He is confused, because he's home, he's on a long low time, much like the rest of the boys, and he is home with you. You, his spouse, the one he married, for fucks sake, he loves you more than anything. Has been nothing but happy to have you close again, wake up tangled with you, hear your voice and feel your skin against his.
But he can't stop thinking about the others. Can't help it, and he hates it. Those are his men, his friends and...whatever else they were after what they went through together. But he shouldn't be thinking about them when he has you curled up with him.
He really has been going crazy. He's staring at you, seeing you just..be, and he can't help but be somewhat jealous of you. He's older, he knows what people assume of him, what he was taught to be, and being with you already broke enough of those teachings. You were young, proud of who you were, proud of your colors and your flags and any labels, or lack of, you used. And while he had come to learn a few things about himself with you, he still feels...off.
It's not even about them being his men, and more about them not being you. He loves you, he's sure of it, so he can't just be interested in the others like that, because then it would mean he didn't love you..right?
He decided he just missed his team. That after so much time together, being apart left him antsy. You noticed too, how he'd sigh, how he'd longingly stared at something before saying it reminded him of one of them. So you had the idea of the boys spending a few weeks at your and John's house. It was big enough for them all, and you would do anything to see your husband more relaxed. And maybe have some confirmation on your suspicions.
The boys came a few days later. All very happy to be there. They knew you from passing, and they seemed ecstatic to see you too.
John thought that now that the boys were here and he could be sure they were safe, he'd relax, that these weird aches would stop. He was wrong, and he hated it. Because now, instead of feeling normal again, he was even more confused by different feelings.
He wasn't jealous, he is sure, but he couldn't help but feel his heart ache anytime he caught you napping with Kyle, your head on the other man's chest; or cooking with Simon, the behemoth of a man looking extra soft as you'd feed him bites of food and move around each other quietly; or talking with Soap, your legs on the Scot's lap, his sketchbook out as you two talked.
It left him longing, for what? He wasn't sure. He just hated it, because even if you were with him, tangled under the sheets, the feeling just wouldn't go away. Leaving him more and more annoyed as the days went on.
You, however, noticed it all. You weren't as confused as your husband, only because you had been thinking about this for a while already. But seeing it all in front of you just settled it. You'd see the lingering gazes of the boys, the soft touches they shared between each other aswell as you and John. The softness they had with each other. And you saw how John, consciously or not, did the same; watched his sargents and lieutenant with such longing you recognized from when you two started dating. It pulls at your heartstrings, because you see how he frowns after it, looking lost and confused in his own head.
So, after a month of this, you wait until you two are quietly cuddling in bed, everyone asleep, and whisper it. A simple phrase as you nuzzle and kiss at John's neck.
"Love... I think you're in love with your men"
You can't help but giggle when he freezes, you feel the heat on his skin as he flushes, and before he can start talking, you continue.
"And you do know non-monogamous relationships exists..right?"
He's silent, and you don't stop kissing and nuzzling his neck and collarbone until he let's out a heavy breath, hesitant.
"And if..."
He starts, sounding so overwhelmed with what you're implying.
"Hmhm, and I like them, too"
You say quietly. And that just clicks it in his head. As he starts imagining all of you together, his heart aching as he squeezes you.
Figuring it Out Pt. 3 (Steve Harrington x Punk!TM!Reader)
Summary: Two movies in and you and Steve are getting comfier and cozier. It almost feels like a real date... Here's to hoping the rest of the night goes just as well!
Word Count: 2,603
Notes/CW: Transmasc, bisexual reader. Punk reader. Use of the word "boobies" (This cw is just for me tbh, I HATE that word lmao). Mentions of top surgery procedures, probably inaccurate to procedures in the 80s but finding resources for that kind of thing was hard. Also reader practices TERRIBLE post-op care, please don't do the things they do lol. Descriptions of scars.
A/N: What was supposed to be a two-part series continues on... It's looking like five parts at this point, so that's fun, I guess. I don't think I've written a series this long before! I usually do one-offs or tie-in pieces that can be read separately or together. Fun!
Masterlist | Ko-Fi | Read on AO3
All original works posted by @queer-xreaders belong to me. You do not permission to copy, repost, print, or otherwise redistribute these works. If posts of said works are found outside of the provided links, know that it was done so without my consent. AI has no use or place here, and I do not consent to my pieces being used for AI-training, bot-making, or other such purposes.
"Too old to be using the word ‘boobies’, bud." You cringed from just repeating the word to him. "Also Audrey is lovely in her entirety, not just ‘cause she looks good in those clothes. She’s such a sweetie."
Steve threw a quirked brow your way while taking a sip from his half-empty, seashell pink wine glass. "Seriously? Even her voice?"
You gasped at him. "How dare you? Her voice is cute! And just wait ‘til you hear her sing ‘Suddenly, Seymour’, Ellen Greene kills! Just a little taste of that hidden power and then poof! Back to the mousiness. Incredible."
The two of you were lounging on the couch, part of the way through Little Shop of Horrors. At this point, you both had your feet kicked up on your coffee table, still cleared off from pizza work earlier that evening. Steve had gotten up at some point to pop some popcorn, which now sat in a bowl jammed between one of your and one of Steve’s legs, the only thing putting any distance between you. Your arms were still stretched out on the back of the couch, the hand closest to Steve occasionally brushing against his neck or catching a stray hair when he turned to look at you. When it happened the first couple of times, you had thrown apologetic looks his away, but he hadn’t seemed to notice—or if he did, he wasn’t bothered.
Eventually, when it happened again, you had noticed the smallest of smiles twitching at the corners of Steve’s mouth, although he kept looking pointedly forward. After that, you stopped worrying about it.
Steve chuckled and rolled his eyes at you now. "Didn't take you for a musical nerd."
That made you throw your head back in an unapologetic cackle. "What, did the style revolving around a music genre and culture not clue you in? The three years of choir maybe? Music being a big part of film production, which is something I’m a nerd about? Interest in music doesn’t just stop at a different genre of it. Well… maybe for some but—"
"Okay, okay, I get it!" Steve threw his hands up in surrender, but the smile he was wearing was sweet. He could hem and haw and roll his eyes all he damn pleased, but you knew that Steve loved being a confidant of his friends’ interests, even when he didn’t know much about them. Especially when he didn’t know much about them.
A scene of Audrey II popped up on the TV screen, the plant having grown exponentially since its last appearance onscreen. Your eyes lit up as you pointed at it, leaning forward with a giddiness that only punk concerts and explaining about film creation could elicit from you. "Did you know that she’s all puppetry? Onstage and in the film. They made a bunch of different puppets for her—obviously—and there’s a team of puppeteers piloting her. The reason she looks so clean is because they’d shoot shots at different frame rates to make her movements look faster."
Steve leaned forward as well. His was more in confusion, though, as he tilted his head and squinted at the screen. "I don’t see anybody."
"They’re most likely hidden in the set," you explained. "Under the floor, in Twoey’s pot, behind the walls and such. Stuff like fishing line probably helps too. Skinny, transparent, thus harder to see on film after the editing is done."
"Huh." Steve frowned and nodded in a way that gave off severe dad energy—that said he didn’t get it but was glad that you were enjoying yourself. He leaned back into the couch, taking the time to take over the back of it with his arms since yours were no longer there. "Cool."
You grinned at him. It was mostly due to the film talk but, as you looked at him, you were also thoroughly pleased to see him so comfortable and lax in your home. The lighting really did do him justice, casting him in a warm glow that brought out the brown of his hair and eyes, the yellow of his shirt. The stained glass lamps casted various shapes of color around the room, some of which landed across Steve’s form in an incredibly artful way. For a moment you wished you had a camera to take a picture of him before ultimately pushing the thought aside. A camera would never do the scene justice.
A breeze from the cracked window above the TV pulled you out of your reverie with a shiver. Careful not to disturb the mood, you quietly got up and scooted around the other side of the coffee table to avoid Steve having to move his legs. You closed the window by the TV, then moved to shut the small panel window on your front door as well. You felt Steve’s eyes follow you all the while.
You turned to him, waving a hand. "You keep watching, I’ve seen this in theaters and the one from the 60s. Finally cooled off a bit, gonna go grab a jacket."
"Do you just want mine?" Steve asked. Clearly getting comfy to the point of not wanting to move, he stretched out with one lazy arm until a finger could snag the jacket from its place discarded over a nearby chair. He shifted the arm in your direction, holding the article of dark blue clothing out to you.
You raised an eyebrow. "You're not cold?"
Steve shrugged, then nodded to the vest you were wearing. "Trade ya?"
You snorted but found yourself already tugging the denim off your body. "It’s a vest. Not particularly warm."
Steve shrugged again, smiling. He looked so cozy burrowed into your burnt yellow couch. "Can give me one of your hoodies then. What about that one that you did for Halloween last year? You replaced the sleeves with a different one and did a, uh… bleach? Dye? Skull design thing on it?"
"Why don’t you wear your own jacket?" You didn’t know why you were being contrarian. You really wanted to wear his jacket. You really wanted to give him something of yours that you could see him snuggled into. You pulled your vest off.
You hadn’t paid much attention to how the fit of your tank top’s sleeves hung a bit lower on your body than normal, exposing the bit of scarring closest to your underarms. You only noticed when, while your arm was raised to toss the vest aside, Steve’s eyes dropped to stare at them.
You stood there, frozen, gauging him. You could tell right away that there wasn’t a hint of meanness or even judgment in his eyes. It was mostly curiosity, like he didn’t understand why you did it—he’d already said so, he didn’t—although you could see a hint of sadness there too.
"Penny for your thoughts?" You questioned quietly after a few too-silent moments had passed.
Steve’s eyes immediately flicked up to meet yours. He looked like a kid having been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Still, he nodded toward the scar, still pink and new. "Was it painful?"
You shrugged, rolled your head a bit in thought. In the meantime, you tossed your vest on the chair and snagged Steve’s jacket from him. You pulled it on, the soft fabric immediately encasing your bare arms in warmth and the smell of cologne and hairspray.
You said, "The procedure itself? Nah, I was knocked out. Probably too knocked out, actually. They kept me overnight to make sure I was waking up proper because they had a hard time getting me to wake up to take my meds. The recovery was kinda rough, though. I didn’t do the opiates, just basic painkillers, for obvious reasons. And didn't really have anybody to stay with me, so I—"
"You should’ve called me." Steve’s voice sounded tight. You could tell he was trying to keep sounding nonchalant, but the pain in his eyes was telling. "I would’ve come. Robin too, maybe. Make it a road trip to the city, could’ve been fun."
Your cheeks warmed under his intense, long-lashed stare. You rolled your eyes anyway. "Oh, yeah, have you take a week or so off work and do a six-hour drive just to take care of me. Not just you, Robin too! That would’ve gone over well with your jobs."
"Your safety is more important than my job," Steve said simply, sternly. You weren’t sure he had even blinked in the past few minutes, his dark eyes trained on you as he waved a dismissive hand at the idea of picking his job over being with you. "Especially Family Video. Replaceable. Easy. Wouldn’t even have to think about it. You’re not, you know."
Your next breath came out heavy. Your skin felt itchy and far too warm. The entire trailer felt like it was heating up to the point that you were briefly concerned you had left the stove on. You knew that wasn’t the case, though. It was just you. It was just Steve.
"Yeah, well," you mumbled, "everything turned out okay. Here I am. But… thanks. ‘Ll keep that in mind. Hang tight, I’ll grab that hoodie."
Steve’s eyes burned holes in your back all the way down the hall.
~~~~~
Steve really had no business looking as cute as he did cozied up in one of your sweatshirts. Rumpled hair that he’d given up on as the night has gone on. Nose tucked close to the collar, hands stuffed comfortably into the sleeves. Sleepy, half-lidded eyes, but if he had any desire to go home, he didn’t make you aware of it.
That sweatshirt in particular was one of your cooler projects, in your humble opinion. Originally an entirely black sweatshirt that you had worn to the point of thinning and fading to an ugly brown over the years, you had broken out the dye and dyed it back to its original rich color. Then, probably counter-intuitively, you had also broken out the bleach and bleach-dyed a messy skull design into the sweatshirt’s front; the back received an anatomically correct skeletal back pattern. The sleeves, too long anyway and beginning to fray, you had decided to replace with those from a soft orange sweater you had thrifted. Any patching needed was done in the rest of the sweater’s material—in a series of fun, Halloween-y shapes, like pumpkins and bones—as well as reinforcing the sweatshirt’s thinning body from the inside. It had been one piece of a last-minute Halloween costume puzzle, black jeans and boots bleach-dyed or painted with similar bony patterns and a cheap skeleton mask Joyce Beyers let you snag from her shop for a single buck as the only sale of the night, after Steve and Robin invited you to party-hop with them. You had quickly gotten bored out of your mind with the parties themselves, but your favorite duo’s company was always a joy.
You were over at the TV again, popping out Little Shop of Horrors and putting Gremlins in. Echoing Steve’s question about the first movie of the night, you asked, "What’d you think about Little Shop of Horrors?"
"Well, that puppet can sing," Steve said, his response a bit delayed in his lazy state. "You were right, the puppeti-ng is really cool at the end there."
You hummed in agreement as you stood up and shuffled back to the couch, tucking your hands into the pockets of Steve’s jacket. "'Mean Green Mother From Outerspace' and 'Feed Me' are the best songs in it. Levi Stubbs."
"So…" Steve ventured after a moment. His eyes drifted over to you suspiciously, causing you to break out in a sneaky smile. "Gonna tell me what we’re watching now?"
"A Robin recommendation?" You offered.
Steve’s eyes narrowed. "What did she do?"
Your smile widened as Gremlins began to roll. Throwing your hands up in surrender as Steve’s glare turned severe, you said, "Her note said, and I quote, ‘Steve will be crawling all over you’ followed by a cute little heart. I had to know what that means, Stevie. Simply had to."
Steve was now a statue, all taut and stony.
"Steve," you tried after a moment, "do the weird little fluffballs… make you horny?"
Steve blanched, choked a breath, and you cackled in response. He immediately went onto the defense—"What? No! What the hell?"—before your laughing clued him in and he went back to glaring at you. "You’re joking."
You snorted and pretended to wipe a tear from your eyes. "Yeah, no shit, I’m kidding. So, what, not puppets, clearly, but animatronics get you a little spooked?"
In his mind, Steve was losing arbitrary cool points by the second, that goofy standard of his that he felt made him worthy of existing in the world. You could see it in the way he was getting increasingly flustered, shaking his head and waving his hands around like he could fight off the—loser allegations? You didn’t know. He was wrong, of course. Cool points didn't count past high school, and Steve Harrington was a dork. There just was no fighting it. He was an awkward, lovable, sometimes-too-handsome-for-his-own-good dork.
While you looked on like a pleased cat after it had pushed a vase off a shelf, Steve pointed a dangerous finger in your direction. "No, listen, listen—"
Your hands flung up as you laughed again. "I’m listening!"
Steve went on, "I can do no eyes. I can do many eyes. What I cannot do is a singular pair of weirdly human, robotic eyes on a… not… human… thing. Okay?"
"So it’s the eyes?"
"Eyes and— and, like… the movements!" Steve continued to flail around, this time trying to mimic a robotic slowness. So, it was animatronics.
"You don’t even like Gizmo?" You moved your hands close together and held them up, peeking at Steve through them. "He’s just a little dude. Looks kinda like a chihuahua. Or a baby."
"I like both dogs and babies!" Steve hunched further into himself as the little Mogwai in question finally made its first appearance onscreen. "That is not a baby."
You were still thoroughly amused—what an incredible fact to learn about Steve, of all people—but you were ultimately sympathetic to his plight. You moved to the edge of the couch, ready to move to action if he willed it. "Want me to turn it off? I have an ass-load of movies in my room we can pick from instead. Or you can head home if you want, it is getting pretty late—"
"No!" Steve said, a little too quickly and a little more desperate than he’d intended. It hung in the air for a moment as the two of you stared at each other, your faces growing progressively redder. It may have been the first time during this entire night that you both acknowledged the tension, albeit nonverbally.
Steve broke contact first. He took a deep breath and rolled his head and shoulders like he was preparing for a fight, then looked forward to glare at the TV. "I can handle it."
You gave him a skeptical look but settled back into the couch regardless. Tossing an arm back up over the back of the couch, it casually landed next to one of Steve’s own, which still was gripping at the cushion for dear life. Your hand found his arm to give it a comforting squeeze as you nodded and settled in for the final film of the night.
Imagine you're the girlfriend of Robin and Vickie. They both love to talk but you're shy and you don't talk much which is okay because you love to listen to both of them. You're also the older sister of Lucas and Erica Sinclair.
Content note: reader is waifish enough to resemble Felix if you squint, it is a plot point.
…
A rumor that Stray Kids Felix and Hyunjin are dating has started spreading in the fandom. It’s all thanks to one grainy video, hardly proof, of two men walking down a side street and kissing before entering a building.
It shouldn’t be news in the first place, even if it’s true. Idols are people, and should be allowed to love and show love freely. But that’s not the kind of world that exists right now.
In this world, they’ve hired you, a nobody actor, to play the part of best friend. They’ve fabricated childhood photos, spliced videos, and doctored enough recent photos of the two of you that it looks believable that you and Hyunjin are best friends, and that no it wasn’t a kiss in that video it was just you two hugging.
The company would have simply ignored the rumors and the grainy video altogether, after all it’s impossible to tell who the two people are with 100% confidence, but the owner of the video says there’s more, and that they’ll release them if they aren’t paid. And Hyunjin is afraid about what they might have gotten. After all, not many people in South Korea are sporting a shaved head, recently dyed pink for a concert. They’ll know it’s him, even if they’re able to protect Felix.
You take the job. You know it will stunt your acting career, maybe permanently, but how can you say no? You’re in a position to help, so you will. There are too many queer people forced to out themselves or be outed in the age of technology, you would know. If you can help, you will.
…
The problem is it’s working too well, and you may have started a fan war.
As always, leave comments! I’d like to know your thoughts! This will be a longer series with probably 8 parts or so.
Trigger warnings: brief mentions of sex and murder, customer service hell-scape (not literal)
Word count: 875
Tell me we are not doin’ this for the next 12 hours.
You’re lucky, today is only a 10 hour shift. You continue scanning items, listening to the repetitive beeping and background chatter.
Are you sure we aren’t in Hell right now?
Don’t be a baby. We’re only 2 hours in.
This is so boring.
Boring is better than the alternative. I’m sure you’ll see soon enough.
“I have some coupons,” your customer says, handing you a stack of paper cut outs.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, but these are for a different store. And they’re expired,” You explain.
“But they should still work. The last time I came here they accepted them.”
Yeah right.
“Unfortunately, I can’t accept them.”
“You can though. You just have to type some things into your computer. I’ve seen it done,” she continues.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. It’s against store policy.”
“What are you stupid? Just put them in your computer. It’s not that hard!”
What a bitch. I would’ve stabbed her by now, but that’s just me.
“I’m not stupid, ma’am. There is nothing I can do. It’s against store policy.” You keep your tone even.
“Are you arguing with me? The customer is always right. See this is what’s wrong with your generation.” She huffs and puts her hands on her hip.
I’m older than you and if she was talkin’ to me like that, I wouldn’t stand for it.
Be quiet. You're gonna distract me.
“Ma’am, I cannot accept these coupons. Are you ready for me to finish the transaction?”
“No. I’m not. I want to speak to your manager.” She folds her arms over her chest.
Fine by me. Make her someone else’s problem.
You wave over your manager. “Hey Roger, could I have your help with something real quick?”
“Sure, what’s going on?” Roger asks. He’s nice, you like him as a manager. He usually has your back.
You open your mouth to speak, but the woman interrupts you and begins complaining. Roger is patient, explaining the exact same thing you did and finally getting the woman to leave. Roger isn’t a very tall or particularly strong man, but he’s nice and polite and you have a bit of a professional crush on him. He claps you on the shoulder and gives you an apologetic smile once he leaves.
He wants to fuck you.
Jesus Christ, William. He does not.
I thought you were gay. How can you have a crush on him?
I’m pan. Equal opportunity as far as crushes go. Gay is just a bit of a catch all term I use when I don’t feel like explaining.
So you would be down for a threesome? You can hear the grin in his words.
You literally are just another dude. Could you be any more cliche?
I could.
I’m gonna be clear right now. That was not a challenge.
Kinda felt like it.
How old are you, William?
I lost track. I’ve been outta Hell a couple times. Last time was during the Civil War, I think. Time before that is kinda fuzzy. I think some war for independence. When I was human, I fought with swords.
Damn you're old. If you’ve done the possession thing before, why are you so bad at it?
Ouch. I did just fine before. I think something’s wrong with you, not me.
So you’re blaming me for your possession? Take some responsibility for your own actions, my dude.
Responsibility is for suckers.
You roll your eyes and focus on the rest of the shift. Billy is mostly well behaved-ish and only mentioning murdering the customers occasionally.
Damn look at the rack on her.
I will not.
If I saw, that means you looked.
Okay, I noticed, but it would be impossible not to. I’m not going to stare, that’s rude.
You can practically feel the demon pouting in your mind as he says, Now you’re just bein’ mean.
I know we established you are old as dirt, but I’m not gonna go around ogling women for your amusement.
What about ogling men?
What?!
You said no to women, that leaves a lot of options open. Can we ogle those?
First of all, there is no we in this and no. We are not ogling anyone. Oh my God she’s coming to my lane.
The beautiful brunette woman with the low cut top and killer curves is loading a handful of items onto the conveyor belt. You avoid looking at her as best you can as you scan the items.
“I like your hair,” she says. “It suits you.”
You stumble over your words. “You too. I mean, I like your hair too. Thanks.”
You’re hopeless, sweetheart.
I am not! I was just unprepared.
“You’re cute,” the woman smiles. “I’ll see you around.”
You hand her the receipt and nod stupidly.
Absolutely hopeless.
Ugh, just a bit.
She wanted to fuck you too by the way.
She did not! How would you even know that? You’re out of date for human interactions by a couple centuries.
I’m an incubus, plus fucking is timeless.
That’s such a weird thing to say. Of course I get a literal sex demon stuck in my head. God must hate me.
guys okay, currently listening to lost in the fire by the weeknd and these lyrics have just triggered and idea in me–
you said you might be into girls
said you're going through a phase
keeping your heart safe
well, baby, you can bring a friend
she can ride on top your face
while i fuck you straight
so basically that with fem!reader and bsf!schlatt, like he has this crush on reader but she's trying to keep her heart safe obviously and won't date guys, and somehow he ends up convincing her to sleep with him just once, and offers that she brings a friend of her choice to make her more comfortable
