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xmorguekittyx · 16 hours

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𝘽𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙠 & 𝘽𝙡𝙪𝙚

Pattering, the sound of the rain pelting the windshield and the whooshing of wind kissing her windows had her heart feeling like it was in her throat. The pulsing of her heartbeat, she could almost taste it. "The National Weather Service has issued a tornado warning in these following counties-", shit. It never sees to fail that while she was the most nervous, things would continue to get worse and worse. Strikes of lightening lit up the soaked pavement, there was at least 30 more miles before she hit Raccoon City outskirts. She should've postponed heading out of town, but Desmond needed some Blood BeGone soap, which she had been sent to go deliver. The storm seemed to put everyone out of commission. It was a crying shame, honestly. "-IMPACTS... Flying debris will be dangerous to those caught without shelter. Mobile homes will be damaged or destroyed. Damage to roofs, windows, and vehicles will occur. Tree damage is likely. You are in a life-threatening situation. Flying debris may be deadly to those caught without shelter. Mobile homes will be destroyed. Considerable damage to homes...businesses...and vehicles is likely and complete destruction is possible.", Jesus, could things get worse?

They could; the storm seemed to be a little bit before schedule, her headlights illuminating branches and twigs laid over the pavement. The rain blurring the image as she leaned forwards, praying that the branches would grant her mercy and not wreak havoc on her tires. Surely, one thing had to go right, right? Maybe the gods could pass on a little favoritism. The road had to be cleared, but she would have to make it across, her eyes squint to try and find some distinguishable marker for her calling the sheriff's office once she gets back to the morgue. They should be able to stop traffic at least for the night, hopefully nobody has had to come through- a small gasp part her lips. Between the trees sat a blue Honda, the car having the trunk popped and, absolutely, nobody around. A sick feeling of unease crept up her throat as she eyed the car, analyzing, again, anything she could remember to tell police. Part of her wanted to jump out and make sure everything was okay, but the lights were shut off, she could only see it as her head lights shinned past it. It was just unfortunate timing; she could feel the gusts of wind trying to sway her car. Hopefully they had been picked up and just forgot the trunk, as much as that would suck; that was the best outcome. Especially with how bodies had been piling up at her job.

The anxiety she felt from the storm and car hit an all-time high as she heard the beginning of Nobody by Avenged Sevenfold start to play from her cupholder, jarring her already frazzled mind. The photo of Leon Kennedy flickering in her screen, it was from when her father had still been alive, working at the same police station Leon did. He passed right when Leon joined, but that had been a few years ago. No matter how much it felt like it was yesterday, time was moving fast, but she felt like she was being left behind. Her eyes glanced up at the road before she slammed on the breaks, a doe running across the street as her tires locked up, squealing as her phone fell into the floorboards. Hands fighting the steering wheel as she tried to steady the car and her heart. "I'll have a damn heart attack before I even make it back.", she sighed, her chest expanding to take in all the air she could. Nobody playing once more, had her nearly jumping out of her skin as she scrambled with the phone, scooping it from the floor. "Hello?", she held the phone to her ear, sitting in the car, she couldn't bare driving right now. Afraid was an understatement, it appears the gods found no favor for her, this night. "Where are you? Harvy has been blowing up my office phone demanding I start up a missing person's report.", his airy and slow voice drawled over the receiver. "Well...", her eyes went back through the droplet covered window. "The roads are getting worse, I've been having some trouble returning to the morgue.", she felt the air build up on her lungs before letting it out in a huff. "Hey- Leon?", she figured now was better than never to tell him all the shit that had gone on tonight. "There's a car up here on mile marker 37, trunk's open and lights are off. It's parked in the woods a little off the shoulder. You think you guys could come check it out and clear the road?", if they would tonight, would be the real question. "I'll head out first thing in the morning, it's unsafe to be out there right now. You said mile marker 37? There's a motel just a few roads south of you. If I were you, I'd stop in for the night, Kitty.", his voice sounded like honey poured on pancakes in the golden hour of sunrise. Hot coffee laying in the windowsill as the day started early on. Saying Katerina Visage had a crush on Leon Kennedy would've resulted in pink cheeks and embarrassed groans. Now, it left her wondering; what if?

"Yeah, I'll stop there for the night. I'll have to book it on foot, during this but-", her voice trailed off. "It's better than getting kidnapped or taken in a tornado in your car.", sometimes, he sounded like her dad. "It's... rough out here.", her voice was full of exhaustion. It felt like today had lasted the week, "You mind stopping by in the morning on your way to check things out? It would make me feel a little better just seeing you.", in all honesty, she was spooked. The storm, the car, the deer, the motel she'd never even heard of before. "Yeah, don't worry about that. First thing in the morning I'll be at that motel, waiting to take you back home. I'll get your car towed; Chief Iron's wouldn't want you paying for that.", he sounded like he was stretching, she was sure that it must've been a slow night for the men. The rain probably the only mischief Raccoon City had going on tonight. "Thank you, Leon. I don't know what I'd do without you.", her teeth sunk into the dead skin around her nails. "I guess I'm about to start walking, I'll message you once I get there, okay?", her voice was full of dread. The walk was not super familiar, especially in the dark with a nearly dead road. "Stay safe, Kit. Don't be afraid to call me if anything happens.", he had a soft tone with those words, Kitty remembered Leon being the rookie. She was 17 when she first saw the 21 year old, fresh from the academy walk into RPD. Her dad being one of the first to welcome him.

"My daughter put up a banner for you, we've all been excited to have you join.", he waved to the circle banner that read. 'Welcome Leon', the 'e' in Leon was twisted but she was so proud of hanging it. Her smile wide as she also introduced herself to the man, starting a friendship that grew over a mutual shared space.

Her father's passing brought them closer together, her father was always close with Leon. He had been the one to train him on the job. "Just get there and pray there's a room.", she sighed, before grabbing her charger, her phone, wallet and keys. Her body had to tense as she placed her hand on the handle, taking a deep breath of warm air and dryness. She had to just hurry, it was just a coincidence the car was abandoned, right?

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sapphire-weapon · 10 months

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you know what bothers me

when Chris and Rebecca go to find Leon in Vendetta, Leon blows them off and says he's on vacation

but he's in the middle of fucking nowhere in Colorado.

what the fuck was he doing there for vacation?

like I get the idea that, for Leon, a vacation is somewhere away from people where he can be alone -- which is a whole thing in and of itself, but like

how'd he choose that town? what was it about that place?

something tells me that this wasn't pre-planned or researched. he probably just hit the road and then stopped when he felt like he'd found somewhere he wanted to stop.

I just wanna know what it was he thought he'd found.

#this post has been brought to you by my ADHD brain wondering if being innawoods makes Leon and/or Ashley think about the other #especially if it's cold and/or raining #the sound of rain through the trees and all that shit

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ceilidho · 10 months

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prompt: reader is hired as a live in house cleaner because ghost is always away and he only comes back on leave and he insists she stay in the guest room. Over time he increasingly acts like she’s his live in girlfriend or something. Very confusing for reader lmao.

The job comes at the exact right time.

The way you stumble onto your new job is a bit dicey, if you’re being honest. You’ve been meaning to get out of the waitressing life for a while—the tips are shit and the number of times that you’ve had your backside pinched has slowly but steadily climbed into the double digits. You just haven’t had direction; somewhere to go.

Your savior comes in the form of a six foot plus soldier. Oh, he doesn’t tell you that, but his body language speaks for itself.

At first, even the sight of him makes your belly clench and palms sweat like when you watch rock climbing documentaries or parkour videos online (all moist and clammy and you have to wipe them on your jeans before shaking his hand). He’s a one-time customer at your little roadside diner that gradually becomes a repeat offender.

He comes at odd times, sometimes disappearing for a month or two before he’s back to sitting in the booth at the back of the diner with his back against the wall. You smile shakily when you pour him coffee after coffee. He never eats. Always sits in the same booth, dressed in the same black hoodie that does nothing to hide the sheer size of him and a black surgical mask that he never removes. He has a sixth sense for when you’re watching him from behind the counter, waiting for him to take a sip.

You never do catch a glimpse of his face. Not completely anyway. You know him only by the faint smell of gunpowder and metal that clings to him like a second skin, and the feeling of his calloused hand against yours.

Like ice slowly chipping off a glacier that one day cracks, a huge chunk splintering off and crashing into the sea, you know nothing about him until you’re suddenly in his house. Simon, he tells you, and the sound of his name awakens something in you. He needs a housekeeper and you need a reason to leave.

You quit the diner; barely even put in a week’s notice.

The day you drive up the long beaten road up to his property, a cabin deep in the English countryside, clear blue skies follow you. Clouds crisp, delicate even. Simon takes you through the house, showing you to the guest room where you’ll be staying while he’s away. He never directly confirms your suspicions, but the faint tightness around his eyes when he mentions his job tells you all you need to know. No wonder he needs someone to keep the house in order. Never around to do it himself.

Then he’s gone, swift as a ghost. You wake up in the guest room to a hastily scrawled note on your bedside table and a faint feeling of loss.

You scrub tiles and dust the top bit of the fan that everyone always misses; you mow the lawn, clean the gutters, and sit under the shade of a poplar tree with a glass of lemonade in the early evenings. If you look up into the tree, you’ll see spiders and squirrel nests. It’s almost therapeutic.

Weeks pass at a time. Simon reemerges like clear skies between periods of rain. Sometimes even before you wake up, you can feel the change like lighting sizzling in the air, crackling hot under your fingertips and then stumbling into the kitchen to find him leaning against the counter, coffee already brewing. You blush into an apology that he waves off.

Good soldier. Better boss.

You fall into a routine, something of a cadence that is only interrupted by Simon’s hands on your hips when he moves you out of the way to grab a mug from the top shelf. His finger brushing over the curve of your cheekbone to wipe away flour smudged on your cheek. Then he’s gone again, passing through like a ghost.

Perhaps he’s a more tactile man than you originally assumed. Something about the way he held himself in those first few weeks in the diner suggested otherwise, the way he seemed to radiate a latent hostility. Do not get close. You read this in the general slope of his eyebrows and the scars across his muscled forearms up until he reaches out to touch you, growing more and more comfortable with you around.

“You alright, love?” said into your ear on a warm night when Simon materializes onto the couch beside you, practically out of thin air. Your heart almost bursts in your chest.

When you turn, he’s as beautiful as ever, honey burnt eyes staring out from behind a balaclava this time. Still dresses in his standard issue tactical pants, the faint smear of grime and gore around the ankles. There’s a lump in your throat when you smile.

He smells richer now. Deeper, like the forest floor. Like crawling through mud and spider webs and a thick, cloying miasma of desperation.

“Sorry—I didn’t know you’d be back,” you apologize, going to rise up to your feet. It feels wrong to commandeer his house when he’s on leave, even though you live here too.

A heavy hand on your shoulder pulls you down, settling you to his side. “Off your feet now—there you go, atta girl. No sense getting up; show’s not even done.”

He angles you back to face the TV and tugs you into his lap almost effortlessly. You do not look back, even when you feel him slip the balaclava off, hot breath fanning over your neck. Not even when fingers play over the thin line of skin where your shirt rides up. You blink like your eyes are gummy and try not to shudder when his thumb dips underneath your shirt.

#cod mw2 #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost/reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #ceil writing #house cleaner au

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morallyinept · 7 months

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Candles - A Joel Miller Birthday One Shot

Summary: It's your birthday and you're convinced that Joel has forgotten. Or worse, that he's hiding something from you.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 4.8k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Smutty - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) Angst & Joel being a miserable bastard on your birthday.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: Written for my birthday. Completely self-indulgent; Joel's the best gift, right? For anyone else celebrating their birthday today, I'm sending you the biggest smooch. 💋🖤

Check out my other birthday story, featuring Frankie Morales, called Birthday Cake.

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Joel doesn't like birthdays.

His birthday, September twenty-sixth, was the day the whole world went to shit. Outbreak day.

He lost Sarah on his birthday. His watch stopped when he was shot at, so he can't be sure if it was still his birthday or not, but that day and the events are ingrained in his mind, carved into the blood smeared bone in the back of his skull.

The root of all of his resentment at how he failed to stick a bullet in himself and hold his sweet Sarah again in the afterlife.

Even before the world fell, birthdays were just another day. Another brick in the wall. But they matter to you; bending his ear constantly about imaginary scenarios and the types of things you’d do if you still could celebrate it.

He wants to tell you to quit harpin' on 'bout it, but he's not cruel, despite that reputation preceding him.

Ordinarily, your excitement at such a trivial thing of adding rings to your tree trunk would give him some morsel of joy, but not when it serves a harshly confronting reminder of everything he's lost.

He remains stoic and focused, unreadable. Life and constant, crushing hardship has turned Joel into a shell of the man he once was. He knows no peace, alienated from calm.

The ink is running off the pages in his book that you thought you could read so well in the early days. The chirpy rambling from your mouth soon dips and you withdraw, keeping schtum about it further when you see the hackles of his shoulders rise.

Your birthday has been on the approach for some time now, layers of carbonic dread forming under the skin as the days move closer and closer towards it, and it's evident that Joel doesn't share your enthusiasm.

And Joel, although resolute in his usual steeliness, seems more distracted as of late too.

The lights are on, but there’s no-one home when he looks at you anymore. Conversation has been reduced to annoyed grunts and the three-sixty roll of his eyeballs clacking around in his sockets more so than usual.

And it’s all reduced to ash as the uninvited thoughts begin to infect and plague you about the possible root cause.

You ask him, one gloomy afternoon as the rain pelts against the grubby pane in your shared apartment in the QZ. Joel invited you into his home in the embryonic stage of your courting. Cleared some space through the little that he has to accommodate you and slot you into his life this past year. Made room for you in his bed.

You struggle sometimes to remember what life was like without him, as cliché as it sounds. Almost a full, singular rotation around the sun and yet Joel feels ingrained in your blood, kindred.

So why do you feel so sick to your gut right now?

He’s pulling on his boots, a low grumble heard when he leans forward and he feels his back crack with the strain. You’re getting ready mentally for him to depart from you for a few days on a scouting run, and it gets harder each time he leaves.

“Joel, is everything okay?” You ask him, looking at him through the reflection in the glass from behind you, with eyes that tell you he knows that you know something is up with him.

More so than his usual grouchy self that you find endearing despite the fluctuating temperance. That a part of him isn’t functioning properly like it used to, and the thought of that - that you can see that so plainly when he tries his damndest to hide it from you - is disconcerting to say the very least.

What else are you hiding from me, Joel?

“What d’ya mean?” He asks, his eyes and thick fingers focused on battling with small knots that aren’t made for giant hands.

“Us.” You say tentatively like it's a foreign word in your mouth.

Taboo to announce it out loud; you've both never confirmed it wholly. It's always been assumed that you're his and he's yours.

You look at the bleak, grey of the outside world. A gated world that’s incredibly small, and getting smaller as the intrepid seconds wear on.

Questions, thoughts and images; all blinking through you trying to piece it all together whilst you move stagnantly through a heavy swamp of confusion. The exact truth is staring you in the face, but try as you might to refute it; it’s plainly obvious and it begins to terrify you in new ways.

He’s pulling away from you, has been for some time now.

You can feel it in your bones as they twist and contort under your skin mercilessly. Invading your dreams and depriving you of any sleep. Nightmarish images invade tenfold of a face you know, yet don’t at the same time.

Renegade tears make themselves acknowledged, at the most inconvenient of times, and there’s only so long you can convince Joel that it’s nothing or that of a pre-menstrual crisis starting, so he’d immediately back off.

He never pushes, never probes. And it's as equally welcome as it is frustrating at times.

Emotionally you’re a wreck and you need it to stop, or for certain realisation to bear its face to Joel. It’s been a lengthy waiting game. Teetering on the edge to realisation, although part of you already knows.

He just doesn't know how to tell you. How to break your heart. And it’s worse somehow, because he’s forcing you to do it instead.

“Ya bein’ stupid.” He says, finished with the tirade of mumbles and grunts directed at the laces, and stands.

You don’t say anything to him when he asks you to explain your odd behaviour in not so many words. Instead, you stand there, forehead propped against the mottled window, steaming up from your breath, and not facing him, sulking like a prepubescent teenager being scolded for staying out too late by an overbearing father.

You can see he’s growing testy and this irks you further. Should you finally go there, omit the truth and deal with the chips wherever they may fall? Would that even be possible?

You have to tell him what's swirling a cyclone in your mind, whether it's absurd or not, right?

His broad frame in the window reflects back at you. Stepped forward and closer now so he’s looming almost. You begin to inadvertently cower into yourself a little, arms encapsulating for warmth and reassurance, and you’re sure he’s noticed because he seems to grow in height, feeding off your inward distress. His eyes are piercing and his mouth is that thin, hard line again.

He tells you you're being stupid, but it does little to cease the heavy gnawing.

Sighing, he gathers his jacket and pack. The rifle resting on the table from cleaning it most of the early hours of the morning - and not spent in bed with you - is swept up in his hands.

He hasn't touched me in so long…

He must have observed your realisations no doubt, surely the man cannot be so blind to the plight and tension you feel when you're under his nose?

And if he took pleasure in seeing your mind switch back and forth from an aurora of amplified emotions, he certainly hid it fucking well from you.

Joel turns to you before he disappears outside the door. You cling onto a desperate hope for a moment that he’ll leave something soft to accompany you; give you some affirmative reassurance and confirm that your stupidity, is in fact, that.

But he doesn’t.

He simply shuts the door behind him and leaves you floundering. Your eyes prickle, but the tears don’t fall.

You’ve cried enough now over Joel Miller.

Your birthday arrives, the dawn spent waking up in the bed alone without Joel’s warmth suffocating you; his tan skin sticking you to him.

You can't remember the last time he was inside you. A part of you.

Despite wanting to indulge in dysania, to sink into a despair that's been riding shotgun with you for a while, you will yourself up to continue with the monotony.

The day is spent as though meandering through a blur, your body robotically doing the things you’re supposed to, but your mind not being fully coherent.

Get up, eat a little something bland, exist… and so on. It's just another day. You don't even know why you expected anything different. You're foolish for even thinking it.

Your brain ticks continuously whilst your limbs belong to those of the infected that try to ravage you any chance they get beyond the walls of the QZ.

But what about those unanswered questions and coincidences floating around the apartment and jabbing you in the temple?

Joel’s disappearing acts and seeing him weary and more dishevelled when he did eventually reappear again? It's difficult to accept that you're replaceable. That the space you once fit in has been filled by something else.

Someone else, perhaps?

Your stomach lurches and you barely make it to the bathroom before you bring up all your fears and watch in numb disgust as they flush away. Piecing it all together to make any sense is a doom filled thought.

You're tired. You've had enough. You only succeed in confusing yourself further and are rewarded with a brewing migraine. And as you throw yourself onto the bed to get some rest to quell the ache behind your eyelids, you conclude that you now utterly despise birthdays.

Confronting him has to be the only option, but bravery’s lost to you; hidden away under the dank comforter, pulled up tight over its head, refusing to surface.

You're in the shower later that evening, washing away the day, when Joel returns from the scouting run.

You hear the sounds of the door rattle and his heavy sighs, even over the water flooding your ears.

But as you come out, hair dripping down your shoulders, he’s already left abruptly again, sealing you in with once more the claws of your festive loneliness.

You make you both some supper. A few cans he’d left on the table with peeling stickers and some without. The smell turns your stomach as you stare down at two plates of uneaten food that had long since gone cold and wonder how the fuck you've got here.

It's late when he comes back, startled somewhat to find you still sitting at the table. Glancing down at the food, his eyes soften and then they find yours, vacuous and empty.

You're not even pissed at him anymore.

Before he acknowledges you, you freeze momentarily and can’t abnegate yourself from looking at him, as much as you want to avoid it. But each time you falter, his hatchet eyes are staring right back at you, sending prickles all down your back.

The comprehension is a difficult task itself, but you're fruitless in your attempt to disentangle it all, even if you aren't going to be the victor in this battle that you're bound to lose.

You're going to lose him.

Perhaps you already have. You want to remember his face, so you take it all in as he hovers by the door; a large hand twisting and groping at the knob unconsciously as it squeaks around the crush of it, a nervous tick.

He’s anxious, worried. He wants this to be quick and painless. As do you.

Even if Joel has completely no idea what's been happening, surely he had to know how this situation cuts you open, how you're bleeding onto the floor.

How can he not see it?

You feel no animosity towards him at this precise moment, which confuses you further, but more of a sense of intrusion. You aren't ready for this now that he's actually here.

Joel's reaction is unguarded and you can see him looking at you, somewhat askance, around the crinkled edges of his eyes. You soften a little and let him have a final smile from you.

Something for him to remember you by.

“I have somethin’ I wanna show ya.” He says, quietly to you.

You look at him carefully as you baulk.

“What is it?” You question, suspiciously.

“Just… c'mon.” He holds out his hand, an olive branch, and you stand.

You don't take it as you follow him out into the scabby hall where the wallpaper peels and the carpet still has that burnt umber stain of blood from decades ago.

He leads you towards the stairway, heading up them and you follow, still confused.

Once you reach the top floor of the building, and the door that leads out onto the roof, Joel slightly out of breath as he rests for a second, he instructs you to close your eyes.

“Keep ‘em closed.” He murmurs to you and you feel his hand inside yours now.

Skin on skin. It makes you audibly gasp at the warmth of his touch and you remember how he feels as it tugs the remaining strangled beats out of your heart.

Joel’s hands are always warm, even if he wields death about so freely with them. You feel his grip tighten in yours, guiding you down the stone steps out onto the roof where the cool air of the dark autumnal night pierces through your thin, moth-eaten sweater.

“You’re not planning on pushing me off the roof, are you?” You snicker. But it would be a kindness, considering.

You have your other arm out in front, feeling your way, blindly.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Joel mutters. There’s a smile inside of his words; you can hear it, although his tone is hard like granite. You miss that smile.

Your feet are clumsy as you step and you wobble.

“I got ya.” He steadies you, his other hand on your hip and the feel of it makes your skin burn up in a corona. It strips you of your breath.

He stops and lets go of you completely after a few more steps.

“Y’can open ‘em now.” Joel whispers to you. You can feel his breath against your ear and it leaves you feeling warm despite the nip in their air at the new altitude on the roof.

Despite the fact that you're slowly dying.

You take a breath. A slow breath to steady your nerves. You're not sure you're ready for it. Perhaps if you can keep them closed, it will never happen.

You won't have to watch him walk away.

You can’t believe what you’re seeing when you finally open them, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

But it's anything but. It stuns you.

The roof is lit with candles; hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand there's so many. All various sizes, thicknesses, colours and in different states of burn, casting eerie, yet brilliant shadows across the brick walls.

They trail all the way across the rooftop towards you. Flickering in the gentle night’s breeze, it invokes an immediate tranquil state within you, and the warmth emanating from this gloaming wonder is enough to stop the prickles on your skin almost instantly.

"Joel..." you murmer, perplexed.

It must have taken him ages to set this up, and you’re momentarily lost for words in the confusion that makes itself known at the back of your throat in dumb astonishment.

Joel watches as you walk amongst them, slowly taking it all in and holding your palms out to feel their warmth kissing at your fingertips.

The surprise and wonder spreads out on your face as you turn back to him in wordless disbelief.

“Made it with a few seconds to spare.” He glances at his watch, then realises it’s still broken, still a constant, crushing reminder strapped to his wrist, and then beholds you with a crooked smile melting away.

You look back at him, with a frown starting to topple your awe.

“Ya thought I forgot,” Joel confirms.

You shake your head. “No. Just thought you didn’t care about it, is all.”

He steps forward to you, the flames flickering all around you both. “I care 'bout you.”

You feel your heart stop beating for a second. “You didn’t have to do this...”

“I wanted to. I know m'a grouch and-”

“Joel. Stop talking.” The low timbre of his voice jars you. It's gentle in its gruffness. And it’s too much as your eyes well up without your control, without your say so.

“Hey,” he turns your head to him, to face him head on. His thumbs smoothing across your cheeks as you grip onto his thick wrists.

“I thought-”

“I know what ya thought. S’not gonna happen, okay?” He says earnestly and for the first time in what feels like a long time, Joel pulls those inane fears out of you and stamps on them until they’re all dead.

You nod, sniffing the tears back with all your might, but they fall in your stringent relief anyway.

“C’mere,” he crushes you into his stacked chest, the soft ebb of his heartbeat the only sound you can hear as it clears out the dusty crevices of your mind.

You pull away to marvel and feel the balminess from the candles all over your body.

“See, it’s things like this that make me believe you’re human after all,” you whisper in complete awe.

He frowns. “Ya wrong ‘bout that.”

You scoff. “Are you kidding me? Look at this, Joel. At what you did, for me. It’s... amazing. Are you seriously going to tell me that a monster would do that for someone, because I don’t believe that?”

He can see the reflection of a thousand or so candles in your eyes, twinkling back at him like glitter.

After being lost in them momentarily, he rubs up and down your arms with his hands.

“Y'don’t believe in monsters, do ya? Even when the world's full of 'em?” He questions carefully.

“Not in the slightest. People are just people.” You reply. Although some of them admittedly more fucked up than others.

“What 'bout people who do bad things?”

You look at him sincerely. And it makes more sense now. There's still a wall there. “They’re still people.”

Joel absorbs your answer, the answer you always give him when he gets like this. When he needs you to convince him there's still good in the world, because you're good.

When he feels unworthy.

“D’you believe that a man can ever be changed of his ways?” Joel asks.

“People can always change, if they really want to. Why?”

“Hypothetical question.” He replies, quickly.

“Do you really believe that you’re a monster, Joel?” You ask him carefully.

You watch as he kicks up a piece of grit on the ground repeatedly, unsure of whether he'd heard you at first.

“Y’don’t," he begins and makes his way back after losing it for a second. "Y'don't make me feel like one.” He mutters with rust in his throat.

You take his hands, those giant, calloused paws inside your own and squeeze them until he can’t feel them anymore.

He looks at you, and it bothers him more than it should do - more than he would have liked it to - the thought of you at home alone, especially on your birthday, thinking that he was going to leave you as he was filling his pack full of all the candles he could scavenge in and around the QZ.

Months of planning and keeping this from you, and you thought he was going to say goodbye. Surely that's monstrous, for him to have allowed it to get so bad.

He failed you. He made you feel unworthy. And that doesn't sit right with Joel Miller.

He watches as you stare a while at the candles, flickering in the night’s air with the inviting sound of silence to accompany you both.

No thrashing heartbeat, no thudding of blood pulsing in your ears. No static.

Just a strange peace, which has seemingly gorged on all the confusion, all the angst and fears that had been mounting within you for so long.

He goes to speak, clears his throat of the block, and then chokes on his words as he tries to assimilate them together into something coherent, something meaningful.

You turn to him sensing his unease and it equally fascinates and infuriates him that you can do that; that you can put him at ease to get them out without sounding like a bumbling fool.

You sense that what he wants to say will be relevant and would give you what you need, but you never expect him to say, in all your remotest dreams or fears:

“I love ya.”

He’s known it for a while. Felt that this was more than just two people surviving and fucking together through the dark nights to feel anything more than just pain and existing.

Joel had poked his head in the bathroom one evening, watching as you’d showered after a rough day and a close call; your body mottled with dirt and bruises and he’d felt it then.

That overpowering need to protect you. To keep the bad things at bay, even if that meant he had to do some bad things in exchange. His soul was a fair price to trade to keep you by his side. And what's love, if it's not protection?

Helping you out with a towel ready for you, bubbles splodged all up your back and glistening at him, he realised that perhaps he was falling in love with you.

He didn't want to be in love with you though. He wanted to keep you at bay, to not let you in under the layers of his skin. Not let you unravel what was left of him; a small thread wound so close to the spool.

Love would make protecting you that much more difficult.

He was never confident in negotiating all the social interactions that came with dating, especially in this world now. It was foolish to bear your heart because at any point it could be ripped away and eaten.

But with you? His heart was always on his sleeve, soaking it damp in his blood. Whatever this was between you, it felt easy somehow, like breathing.

Joel could finally breathe.

There was no choice in falling for you. And Joel never wanted to make another choice ever again.

You reach up on your tiptoes and place a gentle kiss on his mouth; revelling in the feel of his mustache and greying scruff tickling soft at your face.

A feeling that if you never got to experience again, the way it leaves lightning streaking through your blood, would kill you.

You slip your tongue into his mouth and he welcomes you in, squeezing you closer to him and groaning around your taught gums. You lick gently across his bottom lip before taking it in your teeth and pulling deep growls from him.

“M’trying to be a gentleman here, darlin’. But if y’keep doing that, I’m fuckin’ ya up against the wall.”

His breath trips up in his throat and your body soars at his warning as it rolls acrid and sharp off his tongue into your mouth, forcing you to taste his cavities. To taste his promises.

He still wants you, he’ll always want you despite your stupid neuroses.

You bite and suck his lip again deliberately, and he growls.

"Ya leavin' me very little recourse."

“I love you, Joel.” You gasp as your hands grapple and devour him just as hungrily. Breathing out like a balloon losing its helium, you pant and moan for more air; for more of him.

He’s quick, like steam; power marching you backwards and your back hits the brickwork, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

The shadows of the night dance over his hard facial features and he glows ethereal at you from the candlelight illuminating his left side. A constant ying-yang of who he is and you want both sides of him, forever.

You want the distant and the present. You want the soft and the rough. You just want him.

"Say it again" he hisses.

"I love you-"

He silences you with a swamping kiss. Joel’s wilder now; like a rabid dog drooling all over you. His hands are clawing, groping and squeezing.

Quick, desperate fingers stripping you of your jeans and unbuttoning his own at the same time; a messy blur of his hands as you stay glued to his lips and taste the notes of his tongue.

He massages the soft fat of your buttocks, malleable warm flesh in his giant hands as he kneads gently with thumbs that’ll bruise. You can feel his cock pushing hard and swollen against your slit as he moves your ass back and forth, pulling you closer to his body.

Closer to the broken fragments of his soul.

"Joel…" you whine into his mouth with pathetic need, fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

"Tell me what ya want, darlin'." He sucks on your lip and lets it go with a little squelchy pop. Lips and tongue trailing across your jaw and feasting on the skin at your throat.

"You. Always you.” You mewl mesmerised as his cock slides up against your clit; your body flinches like it’s been electrocuted. You’re crashing, falling into him and surrendering. "Need you."

"Want me inside?" He groans as you nod, lost to the heated desire that burns through your body and drips down your thighs.

"Deep. Hard." You plead. You crave his chaos, it's been so long since you tasted it. "I need you."

"I want ya." He groans.

"Have me, fuck me. Joel, just fuck me, please!"

Hungry brown eyes are pulling yours into them as his swollen head delves into your soaked lips. His stretch burns, opening you up for him again. Sliding with ease into the hilt of you, where he ultimately belongs.

"Hear that? Hear how wet ya are for me? God damn..." He teases, pulling you closer by your ass cheeks as his fat cock pushes up inside the tight channel of your cunt.

You hiss as he pulls up your leg, wrapping it around his waist as he hoists you fully up against the wall. The brickwork is rough against your skin, despite the protective layer of your sweater that grazes against it as he starts to pummel.

He loses all control with you. Can never keep his shit together as you unravel him from that spool completely.

"Fuck," you groan, biting down on your lip as he fills you. His breath leaves him in a wheeze and floods your face as he thrusts in and out; marvels at how well you always take him until he’s completely obliterated.

You can feel yourself soaring, higher into the sky as it holds its arms out for you ready to pull you in. Only he knows how to take you to this height, to this place. A place where, for a moment, only you exist, the two of you, on this bleak rooftop, surrounded by decades of carnage.

But it’s all stripped away in his groans and your pants as you feed each other your imbibed love in a world where everything dies.

In a world where physical gifts are pointless and sparse tokens of fleeting affection, he does the next best thing. Joel gives you something that he knows you’ll always want.

He gifts himself to you.

“Ain’t ever leaving ya, y’hear?” He sounds off in your ear through reckless pants and groans that suffocate on the floor below you. “M’here, always here. Fuck!” He spits. "Gonna be inside ya always, darlin'."

You grip onto him, meeting him with every shunt of his hips into yours, feeling him continuously bottom out as the light from the candles start to blind you over his shoulder.

Feeling your mind grow and body start to pull apart. Feeling the wall scuffing and blistering against your flesh and revelling in the delicious masochism it evokes as he fucks you hard agasint it.

Fucks you like he’s never letting you go.

He laments it over and over. And you believe the sincerity.

“Harder.” You beg, your fingers digging into his shoulders; your nails leaving crescent moons indented in his neck.

"Joel, fuck me harder, please. I want it all."

“That’s some big smack talk for a little lady.” He pants with a smirk.

“Joel!” You whine as he speeds up, giving you what you want so wholly and irrevocably. "Fuck! Yes!"

Your howls of insistence are stripped of any sanity or verbosity as you let go fully and gush around his cock, right to the root.

Pumping himself harder into you and hearing you scream, feeling you buck with the pleasure of it all on the end of his cock as you shake and give him the best of yourself. The parts of you that are only for him to keep.

The part where you're completely stripped back and bare, and he can see you. And you're so fucking beautiful.

And it's right there, he can see it, that love you have back for him as your eyes come unstuck from the back of your head and stare into him as you can see all of him; bruised and fleshed with vulnerability.

Watery with relief, with the fading ebbs of your pleasure. The acceptance of this piece of him he's plucked from his chest and plopped in your hands.

And it's his complete undoing.

Joel grunts out your name as he releases, giving you the final pieces of him as he fills you full of his warm, thick spend.

“Fuck…” He drones, your arms tight around the back of his neck as you slip down the wall onto jellied feet.

His hands stay on your hips, cock slippery and poking you in the belly. Sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he tells you he loves you again on a barely there whisper.

You steal another glance round at the candles, their light blinding your retinas and searing this moment into your mind forever.

You kiss him and he kisses back harder, deeper; a man ravaged of affection, yet he still has small, bloodied parts of him left to share with you. Even if it fucking terrifies him.

“Happy birthday, darlin’,” Joel whispers.

You don’t need to blow out the candles and make a wish.

You’ve already got everything you want, right here, in your arms.

Thank you so much for reading this lil' birthday fic of mine! 🎉 Re-blogs & comments are always appreciated & fuel me. 🖤

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

#jett's birthday #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #jett's pedro boys

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nexysworld · 5 months

Text

Summary: New to town, stuck late and caught in the rain to boot; your night couldn't possibly get any worse. At least that's what you thought until on your way home you're pulled over by a certain blonde haired blue eyed cop. Pairing: RE2R CorruptCop!Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, Dubcon, Abuse of Power, Semi-public sex, Finger Sucking, Sex Toy, Temperature Play, Unprotected Sex, Handcuffs, Light BDSM, Toxic Dynamics, no use of y/n

Title from the Deftones Song - Be Quiet and Drive (Far Away)

Read on AO3 || Masterlists || Ask Box

The rain was pouring down, pattering against the cement of the parking lot as wind blew the smell of dew and crisp air across your face. It was late, later than you had wanted to stay at work, but things kept piling up and before you knew it, the sun had come down and your coworkers had all left you alone.

Yellow light flickered off of the closest street lamp, the only other source of illumination was your phone’s screen lit up. You tapped against the glass in frustration, a cold shiver running down your spine. “Come on, come on!” The signal symbol in the top corner of the screen kept flashing, leaving you unable to make any call or access the internet. All you had wanted to do was pull up maps again, being new to town you hadn’t familiarized yourself with the roads – the weather was so bad that you didn’t want to test it either.

The windbreaker you had on was doing little to help the chill in your bones now that the rain had begun blowing sideways, soaking you even under the awning that covered the entrance. Now soaked, freezing, and not wanting to wait any longer, you made the decision to book it to your car. Relishing in the heat you relaxed back against the fabric of the seat, slipping the soaked jacket off along with your damp shirt. Luckily the tanktop beneath was mostly spared of the icy rain water.

Giving it one more shot, you looked at your phone, still no signal. A sigh escaped you as the wipers turned on helping to remove the frosty fog from the windshield, tossing the useless device on the passenger seat.

When the windows were finally defrosted enough for you to mostly be able to see ahead of the car, you backed out of the spot and took off down the road. “Ok, I got this. I make a right here by the giant oak tree.”

The dark road ahead of you felt familiar to the one you took home during the day, but without much peripheral vision it was hard to tell. Soon the open road became dark with nothing but your headlights as the last streetlamp passed you by, an uneasiness taking over you. “This isn’t right.” Walls of trees surrounded you on both sides of the road, only visible when passing cars illuminated them for you. Not sure what to do, and nervous as hell, you kept trekking forward, hoping to at least find a major highway or something that looked familiar.

It wasn’t long until red and blue lit up the inside of your car from behind. “A cop? Shit.” With the back window frosted over you hadn’t seen him pull onto the road, and with the darkness surrounding you, it was difficult to tell where you could even pull over safely. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white. The anxiety that coursed through your veins was already bad enough as it was, but once you hadn’t pulled over quick enough, the sound of the sirens blaring through your eardrums caused you to nearly jump out of your skin. Immediately, you slammed the breaks, causing the car to squeal before coming to a complete stop.

Not more than a few moments go by before you hear the sound of boots thudding against the ground getting closer. Taking the initiative, you roll down the window, letting the cutting winter air slap you in the face once again while you gripped your ID tightly, waiting for the officer.

Blinding light encompassed your vision, causing your hand to go up instinctively to shield your eyes as they adjusted.

“Good evening, Miss.” His voice sounded young, and you could hear the smacking of gum being chewed loudly between his words.

“Good evening officer… Kennedy” You gave a weak smile, eyes reading his name tag before finally settling on his face. He was young. Piercing blue eyes almost glowed with the illumination of the metal flashlight in his hand. Plush lips upturned into a friendly smile, coupled with soft features. Soft blonde hair framed his face accentuating his cheek bones and dimpled chin. He wasn’t just young, he was cute – handsome. If this were a different time and place you would’ve actually considered hitting on the guy.

“Wanna tell me why you didn’t pull over when you first saw the lights?”

“I wasn’t sure where a safe spot to pull over was. I hoped maybe a little up the way would be a place with more light.”

“Uh huh…” He said, eyeing you over, the tone in his voice clearly indicating suspicion. “Do you know why I pulled you over this evening, ma’am?”

“Uhh no honestly, I can’t say I do.” An awkward smile tugged at your features, nerves bubbling in the pit of your stomach. The only relief coming from the hope that this fresh faced, doe-eyed cop would go easy on you. He seemed friendly, and if his age was any indicator he likely hadn’t been a cop long, perhaps that could score you some bonus points.

A thick blonde brow raised as he spoke. “You were going pretty fast. Speed limit in most parts of Arklay County is 35 if you’re not in the city. I had you going nearly 60.”

“Arklay? Oh shit –” The realization you had gone in the complete opposite direction from where you were supposed to have been headed struck you like a tonne of bricks. “I’m so sorry officer, I’m not from around here.”

“Well normally I’d understand that, but there’s signage posted all down this strip of road.”

“Oh. Well, you know it’s late and rainy with my windows fogged up it’s been a little hard to see, especially where there’s no street lights.”

He leaned back from where he hunched over your window, looking at the car. “Your entire rearview is frosted along with more that ⅓ of the viewing radius on your windshield. It’s not safe to drive like that, especially speeding in the dark.”

Your eyebrow twitched with annoyance, the sound of the gum in his mouth beginning to grate on your nerves as well. The last thing you wanted was a lecture – tired, cold, and away from home you wanted this encounter to be over. The hope of him going easy on you seemed to dwindle with each word out of his mouth.

“I know, my car's kind of a junker. I’ve been meaning to get the back wiper fixed. I just haven’t been able to yet. I’ll do it soon I swear.” He didn’t say anything, taking in your words. You took the opportunity to continue. “Look, is there any way you can let me off with a warning? I’ve been having a really bad night. I just started a new job in the county over. I got stuck late in the rain at said job, and now I’m lost trying to get back home.” Batting your eyelashes you gave him the best kicked puppy look you could muster hoping to inspire some sympathy from your tale.

His features steeled into a neutrally unamused expression. “License and registration.” He said flatly.

“You can’t be serious!” You exclaimed, slapping the steering wheel in frustration. “Come on, I’m begging you, sir.”

Officer Kennedy didn’t respond, instead he moved to clip the flashlight to a loop on his shoulder to keep it in place as he pulled his notebook out, penciling down on the yellowed pages before finally speaking again. “Speeding. Not adhering to street postings. Reckless driving in an unsafe vehicle, and refusal to provide documentation to an officer of the law.”“Huh?” You were gobsmacked by his words. “What are you –”

“Miss, I'm going to need you to step out of the car.”

“Wait, wait no I have my license right here. I wasn’t refusing, I was–”

“Please don’t make me ask again. Step out of the vehicle, hands on your head.”

The nerve of this guy! Unbuckling your seatbelt you exited the car as quickly as possible, putting your hands atop your head like you were told.

“Are there any drugs or weapons in the car or on your person I should be made aware of?”

“No, of course not! Please, this is all a misunderstanding.” His gloved hand grasped at you, turning you to face your car again. With both hands he patted you down gently, the cold air causing goosebumps to form on your skin now. If the night hadn’t already been going bad as it was, this was the worst.

No reply again, just the same sound of that damned gum gnashing between his teeth and the smell of his spicy cologne wafting into your nose. He brought his hand up to your right arm, gently pulling it down behind your back, before mimicking the other.

The jingle of metal on metal made your heart stop. “Y-you’re not arresting me are you? You can’t do that, you haven’t even read me my rights.” It took everything you had to will any oncoming tears away.

He replied by clasping the metal around your wrists before clamping them shut. The weight of the situation made you feel like you were shackled to the earth where you stood. Hands trembling behind you, as his hot breath ghosted over your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “I haven’t read you the rights because I’m not arresting you. Just making sure you and I are both safe while I check things out.

“Check what things out?”

“You know, you ask a lot of questions. Maybe if you listened more you wouldn’t be where you’re standing right now.” His hands slid down your sides again, this time stopping on your butt cheeks, patting them down lightly before feeling the warm leather splayed against your inner thigh lingering a tad longer than what was appropriate. Your breath hitched in your throat, and you tensed up, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“What’s the matter?” Despite not seeing his face, you could hear the smirk in his voice.

“You aren’t hiding something, are you?”

“No! What the hell?”

“You sure? Then why are you so tense, if you have nothing to hide?” He dragged his hands up your side again, applying more pressure before sneaking his hands around your torso, palms against your chest giving a little squeeze. You jolted against the car, gasping.

“Get the fuck off of me!” You shouted pushing yourself back against him, your voice while intended to sound angry came out a wavering whine.

“What was that?”

“I said, get off of me you pig!”

“Mouthy, mouthy. You really don’t want me looking here, do you?” To emphasize his point, he squeezed your chest again, rubbing your pebbling nipples through your thin bra with his thumbs.

“Fucking creep!” You spat struggling against him.

“That’s not very nice.” He whispers into your ear. “Know what I think? I think you are hiding something and you don’t want me to find out.” He pulled you back against him, far enough from the car that he could grab your tanktop from the center, yanking it down, roughly stretching the fabric of the spaghetti straps before they finally snapped against your shoulders, stinging as the shirt was yanked to your stomach.

His fingers made their way to the front clasp of your bra, deftly jerking the hook to come undone, breasts bouncing out as your nipples pebbled in the cold air almost painfully. A whine echoed from your mouth as he spun you around, roughly pushing your back into the frigid metal of your car.

“Hmmm. Nothing here.” He said, sky blue orbs moving from your face to observe your cold-perked breasts. He watched you shiver with that sickeningly sweet smile plastered to his boyish face. “Poor thing, it’s pretty cold out isn’t it? Those little buds look so hard they could cut glass.”

“Fuck you!”

“You know what they say, you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar. Why don’t you try behaving for a minute and see where it gets you.” As if displaying his point, he brings his large hands back to your breasts, kneading them in his palms a few times before soothing his thumbs over your nipples again. The feeling makes you tingle, the warmth more pleasurable than you’d ever want to admit. “See, that’s better isn’t it? Just be compliant for me and this will all be over faster.”

Anger swirled in the pit of your stomach, wanting nothing more than to knock that smile off his stupid-pretty face. You couldn’t believe only 10 minutes prior you had actually thought he was handsome, a nice cop who’d understand your plight and let you go.

Hyper aware of how stuck you were, your brows knitted together in frustration, a few tears finally spilled out of your eyes burning hot against your cheek. He swiped them away, a gesture that would have been sweet if it was coming from anyone besides this power-abusing creep. “No need for tears. We’re just doing a standard inspection. If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to be afraid of, right sweetheart?”

The pet name made you sick, and you couldn’t contain the venom on the tip of your tongue.”Fuck you asshole!” You shouted jerking away from him again.

His smile faded almost instantly to an unamused look. “Resisting an Officer too? You really are up to no good tonight.” He said, grabbing you roughly by the arm, pulling you away from your own vehicle and tugging you towards his cruiser. He’d switched the flashlight off leaving you mostly in the dark as he trudged you along. Fear made you attempt to dig your heels, but his grip was like a vice and as he yanked, you were forced to tumble forwards with him until he shoved you face first into the back seat, your bottom half hanging out off the black faux-leather.

The inside of the car was toasty warming you up almost instantly, but your legs shivered desperately against the freezing air swirling outside. “Stay still.” He commanded, as you felt two fingers make their way into the waistband of your pants before he unceremoniously yanked them down to your ankles.

“What are you –”

“Finishing my inspection.” He replied, brushing his hands up your thighs, this time applying more pressure directly to your skin, making his way closer and closer to your panties. A firm slap was landed on your ass hurting so much it made you yelp. “That was for that bratty attitude.” Soothing the sore spot with gentle rubs from one hand, he brought the other between your legs gently rubbing against your clothed slit, stopping to nudge at your clit through the fabric.

Your eyes went wide as saucers, mouth agape. You hated that your body reacted to the feeling, a moan making it’s way out of your mouth, feeling the arousal building up at your center.

“Don’t feel anything yet, but you can never be too sure.” He pulled his hand away, your body instinctively bucking back a little without any input from your brain. Your underwear received the same treatment as your pants, but not before he snapped the elastic of your waistband, making you whimper at the sting.

You felt the starched fabric of his uniform pants brush harshly against your inner thigh before he used it to pull your legs as far apart as they would go while still restricted at the ankles by your clothing. Something cold and smooth was dragged up your leg, making you squirm in place uncomfortably. It was different to the texture of his gloves, you couldn’t tell if it was plastic or metal. The object made it’s way to your slicked up folds, running through them gently.

“Gahh!” You squealed trying to wiggle forward away from the icy feeling.You couldn’t go any farther, stopped by the grating that separated the seat you were in from the other side.

“None of that.” He said, moving his arm forward, dragging whatever it was against you again. The sheer temperature was uncomfortable, but when he circled it against your clit, the torturous mix of discomfort and pleasure made you shudder involuntarily. More slick leaked out onto the seats.

Coating its base into your wetness, he prodded your hole gently. Craning your neck to the point of pain, you looked behind you as best you could to see what was happening, the night stick gripped firmly in his hand. Your brain screamed at you to be scared, while your body betrayed you, clamping down over the cool tip of the thin object. “S’too cold!” You pleaded, voice a pathetic whine. He ignored you at first, moving it inside of you slowly, shallowly. It was enough to have your pussy aching, but not enough to hit that one spot that would have you seeing stars. It was a teasing sensation you’d never experienced before.

“Too cold? Can’t be that bad, not with the mess you’re making all over my backseat.” He twisted the baton this time sinking it in farther enough to bump against that special bundle of nerves making you keen. “You really have no sense of self preservation, do you baby? Needy pussy will slop all over anything it’s given, won’t it? At least I know you’re not hiding anything now.”

You hadn’t the capacity to refute him or spout an insult back his way, though you wanted to, badly .

He set the night stick down between your legs, not pulling it out of you. You heard the sound of rustling fabric until some warm teased against the skin of your leg. The night stick was lifted gently again, back to its painfully slow rhythm of thrusting just outside the reach of where you wanted it. Quickly you realized he’d removed his gloves, his hands so warm from being inside them his fingers nearly burned against your numbed skin. He used the middle and pointer finger of his left hand to rub agonizingly slow circles around your clit, as he worked the baton into your hole again.

Both sensations felt good, but just so… not enough . Trapped in the backseat of his car against your will, arms stinging from being stuck behind you, face pressed against the seat knowing the pattern would be smooshed into your skin by the time you were ever allowed to move again. You hated how the handsome asshole of a cop was working you up so much with his vile mocking and teasing movements. But most of all, you hated how much you wanted more . More pressure. More heat. More speed. Just more of whatever you could get.

You weren’t sure how far he was going to go with this, but not wanting to give in, you attempted to focus on everything that wasn’t him. The smell of the pine air freshener blowing throughout the car, the sound of that stupid fucking gum still going between his teeth – you even tried to close your eyes and imagine you were somewhere else. None of it worked as you were left trying to grind back against him, desperate to alleviate the tension between your thighs and desperate to get out of there. Soft whimpers echoing throughout the confines of the vehicle.

“Poor thing, you just look so miserable. You want something don’t you?” He cooed the question out, picking up the pace of the fingers on your clit, finally using them to apply pressure as he rubbed it directly. Your whole body strained against the confines you were in, tensing with pleasure, mouth opening into an ‘o’ shape. Being teased for so long, you were just on the cusp of an orgasm as he finally gave you some sweet satisfaction – before you could feel that sensation of relief he pulled his hands away stopping entirely.

“Wha-?” The disappointment in your voice despite the lack of an entire sentence was obvious.

“Ask me nicely, maybe I’ll give you a reward for being good. After all, you passed my inspection with flying colors.” He resumed what he was doing again, back to the terribly slow movements that never gave you enough satisfaction to tip you over the edge.

You refused to give in, to beg, to admit out loud that you wanted anything from him. Doing your best, you tried scoffing, voice shakily creaking from your throat. “I-I don’t want anything from you. Except to let me go!” The malice and bite you wished coated your words wasn’t there.

He laughed in response, flicking your clit lightly. “Liar. That stubborn little mouth of yours might not want to admit it, but your pretty little pussy is giving everything away.” Leaning forward he pressed a kiss to your shoulder trailing the kisses up your neck before flicking his tongue against the shell of your ear. He managed to extract another pathetic whine as he blew on the spot he licked, sending a shiver right down your spine. While he’d pulled the night stick out to use that arm to support himself over you, his remaining hand was still tucked between your legs, sloppily playing with you. Against your thigh, through his pants you could feel his hardness pressing into you. “Come on baby, you don’t need to keep up the act anymore. We both know this was your goal from the start, wasn’t it?” He sucked a bruise into the skin of your neck before placing another kiss between your shoulder blades, the way he was pressed onto you forced your arms to tense in a way that hurt. “I saw it all over your face the moment your window rolled down. Batting those pretty lashes at me, probably thought you could flirt your way out of trouble.”

“N-not true…” You squeaked out.

He sat up, pulling his hand away from you. Metal on metal and the sound of the zipper behind you told you he was freeing his erection from its confines. He let out a relieved hiss before he was back over you this time you felt his soft lips against your leg, kissing the back of your knee before trailing his tongue up your leg, the cool air drying the strip of saliva as he went before placing a kiss to your buttcheek where his hand had left a raised red mark. “No? Then why are you sobbing between the legs for me?”

He moved forward nestling the head of his weeping cock against your slit, rubbing it against your clit gently before swiping it up to your hole. He didn’t enter though, merely rubbing it around before dragging it back down – your pussy clenched around nothing in anticipation of the pleasure that wouldn’t come. “Mmm, so hot and wet.” He moaned, stroking himself as he rubbed the swollen tip against you.

A noise caught in your throat as he did it again, teasing your hole again. Frustrated tears reformed in your eyes, body hot, bothered, and screaming at you for relief. The last shell of pride you had cracked at the tantalizing idea of his thick cock stretching you open.

“P-please…” You finally choked out, quietly.

“What’s that?”

“P-please….” You repeated again, louder this time.

“Still too quiet –”

“PLEASE!” You nearly shouted this time.

“Hmm, please what? Gotta use your words, I’m not a mind reader.”

His teasing now had you more frustrated than the initial traffic stop, you were ready to sob if you had to go one more second without relief. “Please, please fuck me. Want you inside me, please.” You begged bucking your lower half up against him, hoping it would entice him to give in.

Expecting more teasing on his end you were pleasantly surprised when you felt him slip inside of you, not bothering to go slowly, slamming himself from tip to balls into your tight heat. “O-Oh.” You moaned as he pulled out, slamming back inside. Your eyes nearly rolled back as he set a fast rhythm, pounding against your sweet spot over and over again, finally giving your cunt something to clench around properly.“Oh god…fuck…” You spewed more incoherent words as you drooled against the seat. “So…fucking good.” Pleasure washed over your brain, stopping any coherent thoughts from processing.

“Look at you, dumb on my cock already and I’ve barely started fucking you. You, that desperate?” He reached over, swiping some drool from your cheek, flicking it away with his thumb. “Messy little slut, can’t help but leak from both ends, huh?”

“N-nuh uh.” You tried to protest, tongue almost falling out of your mouth as he angled his hips just right. Giving up on any further attempts of saving your ego, you attempted to speak again, wanting to feel something against your lips. Another incoherent noise came out instead.

He leaned in, slowing his hip movements. “What was that?”

“K-kiss.” You managed to get the word out. “Please.”

“Awww, not romantic enough for you sweetheart? Need some kisses too?”

You nodded, bottom lip quivering. He turned, spitting the gum outside the car before leaning forward again to connect your lips. It was rough at first, him biting your bottom lip before entangling your tongues together. You whimpered into his mouth, tasting the remnants of mint on him. He pulled away a trail of saliva connecting you before he placed a few sweeter pecks against your lips.

“Are your arms sore?” He asked running a hand over one of them as he sat back up.

“Mhm.”

“Can I trust you to be good if I take the cuffs off?”

“P-promise.”

There was stillness for a moment as there was the jangling of keys behind you. Soon your wrists were freed from the cuffs that hit the car floor, clanging together gently. You let out a relieved groan, letting one arm flop to your side as the other dangled onto the floor, shoulders stiff and sore.

The blonde kneaded his hands against your shoulder a few times to relieve the visible tension. He let you flop against the seat as he resumed his rhythm of fucking into your tight heat, leaving you babbling and whining loudly, enjoying the sensation of being split open on him.

“Perfect little pussy, just sucks me right in.” He pulled you back this time, so your ass was at a higher angle making it easier for him to slip in and out of your wet heat.

Close. You were so close to finally being tipped over the edge. White hot pleasure pricked at your vision, core aching deliciously. Almost to your peak when his voice tore through that bringing you back into the moment. “Hear that? Sounds like a car coming. Better quiet down baby, or they might come investigate. Wouldn’t wanna let them see what a little whore you are.” Despite his words he didn’t slow his pace, in fact he landed another slap against your unmarked ass cheek. “Or, maybe that’s exactly what you want, since you’re still crying like a desperate little bitch in heat. Want them to come over here and see you get fucked? Tell them what a bad girl you are, getting pulled over and getting fucked in the back of a cop car?”

“N-no….” You looked at him eyes wide. “P-please… don’t want – please.” With him pistoning into you, you couldn’t stop the noises that flew out. “P-please…oh god…” Time was running out as the headlights of the oncoming vehicle began to light up.

“Since you asked so nicely, I’ll help you out.” He leaned forward pressing two fingers into your mouth, greedily you pulled them in lapping over them with your tongue before sucking on them like a lifeline.

“Good girl.” He praised quietly into your ear. “Good fucking girl.” His own quiet grunts were becoming labored, his hip movements becoming sloppy, indicating his release was close. You turned your body so you were laying on your side more, grasping at his wrist holding his hand in place, nearly gagging on the digits.

The yellow hued light from the stream of passing cars lit up the inside of the cruiser giving you a view of the man’s face once again. His own eyes heavy with pleasure, black pupils dilated as he slowed his pace once last time to watch you suckle on his fingers as the last of the cars passed by, darkness encompassing the vehicle again before your eyes readjusted to the dimly lit roof light.

He pulled his fingers free, and brought the saliva coated hand down to rub against your clit as he picked up the pace fucking you again. He didn’t waste time taunting you, nor did he slow down, letting you fully bask in the hot waves of pleasure radiating from your sensitive pearl of nerves.

“G-god…oh god…” Your eyes rolled back as the coil of tension snapped, toes curling as your pussy clamped his cock like a vice. He groaned, fucking you through your orgasm before his hand gripped your hip with a bruising tightness, eye closing at his cock twitched, pulsing hot ropes of cum inside of you. He slowed down, thrusting just enough to ride out his own orgasm enjoying every twitch of your silky walls as he filled you up. Afterwards he braced his hand against the roof of the car to catch his breath and come down from the high of it all.

Once softened, he slowly pulled his cock out, wiping it along your thigh as he did so before tucking it back into his pants and fully standing up outside the car, stretching. “You alright?” He asked when he finally poked his head back in. He didn’t wait for your answer before tugging you towards him again, sliding your body along the seat. Pressing a kiss to the back of your still trembling legs, he hoisted your bottoms and panties back up, any leaking seed being caught by the fabric. “There we go.”

Too exhausted to move or think, you laid there like sentient jello as he readjusted you, slipping into the back seat himself so he could pull you onto his lap. Flopping against his chest, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, as he wrapped his arms around you, rubbing your back with one hand.

He let you rest for a while against him in that hazy-twilight state recovering from both the mental and physicality of the ordeal. The sound of the wind whistling outside coupled with the even badump badump of his heartbeat relaxed you. The radio on his chest buzzed, a crackly voice on the other end reading out some police codes you didn’t understand. “10-4, I’ll head back to the station.” He replied. “Hear that? Looks like this stop has come to an end.”

You rubbed at your eyes, sitting up. Honestly you had no words to reply, what could you even say after all of this. The cop reached up, tucking some hair behind your ear. “You said you were lost on the way home?”

“Yeah.”

“Where were you headed?”

“Altoona.”

He nodded. “Go sit in your car for me, I’ll be over in a few.”

Not arguing, you slipped off his lap and out into the dark cold stumbling your way back over to your car, ready for the night to just be over with finally.

A few minutes went by and sure enough Officer Kennedy reappeared at your window, a piece of paper in hand. “Directions.” He said handing it to you. Before you could reply, another paper was thrust into your hands, a ticket at the top. “Have a good night, Miss.” He said, popping another piece of gum into his mouth as he disappeared back to his cruiser.

“No fucking way. After all of that, he’s still giving me a fucking ticket?” You asked out loud, eyeing the ticket paper resisting the urge to rush it in your fist. You were heated all over again, ready to punch something – until it occurred to you he never actually took your license or anything. You reached up and pressed on the ceiling light to get a better look at the ticket. The entire form was blank. “Huh?” Flipping it over in confusion you saw the penciled note. ‘Try to drive more carefully, Sweetheart. Call me if you need a tour. - Leon Kennedy’

Your jaw hung open, shocked by the utter audacity of him after all of that. You knew you should’ve shred that paper up on the spot, or reported him. Instead, for whatever reason that only god knew, you tossed it into your glove compartment before reading over the directions he’d given you. With a turn of the key into the ignition, you pulled out onto the dark road, taking off to make the trip back home.

#Leon Kennedy x reader #Leon Kennedy #Leon S Kennedy #Leon Kennedy x You #Leon Kennedy x Y/N #resident evil #resident evil 2 #resident evil 2 remake #re2r #re2r leon #resident evil x reader #resident evil fanfiction #Leon Kennedy fanfiction #fanfiction #reader insert #x reader

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silent-stories · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐒

Pairing: Eddie x GN!Reader

Summary: Eddie is not scared of thunderstorms after what happened in the Upside Down. Not at all.

It had started raining several hours before and the drizzle quickly turned into a thunderstorm. The wind was blowing hard and slapping the twigs of the tree in front of your house on your bedroom window.

Rain poured down on the roof and from time to time the sound of thunder rumbled throughout the whole house.

The night sky outside was dark, with no moon or stars.

You were on your bed, Eddie was sitting with his back against the headboard, his arm was around your waist, your head was resting on his chest and your face was pressed into his Black Sabbath shirt.

About half an hour earlier you had started watching a movie but then you were distracted by cuddling and because of the noise of the rain and thunder drowning out the voices coming from the small tv in your room.

You had turned off the TV a few minutes before, deciding you'd rather focus on Eddie and his hand slowly stroking your side.

A crashing thunder rumbled in your ears and you thought the lightning didn't have to have fallen very far from you to cause such a din.

Suddenly, you felt Eddie's hand on yours, it wouldn't be the first time he'd start playing with your fingers or your rings in a moment of calm and intimacy like that.

Instead, that time his hand found yours to hold it and intertwine his fingers with yours.

You smiled sinking your face into his chest, just enjoying that gesture.

A few minutes later, as you were about to fall asleep, another thunder almost made you jump and you felt Eddie's hand suddenly squeeze yours. Not to the point of hurting you, but he certainly added pressure.

You lifted your head and before you could speak, his grip already loosened but his hand was still on yours.

"You okay?" You asked.

He nodded. "Of course."

You tried to read his expression, something was definitely wrong, you knew him well enough to know.

"Eddie."

"What?"

"You squeezed my hand."

"No I-"

He didn't have time to finish the sentence when you both heard the rumble of another thunder, so loud it felt like the house was shaking.

Eddie's hand squeezed yours again, this time even harder than the previous one and he closed his eyes tightly for a few seconds, while the sound echoed until it disappeared, and then opened them again, looking at you.

He let go of your hand and stared at you with his big chocolate brown eyes that you could see shining even in the dark.

"Oh my god." You whispered, that was the moment you realized.

Thunders. Lightnings. The noise.

The Upside Down.

Eddie was scared because of what happened in the Upside Down.

You opened your arms and he lunged into them, burying his face in the crook of your neck and closing his eyes.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" You asked without sounding accusing, none of that was his fault.

"'Cause it's stupid." He murmured, his lips tickling your skin as he spoke.

It wasn't stupid if it was scaring the shit out of him, you could tell by the desperate way he was holding onto you.

As another roar of thunder broke through, Eddie hold you even tighter, squeezing the fabric of your shirt in his fists and pushing his face into your neck.

You run your hand up and down his back, tracing imaginary drawings and left a few kisses on the side of his head that you could reach.

"I'm sorry." He muttered, the tone of his voice sounded like that of a child scared of sleeping alone who in the middle of the night, got into his parents' bed.

"Hey, It's okay, I'm here. I got you." You whispered as you left a kiss on his temple. "You're not there anymore. They can't hurt you, I promise."

At your simple words, Eddie actually seemed to calm down a bit and his tense muscles relaxed under your touch.

You held him all night, all through the storm and even after.

Whenever there was thunder Eddie would hold you tight and you would alternate between phrases like "it's okay, breathe. It'll all be over soon" and "focus on my voice, it's okay. No one's going to hurt you. I'm right here. I love you."

Around three in the morning, the storm started to calm down and the thunders finally stopped.

Eddie didn't budge from you and you kept caressing his back and leaving a few kisses in his hair until you heard a buzz.

He had fallen asleep. He was asleep, he was snoring and you had never been so happy to hear that noise.

You finally closed your eyes.

"Goodnight Ed."

Tags: @jacklesdeanvessel @morning-sky7 @pipsqueakkitten @navs-bhat

#eddie x reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie x y/n #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie fanfiction #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort

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l44serbeam · 1 year

Text

— TIRED OF YOU ʚɞ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨

← 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

warnings: swearing, blood, arguments

Patrolling with Ellie was y/ns favorite things to do, being her source of peace. So, when Ellie switched out of her patrol shift with y/n for the second time in a row, she couldn’t help but be mad and automatically ignore Ellie to give her a taste of her own medicine. Hours after a heated argument before y/n’s patrol, Ellie seems to lose all her senses when her patrol replacement returns without y/n.

Patrolling along side Ellie was y/n’s main source of peace. When it was just the two of them, wandering the grassy fields and chasing one another through the trees, the uncomfortability that surrounded y/n melted away and left behind a little girl amazed by the wonders around her. The distaste constantly directed at her became nothing but a ragged memory.

“Y/n, y/n! Oh my god look!” Ellie called out, pointing ahead and turning to face her. Childish glee coated her face and she jumped on her heels excitedly.

Y/n quickly finished tying shimmers lead onto a tree branch and ran up to the delightful girl to see what she referred to.

She couldn’t be help but laugh when spotting Ellies object of reference.

A rusted orange unicycle laid in a bush. Ellie ran up to it and lifted it off the ground, seeing if it was functional. She rotated the wheel which creaked and resisted at first, but then loosened up and turned easily.

“Help me get on.” Ellie insisted, sticking her arm out to hold.

“Ok Els but if you eat shit you’re not allowed to blame me.” y/n giggled, one hand on Ellies waist and another on her arm as she mounted the unicycle and found her balance.

“Ok, ok let go.”

As y/n backed away hesitantly, Ellie leaned forward, attempting to centralize her weight stand taller. Her body swayed as the wheel rolled back and forth, tipping her side to side.

Her eyes wide and a maniatic smile on her face, Ellie looked up at y/n as she started finding her balance and gently pedaling.

“Look im going it! Haha get fucked! Thought i wouldn’t be able to do it, huh?” Ellie laughed.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself there.” Y/n said when Ellies arms started frantically grabbing onto nothing but air as the wheel tilted to the side.

Before y/n could reach over and help her, the unicycle flew forward and Ellie fell onto her behind, releasing a huff of air when she landed and groaning. She was surprised when she felt the entirety of her pants get soaked, realizing she felt into a dip in the concrete that held old, muddy rain water.

Hysterically laughing, y/n ran up to her and crouched next to her, trying to help her up.

“Oh yeah so funny isnt it?” Ellie said, holding back her own laughter and grabbing onto the arm y/n held out to her.

When y/n expected to pull Ellie up, she was strongly and suddenly pulled into the puddle along with the girl, also getting her pants and hands wet.

“Oh are you fucking kidding me!” Y/n yelled, attempting to sound angry but failing.

“Yeah whose laughing now huh?” Ellie said, reaching up to catch y/ns wrists as she tried to playfully punch her.

The two laughed hysterically and rolled in the puddle for a few minutes, the warm summer sun shining down on them and causing a golden overcast on all the nature surrounding them.

Ellies grey eyes shone a hazey green under the sun and her skin prickled pink under her freckles.

"Wait! Stay right here.” Y/n suddenly said, jumping onto her feet and running to her pack that laid next to Shimmer. She pulled out a weathered white polaroid camera from her bag and clicked the button to turn it on.

Tommy had found the camera and dozens of boxes of film while on a patrol and gifted it to y/n to celebrate her one year at Jackson. As she began taking photos, she realized she had no where to store them. Ellie suggested the two of them made y/n her own polaroid album so, the two got together on Joels porch one hot summer day and made the photo album.

Now, y/n only stores her favorite of memories and people in the album, being mainly pictures of Tommy, Joel, and Ellie. She wanted to keep pictures and remembrances of the small, joyful moments of her life. The moments where she was nothing but happy. Surrounded by so much negativity and darkness, inside and outside of Jackson, she wanted to keep these memories close and never let herself forget them.

So now, under the hot Wyoming sun, she had to take a picture. The rarity of this warm, comforting weather made the moment all the more special, the golden overcast taking over everything.

y/n walked back to Ellie who was distracted with the unicycle, sitting on the ground and twisting some random screws to see if she could better the device

y/n brought the camera up eye and looked through the viewfinder, landing on the brunette girl before her.

“Ellie.” Y/n called, snapped the picture the very second she whipped her head around.

Ellies hands clasped over her eyes and laughed at the suddenness of the camera flash. “Jesus no warning or anything. Gonna make me go blind.”

Shaking the image, y/n ran back to her pack and pulled out the diy photo album and came back to Ellie. She flipped to the last page with three empty slots in the bottom and slid in the forming picture. The two sat and stared at the polaroid, watching the figures form and the white screen turn a yellow tint.

“Oh wow. You look so pretty.” Y/n said, the minimal comment making Ellies cheeks redden.

“Shut up.” She mumbled, receiving only giggles from y/n who knew her compliments to Ellie always left the girl jittery and pink.

“I have a question for you.” Ellie began as the two sat on the concrete floor.

“Hmm?” Y/n hummed in response as she flipped through the pages of the photo album.

“How come you never put pictures people take of you in the album? like you only put pictures you take of other people.” She asked. Y/n froze for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “I guess, i like keeping memories from my perspective, ya know?”

“Hm.” Was all Ellie responded with a nod. She leaned forward and grabbed the camera from the ground beside y/n and brought it to her eyes. “Smile.”

Y/n laughed, her hand flying up as to cover the camera lens but Ellie quickly took the photo before she could.

“You bitch!” Y/n laughed. Ellie stuffed the polaroid in her pocket. “Not gonna put it in here?” Y/n asked, suggesting to the album.

“No way. You get to keep pictures of your favorite things from your perspective and i get to keep a picture of mine from my perspective.”

Y/n couldn’t help but blush and look away from Ellie at the suggestion that she was her favorite thing.

“Now c’mon, we gotta go back and pretend we did shit.”

————

“The fuck do you mean your here in Ellies place?” Y/n yelled at the man before her.

“Uhh i mean she asked Maria to switch out so she took my shift and now im here.”

Y/n sighed angrily. It was the third time Ellie decided to switch out of her patrol, specifically the patrols she had paired with y/n.

Y/n couldn’t help but feel devastated, her best friend seemed to be avoiding her and patrolling with her.

It’d been a three weeks since their last patrol, y/n decidedly giving Ellie the silent treatment after the second schedule change. Y/n even didn’t show up to Friday movie night at Ellies. She was angry and hurt and couldn’t help but jump to the conclusion that Ellie was in fact, getting tired of her.

Shed feared this for ages, the two constantly together. Shed feared that her inability to socialize with the people in Jackson would take a toll on their relationship and cause Ellie to find others, realizing try were better than her. Normal.

Y/n turned on her heels, having plans on exactly what she was going to do the 40 minutes she had left before patrol.

Ellie was awoken by five heavy bangs on her door.

“What do you want?” She sleepily called out, twisting and turning on the couch shed fallen asleep in.

“Open the fucking door Ellie.”

Ellie jumped to her feet, her senses immediately sharpened and at ready. She looked into the small mirror hung on her wall, rapidly pulling out the hair tie that held it together and brushing it with her fingers and straightening her hoodie.

“Uhhh coming!” Ellie yelled, aggressively cursing when her foot came into painful contact with the leg of her couch.

When the door swung open, y/n’s almost had to hold back a laugh. Ellie huddled in front of her, her socked foot in her hand, her hair all over her face, and imprints from the couch stamped in her cheek. But the comical image in front of her didn’t dissipate her anger, the very imprints she wanted to laugh now making her just more furious.

“The fuck is up with you? Im being fucking partnered with some seventeen year old twig that doesn’t know his head from his as because you wont fucking take the shift.” Y/n began, pushing herself past Ellie and into the house.

She knew the house so well, pictures of the two and pieces of paper littered with doodles and drawings covered the walls. Y/n had spent countless nights on that couch, being delirious from laughter and too lazy to walk back to your house.

“You’ve been avoiding me l and its clear and if theres something you want to me then just say it because u swear to god Ellie i cant deal with this petty bullshit-“

“Y/n what the fuck are you on about!” Ellie yelled, a face of confusion.

“Im talking about the fact that you’ve switched out of every single patrol we’ve been partnered for the last three god damn weeks and have provided no reason! AND i literally haven’t seen you in ages!”

“Yeah because every time i talk to you you practically have been running away! You didn’t even come on Friday or let me know why!”

“Ive been ignoring you cause you’ve been fucking bailing on patrol, also without letting me know why! You obviously don’t seem to want to be around me and if thats the case i want you to say it. Because i am tired of expecting you to show up and getting some fucking runt.”

“Oh my god y/n stop being so fucking dramatic! I don’t always have to be around you, i have my own shit going on! Its not my fault you’re incapable of working with people like you’re fucking supposed to!”

Y/ns mouth closed and her eyes clouded with hurt. Ellie couldn’t believe she’d just said what she said, her pwn eyes widening and her hands cautiously to reach towards Y/n’s shoulders. “Y/n i didn’t-“

“Don’t.” Was all she said before storming out of the door, leaving Ellie with her face in her hands and collapsing to sit on the edge of her bed.

Fuckfuckfuck. Was all she could repeat in her mind. Shed just told off her best friend and used the thing she was most insecure about against her. She was disgusted with herself and the carelessness of her mouth.

Ellie never meant for this to happen. She meant to distance herself from y/n for the sake of her feelings but not to ruin their relationship. That was the one thing she was trying to preserve. She refused to let turmoiling feeling of love brewing within her whenever they laid eyes on one another ruin their bond and now, she let that distance hurt that now sped down the streets on Jackson to get to the gate and leave as soon as possible.

“Woah kid! Slow your roll.” She heard from a voice she rushed by, stopping her in her tracks. “Where ya off to walking like that?”

“Hey Tommy.” Y/n sighed, a small smile coming to her lips. He could always do that. Anytime y/n was spiraling in her anger or swallowing in her sorrow, he could cheer her up with just the enthusiastic call of his voice. “Boutta go out on patrol.”

“With the mousey kid? Luke i think his name is.” Tommy asked, a face of confusion.

Y/n rolled her eyes. “Seems like it. Ellie was supposed to be scheduled but shes-“ Y/n cut herself off, looking down at her boots in an offputtish manner.

Tommy knew there was something going on. He’s been able to sense it for a week or two. Hed try asking subtle questions to the both of them, but he’d only ever received dismissive jokes or immediate changes of subject.

“Whats goin’ on with you two? Ive barely seen y’all together the past few weeks.” Tommy asked, y/n rubbing her hands against her face and groaning.

“I don’t even know man. We just talked and she said some shit and im really fucking pissed at her cause she said some pretty messed up stuff but i also wasn’t exactly in the right i guess but- i don’t even know.”

Tommy put a comforting hand on her shoulder and squeezed it, lowering his head slightly to meet with her eye to eye. “Look kid. You two have been best friends since the second y’all met. You’ve been constantly together for three years and that wont come with some kind of disputes but one thing is for sure. Y’all love each other and you’ll get over it.”

“I guess your right.” Y/n mumbled, breathing in to regain her composure.

“C’mon, ill walk you to the gate.” Tommy said, hugging her from the side and the two walking off.

————

“Look, just keep fucking quiet ok. In and out thats how we’re gonna do this. You follow my lead and nothing else. Got it?” Y/n commanded harshly, her finger inches away from the boys face.

About four hours into their patrol, y/n and the boy she was partnered with came across a deserted warehouse that looked promising. It was five stories tall and incredibly large. Being just two of them, they had to rely on stealth and quickness, two things y/n doubted Luke was capable of.

“Yes ma’am. Got it.” Luke said, urgently nodding his head.

“Don’t call me ma’am.”

“Yes ma- Sorry.”

Y/n placed her hand on the handle of the door leading into the side of the warehouses first floor. She slowly pushed it open, the rusted hinges creaking at the action.

The two crouched down, listening for any sign of movement. When there wasn’t any apparent threat detected, she pushed in through the door.

The place looked like any other abandoned building, littered with old trash, broken tables, and rusted machines.

One each side of the floor there were doorways. Y/n raised her hand and signaled to the one on the other end of the room considering the other doorway was slightly blocked, scurrying forward and looking around carefully with eyes peeled for anything that could be useful.

When they reached the door way, it led to a stairwell, the lights broken, making it completely dark.

“Take out your flashlight.” She whispered to him.

He swung his bag in front of him and frantically searched it for the flash light. When he found it, he pulled it out with so much momentum it flew out of his hand, the bulky metal light slamming against the hollow metal stairs, the sound echoing off of the walls of the entire stairwell.

“Are you fucking kidding me? The fuck is wrong with you?” Y/n seethed, her body automatically placing itself directly in front of him, chests almost touching and her eyes stabbing into him.

“I-im sorry i didn’t m-mean to drop it.” He spit quickly.

“I swear to god if you get us in trouble im going to beat your fucking ass. Be careful!”

Luke urgently nodded, his eyes wide and embarrassed.

Y/n turned around and began to go up the stairs, her steps quiet and careful. She turned around and pressed her finger to her lips, telling him to be utterly silent.

The sound of clicks and groans started to grow along with the shuffling of feet.

Shit.

“Backbackbackback-“ y/n started saying urgently, practically jumping down the steps and dashing to the doorway.

Luke closely behind, four infected rushing down the stairs wildly, trampling over one another in desperation.

Once through the doorway, Luke shut the two doors. A bit ahead y/n stopped running, Luke slamming into her back at her sudden halt when he turned which caused her to fall forward on the ground. From the door way on the other side, three runners clawed over the desk, their force pushing it forward and getting them closer and closer to climbing over.

Luke stood above y/n, eyes dashing back and forth from the girl trying to get herself up and the infected trying to get to them from either side.

“Fuck-“ He said weakly. He looked down at the struggling girl, her fall making her fall onto a pile of rubbled stone and concrete and pulling blood.

“Im sorry. Im so so sorry.” The boy said as he backed towards the the door they’d come in.

“No, no, NO!” y/n yelled from her place on the ground, holding her knee that bled aggressively and ached brutally.

“YOU FUCKING SON OF A BITCH, COWARD! IF I MAKE IT OUT OF HERE ALIVE IM GONNA COME FOR YOU YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT! I SWEAR TO GOD LUKE!” y/n yelled, her voice hoarse and pained.

As he left through the door, shutting it closed y/n tried to stand and look around, spotting what seemed like a closet or storage unit behind her.

Finally, the runners finally busted through the barrier, recollecting themselves and setting their sight on the target.

Y/n tumbled back towards the door, dragging her leg with the injured knee.

Once she met the handle, she swung the door open and threw herself in, shutting the door with her and cutting out the infected by mere seconds.

On the ground, y/n rolled slowly herself into a ball, her knees to her chest that rose and fell frantically. The animalistic clawing at the door prevented her heart from calming or her breath from slowing, the sound a reminder as to how death was a single metal door away.

————

“You did WHAT?” Tommy yelled furiously at the seated boy that sobbed deliriously before him.

“I-I couldn’t do anything. I ran and i got to the horse and came here.” He said, his words slurred and conjuncted with his cries.

Tommy’s fists tightened furiously at his side, his teeth clenching, resisting the urge to deck him.

Before Tommy could succumb to his urge, the door flew open, the person who came in just a blur before they immediately grabbed Luke by his shirt, standing him up and slamming him into the wall.

“Where the FUCK is she?” Ellie yelled, her voice reverberating through the room, everyone’s movements stilling at the excelling tension within the room.

Joel, who came in behind Ellie having just informed her of what happened, stood behind her, his hand hesitantly held up slightly and at ready to pull her off is she let her anger get the best of her.

“I- I- I don’t know how to tell you, it was pretty far out!” Luke cried, his voice begging for mercy.

Still holding his shirt, Ellie pulled him towards the table and forced his face to the map that sat on it, his face turning sideways at the expectation of getting it slammed into the metal.

“If you cant tell me then mark it.” She seethed, grabbing the pen next to her and slapped it onto the map right bellow his face and roughly let go of his shirt.

Hesitantly, Luke stood up straight and ran his hands over his shirt where Ellie clutched onto him. With shakey hands, he grabbed the pencil and studied the map.

What seemed like ages of silence passed over the room, everyones eyes between him and Ellie. Finally, he crouched forward and circles a spot on the map.

“There. Its this big warehouse that-“

Ellie didn’t let him finished before snatching the map and dashing out the room and she rolled it.

“Ellie, wait.” Joel called out, trailing behind her. “Think about this.”

“Fuck off Joel.” Was all Ellie said before leaving the building the were in and speeding off towards the gate, Joel giving up following her and watching her walk away, clutching the map in one hand and her other dipping into her pocket.

As she walked, she pulled out a polaroid from her pocket. Specifically, the polaroid of y/n taken on their last patrol. More specifically, the polaroid that made Ellie realize she was tragically head over heels for her best friend.

She looked down at it, the picture of her beautiful face igniting nothing but more fuel to her fire.

“Im gonna find you y/n/n. im gonna find you.”

@lady-curpse @depressionandobsessionsessi-blog @muthafuckingstargirl @slut4vampire @evangelinejxy @lanasluverr @galacticstxrdust @lazyotakuofficial @agalswrittingobsession @dania7361 @jolieetoile @rtay800 @star-j0 @macaroni676 @gocryariver @a-beee @elliewilliamsissobabygirl @daddysfavoritesexkitten @dergy @dakota-dream @hangel0veb0t @randomhoex @l0v3e1i @stvrl1ght333 @ilovemydinoboi @bertandfearnie @luvwanda @hotgirlsshareaccounts @boobabietch @lazyotakuofficial @imaginexred @miadean

a/n: here is the part two yall have been waiting foooorrrr😝 ngl got a lil excited writing the part where Ellie slammed the guy to the wall that was def j for my entertainment and indulgence LMFAO part threes lined up for next week but im gna be taking a lil divergence from tlou for a sec cus my next fic is a robin buckley fic! jumping from lesbian to lesbian 😭😭😭 but after that one im already writing another naughty lil ellie fic😏😏 i love yall i hope u guys enjoy this

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carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 7 months

Text

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 4

Part 1 Part 3

We should go to the store,” Steve says.

He says it mostly to get Munson’s blood up. The silence is digging into his head, making every breath the other takes sound like the ragged wail of that fucking monster.

The longer he stays there, crouched in the trees, the harder it is to tell how much of the ache in his stomach is fear, and how much is hunger. They should find food, water, shelter, a way out of this bullshit.

Munson scoffs. “Looks like you’re getting your way, huh King Steve?”

Steve stands, legs unsteady. His feet are cold and bare in the dirt, gone numb around the ants under his skin. His hand aches from clutching the other boys. He drops it, shaking out the clenched nerves. “Yeah,” he says, channeling all the bitchiness Carol had hammered into his head over pseudo girls nights, “I summoned that thing into my bedroom just because I really wanted to go on a shopping date with you Munson.”

He starts through the woods in the general direction of the store, smiling at the sound of Munson sputtering incoherently behind him before the other boys jogs to catch back up.

“Careful there, big boy.” Muson leans into his space, smile saccharine around all its cracks. “I might just go and catch feelings.”

Steve rolls his eyes, shoving the other boy a few steps away. He can’t stop looking around for a threat, or some tear in the air that’ll lead them back home. He wants to be warm.

The rest of the trip to Melvald’s is quiet, but every time Steve glances his way, Eddie’s biting his lip against the words practically bursting from him.

He’s always been a talker. In the hallways, on cafeteria tables, even beneath the bleachers when he’s trying to keep a low profile. His voice carries. It’s almost painful to watch him try and suppress it.

No wonder teachers are always cursing his name.

Prying the door open is louder than Steve wants—metal creaking on hinges aged decades in a matter of hours. It echoes off the vacant shops loud enough that both boys stop, staring into each other’s panicked eyes as they wait for a sign that something is coming. The silence echoes around them, bouncing off the storefronts like a physical force.

Nothing stirs.

Steve pries the door open a tiny bit more, gesturing Munson inside. He does a dorky little curtsy on the way, pulling the gaping knees of his jeans like they’re the hems of a skirt. Steve rolls his eyes, but follows him in.

The door resists closing, but Steve pulls it shut, around the sounds of its own groans. The illusion of safety and all that. Munson must feel the same because he immediately starts chattering.

“Is this how you feel, all the time, Harrington?” he asks, bounding over to the cereal aisle and pulling a luridly orange box down from the shelf. He pries the box open, pulling at the seams of the bag like an impatient child on Christmas morning. “No budget, no coupons, just—shit.”

He drops the box around his startled expletive before immediately ripping into a new one.

“What?” Steve asks, but he’s already following in Munson’s wake and reaching down for the abandoned box. Before he even pulls the plastic bag out, he can smell the stench of food gone off. He pulls it out anyway.

Just like the door, and the street, and the water in his tap—the cereal in the bag has seemingly aged years in a matter of hours. Each wheaty bite has shriveled into itself, turning an off-putting grey and smelling like a stack of cardboard left to mold in the rain.

Munson’s still picking up and discarding boxes, movements growing more frantic with each new discovery.

In a state beyond horror, Steve wanders over to the water aisle. There’s no light on in the store, but the bottles almost seem to glow—an unholy green, murky and brackish in their pristine bottles, still lined up like it was opening day. It looks like some sort of gone-wrong science experiment from those science fiction movies Carol pretends she doesn’t like to watch. They look just like the sludge in his pipes back home.

Munson is cursing up a storm as he rounds the aisle, but he goes quiet when he sees Steve. He’s not sure what he looks like, but Munson’s hand reaches out and lands on his shoulder. Steve can barely feel its warm squeeze—can’t bear to tear his eyes away from those bottles.

It’s becoming a pattern, the way they’re always stuck together in horrified silence. It’s also becoming a pattern that one of them breaks said silence with some convoluted bullshit.

“Where’s your shoes, man?” Munson asks, like he’s only just noticed the flesh beyond the caked-on mud.

Steve sighs, shrugging off the other boy’s hand. His toes are numbed past the point of pain as he limps to the first-aid aisle, Munson trailing in his wake.

He ends up on the ground, clutching a roll of bandages, staring down at the bottoms of his feet. The bandages are soft and spongy. Clean. But he can’t even see the abrasions on the bottoms of his feet past the dirt and mud. There’s no water. There’s nothing. So, he just sits there, feeling nothing.

He’s still on the ground. Time must be passing but he doesn’t feel it, can’t see it in the dank light of the store.

He blinks and Munson’s sitting in front of him, Steve’s right foot in his lap. There’s a crumpled pile of used wet wipes beside the other boy’s hip, the brown and red from his own feet smudged across their normally pristine white surfaces.

The package crinkles as Munson pulls the plastic lid open to tear off a fresh wipe. He’s gentle enough that it tickles slightly between the toes and on the arch of his foot as Munson scrubs the last of the dirt away.

Steve clears his throat.

Munson snaps his gaze up, fingers twitching flightily on his foot, but doesn’t stop his ministrations. “You back with me?”

Steve nods. He wants to ask where he was before but can’t force the words past his constricting throat. He feels alarmingly close to tears.

He feels like he’s been sucked out of his body and into a very small tube, compressed until his breaths come in short, punched-out bursts that never fully enter his lungs.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Munson says, voice even. He’s looking down at Steve’s foot again, stroking it almost soothingly with the dirtied towelette. “I need you to breath with me, okay?”

Munson’s breathing gets loud and purposeful—long breaths in through his nose, longer breaths out through his mouth. Steve stares, enraptured, and gasps along.

Time passes. Steve’s shoulders slump. His fingers are tingling like they do sometimes at the end of a long basketball game. Sweat dripping down his face, body buzzing with excited adrenaline, fingers buzzing with the need for the ball.

The squeeze of Munson’s hand around his ankle catapults him out of the tube and back into Melvald’s.

Embarrassment crashes into Steve. He crawls to his feet, using the shelving behind him to steady himself. He stands, with creaking knees and hobbles stiff-legged out of the aisle, tossing “I’m going to to find some shoes,” over his shoulder.

“Okay,” Munson replies, so quietly Steve can barely hear it.

There’s a thank you stuffed deep in Steve’s throat, trying to crawl its way past his mortification. There’s gauze wrapped around the soles of his feet, containing the damage. He’s not sure when Munson even did it.

There’s not a single fucking shoe in any of the aisles–not even a fucking pair of slippers. He’s three seconds away from duct taping the bottom of his feet and calling it good when there’s a tap on his shoulder. He whirls, slipping as his gauze, covered feet try to keep traction. Munson steadies him with a hand to his elbow.

There’s a pair of ratty sneakers clutched in his other hand, and he’s smiling dimples popping.

“Where’d you get those?”

Munson beams, skipping in place like a kid playing hopscotch. “Found them in the breakroom,” he says. “Do you think your highness can lower himself to wear a poor, lowly worker man’s shoes?”

His eyes are fucking twinkling. Steve’s heart fucking twitches. This whole thing is too fucking derranged for him to handle.

“What size?”

Munson cackles tossing the shoes into Steve’s chest.

Steve bends down, pushing his feet into the shoes sockless, hoping the gauze will do enough to keep blisters at bay. They’re a little loose, so Steve ties the crumbling shoelaces tight, hoping against Munson’s fucking dimples that they don’t break. He double knots them. They hold.

“Thanks,” he says, still looking down at the ratty things.

“Gotta clothe our knights properly for battle!” Munson says. Steve looks up just in time to see that same goofy curtsey.

“I thought I was the King?” he asks. “Have I been demoted?”

Munson laughs again, bringing a curl to his face, as if to hide his grin. “I don’t see any of your subjects around,” he says. It should be mocking, but the elbow he drives into Steve’s side is good-natured. Playful. “Besides, knights are way cooler.”

Steve sighs, can’t believe he’s devolved to playing along with this level of nerdom. “Where’s my sword then, huh Munson?”

Munson sweeps his arms wide encompassing the entirety of Melvald’s in his gesture. “You’re down on your luck, Sir Harrington. You’ve lost your noble steed and your enchanted sword to a suductress from a rival kingdom. Now you’re on a perilous quest to reclaim your property, and regain your rightful place by the King’s side!”

“And where are you in this whole mess?” Steve asks, already kicking himself for playing along.

“Well, I, Sir Steve, as the King’s devoted jester, am on this quest with you to save you from a fate worse than death.”

“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, inching closer to Munson, unsure of why. “What’s that?”

“Boredom, of course!”

Munson’s hair is a mess. It’s more fly-away than contained. His skin looks a little oily around his forehead, and he looks absolutely ridiculous with Steve’s clothes on. But his eyes are shining, and his smile is beaming, and Steve wonders how someone can be that bright in the literal bowels of hell.

“Shove off, Munson,” Steve laughs, shoving his shoulder lightly as he walks past.

Munson skips up to keep in pace. “Now, what, my liege?”

“So what, I’m the King again?”

Munson puts a hand over his heart, gasping dramatically. “You’ll always be a King to me.”

Steve feels warmth in his cheeks, pushes it down, doesn’t think about it. What now, he says. What now?

“Now,” he says, thinking aloud as he eyes the aisles around them. “We collect anything useful around here and go.”

“But–”

“We’re not going to last much longer without water, man.” he replies.

Munson sighs. “The quarry?” he asks, sounding like he’d rather say anything else.

“The quarry,” Steve agrees, feeling just the same.

Part 5

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie #steddie fic #eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #my fic #they are finally Sort Of getting along!!! maybe someday they'll even be on a first name basis!!!

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crustaceousism · 1 year

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So I've been thinking a lot about the setting of Disco Elysium. Specifically it being set in late winter/early spring. It's not something I've really seen anyone else bring up.

I mean, the symbolism seems pretty obvious right? Spring is the time of new beginnings, winter is ending and we're entering a time of potential and rebirth. Definitely nothing new. But I think it goes beyond that.

I live in one of the coldest major cities in the world. Not *the* coldest, but you'll be hard-pressed to find a city with over 1,000,000 inhabitants that gets colder than it gets here. Winters are long and brutal and difficult, and when the soil itself is frozen and covered in a foot of packed snow it's really hard to believe that the world could look any other way.

And don't get me wrong, winter is beautiful. The world is quiet and picturesque. There's none of the usual dirt and debris in the streets because it's all buried under the snow. The way that fresh snow sparkles under street lights at night is one of the most breathtakingly gorgeous things I've ever seen.

It's early April right now, and the snow is melting. It's not all gone, but it's getting there. When the air starts to warm up there's this feeling of excitement and anticipation in the air. Spring is here, and any second now the world will be bursting with new life and beautiful greenery.

But it's not. Not yet.

For about a month and a half after the snow starts to melt, the world is grey. No glittering snow, no budding flowers, no swirling red leaves, just puddles of brown water and lawns of brown grass. It's like winter had ended, but the world has yet to realize that it's supposed to be spring. Until it remembers, we're all trapped in a world where there is no season at all.

Sometimes it snows, but the snow never sticks around. Sometimes it rains, but the rain never brings flowers in its wake.

That last month of winter, that first month of spring, whatever you want to call it, is my least favourite time of year. I heard it described once as "the long-preserved corpse of autumn, finally allowed to rot", and that phrase stuck with me. There are eight month old leaves on the ground, skeletal and bleached grey by a winter trapped under the ice. Without the snow to cover it, you can't ignore just how much we've let our city go to shit. The trees are bare and skeletal, and even the evergreens look washed out and grey when they're not contrasted against the snow. Most of the birds aren't back yet, so the only sound outside my window is the ever-present hum of traffic.

It's impossible to ignore the movement and the sounds of humanity, but at the same time the world has never felt so stagnant.

I think there are all sorts of comparisons you could draw here, some of which hold up better than others. The one that first comes to mind for me is sobriety- the line "Full recovery will take years, though. It’ll be depressing. And it’ll be boring. Don’t expect any further rewards or handclaps." from the "Waste Land Of Reality"o thought is one which really stuck with me on my first playthrough, and one which feels especially appropriate here. But that's just one angle.

How much of this was intentional? I don't know. Probably not most of it. Part of me just wanted to go on a little tangent about the seasonal purgatory I'm trapped in once again. But I genuinely don't think there could be a better time of year to set a game like Disco Elysium. That bleak dusty shoulder season, where all the ugliest and most honest parts of nature and civilization are on display. The time of year where I've gone through the ringer and come out the other side, but everything still looks and feels like shit. It's just a different kind of shit.

Spring isn't here. Not yet. And when it does come, it won't fix anything. There will still be garbage on the ground and pollution in the air, there will still be class inequality and senseless violence and I will still be mentally ill.

But still.

For the first time in months, I can feel the wind against my skin without it hurting.

Whatever that's worth.

#I don't know what this is you guys #don't take it too seriously #i just had a thought and then I had to get all 'ooOoh this is very profound' about it #disco elysium #de #harry du bois #hdb #disco elysium meta #1k

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hintsofhoney · 1 year

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Radio and the Rain

Pairing(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When a bad storm forces you and Dean apart on a hunt, he realizes just how much you mean to him.

Tags: 18+, smut, making love, p in v, all that jazz... nothing too crazy

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: Hello, I'm back after almost 6 months. Moving across the country (again) among other big life events (all good ones!) gave me the worst writer's block of all time, but thanks to my friends (@soaringeag1e & @emoryhemsworth), writing this fic per their suggestion (based off Radio and the Rain by Chris Young) is what finally pulled me out of it! Beta'd by my angels @wayward-dreamer and @makeadealwithdean. Alright, hope you all enjoy, and I promise I'll be back again with more things soon!

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“Y/N!” Dean calls out, doubtful that you can hear him over the sound of the rain coming down as he tries to ignore the panic building inside him. His hair is stuck to his forehead from the downpour, water droplets streaming down his face as he tries to shield himself from the weather. It’s no use. He’s soaked to the bone – he’s not sure he could have worn enough layers to keep him dry, not in this storm – and the darkness of the forest seems to go on forever. He could have sworn there was a town nearby – some light pollution would be really helpful right about now – but he seems to be shit out of luck. Thunder booms above him, almost deafening, and he keeps on what he hopes is the right path, his heart rate steadily increasing. He needs to find you.

“Y/N!” he yells again after another minute passes. If he’s soaked, he can’t imagine what you must be. He remembers what you’re wearing; skinny jeans, a thin green t-shirt, a black faux leather jacket, hunting boots. Normally, he doesn’t complain about your refusal to wear more layers, but right now, ‘I told you so’ is on the tip of his tongue. He would need a large amount of hands to count how many times he’s told you to prepare for anything , and that a flimsy t-shirt and jacket weren’t gonna cut it, but in your defense, this storm came out of nowhere. He had to give you that, at least.

“Dean!” he whips his head around at the faint sound of his name making its way through the rain, and yells yours out once more before making his way towards your voice. His eyes are adjusted enough to the dark to where he can make out silhouettes of fallen trees ahead of him, stepping over them with little caution as you call out to him again. He has to make sure you’re okay. He has to get to you.

“I’m here, Y/N!” he yells, “Where are you!?”

“Dean!”

He hears it, clear as day from behind him. He turns around in time to see the outline of your soaked body appearing from behind the trees.

“Y/N!” He rushes to you, taking your cold hand in his, and you can’t tell if he’s relieved or angry to see you – or a little bit of both. You should have listened to him when he told you splitting up was a bad idea, but completing the hunt had been the only thing on your mind, Dean’s lectures about safety be damned. “Jesus, you’re freezing,” he comments, like he isn’t an icicle himself. He wants to say, ‘I told you splitting up was a bad idea’, but he holds his tongue. He can lecture you later.

He grabs you firmly by the shoulders, looking you up and down. “Are you okay?”

With the rain pouring down, he sounds like he’s whispering, even though you can tell he’s only a decibel away from full-on screaming. Lightning strikes in the distance, and you’re able to get a clear view of his face for a brief moment. Water streaming down his clenched jaw, hair soaked and plastered to his forehead, worried green eyes searching yours. They land on your cheek, which you think is bleeding thanks to the branch that smacked you in the face a few minutes ago, and you roll your eyes at his over-concern.

“I’m fine, Dean. It’s just a scratch.”

“C’mon,” he replies gruffly, pulling you into his coat in an attempt to shield you from the rain. “Baby’s got a first aid kit in the back.”

Ten minutes of walking later and you can make out Baby’s silhouette parked on the road on the other side of some trees. The rain seems to have gotten even worse – if that’s even possible – and the thought of being underneath some type of roof (Baby’s was just as good as any) where you’d have an opportunity to get dry was getting your tired legs through the last bit of your trek out of the muddy woods.

Your first step onto the dirt road comes with more rain as you come out from under the umbrella of trees. Dean opens the back door for you, ushering you inside and telling you not to worry about your shoes (something that he was usually a stickler about; he liked a clean car). To your surprise, he gets in behind you, quickly closing the door before the backseat can get even more wet. He leans over the front bench, fishing his keys out of his pocket, before starting the ignition and turning on the heat. The radio comes on as Baby starts up, and he lets it play as he opens the glove box and pulls out a flashlight, before sitting back and reaching underneath the driver’s seat for the first aid kit.

“Hold this,” he orders, turning on the light and handing it to you, the brightness of the bulb causing you both to squint as your eyes adjust.

“Dean, I told you, I’m fine,” you reiterate with an exhausted sigh, watching as he opens the white box in his lap.

“Shine it on your face, I need to get a better look.”

You roll your eyes, pointing the flashlight on your cheek, allowing Dean to grab the underside of your chin as he moves your head to the side and examines the damage.

“Needs to be cleaned,” he announces, letting you go and pulling out a small bottle of rubbing alcohol and gauze from the kit. You watch as he unscrews the cap and flips the bottle over, letting the cloth absorb some of the liquid before flipping it back and closing it. “This is gonna sting.”

He says that every time, and you chuckle softly in response. “Yeah, not my first time.”

He doesn’t even crack a smile. He grabs underneath your chin again, dabbing your wound with the cloth, and you’re too focused on his mood to even notice the sting. A minute passes by, and you’re sure it’s clean by now, but he seems to be on autopilot, jaw clenched and eyes both focused in on what he’s doing and glazed over at the same time.

“Dean,” you say gently, placing your free hand on top of his, stilling his movements and pulling him out of his trance. “I think it’s clean.”

Silence, except for the rain and the radio, which is quietly playing Is This Love by Whitesnake (not usually what this station plays, but it’s 2 a.m. and you figure they probably save the sappy 80s songs for this time of night).

And then, “You can’t do that.” His voice is barely above a whisper.

You furrow your eyebrows and tilt your head. “Do what?”

“Scare me like that. I didn’t – I thought –” he shakes his head, dropping his hand and placing the gauze back in the kit, along with the rubbing alcohol, before closing it and shoving it back under the seat. “Just – you can’t do that.”

“Dean, the storm came out of nowhere. We’ve split up on hunts so many –”

“And it’s never my idea!” he interrupts.

“What do you want me to say, Dean!? ‘I’m sorry that God decided to flood the earth again while we were out hunting werewolves’!? I am fine , okay? I can handle –”

He cups your face in his cold hands, careful to avoid the fresh cut on your cheek. “I don’t doubt that you can handle yourself. But I can’t lose you, do you get that?” His face is inches away from yours, and the flashlight slips out of your hands and onto the floor as your breath catches in your throat. The radio starts playing the all-too familiar beginning chords of Night Moves , and you can’t bring yourself to do anything but nod. Dean tucks a strand of wet hair behind your ear. “I can’t lose you,” he whispers.

“I know,” you reply breathily. You place your hand over his again. “You won’t, De.”

The corner of his mouth lifts up into a brief half smile – one that you would have missed had you not been watching his every move. His thumb brushes over your bottom lip with a feather-light touch, and all you can hear is the radio and the rain.

“Your lips are freezing,” he comments, not-so-subtly (in true Dean fashion).

“Shame there’s no way to warm them,” you whisper back, biting back a smile.

“Hm,” he smirks, leaning in. “I can think of a way.”

You close your eyes as his lips meet yours, instantly sending warmth back into your body. Night Moves is still playing, and you ignore the irony as you kiss him back like not freezing to death depends on it. It’s not your first kiss with Dean, but it’s the first one that feels like it really means something, like you could be more than just friends who hook up occasionally. His hands move from your face to your jacket, unzipping it before he helps peel it off your body, your wet skin making everything a thousand times harder. He carelessly throws it into the front seat before his lips move to your neck and he works on getting his own top layer off. He finds your sweet spot right under your ear, one that sends warm shivers down your spine, and then his hands are back on your body, finding their way underneath your soaked shirt, trailing up your sides. His palms feel warm against your skin, and you don’t know if it’s the heat blasting through the vents or the adrenaline pumping through your veins, but you’ve never been hotter.

The two of you separate for a few seconds and tug off the remainder of your clothes, everything landing in a nice pile on the front seat — muddy boots included. The cleanliness of his car is the last thing Dean is concerned about right now.

You feel a lot more comfortable naked — meaning, you’re only wet where you want to be now — and you lean back in the seat, your head resting against the door, as Dean hovers over you, taking you in. The flashlight on the ground was your only source of light with the moonlight blocked out by the storm still raging outside.

“You’re beautiful,” he states, not like an opinion, but like it’s an undeniable fact. Like if you were to look up ‘beautiful’ in the dictionary right now you’d find a picture of your face.

You smile. “Thank you.”

His finger traces your jaw bone, his thumb gently outlines the scrape on your cheek. “I don’t think it’s gonna scar,” he says. You love it when he’s like this: pure and unfiltered, saying exactly what he’s thinking when he’s thinking it.

You chuckle softly. “Good. Be real ugly if it did.”

His expression turns serious. “No it wouldn’t.” He states that like it’s a fact too, and you have no choice but to accept it.

“Okay. It would be pretty badass, I guess,” you concede.

He smiles and nods, leaning down to kiss you softly, quickly, before pulling back and whispering, “Yeah, it would.”

He trails his kisses down your jaw, neck, collarbone, and you catch the next song on the radio — Feels Like the First Time — and roll your eyes and try not to laugh because of course . You’re brought back to the present when Dean’s mouth wraps around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the hardened bud as your hands instantly come to grip his wet hair.

“Fuck,” you breathe, back arching off the leather seat, and he chuckles softly before releasing you with a ‘pop’.

“That’s the plan, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes again, but they quickly close as he moves to give your right nipple some attention, gently pinching the other between his thumb and pointer finger. Your moans cause his cock to twitch, and you feel it against your inner thigh, imagining what it must look like right now.

“Please,” you beg, and you both know exactly what for. He gladly returns his lips to yours, before nestling himself comfortably (or as comfortable as one can get in the backseat of a ‘67 Chevy) between your legs, still damp and sticky from the rain. He kisses you hard as he enters you slowly, and you moan into his mouth as you adjust to his size. Nothing’s ever felt so good.

“Jesus,” he breathes, pulling away momentarily and bracing himself with one hand on the fogged up window as he bottoms out and stays there, looking down at you like you’re the only thing that matters to him, and right now, you are. “Mm, fuck .” He starts to move, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck, his hot breath and soft groans doing nothing to help stall the tightening coil in your abdomen. “‘m never letting you out of my sight again,” he whispers.

All you can do is nod; he feels so good, you never want him to stop.

“Can’t fuckin’ lose you,” he mumbles, his face coming to hover above yours as he cups your unscathed cheek with his free hand. “You hearin’ me?” He shakes his head. “I can’t.”

You nod again, a little more aggressively this time. “I know, Dean. You won’t,” you reassure him through unsteady breaths. It’s your turn to shake your head. “You won’t.”

You hadn’t noticed his thrusts speeding up, too lost in your emotions until he hits a spot that you didn’t even know you had.

“Oh, fuck ,” you hiss, arching your back. “Fuck, right there.”

He listens, picking up the pace ever so slightly, his lips on your neck again, his heavy pants in your ear. “Shit, sweetheart, you feel so good.” He’s breathing so hard it’s barely audible, but you hear it clear as day, and it’s what brings you to the edge.

“Fuck, Dean, I’m gonna —”

“Me too, me too.”

And then you’re tensing underneath him as a wave of pleasure washes over you, his cock twitching inside you as he fills you up, and he’s holding himself up on trembling forearms, desperately trying not to collapse on top of you as the exhaustion from the day finally hits you both like a tidal wave. Through heavy breathing you notice that it’s still pouring outside — probably deeming you stuck here on this no name road until it lets up — and that You Shook Me All Night Long is playing on the radio, and you can’t help but giggle softly and shake your head.

“What?” he questions, confused.

“I think both the weather and the radio are demanding that we go again.”

TAGLIST(S)

If you signed up for my taglist but don’t see your name below, it’s because Tumblr won’t let me tag you!

FOREVERS: @writercole // @makeadealwithdean // @slamminmine // @impala1967dwinchester // @wayward-dreamer // @stiles-stilinski-24-dylan // @deandreamernp // @kitkatd7 // @thewritersaddictions // @foxyjwls007 // @kyjey // @boeshaneboy // @besas-stuff // @babypink224221 // @stoneyggirl2 // @440mxs-wife // @sexyvixen7 // @samsgirl93 // @alwayssnivellus // @simpfoegeorge // @ajordan2020

SUPERNATURAL: @deans-baby-momma // @cookiechipdough // @roonyxx // @jassackles // @roseblue373 // @redbarn1995

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You can join my taglist(s) here!

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester fanfiction

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miheartsedthings · 2 months

Text

All The Lovers in the Night

“Smells like rain.”

Billy glances from the movie he’s watching to where you’re leaning on the window sill, your nose nearly pressed against the screen.

“Hm?”

It’s cool out, early spring.

“Rain,” you say again, “C’mere.”

Graduation was months ago, and since then you and Billy spend as much time as possible together. Now, you’re at his place while his dad is away on a business trip. Susan doesn’t stand in the way of you being together, as long as you all have some idea of which friends Max is hanging out with. She’s with Lucas and the others, so you and Billy have the house to yourselves and you’ve taken up in the living room.

You’re on your knees in front of the window beside the TV, transfixed by the little green yard and the trees just beyond. All settled under graying clouds. Billy comes to stand beside you.

“Smells like…” he pauses, leaning down and closing his eyes. He’s been so at ease since his dad left. Since his ribs healed and the nightmares lessened. So much more thoughtful. More like his true self than he ever would’ve been before.

“Kinda like ocean.” He says as he looks out. He’s smiling but only with his eyes.

“Yeah,” you say, taking another big inhale. “Wet dirt, and like…” another breath “the way it smells on foggy mornings, ya know?”

He nods. He sits down on the hardwood, one knee bent as he reclines on the opposite arm.

“You’re missing your movie,” you say.

His eyes are far away, looking out into the sky.

“It used to be quiet in our house when it stormed,” he says. “My grandma lived with us and she used to make me and my mom huddle up in the living room and pray until it passed. Normally, my dad bitched about everything that woman said, but…when it stormed, something came over him, too. Everything would just get mellow and we’d sit there…damn. I forgot about that.”

A cool, damp breeze rolls over you, and slowly a shush drums up from the ground as the rain starts to fall. Quietly at first, and then louder, filling the air with scattered water and the sour smell of soil. Billy loops an arm around your waist and pulls you into his lap. He tucks his face into your neck and kisses the chilled skin before returning his eyes to the window. You settle into him, closing yourself into the warmth of his arms.

“There’s so much I wish I could change about what happened to you.”

Your words feel thin. Maybe they’ll slip right out the window and be trampled by the rain. Broken through like butterfly wings.

“I know,” he says “I know what you'd do for me if you could.”

His arms tighten around you, somehow bringing you closer to his chest. You know the words are meant to be comforting, but they make you feel powerless. You sit there drowning in all the nothing you can do to fix the things he suffered with. Before you know it, you’ve sniffled, and he turns you to face him with a hand under your chin.

“Hey,” he says, his face tightening into a stern glare. “You don’t get to be mad at yourself about shit you can’t change. Remember we made that rule?” You nod, but it only makes it worse that he cares so much. “Keep being a crybaby you’re gonna get yourself in trouble.”

A laugh bursts out of you, regardless of your tears. He’s able to make you laugh whenever he wants, it’s like some weird superpower he has. He smiles a little and kisses you, letting his lips linger.

“Don’t worry,” he says. “You can’t have more regrets than me and shit…I’m here.”

You’re flooded with more words, more sentiment than you’d ever burden one person with. It’s too much. So you kiss him again and try to telegraph it all through the dense space between your internal self and his. You try to send him healing and care. Compassion beyond description. Forgivenesses not yours to give. All of it. Everything.

For a moment, when he’s filling you, you think he feels it. By some miracle of the body and the sound of rain, he finally feels how much you love him. You’re so happy you could die.

Artist Credit: Cécile Berrubé

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #stranger things #billy hargrove imagine #fanfic #billy stranger things #story

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eldritcmor · 25 days

Text

DRABBLE

You came back wrong.

It took a while for the team to get back into Las Almas Base. Even then it was a challenge for the Monsters and Hybrids of 141 and Mexican special forces. Gaping maws in the earth filled with drip stone like teeth would suddenly open up beneath their feet. The trees would violently sway in the thunder shrieking winds as fat Heavy rain clouds let loose on the torn soil. All the while they couldn’t get the image of your corpse leaning in the doorway of your cell turned tomb, smiling over Graves’ shoulder as the earth gave way to teeth and blood at your cry.

The vampire had barely had enough to time to turn before concrete slicked into mud. He went tumbling with his thralls into a gaping chasm lined with obsidian fangs. Pain wracked his body as Those under his control were dashed against glass stone. He tried to pull his thralls to him. To call to The piece of his essence in each and every single one. No one came. He growled and tried again. No one. He looked up to the top of the pit only to see your dead eye’s mere inches from his, head cocked to the side as if listening.

A slow creeping smile stretched your pale blue lips, revealing rows of obsidian teeth. Graves barely had the energy to scramble back. He ignored the sting of glass piercing his palms as He pushed himself, further and further from whatever the fuck you were. A wail cried high in the pit and Graves flinched as Your head snapped to the noise. He would never forget the grinding crunch of bone if he made it out of this. Between one blink and the next, you were gone. Nothing but the clicking of volcanic glass in your wake.

Graves gathered himself, breathing harshly. The reports had said you were The 141’s weak link. A fragile human among powerful monsters. He had thought of Turning you into one of his Thralls. Making You a shadow. But, then. Well orders were orders, and Graves was nothing if not decently loyal to the people writing his check.

Shepherd wanted to rile The 141 up. Make them show their true colors. You were just the poor little human, that had wormed your way into the team’s heart.

He had drawn it out, after The transfer of the base went to shit with Ghost, Alejandro, and Soap escaping. Had taken his time with draining your life, drop by drop over the course of several days. Till your dinky little Cell became your tomb. After that it was a waiting game, and He got so tired of waiting. He decided to send a message to entice the 141. You weren’t supposed to come back.

Gaz stared at the massive black maw in the middle of Las Almas base. The place was deadly quiet. Not even the rain seemed to make a sound in the presence of the Obsidian Mouth. This was your doing?

He landed on a crumbled building at just the edge of the pit. He peered down trying to make sense of where shadows ended and black volcanic rock began, when he saw it. Bodies. Lots of Bodies. Twisted, Broken Bodies Lined the lowest points of the pit. Spiked through with Glittering shards of obsidian.

The harpy leaned further, flexing his wings and burying his talons in the concrete of the building to keep himself stable. A little red patch caught his eyes. Graves private little army. Shadows, then. He squinted. Something was off about the bodies though. They were pale. Not lack of sunlight pale. Blood loss pale. He finally let go of his perch and smoothly dropped into a swoop, right into the pit. The temperature hit him first. One would expect a deep maw of rock and earth to be cool maybe even cold. No, it was warm like a furnace, bordering on Hot.

Gaz’s mouth tightened in concentration as he landed next to one of the Shadow bodies. The obsidian had torn the poor thing apart but that didn’t explain the complete blood loss. The harpy kicked at the body. Something was off and Gaz was lost.

“Captain.”

The Dragon’s voice crackled through the radio clipped to his flight harness.

“Yes, Gaz?”

“Do you know any creatures that would drain a thrall dry?”

The captain humphed. “No.”

“Well something did. Every single body in this pit is completely drained.”

“Could be a ritual. We haven’t ruled out possession.”

Gaz flipped the body over. There! A thin channel formed into the glass, almost like someone was melting the glass as they dragged their finger through it.

“No we haven’t. I’ll keep poking around.”

“Be careful, Garrick.”

“Always am, sir.”

The harpy followed the trail. Meeting more and more thin little channels of dried blood. He barely noticed as the ground sloped. Pooling the channels into rivers til finally a deep pool formed at the very bottom of the pit.

Gaz stood at the edge of a massive dip, a single pillar of obsidian erected in the center. The walls of the pit were eating the sky, as Gaz peered up at the sun. The sun? Gaz had flown in under storm and wind. Is this what you saw before you left?

Gaz threw himself into the air.

taglist: @skylordgrey @bluegiragi @batw3nch @stick-the-dumbass @lilpothoscuttings @im-making-an-effort @stupidwingboy @apocalypticseagull @resident-cryptid @warenai @sleepyendymion @sellenedragon @queenofwolves210 @ummmmmbeans @makayla-666 @gogh-with-the-flow @diejager

#cod mw2 #call of duty x reader #eld writes #taskforce 141 #captain john price #task force 141 #monster 141 au #harpy!gaz #kyle gaz garrick #141 x reader #vampire!graves

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devnmon · 9 months

Text

Hidden Comforts (Under the Covers)

Summary: Winter in the prison keeps Daryl awake for days, and it seems his only solution for rest is seeking you out in the dead of night.

a/n: yep. it’s me, devnmon, writing yet another daryl fic after months of not writing. here’s one of my favorite trope(s), tweaked a bit for the likes of this fic: the one bed trope. lots of cute pining from both sides, shyness and uncertainty for the like of the masses. i hope u guys will survive as this is the softest shit i’ve ever fucking wrote. enjoy <3 [credit 2 cafekitsune for dividers]

warnings: none

wc: 2k

Windows froze solid shook against the wind and ice raining down from the sky, along with inches upon inches of snow to make the prison courtyard a white frontier. The only thing this kind of weather helped was depleting the amount of walkers around, ones who hadn’t frozen solid against a tree or upright in the ice.

Among the cold walls of the prison, a shiver of slight wind continuously fled through the building. There were god knows how many cracks in the foundation, windows that were void of panes, not to mention the ginormous hole in one of the halls that had been sealed off from the otherwise livable quarters. All the rebuilding of your home, yet the frigid temperatures persisted.

It was cold enough outside, your group couldn’t help the breeze finding its way in above all they’ve done to patch the place up. There was no way of setting a fire for just a smidge of warmth, either. So, the remaining members of your group were left to the clothes on their backs, and whatever they’d scavenged from the cells to help fend off the frozen temperatures.

Outside, the wind rapped against windows and a shiver ran through your body. You’d been hunched over in your cell, layers upon layers of clothing attempted to clothe yourself from the weather. It did nothing to help the cold from seeping to your core. Your teeth chittered against one another, a hand wrapping around the wool blanket from your mattress to cover your body with it.

From a distance, you heard footsteps down the hall. Probably just Rick or Daryl making their rounds in the cell blocks to see how everyone was holding up during the storm. It was hard for everyone, especially the new people taken in from Woodbury and Judith, Rick’s infant daughter, to deal with this discomfort of winter.

Thudding of feet on the stone flooring became louder minute by minute, knowing now that it had to be one of the two men, now, leaders of your group of survivors you called family. You weren’t as advanced as Daryl was with his tracking, so you really couldn’t tell which one of the men it was. Though, as the steps became louder, it came to your attention the distinct sound of heeled boots, as well as metal clinking on his belt. It was only a moment before you heard the sound of the sheet blocking your cell doorway being pulled back.

“Hey. How you holdin’ up?”

Hesitating on movement at first, you sighed, then turned toward the southern voice in the doorway. Rick stood in the hallway, hand on his hip, the other holding the curtain back.

“Hey, Rick. I’m... hanging in there… best I can. Not much I can do to change how fucking cold it is but… how’s everyone else doing?”

You hear him respond from the hall, “They’re managing. Carl was askin’ about you though, wanted to make sure you were okay. He’s spending the night with Judith.”

“Mm, okay. I’ll check in with him later… or tomorrow. Whenever I’m not freezing my ass off..” Chuckling, you shift the blanket tighter around you.

“Right, well don’t freeze to death tonight, ‘kay? We need you,” He says, beginning to drop the curtain until he pulls it back open and says, “Daryl was askin’ about you earlier.”

“Daryl was? What- what did he say?” You double blinked in surprise at such an idea.

You had just recently become close with him, but it would be a lie if you said you weren’t holding back some teeny tiny feelings for him. A teeny tiny crush that made being in the mere presence of him overwhelming. Your palms always began sweating whenever he got close to you, making your voice shake and train of thought lost in the way he held himself. Daryl was intimidating, but you knew he was kind, and even quite funny amidst the struggles he’s been through.

“Somethin’ about him not being able to sleep in this cold. Was wondering the same about you. He’ll probably be up all night...” Rick scratched the back of his head.

“Poor guy... I mean I thought he was a night owl, but I couldn’t imagine not being able to sleep at all.” You stated, concern for him growing.

“He’s had it rough. But I don’t think he’ll put his head down even if he got within an inch of being tired. Would you check on him if you get the chance?”

“Sure. You should go get some rest yourself. You definitely need it.”

“Yeah, I’ll try. Have a good night.” You smile at him this time as he drops the sheet fully this time, the clicking of his heeled boots drifting away.

What kept you awake for the next half hour was the thought of what went on behind those pretty eyes of his, always considering everyone around him while not thinking of himself at all. You sigh, I wish I could make things better for you. Show you how much love you deserve. Fuck…

You drift off after that, succumbing to fatigue that had your eyelids feeling a hundred pounds heavy.

A couple hours pass before slight stirring outside your small room catches your observant ear. It was far past midnight yet, late enough for everyone with a normal sleep schedule to be out like a light.

You lay in bed, eyes still closed, thinking, who the hell is up at this hour?

The footsteps fade to nothing, thinking whoever it was went back to sleep, perhaps to use the bathroom or something. Then you heard someone clear their throat from the hall, sounding right outside your sheet. It’s then your eyes shot open, peering over to the entrance of the room. You’re about to call out, but remember the dozens of sleeping individuals in the other cells. So you wait.

Sure enough, you hear a sigh still outside of your room, patiently waiting for some, if any, response.

You hear a faint call out of your name, given by someone with a low, surly voice. It takes a minute to register in your head as to who it was, and then you remember what Rick told you earlier.

“Daryl? That you?” Rubbing your eyes from sleep, you sit up.

“Yeah, ‘s me.” You hear his faint footsteps approach slowly, his silhouette painting a dark figure against the white of your sheet. His hand lifts it, peering in with curiosity.

“Come- come in. You don’t have to stay out there.” You state, waving him into the cell, noticing his poncho thrown over his usual leather jacket and shirt. When he’s fully in the room, you notice the dark circles lingering under his blues, proving Rick’s knowledge of the man was true.

“I didn’t wake ya, did I? Shit- couldn’t sleep. Been up forever.”

Shaking your head, you give a small smile, “No, don’t worry. I got some sleep but the cold wasn’t really helping.”

He nods, chewing the inner side of his lip.

“What’s up, Daryl?”

“I just- Ya know this weather, there ain’t a smidge of heat in this damn prison. No matter how many blankets I got.” He half chuckles, but you can tell it’s more of a scoff. Daryl’s wringing his hands within each other and pacing across the floor.

“I know, feels like I’m wearing ten layers of clothes just to not freeze to death. It’s fucking awful. Like I’ve never seen…” You stop for a moment, taking in his stressed state before he glances at you, “Uh.. never seen Georgia of all places have harsh snow like this. Lived here all my life and it’s never been this bad.”

“Yeah, me too. Except that was when we had electricity, and fuckin- road pavers or some shit. I don’t fuckin’ know.” Daryl picks up the chuckle you let out at his words, and you’re nodding when he looks over again.

“Hey, listen. It’s late and I know you didn’t come all the way from the perch to talk to me about the weather.. so really, what’s on your mind?”

Daryl’s pacing halts abruptly, knowing you can read him like a book. It feels as though his stomach turns inside out when he thinks about what he really wants to say. “I uh… I’ve been up for probably two, no, three days now, haven’t been able to sleep since the cold. And… fuck.“

“You know you can tell me anything.” He huffs out a breath and nods to himself, almost like he’d been trying to hype himself up for wanted, no, needed to say. His hesitation had already made you anxious and you wanted to pick his brain to ease all his worries. But you stayed silent and let him speak.

“Okay, listen. I’m damn freezing… and uh, I know you run warm. Like a damn furnace in the summer. But I was wonderin’ if… You wouldn’t mind if I… um, lay with ya?”

You hold off on responding for a moment as his words turn the gears in your head. Daryl wanted to… lay in bed? With you? Just the idea of his body that close to you made your hands sweat. Your eyes darted around swiftly, before you responded.

“Like, in- in my bed? With me?”

“Uh, yeah. Feels like that’s the only way I’m gonna be able to get some shuteye.” His eyebrows furrowed, and you noticed his fidgeting hands. Your silence made him immediately think it was a shit idea and he should’ve just kept it to himself. Should’ve just suffered through the fatigue and gone back to his perch. He began to realize you were about to deny him. What was he thinking?

“Daryl, this bed is not big enough for the two of us.” You chuckled playfully and watched his stern face drop.

“Oh, alrigh’. Sorry t’bother ya.” He began to turn his broad shoulders toward the door.

“But…”

He froze in his steps, turning back.

“Your warmth and rest is more important to me. So, get your ass over here.” A small smile formed on your tired face, painting the tips of his ears red. Daryl kicked off his shoes by the doorway and padded over to your bed. Once you moved to lay down on your side, you lay your head on the edge of your pillow, inviting him to share the blanket with you, your arm out in a welcoming embrace.

Daryl, still caught off guard with the fact that you were letting him be this close to you, kept his poncho on and crawled in next to you on the creaky mattress. He wasn’t surprised at the warmth radiating off you once he fully laid down next to you. The second he looked up at your face, the realization that your faces were inches away made his eyes widen.

“Glad you’re not one to shy away in close quarters..” You giggle, gazing at his facial features for the first time, and this is as close as the two of you have ever been. A corner of his mouth quirks upwards, the smallest inkling of a smile on his face.

“This tiny ass bed is somehow more comfy than mine. Maybe ‘cause you’re here..” You could tell Daryl’s fatigue was catching up with him, as his words slurred, and his eyes began to flutter closed. A piece of his hair falls in front of his eyes, and you move your hand up to move it from covering his eyelids. Once your fingertip ghosts over his face, he flinched, only slightly for a moment and remembered you’re there. He knows you’d never hurt him, leaning into your movement, his shoulders easing up their tightness.

“Shh.. get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.” Your voice is low and soft, it right about lulls him to sleep.

“M’kay, sunshine.” Daryl scoots in, pressing an inch or so closer to you. You don’t realize at first, but his right hand lays directly on top of yours. His warm hand caresses your palm, slightly moving your fingers to intertwine in his. You cup his cheek, and lightly press a kiss to his forehead. He grumbles to himself a bit more, till you sense he’s fallen asleep, allowing your eyes to flutter closed as well.

He's warm and familiar, safe and closer than ever. You wanted to breathe in the scent of his leather jacket and never let go.

Seems like you were just what he needed for a good night’s rest.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #devnmonwrites #ryesff #the walking dead fanfiction #daryl dixon x you #daryl x you #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon

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greatstormcat · 4 months

Note

Hello!!! Its my first time ask some one so be kind, well i just want to ask if you can do a one shot for werewolf au something with reader, kyle and soap can be just a fluffy or hot idont know i just belive you gonna do something amazing i love your au so teah i just know this gonna be good love u. (Inglish is not my first language so sorry if i made some mistake♡)

Hello!!! Thank you for sending in an ask, and i really appreciate that you picked me for your first one. Also, I am always in awe of multilingual people who do something that I could never hope to do and write in another language.

Have some werewolf fluff!

TW: MDNI 18+ for nudity and a bit of suggestiveness at the end but other way it’s fluff

“No no no! Damn it!” You yelled, banging your fists on the steering wheel of your car. The engine warning light blazed back at you from the dash, taunting and jeering at you, to the background sound of the rain pelting down on the roof of your car. The silence of the dead engine only made the drumming of rain on metal all the louder. “You utter, utter bastard,” you grumbled thinking of the long, muddy and cold slog you now faced to get back to the cottage with your shopping.

Leaning over into the back seats you tried to organise the perishables into the same box, planning to come back later for the rest. You’d just have to abandon the car here and call for a tow back to town later, at least no one else used this road as it only went to the cottage.

Flipping up your hood and bracing yourself against the coming onslaught, you climb out, slamming the door harder than necessary and then grab the box from the back seat. Muttering curses under your breath you trudged through the sucking mud up the road, fat drips slapping onto your raincoat as they fell from the trees lining the way.

It was long before you were sweating under the waterproof fabric despite the chill that bit into your exposed face and fingers. What made it worse was the fact you’d insisted on doing this shopping trip alone, insisting you didn’t need one of the Pack with you just for a basic supply run like this. You could imagine Price now, arms folded and giving you an unashamedly smug look. Be nagged you about your car often enough, and now there was no way he’d let you live this down.

“Oh fuck,” you grumbled and two wolves came trotting down the track ahead of you. As they neared you recognised them as Kyle and Johnny, and breathed a quick sigh of relief as you kept marching.

“You got a problem there, love?” Kyle is the first to change and walk beside you, the cold rain barely registering as he tracks through the mud with you.

“Fancied a walk,” you lie stubbornly, avoiding lifting your head to see what you know will be an irritating grin on his gorgeous face.

“Shit weather for tha’, why didn’t you drive?” Johnny chips in, walking along on the other side of you.

“Okay! My car is fucked!” You burst out, the ghost of a smile pulling at the corners of your mouth at the absurdity of the situation and water seeps into you neck and o er the tops of your boots. Kyle steps infront of you forcing you to stop and look up at him.

“Do you want some help?” He asks softly, and you cannot help but crack a smile at his warm expression.

“Yes please,” you concede. Between the three of you, thanks to the boys amazing strength, you get everything back to the cottage, and they promise to get the car sorted without letting price know, saving your bruised ego.

Shivering and wet you get out of your wet and muddy clothes, joining Johnny and Kyle by the fireplace after they wipe the mud from their skin.

“C’mere, you’re still shivering,” Johnny urges you, beckoning you to slot yourself between their large frames on the rug with your back to Johnny’s chest. You settle between them, warm skin pressed against the thin cotton of the oversized t shirt you threw on, their heat leaching in to replace the aching cold that had wormed into you with the rain. Gentle, heavy palms caress your hip and arm, and your shivering slowly subsides with a deep sigh.

Now the sound of the rain against the window creates a restful countermelody to the cracking of the fire, and the gentle murmur of Johnny and Kyle’s breathing soften the mood further.

“Feeling better now?” Kyle asks you, sensing you relaxing in their embrace, turning more warm and comfortable with each beat of your heart. You hum in agreement, and he places a gentle kiss against your forehead, over the damp strands of hair stuck there.

“Good, guess we’ll have to stay here for a bit, yeah?” Johnny muses, his hand wandering from your hip to your thigh, and then easing under the hem of the t shirt to touch bare skin. You can feel the grin on his lips as he nuzzles against the back of your neck, as well as… something else.

“No sense anyone getting stuck in the rain again, is there?” You agree softly, shifting slightly and causing friction to build between the three of you. The look in Kyle’s dark eyes seals the deal for you, dark and hungry, before he kisses your lips gently.

“Okay, we’ll stay,” he whispers against your lips.

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messylustt · 11 months

Note

can i pls request a small fic where reader is from earth 1218 and miguel has to hide at thier house for a bit to get away? cos he dosent wanna be in a universe where he exsists, you he randomly chooses your house? doesn't have to be exactly like that but 1218 reader pls 🙏🙏

i love this. makes me feel like it could happen to me jwjidkskkkwks (i’m delusional ik. it’s okay) — also I feel like this needs a part two…

╰┈➤ ꒰ 💿 ┊bon bons ꒱

thunderstorm — miguel o’hara + reader ( spiderverse ) : miguel finds his way into your home, your universe. 1816, where no superheroes exist.

contents : kinda suggestive. suspense?? wc 3.0k. check out my spiderverse m.list

you didn’t have much planned for the day. nothing of importance. all that was required of you was to make sure you didn’t leave your sheets out on the clothes horse before the rain came.

apparently a thunderstorm. though the weather information usually stated extremes. no harm in being careful, you guess.

so, when the day got later you ventured outside, lifting on your tiptoes to remove the pegs. throwing the sheets in a basket you felt a very light drop hit your hair. looking up to the sky you could see the grey clouds slowly covering the already setting sun.

with one arm hooked around the basket, you locked the door and made your way down to the basement—to place the pegs back in their designated smaller basket. as you do, you try multiple times in flicking the switch, until it finally turns on.

you jump down the last step, throwing the pegs and moving to retrace your steps when the lights flicker off. “really…?” you quietly mutter to yourself, squinting your eyes against the darkness as you slowly tried for the steep stairs.

with only a slight misstep you reach the light switch again. flicking up down, up down, up down. and…the powers out.

luckily the sun was still barely visible when you walked back through your hallway, letting you see where you were going. you had planned to check the tv for weather news or maybe your phone. but both annoyingly won’t work. you guess that’s indication enough that the storm is almost here.

and surely so, the wind begins to howl as you stare out the window, checking that they are locked tight, as you fiddle with a lighter and a box of candles.

and just as you set up the last candle in your kitchen a noise stops your hands movements. looking to your left—down the hallway—you squint. it’s probably the storm. because the rain had begun to sound like hail on your roof.

and then just as you go for food in the fridge you hear that same noise. you can’t really make out what type of noise it is, just that it’s loud enough to run right through your entire home. you finally step out of your kitchen, walking down the hallway.

you begin to slightly smile to yourself. because this all feels too much like that horror movie you watched the other day. you stop at your front door, looking out through the key hole, and checking the lock as you slide the chain.

the house shook, as you gaze around, before your eyes widen. “shit—“ you mutter, quickly racing up your stairs to reach the bathroom. you had left the window open to help with the condensation.

and just as you began to make your way back down the steps something dark walks across your hallway. you freeze. what was that? you didn’t want to know, now your mind whirring, as you stay midway from taking the next step.

it was just…a shadow…of a tree…yeah. for some reason that got your body moving again, you don’t really know why, because a shadow that dark isn’t just some reflection.

you swiftly peek your head round the corner of your hallway, eyeing your dimly lit house. could an animal have gotten in? usually in a storm animals look for shelter. that’s why when you went upstairs to your bathroom you saw a friendly spider by your sink.

now in the kitchen you sigh, seeing no animal or anything similar. you open the fridge, scanning for food. but that’s when you hear a creak.

whipping around, your breathing caught, your gaze stops on a slowly turning figure. you’re frozen, the fridge light probably displaying your expression rather well. and then you catch this…thing’s face. at first he looked like a man.

until you saw his red, almost glowing eyes, and fangs that glinted in the dim candle light. now you’ve found your voice, while simultaneously finding food, as all you can think to do is hurl it at the figure.

“what are—how—huh??!” you’re now skirting past the kitchen island as the man-thing watches you. your hand finds a salt shaker and as you aim to throw it at his head, his hand swiftly flies up, catching it far too fluidly.

you’re breathing heavy as your eyes now physically hurt from staying so wide. he inspects the salt shaker, before placing it on the kitchen island. he has claws…

“am i going insane…?” you whisper to yourself. because that’s what crazy people do right? whisper to themselves. “yeah…you’re not…real.”

you actually look back to him. your statement a…statement, but you guess part of you was wanting some sort of confirmation.

he tilts his head, eyeing you. “it’s like you’ve never seen a spider-person before.” he finally speaks.

you blink, still pressed against the kitchen counter as if that will serve you some form of protection. in your mind it does. “what?”

he flexes his claws, as you now notice a mask in his grasp. “…are you a robber?” mask equaled robber, in your mind.

he raises a brow, looking throughly unimpressed. He has ventured a fraction closer, now more in the light, and now more visible to you. you’re slightly taken aback. because even though it looks as though he does have red eyes and fangs. he doesn’t look…horrid.

“is that really what i look like?” he asks, as you now notice his wet hair, curling around his face and a certain suit that you swear you’ve seen before.

“no.” you say slowly. “you look like a…vampire.” you could actually laugh if you weren’t so terrified. “are those contacts?”

yes, you’re still in disbelief, and denial. The man narrows his eyes, then glances out the window. you watch him carefully, your hand moving to grab something behind you.

“don’t throw that.” he holds up his hand, still looking out the window.

you stop midway from grabbing an orange as you continue to stare. “what are doing in my house?” you finally ask the essential question. whatever he is he’s still broken in.

then your brows furrow, because you didn’t hear glass smashing…you don’t think. “how even did you get in? i swear i locked everything…”

he looks back to you. “i have my ways.”

“that’s…descriptive.” you mutter more so to yourself. “are you…like a cosplayer or something?” because you swear you’ve seen his suit before.

he eyes you. “what universe is this?”

“universe?” you blink a shit tonne of times. because what?

he seems to be thinking as he gazes around, before some sort of realisation hits him. “1218.”

“12 what?” you’re utterly confused, as you scrunch your nose, pressing your fingers to your temples. Your brain was starting to hurt. but then he was moving closer.

you hold your hand out, suddenly becoming more alert. “don’t—“ you say firmly, but then his head is swiftly turning in the direction of your front door. and then he’s right in front of you making you jump, your eyeballs threatening to fall out. “what—“

“shh.” he says, placing his hand over your mouth, as his body pushes you further against the counter and into the corner—where your cupboard creates a blindspot.

you go to at least try and say something, your heart beating on overdrive, but then you hear gruff voices and a loud noise that resembled the breaking of wood, and smashing of glass. you go real quiet after that, trying to see past this large man.

miguel can feel your body still. obviously still tense, but you aren’t shoving him off you. he keeps his hand over your mouth, his breath now hitting your eyelashes.

you stay still. because this man in front of you didn’t have a weapon—from what you know—and his heaving chest and darting eyes are showing you he doesn’t like your new visitors either. then you make eye contact, and you hate to say that you aren’t repulsed by his blood red eyes.

miguel slowly removes his hands, making a ‘silence’ motion with his finger, to which you gulp and close your mouth. miguel can hear the approaching footsteps, and the crunch of glass under their feet.

then his breath is by your ear. “is there somewhere we can hide?” his words tickle your neck, making you shiver.

“uh…there’s…” you try and think. because where the hell can you hide?

“take your time.” he whisper-comments. but you ignore his sarcasm as you meet his gaze, hearing the further approaching men. “the attic.”

miguel tilts his head to the side, silently asking you to show him. but you hesitate. alone. in the attic. with this…stranger. miguel seems to catch onto your swaying mind, as he leans back closer to your ear. “i’m not gonna hurt you, if that’s what your worried about. i have no use for that.”

no use for that? but you can’t dwell because the urgency is back in his voice. “but these guys will. so, if you don’t want a bullet in your head. move.”

and you do. because a bullet in the head doesn’t sound nice. and again—this guy didn’t a weapon. you shift past him, him having moved slightly out of the way.

you lead him—as silently as possible—down the hallway, which is now littered with glass, and your front door is busted open, letting the howling wind prickle your skin.

you turn left and then right, coming to a stop as you reach the long stick you use to hook around the retractable stairs. but miguel doesn’t want to waste time, as he takes the stick from you, while simultaneously hooking his claw around the metal loop and tugging.

you stare at him, seeming to realise just how tall he is. the stairs are soon down as you hear voices, much much closer. miguel grabs your shirt, yanking you towards him as he a practically lifts you onto the first few steps. you hold down your yelp, because right now that would cause a disaster.

scrabbling up you try to keep your feet light, as miguel moves, hot on your heels. then he’s pulling the stairs up in the nick of time, and it all seems to make you sweat, as you pull at your t-shirt, fanning yourself.

miguel stands, having slid the lock, part of his suit getting caught up with cobwebs.

“okay, what the fuck is going on?” you whisper-hiss, making miguel turn to you.

“it’s nothing personal.” he says, walking past you, to look out the small, circular window.

“thank god. but that really doesn’t explain anything.” you say, a mix of fear and adrenaline leading you to anger. “who are you? and who are they? at least answer me that.”

miguel looks back at you, sighing, as he takes in your flustered state. “maybe i should have left you down there.”

“is your name that top secret?” you keep fanning yourself as you scrunch your eyes together, trying to wrap your head around everything that had just happened.

“miguel.” he finally says, making you open your eyes.

“what?”

“my name…” he says, slightly stepping closer. “is miguel.”

“ah…” you say, but then your brows furrow. “is it real?”

miguel looks at you, pausing a moment. “my…name? you’re asking if my name is real?” he’s in slight disbelief, as his expression displays what looks to be distaste.

“well, i would have assumed you’d say some…hero name. you look like you jumped out of a comic book.” okay…you may be saying too much. but your mind is fried and you desperately needed answers. of any kind at this point.

“that’s flattering.” he states dryly.

“no seriously. why are you dressed like that?” you ask, eyeing him. you hated the fact that he didn’t look…bad.

“right…i keep forgetting you don’t a have a spider-person here.”

“what? like spider-man?” you force a chuckle. “yeah, you must be some sort of cosplayer.”

“whatever that is, i’m not. just…” he pinches the bridge of his nose. “how about let’s not talk?”

“no, no, i need answers.” you stepped closer. “if not about you, then about them.” you point to the floor.

miguel licks his teeth—or more accurately his fangs, making your gaze get caught up in the action as you gulp.

“all you need to know is that they’re bad men who like to kill.” miguel edged closer to you. “if you stay out of their way you might survive.” and then he’s brushing past you, crouching by the trap door as he pays close attention to the noises below.

your gaze follows him, as you move to crouch down beside him. miguel looks slightly up, watching you try to listen. miguel tilts his head in observation, as you visibly strain to catch any words.

“you can’t hear them.” he states bluntly. you look up. “then why did you look so intent as if you could hear them?” you ask, narrowing your eyes on him.

“because i can.” he simply answers, catching the intruders’ words again.

“wait…check that.” one of the guys are saying. “don’t most boring houses have those things called attics?”

miguel is then quick, because the little bolt locking you guys in isn’t gonna hold if they try to come up here. he grabs your arm, pulling you to stand, as you slightly jolt at the fast movement. all you had heard was muffled voices.

miguel pulls you closer as he scans the room, stopping on a nook that even he barely noticed, along with a mattress that he could slide over as coverage. before you could say a word, miguel’s hand has moved to your shirt, making it easier to move you with him.

“what’s going on—“

“shut up.” miguel whisper-hisses by your ear, pushing you towards the nook, as you both crouch down. miguel then webs the mattress tight against the wall, making it inhumanly possible to move it if you didn’t have the type of strength miguel had.

your eyes widen as you see the fading orange strings shoot out of his wrist, before he’s pulling you back to him. but with the harsh, unexpected pull, your foot slips.

miguel reacts quick, because if you fell, the thud would alert them of your hideout—“them” having now bashed through the trap door. your breathing hitches, as miguel moves, your head almost hitting the floor.

now you rest against the dirty ground, breathing erratic as miguel hovers over you, breathing equally as hard. his hand is holding the back of your head, as the other cages by your hip.

and you can’t move, because they’re already walking up into the attic. you sew your mouth shut, as you do your eyes, the slight scrunch of your features getting noticed by miguel. whose face is millimetres away, his breath tickling your heated skin.

“why am i even helping you…” he mutters so quietly you almost don’t catch it.

“i’d like to know that too.” you whisper just as quietly back. you slightly crack your eyes open, meeting his gaze. you press your lips together, at the close proximity. miguel’s eyes narrow. “don’t talk.”

“you talked first.” you reply, slightly lifting your head to his ear before placing your head back down. “and you can move your hand—“ because it was still placed under your head, but then miguel’s finger—or claw—was pressing firm against your lips, shushing you.

the footsteps were near, and you actually hold your breath. miguel slightly pushes down on your stomach, forcing you to breathe, as the warm air hits his finger—still pressed against your lip. then his breathe is by your ear. “it’d be a wasted effort if I didn’t keep you alive longer.”

your heart is beating in your chest, his practically right up against yours. and he doesn’t leave his spot by your neck, as his breathing tickles the hairs there. “mi…miguel.” you carefully whisper, and his hold on the back of your head tightens, his claws sinking into your hair.

“didn’t i say to be quiet?”

“then stop talking.” you mutter back. and miguel could actually laugh at you. because what position are you in to use that harsh tone. he grabs your cheeks with his hand that was placed by your hip, resulting in him being practically on top of you, making you tense.

he squeezes your cheeks so that your mouth was forced to open. “stop. talking.” he said slowly. and now you physically couldn’t with his claws pressed to your cheeks.

but then the footsteps grew very very close. right by the mattress. and both you and miguel turn your head. you then glance down because you felt a breeze across your ankle. your foot was in an easy view and you want to curse. because was that really going to be your undoing?

miguel notices your body’s movement and your almost frightened gaze. looking down, miguel clenched his jaw. his hand moved down your body, wrapping around your thigh, as he very slowly widened your legs.

your look is of harsh question when miguel meets your gaze. but he doesn’t stop, pulling your foot out of few, by spreading your leg to the side, resulting in him practically laying between them.

you rest your head back, clenching your jaw as you ignore anything and everything. then miguel is pulling your chin back to face him, as he listens to the men’s steps. “anything else I need to fix for you?” he whispers so quietly in your ear. you want to hit him, because this position makes you feels far too vulnerable.

but you can’t say a thing. you know you can’t. not until the men leave. you slightly shift, your hip bone pressed into the wood. miguel’s hand flies to grab your thigh again, holding you still. tou couldn’t do that. god, you really couldn’t do that.

he keeps his hand on your thigh now, spreading it even wider, making your breathing hitch as you force your lips to press together till it hurts.

how the hell did you go from organising your washing to being under a large man…vampire…thing, where you could feel everything? that’s an answer you’d love to know right about now.

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