#someone needs to scrape me off the floor

[aquagustd]

This angle 👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽👩🏻‍🦽

OH FFS 😩😩😩😩😩 hobi ??? yoongi ???? IM LITERALLY CHOKING WTF THE SIDE PROFILES 😩😩😩

[dyingtobehim]

i think seeing hold on till may live will kill me

[ghoulodont]

ok im still going to use this blog but i will now use account level tumblr features from @ghoulodontist

[dont-offend-the-bees]

romantic musings overload talk to me again in 3-5 business days when my brain is working again

[ann1-wr1tes]

Save a Horse, ride a Cowboy

Synopsis: You make the mistake of placing Leon's cowboy hat on your head and you have no idea what the "Cowboy rule" is...

Warnings: Smut, Adult themes, filth

Word Count: 2,692

A/N: Cowboy. Leon. Two of my most favorite things.

-----

Your eyes dart around the entire space around you as your ears are drowned out by cheers and screams for the person who was currently riding a bull. Your friends thought it would be fun to go see a rodeo and so far it had been fun.

You got to see tons of people getting hurled off bulls which was entertaining in itself but you also couldn't help but agree with your friends when they all started to gush over how "hot" some of the cowboys were. Everywhere you looked you saw bandannas, flannels, cowboy hats, and flared jeans. You felt a little bit underdressed wearing your usual jeans and t-shirt but it was still fun getting to see all the hot cowboys and Southern charm.

As your friends ranted about this one man they saw who was about to ride a bull, you found your eyes stuck on someone else. Your eyes were glued to this one cowboy who was busy trying to calm the bull down enough to get the rider on top.

You couldn't see fully from where you were sitting but you could see the man's pretty blonde locks sticking out from underneath his cowboy hot and his crystal blue eyes that narrowed in concentration as he coaxed the bull into temporary peace. You didn't want to admit that you were drooling over him but you knew your friends would tease you if they saw how much you were staring at this guy.

Soon the rider is situated on the bull and a gunshot rings through the air. The gate that leads to the field is kicked open and within a second the bull is running out and thrashing wildly with the rider on top. You can audibly hear all the "ooohs" and "ahhs" as the rider holds on. Your friends are all squealing and cheering themselves as the man almost gets thrown off.

Then with another flail, the rider is thrown off the bull and ends up painfully tumbling onto the ground. As soon as that happens there are people going onto the field to scrape up the rider from the floor as others go to subdue the bull.

You can't help but cheer and holler as well as a smile comes to your face. What a show.

---

After the rodeo was over you wanted to conclude the evening by venturing to a nearby bar. It seemed like a lot of the people from the rodeo came as well as you noticed that once again you were surrounded by Southern accents and cowboy hats.

Your little group made their way to the bar and started to hover around it as the bartender asked everyone what they were getting. As soon as the orders are taken you are about to pay but as soon as you are about to give some cash to the bartender you are interrupted by a thick southern drawl.

"Drinks are on me, darlin'."

Your head turns and you are met with the same face you were admiring earlier. The fluffy blonde hair, crystal blue eyes, and oh…you could see him much better now and god did the man look heavenly in the candlelight that emitted from the bar.

You could now make out the stunning facial features of the man and you could feel your heart speed up tenfold when your eyes grazed over his chiseled jaw and high cheekbones. The way the cowboy hat sat on his head made something buzz inside you.

You are broken out of your thoughts when you hear your friends snicker from behind you. The man even seems to notice your sudden shock as a subtle smirk comes to his face.

"You don't need to do that." you smile nervously as the man's eyes rake over you. You think you might have gotten lost in those eyes. "But thank you anyway."

"No need to thank me, sweetheart. Something as pretty as you should have all the men 'round here buyin' your drinks." He winked at you making your cheeks heat up. Your friends snickered again but you ignore them with a small roll of your eyes.

"The name is Leon by the way, Leon Kennedy." he introduces while holding out his hand. You take it and introduce yourself in return and you're immediately caught off guard when Leon goes to press a kiss against your knuckle.

You were so relieved when you finally got your drinks. You thought you were about to combust just by being around Leon. Leon on the other hand was relishing in your flustered looks and shy behavior, in fact, he thought you were the cutest thing he'd ever laid eyes on.

Though soon your shy, flustered behavior was pushed back by liquid courage. It was sped up by how quickly you were drinking your beers but soon you didn't even notice how you were practically leaning into Leon, muttering things about the rodeo and how hard it seems to ride bulls.

"I mean…I thought the guy was gonna be dead…how he got flung off that thing.." you murmured to yourself with a silly grin as you looked up at Leon.

"Well ridin' is all in the hips sugar~" Leon hummed while leaning back on his elbows. Your stomach fluttered at the suggestive tone and you took another sip of your beer to try and quell your nerves. In an attempt to change the subject, your eyes dart to his hat and a smirk starts to pull at your lips.

"Y'know you look great in that hat…" you compliment as you eye it. Leon chuckles and gives you a smile that has you wondering why it makes your heartbeat pick up.

"Is that so?" he asks. You nod but there's a glint of playfulness in your eyes as you look at the cowboy hat.

"I think it'd look better on me though~" your hands reach out and pluck the hat right off of Leon's head and you place it on yours. You adjust it and tilt it just right on your head like it was on Leon's and then you look at him with a wide grin.

"Well, how does it look?" You ask. Leon seems frozen for a moment as his mind starts to comprehend what you just did. You notice the sudden hesitance for a moment and you almost think that you did something wrong but a smirk soon returns to Leon's face and there's an amused look as he flicks the brim of the hat up.

"It suits you well sugar, but do you know what happens when you put on another cowboy hat?" he asks.

Suddenly you're hit with confusion and it reads all over your face as Leon chuckles. Even the bartender seems to laugh a little and he quickly turns around and starts to clean out glasses when you look at him.

"No…?"

"Well, we have a rule called the Cowboy Rule. If you wear the cowboys hat, then you have to ride the cowboy." Leon explains calmly before taking a swig of his drink. You blink in surprise and you can feel the blush start to creep onto your face. You look down at your drink to hide it.

"Oh," is all you manage to croak out. Your throat suddenly feels incredibly dry. You feel a hand hook under your chin you meet Leon's piercing gaze. His eyes are filled with amusement and it sends shivers down your spine.

"If I do then can I keep the hat?" you cheekily ask. The corners of Leon's mouth tug up and it causes your insides to flip. Your heart begins to beat quicker.

"Wanna find out?" Leon says as he leans forward until his lips are barely inches away from yours. It takes everything in you to not close the space between you two. Instead, you nod your head frantically hoping that he understands your silent request for more.

---

Hungry hands rake across your body as your own hands run down Leons. The feeling of his skin against yours makes every single nerve in your body burn as you slowly unbutton his shirt and he reaches for yours as well. Your bodies collide together like magnets practically, there's such a strange pull that seems to be between you two as your mouths clash together.

Leon's teeth nip at your lower lip and you moan softly as he slides his tongue past your lips and deepens the kiss. In return you rake your hands through his blonde strands, tugging lightly when Leon's hand trails along your sides, going down to rest on your hips.

The cowboy hat still sits on your head as you lean back, breaking the kiss to sit back on your haunches. The sight in front of you was heavenly. Leon was laid back, his legs slightly parted, his shirt halfway unbuttoned and exposing his chest, then of course there was the glassy, lustful look in his blue eyes as his swollen lips were slightly parted.

The entire image made your cunt flutter with need.

You take off the hat for a moment and place it back on Leon's as you yank your shirt up and off your body and then your hands work to unbutton the rest of his buttons on his shirt. As soon you are done, Leon slips his shirt off and yanks you back on top of him by your hips.

In that action, your hips accidentally roll against his causing you both to have a moment of pleasure from the friction.

"Fuck darlin'…need to feel more of you.." Leon huskily utters as his hands tighten around your hips a little more.

With a hum of agreement your rest your hands on his chest and go to straddle his lap a bit better so that your heated core is pressed right up against his erection that is straining through his jeans. Teasingly, you roll your hips again and you both let out a long moan.

"Shit…stop teasin' me," Leon mumbles, his voice rasping and rough as it sends shivers down your spine. You giggle breathlessly, pressing your hips harder against the bulge in his jeans, grinding a little more.

"Why would I stop? I wanna see how many pretty noises I can get out of you cowboy." you coo.

Leon growls in response as he roughly pulls you back towards him, slamming a searing kiss to your mouth. This time he moves his free hand down and it slips down your jeans, finding your clothed clit and he rubs small circles against it. Your hips buck in response and you let out loud moans against Leon's lips.

"That's it baby…let me hear you." He grunts.

It's practically music to your ears as you rock your hips against his fingers as he continues to rub your clit and you feel the knot in your stomach tightening. Leon suddenly pulls his fingers away and you whine. You're left with nothing but the ache between your legs.

In desperation, your hands fly down to Leon's belt buckle and you start to undo his belt as quickly as you could.

"Easy there honey, I'm not goin' anywhere." Leon chuckles. He replaces your hands with his and soon he's tugging his pants down along with his black boxers to reveal his hardened cock. Its springs to life and slaps against his stomach.

You groan at the sight of it. It's big and thick and you almost want to take him in your mouth until his hands are already working on your own jeans.

He unbuttons your jeans and pushes them down your thighs. You kick them the rest of the way off and reposition yourself on top of Leon. Right as you are about to sink down onto Leon's length he interrupts you.

"I think you're forgettin' something.." Leon takes his cowboy hat off and puts it back on top of your head, tilting it just right.

"Beautiful." Leon breathes in a low tone.

"I think it looks better on you." You smile as Leon's hand grazes over your cheek and tucks a stray hair away from your face.

"That's nonsense, it looks stunnin' on you." He smirks and his thumb drags up and down your jawline, gently rubbing your cheek. The butterflies in your stomach flutter even more as he leans in closer to you, your noses brushing against one another.

You rub your slick folds back and forth on Leon's tip and slowly sink down onto his length, letting out moans at the stretch.

"L-Leon… it..so much" You pant between clenched teeth, gripping onto his broad shoulders.

"It's okay sweetheart, let me help.." he coos. The hands on your hips slowly start to help you roll into his, making sure to go slow and his grasp was decently gentle as he helps you build up a good pace.

"It's all in the hips sugar…." Leon whispers in your ear, sending tingles down your spine.

Soon on your own accord, you start to ride him faster. It catches Leon off guard as waves of hot, blinding pleasure course through his veins. He throws his head back with an audible moan as you bounce up and down on his cock.

"Good girl, keep rollin' your hips like that.." Leon praises, his voice rumbling low in his chest.

You nod and do as you are told, your body starting to twitch against Leon, your hands clenching onto his forearms tighter as he starts thrusting upwards, trying his best to push himself inside of you and meet your steady rhythm.

A whimper escapes your mouth as Leon sits up, connecting his lips to your neck. One of his hands trails up your back and plants itself on the nape of your neck as his lips suck and kiss your sensitive skin.

Your mind is spinning, your heart beats furiously. There are no words that can describe how amazing it all feels. Especially as the euphoria grows and the knot in your belly tightens. Leon, in his own desperation to chase his oncoming high, continues to buck his hips up into yours wildly from below.

His head has fallen back against the pillow as he feels your cunt tighten around him.

"Jesus…you feel so good darlin'." Leon groans in appreciation. You don't say anything, only moaning loudly and moving your hips with more vigor. The sounds from your mouth cause Leon to shudder as he watches you move against him. The sound of his name falling out of your mouth is driving him crazy and you look so damn pretty in his cowboy hat.

After a few more moments of bliss, you finally come undone releasing all of the fluids onto Leon's cock as your eyes roll back into your head and you slump down on top of Leon. Leon helps you along by moving his hand down to toy with your clit as you shudder from the waves of your orgasm.

"Look at you, you pretty little thing. So beautiful.." he grunts.

His hand comes up to the back of your neck as he holds you to his chest while burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

Your breathing is heavy and you wrap your arms tightly around his torso, feeling warm all over your body after your climax. Leon sighs as he starts to rub small circles into your back.

"Damn sweetheart, you may just be the death of me." he coos. A soft smile forms on your lips. Your head rests firmly on his chest, and you peer up at him.

"Does that mean I can keep the hat?" You ask with a sheepish smile.

Leon chuckles and rests a hand on your hat-covered head.

"Yeah, I 'spose so. It suits you."

[oikasugayama]

He F--KS You When You're Stuck pt. 2

pt. 1 *Atsushi, Fukuchi, Nikolai | pt. 2 Dazai, Ango, Oda | pt. 3 Kunikida, Sigma, Akutagawa

Disclaimer: These are works of fiction. The actions in these stories do not reflect real actions taken in the source material. I do not condone the actions some characters may take in these stories. If you are sensitive to potential non-consensual activity, do not read this series.

Contains: fem!reader being stuck/confined, sex worker, role-playing non-con

Dazai

You're one of Dazai's coworkers who he's previously hooked up with. Kunikida asks you for another box of paperclips, so you go to the supply closet down the hall. It seems you're almost out, but you do spot one box that must have fallen off the shelf and into the corner behind a stack of heavy boxes.

You decide to clear a space on a lower shelf and try to climb through enough to grab the box of paperclips from the floor, but you mistake how far they are and you end up tipping too far forward. Now your legs are in the air, your skirt is slowly shimmying up your legs, and you can't get the leverage to get back up.

"Um... Hello?" you call out, not screaming but trying to be loud so someone in the hallway or maybe the nearby bathroom will hear you. "Can someone help me out? I'm stuck in the supply closet."

You have to call out and thump on the wall a few times before the door swings open, but for some reason the person who opened it is silent. The door clicks closed again, and then you feel someone grab your hips.

"Hey-- can you at least tell me who you are???"

"Don't worry, baby, it's me."

"Oh, Dazai! Hey, I just need you to pull me out of here, I fell too far forward."

"Mmm... I can't let this opportunity go to waste though, can I? Your ass is all pretty up in the air for me..." he pulls you up just enough so that he can grind against your ass and your toes are just barely scraping the ground.

"We're at work... our coworkers are all out there..."

"I may have told Kunikida that we needed to go out and buy more supplies because you said we're out. I'm sure we have twenty minutes."

And that's how you end up with Dazai balls deep in the middle of a work day with your boss two rooms away.

"Be quiet," he hisses to you when you moan and whimper as his balls clap your ass.

"You be quiet," you huff back. "you're being too loud when you-- ohh fuck--"

"Do I have to pull you out of there and hold your mouth shut?" he grunts, pulling your hips back to meet his thrusts.

"m-maybe..."

"shut up or i'll tell kunikida i've been fucking his pretty little secretary. he'll be soooo mad."

Ango

He hates his coworkers. He hates how skeezy and immoral and degenerate they are. He hates how sometimes they convince him to go to bars and clubs in the back alleys of Yokohama. He hates himself for going along with it when one of them takes him into a back room and points at something-- he isn't sure what he's looking at at first, but then you kick your leg a little.

"Hey, is someone there?" you coo. "I'm stuck. Can you help me?"

"She's all yours," his coworker says, clapping him on the shoulder before leaving the room. Ango is stunned at first and spends several minutes standing back, staring at your bare ass sticking out from between the couch cushions.

"Are you there? I need help," you say, honestly unsure if there's still a client in your room.

Ango finally decides to use you for some stress relief since he concludes this is your job and you wouldn't be here if you didn't want to be.

He kneels behind you, gets down eye level to inspect your cunt. He can't exactly tell if you're STD free just from looking, but he's gonna try anyway, and damn you have a pretty pussy. He reaches out to feel your glistening folds and realizes you're soaking wet and plenty open for him to slide right in.

with shaking hands he pulls his cock out of his unbuttoned pants and lets himself divulge, sliding into you and starting to thrust with his eyes closed.

even as you moan and try to get him to say something, he stays silent, only giving little tiny moans and sighs every now and again. even when he cums, splashing on your back and cheeks, he only whimpers, leaving his voice mostly indiscernible. he can't let you have to ability to pick him out of a lineup later in case someone tries to blackmail him over this.

Oda

He suggests you pretend to be stuck for a form of roleplay. It's not your fault you get actually a bit stuck when you climb between the bottom tines of one of your dining chairs.

Oda comes home to you spread out on the floor in your pajamas, upper half stuck in a chair.

"Well hey there, miss. It's a good thing I came along. Can I help you get out of there?"

"Oda, I'm literally stuck," you whine. He takes a second to process that, then kneels down beside you.

"I'd be happy to help you out of there. Why don't you think of a way to repay me?" he rubs your hip, slowly moving toward your butt. As uncomfortable as you are with your chest hooked around one spire and your shoulders locked forward, you're not entirely against this right now. You'd made the plan together before anyway.

"You can use my pussy, sir," you pay politely, and Oda sighs heavily as he pulls down your shorts.

"Sounds like a perfect trade." He whistles when he sees that you're not wearing panties. "My, my, what a pretty cunt you've got."

He starts teasing, eventually fingering you as you moan and squirm. He's his usual self, praising you while he works you up, all the while pretending like a good samaritan who's just helping you out.

Before he gets his dick out he does actually help you out of the chair because he thinks you look uncomfortable and he wants to see your pretty face while he fucks you.

[slytherinslut0]

THEODORE NOTT- Little Star

Theodore Nott is an absolute fucking daddy👅 (Those eyes like if you don’t let me syd rn I s2g)

Tags: fluff, fwb, heartbreak, lovestory, passionate kissing, first time saying i love you, angst

“Theodore fucking Nott…”

His eyes darkened, transitioning to a shade of obsidian so intense they singlehandedly put the stormy midnight skies to ineffable shame; stoically crossing his arms over his chest as he mentally prepared to be torn to absolute fucking shambles after you’d found yet another reason to be mad at him.

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” You hissed, trying to hide the pain in your tone and replace it with some form of sarcasm. “Pansy Parkinson?”

Your throat was dry, anger flowing through your veins like fire as you paced the sparse length of his dorm room, the echoes of your shoes scuffing off the hardwood floor being the only sounds bouncing off the walls in the tension filled silence as you remained quiet for a moment, hands threading through your hair and scraping against your scalp as though you were trying to make it bleed.

“I can’t believe you almost canceled on me for Pansy Parkinson…”

Theo remained silent, letting out a slow breath from his lungs as he shifted his weight onto his other foot, leaning against the edge of his desk as he watched you pace, choosing to remain silent until you’d at least somewhat tired yourself of your anger towards him.

Theo knows you well enough by this point to know that when you’re like this, it’s absolutely pointless to try and intervene. He knows that if anything, all it would do is make matters worse.

“I’m tired, Theo…” you finally said, halting your pacing and shifting to face him. “I’m tried of this…the games, the fights, the pain…I’m tired of holding a candle for someone who doesn’t do the same for me…I’m tired of always feeling like I’m not good enough for you, like I need to always be looking over my shoulder, wondering what your next move is going to be…”

Theo’s near emotionless expression never faltered, his hardened demeanour staying set like stone as he stared at you; dark eyes piercing through your very soul as though he was seemingly seeing right past you. Part of you knew he was.

“Aren’t you going to say something?” You sighed, expressions softening. “I mean…I can’t be the only one that feels this way, Theo…aren’t you tired of this? Are you tired of me?”

“Oh, Bella Mia…I’m tired of this, certainly.” His voice was a deliciously slow drawl, sparking heat in your veins with every syllable. You immediately cursed yourself for near-instantly crumbling, merely at his use of Italian. “But tired of you, never.”

You felt your stomach twist, your chest constrict with emotion. You wanted to believe him, you wished those words were true; but you simply knew him too well at this point, knowing that this was an endless cycle of heartbreak, one that you were all-too-determined to finally bring to an end.

“Don’t bullshit me, Theo…”

you said, planting your feet firm in place, crossing your own arms over your chest now as you stared at him, silently admiring his features; the ones that have near-effortlessly made you fold so many fucking times before--his dark hair tousled and messy as it fell naturally over his forehead, the curly strands framing his sharp and intense eyes that have hardly even blinked once as he watched you--seemingly still emotionless.

“We’ve been here before…it’s never ending…you call me up when you’re bored, when you need someone, tell me pretty lies that keep me wrapped around your finger, only to ditch me until you need me again. I’m tired of being your little toy, Theo. I’m tired of being loved with the wrong intentions.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Come on, Stellina…you know you’re so much more than that…”

Your entire body tensed at the nickname he called you, the word fluttering from his lips like a breathless sin, drowning you in the holy water that was your desire for him as you remembered the night he’d given you that name. The first night you’d hooked up under the stars in the Astronomy tower. Little Star.

He wet his lips, pushing up from his desk as he took a few strides toward you. “If you were just my toy, why would I cuddle you to sleep every weekend? Help you study for exams? Ensure you’re eating and drinking enough?”

His words rushed you, slamming your chest like a fifty pound cement brick. Gods, how you wanted to fold. How you wanted to drop down to his feet and beg him to love you, beg him to see you for more than just a quick fuck, but you knew it would do absolutely nothing. It’d been almost two years of begging to be more, and for all your efforts, you’ve gotten no where except for the pits of Theo’s bed, only to be kicked out in the morning.

It was an endless, heart wrenching cycle that you knew you needed to put an end to, now.

“Please, Theo…stop…” you said, your voice a trembling plea in the air; and as if on command, he did.

You shook your head, collecting yourself, taking a few steps back to keep the distance between your bodies--watching Theo’s expressions as his hardened facade slowly cracked, his eyebrows pinching and his throat bobbing as he swallowed, dark eyes scanning your features; flicking from your eyes to your lips and back up to meet your eyes.

“You’ve given me something I can’t live without, something I don’t think I’ll ever find in anyone else…but I can’t keep playing this little game with you, I can’t keep going on like everything is fine when it’s not…I love having you in my life but it hurts too much…I want to live, not just survive...” you whispered, voice dropping with every single word. “You have no intentions of being with me, after all this time, and I can’t keep doing it…I can’t keep acting like it doesn’t affect me.”

Theo’s jaw tensed, so tight it looked like it hurt, and he swallowed again. “That’s-“

You cut him off. “The truth.”

Your words hung heavy in the air, blanketing over the room, thick and sticky like cobwebs in a cave--clogging the channels of communication between your bodies. Theo’s eye twitched, a nearly impenetrable movement, but one you knew you’d never, ever miss--you’d simply stared into those dark eyes way too many times to not notice even the subtlest of changes.

“But is it, though?” Theo said, voice low and cautious, not daring to move even an inch closer as he stared at you. “Is it really the truth, or are you just letting this little misunderstanding fuel your emotions...you know I’ve only been with you…”

Your body vibrated. Anger creeping in. “Don’t you dare patronize me right now.”

He lifted his hands in surrender, large palms facing you as he raised them up against his shoulders.

“I’m not.” He said, gently. “Just think on it, for a second, Bella…please…you’re the only one…”

Please. He’d just fucking said please. You weren’t sure if you’d even heard him correctly.

“Don’t try to change my mind, Theo…” you whispered, voice unsteady and fingers trembling at your sides as you watched his expressions falter even further, his original confidence now entirely dissipating from his face. “There’s so much space between us, we were doomed for failure before we even began…and it’s entirely your fucking fault.”

His eyes narrowed, his eye twitching with increased intensity. “How the fuck is it my fault that you got attached?”

The room seemingly paused at his words, even his own expressions hardened as his brain registered what he’d just fucking said; but you, you hardly even flinched. Admittedly, you were just happy you’d finally got a sliver of his true thoughts, and not just the sweet, charming words he knew you’d want to hear.

“Are you really going to fucking stand there and blame me?” You hissed, unable to control your emotions as the energy and tension between your bodies continued to build. “After everything you’ve done?”

His face fell into a scowl. “You knew how I was before we started this-“

“Yes, I did, but stupid me for hoping that maybe one day you’d fucking change…” your voice cracked, your heart slamming your sternum. “I can’t keep loving you in the dark and then acting like a stranger in the light. Maybe you don’t see it but you’re fucking destroying me...sometimes I wish I’d never fucking met you…”

Everything paused. His breathing, his movement, his blinking. Fury crawled its way into his dark irises, shading them the colour of crimson; his fingers curling in against his palms, the tendons in his hands tightening like a noose prepared specifically for your neck. As fear gripped you, you swallowed.

His eyes narrowed. “You fucking what?”

Your lungs stalled, oxygen missing you. “I-“

Your words were cut short as Theo advanced on you, backing you up against the wall, two strong hands slamming against the wood next to your head, your heart racing so hard in your chest you were certain it would crack your sternum and threaten the integrity of your ribcage as Theo brought his face so dangerously close to yours you had to turn your head slightly to stop your lips from touching.

His breath was fire against your flesh, his exhales leaving his mouth in a low growl, brows furrowed in frustration.

“Do you want to say that again?”

You flinched, his body so close to yours you could taste the anger radiating off of him. “I didn’t-“

“No, you didn’t.” He hissed, shoulders crowding as he pressed against you. “Look at me.”

When you hesitated, one large hand slipped from the wood beside your head and latched on to your jaw, pinching your cheeks together as he directed your eyes to meet his--his once stoic and emotionless gaze now set ablaze with fury, singlehandedly searing through your soul with one single glance.

“Do you love me?”

Your heart leapt into your throat at the question, your nails digging into the wall behind you as you melted into it, your body slowly surrendering to his intoxicating touch, his fingers gripping your jaw with just enough force to illicit a burning desire between your thighs. You didn’t really need to process your response, knowing that lying to him right now would serve you absolutely no purpose.

Your voice was a mere breath as it left your lips. “Yes.”

“You love me.” It was more of a statement, not necessarily a question, and your entire body shuddered, the intensity of his eyes melting you from the inside out. “You fucking love me.”

You couldn’t find merely a single breath of air. “I-I do-“

His eyes flicked over your lips. “And if I told you I love you?”

The room spun, everything fading to black around you. “Y-you don’t-“

“I do.” He hissed, tugging you closer. “I do and I have for way too fucking long and it’s made me a coward--it’s made me so fucking scared to lose you that I push you away, I-I pretend like I don’t need you but I do. I fucking need you, principessa…”

Earth turned beneath your feet, yet everything in the room remained still. As though time had frozen in place. “Theo-“

“I fucking love you.”

He murmured; nothing but raw, untethered passion behind his words; freezing every single red millimetre of your bloodstream and turning it into nothing more than a cold blue system of ice.

Your chest swelled, fighting every urge in your body that wanted to kiss him. You almost couldn’t fucking believe your ears. “Say it again…”

“I love you.” He retorted almost instantly, meeting your eyes. “I’ve loved you since I watched you goto the Yule Ball with Malfoy and kiss him under the mistletoe in that beautiful emerald dress. I’ve loved you since the first time we kissed, the first time we hooked up in Astronomy Tower--hell, I’ve loved you since the fucking first year when you stole my seat in Potions and then stuck your tongue out at me just to spite me. I’ve loved you for so fucking long that I don’t remember what it feels like not to love you; and it terrifies me. Loving you is the scariest thing I’ve ever done.”

You couldn’t find words, couldn’t find breath, could only mutter the one fucking word that you knew you’d never forget, the one word that would never leave your mind even if you had stormed out of this dorm and never looked back.

“Theo…”

His jaw tensed, his nose practically brushing against yours as he stared down into your eyes; gaze so intense it diminished all of the oxygen within your lungs. “But yet you wish you’d never met me, huh?”

You stammered. “No, I-“

“Look into my fucking eyes and tell me that you meant it. Tell me that I mean fucking nothing to you, that all of this has been nothing.” He tugged you closer by the hold on your jaw, your collective exhales mingling as one, your lips so close they were practically brushing. “Go on, fucking tell me.”

You yelped as he tightened his grip. “I-I can’t, Theo…”

He leaned closer, seemingly holding his breath, his soft lips grazing over yours once, twice, three times before he pressed the full plush entirety of his mouth to yours--his lips working to devour, to kiss you as though he’d never kiss you again. His tongue was rough, insistent, slipping past your teeth without effort as he worked to devour you, tightening his grip on your jaw as his free hand gripped your hip with enough force to inflict a bruise. You mewled against him, melting into the kiss, fighting to pull away and catch your breath but he was relentless, breathing you in like he could inhale you; map the entirety of your taste into memory.

When he finally broke the kiss, panting mouth falling to your jawline, you gasped; sucking in lungfuls of air.

“I’m so fucking sorry, Tesoro mio…I’m so sorry for ever making you feel like you aren’t enough for me. You are enough, fuck you’re too much; I don’t fucking deserve you.”

As he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you tight to his frame, you melted, feeling yourself become one with his strength, his warmth, his adoration.

“Theo…I-I don’t…”

He thrust a hand through your hair, pulling your head against his chest, his chin resting gently on the top of it. “I’m going to make it up to you…everything I’ve done, I’ll remedy it, I promise I will…Bella Mia…”

You exhaled, sinking against his firm hold. “I love you, Theo…”

“And I love you, Bella..”

[shotmrmiller]

im ngl i've been driving myself insane with the thought of harboring Ghost in your home. Like in the 09 mission The Hornet's Nest where Roach falls off the one roof?

Yeah, make that Ghost and there's no other choice but for the guys to leave him behind. The LZ is too hot, the enemies are swarming like moths to a flame.

The floor comes to him.

He grits his teeth at the agony, choking back a scream. Ghost just fell off a height that should've broken at least a couple ribs; maybe they did, he doesn't know, there's too much adrenaline coursing through his veins.

He's seeing duplicates, the buildings in front of him blurred. There's buzzing in his head, loud like bees. His chest aches, it burns with the lack of oxygen. His throat feels swollen as he wheezes; each breath feels like shards of glass in his lungs.

The white noise dissipates slowly. His vision realigns, lines and details sharpening. The unseen force that squeezed his throat finally lets go, setting him free from its deadly hold., his chest expanding to the point of discomfort— deep inhale, loud exhale.

Breathe. Focus.

There's radio chatter in his ear— Price snarling at Nikolai to fucking wait, that they can't leave him there in the hornet's nest but even with his vision blurred, Ghost can see that they're getting lit up, and he's not gonna have the entire team blow to bits in the helo over him.

He's just one man, and there's a whole world to save.

There's a searing pain in his arm when he shifts, he can't remember the last time his eyes welled up with tears, but fuckin' hell does it hurt.

His hand trembles violently, and it takes him a couple of tries to finally get his thumb to firmly press down on the button of the radio in the front of his tac vest.

"Leave me! Just go!" he roars.

Price argues back that no man is to be left behind, but Ghost can hear far too many voices in a different language get louder. They'll be killed hovering in the air like that.

"Price! Go!"

The voices in his ear are deafening. He rips off his headset, letting it sit around his neck.

The helicopter above him disappears.

Good.

The avalanche of footsteps gets closer and with a strangled noise that scrapes the back of his throat, he moves. Move to safety, get away from them, hide.

Ghost pushes forward until he stumbles, falling onto one knee— using his injured arm to stabilize. White hot pain licks from the wrist up, flames threatening to consume him whole.

A few stray tears escape the corners of his eyes.

He's too blinded by the throbbing in his body to realize that someone is grabbing his other arm.

"Can you hear me?"

Ghost thinks he might be hallucinating your voice. His agony is transcendent.

"Hey! We don't have much time!"

He turns his head to his left, and there you are. A civilian, by the looks of it. And you're trying to lead him away. Where? Are you leading him to a trap?

"Quickly! They're almost here! I can hide you, but you need to get on your feet!" you piped.

Ghost gets up without a fight, decision-making dulled by everything he's feeling.

"Come on, this way!" Your hand grabs his forearm tightly as you drag him away. He trudges behind you, breathing ragged.

Clarity comes and goes, but then he feels your small palms push him forward, into your tiny home.

His eyes drag as he takes in his surroundings. A tiny television in the living room to his left, and an ugly brown couch placed in front of it. To this right is your kitchen, food still steaming on the stove, and a scratched teak dinner table with just two chairs sits by a dirty window.

Quaint.

"Okay, okay. They shouldn't come in here, but if they do, I want you to go to the bathroom and sit in the tub with the curtain closed. Understand?"

His chin tips forward unbidden.

"Good. Uhm, I saw that your right arm is injured. A makeshift splint will have to do, alright?" You briskly walk away, opening the cabinet underneath the kitchen sink.

Ghost stiffens, swallowing thickly. If you pull anything underhanded, he's going to have to kill you.

The tension melts from his shoulders when he sees that you're simply pulling out a first aid kit, and some other stuff to wrap his most likely broken arm up.

You pull out a chair before opening the kit. "Sit. I'm not standing while I do this."

He huffs but complies. "Yes, ma'am." Unafraid to order a stranger around. How peculiar.

The minutes drag on, each one more agonizing than the last. It's a relentless cycle of pain... until it finally stops. The residual pain makes him dry heave.

"Whoa there, please don't puke."

Ghost gives a pained chuckle. "I'll try."

Your fingers tighten the knot in the fabric. "Can't say it's pristine, but it's better than having your arm dangle uselessly, I think." You stare at your handiwork for a second longer, before rising from your seat.

"I'm not sure who you are, but you look like actual military and not a thug with a gun. Did you have a team?" you quietly ask as you put away the medical supplies.

He cuts his eyes to you and doesn't answer.

"Yeah, I suppose it wouldn't be smart of you to blindly give information I don't need to know."

He shakes his head imperceptibly.

"Right. Well, I'm sure you know that we need to lay low, so unfortunately, that means no tv. Sorry." How cheeky.

Ghost simply hums in response.

He looks down at his injured arm. It's wrapped tightly, enough to keep it from moving but not enough to cut off his blood flow.

Not the work of a regular civilian.

You must've noticed him scrutinizing your work because you speak up. "I've worked in the medical field before. Nothing spectacular, but I can deal with a broken bone or two."

He closes his eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the day creep up on him.

So bloody tired.

Ghost takes a breath and opens his eyes. No rest for the wicked, he thinks.

He puts his headset back on, as well as he can with his one arm.

There's a crackling sound in his ear.

[shadesslut]

simple things

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Smut, slight exhibitionism)

Summary: Mike has had enough of her teasing, finally taking it into his own hands

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You see, Mike enjoyed the simple things in life. He enjoyed the feeling of wearing warm laundry on a cold morning. He enjoyed the sounds of Aby’s scribbles coming from her room. He loved his simple life, even if sometimes he complained. People knew him as a man that didn’t need much; just his family and home is what he needed. And he loved it, he loved his simple things, in his simple life. He also loved the simple, dirty, touches Y/N gave him when they were in public. 

They were at the mall, eating lunch on one of Mike’s off days, and she kept grazing her foot up Mike’s thigh from across the table. He was leaned back in the metal chair, manspreading his legs. He sipped on his soda, giving her a pointed look at the now fifth time she touched him. She ignored it, giggling as she continued to rant about her weekend, as if she had no clue what she was doing. Little brat.

He felt his pants strain, and he grunted as he shifted his black sweats. “Something wrong?” She asked in a sweet voice. He shook his head before sticking his tongue into the side of his cheek. Another touch, and Mike felt himself grow harder. His eyes darted down to her exposed cleavage, swallowing harshly as she moved. 

“I’ll be right back,” she said abruptly, standing up from her seat. She leaned forward, placing her weight into the table before kissing Mike on his cheek. He softly hummed and leaned into the kiss. 

She swayed her hips as she walked, and Mike thought it was impossible to get turned on from the way someone walked to the restroom, but here he was. He watched her as she went into the single stall bathroom, bouncing his knee up and down anxiously. 

“Fuck it,” he whispered to himself. He jerked his body up, the sounds of the scraping metal of his chair moving causing heads to turn to him. He didn’t care though. 

He knocked on the door, hearing a muffled, “One second!” come from the other side. He heard water drip from the sink, and a few seconds after the door opened. She had an amused expression painted on her face, but before she could ask him what he was doing, he immediately pressed his body against hers, attacking her mouth with a rough kiss. 

She moaned against him, and he instantly shut and locked the door behind him as he stepped in. 

“Think you can fuckin’ tease me like that and not get away with it?” He asked between kisses, his breath hot on her skin. She softly whined at his touches. 

He groaned and picked her up, holding her by her thighs, and instinctively she wrapped her legs around his waist. 

“You’re such a fucking slut.” He gritted out. 

He rushedly reached down to the waistband of his sweats before awkwardly shrugging them down along with his boxers, not caring if they fell to the dirty floor. His lips moved deliciously against hers, sucking and licking every inch of her. 

“Mike,” she whimpered. “I need you.” 

His eyebrows raised, as if he was challenged. Reaching under her skirt, he tugged at the crotch of her panties, pulling them to the side. “Oh yeah?” He asked, his voice hoarse and deep. 

She nodded. 

“Then fucking take me.” 

He didn’t wait for her to adjust to him. He rammed into her, not caring if he was gentle. She let out a gasp as she scratched at his back. Mike smirked into her neck at the feeling of her wrapping around him. He used the wall to his advantage, flushing her against it as he thrusted deeply into her. 

He ah’ed and oh’ed as he thrusted, not giving a damn to who could hear him. The noises their bodies made against each other sounded so wrong, but it only made Mike’s cock harder. 

He glanced down between them, staring at the belly bulge that was poking through her skirt. He smiled, knowing he was successfully tearing her apart. 

“Fuck yeah, baby, ah- you like that?” He moaned. The stubble on his chin scratched her neck, and all she could do in response was whimper a quiet “yes”.

He felt his movements stutter and his weight pushing more against her body. He could tell she was getting close too. That face she made before coming, the way she scrunched her nose and closed her eyes. He wanted to do her all over again. 

He bounced her on his cock faster. Feeling his cock twitch inside of her, he quickened his movements and jerked his hips one more time before finishing. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck sweetheart I’m coming,” He whimpered into her ear. She felt her belly twist, and soon enough she came with him. She moaned his name, panting heavily as she clenched around him. 

Their sighs filled the air of the bathroom, and Mike let out a soft giggle. 

“W-What?” She panted, smiling. 

He smiled, before tilting his head at her. “Fuckin’ love you baby.”

[untolduttering]

Trust Me

Summary: Reader is terrified of medical needles and avoids Law when they get a deep enough cut to require stitches. They're caught, of course, and Law tries to help and calm a panicked reader.

Tags: hurt/comfort, blood, cutting, knives, medical needles, stitches, mutual pining

Word count: 2.3k

It happened so suddenly that for a moment, you could have imagined that it hadn’t happened at all. You were set to cutting some sailcloth after a run in with the navy left the sails with holes, and if not for the change in how the knife sliced through the fabric, you wouldn’t have noticed at all. The knife was sharp enough that there was barely any resistance as it gouged your arm. There wasn’t any initial pain either. You only grasped that there was indeed an injury once you stared at the wound, feeling the burn as it built and watching the blood flow to the surface, maintaining its surface tension before breaking and spilling over. You had already written off the flashes of white meat that gave away just how deep it was, telling yourself it only needed to be cleaned and wrapped. You snatched a spare piece of sail and pressed it to the wound, then took another to wrap around.

There wasn’t any need to worry, really. Small accidents like this happened all the time on the Polar Tang. Shachi scraping his palms on the rough surface of the deck as he fell, Penguin giggling behind him. Ikkaku dropping something heavy on someone’s foot, grimacing and apologizing profusely. If they didn’t, then Law would probably fall out of practice and lose his title.

That image of white meat flashed through your head again, and it coupled with the burning that only seemed to keep growing, never reaching its crescendo that promised eventual relief, made you think of the stitches that Law could possibly say it required. But it wasn’t bad enough for that, and Law deserved a break from time to time. So, you decided, this was something that you could handle by yourself. Even if Law always demanded that he was seen first in any case of injury, no matter how small, because he was the qualified one that could deem what required real attention, and he didn’t need anyone ruining the precise organization of his supplies. You could be careful, though. You knew what went where, and you only needed a few things. 

Steps slowing as you made it closer to the infirmary, you listened for any sign that Law may be nearby. The Polar Tang surfaced not too long ago, and so Law was most likely up on deck still assessing the damage. You pressed an ear to the closed door, though, waiting for any movement. At the lack of any sound, you entered, and shut the door behind you. It wasn’t avoidance, it was simply a need to not be bothersome over something so unimportant.

None of the cabinets and drawers themselves were labeled, as no one but Law rifled through them, so there was no need when he had it memorized. But it meant that you had to take the time to search through each one. You had to not only keep quiet, but try and keep any blood from getting onto his things.

A scurrying of footsteps rushed past the door, causing you to hold your breath and freeze. No one came in nor knocked, but if the crew members that had been on deck were moving around, it meant that Law might be below deck now too. You picked up pace, grimacing at every rattle and creak. Finally, you found the small butterfly bandages that would hold the wound close, and the wrapping as well. Your eyes skated over the suture kit as you grabbed what you needed and shut the drawer.

“Y/n-ya.”

You felt your stomach drop to the floor. Shit. You turned, keeping your right side facing him. Using your body to block your injured left arm from view, you let it rest on top of the counter, like it had been lifted as it was to lean against casually, and not because it was hurt and dripping. You looked him in the face because guilty people always avoided eye contact. It was set in a scowl as he waited for you to explain yourself. There was no need to chide someone that already knew they were in the wrong.

“I just needed a bandage. Small cut, I didn’t want to bother you about it,” you said. You kept your tone light, nonchalant, and tried at a self-deprecating, ‘I’m just so silly’ smile. And it might just have worked, except since all your attention was on your face and voice, you weren’t in control of your body. Law, a man keenly familiar with violence, could see the tension and threat your body held. Your pupils were dilated too, blown out to a concerning proportion. It was a look that promised that if he got any closer, you might just sink your teeth in.

“Mind if I take a look?” he asked.

Continuing to refuse would be suspicious. If it really had been a measly little cut, you would have readily shown it to him just to poke fun at his worry and overbearance. You would have gone to him in the first place for a simple bandage, too. He knew this was all odd. But what else was there?

“There’s really no need,” you huffed out. “I don’t need stitches or anything.”

His eyes flitted from your face to your body. Tiny smears of blood on the fabric of your coveralls that went unnoticed at first caught his eye. He stepped forward with an extended hand. “Y/n-ya, I’d like to see it.”

Unconsciously, you flinched back. Harder, with a panicked edge you didn’t mean to let slip, you said again, “I don’t need stitches.”

“I didn’t say anything about that yet.” His voice was low, almost like he was trying to soften it.

Yet. He probably hadn’t thought of stitches, but when you said it yourself, he knew that it was worse than he had initially thought.

Law took two steps closer, causing you to turn fully forward, hands lifted. “Stop, stop it. Please.” Your throat felt like it was tightening and it made you sound close to tears.

Law was staring at your arm, now fully revealed in its red glory. So, so much red. The sailcloth was fully soaked now. His jaw tightened and nostrils flared with a heavy exhale at the sight. He lifted both hands in the air, an image of surrender. “You need to let me help you.”

You flinched again, harder this time, fully aware of those hands, that he could easily force you to do whatever. He could shambles you where he wanted, pin you down, and jam that needle in and out of your arm. You shook your head, back and forth, back and forth. You started stepping to the side, pressing against the counter, trying to get farther away, but stopped when you realized all you were moving towards was the corner. The only exit was behind Law.

Deciding to stick with a firm approach, as you had to take orders from your captain, Law said, more stern, “Let me help you.” He took one more step forward.

Your panic tripled, thrilling all throughout your body. You were a cornered animal, coiled tight from the lack of options. “I don’t need your fucking help,” you snapped.

Law felt a flicker of irritation. If you wanted to bleed out, or worse, get an infection, then that was fine. He could leave you to it if you wanted to be that way. But he smothered that feeling quickly. Yes, he could force this. He could strap you down and have it all done in minutes. That wasn’t what a good captain, a good doctor, did though. He’d win, but you wouldn’t go anywhere near him for months, not without thinking of how he handled this. You were a part of his crew. You were someone who’s pain and tears actually made his heart squeeze. This was about trust. The idea of losing yours made his own panic flutter in a way he wasn’t familiar with.

He lowered his hands slowly and let them hang by his sides. He took a few steps back as well. Gentleness was not something he was adept at, but he could try.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, truly soft this time. “That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I need you to trust me.”

The sudden change in his demeanor disarms you. You’d never heard him speak so softly, so earnestly, before. Your irrationality and the ridiculousness of your actions hit you, and suddenly your body drains, leaving you exhausted and sore. The wound on your arm is pulsating with ache. You do trust your captain. But your heart is still pounding. “I’m afraid.”

“I know.” Law's chest tightens at how meek those two words sounded. He moves now, albeit slowly, to you. He pauses right before his hands touch you, waiting for permission. You take a slight step forward, and he guides you toward the bed. He walks back to the counter to wash his hands and prep his tools.

“First I need to clean out the wound and make sure there isn’t anything left in there that can cause an infection. Then I’ll numb the area. Once fully numbed, I’ll do an interrupted stitch. That alright?”

Like you could really say no. It had to be done. But you knew he was doing it to give you a sense of control, and you gripped onto the kindness tightly. You nodded your assent.

After a thorough cleaning that has you hissing and huffing through your teeth, it's time for the first needle. Sitting again after going to the sink, you wait. Law lifts it from its place on the counter and brings it to your arm. You snap your head away, staring hard at the wall.

“Deep breaths,” he said. As soon as you inhaled, he stuck the needle in and pushed the plunger down. The cold burn of the liquid entering your arm made your breath hitch and your teeth to grind together. It was less from pain and more from the intrusion of something entering your body unnaturally. Law pulled the needle out and immediately rubbed soothing circles into the injection sight, gently as he was wary to add anymore hurt. You felt a keen disappointment when he stopped.

He placed the empty needle back onto the counter and pulled up the one chair in the room, deciding to sit while waiting for the numbing agent to kick in. He was close enough that your knees were nearly brushing. You fought back the urge to press them together.

“How’d it happen?” Law asked. He leaned back and crossed his arms across his chest.

“I was cutting sailcloth,” you said, jutting your chin toward the door, the vague gesture implying ‘out there’. “The knife slipped, I suppose. It happened so quickly.”

He hummed. “You should pay better attention. I’ll give you tasks without knives from now on.”

You pressed your lips together in a hard, thin line. As if you’d done it on purpose. “I was paying plenty of attention.” 

The corner of Law’s mouth twitched upward, like something about irking you brought him joy. Instead of annoyance, something about it warmed your chest. You glared at him without any heat behind it.

He nodded to your arm. “How’s it feel?”

You poked at the edge of your wound. You felt the vertigo that came from knowing there was something touching you but being unable to feel it. “All numbed up.” Taking a deep breath, you turned your head away again and lifted your arm towards him, letting Law know he could start.

He changed gloves before beginning. He started without warning, knowing well enough that a countdown meant nothing. Nothing would change the how and why of the needle going in and out. There wasn’t any pain and you didn’t necessarily feel it, but you could sense the needle breaking through your skin, dragging through the meat, and pulling back out. You felt the same of the thread. It made your stomach churn and your head spin. You dug your fingers into your thigh, needing the pressure to focus on.

Law took advantage of your inability to look at what he was doing to do some staring of his own. Knowing that you knew nothing of sutures, he knew he could stop and take you in without you asking why he’d stopped. Your eyebrows were drawn so tight together that it caused your nose to wrinkle a little. You bit down into your bottom lip as well, the queasiness you felt obvious on your face. The sight filled him with an unexpected tenderness each time he looked, and he had to fight the overwhelming urge to cup your face and smooth out your features. He wanted nothing more than to soothe you. But it was not something he could bring himself to do. The kindest thing he could do at this moment was finish the sutures.

The worst part was that he liked having you under his fingers like this. If it wasn’t so unsanitary, he’d have done this with his bare hands just so he could feel your skin. He’d let your blood settle under his nails so he could steal that small part of you for himself.

“Finished,” Law tells you.

“Thank you, Captain.”

 He puts the suture kit away and wraps your arm in gauze and bandage. “You’ll need to have me redo the bandaging every so often over the next few days. I’ll tell you when.” He could easily tell you how to do it yourself, give you all the supplies and when to do it and what to look for. But a selfish part of him needed to be the one doing it, so you’d have to keep coming back to him, so he could hear you thank him again and again.

And surprisingly,  you were content to let him do so. Such ministrations made you uncomfortable, or you straight out rejected it, because you knew that to lose that attention in the future would be painful. But you felt unbearably needy when it came to him, and would greedily take whatever he gave you, no matter how little it could be.

You left, unaware of Law’s hungry gaze as you went.

[undercoverpena]

iv. a date missed is a date lost

joel miller x f!reader | chapter four of honey stained hands

chapter summary: when you don't make it back from patrol, joel doesn't think for a second about not going to find you.

wordcount: 4.8k warnings: typical canon-angst/grief. angst. canon-level violence (desc of injuries and blood, but nothing insane). reader is a bad ass. injury/comfort — and from Joel. joel calls reader honey (because she bakes). mentions of brief smut. this pair are together but won't admit it. joel is pissed and we love him for it. talks of readers grief (you lose someone from before but not many deets) an: for those who waited, thank you. to those who have just stumbled here: hello, you don't need to take off your shoes.

In time, daylight begins its gradual retreat, casting shorter shadows and making flashlights more of a necessity in the nighttime.

The blankets of white persist, marking winter’s icy caress across rooftops, the ground and anything else it can layer itself against.

At one point, fairy lights go up and then come back down. Briefly twinkling like scattered stars before eventually returning to their storage—time ticking on, days seeping into weeks, then months.

There comes a moment when the snow falls heavier, then thins, only to fall again in abundance, dousing the world as far as Joel's eyes can see.

But, the biggest change Joel notices, is that he begins to dream a lot less of you. No longer a distant fantasy but a tangible presence beside him, a reality woven into the fabric of his days.

He doesn’t need to think you up, you’re already there. Curled against him—facing him—hand under your cheek as you breathe in and out, soft and measured. Like this, you don't appear as a threat to the world, but he knows when awake what you’re capable of.

Just like he knows, deep down, this isn’t just neighbourly friends or nightcaps on the porch—or better yet, occasional sex to pass the time. Even if it all began as such.

It may have started as a carnal need, a teeth-sinking, nail-digging desperation. All akin to a time when he was a teenager, both of you waiting for the door to click shut behind Ellie—as she heads to a friend’s house—before he’s on you, pulling a giggle, a soft shriek of his name before you’re scraping and stripping him until he’s hardening in your hand, mouth or against your thigh.

Lately, it’s soft brushes of thumbs, mouth grazing over exposed skin and whimpers of his name; now, it’s a look—a quiet retreat, slow mornings and lazy nights. Your fingers find purpose on his cheek, eyes seeking his as he buries himself deep, making your mouth part in an O—just as he always does.

Too good for me, Miller. You’re too sweet for me, honey.

A joke. A tease that should be getting old, but isn’t.

Then, your things found themselves with his—or his with yours.

A jumper on his floor, his shirt hung on the handle of your bedroom; his guitar relocating as he does, sometimes against his bedroom wall, and sometimes against yours.

It became morning walks to the pen as he left for patrol and him meeting you at the gate, each time a little different. There are evenings of him arriving home to find you there, cooking—Ellie next to you, nodding, listening to instruction; then there are those where he sits in solitude, counting seconds until he thinks he can invite himself over.

There was even a progression to how the two of you left the bar, when things began to mean more. At first, you had just walked next to him. The next you brushed your fingers against his and the third he found you leaning into him, following him, not even pretending to go home and choosing to follow him inside his.

Truthfully, he’s not sure there’s a reason the two of you live in different houses—even if they’re side by side. Pretending there’s no concrete explanation, even if it lingers in the back of his mind. It rears its head when the night creaks in, rotting in a corner of his mind, a thought he should ponder over, pluck strings to until it makes sense—until he rationalises whether he can do it. Love, that is.

He’s ‘changed’, according to Tommy. Although, he’s not sure what that means. It’ll add to the pile, one he has to sort through but never does. Content with it, the things that weigh him down, deep down knowing he’s worthy of it—because his hands are stained even if they don’t appear as such.

Then, you’ll do something. Hand him a tin of shortbread, a smile—all wicked, and unwilling to be read—spreading and spreading. “It’s not a gift—it means nothing.”

“Whatever y’tell yourself.”

And then he’s confused all over again.

Whether it’s possible, whether he’s earned it—deserving of another chance. A twinge of pain when he remembers long hair against his neck in Boston, and the way her hands were as blotted as his.

You’re not her, but you’re smudged in your own way. Made of something entirely different, yet born from a similar pain he can see. You rose from the marshes, bones hardened thanks to the branches—grew strong from the soil and dirt. You’re one with nature in a way that made him wonder if the wind talked to you.

A thing he admires, the same way he does about a lot of things.

He supposes it would be easier, and simpler.

Not just loving you but having you here. You and your fire that warms all it touches, your kind disposition that you pretend not to have, but it rolls from you in plenty.

Less traipsing from home to home, less of him misplacing his things amongst your counters and sitting in your kitchen as you bake, only to take the treats with him next door, his fingers inside yours.

And, even if two of you are unwilling to put a name to the thing they are. We’re adults, Joel. We don’t need that, do we? It wouldn’t be terrible—a thing he rather likes. But, he likes it more that you don’t feel the need for it. Because in an ocean of complexity, you’re the thing that makes sense—the one thing he understands.

Doesn’t need to turn over much except what’re you thinking, what ticks behind your glazed eyes and whether the seconds you linger at the red toolbox are shortening or if he’s just becoming used to it—

“Joel, is that—oh my fuck…”

Your hands grasp at the VHS in his hand—fingers turning it over, that line appearing on your forehead that tells him you’re thinking, catching up to the actuality before it’s been told to you.

“Evenin’ to you too—”

“—What did you trade for this?”

Shrugging, he shoves his hand into his jeans—the ones that have grown tighter, barely able to fit the same hand that it used to, comfortably.

“Joel.”

Scratching the back of his neck, he sighs. “Y’think you wanna watch it with me?”

Licking your lips, you place it down on the counter, face blank, fucking unreadable. “What, like a date?”

Shrugging, he smiles. “Would that be terrible?”

“No, suppose it wouldn’t be.”

Nudging you, he likes how you paint him in a laugh. Something rich, warm.

“I’ve got patrol—but, can freshen up, come round after?” you suggest, hand on his chest. “You don’t sleep without me anyway.”

And he nods. Already mentally beginning to count down, watching you smile, ticking his jaw from side to side.

“I’d wipe that.”

“What?”

Licking your lips, you smirk. “The smile—people will think you’re soft.”

“No, they won’t.”

“Will if I begin spreading it.”

He just pinches you on the ass.

In the whole of his life, there have been only six times when Joel’s blood ran cold.

An expression he'd never understood until the first time it happened.

He had never expected the saying to mean a chill blasting down his spine. Or that sounds and scents would blur to nothing as his stomach twisted, just like he never anticipated the prickling sensation spreading across his skin like a thousand icy needles and rendering everything else inconsequential in comparison.

Tommy had been the first, all little, barely the same height as the kitchen counter. Nose bloody, swollen upper lip and a look on his face that made Joel want to snap arms and break skulls. He had settled for breaking the nose of the kid who had picked a fight with his baby brother.

The second was far worse—the first time Sarah first got ill. All little coughs, splutters—a temperature hotter than a stove, harsh cries and soft pleading whimpers that she couldn’t articulate or describe. A helplessness he hadn’t been able to explain or shake, not in the days after, or the weeks and months. In truth, Joel isn’t sure he ever slept quite the same.

The third was that night. When it dawned, when it hammered into him like a thousand needles and pierced every single part of who he was. When it broke him. Snapped him. Made him come apart and yet still exist—kneeling, the blood growing gummy and cold. Leaving her there, not taking his baby girl with him. A part of his heart, soul and reason left there in tall grass as he was forced to put one foot in front of the other.

The fourth had been when Tommy had left—when he’d realised it. When he saw the life he had and wondered what the fuck had happened. It bled horribly into the fifth. A dread as he saw the mark, the bite—the realisation she would be taken too: Tess. The new normal he’d made coming undone too, seams burst, emptiness spreading, rising and rising until he felt nothing but fire and ice simultaneously.

Ellie in that hospital had been the sixth. Joel hadn’t even known he could experience another. His heart was not made of iron like he tried to convince himself when he was younger. A tightness that didn’t resolve until he held her in his arms, till he kept her safe, until he blazed through the building ripping and tearing until her pulse was against his fingers.

He’d never expected to feel it a seventh.

Had thought his cards had all been dealt. A person could surely only have so many chances at having things to love, to care for—to have it all received back too.

There’s not a single sound when Tommy tells him. Informs him.

There’s just ringing. It douses everything else, his fingers rubbing against his thumb, his knees cracking before his head catches up to the fact he’s standing, fingers clenching and unclenching.

A fire rising, not smothered—not willing to be snuffed out by action and thinking. Not as he sees the words being said, confirmed.

Because deep down he’d known what was coming before they were muttered. Had felt them.

He’d been aware your plate was no longer warm, steam no longer rising, food all but congealing, cold—practically unedible. His eyes had been pinned to the clock on the wall, to the way the big hand nudged the smaller one on.

He hates that he hesitates.

That he remains, feet planted to the floorboards of his home. Eyes flicking to Ellie, to this person he swears to protect, to be there for, a second chance amongst a graveyard of mistakes—

“If you don’t go after her, I’ll never forgive you.”

Strong words. But then, she’s strong.

He’s seen it when she talks to you, all hushed whispers and confessed secrets. Sees it in her shoulders even when she curls into your side for a half-hug, your arm sliding around, head resting on the top of hers.

Because you mean something to Ellie too.

Which is why he can’t remain—shouldn’t. All unwilling to let anyone talk him into waiting, for a plan to be devised, to be drawn up and communicated.

Because you wouldn’t. There’d be nothing that’d keep you back, from going, from doing.

We’re doers, me and you, Miller. We don’t wait around for people to decide, we act.

Each step seems to echo that with his sorrow—with that knot inside of him. The corners of his eyes narrow as anger shakes through him, hammering and solidifying itself in some corner of him—weighing him down, making his boots dig more intently into the snow.

Because you were right—knuckles brushing over his cheek when the two of you shared a sliver of what happened to you that day. It had changed him, that birthday all those years ago. A brief glance at his watch, the one he still wears, never forgotten, never fixed. It compelled him to action, a force that surged within him, driving him forward, taking and taking until his knuckles burst through flesh—becoming it, a doer, a thing which took and survived.

Maybe that’s why this keeps happening.

Why good keeps being taken from him? It’s never thieved, never sneakily tugged from under his nose, but rather openly and brazenly taken. It’s this that forces his hands to clutch the reins tighter as the cool wind whips past him, tracing the tracks, envisioning the exact route you would have taken. Only coming to a stop when the snow becomes undisturbed, dismounting with a groan.

It makes a lump rise in his throat. One that doesn’t vanish when he begins tying the horse to a tree—patting her and stroking her. Because he’s too old for this. Too old for the caring, the chasing, the losing, and the fear. His palm against the animal, feeling the heartbeat inside, grounding him for just a moment.

But, even if he is, he’s not letting it, them or whatever take you.

Not as he pulls on gloves and tilts his neck until it cracks. Not as he thinks about the last time he was out here with you—a treat, you’d called it: we’ve swapped partners for the day. Don’t make me go alone, Miller. As if he ever would. A thing which earned him a different kind of gasp when your spine met a tree trunk, gloves fingers sliding through his hair, a laugh there on your lips—desperate to greet the air, if not for his lips smothering it away, silencing it.

He replays it.

Desperately wanting for nothing more than for that laugh, that smile—that snark and its bite. Joel wants bark under his nails and for it to be finding a home under yours too—a reminder, a badge of honour. He wants nature to attempt to cover up the sound of his skin slapping against yours; wants the wind to try and compete with the moans he extracts from your throat.

He wants.

He wants.

He wants.

Hand tightening around the gun, he swallows—vision whitening in the corner of his eyes as his jaw tightens.

A figurative storm cloud rising above him, grey and thundering, cracking as he hears you say don’t sleep without me anyway on repeat. Over and over. That smirk carved into him, scraped in with sheer gut and will.

Then, he replays Tommy. The words which are supposed to bring comfort, but just bring more rage. “She’s good, Joel” doesn’t bring you home, the same as “He’s good—one I know can pull his weight”, because is he as good as him? As good as you?

Is the man who is meant to have your back as much of a monster as him—as the two of you?

He learns in half a mile that he wasn’t. An answer left, presented—all lit up in scarlet. Neck snapped. Anger let loose on the man who had smiled at him around and about. Gone. Left to decompose and erode.

Joel wonders what it says about him that he feels nothing when he removes the weapons from the man’s belt. Taking what he can before leaving, and continuing on.

At each step, he hopes you’re as good as he thinks you are. Each breath heaved from Joel’s chest he hoped you were still beating, it hanging in the frigid air in front of him, a visible reminder of the feeling he had forgotten about—allowed himself to forget—fear.

How it isn't just about dread, but rather the erosion of faith—a corrosion of belief, leaving him almost gasping for air. There’s a curse there too, simmering on his tongue, desperate to be released and breathed into the oncoming night as he ties another thread around an extended branch. Doing so every so many steps, a guide, a trail for someone else to follow—just in case, forever just in fucking case.

His arm bumps into a tree he passes, one adorned with delicate frost, stood like a sentinel, like the rest around it. Its branches reach out in frozen pleas to the heavens above as snowflakes descend from his bump, a thing falling in a way not too dissimilar to the unrest inside of him, stirring and swirling and all but fucking churning.

Jaw gritted, he swallows. Readying himself to move, to force himself on when he sees it, spots it. The thing you’d once showed him all intentionally.

From the outside, the cabin looks like it usually does.

Worn, broken—far less a structure and more a ruin. But, he knows without opening the door it’s hiding things, concealing unfamiliars and protecting traitors. He can tell.

And it is when he steps inside. Just none of them are breathing.

A full house of horrors. A museum of a fight that hadn’t gone the way, the three he finds in the larger room, would have wanted. One slumped against the wall, a head wound seeping and congealing. The other two lie askew, limbs twisted in ways they shouldn't be. There's a quiet chaos to the scene, a silent testament to a struggle fought with everything at stake.

He checks them all the same, dispatching, covering his back—stepping carefully over loose floorboard and limbs, eyes scanning, all desperately seeking.

Deep down, he’s relieved at the sight of the fallen attackers. A grim confirmation you did not go down without a fight. But another part, one that has been growing with each passing second, is filled with dread, more so as he moves further into the cabin, each step heavier than the last.

The air is stale, tinged with the metallic scent of blood. A scent he's all too familiar with. Following, only to find the next room there’s nothing. Not a thing. Nothing but the door—the one you’d mumbled about being difficult to open—is banging in the breeze. A thud, over and over, like the cabin has a heartbeat that wishes to ring out, and out, and out.

That’s when he finds your note. The singular reason he can hold out hope you’re still alive. Chicken-scratch-proof into pages of a book, your knife stamped as a signature to the backdoor:

compromised, do not look fo—

Joel has never been much of a listener.

Not as he charges outside, not as he sweeps around the new ground with his weapon at the ready. He barely has to look far, before he spots something—a thing out of the ordinary in a clump out at the back.

You. Joel finds you.

You are all but surrounded by clumped white and cherry red, sprawled out on the ground, spots of dark beneath you—a gash on your forehead, blood smeared across your face. The contrast is so rich that it could almost be described as poetic. Somewhat romantic, he supposed. That’s if the poets lingered on the snowflakes hanging from your lashes, instead of the gash to your forehead and the swelling forming along your neck.

But you're breathing. Barely.

His teeth bite at the tips of his gloves, slapping fingers to your pulse, finding it, weak but there, before brushing his knuckles and finding cold skin making him hiss.

You’re smart. A reckoning, a feral monstrous thing that is hard to describe to someone who hasn’t seen you take down a soul twice your size.

Joel liked to tell himself he kept you around for that reason—the fire, the poison woven into your veins that injects into whoever is foolish enough to cross you. But Joel keeps you around for the person you accidentally show him—the one that makes him feel human, less of a beast and someone who has taken, taken, taken.

It’s your grit, your cunning nature, which is why it’s taken him so long to find you. His chest tightened when he was greeted by the scent of iron, all thick—collecting in rooms where you’d fought tooth and nail.

Now, he was standing in the cold piles carved by knees and elbows, your slumped frame, curled as close together—defeated, likely having been convinced you’d never be found before the cold tried to take you as its victim.

But, you’re no victim. No woman who wishes to repent for how you’ve survived or the things you’ve done to breathe easier.

It’s why Joel lifts you, pulls you close—face curling into his neck from the position you fall into, as he’s chilled to the bone by your cold.

“If y’can hear me, hold on.”

He adjusts, even as his back winces—something pinching, hurting, throbbing in the position he’s in on the snow. Hating his age about as much as he hates his bones.

That’s when he whispers your name. Does so like it’s a secret, a thing the forest and the things inside of it aren’t privileged to hear. A thing entrusted to him that he wishes no one else to hear or ever know.

“M’here.”

It’s a mumble. A murmur. The softness barely escapes through clenched, almost chattering teeth—but then your flashes flutter, coated in flakes that shimmy down to your cheek as you attempt to open them.

“Eyes on me—there you are.”

“Stop being c-cute.”

Grimacing, he watches you try to smile—weak, it barely reaching your cheeks, never mind your eyes. “Don’t think anyone's ever called me cute, honey.”’

“Never t-thought someone be storm-m-ing through a forest for me—first time for…”

Looking down, he sees your lashes fluttering, eyes struggling to stay open. Lips still parted around the next word that had yet to fall.

Tapping your cheek, he feels how cold you are. Even here. In nothing but warmth and safety. And he hates that he has to ignore how concerning that is. How hard it is to swallow that you are.

“Don’t stop talkin’ to me now. Might like the silence.”

He feels you laugh. Vibrating against him. More a hiccup than a real laugh, but it’s something.

“I fought—”

“Know you did.”

Nodding, you swallow, cough spluttering in the back of your throat.

"Y' did... y' did real good," he assures, voice thick, chest aching at the sight of you—so strong, yet looking so small and vulnerable against him.

"Did... did I get them?"

Your words are slurred, consciousness fleeting—tiredness trying to sneak you away from him.

"All of 'em," he assures, his grip tightening around you, "Every last one."

He can't be sure if you hear him, your eyes fluttering shut once more.

But he keeps talking, filling the silence with a low, steady stream of words. Comforting nothings, promises of safety, of warmth, of a congealed meal and the VHS. Even as your grip on his hand slackens, your breaths become more shallow, more sporadic. Even when he feels a cold dread creep into his heart, he pushes it away, and focuses on you—on keeping you with him.

"Stay with me," he murmurs, adjusting you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you groan against him when he lifts you with him, "Just a little walk, alright."

The snow crunches under his boots as he carries you back up the path he came, leaving a trail behind. Even in finding you, he knows victory tastes bitter on his tongue—a price too high to pay.

"Y'need t’make it, can’t watch that movie alone."

You snort. It is very much there, before it’s buried—engulfed under a whine of pain as you stand up fully.

Can’t. It’s one word, but it’s louder than all the others you’ve spoken, shared—and given. So, he wraps his arm securely around your waist, leading you, taking as much of your weight as he can.

Joel holds you, clutches you against him—a brief flowering of memories from doing something so similar for Ellie. A thought which brings fresh anger, a bitterness to his tongue. Holding tighter because of it, grips you closer—as though his life depends on it.

Because in a way, it does—a part of him acknowledging that now.

More so as you groan, as you plead to stop in harsh whispers as you grip him weakly, as your foot flops occasionally, legs tired, aching.

It’s not until he’s managed to bring you inside, do you murmur again. Nothing full, nothing understood until he’s removed his coat and wrapped you in it, helped lean you against a wall do you say anything more than a groan.

“Tired.”

Hands encased in his, Joel warms them, as the moon bleeds tendrils in through slats and the half-made window. “I know. C'mon, stay with me.”

Your eyes flutter open, glazed and barely focusing on him. "I'm...trying," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

"Good," he murmurs, stroking your hair back from your forehead. "That's all I need. Just...keep trying."

His head turns, looking through the window, seeing the placement of the moon, and wondering if it’ll be morning before someone comes—before someone follows and helps. Just mumbling about anything, joking it’s the most he’s talked, doing so in a voice that mocks your own, doing something, anything to try and keep you awake—keep you warm.

"I should've been there. I should've..."

He doesn't finish the sentence. Doesn't need to.

The regret, the guilt, it's all there in his voice, in his eyes. And you squeeze his hand feebly, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. "Not...not your fault, Joel."

He nods, swallowing hard. "I know. I just...I wish I could've..."

“He made it. This place,” you begin, voice low, barely a breath.

Your eyes focused on some floorboard, not leaving, unwilling to lift to him, even as his head tilts.

“Came out all the time with that red f-fucking toolbox,” you continue, swallowing, wincing as you use your shoulder to itch your cheek.

“He was just a neighbour, a person I knew the first name of. Then he was a-all I had, a friend, then family—a b-brother. I’d… I’d never… and then he was just… gone. Survived all those years, survived all of that, only for s-sleep to take him as soon as we got here.”

Your eyes lift, haunted by sorrow, by exhaustion and something so much more.

And he has no words—not enough for this, none enough to make any of this make sense or feel better.

“I saw him. I—I know he’s gone, know it wasn’t real, but I just closed my eyes, just so I could see him again. And then…”

Your words trail off, a choked sob taking their place as you curl into yourself.

A sound so full of brokenness it makes something inside of him shatter a little, more so when Joel feels you pull your hands free, all rough and worn, clutching around yourself, at the material of his coat—gripping so tight it’s almost as if you’re trying to hold yourself together.

“You think he’d be mad that you saved me—that I’m g-glad you saved me?”

Swallowing, he cups your cheek with his palm. “I think if he’s anything like you, he’d be glad you fought.”

Nodding, you smile, the base of your palm wiping your tears as your lip wobbles. “Can y-you hold me?”

Nodding, he shuffles, and buries a groan in his throat as he manoeuvres a man his age shouldn’t, until he can, until he is. Having you as close as you’ll humanly fucking let him.

Which is how you’re found—a cavalry of those from Jackson, a mixture of surprise and relief etched into their faces when they land on the two of you.

When he suspects they land their eyes on you, and realise, like he did, that you’re the owner of the destruction in the room next to you all.

CHAPTER FIVE ->

AN: next chapter will be quicker i promise, but no strict deadline on when as posting / stepping back into this was a lot.

[joels6string]

home

RE4R Leon Kennedy x f!reader

Leon's home from Spain and the only thing he needs is a familiar face.

18+ only MDNI

content: a little hurt/comfort, established relationship, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, creampie word count: 3k

There were fewer things in life more pleasant than the feeling of a warm mug clutched against your palm, a thick, fuzzy blanket in your lap, and a book resting on your thighs. Your fingers are flicking at the corner of the page as you took in the words written so elegant yet simple on the page, transporting you to world’s beyond. It’s raining, and the brisk autumn air begins to nip when the sun sinks below the horizon, but you’ve been nestled totally content in your home since well before the light had begun to dwindle. Dinner was forgotten after a quick shower to scrub the day off your skin, the world so colorfully illustrated in black and white sucking you in too far for you even to feel the passage of time. 

Heroes and heroines, love stories and daring rescues, it isn’t your usual genre, but after enough recommendations you’d decided to give it a try, swallowing your pride to admit the praise was well earned to your friends when they asked. 

Knock knock

The sound of a fist slamming brutally against your door has your heart skipping as you squeak in shock, your eyes shooting to your clock to find it was nearing 1 AM, a time well beyond acceptable visiting hours. Another two bangs, and your spine goes rigid with fear.

“Are you home?” Even through the door, the sound of that slurred voice has your terror ebbing and annoyance flowing in its place. “Can you open the door? Please?”

Though you already know who it is, you peek through the small round glass, a mess of dirty blonde hair hunched against the doorframe greeting you. Muttering under your breath, you undo the chain, wrenching the door open hard enough to have none other than Leon S. Kennedy toppling over face-first at your feet.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” you spit, your tone laced with so much venom even you feel its poison.

“Just needed to see you,” he practically whines, groaning against your cheap wooden floors.

“We’re not doing this, Leon. I told you, I’m done.”

“Please, Bug.”

“Don’t call me that.”

It’s almost embarrassing watching him try to stand, the thick arms that usually sweep you off your feet with ease barely able to push himself up, his face falling into your stomach as his foot gives way beneath him seconds after getting himself onto one knee. Instinct has you catching him from falling, and he wraps himself around you like a life raft, breathing in deeply as if he’s been trapped beneath the rolling tides and just found the surface. The desperation of it plucks at your pity chord, and your fingers thread into his hair and scrape against his scalp in the way you know he likes, soothing hushes falling from your lips as you cradle him close.

Your past with Leon is tumultuous, he is a man torn in two by the duties he’d sworn to uphold and the one thing that could convince him to give it all up and walk away. You’d met by accident, crossing paths with him at an event and leaving when his eyes as blue as a summer sky had consumed you completely. He was as sweet and playful as he was dark and deadly, and he’s careful to keep that latter side as far away from you as he could. And that quest had begun keeping him away for longer stretches, his ability to lock away the pain and anguish that plagued him beginning to fail. 

Spain had been his last location, he’d told you before he left he’d be overseas for an undetermined amount of time. It had been months. After weeks of checking reports and news articles to see if Officer Leon Kennedy had been killed daily, you’d given up. The thought that maybe he’d lied had passed through your mind, maybe it was his way of finally cutting whatever co-dependent cord that attached you to each other. Someone had to be brave and strong enough to do it, and you were certain that couldn’t be you. But here he is, drunk off his ass and clinging to you with every ounce of strength he has, and whatever his alcohol-induced plan is, you hate to admit it’s working.

You knew he was back, it had been all over the news, “President’s Daughter Saved by Hero!” That happened two weeks ago. Seeing him applauded had made your chest swell in pride until you recalled telling him this drawn-out sham of a relationship was over when he’d brought you the news of his latest assignment. You couldn’t take it anymore, the distance and the secrets, the months away and the lack of contact. It was practically debilitating, but it hadn’t mattered that he wasn’t your concern anymore in those months he was gone. It felt worse than waiting for an email he’d sneak in or a spotty phone call where you could barely make out the words but the sound of his voice still washed over you like a soothing balm. 

It’s why you couldn’t truly be angry now.

“Let’s go,” you finally urge, your tone gentler now, “Bed.”

It takes every bit of your strength to pull him into your bed, whiskey heavy on his breath when he collapses on top of you while mustering enough decency to kick his boots off as he sighs in what must be relief. Your lights are still on, and you’re certain the door is unlocked, but there’s no moving now, he’s too heavy and warm and familiar. You can’t be mad, because then you’d have to admit that you didn’t want this, that you hadn’t thought about the way your mattress just feels more comfortable with his weight dipping it down to the perfect point. It would be a lie. 

“Leon?” you whisper into his hair–it smells like a bar, stale, musty cigarettes and sweat–but he’s already out cold, too comfortable and content in your embrace now to stay awake.

He sees more horrors in a week than most do in their lifetime, and he finds safety here. It’s something you take for granted, especially in the long stretches of his absence filled with solo dinners and lonely nights, but it’s impossible to forget as he’s curled into you as much as his large frame allows, his breathing slow and easy. The familiarity of it drags you under, your eyes drifting closed as your fingers scratch soothingly up and down his spine. 

******

Butter crackles and pops over the hum of your podcast coming through the small speaker beside the sink. Early morning light filters in through the paper shades still drawn in the kitchen, the tiles cool on your bare feet while you chop fruit and various toppings for the omelet you’ve been thinking about making since last night. 

Leon was still in bed, getting out from beneath his heavy body without waking him could be considered your morning workout. He hadn’t moved an inch all night from where he’d fallen asleep pressed to your chest. When your rumbling stomach had become too much to bear you’d had to pull away, despite how little you found yourself wanting to. 

“That smells good,” a sheepish voice calls from the doorway, your head turning to find Leon slumped against the frame scratching the back of his head, his eyes avoiding yours, “I’ll go. I’m sorry for showing up like this. Thanks…for not kicking me out onto the street.”

“You can stay. Just take a shower. I can smell you from here.”

He laughs, his face lighting up enough to wash away the harrowing look he’d been wearing, “You didn’t throw my clothes out onto the curb?”

“I didn’t, actually. I like your shirts.”

“Well, they look better on you anyway.”

Ten minutes later as you plate fruit and omelets and pull two slices of bread from the bag on the counter, you hear him approaching, and you don’t even try to suppress the happy little smile settling on your lips. Flicking the toaster on as you spin, you soak in the sight of him turning into the room that always looks smaller when he’s in it. His hair is still damp and hanging loosely in his face, the shirt that was too tight months ago now on the verge of tearing at the seams when he reaches up to comb his locks out of his eyes. He looks better, the color returning to his face and the glow to the sea glass eyes you’d swam in so many times before. Your throat seizes for a moment when he flashes you a content smirk.

“What the hell happened?” you ask, your breath hitching when his arms cage you against the counter, his lips centimeters from yours. 

“I forgot how pretty you look in the morning,” he whispers, his thumb and pointer tipping your chin up softly. 

He gives you no time to comment on the blatant deflection, his pouty lips pressing to yours as he cups the back of your head, groaning when you reciprocate eagerly. Immediately, your hands find the warm, solid stretch of his chest, your hand falling instinctually to the steady beat of his heart. You’d learned early on that every symphony it beat into your ear as you laid on his chest could be the last, so the gentle taps against your palm are a welcome reminder that he’s still here. The dangers he faced had yet to lay claim.

“Missed you, Bug,” he murmurs against your lips, his nose nuzzling yours.

“Missed you, too,” you finally confirm, his relieved huff of laughter hot on your skin as he sighs in relief, kissing your forehead.

“Still mad at me?”

“Not til the next time you leave.”

“Gonna let me in the house when I get back?”

“If you’re lucky.”

It’s easy to tell he’s trying to control himself, the hardened bulge pressing against your inner thigh giving him away. His lips can’t stop pressing against yours, taking advantage of every pause in the conversation to peck at your still-speaking mouth, your arms finally wrapping around his neck warmly, his head burying into the crook of your neck. You lean your head against him, cradling him in the way you know he loves, his deep, content breaths heating the thin skin of your throat.

“I’m never lucky,” he sighs, and your heart aches for him.

This time is different, and you don’t know why. He always comes back battered and bruised both mentally and physically, but this time seems to have affected him even more than all the others. You don’t ask for details, he won’t tell you anyway, but you know he can work through it here, however slowly.

“You have a key, Leon,” you remind him with a chuckle, threading your fingers into his hair, “You can get in whenever you want.”

“You have to want me here,” he mumbles, “I have my own bed to sleep alone in.”

“I want you here.”

With those words, you pull his head up to stare into his tired eyes. You do want him here, and though your last outburst certainly had given him reason to think you didn’t, you hope he believes you now in the warm, soft realm of your embrace. 

“I want you here,” you repeat, “I want you here. Not there. Do you know what it’s like when you’re away?! I make myself sick, obsessing over the news and…and obituaries…”

You pull away to read the guilt falling over his features. It had come out harsher than you intended to, but the point was made. 

“I love you,” you whisper and then watch as he shatters.

“Saying things like that might make me consider retirement,” he chokes out, closing the space you’d made and leaning his forehead against yours.

“Oh yeah?” you respond, a sultry lilt to your tone as your hand drifts to the waistband of his sweatpants. “And what might convince you then?”

Before he can answer, your hand grips his already stiffened length, the way his breath trembles as you tug slowly sending a surge to your core. It takes him a moment to recalibrate as you drag your hand over him, and when he does, the ease at which he hoists you onto the counter makes you yelp, your arms wrapping around his neck as he wrestles your shorts off your hips. 

As soon as you’re free, you spread your legs wide, ready for his body to notch between them in a perfect fit, but instead, he sinks to the floor. Teeth graze over your inner thighs, just the thought of how close his mouth is makes your cunt clench around nothing but anticipation. Rough hands loop around your legs, pulling you closer to the edge before pressing his lips to your clit and suckling just enough to make you buck up against his face. His hair is soft when you knot your fingers through it and lean back against the cabinet behind you, his tongue probing into your fluttering hole greedily as he seeks to reacquaint with what he’d missed. 

Muffled groans are vibrating against you as he weaves through your slit, lapping at your juices leaking free before petitioning for more at your swollen bundle of nerves. You can see your arousal shining on his face when he pauses to take a lungful of air through a slackened jaw, his eyes as lidded as they were last night under the effect of alcohol. It’s shameless and unhindered the way he takes his fill, not that he was ever very timid before, but this time it feels like he wants and needs more, or maybe like he’d been afraid he’d never get to do this again.

You can already tell he won’t relent until you come on his mouth, so as the coil in your belly winds ever tighter you tug him by the blonde knots in your fist where you need him, enjoying the way he whined against your slick skin appreciatively. Two fingers slip inside you as his lips lock around your nub, curving and pressing the soft patch on your inner wall that has your vision flashing white. Every nerve is standing on edge as you lose control, your toes curling and fingers tugging on his hair hard enough it has to hurt, but he doesn’t stop or protest.

“Leon!” you cry out as you finally release his head to brace yourself on the countertop’s edge, “Lee-hmmm…”

His name is the last coherent word you get out before it’s only feral moans of bliss. You’re so close it’s like a fire burning in your limbs, every muscle tensing as you try to withhold it a little longer to prolong this moment where all you cared about was him and the way he could send you into the stars. When the tip of his tongue pinpoints and stiffens to flick teasingly before he latches once again, that’s all it takes to have the elastic snaps, sending a shockwave from your core all the way to the tips of your fingers, your scream echoing off the counters and windows. He’s satisfied with himself, smiling as he stands and lets your legs fall limply from his grasp, his hands catching your boneless body from slinking down onto the floor.

“M’gonna fuck you now,” he warns, gripping his cock that’s flushed purple and notching at your entrance, your response is nothing more than blind, sloppy kisses as you clean the taste of yourself off of his lips.

Your body welcomes him eagerly, sucking him in on his first thrust to the root. He sighs, gripping your waist to keep you still during the onslaught he’s set to release after you rip his shirt up over his head. Broad shoulders and thick pecs keep your fingers busy as you rememorize every dip and curve of his body, the slapping of skin on skin drowning out the pathetic whines falling from both of you as the sticky arousal leaking from your pussy soaks the patch of blonde hair at his base and drips down his thighs to pool on the waist of his pants he’s pulled down just enough. He’s not gentle, taking everything he needs with every hard piston of his hips, your legs quivering around him as you take every thick inch of him with no resistance. 

Leon wants to slow down, to savor the friction of your silky walls over his dick that’s craved anything but his own calloused hand for months, but he can’t. Not when you’re so wet it takes all his concentration to not slip right out of your gaping hole that’s pulling him in with a vicelike grip. He wants to flip you around and bend you over the counter, take you from behind where he can arch your back by tugging your hair, your ass rippling from the force of his thrusts, but you’re still kissing him so sweetly as he fucks you this hard, his throat currently being lavished by your affection instead of strangled by a monster. And it’s that reminder that sets him over the edge.

Thick, hot ropes of cum fill your cunt as his head falls to your shoulder, his thumb flicking over your clit as he steadies his breath and his cock softens. It doesn’t take long for you to find release once again, gentler this time, quieter than the wildfire of the first and you let it ember as the mix of your releases leaks free, drenching you both and dripping onto the floor. 

When he lifts his head to smile at you, his cheeks are flushed rosy pink, his eyes sparkling like gemstones before he cups the back of your head and kisses you in a silent thanks.

“I, uh, think we burnt the toast,” he chuckles, kissing you again before you can utter an unnecessary apology as the smell of charred bread finally registers, “Good thing I already had breakfast.”

Masterlist

[lnfours]

tolerate it | l.n

summary: if it’s all in my head, tell me now. tell me i’ve got it wrong somehow.

warnings: happy folklore/evermore season :) angst, language, fears of your partner falling out of love with you, slight anxiety and overthinking, fluffy ending bc i can’t make them stay mad at each other. kinda wanna do an evermore/folklore mini series, let me know if you guys would be interested <3

masterlist | listen

₊‧°𐐪♡𐑂°‧₊

the colder weather meant the sun was starting to set earlier, and it was evident as you gazed out the window, sitting at the dining room table. the candle you had lit an hour or so ago flickering softly, illuminating the room with a soft glow as the gloomy sky hovered above.

you sighed to yourself, taking another sip from the wine glass that sat next to your plate. you tapped on your phone screen, lighting up and displaying the time and the picture you had set as your lock screen. the 5:30 hovering tauntingly above the picture of you and lando from a few months back, your smile wide and trying to hide it in his shoulder as he held his camera to the mirror. he was sporting a smile also, you could almost hear your shared giggles through the photo.

he was supposed to be home an hour ago, and nights like this were happening more often. he’d always be an hour to an hour and a half late getting home. it was always an apology, saying ‘training ran late’ or the quadrant shoot ‘ran on longer than it was supposed to’, you’d see him for fifteen minutes while the two of you ate dinner, and then he’d go off to the office until he decides to join you in bed later in the night.

at first, you didn’t complain, knowing he was a man with a busy schedule, but after almost two months of this same song and dance, your anxiety was getting the best of you.

what if he was out with someone else? what if he was slowly losing interest in you? what if he just tolerates you?

the sound of the door closing pulled you from your thoughts, snapping your head up as you heard footsteps enter the room. he placed his keys, wallet and phone on the counter, frowning softly.

“sorry i’m late,” here we go again, “i told max i needed to be home by 4 and he insisted we played another round before i left.”

you nodded, taking another sip from the glass on your right, “‘s fine.”

he watched you swallow thickly, tilting your head to look back out the window. he noticed the way your hand tapped against your arm softly, his eyes moving to the plates set on the table. your grandmother’s china.

his heart dropped when he thought back to your conversation the other night, him saying the two of you would have a proper sit down meal tonight since he felt bad for running late lately.

and he just fucked it all up even more.

“you don’t have to lie,” he said, making you advert your attention back to him, “i know you know it’s not fine.”

you shook your head, “what’s it matter to you, anyway?”

he knew he deserved the digs and jabs you were sending his way, “seriously, lando, if you’re not interested in me anymore just say it instead of making me play this stupid game.”

the silence that fell between the two of you after was the final blow. he watched your cheeks glisten in the soft candle light, and fuck, he hated seeing you cry. especially when it was because of him.

he didn’t know what to say as your chair scraped the floor, getting up from your spot at the table and picking up your plate. the food untouched as you grabbed the saran wrap from the pantry.

he heard your quiet sniffle, “i’m so sorry, y/n-“

“then where have you been the past two months?” he blinked back at you before you continued, “every single day it’s the same, overused excuse. so, what is it really, lando? enlighten me.”

he swallowed because he didn’t have answer that didn’t sound like he was making an excuse. he really had been busy with work, but he knew he could’ve done better with planning to make more time for you and him.

you knew he loved you with every fiber of his being, but you were upset. you were angry and sad and all you wanted was for him to come home and spend time together like the two of you used to do. but it was like it was too much to ask for.

of course you knew what you were signing up for when he took you on your very first date, but you didn’t know it would mean being put on the back burner, begging to be let in on the things going on his life.

his silence made you nod, “right,”

he reached out to you slowly, not sure how you would react. you bit down on your bottom lip, the dam breaking now as he stepped towards you.

“y/n,” he said your name softly, understanding that your lash-outs were because of men who had hurt you in the past, knowing too well what it felt like when anxiety and over thinking takes over. he couldn’t be mad at you, he just wanted to make things right. make you feel reminded that he loved you. more than racing, more than his friends, more than anything in the whole world.

the back of your hands were raised to your eyes when he grabbed them and pulled you closer to him, letting your body rest against his chest. you gave in, knowing that at the end of the day, he was your safe place. your shoulder to cry on, the one who always saw you in your most vulnerable stages. there was no getting past him with this one.

your hands wrapped around his middle loosely as you cried softly into his chest. he rested his head against yours, rubbing your back the same way he always did whenever he’d comfort you. his lips pressed against your hair before he grabbed your face gently, lifting your chin to have you look at him.

he wiped the tears from your cheeks, eyes searching yours and that’s when you realized he had been crying too, “i’m gonna talk to my trainer and the guys and tell them i need a little bit of a break, and you and i are gonna spend every single day together doing whatever you want.”

you felt selfish now, “but this is your job, lan,”

“i don’t care,” he said, shaking his head as he moved his hand to hold your cheek, “they’ll be fine if i take a few days off.”

your hand came up to mimic his on your cheek, your fingers brushing against the small moles on his face. the same ones your lips press against whenever you kiss his face. the pads of your thumbs brushed away the small tear lingering around his nose.

“i’m sorry,” you apologized, feeling guilty for being cold to the boy who loved you like no other.

“don’t apologize,” he said, “i should’ve done better. you don’t deserve to feel like you’re on the back burner of my life.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck as his snaked around your waist, pulling you closer as if it was even possible. you looked back out the window, the light from the golden hour sun shining on the trees in the backyard. he pressed a gentle kiss to your cheek, “i love you.”

you smiled softly, pulling back to meet his gaze. your smile making his lips turn up into one mirroring yours, “i love you, too.”

he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your lips, a mixture of the wine you had with dinner and the salty tears you had cried a few moments prior with the subtle hint of your chapstick.

you both pulled away, him taking you by surprise when he lifted you off the ground. you squealed, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you clung onto his hoodie for dear life.

“lando!” you laughed, letting him carry you to the couch and thanking yourself for putting his dinner plate in the fridge earlier.

you had your boy back.

[desperate-gay]

oh my god I need a sonnett x reader for my SOUL,,, maybe a lil smut,,, some strap action- 👀👀👀

if you want a specific request maybe the reader plays for portland and has a rivalry with sonny and things get a lil heated after a match,,, 👀 xx

Rivals

Emily Sonnett x fem!reader

SMUT 18+

It is a friendly game between OL Reign and Portland Thorns. Even if the game had no potential value, it doesn’t mean the competition is any lower. Both teams have held a deep rivalry with each other for so long that neither will admit to defeat easily.

So here you are in the second half with only 5 minutes left of stoppage time and a tied score of 2-2. There have been many fouls called on both sides from the roughness of trying to keep possession of the ball, like right now. You’re trying to maneuver the ball closer to the penalty box, but the relentless defender Emily Sonnett will not allow you to do so with her arm wrapped around yours and her feet kicking at your legs. Eventually, she times her kicks a little too early, causing you to trip and fall.

The ref blows the whistle, signaling for a free kick as Emily approaches her trying to defend her behalf. The foul was committed a little outside the box, making it easy for you to kick it in or close to goal. After a minute, the defender stops her protests and gets in position while you adjust the ball to your liking. The sound of the whistle signals it is time to start, so you hold your arm up and kick high in the air, flying over the wall of defenders and allowing Smith to head it into the goal.

The stadium starts rumbling while the whole team runs to both you and Sophia, hugging you both in the middle. Reign kicks off the ball for a second only to be stopped by the blow of the final whistle. Everyone goes to hug the opposite team players, and when you go to hug Emily and back up, her hand grabs your hip and pulls you in her direction.

“You’re going to regret that foul when you’re panting underneath me tonight, begging for me to let you cum.” She mumbles it so the cameras can’t catch what she is saying to you.

Yes, both of your teams are rivals, and yes, you shouldn’t be sleeping with the enemy, but ever since you both ran into each other at a club, it’s really hard to stop. You were going out with a few of your teammates and you got a little too tipsy for your liking, but so did Emily. She started with teasing you and then dancing, but it led to you making out in the corner of the dance floor and stumbling into a cab together.

The two of you get along quite well, but you’re both afraid of admitting you could be something more than just fuck buddies, so you leave it like that. You’re also very competitive against one another on the field so that dampers both of your prospects on a relationship forming. There’s no harm in getting a few mind-blowing orgasms occasionally by someone you find extremely attractive.

“I bet you regret losing, don’t you?” You taunt back before making your way toward your team, stunning the blonde who stands still in her place. Yes, you both have your fronts, but whenever Sonnett makes a bold phrase like that, you’re usually immediately under her control. Today, basking in your win, you’re not going to give up that easily.

When you’re done rinsing off and changing, you head out of the locker room only to get pulled by your arm right away, confusing you and giving you whiplash. Noticing it’s Emily, you relax a bit, but you’re soon shoved into what seems to be a janitor's closet. Her hands grab your hips and slam you against the now-closed door before viciously attacking your neck without warning. She kisses any skin available and nips at the spots she knows drive you crazy.

“Sonny, what are you doing? Someone will find us.” The words spurting out your mouth are supposed to be filled with worry, but with her teeth scraping along your sweet spot, the words come out as broken sighs.

“The door is locked, and if you keep quiet, no one will know that we’re in here.”

“We are not having sex in a janitor's closet!” You whisper yell to get your point across without someone hearing you.

The older girl pulls away from the crook of your neck with a grin on her face. “Why don’t you come over to mine then, baby? I’ll show you who the rightful winner is.” You practically gulp at her sentence, answering her question with an eager nod, causing the blonde to chuckle. “So obedient.”

Emily opens up the closet and slips out to see if anyone is around. Once she sees that the cost is clear, she knocks 3 times on the door, signaling it’s okay to come out. When you come out, her arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into her as she takes you to her car.

She leans down and presses a subtle kiss to your ear and whispers, “We’re gonna have so much fun, princess.”

—

“Is this what winners look like? Begging underneath the supposed loser to cum?” Emily’s fingers drag tortuously in and out of you for what feels like the 30th time.

A thin layer of sweat covers your skin from the hours of edging as your legs tremble due to your body being overly sensitive. Right when you walked through her door, you were pushed against the door while Emily ripped off all your clothes one by one. You thought you’d be more on the rough side and still be able to get off, but boy were you wrong.

Her idea of showing you who the winner is is by having total control. Making sure your hands stay to yourself, feeling your walls clamp around her fingers only to pull away so you can’t cum, driving your body into overstimulation, making you look like a rag doll. Emily has been competitive at heart since she was born always competing against her twin sister to now playing professional soccer.

She adores it when you look weak beneath her. How she would love to just take a picture and show it to all your teammates to prove that you’re such an obedient girl for her, something no one would know from your facade on the pitch.

“Em, let me cum once. Just once, please.” You pant, whining when her fingers halt, once again stopping your approaching orgasm.

“Fine. But you wait until I tell you too, okay?” She grins seeing you instantly nod your head, showing just how much of a wreck you are, wreathing and panting under her.

Her hands hook under your knees, pulling them up and gesturing for you to hold them in place, spread wide enough for easy access. Right as her index and middle finger slip into you, a loud moan escapes your mouth which only makes the blonde’s smirk widen. Instantly, her digits are pounding into your dripping hole relentlessly, the wet noises from each thrust echoing through the room.

Your moans start to become more like squeaks, the overwhelming feeling of pain and pleasure flowing through you. Emily’s other hand comes up and her thumb begins to rub fast circles around your clit, making your orgasm build up faster.

“I’m close.” You pant, hips arching further into her hand only to be cut off by the blonde’s stern voice.

“Hold it.”

You whine, squeezing your eyes shut, trying your best to hold it in. Your whole body is going against the intruding pleasure, afraid if you do cum, you won’t be able to walk the next day. Reaching down, your hand grabs her bicep to catch her attention.

“Em, I can’t hold it much longer.”

“Wait until I give you permission.”

The build-up flowing through your bones is almost painful, so when Emily hears you whimper and whine, she gives you a sympathetic look before speeding up her thrusts even more. Broken moans spew out your mouth as your grip on her arm tightens, leaving moon-shaped indents on her skin.

“Cum.”

That’s all it took for your back to arch further up and your muscles to start twitching. Your eyes clamp shut as if it would hurt to ever open them again. Once the pleasure washes over, Emily’s thrusts never stop. Your body tries to run away from her hand but she quickly holds your waist down, trapping you beneath her.

“Awe, you thought you were done? Baby, we’re just getting started.” She tuts, maneuvering her fingers inside you, thrusting harder in the spot where she hears you gasp loudly.

A tear begins to run down your face from being so sensitive, but the mix between the sting and bliss makes you want to keep going, also to make the girl above you happy.

“Right there.” You pant, feeling your orgasm approaching already. Looking down, you see the defender’s veins popping out of her arm, turning you on even more and causing the coil in your stomach to snap suddenly.

You didn’t even mean to. You felt it coming but didn’t expect it to happen so easily. As you come down from your second high of the night, you turn your head to the side, afraid to see a fuming look from the blonde. The feeling of her lips attaching to your neck makes you jump and twist your head sharply to look at her.

“Flip over for me, baby.” Her raspy voice thicker in lust, hand grabbing your side to help you move. You let out a shaky breath and do as said, flipping onto your stomach. “You’re not in trouble, you’re just going to give me one more.” She assures, sensing your nerves.

Nodding your head, you take a few deep breaths and wait for the girl’s instructions. Her hands rub up and down your body, while her lips trail kisses from your neck down to your lower back.

“You’re going to ride my fingers and cum as soon as you have to. I won’t stop you this time.”

Her intentions softening but only slightly. When your arms hold your body weight as you slide up and down her digits, your hips stop at the edge of her fingertips, slightly stopping the overstimulation. Emily figuring it out, her other hand grips her side and slams your body down for you. She smirks when she hears a squeal slip from your mouth, her free hand now clutching on your ass, guiding your movements.

One tear now turns into strips of them running down your face. Your body feels slightly numb, but the way your muscles clench tightly against Emily’s fingers, you figure out you’re about to cum. You cry out as your hips stutter, your orgasm finished.

Emily pulls her hand away and flips you over, kissing your temple, whispering that you did so good for her. You hum in delight as she scratches your back, your face nuzzling into her neck.

After a few minutes, she gets up to grab a glass of water for you and a rag to clean you all up. Once you’re done, you settle onto her chest while you both sit in comfortable silence, listening to each other’s breathing, but when Emily takes a deep breath, you know she’s going to say something.

“I was just wondering, would you like to eat me- I meant eat with me. Damn it. Go somewhere and have…food?” She stutters over her words, making you smile.

“Is Saucy Sonny asking me on a date?”

“Depends on your answer. If you say yes, then yes I am, if you say no, I’m asking you to go somewhere with me so we can talk about how you’re going to get crushed the next time we play against each other.” She teases, her nerves washing away from your soft smile.

“I’d love to go out with you. It would suck to make you feel like a loser two times in a day.” You smirk but soon shriek from Emily biting your ear.

You both start to have light-hearted conversations, almost like you’ve been together for years. Rivals to lovers seem unrealistic but maybe you’ll accept that it can happen.

[rosepascal]

someday || Joel Miller x Reader

summary: You're sick and tired of being strong in this world.

warnings: angst/fluff, hurt comfort, tlou stuff so blood, killing, etc. The reader has some self deprecating thoughts.

a/n: I am once again using Joel as therapy. I could not survive the tlou world. As much as i would want to be a badass I would probably just cry a lot aksdfjl.

“Hurry up!” Joel snapped as you took cover among the bushes.

You wince as your knees scrape against the ground, blood trickling down your leg. Joel harshly grabs your arm as you hear loud footsteps approaching you.

“Where the fuck did they go!” You hear a man say.

His heavy boots snapping twigs as he walks. Joel would say he’s an idiot. One of the typical egotistical raiders who think their brute strength could solve anything. Joel’s grip gets harsher as they get closer. His other hand fiddles with his gun.

A heavy pit forms in your stomach. That same sickly horrible feeling that you always get when your life is in danger. Which happens often in this world.

You hate it. Hate what the world has become. Hate what you’ve become to survive. Shutting off all emotions so you can live. Killing people who are just trying to survive, just like you.

Joel springs into action, pulling out his rifle and shooting one of your attackers square in the face. Too wrapped up in your own head you don’t notice one of them fire at you.

“Shit!” You hiss as Joel tackles you to the ground.

The bullet whizzing past you. You start to apologize but Joel doesn’t care. He gets up and fires a few shots, letting you scramble to your feet and pull out your gun.

These guys are easy to take care of. They don’t bother trying to hide which makes them easy targets. Your brain shuts off as you put yet another bullet into someone, taking their life. Leaving them dead on the forest floor.

Once they’re all dead you just stand there. Reciting the same bullshit you tell yourself. You had to do this. It’s you or them. This is how things are now.

“Let’s go.” Joel says gruffly.

Not even bother to check on you before walking back towards Jackson. It makes your blood boil. Anger bubbling out of you with every step. You’re sick of it. Sick of living in this world. Sick of being strong and brave. Ellie calls you a badass but fuck what you wouldn’t give to go back to your life before the outbreak.

You’ve never said a word to Joel or Ellie about it. Joel, well he’s Joel. He’s the brooding tough guy. The provider. The keeps to himself kind of guy. As stereotypical as it sounds, he’s kept you alive so you owe him. He taught you how to shoot after finding you all on your own. Trying to make it to the QZ.

You know he’s lost a lot too. Everyone has, so what makes you so special? Why should you get to feel the way you do when it’s not nearly as bad as what some people have been through? The walk is silent as you approach the gates of the town. At least you have a bed now, a house with running water and food.

“Want to tell me what happened out there?” Joel asks as you get closer to the town. You clench your jaw and stay quiet. He’s not happy, he’s pissed. You fucked up. You don’t need him to tell you that.

“Hey, I’m talking to you.” He puts a hand on your shoulder and you rip it off you.

“I fucked up alright? I’m sorry.” You stomp ahead of him, not wanting a fucking Joel lecture right now.

“You’re sorry? You could have gotten killed.” Joel won’t let it go, he never lets it go.

“Just fuck off! Okay I get it. I don’t need you to tell me that. Sorry we can’t all be like you.” You storm through the gates, ignoring the looks from the townspeople.

“The hell does that mean?” He grabs your shoulders and forces you to face him. His face turned into a scowl, like he’s trying to puff himself up to make him bigger, scarier. Well fuck him.

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t fucking live like this. Killing people without even blinking, pretending it doesn’t get to me. I’m…I’m over it.” You shove his hands off you and storm into town.

“Hey!” Joel tries to come after you but you weave your way through the crowd of people.

Until his voice is drowned out and he can’t see you anymore. You don’t know how long you’ve been away. You just kept walking and walking until you found a seemingly abandoned house. You climb onto the roof and just, sit. Feelings of shame come over you as you think back to your argument.

On one hand it’s embarrassing to admit that you aren’t cut out for this world, maybe Joel agrees. Maybe he thinks he should have left you for dead. You promised him you’d be strong. That you could handle this. You were wrong.

But, a part of you is proud. Proud that you’ve finally gotten it off your chest. Keeping it buried for so long only made it worse.

“Hey.” You hand grabs your knife as you spin around and hold it up.

“Dammit Joel,” You mutter as you lower your hand. He comes and sits next to you. Grunting as he tries to get comfortable. He doesn’t talk. He tries, but he doesn’t know how to.

“I uh, I talked to Maria. Said she could take you off patrol for as long as you need.” You sigh and lean against the house.

“It’s not about patrol Joel. It’s…” You look down at your hands, playing with the knife as you gather your thoughts.

“I’m tired.”

“Well I’m sure its alright if you sleep in tomorrow.”

“No Joel, I mean I’m tired of everything. I’m sick of being strong. I’m not a strong person. I tried for so long, but I just want to be happy again.” Tears silently stream down your cheeks as you reveal your deepest kept secret to Joel.

"Do you ever think about what life would be like if this never happened? I think about it a lot." You admit.

“I know I promised you I’d be strong but…I can’t do it anymore. I know it’s selfish but..” You missed the world before all of this.

You don’t want to fight for every meal or kill people anymore. You want to wake up in a warm bed and have breakfast with your family. You wish your biggest problem was how boring your job was.

“It’s not selfish.” Joel says.

“I think about that too. I miss life before this. I miss a lot about it.” You lean against this shoulder. The two of you thinking of life before this, what life would have been if this never happened.

“You said you weren’t strong, but I disagree.” You look at Joel, waiting for him to continue.

“I think you’re plenty strong. It’s not weak to want your old life back. It’s not weak to feel the way you do about everything. Everyday you prove how strong you are just by being here.” Joel doesn’t sugarcoat anything. He doesn’t believe in sparing feelings so you know that he’s not lying. Maybe he’s not just talking to you either.

“Thank you Joel.” He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to him.

His lips gently press against your forehead. Maybe someday you’ll go back to the life you remember. It won’t be the same and that’s okay.

As long as you keep going, one day at a time. 

[141trash]

Every Man has his Breaking Point

AN: *Exhales loudly and screams* I had a mini panic attack because the links weren't working and I realized I hadn't reblogged the post but its fine because I scrolled my thousands of likes for this :) This is inspired by @bleuu-moon's post! I loved it and as I was eating my ramen ended up imagining Ghost in a similar position. unedited full of grammatical errors bc reasons

At first he thought you were a hallucination given that he'd been knocked over the head pretty damn hard during his capture. He woke up on the cold floor of some cell with you leaning over him, pressing a bit of cloth to his forehead. Swatting your hand away from his face, he forced himself to sit up and take stock of the situation.

There was a brief underlying panic when he realized they'd stripped him of his mask and you now knew what he looked like. All his weapons were gone as were his shoes and anything that might have been useful for escaping. Whoever took him clearly knew what he was capable of.

Wincing as he braced himself against the wall he finally turned his attention back to you. Definitely a civilian. Small, innocent, young. There had to be something that he didn't know about you that made you a target because you and him being stuck together in this situation seemed like such an odd pairing.

"What they want with you?" he asked hoarsely, breaking the silence. Your head shot up to look at him, nervously playing with the fabric between your fingers.

"I don't know." you replied shaking your head.

Simon grunted, but otherwise didn't say anything else. His head was throbbing painfully, but he needed to understand what was going on if he was going to get out of there. It occurred to him after a while that you might be working with his captors, placed there to gain his trust and get information out of him that way. If that was the reasoning then it was a stupid idea. A young pretty face wasn't going to get your bosses any answers.

He decided then that until he could confirm that theory he wouldn't interact with you again.

It was two days later when someone finally came in. The pair of you were on opposite sides of the cell. You'd been dozing on and off to keep from letting the anxiety overwhelm you, but when you heard the key scraping the lock to the outer door your head shot up instantly alert.

Across the cell Simon didn't lift his head to glance at the door, briefly though his gaze flitted to you, to see your reaction.

"Lieutenant Riley." a man with a grandiose voice greeted as a guard opened the cell door to let him in.

"I know you?" Simon asked almost boredly, looking at the man and not recognizing anything.

The man's face twitched slightly, hands tightening to fists at his sides, "Perhaps not. But I know you."

He looked at you then, causing you to shrink back from the slimy feeling that went down your spine.

"You don't like your gift?"

You shuddered at the obvious implication in his voice, tears welling up in your eyes.

"You must not know me very well if you thought that would get me to talk." Simon disparaged making a face in disgust. For a brief second you didn't know whether to be relieved or offended.

The man clucked his tongue like a bad superhero movie villain, a greasy smile spreading across his face, "Every man has his breaking point Lieutenant Riley. I'm excited for us to find yours."