queerest-monster-luver

[queerest-monster-luver]

:3

Too Sweet

Dbf!Joel Miller x College!Reader

A/n: hey guys so i may or may not take a writing break (i know i said i was gonna write more but like) the stress of all the nazi shits that keep plaguing my comment sections on every post i make, regardless if it’s political or not is making me wanna tear my head off… so I might just go away a while.

Warnings: fluff, awkward mentions of past relationships, dbf!joel, smut, piv (unprotected), so much teasing. It’s actually pretty cute guys.

Is anyone at all surprised by the song choice? Hozier has us all in a headlock rn… also this is dedicated to my favorite joel writer @macfrog bc she’s just amazing and you should read her work.

MASTERLIST

“Babygirl,” he breathed, pulling back but not away, his face still inches from your own. You could clearly see his blown pupils and focused expression. “Get upstairs.” Though you wanted to tease him, wanted to quip back a quiet ‘or what?’, you needed him just as much, and you weren’t going to be told twice. 

“Dates are a bad idea,” you reminded him, handing over another nail from the box in your hands.

A last minute kitchen Island was added to the kitchen’s floor plan on the current house the team had been working on, so now it was up to yourself and Joel to make that happen. Well, it was up to Joel to make that happen, and it was up to you to stand by and watch him. 

“I know, s’just,” he shook his head, hammering the nail down and holding his hand up for another. “I don’t get the whole thing these days where relationships are built on hookups.”

Your lips turned up in a smile. He was an old fashioned guy, with old fashioned ideals about love and dating and relationships. It was sweet, albeit a little obnoxious. You rather liked hooking up with him, however little it may be.

“Where would we even go?” you saw how on the first hit, the nail went crooked, so you handed him another before he even reached. 

“I don’t know, hadn’t thought that far.”

You had to laugh at that. 

“You wanna take me on a date but you don’t know where we would go?” 

“Well,” he finished the last nail then stood up next to you, scratching the back of his neck. “This ain’t exactly an easy situation, we got your old man to avoid.”

Very reasonable, but sort of an obvious point by now. This entire thing started based on the fact that: you know each other because of your father, as in, they are each other’s closest friend. Pair that with one man hooking up with the other’s daughter, it becomes a disaster waiting to happen… except for he doesn’t see it that way, and neither do you. 

You sighed, looking around to make sure everyone was still outside with the boss. Joel had just wiped his forehead on his arm to rid himself of the sweat, and you could see the tension in his muscles from the work he just finished. You stepped up to him and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close enough to peck his lips once. 

“If you can find a place where we won't get caught, then I’d love to go on a date with you.” 

He smiled, kissing you again. He had wanted to tell you he was too sweaty for hugs right now, but as soon as you wrapped yourself around him, those thoughts suddenly left his mind. You just fit so well against him, he wonders how he never realized. 

-

He was even older than you thought. Not actually, but this man had decided on a date location, and as you were pulling in, the things packed into the backseat started to make sense. 

“Drive In movies?” You shouldn’t be surprised, the guy is practically a fossil, he even texts like he's still got a flip phone.

“Your dad’s never taken you here?” He chuckled, pulling into the line at the front. 

“No,” you laughed, leaning back in your seat as the cars ahead moved up. 

“Good, then we won’t run into him.” 

You reached and grabbed his hand over the center console. He always gave two little squeezes before readjusting his grip, rubbing his thumb on the center of your palm. It was sweet, comforting. 

He rolled down his window and paid the attendant in the booth, just a kid, probably still in high-school… but he certainly had an attitude on him, given the nasty glare he served Joel after making eye-contact with you. Joel had never let go of your hand, the kid knew he wasn’t your dad. 

“What’d you tell him, anyway?” He asked, driving off towards the lot on the opposite side of the land. The big screen was not even rolling the trailers yet. 

“Hm?” 

“Your dad,” he seemed almost shy about mentioning your dad in front of you, in this context. How did you lie to him this time? But he knew what he was doing, what he’d been doing and still plans on doing. 

“Told ‘im I was gonna go shopping with a friend, that I may or may not sleep over.”

He raised an eyebrow and smirked, never taking his eyes off the road. He pulled into a spot in the very back corner, where it was likely to remain empty the entire duration of the movie. 

“Oh did you, now?” 

You turned a light shade of pink at admitting to him you wanted to sleep over… not like it was a new occurrence, but you hadn’t really asked him yet. 

“I didn’t tell him for sure, I know Sarah-”

“Sarah’s with Tommy at a concert in Dallas,” he said, unbuckling his seat belt and turning off the engine. “Text your dad, let him know that friend of yours is keepin’ you till tomorrow.”

He got out of the truck, walking around the front to open your door, holding his hand out to help you down. Ever the gentleman. 

“Thank you, kind sir,” you teased, walking around the backseat door and helping him unload the piles of blankets he’d managed to stuff in. The man practically emptied the top shelf of his linen closet for this. 

“Anything for you, M’lady.” 

He ended up taking almost everything into his arms, letting you carry one pillow and a single blanket towards the back of the truck. Normally it was all dusty and gross, proof of the work it helped him do. You wouldn’t even have noticed, because you don’t often pay attention to the state of other people’s truck beds, but he had cleaned the whole thing out, making it look as if he’d just brought it home from the dealership… minus the odds and ends of dents from his toolbox and timber. 

“What’s playin’?” You nodded up to the screen as he took the pillows and blankets, tossing them across the truck bed to make a cozy little area for the two of you. 

“It’s uh…” he reached into his pocket, checking the nightly double stubs. “Jaws and E.T., it’s a Spielberg double feature.”

You don’t remember telling him that Spielberg was your favorite director, but maybe he was just already at that place where he could read your mind… or maybe it was just a coincidence and he thought that the throwback double feature at the drive in would be fun. Either way, he hit the nail right on the head. 

“Sounds good to me.” 

When everything was settled just the way he wanted, he turned to you, his hand out towards the blankets. “After you, darlin.”

You tried to step up on the tailgate, but your foot slipped for how high it was. 

“Want me to give you a toss?” He joked, but you rolled your eyes at him. You would not be acquiring his help after that joke. 

“I’ll be just fine, thank you.” 

It may have been embarrassing, but like hell you were gonna give into him, his chuckles of amusement under his breath as you slowly and steadily climbed up by yourself. It was much harder to grab onto the dip in the bed when there were so many blankets spread out. Eventually you made it up, collapsing onto your back into the mound of bedding. 

“First try,” you raised a fist in the air, looking back to him to see his amusement had not ended and he was smiling wide where he stood, arms crossed and brows raised when your eyes met. “You comin’?”

And as easily as he could walk, he used the ridge along the underside of the tailgate to climb up over on the side, sitting down next to you and giving you a light hearted side eye. “See how easy that was?” 

“Oh yeah, sure. You must be so proud, you’re a pro at climbing into your own truck.”

He laughed, laying back beside you. “Baby, I think anyone looks like a pro compared to you.”

“Maybe I’m just more athletically inclined, wanted to take the long way,” you chided, sitting up onto your elbows and looking over at him. The trailers had started running, and the light was hitting his features so nicely. He looked so nice. You could argue that he always did. At work when he was a sweaty mess, he looked real good then, too.

“I’m sure that’s it.” 

He settled against the pillows, nodding his head upwards for you to join him. He brought you near with open arms, one that settled under your shoulder and the other that settled on your waist. You’d tucked your head under his chin, feeling him rest his head on top of yours. 

You both had fucked around, sure… but this was a little slice of heaven right here. No amount of sneaking around or giving each other temporary pleasure beat the simplicity of laying next to one another, breathing in each other’s air, and being on a date. A real one. It wasn't a hasty exchange built upon needing to get off, but a choice to spend genuine time together, in which you receive nothing but the pleasure of one's company.

You couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date. Joel was right, hookup culture had become too strong in this day and age. It stands to reason that you haven’t actually slept with anyone in a while. You like being asked out, but guys your age don’t exactly want to give you that satisfaction. Joel asked you out. Sure, he fucked you silly on the stretch of his fingers only a week ago… but he still asked you out.

Jaws ended sooner than you thought it would. Back when you were a kid, and afraid of sharks, it seemed much longer of a movie. There was a lull between it and E.T., assuming the kid working in the projection tower had to change out the film roll himself. It made for a sweet and quiet conversation that sparked up as soon as the credits rolled. 

“You bring a lot of girls here?” 

He rolled his eyes and shook his head, even though it was meant as a teasing question. 

“Nah,” he said anyway, turning a bit more to face you. “Usually, I don’t have to hide from my girlfriend’s dads. Not since highschool, anyway.”

You almost didn’t catch it. His use of the word girlfriend, which subtly implied that’s what you were… but you weren’t one to assume, or at least, not with Joel and the risky business of your relationship. You laced your hand with his between your bodies, looking down at his fingers while you did your best to recover the conversation without acting awkward. 

“The more I think about it, I’m not so sure my dad would be angry.”

Joel wished he had the mindset to think that way. 

“You kiddin’ me? If your dad found out I’d been messin with his only daughter, I’d get his shotgun to my head.” 

A laugh escaped your lips, but you shook your head. 

“You’re not just messin with me, though…” 

At least, you hoped he wasn’t. Of all things that could be said about you and Joel, it was that you had already gotten attached. Already been to a place where you miss seeing him at work every day when you go home. Miss talking to him and learning more about his life, and having him listen about yours. There have been so many people in your life who told you that you talk too much, or that you never shut up. But Joel never has. He listens, and he’s happy to. You’d hate to lose that one day and never get it back.

“No,” he lifted your chin so you’d meet his eyes again. “I’m not just messin with ya.”

You held his stare for a moment, neither of you leaned in. It was just a nice moment, to look at one another, and to appreciate what you saw. A moment to see that hey, Joel has little flecks of gold in the brown of his eyes. A little moment for when you get sad that he isn’t around, that way you can remember how he looks at you when he is around. It’s something mixed with longing and contentment. Two opposites that somehow come together on his features and tell you more than his words could ever say. 

“Good,” you finally replied. “In any case, my dad won’t shoot ya. I think he loves you too much.”

He laughed, the low rumble vibrated through his chest, and you felt it against your joined hands.

“You don’t suppose I could woo him over too, huh?” 

“I don’t think your charm would sway him as easily.”

“Oh I got charm, now?”

“No, not really… nice ass, though,” you giggled, and he playfully shoved your arm back, causing you to fall into a fit of laughter on your back. “Just bein’ honest, mister.”

“I see how it is,” he pulled you back in with a swift move of his arm. “Only want me for my body.”

“What can I say? I’m a modern woman in a modern world.”

“S’all the same to me, whatever gets you to agree to a date with me. Still can’t believe you did…” 

He says it half jokingly. You know he doesn’t see himself as desirable. Even though he’s in the prime of his life and is quite literally one of the finest men this town has to offer, he looks at the obstacles. He works too often, has a teenage daughter, he doesn’t look the way he used to, some people find him incredibly boring… but only the worst people. 

“Joel, I'm lucky to be on a date with you.” 

“Yeah, sure… s’not like you ain’t got a hundred guys your age lining up behind me to-”

You kissed him. He was not going to be permitted to speak if he was not going to say nice things about himself, a new rule you were establishing. He didn’t seem to care much for the rest of his sentence after you pulled away, the words slipping from his mind the second your lips touched his. 

“I like you,” you told him, making your intentions very clear to him. You weren’t just messing around, either. “You treat me better than all those shitheads, anyway.”

-

You’d been passing in and out of consciousness on the drive home. You’d been up since the crack of dawn this morning, the neighbor’s dog barking incessantly. You’re sure Joel heard it too, unless of course he’d been laying on his good ear, the bad one would have canceled out all the noise. 

The streetlights go by in waves over your eyes, lids closed lightly after each time they flutter. You were curled so sweetly into the passenger seat of Joel’s truck, finding such comfort in the place. You’d have thought it was where you spent most of your time. His hand was on the edge of your knee the whole drive, rubbing small circles over the area. 

By the time you both had gotten home, you had to scan the yard for signs that your dad may be in the near vicinity. He was usually never home on a Friday night, unless there was a Rangers game or if he had company. It made sense that his car was gone when you both pulled up. 

“You text him, yet?” 

You shook your head, pulling your phone out of your back pocket and completing the task meant for three hours ago. 

“It’s only ten, he might be at the bar, still.”

You didn’t over explain anything in your message, no need to make him question your thoroughness. Just something simple and quick. 

Staying over at Amy’s, I’ll be back before lunch. Drive safe.

But then you immediately deleted the last part. Because how would you know he’s still out? 

Joel had cut the engine, getting out and walking around to meet you at your door, except you’d already opened it and stepped out yourself.

He gave you an unserious look that feigned offense. 

“Hey now,” he settled his hands on his hips, the sass evident in his voice. “We’re still on a date, miss. I’m supposed to get the door.” 

You knew he wasn’t really upset, but you found it funny pretending as if he was.

“Modern woman in a modern world, remember?” 

“Yeah,” he waved you off, shutting your door and taking your hand as you both walked up to the front door. “What all does that entail, anyhow? Bein’ a modern woman?”

You smiled, watching him take his damn time with the keys. He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Well, since achieving the vote, we’ve made quite a bit of ground. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but we’re allowed to work with you guys, now.”

“Ah… how did I miss that?” 

“Weren’t looking hard enough. We also get to wear pants now, so I can see why you’re confused.” 

And once the door was open, he lazily slung an arm around you to let you inside. Ladies first and all that. He didn’t actually respond to your last comment until you were both in the entry hall, door closed. 

“Shame, I kinda like you without pants,” he hovered in close, partially teasing but otherwise just to get his body nearer to yours. The heat between you blossomed, and it could easily be sensed on both sides since leaving the truck. 

“Mister Joel Miller, don't you know the best part of a modern woman?” 

He raised his eyebrows, his head shaking once and eyes rolling over. Just say it already.

“We can ask any man we want to take our pants off.”

There was barely a second between your words and the speed of his lips meeting yours. It was different from the kisses at the drive in, now it was harsh and hungry. A stark contrast to the softness and the serenity. This was clouded by lust, by the human need to devour.

Joel was not gentle by nature. He was often brutish in his work and day to day. There were few people who genuinely saw him gentle. Sarah, Tommy, your dad, and you, his other side neighbors, and Carol, the lady who takes Sarah to school when he can’t. Maybe not in that exact order, but that was the list nonetheless.

You’d always seen him gentle, so the moment he backs you into the door, your back slamming on the painted wood, something stirs. You liked Joel how you knew him… but maybe there was other unexplored territory to delve into. 

“Joel,” you whined out on the end of a breath. His name falling from your mouth was always how he preferred to hear it, but under this context had to be his favorite.

“Baby,” he trailed his kisses to your cheek, then jaw, then neck, resting in the crook of your shoulder and seemingly finding a home there. Your hands dove through his hair, tugging ever so gently and feeling the vibrations on your skin as a repercussion. His hands never found a resting place, running up and down your sides, every few seconds reaching down for a feel of your ass. He seemed to like yours, too. 

When the arousal became too much, you tried your luck at rolling against him. The sound he made alone would have been enough for you to know how badly he wanted you, but the feel of him through his jeans was a physical show of it. He gets hard so fast for you. 

“Babygirl,” he breathed, pulling back but not away, his face still inches from your own. You could clearly see his blown pupils and focused expression. “Get upstairs.”

Though you wanted to tease him, wanted to quip back a quiet ‘or what?’, you needed him just as much, and you weren’t going to be told twice. 

He watched you from behind, taking the stairs two at a time until you reached the top. You nearly tripped over the last stair, but before you could go toppling over, his arm around your waist stopped you dead in your place. 

“So damn clumsy,” he shook his head, the edge of a smirk forming. He tapped your hip with his free hand, getting you to move forward again until you got to his door. “Can’t get in a truck, can’t climb stairs…”

Now that he’d teased you first, you felt you had a small bit of free reign to mess with him. He was still gonna have you, but why make things so boring? You stared at the handle, gripping it, but making no move to twist it and open the door. 

“Doorknob too much for you, too?”

You narrowed your eyes over your shoulder, where he was lingering closely. You could feel him pressed against your backside, the arousal evident in every breath he took, but he was still having fun with his little pokes of annoyance at you.

“I think I remember a rule about your room being off limits…” You trailed, cheekily smiling at him before he reached around you and opened the door himself. He held out his hand with a cocky raised brow, and waited for you to step in. 

“Ladies don’t always have to go first, y’know. S’all part of-”

“Bein’ a modern woman, I know.”

But still you went in first, taking a few steps backward until your knees hit the edge of the bed and caused you to sit. You tilted your head at him, still leaning in the doorway, his hand on the frame above his head and his other hand still steadily on his hip. What’s he waiting for?” 

“I ain’t gonna wait all night, cowboy…” 

He chuckled, shaking his head and slowly coming forward. For someone so eager, he was taking his sweet time. 

“You’re cute,” he gently pushed you back into the mattress, crawling one arm at a time over your form. “But something tells me that you would wait all night.”

He leaned down and met your lips with his, feeling your hands climb from the bed, to his shoulders, then to the sides of his face. He loved the feeling of your hands on him. Loved the way that with each pass of your skin against his, you began to learn the feeling of him as well. With one hand still supporting himself, his other raked down your side, then up over your middle, hugging the curves of your stomach, the stretch of your ribcage, and the gentle peaks of your breasts. He stopped there, paying mindful attention according to every sound you made, every groan of approval, or whimper of satisfaction. It was all he could hear, and became his instruction on how to touch you. 

You wrapped your legs around his hips, pulling him closer between them, trying to spur on the friction that would give you relief. Joel knew the signs of your arousal clearly by now, but there was still ground for him to cover. 

“Gettin’ so needy already, baby.”

His murmur against your mouth was interrupted. You whined at the loss of his lips, but were quieted in a moment when his hands trails downwards. He knelt one knee between your legs, the other still on the ground. He lifted behind your knees and gave a quick shove to drive you further up his mattress. His next move was to go for your shorts, given the fact they’d been causing him to mentally strain himself all evening. 

“Gotta get these damn things off,” he said.

They went flying to the floor, and then he had to stop a minute. With your knees raised, either side of his hips, he had the most ethereal view of your soaked underwear, a dark and increasingly wet stain against the soft blue cotton. When you noticed how long he’d stopped to enjoy the scenery, you grabbed his hand on your knee. 

“Joel, please-”

“I know, babygirl.”

And he didn’t make you beg for it. Not like the silly college boys would, and have in the past. He sunk down on the ground by his bed, leaning over on his elbows, hooking them under your legs again before pulling himself inward. He kissed over the wet fabric, hooking his fingers underneath it at your sides and slowly sliding them off. 

Your hands found his hair and your mouth parted in a shaking breath. The slow contact he made was like sweet torture. Your skin arose goosebumps under his touch, agonizingly slow and increasingly annoying, given your absolute need for him. 

“Need you… Joel I can’t- fuck.”

He kept it slow, but he licked upward, meeting your clit in devastating motions. You needed more, and as if he read your mind, his first finger was brought down and inserted to your seeping entrance. Your cries of approval met her ears like a happy melody, pushing him to go faster. 

You’d already been pushing the edge, just from him touching you… but now that the contact was area specific, you weren’t sure if you could take much more. The hard feeling of him pressed against your earlier had seeded a thought that you would not be satisfied until he was inside you, heavy and full. 

“Want more,” you tried to tell him, but he would not allow his feasting to be cut short. He’d made up his mind about the first time he would actually have sex with you. It wasn’t going to be rushed.

He shook his head, the sensation from the motion even more impacting. You took one hand away from his hair, fisting his sheets as tightly as you could. 

“Gotta work you a little,” he pulled back to say, adding another finger to the mix, feeling you tightly around him. He climbed back up your body, hand never leaving its place between your legs. “Relax for me, yeah?”

You did your best, taking a breath and keeping your eyes trained on his, but they soon fell to his mouth, lips licked clean and the very corners covered with you. It somehow flipped a switch in you that you weren’t sure was good or not. Joel was the first man to go down on you. Joel was the first man to kiss you without immediately putting his tongue in your mouth. Joel was the first man to be so invested in your relationship, that he asked you out on a date… after you messed around. It stands to reason that Joel may be the first man you genuinely fall in love with. Not puppy love like in high school. Not conditional love based on what he can get out of it. Actual love. 

You dawn on this realization quickly, still in the moment and feeling his every move, every grip of his hand or every curl of his fingers. It’s all so instant, and in your present state of mind. Like, every time he moves an inch, it somehow contributes to your relative thought. 

“Joel?” you look up at him with glassed over eyes. 

He pauses his movements below on account of how sincere you sound. 

“Yeah?”

It’s not I love you… not yet. It’s I know you, it’s going to be you.

You reach down between your bodies, his fingers still sheathed in yours, and palm him generously. Without losing eye contact, you undo his jeans, doing your best with one hand to maneuver the waistband of his boxers and pull him from his confinement. You aren’t looking yet… but you know from the feel of his sheer size alone, you’re in for the pain of your life. It bothered you last time, the thought that he may break you on his girth, that you may feel differently or resent him from how he feels… except you don’t feel that way anymore. Because of your aforementioned realization, you now feel that though this may hurt, it would not change your desire for him. He’s not a boy who’s hurting you to get off. He cares about you. 

Not just messin’ around…

“You’ve made me wait long enough,” you told him, the awestruck glaze in your eyes slowly fading as your smirk crawled over your face. You grabbed the hem of his shirt, allowing him to help you get it off. Seeing more of his skin, and feeling it against you when he settled back down was elating. It felt like the doorway to something, the hallway leading to reward. 

“Baby, you’re still tight, I don’t wan-”

“I’ll be okay, I promise.”

He sighed, trying to look anywhere but your eyes because dammit they were convincing. 

“I hurt you, you tell me. Promise that,” he looked at you sternly, and you can’t say you’ve ever seen him so serious like this alone with you. He almost seemed, for lack of a better word, scared. Like you were a flower petal he was afraid to touch for the fear it would fall from the blossom. 

“Promise.”

He nodded, smiling weakly, still unsure but willing to let you lead him blindly. 

He picked you up and put you down on the proper region of the bed, your head meeting the pillows behind you. You giggled at his rapid motions to strip you of your shirt and bra next, his pent up anticipation now getting the better of him. He’d kicked off the last of his remaining clothing, looking back to you, sprawled out on his bed, waiting patiently for him. 

“If we’re gonna do this, we’re doin’ it right,” he joked, crawling back over you. 

He nuzzled his nose against yours, then leaned down to collect a kiss. The kiss met your lips but then parted and moved to your neck, then shoulders, licking the sweet spot in the crook between them. He traveled down your chest, his kisses never stopping, although his hands paid special attention to each peak of raised flesh. 

Your noises fell on grateful ears, the appreciation for them showing in every eager kiss, every soft grope of your skin. When he reached your lower region, he kissed both thighs apart, lifting one at a time and making sure they were set aside his hips comfortably. Once done, he kissed his way back up. Tentative, and slow. Joel is often strong and silent, and in this instance, it showed immensely. The way he can easily move parts of you around without hassle, and do so without uttering a word. It was dangerously addicting, how he already knew your body so intimately after only a few experiences. 

Once his lips again found yours it lasted, and lasted. The feeling of him right against you was breathtaking. No barriers, no clothing, no promises of ‘another time’ between you.

“You let me know, alright?” 

You nodded, his voice had become gentler from his first worrisome words minutes ago. 

He kept his eyes on you, trying to gauge your reaction moment by moment. You wrapped an arm over his shoulder, holding the hairs at the back of his neck to ground yourself. He lined himself up to you and ever so slowly began to push in, holding himself after the first sharp intake of breath through your nose. 

“M’okay,” you said assuringly, the sensation dulling slightly when you focused solely on him and not his actions. 

He went further, and deeper, slower than sludge but making sure you could feel every inch comfortably before moving again. You twirled his hair between your fingers, the other hand digging nails into his side. His face, eyes still focused on your expression, was becoming the product of bliss. This entire exchange, the build up, the stretching pain, and the way your lungs couldn’t seem to exhale, was all worth it… just to see this look on his face. The way he was having to fight himself to stay in the moment and not get lost in the euphoria, it was the most beautiful you’d ever seen him. When he was dazed and confused just by feeling you around him. 

“You gotta breathe, baby,” he let out, trying to keep your comfort in the forefront of his mind. He took a deep inhale of his own, and when he felt you following his steady pattern he was able to relax a little more, just like you did. “Atta girl, just like that… keep doin’ that.”

He started to move, a single thrust once he could be sure that there wasn’t any stiff pain. The only sting left over was fading, the slow and measured pace he set was becoming like a lifeline. Comparable to a heartbeat. In and out, in and out, the feeling becomes more pleasurable and addictive. You need a heartbeat to live, and in this moment, you need Joel to live, his easy and gentle pace. 

“S’good,” you murmured, your eyes fluttering closed and his head dropping to your neck again. “Feels so deep.”

Joel bit down on your skin, tethering himself. The praise was something he wasn’t quite used to. He’s self deprecating to a fault, but hearing the opposite from your lips, which he adores, makes him feel stronger somehow. Keeping a tether is all he can do to keep from rutting against you. He wants so badly for you to be different, to not end up just a one night stand or a friend with benefits. He wants you to feel how much he cares about you, wants to take care of you. 

“Doin’ so good, baby,” he whispered, your neck absorbing most of the sound. “Taking me, so tight.”

Your muscles started contracting the moment he sped up his rhythm, only one thrust that was different from the rest. It hit you so fast, the coil in your stomach, building up and aching for relief. 

“Joel… shit,” You could barely even get your words out, interrupted by a whimper of white hot euphoria. “I’m gonna…”

“I know,” he growled, his desire to rut into you slowly fading as he increased his pace to meet that carnal need. “I feel you, baby. Give it to me.”

It built only a little more, but then you couldn’t take it. It was too much, too full. The tightness in your stomach burst, letting go of every tense muscle in your body. It was so intense you practically screamed for him, his name a repetitive mantra on your tongue. Joel. Your hips jolted and writhed around, the feeling increasing with every hit against your cervix. Joel. Your walls tightened even more around him, the sting only slightly returning but in a way that made you crave it. Joel. He came right after you, unable to even try pulling out, just for how tightly you held him in. Joel…

He dropped half his weight, pulling away from your neck to kiss your lips. He needed to. It didn’t feel right to stay hidden in your neck when he had such gratification for you right now. The way you made him feel was no simple thing, and he felt you needed to be thanked for that. If a kiss was all he could give you in the moment, then so be it.

Joel…

“I’m sorry,” he let out, leaving his forehead against yours. 

“For what?” 

“I came in you… I didn’t ask,” he furrowed his brows, hoping you wouldn’t begrudge him too badly. He’d say he got lucky when you pulled him back down for another kiss. 

“It’s okay… wanted you to,” you were still coming down from your high, possibly the most intense feeling you’ve ever experienced. He smiled and kissed you again, and again. He shifted the way you both laid, on his side, and brought you close to his chest. 

When your breathing went back to normal, you spoke again. 

“I was scared, y’know.”

He looked closely at you, unsure of what you meant and why. 

“I thought you might hurt me. I didn’t care if you did, but I still thought you might,” you told him, running your fingers in circles over his skin. Though you seemed in bliss, perfectly happy, he couldn’t help but be frightened that maybe you weren’t telling him.

“Did I? Hurt you?” 

“No.” you shook your head, holding a smile and making sure he saw it was genuine. “You didn’t hurt me, it was good. Really good. No other guy has ever…” 

He again was confused by the trail of your voice… no guy has ever…? Oh, shit.

“No other guy’s made you come before?” 

The embarrassed blush on your cheeks told him all he needed to know. You weren’t sure why it was so awkward to let him find that out, but you suddenly felt like you were more of a child, having not experienced things that he has for years before. 

“No one before you… and you’ve already got four on the board,” you laughed, trying to make it feel like it wasn’t as big a deal. Like it was funny. 

He narrowed his eyes, raising his head up to look at you closer. 

“Ranger’s night, last week, tonight… that’s three,” he corrected, counting out on three fingers and holding them up. 

“You technically weren’t there the other time,” you smirked, giggling once he looked at you with wide eyes and a dropped jaw. 

“Should’ve called me,” he kissed the tip of your nose, your smile still prominent and growing. “I love hearing you.” 

Over his shoulder you heard his phone buzzing, once, twice, then three times. He huffed, hoping it wasn’t from someone at the work site that wasn’t able to lock up the property after reviewing. 

“Hold on,” he rolled his eyes, turning just far enough to reach his jeans on the ground, pulling his phone from the pocket. He squinted against the harsh light, swiping through the message notifications that appeared when he unlocked the screen. He laughed, turning to you. “S’ your dad.”

“It’s late, I would have thought he was either drunk or asleep by now.”

“Apparently neither,” he slid his phone back on the nightstand, regaining you in his arms. “Wants to know if I’m still awake for a drink.”

You laughed, “Oh, really?” 

“Yeah. Not sure if you’ve heard but, you’re actually at a friend’s house till tomorrow.” 

“How fun for me… so that means a guy’s night for you and my dad?” You played along with him, the sweet tone in your voice turning teasing.

“It would… too bad I’m already asleep.” He reasoned, which is probably what he would repeat to your dad tomorrow if asked. 

“Damn, you old men go to bed early.”

“Hey now… let’s not go crazy.”

-

tags: @justanothersadperson93@moonchild-warrior@hopplessilse @brittmd115 @michilandcof@untamedheart81@just-someone-broken@joelalorian@xybil @yvonneeeee @anoverwhelmingdin@theatrelove3000

#joel the last of us #joel x reader #joel miller age gap #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #dbf! joel miller #dbf!joel miller x reader #dbf!joel #dbf!joel miller #pedro pascal joel miller

[queerest-monster-luver]

@murielsbottombitch thought you needed this

MC: one of the roosters ran up to me, gave me a pebble and did a flirty little dance while making happy noises. Which is the rooster equivalent of a proposal. A truly devastating blow to my boyfriend (Muriel), the man who helped raise him.

Based on this post

#the arcana #muriel arcana #muriel of the kokhuri #the arcana headcanons

[queerest-monster-luver]

How dare you mix my two favorite things ❤️ I have to stalk ur blog now

Fatal Attachments

↳ Should he kill you or keep you?

➛ Pairing: RE6! Leon S. Kennedy x Female! Reader

➛ Rating: Mature

➛ Warnings: Smut, Blood, Knives, Brief mentions of canon character deaths, Just dark themes basically

➛ WC: 33k yes it's a lot smh

➛ Note: Everyone's been making Halloween themed Resident Evil stories lately so I thought I'd jump on the bandwagon too! Even though I may have took the literal sense and formed a Halloween AU and, not gonna lie, not feeling extremely proud of it. It's long yeah but the idea might be a bit over used. I don't know, it is what it is. Hope you like it and Happy Spooky Month! 🎃

Raccoon City was silent and still, safe for the soft whisper of the crisp, cool wind carrying the leaves that allow gravity to claim them in the finality of their life cycle. Coloring the roads and sidewalks in an array of different browns, reds, and oranges. Adding onto the aesthetically pleasing decorations that hung throughout the neighborhood, celebrating the festivities of the spooky season. However, the night that now blanketed the city was calm. No children running up and down the cement paths with their candy buckets, laughing and chattering with excited delight to receive their treats or to show off whatever muse they chose to dress up as. All was quiet.

For the worst reasons.

Like the ripple in a pond when a stone is tossed, the still tranquility is suddenly disturbed by the echoing clap of shoes against pavement. Harshly kicking the leaves up in a frenzy as they rush by, searching for anything that will bring them safety. The owner of the frantic footsteps is breathing heavily with clear exhaustion, while struggling in vain to lock down another sob, yet she knows she can't stop. Even if her lungs burn and bile rises in the back of her throat, even if her legs ache with mountains of fatigue, even if it feels like her heart is about to explode if a break is not given. She can't stop. You cannot stop.

That's exactly what he's counting on.

You don't dare to take a chance and look back, you know the consequences of that action would be very grim. Not like you need to anyway, you know he's still there, just waiting for you to slip up. You swear you still see him out of the corners of your eyes as you scan your surroundings in a feeble attempt to make sure he won't catch you off guard, as that will be your death sentence. His obscured face floats within the darkness like a phantom. An evil spirit. The Devil.

Leon.

It's like he's taunting you, yet he doesn't need to utter a single word. But perhaps the feeling is mutual. History repeats itself- he was so close but you still managed to slip away again after all these years. Which feels like an insult to him, personally. A disgrace on him for you to try and beat him at his own game again. It pisses him off to no end but excites him all at once, for Leon loves a challenge.

You're the only victim who's not just gotten away, back then and now, but has also put up this much of a fight tonight. That's what calls to him, what draws him to you like a great white shark when blood is spilled in open waters. What drives him to continue playing this gruesome game he'll never grow tired of.

You're not getting away this time, he's waited for this moment for too long. Dreamed of it on too many occasions when he was locked away from the world within the confines of that godforsaken hospital. Simply biding his time, letting them get away with adorning his being with their petty shackles they fully believe will save them from his gruesome wrath in the end. Allowing them to poke and prod at him. See what aligns with their research they're so confident in that they'll scream whatever nonsense they want about the 'ailments' he holds. Because of fear.

Because they don't know what he is.

If Leon ever decided to speak, highly unlikely of course, he could almost admit that there's some form of irony in there somewhere. They label him as so many different types of crazy, complete mental disturbance. And yet would still waste their own time and money trying to figure him out. Not even fully understanding what they would gain either, besides some brief recognition perhaps. The stupidity is mind boggling, but he never cared, it was always so funny to watch them try anyway.

Chained down to his chair in his padded cell, hearing but not listening to the white noise of specialists, drawing on and on. Studying him as if he was nothing more than a tiger trapped in a zoo. When behind his blank expression, hidden deep within those cold blue eyes. He was laughing at every single one of them.

Because he knew he'd be free again. Free to finally pick up where he left off. Answer the curious questions he's often wondered. Like, what would your flesh look like up close once he's carved into it? He knows it's soft, easy to give. Easy to scar. Oh how he longs to scar you deeply. Make you his. Obsessed with the idea of knowing what your blood feels like when it finally gets to stain his hands, what it looks like when mixed with your tears. He would bet it's beautiful, something close to poetic even. You were always beautiful, maybe that's where his attachment lies.

You're this perfectly blank canvas for him, the horridly sadistic artist. He wants to break you. Like a pretty porcelain doll just for him. All for him. That thought alone almost pulls the ghost of a smirk onto his hidden lips as he keeps his steady pace not far behind you. Waiting. Until you finally give up, or your body makes you stop. He's not picky.

—

You finally collapse, letting out a shrill cry from where you lay, pitifully shaking like a little bunny, desperate to get away from the starving wolf. You're praying your adrenaline will give you another boost, one last great effort. Your breath comes out shaky and full of fear. Hearing the sound of Leon's boots slowly step off the sidewalk and onto the asphalt. Oh God, he's right there. You have to move now.

MOVE!

Forcing your lungs to take in a large gulp of air, you immediately spring back up and dart for the nearest house. You're certain you hear a small huff escape him, coming out muffled by his mask. Whether out of amusement or annoyance, you don't care. You just want to get away as you leap onto the porch, quickly throw the front door open, then lock yourself inside. Hoping he'll leave you alone now. Though that's only wishful thinking, you know he doesn't work like that.

You sink to the floor where you quietly sob, begging for the world to swallow you up so he can't get you. He got Helena, Ada, Jake and Piers didn't seem like they were going to make it either. You don't have a damn clue where Chris, Claire or Sherry could be. Is anyone looking for you? And if they are, will they just eventually find your corpse?

You don't want to think about it. Instead you force yourself back to your feet to lock down the rest of the house with one priority- keep Leon Kennedy out. Hoping to hold your ground until help comes. If it ever does. You bolt to the living room first, checking all the windows to make sure they're secure, then run to the kitchen next to look for any possible entries you could cut him off from. Along with the back door, that definitely gets blocked.

Once those are checked and dubbed safe, you move back to the front of the house with the intention of heading upstairs to barricade everything up there. Only to freeze dead in your tracks. Unable to make a sound as your heart leaps into your throat just as your stomach drops like a weighted block of ice. The front door you just locked…

Is standing wide open.

The lock clearly busted as if it was nothing more than tinfoil to him. Yet you never heard a sound. A weak cry falls from your lips as you plant your shaking body to a wall while your eyes frantically search around you. He's not in the living room, or the kitchen from what you could see. He's probably watching you right now, when you can't see him at all. That thought alone throws your mind into overdrive.

The door is still open, maybe he couldn't find anything useful to block it before you came back around. You pray for that to be the case, because you know Leon is crafty. Always thinking three steps ahead. But you're so tired, you want to go home, let this nightmare be over with. And with freedom practically staring you in the face, you can't help but take it. So you quickly push yourself away from the wall and race out the front door. To help, safety, some actual hope that the end of this horrific tunnel is finally within sight.

The universe works in such unimaginable ways though, and perhaps someone up there is just really testing you, or doesn't like you at all.

When that hope is stolen from you in the form of Leon's hand suddenly clamping down onto your arm before you're even fully out the door then swiftly tosses you back into the house.

"NO!" A scream rips from your throat as your back meets the hardwood floor. One of anguish and betrayal, then terror when Leon steps inside after you. The holes of his mask bore into you, like staring into the depths of an abyss. Staring straight into Hell. His hand reaches up to shut the door first, then wedges a small decorative table underneath the mangled knob and lock. Forcing your mind into the horrific realization that you did not make a fortress to keep him out.

It's your own prison with him.

Your sobs are pained and terrified as you force your aching body back up to run upstairs, unfortunately you're not quick enough. The burn of sharp steel piercing your outer thigh and slicing along your leg, almost to your knee, has you yelping as you drop again before you could get up the first mahogany step. Your death is looming over you, yet you still don't want to give in.

Picking yourself up enough to run the first few then quickly crawl up the rest to reach the second story. There you try to get back up to your feet, however the large red stain that sticks to your leg and the pain that shoots through it, reminds you of just how difficult that's going to be. Forcing you to resort to hobbling towards a hiding spot instead. Once in the 'safety' of a bedroom closet, you hastily rip off your shirt to wrap it around your thigh to put pressure on the wound. Stop the bleeding or slow it down significantly at most.

After it's tightly wrapped, but still with room for circulation, you focus on trying to calm your breathing and heart rate. Easier said than done, especially when Leon's boots echo throughout the house as he makes his way up the stairs.

Step.

Step.

Step.

He's close by. And after watching your blood drip from his knife, admiring how beautifully crimson it looked in the light, Leon's patience is wearing thin. His prize is so close. Just within his grasp, he wants it now. And he's hellbent to get it. One way or another.

You jolt at the sound of hinges busting off their frame as Leon forces his way into a room down the hall to search it. A quaint little guest bedroom. There's some promise here, maybe you're under the bed, or behind the window's curtains, perhaps the closet even. The man moves fast in swift, long strides to cross the room and pull the curtains away first. Nothing. Given his mask covering his features, as well as his strong rigid stature overall, one would think he's unbothered. However by the way his large hand bears a death grip on the hilt of his blade would suggest quite the opposite.

Leon then turns around to raise his foot and kicks the bed away. You're not there either. So he storms over to the closet and nearly rips the doors off the frame before shoving clothes away. Corner to corner, full of shirts and coats but still no you. A sharp exhale leaves the man as he stomps out to raid the next room then. The bathroom is a rather decent size but still not big enough for you to properly hide in. Not even in the bathtub, he would spot you immediately. He's quick to leave and search the final room.

Which instantly sends your hands flying to your mouth to stifle your uprising panic when the master bedroom door creaks open, oddly calm compared to the first couple of times. Then those God awful slow, calculated steps.

He's in here with you.

Whatever possesses him, whatever he is. Is powerful and sinister enough to send the iciest chills down your spine while you fight to keep your breathing steady and silent. Yet you're still plagued with one scary thought- wondering if he could hear your heartbeat. How it pounds in your ears like thunder, it wouldn't surprise you if he does catch on to the sound. But you don't dare move, only clamping your eyes shut and curling into yourself more as metal scrapes against wood when the bed is shoved away for the monster to peer underneath. Then the curtains, before snapping his head over to look into the little bathroom area on his right. Negative on both. That is…

Until Leon slowly turns his head to stare over his shoulder. At the last spot he hasn't checked yet. Ah, a rookie mistake on his part for not looking there first. Yet also such a classic choice in this twisted game of hide and seek. It was fun listening to you scream again, watching you run once more, fighting for your life that was already within the palm of his hands from the beginning. It's over now. He finally gets his reward.

Not without giving you one last shot though.

That one silent, evil thought resting in his dark consciousness leaves you clueless and beyond afraid when his body casts his ominous shadow over the closet doors as he stalks by. Then silence.

Surely that can't be it. Surely he knows you're in here, is he toying with you? Did he finally get bored? You can't tell anymore. It feels as if you're simply delaying the inevitable at this point. Maybe your life was just meant to end this way. Maybe you just need to make peace with that. Hope it's swift. Even though you don't want that as your fate, then again who really does when met with a situation like this? You're outmatched, with no options. Other than to just brace for it.

Another sob wracks your frame, the dam already broken to let the tears fall. Flowing down your cheeks as you slowly stand up on shaky legs like a newborn fawn and push the closet door open. Of course he's not there, and the door is open. Giving you a clear view back into the brightly lit hallway. You know better.

So, as you mentally write out your final goodbyes to your loved ones, you move towards the door to grab the knob and slam it shut. Revealing the man right behind it. Who doesn't waste a second as he lunges forward to pin you to the wall by your neck. A small grunt escapes before your eyes open to meet a strong chest cladded in dark navy blue. Your gaze then slowly travels upward past broad shoulders until you find yourself peering at that same haunting white facade that stares right back at you.

Honestly, in Leon's mind he feels rather disappointed. He was expecting you to try and make another escape, continue the chase. However, from the looks of it, it seems you're done. Tragic. You're exhausted, body still trembling, quietly sniffling amongst the little silver streams that blanket your face. It's so pathetic. On the other hand, he's pleasantly surprised by your little streak of courage when you stepped to him like that, even though he knew you couldn't do anything to him. Not to mention, the view he's been granted.

Seeing your shirt wrapped around your leg, leaving you in your lace bra that conforms and moves with each quiet, shuddering breath you take- that he allows you to have, for now. It stirs something he can't place at the moment. But it's something that burns hotter when he feels your heart practically beating in his hand as his thumb presses harder into your pretty skin, right onto your pulse point. Amused with how it flutters like a trapped bird.

Even more amusing to see your dainty hands quickly reach up in an attempt to pry him away. At first, Leon's almost tempted to just snap your neck right here, right now. It would be so easy. But that wouldn't be fun for him, not whenever he's finally got you after all this time. He wants to savor this moment. You still haven't changed a bit it seems, matured physically perhaps, but still so weak, soft, and delicate. Like a flower.

Whose petals he's going to rip off until there's nothing left. You're staring rather defiantly at his towering form however. Interesting. There's still a fire in you, even if it's merely a spark. A spark he wasn't expecting would light so suddenly when one of your hands shot away from where he was holding your neck and yanked his mask clean off. You're definitely gonna pay for that...

Now, from where you're standing, you could feel his eyes scanning every inch of you. Meaning it's only fair that if you're gonna be bare then so will he. But you're not sure what you were expecting to see under there. Nor stare at so intently. You never forgot about him, what he used to look like all those years ago. Smaller, slim fit, rather baby faced to where you would've called him 'cute' had he not been so dangerous. A stark contrast to what's before you now. It's rather sick to admit that time was actually very kind to him.

Leon's hair is much longer compared to when he was in his 20s, with the addition of some light stubble that frames his sharp jawline quite nicely. Of course still obviously cut and maintained while he was at the sanitarium. Makes you wonder how the caretakers there were able to do that to him without the risk of their necks being snapped. Unless they always kept him drugged. Should you feel bad? You're not too certain, all you know is that you're strangely tempted to move some of the shiny golden blonde strands that fall over his eyes just slightly. Long, but not enough to obscure those scars you left on him that last Halloween night.

One across his cheek, under his right eye, then another on his left- a long jagged cut going from the bottom of his eyebrow faintly skimming his eyelid and stopping just above his cheekbone. Would've completely blinded him in that eye if he didn't swerve his head away. Both are still intact and staring you down with vicious ferocity. And some other emotions you can't quite put your finger on. Perhaps something else just as sinister if not rage. It's hard to say as his plump, pale rose colored lips remain in a stoic, firm line. Never speaking whatever his gaze is silently wailing. A gaze that's so beautifully blue. Like an ocean, bright and full of color on the surface until you swim down deeper to the depths where nothing but darkness awaits.

It's settling in now, for you and him. What time has done to you both. How much it's changed you. Matured you over the years. Yet something has still chained one to the other.

The notion of predator and prey.

So what happens now? You don't know, you're still wondering why any higher being would make such a handsome, almost angelic, face. Only to bestow it upon the most hellish soul. And why does it sadden you so greatly?

Perhaps you're letting your own emotions speak too loudly now, watching as Leon's head slowly tilts to the side almost confused. You don't look so afraid anymore. That's rather small minded considering he still has the power to cut off your airflow until you stop struggling. Only reason he hasn't yet is because of how your gaze peers at him. And mainly flicker between his eyes and lips. He's not dumb or naive, acutely aware of what that normally leads to. The man has just never really associated those kinds of needs with his carnage seeking ones.

Never let it be said he wasn't ever curious though.

That alone is what drives him forward to smash his lips against yours, stifling your gasp. It's clumsy at first, more teeth than lip, but Leon is quick to catch the rhythm. Having it figured out to the point he forces your head back for him to slip his tongue into your mouth, which pulls a soft whimper from you. You taste so sweet, wherever his tongue goes to claim it's like taking the smallest bite out of a pastry. Or chocolate.

It's so good he doesn't stop himself from biting your lip, making you jolt with a small cry before he starts working his way down your neck once he's removed his hand. It's in his nature to leave marks. And with how every inch of you is so bare, that acts like an open invitation to him, as he hoists you up completely from the floor and traps you between him and the wall. Leaving one bloody bite mark after another. Another small gasp of pain escapes as fear swims in your eyes when Leon presses you closer to him.

'What are you doing?'

'This man has been trying to kill you!'

'He's already killed your friends!'

'And you're making out with him?'

Your head yells, begging for some common sense to enlighten you, as Leon lays another very harsh bite to your skin- this one in the crook of your neck. You flinch and start trying to push him away, until he makes you stop squirming by burying his knife into the wall. Right next to your head. Then that icy stare finds yours again, his brow irked only a fraction. Written clear as day that if he were to speak right now it'd be something along the lines of, 'This is what's keeping you alive. You might as well play along.'

When put like that, and also displayed so eloquently, it would seem that's why there's no common sense here. So you go with it. Letting your hands move down to unclasp and peel your bra away then unbutton your jeans. Once they're out of the way, you glance back up at the blonde man. And would've laughed some at how his eyes shift between your breasts, his expression is unreadable however, either he's looking for the most vital spot to stab you in or he's actually admiring. It's difficult to tell but you would hope for the latter.

Now, suppose someone up there doesn't completely hate you. No tip of a knife gets embedded in your chest, but the bite that's laid to one of your nipples isn't so great either. Of course Leon is still going to be mean. "Ow!" You gasp while lightly pushing on his shoulders, "Easy, you don't have to bite that hard!" Fierce cobalt eyes train on you again, he knows he doesn't have to, but he wants to. What are you gonna do about it? Better change your approach.

"Please?" Begging. That's better, he can work with that. Fine, he'll reward you just this once. A reward that he supposes ended up working in his favor as well. Once he pays attention to the other breast, giving a softer bite and swirls his tongue around your perky bud, your hands suddenly end up in his hair as your head falls back with the softest moan he's ever heard.

Leon has always despised when the caretakers would get too close to his hair or neck, or anywhere around his face for that matter. Too close when they cut his hair, too close when they shove a light in his eye for check ups, too goddamn close when they force another round of medicine down his throat to keep him docile. Keep his mind floating so he can't fight back.

Now you're doing it too. He should break your wrists for that, he could. They're so small. Gentle in the way they card through his locks and lightly tug at his roots, just as your hips grind against his clothed bulge.

He likes it.

So much it spurs the blonde's blood seeking frenzy even more. The little trickles of red from where his teeth punctured your skin just isn't enough for him. That's when Leon's knife gets pulled out of the wall. Making you gasp from the sudden stinging sensation going down your left arm, then another just below your collarbone, and another into your neck. Cuts that aren't deep enough to be fatal but certainly enough to make you bleed. You quickly glance at Leon, finding him abandoning your other breast to stare at your blood as it drips, before bringing his hand up to smear it, watching with hidden delight as it stains your skin. He knew it'd look pretty.

And normally that would be enough to satisfy him, but you've done something. Awoken some new carnal hunger within him that he must feed. One that he's determined to satiate by cutting the rest of your clothes off, and never letting you touch the floor once thanks to his strength, until they're in pieces around his feet. Leaving you completely bare before him. Your petite hands suddenly reach out slowly towards the buttons on his suit, but stop as your eyes trail back up to meet his. "May I?" You ask, voice soft and almost timid. You're asking for his permission.

This is new territory to Leon, he shouldn't be letting you get this close. You should be dead, he should be stabbing you in the heart right now. Breaking your bones. Something. Why are you looking at him like this? Why does it make him feel warm? The thought of your demise at his hands won't even stay in his head anymore as he leans closer until your hands splay against his chest. A silent yes.

A little smile tugs at your lips as you undo the buttons and pull down the zipper until his erection is finally freed from its confinement. That's when your smile turns timid. It's plain to see he's certainly well endowed by just the tip alone, which is beat red and leaking precum like no tomorrow, there's girth to it as well. With a visible vein that runs long. From the head all the way down. How is that going to fit?

While in the midst of trying to figure out this dilemma, you almost miss the tiny huff that escapes Leon. The way it came out, almost sounded like a quiet laugh. Looking back up at him yields even more of a surprise, it's quick to disappear but you could swear you saw his lips were curved. In a very very faint smile. Of course he finds amusement in your worry. But the fact he's maybe capable of other emotions besides rage and bloodlust is surprising, all things considered.

You let curiosity get the better of you then, seeing how he'll react with this- by wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and start moving, making sure to gather the cum on the tip to lube him up easier. Leon's entire body uncharacteristically shudders as his face buries itself in the crook of your neck, drawing out a low hum. The first noise you've ever heard emit from this man, this killer, why did it have to sound so beautiful? It was low, deep, and gravelly as it vibrated against your chest. But still holding a smoothness to it, like taking a swig of bourbon.

The way it shot straight to your core to light it up like liquid fire was just as mind boggling. But it's a good sign to keep going. Listening to his sharp exhale before his teeth quickly clamp down on your neck to stay quiet. Leaving the only sounds to be his hot breath panting against your skin, and the soft squelch as his hips rut into your hand. This shouldn't make you as wet as it does but it's far better than what else he could do to you instead. However, your hand was starting to cramp. To the point you have no choice but to release him. Bad move.

Leon's head is quick to move away from your neck to glare down at you, eyes lit up with fury as he squeezes your supple hips tight to the point you know it'll leave bruises. And that's only a warning. Thankfully, before he could take his knife from the wall and pin you with it, you manage to calm him down. "Here." You speak quietly then maneuver yourself to where he lines up with your entrance. Hoping he understands what you're trying to do, and he does but it was probably better if you did it. The lack of patience in Leon makes him hold onto your hips incredibly tight and push himself all the way inside you in one go.

"W-Wait! Not- AH!" Holy FUCK he's huge. It hurts how quickly he stretches you around him, but there's also an underlying sensation of bliss. Especially when he starts moving, because Leon can't help himself. You feel so tight, so fucking tight around him, and hot. His hips act on a rhythm all their own. He would've gotten lost in it for a moment, until he feels one of your hands move down between him and you. Curious at your action, his sharp eyes glance downward to watch as your fingers rub and caress your little bundle of nerves. And after looking back up at you, Leon sees why. There's new tears running down your cheeks as your face morphs into one of discomfort.

He shouldn't care, but… fine. He could do better than what your dainty little fingers are trying to accomplish anyway. Leon immediately smacks your hand away to replace it with his. His fingers are big, calloused, and so warm against your sensitive rosy pearl. It instantly melts the discomfort away like rain on a hot forge. Making your head fall back and your whole body shudder as you arch off the wall to press against him with a loud moan. "Leon!~"

Damn you. You shouldn't sound like that. Shouldn't be saying his name that way. Damn him too for liking it so much. For letting it spur him on to go faster and bury his cock in you deeper. For wanting to hear you say it again. This is wrong, you both have fallen too deep. His pleasure was always found in terror. Chaos. In watching someone choke on their last shred of life. In painting this whole city red with it's own blood until it drowns. He's a killer. Truly a Godforsaken monster. What have you done to him? For once, he's not certain what to do.

Leon Kennedy.

The Shadow of Raccoon City.

Was truly at a loss. Should he kill you or keep you? He doesn't know, nor can he think on it more when you're pulled so close to him. Feeling your arms and legs wrap around him tight. Listening to the way your moans, soft whimpers, his name fall from your lips into his ear like a song. Subtly letting his eyes cast down to see the way your shared arousals mix and coat your inner thighs. It makes such a pretty mess every time he sinks back into your soft, fluttering walls. You wrap around him too well, it's like he belongs there. It's a problem.

A problem he doesn't know how to solve except by throwing your legs over his shoulders and fuck you harder against the wall. Letting his hot, heavy pants mingle with yours and the lewd sound of wet skin loudly slapping against each other. Drool begins to run down the corner of your mouth, just as your eyes roll in the back of your head when stars cloud your vision. "Ah!~ Leon, wait I- hm! Slow d-own! I'm g-onna cum!" You whimper, trying with all your might to form a coherent sentence.

Luckily he heard you, given how his eyes open to look at you, and lets out a deep growl. The sound takes hold and sends your body shivering beneath him. But was it out of fear? Or excitement? You can't tell. No, is his clear answer though, he's not slowing down. In fact he leans in closer, his lips just barely gracing yours to kiss, and keeps his stare locked on you while his hips move faster.

Your eyebrows crease upward and your mouth falls open with a silent scream of euphoria as you stare back at him, unable to look away. And he loves it. If that word can work there. Seeing how needy you are, so desperate, all because of him. This is his doing. Leon has brought the whole city to its knees tonight, and now has you begging for him. He couldn't be happier, more content, more obsessed than now. You're close, he can feel it. Your pussy hugs him tighter, gushes more. That coil in you is winding up, so close to breaking. Leon wants to see it, see what you look when you fall apart.

It's not long before his silent wish is granted, your grip on his arms clamp down for some kind of leverage. Cries of pure ecstasy fill the room for him when your cloud nine is reached, making you cum hard around his cock. The man never knew how a sight that isn't blood and gore could still be so beautiful. Basking in the view of your pleasure as you squirt and drench him until the lower area of his coveralls are soaked. What a mess you've made. He likes it, maybe a little too much, but it's more than enough to pull him into his own release.

Leon's breath suddenly hitches in his throat, the sensation is unlike anything he's ever felt before. Like his nerve endings lit up with electricity and shot through his whole body. Too good for him to keep a cognitive thought other than to just shove himself as deep into your dripping cunt as he can go and squish you against him more with a low groan. You lightly flinch at his strength when he squeezes you so hard. But you don't really mind, not while hearing that groan in your ear.

Aka another pretty damn sexy sound you wouldn't mind more of. Much like the thick warmth that settles in your lower belly as Leon's hips thrust into you a little more, milking himself until you're fully stuffed with every last drop of his hot seed. There's so much of it that some even leaks out of your spent hole once he finally slows to a stop. Tugging a soft, blissful hum from your lips as you bury your own face in his shoulder, exhausted and content.

But, as the relaxation fades away with the high, the ugly face of reality starts to creep back in. He's still a murderer. The whole city is after him, others are probably trying to find you before he does. You don't like the heaviness that gives you, how conflicted it makes you feel. "I'm gonna die now, aren't I?" You softly ask before your brain could stop you. It's a valid question you have to ask. But you're still shot with a streak of fear when Leon moves his head away for his intimidating gaze to find you again. Making you curl up slightly, shrinking before him.

Fierce blue eyes shift to stare at the knife still stabbed into the wall just inches away from his hand. Leon could pierce your heart right now if he wanted, cut you open like Thanksgiving turkey. That's what his original goal was anyway, what he strived to achieve for so many years. So it angers him now when every time a lethal thought enters his mind of what he should do with you, the rest of his body fights to turn it away. There's a battle being waged within the man.

And you can see it, how the ocean in his eyes abruptly shifts and uproars into a great powerful storm. Then that knife is in his hand again.

Fear races in your veins, making your eyes screw shut, about to scream. A powerful stab through your sternum doesn't come however, instead it's another little sting. Then another. And another.

You count eight altogether until Leon pulls away, letting you open your eyes and peek at what he did. There, below your collarbone close to the area where just beneath your crimson stained skin lies your heart. That suddenly soars and falls all at once. Small cuts, forming letters. Spelling out his possessiveness, his need to make you bleed so pretty for him and remind everyone who's prize you are. That he plans to keep a while longer.

'L S K'.

#leon kennedy #resident evil #resident evil 6 #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy smut #halloween au #why is he so yum

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Extra virgin olive oil implies the idea of nasty slutty olive oil and I’m here for it

#kayden rants

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I need him your honor

hey emo boy

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Oh my for thank you so much I couldn’t find it for the life of me I owe my firstborn child to you

Omg did you write a vampire diluc x Reader where they are like a runaway duchess who ended up at the manor and there’s like games of chess and tension and things oh and diluc is playing the piano I can’t find it 😭😭 I figured either you wrote it or knew who wrote it

Sorry I’m bad at explaining things cause I’m all over the place but yeah

I didn’t write one where there’s a runaway duchess but some of my fics have both chess and piano so I’m not sure 😭

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I’m terrifyingly in love with this

south park x spooky month crossover yasss

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#pyramid head #silent hill #monster fucker #silent hill pyramid head

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Crying

Sobbing if you will

atreus drops one single tear and odin is done

#gow #god of war #god of war ragnarök #kratos #atreus #in love

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This feeds me

Can you do a fic where reader and simon are kidnapped and simon has to watch reader be tortured and creeped on by their kidnapper for information.Happy endibg with them being rescued.Ignore if it makes you uncomfortable :)

Captured In Tandem

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

Content Warning: Torture, Men being creepy, mentions of sexual assault

"I'll give you a choice." He says, cocking the gun. "Shall I put a bullet through you, or her?"

He's been trained to keep his mouth shut, taught himself from enough pain to span a lifetime, but never did he fathom she'd be dragged into it with him. It's unforgivable.

Masterlist, Part 2

A/N: This is literally one of my favourite tropes-

The first thing he registers is the pounding in his head. Squeezing his eyes shut, Ghost claws his way back to consciousness, sluggish mind attempting to click the pieces swimming in his head together into a cohesive narrative.

He was asleep...no, he was unconscious. Why? Ghost doesn't open his eyes for a moment, gathering his bearings. His senses snap to him quickly. The metallic smell of blood, the scent of gunpowder. The hard wood under him...a wooden chair? He exhales sharply, charting the sharp stinging in his side.

Injured.

He can't move his hands, ropes digging into the skin above his gloves. Once he's grasped back his control, steadied his breathing into something calm and acceptable, he takes a second to listen. There's nothing but the steady dripping of what he assumes is water on the floor. A pipe?

He's cold. His hands are freezing and so is his face-

His face?

Ghost's eyes snap open at the realisation.

His mask was gone, ripped off and on the floor by his feet. He's tied to a chair. He doubts he'd have gotten such a warm welcome if he was back at base right now, so where...?

An RPG, he suddenly remembers, a sour taste in the back of his throat. They had been on an OP with Price, the team had been split into two, sent to clear out a building on the outskirts of the city, tasked to meet in the middle.

An unaccounted armed squad had aimed at them with an RPG. Ghost remembers barking out an order to his partner, shoving her roughly out of the way behind a beat up car. The rocket hit the car, igniting the engine causing it to explode, the both of them thrown back against the brick wall behind them and-

Her.

His blood runs cold at the sound of a small groan from in front of him.

Shit.

Slowly, he raises his head and his stomach drops at the sight of her opposite to him in the same state.

Shit. No, this was all wrong. The RPG must have knocked them both out. They'd been captured.

"Fuck, my head." She groans, blinking herself awake. Like him, he can tell she's charting up the extent of her injuries, piecing together the events leading up to their capture.

Price would find them soon. They can't have hauled them too far away under the threat of them waking up mid transportation.

"Sleep well?" He rasps, watching her still, head snapping up to look at him.

"Best I've ever had." She responds dryly, looking him up and down. Her eyes linger on the dried blood staining his shoulder. It's a miracle the both of them ended up as unscathed as they did. Only bruises and scrapes, miraculously. She yanks on her bindings, scowling when they don't budge. Ghost can see the angry red marks around her wrists, the same as his. "We're in for a treat, huh?" She laughs humourlessly, leaning back in her chair. "Don't suppose you keep any knives hidden in your sleeves, L.T?" Half joking. She wouldn't be surprised if he did.

"Can't feel 'em." He grunts. "Must have searched us."

Of course they did.

She shifts in her seat, hating the idea of hands touching and probing at her when she's not awake to bat them away. Ghost would be just as, if not more uncomfortable with the thought, if the angry furrow in his brow is anything to interpret.

Voices. Footsteps. Both of them go rigid in their chairs, eyes snapping to the other. No words are exchanged, but a slight raise of the chin from her. They would not break.

She knows exactly what's to come for them for the next however long it took for their team to retrieve them. She's been through this before, been trained for it, seen it happen, hell she's even participated on being the one not in the chair.

They wouldn't break. The knowledge they have could compromise more than just their current operations. Ghost acknowledges the shaky exhale she lets out, casts her an unreadable look before the door swings open behind him, his eyes turning cold once more.

If she notes the tension in his shoulders, she doesn't mention it.

Three men walk into the room, mumbling under their breath. Russian. A quick glance to confirm the other caught it.

The thing with the both of them is that they worked better together than anybody else in the team. Working in tandem, information exchanged with just a glance, seemingly in tune with every thought and movement of the other. It's why they were almost always paired together.

"Some of the best your the military has to offer, you are.." He smiles, flicking through the file. "It seems I have struck a goldmine." The file snaps shut, is handed off the someone else.

She hopes the motherfucker gets a nasty papercut.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

They come twice a day. Once for him, once for her.

Ghost keeps his mouth shut, isn't surprised when she does as well. The both of them have been trained for situations like this, have both gone through a lot of shit that renders them capable of handling it.

It's her that he hasn't been trained to account for.

Ghost had only jeered at the men that interrogated him. Drenched after being waterboarded, bloody from being cut and beat, he had not given them a single thing to work with, taking what they threw at him with a calm, strong, cool exterior.

It was when they turned to her that he felt that crack.

Every knife turned against her, every crack of her bones, each small sound of pain that left her had an anger he'd never felt before bubble up inside him. Glaring death into the people who lay their hands on her as they questioned her, he stayed silent, unmoving as they put her through the same routine as him.

"Not long before they find us now." She'd said hoarsely after the second day. They'd just left them after being unsuccessful in loosening their tongues. Again. He takes in how her arm bends at a strange angle (He'd never forget the scream that teared out of her throat when they snapped it in half), the cuts dripping blood onto the floor and on her tattered clothes (Each one he'd pay back tenfold, he swears), and the exhaustion lining her face the same way he's sure he looks.

Being unmasked...it makes him more on edge than usual.

It's nothing she'd never seen before. She'd touched his bare face countless times, mumbled promises and declarations they had no business making against his lips at night. It had always been in private, shielded from the eyes of others. Now, out in the open, he was more aware of his reactions than ever before, refusing to let out any reaction except for the occasional grunt of pain.

"They're sure taking their damn time." He spits out.

"Gonna give them an earful when I get back." She cough, watery. Ghost's eyes widen when blood splatters to the floor. "Shit." She breathes, inhaling shakily.

Internal bleeding. A telltale sign.

He yanks against his bindings for the hundredth time. Nothing changes aside from more blood trickling down his torn open skin.

"Don't think about it." He orders. "Look here." When she doesn't listen, just blinking at the blood she coughed up as if in a trance, he repeats himself roughly, drawing her attention.

"Right here. Keep your eyes on me." He commands, and it's all she can do to let instinct take over and listen to his low voice. "That's it, love. Good."

She opens her mouth. Shuts it. Swallows dryly and tries again. "If I-"

"Shut up."

"Ghost." She says weakly, "It's a possibility, and if-"

"I told you to shut up." He hisses, fixing her with a glare.

She was in a much worse state than him. Far bloodier. They were rougher with her, thinking she'd be the first one to break, to concede under pain and answer their questions.

Safehouses, plans, locations, inner workings. The intel they stole a month ago. They wanted to know answers that neither of them would ever give them.

The door swings open. The man from the first day walks in, in crisp clothes, wrinkling his nose and the sight of them.

The sight makes Ghost pause. He was in charge here, clearly. This kind of work wasn't normally put on people like that, which meant that things were getting serious. Something had sparked urgency in them if they were seeing this guy. Something had changed.

The 141.

As if on cue, there's the distant sound of gunfire, and the building trembles slightly, dust cracking down from the ceiling. It's ignored by the man completely.

"Admirable, you are." He addresses them. "But I'm afraid there's not time for a soldier's pride during war." They stiffen when he pulls out a revolver from his pocket, clicking open the empty chamber. "I require answers. Call it compensation for what was stolen from me. I don't think you understand that I will get my way in the end. By whatever means necessary."

A single bullet. Loaded into the chamber. Ghost follows the movement with his eyes.

"I'll give you a final chance to be cooperative before I give you a choice." The Russian says evenly, looking at them both in turn.

"Go to hell." Ghost drawls. In his bloodied, beaten state, weak from blood loss and in a disarray from being tortured, he seems to look even more intimidating than usual.

The man sighs deeply. He clicks the chamber shut.

He aims at her and fires.

She barely has the chance to tense before a click fills the room. Nothing. It's when he turns the gun to Ghost that her breath catches in her throat, panic clawing it's way up and through her veins.

Ghost does not flinch. Does not wince or react, merely holds her gaze calmly, in that reassuring steady way he always has.

Click. Nothing.

He continues moving back and forth between them until there's only one chamber left. An undeniable bullet inside. The man turns to Ghost, a smile on his face.

"The choice you have, my friend, is which one of you I put this bullet through."

Ghost visibly stiffens in his chair, fixes him with a scathing stare.

"If you refuse to answer, I have no issue shooting you both." He says evenly, weighing the revolver in his hands. "So who will it be? You, or your lady?" He points the gun back and forth, her heart in her throat.

Me. She thinks. Pick me. The thought of him taking that bullet when there's a choice for her to instead makes her sick.

But it's Ghost. And he's selfless in the most annoying of ways.

"Me." He says tightly, the words forced out and full of venom.

The Russian grins, pleased, raising the gun. She's about to yell at him, tell him to shoot her instead-

She doesn't have to.

The gun turns to her, fires, and pain explodes in her right thigh, wrenching out a scream from between her clenched teeth as she doubles over. Her vision goes black for a second and she can't breathe.

Yelling. There's yelling over the ringing in her ears. Ghost shouts profanities at the man, threats and growls as his chair scrapes against the floor at his attempts to get loose.

He breaks.

The Russian simply laughs, tucking his gun away.

Where the fuck were they? Where were the others? The team? They were close, that much was obvious, so why the fuck weren't they here yet, then?

She gasps when her head is wretched back painfully by her hair, pain thrumming through her like sharp needles as she's forced to straighten up. It hurts, fuck, it hurts worse accompanied with every other goddamn thing wrong with her right now.

"You just couldn't seem to stop looking at her. I thought It'd be more of an incentive to loosen your tongue." He chuckles at Ghost's fury.

"They won't find your body." He hisses, low and threatening, eyes wild. "I'll make sure you're in so many pieces you-"

"I understand why, though." He continues on like Ghost isn't threatening great bodily harm on him. "She's quite the beaty isn't she? Even under all that gore...so easy on the eyes."

She had taken beating after beating. Cracked ribs, cuts and bruises, waterboarding and being prodded with a hot poker, but this? The lecherous way he looks her up and down, yanks he head back farther to expose her neck? It makes her blood run cold, her heart stop.

His breath fans across her face, acrid and disgusting. A choked sob tears out of her lips when his hand trails up her body, grabbing and yanking and pulling in places he has no right to touch. Her head spins from the bullet wound and the pain, and it takes a lot to gather her thoughts.

"Motherfucker-" Ghost snarls.

"I know you're bad at sharing but you wouldn't mind if I had a taste, would you?" He croons at Ghost, who jolts in his chair, pulling at his bleeding broken skin to get loose. "Not that you can do much but watch." He laughs.

This, she would not let happen. She would not let him take something that was hers and hers alone to give to whomever she decided. When he leans down farther, she gathers all her remaining strength and rears her head back, smashing it into his nose.

The satisfying crunch of bone and yell of pain makes it all worth it, draws a smile from her, even if his blood splatters the side of her face.

"Bitch." He spits out. A hand cracks across her face so hard black spots float over her vision. She cries out as it jostles her leg, her broken arm, all her cuts and and he ribs. Before she can gather her bearings, a searing pain pierces through her side, the Russian's knife driving straight into her flesh. She can't help the choked scream that leaves her, hears the way Ghost shouts, his struggling intensifying.

He wretches her out of the chair, shoves her to the floor. Tears track down her bloodied cheeks, not out of fear, but out of pure pain and anger. Disgust, pain and rage is what she feels when the Russian straddles her hips, keeping a hand on her broken arm to keep her down. His other one wraps around her neck, squeezing roughly to cut off her air.

"Answer my questions." He seethes at Ghost. "Your safehouses, the intel you fucking stole from us. Where are they!? Tell me or you'll see this pretty thing die." As if to prove his point, he squeezes harder, making her choke.

Ghost spits out threats that would make any normal man quiver. He would rip this man apart. Rip into him slowly with all his knives, prolong it as much as he could. Days, maybe even weeks. He deserved to die by his hands for what he's done to her, for touching someone so wholly and utterly his. Every single cut he'd return tenfold, twice as deep.

Part of her wants to succumb to the darkness edging her vision, but she's afraid if she does she might never wake up. She couldn't die. Not here, not like this. Ghost...Simon would blame himself, she knows it. He'd replay it over and over again, wonder if he could have done anything to prevent it.

"Get the fuck off of her!" He seethes. Seeing her under him, red in the face and bleeding, dying makes panic tear through him, a horrible desperate feeling he can't help but succumb to. She wasn't going to die, he wouldn't allow it.

Not her. Not her. Anyone but her. Take me instead.

The world was fucking cruel.

The past year had been the best of his life. The lightest, the most at peace he'd ever felt. Loving her came easily, naturally. Something he couldn't help even when he tried to push her away.

Her eyes catch Ghost's. His are desperate and frantic in a way she's never seen before. That...that was panic. But that couldn't be right because Ghost? He didn't panic. He planned and adapted, got angry and was calm. Panicking? She'd never seen it before.

Fuck. She wasn't going to die. She...was, wasn't she? Already, her vision was slipping away, her hearing going muffled. No. No, this isn't it. Not here, not like this.

If she died, Simon might, as well, and she loved him to much to leave him in a situation like this.

Clenching her jaw, she blindly reaches her bound hands to her side. When her fingers brush against the hilt of the dagger inside her flesh, she pauses.

It was the only thing keeping her from bleeding out faster than her bullet wound was already doing...

She yanks it out with all the strength she has left, slams it into the throat of the man above her. He's too busy with Ghost to chart her up as a threat. The way his eyes bug out of his head as he releases her throat in favour of clutching his own has a sob ripping through her mangled throat as she gasps in greedy gulps of air.

She shoves the man off her and in movements wild and jerky, climbs on top of him switching their positions. Ripping the knife out of his throat, she yells a broken shout as she brings it down over his chest. Then his shoulder, his neck. His chest. Over and over again, tears blurring her vision, adrenaline making her shaky, she drives the knife into him again and again thinking about nothing but killing him, taking his life so he couldn't take theirs, so she could feel her skin stop itching from the way she was touched.

"-dead, he's dead!" A voice floats to her, far, far away.

A name...her name. Her movements slow down as she recognises Ghost's voice calling out at her. Confused, disorientated, she glances over her shoulder, pausing, chest heaving.

"You're alright, sweetheart." He says, his eyes a fraction wider than usual. "Here, look at me. Right here, love." He waits till she drags her gaze up. "He's dead. It's enough."

Enough.

The word cracks something in her, the knife clattering onto the stone floor and she looks down at the bloody, unrecognisable mess under her. Scrambling off of him, she leans over and vomits up bile; acrid and burning her throat as it comes out. A strangled sob leaves her as she finishes, realising the sheer amount of blood on her. Her hand shakily goes to her side, comes back bloody in a way that makes her head spin.

"Grab the knife." Ghost urges, looking ready to try to snap the chair under him himself to reach her. "Can you do that for me? Pass me that knife." When she doesn't respond the way he wants, Ghost takes in a shaky breath and repeats himself, voice hard.

"Sergeant. The knife." He commands, low and deep and urgent.

Still a soldier despite her trembling, her body reacts to the order automatically, head clearing. Swallowing, she moves slowly, agonisingly to reach the knife.

"You're doing good." Ghost praises when she drops the knife for the second time from her shaky fingers. "Bring it here."

The moment the knife reaches his fingertips, he cuts through his bonds, kneeling in front of her, cutting hers off too. "I've got you." He murmurs, pulling her close, laying her over his lap as gently as he can as he looks over her. He doesn't really need to, it's more instinct to do so. Ghost was watching her the entire time. He knows the location of every single one of her injuries.

Swearing under his breath, he leans over, roughly rips part of the dead man's shirt off, bunching it up and pressing it against each of her two wounds. She whimpers, a strangled sound that makes him clench his jaw in rage and worry.

"I know it hurts." He consoles her while he secures another part of the shirt around the wounds. "You did well, it's over now." Mindless talk. He just needed to keep her awake.

Her hand closes over his, stilling him as he ties the final knot.

"'m sorry." She breaths, shallow and short. "Can't...Just go." She shoves weakly at his shoulder, and the incredulous, angry look Simon gives her would have been funny if everything wasn't on fire inside her.

"I'm not fucking leaving you, you dolt." He snaps, slowly pulling her up so she's sitting. The way she bites her lip hard to keep in the whine of pain doesn't escape him. "Easy." He says, supporting her despite his own screaming ribs. His left leg was mangled up, ankle dislocated so Ghost doubts he'd be walking with her out of here.

It was too risky. They could run into someone armed, and at such a disadvantage...no, it was better to stay here and wait for the others to show up.

Her eyes flutter, panic slams into him.

"None of that." He demands, prodding her forehead to make her focus. "Keep those pretty eyes on me, love."

A small huff from her that might have been a laugh sends her into a harsh coughing fit. "'m trying Simon." She whispers, words slur.

"Try harder." He squeezes her closer to him, keeping an ear out for footsteps.

"So hard to please." Barely a whisper. "You...you're okay?"

"Christ, woman," he huffs, leaning down to press his lips against her bloody forehead. "I'm better off than you."

A slight smile, her eyes fluttering shut. The loose grip she'd had on Ghost's vest slackens. His bloods turns to ice.

"Hey." He tries, calls out her name. "Hey!" He yells it this time, shakes her gently. Then rougher when she doesn't wake up, breath stuck in his throat. No. No, she was still breathing, he chest rising and falling in shallow breaths.

This wouldn't work. Ghost steels himself and stands up, gritting his teeth at the pain that radiates up his leg into his whole body. Ignoring it, he hauls her up in his arms, stumbles slightly.

Staying here wasn't an option anymore, not when she was unconscious, not when the small puffs of breath against his neck could stop at any moment, not when he could lose her.

Gripping onto the small bloody knife, he limps towards the door, pushes it open without hesitation.

He'd walk for a mile like this if it meant he'd get to hear her laugh again. Fuck his own injures, her wellbeing was more important. Ghost moves the knife between his teeth, bone clacking against metal, metallic blood on his tongue. Hiking her up more securely, he starts down the hall, intending to find his team before they found him.

He'd die before he ever let her bleed out on his watch.

                               · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

Her hearing comes to her first. Muffled, but still present. Under the dark haze of sleep, she hears muffled noises. The steady beeping of a machine, the rustling of bedsheets nearby. A voice talking int he distance, something she's unable to make out.

It takes too much out of her. Her mind is sluggish, thinking is hard, so sinking back into the arms of whatever is pulling her down is easier. Painless.

The second time her sense of touch returns.

Someone's holding her hand. Rough, calloused fingers, running up and down her palm, soothing gestures than accompany the beeping that she realises is a heart monitor. The familiar pressure, the roughness of those hands, the soothing movements...it lulls her back to sleep almost immediately.

The third time is quick.

Her sight returns last, One moment she's seeing darkness, the next she's blinking up at white florescent lights, the clean scent of hospital waking her up. What...?

Pushing herself up, a gasp tears out of her throat when she finds herself unable to move. Blinking and looking down, she swallows as she sees herself.

Covered in bandages, a cast around her arm. Heavy wrapping around her thigh and chest. All of her is stiff and achy. It all comes back to her in a rush.

The chair. The ropes. The bullets and beatings.

The blood.

Her stomach lurches at the memories. Simon? Where was Simon? He made it out, right? What if-

Her mind immediately settles down when she spots him. Ghost lays on the hospital bed next to hers, eyes shut, chest steadily rising up and down. Relief slams into her so hard tears prick her eyes. They made it out. Both of them. For a moment she thought...

The need to be near him, to touch him, to make sure he's real wins over her desire to stay put and ward of any discomfort. Her second attempt at moving is successful, only because of the strong pain meds dulling the edge of pain she's feeling.

Slowly, she pulls herself to the edge of the hospital bed, gingerly lowering herself onto the ground. She gasps when her leg protests, the one she was shot in. Testing her weight, she glances desperately at Simon, still sleeping. She needed him, needed to touch him, to feel him under her hands, solid and real.

She uses the walls to support her, shuffling over until she's in front of his bed. After taking a moment to gather herself and breathe, she reaches out with a shaky hand, places it on his cheek. Her throat closes at the feeling of his warm skin.

Ghost being Ghost wakes up instantly at the touch. Eyes snapping open, instantly alert even when just waking up.

Relief fills his face, something so powerful it makes a small sound push past her lips, a few tears slipping down her cheeks. "You're okay." She whispers, hoarse from not talking.

"You shouldn't be up." He responds, propping himself up with a wince she doesn't miss. He frowns at the way she trembles, looking her up and down slowly.

"I just..." She brings a hand up to wipe off her tears. "Sorry if I woke you." A watery chuckle. "Just needed to make sure, you know?"

"I do." He admits. Ghost's hand slips up her uninjured arm, guiding her onto the bed with him until she's laying down. A long, shaky exhale pushes itself out of her as she lays her head on his chest, hearing his heartbeat, quicker than usual but still steady soothes her instantly. He was familiar, the dips in his body, the hard muscle and those arms. It was so achingly familiar she wanted to cry.

Having her here, having her in her arms and holding her...it was almost too much to bear. Ghost had never felt relief like this.

11 days.

11 days she hadn't woken up, each one made him more irritable, restless, snappy. He was ordered to stay in bed, but he got out of it every night to sit next to her, holding her hand, just silently watching over her. 11 days was plenty of time for him to think, to run through everything he did to figure out a way he could have prevented this.

It was plenty of time to realise that he'd never take her for granted, even if there was a gun to his head.

He'd carried her all the way out of the building until he'd spotted Gaz. The poor bloke had done a double take at them, shouted something frantically in his comms and ran at them.

Ghost had forced himself to stay awake as the others arrived, forced himself to make sure she got the care she needed, sat awake with the the entire time on the heli, until they got to the hospital. Only then had he let himself get checked over and crashed hard, exhausted in a way that ran deep into his bones.

"I'm glad you're okay." He says quietly into her hair, strong arms pulling her close, their bodies intertwined.

"Are you sure this is okay?" She asks, though the way she sinks into him says she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon. "Don't want to accidently hurt you or reopen anything."

"You're worse off than me, I think I should be the one worrying about that." He responds, rubbing small circles on her waist. Soothing. Calming.

"I'll always worry." She mumbles against his chest, already feeling sleep pulling her in.

"Your downfall." He huffs, pressing his lips to her forehead for a long moment. "Thought I lost you." The admission is something vulnerable, real. Painful.

"Rather me than you." She responds, eyes slipping shut.

"Say that again and see where it lands you." He grumbles, arms tightening around her. Being as helpless as he was in that situation wasn't something he'd ever forget. Having to sit there, watch those bastards touch her, hurt her, forcing himself to look impassive and cold. Unreacting.

It had been a worse torture than any of their knives.

The second he was cleared to leave the medbay, he was going on a nice little trip back. He'd retrace his steps, get Price to get him the name of every. Single. Motherfucker that had been in the building that day.

Every single one would meet a fate worse than death itself could present them with.

They'd pray for the reaper before Ghost was done with them. He'd make them beg, draw out every single scrape they left on her until they begged to be spared. Only then would Ghost let them bleed out, nice and slow. Maybe he'd even do it one at a time, make the others watch.

They're dark thoughts, but the fury that had been boiling inside him for the past two weeks needed to an outlet, and what better place than the very bastards that had dared to lay their hands on her? The thought pacifies him for now.

He's assured his revenge, but she's more important than anything like that could ever be to him.

"I'm sorry I scared you. You can't get rid of me that easy, though. Thought you knew that by now." Completely unfazed by his threat.

"I wouldn't want to." He assures her, rolling his eyes. "It'd be a bloody shame to lose someone like you, love."

It makes her smile against him, tucking her head into the crook of his neck. Safe. She was safe here.

It doesn't take long before she's drifted off again, securely in his arms.

Requests Are Open! Reblog, Like and Comment!

Part 2

(09/07/2023)

#x reader #cod mw22 #modern warfare fanfiction #fanfiction #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #ghost modern warfare

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Oh my godd??????

I can never find 100% complete one shots of Blue Eyed samurai that really suit my preferences but oh my god this one is perfect

And the connection and neejejekekdnfnn you just got a new follow this makes me so happy pls never stop writing for Blue Eyed Samurai

“In This Life, and the Next. I Swear.”

Happy Holidays, have a bittersweet reincarnation fic.

Summary: Mizu may not believe in reincarnation, but you do. You'll believe in it enough for both of you. You may not be strong, but your soul is. You'll carry her to a better lifetime.

Content Warnings: Did your really think no one would die in a reincarnation fic? Hmmm?

“Next lifetime, you have to court me,” you murmur into Mizu’s neck as her fingers trace along the bare skin of your back where you lie atop her. “None of this... stoic loner act where I have to wear you down into letting me love you. Yeah?”

Mizu snorts, her other hand resting over her eyes. “Not on your life.”

Making an offended noise, you bite her collarbone in retaliation, hearing her laughter fill the inn room.

“When we come back, I want our lives to be simple,” you say as Mizu helps you down from the horse you borrowed on your escape from the last town.

Resisting the urge to let a sigh slip at this fantasy coming back up again, she mutters, “Yeah? You’d prefer to have a boring life, after you basically attached yourself to me and Ringo to escape your home?”

“Well yeah, I’m getting all of my adventuring done in this life cycle.”

“And you don’t want that again?” Mizu starts to lead the horse toward the outer skirts of the city, hoping to find a stable to leave it without being spotted.

You walk alongside her, studying her passive expression. “I do." A beat. "But I want you to have peace more.”

Her eyes dart to you, genuinely caught off guard. The openness, the honesty in your face has a bubble of overwhelming emotion welling up in her chest.

Her head turns back to the road, retreating into her silence to avoid speaking and risking her voice betraying her.

But after a few minutes of her staring off into the distance, she quietly says with a softened brow, “That’s kind.”

‘Do you regret choosing this life, knowing how quickly it will all end? Or did you walk into it blindly, optimistic for some happier resolution?’

Mizu jerks you up into her arms, apologizing frantically over and over as you scream in pain when she applies pressure to the stab wound deep in your stomach. She tenses her grip as your body tries to seize and jerk away from the splitting, hot pain radiating through your nerves from pressure on the gash. You’re too scared to look down and see your own insides peeling away from each other.

Taigen and Ringo are fending off the last few bounty hunters, the clashing of swords and knives fading into the background as you dig your bloodied fingers into her haori. “Come find-find me again,” you say with frantic eyes, swallowing back another mouthful of metallic blood forcing its way up your burning throat.

“What?!” Mizu’s attention is torn between keeping an eye on her back and wrapping a torque around your middle from the fabric she torn off your kosode.

You grab her face, leaving a bloody streak on her cheek as you force her to look at you. Her widened blue eyes are forced to look into yours with no barrier, her glasses lost somewhere in the snow from the fight. You can feel how fast your body is losing warmth. The edges of your vision are blurring, and the draw to fall asleep is growing more powerful than the burning gap in your stomach. Mizu may not know how to die, but you-

‘I’m so sorry, my love. I’m so, so sorry.’

You need her to hear you before everything stops. So you grip her cheek and stare into her panic-stricken eyes. You’re scared too, but you’re more scared of coming back to this world and not seeing her again than you are of not coming back at all.

“Come find me again.”

Mizu hates the concept of promises, and the bigger and more impossible they sound the more she avoids them. But you nose is turning pink from the cold, or from your crying. Tears are trailing down the sides of your temples, cutting through any blood stains across your face.

And she hates promises.

Tears well in her own eyes as she clenches her teeth against a violent sob.

But she hates denying you proof that she loves you more. If you pass without it… if you die with the last words in your ears being 'I can't'…

Every whisper and cry of “Onryō” she’s ever heard echo louder and louder in her head until they're all scream chanting in unison. She blinks, and for a heart-freezing moment your terrified eyes turn her shade of blue.

“Onryō!”

“ONRYŌ!”

"𝔬n҉𝔯y҉𝔬o҉𝔫r҉𝔶o҉𝔬n҉𝔯y҉𝔬o҉𝔫r҉𝔶o҉𝔬n҉𝔯y҉𝔬-"

Her hand lifts away from the rapidly growing stain of blood coming through the makeshift torque across your abdomen and settles on your cheek.

She forces the corners of her mouth up into a reassuring smile as her own body trembles.

“Okay,” her voice wavers as she blinks out tears. “I’ll come find you.” Her voice is like a child making their first vow. “I’ll, I’ll come find you again.”

You smile weakly, and despite her own forced one, her eyes fill with terror for just a moment at the blood staining your teeth.

You reach up and tug her hair out of its high bun, watching it tumble around her shoulders.

You need your soul to memorize what she looks like when she’s not hiding. For next time.

Your own smile wavers. “You have to. I won’t… I won’t forgive you if you don’t.”

The fragile look on her face crumples into despair. Mizu leans her temple against yours as the sobs overtake her, her long hair draping over both of your faces and blocking out the world. “I will. I will I will I will I will I-“

Her fractured voice fades away, and your vision swims.

But your soul is at peace.

‘It's your turn, Mizu.’

‘I ended up burying you with as many red spider lilies I could scavenge. They’ll help guide you to the next life. I made Ri( ) swear to bury me next to you with just as many. If he’s around to collect my corpse when I go. If anyone is. ( )I used to not care if anyone did, as long as I finished my mission. But now I’m terrified something happens and I can’t keep my promise.

I’m sorry. I miss you. I’m sorry I made a promise that’s out of my hands.

( )

I’m sorry.’

You stare down at the spread of papers and antique diaries written in kanji. You’re trying to organize them by chronological order based on context from the letters and diaries, but it’s becoming increasingly difficult as you go. Especially with words smudged and faded by centuries of time. You rub your eye behind your glasses.

‘She really is making this hard for me.’ You sigh through your nose as you bite down on the end of your pen.

“Excuse me?”

“Hm?” You glance to your side, surprised to be pulled from your work and come face to face with probably the most gorgeous woman you’ve ever seen. “Hello?”

“Sorry,” she smiles, lowering her head to pull her tinted glasses off. “I just saw you over here and uh-“ her expression goes a little strained as she looks for the right words. “I just, uh-”

You glance between her and the spread of antique writing from the archives. “Are you the person that checked these out last? Do you need them back?”

“No. I just-" She makes a face. Whatever she planned to say when she came over was quickly unraveling. Her eyes dart away, and land on the diaries. Her eyebrows furrow slowly, something flickering in her blue eyes.

Very pretty eyes…

She jerks her chin down at the spread of papers. “What is that?”

A little thrown off at the changes in conversation, you pick up one of the diaries. “Um, this is work for my master thesis. I’m studying unknown woman and queer history of Edo Japan.” Your fingers drum over the cover. “Came across this treasure when going through the archives. It’s a bunch of writing from a rogue swordsman to his lover after her death. But in my review of it, I’m positive I can prove that he was actually a woman,” you grin a little with pride, shifting your weight side to side with delight at getting to discuss your research.

“Lesbian samurai,” she laughs lowly, eyes warm.

“Something like that,” the corners of your lips lift up.

“Well that’s really fascinating,” her fingers trail across the edge of the table as she steps closer. “I’d love to hear more about it. Maybe… over dinner?” The corner of her mouth grimaces for a moment, her eye twitching once with frustratation at herself with that cheesy delivery.

Your lips part, eyes widening with a breathless little “Oh.”

The woman gains confidence from how your eyes light up behind your glasses as you flush. Her hand squeezes her shoulder, a nervous tic. “I’m sorry. I saw your over here and had to give it a shot.”

“No, I’m glad you did,” you’re quick to reassure her. You look up at her with bright eyes as you dig through your backpack for notebook paper.

“I wouldn’t have forgiven you if you didn’t.”

A tilt of her lips, her hand outstretched. “Mizu.”

You introduce yourself.

You hold out the pen and paper to get her number, and she asks as she leans over to scribble it out on the table, “Anything good in those letters?”

“Most of it’s pretty grief heavy,” you smile sadly. “But in a poetic and romantic way? Like, even though her love was gone, probably pretty young, she kept her memory alive as she fought through life.”

Mizu glances up at you, and something tightens in your throat and sinks into your stomach. You don’t know why you admit quietly, “The first time I read them I started crying in the archive room.”

A beat, where you feel dread creep up your neck at suddenly tanking the mood.

Her face grows impassive, deadly quiet for a moment.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

You quickly blink back tears that come on alarmingly fast. “What?”

Mizu blinks too, straightening up. “Just, sorry that it made you sad. I guess.” She smiles again, albeit a little smaller this time, and hands over the paper. “I guess I’ll see you? Hopefully soon?”

A soft laugh huffs out your nose as that melancholic moment passes. “Yeah,” your hand brushes against the inside of her palm as you take the paper. “Really soon.”

She leaves you with a satisfied grin, her nose scrunching up as she turns and walks off.

You watch her go, feeling something tighten in your stomach again at how relaxed she looks.

You look down at her number, and see that she slyly signed it with the kanji for “Promise”.

As you begin to organize the letters to skim through them again, your hesitate on the one you had just been reviewing. You hold it and the notebook paper up side by side.

The letter unfolds and a single, dried, book pressed red spider lily flutters to your feet.

Mizu perfectly copied the handwriting of the swordswoman’s kanji.

“Huh.”

#mizu x reader #blue eye samurai x reader #modern mizu #mizu #omg they were roommates #in love

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I’m back!! With more!!

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I think that’s all from recently;until next time!!

Hey whats it like being the best authors ever and making my life worth living through to see another day with your comforting work

@theawfuledges

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Holly shit thaaats at more pople than i thought it would b but yeah all of you mam my day when you guys post

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i think the ideal relationship is a poly one with a werewolf, orc, and a vampire that way the vampire keeps you cold during the summer and the werewolf hot during the winter and the orc just cums in you daily

#i had to #i’m sorry #but it’s just too perfect

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I am eating this part

Words: 3,704 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Fem!Reader Reader pronouns: she/her Era: pre-Alexandria Warnings: descriptions of blood and gore, language, angssstt, frightening scenarios Summary: Y/N and Daryl take a closer look at the elk kill they located. A/N: This is part of a series! Find all the previous parts on the Master List! Previous Chapter

Daryl followed silently behind you and the approach was cautious and measured. Your eyes were fixed ahead on the blur of red in the snow, the same place the ravens had risen from. As you got closer, your heart began to pound. Any elk kill by native wildlife was messy, but you could see even at a distance that this was entirely something else. The carcass finally came into focus and a swell of nausea rose in your stomach. Your feet continued to carry you closer as if of their own volition. They finally stopped when the toes of your boots reached the edge of the crimson-stained snow. Daryl stood slightly behind you, staring at the residual violence of the scene.

There was hardly anything left but puddles of clotted blood mixed with melted snow. It had been a large bull, a majestic set of antlers still attached to the head, but was now reduced to scraggly tufts of hair and nearly clean bones. The area surrounding the bull was messy with gore and blood. The ravens had been feeding on scarce scraps and picking at the little bit of flesh that was left behind. Your eyes roamed over the scene as your stomach turned again.

Daryl broke the thick silence. “This ain’t—this ain’t somethin’ natural, is it? This wasn’t wolves… or a bear?” He didn’t really need you to answer, but you shook your head.

“No,” you said, moving over and bending to look at a particular pattern of blood in the snow. You stood up abruptly and drew in a shaky breath.

“What?” Daryl asked, still not fully understanding the gravity of what the two of you had just stumbled upon.

You gulped down the sick feeling welling up in your throat and nodded at the spray you’d just examined. “This wasn’t scavenged by infected,” you said, turning to look at him. He still had a questioning look on his face. “I mean—this elk wasn’t dead when they found it. That’s an arterial spray. Something that only happens if the heart is still pumping.”

Daryl’s eyes drifted down to the blood in the snow and you watched his face darken. “How fast can—?”

“Forty miles per hour,” you interrupted him. “An elk can run forty miles per hour.” Your eyes drifted over the terrain. “They probably couldn’t hit that in here with all the trees and terrain, but still… They’re fast. And a big bull like this would have fought with his antlers, even if it was sick or weak or something. But it must have been completely overwhelmed…” You sighed, staring again at the complete decimation of the carcass. Nothing was left behind; no fat, no organs, no skin… nothing but hair and bone. “Shit,” you swore, squeezing your eyes shut against the horrific scene.

Daryl walked around it, studying the muddle of tracks in the snow. He began to follow a trampled path smeared with blood leading away from the carcass, crossbow in hand. “Hey—Y/N…”

You heard the apprehension in his voice as plainly as the whine of an emergency siren. “Hmm?” You hurried around to the other side and met him. He nodded ahead into the trees.

“There’s a path that goes off this way,” he drawled, though he didn’t need to point it out. The smears of blood and the trampled and disturbed snow was plain.

Behind you the dogs seemed on edge, sniffing at the carcass but staying alert and pacing the perimeter. You were sure they could smell that the place had been swarmed with infected. You whistled to them softly and they came to your sides. This time, Daryl let you go ahead as he scrutinized the surroundings, adjusting his grip on his bow, his fingers flexing a bit anxiously. His eyes swept behind, left, right, in front, and repeated.

The path ahead wove through the trees and you could feel your body tensing with each step. Perhaps one of your senses already knew what was coming. The anticipation had you feeling sick.

When the trees began to open up again ahead, your eyes landed on another crimson mass in the snow. Your feet stopped on their own. Your hand went to the hilt of your knife and you pulled in a long, nervous breath. Daryl heard it.

“What is it?” Daryl’s voice from behind you.

“Another kill,” you said. “Come on.”

You pushed forward again, but more slowly, and you kept your footsteps in the snow as silent as possible. It was slippery where the horde had been, the snow compacting into ice that was spotted pink and red. There was another, larger clearing ahead and it slowly came into view. Behind you, Daryl was so concerned about watching the rear and flanks that he almost bumped into you when you stopped abruptly at the edge of the meadow. The next thing he was aware of was the rapid, agitated sound of your breathing.

“No—oh my God,” you breathed out, more to yourself or maybe to the ether than to him.

Daryl stepped around you and looked ahead, getting his first glimpse of what had you so frozen and rigid. Bathed in the winter light was a meadow that looked like a warzone. The snow was stained with many ponds of blood and gore and among them were endless elk carcasses nearly picked clean. The bodies of a few infected lay motionless in the snow, perhaps killed during some struggle with a bull. The mountain air carried the sickening tang of copper and the stink of decomposition, masking the usual fresh and invigorating scent of pine.

“Holy fuck,” you muttered, your eyes moving frantically over the scene. “Holy fucking shit.”

Daryl could hear and sense your panic. The dogs could too; they were on either side of you and stayed still, ears alert and noses sniffing furiously in the air. Bear seemed to be scanning the surroundings just as Daryl had been.

Daryl took one further step out into the clearing and studied the tree line. Carcasses everywhere. Carcasses as far as he could see. Hundreds. He adjusted his grip on his bow. “We should leave,” he said, his blue eyes frantic as he watched for the dead. He finally glanced back at you over his shoulder when you didn’t respond.

Your eyes were wide and glassy and all color seemed to have drained from your face.

“Y/N?” He walked over and you finally looked at him. His expression was grim, his mouth tight and concerned.

“We—we hunted bulls from this herd—me and my dad,” you stammered. “Every fall since I was ten. There—how could—”

Daryl gulped, for the first time realizing there was a barely suppressed feeling of panic in the pit of his stomach. “’M sorry,” he murmured. “But we can’t stay here. We gotta go.”

You didn’t seem to register what he’d said. Your eyes drifted back to the gruesome, brutal scene over his shoulder. A tear broke out onto your cheek.

Daryl touched you lightly, sweeping a finger under your chin and along your jaw so you’d meet his eyes. “Y/N, we have to get outta here. This just happened this mornin’. Whatever horde did this is probably still around and we dun wanna be caught by surprise out here. We gotta go. ‘M sorry…”

Finally, you nodded and seemed to come back to yourself some. A swell of nausea rose in your stomach and bubbled nearly to your throat. Sick. You felt horribly sick. “Yeah,” you breathed. “Yeah. You’re right. Come on.” You turned away and started back down the trampled path you’d come in on, hurrying to get away from the smell of death and the brutality that had been done in that place.

_ _ _ _ _ _

When you and Daryl arrived back at the cabin, the tense silence that had nearly suffocated both of you the entire journey home remained. Unlike after the view of the valley, Daryl was determined to talk with you about what you’d just discovered. After seeing the massacre of the elk herd, he realized the issues of the infected and the new terrifying runners were even more pressing than either you or he first realized. The snares being full were a warning, the dead at the cabin during your recovery were a warning, and the infected popping out of the snow were warnings—more dead than you thought were already up the mountain.

You were hanging up your wet winter gear as Daryl stood on the rug in front of the fire. He gulped, wringing his hands anxiously but his voice finally cut through the silence. “Y/N…” he drawled gently.

You turned, but it took a long moment before you lifted your eyes to him.

“I think—we should talk ‘bout—”

You sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of your nose. “I don’t want to talk about it…”

He took two hesitant steps toward you. “I know. But we gotta.”

“I just need a little time, okay?” You were still trying to fully process what you’d seen and what it meant.

But Daryl wasn’t going to give up. This was dangerous and urgent. “We might not have time,” he said, his voice more insistent. “It woulda taken… hundreds and hundreds of infected to do what they did to that herd—”

“I know. I saw it.” There was a rising edge in your voice now, but Daryl plunged ahead despite it.

He crossed the room to stand in front of you and his voice was almost pleading. He wanted to reach out and touch you, but your body language was guarded and closed off. “Y/N, please listen to me. Ya can’t stay here. With how many of them have already made it up the mountain—shit could go real fuckin’ bad real fuckin’ fast up here now. A horde like that? Especially with those runners? They could tear the cabin apart.”

“You think I don’t know that? I was there too, Daryl. It was my idea to go to the lookout. I saw the fucking valley! I saw the—the elk—what they—” you stopped, swallowing another swell of nausea.

Daryl went rigid for a moment at the sharpness in your voice but softened again when he saw the expression on your face. Your eyes were wide, almost wild and desperate, and they were glassy. “We can’t stay,” he said again softly,

“I know what—I know what it all means, okay?” you said more quietly. “And right now, that feels like losing the last fucking thing I have from any bit of my old life.” Your voice broke as you said those last words and Daryl’s heart ached.

“I get that. I do, and ‘m sorry but—we gotta make this decision now and get the hell out before we can’t.” He finally reached for your hands and took them in his. “Come with me. We’ll load up more supplies, get the dogs, and we’ll head out, go back home—to my home. Please.. I made it before. We can make it back there together.”

Your eyes were searching his face, your expression unreadable.

“Look, I know it ain’t the easy way but—”

You abruptly pulled your hands from his and took a step back, looking at him with a furrowed brow. “Easy? Easy? Is that what you think it’s been like up here? You think surviving here alone has been easy?” Your eyes were wide as you stared back at him, flitting between his. “You think staying here, surrounded by the ghosts of my dead fucking family, was easy? You think surviving alone in this world as a woman was easy? Early on, three men broke into the cabin and tried to abduct me, take me somewhere. I killed them. You think that was easy? Groups have moved through here when the weather is good, found me, found this place and tried to take it or do worse. I’ve had to do shit to survive that no one should have to do. You have any idea how many times I just wanted to give up?”

“No—that ain’t what I—” But you were already walking away. “Y/N, that ain’t—I didn’t mean—” He was desperate to get you to look at him. You had to know that wasn’t what he’d meant. In the moment, all you wanted to do was not think. The dogs trotted behind you, tails down and ears pinned, as you made your way to your bedroom door. “Y/N—”

“None of this has ever been easy,” you said, turning back to glance at Daryl. “None of it. And neither is this shit.” Daryl flinched at the slam of the door behind you.

“Fuck,” Daryl swore, angry at himself and had how you wouldn’t just stop for one second and listen. How could he have chosen his words so poorly? He found himself lashing out at the nearest thing which happened to be a stack of books and old magazines. His hand flicked out at them and they toppled to the floor in a jumbled heap. He rubbed a hand over his face and paced the length of the room, consumed by a jittery, anxious energy. His eyes kept going to the closed door of your bedroom.

Inside, you found yourself shaking as you walked to your bed and collapsed onto the edge in a seated position. Bear gave a soft whine and laid down at your feet. Strider ambled over and rested his chin on your leg, looking up at you with big, chocolate brown eyes. You stroked his head a few times before collapsing backwards onto your bed, your legs still dangling off the side.

It felt like there was a weigth on your chest, pressing on your lungs.

Leave? How could leave? But you had to leave.

Your mind careened between these two thoughts endlessly.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Daryl looked away from the frosted window where night had fallen and his eyes landed back on your door. He hadn’t heard a sound since you’d shut it and him out. He chewed on his bottom lip and climbed to his feet, restacking the books he’d shoved off the coffee table in his anger. He hadn’t managed a fucking thing since the argument. He felt unsteady and sick. He’d only accomplished taking a shower and he’d blasted himself with cold water like some kind of punishment…

He gulped and paced over to your door, hesitating with his hand ready to knock. He just needed to hear your voice. He needed to know you were at least somewhat okay in there. Shoving down his anxiety, he softly tapped his knuckles on the door. “Y/N?” His voice came out more gravelly than usual.

“Daryl, please just—just leave me alone. I need some time…”

He was relieved to hear anything from you, but the worry in the pit of his stomach didn’t vanish. He sighed and shut his eyes but no magic words to convince you to open the door came to him. “I’m—‘m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“I know. But I need some time,” you interrupted him.

“Alrigh’. I’ll be—I’ll be in the other room if ya need anythin’,” he finished lamely. When you didn’t say anymore, he drifted away to the other bedroom and laid down on top of the quilt on his back. At some point, he heard you move through the cabin, speaking softly to the dogs. He deciphered the clink of their food bowls and then the creaking of the cabin door.

He rushed to the doorway and looked out toward the front door, suddenly seized by worry that you’d decided to go off into the night for some unknown reason, but when all your winter gear was still hanging by the door his panicked eased. In a moment, you came back in with the dogs and looked up to see him standing in the doorway across the cabin. Daryl felt an electric jolt up his back like he always did when your eyes met, but it was quickly replaced by a chasm of space in his chest at how sad and drawn you looked. Your eyes were a bit red and puffy, a clear sign that you’d been crying and he found himself desperate to put things right.

“Y/N, I—”

You lifted a hand gently to stop him. “I know that isn’t what you meant. I know. But I just can’t right now, okay? Let’s just go to bed and we can try and—and talk tomorrow. Alright?” Daryl nodded, but the look on his face was agony. There was a sharp, insistent pang in your heart as you looked at him. The man thought he’d ruined everything.

To Daryl’s surprise, you wove your way across the room and stopped close in front of him. Your hand came to land lightly on his cheek, and although you didn’t smile and your expression was still drawn, you leaned in and press a kiss to his other cheek.

His eyes closed at the soft touch of your lips and when you stepped back, much of the distress was gone from his face. His blue eyes flitted over your features as you withdrew. “Tomorrow. Okay?” you whispered.

He gulped and managed a nod and watched you until you disappeared into your bedroom again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

At some point, perhaps from sheer exhaustion, Daryl had managed to fall asleep. You had too, despite the churning and biting anxiety in your stomach. But sometime in the early hours of the morning, Strider sat up in bed beside you and growled. It shot you awake immediately.

The room was dark, the fire in the hearth having died down. Even the coals were cloaked in a fresh layer of still hot ash. You sat up and strained your hearing, but for a long moment you didn’t hear anything. You reached for the light on your nightstand and clicked it on. Still nothing you could hear. The only sound was the thumping of your heartbeat loud in your ears.

Then Strider growled again. And Bear was alert where he had been lying in front of the fireplace.

Then you gasped as you heard a dull thud on the wall of the cabin. Your breaths came quickly now. Silence. Then a dragging along the outside wall. Strider growled again and you calmed him and continued to listen, trying to identify if this was animal, dead, or human…

Another bang and a growl, which was clearly not an animal. Then a deranged yell, the kind those fucking runners made. Another thud, but in a different part of the wall. A scratching sound. Shit.

You were frozen, sitting up in bed, straining your hearing to its limits. Please just let them move on. Please. Worried that some of the light from your lamp would show around the edges of the building, you clicked it off, but that only increased your unease. You wondered if Daryl could hear them on his half of the cabin.

There were a few final sounds, but eventually everything was still and silent again and it seemed that any infected outside had moved on. The dogs had settled again, easing your concern further. You felt for the hilt of your knife beside you on the nightstand, and being reassured it was within easy reach, you laid down again and settled into the pillow. Sleep took you again.

_ _ _ _ _ _

Another jolt awake. It was still dark. Barking. The dogs were barking. Your throat burned. You coughed, sitting up in bed, disoriented. Your hand flew to your knife on the side table. Smoke? You smelled smoke. You tasted smoke. Fire. The cabin was on fire?

You flopped out of bed onto the floor, the dogs moving around you urgently, chaotically. Why hadn’t the smoke alarms gone off? You crawled, coughing from the thick, hot air and groped for the light switch by the door. Nothing. No power? There was no power. No power, no smoke alarms. Had the main fireplace caught? Had an ember gone unnoticed somewhere?

What the hell was happening? Everything was happening so fast. Your thoughts were racing.

You reached the doorknob but let out a yell when it burned your palm. Your pressed a hand to the wood of the door experimentally and it was entirely too warm. Your eyes went to the bottom of the door and keyed in on the reddish—orange glow. Fuck! A big fire. Outside your door. SHIT. Out. You had to get out. Daryl? Was he awake? Was he okay? You couldn’t stop coughing. Every breath singed your throat. You pulled your shirt up over your nose and mouth in hopes of filtering out some of the smoke and soot. “Come on, boys! Come here!” you yelled to the dogs, and that’s when you finally registered the noise. That pounding, dragging, growling, scratching sound was loud in your ears—loud enough you had to yell over it. The dead.

You continued your crawl to the window, calling for the dogs to follow you, and as you approached it the volume of the cacophony of noise grew. You stayed hunched on the floor below the sill, panicked, frozen. Infected. The dead were outside, and by the sound of it, it was a flood of them.

You were trapped. Any moment they could come through the glass on the window. It was rattling in its pane.

The cabin was on fire. And the dead had come. And you were trapped.

#dead of winter #daryl dixon fanfic series #daryl dixon twd

[queerest-monster-luver]

"you'll understand when you grow up" but it's chronically ill people telling ables "you'll understand when you're 80"

[queerest-monster-luver]

Prob my all time fav Drabble of yours!!

Rick and Carol were in the kitchen talking closely when Daryl came up from the basement and cleared his throat before offering a low greeting. “Mornin’,” he drawled, heading for the sink to fill a glass of water. 

Both of them watched him with surprise. Carol checked her watch. 

“Are you just wakin’ up?” Rick asked, one of his eyebrows quirked up in surprise. “I assumed you were already outside the walls hunting. I would have gotten you for this if I’d known you were downstairs.”

Daryl took a deep drink from the glass and seemed to avoid his eyes, shrugging. 

Carol’s gaze was fixated on him. “Yeah, that’s a little atypical…” she mused. “Usually you’re up before the sun. Are you feeling okay?”

“Me? What? ‘M fine. Damn, can’t I get some sleep in every once in a while?”

There was a sudden noise at the top of the stairs and Daryl swore under his breath as Rick and Carol both spun, startled by the sudden thump. You were standing there with one of your boots in your hand, completely frozen, looking sheepish. The other had dropped from your grip and thudded on the floor as you’d attempted to climb the last steps as silently as possible. Your eyes were wide and you peered back at them with a red hue in your cheeks. You gulped. “Morning…” you murmured, and then you retrieved your dropped boot and hurried away down the hall. Your rumpled clothes and uncombed hair needed little explanation. 

Rick looked back at Daryl with a knowing and amused smile on his face.  “Get a little sleep?” he said pointedly. 

Carol was giving Daryl a self-satisfied smirk that had Daryl annoyed and rolling his eyes. She’d been trying to convince him for months to admit his feelings to you and it looked like he’d finally taken the plunge, and to rather spectacular success. 

Daryl rubbed a hand uncomfortably across the back of his neck and avoided their eyes again. “Look, jus’ keep yer mouths shut, would ya? This is—I dunno… new. I dun need ev’rybody knowin’ and gossipin’ ‘bout it. I dunno even know what it is yet, alrigh’? We ain’t even had a chance to get that clear…” he trailed off.

Carol laughed. “I think it’s pretty clear what it is, Daryl.”

He shot her a look and his ears and face flushed crimson.

Prompt: “That’s a little atypical.”

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon twd #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #it’s too cute #Daryl getting flustered is my sustenance #amazing work per usual!!

[queerest-monster-luver]

He’s been #1 ken since the 13th century people

"welcome to my mojo dojo casa house"

#alucard #adrian tepes #mojo dojo casa house