘em,” he spat, capturing your lips once more.
rafe’s movements were much more dominant than in the kitchen. the privacy of the four walls and closed door allowed him to cage your body in and wedge the front of his hips against yours. you hooked your ankles behind his lower back, pulling him into you with a grinding motion. little whimpers left your lips as the friction from your jeans hit your clit in the perfect motion, making you shiver in rafe’s arms.
“want those pants off, daddy,” you rasped. “don’t make me wait.”
“call me that again and i’ll give you anything you want, sweetheart,” he spoke, his hands immediately darting for his belt buckle.
you tore off your and rafe’s pants and rafe made quick work of taking that skimpy bikini off your breasts.
“i almost told you no when you asked to go upstairs,” he spoke, his hands slowly sliding up your stomach. “i wanted to make kelce so fucking jealous…” the palms of rafe’s hands rested on the swell of your breasts, thumbs drawing circles on your nipples. “wanted him to realize that the chick next to him had nothin’ on you… that i was the one to have you… wanted to see the realization in his eyes….” his thumbs and pointer fingers began rolling your sensitive buds in between each other, drawing sharp breaths from between your lips. “but i think you were right, sweetheart. don’t want anyone to see what’s mine.”
“yours?” you let the pads of your fingertips slide down the length of his chest and stomach. you kept your eyes locked on his, provoking him. “no man’s ever been able to make me cum before. what makes you think you’re different?”
he raised an eyebrow, darkness covering his irises. he was silent for a moment, studying you. you kept your baiting look on your face, but inside you grew worried.
rafe’s hand held your jaw in his, thumb prodding at your plump bottom lip. “gonna be a brat for me, that it?”
you shouldn’t have — but you did anyway. “and what’re you gonna do about it?”
an evil smile crept up on rafe’s perfect face. he let go of your chin and got off of you. you were curious as to what his goal was, but that was until he got himself between your legs. you laid back against the bed, and when you looked up — you realized there was a mirror on the ceiling.
you gasped at the sight. your hair was as crazy as your skin was flush. your eyes were as wild as rafe’s, and he stared back at you with darkness and lust all wrapped into one.
“you see that, sweetheart?” he asked, staring back at you. “sight that almost made me take you right there in the kitchen. you gonna be good for daddy, and let me show you how i’m better than all of those little boys?”
your teeth sank into your bottom lip as your cheeks blushed. “yes, daddy, please.”
“so polite,” he rasps, pressing a wet kiss to your cheek. a whine brews in your throat at the affection. “open your legs. let me see that pretty pussy.”
on command, you parted your legs for him. rafe slid one large hand down from your knee to the beginning of your tanned thigh. you watch as his hand cups your mound, and you shiver at the feeling.
“oh… just so soft for me…”
his voice was like caramel as it rolled of his tongue. smooth and sweet. he looked at your pussy like he fucking adored it, there was no other way to put it. when his head finally dipped and his tongue nudged itself at your clit, you leaned your head back against the pillows.
“you like to hide, huh?” he spoke, eyes wide at you as his tongue dripped in between your folds. “not tonight, darlin’. you’re watching me.”
you lifted your head up and watched as his tongue slid into your entrance, and rafe began to nudge your clit with his nose. you gasped at the feeling — completely unaware that was even a thing someone could do, let alone be good at.
“fuck…” you quietly gasped, folding your lips over each other.
rafe replaced his tongue with two fingers — sliding them in and out and curling at the top. a low hum began to build as you fought to keep your eyes on him. the hum was deep and warm, filling your rib cage. you didn’t want to scream, afraid of being too loud or too much for rafe… but keeping your eyes open was enough of a fight. when his perfect, plump lips made contact with your clit… you couldn’t help it. you let out a loud sigh as your vision began to glaze over.
“i wanna do everything i can to this pussy,” rafe bit, sucking at your clit. “smack it, lick it, fuck it, anything i want… just so warm and sweet.”
“…fuck…” while only one word, your voice had never broken so much. rafe’s words were so sensual and mind numbing it was hard not to lose yourself in the moment, free to completely enjoy the sight and feeling of one of the hottest men you had ever seen put you on a pedestal and fucking worship you. his tongue, velvet, was working its way around your clit like it wanted your thighs to clench and wrap around his head. “i’m so close, rafe…”
“that’s it, baby, yeah.” the slurping sounds from below you were pornographic. your hips were jutting up and down to meet his lips and fingers as he plunged inside of you. your hands had found the sides of his head, sad there wasn’t any hair to hold back. “you wanted to be a brat before, now what? blame all of those little boys? now look at you — too fucked out to care. dirty fuckin’ girl.”
he was right. your boldness had left you with your sanity. the low hum had now spread throughout your body until it was everywhere. a soft, quiet vibration could be felt in every one of your limbs until you sure you were shaking. a cocky bastard like rafe — you should’ve wanted to deny him your orgasm, the metaphorical trophy. however, every fiber in your being was telling you he deserved it. his tongue, his lips, his nose, his fingers, his eyes — they wanted you to finish all over his face, and they deserved it. every last drop. every bit of it. every. fucking. bit.
“you scared, baby? don’t get shy on me now.” he had now raised his face where now only his hand was on your pussy. with a concerned, focused look on his face, he dipped two fingers into your entrance as his rough palm was working your clit. “you want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?”
you shut your eyes for a little longer than you should’ve, but opened them back up for tears to collect in the corners of your eyes. the approach of an orgasm was like a current in water, sucking you under. there was no fight and there was no giving in. it was heavy, fast, and hard — drowning where you head had no chance of staying above water. your body was being pulled every which way as your brain fought to remain present, in control. through your glazed over eyes, you could see rafe smirk.
“oh — i don’t think my girl’s listening to me, is she?” his taunting voice was sending you up a wall. the rat bastard — making you feel so good and then demanding that you respond as if your mind wasn’t mush. he moved himself so he was now hovering over your body, balanced on one arm. “i know you can hear me. come on, baby — you wanna cry? do it. fuckin’ cry for me, darlin’.”
you weren’t sure why you needed permission — but something in your insecurity snapped that allowed you to let out one singular strangled moan in your sand paper throat. it was whiny, and soft, and most of all — fucking pathetic. you could see in rafe’s eyes he loved it.
“been so good for me, letting me play with you,” he whispered against your lips as he continued with his hand. “seeing this little body give in — wanna see how far i can go. can’t wait to split you on my cock.”
“let me cum on your cock, rafe, please…” you spoke through your tears. “need it so badly. please let me…”
“can’t cum without a cock inside of you?” he asked, immediately sitting up and undoing his pants. “finally allowed yourself to be a whore and ask for what you want… lettin’ me use that pussy…”
you were nodding furiously, tugging at him to come lay on top of you once more. he batted your hands away, confusing you.
“nah, lay back,” he spoke. “…because i know you want me to use that pussy, don’t you?”
“yes, yes,” you cried, voice breaking. “just want you to use me — fuck, please, rafe…”
there was that smirk again — before he dove in.
rafe had pushed your legs against your chest and held you there as his cock slid easily inside you. since you were denied a very close orgasm — your pussy had never been wetter. it was like your slick was causing him to slide further and further inside so he could be buried in there. with every thrust, your pussy tightened around him — and rafe let you know.
you stared up at the mirror on the ceiling as you watched rafe’s muscles flex. his shoulders and back — holding you down, making you take every thrust. watching his glutes tighten and release with every thrust sent shivers up and down your spine. however, nothing, not one single thing, could compare to the way rafe’s arms flexed around your head and body — holding you in place.
“fucking love your cock, daddy,” you whimpered in his ear. “so, so deep. feels so good it hurts.”
he groaned against your ear, straining to fight against the pleasure. his thrusts began to pick up strength and speed, refusing to give in before you do.
“can tell it hurts, baby — pussy sucking me in like she’s never cum before,” he gasped, his own voice threatening to break. “just needed someone that knew how to work you, huh? give you what you needed? fuck you like the slut you are?”
you dug your face into the crook of his neck, feeling lost in his words and embrace. “slut for your cock, daddy — fuck, just like that. just like that — right there!”
one of his hands reached up to grab a fistful of your hair, and yanked you back. with parted lips and gritted teeth, rafe forced himself against your throat and began to suck on the soft skin. the strain of the position took away what last bit of control you had. you were completely at rafe’s mercy — and you didn’t mind. the head of his cock was pounding against that spot inside of you. your brain and the lower half of your body were working in tandem — acting like they had never had an orgasm before, but that wasn’t the case. no — they had just never had an orgasm like this before. the kind where you are completely out of control, unable to get it back, and under the hands of a man who took such good care of you. maybe you should’ve been scared because you barely knew him, but you weren’t. he wanted your orgasm as much as you did — and you let your naivety get the best of you.
“never wanted to breed a pussy so fuckin’ badly,” he spat against the skin of your throat. “she wants my cum so badly, doesn’t she? sucking me in — what else?”
incoherent. that’s all you were. rafe’s hips smacking against yours, cock hitting just right — there was nothing that allowed you to stay present and sensible in that situation. you were all his, under his control.
“be mean,” you cried, squeezing your eyes shut. “be mean to me — and i’ll cum. fucking christ — please.”
“pussy like this, dirty as you are —“ he spoke, trying to fight his own orgasm. “no one should touch you but me. i own this pussy. me. no one can fuck you like me, that right?”
it was like music to your ears. your pussy was being split open and fucked raw — so dirty, so naughty, so wrong. yet, you were both grasping onto each other like there’s was nothing else in the world. rafe was working his cock into your pussy like your orgasm was his, and his alone. he —
he got tired of waiting for a response. he lightly smacked your cheek, and wrapped a hand around your throat.
you couldn’t be surprised — because your pussy only got wetter.
“you’re gonna fucking cum for me,” he spat against your eyes. “that’s mine. all mine.”
you caught a glance of what you looked like in the mirror above — a mess. a fucking mess. your face was covered in sweat, spit, and tears. your hair was everywhere, just like there was a flush all over your body. you saw the way rafe’s veins in his neck and forehead tightened and protruded as he spat dirty words against the side of your face.
“give it to me,” he spat through gritted teeth.
your eyes couldn’t leave the mirror. it shoved you farther and farther into your trance that you couldn’t look away. couldn’t move. couldn’t think about anything else.
“it’s yours, it’s yours…” you cried, throwing your head back.
your hands immediately came up to dig your nails into his back. your back, arched, pushed your tits into rafe’s face. his face, in awe, couldn’t help but suck a nipple into his mouth as he watched your body fucking shake. there was no more low vibration — your body, every limb, had fully succumbed to shaking and crying.
“pussy so tight,” he gasped. “fuck, fuck, fuck…”
through the mirror, you watch both of your orgasms hit you at the exact same time. with one snap of rafe’s hips, the muscles of his ass tightened where his pelvis locked with yours. his back and shoulder muscles went taut, rippling with the bout of adrenaline running through his veins. with rafe’s body holding yours down, he stopped your body from spasming. your skin was prickly to the touch as your blood was pumping, pumping, pumping. the walls of your pussy squeezed around his cock as strangled gasps pushed past your lips, and were swallowed by rafe.
against your lips, he whispered, “never letting you go now, princess.”
you giggled softly, shivering. “is that so?”
“yeah,” he mumbled, kissing you. “you’re fucked.”
- - -
happy nye here’s some smut HAHA love yall
-L xoxox
#rafe cameron#rafe obx#rafe imagine#rafe fanfiction#rafe smut#rafe x you#rafe x reader#rafe outer banks#rafe fic#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron smut#rafe cameron x you#rafe cameron x reader#kooks#pogues#obx fic#obx fanfiction#obx x reader#obx imagine#obx#obx cast#obx smut
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tell your loved ones
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering ectoBiologist [EB] at 12:01 --
TG: hey im on the john
JOHN: hey, dave is taking a dump.
TG: taking a shit just so were clear
JADE: jeez!!!!!!! even when im not online i have to hear about it
TG: i know you care so youre first to know
JOHN: i'm just giving you a heads up for the bajillion messages you will definitely have about this when you get home.
EB: god, thank you. that is awesome. dave fans everywhere are gonna go NUTS for this truth nugget.
EB: hey, i am at the store with jade!
TG: tell her the news
EB: i did as soon as you first pinged me, don't worry.
TG: hell yeah see you just fucking get it
JADE: well tell him i say congrats!
EB: she says congrats.
EB: also that you left your "yeah! woo!" machine at her place.
EB: and that you are gross and smell like a dog took a dump on a fart even when you aren't crapping during our conversations.
TG: goddamn
EB: jk that last bit was me heheh. but she nodded!
EB: so anyways, a yeah woo machine?
EB: what the hell even IS that?
JADE: its more or less a machine that yeahs and woos
TG: its basically a machine that yeahs and woos
EB: ok, yeah, that is pretty much exactly what jade said too. apparently this is supposed to be obvious.
JADE: its pretty self explanatory!
TG: pretty self explanatory stuff
TG: anyways im gonna tell karkat this time i think im ready for that
EB: oh shit (LOL), that's a pretty big deal, right? good luck dude.
--
-- turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 12:03 --
TG: ok karkat can i be unbelievably candid with you is dj crabapple ready for this
TG: this is a really big deal for me but like no pressure
CG: SHIT, IS EVERYTHING OK?
CG: DO I NEED TO COME OVER THERE.
TG: no no its good i just really need to confess something
CG: WHATEVER IT IS, TELL ME. I'M HERE.
TG: alright
TG: deep breath strider
--
TG: im dropping mad logs like bars in the ablution block vantas
TG: shit is on fire
TG: downright heretical like a shat outta hell
TG: and since im feeling penitent i figure our pesterlogs are pretty much akin to a confessional booth right
CG:
--
-- tentacleTherapist [TT] began pestering turntechGodhead [TG] at 12:04 --
TT: Hey Dave.
TT: Are you, by any chance, taking a shit right now?
TG: damn word spreads fast on the information superhighway
TT: Yes, I have had the news forwarded to me via this bountiful virtual dimension of knowledge and culture we call the World Wide Web by a fellow enthusiast, one ectoBiologist.
TT: Frankly I'm heartbroken you didn't come to me about it first.
TT: Please, divulge to your loving sister the nature of your bowel movements, in exhaustive detail. Highlights in a notarized list, an overall ranking grade of your experience, whether you would recommend it to your friends, et cetera. These would be among my most pertinent avenues of inquiry.
TG: you were next on the mailing list rose im already on it
TG: boutta weave a verbal tapestry no holds barred just for you about my rambunctious foray down in brown town
TG: stay tubed
TT: Thank god. I don't know what I would do if I couldn't peruse your commodal follies like the morning gazette.
TG: dont act like this has educational value rose
TG: we all know my daily bullshit has got a laugh track
TG: like damn what kind of gazettes are you getting
TT: The best kind, Dave. Only the best kind.
TG: thanks for the vote of confidence
TG: wait gimme a sec karkat pinged
TT: Of course. I understand it's quite a big deal for you.
--
CG: OK.
CG: SINCE THIS APPARENTLY SKIRTS THE FRESHEST BUDS OF OUR BRO-DOM'S BURGEONING FROND NUB, I *ALSO* HAVE SOMETHING IMPORTANT TO SHARE.
CG: I HOPE YOUR REFLECTIVE ABLUTION VAULT IS STOCKED WITH FUCKING RUMBLESPHERE TRANQUILIZERS, BECAUSE THIS EXCHANGE IS ABOUT TO GET SHITHIVE MAGGOTS.
CG: LISTEN CAREFULLY.
TG: whats up
--
CG: I AM ALSO ON THE LOAD GAPER RIGHT NOW.
TG: oh shiiit
CG: DON'T UNCLENCH YOUR EXPLOSIVE FUCKING SEED FLAP JUST YET, BECAUSE THERE'S *MORE*!
CG: I AM *ALSO* TAKING A CRAP.
TG: oh shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit
CG: OH SHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIT
#dave strider#karkat vantas#davekat#homestuck#john egbert#rose lalonde#jade harley#june egbert#j egbert#comix#tell your loved ones#idm if this isnt rly well written i just did it 2 make myself giggle
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Lacy || Joel Miller x Reader
summary: Joel has a new girlfriend and it's eating you alive inside, especially when she's so perfect.
warnings: angst to fluff, happy ending!! reader gets minorly injured (cuts hand on accident), jealousy, bad feelings, self deprecation kinda, implied something happened to make reader not want to go on patrols anymore but nothing specific.
a/n: heres my jealousy fic loosely based on Lacy by Olivia Rodrigo. I low key love these kinda fics so I hope I did the trope justice
Perfect Perfect Perfect. She’s just so. Fucking perfect. Your body moves on auto pilot as your brain spirals into the depths of hatred and loathing.
All because of Joel’s new girlfriend.
Your mind is torn between raging jealousy and embarrassment. You and Joel were nothing. Just friends. You worked odd jobs in Jackson and would cross paths with Joel often. He wasn’t very friendly at first but soon enough you managed to break down his initial suspicion.
You became closer than most. At least you thought you were. You’d only seen him joke and smile around Ellie so when he laughed at one of your jokes you felt your stomach flip. He brought you little trinkets he found on patrols too. Small things, things that most people wouldn’t care about but Joel brought them to you so of course you cherished them like they were gold.
Then she came to town.
It was embarrassing how much you let your mind turn to jealousy and resentment. Lacy was beautiful, strong, and the nicest fucking person in town. She’s sweet and helpful and so smart. She’s everything you feel like you’re not. So why wouldn’t Joel be attracted to her? They’re patrol partners too. You see them every morning and come back every afternoon.
You don’t go on patrol. Not anymore. Joel knew that, he never asked and you never told him. He doesn’t care though. You pull your weight just as much as everyone and Joel respects that. Some people don’t. So to have Joel tell you he doesn’t care what you do, it always makes you happy. Still you wonder if he’d like you if you did go on patrol. If you could spend hours with him outside the walls, just the two of you. Maybe he’d compliment your shots or offer his jacket to keep you warm. Like he does for her.
You saw them once coming back inside the gates. His jacket was draped across her shoulders and your heart cracked. You bet it was romantic too. He noticed she was cold and so he happily gave her his jacket. How cute. You walked away from them and buried yourself into kitchen work. Helping stock and prep for dinner. Your brain is still thinking of her.
The worst part is she isn’t someone you can't even hate. She’s only been kind to you. Always offering her help to anyone who needs it. Her smile is so perfect and she makes everyone happy. Especially Joel. Joel always seems to be talking with her which is a big deal for the man who only communicated in noises the first time you met. For fucks sakes she even bakes cookies in her spare time.
You try to avoid seeing them but somehow it’s like they always pop up where you are. Tonight they’re patrons at the bar where you’re serving as bartender for the night.
“Hi there darlin’” Joel’s voice makes your heartbeat a little faster but you see Lacy standing right beside him.
“Whiskey on the rocks, right?” You blurt out without thinking. He looks surprised at first but nods.
“One for me too please.” Lacy asks nicely. You give her a tight smile and nod silently. It doesn’t take long to pour their drinks and Joel takes them both, gesturing to her to go sit.
“Thank you,” He says with a small smile.
“Anytime.” Though other people come and go, you can’t help but keep your eyes on them. Every time they laughed or smiled or got closer, it made your blood boil. You were jealous, you hated this feeling. You hated feeling the anger that burned inside of you. You hated how much you hated her. It made you sick but you couldn’t get yourself to look away. It’s like you secretly wanted to watch your whole world burn. You watch as she says something and Joel leans in closer, his lips barely ghosting her ear as he rests his arm on the booth behind her. The chatter of the bar stops as the sound of a glass shattering. It’s only when everyone’s eyes land on you do you realize you made the noise. The wine glass in your hand is now in pieces on the counter and your hand is covered in small cuts from the glass. You could feel Joel’s piercing gaze on you as someone moves to help.
“I’m okay,” You say quickly, grabbing a rag and putting it around your hand.
“I uh, I’ll be back.” You mutter, humiliation growing as you shrink under the looks of everyone. You rush out the back door. Sighing you put your head down on your knees as you slide down the wall. Your jealousy got the best of you and it feels so ugly. You slowly pick the glass out of your hand.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah I’m fine.” You look up and your eyes widen. There stands Lacy, the last person you expected to see.
“Are you sure? I can go get you some gauze.”
“I said I’m fine.” You snap. She takes a step back and you immediately feel the guilt.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that. I…I’m sorry.” You squeeze your eyes shut, hoping she leaves you alone so you can wallow in your misery.
“It’s okay,” She says gently. Lacy walks closer to you and you look up at her.
“I can’t help but feel like we’ve never really gotten along and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry if I did something to upset you.” Her words are so genuine that it makes you sick. She’s just so perfect and nice and it makes you feel awful.
“No no, you did nothing wrong. I promise. It’s all me.” She looks down next to you and you offer her to sit.
“I’m sorry if I came off cold, you’re really nice and It’s something to do with me.” You explain.
“You don’t have to tell me, but I’d really like to get to know you better if you want. Joel talks about you all the time.” She says. That catches your attention.
“He does?” You ask. She giggles and nods her head.
“Don’t tell him I told you but he really likes you, he just won’t admit it.” You can’t believe what she’s saying. It doesn’t make sense. He's so happy with her, and spends time with her. They’re perfect for each other.
“What? I thought you two were dating.” You look shocked as she shakes her head.
“We’re not. Me and Joel were both from the Boston QZ, I helped him out from time to time so we were kind of friends.” You guess that explains why he warmed up to her so fast but still.
“He won’t admit it to me but I know he likes you. He always wonders what you’re doing in town that day and when we go on supply runs he tries to subtly ask about things for you but he’s not very subtle.” She says, smiling as she remembers the shitty excuses Joel would make for picking up the tattered journal. He told her about you, that you used to keep one before the outbreak and you missed it.
“I don’t know, I haven’t really seen him much lately…” You know it's partially your fault for avoiding him but he didn’t really make much effort to see you either.
“I told him to talk to you but he started to get nervous.” She says while rolling her eyes.
“Joel nervous?” You ask in disbelief.
“I know! He totally denied it when I asked. Said he doesn’t get nervous in that crabby voice he does.” She says while laughing.
“Oh my god he really does do that voice doesn’t he. Especially when he’s trying to reprimand Ellie.” You say while laughing with her.
“And she never listens.” Lacy adds. It feels nice to laugh with her. Though now you feel silly for feeling so jealous.
“I think I owe you an apology Lacy, the truth is I was jealous of you. You’re just, so amazing and cool and nice. I thought you were perfect for Joel and I just, I wanted to be perfect for Joel.” You admit sheepishly. "I shouldn't have avoided you the way I did."
“Thank you for the apology and it's okay. As for Joel, you are perfect for him.” She hugs you and it takes you a moment before you hug her back.
“Everythin’ alright?” Joel’s voice makes you jump.
He’s come to check on the two of you. The butterflies you felt before come back in full force as you see him standing there. His eyes darting to your cut up hand.
“You should really get that fixed up.” He kneels down in front of you and checks your hand over. Lacy gets up and winks at you.
“I’ll leave you to it Joel,” She nudges him and he grumbles about something. She smiles and gives you a thumbs up before disappearing back inside.
Even though his hands are rough he handles yours with such care. Making sure not to hurt you as he checks for glass. He reaches into his small bag and pulls out a rag and wraps it around your hand.
“This’ll be okay for now but you need to put some salve on it and wrap it with a bandage.” Joel finishes wrapping your hand but he doesn’t let go of your hand.
His hands are so warm. You notice how tense he seems. He’s nervous. With the boost of confidence from Lacy you bite the bullet and speak.
“I like you. A lot.” You confess.
“I uh-” He doesn’t know what to say as you take him by surprise.
“I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner.” Your voice gets smaller as you speak. Worried that you were right and he doesn’t feel the same.
“I got you somethin’” He reaches into his little bag and pulls out a small book.
“You told me about keepin’ a diary and well I found this and thought you could start again, if you wanted to.” He hands it to you, it's a little ripped but still intact. It’s clearly been patched up. The leather cover has been cleaned and there's a new ribbon around the center.
“Oh Joel, it’s perfect.” You run your hands along the spine in awe.
“I would love to go to dinner with you darlin’’” He takes your hand and kisses the back of it. Helping you up he takes off his jacket and places it on your shoulders.
“Let me walk you back.” He places his hand on the small of your back.
You glance in the window of the bar and see Lacy talking with a few people. She makes them laugh and this time you smile. She catches your gaze and smirks, seeing Joel’s jacket and him so close.
For once it feels like you can breathe, the bitter feelings are gone. It’s a new start, a new friend gained in Lacy and hopefully a new love that will last forever.
“Are you okay?” Joel asks as he notices you in your head. Looking over at him you smile and he pulls you closer.
“I’m perfect Joel, just perfect.”
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hard
OPLA!Zoro x F!Reader
Summary - You get jealous when you see a woman chatting him up at the bar, but don't do anything about it cause you two are "casual". It's when he punches the guy trying to chat you up that everything changes.
Warnings - mild swearing, mild violence, angst to comfort
You shouldn't be bothered by it. It's not like he considered what you had serious. He didn't want anything more, or at least that's what he'd told you. So you couldn't tell him you wanted to be official, all you could do was sit and simmer in silence as the woman batted her eyelashes at him and flirtatiously touched his bicep. He wasn't trying to stop her, which only worsened your already sour mood.
"(Name), can I just-" Sanji tried to gingerly remove the glass from your hand, in fear of you gripping it so tight it broke and cut you.
"It's fine, I was just going to get another one," you mumbled, getting up and making your way to the bar. An unwelcome and unpleasant feeling was settling over you, one that was both embarrassing and irritating.
That feeling increased tenfold when you noticed the woman move closer to the unfazed swordsman, who was listening but otherwise just drinking his alcohol. You looked away, swallowing thickly and trying to push down the nauseated feeling that was rising to the base of your throat. You were hurt. You wanted to cry. It was so hard to see what was happening, but you just had to. You took your refill and went back to your seat, unaware of the concerned look Zoro was giving you as you sat down.
He wasn't a complete idiot. He had noticed something was wrong, but with this woman constantly talking to him he didn't have the opportunity to pull away and confront you. He'd have to ask later.
The rest of the crew had vanished, but you assumed that they were chasing Luffy around the small town again in order to stop him from doing something stupid. Sighing, you sat back in your seat and crossed your one leg over the other, eyeing a sudden new arrival at your table. A young man, about your age, with a hopeful gleam in his eyes that you recognised all too well.
"May I ask why such a beautiful lady like yourself is sitting here all alone?"
You glanced at him again, unimpressed, "Dunno where my friends went."
"Then let me keep you company until they return."
You hummed, not disagreeing like you usually would. Maybe it was the alcohol, maybe it was your sadness, but you didn't feel like telling him off. Your gaze wandered to Zoro and the brunette at the bar, your heart sinking lower in your chest as the same sight from before greeted you. Nothing had changed, and it felt like nothing would. At this point, she would probably win him over. The thought had your chest physically aching.
You didn't realise your hand was shaking or that you were tearing up until you felt the guy take the glass from your hand and set it aside before brushing his thumb across your cheek tenderly - with an affection that you craved from Zoro - to swipe the falling teardrop away.
This action did not go unnoticed by the swordsman, and his jaw clenched. How dare that guy touch you like that, the way Zoro wanted to touch you? How dare that guy pretend to like you when all he wanted was to get in your pants? When Zoro was the one who liked you but was too afraid to say it?
"Thanks," you managed a shaky laugh, "I don't know what's wrong with me."
If Sanji were here, he'd probably have smacked this guy's hand away from you already - the thought cheered you up a bit, his antics always making you laugh even on your worst days. If only he could knock some of that romance and possessiveness into Zoro.
"There's nothing wrong with you, you're-"
You were about to cut him off, but someone had beaten you to it. The young man stopped talking, instead letting out a pained cry as he fell sideways, blood now dripping from his bottom lip. You looked up at his assailant, eyes going wide when you saw your green-haired crewmate standing over him, seething.
"We're leaving."
"What-"
You were cut off by Zoro grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the bar. You were halfway down the street when you pulled your hand away from him angrily and stormed off back to the ship, not saying a word to him. You didn't want to start a scene in the middle of the town, where all eyes would be on you. He sighed in frustration, but followed you quickly so he wouldn't get lost on his way.
When you were both back on the Going Merry, he stopped you from heading straight to your room, grabbing your wrist again. You sighed, but didn't turn to face him.
"What?"
"Why are you mad at me?" He sounded so confused - and he was cute when he was confused - that you almost caved. Almost.
"I wouldn't use 'mad' to describe what I'm feeling," you told him. "So can we just drop it? It's nothing."
"Well it's bothering you enough that you won't even look at me," he shot back, "So what is it? Did I do something?"
You laughed bitterly, finally turning around to face him, "You only made me fall completely and irrevocably in love with you!" He opened his mouth to say something, but you weren't done. "Yes, I know, you don't want a relationship! You've made that perfectly clear. But don't go and punch guys who are actually interested if you're going to happily let women flirt with you!" You were so angry, so upset, so hurt, that you hadn't realised you'd started crying halfway through your rant.
He stepped closer to try and wipe your tears away, but you shook your head and backed away from him, and his gaze hardened, "Do you really think that guy liked you? He just wanted to fuck you!" Just the words had his anger growing again. He wanted to go back and do more to that man, but he wanted to fix this first.
He was doing poorly.
"And how is that any different from you?!" You yelled, throwing your arms up in frustration. Your words took him by surprise, and his eyes widened in shock. "Just...forget it."
Before he could say anything else, before he could stop you, you jerked your hand away from him and retreated to your room, slamming your door shut. He followed silently, his own heart sinking when he stopped outside the door and heard your sobs. He felt even guiltier knowing he'd caused them, and he wanted nothing more than to comfort you. But you clearly didn't want to see him, and he couldn't blame you.
"Idiot," he mumbled to himself as he moved away, planning to ask Nami for help on how to fix this.
*********************************
The next morning, you woke up feeling more exhausted than usual. You curled up in your bed, not wanting to go out and face him again. You wanted to avoid him, feeling too hurt to be around him at the moment. But the crew didn't deserve the same fate, so you sucked it up, swallowed your pride and eventually dragged yourself out of bed. Thankfully, while everyone else was in the kitchen, Zoro was not.
"What happened between you two?" Nami questioned as you took a seat next to her.
"Between me and who?" You feigned confusion, trying not to let it show how badly you wanted to cry again.
"You know who," she deadpanned. "He was in a panic last night, damn near assaulted me on my way onto the ship. I've never seen him so panicked."
You looked down at your food, "We argued. He doesn't feel the way I do."
"Been there," Usopp chimed in, earning a smack from Sanji.
"I'm pretty sure that's not the case," Nami told you.
"Give me a chance, (Name)," Sanji begged, "I won't treat you like this!"
"Shut up, cook," came an annoyed response from the door. "She's mine."
You immediately got up to leave, not wanting to say anything to him, not even wanting to look at him, but your path was blocked. Shoving him out the way wasn't an option, he was a brick wall in that regard. You were not prepared for what happened next.
He fell into your view because he got down on one knee, holding out a small box. Your eyes shot wide open, a gasp leaving yours and everyone else's lips. Only Nami seemed unfazed.
"What are you doing?" You asked shakily.
"What does it look like?" He deadpanned, but he sounded a bit nervous. Like he didn't really want to do it. "Proposing."
"And why are you proposing?" You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms.
"Because I'm sorry?"
"You're proposing because you're sorry?"
"You said you wanted more!"
You burst out laughing then, feeling all your anger fade away. He was truly the biggest idiot you've ever met, and you loved it regardless of how frustrating he could be sometimes. You got down on your knees in front of him, closing the ring box.
"I said I wanted a relationship," you couldn't contain the smile on your face, "Not that I wanted to get married. Not right now, anyway."
"Oh," he put the box away sheepishly. "That's a relief. I wasn't-"
"Ready?" You giggled, "I know. You were barely ready for a relationship."
"Okay, that was uncalled for."
He said it in his usual monotone drawl, but he was smiling. Relieved that you weren't mad at him anymore, and happy to see a smile instead of a frown on your face, he took both your hands in his and gently tugged to tell you to move closer. You obliged, feeling butterflies at the way he looked at you.
Then he leaned in and kissed you, and you felt something change. This kiss was different, it was more passionate and more loving than all of the other kisses you'd shared. This kiss expressed your love for him, and his love for you, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
"I was ready for a relationship with you a long time ago," he admitted when you pulled away, "Just thought you were fine with keeping it casual."
"I actually want to strangle you right now."
He laughed at that, then kissed you again. And again. And again. It became clear he was trying to show the others you were his now, and you wondered if Sanji had inspired this display of affection.
"I'm not very good at this, so just bear with me."
"I'm trying."
"I'm being serious!"
"Me too!"
He shook his head in dismay while you laughed happily, enjoying the fact that you could get on his nerves. He pulled you closer, tugging you against his body and forced your head into his chest to shut you up.
"Wait...Nami, did you help him plan this?"
#one piece live action#opla zoro#opla zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#zoro x reader#opla x reader#zoro x you#opla
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Black Metal and Bourbon (I)
AU MASTERLIST || PART II
PAIRING: Biker/Mechanic!Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Bartender!Reader
WORDCOUNT: 8.1k
WARNINGS: Alcohol consumption, drug usage, mentions of sex & intimacy, dark jokes/dirty jokes, rumors, gossip, past toxic relationship, a shitty Ex, protective!Simon, etc. (18+ mini-series)
*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*
You slapped the damp rag back into the bar top, the fabric heavy with spilled alcohol and other fluids that you didn’t even want to try and think about.
“Jesus.” Your muscles ache, neck stiff from having to try and slap a dart from the ceiling where some jackass had been too drunk to attempt and hit the target. The thing was still up there, as you weren’t about to spend your entire night fruitlessly attempting to fix someone else's blurry mistakes.
You glare over your shoulder, seeing the unconscious form of the man in question being dragged out by his friends presently, his slurring chuckles making him sound like a drowning elephant. Intoxicated yells of goodbye attached to your name make you roll your eyes slowly as they begin being said; you push through the waist-height door to allow you behind the front counter. Your middle finger flips the patrons off before boisterous flirting hits the air.
“C’mon baby, don’t be like that—!” Is cut off by the slam of the front doors and you couldn’t be more happy that your boss hadn’t gotten the bolts tightened.
“Don’t get paid enough…” You grumble, eyes slithering over to the tip jar and seeing the overflow of bills and coins as your fingers wrap the neck of a bottle of Vodka.
The profit would be split with your coworker even if she’d been gone for more than half a night getting railed by her new boy toy. You can still remember the look she’d given you as she’d walked out during rush hour, her sharp smirk and smug sheen of ‘you won’t say anything, will you?’
Grumbling under your breath, you slip the Vodka back into its slot on the wall racks, while telling yourself you can’t drink on the job; trying to forget the face of the man that had been attached to hers before they’d stumbled to the back alley.
“Graham Whitaker, you’re such a five-cent sell-out,” you shake your head, sighing heavily into the air that smells like booze and sweat.
Graham Whitaker—your Ex in every sense.
You decided to tell your coworker, if she ever showed back up, that the only reason she was getting dicked-down was because it was that man’s plan to try and make you jealous. As if you’d be caught with your pants down over a prick that had cheated on you more times than you could count before you threw his ass out.
“Not my problem anymore,” your hands move to display themselves in a motion of a settled disagreement before wiping them on your black pants.
It was late now, of course, with the dart-drunk and his friends being the last patrons that you had to serve. But you’d been in this town a long, long time.
Sorrel the construction worker came in an hour, Miss Anna-Lee accompanying for her nightly Gin and Tonic before she talked about her late love from the seventies. From there it was three more regulars before closing activities and fighting to get up tomorrow by noon only to do it all over again.
Over and over and over.
You lean back on the counter and look across the brown wood and warm overhead lights, behind you, the illumination from the drink rack gives off a dead glow.
This was your workplace since you'd been of age, and over the years that seemed to drag, here is where you’d stayed. Nothing ever changed in this town—the biggest shock was when you’d broken up with Graham; people hadn’t stopped talking about it for months.
This place was like a prison of slow death and abandoned dreams. Safe to say this was not what you had envisioned for yourself.
You scoff, pushing off the back counter and snatching your rag back up before you can spiral once more.
The stains weren’t going to buff themselves out.
Maybe it was chance that the mechanics shop across the street had shut down, too few employees and too many drug busts. Chance, or fate, whichever it was you chose to believe in that still-air Sunday, it was still a shock to you when you looked out the front window as Sorrel called goodnight through his heavy accent.
‘SOLD’
“Sold?” Sorrel pauses with one foot out of the door, and he chuckles when he sees where you’re looking in shock, your hand holding a dirty glass.
“Haven’t heard, then? Few newcomers snuck in under our noses—they’ll be running the place; mechanics!”
“New?” You laugh. “Who in their right mind would come here of all places?”
Sorrel shakes his head, grumbling as he pulls a cigarette from his pocket. “You’ll just have to meet ‘em, Doll. Sure you’ll leave a glowing impression.”
“Take that shit outside, you ass. You know I hate the smell.” A smirk graces your dead eyes.
“Like I said. Glowing.” You glare, but the man slips out of the door quickly and his form passes by the window outside to climb into his truck parked in the street. Two honks from the horn and the older man is off, grizzly-like beard gone just like your boredness.
New arrivals?
You blink at the blackened shadows of the street, illuminated by the lights and their tall tree-like bases—the sway of the planted bushes in the boxes outside. Your head tilts at the abyssal building that was once in working order.
It was a shitshow now, years of abandonment not giving it any helping hand regarding upkeep. The concrete was cracked, the garage door was hanging off of one side, and the front windows had been broken by your Ex’s buddies when they had gotten into a fight like the three-year-olds they were.
You hum lowly. A hard-chucked set of keys, you recalled. You’d seen it from here easily enough. Hadn't lied to Sheriff Russel when he’d come knocking, and, you suppose, that was why even now the immature posse still tried to scare you by following you home at night to this day.
As if everyone didn’t know where everyone else lived already.
But back to the current interest for the night.
“Let’s have a little look-see, then,” you breathe, knowing Miss Anna-Lee would be a good while away like always. You could chance five minutes—it was just across the street after all.
Shuffling outside, making sure to hold the door until it closes slowly, you step down the single step and stick your hands into your pockets. The night wasn’t hot or cold, simply there like a metaphorical cut on your palm; it wasn’t surprising the more you lived with it, but it still made your skin itch.
Feet padding, you cross the dead street and take in the long stretch of unkempt grass, stepping onto the broken curb as your shoes crunch broken glass. Long-gone cigarette butts are scattered here and there, the occasional stray bit of metal or trash. Your eyes shift slowly from one brick that makes up the frame to another, the peeling blue color that could use touching up.
The mural you had painted in middle school had faded a long time ago, just like the great expectations of going into an art career. The eyes of a great gray wolf are only a dark outline that you can’t help but stare at as if a cancer was growing in your brain, hidden behind the reach of green ivy.
Ripping your eyes away, you ignore the cry of tires from across the town and the pop of an exhaust pipe—the roar of either a car chase by the repeat offender Irene Chaney, or by some stupid kid related to Irene Chaney.
“She’s gonna wreck one of these days,” you breathe, looking down at your object of intention—the sold sign in all of its red and white glory.
Your hand snakes out and grabs the cheap plastic, stopping its swaying with a creak and a tilt of your head.
You just couldn’t understand it—who in their right mind would buy this place? The only thing it would be good as is rubble, at least then some rabbit could make its very dusty home here.
Sorrel had mentioned multiple people too.
“Must be up at the B&B then,” your voice carries over the space, the stars twinkling above you as a shadow stands at the end of the cracked driveway. Its hands are in its pockets, tall form bulky with the dark brown leather jacket around its intimidating form. You’re none the wiser, letting the sign drop as you put your hands to your hips. “They better not be fuckin’ dickheads—”
“Mind explainin’ to me why I came to get a drink and now I’m talkin’ to some Bird on my property?”
You startle, gasp peeling out of your lips as your head swivels as if attached to a string which, in turn, tracks back to the source of a heavy Manchester accent. Grass breaks under your feet, as the gravel of the tone makes you cringe. Your eyes lock on the man who looks like he just came back from a warzone.
The first thing you noticed was the balaclava and the skeleton detailing, of course, how could you not—the lower half was an inch below those October eyes of the deepest shade of brown you’d ever witnessed.
Your spine straightens in cautious surprise, hiding the way your hands had clenched as if ready to swing on your Ex if he so happened to be there instead of…this person.
“Excuse me?” You say, quickly, as if it was forced out instead of a scream. Your face pushes that stern expression back to your face as your throat clears out the hoarseness.
A covered head tilts with its small sliver of pale flesh visible to you—the strong bones of his nose bridge and hidden jawline. The bulk of large muscles and thighs spoke to hard labor, and his booted feet shifted below loose black cargo pants.
The mask alone caused you a hint of worry in those few seconds of fast study of this phantom’s anatomy.
He blinks at you slowly, raising the small corner of a dark brow from a respectable distance away.
“Said you’re trespassing, yeah?” Your face gains a sheen of heat, and you glance at your bar behind the stranger, at the bright burn of the lights.
Taking a stiff breath, your lips pull into a frown as you try to hide your embarrassment.
“Well…a holler would have been just fine.” A fake glare is put on. “What’s with sneaking up on a woman in the middle of the night? Are you some creep or something?”
Those dark eyes stay locked on yours, and for a moment you don’t know if you’ve encountered a statue or not because he doesn’t speak for a moment.
A puff of breath from his nose.
“You the bartender, then?” You motion to your nametag above your left breast and grunt. His gaze homes in before he simply says, “Good.”
Without another word, the man turns stiffly before he steadily begins making his way back to the bar; crossing the street with a swift check of the road. You watch him saunter off, jaw slackened and your cheeks hot. The span of his shoulder blades levels out as he rolls his shoulders.
Where did this guy even come from? The answer was simple, the bed and breakfast was only four buildings down and to the left. Guy must have come in for a late-night serenade with a bottle.
A quick glance is thrown back to the rundown property behind you before you growl and hurry after this individual who currently pushes open the faulty doors of your work. Jogging across the asphalt, you catch the thing right before it closes and slip inside with a puff of air and a shoved-down snap of a sarcastic ‘thanks’.
Yet, the man is already pulling back one of the bar stools and easing into it when you make it behind the counter. You study him yet again.
“You’re one of the new mechanics?” Brown-Eyes blinks at you.
Without missing a beat, he goes, “Bourbon—Kentucky.”
“I asked a question,” you cross your arms, not even for a moment looking away as the silence of the bar sneaks in around you and this strange creature. “Least you can do for a lady is answer it when you act like a damn cat and sneak up on her.”
“You were on my property.” This is leveled out through a grunt, and after a moment of staring, you scoff.
“I was curious about who had bought such a piece of junk. Guess I have my answer.” Your hand grabs the bottle of Kentucky Bourbon, the amber liquid inside sloshing as you turn back and put it into the wood. There’s a fraction of a dead tease that makes the man seem more human than he looks.
“Well, aren't you a ray of sunshine?”
“I prefer a solar flair.” You comment dryly and set an engraved glass next to the bottle. Something flickers past the mechanic’s eyes, a quirk to the fabric of his balaclava.
“On The Rocks or Neat?” Your brow raises and you tilt your head.
“That even a bloody question? Neat.” You snort, splaying your hands before you grab the bottle as he watches you blankly.
“Sorry, it's kind of my job to ask.” Your hand shifts and you pour a reasonable amount into the glass, knowing exactly when to stop. As you shift the bottle away, you leave it on the bar top and gently push the beverage to him as his gloved fingers take it up. You repress a small smile at the matching bone gloves to go with the detailing on his balaclava.
“Bartenders always have this much attitude?” The glass is kept in front of his person, carefully held in his large grip.
Moving back, you go to lean on the back counter. This night was quickly taking an interesting turn. “Only if they’re me.” You sigh. “You have a name, then, Brown-Eyes?”
The individual snorts at the title, but his eyes narrow on you at the same time as if he was held hesitant at the ability for you to make him. He had an air of casual tension around him, like a dog on a thin leash that can only just manage to meet others and stay his fangs.
Danger, you pinpoint. The man felt like danger. A riptide; surface tension.
Then why was it that you felt more and more intrigued by the second?
“Simon Riley,” he eases, staring with those numb eyes of his before he tips the glass slightly your way. With the thumb on the same hand that holds the bourbon, he hooks it under his face covering and pulls it up until he can connect the glass to his lips and take down a sip as his Adam’s apple bobs in a swallow.
On the way back, his thumb drags the fabric back to its previous position as if nothing had happened. The image of pale skin and stubble sticks with you, and your eyes shift away quickly without you realizing it as the glass is returned to the counter.
“Well, Simon Riley,” you mutter, “welcome to nowhere.”
The man hums, eyes looking you over in a single glance before the gaze shifts to the wall behind your head. He says nothing, and the door opens to the next three familiar customers as you move to take their order. As you slip out from behind the barrier, you grumble under your breath before you slip past Simon to the corner booth.
“For the record, Riley, I do enjoy seein’ that old place getting taken on. Don’t run it into the ground, would you? And if you need a fresh coat of paint, for the love of all things holy, don’t go down to the Schafersons’ place, you come right to me.”
Walking casually, you greet the three ladies from the downtown library with a smirk and an easy comment about if their husbands knew they were out so late, to which you promptly got cursed out on good faith. Sharing a few chuckles, you get them started on what they need, all the while feeling those brown orbs now following subtly from the side of their sockets, intrigued.
Simon wasn’t sure what to make of you, and the same could be said about this town as a whole. A woman with such a future trapped behind her eyes, adventure in her blood, why were you here in a place with nothing promised for it except dying businesses and old faces? This was a place where people came to hang up the coat, not try and rip it off of its peg.
The children born here with ambitions leave, that was the common denominator. Even Simon could see that. But you? Here you were.
The man peels his eyes away, taking up his glass again and re-hooking his thumb to his mask. Amber liquid seeps into his mouth, pulling the scars on his lips and cheeks as he swallows it down as easily as water. The bourbon pools in his stomach, sending its honied effects to the back of his mind; it would take much more to get drunk, but that wasn’t what Simon was looking for.
Perhaps he was just out tonight wondering why he’d left the military for a mechanic’s job and come out here—asking anything for a sign that this was the right decision even as his head echoed with the screams and the gunfire.
And then he’d seen you standing in front of the fuckin’ worst mechanics shop he’d ever seen that he’d signed the property deed for not three hours ago. Hell, he hadn’t even looked at the place before buying it—Price was responsible for the official financial actions, and the man had made him swear that it was worth it.
But fuck, he’d just needed a way out of the city. Too loud, too unpredictable in that previous shop of theirs right by the busy street. MacTavish and Garrick had been easy to convince; they’d all served together before and had no family over here either.
A new start thousands upon thousands of miles away.
Your head pulls up from where you chat with the librarians, hearing the slam of the door as the draft wafts in from outside—a small breeze has picked up.
Inside walks in your very ruffled, and very well-pleased, coworker, Celina Bell.
She brushes down her top and black skirt, blinking around with blown pupils until her eyes lock on you. A poisonous smile meets your eyes as you raise a brow slowly—Lord, if this girl didn’t realize that fucking your Ex over some workplace squabble wasn’t something to be proud of, she was really a lost cause.
Simon only glances over his shoulder before turning back around and tapping his fingers against his glass absentmindedly.
“You alright?” You ask out of due diligence, sparing the ladies an apology look for them being interrupted.
“Better than alright,” Celina chuckles, walking over with a limp in her step. “Just scored Graham Whitaker.” She fake pauses, blinking as if in realization that a child would know was taking the piss. Your face is stuck in the expression of boredom. “Wait…you two were involved for a few years, right? Oh, I’m really sorry—I had no clue.”
“Yeah,” you look her up and down and blink at the disheveledness. “Sure. Quite the score.” A pause, her lips pulling back into that smug smirk that reminds you of a weasel. Yet your next words leave her face devoid of blood. “You know he got Chlamydia from Stacy Green a week ago, right?”
A pin could be heard dropping. Brown eyes are firmly stuck to the scene, unsure what to make of it. The ladies stifle their laughter.
“...W-what?”
“Y’know,” you motion a hand to her lower body, walking past her back to the bar. “STD. Chlamydia. Results in—”
“I know what the fuck an STD is, you bitch.”
“Woah,” you whistle, “language.” Your body returns to the counter as loud stuttering is left behind you, the frantic patting of a pocket to look for a phone before enraged feet rush to the exit. “Need a refill, Riley?”
“It can wait,” Simon utters slowly. The door slams shut.
You chuckle, shrugging. “Alright, suit yourself.”
The man takes the names you drop and files them away, slotting them into his mental database for when he needs to work with these people. Yet, there’s already a sour impression just off of comments alone. Who better to get your news from than a bartender?
You know everyone's dirty little secrets.
You diligently serve the drinks to the librarians, placing them down carefully before Simon once more has a re-filled glass of his drink. He moves it slightly up in a cheer and gives you a stare as you wipe your hands with a clean rag.
“Seems you know everything ‘round ‘ere.” His accent is what draws you in, and you find yourself eager to hear more from him.
“I’m easy to talk to,” you respond, shrugging and leaning on the counter a foot or two away as you both watch the other. A smirk overtakes your features. “And I am the one that gives people the drinks.”
“So, what I’m hearing,” Simon raises a brow. “Is that you get ‘em dunker than a man on his execution date.”
You click your tongue, tilting your head in a teasing manner while maintaining a serious face.
“Afraid you’ll spill your secrets, Riley?”
His eyes flash at you, and his lips flicker into a smirk you can hear in his voice.
“It’ll take more than two glasses of Bourbon to get me talking, Sunshine.”
Your face shifts away, but the sudden fight with a smile leaves you nearly breathless.
Who is this man?
“Why are you here,” your question meets his ears as he takes back the last of his drink, stomach filled for the night and his searching, for the moment, abated.
The glass meets the bar top.
He grunts. “Needed a drink.”
Your lips pull in annoyance. “You know what I mean. You’re terrible at answering questions.”
“Hm, maybe.”
“Fuck off,” you grumble, shaking your head as a low chuckle makes your insides swirl.
A stack of bills is placed on the counter, and the man stands, grabbing the hood of his black sweatshirt and pulling it up. His gloved hands go to the pockets of his leather jacket with a roll of his wide shoulders. From under the hood, the white of the painted mask glares out from under the shadows that now shroud him.
You both sneak a glance at the mechanic's shop—a clear view from the front window.
“See you around, then?” Your head is tilted at him, blinking. You hum under your breath. “I’m going to keep asking you why you showed up in this town, Riley, and I won’t stop until I get an answer.”
Simon quirks a brow, eyes glinting with interest. When was the last time someone had spoken to him like this outside of his boys?
“Look forward to it,” he utters slowly. With a blink and one more dead look, he’s already out the front door and walking back down the street—disappearing like a ghost the same way he had appeared.
Picking up his cash and counting through it, the librarians across the way snicker, and one calls out, “So, the new mechanic, huh?”
“One more peep and I’m doubling your tab.”
But…you did have to admit, he had been charming…hadn’t he? At least someone here could juggle your attitude.
—
Three days pass with no sighting of Simon Riley, but just because you didn’t see him doesn’t mean you weren’t witness to his aftermath.
The shop across the street was practically fixed up while you were asleep.
Where there had been overgrown grass, there was now a cut lawn getting watered by the reach of an angry sprinkler. The fast movement of the spray reaches the sidewalk that was, somehow, still there under all that trash hiding away like a criminal. Stray bricks are gone and stacked into a pile as you pause outside the bar, staring wide-eyed with your breath caught in your throat in the late morning air.
The ivy over your mural was peeled back—that faded wolf’s gaze locking with yours, unyielding to the calls of time as its canid body stool as a silent sentinel.
But, on the third day, as you’re going on break before the night sets in, you manage to not only see Simon again but meet two of the other men who’d moved here.
You pick up your feet and jog across the street, hopping the curb as you blink, impressed at the open garage with its fixed and oiled bay door. Inside it was still dusty—remnants of what was left behind in the corners and scattered. But it was getting there. Quickly.
“Didn’t know Simon was goin’ to sign on such a piece of rusted shite—where’s the fuckin’ outlets?” Gritted Scottish. You stick your hands into your pockets and enter the large opening.
“If I remember,” you speak, finding the two men standing slightly off to the side as the bulkier one with a mohawk carries a series of extension cords. Cobalt and brown eyes dart to you in shock—the second man of darker complexion sharing a glance with the other in swift confusion. “When you manage to find them, they’ll all be burst.”
Blank stares are sent your way.
“Kids would come by and watch ‘em spark when they were bored. No one really cared enough to stop them.” A clearing of a throat meets your ears as you study the room more.
It was small, with only one main garage for all the repairs, but that wasn’t new to you. The motorcycles were, though.
Five in total all parked and resting next to one another near the back wall, all in varying shades of black and gray. Your lips twitch at the sight, imagining your late-night acquaintance riding one of them—you dare say that it fit him quite well, and you weren’t that surprised at all by this.
Biker mechanics. It fits the script.
“Who’s this then?” The Scot asks you, raising a brow as a friendly smirk pulls his mouth up. “Can’t remember bookin’ any repairs today, Ma’am, might have to wait a few more days before we get it all up and runnin’.”
“I can see. No, I work just across the street,” you spare a friendly smile.
“So you’re the bartender? The bartender.” The second man speaks, grinning kindly as he searches through a toolbox on a small table. He hums, looking playful. “So that’s why Ghost was gone so long.”
Ghost…? Did they mean Simon?
The skeletal accents suddenly make far more sense.
“Johnny MacTavish,” A hand is leveled out ahead of you, and you take it casually with a muttering of your own name. “Soap’s just fine as well.”
Your brow quirks, but you only share an amused nod.
The other individual stands and makes his way over, tall and leaner as to where Soap’s more blatant strength is.
“Kyle Garrick—Gaz. Pleasure.”
“Just came over to introduce myself,” your hand shifts back into your pockets as you motion with your head back to the bar. “I’m on my break.”
“Ah,” Soap’s hands move the cables he holds as he loops them into a more storable shape vertically around his elbow and palm. “Last one to meet then is Price—man’s in town gettin’ lunch for us,” he grunts under his breath. “Hopefully a damn set of zip-ties, too.”
“Zip-ties, Mate?” Gaz breathes a chuckle with a fix of the backward ball cap on his head. “C-4 would bloody help more. At least then we can have a clean starting point.”
“I think we’re fresh out of C-4, unfortunately,” you huff a laugh, motioning around as the men smirk at you, Johnny snorting a chuckle. “You guys have done a pretty good job so far. I can’t remember when it looked this nice in here.”
“Well, we’re honored, Bonnie,” Soap tilts his head as he ties off the cord with one of the ends. “Makin’ me blush.”
“If Simon had just looked at the place before buying it, we might have been able to open sooner.” Gaz huffs, thinning his lips as he glances over the broken window and the peeling paint—the door to the main lobby that has a punched dent in it. “Couldn’t be worse.”
“Well then it can only get better,” you breathe, shrugging.
Gaz huffs affectionately. “Not wrong there, then.”
You lean forward, tilting your head. “You’ll find I rarely am.”
“Second time you’ve snuck on,” a Manchester accent scares you once more, head snapping to the side as the light spills in from the garage opening. “This a pattern, Sunshine?”
Simon’s brows are raised as those October eyes lock with yours. Gaz and Soap share a look, smirking before the Scot peels off to find a place to store his belongings.
“Where have you been?” Gaz asks as you glare at the masked man for once again coming up behind you.
A bag is presented, leaning off three fingers as a glance gets thrown past you.
“Down the street. Needed these made.” The bag is tossed and Kyle catches it easily.
You watch as the crinkly plastic is opened and the dark fabric of four black pairs of overalls is produced, each embroidered with their respective names.
“What’s wrong with the old ones?” Johnny pipes up, brows furrowed.
“Looks like you got fuckin’ mugged in ‘em.” Simon slides his attention back to you as Johnny curses with a glint of amusement in his blues.
“Aren’t open yet.” Your face peels back to a stiff annoyance.
“I can see that, Riley.” You motion to the other men. “I was being polite.”
He grunts while walking past, muttering through a brief smirk, “Doubt that.”
Your jaw slackens, but you only growl and hold your tongue as you glance the mechanic over. He still had his leather jacket, but a loose shirt took the place of a hoodie.
“You ready to answer my question?” Simon locks those eyes with yours from over his shoulder before sliding up to the black form of one of the motorcycles.
Visible to the naked eye, you take in the lack of fairings around the frame—eyeing the pure black metal of the entire engine from any angle that you might move to you’d still be able to see. It was nice. Perfect, even; damn expensive too. While the thought was enticing, you can’t imagine Simon riding it—he seemed more rugged, more…classy.
“Negative.” You roll your eyes, but Soap speaks before you can retort.
“Finally takin’ out the CB1000R, Ghost? ‘Bout time.” The brute throws a blank look at the Scot as Gaz utters to you a few feet away before a casual ‘no’ is leveled out through the space.
“He got it months ago,” Kyle’s eyes crinkle. “Can’t seem to take it out for a ride yet. No one knows what he’s waiting on.”
“Can’t say I blame him,” your words confide. “It’s beautiful.”
“It was a fucking fortune—no use collecting dust is what I say.” You hum, shifting back to Simon who taps the seat of the CB1000R before moving past it to an older cruiser with dents and dirt along the sides. This was more him you thought. Rugged and more dated than the first; something you use on long rides to nowhere.
“Maybe he’s just waiting for a special occasion,” you guess.
“Better get on with it.” Gaz moves away with a shrug and a huff.
Your lips pull in a small smile, and you watch Simon pull keys from his jacket and insert them as he moves to straddle the larger body of the cruiser, easing into it slowly. Staring, you think about how far that bike could take you—what you could see with it on the open road of possibilities and whipping air. Where would you go? Anywhere. Anywhere and everywhere.
Eyes shifting away from the motorcycle, they widen as they softly meet Simon’s own—locked for a moment in a staring contest. His lids barely pull down, studying something. You clear your throat and exhale.
Sensing your company was most likely a hindrance at this point, you turn to leave as the engine flares—you wave easily behind your back with a call of well-wishes.
“Come have a drink one time, boys, yeah? I need stories that come from strangers for once.” A ruckus of ‘affirmatives’ and ‘will do, Ma’ams’ sparks up from Johnny and Kyle as you exit to the roar of the motorcycle behind you, your feet kicking a stray rock into the grass before you make it to the curb.
Before you can cross, a steel body blocks your path.
“I’ll be needing a drink later tonight, then.” Simon watches from atop his seat, one booted foot to the ground to steady himself as he comes to a slow halt. His fingers curl the handles, twitching.
“Let me guess,” you tilt your head, smirking, “Bourbon?”
“A woman after my own heart,” he draws numbly, October browns as dead as mulch. As dead as dirt.
“And do you have a heart, Simon Riley?” You question, blinking at him as your mind tells you to walk away. Your brain doesn’t need a repeat of Graham—you already had enough problems on your plate right now besides some attraction to this stranger. This push and pull made your heart jerk, even when you know it shouldn’t.
You’d only just met him.
The man hums, thighs shifting on the black metal frame. He says the easiest answer he can.
“A cold one.”
Pushing on the ground, he takes off down the road back into the main town for whatever errand he was on this time. Your eyes follow until the figure is no more than a memory of the smell of oil and the metallic tinge of caution.
—
You hated the smell of cigarette smoke.
Like a pregnant woman’s aversion to the scent of meat, you grew nauseous at the very hint of cheap tobacco and paper on the air—loathed the burn of it. It had to do with your Ex, of course. The man had been a habitual chain smoker, lighting up one after the other until you had to leave his house entirely to puke on the front lawn. If you thought about it hard enough, you could still taste the ash on your tongue from when he kissed you after lighting up.
But that was only one of the reasons you’d never moved in with him despite being together for years—the cheating was the other problem.
Girl after girl, broken promise after broken promise, you’d still held onto him as if he deserved it. Hell, all that Graham Whitaker deserved were the copious amounts of STDs he probably had after sleeping with as many women as he could to try and get back at you. You didn’t have ample reason to ban him from the bar—him or his loud-mouth friends, you should say—so the problem, like a bad rash, persisted. Cars following you after work and all.
But, the here, the now.
Simon had, in fact, come in for that drink that night—just as he had for the last week up until the grand opening of the boys’ shop. You’d both spoken throughout these encounters and formed some sarcastic and sly-looked bond that the other locals couldn’t understand. You had even learned about his military service.
The both of you were just…different, people said. No one else really argued with it.
You finally met John Price before the party that you’d heard from Simon that Soap and Gaz had been eager to host for the town—‘come meet the bastards that bought that old shitty building and see how they fixed it up all by themselves. You should come and give us your money.’
It was there that a proposal was offered.
“Simon says you told him to come to you about paint.” John was late thirties, keeping a well-trimmed beard with a mustache that was the same shade of brunette as his head of hair. Tall, as well as built, he had found you as you were closing up the bar early for the town-wide party, Celina having already slipped out.
You were dressed in a long skirt and a nice shirt for the occasion.
“John Price, I’d imagine,” you comment, stuffing your keys into your pocket as your purse hangs from your shoulder. A throaty grunt tells you all you need to know as you move down the step. “Yeah, I did say that. Do you need some?” You look over his shoulder to the still peeling color on the outside of the bricks as the men are dragging out folding chairs and long tables. There was the clatter of laughter and loud calls.
John’s blue eyes shift behind him, and he raises a brow slowly.
“Thinkin’ we’d just hire you,” a side-eye. “If you’d be interested.”
That was a surprise.
You begin walking across the street, the man beside you and awaiting your answer.
“Hire me?” Your voice asks, but you aren’t against the idea. “How do you know I’ll be any good at it,” you chuckle in question.
“Simon says he found your initials next to the mural—the wolf.” Your feet pause, stuttering for a second before you catch yourself. The blood on your face stops its circulation in shock. “Not a bad piece, then.” John grunts. “...Think you can do a skull and wings?”
So, you sat with your sketchbook in front of the wall, a portable camping chair below your bare feet as your legs folded under you. Your slip-on sneakers rest in the green grass, kicked off with a sigh. Blinking, the chatter and mumble from the party surround you in a sheen of community and calmness. You can pinpoint every voice, every story being re-told as if new news when it goes in one ear and out the other like a breeze on the wind.
Humming under your breath as the sun is low in the sky, you hear the silent feet still from over your shoulder. A smirk flickers your lips.
“Snooping, Riley?”
“My building.” He grumbles, “Seein’ what you plan to do to it.”
You snort, looking over your shoulder and smiling. “If I recall, you’re the one who took up my offer and told Price about it.”
Simon was dressed in cargos and a compression shirt pushed up to his elbows, the swell of his forearms on full display along with the scars and…tattoos. You blink at them, the swirl of black skulls and guns; barbed wire and dog tags—the dark images that fit him as his motorcycles did on his left limb. Brown eyes flicker from yours to the painted wolf.
“Good at that,” the man says, balaclava shifting.
Your expression slowly shifts to something far softer than you can remember it ever being; inside of your chest, your heart tightens.
“Thank you.”
He levels you, the corners of his eyes easing out of the numb nothingness to show something akin to shielded affection. Molten sunlight on the side of his face, making the color of his irises glow amber. Simon nods to your sketchbook, clearing his throat.
“I able to see it, then, or is it some secret?” You huff.
“Come here,” your hand motions, palm brushing away eraser shavings as your fingers get stained with graphite. The shadow comes closer, leaning over you as the scent of oil pools in your gut. You blink at the side visage, swiftly looking back down to your sketchbook as a slight wind ruffles your skirt.
“Price was talking about a skull with wings beside it—later on he made mention of a sword through the top.” While you explain the concept, you inadvertently study the tattoos on the flesh beside you, one scarred hand coming out to lightly grab the armrest of your chair as Simon leans even closer.
As your face begins burning, breath caught in your throat, he blinks down at the image as he looms, head tilting.
Simon breathes, chest rising and falling as his eyes go far off. You know the symbol means something, though you also have a good guess that it’s related to this group’s time in the service.
He hums, and you see his lips open, the rough grate of his vocal cords as he begins to form words for you.
“It’s—”
Your name is loudly called from across the way, both Simon’s and your heads snapping back as you both realize exactly how close you two have become. The stealing of the other’s warmth like wraiths of hidden longing ceases when you wrench your attention to the man you wished would leave you alone.
Graham raises the dark bottle of a cheap beer from the dollar store in your direction, walking over. Now, your Ex wasn’t anything spectacular, but even you had to admit it was the best you could do around here if you didn’t want to date men only five years from the grave. Graham was tall, strong, and heavy-willed like a bear. In the day hours, he worked as a farmhand down the way.
Your body tenses, eyes going tight. Simon sees.
“Who’s this,” he asks slowly, fingers twitching.
“Ex,” you mutter, grimacing. “He’s going to make a scene.”
Already gazes had started drifting over, conversations lapsing into mute silence as orbs shifted to three different individuals all stuck in the same storm.
Simon grunts, standing up to his full height and crossing his arms over his chest, legs shifting below him and thighs trading weight. His moving leaves half of you kept firmly behind him and your eyes study his stance as you notice that fact. You blink, and feel something stir in your ribcage, blooming like a flower.
“Hey, Bartender!” Graham takes a cigarette out of his pocket and lights it as his fingers fumble over the neck of the bottle. “Though I’d seen you over here missing all the action. Nothing’s changed I see.”
Your face pulls in with disgust.
“Graham, you’re drunk. Go home.” It was true—his words were slurring, his limbs loose with drink. He smirks at you, taking a drag of his cancer stick and puffing it directly at you. Your hand snaps to your nose to try and cover the horrendous smell.
“Nah,” he breathes. “I’m here with Celina, see’s a pretty nice lookin’ broad don’t you think? Not as good of a fuck as you, but, hey, I take what I get.” His expression shifts to hidden anger and Simon takes a heavy step forward before he can finish the rest of his sentence, hands shifting to grasp his biceps harder. Those browns simmer with low ferality—a warning.
The air gets heavy.
“Pretty good little lie you spread about me gettin’ that shit from Stacy.”
“That was a lie?” You drawl lazily and watch your Ex’s eyes flash with rage. But he should know you don’t take shit from him anymore. “Oh,” your fingers tighten over your flesh and make you sound stuffy. “Maybe I heard wrong, you’re right. You don’t have Chlamydia.” You glare. “It was Gonorrhea, wasn’t it?”
“Bitch!” Graham barks, moving forward, but before anyone can realize it, Simon already has him shoved back with a stone-like push to your Ex’s chest.
“Not smart, Mate.” The former soldier utters, arms falling back to his sides. The party by this point had entirely halted in sharp gasps and bated breath.
Graham’s beer bottle shatters as it hits the ground, the grass not able to absorb the way it slams down to dirt. Your wide eyes stay stuck on Simon’s figure, who’s now entirely hiding your view of your Ex—the wide expansive back that shows the writhe of his shoulder blades and how his spine shifts under the tight shirt.
Your hand lowers from your face.
“What the fuck?!” Graham spits. “You made me drop my fucking drunk, man!”
“Be thankful that was all, yeah?” Simon’s dead voice is a cold chill on a winter evening. Any sane person would turn and leave immediately. “Cut your losses.”
No one breaths for a long minute, and you can see the other new mechanics inching closer from the sides. All of the locals are deep into the scene, fingers to their lips in surprise. There’s going to be talk tomorrow—the bar will be busy.
“Graham,” you try to sway the pig-headed man once more from behind Simon. “Go home.”
“So this is what I get,” your Ex spits, head trying to peek over the larger man’s frame to look at you. Simon’s hands clench into tight fists. “I’m with you for years and this is how you treat me? I gave you everything!”
“Those are years that I never want to think about again,” you say with a stiff finality. “And it’ll be a cold day in hell before you ever see me worrying about where you are or who you fuck.”
Knowing that the situation is over and done with, Simon takes a single step forward and leans into the man.
“You heard ‘er,” he levels, unblinking. “Scatter.” Simon’s accent made it sound more like a threat, but maybe it was.
Graham growls and takes a long drag from his cigarette, staring Simon down.
“Fuck you, you piece of shit.” But all he does is turn sharply on his heel and stomp away, crossing the street to his truck before he opens and closes the door with a violent slam. From across the way, Celina gasps and calls his name, but the engine has already started and Graham is down the road with a roar from the exhaust.
Everyone is watching you and Simon, and the staring peels back your skin until Simon grumbles and grabs your arm.
Blinking in shock, he only gives you a moment to steady yourself and slip on your shoes before he drags you inside the garage. You huff and look up at him as you close your sketchbook–trying to not look at those tattoos again. Your finger wanted to trace them—to study the ink down to the layer of skin where it ended and became red flesh and weeping veins. How far up his left arm did they go? Did they only stay at his forearm, or up to his shoulder?
Inside he lets you go, head slightly tilted to the outside as the sounds of hushed whispering pick back up; hurried and filled with electricity. Simon grunts, blinking.
A heated silence encompasses the two of you, and as your eyes lock, neither can speak for a moment.
“Sorry about that,” you glance at your feet. “Should have guessed he’d show up and do something.”
“Don’t apologize,” Simon crosses his arms again, boots righting themselves. “That’s not your fault that some bastard can’t act right, yeah? Forget about it, it’s all nothing.”
“You shouldn’t have to be involved—”
“Bloody cut it out, would you?” Simon glares, brows pulling in. “I said it’s nothing.”
He was very passionate about this, it seemed.
You sigh, shaking your head before a tiny chuckle makes the mechanic blink in confusion. “Suppose I can call you my guard dog now, huh?”
“Piss off,” you laugh, covering your mouth with your hand while your eyes narrow down. Simon's own crinkle along the edges, lowering his hands to push them into his pockets.
A second leads into another, but neither of you has any particular interest in re-joining the others, even if Soap is smugly passing looks and Price smirks into his drink. Gaz fixes his hat while he tips back a beer bottle, hiding a glint of amusement.
Simon’s voice lowers, seeming to hover closer.
“You alright, then?” You nod, face heating up as you stare at his shadow-tainted visage and how the face-covering obscured him from your eager eyes.
“I’m used to his drama. I have no problem giving it back.” Simon hums, October browns glinting like Halloween lights.
“Seems so.” He pauses, and pushes out a joking, “Not surprised, Sunshine.”
“Good, Brown-Eyes,” you lean back on your heels and smirk. “I’d be offended if you were, with all we’ve been talking to one another.”
“Getting familiar, Bartender?”
“Of course, Mechanic. Haven’t you heard?” He tilts his head, prodding you on as his eyes soften that candle-like smidge. “I keep everyone’s secrets—and you still have to tell me yours.”
Simon chuffs a low chuckle, and the fabric of his mask pulls as he shakes his skull. “Maybe one day, yeah? Need to stick ‘round to know ‘em.”
Then perhaps this town was worth wasting away in.
—
“Bastard won’t cause any problems, will he?”
“No, no, he’s too much of a coward to try and get back at anyone. He won’t do anything.”
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code breaker
premise: there’s always been something there, between the two of you. unspoken and filling in the cracks of those moments where joel is helping you out of a tough situation and your offering up a thank you and sweet smile. if only it didn’t take bloody knuckles and some band-aids to finally crack the code of that something.
pairing: joel miller x (f)reader
word count: 6.2k
warnings: eighteen+ content, unprotected p in v, smut with feelings really, fem receiving oral, friends to lovers, mutual pining, fluff, mentions of violence and blood, alcohol mention, toxic exes and relationships discussed, dirty talk, biting and love marks mention, lots of banter, au (preoutbreak).
note: i meant for this to be darker but it turned out wayyy more fluffy and i’m actually really happy about it. i hella edited this but it still feels choppy so if it is i’m sorry ya girl has bad eyes lmao. gif made by me so don’t be an ass and steal it tysm <3
There’s words you should be saying right now. Expressing. Spilling from your mouth in a heap of thank you, I appreciate you, what would I do without you always being there for me…
But they just can’t seem to come out. The speech part of your brain—and your heart—aching and prompting you to speak. To show courtesy, your vocal cords refuse to let you get out. Like your mouth has forgotten its purpose, your throat hoarse from screaming Joel’s name in the chaos of thrown fists, people shouting, men trying and failing to haul Joel’s weight off of the bloodied body below it.
The blood on his knuckles pulls your eyes in like a neon sign: caked, dark, and drying the longer the air gets to it. If it hurts Joel doesn’t state it—show it as he grips the steering wheel. You’ve never thrown a punch before, have never seen something like this up close and personal. You excelled at resolving conflicts before they arose. Never let arguments get past the phase of unfair yelling. But you would assume his knuckles must be aching, even if only a dull pounding.
You know for certain your ex's face is.
Good.
You hadn’t expected him to show up at the bar, your job. Hadn’t expected him to start in on the possessive act—coincidently the local patrons were less than surprised at the all-too-cliché behavior. The town having labeled him as bad news ages ago. Something you had to learn the hard way, when you finally took off those rose colored glasses.
Joel had been staring at you for the duration of the exchange. Even after your ex left to hang out with a group of his buddies in the corner, his gaze lingered on you.
"You alright?" He asked as he slid his glass towards you, his forearm leaning against the bar. A wordless nod letting you know he wanted another.
"Yeah, he’s not the first creep I've had to deal with. It's in our DNA as women to deal with the lesser species of the male population."
"Can’t tell if that makes me feel better or worse as a father."
"Oh," you send him a sweet smile. Setting his refilled whiskey in front of him, "no creep dare mess with Sarah. I’ve seen her make jocks cry."
"That’s my girl, taught her well." The grin he wraps around the rim of the glass makes something girlish—and foolish—spark in your stomach.
Maybe if you had a man like Joel in your life, you would be less likely to keep making the same mistakes with no-good assholes who are good for a week and bad for the rest of the 358 days.
A girl can dream.
And she has. Embarrassingly.
The two of you had continued to talk, your hip pressed against the bar as you cleaned a glass; perhaps you had been smiling and laughing too hard at what Joel was saying because your ex was back and grabbing you from across the bar in an instant.
An action that quickly landed him passed out and bloodied on the bar floor, and your boss trying to make sure Joel hadn’t taught him too good of a lesson to have him see God.
And while the adrenaline of shock had been bruising your heart against your rib cage, your lungs devoid of air—when Joel had put his non-bloody hand against your arm, calling your name (the white noise of the commotion in the bar creating an impenetrable barrier to your ear drums), a warm thumb under your chin pulling your attention away from the limp body on the floor and up into his eyes—that adrenaline melted and turned into serendipity.
Gratefulness.
Those girlish sparks turning into an entire flame that quickly engulfed you as he asked if you were okay. As he comforted you with a barely there touch on your arm and chin, concern in his dark eyes. Concern for what? Frightening you?
When your gaze is drawn to his knuckles, his body language responds with a grimace. When you see the gashes only bone against bone brings.
He’s worried he’s upset you. As if he's done something wrong.
When he insists on driving you home you don’t argue. Wouldn’t dream of it even if the circumstances were different. It wouldn't be the first time he drove you home because your beat-up car wouldn't start or because the weather was bad and your anxiety was high.
That’s the thing about Joel.
He was always there.
If you needed help, he always seemed to find time.
Because of this, and the aforementioned beating your toxic ex to a pulp, you shouldn't be allowing the silence to spread between the two of you like strangers. Like something in the air was making everything awkward, like you hadn’t sat in his truck a dozen times before. Like he hasn’t gotten you out of a pinch (minus the blood) before.
And after he’s pulled into your driveway, engine turned off, the cicadas and crickets filling the silence, it’s Joel who finally speaks.
Who cracks that barrier you have mentally been trying so hard to climb over.
"I’m sorry if I," he clears his throat, flexes his fingers against the steering wheel. "If I overstepped."
And the ridiculousness of him even apologizing has your mouth finally moving into action. "Joel, no, oh my gosh, no." Your palm presses against your chest as you look at him apologetically; you should be the only one saying sorry, thanking him, worshiping at his feet for this. "I should be the one saying that. I should have handled it myself or-"
"Or what?" He looks almost angry, shocked at your words. "He had a hold of you, and no disrespect, but I ain’t ever seen you kill a fly, let alone throw a punch at someone."
"Hey! I could punch someone."
"Could and would are two different things."
"You sayin I couldn’t?"
"I’m sayin' you wouldn’t."
"Not tough enough?"
"Your heart's too big."
"If you knew how hard I was holding back the urge to prove you wrong by bruising that bicep of yours, Joel Miller, you’d think differently." Your scowl and threat only seem to amuse him because he’s grinning at you. "You’re lucky you’re injured."
"I’m shaking in my boots."
"As you should be." The laugh the two of you share makes your cheeks burn. On the outside, many could and have labeled Joel as a complicated man. A man who takes a lot of nudging and persistence to get to know past that surface-level workaholic grump he sometimes displays. But he’s a man who would lend a hand at the drop of a hat. A man with honor embedded in his very DNA.
There’s a list you’ve kept in the back of your mind that has every bullet point filled out and doodled hearts around the edges of all the reasons Joel is a good man. A man you trust. A man you adore.
"Thank you, Joel." He starts to shake his head, but you stop him with your palm resting on his forearm, "thank you. "You're right, I don't think I even know how to make a proper fist, let alone connect it." Your soft laugh makes the corners of his lips tick up. "You didn’t hesitate to help me. You never do. It means a lot to me, I hope you know that."
He nods, his eyes only on your face. Listening. Taking in every word you’re saying, even if you know he hates the fact that you’re thanking him for this. But he deserves to know how much you appreciate him.
Your hand moves to his wrist, gently yanking it away from his vice-like grip on the wheel. Your index finger runs along a vein at the top of his hand—the one spot the blood didn’t cake on to. "Does it hurt?"
"No. Between the callouses and the whiskey, it’s nothing more than a cat scratch."
"You should still get it looked at."
"You’re looking at it, aren’t ya?"
Your eyes roll. "I’m not a doctor, Joel."
"All a doctors gonna tell me is to be more careful, hand me a band-aid, and charge me three hundred dollars."
"Well, in that case," you drop his hand and grab for the door. The dry summer air ineffective to your already burning skin from the man whose raising his brows at you, "I got band aids in the house, and I didn’t get to finish my shift, which means you owe me three hundred in tips alone sooo."
"There's barely three hundred people in this town, and you’re tellin me you make that in tips?"
"Joel, just get in the damn house." You order, slamming the door of his truck and walking up the path to your front door. Smiling when you hear him huff and grumble under his breath as he gets out.
A hiss—and a scowl so deadly it could scare away even the biggest and badest of grown men—has Joel’s hand twitching in your hold as you run a wet cloth along the tops of his knuckles. The fabric pulling up the caked on flecks of dried blood, the surface of the cuts along the bone already starting the healing process from being clotted with red.
"I thought you said it didn’t hurt?" You smirk playfully.
"Whiskey’s wearin' off," he grunts.
"Or," you dab the cloth in the small cap of saline solution you’ve pulled from your first aid kit under the sink. Bringing it back to his skin to press gently across his cuts, his body tensing. "You’re human after all," his eyes roll.
"Don’t alert the press."
"Oh, they’ve already been informed."
His hand rests on your thigh as you ball up some tissues to dry the area around his knuckles. Enough to keep the band-aids—the only thing he would allow you to use because gauze would just get in the way at work, he informed you when you insisted—from falling off. The heat from his palm burns through your jeans, and it's a blessing in and of itself that you're ignoring how it makes your insides feel; how your body's warmth is no match for how hot he feels. His legs are spread, body slouched against your couch, his knee against yours. A closeness he’s never been before. A casual touch and directness between friends that shouldn’t be making you feel feverish and cheeky.
When he flexes his fingers a couple times and his fingertips run along the top of your thigh, you find yourself wishing you’d worn a dress to work. A skirt. Anything to have been able to feel him do that against your bare skin. A thought you chide yourself for. A thought you hope isn’t written all over your face when you look over at Joel and he’s staring at you. Eyes darker, expression unreadable and stoic, in that way you can never tell what emotion he’s feeling at that exact moment. He gives nothing away but still sends your stomach plummeting.
After the band-aids have been stuck and you’ve cleaned up the mess on your coffee table you offer him a drink.
"Unless you have to get back to Sarah, then I understand."
"She’s with a friend tonight."
"You gonna tell her how you saved the day, all knight and shining armor style?" You tease as you walk back to the living room with two beers in hand, putting one in Joel’s outstretched one and the other to your lips. Taking a sip as you take your place beside him once again, this time a leg pulled under you as you face him.
He snorts, "don’t know about all that."
"I’m sure word has already gotten around. Her friends are probably gabbing about how heroic Mr. Miller is, a real prince charming." You laugh when you see his grin.
"Or," he says, swallowing the sip he's just taken. "She’ll give me that death glare that all teenagers possess after puberty, you know the one?"
"Oh, I know the one. Mine was so fierce my mother banned it from our house."
"It’s deadly."
"Truly."
"I’m sure prince charming will be the last thing connected to my actions. Rage and jackass sound more on the money."
You frown. Watch as he stares down at the result of the rage he thinks will now be accompanied with his name. Tarnishing it that now people will forget the kindness that was once there, the man whose hardworking now turned into something vile all because of an act of heroism some might find obscene; with how much blood and possible damage it has caused to one mans face, you could understand why such an act would be.
But to you—and those who knew how horrible your ex had been, how he had deserved every bone crunching punch, every spit of blood and teeth choked on—you knew that what Joel did was right. And maybe, somewhere deep down in those morals against violence everyone gets handed out to them at birth, you knew that Joel could be sitting in a jail cell instead of on your couch if those punches had been any worse. If it had been pure untamed rage like some will say.
"You’re a good man, Joel. So you potentially hospitalized an asshole, who hasn’t?" Your heart leaps in your chest when he laughs, and you thank God that your joke landed. Thank him that this man with his disheveled hair that's begging to have a hand run through it, work shirt and jeans looking like they’ve seen better days—is in your life. Not every girl has someone willing to bruise another man's face while destroying the hand that's needed to do their job properly.
No one had acted as quick as Joel had.
Joel Miller was a good man.
"What did you see in him anyway?" Joel asks, taking another sip of his beer. His gaze is drawn to you from the hole he was burning into his hand.
And if you were being honest with yourself, you didn’t know.
Couldn’t answer that question with the full truth because you didn’t know why you always went for the assholes. The guys who liked to scream instead of talk it out. Who liked to steal money from your wallet for booze or a habit they couldn’t kick. The ones who never remembered your birthday but made sure didn't forget theirs.
Your father had been a great man. Your mother an amazing woman. You couldn’t take the easy way out and blame it on family trauma.
So you answered with the only viable reason that came to mind.
"Loneliness makes you ignore all the bad stuff." You take a sip, swallow it down (washing away the pinpricks of potential embarrassment for being so brutally honest with Joel). "It makes you talk yourself out of throwing all their stuff to the curb or burning it in your backyard, because it’s not always bad. Some days are good. Some of them wait to be assholes before the novelty wears off; others wait until you're two years in and they’ve already slept with half the town behind your back. And some will bring you flowers every time they mess up, until one day you look around and realize you don't have any room to put this new vase and there's dried flower petals all over your floors. But hey, at least you’re not lonely, and your house smells really good."
The smile on your lips fades when you see the look on Joel’s face. See that he’s finding no humor in this story. And the gulp that swallows down the beer in your hands burns your throat the entire way down. Your cheeks are burning, and you have to look away from him. Distract yourself by picking at the label on the bottle.
"Or maybe it’s as cliché as saying I haven’t found the right one yet." You try to save, nervously chuckling under your breath. In hopes that he forgets everything you’ve just said and clings to this one shitty joke.
"Look at me."
You do, and you wish you hadn’t. The roughness of his voice makes your stomach swoop and fall like a rollercoaster of emotions you did not prepare yourself for. Hadn’t imagined this being in your future when you’d walked into work. But you’re looking at him. Meeting his eyes. Seeing the stern glower in them before he speaks.
There’s a million things you imagine him saying. Telling you how much better you are than that, than all of those meaningless assholes. How you deserve better, and you’ll find it someday. Hell, you expect him to scold you with how low his brows are.
What you don’t expect is to feel his lips on yours. His fingers digging into the skin at the back of your neck, his chest inches from your now-heaving one. And it renders you speechless. Still. Your brain not computing with the signals your nerves are giving off right now.
When he pulls away and looks at you, it takes you several blinks to meet his gaze. The air in your lungs weighing your chest down. You shouldn’t speak. Should allow yourself to get your bearings in order. To catch your breath and sort through everything you’re feeling right now. "Was that a pity kiss?"
"A what—pity kiss?"
"Cause of the," you swallow, lick your lips, "of the aforementioned assholes?"
Joel’s breath fans across your face when he chuckles, "anyone who’d pity kiss you deserves to be added to that list of assholes. And I might be on many asshole lists, but hopefully not on yours." The fingers on your neck skate forward to your cheek, thumb pressed gently along your jawline. His features grow serious again. "I didn’t just knock that asshole out because he had it comin'. And if you haven't noticed, I’m either working or at home with Sarah. Both keepin' me more than busy."
"Too busy to be making house calls for leaky faucets and tarnishing your good name with your fists?"
"Exactly."
There's a long pause between you two, as if you're both waiting for the other to say something, anything, to put these unspoken mutual feelings out there.
"Joel, are you saying you coming over to fix my faucet and staying for the occasional beer was you…flirting?" The grin he gives you makes you laugh, "who taught you how to flirt? And please don’t say Tommy."
"No. If I had listened to him we’d be–" he doesn’t finish. Just shakes his head and chuckles under his breath.
And maybe affirmative action with your hands wasn’t your forte, maybe you couldn’t do what needed to be done when it came in the form of actions. But when it came to words, to saying what you wanted, needed, craved when it was right here in front of you being hinted and teased at, you didn’t hesitate.
"Maybe you should have listened to Tommy." Your hand mirrors his own, resting on his cheek. You already knew he ran hot from his palm alone. But his cheek feels just as warm as you do, burning right through to your bones. His gaze falls to your parted lips, and a decision is made in the seconds it takes him to return his gaze to yours.
An agreement.
"C'mere." His lips collide with yours in a heated kiss of nicks of teeth and tongue that taste like whiskey and beer and something that your brain will forever recognize as Joel. A taste you know you’ll be wanting to swallow down again and again. To feel the burn of his beard against your chin until your skin is raw and blotchy from how hard his mouth is devouring yours. An arm wrapped around your waist pulls you into his lap, and your forgotten beers spill and stain the cushions of your couch. "Shit, sorry, let me," Joel starts, but you stop him with your hands on his cheeks.
"Leave it, just come here." You insist, lips returning to his.
"Yes, ma’am." His smirk molds to your mouth, wipes away as his tongue runs along your bottom lip to press against yours. A hand on your ass squeezes and presses you forward so you’re grinding against his lap. The seam of your jeans rubs up against the wet patch that's quickly forming on the fabric of your underwear, becoming sticky and clinging to your pussy. Joel's other hand runs down the column of your neck, gripping and pulling you away from his mouth so that his lips can latch onto your sensitive skin. A gasp leaving your lungs, teeth and tongue making you shudder and cling to his shoulders.
Shoulders you don't let go of until your back hits the mattress and you're both pulling your shirts above your heads, your fingers quickly working the clip of your bra, joining the discarded pile of shirts and shoes on your bedroom floor.
Your heart feels as if it’s beating a hole through your chest, like it’ll fall into Joel’s hands as he leans over your body, knees between your open legs, as his palms run down your chest, between your breasts. Over the globes of them, calloused thumb circling around your nipple. Your breath caught in your throat as you press yourself up into his touch. He’s taking you in, letting his eyes trail every dip, possible mole, scar, and marking on your skin. How your chest heaves in response to his hand. How your breasts fit in his palm. How you gasp and cry into the air when he leans down and swirls his tongue around one of your nipples before sucking it into his mouth, teeth lightly scraping against the sensitive flesh when he pulls off and does the same to the other one.
His mouth finding its way back to yours again. His hips canting against yours; you can feel his cock digging into your thigh. And when you let your hand skate between the two of you to give him more friction. A dizzying desire to feel more of his heat and need for you burning through your skin and to your core, where you truly crave him.
The deep grunt that falls from his mouth and onto your waiting tongue sends a shockwave of arousal through your entire body. Being. You want to hear it again, want to pull every noise from this man with your body and mouth until you are both drained and cursing yourselves for not doing this sooner. And you know he wants to do the same. Wants to catalog every pressure point and sensitive bit of your flesh so he can draw this out, can rile you up with a simple touch, scrape of teeth, run of his tongue along your jugular. Until you tell him how badly you can’t stand not having him inside of you.
He's leaving a trail of kisses down your stomach, his fingers digging into the skin above your jeans, holding your hips still. Preventing you from moving them the way you want to from each press and prickle from his mouth and beard—scalding the nerves of your skin and making your insides whirl.
"Lift your hips for me, sweetheart." Joel murmurs into your skin as his fingers curl into the waistband of your jeans. Your body feels barren and cool away from his heat as he sits back on his knees, your hips lifting as he frees your legs from their confines. His thumb runs along the lace of your underwear, dipping lower and lower until it’s pressing into that wet spot. A silent, smug praise tugs at the corner of his lopsided smile as his eyes look up to yours.
If your mind was working coherently and not filled with Joel Joel Joel (the way he smells woodsy and rugged, the way something deep and gruff reverberates in his chest when your teeth sink into the skin of his neck, and how he keeps looking at you like a fine art piece hung in the Louvre. Movements quick and gentle as he pulls your underwear down your thighs, making quick work to push your legs apart, fingers digging into the back of your thigh as he lets himself take his time adorning you fully on display for him) there'd be a sassy remark aimed at him.
The callus of his thumb nicks your swollen clit, eliciting a whimper from your lips, your hips following the descent of his finger as it spreads you apart. Trailing a line from your clit to dip into your entrance, gathering your arousal on the pad of his finger, his eyes on yours as he presses it against his tongue. A burning hunger in his eyes as he sucks your wetness from his fingers.
You're a panting mess by the time Joel positions his head between your legs, arms wrapped behind your thighs, lips, teeth, and tongue trailing up your inner thigh. Your fingers clench the blanket in anticipation, need, and want. The closer his mouth gets to your center, the more you can feel his hot breath moving in, the potential love bites and marks he’s leaving on your inner thigh—all a certain type of torture you don’t think you’re strong enough to put up with right now.
You lift your head to start begging, to plead with your torturer, but he’s speaking before you can.
"Wanna take my time, sweetheart." His tongue swirls at the joint of your inner thigh. And just as earlier, the words you mean to get out, to speak from the storm cloud of lust in your head, die in the back of your throat when Joel runs the flat of his tongue up the seam of your pussy. The torturous muscle wraps you around his tongue, following the slowest path to your clit, until the tip of his tongue flicks, making a pattern of strokes and licks, until his lips wrap around the swollen nerve, making you feel delirious. Keeps pulling gasps, moans, and pants of pleasure and ecstasy from your parted mouth; head thrown back on pillows; legs trembling around his head from the blazing fire that grows and grows the more he consumes you.
The more his nose nicks your clit when he fucks you with his tongue, the more his fingers dig into your quivering legs to keep you anchored to the bed and his mouth.
It feels like hours with how slowly he goes. Keeps you dangling from the ledge with every stroke and suck. Every soothing indent his fingers are leaving in your thigh. Your skin slicked with sweat, knuckles cramped from its grip in the blanket. When your moans go up in pitch he goes slower in that motion, that spot that has you seeing stars. Then he lets your breath come back to you with slow strokes of his tongue at your entrance, giving attention to the other parts of you that you didn’t think could elicit such erotic noises from your lungs.
Your fingers find their way into those disheveled strands you’ve been waiting a lifetime to thread through. To pull and keep yourself from the feeling of floating away from the intensity of the pleasure. From your orgasm coming closer and closer until you’re panting his name, "Joel, Joel, Joel–fuck," your body shaking, the cries pulled out from this man burning your throat as you finally fall from the ledge and into him; his tongue coated in you, his chin wet with your essence.
Your body sensitive and heavy as you come down, a sweaty heat making you feel sticky. Joel’s fingers seem to bypass every sensitive part though, as his palm caresses the tops of your thighs, your hips, your curves, the side of your breast. Until he’s reached your burning cheeks, mouth pressing the gentlest of kisses to your lips. The kiss was slow and gentle. Your arousal coats your taste buds when his tongue meets yours.
The kiss feeling more intimate than before, more heady. Knocking you right back on that loop you just got off of. That ache and throb he just sedated starting again in your belly, moving to where your thighs are soaked.
"You’re overdressed," you murmur against his lips. Joel kisses you again, your open mouths exchanging a breathy chuckle.
"Do you wanna change that?"
The question holds more than just the surface level of a joke and an answer of "yeah, obviously." There’s a seriousness to it that makes you pull back from his lips and stare up at him. His thumb traces a soothing pattern into the bottom of your chin, his eyes holding an unspoken reassurance that he’s fine with it ending right here. With him just pleasing you, getting to take you apart and reassemble you with tender touches and a torturous mouth.
It can be all about you.
It is all about you.
You deserve nothing less.
His eyes and soft grin speak unspoken.
Your nod is slow and reassuring. Your fingertips copy the motions of his thumb against the patches of skin in his damp beard. "Unless you’d rather help me get the stain out of my couch that you caused."
"I caused?" His brows shoot up.
"It's to be expected when you can't keep your hands off of me," you say before shrieking as he pinches your side. His lips kissing your scowl away—a problem you foresee in the near future.
The kiss lasts for minutes (centuries you wish). Your fingertips never lift from the other's face, moving along jawlines, chins, and cheek bones. His chest comfortably against yours, giving you that heat you missed so dearly. His cock still stiff and hot in his jeans, grinding slowly against your pelvis.
Is this how it’s supposed to feel? When feelings haven't even been discussed yet, but you just know? Already know what each touch, kiss, and caress holds behind it. Telling a wordless story in the way he had wanted to give you pleasure first—to taste—and take his time making you feel everything his mouth could do. Everything he wanted to do to you.
He wasn’t thinking about himself after the fact. Wasn’t rushing to put you in a position that made it all about his pleasure. Giving you little to no space to cool down, regain your bearings, and have that fire slowly relight and become more tantalizing, as he is right now.
You really did date assholes.
Your fingers move to his chest, splaying your palm along his body until you’ve reached where he’s hard and pressing against you. Your fingers curl around the outline of him. Stroking, massaging.
"I want you, Joel." You breathe into his mouth.
He growls against your lips in something akin to frustration and agony. It makes something inside of you sink, overthink that maybe he doesn’t actually want to push it past the points you’ve already reached. Maybe it’s too much, all too soon, for this new territory of your friendship—even if it already seemed a little too late with the couch confessions and his saliva still coating your center.
He must see the thoughts volleying in your head because he’s scolding himself under his breath and shaking his head. A soothing touch placed on your skin. "I feel like I’m some horny teenager again, with how bad I want you." His chuckle soothes your heart, "I don’t have-"
And you can't help but laugh at his waving hand towards his pockets and the sentence he's about to finish.
"Jesus, Joel. Bless anyone who's ever thought you were the ungentlemanly type." Here you were worrying about whether or not he wanted you, the proof being clearer than just his dick against your fingers. While the only thing on his mind was protection.
"Glad I’m amusin’ to you."
Cupping his cheeks, you pull him back to your lips. "All a girl wants is a decent man to make her laugh, not break her heart, and be able to make her come. And so far you’ve done all three." You let your tongue slip between your mouths and run along his bottom lip, "I’m good if you are."
I’m clean.
I take a little pill every day because life is chaotic enough and I don’t want any surprises.
We’re protected.
Now take me already.
The drag of your tongue, the roll of your hips against him, the little whimper you let out when he bites your lip—speaks for you.
It’s all either of you needs to rid Joel of his jeans: hands tangled in belt loops, tugs, pulls, pushing until he’s completely bare in front of you. Your breath hitches when you feel the underside of his cock spreading you and running along your clit slowly and languidly. The heat of him feels nothing compared to your own, the throb and ache of requisite in every roll and drag.
And when neither of you can stand it anymore, when he’s grunting and you’re begging, he leans up on an elbow, hand wrapped around his cock, lining himself up to your entrance. Your breath leaves your lungs, stomach falling falling down to where he’s pushing into you. Stretching you, filling you until there’s no telling where either of you ends or begins. Attached by that intangible string of pleasure and bliss of only being able to feel each other.
"Fuck," Joel groans. Mouth finding your shoulder, breath hot and heavy. His thrusts start leisurely, taking his time in that way you’re learning he loves to do. Loves to compartmentalize up what you need—more, faster, harder. Going off of the moans panted into his neck, nails digging into his back.
There's a hand gripped in the pillow beside your head, another at your breast, his mouth connected to your neck, your jaw, your chin, your lips. His hips slamming against your open thighs, thrusts deep, sharp. His cock hitting places that make your back arch, his name strung together with pleas for more. The slapping of skin and wet squelching of bodily fluids between the two of you making a symphony of lewd delight.
When the hand at your breast hikes up one of your legs, the cry you let out is swallowed by his mouth. The deeper he fucks into you, the more your body shakes, the more you feel him completely consuming you. turning you into someone who will never get enough of this. Of him. Of how good he's making you feel.
"Sound s’pretty," his tongue brushes against the underside of your chin, teeth nipping at the bone. A trail of him brought down to the shell of your ear. Where his heavy breaths and grunts fill you just as his cock does. Fills you to the brink of pain turned satisfying pleasure, as each stroke brings you closer to a precipice he’s already pushed you from. "Can’t believe I held myself back from you."
"Joel."
"I should knock out every asshole who thought to hurt you, t’not love you the way you deserve. Put you first," he slips his hand between your slick bodies, palm hot against your pelvis as his thumb rubs fast tight circles around your clit. His words getting filthier, ragged. Becoming heaving breaths against your ear as he fucks you faster. As his thumb matches the pace, as you grow closer and closer. Led by his words and pushed over by his cock.
"That’s it, sweetheart." He’s encourages as you come. As he fucks you through it, as that white-hot heat makes your body contort against his. Cling and squeeze around him. The string of groans and curses, your name mixed with something incoherent but soft and deep, makes your chest swish—bit into your skin as Joel comes not long after.
And after the two of you have cleaned up enough to call it satisfactory, two new beers condensing on your night stand. Your cheek pressed into his chest as your bodies lay pressed together under your sheet. His chin resting atop your forehead, a soft brush of fingertips at your spine—there’s cheesy grins on your faces, "Tommy’s going to have a heyday."
"He owes me fifty bucks."
There’s faux shock on your face when you turn and lean on your elbow to look at him, "excuse me?"
"He didn't think I'd ever tell ya," Joel shrugs as his hand caresses your shoulder. A fondness in his eyes, "I never do anything for myself." You press a kiss to his thumb, "I think we both deserve something good for once though."
"I guess I solved the mystery of how to get Joel Miller to be soft," you joke. Nip at the skin of his thumb playfully.
"I ain’t soft." He grumbles.
"Postcoitous Joel disagrees with that statement," you say. The dramatic roll his eyes do makes you laugh. Your teeth nipping his thumb harder, a bite this time, you shift so you’re on top of him. Sitting up on your knees. "Since this bet is half at my expense.."
"Expense, huh?" His palm grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes, causing you to rock in his lap. His cock already twitching to life again.
"I think we should get you your money's worth," you smirk.
"That's the smartest thing you've said all night," his fingers tangled in your back hair, pulling your mouth down to his in a hard kiss, before you get the chance to at least pretend to be offended.
#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller one shot#joel miller x y/n#joel miller imagine#joel miller x you#pedro pascal smut#joel miller fluff#the last of us smut#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfic#the last of us fic#pedro pascal fics#joel miller#joel miller fanfiction
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safety net
jack hughes x fem! reader
warnings?: cursing, semi slow burn, a kiss, angst and some fluff ofc
positions masterlist!
~trippin’ fallin’ with no safety net~
-
you made your way into the bar, as it was your first weekend living in jersey. you walk in and head straight to the counter, asking for a drink that was sweet and didn’t taste too strongly of alcohol.
“hey stranger.” a voice says to your right and you turn your head.
“dawson?” you say, your eyes widening.
“hey y/n.” he says opening his arms for you to hug him, which you gladly accept.
“how have you been? oh my gosh it’s been what like 3 years.” you say smiling at your old school friend.
“i’ve been good, playing hockey here is fucking awesome.” he says.
“yes! that’s right you play for the devils, how could i forget you getting drafted!” the two of you laugh.
“well how’s your boyfriend? haven’t seen him in a few years either.” he asks curiously.
“funny you should ask, i broke up with him and that’s why i moved here.”
“wait really? why? you don’t have to explain if you’re not comfortable.” the brunette boy asks leaning on the counter.
“well things were so great when we started dating our senior year but within the last year he became a real fucking asshole, so i broke it off and moved away so he couldn’t try to find me and sucker me into being with him again.” you explain, leaving out any details you weren’t ready to share.
“well shit, i’m sorry y/n. i bet that hurt a lot.”
“it did but i’m over it, ready to find someone else.” you say and you practically see the light bulb turn on over his head.
“i think i have someone i want you to meet.” he smirks. you grab your drink and follow close behind him, holding onto his arm.
“hey jack!” dawson says to a brunette boy with bright blue eyes.
“what’s up daws, who’s this?” he says looking at you. you release dawson’s arm and give him a smile.
“jack this is y/n, y/n this is jack.” he says looking between you two.
“nice to meet you, jack.” you say.
“yeah, you too.” he smiles, causing a blush to burn in your cheeks.
“i have to go to the bathroom, you two have fun. don’t get too drunk.” he says giggling and walking off to the bathroom.
“so y/n, what brings you to jersey?” he asks.
“just needed a change of scenery from my hometown. dawson and i went to highschool together.” you tell him.
“oh wow, small world. are you still new to living here or?”
“yeah this is only my first weekend but i’m glad im already meeting people, it was getting pretty lonely.” you laugh.
“well now that you’ve reconnected with dawson, you have a whole new group of people to hang out with.”
“oh are you guys like on the same team?” you ask.
“yeah we are, my brothers around here somewhere. probably tongue deep in some random girl.” he laughs.
“is he older or younger?”
“younger.” he says taking a sip of his drink.
“oh nice.” you smile doing the same.
“can i get your number?” he asks.
“yeah of course.” you say as he hands you his phone.
“what have i missed?” a tall, curly haired boy asks.
“ah yes, y/n, this is my brother luke.”
“nice to meet you.” you say.
“nice to meet you too.” he replies.
“so where were you?” jack asks as i hand him his phone back.
“i was talking to john but i didn’t wanna ruin his game so i came back.” he laughs.
“johnny getting some ladies?”
“he sure was.” luke laughs, taking a sip of his beer.
“i see you’ve met the other one.” dawson says returning from the bathroom.
“yes i have.” i laugh at him. you spent the next 2 hours with the boys, enjoying their presence and the fact that you’d made some friends in your new town.
“well i think im gonna call it a night.” you say taking the final sip of your drink.
“let me walk you?” jack asks.
“yeah sure.” you accept and the two of you make your way out of the bar.
“did you walk here or drive?” he asks stopping once you made it outside.
“oh i walked, i live like two blocks away.”
“okay cool, show me the way.” he says.
“jack you don’t have to.”
“i’m not letting you walk back to your apartment by yourself at midnight in a big city y/n.” he says firmly.
“oh, thank you.” you blush and begin your walk to your apartment. the walk was filled with small talk and laughter, the chemistry between you two growing more and more with seemingly every step.
“well this is my place.” you say arriving at your door.
“alright, have a good night y/n. i’ll text you.” he says as you pull him in for a side hug.
“goodnight jack.” you say shutting the door behind you. it’s been 5 days and you already have a crush on someone you just met. it felt almost wrong. you had broken up with your boyfriend just two weeks ago. you couldn’t allow yourself to move on too quickly. your phone buzzed in your back pocket and you see that dawson had texted you.
dawson: glad you made it back safe!
y/n: thank you! except really you can thank jack
dawson: hahaha well i guess so🙄 have a good night y/n
y/n: you too, see you again soon?
dawson: yes for sure, season starts in like a month and a half i’m sure you’ll get sick of seeing me
y/n: doubt it
dawson: only bc ill bring jack
y/n: bitch
dawson: i’m messing with you lmaooooo goodnight y/n
y/n: goodnight daws😭
-
you woke up the next morning to a text from jack saying good morning, to which you replied with a simple, good morning. texting a new guy felt so wrong. you didn’t know what to do about it but you couldn’t ghost him so you figure you should just keep chatting and see what happens.
“lunch?” you say reading his next text. the boy asked you to lunch, to which you hesitantly agreed to join him. you made yourself a small breakfast to tide you until lunch. you sat on the couch watching tv, growing more nervous by the second. he didn’t ask you on a date, just lunch. maybe he just wants to be friends? after you ate, you put on a casual outfit and added a natural touch to your makeup. he texted the address and you left your apartment, hoping to arrive after him. once you arrive at the, what appears to be, small coffee shop, you’re greeted by jack smiling at the counter.
“sorry i’m a little late.” you laugh nervously.
“no don’t worry, i was just about to order. what do you want?”
“oh jack you don’t have to pay i can’t wait in line.” you say.
“now what kind of man would i be to let a pretty girl like you wait in line and pay for her own food?” he says boldly, a blush creeping up on your cheeks.
“an iced vanilla latte and a buttered croissant is good then.” you simply reply, finding a seat at a table by a large window. he meets you soon after, with a table number in his hand.
“you ever been here before?” he asks, noticing you staring out the window.
“i haven’t, i didn’t even know it was here until you told me about it.” you say redirecting your attention to the boy who already had his eyes on you.
“i come here sometimes, it’s like my special little spot for special occasions.” he smiles leaning back in his chair.
“what’s so special about this occasion?” you question, wanting real answers.
“it’s our first date.” he smirks causing your face to burn bright red.
“well i guess it is isn’t it.” you laugh.
-
once you arrive back at your apartment, you throw your purse to the side and kick off your shoes.
“what have i done? what do i do? oh fuck me, i can’t do this.” you say, that piece of your heart never healing from your past relationship. you couldn’t let go of the mistrust you felt. you never wanted to make the same mistake again, so you called dawson.
“hello?” you speak when he picks up.
“hey y/n, what’s up?”
“can you come over, i need advice.”
“yeah of course, send me your address and i’ll be there.”
“thank you so much, bye daws.” you say hanging up and sending him your address. you sat on your couch almost in a panic. you told yourself over and over to not do this again, especially this soon. a short 10 minutes later, you hear a knock on your door and you open it to see dawson standing there in his sweats.
“did i wake you from a nap?” you laugh.
“yes actually you did, but it’s okay, what’s up?” he says stepping in and shutting the door behind him.
“jack is what’s up.”
“oh?” he says plopping down on my couch.
“so we went out to lunch, he called it our first date.” you say.
“okay what’s the problem with that?” he says.
“you’re not understanding, my ex and i broke up what 3 weeks ago? i can’t move on, how do i know i can trust him?”
“y/n, jacks a nice guy, i wouldn’t have introduced you two if i thought otherwise.”
“i just think it’s too soon dawson.”
“relax, calm down, chill out.” he says standing up and placing his hands on your biceps.
“how am i supposed to be calm?”
“y/n, no one is rushing you into a relationship. you are not committed to the guy, you went on ONE date. you aren’t married to him, just relax. i know it’s hard, i don’t know all the details of your break up but obviously you let your mistrust cloud your vision of good people. i wouldn’t let you go down a dark rabbit hole, and you know that.” he says calming your nerves. dawson always had a way of getting to you and calming you down when necessary, even though it had been years since you last saw the boy.
“okay you’re right.” you say sighing.
“and you don’t have to worry, he’s leaving to go to michigan for a couple days tomorrow, so you can spend time away from him and just texting, so you can get to know him better without it being to serious for you.” he adds.
“perfect.” you laugh.
“now why don’t we chill out and watch a movie, you’re clearly stressed and i want you to clear your mind.” he states, grabbing the remote and switching on the tv. after a couple hours, dawson heads home, leaving you alone with nothing but your phone.
jack: hey i’m headed to michigan tmrw morning, hang when im back?
y/n: yes for sure!
jack: ok awesome, see you then
y/n: *loved a message*
you sat with your thoughts. you were terrified of the possibilities with jack, you couldn’t help it. it’s like your brain had been hardwired to push him away, but you fought the urge harder than anyone could ever know.
-
it had been about two weeks and jack returned from his trip a few days ago. the two of you have been texting nonstop. you learned the silly facts about each other and his personality shined through even on text. he was beginning to give you that glimpse of hope that you thought you’d lost for good.
“i just don’t know.” you spoke to dawson through the phone.
“he’s never texted a girl this long, he obviously likes you.”
“well you never know.”
“he has had women throw themselves at him and he’s rejected all of them. don’t you see it.”
“i do but i just don’t know if it’s the best idea.”
“y/n, just give it another go. go on another date with him. you won’t regret it, you and i both know that as much as you don’t want to admit that your crush is more than just a silly little crush.”
“god, daws you always know how to pick my brain what is wrong with you?” you laugh.
“um nothing, im just correct.” he scoffs.
“okay whatever, ill call him tonight okay?” you reply hoping it’ll shut him up.
“i’m holding you to it, so you better.”
“whatever mercer.”
-
“hello?” you hear a muffled jack on the other end of the line.
“hey jack, i was wondering if maybe you’d wanna go out again some time? i had a great time with you.”
“yeah absolutely!”
“does tomorrow work?” you ask, holding your breath.
“yeah i don’t have any plans. ill come pick you up at 1?”
“perfect.” you smile to yourself.
“i’ll see you tomorrow y/n.”
“bye jack.” you say hanging up the phone, wanting to scream with excitement. you had no clue how this could feel the way it does so soon after your breakup.
-
2 months later
“hey,” jack says shaking you awake.
“huh.” you groan opening your eyes.
“i have a skate to go to, ill be back okay?” he says, you fully processing your surroundings.
“oh, yeah okay. have fun.” you smile as he leans down to kiss you on the cheek. you’d stayed the night at his house just like you have for a few nights every week since your second date though you never established a label for your relationship, just placing the boyfriend name tag on him when you’re out by yourself, too afraid to use it around him. the idea of him leaving you to skate sucked, and you shoved down these feelings so they wouldn’t get in the way of anything. you never wanted him to leave your sight. you hated that you’d grown so attached. you pulled out your phone to call dawson, always filling him in with updates.
“hey miss hughes, what you up to?” he asks picking up.
“dawson stop,” you laugh, “i just woke up, jack just left for optional skate.”
“oh that’s funny i’m on my way there now.”
“i’m sure he’ll ive you all the details.”
“yeah he always does but you’re gonna tell me what’s going on in that little brain of yours first.”
“i hate when he leaves dude. i hate it. i feel like i have no right to be this attached. being around him makes me so fucking happy, it’s like all my problems disappear when he’s around. but i need to face it, he probably doesn’t even want me.”
“you’re lying but go on.”
“lying about what?”
“you really think he ever keeps girls around this long if he doesn’t wanna be with them? be for real with yourself y/n.” he says plainly.
“okay well, point is, i’ve grown attached and i don’t understand my feelings daws.”
“i think you love him.” he laughs.
“you’re crazy.” you scoff.
“did you listen to anything you just said?”
“what part?”
“god damnit, think before you speak y/n. the way you feel when you’re around him is love. practically in its exact definition.”
“it’s only been 3 months that i’ve known the guy.”
“bitch do you really think love has a timeline?”
“well n-“
“THEN GO GET HIM.”
“i’m not gonna go, he’s skating.”
“i meant it figuratively, just wait for him to come back and see how different you feel compared to talking to me on the phone. don’t leave. don’t panic and push him away y/n. give him a shot.”
“okay okay, ill talk to you later dawson.”
“alright, bye y/n.” he says hanging up abruptly. you knew deep down that he was probably right and you couldn’t admit it to yourself. you sat on his couch for a few hours, waiting to hear the lock turn again, when suddenly it did.
“oh hey, you’re still here? i thought you’d be gone by now.” he laughs, hanging his keys on the hook.
“no i wanted to stay, your couch is cozy.”
“well i’m glad you’re still here.” he says, kissing you on top of the head as he passed behind the couch. dawson was right, you felt giddy when jack entered the room, and the feeling didn’t settle. he returns back to the living room.
“you look like you’re thinking.” he says sitting down next to you. you sit up and turn to him.
“i am thinking.” you say, anxiety running through your body at full speed, knee bouncing.
“what’s on that pretty mind of yours?” he giggles placing a hand on your leg gently.
“i think i love you.” you say quietly, the words slipping off your tongue with struggle. you finally let yourself trip and fall. it felt almost freeing. his demeanor shifts as a smile grows on his face. he sits up to get closer to you.
“what was that?” he asks, smile growing wider.
“i think i love you. no no, i do. i do love you. i love you jack. i know we never attached a label to whatever we are but i can’t keep pushing my feelings away anymore. i just love you.” you say finally being able to lock eyes with him. he connects your lips in response, framing your cheek with his callused hand. when you pull away his gorgeous smile returns.
“fuck, i love you too y/n.” he laughs, a wave of relief washing over you. you couldn’t believe how jack changed your perspective on love and men so quickly but it never felt more true to you. you couldn’t deny your feelings anymore no matter how hard you tried. you finally let yourself fall, and thank god it was into the right hands this time.
-
#jack hughes#jack hughes x reader#jack hughes fluff#nhl#nhl imagine#jack hughes imagine#dawson mercer#luke hughes#john marino#nj devils#turcs’ talk#turcs <3
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The Museum
W.C. - 5.2 k
this is so the 'pookie looks absolutely fire' tiktok couple coded
thank you to the anon that requested this, much love to you:)
-------------
The skittles made a crunching sound as your molars bit down on them, it was an every day snack for you, tasting the rainbow more often than not. It was a relatively new habit, but when your ex had broken up with you, you promised yourself to become a better person.
It obviously had to be you who had something wrong with them, otherwise she wouldn’t have fallen in love with someone else and out of love with you. Quitting smoking was the first thing on your agenda, hence the skittles.
The next thing was to get away from the small southern town in Texas, move so far away that you left the country entirely. The only thing you’d taken with you on the plane was a carryon with 2 changes of clothes, your cowboy hat and a dream of bettering your life.
The third thing you bettered was your health, going out for a run every morning through the streets of London, going to the gym after work, doing push-ups before bed. It worked wonders, the tips you got from the ladies at the bar where you worked were simply incredible.
The fourth thing you wanted to improve was your cultural knowledge, the exact reason why you were standing in the middle of a museum, old renaissance paintings in every corner of the large room. It was something you appreciated, none of that modern bullshit where people just taped a banana to a canvas and called it art, it was back from when people actually painted.
Your hand slipped down your body into your jacket pocket, fetching another piece of candy, although a voice speaking up from your right startled you nearly enough for you to drop it back into the bag.
“You’re not supposed to eat in museums, you know?” The woman had a foreign dialect, just like you. You guessed it was from somewhere in the middle of Europe, maybe Germany or any of the neighboring countries.
“It’s not a problem if you don’t tell on me, no one has to know.” She seems just as startled by your accent as you were by her speaking to you, her cheeks dusted with a light pink at the wink you sent her.
“What are you going to do if I tell them? Take me back to your ranch on your horse?” The mystery woman teases, obviously making fun of the accent and the cowboy hat sitting perched on your head. In response you laugh under your breath, shaking your head in amusement.
“I’m afraid that I left the ranch back in Texas, Miss. All I have here is a small one bedroom apartment.” She looks up at you through the side of her eye, her half smile distracting you more than you’d like to admit. Her brows knit together when she notices a security guard eying the two of you curiously and her elbow digs into your ribs when you once again reach for the skittles in your pocket.
“Nice hat, my friend would be jealous.” You nod in agreement, plucking the stetson off your head and turning it around in your hand. In a brief moment of stupidity, you place the cowboy hat on the pretty stranger’s head, it falling down the front of her face to cover her eyes. It’s frankly adorable, the way she brings her hand up to push it back to the crown of her head.
The reassuring smile on her face tells you that she approves of your action, a relief to your entire being. She takes her phone out of her back pocket, turning it on and snapping a picture of you both, the cowboy hat still perched on top of her head.
In response, you snap a picture of her alone, the woman posing like a cowboy would for you. She was going to be the wallpaper of your phone for a while, even though you didn’t even know her name.
“So, do you have a name or am I just going to have to call you mine?” The cheesy pickup line just slips out, not at all consciously, it was like instinct took over, a pretty girl was to be flirted with.
“I wouldn’t mind being called yours, but for now you can call me Lia.” The woman doesn’t seem uncomfortable by your advances, in fact she embraces them, teasing smile telling you that she found it amusing how worried you got over a simple pickup line.
“Lia, a beautiful name for an even more gorgeous girl.” She gains her pink tint back, the compliment likely the cause of her blush. It wasn’t like she never got complimented, it was just the attractive zing your accent put over the words that made them feel more sincere.
“And how about you? A name attached to that pretty face?” Now it was your turn to blush at the other woman’s words, her lips splitting into a full toothed smile.
“Y/n. Y/n Y/l/n.” You imitate Bond to introduce yourself, sticking your hand out for her to take, a firm handshake and the tip of an imaginary hat letting her know who exactly it is you are.
“Good to know my future last name.” She winks at you and the blush that’s already covering your face deepens significantly. The insinuation that you were to marry the girl beside you too much for your poor little heart to take.
She starts to walk away from you and towards another section of the room, looking back over her shoulder when she realizes that you weren’t right beside her, walking. Waving her hand in a “come here” motion, you quickly catch up with the older woman.
“So, why skittles? Is there not any other sweet you’d rather have?” She asks as you match her slow rhythm of steps, your hands shoved in the pockets of your coat with your arms forming loops. Lia threads one of her arms through yours, leaning her head on your shoulder, standing still all of a sudden to look at a painting. It didn’t feel like you’d just met, like you’d just introduced yourselves to one another, it felt like you’d known each other for decades, easily slipping into being comfortable with each other.
You gaze at her as she looks at the painting, making sure to map out all her gorgeous features and commit them to memory. She was like a breath of fresh air in a world of polluted oxygen.
“First of all it’s called candy, not sweets, candy. Secondly, they’re amazing for when you want to stop smoking.” Her cheek smushes against your shoulder as she turns her head to look up at you, her eyebrows scrunched together adorably.
“You were a smoker?” You feel the strong urge to place a peck atop her lips, soft and warm against your own. But in the end you resist, you’d only just met the woman for god’s sake, you don’t want to make her uncomfortable. Her eyes hold so many emotions that you just can’t read.
“Yeah, only for about a year. My ex stressed me out so much that I felt it was the easiest way to deal with it. But when she broke up with me, I decided to get my life back together, moved here, got a job at a bar and that’s it. That’s why I’m here.” Lia listens intensively at the story you’re telling her, the way she looks at you suggests that she’s hanging off your every last syllable.
“So no more smoking at all for you?” You puff your chest up, proudly displaying the grin on your face and your now discolored tongue. Lia looks on in amusement at your actions, a grin that could light up an opera house on her face.
“Nope, I’m never picking up a cigarette again.” The amusement turns into a sort of profound proud feeling, a feeling that she definitely shouldn’t be feeling for what is practically a stranger. A stranger that in the matter of a mere hour had worked their way into her heart and made themselves home.
“Good, I’m really happy for you.” The softened look on Lia’s face makes you blush, it was the way most people looked at their loved ones. You couldn’t help but imagine what it would feel like to be one of her loved ones, how it would feel to see her first thing in the morning, to gaze into her tentative eyes and try to read her like a book just because you know exactly how it is she acts, how she feels at that exact moment, what she thinks.
At your faraway look Lia nudges you in the ribs, giggling at the embarrassed expression that occupies your face. Her giggle could only be described as a ray of sunlight, lighting the glum room up in seconds, giving it a golden glow.
The older woman doesn’t miss the fondness in your gaze as you watch her laugh, your own lips splitting into a smile and soon after a loud belly laugh bubbles up in your chest, welling out of your mouth like water out a dam.
Only moments later the both of you are doubled over in laughter, tears slipping down your cheeks and arms crossed over your stomachs. Some scattered guests give you two dirty looks, as if you were peasants in a house full of royals, but they are counter effective because it only makes you and Lia laugh harder.
The security guard from earlier approaches you both as you drop down to the floor with a loud thump, Lia bursting out into an entire new fit of laughter as you try to catch your breath.
“Y/n, I’ve already let you get away with a lot today but this is your last strike. Up you get, I’ll escort you and your lady companion to the exit.” He speaks through his thick mustache, his round beer gut bobbing up and down with every word like he needed every fat covered muscle of his stomach to get the words out.
Small giggles escape you both as Lia and you are led out of the building by a firm grip around both of your arms. You both watch in amusement as the fat man gets winded walking back up the stairs he just led you down, bending over for a brief second at the top before disappearing back behind the door.
“So, I take it you know the security guard then?” She sounds a little out of breath as she speaks to you, flyaways sticking out of her bun, your hand itches to reach up and smooth them out, undo her bun and run your fingers through her hair. But you don’t.
“Yeah, he’s my regular. Comes in every day and buys a pint after work, a good friend of mine he is. He lets me get away with eatin’ in there every time I come.” You stand right in front of the brunette, hands again in your pockets as you smile at her tentatively. Her hand comes up to rub at your arm, and you feel as though you were going to pass out at any moment, the electric feeling of her ring covered fingers touching your arm overwhelming in a good way.
“Ah, a museum nepo baby then.” You can tell that she’s joking by the way her eyebrows raise all the way up to her hairline, and you imitate her by doing the same thing. Another fit of giggles ensues, Lia looking directly into your eyes, holding eye contact for a prolonged amount of time.
It makes you nervous, her somewhat challenging gaze locking on your face for a moment longer than necessary. When she grasps your hands in hers you finally look back at her, meeting her tender gaze with your own.
“I really enjoyed today, I was hoping we could do it again sometime.” The older woman looks at you sheepishly, nearly nervously. You’re mesmerized by her gorgeous simplicity, simple smile grazing her lips as you nod, a recognisable warmth behind the hug she gives you, the quick kiss she places on your cheek haphazardly before walking away, not looking back to see your rose tinted cheeks.
It’s only when Lia has disappeared far behind the horizon that you realize that you have no way to contact her AND that she essentially got away with your favorite cowboy hat. You aren’t as distraught about your hat as you are about not getting her number, it was a dumbass move from you.
You drag your feet all the way back to your apartment, not knowing that only moments after you left the museum, the girl of your dreams ran back all the way to get your number. And like you, she dragged her feet all the way back to her apartment, sulking and questioning her own intelligence.
Arriving at the bar that evening was strange, you felt almost empty without the girl you’d met earlier that day, no light brown cowboy hat perched atop your head nor a beaming smile. It was weird to everyone around you, you always had that damned hat on, but now it was a completely different one, black with a few white accents.
“What happened to you? It looks like someone ran over your dog.” Your co-worker and best friend Marla asks, placing her hand on your shoulder softly as if you were to break if she did it any harder. Shaking your head, your other friend and co-bartender Jason comes up to rub your back softly, the comfort from both of your best friends loosening you up significantly and soon after you spill everything that had happened up to that point.
They were both smirking at you when you finished up the story, knowing that despite only just meeting the woman in the museum you were already in love.
“So do you have a picture of this goddess who’s making you drop to your knees?” Marla asks you, looking knowingly at your other best friend, who in return wiggles his eyebrows at her. You knew something would happen between them soon, and you’d rather be in hell than to watch it.
“Yeah, just give me a quick sec.” Pulling out your phone, you quickly unlock it and enter the photo app, not needing to scroll as the most recent photo was of her, Lia.
“Girl, are you fucking with me?” You look at the dark skinned girl in confusion, her eyes widening as she realizes that you had no fucking clue who it was you had met. She looks to her ‘boyfriend’ quickly in shock, who looks back at her equally appalled.
“Are you telling me you don’t recognise her?” The moment you shake your head is when the green eyed boy facepalms, not believing your stupidity. “Not at all? You haven’t seen her before.” When you once again shake your head the man sighs in disappointment, all faith in your intelligence practically gone.
“Girl. That is Lia Wälti, you know one of the best midfielders in the country? Arsenal Women’s player.” Now it’s your turn to look shocked, not at all knowing that she was a footballer. All the times you’d gone over to Marla’s house to watch footy, she’d probably been injured.
“Are you fucking kidding me? I didn’t even recognise her.” You lean against the door, sliding your body down until you’re sitting flush on the floor, head in your hands. Jason places his hand on your shoulder, smiling softly at you as he tries to reassure your overwhelmed mind.
“Hey, man, it was probably a good thing that you didn’t recognise her. She knows that you’re not some crazed fan trying to kill her, eh?” Marla’s hand plucks your cowboy hat from your head and runs her fingers through your hair, your shared shift started in mere minutes and yet they were there, comforting you.
“I’m okay, just a bit shell shocked.” They both laugh, pulling you up by your hands and bringing you into a group hug, patting your back before Marla gives you your hat back, smacking both you and Jason’s asses before disappearing out to her office.
“You know, we have an extra ticket to the Arsenal game on Sunday, so I mean if you want to see her again then you’re welcome to join.” You smile at the man’s kindness, telling him that you’ll definitely take him up on his offer. You didn’t have a shift at the bar either way that day so spending it looking for your … well you didn’t really know what it was she is to you. All you know is that you wanted to see her again.
Two days later you find yourself sitting as close to the pitch as you possibly can, waiting for the North London derby to start.
Lia is in the starting lineup, looking determined as she waits for the whistle signaling the start of the game to sound. The shrill noise cuts through the air and the game starts.
It’s physical right from the start, loads of pushing and shoving coming from both sides, red and white. There are a few times where you nearly jump to your feet as Lia gets pushed but the fact that your friends sat there right beside you made you choose not to.
At half time the score is the same as the beginning, nil-nil. Despite not knowing much about football you join in on analyzing the first half of the game, mentioning all the times Lia went down. Marla makes some ‘innocent’ comments about how you’d much rather have her ‘go down’ somewhere else. The blush that overtakes your face is enough for you to blend in with your jersey, the red of the Arsenal shirt the same shade as your face.
When the second half starts, you’re basically on your feet all the way through, cheering loudly when Alessia scores, meaning that the gunners were up one-nil.
It’s particularly hilarious when Lia finally notices you, a pause in the game meaning that she had the time to look around at the fully packed Emirates Stadium. When those eyes you love to gaze into meet yours for the first time since Friday, her face split open in a smile, a smile reaching all the way up to her eyes.
It looks like she has to physically restrain herself so that she doesn’t run over to you, her body shaking slightly as she calmly inches her way towards you, the cheers of the fans around you becoming louder as the player comes closer. Lia tunes them all out though as she looks at you, the only thing cutting through her trance being the whistle signaling the freekick being awarded.
Lia looks back towards you as she walks in the direction of the group of players and you wink at her, even though she’s far away it seems like she saw it, the deep tint of red dusting her face definitely more than exertion from the game.
When the three loud whistles sound throughout the arena, it explodes in cheers as Arsenal manage to keep their one-nil lead and in doing so make London red again. But you don’t even acknowledge the win when there’s a speeding Lia Wälti heading straight in your direction.
She only starts to slow down as she reaches the barrier which separates the fans from the pitch and players, with you standing up behind it to watch her come closer and closer with every quick step she takes.
Lia throws her arms around your torso when she comes close enough, the way that she had been longing for your touch had been driving her crazy in the days since you first met. She also knew that it wasn’t smart to do it all out in the open, fans and professionals alike were probably going to know everything about you within a few days. You didn’t seem to mind though, content with having her in your arms again.
Pulling away from her, you quickly take her face in your hands, looking her over to see if her face was scratched up from all the times she’d met the ground in the game.
“Shit, darling, I think you spent more time on the ground in this game than on your feet. You ought to be more careful.” Your southern drawl is especially thick when you speak to her, the worry you’d experienced the entire game bubbling to the surface.
“I’m perfectly fine, I think you’re forgetting that I do this for a living.” She smiles at you reassuringly and you calm down fully, her hand placed on your arm a sure factor of it. Lia’s head turns to your side, looking directly at your friends who both send her starstruck looks.
“Hi, I’m Lia.” The footballer smiles in their direction and they both remain in their seats, completely unmoving. She looks back to you concerned and in response you just laugh, they were apparently not expecting her to actually greet them. “Are they okay?”
“I think they’re just a bit starstruck.” Gesturing towards their gaping mouths, Marla quickly slaps your hand away from her face, biting at the air to show you that she wasn’t afraid to bite.
“Oh okay, well do you think they want anything signed? I can ask the team, or maybe if you want we can go meet them?” Lia sounds unsure of herself, apparently doubting that her first impression on your friends was good.
“I think that they’d love that sweetheart. But judging from all the looks we’re getting from that same team, I do think they want you back.” You glance towards the women gathered in a clung in the middle of the pitch, all of them staring at you and Lia interacting. She sighs at their slightly invasive culture, but alas there wasn’t anything that she could do about it. When you smile and wave at them, you’re thoroughly amused when every single one of them repeats your actions back to you, some in confusion and some in amusement.
“A guard is going to tell you to follow him, just do as he says and we’ll meet again soon.” By that point the stadium was almost empty, everyone wanting to go home and brag about their team’s win over the archrival. So as Lia walks away from you, you’re totally free to stare at her ass, only stopping when Marla slaps your arm harshly.
“Did that just happen?” Jason asks shakily, running his hand down his face in embarrassment.
“You’re damn right it did.” You laugh at their stupid expressions, their embarrassment clear on their faces. “Well look on the bright side, y’all are going to meet the team.” With that their embarrassment turned into excitement, meeting their favourite athletes quickly turning their mood around.
“Y/n Y/l/n? Come with me and take your friends with you.” Walking around the labyrinth of slinging hallways and narrow paths, you appear in front of the locker room in no time, the loud music escaping the door a clear indicator of the Gunners good match.
“Now just wait out here until they come out, they’ll probably be out in a few.” The guard tells you unbothered, not caring at all that he’s leaving people he doesn’t know outside of the locker room.
“Yes sir.” You speak up clearly, mock saluting him as he disappears down the hallway with a sigh.
“I can’t believe that you’re 28, you act like a 12 year old.” Marla tells you jokingly, leading to you pushing her away from you. In the span of a few seconds both you and Marla find yourselves on the floor, engaging in a wrestling match. It only gets broken up when the sound of the door opening echoes through the hallway, both you and your best friend quickly getting on your feet.
“Nah what’s going on here?” A very amused Irish accented voice escapes the player exiting the locker room, one Katie McCabe staring at you and Marla.
“It was her fault.” You point at Marla so as to gesture that it was her who started it, the woman vehemently denying it.
“So I’m guessing you’re Lia’s cowboy then?” Katie completely ignores the blame game currently going on in front of her as she talks to you. Blushing at being called Lia’s, you quickly start to stutter out an answer.
“I- uhm yeah, I think so?” Laughter coming from behind the Irish woman makes you glance in the direction of the sound. Seeing Leah Williamson of all people is not what you expect, a bit starstruck yourself.
“Of course it’s the cowboy you buffoon, who else would wear a cowboy hat in London? You have to tell me where you bought the one Lia brought home, I need a new one. Mylie-moo chewed mine to filth a couple days ago.” Leah throws her arm around your shoulder as if you’d known each other for years, the woman clearly having heard a thing or two about you.
“Oh well I’ll be sure to bring you one next time I go back to Texas, my buddy Carl, he’s 72 and he makes the most gorgeous hats you can imagine. Last time I visited him I made him an instagram page, I’ll send you the link if you want?” You speak enthusiastically with the England captain, her arm still resting around your shoulders casually. Both Marla and Jason are in a conversation with Katie and Lotte, who just got out of the locker room.
“Important question, so answer me truthfully now, do you like country music?” She looks at you skeptically, trying to deduce if you’re being truthful or not. The question itself makes you roll your eyes playfully, but alas it didn’t surprise you. It was widely known that Leah was quite the country fan.
“Ma’am I grew up in Texas, yeah I’m a country fan. I’d be disowned if I wasn’t.” Leah looks at you like you’re her hero, it was clear to you that she accepted you. The hinges of the door squeak as a few other players exit, namely Lia.
“Lia please let me steal her, she’s perfect.” Leah says jokingly, holding onto your arm softly like she was a little kid. Lia looks at her weirdly, but quickly catches on to the joke, walking over to the two of you.
“I know, that’s why I want to keep her.” Lia wraps her arms around your waist tightly, her newly washed hair curling up into adorable curls, head placed on your shoulder.
“Sharing is caring.” Leah is on the verge of laughter as she talks, the statement a shocking one for sure. It was hilarious though so you also had to keep from laughing.
“I mean I wouldn’t mind-” Lia shoots you a mean glare at your half serious words, and even though it was like being glared at by an adorable kitten, Lia already had you wrapped around her finger. “Actually I’m taken so I don’t think that would work.”
All it takes for you all to break character is a shouted ‘WHIPPED’ coming from one of the players watching the interaction like it was a soap opera, the three of you laughing like it was the last thing you’d do.
“Alright, anyone want a drink? Not to brag but I can make a mean cocktail.” The women all cheer as you ask them, everyone rushing out to get into their cars and get to the bar. Just as you’re about to follow them, someone takes hold of your collar, making it so that you can’t go.
Lia looks back when you don’t follow her but you just wave her off, telling her to go on without you. Turning back, you’re met with all the ‘scariest’ Arsenal players, looking like they’re about to beat you up.
“Listen carefully now, because this will only be said once, if you hurt a hair on her head, do anything to hurt her emotionally, if you do anything wrong that makes her sad, we will not hesitate to take your knees.” It’s Katie that speaks, all the others just nodding intimidatingly, glaring at you.
“I’m going to try my best to make her happy, I know that she deserves the world.” They let up the facade of intimidation at your words, patting your back and pushing you in the direction of the car park. The conversation as you all are walking out of the building is pleasant, when you arrive at the parking lot there are just a couple of cars left.
Both of your best friends had left you to carpool with one of the remaining players, Lia called dibs though the second she looked at you, so it was with her you went.
“They weren’t too scary with you right? I know how they can be.” Lia says over the soft music being played from the radio, some Tyler, the Creator song. You look at her face, she was in deep thought and absolutely adorable.
“Nah, it’s like being threatened by a pair of teddy bears. Let’s just say that I’ve had worse shovel talks.” She giggles as you start to tell her about all the weird shovel talks you’d gotten back in Texas, everything from being threatened with Chinese water torture to being hung upside down from a tree for simply speaking to a girl that wasn’t her.
When the bar comes into sight you see that multiple people have parked their cars right in front of it, telling Lia to just park on the curb.
“Y’all are such dickheads.” You laugh, slapping both Marla and Jason’s heads hard, they left you stranded.
“Well you’ve got a girlfriend now who can drive your broke ass.” Marla shoots back, rubbing her head in pain. You roll your eyes at her dramatic actions, the slap wasn’t that hard.
“One-nil to me then, at least I have someone.” The sibling like banter was normal between you two by now, she was your best friend after all.
“C’mon cowboy, let’s sit down for a little.” Lia’s hand rests on your stomach as you both sit down on the booth, the place to sit being suspiciously small, to the point in which Lia had to throw her legs over your lap to get enough space.
It was nice to sit and talk with the team, they were regular people just like anyone else and it made you glad to see them just relax after a match. The atmosphere was calm, so calm in fact that Lia managed to fall asleep on your shoulder, quiet snores escaping her mouth.
Only moments later you fall asleep too, after having fought sleep for as long as possible. Your head rests on top of Lia’s and the girls think it’s absolutely adorable, some of them taking pictures of you both to send to their group chat.
“I knew being friends with her would pay off.” Jason jokes, thinking naïvely that you were fully asleep, getting a few laughs from the girls in the room. They get startled though as you utter a quick;
“Hey!” In protest, everyone soon laughed at your dramatic reaction to his joke.
Who knew that going to the museum would result in you getting a date?
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hello! It was just recently when I found your page and Immediately loved how you write Luffy!
I wanted to know if you could write a short fic about jealous! Luffy, maybe the crew land on a island, they went to a bar and reader started get hit on by another dude, I wonder if luffy would be overprotective or wouldn’t care that much.
tysm for the support! I’m so happy you like my writing, that means a lot!! :’) I’ve had some ideas for this concept and I love how this turned out, so thanks sm for the request <3
jealous luffy - luffy x gn!reader
fluff
summary in request, luffy’s progression from uneasy cluelessness into overprotective rage
words: 1k
________________________
Luffy’s been holding your hand all day, like he always does. And he’s been roughly dragging you around across the island because he’s excited to be in a new town and make friends and find adventures. Evening comes and your hand is sweaty, you love Luffy but you want a little break, so you tell him that, as gently as you can, when you follow some of the crew into a tavern in the town square.
It’s loud and warm and Luffy wanders off to see if they have food here, so you’re left alone to sit in one of the bar stools and wait to catch the bartender’s attention so you can get a drink. Your excitement doesn’t overflow like Luffy’s does but it’s been a long, boring voyage over this particular sea and the stable ground, the unfamiliar faces, the world outside of a wooden box are so welcome, and so you’re in a particularly good mood, more outgoing than you would normally be.
So when a man comes to you, and sits by you, and begins to ask you who you are and compliment your clothes you let him, you talk back happily. Because you’ve been talking to just the same nine people for far too long. When he offers to buy you a drink you think why not? and agree with a dismissive laugh.
Luffy is bored and notices you talking to a man he’s never seen before. He isn’t jealous, not yet. He doesn’t pick up on anything out of the ordinary, he doesn’t see a problem with his hand being close to yours, or the drink he offers you. In fact, Luffy’s jealous of you, because you’re getting something for free and he isn’t. He gets antsy and wants to hold your hand again, now that he’s in a bad mood. So he comes and sits cross legged on the floor, leaning against your stool, not saying anything.
You smile at him and return to your conversation. You’re aware, only vaguely, of how the man is leaning in closer towards you, how his gestures brush your arm. Luffy isn’t. But Luffy still feels agitated, like something’s not right, though he can’t place it. He plays with the cuff of your pants, staring straight ahead, brows furrowed.
You lean away as the man gets closer. You don’t feel in danger, you’re slightly amused at this man’s clear attempts to hit on you, you continue to laugh it off because Luffy’s there and you feel safe. You bring your hand up to rest your head on, to get it away from his creeping fingers, your body language is subtle but Luffy is starting to feel like something isn’t right. Something feels off in his heart, his stomach.
He’s watching the man now, from the floor beneath you, glaring as the man glances down icily at him. Luffy is stressed, a hand wrapping around your ankle. The man doesn’t feel threatened, he’s too confident, emboldened and cocky he rubs it in by leaning closer and complimenting you more. He wants to make Luffy jealous.
Luffy is angry. His face is heating up. Who does this man think he is? And as Luffy gets angry you’re feeling off too, like the man is getting too close, fingers reach out and brush your hair.
“Hey,” you try to dodge, not having any fun anymore. You want out, you’re racing to think up an excuse, or try to get Luffy to do something, but you’re scared. The man is tall and strong, probably a pirate himself, you don’t know what he might do in the face of denial. You feel awful for your kindness and excitement just minutes ago, you feel a little sick. The man tries to hold your hand and you jerk away, no subtlety anymore.
And that’s when Luffy breaks. The rage inside him suddenly explodes because he may not know what it means to come onto someone, but he knows you, he knows when you’re upset. And his overprotective side takes over and he decides that this man is going to be the one to pay.
Luffy shoots up from the floor and punches the man in the face with all the force he can, yelling at him to get away from you. You gasp and scurry off the stool, trying to grab Luffy’s shoulders, but he lunges at the man again with a sharp uppercut. The man reaches for the cutlass on his belt, blood dripping from his mouth, but Luffy sees red and hits and hits.
The tavern has turned to the three of you in shock, but cheers erupt from the alcohol ridden crowd as an animalistic fight breaks the bar in half. And there’s a clear winner.
Luffy stands, soon, in a rage-filled daze, fists clenched as he looks down at the unconscious man beneath him. And in an instant you’re crushed into strong, flexed arms, lifted from the ground, hands gripping your skin as Luffy holds you tightly in a silent need to keep you for himself. Kisses pepper your face and he rubs your hands and wrists and shoulders where you had been touched before by the man Luffy can’t stand to look at again.
“He can’t have you,” Luffy says unhappily, face buried in your neck, pouting like a child.
“Luffy…” You wrap your arms around him and try to steady your breathing, soaking in his familiar smell and warmth. “I’m ok… it’s alright-”
Your lips are met with a forceful kiss before you finish speaking. “Mmm!” Luffy grumbles into your mouth, still mad, a newfound clinginess developing in his heart as he grips you protectively.
You’re so aware of all the eyes on you, but all that you need right now is the overpowering presence of Luffy all around you. You’re safe. It’s over now. You close your eyes, Luffy’s mouth still attached to yours, as Nami rushes over to drag both of you out of the tavern.
#I like requests#luffy x reader#one piece x reader#luffy#one piece#luffy x y/n#one piece fanfiction#luffy x you#jealous!luffy#jealous luffy#jealous luffy x reader#luffy x gn!reader#luffy x reader fluff
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Staking My Claim Part 1
Hello! Because of my flu, I've been working on low stakes stuff to help with my foggy head. I promise this week to be back on to the WIPs I have going to be build up my backlog again.
This started off as a silly "let the boys be goofy" and turned into a "found family with ONE goofy moment in it". Sorry about that. I blame the cough medicine honestly.
***
Eddie and his friends were enjoying a rare night where they didn’t have to play at Cora’s Den in Indy when it happened.
Now, Cora’s Den wasn’t gay bar per se, but as it was one of the most inclusive places in Indy, the normies considered it one.
So when he came back from going to the bathroom he leaned into the center of their table so he could whisper. “Tell me that’s not Steve Harrington at the bar in a crop top and cutoffs.”
All three of his friends turned to the bar as one.
Gareth smacked his lips. “As much as I would love to, man, no can do.”
“And is he really flirting with that dude?” Eddie asked with a wince.
Jeff raised an eyebrow. “I’m seriously doubting that. Looks like Stevie could use a rescue.”
Eddie turned and looked over. Sure enough the guy that had been flirting with Steve had been replaced by a new guy. And one that didn’t look like he was getting the hint to fuck off.
“Go on,” Brian said. “You know you want to. He’s clearly got a thing for the guys and you might even get laid for the first time in months.”
Eddie nodded curtly and slapped the table. “Right.”
*
Steve was having a good time until this guy came along. He just wouldn’t take no for answer. He wasn’t looking to go home with anyone. His parents had just blown out of town again and Steve was looking for a way to blow off some steam. Relax after the last week of sheer exhaustion of dealing with them and their judgments. He usually went with Robin so that people would leave them alone. Only she had the late shift tonight and the early shift in the morning.
He was going to wait until the weekend when they could both go and have fun, but Robin insisted that he go, otherwise he’d be moping around Family Video all week. So he came out tonight, not really out to get drunk, or laid, just to have a good time.
This was not that.
Suddenly an unopened bottle of his favorite beer was being pressed into his hand as a warm arm wrapped around his waist.
“There you are, baby,” a soft voice cooed. “Sorry I’m late, work was a nightmare.”
Steve let himself relax into the man’s side. “I’m just glad you made it, Eds.”
Eddie grinned at him. “I swear old man Thacher is getting worse in his old age.”
Steve laughed. “I know, right? I went in for an oil change and he berated me for twenty minutes on why couldn’t I just do it myself.”
Eddie frowned. “Don’t you have a BMW that requires a special oil?”
Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “Yup!”
Eddie turned to look at the guy who was standing there with his mouth open. “Are you still here?”
The guy bristled. “I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but I was here first.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Steve said, straightening up, but still remained plastered to Eddie’s side. “Eddie Munson. Lead singer and guitarist for Corroded Coffin. You know, the band that plays here every weekend?”
“Yup,” Eddie lied easily. “So where’s Birdie tonight? Working the late shift?”
“Ha!” the man snapped. “That’s not his friend’s name. His friend’s name is Robin! I knew you were a fake.”
Eddie blinked at him as if the man had grown three heads. “Robin Buckley. Robin is a bird. Bird plus Buckley, ergo Birdie. I have nicknames like that for all my friends. And any friend of Stevie’s is a friend of mine.”
Steve rubbed his nose along Eddie’s jaw affectionately. “And how did you know what her name was?” he asked, not even looking at the guy. “I don’t think I recall seeing you around before.”
The man’s face paled and he turned on his heel, storming off in a huff.
“Thanks for that,” he murmured into Eddie’s ear. “I’m usually pretty good at getting assholes to lay off, but he wouldn’t take no for answer.”
“Your inner mean girl couldn’t make him go away?” Eddie whistled. “That is persistent.”
Steve giggled. Then he blushed and looked down. That was when he remembered the drink in his hand. “So what’s with the unopened beer?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was another creep by bringing you an open bottle.”
Steve looked up at him and blinked a couple of times. “Wow, you really are my knight in leather armor tonight.”
Eddie took the bottle and popped it open with his bulky ring on his middle finger. “There you go.”
“That was so hot,” Steve said stupidly.
Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “Duly noted.”
*
Steve was invited back to their table and had an absolute blast.
He was coming back from the bar with a couple of drinks in his hands when someone bumped into him, almost making him spill the drinks.
“Hey, watch it!” he hissed.
Immediately Eddie was at his side in an instant.
“You okay?” he asked taking a couple of the drinks from him.
“Yeah,” Steve groused. “Just some asshole not watching where he was going. I didn’t even get a drop on my shoes.”
Eddie snickered. “Yeah, okay. You and your jock reflexes.”
Steve leaned over and whispered, “I’m also very flexible in bed.”
“As in top or bottom or are we talking positions?” Eddie asked, running his tongue over his bottom lip slowly.
“Both.”
Eddie threw back his head and laughed. “No need to go so hard, baby. I was already wanting to take you home with me tonight.”
“What about your friends?” Steve asked grinning back. “It sounded like you all share the apartment.”
“We have a signal for if we bring anyone back,” Eddie assured him. “Also we know to keep it down because the apartment walls are thin and not just inside the apartment.”
Steve’s mouth formed an O. “I got you.”
He knew there were pros and cons to living in an apartment. Having your neighbors that close were definitely a con.
“You still living at home?” Eddie asked as they made their way through the crowd.
Steve nodded. “Yeah. It’s not like my parents are ever there. Though it would just be my luck that they’d come home while I’m out the queerest bar in Indy.”
“Not a fan of queers?” he asked once they reached the table.
“They’re fans of Reagan,” Steve said with a grimace. “I’m pretty sure that automatically puts them on the opposing team.”
The entire table recoiled in sympathy.
“Fuck, that’s harsh!” Jeff said. “Thankfully my parents aren’t Reagan supporters, though they have raised many an eyebrow at Eddie here.”
Eddie face turned into a feral grin.
Brian shrugged. “My parents don’t care as long Eddie doesn’t shove it down their throats.”
Steve rolled his eyes. That old nugget. Walking down the street holding hands with someone of the same gender was shoving it down their throats as far as they were concerned.
Gareth looked at his friends wide eyed. “Um...sucks to be you guys I guess, but my parents adore Eddie, don’t mind him or I being gay and threatened to sue the school over the devil worshiping allegations about our D&D club. So...”
“Three cheers for the Hughes family!” Eddie said.
They all cheered and clanked their glasses together. They downed their drinks and roared with unrestrained joy.
Steve could feel a rush of blood around his ears. The room faded in and out and it sounded like Eddie and his friends were under water. He staggered off his stool and nearly stumbled to the floor.
Then the world went black.
***
Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6
Also I'm not sure if this post canon or no monster AU. I can't decide, but it's ambiguous either way.
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Shadows [Alastor x Reader]
Enemies to lovers?
Warnings: Allusions to death and murder
You and Alastor can't stand each other, but your shadows beg to differ (1.1K)
~~~~~
In life, I was a mastermind of manipulation. A con woman who could sweet talk anyone into anything. I had money, I had influence, I had control. People came to me when they wanted something, but it always came with a price. For some, their lives. Some people just have no respect for the hand that feeds them. They called me the Shadower because they could always feel me watching. I had eyes and ears everywhere. It was only a matter of time before someone else got the upper hand, and shot me right between the eyes. The circumstances of my death make me so angry, I choose not to think of it much.
When I arrived in Hell, my surprise was brief. No doubt that I belonged here, but I didn't expect it all to be real. I didn't expect to have such dramatic changes in my appearance. My teeth became sharp, my eyes crocodilian, my nails became claws. I looked scary, and I liked it. Was I supposed to give my old ways up? Ha! As if. I built my empire from the ground up before, I could easily do it it again with all my knowledge. And now, I had real magic power, and I could really be a shadow. I was accompanied by a sentient shadow, a helpful friend in my business. I had a quick rise to power, becoming one amongst the Overlords.
They didn't seem to know what to make of me, and I was addicted to their intrigue and fear. Who could be next? They didn't dare cross me and find out. I didn't care much for the others besides a general sense of respect for each other's strength. But there was one, Alastor, who I could not stand. His smug smile, his stupid static voice, his ego. He always had to be the center of attention, and just couldn't stand that he was no longer the talk of the town.
"You don't even have your own gimmick."
"Just mad I do it better, Smiles?"
"Ha! Are cheap words the best you've got?"
"Ha ha, at least my words are audible. And I'm not the one with a tacky bow tie."
"Ha ha ha! I hate you."
Despite our animosity, there was one thing we could agree on. It's infuriating how much our shadow creatures love each other. The first time we'd met, our shadows bounded for each other as if they were old friends. His eyes widened in shock, but his smile never faltered. I hardly quirked my eye brows at the scene. It was like two dogs playing at the park. The red demon tilted his head at an awkward angle as he inspected me. "My, my! What a playful friend you have. You must be the new arrival everyone is just buzzing about. I am Alastor, the Radio Demon. I'm sure you've heard of me." He introduced, offering his hand. "Not in the slightest." I said, shaking it. His eye twitched, but his smile widened.
Ever since then, at every meeting, we had to pretend our shadows didn't fly together like magnets. It almost would be amusing if it weren't attached to that piece of shit. I simply don't understand it. Is it comfort in knowing there is another like them? Or is it all just a game to piss us off further? It's hard to tell. Sometimes it seems like they don't notice anyone else in the room, but sometimes they seem like they're sat together, gossiping about us like old ladies. Every time we left each other's presence, they seemed to reach for each other, not wanting to be torn apart. I have no idea if Alastor has noticed it. That would require him to have half a brain.
One night I decided to go to a speakeasy I frequent. I sat at the bar alone, but I could feel the fearful eyes on me. I smile behind my drink. I thought tonight was going to be a good night, but I was wrong. I didn't even know Radio Boy was around until I felt my shadow slipping away. They were dancing freely to the upbeat swing music, having the time of their lives. I scowl, and flag the bar tender for another drink. Maybe if I turn around, I can pretend it's not happening. Alas, the radio static fills the room, overlaying the music. I feel a presence behind me, but I already know who it is. "Alastor." I say, still facing away. "Why (Y/n), I never expected you to have enough class to visit to such an establishment."
"You came all the way over just to say that? You must be more obsessed with me then I thought." I say calmly, refusing to give him the satisfaction of me turning towards him. I can feel the comment burning up inside him. I smirk. "I could say the same. It's almost as if you were following me. You must admit, this does seem more my style." Finally I turn around with a shrug. "Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer."
His eyes narrow. "An interesting turn of phrase." Our shadows join us, seemingly swirling around people us excitedly. My shadow forces me out of my seat. My glass falls to the floor, shattering, and my body collides with the deer. "Watch it!" I growl at the two incorporeal beings. Alastor seems just as angry, his static getting louder and his limbs growing. I hiss with hostility at the act, letting my claws out. In the blink of an eye he returns to normal. "Coward?" I ask. "No. I simply came here for a relaxing night, not a fight. I can't be ruining my favorite place after all." I notice the bar has mostly cleared out save the employees and musicians. When it looks like two Overlords are about to have a turf war, you don't want to be around if you're the little guy.
The shadows begin dancing along the walls as the music returns. "Hm. Perhaps we should follow their lead." Alastor suggests, holding a hand out in a gentlemanly fashion. "What's your play?" I ask skeptically. "I'm simply suggesting to have a little fun amongst our banter. After all, it's been awhile since I've had a worthy dance partner." I smile coyly at his words, and take his hand. "Alright, but I think this proves who's obsessed with who."
"Keep dreaming, my dear." He says, twirling me to the beat. "Are you sure you can keep up with me?" I ask, matching his rhythmic kicks and skips. "Don't forget who grew up doing this. You don't know everything." For once, our words aren't laced with so much hostility. I guess tonight will be a good night after all.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin#vivziepop#hazbin alastor#hazbin charlie#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin x reader#alastor x reader#hazbin hotel x you#radio demon
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