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bigfan-fanfic · 5 months

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Ain't Making Me Leave (Reader x Joel Miller)

@anxious-queerboi Hiiiii 🥺 It's been so long but do you think you could do a general headcanons with Joel and a gn reader who received an injury that made them disabled? Like, not to the point of being unable to move, but not being able to be as active as they used to be? Thank you <3

Back in the QZ, it would've been a dealbreaker.

Nothing personal, just - when you're in survival mode, tying yourself to someone who's still limping is like filling your bag with rocks.

But here, in Jackson, it's not as big of a deal.

It's still hard for Joel to get used to the idea of people helping each other out of cooperation.

But after a solid year of caring for people other than himself, he's willing to take actions against his own self-preservation.

Besides, deep in him, he knows he owes you.

Your leg was injured when you had to cave in a roof to trap some pursuing clickers.

You saved Joel's life.

So he carried you back to Jackson, and ensured you got as best care as you could've.

But your leg won't be the same. Decreased mobility, even with a full recovery. Say goodbye to supply runs or scouting missions.

But it doesn't matter to Joel the way it would have,

Because you're his, and he's not going to let you get kicked out or cast aside, even if that means he has to work to be useful enough for the both of you.

But he really needn't worry. Tommy and Maria aren't the kind to act so pragmatically. To rebuild the world, the world needs compassion.

Something Joel's still learning.

He barely leaves your side for the first bit of recovery, still blaming himself for you getting hurt.

And even later he does that trademark growl of his whenever he has to leave you again.

But honestly, your injury is sort of the catalyst that lets him finally rest.

When he realizes his place in Jackson is secure, and yours is too, not because of his worth or experience, but because of kindness, he finally breathes and for the first time in twenty years emerges from survival mode.

You can tell something has really snapped in Joel when he suddenly climbs into your bed and kisses you long and slow.

"What brought this on?" You grin - he's been treating you like porcelain since your injury, even though your leg is finally walking worthy.

"Nobody's makin' me leave."

"Of course not, silly. We're home." you chuckle bemusedly, surprised by another kiss.

"We're home. Ain't that a bitch?"

"What's all this?"

"I'm bein' stupid. Like usual." Joel grins, slightly manically, before pulling you close again. "I love you."

You gasp a little at how easily he says it - you only usually get the L-word out of him after lovemaking in the dead of night when he finally relaxes. "I love you too."

"Love you more." He winks. "How about I take you on a walk later and we just... get some air?"

You chuckle. "Sure. And what should we do in the meantime?"

Joel leans back on the bed, giving a great sigh. "Anything we want."

#joel miller x male reader #joel miller x reader #the last of us x reader #the last of us x male reader #the last of us headcanons #headcanons

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prettyboy-like-you · 1 year

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HOUNDS OF LOVE

2276 words, EXPLICIT, POV billy, period-typical homophobia/slurs, past promiscuity, angst, emotional hurt/comfort, car sex, billy hargrove cries during sex, steve harrington is a sweetheart, boys in love.

written as a gift for lyd my beloved <3 @stevewhoreington

Running never made a lick of difference. It was still there, looming. Biding its time. Always lurking like a trench coat-creeper just around the next corner, no matter how far he ran. Breathing heavy, waiting. Because unlike Billy, it could be patient. So very patient. It was his personal stalker, The Longing. The murderous type. Some sorta desire cannibal—and Billy was its prey. No matter what, it always came looking. Would seek Billy out, no matter where he hid or however many times he would run from it, it followed. Hunted Billy down for sport, it seemed

Billy Boy Blue, dirty little fag, sweet-still-not-sixteen and always wanting what you shouldn't.

So, Billy The Wretch, he played his part in the stomach-turning game and he ran. Sprinted so fast he could've won a damn medal. Oh, because Billy, he wanted what The Longing had on offer. Wanted it more than 'most anything. Billy wanted so much it hurt his insides. Like chewing and trying to digest crystalline glass. Like if he could just breathe in deep enough he'd be able to smell its heady scent, if he only licked his lips X amount of times he'd taste it pricking like spice on the tip of his tongue. Didn't even know why he wanted so bad, not really. Why it was he craved that kind of touch, why he needed the way he did. Only knew it was the same sort of deal as his body needing food or water or oxygen; a biology that just was.

Girls didn't take the edge off. Nowhere close. It was wild. And it got so much, being taunted, being wanted by The Longing, too much, an angry need, and Billy just couldn't take it any longer, having only the emptiness to keep him company every minute of every hour of every day. The nothingness being the only one to ever wrap arms around him. Ghost-dead arms. He just got so fucking tired of it. So, so much more tired than any kid should be, so tired that in the end he caved, giving in to it just to fucking survive.

Billy knew a lot about survival.

When he slowed down enough to allow that fucker to find him, is when Billy had the revelation: there'd never really been a thing as hopeful as choice, not for him. And in knowing he hadn't had a chance, never granted so much as a fair crack at a game he'd never even asked to play, Billy then swan-dived into it so drastically that the thing was forced to consume him fully, absolutely. It chugged him down and swallowed him whole—and Billy was gonna make sure it fucking choked on him. Billy Hargrove was nothing if not flush with spite.

That's how he found himself wide open and hiding in plain sight in the not-so-loving arms of those hot, hot Cali nights; shirtless and high and strung out like filthy ripped-denim bunting strewn around the streets of downtown San Diego. Ushered into a lonely playpark after sundown. Shushed and pushed down dirty alleyways. In the shadows, that's where he’d wait for them; Men. Never other boys. Never anyone his own age. Nobody who would want anything more. No, he'd wait for men twice his age, thrice his size and almost as desperate as he was, just as his queerboy nature had waited for Billy Boy Blue to succumb to it. And those men—so many men—they always came for Billy.

These days when he hears the siren song Billy answers without quite so much thought. Call and response. Day-O. Not that there ain't still a fight just underneath the surface of his skin. There's always that. But as much as it might surprise him, and it does, maybe it was inevitable, him clinging to this. To being wanted by other guys—no. No, being used, is what it is. Honestly. It's being used up and spat back out. No change given, no receipt.

And at once, in the here and now, it's dawning on Billy like dead flowers in the morning sun: if ever he'd taken the time to look at the thing, to really look at it, he'd have seen he knew the truth all along.

There is nothing else for him.

Now here he is in Hicksville, Indiana, not-quite eighteen and knowing his garbage existence is spiralling even further down Life-with-a-capital-L's disposal drain. So. The things Billy finds himself clinging to even tighter than the things he's not supposed to want? Pain. Rage. As if they're gonna be the knights in shining armour to save his damsel-ass in this shitty story of his that no self-respecting cunt would wanna read. From all of this. From himself.

Billy has always been a coward. Ever since—ever since Her. Since she did the double-up on him. Since she switched off and let her light go out of his life forever by taking off and leaving Billy Boy Blue's sorry ass behind.

Harrington doesn’t know any of this though. Nobody does. Nobody will. And nobody should anyways because Billy, he shouldn't be so pathetic. He’s supposed to suck it up and shut the fuck up not moon over it, not be a little pussy while he's getting his boy-pussy railed. And he certainly shouldn't be moaning through this feral fucking need of his like some frilly pink-pantied cheerleader, hell.

Never did know what was good for you, boy.

But Steve, he’s gripping Billy’s hips like sex is going out of fashion, fingers bruising into Billy’s freckled flesh as his own hips snap forward again, stuffing Billy full of long, thick cock. His tongue, it's in Billy’s ear, licking it out, fucking it and sucking it into his warm, wet mouth.

“You like that, huh baby?” he mumbles around a mouthful of lobe, saying shit he shouldn't be saying.

You love it, whore.

Breaks the spell.

Billy reaches behind himself and, finding what he’s feeling around for, shoves three fingers into Steve’s runaway mouth until the King is almost gagging on them.

“Shut up and fuck me, Harrington. And not the way you fucked her, neither. Fuck me like a goddamn man.” As if this is the first time they’ve screwed around, ha. The King and Wheeler have been split for half the school year now.

There you go again.

As if Steve and Billy are anything like Steve and Nancy. As if. There is no Steve and Billy.

Then Steve's man-handling him, all tough-guy and that's—that's absolutely not what Billy was expecting.

Shoving Billy down, rough, Steve pulls out of him abruptly and before Billy can even begin to mourn the sudden emptiness of his gaping asshole he’s being flipped over, bare shoulder blades hitting the expensive blood-red leather seats of Steve’s Beamer with a loud slap. Billy loves it, actually, because of course he does—dick leaping and leaking for it—yet he also instantly regrets asking for it because now flat on his back they’re face-to-face and. Yeah, no. Billy’s not ready for that. Will never be ready for that. But roomy as the backseat is, Billy is still wedged in pretty tight between that and the front seats; having Steve’s full weight now bearing down on him means there’s no real means of escape.

Like you really want one.

“Wanna turn back over,” Billy lies.

“No. You don’t,” Steve informs him and why the fuck does fucking Harrington have to know exactly what it is Billy wants?

Billy can’t deal with this. He struggles to move, but Steve. He knows Billy's heart isn’t in it.

Because the boy above you is holding your glass heart oh-so-gently in his pretty cupped hands like it's something precious, even as it pumps away uselessly.

Steve says, “You wanted me to fuck you like a man, you said so. So, missionary it is,” and then Steve’s pressing his lips together and sliding home again and Billy, instead of fighting like he should, he's opening his legs wide as the space he’s crammed into will allow and gasping loudly as his body goes slack, that frilly pink whore once again.

Now it’s his own mouth he’s shoving fingers into. Ramming his whole fucking fist in there. Fists are all Billy deserves. Not this.

Fucking coward.

Steve, bolstering himself with one hand by holding the headrest of the driver's seat, takes his other hand and reaches down and then Billy’s actually fucking letting him remove that fist from where it's trying to silence his pathetic grateful moans. Gripping at Billy’s wrist, Steve now stretches their arms above the both of them as his cock stretches out Billy’s ass again, and then he’s pinning Billy’s hand to the bodyheat-wet window underneath his own. Spreads and links their fingers like he's hoping they'll draw heart shapes in the condensation, like Billy's his fucking girl or some shit.

“Fuck you,” Billy snarls, even as he’s nestling a thumb into to the gorgeous cavern below one of Steve’s hip bones.

“No, actually. I’m gonna love you, Billy. Because it’s what you want.”

Before Viper Billy can spit his self-hatred and shame at Mr and Mrs Harrington's perfect little rich-boy, Steve steadies himself as he lowers his top-half, hand leaving the headrest and snaking around the back of Billy’s neck until it’s cradling his thick skull, long fingers threading through the damp curls and fisting a handful. Pulling, just enough.

Billy shivers as his chin is forced upwards and feels his eyes pricking with salt, and ohhhh. He’s going to wail on Harrington for this. Going to fucking kill him for it.

Later. He will. Later.

Later because right now, Steve is doing things Billy wants too, too much. Off-limit things that are off-limit for good fucking reason. Things the guy should not be doing because Billy told him no right from the start. Because they're the things Billy’s not allowed. Things dirty little sluts like Billy Hargrove should never even dream of wanting.

Liar. Coward.

Steve is running the tip of his nose along Billy’s jaw, under his chin, while fucking into Billy but going slow—so, so slow—inching into him, carefully, as if Billy’s really something to be taken care of.

Billy squirms some more. Roars. Aches so good. Squeezes his eyes shut tight and winces at that pacific seawater gathering in the corners.

“Fuck you,” he breathes again but it’s a whisper now. A plea, this time.

Don’t let me go.

Steve hears it. He leans in even closer, filling Billy to the very hilt, trapping Billy’s dick between them both and it’s now not just leaking but practically gushing with pre-come, exquisitely swollen.

Steve’s plush lips are then feathery against Billy’s as he says, “I want you, Billy.”

Billy arches up violently, the angle nudging Steve’s cock into that sweet-spot. He calls out as the tears threaten to fall from his stupid, stupid eyes, fucking traitors.

“Hold me down.” Billy begs.

Don’t let me go.

And Steve is there.

Leaning heavy on the arm where a hand is wrapped around the back of Billy’s neck, Steve releases his grip on his other hand, the one linked with Billy's. Then he lays that arm parallel to the other with his weight on both forearms and, using his elbows for leverage, his hands are now free to frame Billy’s face and they do, thumbs finding cheekbones and stroking softly. So soft Billy wants to scream.

Rocking in and out of Billy, still so slow, he says, “I’m going to kiss you.”

Love me, love me, love me.

And then Billy is being kissed by a boy and he isn't hiding from it. He's being kissed by Steve Harrington and he's kissing Steve Harrington back so needy and with such urgency it should hurt but it doesn't and he's not a coward or a liar anymore because Billy wants this boy who’s kissing him, and this boy wants Billy back.

“Hey, open your eyes, Billy,” and he’s kissing the words right into Billy’s mouth.

Billy dares himself. “Steve.” He utters it, a tiny one-word prayer as he sees, that briney water now escaping his eyes and streaming down his temples and Steve must know it’s the first time—probably the first time a boy’s kissed Billy, definitely the first time Billy’s called Steve Steve outloud, and honestly the first time Billy has let go.

Shit, and Steve’s fucking Billy like… like…

“I love you, Billy.”

…like that.

They're staring at each other and Billy’s gonna come. He’s gonna come and he knows that Steve can feel it and so Steve’s then telling Billy he’s gonna come too and yeah. Billy knows that because Billy, he can feel everything.

And Steve, he gets it. What Billy wants. Knows what Billy needs.

So he tells Billy he loves him again. Tells him again and again till Billy is crying and spilling all those old tears, new tears, and his milky come all over the both of them while Steve smiles and groans and comes too, filling Billy up to the brim and right fucking over it with that sweet, sweet love of his.

A little later, when all they can hear are the cricket calls reverberating off the quarry walls and each other's slowing breaths and heartbeats, Steve says, “I know what’s good for you, Bills. Even if you wanna pretend to the both of us that you don’t," and, "It'll be okay," and, "I got you."

Hold me down among the hounds of love.

And yeah. Billy might not be able to say it, not yet, but he knows he's done running.

#harringroveweek #harringrove #harringrove fic #lemons #POV billy hargrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #stranger things #stranger things fic #fanfic #queer fic #queer writer #hounds of love #pbly writes #prettyboy like you

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cyberphuck · 8 months

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I would like to be a young queerboy being aggressively cuddled by a predatory man 15 years my senior please

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frogdaqueerfloof · 3 months

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Clothes dont have gender and all that

But i you gotta admit that if you dont pass as one way or the other, people who think clothes DO have gender will call you whatever gender they think you are regardless of what gender you actually are

Like, I can say that queerboys can wear pretty valentines dresses all they want, but that wont stop the fact that if i were to wear a pretry valentines dress out in public I'd get called a woman

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wayvbrainz · 9 months

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Hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb hi zeb

thank you dean queerboy

#zebs #hashtag dean

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adriccenerii · 2 years

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#throwbacksunday • • Eleven years ago, today…. I had this photo shoot done with the costume of #riskybusiness for my #23rdbirthday • • • That life seems life forever ago.. • • • #gayboy #gaylife🌈 #gay #pridemonth #pridegay #gaymen #gaypride #queerboy #queer #queers #gays #instagay #instaqueer #pride🌈 #pride #loveislove #lovewins #gayparty #gaybirthday #lovewins (at Houston, Texas) https://www.instagram.com/p/CebcnQAuN0W/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

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eulchu · 1 year

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the sexuality convos need to stop no one has enough braincells for it 😭 george and dream are queerboys now everyone shut up

this one is so epic YEAH 😁

#like if we're gonna have a discussion about this at least the other party needs to not be braindead😭#asknootfound

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dadswithipads · 6 months

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Live reacting to Fanboy and Chum Chum episodes.

Fan vs. Wild/ The incredible Shrinking Fanboy.

The smiling. "Nature brings out his inner poet". They have kyle attached to them with a rope lmao. My son Kyle. " if you come across any Bears play dead" -C. " it won't be a stretch" - K. LMAO. Lenny! The waving. " I got a new extending broom" THAT QUOTE IS FOR THE AGES. And then the waving. "This isn't avalanche country, this is a convenience store!" Has been stuck in my head for years. The vent I just-. Fanboy thinks the men's restroom vent smells good? Okay. Wild burritos. Bro. His jaw fell. "Poor dumb kid". This would be so fun. To just find a mini Mountain on top of a convenience store and discover it. Yo. "I would but. Cooties"

Hes gonna eat Kyle? Bro them just being on the roof. Where they can jump off. The display case💀. Aww chum chum. The cough when Kyle shows up💀. "Hi" "Eye!". Oh yeah Fanboy does have a glass eye. THE LASER💀. Wheres Lenny. Ow. Kyle. BRO WHY LENNY ALWAYS GETTING HURT.

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I just heard Chris Chuggy in the intro card...

RAIN! I LOVE RAIN. Nvm. Oh boy. Mmm rubber cheese pizza. Yuck. YALL NEVER BRING UP FANBOY IS WEARING HEELS LIKE??????????? WHAT???? QUEERBOY.

He invented converse heels oh no. Bro Oz. Lmao. Fanboy really is my son. And I love that Chum Chum is really taking charge this episode. Fleshs out the character. My conniving son. I want that clock. Hehehe. In the future. "Pals" alright. In the sink? Yo! Hes just like me fr. Girl-. Wa Wa. She has a..shrine???? The shaking toddlers? Hello??? Awww. His imagination is insane. I'm being reminded of that Victorious episode where Trina got that disease and can't sing on stage and also there's like a pirate wheel for some reason??????? Haha. Fanboy.

#fbacc #live reaction

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thisiscelestial · 11 months

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#boyskissingboys #boysinlove #beautifulhorror #paris #queerboys #vampireboys #vampireboysinparis #vampires #darkacademia

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prettyboy-like-you · 2 years

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BILLY CRIES DURING SEX FIC ANYONE?

Running never made a lick of difference. It would still be there, looming. Biding its time. Always lurking just around the next corner no matter how far he ran. And unlike Billy, it could be patient. So very patient. The longing would always come for him though, no matter where he hid or how many times he ran, it followed. Would hunt him down. For sport, it seemed—Billy Boy Blue, dirty little fag, sweet sixteen and always wanting what you shouldn’t—and so he played the game and he ran. Ran from it even if he wanted it. And oh, Billy wanted it. More than almost anything. Like if he licked his lips he'd be able to taste it on his tongue. Got so bad in the end, that longing, that Billy, he couldn't take it anymore. The emptiness. The nothing. He had to give in to it, couldn't help himself. Billy finally allowed that fucker to find him when it did he realised: there'd never really been a thing as hopeful as choice, not for him. And knowing he'd never had a fair chance at the game, Billy then made sure the fucker took him down fully, absolutely. Consumed him whole. Made sure it fucking choked on him.

That's how he found himself wide open and hiding in plain sight in the not-so-loving arms of those hot, hot Cali nights; shirtless and high and strung out like filthy ripped-denim bunting strewn around the streets of downtown Southgate. In the playparks after sundown. Down dirty alleyways. In the shadows, that's where he’d wait for them. For the men, never other boys. Never anyone his own age. Nobody who would want anything more. No, he'd wait for men almost as desperate as he was, just as his queerboy nature had waited for Billy Boy Blue to succumb to it. And those men—so many men—they always came for Billy.

These days when he hears the siren song Billy answers without so much thought. Call and response. Day-O. And as much as it surprises him maybe it was inevitable, him clinging to this, to being wanted by other guys—to being used, honestly. Used up and spat back out. No receipt. And at once it's dawning on Billy like dead flowers in the morning sun: if ever he'd taken the time to look at it, really look at it, he'd have seen he knew the truth all along.

There is nothing else for him.

Now he's here in Hicksville, Indiana, not-quite eighteen and knowing his garbage existence is spiralling even further down Life-with-a-capital-L's disposal drain. So, the things Billy clings to even tighter than those things he shouldn't want? Pain. Anger. As if they're gonna turn out to be the heroes that'll save his damsel ass from the constant shit-storm hitting the proverbial Fuck-Off fan in this story of his that nobody would want to read. From all of this. From himself.

Billy has always been a coward. Ever since—ever since Her. Since she did the double-up on him and flew the coop. Since she left him behind.

…Harrington doesn’t know any of this though. Nobody does. Nobody will. And nobody should anyways because Billy, he shouldn't be so pathetic. He’s supposed to be sucking it up and shutting the fuck up not mooning over it, being a little pussy while he's getting his boy-pussy railed. And he certainly shouldn't be moaning through this feral fucking need of his like some frilly pink-pantied cheerleader, hell.

Never did know what was good for you, boy.

heed the tags and read the rest HERE

#this is my favourite of my own billy x steve fic #so i'm engaging in a little self-pluggary. as a treat.#harringrove #harringrove fic #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #lemons #fic #fanfic #pbly writes #all-or-nothing-baby #prettyboy like you

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