#Cold metal stitching | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blackkatdraws2 · 1 month ago

Text

[Toon x Mobster] Chapter 1.1: Unfamiliar.

Previously // Next - (chapter list)

Gavriel Huffman’s consciousness drifted back in pieces, slowly. The first sensation he registered was the pain. A throbbing, burning ache in his side that shot throughout his body with each ragged breath he took. His hand twitched reflexively, wanting to clutch at the wound, but his limbs felt heavy, sluggish.

He groaned, eyelids fluttering open before having to close them as his blurry vision was assaulted by the bright sunlight peaking through the cracks of the window blinds. Gavriel winced, turning his head slightly to escape the light. The movement sent another jolt of pain lancing through his body making him grit his teeth. The pain, though familiar, was sharper now, less numbed by adrenaline.

His instincts screamed at him to assess his surroundings, and with great effort, he forced his unsteady vision to focus. What he saw made him slightly more awake with disoriented alarm.

The room was cozy. Unbearably so. The walls had warm tones of colors that made the room feel welcoming. The bed he laid on was draped in a checkered quilt with a few stitches here and there. It wasn't as feathery soft or as luxurious as the one he had back in his place, but the worn down cheap quality of it only made them feel more homely in comparison. The air was filled with a subtle, comforting scent, and the one Gavriel noticed immediately was the smell of baked goods.

It was the kind of room he had only ever seen through windows in neighborhoods he didn’t belong in.

Gavriel’s brow furrowed, his jaw tightening. He didn’t belong here. The dissonance between his bleak, gritty world and this gentle, almost absurd comfort was jarring. It made his head spin, not just from the pain.

He hadn't been thinking very clearly then, but he could vaguely recall memories of the rain and the blood soaking into his clothes and him collapsing into unconsciousness, but everything after that was a blur. How had he ended up here?

Where the hell was he? His hand felt heavy as he reached up to touch the wound in his side, and he was surprised to find it wrapped in bandages. The dressing was hastily done.

He pushed the blanket aside, revealing his current state. His torso was bare, the bandages wrapped tight around his injury, and he was wearing pants that definitely weren’t his. The worn, clean fabric was more snug than anything he’d ever put on.

He frowns at this. Gavriel didn’t trust kindness. It's a luxury reserved for people who hadn’t been forced to scrape and claw their way through life.

With a grunt, he forced himself upright, teeth gritting as another wave of pain rippled throughout his body. He braced himself on the nightstand, the wooden surface creaking under his grip, and scanned the room for any signs of danger.

His eyes landed on a small framed photo on the nightstand. It showed a cheerful looking man with a wide goofy smile and a thumbs-up, standing next to… what he assumes to be his family, accompanied with a clean and comfortable-looking set of clothing sitting there waiting for him to wear alongside his glasses.

He reached out for it, seating the frame on his nose bridge and ears. Gavriel turned to squint at the image, something tugging in his head as he tried to place the face of that male toon. Then his mind flashed to the moment before he went unconscious. Someone had crouched down beside him when he was dying in that alleyway.

But why? The idea that someone had helped him, patched up a criminal covered in blood, was almost laughable. People didn’t do that for him- for them. At least, not in the place where he belongs.

Currently though, that wasn't his main concern. His dark eyes narrowed. Where the hell was his gun?

His fingers instinctively moved to his waist, but the comfort of the cold metal wasn't there. Gavriel sighed as a familiar wave of dullness washed over him, pulling him in a state of rumination. He was still hurt, still vulnerable, and that meant he was in danger, no matter how deceptively safe this place looked. He clenched his fists, not even giving a wince at the painful ache in his body.

All of this made him feel rather numb and confused, but it doesn't show on his face which he'd trained to never waver even in danger.

The dull ache of his wounds, the confusion of being in this unsettlingly mellow room, and the disorientation of having just woken up alive when he very well should've been dead in an alleyway somewhere. It all pressed down on him heavily. His mind felt like it was wrapped in fog, every thought coming in with a painful throb. He tried to think, to piece together why he hadn’t bled out in that alley.

He knew that his injuries had been severe enough to be fatal, the kind of wounds that left little hope for survival. A few hasty bandages and dressings wouldn’t have done much to stop the life bleeding out of his dying body.

Yet here he was, hurting but very much still alive. He rubbed his forehead, the motion sluggish from pain as he racked his brain for an answer. It wasn’t until he sat there for a hot minute that realization struck.

Oh, right. He was in a city reigned by the Toon genre.

It was common knowledge to all that the Toons leaned heavily on the whimsical side, or more specifically, it was the environment itself that exuded this sort of vitality. One that let its residents survive otherwise fatal mishaps with only a moment’s comedic daze and maybe a few tweeting birds circling their heads.

He couldn’t be bothered to recite the specifics of it. Something about places in the Toon genre having stronger healing properties or some nonsense like that. But now, in this moment, the absurdity wasn’t so easy to dismiss as it had been the very thing that had led to him surviving his death, a miracle in of itself.

Gavriel’s hand reached up to softly graze the large scar on the side of his neck, healed yet still deep and harrowing, which told stories of a much darker time. Touching it had been a habit he'd developed a long time ago in times of stress or simply whenever he contemplated.

He had no patience for the whimsical workings of this place, no desire to analyze the wonders or whatever it was that had saved him. The only thing that mattered to him was that it had and he's alive because of it.

It didn’t change his wariness though. If anything, it only made him more resolute to understand who had brought him here and why.

Then Gavriel hears the door click open.

---------------

Jack Desmond stepped into the bedroom, carefully balancing a steaming mug of coffee in one hand and a bowl of warm porridge in the other. He didn't have anything special in his kitchen at the moment so he was only able to put together a simple meal, figuring that even the scariest man in the world deserved something warm and filling in his stomach to help him heal. That was, if the food hadn't already gone cold by the time he awoke.

Jack wore his usual friendly smile, ready to show the stranger some hospitality when he froze in confusion the moment he saw that the bed was empty.

“Huh?” Jack murmured, his brow furrowing. His eyes darted around the room, searching for any sign of where the man might have gone, but there was nothing.

"Hugh!"

Coffee and porridge spilled to the ground as the cup and plate he'd been holding came crashing down on the ground, splattering everywhere.

Rough hands closed around his neck from behind. The force of the grip was firm, not quite strangling but strong enough to hold Jack in place.

Cold sweat beaded on his forehead and rolled down his temples, his hair standing on its end. It felt like his heart was caught in his throat, he didn't even dare breathe too hard.

The presence behind him was suffocating, a dense aura of danger which didn't fit with the comfort of the room they were in.

The hand holding him didn’t need a weapon.

It didn't take much for Jack to instinctively realize that he was currently bordering the line of life and death, a primal understanding that this man could end him effortlessly if he choses to.

Jack’s throat bobbed as he tried to swallow but can't, his mouth dry as a desert. It was as if time had slowed down. He could feel his heart thundering inside, each beat thudding louder and louder in his ears as he stood there, unable to do anything but wait.

The silence was deafening. Jack's mind told him to yell, scream loudly for help, but he couldn’t even force out a sound.

Jack felt his breath hitch as the man’s deep, rumbling voice cut through the suffocating silence. The voice was hoarse from fatigue and pain, but it still carried a commanding weight to it as he spoke.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded, each word slow and deliberate, laced with a barely restrained irritation. "Where am I and why am I here?"

Despite the fear pressing down on him, Jack’s mind raced, and something other than terror roused his senses. He sniffs subconsciously, his nose picking up a change in the air. That sharp, metallic tang that made his stomach twist.

"I-I’ll tell you everything you want to know," he stammered. "But please, d-don’t move too much." He could smell it. The fresh, unmistakable scent of blood. "You're hurt, s-sir…"

With those words, the room fell into silence again. The man behind him didn't say anything, as if contemplating Jack’s words, yet the grip around Jack’s neck remained firm. Each second seemed to stretch into eternity, and Jack held his breath, waiting for a response as a cold bead of sweat rolls down his face.

Finally, after what felt like a forever, the grip released. Jack released his breath, silently gasping for air as his feet planted into the ground, trying to steady his balance after that terrifying experience. Slowly, he turns around, stumbling away slightly as he looks up to face the much larger man.

Gavriel stood there, towering over him with one hand clutching his wounded side, blood seeping through the bandages and staining his skin anew. With a shadow cast over his face, his sharp glare intensified.

His dark eyes narrowed, scarred face twisted into a pained look of irritation. Even when injured, such a sight would be enough to intimidate anyone with the sheer menace he radiated.

But as Jack’s heart raced in his chest, his gaze drifted almost unconsciously to Gavriel’s wound. The fear was still there, pressing down on Jack’s chest, but something else was too.

Concern.

The sight of the reopened wound stirred something deeply instinctive and kind in Jack, something that momentarily outweighed his terror. He couldn’t help it. Despite the terrifying glare, despite understanding that this man could kill him if he wanted to, Jack’s eyes lingered more on his injury rather than his scary appearance.

“You’re bleeding again,” Jack whispered, his voice small but genuine, before he presses his lips, meekly looking up to meet the man's eyes. The words had slipped out before he could stop them, his worry winning over self-preservation for just a second.

Gavriel’s glare remained unwavering, burning with a mix of suspicion and impatience. “Answer my questions,” he ordered.

Jack nodded quickly in agreement, returning his focus on the wound, which now had blood dripping from Gavriel’s side, pooling on the floor in droplets.

Jack frowns, a wave of empathy coursing through him, and he took a small step forward without thinking, wanting to help.

Gavriel reacted instantly, his expression souring like a cornered animal. His lips pulled back into a nasty snarl, and Jack immediately froze, eyes darting back to the man's face, his look carrying a clear message.

Don’t come any closer.

Jack was hesitant, but he took a shaky breath and showed Gavriel his palm, trying to show him that he meant no harm. “I just… I just want to help.” His eyes showed nothing but genuine concern, a warmth that was out of place in the tension.

For a moment, Gavriel didn’t move. His gaze bore into Jack with an intensity that made the toon feel exposed but Jack holds his ground, knowing that the man in front of him was in pain and had only been acting out of self preservation.

Jack cautiously inched closer, his hands still raised, palm facing upwards to try and ease the man that he wouldn't do anything bad to him. The closer he got, the more he could see the strain in Gavriel’s features. It was a silent battle between the pain and the effort to appear unwavering.

Finally, he reached the man’s side. Gavriel's eyes followed, but he didn’t stop him as Jack extended his palm towards him. Jack's hand flinches and hesitates for a second when Gavriel's grip on his wound tightened… Jack steels himself and gently touched the lower side of the man's hip, his fingers being stained with the blood that ran steadily down it.

Despite not being injured himself, Jack still winced sympathetically at the sight. Though Gavriel’s face showed no change, Jack didn’t miss the way the muscle around the injury flinched at his touch.

“Okay… okay.” Jack murmured, his voice soft but determined. His mind buzzed with worry, already trying to think of what he could do to keep the wound from worsening.

With a pang of dread, it finally dawned on him in fullness that this was only the beginning of him having to temporarily keep this dangerous man in his apartment.

Oh, boy. This was going to be a long week.

#toon x mobster #txm #jack desmond #gavriel huffman #oc #ocs #original character #original characters #oc art #original character art #my drawing museum

3K notes · View notes

suguruspit · 4 months ago

Text

Maybe you're too weak for us.

A/N: Ghostface!Gojo&Geto duo... you have a grip on me. Warnings: tiny mentions of murder, slight knife play, squirting, unprotected sex, threesome, fingering, dominant suguru, oral sex (giving and receiving), d!ck piercing 🤭, degrading (not major you just get called a whore)

The two strongest sorcerers decide to play a game with you, considering you ditched them to watch a movie with friend.

"Satoru, what are you doing?" You ask breathless, partly out of fear as your friend stalks towards you holding a knife in a Ghostface get up complete with fake blood on his mask, but also partly out of something you don't dare to admit to. "I said I'm sorry I ditched you."

Your friend doesn't say anything. You know it's Satoru because of the white sneakers he's wearing, complete with blue stitching. However, he hasn't actually said anything to confirm your theory, he's just standing in the doorway to your room, eerily silent.

You're starting to think you've made a grave mistake. Slowly, eyes still lingering on the figure at the door, you reach for your phone. The figure inches forward and you suddenly hitch your breath, only to let it all out in fright as your phone starts ringing. You see the caller ID that signifies the two of you's best friend and you answer it quickly, words not quite finding you yet. There's a burn between your thighs though, as you're met with Suguru's husky voice on the other side of the line.

"You hang up, and you'll die, pretty girl." Suguru's voice breaks the silence, and your mouth drops open in a moan. Satoru's mask tilts to the side as he watches you. "Such a whore. Did you understand me?"

"Did you just call me a whore?" You ask, intending to be outraged but you can feel how wet you are without even touching yourself. It's addicting, the way he's speaking to you. You'd never tell them, but this is like something straight out of your fantasies. "What do you want from me?"

"Hm." Suguru pauses on the other end of the line, you can hear a tapping noise, and then he huffs out a vague laugh. "What's your favourite scary movie?"

"You can't be serious." You pout, knowing he can't see you but Satoru definitely can. You let your knees steady you as you kneel on the bed carefully propping yourself onto the mattress pointed towards Satoru. "Is that all? Some dumb question? Halloween."

"Well that's awfully rude," Suguru sounds pouty, and it makes you laugh, heat crawling across your skin. "After everything we're going to do for you tonight, that's how you thank us?"

This is boring, you thought they were actually going to do something. But this? Banter on the phone whilst Satoru just stares, bo-ring. So, with a kiss goodbye to the receiver, you hang up. You smile at the phone before you're knocked onto your back, Satoru pinning your arms above your head whilst you gasp in shock at the sudden movement. How the hell did he move so fast?

"He warned you." It's the first words you've heard from the taller man all night, and a shiver hits you, wetness pooling between your thighs where it definitely shouldn't. "You wanna get hurt, sweetheart?"

You stare at the mask, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded as you bite your lip. There's nothing there, no emotions, but just the way Satoru has you pinned, forearm thick and strong as he holds both wrists in one hand, you whimper.

Satoru is silent, but he brings that prop knife closer to your chest, tracing the seams of your nightgown, tilting his head as he follows the knife, lowering his body down your stomach and you inhale as you feel his breath through his mask hit your navel. The prop knife is getting closer to your thighs, and you want to laugh at the absurdity of it before you're wrenched out of your comfortable, playful flirty mood.

It's cold, the tip of the knife swirls around the sensitive skin of your inner thigh and you can feel the cool metal against hot skin. Suddenly, this shit got a whole lot more serious, and you feel tears in your eyes as you beg Satoru to touch you, letting a whimper slip as the knife grazes up your panties, the smallest amount of pressure before it's tossed aside, clattering against your bedroom floor and the silence is filled with Satoru's deep groan as he mumbles something about honey.

Your hips shudder forward involuntarily, and you gasp as you feel gloved fingertips brush against your clothed pussy, the fabric sticking uncomfortably, before it's being slid to the side as Satoru finally gives you what you want.

His fingers are so long, slipping inside a little too easily as he coos at you, mask still on and taunting you with wide lifeless black sockets, hallowed scream mocking you for being so ridiculously turned on. The wet sounds coming from your cunt have you blushing, eyes laser focused on the fingers that are sliding in and out of you languidly. You almost forget about Suguru, that is until you hear your mobile ringing again.

You're too lost in what Satoru's doing to answer at first, and you cry out as Satoru stops his movements, fingers stationary in wet walls as you try and fail to move your hips. He looks pointedly to the phone, and you huff as you reach a shaky hand towards it, now that Satoru has released them with a warning squeeze. You pick up the phone on the third ring, and almost sob out in relief when you hear Suguru's voice again.

"One last chance." Suguru warns, and it sounds like traffic in the background. "Hang up again, Satoru leaves you wet and alone in bed like the whore you are. Understood?"

"Mmm-hm." You nod, letting out a breathy moan as Satoru starts moving again, those slender fingers reaching that spot so quickly it has you arching. "Fuck, Satoru."

"He's good, isn't he?" You can hear Suguru smirking through the damn phone, but the way Satoru has you stuffed already just with a couple of fingers has your head spinning, warm heat spreading through your core with no mercy. "Tell him. Let me hear you beg him, darling."

"Suguru," You keen, thighs trying to close as your head falls back, the peak you've been climbing for less than five minutes getting dangerously close despite only a bit of fingering. "Please, need you here. M'sorry. I'll do whatever you want."

Satoru scoffs and you look at him puzzled before he places his other hand on your lower tummy, pressing firmly as he ramps up his speed. Your eyes are wide and he wrenches a near scream of Sugurus’ name out of you as you gush on his forearm, dampening the dark fabric of his costume. He groans along with you as Suguru laughs on the phone, and you hear him mutter something as he pulls his mask off. Oh.

“Gotta taste,” Satoru groans, electric blue eyes blown wide and white hair at all angles; he looks feral. He shoves your thighs either side of you and moans like a whore as he takes in the sheen of your pussy, your cum already making it slick and easy. “Bet you taste so good.”

Satoru looks at you with pure lust written on his flushed face, lips plump and wet from where he's been biting it as he fingered you. With another curse, he's buried snowy white hair between your thighs, making out with your pussy like he's starved.

“Satoru,” You beg, ears still trying to readjust after your orgasm, white staticky noise overlapping with your own sobs. "Fuck, fuck. Please. Suguru."

Satoru moans into your cunt at the mention of your mutual friend, hips rutting into the bedsheets as he swirls his tongue around you, thrusting it in and out of your tight walls, slurping at the remnants of your previous orgasm. Your hands find their way to his hair as you hold on for dear life, the wet sounds of Satoru eating the only sounds in the room, save for Suguru's grunting on the other end of the line, schlick schlick schlick noises coming through from you imagine is Suguru fisting his cock as he listens to Satoru eat you out.

It's addicting, and your back arches as he sucks on your clit, moaning as he feels how you're practically dripping onto his face, a wet sheen on his chin as he looks up at you with hooded eyes, face red and hips moving as he humps the bed.

"You know, we're really helping you out here." Suguru's voice floats over the phone, albeit a little more strained than before. "Tell me, how often do you stuff your fingers inside your tight pussy wishing it was one of us instead?"

You gape at the phone, frowning as Satoru laughs into you, placing apologetic bites into the inside of your thighs. How the hell does he know that? You even turn your phone onto airplane mode.

"We heard you, princess." Satoru confesses, rolling his tongue around your folds, collecting the sweetness with a groan. "Sorry. So loud when you think no one's listening."

"What? When?" You demand, kicking the side of his head with your foot as he laughs into you again. "Stop it. Suguru, what are you talking about?"

"Play along, Satoru." Suguru scolds, and Satoru immediately gives you a sheepish look, pressing a sweet kiss to your clit before kneeling up and tugging at his own leaking dick. "We didn't kill that guy just for you to fumble at the very end."

What?

"What the fuck?" You whisper, voice tight. "Suguru-"

"What's the matter?" Suguru asks, a mocking in his voice that you're not unfamiliar to. "You liked that knife when Satoru ran it over your thighs, didn't you?"

You shiver at the memory, the way the cold metal had shocked you, and you can feel your core burning again. Satoru lets out a pinched moan above you, precome dripping onto your stomach as he grins.

"That guy, the one you brought here the other day?" Satoru laughs, eyes bright as he keeps his hadn't moving swiftly, his voice all breathy as he moans his words out. "Fuck, princess, the way you moaned for him whilst you thought of us. Couldn't have him living with the fact he got to touch you."

You choke on a moan as Satoru slaps your pussy roughly, your wetness glistening on his hand as he rubs away the sharp sting, his tongue peaking out of his lips. You can't even think of whatever that guys name was, not when Satoru Gojo is above you, dishevelled and leaking.

"K-killed?" You whimper, hips tilting down to meet his fingers, grunting when he slips two inside, tiny remnants of blood on them that you didn't notice before. "Oh, god, fuck,"

"Mmhmm." Suguru says on the line, except that it sounds a little echoey this time. "He barely remembered your name. Disgraceful."

You're about to roll your eyes and pout but then Satoru's long fingers hit that gummy spot and you're sobbing out a mixture of their names, begging for something other than what you've got. Greedy. So wrapped up in your own pleasure you don't hear your door creak open, or feel the bed dip before Suguru's pierced tongue is licking at your lips, teeth nipping at your bottom lip as you moan, wicked grin as he looks at Satoru in between wet kisses.

"Satoru," Suguru purrs, deft hands wandering down to your tits, pinching and rolling pert nipples as you squirm. He looks so good like this, blood freckles on his face, purple eyes with messy mascara covering the bottoms of his eyelids. Satisfied grin plastered across his face as he watches Satoru finger you languidly, sloshing wet noises from how turned you are. "You've gotten all messy."

Satoru grins as he looks down at his soaked clothes, before sticking his tongue out at his partner.

"We knew she'd be messy." Satoru says simply, curling his fingers up and pounding you, continuing his conversation like he barely noticed you were there. "Tastes so fucking sweet, too. Like candy."

Suguru hums, making out with the side of your mouth as he watches Satoru, his tongue creating a spit-slicked mess of your lips. You moan at the way he uses you like a toy as he watches his friend finger you, both of the groaning as your stomach visibly tenses as you get closer and closer.

"Yeah? Tastes good, did you hear that sweetheart?" Suguru coos, holding your jaw and forcing you to look at Satoru. "Well. I guess I'll have to see for myself, won't I?"

"Suguru." It's a pitiful whimper, and your thighs are already twitching from Satoru's antics. "Suguru, please."

You don't even know how you got yourself into this situation, and the potential murder of your ex hook-up is nothing to be ignored, but fuck you if these two men fighting over who gets to eat your cunt out isn't the most insanely hot thing you've ever seen.

Satoru looks so flushed, red hot face as his tongue flats out against your pussy, dragging along the length of it and sucking on your slick, moaning like a bitch in heat as he brushes past Suguru's tongue, who's more focused on suckling your pretty little clit. Satoru is a messy eating, slurping and spitting and moaning as he tastes you, his dick out and leaking against the bed sheets, thrusting onto the cotton as you sob and writhe and moan.

Suguru nibbles and kisses and sucks like he's a professional, hot stiff muscle invading your every thought as you try to escape from the constant stimulation but they've got you caged between the two of them. Satoru is still in his black robes, soaking fabric with blood splatters in his hair, but his dick is hanging free and it makes your mouth water, which Suguru notices with hungry amethyst eyes, kissing your thigh before his nails dig into the fat of your ass.

"You need to be filled more, is that it?" Suguru groans, reaching into his pants to pull his hard dick out, and your breath catches as you notice his piercing, well, piercings. Four sets of glinting steel jewelry leading up his perfect and thick shaft, all the way to the top of his soft mushroom tip, beaded with precum and angry red. "Think she can open wide enough, Satoru?"

You moan in response, already working on positioning yourself above his waist, mouth drooling at the sight of him. You've always wondered about those piercings, apparently it makes everything more sensitive. Time to test it out.

"Satoru, let's give this a-" Suguru cuts himself off with a sharp inhale as you swirl your tongue around the metal of his piercings, placing opened mouthed kisses up and down them, leaving strings of drool attached before you finally reach his tip. You give it a couple of kitten licks, moaning at the salty taste before going as far as your throat allows, hand on his shaft and stroking jerkily as you try to fit it down you. Suguru keens, hips shuffling forward as he throws his head back. "God, fuck. Made for us, baby girl."

"Mmhmm," You agree, mouth stuffed to the brim. Satoru has moved from your pussy to mouth at Suguru's jaw, pressing hungry bites to it as he groans at the same time his partner does. You moan at the sight, cheeks pink and eyes hooded as the noise makes you choke a little, Suguru cursing and gripping your hair.

You start a rhythm alternating between bobbing your head up and down, pulling back and sucking gently, and spitting on it so your hand something to slick up the jerking. Suguru's a lot more reserved than Satoru, just watching you with hooded eyes and a keen look, whereas his partner is whining like he's the one being touched. You want to feel what those piercings are like inside you, and you tell them as much.

"Oh? Such a whore," Suguru hums appraisingly, before he's shuffled down and slapping the tip of his dick on your pussy, pulling it back with strings of your cum attached. "Can't believe you let someone else use your pussy, sweetheart. Tell me, is it still tight?"

"Suguru," You breathe, gasping as Satoru frames you from behind, groping at your tits and pulling gently on the nubs, rubbing them just to hear your squeaks. "Satoru!"

"Yeah," Satoru groans, rutting against your ass, both of you holding your breath as he catches slightly on the rim. "Fuck baby, please let me put it in?"

You vehemently shake your head, giggling a bit at his whines of protest, before you grind back against him and moan at how hard he is. You're almost about to cave, before Suguru pushes in abruptly.

"Oh, fuck." Suguru pants. You're so tight, gummy wet walls stretching and struggling to accommodate his size, the cool metal of his piercings a stark contrast to the rest of both of you. Just the thought of them inside you has you getting wetter, walls tightening as Suguru hisses, squeezing your hips. "Tight. Satoru, get the camera."

You're in too much of a daze to register what he's saying, mouth agape as you let yourself get fucked mercilessly by your supposedly platonic best friend. His tip bumps up against your g-spot and you're close to screaming, opting to sob instead, scraping your nails down his back. You already know you look a state, your own cum dripping down your thighs, a mess of tears and drool down your face as well as some blood from Satoru's face mingled in with it all.

You hear a snap, then you're suddenly gasping as the room tilts, Suguru rearranging you both so that you can ride him, his piercings catching on your pussy every thrust, your hands gripping his chest. Plap plap plap filling the room as you're riding Suguru like your life depends on it, which it might, considering he suddenly has the neglected knife off the floor at your throat, cold metal making you whine as it presses ever so slightly, your cunt fluttering at the sensation.

Suguru's feet are planted on the mattress as he fucks up into you, swearing and cursing as you feel his thrusts get more erratic.

"Ngh. You ready, Satoru?" Suguru pants out, letting the knife fall beside you as he hauls himself into a semi-sitting position, mouthing at your tits. "Perfect. Not gonna last, beautiful."

"Oh, fuck," You sob as you cream around him, milky white leaking out of you and forming around the base of his cock. He swears, and then you feel hot heat as he empties inside you. "God, oh god fuck me."

Suguru chuckles into your shoulder as he kisses it, soothing fingers massaging at the tender skin from where Satoru was gripping you earlier. You can feel your thighs burning as you slow down, only for Satoru to whine.

"Su-gu-ru." Satoru whines, and you look back. And what a picture. He's rocking on his heels, thrusting up into his own hand so he can fuck his own fist at the sight of you two. His cock is angry, red and swollen and leaking so much you wouldn't be surprised if he'd already came and simply kept going. "You promised."

"Hm?" Suguru asks in a daze, looking into your eyes with a possessiveness that has you shivering. "Go on, Satoru. Fuck her then."

Satoru groans out a thank you, and you gasp as you're pushed forwards, straight into Suguru's chest and cushioned by his arms. Your walls clench, and you bite your lip as you feel Satoru push in, Suguru's come seeping out in globs of glossy white around Satoru. Suguru is thick, but Satoru is long. Fuck, you can feel him in your chest.

"Fuck." You sob, trembling as Suguru shushes you.

"Be good for Satoru, baby. I know you can take it, such a perfect little whore for us." Suguru soothes you, wiping at the tears that fall down your cheeks. He looks to the side for something and your eyes slip closed, your body rocking as Satoru fucks you in doggy. He's so deep, almost hitting your cervix as he drives into you like an animal.

He's so whiny, mouth running a mile a minute about how perfect you are, perfect and tight little pussy, tighter than Suguru. It's so much, too perfect, that peak building so rapidly that you can't help but squeal as you feel yourself gush, mouth opening and Suguru murmurs something to Satoru, and then you feel your hair getting tugged backwards as Satoru moans his own release out, loudly.

There's a snap again, a flash as your head is yanked back, drool and mascara and fluids dripping down your chin and chest. Suguru had just taken a trophy shot, and your walls give a weak little attempt at a flutter, making Satoru practically sob into your shoulder.

He presses a dozen or so kisses to your skin, whispering sweet little thank yous over and over as he pets your hair, gently rocking his hips into you as a comfort for everything they'd just put you through. There's come dribbling down your thighs as he pulls out, and he hooks a thumb into your hole, whistling as he watches evidence of him and Suguru pulse out onto the sheets.

"Sweetheart?" Satoru asks cheekily, slapping your ass as you grumble at him, swatting behind you as Suguru laughs, pressing a sweaty kiss to your forehead.

"W'ht?" You slur out, getting comfy on Suguru's strong chest, taking in the smell of his minty shampoo. Satoru is to the other side of you, drawing abstract patterns on your back. It's bliss, considering the circumstances.

"What's your favourite scary movie?"

A/N holy shit this is way longer than expected I'm so sorry. Also, I know realistically there would be a bunch of questions but if gojo and gets showed up as ghostface I'd simply just say thank you.

2K notes · View notes

lady-djarin · 5 months ago

Text

on my radar

joel miller x f!reader (one shot)

warnings/tags: edited very little so sorry! dual pov, jackson era dark!joel, SMUT (oral fem receiving, p in v), stalker behavior from mr miller, age gap (50s/20s), joel is kind of a creep but reader is kinda into it, murder off screen, cannon typical violence, men harassing women (a guy is gross with reader/unwanted touching etc) NO R*PE, possessive talk and nicknames (mine, love, my girl, good girl etc), reader can be lifted by mr big man joel but otherwise no really specific details about readers body other than the usual fem. 18+ minors be gone!,

word count: 5.8k

* ｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆　｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

YOU

You almost dropped it twice, your gloved fingers slipped around the smooth metal of the gun as you fumbled to pull the trigger. The clicker was quickly stumbling toward you even on its one and a half limbs. You and your patrol partner got separated when a small swarm of the dead caught you both off guard in a densely wooded area . As you were trapped in a corner of a hunting shed by the crawling thing, you felt your heart rate begin to rise and the feeling of dread set in that this might be your last moment.

You saw the blood hit your gloves before you even heard the blade hack into its head. Then the body hit the floor.

You looked up to find your patrol partner standing there with a machete clutched in his hand. He was looming over you with a look very close to anger creasing his brows and his chest heaving in exhaustion. He grabbed the gun out of your hand and grabbed your arm to pull you away from the writhing body. He hacked the large blade into the neck to fully decapitate the head then stabbed into the ear to finally kill it.

“Do you even know how to use this thing?” His voice had an edge to it, like he was mad, or scared as he held up the gun in your face.

You looked at him with tears brimming your lash line, the cold was seeming to freeze them before they tried to fall down your cheek. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Have you ever been on patrol?” His eyes narrowed as they scanned your face, then your body.

“No.” Your mouth was so dry.

“Who sent you on patrol!? What the hell…,” he grumbled as he turned away. “I asked you a question.” He shot another nasty glare your way when you didn’t answer.

His statement kind of shocked you, not a lot of people are blunt like that.

“Uhm, I asked Tommy, I wanted to help.”

“Fucking Tommy, sticking me with a kid.”

“Hey I might be new to this but I'm not a kid,” you chased after him and that didn't help your defense.

“Jesus…,” he was grumbling again and marching away, toward where you hid the horses. The two of you set out on patrol a couple hours before, your first time outside the gates in Jackson. You had heard rumors about Joel, people said he was ‘rough around the edges but good people’. You had seen him around the community and wondered if he was someone you could get along with. He seemed like he was an outsider, kind of like you. When you learned you were partnered with him you figured it was going to be difficult, but this was a little much.

You were on your way through the state trying to get to where your dad lived in Sundance when you ran into some trouble near their camp and they took you in until you recovered. They stitched you up after they found a nasty gash on your ribs when you were discovered fighting off a pack of stalkers. After arriving at the Jackson community, you learned that Sundance was completely overrun. The sparse community there hunkered down in their homes after the outbreak but with the large swarms that came through the area, pretty much everyone fled and went their own ways. You could barely stand the thought that your dad was caught in the middle but he was strong, he could find his way out.

He had to.

So you remained in Jackson, becoming a part of the community, and everyone in the community had to help out somehow. You felt indebted to Tommy and the community for helping you and making you feel at home here after your recovery. That's why you wanted to go on patrol, you felt like you could help. Joel clearly didn't agree.

That last fucking thing he wanted to do was teach some rookie how to handle themselves on patrol. He was pissed and you could see it in the tense bunching of his shoulders as he rode on in front of you. You felt kind of bad for having Joel take care of you back there but he didn't have to be such an ass about it.

“Hey,” you rode up next to him. “Look I know I'm not who you wanted to be on patrol with but just give me a chance ok? I'm just trying to do a job here.”

He barely looked your way, he just kind of grunted before urging his horse over the final path into Jackson.

Alright then.

You didn't see those broad hunching shoulders for a couple days after, though he clearly had been talking about you. Tommy took you off patrol so Joel obviously made his concerns clear to his brother. When you did see him it was from across a room or passing in the street, but even in brief passes it felt like a tension was always present. His brows would bunch in the middle as he scanned you. It always felt like a judgment maybe, or some kind of disgust the way he would observe you. You quite honestly thought he hated you.

JOEL

You looked cute when you were mad, actually to Joel you always looked cute. Your cheeks were pink with the morning cold, your breath steamed in the air as you huffed through your nose. You were mad because he was ignoring you, and he was ignoring you because he was scared shitless when he came into that hunting hide and found you cornered by one of the dead. It scared the living shit out of him to think about how you were almost torn apart.

He doesn't remember the exact day that he started to care a little too much about you, it was a slow thing. It took over his life, watching you as you became integrated into the fabric of the town. The people of Jackson welcomed you and you welcomed them right back. People loved you and you got along with pretty much everyone. He started to notice you when he saw you and Ellie chatting about something girl related in the mess hall. He noticed how you seemed to genuinely invested in your conversation with Ellie, hanging on to her every word. Next thing he knows he's thinking about you every waking hour, and you haunt most of his dreams. It feels like you are a presence in his chest that he can't carve out and he has tried.

Joel had tried to occupy himself by relieving the tension himself, trying to dissolve the desire he had for you. It didn't work, of course, but he couldn't help himself.

He refused to actually make any kind of relationship with you, he felt like it would look inappropriate. He was a grumpy gray haired man and you were young and bright, he felt like he would be too rough for you anyway. He was a broken man, his hands were dirty with death and guilt and blood. He could see the innocence in your eyes, the way you smiled with your whole heart when talking to people, especially someone he cares for.

Maybe those were the moments he truly started to have real feelings for you, seeing the way you cared for Ellie. Everytime he would see you it made his heart skip a beat, it almost confused him at first, like his heart was waking up from a decades long nap. His chest hurt with how intensely he was starting to ache without you near, it only ever stopped when he saw you or felt you close or smelled your shampoo as you walked by. It was the same as everyone else as there was a lady in Jackson who made everyone soap but still when it lingered after you it smelled like heaven to Joel.

All that to say, Joel still felt like it was wrong to pursue you. You were and always will be the one that got away.

He needed to stay away.

YOU

It had been a couple weeks or so, maybe longer since you saw those grumpy brown eyes. You had started to miss him, as painful as it was to admit. Even though he was barely a colleague, definitely not a friend, you were missing the way… he was mean to you? No, that can’t be right. Why would you miss a man that is anything but nice around you?

Tommy had found you another job working at the local watering hole/dining hall, as the patrol thing clearly wasn’t going to work. He was walking you around the hall, introducing you to the people you would be working with when you heard a familiar voice.

“Hey Tommy, you here?”

“Yea Joel, in here.”

Shit.

“Oh hey Joel…” You wanted to keel over and die.

”H-hey.” He seemed… odd.

They chatted about something security related and you were introduced to the hall supervisor. As you talked on one end of the room, Joel and Tommy were on the other and it felt like neither of you could look away from the other. Your eyes kept finding each other, each time it felt longer and longer, like the world was falling away. It felt much different than the last time you spoke, like he might not actually hate you. It was an odd feeling, having his eyes on you, he was almost predatory.

Even as he looked over what felt like every couple seconds, he still had this pinched, angry look on his face.

But it was hard to look away. Joel was mesmerizing but you knew deep down he could never be interested the way you would want him to be. He was a grumpy older man that wanted nothing to do with the new young girl in town.

You didn’t see him for a while after that.

JOEL

Joel Miller was by no means a good man. A good man wouldn’t be watching you like this, following an unsuspecting woman around town. A good man wouldn’t watch you as you walked around the Jackson streets, minding your business, talking to your new found friends.

Ever since seeing you again at the dining hall he couldn’t rid his mind of you, as hard as he tried. He knew he would ruin you if you let him, if he even got one taste he would be addicted. Not like he wasn’t now, leering at you talking to patrons at your job. He felt dirty in a way, like he wasn’t allowed to look, not allowed to have the urge to bash in the head of any man who looks at you wrong. Like the guy you were helping now, Mike, every time you turned away to get him what he asked for, he could see his slimy gaze caressing your curves.

He felt like he was going crazy, not being able to be near you like he truly wants. He wasn’t sleeping well, barely eating enough to keep him upright and almost missed patrol on more than one occasion. His mind was playing tricks on him, he would find you in dreams, wake up to find you cooking breakfast in his kitchen or walking hand in hand down the streets of Jackson. The cruel reality that he would never have that always hit him hard in the morning when the sunlight came streaming over his bedspread.

He often found himself turning over, searching for you.

Sometimes they were nightmares, visions of you being attacked by the dead or one of Jackson’s very own.

That’s why he was here, making sure you were safe from the dangers of this world. It was his job.

He was there until you got off work, gathering your belongings and heading out the door when Mike popped around the corner. Joel was immediately on high alert, watching the man’s every move as he advanced on an unsuspecting you. He stalked after the two of you, staying just out of sight. His blood boiled when he saw Mike call after you.

She’s mine, he thought.

He stayed across the street, just in case things went sideways. In case he put his hands on what didn’t belong to him.

“Hey! Saw ya leaving work, how was your night?” Ok, nice enough but Joel knew he was clearly waiting for you to leave work.

“It was ok, just tired and ready to go home.” You were being polite but clearly trying to convey that you were going home, alone. That’s my girl.

“I’d like to talk to ya though, ya know i’ve seen ya ‘round and think you’re real cute. Come on, please? One chance?” He’s persistent, that's for sure. Walking the line there, Mike.

“That’s sweet but I’m not really looking for anyone right now, I just got here a few months ago…” You kept walking and you kept your eye contact away from him, smart girl.

“If you give me a chance I’ll show ya I’m worth it. I promise baby.” You were not his baby.

“I’m not your baby, Mike. Please, I just want to go home.” You turned towards him now with determination in your tired eyes.

Mike clearly wasn’t hearing you, or just not caring because as you tried to turn away he grabbed your arm and pinned your back against a wall.

He’s dead.

YOU

I’m dead. This stupid asshole is going to kill me. Your mind was racing as you looked for ways out. Mike’s front was almost completely pushed against yours now as he trapped you against the brick wall. You could now smell the alcohol on his breath now that he was on top of you. You tried to break free, maybe he was drunk enough where you could shake him off. You could tell that wasn’t the case when he groaned in delight.

“Mhmm, keep doing that baby. I like feeling ya move that pretty body.” You wanted to puke, his greasy beard and sour breath was assaulting your space. You froze your body in an attempt to get him off you but he leaned in, trying to capture your lips. You whipped your head to the side and squeezed your eyes shut trying to block out whatever he might do next. Only, when you expected his lips or something on you, there was nothing. His entire weight was gone and you almost slumped to the floor in relief. When you opened your eyes, there was nothing, no one in sight, not even a sound. Mike was nowhere to be seen, nor was anyone else. If you weren’t so relieved that the creep was gone, you’d be freaked out. It felt like one of those eerie horror movies you watched before the word turned into one itself.

You weren’t really sure what else to do other than go home. You walked the quiet streets towards your small house and barricaded your door that night, just to be safe.

…..

“Have you heard?! I can’t believe it!” Angela’s voice shook you out of your tired daze. No matter how you tried to occupy your mind or sleep last night you couldn’t shake what Mike did to you. “It was Mike! That’s who it was that was found behind the dinner hall.”

Mike? Did you hear her right?

“Wait, Mike, like creepy Mike?”

“Yes!” Angela never learned how to not raise her voice.

Mike was dead. He was dead behind where you worked after he assaulted you. That seemed… convenient. Did that make you a bad person?

“They are calling everyone to the town hall for an announcement.” This was the only time they have done this in the short time you’ve been here.

Everyone walked over and filled the hall wall to wall. Tommy, Maria and a few other members in charge of running Jackson stood on the stage of the building that looked to once be a school auditorium, including Joel. Your eyes caught him up there as soon as you walked in, recognizing his brown curls anywhere. Tommy walked up to the top of the stage and everyone immediately quieted down, they clearly respected him.

“Hey ya’ll… Uh, unfortunately it's not good news that calls us together today.” He was clearly nervous. “One of our own is gone, Mike Walton. Now I know in this world losing someone happens more often than we would expect but this one is different. It happened in our walls and we think, committed by one of our own.”

Murder. He was killed. Fuck.

The crowd was starting to murmur and quietly panic. You felt responsible somehow, like you being the last one to see him, you think, meant… something. You had to tell them what happened last night, if only to make sure they know now instead of finding out some other way. So they know you're not hiding anything.

You stayed after the crowd cleared, listened to Tommy assure everyone that they are safe and he is putting security measures in place. You went up to the stage and caught Maria’s attention, you felt comfortable with her and maybe she would be more understanding. She really helped you assimilate when you recovered and felt kind of like a sister in a way.

“Hey sweetie, how ya doing?”

“I need… I need to tell you something.”

She took you to a more private area and you told her what happened the night before. She listened dutifully as you recounted your story and it really made it strangely better to talk about it. It was by no means easy to forget but knowing someone was listening helped. After you finished and she gave you a reassuring hug, she brought you back to Tommy… and Joel.

“Ok hon, I will need to tell Tommy about this, I’ll only include the necessary things.” You nodded knowing you could trust both of them with the news. “Joel, would you be able to walk her home? I don’t want to take any chances here.” Maria did say to you privately that she was going to treat this as if you were in danger in some way, in case this turned out to be about you.

He only nodded in your direction, extending his arm, signaling you to lead the way. You walked the streets, the silent tall man trailing behind you. You stopped so abruptly that Joel backed up in surprise.

“I don’t need you walking behind me like a bodyguard.”

“Where should I walk?” His voice dripped with something dark.

“W-well…I don’t know, next to me like a normal person?”

All he does is silently walk up to you and nod forward urging you on. You kept walking, feeling Joel’s arm brush up against yours and the tension was building before either of you said anything. You arrived at your building in silence and he walked you up the steps, more than you were expecting from the distant man. You paused as you opened the door and realized something, if Maria is right and someone is after you, they could be in your house.

“Y’ok?” His voice was low and rough.

“Uh… actually, no. Joel, would you be able to come in… and uh, check it out? Just to make sure, I don’t know…someone’s not— not in there?”

You swore his eyes softened at your nervous request, maybe he felt bad. He followed you inside and had you wait by the door as he surveyed the rest of the house. He came back within only a few minutes and you were relieved it was quiet in the house.

“You’re all good here darlin’,” he stood by the kitchen counter almost like he was avoiding leaving.

But you didn’t want him to leave.

JOEL

He knew no one would be in your house, there was no one after you. Except him. He saw Mike put his hands and other parts on you and something flipped in his brain. He went feral and had been looking for an opportunity to take this guy out. He was a menace to the community but Tommy said there was no legitimate reason. Usually he wanted a blatant offense to take action or even exile someone. Mike was sneaky, that was the problem, he was good at hiding his deplorable behavior towards women behind being friendly with most of the male Jackson population.

Joel was so sick of it, and he likes to pretend that’s why he was there that night, not that he couldn’t keep his eyes off you. For weeks now he had been everywhere you were, coincidence of course. He needed to make sure that you were safe, that someone would be there for you. Even if he couldn’t have you, he needed to watch over you. You had completely consumed his life, every waking and sleeping hour he had his mind on you.

The worst of it he thinks was a few weeks into his obsession, he found himself across the street from your house, crouched in the bushes like a maniac. He watched your silhouette as you turned about the room, picking things up, gathering our belongings and just generally going about your home life. It was so magical to him to see you living your life unencumbered by the burden of how cruel people can be. He had to make sure no one took that from you.

He was pulled from his thoughts by your sweet voice. “Joel? You ok?”

“Y-ya sorry, what did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted a drink.”

“Oh, uh- sure sweetheart.”

He watched you go over to a cabinet and pull out a dwindling bottle of something dark that made his mouth water. You had good taste.

That's my girl.

You slid over the glass with a small amount of whiskey and you each sipped it slowly.

“Thanks for walking me home, I really appreciate it.”

“No problem darlin’, but I'm sure you’re safe. No one’s gonna hurt ya.”

“Sure doesn’t feel that way.”

YOU

“I promise you, no one will ever…ever hurt you again.” The way Joel said it, it was like he had murder in his eyes. He was so intense that you believed him, like he would protect you. You felt a thrill pass down your spine from his gruff voice. He was always a rugged man with his height, his broad shoulders and intimidating dark eyes but now, he looked downright deadly.

For a minute you worried that Joel could be responsible— no he would never. Even if he did, could you really be upset at him making this community safer? Did that make you a bad person?

He was looking at you like prey he wanted to devour. It made your pulse race, it made your core throb. The tension had been growing since the walk back and it was evident to both of you. Joel circled the kitchen counter to come right in front of you. Both your glasses forgotten, he caged you in with his hands on the counter bracketing your hips. Without a word he brought a hand up to cup your cheek, his calloused skin caressed your skin much lighter than you were expecting. The only sound in the house was your heavy breathing as he stared down at you. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about Joel. Not necessarily bad but just something sharp and scary, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as he slowly leaned down to hover his lips over yours, asking for more.

Even if Joel was a bad man, fuck it.

You leaned up slightly to meet his lips and all self control went out the window. His hands were all over you in a second, hips pressed into yours as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Your head spun as he licked into you and nipped at your bottom lip causing a whimper to escape your lungs. It all became very frantic as he lifted you up onto the counter and bit and kissed his way down your neck. You knew there would be evidence of it the next morning and it kind of excited you to know you’d have Joel’s marks on you. His greedy hands were groping and squeezing every inch of you and you couldn’t get enough. With your own shaky hands you tried to unbutton his shirt but Joel stopped you.

“R’ya sure baby girl?” You swore you felt slick dripping down your inner thighs. “Jus’ gotta tell me and I’ll stop, ’k?”

All you could do was nod.

“I need words.”

“Y-yes,” you practically moaned.

“Good girl.” Fuck, his voice. Your hips rolled forward on the counter, trying to gain any friction. Your clit was pulsing with need and both of you were getting impatient. “Thank god, otherwise I wouldn’t know what to do with myself.” He mumbled it almost to himself.

You gasped as he pulled off the counter and led you up the stairs in silence. Any other person would think he was angry but you knew, he was anything but. He led you to your bedroom and it briefly dawned on you that he was leading you there, he knew where your bedroom was. There was always something intense about Joel, you knew that from the start, it's one of the reasons you were drawn to him. But due to recent events you were starting to question just how depraved he might be. You hated to assume anything but you somehow knew deep down that he was the one who… saved you from Mike. That’s what it was, he saved you from being killed, or worse.

Once in your bedroom Joel turned and pushed you against the wall, attaching his lips to your neck.

He hummed deep in his throat, almost a moan. “Mhmm, darlin’ you are so sweet. Y’smell so good.” He was mumbling into your throat, half kissing, half biting. You were each pulling clothes off the other, desperate to feel skin. When Joel had you completely bare for him, you tried to cover yourself, mostly out of habit.

“You… you are perfect baby.” His eyes dark with desire as he pulled your hands up his mouth and kissed your knuckles. “Don’t cover up, I wanna see ya.” He pulled your hands away as he backed you up to the bed and gently pushed you back onto the soft quilt. You stared up at him, taking in his form, he was still in his jeans but bare from the waist up. You admired his graying hair that led below his belt, mouth watering at the bulge underneath. Before you could reach for his belt, he looped his strong arms under your knees and pulled your butt toward the end of the bed. With cracking knees he knelt in front of the bed and his face became level with your dripping core. His eyes were locked on you, his lips almost matching the way you drooled between your legs.

“Joel—,” you were unable to form words, the breath perpetually caught in your throat.

“Shhh, I know hon, I gotcha,” his voice was lower than you ever heard it, something dangerous simmering below the surface.

“Joel, wait—,” he moved up your body at your request. “I just… I’m confused,” you were shaking and out of breath but you needed to ask him. “I thought you didn’t like me… it’s just every time we would see each other you seemed to avoid me at all costs and now…”

“The only reason I was acting like that was because I liked you… too much.” His eyes hovered directly over yours, deep pools of obsidian overtaken with the desire. “I thought I was protecting you, from myself. But I… I,” he almost seemed nervous in a way, but there was still the underlying grumble of anger in his chest.

“What?”

“I see now that I have to protect you from everyone else.” He said it with such a darkness settled over his face, and it took you a minute to register what he was admitting.

He killed Mike. Holy shit.

Your whole body froze and you felt your eyes widen and breath pick up. But you also had this deep feeling in your gut, was that arousal? Were you attracted to this? That dropping feeling in your stomach told you that you were. Jesus, did that make you a bad person? Fuck it.

You grasped your fingers through his hair, pulling him down to you as you attached your lips to his.

JOEL

You were a vision, puffy lips wet from kissing, eyes blown wide as your chest heaved. “You protected me?”

Oh, fuck me.

“Of course baby girl,” he needed you to know this was all for you. He was yours and you were his. “No one will take you from me.”

He worked his way down your body, kissing and nipping his way to your center again. He spread your legs and stared into your dripping folds as he got onto his knees again. You whimpered and moaned his name and he relished the sounds, he loved hearing and seeing you react to his touch. He wanted nothing more than to hear you scream his name.

“I wanna feel ya’ cum on my tongue darlin’,” he loved the way your pussy drooled for him. Joel felt like a man starved, like he was finally seeing water after a year in the desert. He licked a broad stripe up your folds then sealing his lips around your clit and sucking. You screamed and he felt your thighs wrap around his head only spurring him on further. He pulled your legs in front of him and pushed to the mattress, opening you up further for his enjoyment. When he worked two fingers into you, he knew you were close based on your shaking and whimpering.

“I-I’m so close baby,” you sounded so cute, so desperate. “I need— please Joel.”

He wanted you to fall apart, speeding up his movements he knew it wouldn’t be long now. He curled his fingers while lapping at your clit, he felt your walls flutter and tighten around his fingers.

“Cum for me angel.”

You broke. Joel’s fingers were covered in your juices and you screamed his name as you came. He kept up his movements to prolong your pleasure, he reveled in the way your legs shook with overstimulation.

“Oh… my god,” you sighed as Joel crawled his way back up to your face, slotting himself between your legs.

YOU

He entered you slowly. You could feel every vein and edge of him and you were thankful he readied you with his fingers because Joel was not a small man. He started slow, presumably for your benefit, but soon his pace picked up and the crown of his dick was hitting a spot inside of you that made you see stars.

“Fuck— You feel so good,” he puncuate each word with with his hips, each time driving you up the bed. You grabbed onto his shoulders, trying to gain leverage but you were unable to do anything except take his brutal pace. He was past holding himself back now, you swore you felt him in places you never thought possible. You recognized somewhere in the back of your mind that letting the man who… murdered someone for you fuck you into your mattress might be a bad move. Too bad he was too good at it for you to care. You felt the coil of your orgasm tightening in your lower stomach as Joel leaned back, looming over you like a dark angel.

“I want you to touch yourself,” he pulled one of your hands towards your clit. “Cum for me baby.”

You pressed and circled your fingertips into the bundle of nerves, your pleasure just seconds from cresting. Joel must have felt it because he gripped your hips and pulled you into his lap, picking up his pace and punching into your g-spot.

“Oh fuck!— I’m gonna cum baby…plea—,” you couldn’t even get the rest of the word out as your orgasm crashed into you. You think you might have blacked out as your vision went blank for a moment and you think you heard yourself screaming. Joel kept up his pace and rode you through it all.

“Mmm that’s it, that’s my good girl…,” his voice was low and gravely in your ear when he leaned over, pushing almost all his weight on top of you while he chased his high.

“P-please Joel, cum inside m-me,” his harsh movements made it hard to talk, hard to breathe. You didn’t care though, you were desperate to feel him finish inside you.

“Inside you baby? Ngh, tha—that’s my good gi—,” he didn’t finish his sentence either as he almost collapsed on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his hips and held him there as he filled you up. He grunted and groaned in your ear as he came down, he pulled out slowly making sure you were comfortable and kissed his way down your neck and chest. “Stay here baby.” You laid there unable to move and watched his naked form as he found your bathroom with ease and came back with a warm washcloth. As he cleaned you, you recalled his words, ‘my good girl’. His.

“Joel?” He didn’t respond with words, only hummed at you to continue while he cleaned your inner thighs. “Did you mean it? I’m…,” you were hesitant to speak it, what if you were wrong? What if it was something he said in the heat of the moment. You felt the bed dip and he settled beside you, towel discarded.

“Use your words honey, what’s on your mind?” He moved a bit of hair out of your face and waited patiently for you to continue.

“I’m yours? Not just tonight.” You met his gaze with timid eyes.

“Yes, of course. Y’have been since I first saw you.” He kissed you deep, lips prying yours apart. “I protected you, remember? I wasn’t gonna let anyone hurt you, especially not him.”

He looked at you with nothing but truth in his eyes. He really did kill Mike, holy shit. He did it for you. In this world maybe you could rest easier knowing you had someone to protect you like that. Joel may be a scary man, but you had nothing to fear for yourself with him around. You slept that night more soundly than you had in ten years. wrapped in the strong arms of a man who chased your nightmares away.

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel tlou #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #din dijarin x reader

1K notes · View notes

caplanbuckybarnes · 28 days ago

Text

Cold Kisses (TWS)

Summary: The winter soldier always comes to you for help after a mission. He hardly speaks, let alone kisses you after a treatment...

Warnings: a kiss? flangst?

WC: 794

Read on ao3!

The quiet hum of the medical bay was a stark contrast to the chaos that had undoubtedly unfolded on the mission. You adjusted the strap of your medical kit, fingers steady despite the anxiety that curled in your stomach. The Winter Soldier, the lethal assassin whose presence had haunted your every shift, was back. He had returned after every mission, but today... something felt different.

The door to the med bay creaked open, and there he stood—his cold eyes hidden behind the mask, his body battered and bruised from the violence that had unfolded. He didn’t speak. He never spoke unless absolutely necessary. His steel grip held the doorframe, his breath a shallow exhale.

You stepped forward, your professional mask slipping on as you took in his condition. The bloodstains on his combat gear, the bruises, the cuts, the faint but unmistakable signs of a mission gone wrong. He had returned before, but the desperation in his eyes today was something else entirely.

“Winter Soldier,” you said softly, meeting his gaze. “You’re hurt.”

He nodded stiffly, moving past you toward the medical table. His movements were deliberate, controlled, but you could tell there was pain in each step. He sat down with a low grunt, his body too worn for his usual icy stoicism.

“Let me assess you,” you said, setting your kit down beside him. You kept your voice steady, though your hands betrayed you with their subtle tremor. The air in the room thickened as you began to examine him, your fingers brushing lightly over his bloodied skin, checking for injuries. You didn’t want to ask questions you knew he wouldn’t answer. But you couldn’t ignore the feeling that this mission had taken something more from him than usual.

The metal arm—his most iconic feature—was scratched, battered, a reminder of the relentless nature of his work. You gently checked his wrist, noting the way he winced but kept his gaze forward, unmoving. The silence between you two was familiar, but today it felt heavier.

“Your arm?” you asked, though you weren’t sure why you bothered. It wasn’t like he’d answer.

A grunt was his only response.

You moved on, your fingers tracing over a bruise on his side, one of many that had begun to form beneath his tactical vest. As your hands brushed against the cool skin of his torso, you could feel the tension in his muscles, the strain of too many fights, too many betrayals. His eyes were fixed on the far wall, and for a moment, you wondered if he was even aware of your presence.

The only sound now was his breathing, shallow and uneven. You frowned as you gently lifted his shirt to inspect the cut across his abdomen. It wasn’t deep, but it would need stitches. You reached for a needle and thread, your hands shaking slightly as you began to stitch the wound shut.

You didn’t mind the silence. It was part of the routine. But today, it felt like a weight, one that had been building with every passing second.

As you finished with the wound, you prepared to clean up the mess, but before you could move, he shifted on the table, his gaze suddenly sharp as he looked at you. His eyes narrowed—like he was studying you. Something in them had changed.

You were so focused on the task at hand that you didn’t notice him moving until it was too late.

Before you could react, he leaned forward with a suddenness that left you breathless, his lips crashing against yours. It was raw, desperate, and completely unexpected. His kiss was fierce, his hands gripping the sides of the table, his body leaning closer until you had no choice but to lean into him. The cold metal of his arm brushed against your cheek as he deepened the kiss, his breath mingling with yours.

Your heart raced in your chest, every muscle in your body frozen in shock. His lips tasted of blood and sweat, the remnants of the mission lingering on his skin. You didn’t know what to do, what to say. The Winter Soldier—this man who had been trained to kill without hesitation—was kissing you, and you had no idea why.

As quickly as it had happened, he pulled away, his face impassive once again, his eyes dark and unreadable.

He didn’t say a word as he stood, his movements stiff but purposeful. You stood there in stunned silence, your lips still tingling from the unexpected kiss.

Without another glance, he turned and walked toward the door, his presence as cold and mysterious as it had always been.

But something in you had shifted, something that would linger long after he was gone.

if you enjoyed, please reblog this! leave a comment!

#bucky x reader #buck x bucky #bucky x you #bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #the winter soldier #winter soldier #james buchanan barnes #bucky x y/n #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x oc #catws #catfa

589 notes · View notes

vivisectedboy · 2 months ago

Text

Thinking about forced surgeries rn...

Whumpee strapped down on an operating table, dry heaving from the sheer terror, eyes wide open. No anaesthesia whatsoever, the feeling of cold metal against flesh. Screams, thrashing, loud gasps with each incision made.

Or the horror of being put under by complete strangers, in an unfamiliar place. He knows it's useless to fight it. Labored breaths before eventually surrendering to the drugs, despite his brain screaming at him not to.

Or waking up in an ice bath with stitches on his abdomen. Confused and hazy, feeling nothing but a horrible emptiness. The throbbing pain and the horrible realisation setting in as he slowly comes to.

So so so many options.... Very bad things ..

#whump prompt #whump #medical whump #surgery #surgery whump #i looove medical whump its one of my favourite tjings hehehejwh

791 notes · View notes

misswynters · 27 days ago

Text

Getting married to ekko

short drabble

requested by anon

There was a rare kind of joy that managed to push through the usual grime and chaos. Strings of mismatched lights. Some flickering, others glowing bright, were strung across the open square near the hideout. The firelight children had scavenged scraps of cloth and patched them together to create banners, their uneven stitching adding a charm no fancy Piltie celebration could ever replicate.

In the middle of it all, you stood on a small platform that the Lost Children had hastily constructed. Your dress wasn’t traditional, it couldn’t be. It was a creation, crafted lovingly by Zaunite hands. Pieces of old fabric, some shimmering with oil stains, others dyed in vibrant hues, came together to create something uniquely yours.

Ekko stood opposite you, his usual bravado tempered by something soft and awed. He wore his best—a patched-up jacket you’d once teased him about because he refused to throw it away. But it was clean, and you knew it meant something for him to wear it today. His hair was neatly made, the streaks of white bright against the locks. He had a grin on his face that was wide, even as he tried to play it cool.

Scar, who had appointed himself officiant, stood between you two. His wiry frame looked almost regal in the dim light, though his crooked grin betrayed his usual cheekiness. “Alright, settle down!” he called out to the gathered crowd of children and a few adults who had wandered in, lured by the unusual festivity. “We’re here for somethin’ special tonight. None of your usual fightin’ or stealin’, this is about family.”

The children, sitting cross-legged around the square, erupted in cheers. You caught Ekko’s gaze, and the two of you shared a smile, the kind that spoke of shared dreams and whispered promises.

Scar cleared his throat dramatically. “Now, I ain’t exactly licensed or whatever it is those Pilties do, but who needs paperwork when you’ve got love, right?” The crowd laughed, and he winked at you. “So, let’s get to it. You two got somethin’ to say?”

Ekko took your hands, his palms calloused and warm against yours. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles as he looked at you, his voice steady but soft. “I never thought I’d get to have somethin’ like this,” he began. “Not here, You—you’ve made me believe that we can make anything, even in grimy place. You’re my balance when the world feels too heavy, my fire when it’s too cold. I promise, no matter what comes, I’ll always fight for us.”

You felt your chest tighten, your heart swelling as the words you’d wanted to say fought to escape. “Aww!,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. “You’ve shown me that even in a place as broken as Zaun, there’s beauty worth fighting for. You’ve given me hope, and I want to spend every day proving to you that you were right to believe in us. I’m yours, forever.”

The children cheered again, but Scar waved them down with a grin. “Hold on, hold on! We haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” He nodded to a group of children at the side, who scrambled to their feet. The youngest among them, a tiny girl with oversized goggles slipping down her nose, held a small wooden box. She marched forward with all the seriousness of someone tasked with an important mission. Ekko knelt to her level, his grin widening as she opened the box to reveal the ring he’d made.

It wasn’t like any ring you’d ever seen. The band was crafted from a piece of scrap metal, polished until it gleamed faintly in the light. Set into it was a shard of green crystal, likely salvaged from some forgotten Zaunite machine. But the real magic was in the delicate etchings along the band—tiny gears and vines, symbols of growth and movement intertwined. It was unmistakably Ekko’s work, a reflection of his resourcefulness and heart.

“You made this?” you whispered, your fingers brushing over the ring as he slid it onto your hand.

“Course I did,” he replied, a hint of bashfulness creeping into his voice. “Nothing else felt good enough for you.”

Scar clapped his hands together, breaking the moment with his usual exuberance. “Alright, lovebirds, that’s it! You’re officially stuck with each other.”

Laughter and applause erupted as the children threw bits of torn paper and confetti into the air, creating a chaotic, colorful storm around you. Ekko pulled you into his arms, his laughter mingling with yours as the two of you spun in the midst of it all.

The celebration that followed was as Zaunite as the ceremony itself. Someone had rigged a broken radio to play static-filled music, and the children danced wildly, their joy infectious. A few of the older kids brought out food, whatever they could scrounge together. As the mismatched feast was laid out on a long, uneven table.

Ekko never strayed far from your side, his hand lingering on your waist or your fingers brushing against his arm. At one point, he leaned close, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “You know, for a thrown-together wedding in the middle of Zaun, this might be the best day of my life.”

You laughed, leaning into him. “Might be?”

“Okay, fine. Is the best day,” he admitted, his grin softening.

As the night wore on and the children began to drift off, Ekko led you to a quiet corner, away from the noise. The lights overhead flickered, casting his face in warm, uneven purple shadows. “Hey,” he said, his tone still soft. “Can’t believe we are official married now!”

You reached up, your hand cupping his cheek. “Unreal that i can officially call you my husband.”

For a moment, the chaos of Zaun fell away, and it was just the two of you. Two survivors, two dreamers, building something beautiful in the midst of ruin. And as he kissed you, the city seemed a little brighter, and the air a little lighter.

note. if there’s any mistakes let me know!

taglist. @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @annybah @niredsw @stqrlxght @kriss-w @marilovz @blkmystery @multiverse-fandoms-2001 @turquoizxe @mishellii @kor-0suu @feelya @theamazingmilli @multim00n @m00nd0v3 @sodavrr @maialublmere @radtragedyarcade @spiderhook @night-fall-moon

banner. @anitalenia

683 notes · View notes

rebabbitting · 1 year ago

Text

Metal Stitching and Metal Locking | RA Power

Damaged cast component metal stitching and locking are handled by RA Power Solutions Pvt. Ltd. Metal stitching is a tried-and-true technique for fixing cracked castings in high-capacity diesel engines, compressors, plants, and machinery. The cost and difficulty of replacing the damaged parts are high. The tried-and-true techniques for mending the fracture that prevents welding are metal stitching and metal locking. Contact us for engine block repair, babbitt bearing, or engine block repair at [email protected], 0124-425-1615, or +91-9810012383.

#engine block repair #metal stitching #babbitt bearing #cold metal stitching #metal locking #metal stitching and metal locking

0 notes

totallynotmina · 22 days ago

Text

SAD BEAUTIFUL TRAGIC.

❝ kiss me, try to fix it. could you just try to listen? ❞

info. re6 leon 𝔁 fem reader. i wanna say reader is like helena's age maybe? it doesn't really matter. established relationship. very angsty with a bittersweet ending. leon's a mess ok but he swears he loves you. mentions of alcohol consumption/alcoholism. sfw, spare for a handful of somber, desperate kisses.

notes. i don't listen to taylor like i did when i was thirteen but this song is so ugh. reblogs & comments are always appreciated. <3

wc. 3.9k | ao3 link

You’d tried to fix him, as if stitching together the frayed edges of his soul could silence the storm inside him. But every attempt only left you more hollow, more desperate. His misery seeped into your home like an uninvited guest, a shadow that devoured the light, eroding the fragile moments you used to call happiness. Leon had become a ghost of the man you’d fallen for—present in body but distant, unreachable, and haunting in his silence.

The walls between you grew thicker with every passing day. Words, once tender and easy, had become brittle and sharp. No matter how far you reached, his touch always seemed just out of grasp, his warmth slipping further from your fingertips.

Your mother always said: never give more love than you receive. But she’d never prepared you for how impossible that would feel when the person you loved most was unraveling before your eyes. The weight of it all dragged you to new lows, a kind of emotional exhaustion that made your chest ache and your mind wonder when the dam would finally break—when you’d either stop loving him or lose yourself entirely.

The rain pattered insistently against the windows, the occasional rumble of thunder shaking the silence. When the front door clicked open, your heart jolted despite yourself. His heavy footsteps echoed in the stillness, as familiar as they were foreboding. You tried to focus on the book in your hands, but the words blurred, forgotten the second they hit your mind.

You didn’t need to look up to know. The way the air shifted, the subtle tension of his presence—it was Leon. You could already feel it, the simmering frustration he carried like a second skin.

Figures.

His keys clattered onto the console table, a metallic sound that cut through the quiet like an accusation. His bag followed with a dull thud, then the sigh—low, heavy, resigned. You looked up in time to catch the way his hair clung to his rain-soaked face, his boots kicked off haphazardly by the door.

For a fleeting moment, his eyes met yours, and you thought—hoped—he might smile. But he didn’t. Of course he didn’t. He couldn't even be bothered to spare you, his sweet girlfriend, a single glance.

“You’re home,” you murmured, stepping cautiously closer, your voice barely louder than the rain.

Leon hesitated, his lips parting as if to speak, but no sound came. The silence was a knife, sharp and cold, carving through the fragile hope you hadn’t yet managed to smother.

He flinched when you reached for his arm. That hurt most of all.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” he said, his voice rough and distant, as if it was a chore.

“You didn’t,” you replied softly. “I couldn’t sleep. Not until I knew you were okay.”

His jaw tightened imperceptibly, baby blue eyes darting away in shame. Leon didn't want you to see how tired he looked, how the weight of his missions—or maybe the weight of everything—had stretched him thin.

"Is everything—"

"I'm fine." The words came too quickly, too curt. They were meant to end the conversation, but all they did was light a fresh spark of frustration in your chest. He brushed past you, his worn leather jacket hitting the floor with a heavy thud.

You picked it up with a quiet sigh, hanging it on the coat rack as if that small act of care might bridge the growing chasm between you. "You don't look fine," you said, keeping your tone gentle, almost cautious. Talking to your boyfriend shouldn't feel like tip-toeing around glass. Was it so wrong to be concerned about the man you loved so hopelessly?

Leon didn't answer. He collapsed onto the edge of couch, his elbows on his knees, calloused hands running through his semi-damp hair. His silence, albeit suffocating, spoke louder than words—another wall, another barrier he so intricately placed between the two of you.

"Leon," you tried again, siting beside him, voice trembling with the heavy load of everything you wanted to say. Trying to get a single, meaningful sentence out of Leon these days felt like pulling teeth. "Please, just talk to me."

"There's nothing to talk about." His tone was clipped, but underneath the surface, you heard the slight crack, the exhaustion bleeding through the cracks. You could see it in the way Leon's eyes were half-lidded, the way he pinched the bridge of his nose, his fingers digging into his eyelids. The exasperated sigh he let out was the cherry on top.

You replied softly, equally as exhausted, "I'm not an idiot."

Finally, Leon snapped, like a rubber band pulled taut, "Why do you always have to push?" His tone was sharp enough to make you flinch—and you did. Regret flickered in his eyes almost instantly, but it wasn't enough to stop the sting. The slap had already been left on your poor cheek.

Why do you always have to push? His words repeat over and over again in your mind, like a broken record.

That wasn't fair, you always gave Leon the space he deserved after his long, taxing missions, but tonight you were struggling to stay afloat. It wasn't fair to you, constantly playing nice even when he showed zero signs of changing any time soon. He had to realize that this wouldn't slide, not anymore.

And as much as it troubled your lovesick heart, if Leon wasn't willing to let you in, then he wasn't ready for a relationship. A healthy one, at least.

"Because I love you!" you cried, the words bursting out before you could stop them, raw and desperate. "Because I'm here, Leon, and I'm fucking trying, but you just won't let me in, no matter how hard I try. You just—" You stopped, swallowing thickly, trying to steady your cracking voice. "Y-You just keep shutting me out like I'm some stranger you couldn't give a damn about."

His shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of him just as quickly as it had been triggered. Leon looked at you then, really looked, and for a moment, you thought he might finally say what you needed—no, deserved—to hear. But instead, he shook his head, sullen gaze falling to the carpeted floor.

"You don't get it." he said, barely above a whisper. "You couldn't."

Honestly, you'd prefer if Leon had kept his mouth shut. Not a single word of reassurance, or an I love you too, baby. The sickening, heavy weight of his cruel sentiment settled deep in your bones, nearly rattling you in place.

"That's not fair," you bit down on your bottom lip, a poor attempt at keeping your composure. "Maybe I don't understand everything you've been through, but I'm here for you because I love you," pathetic, so pathetic, "and I want to help. Why won't you let me? Why do you insist on wallowing in your own misery?"

Leon stood abruptly, his movements sharp, restless. "Because it's not that simple." Just the way he said that made you feel stupid. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. "Every time I leave, I don't know if I'll come back," he stared directly at you, burning holes into your own eyes, "And when I do, I'm not the same. I can't give you what you want. I don't know how."

Tears dewed your lash line, "Then learn," you pleaded, standing up and grabbing ahold of his hand. "If you love me, if you really care...then try. That's all I want." If only he knew how much it killed you to watch him fall apart while he kept you at an arm's length.

With a sharp sigh, he scowled, "I am trying," his tone was terse, cold. "Can't you see that? Can't you see how hard it is for me to come home and pretend everything's okay when it's really not?" Leon scoffed in disbelief. Fucking fantastic. After a barely surviving a demanding mission that sucked the soul out of him, now he was arguing with his girlfriend that didn't have the slightest idea of the things he witnessed.

The look of pure anguish on your pretty face tugged at Leon's heartstrings. The little pout, most of all. Poor you looked so shaken up, unable to utter a single word in response. "You deserve someone who can give you something better than this, baby." He freed his hand from your grasp, and brought it up to your cheek, his thumb stroking over the soft skin. You leaned into his touch instinctively.

But you still relented, "You don't get to decide that for me, Leon. You don't get to push me away because you think it's easier." Your hand clasped over his, moving it away from your cheek and back down to his side. His lips part.

“Is this about her?” you then asked, the bitterness oozing into your gentle tone before you could stop it.

As if his night couldn't get any worse...He knew exactly who you were talking about, and it made his blood boil.

Leon blinked, his brows furrowing. "What?"

Feigning ignorance. Classic. An insult to your intelligence, really.

“Ada.” You hated the salty way the name tasted on your tongue. “Is that why you’re like this? Because she’s still in your head? Or because you think I’ll never measure up to her?”

You didn’t need Leon to answer that; the thought alone was enough to unravel you. Ada was everything you weren’t—dangerous, intoxicating, unattainable. She moved through the world like she owned it, all sharp smiles and quiet confidence, the kind of woman who left destruction in her wake but made you thank her for it anyway.

She didn’t ask for love; she demanded it, consumed it, leaving no room for doubt or hesitation. How could you, with your soft edges and wide-open heart, ever hope to compare? You weren’t a storm—just the aftermath, picking up the pieces she’d shattered. If anything, you felt like some naïve, wide-eyed child who had no perception of the real world—you could never hold a candle to her.

Leon's face twisted, a flicker of anger lighting his tired eyes. "Don't even go there," he seethed, "This has nothing to do with her. This is about me, and my problems." Funny how he'd gotten so defensive all of a sudden.

"Isn't it, though?" you challenged, matching his tone. "Because it feels like I've been fighting ghosts since the moment we met. I don't— I don't even know if you're really here with me, or if part of you is still chasing after her."

You got him there. "That's not fair," Leon said, his voice low but icy. He wasn't outright denying anything, much to your dismay. Nausea churned in your stomach at the thought him truly still loving her. The fact that you couldn't even blame him either made it all the more painful.

"Fair?" you echoed, frustration coursing hotly through your veins. "No, you know what isn't fair, Leon? Loving someone who's too scared to let me in. Someone who would rather run far, far away from me than let their guard down." It was getting harder and harder to suppress your tears, and Leon noticed.

God, Leon felt so sick. How the fuck was he supposed to fix this now?

Before he got the chance to say something in response—as if he had anything to say—you continued your siege, "You don't get to keep doing this. You don't get to keep pushing me away and shutting me out and then expecting me to stay with open arms." And legs.

His lips parted, but whatever words he had to say succumbed to their death, strangling his throat, before they could even reach you. A single tear rolled down your cheek, finally slipping free.

"I can't do this right now." you whimpered, shaking your head in disbelief and backing away from him.

"Wait—" But you were already retreating towards your shared bedroom, the door clicking shut behind you, quiet but final. Leon stood frozen in the middle of the dimly lit living room, staring at the empty space where you had been pouring your heart just moments ago.

And you were gone. Out of sight, but the sound of your sobs and cries echoed throughout the small apartment.

Leon ran a shaky hand through his hair, letting out a shuddering breath. He felt deflated, even more drained and tired than he initially had when he first stepped through the front door. The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling in the distance, but the silence that enveloped the place felt heavier. Suffocating.

His gaze drifted towards the kitchen, eyeing a specific cabinet. Leon knew he shouldn't—knew you hated it when he turned to the bottle instead of you—but the ache in his chest was unbearable.

He needed something, anything, to dull the edges of his agonizing guilt.

His hands still trembled as he poured a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the faint glow of the lamp. Leon stared at it for a long moment, trying to find the strength to resist—and he almost did, almost poured the poison down the drain.

But then, like always, he brought the glass up to his lips, and took a slow, deliberate sip, swallowing it down neat. The burn was familiar, grounding, but it did little to quell the thoughts racing through his mind. He'd never felt so pathetic, so miserable in his entire life.

You deserved better than this. Better than him.

"I've been fighting ghosts since the moment we met."

You were right. Damn it, you were right. Leon had been so caught up in his own head, caught in a quicksand of despair, that he didn't even realize he was doing exactly what he feared most—dragging you into his own mess. He was tearing you apart at the seams, stitch by stitch, without even realizing it.

That wasn't even the half of it, though. Ada. He hated that her name had come up, hated that she still lingered like a dark, looming shadow, haunting the spaces between you with a coy smile on her red lips. But the thing is, you weren't her. You weren't some fleeting, elusive dream. You were real, here, and you loved him despite all the reasons he thought you shouldn't.

The drink wasn't helping. If anything, it only heightened the feelings of remorse. With a frustrated sigh, Leon set the empty glass down with a thud, and scrubbed a calloused hand over his face. He decided doing some paperwork might do a better job at keeping his mind off things.

Fast forward an hour, and it in fact, had not helped him. Not even in the slightest. He groaned, slumping over his desk and burying his face in his hands, an air of weariness surrounding him like a thick, stormy cloud. Leon sat in the quiet, the weight of his own thoughts pressing down on him until he couldn't take it anymore. He stood up from his swivel chair, and head straight over to the sweetest girl he knew.

His steps were slow and prudent, as if each step towards the bedroom door was a battle in itself, a march to the guillotine. Leon hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob, before swallowing his pride and finally knocking softly.

"...It's me, baby." Who else would it be? He mentally chastised himself for sounding so pitiful. "Can I come in?"

There was a long beat of silence from your end. Leon almost thought you might not answer. He wouldn't be mad if you didn't. But then came your precious voice, muffled and tired. "The door's not locked."

Cautiously, Leon pushed it open, his heart was pounding in the confines of his chest—like he'd drunk an entire pot of coffee—as he stepped inside the bedroom. You were sitting on the floor cross-legged, back against the foot of your bed. Your arms were wrapped around your body, as if you were holding yourself together, afraid of collapsing like a house of cards caught in a gust of wind.

Christ, the sight nearly tore Leon apart; he couldn't even begin to imagine how you were feeling.

"Hey, sweet thing," he said softly, unsure of where to begin. He strode towards you, kneeling down to your level, and brought a hand up to stroke your tear-stained cheek. You grimaced. "I...I wanted to talk. Apologize."

You, however, didn't say anything in response, didn't lean into his touch like you always did. You even refused to meet his gaze, unsurprisingly. It hurt Leon nonetheless, but at least you weren't frantically kicking him out. He took that as permission to continue.

"I'm sorry," his voice was thick with remorse and shame, "For what I said earlier. For...everything, really. I didn't mean any of it."

"You didn't mean it, or you didn't mean to say it out loud." Ouch.

Leon winced, the words hitting him harder than he expected, like a bitch slap right across the face. "I didn't mean to hurt you," he pleaded, "Jesus, I could never. I was—" he stopped himself, running a hand through his sandy blonde hair. "I've been an ass. Taking all my shit out on you when you've done nothing but try to help me."

Finally, your bloodshot eyes meet his, sharp but wounded. "You think an apology fixes this? Think it erases the way you've been shutting me out, making me feel like I'm not enough for you?" you hissed bitterly, swatting his hand away from your face like an obnoxious mosquito. Leon swallowed thickly, backing up a bit.

"No, of course not," he shook his head. "I know it doesn't. I just...I just don't know how to do this."

"Do what?" you asked. "Let someone love you?"

"Yeah," Leon admitted, feeling like an open wound. "That. Letting someone in, it...it scares me, baby. I can't help it."

You stared at him for a long moment. He could see the war in your eyes—the hurt battling against the love you still hopelessly felt for him. "I don't need you to be perfect, Leon. I just need you to try. To meet me halfway." It was the least he could, wasn't it?

"I want to. I will. I just...I need you to know that I love you, even when I'm too much of a coward to show it. I love you. And I'm sorry for making you feel like that isn't true."

For a fraction of a second, Leon thought he'd won you over, mended your shattered heart, and that things would go back to normal, like when you first started seeing each other. However, that hope crumbled the moment you didn't kiss him back, his chapped lips lingering awkwardly over yours. He pulled away in shame.

"No, Leon." You wiped at your eyes, frustrated by the tears you couldn't hold back, streaming hotly down your cheeks. "You don't get to say you're sorry and just expect me to forget how much this has been hurting me." The lovelorn, sick part of you just wanted to accept his semi-sincere apology and move on with your life, but the more self-respecting half had overpowered that desire.

"You kiss me, try to fix it. But you never listen." you swallowed hard, taking a moment to gather your restless thoughts. "Don't tell me you're scared, or that you're broken, or whatever excuse you think I'm going to forgive this time. Because I know you're hurting, Leon. I know you've been through hell. But I'm here," your voice cracked, embarrassment crawling up your neck, "I always have been."

"Just please...stop making me feel so fucking stupid for staying. Like I'm wasting my time loving someone who doesn't even want to be loved."

Leon didn't even know what to say in response to that. His mouth dried uncomfortably, paralyzed by the impact of your desperate words. Again, like always, you were right. He didn't have a single thing to defend himself, because he really was in the wrong, trapped in a mire of hopelessness. It was oozing its dirty self into his relationship, tainting the one good thing he had in his godforsaken life.

So, he could only whisper, "You're right." His arms wrapped around your frame, caging you in effectively. You didn't protest against his embrace, making the most of the warmth and comfort it spread through your frigid bones. "I am so, so sorry," he mumbled, his hand cradling the back of your head, holding you close to his chest.

"I need you, sweetheart, more than I've needed anyone. You're the light of my fucking life, I just...I don't know how to be the man you deserve." Leon pressed desperate, frantic kisses against your forehead, then to your cheeks, tasting your salty tears on his lips.

"But I'll try, for you. I swear to God, I'll try." The crack in his voice was unmistakable. It tore you to shreds.

Against your better judgment, against all the hurt and anger that simmered beneath the surface, you pulled back a bit, enough to see the forlorn, crestfallen look that etched itself into Leon's jaded features, then to notice your tears that had stained his t-shirt. You bit the corner of your lip, a feeble attempt at suppressing your sobs, you then leaned in, lips capturing his in a kiss that was neither soft nor forgiving.

It was desperate, messy, and filled with everything the two of you couldn't say. All the love, the pain, the hope you somehow hadn't given up on yet. His tongue slipped past the crack of your lips, hands roughly gripping onto your thighs and coaxing you onto his lap, your legs wrapping around his waist. Teeth clicked against one another, noses bumping into the other's cheek, foreheads pressed tightly. His stubble scratched your soft skin deliciously.

"You're all I have left," Leon murmured breathlessly between kisses, his voice thick with a maelstrom of emotions, the rawness of his confession hanging heavily in the charged air. His hands smoothed up your figure, finding purchase in your hair as he pulled you closer; he thought you might vanish if he let go, even for a moment.

You melted against him, like butter, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, trying to tether yourself to this moment—to him. Leon's lips tasted of something bittersweet—maybe cinnamon—the kiss holding a desperation that bordered on aching, as if he was trying to pour every unspoken apology and feeling into it.

A single tear rolled down Leon's flushed cheeks as you pulled away for air, forehead resting against his. His breath was warm against your lips, a sign he was real and right next to you. That this wasn't some dream, but reality.

Probably not the time, nor the place, but Leon was so fucking pretty when he cried.

You brought your hand up, the soft pad of your thumb stroking it away. He leaned into your gentle touch like a kicked puppy, pressing a soft kiss against the tip of your thumb as it brushed over his bottom lip.

"I don't deserve you," he whispered, the words barely audible but so full of meaning it made your chest ache, "but I don't know how to let you go."

#── ₊˚⊹ mina's fics #leon kennedy #re6 leon #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #resident evil

431 notes · View notes