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mc-i-r · 10 months

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Disposable Heroes

Part one, Part two, Part three, Part four AO3 link

A/N: hi yes so sorry for how late this is, it turned into a huge monster of a fic that I’m still working on but I figured posting the first part wouldn’t hurt. This is based on this post by @liightsnow, @acowardinmordor, and @00biscuit while back and I decided to expand that concept a bit and here we are. I'll be tagging anyone that seemed interested in the concept at the end of the fic! Warnings are below but I just wanna say that Steve is struggling with his sexuality in this one so most of it comes from that. This will absolutely have a happy ending, just not right now. Enjoy the angst!

Tw: internalized homophobia, homophobic language, mentions of canon violence, dissociation, panic attacks

———

It’s a Sunday afternoon when he realizes it. Steve is sitting on his couch, eating a shitty frozen meal and watching a random movie on TV when it hits him. The kids haven’t asked him for a ride in two weeks. Two Saturdays have passed and there was not one call— either on the phone or over the walkie— from any of the kids. Not even Dustin, who has seemed to make it his life’s mission in the past couple years to annoy Steve into an early grave.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen them at all. He still practices basketball with Lucas on Thursdays, even though the season is long over. His weekly dinners with Claudia and Dustin are still going strong every Wednesday. Joyce seems to invite him over for dinners every couple weeks. From the outside, everything seems fine. And maybe it is, but Steve’s noticed things.

See, he’s not as stupid as people think he is. He may not be academically smart but he can read. However, instead of books, it’s people. He can read their micro-expressions, notice little signs in their body language that help him understand the person. He can tell when people are nervous when they avoid eye contact, can tell how anxious they are when they distract themselves by picking at their fingers. It’s how he’s so good with the kids. They’re in the stubborn stage of their teenage years, the time in which the only answer you’ll get is ‘I’m fine. Leave me alone’. But he can tell if there’s something on their minds, if there’s something eating away at them.

He can tell that Mike’s anger and pointed barbs are directed towards himself, how he’s struggling with something he can’t quite admit to himself yet. How Max is frustrated with her body, with accepting help, because she’s always had to rely on herself and putting that much trust in someone else has never been an option for her until now. How Lucas is trying to find joy in doing something he loves again, because his love for basketball has been ruined by Carver and his trusty band of assholes. How Dustin is trying to deal with almost losing Eddie, how he’s processing the feelings of almost losing a brotherly figure along with one of his friends. How Will is hiding part of himself, struggling to accept it in the same way Mike is. How El is trying so hard to find her new normal, to adjust to getting her life— her father— back.

There’s another thing he’s noticed, however. It’s that the kids are obsessed with Eddie. Steve from a couple years ago would feel jealous of Eddie, and would try to hold it against him. Now, though, Steve just feels… sad. The kids constantly talk about how cool and badass Eddie is for still being himself despite all the shit Hawkins has thrown at him. They talk about how Eddie takes them places, gets them little trinkets for their nerd game, and takes them fun places. Eddie does all these little things for the kids, lets them just be kids, and really, Steve can’t be mad at him for it. He tries to let them have fun, but his constant worrying overwhelms them. It brings them down. Eddie doesn’t do that. He joins right in with them, basking in the fun and letting himself go. Steve… can’t. Not with all the shit he’s seen. Letting his guard down is something he can’t afford to do anymore.

He sighs down at his meal, chucking it on the coffee table as he loses his appetite. His glasses land next to the disposable plastic tray, sliding across the finished wood surface from the force of his throw. He rubs harshly over his face, hands digging into his eyes until he sees stars.

Steve knows he’s not perfect. Hell, it took an interdimensional monster trying to kill him in order for him to realize that he could be a better person. That the only person truly able to change his life is himself. He used to think he had no choice in his life— whether it was his parents' high expectations of him or his friends trying to mold him into their perfect little plaything— but he knows better now. He knows that he shouldn’t have become King Steve, that he shouldn’t have hurled all his hate and anger towards other people who didn’t deserve it. He knows he shouldn’t have called people names or slurs, that he shouldn’t have spray painted lockers or ripped up books or shoved people against hard asphalt. He knows that, but knowing it was wrong doesn’t erase the fact that it happened. That Steve did those things and hurt people.

Part of him knows that his past is what made the kids turn towards Eddie. Why wouldn’t they? Steve was a bully, thought he was hot shit in school and made it everyone’s problem. Eddie was simply himself. His unabashed, unashamed self. He stood on cafeteria tables, made dramatic speeches, and shared his opinions to anyone and everyone who would listen. He’s so genuine and so, so much better for the kids. He teaches them how to be themselves, how to shove off the hate and embrace their weird side. He’s perfect for them, and Steve knows deep down that this is good for them. The kids need a good role model, one they can rely on, and Eddie has his herd of little sheep to teach and protect. It’s perfect. They’re perfect.

Steve remembers the time last week at the Byers-Hopper house when their little obsession truly became real. They were waiting for the bread to finish baking in the oven, and Steve saw that Will was seated alone in the living room. Joyce and Hopper were in the kitchen, talking and keeping a lookout so the bread wouldn’t burn. Jonathan and El were listening to music in his room, the synth and guitars echoing down the hallway. So, Steve decided to finally talk to Will. It’s not like they don’t talk ever, just… not much. Will is quiet, blends into the background, and Steve never felt like the kid would be comfortable with him trying to get in his business. However, he needed to ask the question that had been on his mind for a while.

Steve sat down on the couch next to him, keeping a fair amount of distance between them, and rested his elbows on his knees. Will was reading a comic, the cover full of bright colors and words, not paying attention. Steve sighed, pushed his glasses up, and ran a hand through his own hair.

“Hey, um… can we talk for a sec?”

Will startled a little, like he didn’t realize Steve was there, and closed his comic. He nodded, and Steve tried not to feel bad about the hesitation in his eyes.

“Is there something going on that I don’t know about? Like with the others?” Will’s eyebrows furrowed, a confused expression taking over his face.

“Um.. what do you mean?”

“Just… have I done anything to them to make them mad? I just… I don’t know, I feel like I’ve done something but I don’t know what,” Steve confessed. He must have looked as distraught as he felt, because Will seemed to soften at his explanation a bit.

“Why do you think that, Steve?” Will asked softly, and Steve had a moment of realization that Will seemed years older than he looked. Steve sighed, and explained that the kids haven’t really been hanging around him much and instead like to spend time with Eddie. He’s quick to clarify that he doesn’t mean anything bad by it, just wants to know what happened. It was Will’s turn to sigh, and he looked at Steve with something akin to sympathy.

“Steve, I don’t say this to be mean but… Eddie just relates to us more, you know? He shares more interests with us, and he seems to get us better,” Will expressed. His eyes widened and he hastily added, “it doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you! Just… it’s nice to have somewhere else to go, you know?”

The rest of the evening was spent with Steve silently eating his dinner, Will’s words echoing through his head as he munched on half-burnt bread.

Steve decides then, TV dinner half-eaten and work vest still on his shoulders, that he’s going to make this better.

The next day, Eddie comes into Family Video to pick up some movies, definitely for a movie night judging by the titles— he seriously doubts a metalhead would willingly watch The Goonies, The Dark Crystal, and Ghostbusters by himself on a Saturday night. Eddie bounds up to the register, movies in hand, and does a dramatic bow as he presents them to Steve.

“I wish to borrow these, my liege,” Eddie declares, his voice deep and in a horrible mockery of an English accent. Steve scoffs and rolls his eyes, unable to hide the small grin on his face at the other man's theatrics.

Eddie looks so effortlessly pretty, his hair tied back in a ponytail and his tattoos exposed through the large arm holes in his homemade tank top. Steve shakes his head to get rid of those thoughts and takes the movies to check them out, ignoring the late fee balance on Eddie's account. A glance at the man in front of him, who is bouncing on his toes and looking around the store, gives Steve an idea.

“Hey, is Hellfire still going on?”

Eddie snaps his attention back to Steve, looking a little startled to be asked such a thing.

“Uh… yeah, it's still going on. We have to play in Gareth’s hot ass garage since school is out but we’re making it work. Why d’you ask?”

“Oh, uh… the kids complained awhile back that they didn’t have a good spot to play anymore and I was just wondering,” Steve explains. Eddie raises an eyebrow at him, and Steve can feel him staring. Can feel him looking at him closely. Too closely. He clears his throat and looks back down at the counter, pushing his gold, wire-framed glasses further up his nose. “I uh… I actually wanted to offer up my place? My parents aren’t home much”— more like never— “and I’ve got plenty of space for the gremlins and the other guys. Plus, my A/C works and I’ve got a shit ton of snacks. I’ll stay out of your hair and-“

“Actually uh…” Eddie cuts him off with a strained voice. Steve looks up to find his face contorted like he ate something sour, and he knows what his response is going to be before he opens his mouth. Eddie wipes a hand over his mouth before shoving it in his pocket. “Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Steve nods— tries not to let the denial sting— and looks down at the movies in his hands. Ignoring how they shake, he sets them on the counter and slides them towards Eddie.

“That’s okay man, I get it. I need a break from the little horrors anyway,” he huffs out, the words digging their way into the pit in his stomach. He puts on his best customer service smile and looks up at Eddie, finding him looking a little wary. Eddie hesitates, as if debating with himself on whether or not to say anything, before rapping his knuckles on the counter in a little rhythm and picking up his movies. An awkward smile finds its way to his face, and Steve thinks it strange and out of place. It’s so.. un-Eddie-like. The pit grows deeper.

Walking backwards towards the entrance, Eddie throws a little salute his way before turning and swinging out the door. A belated “see ya, Harrington” drifts through the closing door in his wake.

Steve slumps over the counter when he’s gone, holding his head in his hands and feeling the childish urge to cry make its way up to his eyes. Even after everything— after walking through hell together, dragging his lifeless body out of the Upside Down as his blood dripped down his back and soaked through his clothes, standing vigil at his side until he woke up two weeks later— Eddie still seems to hate him.

But Steve… he feels the opposite. He has this overwhelming desire to be with Eddie. To hang out with him in the back of his van, drinking sodas and eating snacks as they look out over Lover’s Lake while the sun sets. To talk to him until the early hours of the morning until there’s nothing left to say. To go for drives late at night and listen to his loud music on the radio while holding hands over the center console. He has feelings for Eddie he’s never had before. Not for any past romantic conquests nor any girl. Hell, not even for Nancy. He’s never felt this intense need to be near someone before, and it scares him. It truly terrifies him.

He’s not homophobic— his platonic soulmate is a lesbian, for Christ's sake— but the fact that he feels this way is just… wrong to him. How is Steve Harrington, ladies’ man and charmer extraordinaire, into dudes? What is he, like, half gay? It just doesn’t make sense, doesn’t seem right, for him to feel like this. He sighs into his hands, digging his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. He can’t be thinking about this now, he can’t be thinking about this at all. He needs to shove it in the box in the back of his head where all the hard feelings go, waiting and festering to be dealt with later. He needs to, but he doesn’t know if he can.

Fuck, he needs to talk to Robin. Shit- can he though? What if what he’s feeling is a fluke or something? What if it’s just in his head because he’s desperate? What if Robin thinks he’s making fun of her and won’t take him seriously? It’s not fair of him to throw all his problems on her, even if he thinks she could help. It’s not her job to look after him, to take care of him. He can do that himself. He can figure this out himself.

Distantly, the words of Richard Harrington play in his ears. About how being gay is wrong, how it’s a disease. How it’s a sickness that slowly takes over until there’s nothing left. How it’s a disgrace.

He remembers sitting in the living room with his parents on a rare occasion in which they were home, watching the news channel as it talked about an epidemic spreading through young men. His father scoffed at the screen when they started talking about potential cures.

“Cures? They should just let those fags die. They brought this on themselves, you know. Typical of them to complain about the fucking consequences,” Richard had spat out at the block TV, standing to refill his bourbon. Steve had clenched his fists at his side, his already stiff posture straightening still. He felt angry at his fathers words, something pure and burning in his gut.

He didn’t know what it was at the time, but maybe he should’ve known. Maybe him being queer shouldn’t be as much of a surprise as it feels. Maybe he’s always known and just couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Maybe that anger he felt at his father’s words was partly on behalf of himself, too.

A wince shudders through him as he remembers how that night ended.

Steve had stood up from the couch, watching the dark liquid flow into the crystal glass in his father’s hand.

“What’s so wrong with being gay? I don’t understand how you could just.. hate people like that. Hate them for just existing,” Steve countered. His father had frozen at his words, slowly setting down the decanter with a solid ‘thunk’ against the metal tray where it belonged and turned to face him. His face was slowly gaining a reddish hue, a sign of the anger rising within him.

“What did you just say?” He demanded, voice scarily calm but laced with an icy rage. Steve swallowed.

“What… What's wrong with being gay, sir?” Steve hesitated, voice failing him. Richard had downed the glass of bourbon before throwing it at Steve, the crystal shattering on the mantelpiece behind him and sending shards flying.

“What’s wrong, Steven, is that you think it’s okay. No son of mine will think like that, not on my watch,” his father boomed, taking long strides towards him. Steve didn’t dare move, only watched his fist grow nearer as he punched him high on his cheek. He fell to the floor, arms trying to protect his head but it was no use. Richard had ripped his arms away, gripping the front of his shirt and making Steve hover above the ground.

“I didn’t raise a fucking fairy, Steven,” he spat. “A faggot.” Steve recoiled, physically feeling the vitriol his father aimed at his face. Richard had sneered, pulled him close and whispered, “Never forget that, Steven,” before shoving him harshly onto the ground and walking away. Black had clouded the edges of his vision, and he laid on the plush rug until it cleared up. He looked over, found his mother silently watching the TV and sipping her wine, and begged with his eyes for her to help him. To say something. Anything. She didn’t, and Steve had to haul himself off the floor, grasping the couch when his vision swam, and stumbled his way to his room.

The rest of that weekend was spent in his room, gingerly cleaning his face and the couple places where glass had cut him on his arms with a wet washcloth and soap. It was the first time he had ever gotten a concussion. He was fifteen.

He remembers replaying the fight over and over again, feeling like those barbs were directed towards him, too. In hindsight, maybe they were. Maybe his father just knew. Knew he was queer long before Steve ever did. Maybe that’s why he’s always so angry with him, so… disappointed. A groan escapes him and he runs a hand through his hair. He’s been thinking way too damn much for it to be this early in the day.

God, he really wishes Robin was here. He knows he can’t talk to her, but it would be nice just to have someone here to keep him from spiraling and drowning in his thoughts. He pushes himself off the counter and goes over to the cart where the returns sit, hoping that busying himself will occupy his thoughts. He sets a few on the shelves when what Eddie said earlier barrels into him full-force.

“Yeah, the other guys just… really wouldn’t want to be there.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he’s stupid. Of course the other Hellfire guys wouldn’t want to be at his house, they probably still see him as King Steve. Most people do, nowadays. Only the ones he went through hell with know he’s different now, that he’s changed. So really, he can’t fault them for being against the idea of Hellfire at his house. He wouldn’t believe it either if he was in their shoes.

Then again, wouldn’t Eddie or the kids try to convince them he’s different? That he’s not a dick? Shit, he’s been through four apocalypses, three concussions, and survived Russian torture— surely they would give him the benefit of the doubt, right? He’s dropped the bad influences out of his life, found better friends, better family— or can he even say that anymore?— to be with. Wouldn’t they try to stick up for him? Or... is he just not worth it?

Steve clenches his eyes shut, willing his bubbling emotions back down, and grips the movie in his hands so hard the plastic begins to creak. The little voice in his head, one that sounds suspiciously like Robin, tells him to breathe. He does. Deep inhale, hold, long exhale. Over and over and over again until he’s calm, until his head is clear.

He knows what he needs to do now: apologize. If it's one thing Steve Harrington knows, it’s how to apologize. Hell, he’s done it more times than he can count. He knows how to repair burnt bridges and how to get past the tough exterior of a person to pull at their heartstrings for sympathy. He knows the key; he just has to make himself useful. If he can provide things for the kids, for Eddie and the Hellfire crew, then they’ll want him around. That’s how it’s always been. That’s how it is with his parents, with school, with his past friends, and now his current ones. He vaguely recalls his junior year art teacher saying that, "once is an accident, twice is a coincidence, but thrice is a pattern." Which means this, this is something he has to make right.

With a plan solidified in his mind, he goes back to work refilling the shelves with movies, brainstorming ideas to get his family back.

Over the next week, Steve becomes a one man show. He offers up more rides, more movie nights, more free reign of his house and his pool and his car and his money and himself just to make the kids happy. He picks up extra shifts at work just to get extra spending money for them, knowing that they go through twenty bucks in no time.

But… it doesn’t work. Because bit by bit, ride by ride, movie marathon by family dinner by game night by post-nightmare phone call, it becomes painfully clear. Everyone puts on a mask around him. One that says they’re happy to see him, that they’re glad he’s here, but he knows it’s a lie. This, really, shouldn’t be much of a surprise. People don’t stick around him much, so why did he think this was any different?

Maybe it’s because he was finally himself around them, he finally opened up and showed a bit of his true self, and was still rejected. Still pushed away. He wasn’t cowering behind a mask this time, he was just Steve. But it wasn’t good enough. He wasn’t good enough.

To their credit, it starts off slow. Casual comments that are cut off quickly, kicks under dinner tables and pointed throat clearing. It’s one instance during game night where it all clicks.

The Monopoly board is spread out before them in the Byers-Hopper living room. Steve, of course, is losing. He’s not good with investments and savings and he keeps landing on the goddamn ‘jail’ space but he doesn’t really care, not when he’s finally having fun with the kids. He groans when the dice make him land on one of Mike’s properties, shuffling his fake cash to pull out the tax money.

“C’mon this game is totally rigged. How the hell am I losing to a bunch of teens?” He grumbles as Mike proudly snatches the money from his hand. Max snickers from her place beside him, her pale blue eyes rolling as she looks at him.

“You know, if you actually used your brain then maybe you wouldn’t be losing. Ever think of that?” She quips, and Steve huffs. Leave it to him to be called out by a fifteen year old.

“I’m surprised there’s even a brain in there to begin with,” Dustin states. He’s seated across from Steve. “I mean, why else would he have-“

His comment is cut off by Lucas smacking his arm. Dustin looks at him like he’s about to protest when Lucas raises his eyebrows, looking pointedly from Dustin to Steve and back again. Steve can’t hear from his position so far away, but he swears Dustin mutters “shit” before crossing his arms and looking down at the board. Steve looks around at the rest of the group, noticing how none of them seem to want to look at him, choosing to focus rather intently on the cardboard before them.

The rest of the game is filled with awkward silences. Steve can feel them looking at him when he’s occupied, and it makes him feel like shit inside.

It’s on the drive home when it hits him. He is the one that doesn’t fit into their group, into their family. They’re slowly but surely removing him and replacing him with Eddie. With someone who fits. With someone better. It hits him so hard, so fully, that he has to pull over on a quiet street to sob in his empty car.

The first time it's fully solidified in his mind is at a barbecue at the Byers-Hoppers house. Robin can’t come, her aunt from up north is visiting for the weekend and she has to stay home. Steve walks through the house, planning on saying hello to Joyce before joining the party outside. He finds Joyce talking low to Eddie in the kitchen and he pauses in the doorway, watches how Joyce laughs at something Eddie says. How she places her hand on his arm as her eyes crinkle with the weight of her laugh. Eddie is smiling, open and wide, with a flush high on his cheeks that stains his skin pink. His dimples are on full display and it takes pure willpower for Steve not to go and poke at them, to settle his thumb in the divot of his skin.

Joyce leans close to Eddie and says something under her breath, making him blush purely red now and shush her, causing another wave of laughter to ripple through the both of them. The kitchen is filled with warmth, the afternoon sunlight streaming in through the sheer cream-colored curtains that line the two windows as laughter fills the room. It’s light, it’s happiness, it’s love. It’s something Steve hasn’t felt in years.

Steve knocks on the doorframe, waggling his fingers in greeting. They both turn to look at him, and all that warmth from before flees the room. If he hadn’t just seen the thin rays with his own two eyes, he could have sworn even the sun went down as well. He feels a stab of pain in his heart, so sharp it makes his breath stutter. He fights to put a smile on his face, briefly clearing his throat and praying his voice doesn’t sound as faint as he feels.

“Hey, Ms. Byers. Eddie,” he greets. Steve runs a hand through his hair, just to give himself something to do. “Just wanted to say hi before I go outside.”

Eddie’s face has gone completely slack, the only thing convincing Steve he didn’t hallucinate the entire exchange earlier is the flush that had yet to leave his cheeks. In fact, Eddie looks even more red now that he’s made his presence known. Joyce, to her credit, has a small polite smile on her face.

“Thank you, Steve, that's very kind of you,” she replies. She casts a glance at Eddie out of the corner of her eye, something Steve has noticed a lot of people do to each other when he’s around. “You go on outside now, okay? I’m sure the kids are missing you.”

Steve holds back his remark of “yeah, I actually doubt that” and nods, leaving the two of them in the kitchen as he continues down the hallway. He tries hard not to let the harshness of their quick whispers dig further into his already injured heart.

Once outside, he’s greeted by no one. Dustin and Lucas are discussing something rapidly to one another, Dustin gesturing wildly with his hands as Lucas nods along and adds details. Max and El are sitting on a lawn chair together, Max seemingly teaching El how to braid her hair. Mike and Will are sitting in the grass a bit away from the group, shoulders touching and heads bowed together as they talk quietly to one another. Steve smiles softly at them, knowing.

He makes his way over to Hopper, who is manning the grill with a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. Steve waves and gives him an awkward little smile, and Hopper nods his head, pointing towards a cooler with his beer. Steve grabs one, popping it open and taking an, admittedly, big first swig. Hopper doesn’t notice, or at least doesn’t comment, and Steve looks out over the people he still considers his family. He catches Dustin’s eyes, hoping to have someone to talk to, but the kid only looks away and continues his conversation.

So now Steve is here by himself, slowly nursing a beer, and trying to keep his emotions in check.

It’s just that… he doesn’t know what he did. Was he too overbearing or did he not care enough? Was he too pushy or too distant? Was he just annoying them? Was he just an inconvenience? Did they ever really like him or did they just put up with them out of necessity? Or because they felt bad?

He takes another sip of beer, hating the way it tastes on his tongue but it’s better than the bile slowly rising in his throat. All he wants is for someone to see him, to see who he truly is and like it. To stick around. To stay.

And it’s true, he does have Robin, but sometimes she can’t give him what he needs. Call him a romantic but Steve wants that love, that connection, that intense feeling you get with a partner. He craves it more than anything. He wants to touch, to taste, to feel someone else.

Eddie. He wants Eddie.

A voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Kid, will you go get me a plate for the burgers?” Hopper asks, his gruff voice shoving all of his mushy thoughts aside. Steve nods, sets his beer on top of the cooler, and makes his way inside. He silently dreads ever walking in that room again, dreads having to feel the chill from before. However, the scene in the kitchen is drastically different this time. Joyce is by herself, Eddie nowhere to be seen, and is mixing together slaw in a big tupperware bowl.

Steve knocks on the frame again and is met with a small smile from the older woman. It’s infinitely more warm than the one he was met with when he got there, and he thinks it’s partly due to the lack of a certain metalhead in the room. Joyce sets down her spoon, wiping her hands on a nearby towel, and holds her arms out.

“C’mere, honey,” she murmurs, and Steve tries not to let her soft tone get to him. The last thing he needs is to cry in front of everyone. He walks forwards into her hug, leaning down a little to wrap his arms around her properly, and sighs when she rubs her hands up and down his back. Steve clenches his eyes shut, taking in stuttering breaths that he knows she can hear but thanks every god out there that she doesn’t comment on it. She taps her hands twice on his back and pulls away, reaching up to push some of his hair off his forehead and Steve wills himself to not lean into the touch too much.

“Sorry for not saying a proper hello earlier, I was a bit preoccupied. Eddie- well, that’s not my thing to tell but he needed some help with something and… well, you get it,” she smiles, laughs a little, and Steve smiles back.

This. This is what he wishes he could have with his parents. This lightness, this love. He never will, he knows that, but the little moments like this with Joyce, the way she hugs him and cares for him, are ones he treasures. Ones he wishes he could have everyday. Joyce is a wonderful mother, and part of him wishes he could have her as his own. Hell, she’s been more of a mother to him in the four years he’s known her than his mother ever has. But he knows that isn’t fair. It isn’t fair of him to put his parental issues on her or anyone else. So he doesn’t, and shoves his hands in his pockets instead.

“It’s okay, Ms. Byers, I get it. Sorry to interrupt you two, though,” he apologizes. She waves her hands in a shooing motion.

“Oh don’t apologize for that, honey, it’s okay,” she smiles, then hesitates. “I do want you to promise me something, okay?” Steve nods, and Joyce places her hands on either side of his face. “Promise me you’ll be careful with people, be gentle. Not everyone can be treated the same, some people… they’re special.

“Sometimes, it’s better to listen. Promise me, Steve, that you’ll always listen, okay?” She asks, and Steve has to swallow before he responds.

“I promise, Ms. Byers,” he replies, and she pats his cheek. Her smile has grown, and her eyes have softened.

“I love you, Steve, you know that, right?” Joyce asks, and it’s like the world has stopped moving. He didn’t know that, not really. Sure, he knew she liked him but he didn’t know she…

He doesn’t realize he’s tearing up until Joyce coos at him, wiping away a few stray tears that have escaped with her thumbs.

“I-I didn’t know you- I’m sorry, I don’t-“ Steve stutters out, but Joyce shushes him.

“You don’t have to apologize, Steve, it’s alright,” she insists. Her thin arms pull him into another hug and he buries his face in her shoulder. The angle is a little awkward, but it’s a comfort Steve hasn’t had in ages so he stays. “It’s gonna be alright.”

Her small hands rub up and down his back as he holds back tears. He regulates his breathing, taking in deep breaths and letting them out slowly, until he’s sure he won’t cry. He pulls back from the hug and wipes at his eyes, sure that they're red-rimmed and a little puffy, but Joyce only smiles that warm smile and pats his cheek again. Steve smiles at her, the first genuine smile he thinks he’s had in awhile, and it feels good. To smile and know it's real.

Joyce turns to the counter behind her and picks up a plate, handing it to Steve. His brows furrow, and he hesitantly takes the offered crockery.

“How did you-“

“I had a feeling,” she interrupts him with a wink. “Now go on before Hop burns the yard down.”

Steve smiles and goes back outside, handing the plate to Hop and ignoring his grumble of “took ya long enough”, before picking his beer back up and taking a much needed swig. A few minutes later, they’re all eating. Eddie has joined Dustin and Lucas in their rambling, all three of them loudly talking over one another. Steve watches them; wishing, wanting, yearning. Joyce bumps her shoulder into his, making him swivel his head to look down at her. She smiles, almost knowingly, and Steve blushes. He clears his throat and looks away, focusing on fixing his burger rather than whatever the fuck that was.

He sits alone away from the group, catching occasional glances from Joyce, Dustin, and Hopper. Joyce is concerned, he can tell that much, and part of her almost looks sad. Dustin looks conflicted, like he can’t decide if he wants to be mad from a distance or just come right up to Steve and say it to his face. Steve wouldn’t be surprised if he did the latter. Hopper, to Steve’s complete unsurprise, looks uninterested and, frankly, fed up with this whole situation. Steve doesn’t blame him, he is too.

After the food is gone, and dessert is served, Steve heads inside to help clean up. He washes dishes quietly with Joyce, while she dries them and puts them away. As he finishes up the last plate, Will comes into the kitchen.

“Hey, Mom? The party wanted to play some board games, is that okay?” He requests, and Steve can feel Joyce soften beside him. She smiles.

“Of course, honey. Make sure you ask the girls what they want to play, too, okay?” Will rolls his eyes and smiles, a mannerism Steve notes he definitely got from Mike.

“Got it, Mom,” he replies, and runs off. Steve turns back to the sink, realizing he’s been scrubbing the plate well past the point of clean, and rinses it off.

“I um.. I think I’m going to head out, Ms. Byers,” he begins. He hands the plate to her. “I’ve got a shift tomorrow and uh… I don’t want to intrude or anything.”

He doesn’t mention that he doesn’t want to repeat the last game night, where everyone kept glancing at him like he was a bomb set to explode at any moment. He doesn’t say that he can’t handle their stares for any longer than he already has.

“Oh, are you sure? You’re welcome to stay here as long as you want to,” Joyce offers, but Steve shakes his head.

“I really should be going, sorry.”

“Alright, dear. Let me walk you out,” she insists, moving to take off her apron.

“I’ll walk him out, Joyce, don’t worry about it,” Hopper's gruff voice interrupts from the doorway. Steve swallows and nods, drying his hands off on a towel. He looks at Joyce, seeing her share a glance and a smile with Hopper before looking back at him. He smiles, finally beginning to think that maybe… maybe things will be okay.

“Thank you, Ms. Byers. For everything,” he expresses. He leans down to give her a hug, her arms quickly hugging him back.

“It’s alright, dear. You come to me if you ever want to talk, you hear?” Steve pulls away from the hug.

“I will, promise,” he hesitates. Steve looks down at his hands, shaking from where they’re clutching each other, and takes a breath. “I… I love you too.”

He looks up right as Joyce pulls him into another hug. He laughs a little, and she pats his back before pulling away with a “be safe”. Hopper clears his throat from the door and Steve takes a step back, nods to Joyce, and follows the other man outside.

They step out on the front porch together, and Steve is prepared to continue walking to his car when Hop places a hand on his shoulder. He stops, and turns to find the man looking at him seriously.

“Son, I want you to promise me something,” he grumbles, and Steve begins to feel a strange sense of deja vu. While Joyce’s tone was soft, Hopper’s is deep and leaves no room for hesitation. He vaguely has a thought that this is what his father would have been like if things were different. If he were different. Steve nods.

“Promise me you’ll fix our shit, alright? I don’t wanna get in the middle of… whatever the hell this is but promise you’ll be better, okay?” He commands, and all the thoughts Steve had earlier about thinking things would be okay fly out the window.

“Y-yes, sir,” he stutters out. Hop claps his shoulder, mumbles a “get home safe”, before pulling a pack of smokes out his pocket and lighting one up. Steve turns, shoves his shaking hands in his pockets, and walks to his car.

Getting in his car is a blur of unconscious actions. He’s driving down a barely lit backroad when he registers that his eyes are stinging, and something warm and wet is dripping down his cheeks. He pulls over on the side of the road, shifting his car into park, and he sits there. He reaches up with a shaky hand and wipes his cheek, his hand coming back wet and shining in the faint glow of the moon. The sight breaks him, and an ugly sob rips its way out his throat. He chokes on an inhale as tears fight their way out, and he hugs his arms around himself as a sad semblance of comfort. His forehead finds purchase on the steering wheel, and his tears stain the leather before dripping on his lap.

He cries because he knows he’s the problem, that he’s the one fucking up. He cries because everyone thinks so, everyone knows. The kids know. Eddie knows. Joyce knows, but she’s just too kind to say it to his face. Hell, even Hopper knows. He cries because he doesn’t know what he did wrong. He cries because he doesn’t think anyone really wants him to fix it.

It’s the second time on a drive home from the Byers-Hopper house that he has to pull over and cry.

He struggles to inhale a deep breath and sits up, harshly wiping his tears away with his hand, uncaring that it rubs his skin raw and red. Sniffling, he puts his car in drive and goes home. Toeing his shoes off at the door is the only thing he thinks to do before he stumbles his way upstairs and collapses on his bed, snuggling into the thin comforter and falling into a fitful sleep.

After a slow shift at Family Video the next day, Steve returns to the darkness of his home with a plan. He can still be useful. They may not have to know, but he can still do something to help. To try and save them before they need to be saved. He can be a preventative measure for them, can stop them from getting hurt before they even know they’re in danger.

He shrugs off his work vest, throwing it on his desk chair as he searches his closet for an old sweatshirt. He finds one, the front adorned with white block letters that read ‘Tigers Swim Team’ and tugs it on. His nail bat finds purchase in his hand as he tucks a flashlight in his back pocket. The walkie Dustin gave him is hooked in his belt loop, just in case. He leaves all the lights on in the house and shuts the door, skirting around his house to begin his walk in the woods.

After four bouts with the Upside Down, he doubts that they’re in the clear, that it’s finally over. He thought it was the first time, then the second, and by the third he was skeptical. Now, though, he doesn’t know what to think. He wouldn’t be surprised if there was a round five, or six, or seven. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if it never stopped. But each and every time, they were unprepared. They were surprised, and it nearly cost them every time. But if Steve could prevent that surprise, give them all a heads up before it becomes a big problem, then maybe— just maybe— it’ll come in handy. He’ll come in handy. He’ll be useful again.

So, he walks the woods of Hawkins. His feet crunch the dead leaves piled underneath trees as he trudges through the woods. The flashlight shines long shadows on the ground in front of him, lighting up the pale gray bark of trees and making the eyes of rodents and raccoons shine amber and red.

A rustle sounds a few feet away and he jumps at the noise. He pauses and stands still, listening for the shrill chittering of demodogs or the heavy, thudding footsteps of a demogorgon. He waits, and his flashlight reveals a small fox walking out from behind a tree. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and continues walking.

His feet carry him to Lover’s Lake, the water lapping lazily at the shore with the warm summer breeze. Out here, the lights from town are distant, making the stars shine brightly and reflect in the water. Steve stands there, watches as the artificial light of his flashlight reveals the small ripples on the surface of the water, and waits.

He waits for a lumbering figure to emerge out of the murky depths, to claw its way onto the shore and stalk off into the woods. He waits for chirps muffled by water and splashing to sound in his ears as four-legged creatures swim to the beaches. He waits for the screeches of demonic bats to echo off the trees around him as they fly out of the water and take to the sky. He waits, but it never comes. The lake stays silent.

So he walks.

He follows the road leading to the lake out, letting it take him to the highway that leads out of town. His feet stop as they come across a crack in the road, the crack he took in the other world to get Eddie home safely. The crack that is closed over with black tar, leaving a dark line on the ashen gray asphalt. He remembers clawing his way out of that crack, Eddie’s lifeless body over his shoulders as he slowly bled out.

Nancy had driven her station wagon over, opening the back so he could lay Eddie down as they rode to the hospital. She had asked Steve to drive so she could patch him up, but he refused. He couldn’t leave Eddie, not when he finally got him out. Not when he was barely hanging on. So she threw the first aid kit she had stashed in her car at him and drove to the hospital. Steve had done his best to stop the bleeding, the stark white cloth immediately turning red when he pressed it to Eddie’s skin. They almost lost him. But they didn’t. He’s alive.

Eddie. Eddie.

His head swivels to the forest next to him, the one that leads straight to the trailer park, and he runs. He jumps over fallen trees, feet thudding against the dry earth and leaves as his breath picks up. Orange street lights shine through branches as he draws nearer, and he only slows his pace when he breaks out from the line of trees. His feet swiftly take him to the sight of Eddie’s old trailer, the vacant lot standing out against the fullness of the park. The wooden front steps are still there, partially broken and shifted. The grass has yet to grow in fully, bare spots of dirt showing through the green. His shoes crunch on the gravel as he takes a step closer, inspecting the ground and poking at it with his bat as if it would move. As if the gate would open up just by him being here.

It doesn’t. Steve steps back.

He turns to leave the park, eyes wandering and finding a familiar cream-colored van parked at a trailer a few rows away. Eddie and his Uncle were granted a new trailer for their trouble, really the bare minimum they deserve after all the shit they went through, but they took it in stride. Eddie and Wayne spent the first few weeks after spring break making it into their new home once Eddie was released from the hospital, and Steve had done his best to help them out. But he knew they needed time alone, time to heal, so he let them be. He hasn’t been back there since then.

He kicks a stray piece of gravel, watching as it tumbles a few feet away and disappears into the grass, as he makes his way out of Forest Hills. Houses blur by as he walks the residential streets, only stopping when his own comes into view. Steve sighs, and walks up the concrete driveway, through the large wooden doors, and into the silence of his house. He doesn’t bother taking off his shoes, reveling a little in the dirty footprints he leaves behind on his mothers’ ornate runner that covers the length of the hallway. The analog on the stove tells him it's a little past three in the morning, and he sighs. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, he fills it up with water before shuffling out of the kitchen. He flops on the couch, sips his water, and waits.

He waits for the sun to peek over the trees in the backyard, casting long shadows on the curtains that cover the windows and glass doors. He waits for the warm rays to shine through the large window in the living room, the one that faces the road, and light up the rug that rests under the coffee table in soft hues of yellow. He sits his empty glass on the table. He waits. And he gets up.

He goes upstairs, changes his shirt, and grabs his vest. Steve slips the walkie off his belt loop and places it on his desk, the flashlight landing right beside it. He props the bat next to his chair, and Steve looks at it, looks at the bent nails sticking haphazardly out of the wood and how it splintered in places from too much force. How some of the nails are covered in dried, blackened goop and dirt. How it's sharp and dangerous, a weapon. How it’s chosen to protect.

At this moment, Steve feels like the bat. The rough wood is his exterior, the splinters through it are the cracks. The holes in his facade. The places where people got too close, where people hurt him. The nails are what makes him strong. They’re the kids, Joyce and Hop, Eddie and Robin. They’re his family. They mold him into a weapon meant to protect, to keep them safe.

But just like Steve, the bat isn’t needed until it’s necessary. Until the world is ending. But until that time comes, the bat is left out of sight. It’s hidden away, moved from place to place just in case, but never used. Never wanted.

Steve walks out the door.

His shift at Family Video passes by like every other day, slow and full of know-it-all customers that never seem to understand that he can’t magically summon movies out of his ass whenever they ask. Robin comes in around lunchtime, and they spend the rest of their joint shift making fun of the ridiculous movie covers that adorn various romcoms. He goes home alone, sheds his vest, and once again walks the town of Hawkins.

He does it again the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that. Until it’s been a week and Steve hasn’t slept for more than a couple hours a night. He doesn’t mind, just means there’s less nightmares to wake him up before sunrise.

Less nights where chittering and the thuds of heavy footsteps strike fear down to his core. Less nights where the chill of fog and night air pierce his skin, warring with his senses against the hot breath hitting the back of his neck from deadly flower-shaped mouths. Less nights where the harsh scraping of monstrous nails against rusted metal and the echoey bangs of heavy, meaty bodies against solid bus walls fill his ears. Less nights where he can feel the thick, choking air of the tunnels, can feel the wispy particles filling his lungs and coating the inside of his mouth.

Less nights filled with muffled Russian echoing in his ears, the harsh texture of rope around his wrists, arms, and chest. Less nights where the sickening crunch of fists against bone and the metallic taste of blood in his mouth linger for hours after he’s awoken, shallowly breathing and pleading to be let go. Less nights where he can feel the blood in his teeth, coating his tongue and dripping down the back of his throat, and he has to run to the bathroom to puke the phantom feeling away.

Less nights he wakes up alone, empty house hollow around him. Less nights he cries to himself in the silence of his room, wishing, hoping, yearning for something. For something to happen, to change. For something to get better. For him to get better.

On the eighth night, he finds his feet have taken him to the edge of Hawkins. The brown road sign reads ‘Leaving Hawkins! Come Again Soon!’, and it stares at him from a few feet away. He looks past the sign at the stretch of road that disappears around a curve, trees following the line of asphalt and distant street lights lighting up their leaves with an orange glow.

He thinks about what it would be like to leave Hawkins, to pack up his clothes in his car and leave town. To follow the road and go around that curve, to not worry about ever coming back. No one needs him here, not anymore, so what’s holding him back?

Maybe this will fix him.

Robin might miss him for a bit, probably curse him and his whole family when she figures it out, but she’ll move on. She’ll find someone better. Hell, she’ll probably go to Eddie too. They already have some sort of secret friendship thing going on between them anyway. Really, he wouldn’t blame her.

Eddie probably wouldn’t care. Shit, he might even throw a party celebrating the fact that he’s gone. Steve snorts at the thought, closing his eyes and taking a breath.

Would it really be so bad if he just disappeared?

But then there’s the kids, left behind with no one to protect them. Sure, Robin and Eddie and Nancy are here, but Nancy is off to Emerson in the fall, Robin surely bound to follow in similar footsteps, and Eddie has made it well-known that he’s getting the hell out of here. If everyone is gone, who will be here to protect them when it comes back?

He rakes a hand harshly through his hair, pulling a bit at the ends and hating how greasy it feels on his fingertips. He can’t think like that, he’ll just worry himself into a panic and that’s the last thing he needs right now; a panic attack on the side of the road. He turns around, walking back towards town as the sky fades into light. He gets home right when sunlight begins burning the tops of the trees and collapses on the couch, sleeping until his noon shift.

He’s exhausted when he gets home, having to close up Family Video after a ten hour shift by himself, but he knows he can’t sleep. Not now. So he does what he usually does now when he gets home and grabs his essentials for his rounds, something that’s become routine for him.

He shrugs off his work clothes, replacing it with what has become his patrol outfit; the old swim team sweatshirt and a faded, ripped pair of light blue jeans. The sweatshirt is filled with holes, the baggy sleeves having caught on briars and branches alike, that allow the white of his shirt to show through. The jeans share a similar fate, the knees scraped up and the denim fraying from the unhemmed edges.

His white Nikes are stained a gray-ish brown from the nightly treks through the woods, small bits of leaves and debris sticking to the laces and in the grooves of the tread. The flashlight finds its place in his back left pocket, an extra pair of batteries landing in his front pocket after an incident a few nights ago where his flashlight died on him out in the middle of nowhere— he was forced to stumble through the woods until the sun began to rise and he was able to find his way back home. He didn’t sleep that night.

The nail bat is crusted with dried bits of mud sticking to the slowly rusting metal, shredded bits of leaves and undergrowth tangled in a green and brown mass. Clumps of dirt litter the floor under the bat, and likely mark a line in the hallway from his room down to the front door. Steve hopes it's still there if his parents come home.

It’s dark outside, only the street light at the end of the driveway illuminates the concrete and stepping stone pathway to the front door. Steve steps out on the front stoop, taking a deep breath of cool summer night air, and starts walking.

He walks out onto the street, uncaring at this point if anyone sees him or not. What does he have to lose? Hopper would probably tell him he’s stupid— something he’s well aware of at this point— and tell him to go inside. Or maybe he would drive him home, take the bat, and leave.

A small, traitorous part of Steve wants Hop to find him. Wants him to ask what the hell he’s doing walking around at night alone in the dark. Wants him to coax him in his old beat up truck and take him back to the Byers’ house. Wants some of Joyce’s hot chocolate as he sits on the couch and explains what he’s been doing, what’s been going on. Ask, desperately, why everyone hates him. Wants them to tell him he’s wrong, that no one hates him. That it’s just a misunderstanding.

But it doesn’t happen. All of that is a lie.

It’s a lie Steve has secretly been telling himself under the cover of darkness alone in his bed, lying awake and exhausted but unable to sleep. It’s a lie he tells himself when he sees any of the kids so he can act normal, act okay. It’s a lie he tells himself when Eddie grins at him, wide and gleaming, eyes sparkling with the afternoon sun beaming in from the storefront windows.

It’s those grins, those looks Eddie gives him sometimes that almost convinces him the lie is fake. Like Eddie is sharing an inside joke with him, only Steve doesn’t know what it is. Eddie doesn’t come around often but when he does… god, it’s like he’s the only one in the room.

Eddie looks at him with his whole body, always focusing on him so wholly and touching in some way. A hand on his bicep, an arm slung around his shoulder, even his arms wrapped around his waist one time. He was friendly, they were friends, until he wasn’t. Until Steve did something stupid that he still can’t figure out and Eddie is avoiding him.

The crunch of gravel under his sole brings him back into his head a little. He looks up, finding the pale orange glow of a lamp through a trailer window, and curses. His feet have brought him to where his mind always seems to go these days: Eddie.

He stands outside of the trailer, watching the way the little bits of weeds around the base shift and sway in the wind. The sky is filled with patches of clouds, light gray ripples standing out against the black sky from the glow of the moon. Steve isn’t completely sure how he got here, only that he started walking and didn’t really… stop.

Wayne’s truck is gone, leaving only Eddie’s cream-colored van among the gravel and grass. Which means Eddie is home and, judging by the light in the window, awake. Steve has a fleeting thought that he should turn around, walk back home, and try to forget he ever came here. Try to forget that he didn’t mean to, that his head and his heart are traitorous beings that have conspired against him to bring his body to the one place— one person— where he isn’t welcome. He tries to move, to will his legs and his feet to catch up with his brain and the urge to run. But they don’t. They stay frozen to the ground, rooted in place as if they belong here. As if he belongs here.

A voice cuts his thoughts off, one that he could pick out in a crowd full of people. His eyes snap to the front door of the trailer, now open and spilling warm light onto the wooden steps that lead down to the gravel drive. A figure grows near, tall and lanky and Steve feels like he’s trapped. His thoughts get louder, yelling and screaming at him to run run ruN RUN RUN-

Hands on his shoulders. Eddie’s face in front of him.

Eddie looks panicked, his dark eyes wide and dancing around as if searching Steve's face for… something. He must not find it, because the two little lines between his brows appear and his mouth starts moving. It’s all muffled, like he’s trying to talk through glass. Steve blinks.

“-ington? Steve,” Eddie’s pleading voice finds his ears as he shakes his shoulders, the fog in his head dissipating as the strained way his name falls from his lips. Steve hums. He blinks again.

“Oh,” he breathes out, voice barely louder than a whisper. Eddie is here. He’s in front of him. He can see him. He’s here and he can see and Steve shouldn’t be here he needs to go-

“Stevie, are you okay?” The fear in Eddie’s voice cuts off his train of thought— something that seems to happen a lot nowadays— and Steve feels every sensation return to his body. The heavy hands on his shoulders, soft and warm and missing their signature rings. The distant chill of the night air on his exposed bits of skin seeping away at the small amount of space between them. The faint puff of air on his face from the man before him. The fact that all of those things are from Eddie.

Steve clears his throat, swallows. Tries to focus his eyes on Eddie’s face.

“I’m fine, Eddie. I um.. sorry,” he trails off. He tries to smile, at least give something to reassure him, to keep him from asking questions. Steve doesn’t think he could answer them.

To his surprise, Eddie lets out a breath of relief, the fear dissipating from his eyes as they clench shut and his head drops. His shoulders move with his lungs as he takes a breath before looking back up at him.

“Jesus H. Christ, you scared the shit outta me, Steve. Thought…” he trails off. His voice wavers. “Thought you were gone. Like… like her.”

Oh. Chrissy. Fuck.

“Shit- sorry, Eds, I didn’t even realize- fuck, I’m so sorry,” Steve pleads. He takes in his surroundings, realizes he’s been standing out here, alone, for who knows how long. He needs to leave. “I-I should go.”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he tilts his head. “You don’t have to leave, Stevie, it’s fi-“ he cuts himself off.

Steve looks up at that, unsure of when he stopped looking at Eddie, and takes in his pinched expression. The one that’s trained to the ground. The one that’s trained towards-

“What the fuck is this?”

Shit.

“I-it’s not what it looks like, I swear!” He begs, voice sounding unfamiliar even to his own ears. It’s raspy and breaks after a few words. When was the last time he really spoke to anyone today?

“I don’t wanna hurt you, Eds, I really don’t- please, believe me,” he pleads. “It’s just for protection! I don’t-“

“Why are you covered in mud, Steve?” Eddie cuts him off, voice strange and cautious and his hands tighten their grip on his shoulders. Steve knows he doesn’t look the best, knows that his clothes are dirty, but he looks down at himself anyway. His eyes focus on a leaf stuck to his shoelace. He shrugs.

Eddie moves in front of him, a quick thing that Steve suspects is him shaking his head. He mumbles something he can’t hear, voice only a rumble in his throat but Steve knows enough to know that people only talk under their breath when they’re mad. When he’s done something wrong.

He pulls away. Eddie’s hands drop off his shoulders.

“I-I should go. Sorry for bothering you, an-… and keeping you awake,” Steve stutters out, clearing his throat when his voice breaks. He chances a look at him, finding concern written on Eddie’s face. It softens when they make eye contact, and Eddie shakes his head.

“I wasn’t asleep, Stevie. Don’t really, uh.. sleep much, these days. I usually just wait around for Wayne to get home to catch a couple hours. Doesn’t feel safe here by myself, you know?” Eddie confesses, mouth turned upwards in a small, sardonic smile. Steve nods. He does know, he’s never felt safe in his home. With or without people. He’s been going through it for years, long before the events of ‘83. He doesn’t say any of that though, doesn’t think he has the right to.

Eddie steps towards him, closing the bit of distance Steve made between the two, and rests his hand on the arm holding the bat.

“Come inside, Steve,” Eddie requests, voice low and soft. Eddie’s smiling at him. It’s that soft, small, Eddie smile. One that Steve has only seen a handful of times. It’s asking him to say yes, and Steve… he’s weak. So, so weak.

“Okay.”

Eddie’s smile grows.

His hand wraps further around his arm, tugging him towards the open trailer door and Steve feels betrayed that now is when his feet decide to move. He follows Eddie, watching the way he’s glancing at him the entire time. Eddie pauses at the doorway.

“Steve,” he whispers, and Steve looks at him. His hand travels down his arm, causing goosebumps in its wake despite the layer of fabric between their skin. It pauses over the hand still gripping the bat, thumb brushing along his knuckles. “Let it go.”

Steve looks at him, searches those dark brown eyes for fear or hate or anger but finds none. He only finds care. Concern. Love.

It’s terrifying.

He loosens his grip and Eddie takes it from him, the comforting weight of the bat replaced with the warmth of Eddie’s hand. He props it just inside the door to the trailer and leads him over the threshold by the grip on his hand. He’s led over to the couch where a hand on his back urges him to sit down. Steve does, and instantly sinks into the well-worn cushions.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Just gonna get you some water,” Eddie informs him, squeezing his hand briefly before releasing his grip and turning the corner to venture into the kitchen. Steve watches him go, the way the baggy and worn band shirt hangs off his frame. The way his sweatpants are bunched up at the ankle as if they’re too big for him. The way his hair is pulled into a messy bun at the back of his head that swings a little when he walks away. Even now, he’s beautiful.

Shit. He’s so gone for this man.

Eddie returns with a glass of water and flops down on the couch beside him, pressing the cool surface of the cup into his palm. He takes it with a shaky hand, his other joining it to help stabilize the glass. It doesn’t work.

He takes a small sip of water, the liquid feeling like heaven against his dry throat. They sit in silence until Steve finishes half the glass. Then, Eddie speaks.

“Why were you outside at two in the morning, Stevie?” His voice is gentle, and it makes Steve want to cry. He swallows.

“I- I don’t know,” he deflects, lies. Anything to not talk about it.

The harsh sound of a mock game show buzzer startles him, and he turns to find Eddie with his hands cupped around his mouth. Steve grins and lets his head drop, and Eddie nudges his shoulder. He takes a deep breath, focusing on the surface of the water in his hands.

“I have to keep them safe, Eddie,” he confesses. Eddie stays silent, hand gently rubbing his forearm. “It’s what I need to do. What I have to do.”

Silence stretches between them, then, “who, Steve? Who do you have to keep safe?”

‘You,’ he wants to say. ‘You almost died. It’s never been that close before, not in the four years this shit has been going on. You and Max almost died, and I wasn’t there to protect you. I wasn’t with you and Dustin to keep you both safe, to help fight off the bats and urge you through the gate. I wasn’t with Max and Lucas and Erica, wasn’t there to fight off Carver and save Max just a little bit earlier. I wasn’t there, but I should have been. Carver should have beat me to pieces, not Lucas. It should have been me the bats got to, not you. It should have been me, it should have been me, it should have been me.’

Hands fall over his as Eddie takes the glass from him. He didn’t realize his hands were shaking that bad in his revere, causing the water to spill over the sides and onto the brown carpet below them. The glass thunks on the coffee table before Eddie rests his hands over Steve’s, stills their shaking.

“Hey, talk to me, Stevie,” he practically begs. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

Steve looks at him, sees the worry in his eyes, and wets his lips with his tongue. Doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes flicker down at the movement. He clenches his fists.

“Please don’t tell Robin,” he pleads. If she found out about this, if she knew, he wouldn’t be allowed outside alone ever again. She would worry about him, keep him under lock and key to make sure he wouldn’t do anything stupid. She would stay with him during the night, insert herself firmly by his side until she was sure he was okay. She would make him sleep in his own bed, trapped between his own walls. Trapped in his own house. He can’t stand that place, can’t handle the echoey walls and empty rooms. Can’t stand not being able to do anything for anyone. Can’t stand to be useless.

He’s just wasting time right now. He shouldn’t be here, talking to Eddie, when he could be checking the gates. He should be out there trying to save people, not himself. He should be trying to save his family. He could already be too late. It might have already come back while he was distracted and they could all be gone. It could have been waiting until he was occupied, waiting for an opening to strike. They could be in danger right now. They could be dead.

“Alright, I can do that. I won’t tell her but… Steve, why-“ Steve cuts him off by standing up on shaky legs, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Steve?”

“I need to go, Eddie, I need to- they could- I need to go,” the words tumble out of his mouth, words he isn’t quite sure even make sense but he doesn’t care. He just needs to get out.

Steve walks over to the door, eyes locking on the bat propped there, before he hears Eddie stand up behind him. He turns to find Eddie holding his hands out in front of him like he’s trying to placate a wild animal and, at this moment, he kinda feels like one. His heart is beating too fast and he can feel his breathing quicken. His throat closes up as panic claws its way upwards and clouds his vision, muffling his hearing. Eddie’s mouth moves but Steve can’t hear it through the cotton in his ears. He backs towards the door, hating the fear in Eddie’s eyes as he does so.

His back hits the wall next to the door and he turns, hand finding the rough wood of the bat almost instantly, before he runs out the door. The small “sorry” he lets out is an afterthought, thrown over his shoulder right before the trailer door slams shut behind him and his feet crunch on gravel as he runs towards town.

His blind panic takes him to Dustin’s house first, finding all the lights turned off save for the faint glow of the hall night light through sheer curtains. He stays there for a minute or two, waiting for the sign of flickering lights. Nothing comes.

A couple streets over, he stops in front of Lucas’s house, finds the same thing. Dark. He stands there and waits. No flickering. He runs.

The Wheelers. Dark. He waits, no flickering. He runs.

The Byers-Hoppers. Dark. Waits. No flickering. Runs.

Max. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

Robin. Dark. Waits. Dark. Runs.

His house. Light.

They’re safe. He collapses.

He sits heavily on the front stoop, bat falling to the ground and knocking against the concrete with a thud. His knees come up to his chest and his arms wrap tightly around them as he rasps for breath, the air coming in short, quick bursts. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of his calves, hard enough to leave bruises. His forehead rests heavily on his knees and his eyes sting, welling with tears as the fear slowly fades away.

He sits outside, struggling for breath until the sun begins to rise, and waits. When the sun finds its way over the trees, he makes his way inside to get ready for his opening shift.

The bat finds a new home in his trunk.

Taglist: @tea-beloved @starry-eyedlune @hyperfixationgoddess @zerokrox-blog @nicovania @invisibleflame812 @chaoticvictorianspirit @justforthedead89 @dacremontgomeryay @vhelt @adhdsummer @nerd-and-nervous @i-have-three-feelings @mimicori @remuslupinisthevoiceofgod @solliesolesito @romanticdestruction @vanillatwist @bowl-o-queerios @grimmfitzz

(If you want to be added or removed please let me know!)

#steddie #stranger things #pre steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things fillet #stranger things drabble #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fic #things get better for Steve i promise #hes just having his angsty time right now #robins part is next tho so stay tuned for that #disposable heroes

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honestsycrets · 1 year

Text

Amor y Respeto I: Mi Alma || [Miguel O’Hara x Latina!Reader]

Chapter II: Corazón

❛ pairing | Miguel O’Hara x FB!Reader, platonic Hobie x Reader

❛ type | oneshot

❛ summary | the moment you want a sign of love from Miguel is the moment that your relationship is fucked.

❛ tags | fuckbuddies, a very latinx piece, jealousy, jealous Miguel O’Hara, a sparse hobie appearance, spidey!reader, latina!reader, no translations of the spanish included, gif credit to the original owner, nsfw, female reader, some mention of blood and wounds, some creative liberties, slight spoilers.

❛ sy’s notes | not my usual fanfare and i’m a little rusty but miguel hit me straight in my heart. i consciously omitted spanish translations in this work. consistent pet names include mi alma (my soul) & muñeca (doll). this is not my usual fandom and i may have missed some fandom nuances, so i apologize in advance for creative liberties. lastly, emotions impact the reader’s healing capabilities, hope that's clear enough. thank you @lisinfleur and @ivarsrideordie for your help. i’ll be dropping an ivar fic soon, see you then!

In your cultura, disrespect was unacceptable.

You knew it. Your lover knew you knew it: but for you, there was something greater than respect. Amor. If he knew that you knew about her little escapade, oh, it would be unforgivable. It undercut the very foundation of what he did at HQ. But even between lovers, where the time you spent was fleeting and unstable, there were things you could not share. Besides... how would he know?

The day had been long. Your body ached with the dizzying speed of patrols past the vine-covered high-rise apartments of your beautiful city. Your room was stuffy with the tropical air struggling against humidity. With dried blood on your skin, the perfect remedy was a shower. Its warmth soothed your aching muscles after a long day. You found your mind wandering to problems that didn’t immediately demand a solution. How you’d avoid cotton mouth the next time you saw him. Sooner than you thought.

The shower door whizzed aside, plumes of steam fading into the cool air. “Shit!” you shouted, reaching to cover your body. Miguel bent his head as he stepped into your cramped shower and cupped the frame. He shut the shower door. Did he already know? You nipped your lower lip raw and the taste of blood turned your tastebuds. Somehow, you knew that he hadn’t slipped off from HQ just to have you. Not tonight. He had that glazed-over look in his sharp eyes, considering you the same way he might consider anyone else.

“Miguel?” you fluttered your lashes at him which winked off plump droplets of water. “Mi alma, que paso?”

“Did you know?”

You reached out to turn the knob of the water off. It creaked to a stop. Despite tracing the droplets that coasted down your curves, he watched you with otherwise uninterested eyes. When you failed to respond, he stomped closer, kicking up the water that swirled under your bare feet.

“Did you know?” His fist pounded the side of the shower wall. Your heart leapt into your chest where it fluttered painfully, encased in your chest. Miguel bared his angular teeth at you. Teeth that usually marred your neck with possessive bites, loving kisses, and teasing scrapes. He never bared them at you like this. It was always a possibility, never the reality.

You met his eyes. The certainty you had moments earlier that oh, he wouldn’t find out, was gone. Of course, he found out. Your Miguel always found out. With that dead, blank expression, you knew the gravity of your situation.

“Of course, I knew.” His chest swelled with forceful inhalation of air as you spoke. “But Gwen… I, they’re only kids. Kids who--”

“Kids? They are not just kids. Coño, I’d expect this of them,” he prompted your name and took a step forward. You took one back. Then another, knocking your back into the shower walls. You were like a small bird in an even smaller cage. Nowhere to run and still, he wasn’t about to give you the luxury of personal space. You were pinned between his firm chest and the two stony walls against your back. His voice lowered dangerously low, barely a murmur against the shell of your ear. “But you? You know what’s at risk.”

“They love--”

“Y que?” he snapped your name out again. “Tell me, when those kids destroy thousands of lives, what does that change? Have you ever stopped to think of that? Of the lives this will ruin?”

“I just... wanted them happy. If even for an instant.” You hung your head. He set his clawed hand to the side of your head, combing through the stringy strands of your hair down with a false care that you wanted to believe in. But it was entangled in the strings of his manipulation. “Of course, you have, muñequita.”

“Then can’t they--” His hand balled up into a fist and careened with the wall behind you. Your head snapped away as his claws unfurled and released crumbling bits of the wall by your naked toes. You’d have to clean that up-- later. You took a deep breath and exhaled the frustration that packed away in your belly. “Sabes qué? I am sorry that love isn’t enough for you, I am sorry that I have never been enough for you.”

“No. No puedo con esto,” he looked down at you. As he leaned in, his forearm above your head supported his body weight. “Muñeca, por favor. This isn’t about us.”

“Why can’t it be?”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I just want to be with you, but you won’t let me in,” you reached out. The soft pads of your fingertips hovered by his sharp jawline eased past his ear and into his ruffled hair. For a second, brief as it were, his eyes softened. He leaned into the touch. You had your window. “Why won’t you let me in?”

Whether or not he was past the anger, the disrespect, his thick arms wound around the small of your waist. In some bid to bring you back to your senses-- to him, he set his forehead against your own, dwelling in the soft scent of your floral soap that filled his nose. You tilted your head, capturing his lips in a kiss. His body became as sturdy: unmoving and guarded.

“I can’t give you what you need.” He reached back to remove your hands from his hair and with care settled them back on your moist chest. As he made his way out of your bathroom, his warning echoed through your mind. “Stay out of my way.”

Miguel’s love was unstable. Affection, not love. If you were honest with yourself, you would admit that you always knew it was bound to fail. You were lucky for what time you had with him. It made subsequent missions all the harder, wrapped up in this innate desire to be loved by a man who allowed himself to be loved by none. Without his affection, HQ felt barren. Its many corridors held no life, no love, and no prospect of a better future. Yet, for Miguel, there you were. Your ballet flats tapped furiously alongside the ringing stomps of your partner’s steel-toed boots.

“Ay bendito, this isn’t healing,” you dabbed your fingers in the blood at your shoulder, storming past a sea of red and blue that parted for the pair of you. Your neck was oozing-- well, not oozing so much as soaking your outfit. The mission could have gone better. Sometimes your mind wandered at the worst of times. It didn’t matter, not now. It was done, he would be happy, and it would be enough for today. All that you did you did for him-- and he knew it.

“Your man won’t be happy about that,” Hobie cut through the crowd while walking backward. He made it look so easy. Conviction, you guessed, made life much easier.

“No,” you took the end of your silky rebozo and held it to your shoulder. “He only cares about results. We have good results. What does he have to be angry about? He has everything he wants.”

“Hm.” Hobie hummed, span around, and leaned over your shoulder. He was on your tail with his aggravatingly long legs no matter how quickly you walked.

“Hobie, por dios.”

“He broke up with you, didn’e?”

You didn’t have to answer him. You didn’t even need to talk to him. You could just keep walking and leave it to his imagination. Yet, your face faltered. The perceptive man he was, Hobie twisted in front of your path. He leaned his hips back and sank his face inches apart from yours. Hobie quirked a smile in his lazy eyes and an adorable lip pout. Your eye centered on his piercing to avert your focus from his words.

“Yeah,” he answered his own question. “Bet he did.”

“Don’t you have somewhere else to be?” you swerved around him.

“Maybe.” Hobie shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and sped after you. “But I’m with you.”

“How sweet.”

You knew your Miguel would be there: on that stupid platform, staring at multiple screens, at a lost life, departed from his reality in any other capacity but maintaining the happiness of others. Well, others that weren’t like you. You found him in that very same position when you pressed into his lab.

“What is it now?”

“We’ve taken care of it-- Hobie and I.”

“Good,” came his dry response. “Is that all?”

“Not in the mood to talk to your girl, eh?” Hobie clicked, throwing his arm over your shoulder: not out of care, or friendship, but spite. No matter the institution, Hobie always seemed to harbor harsh feelings for those in charge. If it meant pissing him off a little, rattling up the flow of HQ, Hobie was always an eager volunteer. Hobie turned his lips to your ear and prompted your name, “C’mon, leave him. Let's go get a drinky drink.”

You bit out a cry at the pressure on your neck, the damn thing wasn’t healing nearly as fast as it needed to be. You blamed the bundles of anxiety that rattled up emotions low in your belly. It was still open, soaking Hobie too. He didn’t mind a little blood on his shorn uniform. Good for the image, and all that.

“That hurt, Hobie!”

Miguel threw a glance over his shoulder. Just a moment, but enough to spot something else that agitated him. Your normally white outfit, fluttery and light, splattered with the blood that painted your red rebozo a little redder. Or maybe it was Hobie’s lips on your ear, making remarks about beer-- or whiskey-- or-- Molotov--

“Get off,” Miguel pounced down from his kingly stoop and flicked Hobie’s wrist. He snaked his wrist away, shoving his palms back into his pants. You threw him a look knowing that it was not because Miguel told him to but because he felt like it. The devil’s advocate that he was. Miguel unraveled the rebozo from your neck. His hand grasped your chin and angled it one way, then the other, rumbling in clear agitation “You’re wounded.”

“Déjame quieta. Don’t touch me.”

“And you?” Miguel rocked back on his heels, setting his well-corded arms on his hips. Then, he angled his body toward Hobie. “Where were you?”

Hobie lifted his pierced eyebrow. “He serious?”

“I can handle myself.”

“Can you? And you-- why are you still here?” Though Miguel asked the question, it was a statement. Hobie held his palms up, fluttering his fingers in mockery. You watched Miguel run his fingers down the bloody rebozo, counting its bloodied inches.

“Vente conmigo.” He leaned into your ear. The trill of his voice danced down your spine, low and husky. Your mind wandered to the many nights he whispered just the same in your ear. You suppressed the shiver, your heartbeat trembling so violently you were sure you could hear its pathetic thumping, nearly a cry. It hadn’t been long but... you missed this.

“You told me to stay out of your way. I am staying out of your way. Give me--”

“I won’t ask again. Either you come or I’ll make you.” That was it then. A flash of disbelief snapped across your face. The gall of this man. Even though he told you to stay out of the way, he demanded that you leave the lab with him? You caught Hobie perking up to look your way with shiny curious eyes. He pointed to his chest and then yours, suggesting… something you’d ignore. Hobie slipped out a smug hum.

“I’ll catch up with you later, Hobie.”

There were no good alternatives. You knew he would make good on his threat. Not that you particularly would want to fight him anyway. Whether it was respect or obligation, you ran after your Miguel, who already walked away. You snatched the rebozo from his waiting hand, suspended in the air.

Yes, your life was a delicate balance between love and respect. You weren’t sure which of those guided you back to Miguel’s dimly lit room. Only that as you sat on his bed, your once-was lover was behind you. His fingers worked swiftly on your neck, furiously tugging at your sore neck with what felt like a needle. No point complaining. It would eventually end. You could go find the boys. They could rail you about your dating choices as they always did.

“Lyla will find you another backup partner,” he broke the silence. You rathered he didn’t operate in this limbo of false intimacy. Your lips parted into a sigh rife with agitation. The drawback of fucking your boss was this, you supposed. He controlled your life.

“No, she won’t. I like working with Hobie. I want him.”

Miguel paused short of dipping the needle back into your skin. “What do you mean-- you want him?”

“What does it sound like? I like working with Hobie. I trust Hobie. So I want Hobie by my side.” You slapped your lacey thighs and turned to gaze into those familiar eyes. “Así que, no, I do not need another backup. I don’t need you controlling every inch of my work life. I need you to hurry up.”

“Muñeca. If you’re emotional, you’ll heal slower.”

“Do not call me that,” you jumped from his lush bed. Your neck squealed for you to stop and let him fix what was clearly broken with the slack thread that connected your body to his. Oh, and what a metaphor it felt like. Your life was sewn together by a man who held all the strings in his hands. “You don’t get to call me that. Not anymore. You made it clear how little you feel about me-- and my feelings.”

He lifted his eyes to yours. A long, slow look. The sort of look that made you question it all. As if the things you said weren’t really from your lips, no matter how sure you were of them. You broke the exchange first and grasped the long strand embedded deep in your neck.

“Your feelings,” he held out his hand and tugged the line, “tend to get in the way of what needs to be done.”

Startled, you looked down at his open palm. You slipped your smaller fingers into the middle of his palm and sat back on the bed. He slid behind you, pressing his core against your backside-- because that was completely necessary. With soft care, he shifted your hair over the opposing shoulder and continued his work.

“Apart from that, you shouldn’t have gone on that mission. You were distracted. If you weren’t so emotional,” Miguel murmured. “We wouldn’t be here.”

If you weren’t emotional? You screwed your eyebrows together in a pathetic attempt to ignore what he just said. To ignore the way that he demeaned the fuel of your abilities, what guided you through this traumatic thing called life. Meanwhile, Miguel functioned on minimal emotion-- the suppression of what he’d lost by protecting what he was.

“It’s your fault I was distracted in the first place.”

“You should be able to control your own feelings.”

“Fine. Apúrate. I’ll get out of your way.”

Miguel snapped the healing aid thread and ran his clawed fingertips across the long streaks on your neck and shoulder. It was mere moments that he lingered there circling your neck. As your breathing evened out, you felt your body pull together fibrous strands of tissue and heal. Yet, you couldn’t care.

“Done.” Miguel refused to address your gaze but opted to draw your top back into place to over your breasts. You stood and secured the buttons of your halter top behind your neck. That was it. You’d return to your duties, healed half by your emotions and half by Miguel. You would need to learn to ignore the love you had for him. One day, all this would be well. Miguel rolled up the excess thread around his reel.

Fine. If he was going to ignore you--

“Do you think,” you paused long enough to debate your words. Enough for Miguel to glance up with his stoic red eyes and lift an eyebrow at you. It irritated you how unemotional and consistently unbothered he could be when you stood there just the opposite. Always desperate for a sign of his feelings. “Hobie wants to fuck?”

There were some lines you should never cross. While you would never actually fuck your partner, the mere mention of the thought ever crossing your mind was one step too far. It was terribly disrespectful. Miguel’s reel plopped onto the floor and rolled short of your feet.

You slid your palms over your hips before hooking at the bend in your waist. His gaze focused on the glide of your hands trailing slowly down your sides. Sides that he often snatched in the dead of night after a warm shower. Or that he’d cling to during lovemaking. Your following words caused him to lurch off the bed. “Qué piensas? He might still be in HQ, no?”

“What,” His hand fit along your neck like a tight collar. The next moment, pain radiated from your skull and blurred your vision. The pain licked flames of excitement to life in your belly. A gasp slipped from your lips. Instead of shock, your cry was tinged with delight. With his wild brown hair slumping forward over his scarlet eyes, he was more beautiful than ever. His claws squeezed your neck, jerking and slamming your head once more. His breath tickled your cheek. “What did you say?”

Of course, he couldn’t help himself: the control freak. He was a genius. You knew he knew it was bait. He had to. But your looming threat was enough for him to take the risk. Your lips curled, laughing your words rather flippantly. “I said-- do you think Hobie wants to fuck?”

You eviscerated his already thin patience. The searing pain of his fangs piercing your battered neck seared all thoughts of Hobie from your mind. Your hands choked out a pitiful cry. “Miguel, Miguel, Miguel-- calma.”

The familiar burn of his frantic biting, his violent ownership of your body, made your body slick. He lifted your hips onto his, legs dangling over his slim thighs. Crunched up against his massive body, you felt small but as if you were the focus of his world. Just how you loved to feel when you were encased in his arms.

“You think he could fuck you like I can?” His gravelly voice rumbled. His face pinched tight, daring your response. “That you can replace me— so easily?”

No, the answer was a resounding no. But he didn’t need to know that. If Miguel thought he could play games with you, you’d play games with him. The last forty-eight hours had been a blur of his rejection. It was only fair that Miguel felt the same.

Blood seeped down from your neck, a feeling you were accustomed to today. On the other hand, you weren’t accustomed to how he tore into your uniform as if it were as offensive as your harsh words. You calmly noted that you were glad to have multiple: a consequence of doing this work too long.

That was it. You slid your hands up his forearms, around his firm biceps, to his broad shoulders. There you rested your arms, knocking your foreheads gently together. Past the rage, you recognized the slightest hint of fear in his eyes. The promise that you were lying. For security under another name. You refused to give it to him: he never gave it to you.

“He is Spiderman, isn’t he?”

He shifted the pad of his finger between your lips. Your tongue slid over his thumb, crooked in your mouth to suppress any more words that he may regret hearing or that you may regret saying.

“He may be,” Miguel rasped. His lips quirked into a wicked grin. With Miguel’s sudden sharpness, you weren’t expecting to see his smile. You welcomed it, a rare delight that you found yourself loathing the more he spoke. “But you’re mine.”

His. The inklings of fear you previously spotted in the depth of Miguel’s eyes seemed to weaken, sliding his thumb from your lips, rolling past your nipple, and the muscles of your stomach. He slid past your vulva, trailing with expert care along your slit. It was barely a touch if even a graze. Words failed to form. They were a thick bolus in your throat, congealed and thick.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “I thought so.”

Your eyes trailed Miguel’s strong jawline and ambled up toward his lips. Your gaze lingered there as his fingers slipped between your lips, finding your cunt soft and wet. His eyes flickered toward your shy gaze and danced his lips against yours by virtue of his words. “It doesn’t seem like you’re that interested in finding him.”

“How would you know?” you cried out when one of his clawed fingers dipped inside your body. Your hips jerked onto his hand to seek out more of him. Your traitorous, awful body. It wasn’t comfortable when he scratched you while stroking your velvety inner walls. But you always needed more of his touch.

“Oh,” Miguel hummed. He bent close-- your eyes now focused on his high cheekbones. You couldn’t look him in the eyes and know that he knew how weak you were for him. “I know. It’s the way you look at me.”

“As if--” You dropped your eyes, reveling in the pressure of his prodding fingers, the delight in having him here, with you, once again. It shouldn’t have felt as intimate, as comforting as it did, but it did. His fingers withdrew, pleased with his work. “You know I can give you what you need.”

“You said you couldn’t,” Miguel slipped his fingers into your mouth: sweet and sour with your own excitement and the scratches of blood. His hands worked at the waist as you secured yourself on the wall with your hands, knowing what was next-- and expecting it.

“I lied.” he drawled out, a long hum. He spat on his hand and rubbed himself as you watched, anticipating the soft prod of his cock’s head at your entrance. It hadn’t been long. Yet, as he buried himself in the warmth of your body, you inhaled a wealth of air into your chest, exhaling it in soft shudders. Perhaps it was the fear of never having this again.

His large hands shifted underneath your ass and pinned you square against the wall. His claws drew blood to the surface of superficial cuts. Your hands snapped to his shoulders and clung onto him for some security. You found no rest between the wall chafing your back and Miguel’s long, pointed strokes into your body. Your body burned with the pull of his dick dragging in and out of your cunt, fighting to keep him inside with every squeeze and pull. He wasn’t lying, you knew. But it didn’t matter. Not when you were his complete and utter focus.

Miguel let a word of praise slip free as he ground into you. With a wall of muscle before you and the sturdy wall behind, breathing was slight and hard to come by. It had to be what he wanted-- to make you focus on him and him alone. It’s what you deserved after antagonizing the man. Your hands found his hair, knotting your fingers in it, and accepting the ferocity of his deep, then shallow strokes into your core. Your eyes flitted shut as he bottomed out, grinding his hips in tight circles. As you came, your body furiously clenched onto his cock, slowing his sweeping thrusts.

You craved it: the moment of Miguel’s weakness. Your body urged out his orgasm with a noise tempered by pleasure and annoyance. Your cunt milking earned you a particularly firm slam of his hips. Miguel would drag you down to take it all. He spilled into you with a deliciously unique warmth, grinding his hips until spent. His forehead rested on the crook of your neck. In place of another hard bite, he gently kissed your collarbone and throat. After he finished, he settled you down onto the floor. But your legs were sloppy, weak shaky things. Miguel snatched your hand as you swayed to keep yourself upright.

“I have to go,” you held his hand begrudgingly for support. Then bent down to pick up strips of your clothes. Yet another victim of your relationship with him. You would have to... mend this. Somehow. Probably not. “They’re expecting me--”

“Muñeca,”

“Cálmate, Miguel. You know I’m not going to fuck him,” you swiped the coursing fluids down your thigh. You dragged your hand down Miguel’s firm chest and danced your finger up his chest to flip up his chin. He glanced down, puffing air from his nostrils in protest. His eyes rolled, oh so slightly. “He’s not my type. I like them big, mm?”

“You would if he was?” he bristled.

“I never said that.” You said. Despite this fact, certain needs needed to be met. Ones that if he didn’t fill, someone else would. You both knew this. Your work was long and stressful and done in the name of the man who was before you. If for nothing but that love, you knew you would keep going. You believed in Miguel: his choices and his heart.

“You didn’t need to.”

“Mi alma--” you stopped, waving your hand at his pet name. “All this is fleeting. I need someone that will meet my needs. To tell me they love me. Can you?”

He pressed his lips together and stewed on your request. You knew without a question in your mind what that answer was. In the aftermath of sex with Miguel, he was closer to you than ever. And yet, it was impossible to convince him of an actual connection. For him, it was easier to leave you than love you.

He didn’t need to say it.

“I know you, Miguel. You didn’t lie. It was the truth,” you slipped your hand from his. Instead, you opted to set a fleeting kiss on the side of his lip. For better or worse, he didn’t reciprocate. Your steps carried you backward. Then, you afforded him a small deprecating smile. “Other than sex, you can’t give me what I need.”

#Miguel O'Hara x Reader #miguel ohara x reader #spiderman imagines #spiderman imagine #spider 2099 x reader #sy writes #miguel x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara oneshot #miguel ohara oneshot #across the spiderverse imagine #marvel imagines

2K notes · View notes

rewh0re · 5 months

Text

MORE THAN JUST A DREAM ; GETO SUGURU

—wc: 3.2k, fluff, no curses au, college au, alcohol consumption, new year's kiss, ocs (reader's friends are ocs), implied oc x gojo, use of the pronoun 'she' once (except that it's gn! reader), gojo is RICH

a/n: I had to repost don't even ask it wouldn't show up in tags😐 anyways happy new year baby boos take this geto fic as a gift. REBLOGS + FEEDBACKS ARE APPRECIATED!!

divider cred: @/benkeibear

Gojo Satoru's annual New Year's Eve parties were a lavish affair. Set in the luxurious penthouse that he owned which he would only use for parties he hosted. There was a myriad of alcohol—all from the finest and most renowned brands—to choose from. There was music, there was dancing, there was a fucking champagne fountain for Christ's sake.

For a party hosted by some college student, it sure was a grand event. From freshmen to seniors, everyone attended it, dressed in their finest cocktail attires and fancy shoes.

For a party with so many attractions to catch the eye, Gojo Satoru and his best friend Geto Suguru took the cake. The pair could never be separated, may it be in the various parties and events they attended or when they were strolling the college campus. While Gojo was the louder, more exuberant and outgoing out of the two, Geto's genuine smile—whenever he was around his best friend—was hard to miss.

It was Geto's smile that always made your heart flutter.

You remember the first time you had noticed Geto Suguru. A simple, ravishingly attractive man, who sat two seats in front of you. He probably was not the teacher's favourite with the way he often got into little discussions and debates with the professors regarding the day's topics if he disagreed with certain aspects of it. Always polite and respectful but with a conniving smile on his lips nonetheless if he proved his point of view to be correct. His voice was always calm in class and he never stepped back from expressing his opinions. You thought it was a phenomenal quality to have.

You would see him often during breaks, his usual spot being a few tables away from yours. His rambunctious best friend was always at his side along with a girl who would always have a cigarette between her lips. Shoko Ieiri—you later learnt—was her name. Your friends and you would often not care, but sometimes, Gojo's mirthful laughter echoed throughout the area and you were bound to see Geto shake his head with a little snicker of his own at his friend's nuances. That's how you came to know of Geto. A well sought after, smart, insanely attractive and—from what you've heard— a polite and kind individual. You had admired Geto from a distance for a whole of three years now. The conversations you had with him could be counted on one hand but he had always been sweet to you. You wondered if he even remembered you. You did have flings here and there but you had always had that little spot of affection in your heart for the man who was Geto Suguru.

In the three years that you have been in this college of yours, you have never attended Gojo Satoru's new year's eve parties. You had heard stories and every year you had promised yourself to attend it. However, every year your mother called you back home to celebrate the holidays with your family and you could never deny it. Your friends initially complained but they understood your position and promised to tell you all the things that happened. One year you heard the crazy new year's kiss one of your friends had with a boy she met there and how magical it all seemed. The other year they told you how Gojo and Geto both got shit faced drunk and danced to every song until they physically dropped on the floor, unable to move and Shoko had to come take them away with a sigh. You learnt how Gojo normally avoided alcohol, feasting on the many desserts instead and how Geto and Shoko were often seen smoking a cigarette on the balcony together. You too wanted to attend this annual event, that was like a myth to you.

This year allowed that. With your father planning an impromptu vacation for only your mother and himself, you had the perfect opportunity to finally attend the party you had wanted to go to since your freshman year.

It was 31st December and you were beyond excited. Your friends had been elated to know that you would finally visit Gojo's party with them and they took it upon themselves to get you dolled up and ready for it, paying no heed to your complaints of "I can do it myself."

That's how you found yourself in Gojo's penthouse. The place was bustling with noises—music, talking, whistles (which you assumed were directed to the people who were dancing). The place was huge, something way out of your imagination. There were lights and decorations that increased the beauty of the place ten folds. And there was that goddamned champagne fountain that everyone talked about. “Gojo Satoru is rich,” was the very first thought that crossed your mind after a moment of awe and speechlessness.

"He's crazy rich," your friend, Aoi, laughed.

Oh, so your thoughts might have slipped out from your mouth.

"I'm sure Geto is too. Didn't you see his motorcycle in the parking area? That has to belong to some super loaded dude," your other friend, Saeko commented.

"Didn't you have a thing for Geto, y/n?" Saeko wiggled her eyebrows at you as she crossed her arms, a smirk evident on her lips.

"Eh, kinda. I mean, he's okay to look at I guess," you shrugged, making your way to the bar. The college parties you went to never had a bar. The alcohol had to be derived from the kitchen and most of the time, it was some sort of jungle juice.

"Oh shut up, you like him," Aoi smacked your back as she settled herself beside you on the bar stool.

"I never denied that," you winked at her as you downed the tequila, the bartender served the three of you.

"Having fun so far?" An unknown voice made the three of you turn your heads. Gojo Satoru. Standing tall in front of you, a lazy grin on his face and for heaven knows what reason his stupid sunglasses covering his eyes even at 11 in the night.

"Gojo Satoru," Saeko crossed her legs, leaning back on the bar counter as she smiled at him.

"In the flesh ma'am," he winked at her. A charming wink that girls would often faint over.

"That didn't answer my question though. Having fun?" He asked again.

"What would you offer as compensation if we said we weren't," he laughed at Saeko's little bantering comment. He knew she didn't mean it. Everyone had the time of their lives at Gojo Satoru's party.

"Oh Saeko, you have been coming here for the past two years. No need to lie to me, sweetheart. However—if I have, by chance—failed you this year, do dance with me. That'll be compensation enough," he winked at her.

"And they say chivalry is dead," your friend shook her head.

"I noticed you brought a friend this year?" His eyes raked over to you as he offered you a welcoming smile.

You returned it with a wave of your own.

"That's y/n. She didn't wanna miss out on this year's party," Aoi introduced you as she sipped on her strawberry daiquiri.

"Great to meet you y/n. I hope my little party meets your expectations," before you could counter his comment of the party being "little" a velvet smooth voice laced with mild jest interrupted your conversation.

"Don't annoy the guests Satoru," and there he was beside his best friend, Geto Suguru. His long black hair tied in a semi bun, an earring dangling from his right ear and a cheshire grin on his lips. Geto Suguru was a beautiful man to look at.

"I could never do that Suguru," Gojo turned to look at his best friend as his grin widened.

"Saeko brought a friend with her. I was just acquainting myself. Meet y/n."

Geto's eyes slid over to your figure, his smile softening. You could feel yourself warming up under his soft and welcoming gaze.

"You are in my psychology class," he said as he offered you his hand for a shake.

"I am," you shook his hand, the feeling of his fingers against yours, erupting little butterflies in your stomach. The coolness of his many rings against your warm hand sent shivers down your spine.

"I think I need that dance Gojo," Saeko said over the blasting music and the male was quick to respond. Giving her his hand, Gojo led your friend away towards the dance floor. She turned around to wink at you and Aoi before the pair disappeared.

You could only laugh at her antics. Saeko was a known flirt and you had heard how every year she would have a little fun with Gojo. This was the first time you had seen it and you could not help but laugh. Good god that girl knew what she was doing.

"Every damn year this happens," Geto chuckled as he leaned on the counter behind you. "I don't know if I want those two to be together or not with how much they flirt on this one day every year."

Aoi excused herself with a smirk, leaving you alone with Geto. Based on how the night went, you would either thank her or strangle her, but that was a problem for later.

"Why have I never seen you here y/n?" Geto looked over at you, tilting his head in question. His smile never left his face.

"Got caught up with my family every year. Decided to be here for a change," you ordered a glass of sangria, diverting from the tequila you were having earlier.

"I hope you can hold your liquor,"

"Aren't you a gentleman Geto," you smiled up at him.

"Oh yeah I definitely am," he nodded his head, mocking your smile. "Call me Suguru."

"Okay Suguru," you pat his shoulder.

"Care for a dance?" He looked at the dancing bodies and then at you, motioning his head towards the dance floor.

"Uhh, I've got two left feet. I'm afraid I'll scare people away with my dancing," you cringed.

His jubilant laughter filled your ears as his head rolled back, eyes crinkling. Your eyes widened slightly at the beauty of the sight in front of you. You did not quite understand if the slight intoxicating feeling that you felt was due to the alcohol you consumed or the laugh that he offered.

"Don't worry about that. Half of us got two left feet, me included. Come on," before you could protest, Geto was already pulling you towards the dance floor.

The next few seconds were a whirlwind. One second you were sipping your sangria and the next you were in the middle of the dance floor, a hoard of sweaty bodies surrounding you and Geto's hands held your waist tightly. You hesitantly wrapped your arms around his neck as he smiled reassuringly at you. Your initial nervousness faded as Geto started swaying to the beat. Before you could process anything, you were there with him, living in the moment. You both danced to the music as his arms wrapped around you, twirling you around and swaying you. Somewhere between your dancing, you spotted Gojo and Saeko. She twirled in his arms, laughing as she landed on his chest.

"Cute aren't they?" Geto screamed in your ear over the blasting music.

"She never told me about this," you shook your head at him.

"Oh this is their annual ritual. They'll flirt for one night and pretend that the other does not exist for the rest of the year," he twirled you again. "I've told Satoru to just date her and he always says 'nah she is not into me.' I swear to god he's so stupid at times,"

"I think they'd make a hot couple, don't you?" You smiled at your dance partner.

"Oh absolutely."

Geto could feel a sense of warmth in his chest as he saw you letting yourself free, enjoying and dancing to your heart's extent. The pounding in his chest increased and he blamed it on his dancing.

He had always known you as the quiet student in his psychology class who sometimes answered the professor's questions. The few times you had talked was in class whenever you had to add points to open discussions. He had always found you to be pretty. He didn't know you personally till now, but he had seen you with Saeko, sitting a few tables away from theirs. He was glad he finally got to talk to the person he had been gaining the courage to talk to properly for a while now.

"Wanna get out of here?" He asked you as he pulled you close.

"Where are you gonna take me?" You poked his nose.

Geto laced his fingers with yours and pulled you out of the crowded area as he took you upstairs. He led you to a balcony that looked down at the city below. You had never really been this high up somewhere so you were awestruck by the view. The cars zoomed past below and the city donned a look you had never seen before. Lights decorated the buildings, light dusts of snow covered the streets as they fell from the sky above.

"Like what you see huh?" Geto snickered.

"This is wonderful—what—I have been missing several things," you leaned over the balcony to get a better look.

"Easy now, don't want you falling over. Also, yeah. This is like my escape, you know. When I get a bit exhausted by the party I come here, especially for the new year's countdown. I like seeing the fireworks," you had completely forgotten that it was new year's in a few minutes now.

"Shit how long since it's the new year?" You gasped at him.

Geto took out his phone from his pocket, squinting his eyes at the screen before putting it away.

"Uh four more minutes," he leaned on the balcony railing as he looked at you.

You could hear the test firecrackers going off in the distance. One then two and they stopped for a moment.

"You look absolutely gorgeous by the way," he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.

"You don't look too bad yourself. I especially like what you've done with your hair," you gestured at your own to make him understand.

"You like my hair?"

"Oh absolutely. It's stunning. Do tell me your hair care routine."

"Maybe I can text it to you?" He dipped his head down towards you.

"Are you asking for my number Geto Suguru?" You gasped in mock surprise. "Scandalous."

He was opening his mouth to probably say something witty when you both heard it. The countdown to the new year. Loud voices from the floor below started counting. The last ten seconds of this year.

10...

You both looked at the door and then at each other as you shared a small laugh.

9...

He came ever so close to you.

8...

His gaze was set on your eyes as you fiddled with the locket that rested on your chest. The intensity of his gaze made your insides jump.

7...

His hand travelled down to your waist, holding it with a light grip.

6...

Your eyes travelled down from his dark obsidian eyes to his lips as he licked them with a swipe of his tongue. What you would give to just feel them on yours.

5...

"You know I always did think you were a beautiful person. From the moment I first saw you in psychology," he whispered, his breath hot on your face.

4...

"Yea I kinda thought you were okay looking too,"

3...

He laughed at your comment as he pulled you closer by your waist, “just okay?”

2...

You could feel his lips hovering over yours, his eyes fluttering shut just like yours.

“Just okay…” you whispered.

1...

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

The echoes of the plethora of drunk college kids had become background noises the moment you crashed your lips on his.

You could hear the confetti pop and the firecrackers burst lighting the dark midnight sky with a million colours but all that mattered in the moment were his lips that moved in perfect sync with yours. Your hands gripped his hair as his own grip on your waist became tighter. He trapped you against the balcony railing and one of his hands came up to cup your face as he slightly tilted his head in a way to deepen the kiss. You could feel his lips perfectly fit with yours, a taste of mint on his tongue. His cologne invaded your senses, jumbling up your mind further. He smelled of nashi pear, cardamom and vetiver with a hint of woody musk. You felt yourself falling apart due to his entrancing aroma. Kissing Geto Suguru made your stomach do several somersaults and your heart was so erratic in its beating, it could jump out of your ribcage. This felt like a dream. Hell, was this even real?

You pulled away for breath as your eyes scanned his face. There was adoration in his own two dark eyes and something akin to lust.

"Happy new year Suguru," you raked your finger through his hair as his head dropped down on your shoulder.

"Happy new year y/n," he planted a gentle kiss on your shoulder before pecking your neck.

A loud squeal in the very next second, broke the two of you apart.

"OH MY GOD SUGURU, YOU'RE GETTING BITCHES?" Gojo Satoru was smiling mischievously with Saeko by his side.

"Shut up Satoru," Suguru groaned at his best friend rolling his eyes in annoyance.

"I hate you so much, your timing is the worst," he flipped him off before pulling you to his side.

"In my defence I didn't know you would bring someone here this year. Every year you are alone—"

"SHUT UP SATORU," Geto yelled in embarrassment as a tint of red covered his cheeks.

"You don't bring girls here often?" You asked amused.

"Oh he never does. This is the first time!" Gojo stated proudly.

"You're annoying them Satoru," Saeko smacked Gojo's head as the latter whined about everyone being mean to him.

"Ok what is going on? I searched the whole penthouse and you all are here?" A panting Aoi burst through the door.

"Y/n got the guy," Saeko said casually and it was your turn to turn a shade of red.

"SAEKO!?"

"Y/n got the guy? You mean Geto?" She looked over at the two of you as Geto waved at her with a smile.

"Ok this is huge?! Y/n oh my god finally," she squealed in her hands.

"Ok the lot of you can leave you know? Just give us some time alone, geez," you ushered your friends away including Gojo who would not leave without giving Suguru a rough smack on his back.

"Did you like me? You know, before this?" He took your hand in his as he rubbed circles on the back of each of them.

"Kind of," you sighed. "I mean I guess I did have a small crush on you?"

"Okay so now we definitely need that number," he tilted your chin up as he pecked you lightly before bumping his forehead with your.

You could say you had a pretty eventful start to the new year.

432 notes · View notes

mafiadad5 · 3 months

Text

Try, try not to think about us in that way.

part 1// Genre- smut/ kinda plot?

Warnings/ au- best friends to lovers, 18+, unprotected (wrap it up), degrading, hint of mutual masturbation (bad at balancing attention tho so mostly y/n…), auralism, blindfold/ touch deprivation, y/n’s a little desperate…, may have forgotten things

Bestfriend!Chenle × fem!reader

Word Count- 3.5k+

a/n- I’m afraid part 1 is better plz go read, no proof read lolz… anyways hope u like xoxo🩷 tags- @sunnybutcloudy @marvelahsobx

Summary- You and Chenle has been friends for years now, since freshman year of Highschool, you finally graduate and go on a summer trip that you guys have been fantasizing to go on since sophomore year. You've always had a crush on him, but stopped trying after he rejected you freshman year. Not wanting to ruin the friendship, you ignore your feelings. That's until you're standing on the hotel balcony, listening to the waves crash on the shore as the sky lit up due to the sparkling stars, a cool breeze sending goosebumps to your skin, well that and also Chenle grabbing your waist, pulling you closer to him. "Your lips look so tasty when the stars reflect off of them." He looked at you. “Then what are you waiting for Chenle, kiss me then.”

Plz continue on…🎀

"Y/n, wake up." You heard your mom's voice from your door.

It's been the first time you could sleep in since you started college in August, in your comfy childhood bed at that, but of course, you couldn't enjoy it. It seems like you could never get a good rest actually, your dreams are always filled with fantasies about Chenle. It seems like ever since the beach trip you two took together, your dreams has gotten even worst—graphic, and you couldn't stand it. It's been months since you and him talked— well, since he talked to you.

After the trip he pretty much started to avoid you. Finding excuses to miss hang outs the rest of summer, responding dryly to your text, not calling, or even bother answering your calls, just acting strange— and you knew why. There was nothing you could do at this point, he wouldn't let you. Besides, you started college in a different state, so I guess it was best to cut ties or whatever it was in the first place. You just wished it never happened if this is how it would end. You made it out of your room, meeting your mom downstairs.

"You forgot your bag in your car again," She smiled. "and guess who I ran into this morning at the store?" She looked up at you from the kitchen as you sat at the table.

"Who?

"Chenle! He's doing well too, got his own place and everything." You forcefully smiled, taking a sip from your glass of water. "He asked about you too, what ever happened between you? Went on the trip and it seems like everything fell apart." "We just got into it on the trip and decided that we didn't work as friends." You didn't want it to, but your mind instantly geared to that night— the taste of him on your lips, the feeling of him in you, you could never forget it.

"Plus, if he's so worried about me he can just text my phone-" You stopped in your tracks from your phone buzzing on the table, your heart stopping for a moment as you glanced down at the phone, his name popping up on your notification center.

You swear that you could hear his voice as you read the message: "Hey. Kinda weird but I heard you were back in town. I understand if you say no, but do you think you can come over my place later for dinner, so we can... you know... talk." You thought maybe you were just seeing something, shit maybe you were even dreaming again. It's been months, why now? You sat there staring at your phone for a second, the room silent, your mind forming millions of thoughts. You sat for so long your phone went dark again, but it instantly lit up again, another message stacked above the one he sent, a mere: "please."

You looked up at your mom, a smirk painting your face disguising the butterflies and shocked pit forming at the bottom of your stomach. "Speaking of the devil. He just asked me to come over to dinner to talk." Your mom smiled in response, glazing at you as she wiped the counter. "You should, so you can reconcile. Plus, I miss my babies hanging out together.”

"I'll think about it." You said sarcastically, rolling your eyes as your mom grinned.

You knew you had no thinking to do— you sat in the mirror, making sure you looked perfect, even better than the last time he's seen you. You knew that you were gonna go no matter what, and there you were, driving down the road that led to his house.

You stood at his front door, nervous to ring the doorbell, nervous of what you would even say when he opened the door, nervous of if he would even open the door. The way you felt about seeing him, you would've thought he was never your best friend. You finally gathered the courage to just ring it and you stood there for a minute, thinking he was just ignoring it, but then the door opened.

You wanted to be the one who looked better than the last time you spoke, but it looks like he beat you to that. His dark eyes held so much expression, and his plumped pink lips that met your gaze drove you insane— it hadn't even been 30 seconds and you already want another taste.

"Y/n?" He spoke exasperated.

"Chenle." You said in response, an awkward smile appearing on your face.

"Come inside, it's cold and rainy." His eyes were wide as he grabbed your hand, pulling you inside. "I didn't think you would come, you ignored my message. How'd you even find my address?" He stood in front of you, a black t-shirt hugging those familiar abs, black loose pants hanging on his legs.

"Even though you stopped talking to me, you never stopped sharing your location." You flashed him a sarcastic smile, his expression instantly shifting to regret as he stepped closer to you.

"I'm so so sorry Y/n, I was just afraid that things would change."

"You decided to start it, you did it, so if anything changed it's because of you. I didn't deserve that." He stepped even closer, a little too close for comfort, grabbing your hands. "I know, and I'm actually so sorry. I'm such a dick for ignoring you after we did that. Please, please forgive me." His eyes twinkled and his voice was weirdly desperate as he held your hands tighter.

"Chenle, we've been friends for years, I could never not forgive you. He didn't even wait for you to finish the sentence, pulling you into a hug by your hands, grabbing your waist. "I'm so sorry Y/n, I love you." He broke the hug, looking at you with sparkling eyes. "I love you too Chenle." You smiled.

"Well, I didn't make dinner because I didn't think you would come over, but I can order take out and we can watch a movie?" He said, walking you to the living room, grabbing his phone as you nodded in response.

1 hour later the food finally got there, another hour passed as you two sat eating, talking each others heads off like nothing ever happened. You glanced at your phone, 10:07 pm. You didn't even notice the time passing by, and was ready to break the news that you had to go, but he spoke before you could even get the words put together. "It's pretty late, and it's raining super hard now, you should just stay the night." You looked up him, a smile sitting on his face as you looked down at your phone, thinking about how your luggage is literally in your car so you had everything you needed.

You haven't stayed the night with him since the beach trip and you saw how that turned out so you were hesitant about going, but he was you best friend and you trusted him— plus, you both learned your lesson so what's the worst that could happen? "Yea ok, but I need to get my bag out the car."

"You brought a bag?" He smiled, looking at you with questioning eyes.

"Yes I brought a bag, I just got back from school yesterday." You said in a mocking voice, getting up from the table and grabbing yours keys. "Oh yeah I forgot you just got back home. I'll go get your bag."

You two sat in his bed, watching a movie, his hand resting on your knee. You already changed into more comfortable clothes. Everything had gone back to normal and that's what's eating you up inside. You can't stop thinking about that night— his scent, the way his finger twirled on your knee, it was all making it so hard to forget.

"So how did you get this house so fast?" You asked, trying to distract yourself as his fingers trailed up your skin, going higher to your thigh.

"Well, I have roommates, but they're not here." He said. His voice sounded more sensual, and his hand trailed up even higher, pushing the fabric to your shorts off your skin as he rubbed your upper thigh. You turned to look at him, his dark eyes already on you. You remembered this exact look and what it meant, and god did it drive you crazy for him to give you that look again, but you couldn't.

"Chenle, you saw what happened last time we did this. Let's just keep this strictly friends and that's all."

"I understand." He smiled in response, taking his hand off your thigh and nodding. The atmosphere was a little awkward, but died down as the movie ended. You look beside you and he was out like a light so you decided to just turn off the tv and slip on your eye mask. Typically you don't sleep with it on, but he has this obnoxious lamp in his room that makes you unable to sleep. You tucked yourself in under his cover and fell asleep soon after.

Chenle always had a habit of waking up in the middle of the night during his sleep, typically he just scrolled on his phone till he could sleep again, and it was no different this time around, even if you were laying beside him.

He couldn’t help to keep glancing down at your body though, the covers hugging your curves, your chest moving up and down as you breathed softly. Your hand rested on his torso unknowingly, but he tried to not think about it, gearing his attention back to his phone.

“chen- chenle.” you moaned out quietly.

“…Y/n?” He glanced at you, whispering quietly, but you didn’t say anything so he thought he was just hearing things— well, he wanted to think he was just hearing things. He couldn’t help but to get a little riled up though, even just hearing your voice drove him a little insane, so you know how much a moan could have an effect on him.

“chenle…please don’t stop.” You moaned out again, a little louder than the first time. He couldn’t help turning off his phone and looking at you. He couldn’t see if you were awake due to your eye mask, but he thought you were maybe trying to play a joke on him, maybe even trying to tease on purpose, but your body said differently.

Your mouth was slightly parted as you gripped the cover with one of your hands, your thighs were rubbing against themselves trying to find a hint of pleasure. He couldn’t control himself, not seeing you like this in front of him, hearing you moan his name again, all needy just for him. He needed you, and he had to face that— and obviously you weren’t thinking any differently, even if your mind told you that you were.

“Y/n.” He shook your body.

You lifted up your head, pulling the eye mask off your face to be met with Chenle’s eyes on yours, and there it was, that look. “You were sleep talking.” His eyes never left yours as he spoke, his voice was raspy and deeper than usual. You started to panic, hoping you didn’t say anything about him, you just tried to pretend nothing happened, but it was clear he heard something.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You smiled, slipping your mask back on— honestly, you just wanted to avoid this as much as possible, but he didn’t let you. Before you could turn around fully he grabbed your face, cupping it with one of his hands making you face towards him. You tried to take off your eye mask again, but he grabbed your hand, pinning it to the bed. You couldn’t see anything, but you felt his lips softly trailing over your skin.

“What were you dreaming about?”

you

“I- I don’t remember.” You felt his breath on your neck, trailing further down to your collar bone, making you shiver.

You tried to sound calm and genuine as possible, but his lips brushed against your neck ever so slightly as he moved back up to your face and it almost made you fall apart. His hand that was once cupping your face found its way around your throat. “Stop lying.” He squeezed lightly, causing a light, breathy moan to escape your lips accidentally. “I’m not lying.” The hand that was holding down your wrist was now roaming around your body, slipping under your pajamas pants into your underwear, sliding a finger in between your folds.

“So wet, just for me.” You could feel him smile into your cheek, before he kissed it. “Chenle.” You moaned out, melting into his embrace. “But wait,” he removed his hands and lips from your body, a smirk panting his face as he watched your lip tremble with desire.

“Strictly friends and that’s all, right?” He said in a teasing tone, obviously trying to get in your head, but you did say that so there was nothing you could do, well nothing he could do.

You laid on your back, feeling so desperate that you were willing to do anything to release— plus, you two already have done things so who cares anymore. Your hand slipped lower and lower, sliding into your underwear. You toyed with your clit causing you to let out a small moan as you felt a relief from wanting to feel any kind of pleasure.

“Are you touching yourself?” His voice rung in your ears, making you even more needy. You just ignored him as you started to circle your sensitive bud with your finger.

“You’re that desperate huh? That much of a desperate slut?”

Even though it was only once, it turned you on so much when he talked to you like that, and now was no different, and you didn’t try to hide that. You slipped a finger in your aching hole that was begging for attention, letting out a loud cry as you went in and out slowly.

He couldn’t help but to be turned on by you too, slipping his pants down exposing his hard on.

“I bet you wished it was my fingers don’t you.” He sighed out, pumping his length slowly as he looked at what unfolded in front of him. “Mhm.” You moaned out, his words only making you go faster.

“God you look so pretty, all desperate for me.” You couldn’t see what he was doing, but your moans weren’t the only ones filling the room, so you assumed that he was getting off to you as well.

“Take off your pants, I want to see you finger yourself, fuck.” You took no time, removing your pants with your free hand, throwing them to the side. You could feel him move closer to you, gripping the sheets beside you as he slid your underwear down to your knees.

“Can you go faster for me?” He let out a breathless moan as you started to go faster, your arousal coating your fingers making him go even more crazy. “Want to be inside you again so bad— all I can think about.” His voice was becoming needier and needier by the second as he slowly reached his high, pumping faster as your moans seeped into your brain, filling it with dirty thoughts.

“Fuck I can’t take it.” You threw your head back, biting your bottom lip as you almost reached your high. “You look so pretty when you finish, keep going for me, wanna see you cum so bad.” He said in a tired moan. You let out a loud whimper, legs shaking as you fingered yourself faster to his words. No matter how overwhelming it felt, you just couldn’t stop, you needed more.

“Chenle.” You said, your chest heaving up and down from the intense pleasure that washed over your body.

“Yes Y/n.”

“Please, just fuck me.” He drove you insane, no matter what you did, how much you tried to fight it, you couldn’t and he couldn’t either. “I want to, I really do, but you said strictly friends— I don’t want you to regret this.” He turned to look at you.

“Chenle… we’ll never be strictly friends, fuck me.” He took no time getting on top of you. You tried to remove the mask off your eyes once again, but failed when he pinned your hands down beside your head.

He planted kisses on your cheek again, leaving your lips bare as you hungrily wanted to taste him. He slowly kissed down your jawline to your neck, teasing you as your legs brushed against his. He flipped your hands over, interlocking his fingers with yours as he kissed up your face again, going to your ear.

“Gonna make you feel so good, you want it, yeah?” He whispered softly causing you to almost turn him over and just ride him yourself.

“Yes. Please, I want it bad.” He smiled on your skin, releasing one of your hands to adjust his tip at your hole, pushing himself into you. “Fuck.” You whined out, your skin flushing with pleasure. “You take me so well.” He moaned out as he slowly thrusted in and out of you. The thrust were so much more passionate than the last time, so much more loving, it made you see stars.

“Does it feel good baby?” You felt his breath on your cheek, his fingers intertwined with yours, pushing your hands deeper into the pillows. “So good.” You moaned out as the thrust got faster and filled with more anticipation. You couldn’t even see him, and he was still making every inch of your body feel good.

“Fuck, you’re such a dirty girl— having dreams about me. Is this what you dream about huh? Me using you like this?” It was something about the way he spoke to you like this that made you yearn for more, that made you go numb. “Mhm.” You moaned out, causing him to go at a speed that you thought was impossible, hitting your g-spot at a perfect angle, his hands now wrapped around your wrist pinning them down.

“You’re such a slut for me.” He smiled into your skin, giving your cheek another messy kiss. “Only for you.” You clenched around him, almost reaching you high, making him whimper out in desperation as his thrust started to get sloppier. “I’m almost there Chenle.” You cried out, throwing your head back as your moans grew louder. “Fuck, take this off, I want to look at you when you cum.” He snatched the eye mask off your face, looking at your glossy eyes with a smirk on his face, soon turning into a gasp.

Your eyes rolled back as your legs started to shake under his. Your lip quivered from overwhelming pleasure as he hit more thrust after you reached your high. “Fuck.” He whimpered out, hitting a few more quick thrust, emptying himself inside of you, burrowing his head in your neck as he came. He stayed inside of you for a second as you two caught your breaths.

“I want you so bad Y/n. I want to be yours.” He looked at you, everything still and quiet for a moment.

You’ve wanted to hear those words since freshman year, you didn’t even know what to say and he could tell. He leaned down, kissing your lips passionately, like he wanted to do all night, smiling before laying beside you.

“We can talk about this tomorrow, ok?”

You thought it was honestly a dream, it had to be, but there you sat, in front of your crush of 5 years, finally dating, at the very beach where it all started.

It took 2 rejections, 2 hookups, and one break, but here you are, with him.

You look up at him, he's already looking at you and grabs your hand. "You look beautiful, has anybody told you that?" His face now in a smile. "Thank you." You said as you turned towards him, the deep blue ocean in front of you, suffocating on your breath as you feel his fingers leave your hand and slowly drag up your arm. "You're welcome", he says as he grabs your waist pulling you towards him. "What are you doing Chenle?" You laugh as he pulls you closer to his body. “Just kiss me.” He smiles, but this time— it’s not a dream.

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signedkoko · 4 months

Note

i want to request you headcanon when Y/N is manipulated by a demon hostile to Vox (which may not be Alastor) to try to physically harm Vox against Y/N's will.

I'm sorry if my sentence has something wrong (_ _;)　

i'm Japanese so i don't have enough English skill

Vox X Reader [Romantic]

In which a demon manipulates you into trying to harm Vox. Reader is genderneutral.

Warnings - Attempted drugging | Vox yells at you for a bit </3

You've been together for many years now, long since you shared vows and became a celebrity couple all of hell wish they could be

You'd developed a schedule together, waking up in each other's arms, taking turns cooking meals, and planning your next date night, vacation, outing, whatever distracted you both from the work ahead of you

Many people came and went in either of your lives—too many to track—so you came to trust those closest to you

Velvette and Valentino never went; the three Vees flourished while you watched, one of the many moving parts of the machine that pulled their franchise above all others

Neither of you would have expected it to be someone so close to you trying to ruin it all

Valentino had many people come and go in his romantic life, but only one returned again and again, no matter how much you and Vox hated him: Dia

He was Valentino's assistant, one that was obsessive—you knew it was unhealthy, but Valentino liked that sort of thing, so you stayed out of it

Every time you spoke to Dia, they always got too close, too personal, asked you if you were cheating on Vox, if you wanted Val, and if you'd ruin his relationship

It always escalated from there, so you avoided them

But obsessiveness doesn't go away so easily, and being Valentino's personal toy meant they had all the drugs they could ever want on hand

Even the kinds only demonic princes could handle

" Oh! Hey! "

Dia called out to you one evening as you were just entering the building, home from running some errands

They handed you a gift box, seemingly in a rush

" Val says its for Vox! "

Your curiosity was piqued, but you knew better than to go snooping into anything Val did

So you did as per with any mail and sat it on Vox's desk since he was out

His office was on a separate floor from where you lived, but you knew he was more likely to get more work done before coming to see you

Hours later, while cleaning up from a hobby of yours, Vox slammed into the house, startling you to the point where you dropped your things

" Did you think that was funny? I could have died! What the hell is wrong with you!? "

You were so caught off guard by his screaming that you were completely silent

" Had my auto scanners not gone off, I would have eaten that; it would have melted me from the inside out! Are you crazy??? "

" Vox please! What are you talking about? "

" I already saw the footage of you putting this shit in my office; you put your name on the tag and everything! The chocolates? "

" Chocolates...? "

You managed to connect the dots, covering your mouth

" Check the lobby footage, 1:20 pm-ish, please Vox! "

When he eventually rolled it back, he was just as frustrated

Hes a swearing mess for a moment, until he apologetically pulls you into him

He feels absolutely horrible; of course you wouldn't do that to him- hell, how would you even get your hands on hydrofluoric acid?

But as the guilt subsides with your comforts, he becomes more than frustrated

Fuck, he's absolutely livid

Not only did they almost kill him, but Dia tried to frame you

He can't imagine what might have happened to you had they been successful

" Stay home and don't let anyone in. I think it's about time Val gets a new side bitch. "

Author's Note - I hope I understood your request well! My requests were closed when you sent this in, but I liked the prompt a lot so I'll let it slide this once... Thank you 🖤

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #vox #vox x reader

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ivestas · 1 year

Note

Could I request a könig x reader in which she’s one of the best soldiers/snipers in the world, covered in tattoos, smokes and is a ‘I joined the military out of spite and somehow all that anger turned me into this’, and könig is just smitten with her?

its time you learn to accept yourself

Summary: Through König, you learn love and self-acceptance.

Tags: sniper!fem!reader x konig, strangers to friends to lovers, headcanon format, reader implied not to speak german, reader implied to be mentally ill, unedited

Word count: 1.7k

Note: im starting to really like this genre of ship-dynamic LMAO

When you joined KorTac, it was clear you didn’t give much of a shit about anyone there.

You kept to yourself, spoke in monosyllables, and had much more interest in smoking the cigarettes you kept sneaking into the base than talking to any of them.

He’d heard operators call you several things—none of them flattering to your image—however, one thing stood out clearly to him:

You were a good shot. They all agreed to that. To them, though your personality was shit, you had the eye of a hawk and the hands of a trained and experienced veteran who knew the sniper like the back of their hand.

He couldn’t help but admire you, regardless of the fact you’ve never acknowledged his presence or even looked at him.

He also couldn’t help but admire how calm you were, how you were just... yourself. Sleeves always rolled up with your tattoos in full display, a cigarette always nursed between your lips, the fact you never watered down your personality; he wanted that confidence—no, that sureness your character carried.

König knew you liked to lurk near the shooting range—since you’d joined, he avoided disturbing you and had often gone to the other side of the range to practice his shots.

However, in a fit of uncharacteristic confidence, he decided to approach you.

He was prepared for your scathing words, or the silent look of disgust you often wore around the other men.

But, when he approached, you regarded him neutrally.

“Hey, you’re...”

“König.”

“Yeah, König, you’re König.” You echoed the accent of the word, looking proud. “I pronounced that well, right? König.” You repeated his name as though it were a flavorful candy.

He was rendered mute; German sounded so nice on your tongue.

“König?”

“A-ah, scheiße, I was lost in thought for a second,” he laughed awkwardly. “You said it well, yes.”

“‘kay, good. Anyway, what’d you want?’

It was a blunt but reasonable question, but with your eyes trained on him, it was suddenly hard to speak or think.

Bashfully, he spoke. “May I shoot with you?”

“Uh, of course? This isn’t my shooting range, man. Have fun.”

“No, with you.”

“With me?” You echoed, dumbfounded. “How’d that work?”

“We’ll make it a friendly competition—if you’d like, of course—whoever gets the most bulls-eyes wins.”

You smiled. It was brighter than the sun. “Sure! Sounds like fun—you go first, then.”

König does. It was an easy shot, anyone could hit it, but he could feel your eyes watching him.

Trying to steady his hands, he set his sniper on top of the heavy crates and tried to aim, trying to clear his mind.

It was difficult. Again, your eyes—he wondered if he was making any mistakes he didn’t even know of. He was sure he was doing everything right, but... was he?

“Your hands are shaking, König. Try steadying them like this,” roughly, you took the hand that had been on the trigger and made the weight even.

His cheeks erupted in warmth. Too close.

He quickly takes a shot, and it was just about to hit the bullseye.

“Time to show ya how the pros do it!” You sit right beside him, kneeling in front of the crates and setting your own sniper onto them. He noticed rough engravings on the snout of your gun, a rough shape of a butterfly and snake.

Before he could ask about them, you shot. You had barely paused to even adjust.

When he looked up, he couldn’t help the wave of admiration that hit him.

You hit the bullseye perfectly.

“Maybe one day you can be as good as me,” you teased, voice light. “But your ass needs practice. Can I help?”

He couldn’t trust his voice so he merely nodded. Thank God he had a hood over his head because he was sure he resembled more tomato than a human.

After that though, the two of you became closer—you saw each other more, interacted more, etc.

You had taken a swift liking to him; he was eager to learn, polite, and soft-spoken, how could you not?

König, though? He’s skipped the ‘friend’ part and went straight to crushing; honestly, he was flattered enough that you just acknowledged his presence, being one of the best snipers and all, but the fact you went out of your way to teach him—talk to him—it went all straight to the heart.

Even on missions, you’d talk to him. You’d often favor being quiet, whistling the odd tune or two before taking your shots, but now you’ve come to just take those small pauses to tease him incessantly.

König was about to maul an enemy before a bullet shot through their head.

His earphones sparked to life.

“You should be more careful, I almost couldn’t save you there.” Your voice crackled through.

He couldn’t help but huff, half amused, half worried. “Didn’t Aksel say for you to clear out the enemies on your end?”

“Did already. They were like sitting ducks.”

You two are an actual powerhouse in missions; König with his physical prowess, easily overpowering anyone in his way, and you with your sniper, taking any enemies behind him down in an instant.

You only grew closer to him and vice versa, and eventually, the daily conversations nearly became constant—attached to the hip, understanding each other to the extent that quick glances would equate to hundreds of lines of dialogue.

It was during this that you realize you’ve grown... attached.

It worries you—no, it scares you.

You were, in your eyes, a poison that could do nothing but harm a soul like König’s; despite is outward brutality, you knew inside he was nothing but gentle—or maybe you were blind. Maybe you were in love and refused to see the dark that tainted his inner consciousness.

Or, maybe, you liked that too about him.

In any case, it was worrisome; it bit at your insides, at the quiet part of your mind, it lit everything to flame then ash.

You weren’t the woman you were before the military; fuck, maybe that version of you never existed—you were always so fucked up, so full of incomprehensible anger that set every step you took on fire.

That worry turned to anxiety, and it only increased when you realized that your stable, steady hands have become a shaking mess.

It was during a pause between missions that you try to clear your head, to purge those feelings you thought and knew wouldn’t lead to any good.

However König—oh, König—followed.

You told him not to, but he knew something was wrong, that you weren’t quite as steady as he’d known you to be; it was a weakness, a vulnerability that, right now, could harm you.

Neither of you had the comfort of being weak, especially in a safe house that could be overridden with hostiles at any moment of the day. If he couldn’t help, he’d at least want to be able to protect you during this time.

So, he followed, through the murky corridors and under the cloak of night, finding you outside with a cigarette between your lips.

You saw him and you were ready to snap at him, to drive him away, but he spoke so fucking softly.

“Are you okay?”

You weren’t. He knew you weren’t, and you knew he knew that.

So you sighed. Gestured for him to come, and he did, leaning against the concrete wall beside you.

You were particularly loose-lipped, but at that moment, all inhibitions of restraint were gone.

“It’s all a lie—when people join the military, it’s rarely for that strive of good.” You took a harsh suck of the cigarette. “You think any person with a good head on their shoulders and love for life would want to be in a fuckin’ military? Or a merc group? No amount of money makes this worth it, no... never.”

König was silent. Listening. Thinking.

“More often than not, people just join to just—run. Die. Cut their losses and just engulf themselves in the worst of the worst because of their own flaws—hamartias. Know that word?”

König nodded.

You laughed airily. It was hardly a laugh, more like a throwaway noise. “I learnt it back in high school in English class—’fatal flaw of a hero’, or something. Flaws... good, bad, right, wrong, villainous, heroic, it’s a mouthful, isn’t it?”

König nodded again.

“So many labels for those who, in hindsight, or just cogs to a greater machine. A twisted machination—isn’t that the true evil? The machinery?”

“You make it sound difficult,” König breathed. “When everything is so much simpler than that. Personal principles define those beliefs, right and wrong is as broad as it is small.”

You hummed. “Never struck you for the philosophical type.”

“I’m not. Philosophy is redundant. The answer is always found within our hearts.”

“Hmmm.” You took another puff of the cigarette. “The answer in my heart was anger. Always anger. Violence, insults, it always seemed most effective... I thought the military would set me straight, make me more controlled, but it did the opposite.” You stared at the ground, smoke spilling out your lips. “I’m worse now, a festering disease. I can feel myself burning out day by day, and, König? I want you to stay away from that—from me.”

“I won’t.”

“What?”

“I refuse. I will stay by your side.” I can’t bear to leave you alone.

“But... why?” Why, why, why?

“Because you’re the most beautiful flame I’ve ever seen.” I love you. Accept that. “Don’t cut yourself short, liebe. You can always change and grow. Or remain stagnant. Either way, my eyes will always be on you.”

You, for the first time in your life, couldn’t trust your voice.

But when you looked up at him, you hoped that the message was there. That he could see.

And he did, and you couldn’t help the smile when you saw that the corners of his eyes crinkled.

AO3

Masterlist

Requests are open

#konig x reader #cod x reader #modern warfare 2 x reader #modern warfare x reader #könig x reader

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strapathon · 4 months

Text

★Flirt your way through it★ E.W teaser

Summary: You've always told yourself that you hated Ellie Williams. That you hated her smug face, her earthy scent, and a voice that puts people on their knees. But shit, you couldn't resist her, which is why when she asks you to help her get Cat back- again... It still perplexed you why you said yes. So here you are, once again, you're helping her make Cat jealous.

Content: Typical Queer longing, stupid gays, flirting, sexual intent, sexual content (soon don't worry).

Tropes: The Queers are stupid again, Hopeless Romantic, Fake Dating, One bed trope, Not so friends into Loves, School Photographer x School Libero

A/N: English isn't my first language and I'm mostly doing this for fun so don't expect the writing to be flawless. Also, comment to be on the tag list

You often question the definition of Friendship, does someone count as a friend even if the only thing they've done was cause destruction onto your well built sandcastles in the park when you were 12? If so, then Ellie Williams was not a friend. It may be for her since even after the constant bickering and avoiding you do she still manages to be in your daily life. Life really is unfair, you think as you glare at auburn haired bitch. She smiles as the girl next to her continues to twirl her hair and bite her lip. You look at them with disgust.

You heard from a friend of a friend that Ellie recently broke up with her girlfriend Cat and seeing this sight right now makes you want to throw your head into a trash can and vomit your lungs out. You've heard of Cat before, mostly from Ellie when you were kids. You swear, the girl could talk your ears off. You distinctly remember, you cinema hopped with the two when you were younger. There was never much of a Romantic chemistry between the two but things may have changed. It was in the Cinema bathroom, just as you were waiting for the staff to turn your head, Ellie whispered in your ear, "Cat's super pretty." you looked at her with a blank look on your face and scowled at her. That moment was confusing, because when she got the option to sit next to Cat she didn't take it and opted to sit next to you and Jesse. Guess she's not as bold as she looks.

You snap out of your thoughts when Ellie turns her back and catches you staring. You weren't scared to show her your disgust, looking at her up and down with your eyebrows scrunched and your eyes still glaring. Ellie winks. Typical. The period ends smoothly despite Ellie churning your eyes red from glaring when she purposely knocks your perfectly lined stationaries off your desk. You held your breath, closed your eyes, and counted one-to-five. It was a technique you found in a magazine for anger management; it's easy to say you use it a lot.

"Hey." You heard the birds stop singing, snakes in the Nile river devour their prey, and the angels cease the blow of the 7 trumpets. "What do you want, Ellie?" you hiss. "Woah, Woah, chill out tiger, just wanted to say Hi," Ellie put her hands in her pockets and smiled devilishly. "What do you need?" you ask her as you stand up and swing your backpack on. "Can't I just talk to my best friend?" Your head snaps at her with a look.. "Woah!" She says, swiftly putting her hands in the air. "Guess, I'm not your Best friend then." "Good thing you know." You replied.

"Look, I have a favor to ask." she says. This little fucking bitch. You roll your eyes at her. "You know how me and Cat broke up, right?" Mhm, you hum and roll your eyes.

"I need you to help me get back with her."

"And how do I do that?" You tell her. Gosh, she smells good. That was one more thing you hated about Ellie, other than her angel like looks and voice, her natural scent that drives you fucking crazy. Crazy angry, yeah.

Ellie takes a step closer, leaning towards your face. You take a step back, your knees hitting your desk and you stumble. Ellie smirks, leaning ever so close, her lips pursing near your ear. "You know what to do, sweetheart." You stare at her bare neck. 'Flirt your way through it' Deja vu sends fireworks throughout your body.

In that cinema years ago, Ellie inches close to you. "Help me get her, flirt your way through it."

Fucking Ellie Williams. You just can't resist.

tags: @paqerings

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie tlou #ellie the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie williams smut #Spotify

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claymorexpunisher · 1 month

Text

I'll Shut You Up (18 + Fic) (Ch. 1/6)

Pairing(s): Rhea Ripley/Fem. Reader

Disclaimer: This is NSFW. If that's not your thing, keep scrolling. I try to tag my work appropriately and if you still choose to click and read, do so at your own discretion. ALWAYS make sure to discuss everything prior to engaging in ANY kinks… Thank you for the love always and I hope you enjoy!

Summary: It’s pretty well known that Rhea and Fem. Reader can’t stand one another. Reader thinks Rhea’s way cockier than she should be and Rhea thinks as highly about Reader as much as she thinks about the dirt at the bottom of her boot. Well… so they say, at least. A packed hotel mishap forces them to bunk together, and Rhea presses her luck by running her mouth.

Fic Tags: Enemies to Hatefucking, Forced Proximity, Overbooked Hotel, WM Weekend, Bottom/Sub!Rhea, Top/Dom!Reader, Bratting, Oral Sex, Cunninglingus, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Clitoral Stimulation, Sex Toys, Size Difference (shorter reader), Strap-On, Hair Pulling, Spit as Lube (rare occasion), Begging, Light Face Slapping, Spanking, Biting, Choking, Enemies to Lovers.

Total Word Count: 8,411

“Is it my card or are there no more rooms left?” I asked the lady at the front desk who already seemed just as stressed and exhausted as I was.

“I’m so sorry, ma’am.” She apologized as she nodded. “But it seems that there was a bit of a mishap when your reservation was made. Due to the wrestling events taking place over the weekend, we’re completely booked. And because of that it seems that your room was accidentally double booked through an error in our system. I’m so sorry, ma'am.” She said.

A deep frown creased her brow before she smiled, and she offered me a discount voucher for my room and for anything that I wanted from room service.

I kindly rejected the offer but asked, “Am I at least rooming with another wrestler?”

When she confirmed that I was, I breathed a little bit in relief as we wrapped things up and I received my room key- I was on the 3rd floor.

I wasn’t besties with the entire locker room, but least I wouldn’t be stuck with a complete stranger.

Although, there were definitely some people in the locker room that I would always avoid like the plague if I could help it.

Rhea Ripley was number one on that list…

We never could stand each other for reasons unbeknownst to the rest of the locker room.

Where I was avoidant, Rhea was insufferable, always making it a point to take jabs at me whenever she could, be it online or face-to-face.

Made me feel like I was an insignificant little bug that she could squash in .2 seconds.

She acted like she was hot shit, and she knew it.

Which physically, that may be true.

But she quickly learned that I didn’t take well to attempts at intimidation.

But lately, she’d switched gears and began flirting with me, heavily, and then we’d be back to insulting each other.

She claimed it was just for shits and giggles and because she enjoyed how “flustered” it would get me, which… ew.

It only got me “flustered” because they were cheap insults- mostly about my small height and the sexual inexperience she assumed I had.

I told myself that she was as tolerable as a canker sore- even though I could admit that on a certain level, our back and forth excited me.

…. And actually, sometimes, in the deep, dark recesses of my filthy mind, I didn’t know if I wanted to slap her or… or if I wanted to slap her and then teach her a very valuable lesson.

Bend her over.

Dominate her.

Make her ass glow red with my handprints etched onto them like the tattoos on her body and her blue eyes as glassy as a porcelain doll’s…

And that just made me despise her even more.

How dare she awaken any kind of desire in me when she was such a raging brat?

Then again, I could that admit brats could be really fucking fun.

But she… she got under my skin in ways I wasn’t prepared for.

“Just please don’t let it be Rhea fucking Rip-…” I mumbled to myself as I slid the keycard into the door as soon as I found my room.

My words trailed off and I let out a “Absolutely fucking not.” as soon as I walked further into the room, and I laid my eyes on the smirking-and almost naked- figure lounging in the king-sized bed in front of me...

Next Chapter

#rhea ripley #rhea ripley x reader #rhea ripley x fem reader #wwe fic #wwe smut #wwe fan fiction #rhea ripley smut #rhea ripley fan fiction #\

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mistydeyes · 1 year

Note

Hi! I don't think your rules link on your master list is working? (It might just be the Tumblr app being silly) but I've like to request a COD fic with a reader who has a moderate to severe penicillin allergy is accidentally given it while out in the field. Cut to the 141 ripping the medic who didn't check the medical tag a new one and being all protective and shit.

omg nooo thank you for bringing this to my attention, I'll get it fixed bc I love it when y'all request things! I absolutely love this idea too!

Just a little PSA but penicillin allergies are SERIOUS. If you have one, you are automatically not allowed to get anything related to penicillin (including amoxicillin, ampicillin, etc). You also are limited in your drug selection as people with severe allergies can't get any similar antibiotic drugs such as cephalosporins. You may experience hives, rashes, and even anaphylaxis if administered. So it’s always important to have a note in your medical file and notify any medical professionals about the nature of your allergy.

Okay, my little pharmacy soapbox is over, let’s move on to the blurb.

warnings: depiction of wounds and violence, swearing

pairings: 141 x g/n!reader

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

You were the newest member to join the 141. Excelling through your training, you were eventually handpicked by Captain Price to join his team. You were known for your sniper skills, rivaling that of Ghost. You were even more known for your call sign. In your years of being in the army and part of SAS, you became affectionately known as 'Plaster'. Your buddy came up with it as you had been the only one in the squadron to never need to go to the infirmary (avoiding cuts and bandages aka plasters) and also were notorious for outdrinking any recruit that tried to challenge you.

That's why when you ended up in the medical tent with an infected cut, the 141 boys were surprised. Before your intake, you had been providing overwatch on a building as Gaz, Price, and Soap infiltrated. Ghost was in the building across from you, also providing support. As you checked your sights, you immediately heard Ghost over the coms yell, "Behind you!" It was too late as the enemy had taken the opportunity to pull you by the legs and begun to swing his knife. You tried to react quickly but ended up with a slice to your arm before Ghost could take the man out. You knew once you recovered Price would be teaching you a thing or two about hand-to-hand combat.

However, he would have to wait as you had woken up that morning with a high fever. The cut was shallow, only requiring some soap and water and a simple bandage. Somehow, it had become infected. You groggily went to the field hospital. Once there, they removed the bandage and saw the area was red, extending past the initial wound. The field medic brushed it off, saying they would prescribe you some oral antibiotics for a little more than a week. As he cleaned and redressed the wound, he handed you a small pill bottle with ‘Augmentin’ written on it. Before you left, you popped the small, oval pill into your mouth and were sent on your way.

As soon as you exited the tent, you made your way back to your own to get some rest. Your tongue felt puffy in your mouth as you navigated through the maze of tents. Maybe you had bit it in your sleep?

You walked in and sat on your cot, noting Soap sitting across from you in his. You then felt slightly out of breath but assumed it was due to the humidity and sand debris in the air. You lay down, listening to Soap recount the successful mission before you began to hyperventilate. You felt like you were drowning as you tried your best to breathe.

"Oi, are you okay, Plaster?" was all you heard before the world went dark.

When you woke up, you were surrounded by your concerned squadron. You looked around and realized you were in the medical tent. As you tried to sit up, Price put a hand on your shoulder and lightly pushed you back down.

"God, Plaster you gave us a heart attack. You went into anaphylaxis," he began and you were shocked. It wasn't like you were allergic to peanuts or anything but then you realized you were allergic to ampicillin. Something you had learned after a childhood run-in with meningitis.

Price confirmed your suspicions as he added, "that fucking muppet of a medic gave you amoxicillin/clavulanate. Apparently he hadn't realized you were severely allergic to all penicillins," he said through gritted teeth.

You realized that must have been what that white pill was and mentally slapped yourself for the mistake.

"I'm sorry, guys," you began to say as you looked around at their faces. They looked so worried for you and you felt stupid for the simple mistake.

"Ah, it wasn't your fault, Love" Gaz spoke up. "Plus, the 141 got to show the medic what happens when you almost kill our best sniper."

You laughed as Soap described how once the field medic rushed in with an Epi-Pen and they carted you off to the tent, the boys confronted the medic. Apparently in his haste, he had overlooked the very important note that you were not to be given anything related to penicillin, including the prescribed Augmentin.

"You should've seen his face when Price lifted that poor fucker," Soap laughed loudly. "Better yet, I'm sure he pissed his pants when Ghost walked over and held him by his collar. Ghost is one scary motherfucker." To this comment, Soap received a slight slap on the back of his head.

You were appreciative of their efforts but couldn't imagine the lashing they would be getting from their superiors.

The ever-quiet Ghost ended the story by saying, "It was just a little taste for all of what you went through. I'm glad you're doing alright despite that idiot."

You cracked a smile as you lay in bed, appreciating your teammates who defended you like brothers.

As they left you to rest, you could hear Gaz whisper, "You don't think the laxatives in his tea were a little much?" You realized that this medic's life would be made a living hell for the remainder of your tour.

Years later it became a running joke. As you sat in the bar recounting stories of your service, Soap loudly joked, "And to think, Plaster almost got taken out by a little cut and some medicine." That earned him a hard slap to the back of the head.

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

a/n Did anyone else watch NCIS? every time someone mentions getting a slap to the head, I think of Gibbs.

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bakubunny · 8 months

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bnha: sensory overload during sex

katsuki | eijirou | izuku | shouto

a/n: welcome to the “neurodiverse babes have sex, too,” corner of the internet. so here are some of my headcanons on what that might look like with sensory overload. please keep in mind that every neurodiverse babe (gn term 😘) experiences it differently. 💜 bunny

tags: aged up characters, neurodivergent!reader, smut hcs, sensory overload (obv)

katsuki is probably gonna struggle the most to adjust to sex with a nd partner where sensory overload is an issue in intimacy. he’s very intelligent and cares deeply, but mans can’t read subtle body cues/changes for shit until he knows you extremely well, and even then, he’ll still miss some stuff. it’s just not a strength he has. and in general he’s a bit abrasive, very touchy, and rough. either he’s going to be worried that every subtle movement or noise that isn’t enthusiastic pleasure means something is wrong, or he’ll totally blunder his way through and get frustrated until he realizes you’re struggling. you’re gonna have to have great communication to make it work and not be afraid to speak up. finding a way to check in easily during intimacy is going to relieve his (and your) stress a lot. the great thing about katsuki? if you like dpt, any position where he’s laying on top of you with most or all of his weight might be a game changer. you get the relief of feeling his weight on you, and he gets to have a ton of skin contact.

eijirou on the other hand would be pretty sensitive and quick to adjust. there’d be some trial and error and lots of explaining, but few listen as intently as he does simply because it’s you. sure, he’s generally a pretty nice and caring guy, but he listens to you more closely than anyone. if it helps him love you better, you can bet he’s all ears. eventually he may pick up on little signs of sensory overload more quickly than you do. if you get to the point where you struggle to verbalize something (and not because of pleasure), i’d bet he’s already checked on you at least once or twice. you got lucky with a sweetie pie like him.

izuku may not always pick up on problems before they happen in the beginning, but you can bet his head is constantly spinning with trying to figure you out so that he can do better every time. he knows sensory overload is impossible to avoid sometimes, especially if physical touch is a trigger, but if he can help you make the experience as seamless as possible, he’s going to do it. a lot of his processing and analysis happens outside of the bedroom; he’s constantly asking questions with gentle curiosity and trying to understand you more with every detail he notices, and that helps him a lot. however, that doesn’t mean his head isn’t running a mile a minute when you’re together. at first he might struggle because he’s so in his head that it pulls both of you out of the moment, but with enough time, it gets a lot better.

shouto is another one where a ton of good communication is going to be necessary. he notices a lot more than he lets on in general, but he processes silently. you’re going to have to put the pieces together for him and offer up information because he may not ask questions. whether that’s because he already understands you enough to not need that or because he doesn’t think to ask them, you’re not always sure, but his attentiveness comes through in actions more than words. the good thing (i think) is that he’s not the type to be rough or overly touchy unless you ask for it, so that helps reduce some problems by default. ultimately, he’s very loving and acutely attentive on the whole, so soon enough you’ll both enjoy intimacy.

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meowzfordayz · 4 months

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Author’s Note: this was actually supposed to be a lil nsfw fanfic (Shy!Giyuu turned Needy!Giyuu 😏), but then world building (re: cafe setting) got ahead of me, so yeah. 😆☕️

cafe meet-cute (ugly?)

Tomioka Giyuu x Reader

Word Count: ~1,000

CW: explicit language

cafe meet-cute (cute!)

~faqs~

Shy!Giyuu as a regular at the cafe where you work part time to afford college. He always looks so tired, but manages the faintest of smiles whenever you greet him.

Shy!Giyuu who didn’t really notice when you started working at his favorite spot, but did notice when he found himself hoping you’d be there on his usual, dreary Monday morning, your absence duly noted when he’s met by a monotonous, “Hello sir, what can I get you?” instead of your usual cheery energy.

Shy!Giyuu who makes a point of reading your name tag the next time he sees you. You know his name, so it’s only fair that he finally put in the effort to learn yours. “Thanks, [y/n],” he murmurs, voice thick with sleep. “You’re welcome!” you chirp, and he swears he feels heat emanating from your cheeks. Or maybe he’s leaning in a little too close. Oops.

Shy!Giyuu who, even when he’s in a rush, no longer orders ahead, because then what excuse would he have to chat with you? And when the line is long? He absentmindedly—not absentminded at all—dallies on his phone, ignoring people as they hesitantly creep in front of him, itching for your full attention once the cafe empties out again.

Shy!Giyuu who asks about your area of study, your favorite color, where you got your sweater It looks comfortable, if you’re resting enough 😕 (that slipped out on an especially exhausting day, and he’d promptly turned so pink that you’d politely stammered about needing to check the fridge temperature Can’t let the milk spoil! 😃 as he dropped his tip in the jar and just stared at you).

Shy!Giyuu who asks so many questions you wouldn’t know he was shy. Truthfully, he’s glad his few acquaintances—dare he call them friends—don’t frequent the cafe too often. He’s certain he’d hear a mouthful from them otherwise.

“You talk to people?!” 🧐 <— Tengen

“They know your order? By heart?! Try something new for once, jeez.” 🙄 <— Obanai

“Seems like someone’s earned special privileges from the pretty barista.” <— 👀 Shinobu, after following a reluctant Giyuu into the cafe and watching him receive a free muffin

Shy!Giyuu who makes things a tad awkward when you eventually write your number for him on his cup (hidden underneath the cup sleeve — he almost misses it 😬). Awkward because he immediately saves your number in his phone, and proceeds to not text you.

Shy!Giyuu who’s never really dated, let alone experienced a ~meet cute, and definitely hadn’t envisioned himself in a sort of cafe-romcom situation. Aka, he’s in a panic (and utterly clueless).

Shy!Giyuu who’s grateful for your professionalism when he comes in two weeks later (he may or may not have been avoiding you, and “you” = his feelings for you), disappointed by the lingering stiffness in your tone, knowing it’s entirely his doing. He still blushes though when you shove a free muffin his way, I’m sorry on the tip of his tongue, fleeing on foot before it can take flight.

Maybe he does like you?! You ponder his behavior that night, lamenting to Mitsuri that, “I gave him my number weeks ago! Do you think he has a partner?! 😳 He must. Fuuuck. 😭 He’s so handsome. 😖 But MITSURI, nobody’s paying him to get to know me???! 🤔”

“Either he’s super bored,” Mitsuri giggles, “Orrr he’s super shy and totally crushing on you!!!!!”

Shy!Giyuu who nervously sets a travel mug of coffee on the counter, gazing away from the confusion in your eyes.

“Giyuu, it’s… already full?”

Shit. You didn’t mean to sound so dumb. 🙃

“It’s for you,” he croaks, face your favorite shade of red, “You make me coffee, like, a lot. So I wanted to return the favor.”

Giyuu, I literally work in a cafe you nearly deadpan I have unlimited access to coffee caught off guard by his gesture.

Internally screaming, actually.

“And,” he’s melting inside. You can practically see the steam billowing from his ears. “I wanted to apologize.”

“For what?”

He’s so close, he can probably hear how fast your heart’s beating. Not good, not good, not good. He definitely has a partner!!!!! Oh fuck, and now he’s here to let me down easy.

“For not texting, telling, you sooner.”

He gulps. You lick your lips. The thought occurs to him that he’d very much like to kiss you.

“You have a partner!” you squeak, exhaling like a deflating balloon, “Of course! Why are you apologizing?! I crossed a line! My bad!”

You nudge the travel mug toward him, so focused on your own embarrassment that you miss his expression falling, taking a deep breath to collect yourself.

“Hi Giyuu!” you hope you’re doing the right thing, starting over, “What can I get you today?”

Shy!Giyuu who, admittedly, turns tail and runs. 💀

Damn.

Shy!Giyuu who goes to class mortified yet… excited, recognizing the misunderstanding that occurred, cursing his lack of communication and deer-in-headlights reaction, eager to make amends. To make you see him.

He has to strongly resist the urge to bang his forehead into the desk.

Shy!Giyuu who recalls how his latte art gradually switched from intricate swans and tulips to hearts. Simple, but cute, and always capable of brightening his mornings.

Shy!Giyuu who realizes that, the first morning you ever created a heart for him was also the morning you gave him your number.

Shy!Giyuu who’s determined to clear the air, and take you on a date.

Not a coffee date. 😅

I'm 99% likely going to conclude this w/ pt 2 later today (or sometime this week). 😉💙 Update: cafe meet-cute (cute!) aka pt 2.

#giyuu tomioka #tomioka giyuu #giyuu x reader #tomioka x reader #water hashira #headcanons #college au #kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer

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punkshort · 10 months

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Chapter One

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

April 2003

“Shit,” you muttered under your breath, as the subway lurched forward, catching you off guard.

Today was the first day of your new job at a big-time construction company in downtown Manhattan. You had just moved to NYC a couple months ago, and this job was the first place that made you a reasonable offer. You were beginning to work through the last of your savings and getting sick of bumming it on your old college dormmate’s couch, so you eagerly accepted the position. The last thing you wanted to do was ask your parents for money – they were already so worried about you living in New York and working in Manhattan.

You thought back to when you called your mom and dad to tell them you finally got a job offer, so excited to tell them you could get your very own place if it all worked out.

“But Baby, don’t you think it’s a little dangerous working down there after what happened?” your mom had begged on the phone.

"Mom, please don’t worry, this building is nowhere near as big, this one only has 10 floors, I promise I will be ok,” you pleaded, hoping she won’t guilt trip you into moving back to the suburbs of Chicago.

You had always been a quiet, shy, studious type. Your parents always joked you would live with them til you were 40, never one to party or do anything bad. Needless to say, when you announced after graduation you wanted to move to New York, your whole family was stunned. You were pretty sure they expected you to chicken out, or move back home after a month, but you had a dream and you were determined.

Suddenly, the tinny voice over the subway speaker broke into your reverie, announcing your stop. You filed out of the packed car with loads of others who look like they were all going to similar corporate jobs. You tugged anxiously on the sleeve of your blazer as you made your way up the stairs and out onto the street. The crisp spring air that hit your face was a welcome change to the stuffy, overpacked subway car you had just left.

Lucky for you, Miller & Miller Contracting, Inc. was a mere 3 blocks from the subway. Your heels clicked loudly in your ears as you approached the building with ten minutes to spare. Relief began to wash over you a bit when you realized you planned the commute perfectly. You hated being late.

You pushed the door open into the lobby, approaching a large desk with two receptionists. Both were talking animatedly on their headsets and transferring calls. Patiently waiting for one of them to be available, you casually glanced around the lobby to avoid looking as nervous as you felt. The lobby itself was beautiful: it was completely open all the way to the top floor, with the glass elevator shaft behind the reception desk. The front of the building also was all glass, so that it afforded a beautiful view as the elevator took you up to your destination.

“Can I help you?” one of the receptionists called out. She had curly, short blonde hair, thin, and was impeccably dressed.

"Yes! I’m sorry, yes, it’s my first day in accounting. I am supposed to be meeting Heather, my name is –“ the receptionist cut you off, guessing your name before you could even finish your sentence. You confirmed who you were, and she got up to come around the desk.

"I’m taking the newbie upstairs to accounting, I’ll be right back, need anything?” she called back over her shoulder to her long haired, brunette cohort.

The slightly older receptionist shook her head in acknowledgment, still listening to whoever was on the other end of the phone call.

The receptionist who greeted you smiled and stuck out her hand.

"I’m Maggie, it’s nice to meet you. Come around to the elevator, I’ll take you up to Heather.”

She led you around the back of her desk to the elevator bank, her curly hair bobbed as her heels clicked on the dark tile floor. She began rattling off questions and information, no doubt a side effect of her job, and possibly caffeine, as you waited next to her for the elevator to arrive.

"How old are you? Are you from New York? Do you know anyone who works here? I’m always so excited when someone new joins, sorry if I’m making you nervous! It’s a fun place to work, it really is, there’s a lot of great people here. I know your position can be a tough one, so please give it a chance, I swear it’s worth it.” She paused for a minute, realizing she might be scaring you off, as the elevator dinged and the doors opened.

“Uhhh,” you stammered, trying to absorb the last bit of information without looking concerned, and stepped into the empty car. Maggie stabbed the button for the 6th floor as you replied.

"I’m 25, it’s my first ‘real’ job out of college, I just mainly had internships before now, and they hardly paid much. I’m glad I can finally stop couch surfing. I am from a small town outside Chicago, I went to school there and I’ve always wanted to live in New York. My old college roommate already lived here, so I decided to give it a shot,” you paused for a moment as Maggie nodded along eagerly with your story. You frowned slightly.

"I’m sorry, what did you mean when you said-" Right then, the elevator doors pinged to floor 6, opening up to an empty hallway.

“OK we’re here! Follow me!” Maggie cut you off, and whisked you down the hallway, which took you to an open floorplan filled with cubes upon cubes of bustling employees. Some were chatting between their desks, others were hurriedly talking on the phone, and some mindlessly scrolling on their computers.

Maggie led you to the back wall, which consisted mostly of offices, and what looked to be conference rooms in one end. She turned left as you rushed to keep up while trying to absorb your surroundings. You nearly smacked into her when she came to an abrupt stop in front of a partially open office door. She knocked gently, smiling at the person inside.

“Good morning, Heather! I have your new hire here,” she gestured towards you and waved you over. There sat Heather, your new boss, who you had only met when you interviewed with her and HR. Her mid length dirty blonde hair was perfectly in place, bangs framing her face, just like the day you met. She was probably about 15 years older than you, but she looked like she could pass for around your age. She was very trim, wearing a form fitting black dress with strappy sandals, and her makeup looked impeccable. If it wasn’t for the old fashioned hair style, she could pass for around 30.

You stepped into Heather’s office, which you hadn’t seen when you interviewed with her a couple weeks back. It was small, but it had a decent view, which was to Heather’s back as she stood from her desk to greet you warmly by your name and thank you for being so punctual. She glanced behind you at Maggie and thanked her for showing you up, effectively dismissing her. You turned back to wave your thanks to Maggie, but she was already gone, heels echoing down the hallway back towards the elevator.

“Alright! Follow me, I will take you to the rest of the department and introduce you to everyone,” she motioned for you to follow her out of her office. Being the Controller, she had her own personal space away from the rest of the group, which you found was not too far away from her office. Heather led you back the way you came but kept going straight along the wall of offices, talking to you over her shoulder as she walked.

"I hope you made it in OK, I’m so glad the sun is out this morning! I was getting sick of all that rain, this weekend was such a drag with all the dreary weather.” You hummed your agreement and assured her you made it in just fine, not letting it be known you were overanalyzing your commute all weekend long.

Heather stopped at the corner of the floor, punched a personalized code into a keypad next to a door and opened it. You had initially thought it could be a conference room, but in fact it turned out to be a decently sized room filled with cubes, some filing cabinets, and a small safe. You glanced around at the room of about ten employees hard at work, heads mostly down or on the phone. Two girls around your age who were seated next to each other in the corner of the room quickly quieted down their chatter, and looked in your direction when you walked in. You gave a shy smile towards them as Heather addressed the department.

“Good morning gang, this is our new Accounts Receivables Specialist,” she turned towards you, announcing your name to the group. “Please make her feel welcome, if you don’t mind showing her around where the bathrooms and coffee are, I would appreciate it. I have a meeting this morning with the big guy I need to get ready for, I’m sorry I couldn’t do it myself.” She turned back to you apologetically.

"We have a great, tightknit team here, they'll show you the ropes. This is your desk,” she led you over near the corner of the room where the two girls had been chatting. “I already stocked it with some paper and pens, but we do have a supply closet on this floor if you need anything else, and Colleen is going to be your trainer.”

She motioned over to one of the two chatty girls, who bounced over with a smile and an outstretched hand. You shook it, reintroducing yourself warmly as Heather made her exit.

"Again, sorry guys, I have a meeting with Joel, and you know how he is.” She rolled her eyes, and she was met with some chuckles and a couple looks of sympathy. Heather gave you a final wave and a promise to return around lunchtime to check in, and left through the same door you came in, with it locking shut behind her.

Colleen must have been around your age, her blonde hair was pulled back into a loose bun at the nape of her neck, and she had curious, bright blue eyes. She was wearing a business casual, knee length, light pink dress that was perfect for the beautiful spring day. You felt a bit out of place in your navy blazer and matching navy dress pants, but you wanted to look your most professional on your first day.

Colleen began to explain you will be shadowing her for the morning, getting you used to the software system they used, how to look up accounts, and where important files are stored. You learned Colleen was working in Accounts Payables, opposite your job. You realized the two of you will be working closely together, and connected the dots on why Heather chose her to train you, vaguely wondering who had your position prior.

As you pulled your rolling chair up to her desk to observe, notepad and pen in hand, you coolly questioned who Joel was, and what the reaction was all about. Colleen seemed the type that liked to gossip more than work, and she excitedly settled in to explain all the office politics to you.

“OK, so, Joel and Tommy run the company, they are brothers – Miller & Miller, get it?” she began, smiling brightly at you. “Tommy is SO much nicer than Joel, he is the one who schmoozes all of the new clients and signs all the new business. Joel is, well…” she trailed off, hands flailing gently, searching for an appropriate word to describe the head of the company without scaring off a new hire. “He can be challenging to work with sometimes, but don’t worry, you won’t have to work with him one-on-one. We have monthly meetings with him as a department, it’s a lot easier to handle him as a group, most of the time.”

“How do you mean, ‘challenging’?” you pressed, leaning forward, hoping to learn more about what you were getting into, not that you had much of a choice if you wanted to continue to live in the city. “Do you mean he just asks a lot of questions, or…?” Colleen picked up where you left off.

He’s mean,” she stated bluntly, smile faltering slightly. “He has made employees cry before, and he has caused people to quit on the spot during his meetings. He’s tough, but he’s the guy who goes to the job sites and makes sure everything is running smoothly. Unfortunately, that type of personality, especially from a man, on those construction sites is exactly what they need to make sure nobody is slacking off and cutting corners. They are too scared of him to screw up!” she laughed, trying to ease any nervousness she caused you.

You leaned back in your chair, gaze drifting aimlessly around her desk as you absorb what she told you. Before you could add anything further, the other girl Colleen had been chatting with earlier piped up from the adjoining cube.

“He’s an asshole. If he ever does say anything hurtful towards you, you have to just let it roll off your shoulders. That’s why Heather is so good in her position, she has to be one-on-one with him a lot, and she can handle his shit much better than most,” the redhead, whose name you saw on the outside of her cube was Debbie, gruffly interrupted. You could tell she was the opposite of Colleen – while Colleen is bubbly and sweet, Debbie seemed tougher and had an edge, although she still seemed just as friendly as she continued to help paint the picture of the mysterious Joel Miller.

“At the end of the day, you have to keep in mind we are not out here saving lives. We are working in accounting at a construction company. He gets so heated and spouts off at the mouth like this company is saving the world," Debbie finished explaining with a huff. She rolled her green eyes, crossed her arms over her chest and glared off at a fixed point on the wall beside her.

“Debbie is right, but she is just extra emotional about it because the girl in your position before had a run in with Joel, and she quit. Cheryl was Debbie’s best friend here, so she is just a little sore over it still.” Colleen tried to explain gently, without upsetting Debbie more.

Debbie nodded in agreement, sighing, she leaned forward with her elbows resting on her knees, she dragged her eyes away from the wall to look at the two of you.

"She’s right. Cheryl didn’t deserve that from him, but she did what was best for her when she quit. It happens a lot, I just thought Cheryl was used to it. She had been here 8 years!” Debbie exclaimed, throwing up her hands with frustration.

You gulped and began to get nervous, not really sure what to say. All you could hope was that maybe you didn’t have to have one-on-one time with Joel. You just knew you needed to keep this job, or else you were packing your bags and moving back home. Your hands started fidgeting on your lap, and you chewed your bottom lip slightly as you took in the information.

“Well, thanks for the warning, girls, I will do my best to keep my head down and stay below the radar,” you chuckled quietly, hoping to ease some of the tension and change the topic.

Debbie smiled at you, a little sadly.

"That's a good plan, but since you are in receivables, Joel may put you on the spot in some of our meetings and want to know what the payment status is on specific clients of his. Heather will typically field those questions if she knows the information beforehand, but if he catches you off guard like he did with Cheryl…” she drifted off, allowing you to connect the dots on your own. “Just keep your guard up, and go into those meetings with TONS of notes on all his clients, that is the best advice I can give you. And let Heather do all the talking.” With that, Debbie scooted her chair back to her computer to get back to work.

Your eyes probably gave away your nervousness when you turned back to Colleen. She smiled warmly at you and patted you gently on the knee. “Don’t worry about it, I promise it's not as bad as it seems. Like Debbie said, Heather fields most of Joel’s questions directly. Plus, we just had our monthly meeting with him last week. You won’t have to cross paths with him for another month.” Colleen turned back to her computer and started explaining the accounting software to you.

You were really only half listening as your panic was bubbling just below the surface, replaying Debbie’s words in your head while you tried to focus on what Colleen was teaching you. You were beginning to understand why this place offered you the job so quickly, you just hoped you could be tough enough to get through those monthly meetings.

Chapter Two

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel the last of us #tlou hbo #the last of us hbo #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller series #joel x reader #joel x reader smut #joel miller angst #joel miller fluff

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