#i will shoot you with my gun // ooc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bluebeary-jay · 1 year

Text

Reason

(Joel Miller x Reader)

Summary: things go wrong when you try to cross a small city. joel almost gets himself killed and you finally confront him about why he never seems to trust you with anything

Tags: angst and fluff, probably a little ooc, a bit of humor, love confession

Warnings: mentions of violence and wounds (but nothing very graphic), age gap, swearing

Word count: 3.8K

A/N: this is my first fic ever published so i'm kinda nervous but i couldn't stop thinking about this guy. english is not my first language so excuse any mistakes. hope you enjoy <3

Joel was acting like nothing was wrong.

Which wasn't exactly anything new, really. Ever since you knew the man, he always had this rough exterior, that ‘do not fuck with me’ aura around him, and was never, ever, one for showing emotions.

Back in the QZ, when he and Tess sometimes let you hang along with them to get a job done or sneak into the restricted territory, you saw how he burst, pent-up and concealed emotions spilling out of him at long last when something went horribly wrong. He had never aimed his yells at you, though, even when it was clearly your fault that someone noticed you or you fucked up your part of the job.

Just like today. You weren't exactly to blame this time – something heavy fell over around the corner of the building you were sneaking by, and the thug looking for you three spotted you as you were ducking behind a car. Shit like that often happened when you had to work in the ruins of the old world.

Then you got separated from Ellie and Joel when the gang shot at you. All of you saw before that the street was blocked and you were practically surrounded. You barked at the pair to get out of here and that you’ll join them later, and ran in the direction of the ravaged stores, hoping to find a way around the blockade.

You remembered bullets firing at you and missing your head by centimeters. You remembered shooting and killing some of the guys chasing you, then screaming when you bumped into one of them and they grabbed you. The kicks to your stomach, the struggle, some nasty comments made by the thugs before you managed to stab one of them through the cheek. You remembered faces contorted in fury and a man lifting a gun to your head.

In that brief moment, you were glad it was you who was about to die. Better you than–

The man who was about to shoot you dropped his pistol after a loud bang pierced the air and he fell to the ground, dead. Others were soon to follow, too slow in drawing their own guns. It was Joel, of course, all bloodied and livid, blasting a head after head of the guys who were trying to hurt you. You were pinned face down to the floor and couldn’t do anything but watch as he fought them with only his knife and bare hands, as the corridor he was in was too narrow to make use of the gun without it catching on a wall or his clothes. You struggled and tried to break free, unable to bear the sight of the men’s blood mixing with his own from the growing number of cuts on his skin.

The thug holding you down apparently decided to finish you off, but didn’t have a chance before Joel tackled him to the ground, receiving another long gash below his ribs. For one terrifying moment you were sure he was stabbed in the chest and your whole world stopped. But the grunts and curses coming from the spot where Joel was knocked down on the ground quickly told you that he was fine.

You saved Joel just in time, driving a sharp shard of metal into his attacker's neck. After that the older man quickly looked you over, asking if you were hurt, and when you told him no, he grabbed your arm and led you to where Ellie was waiting.

All of you managed to get out and it didn’t seem like the gang was following you anymore. Excluding a couple of cuts and scrapes you all were fine and alive, which had to be a goddamn miracle.

That didn’t mean you weren’t absolutely furious.

Joel knew it and you suspected that’s why he was so insistent about walking in total silence, sending you and Ellie angry glares every time either of you opened your mouth. You were shooting daggers at his back as he walked in the front and even Ellie had to sense the tense atmosphere, for she was unusually quiet.

You knew Joel Miller was a protector at heart. That, among other things, was what made you care for him more than anyone else in your life, more than you’d care for a companion or even a friend. His caring, gentle nature hidden from the world under the rough exterior was what ultimately made you fall for him.

But no matter how attractive and admirable you found him, it drove you up the fucking wall that he never listened to you, never let you do anything even slightly risky or dangerous, like he always expected you to mess up. He didn’t even want you to sneak outside the QZ with him and Tess, and it was the other woman who finally convinced him.

You hated the thought that he might see you as a daughter, or worse - a burden. But the age gap between you two seemed bigger and bigger every time he did something like that, going after you because he didn’t trust you to get the job done.

And you hated it.

Only when the place you’ll spend the night in was picked and Joel took off his backpack with a wince of pain, you marched over to him and shoved his chest in frustration. Even though he was tired and hurt, he still towered over you and was much heavier, which made taking your anger out on him extremely difficult.

“The hell you're doing?” he asked incredulously, looking almost surprised at the fury painting your face.

“Don’t you ever think about doing something like that again, Joel!” you yelled at him, knowing you’re too far for any unwanted ears to hear you screaming. “I fucking told you to take Ellie and run! Why the hell did you come back?!”

“You’d prefer me to leave you behind and let those bastards do whatever sick things they wanted to do? A ‘thank you’ would be nice.”

Okay, now you were seething. You clenched your jaw and pushed him again, feeling honestly so fed up with his bullshit.

“Why don’t you ever listen to me?! You almost fucking died, not to mention you put Ellie in danger, too!”

“Hey, I was safe!” Ellie chimed in, straightening from the place she was sitting in on her sleeping bag. “And there wasn’t actually–”

“Ellie,” Joel cut her short harshly, making it clear it’s not the time for her usual sarcasm. She rolled her eyes and muttered something about grumpy old men, turning their back to them.

You huffed and turned around, going deeper into the woods. Joel said your name but when you didn’t react he went after you with long strides, grabbing your arm and halting you.

“Will you tell me what’s going on?”

“You know damn well what’s going on!” You yanked your arm out of his grasp. “I told you to go and you didn’t listen, like always, and probably had to hack your way through the whole group of these idiots just to almost get yourself killed because of me!”

“Did you really expect me to leave you behind?” he asked with his voice raised.

“Yes! At that moment it wasn’t about me, I was thinking about Ellie and you! She’s way more important than I am! You’re more important!”

“Don’t you dare say somethin–”

“Do you think I’d be able to take Ellie across the country without getting any of us killed?!” You threw your hand to the side, huffing with anger. “I don’t have your skills and experience. You’re the only one able to handle it on your own, so if any of us is to die, it will be me, no questions asked.”

“Like hell it’ll be you!” He was seething now, too, and he came up to you in two long, angry strides, stopping just before he could stomp on your shoes. Suddenly you two were so close that you could feel his breath on your face. “I am not fucking letting you get yourself killed! Not now and not ever.”

“Can’t you just think logically for a second?!” you shouted in his face, tears of rage and helplessness gathering in your eyes. “I’m a goddamn burden to you both! Yes, it was me who alerted them of our presence and I understand that’s probably why you never trusted me…” Actually saying those words out loud was more painful than you anticipated and you had to take a deep breath to calm yourself down. “It’s just, I can’t fight like you can, I’m not as valuable as Ellie, I…”

You had to press your lips together not to sob accidentally. Although you knew you had to make your point across, you still didn’t want Joel to see how weak you actually are.

“But I’m not fucking useless, understand?” you said sternly, looking him dead in the eyes. “I am gonna help you both go as far as possible, but if we’re ever in that kind of situation again, you’re leaving me behind and I’m buying you and Ellie as much time as I can.”

His expression hardened and he started to shake his head, but you beat him to it.

“I know you never wanted me to go on any missions with you, but just once let me be useful, alright? Even if all I can do is buy you a couple of precious minutes.”

“By letting yourself die.”

He said it with such finality and disbelief, all your anger got swept off and replaced by weariness. You sighed heavily and leaned against a tree.

“Yes, Joel. I know you’d rather not lose anyone else, but if I have a chance to help those I care about…” You realized you said too much and shook your head. “I don’t understand why it is such a big deal for you.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. His warm brown eyes were on you and for the first time ever you wished he'd look away. You turned your head and sighed again.

God, you were so very tired.

“I’m going to look for some firewood. You go check if the place is safe, alright?”

“No, listen–”

“Just this once, Joel,” you cut him off, not turning around. The tears that have gathered in your eyes before were threatening to spill down your cheeks and you weren’t going to show him how much this situation has pained you. “Just this once, drop it. Please.”

This time he didn’t stop you when you wandered further away from the camp and you truthfully didn’t know if it was better or worse.

*****

The rest of the evening went by mostly in silence. Ellie tried to lighten up the mood by reading some bad jokes from her book and though Joel was his usual grumpy self, it actually helped you a little. The girl seemed pretty proud of herself about making you crack a smile, but her efforts to bring Joel into the conversation came to naught. The smile disappeared from your face every time your eyes met and he looked away.

He almost didn’t say a word throughout your meal and preparing for bed, only muttering something under his breath when Ellie told you both goodnight. You were so tired that you managed to fall asleep almost immediately despite the worry and sadness gnawing at you when your thoughts drifted to the man laying on the opposite side of the fire.

When you opened your eyes again, the dawn was only just breaking. The air was cold and crisp, and you groaned, shivering and pulling your coat tighter around yourself, only to realize something else was draped over your form.

You rubbed your eyes and noticed the familiar green jacket covering your torso. Its owner was a couple of feet away, sitting with his back to you on a big log. The rifle lay next to him, propped up against the fallen tree. Your shoulders slumped at the sight of him and you remembered your argument from last night. You almost laid back down, but ignoring his act of kindness felt wrong, so with a quiet sigh you stood up, making your way to where he was sitting.

Joel glanced to the side when you approached and his gaze was instantly drawn to his jacket you wrapped around yourself.

“You were shivering,” he muttered, apparently knowing what you were about to ask. He said it as if giving you his jacket was the most sensible thing to do in a situation like that.

Was that an attempt to say he’s sorry for how he reacted earlier? You decided not to question his intentions too much and instead sat down next to him, nailing your eyes on the patch of recently disturbed ground.

“Thanks,” you replied under your breath, still not looking at the man. “But you didn’t have to. You’re probably cold now.”

“M’not.”

Liar. Stubborn as always.

None of you said anything else for a long time. You contemplated whether you should just go back to your sleeping bag and leave his jacket on the log, or stay and try to defuse the tension between you two. Somehow neither of these options appealed to you but it was so difficult to just sit here in silence and–

“I’ve been thinkin' about what you said,” Joel spoke up suddenly and very quietly, which interrupted your dwelling. “And I couldn’t stop remembering how damn sure you sounded when you said I don’t trust you.”

A wave of uneasiness washed over you and you wrapped his jacket tighter around yourself. “It’s okay that you don’t,” you said slowly, not really sure what he was getting at. “I mean, I’m not sure if even I would trust my–”

“That’s the thing,” he interrupted you with an irritated sigh and turned his head to look at you with his brows furrowed. “I do trust you. I just have no clue how…” Another sigh. “How I could’ve fucked up so badly that you’d think that.”

You blinked several times, not sure if you weren’t still dreaming after all. It kind of felt like a dream when he was sitting so close to you, his jacket around your shoulders and a rising sun painting his hair in a golden light.

“But you never let me do anything important or dangerous on my own,” you contradicted quietly, which caused Joel to drop his head loosely and close his eyes. “You’re always against taking me with you anywhere, and–”

“That’s because you’re important to me!” he cut you off, evidently louder than he intended, because he immediately glanced at you and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s just hard for me to understand how… how did…”

Joel seemed at a loss for words and you longed to touch him, to take the burden of carrying the conversation from his shoulders and ease the weariness on his face, but you weren't really sure what he intended to say. You didn’t want to get your hopes up, but it almost sounded like…

“I can’t bear the thought of losing you,” he said softly at last and you could pinpoint the exact moment you stopped breathing. Joel’s eyes were closed and he was propping his forehead on his hand, and he looked so… sad. “That’s why I never wanted you to take any risk, because if something happened to you and I weren’t there to protect you…”

He swallowed heavily, inhaled, then straightened up and looked over at you. The look he gave you was so tender and open, it was almost difficult to focus on his words.

“I care about you, too,” he whispered, and you remembered what slipped out of your mouth when you were arguing earlier. “A lot. Much more than I should, but I can’t… I can’t help it.” He turned to look forward, his eyes narrowing from the sunlight creeping from between the trees, and he looked so beautiful in that moment, you wished you had a camera on hand.

“Joel,” you breathed, but he shook his head.

“I didn’t want to make shit weird between… us.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “So don’t feel pressured into sayin’ anything. Just don’t expect me to idly stand by while you’re risking your life because–”

“Joel,” you repeated, louder this time, which finally made him shut up.

“What?”

You didn’t really know what you were going to say. You just wanted him to stop talking because he was only torturing himself with this ramble and you couldn’t bear it.

Very slowly, and very gently, you took Joel’s hand in your own and moved it over to your lap. Ignoring his eyes on you, you traced the length of his calloused fingers and brushed the center of the palm where a cut from a couple of days ago was still healing. Your heart was beating so damn loud in your ears, you wouldn’t hear if a parade of clickers just walked past you both, but with all your might you tried to keep your breathing steady and your face from going beet red.

He said you were important to him. That he couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. He didn’t see you as a burden as you feared, so maybe… maybe he didn’t view you as a kid, as well.

Throwing all caution to the wind, you laced your fingers together and brought them to your lips, leaving a small kiss on his bloodied knuckles. Joel tensed in a split second and you weren't sure if he was still breathing, but you didn’t look at him in fear that his expression may take away the remnants of your temporary courage.

“If I misread you, this is gonna be painfully awkward,” you mumbled in a feeble attempt to defuse the tension in the air, so thick it was almost choking you. “But I’m still grateful you told me all thi–”

His other hand – the same hand he was ready to kill and protect with, with which he was ready to tear his way through the mass of enemies just to save you – lifted itself to your face and cupped your cheek. Joel was looking at you with wonder, the fingers you cradled in your own twitching slightly as if he was holding back from tightening his hold. His eyes seemed like they were made out of liquid gold in the light of the morning sun and he looked at you with such adoration that you once again humored the thought that it was just all some cruel, vivid dream.

But no, it couldn’t have been. Not when Joel’s skin was so cold against your burning face and not when his eyes flickered to your lips…

It was you who leaned in first, but once your lips touched, Joel took the reins, untangling his fingers from yours to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you closer.

You expected him to be rough and confident, just like he was during a fight, to take what he wanted and devour you – at least that’s how you always imagined kissing him would be like. What you didn’t expect, however, was a trembling sigh that escaped him when you two parted for a moment to take a breath and a gentle touch of his fingertips along your jaw. His hold on your body was by turns firmer and more loose, like he was afraid he’d scare you off if he let himself use too much strength.

You, on the other hand, had no reservations in taking his face in your hands firmly and parting your lips, encouraging him to go on. It seemed to work at first, because Joel pulled you in even closer, letting you crawl onto his lap, but then he stopped abruptly and moved you gently away, still keeping his hands on both sides of your face.

“Darlin’, I need to know if you’re sure about this, because I won’t be able to…”

You pressed your lips to his again, this time much slower and more delicate, in an attempt to silence him. Joel finally relaxed when you cupped his face and planted a kiss on his brow, always so furrowed in concern and worry.

“Joel, I wanted you to kiss me for the whole time I knew you. I really, really care about your bullheaded skull.” You looked down at him with a playful smile, to which he chuckled. “Though you’re shit at sending signals. I was sure you hated me.”

“Well, you are hard to deal with sometimes,” he mused in a teasing tone and you jabbed him in the stomach before he managed to grab your wrist. “But I… I'm sorry that I made you feel this way. Like you didn’t matter to me.”

You furrowed your brows at the uncharacteristic vulnerability and sadness in his voice and your worry must’ve etched itself in your eyes because when Joel looked at you, he turned away and closed his eyes immediately.

“Listen, you know now you matter to me more than anyone else in this cursed world. I don’t want to ever be as worried sick about you like I was yesterday,” he whispered. You brushed some hair off his face and the creases on his forehead softened a little. “And I don’t ever want you to think you’re not important. You’re… fuck, you’re the goddamn reason I’m doing all this. You're my reason, you hear me?”

You just nodded with a wide smile that threatened to split your face in half.

“I understand,” you answered, just as quietly. “You’re also the reason I’m doing all of this for.”

This time it was unclear who initiated the kiss. Nevertheless, you ended up held tightly in his arms, marveling at his touch on your skin and the feeling of his chapped lips on yours, and there wasn’t any other place you wished to be in.

It lasted just a couple of seconds though, because you were interrupted by the sound of fake barfing and gurgles of disgust coming from the direction of your camp.

“Gross!” yelled Ellie loudly, but she had a shit-eating grin on her face when she squinted at Joel holding you in his lap. “Don’t suck faces when there are children present!”

“Shut up!” Joel yelled back, but without any bite in his tone. A soft smile played on his lips when he looked back at you. “She’ll be insufferable now,” he murmured and you snorted at how done he sounded. He mirrored your expression and held your hand to his face to kiss your fingers tenderly, which made Ellie gag even louder.

“If you start making out in front of me, I won’t hesitate to throw a fucking sandwich at you!”

“She won’t,” muttered Joel, not even turning to the teen before he leaned in and kissed you slowly again.

You smiled into the kiss, barely noticing stale pieces of bread flying over Joel’s shoulder.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the last of us #tlou hbo #joel tlou #joel miller #featuring our badass queen #ellie williams #the last of us fic #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #beary writes

1K notes · View notes

tremendum · 1 year

Text

fever

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader (afab, use of she/her) rating: explicit. (18+. mdni.) word count: 7.5k summary: but at the timbre of your voice, a cold shiver runs down his spine. his eyes widen in acceptance. there must have been some sort of- poison, or aphrodisiac in that damn plant that you'd both been struck with. warnings: SMUT. dubcon (sex pollen), age gap (not specified), use of the word ‘girl’, friends(ish) to lovers, canon-typical mentions of violence, needles/getting pricked by a plant, descriptions of canon-typical injuries, unprotected PiV sex, kinda rough, creampie, light cumplay, oral (f and m recieving), a fair amount of begging, dacryphilia, size kink, overstimulation, voyeur Joel if you squint just for a sec, facefucking, mutual masturbation, multiple orgasms, some spanking, choking, reader gets slapped on the cheek like once, dom!joel miller, spit kink, fingering, dirty talk/slight degradation if you squint, light praise, this is just basically porn with no plot, they’ve got feelings for each other but they’re in denial, ellie is in this in the beginning but doesn’t hear them thank GOD, notes: this is my first work for Joel and though I never finished the first game, the release of the TV series inspired me bc i am a SLU T for pedro lmao. this is terribly unedited because I just forgot i took edibles after i smoked and cranked this out in an hour and a half so sorry if it’s choppy or a bit ooc for joel. ALSO IF IM MISSING WARNINGS PLS MESSAGE ME

★

"whose brilliant idea was this?"

you say it from behind Joel, the echo of your boots splashing through the tunnel as you look around you, your eyes sneaking to observe the width of his shoulders, the stretch of his shirt over the muscles.

Joel can't stop the twist of his lips as he grumbles back at you, "yours." he mutters, rolling his eyes.

his flashlight cuts through the darkness in front of you two, scaling over the walls that grow slimy with repeated dew and rainwater, algae sprawling over the pipes and reaching its fingers down towards your shoes. he doesn't like being down here, it's too quiet, damp, dark. perfect for cordyceps to grow.

you let out a soft, amused hum at his words that coaxes a bubble of irritation through Joel - you'd always been stubborn, from the day he'd first laid eyes on you; a young thing at the time, baring teeth you thought were sharp but really just looked like a little doe snapping its jaw at him.

it's been long enough with you around now that Joel knows you better than he's willing to admit, and maybe also knows himself than he would ever say out loud - because you're still that stubborn fireball of a woman and he's still the tired old man who you find amusing to tease. and he likes it, deep deep down.

"yeah, maybe just letting it go was the better option." you muse from behind him, voice still somehow dripping like honey though the sloshing of the sewer provided nothing but unpleasantries for the group of you. he turns to spare a glare at you; you were already smirking at him. setting him up, then lying in wait.

a damn minx.

he sighs, looking away: sure, he wants you, of course he does - you were spry, beautiful, intelligent, and resourceful. but you were stubborn, and butted heads with him more than rams did in mating season. still, there'd been too many lingering glances, suggestive phrases, and gentle caresses for it to be a coincidence. he could tell that when you watched him split wood or help teach you to shoot a gun that you were probably soaked through your panties, and that made him hard as a rock when he allowed himself to think about it once in a blue moon.

but that doesn't matter, because in a world that wasn't like this one - without the danger, pain, the necessities to survive - a girl like you would never bat a fucking eye at a man like him.

and he's got more important things to think about than how tight you'd feel around his cock, how well you'd take his orders with his hand around your throat.

but your words not only fall to his ears - from where Ellie hangs upside down from the storm drain, she snorts, "you spent that whole time back there arguing with him just to decide he was right?" she boasts. at this, you grab her arm, pretending to pull her down from above your head and into the storm drain with you and Joel. a splashing noise and a squeal echoes through the tunnel as your boots slosh; Joel turns back with irritation, about to snap at the two to keep quiet.

but you're grinning, eyes reaching his from where you stand, covered in storm drain water. Ellie's flipped upside-down, hanging from the ceiling with a grin of amusement, her arm slack in your grip.

your shirt is wet, slick against your plush skin around your stomach and breasts, your hair stuck to your cheeks and forehead and neck. slowly, you bend down to pick the axe out of the murky water, a satisfied sigh leaving your lips as you shake the water from its hilt. he has to tear his eyes away from the flash of the lacy underwear that peeks from the waistline of your jeans.

Joel's breathing is almost stutters - you’re a goddamn sight right now, and if the tightening in Joel's jeans meant anything, it's that he needed to look away.

"it doesn't matter. you got your axe, now we need to get out of here." he mutters, tired of letting you convince him to do asinine decisions like try and crawl into a storm drain to fetch the axe you'd accidentally dropped. your lips pull into a tight line and he ignores the twist of fire in his stomach at your gaze, the smirk as you try to conceal your laughter. it just irritates him even more.

he watches with sharp eyes as Ellie starts to pull you up and out of the drain; he's trained with a flashlight and his rifle pointed towards the depths beyond you, into the unknown area of the drain. your head is almost out of his sight when it happens: you twitch suddenly and let out a yelp, "fuck!" you hiss. Joel's rushing towards you, calling your name.

you groan, pulling yourself up with the aid of Ellie as you mutter, "'m fine Joel, something stung me."

stung you? he looks around, flashlight searching the area for any animal or insect or other threat - nothing. but when you're clear of the drain, obscured by the dilapidated road above his head, Joel hears Ellie let out an interested but disgusted noise. his gun goes first, then the flashlight. he pulls himself up and as he nearly breaches the light of the Earth, a sharp sting attaches to his thigh, coaxing a grunt of shock from his lips as he pulls himself fully out.

you're laying, soaked on the hot pavement, Ellie staring at you with wide eyes as you inspect your calf. there's a barb on it with spikes that look almost like a cactus of sorts, bright purple and speckled with yellow. Joel doesn't have to look down to see his own thigh impaled with the spokes of the same plant. he tilts his head back, hand scrubbing his face with a deep sigh. damn it.

"what is that?" Ellie asks, eyes wide as Joel quickly pulls out the plant from his flesh with the flannel he'd tied around his pack. "don't!" he chastises as your bare hands move towards the spoked on your calf, and your eyes soon shoot up to him. "did y'touch a plant down there? or anything?" he asks, trying to ensure this wasn't anything toxic or lethal, or god forbid, a mutation of the cordyceps.

but if it had been, there'd have been signs of it. pulsing, infecteds even - but this was a plant Joel has never seen before.

"obviously" you grunt, shooting him a glare, "I wouldn't fucking touch something growing if I didn't know it was safe." you snark. he knows you hate it when he treats you like a child - you've said as much to him before, and loudly - but he can't help the protectiveness he feels for you. your skin is covered in a sheen of sweat, "but it shot out barbs towards me. I wasn't even close to it, you saw me." you defend.

Joel's throat clenches, his chest swimming with a warm feeling as the tingling sensation on his thigh lingers far after he'd pulled the barb from his jeans. he needed to get that thing out of you, too. you watch him as he pulls it out of your leg swiftly, Ellie sitting back on her haunches as she watches.

"we should clean these out." Joel decides, standing up and grabbing his gun and discarded flashlight, sending a glare down to the axe that sits glinting in the sun. just what he needs, another thorn in his side. literally.

the walk back to the house was much less exciting for you as it had been before the little romp with Joel in the sewer. the sun is hot beating down on your backs, and your dampness just exacerbates the mustiness of the storm drain's water soaking into your skin.

your calf is starting to vibrate, almost - although your heart twists with worry, you eye Joel's back and he seems fairly normal. so, you keep going, ignoring the heat that starts to consume you. your head aches by the time you round your last corner to get back.

Ellie's in her own world, kicking a rock as the house nears your sights: you'd landed here early this morning, some people who knew Joel before had lived here: they were gone now.

but it had beds, water that could be heated, and a collection of weapons and supplies stocked higher than your head.

so as you settle your things into the living room, you smile, digging into your pack to fish out the scraps of soap you'd saved, enough for several washes each of you were liberal with it. "so, who gets it first?" you say with a grin, unable to contain the excitement in your voice at the prospect of getting clean. Ellie jumps up, grinning with glee.

"dibs on going last!" she whistles, pulling a dry stare from both Joel and you. she shrugs, "what, don't want to be yelled at for takin' my time." she grumbles, flopping down on the couch, sofa releasing a plume of dust.

you lift a brow, "there's a second tub down here, isn't there?" you ask. Joel nods, eyes flickering to Ellie, "then you can take the tub down here. but only use a bit of hot water." he chides.

she rolls her eyes as he points a stern finger her way, swiping a piece of the soap you'd held out to her as she hauls her bag behind her, "relax, old man." she mutters, shaking her head as she disappears, "I'll let it run cold before I get out."

your eyes fall on to Joel, who sighs, nodding to the upstairs bathroom. "you go." he says dismissively. you chew on your lip, trying to figure a way out of taking the first bath: you needed to inspect this sting first. "no, i can wait. 's fine." you shrug, the feverish heat on your body not helping yourself to focus.

his hands run to the back of his neck, massaging a spot; your eyes are glued to the muscles that ripple from the movement, the long fingers thick and rough from a lifetime of hard work. you shudder, arousal pooling at the apex of your thighs easily. you swallow, embarrassed - why were you having such an odd reaction to this plant? it was making you feel fuzzy, feverish; the only thing you can focus on is Joel.

he shakes his head, "nonsense. ladies first." he insists, not meeting your eyes. you feel yourself clench around nothing at his words, his abnormal attempt at chivalry - you laugh a bit. he glares at you, but there's no heat.

"since when have you been one for chivalry, Joel?" you ask, shaking your head with a smirk. it's sweet, because despite the horror of reality, there were still times when that charming Southern Man that Joel probably once was peeks through the cold, hard exterior.

rare but not unheard of were the times he'd hold a door open, or say ma'am - but it seems that all that remains of his past is that damn smooth accent and the broken watch he keeps on his wrist at all times.

he rolls his eyes but says nothing. his face looks red, and you almost bring up the pulsing at the site of that plant's needle; instead, you bite your tongue. you need a moment to analyze it, alone - and to get your thoughts straight, to - to not think about him.

"you can take first, Joel. I prefer my baths lukewarm, anyways." you joke, a fleeting touch on his arm.

your hand burns when you pull away and his eyes catch yours as if he felt it too. he must decide to not protest anymore as he nearly stumbles his way upstairs, disappearing into the master bathroom, his hands shaky as they take your soap from your grasp on the way.

Joel knew something was wrong immediately. the more he'd stood there, debating with you about who gets to fucking clean themselves first, the more he saw you, in a tub, fingers caressing yourself; the more real it felt, to see you touch your hardened buds, play with your tits, to hear you moan his name gently.

but his body was hot. he felt a fever like nothing he'd ever felt before, his mind going fuzzy as he'd stumbled into the bathroom, scrubbing his whole body from head to toe vigorously, as though whatever was happening would fade away if he'd just get clean.

the bath couldn't have been longer than seven minutes.

by the end of it, he was grunting into his shoulder to muffle the noise, his fist squeeing his cock tight as he fucks himself into it, the hot spurs of wanton need curling around his body, choking him. that god damned soap. it smelled like you.

he'd thrown it across the room, its pieces splintered across the ground as Joel bites back a groan of your name, the images of you, soft hands pumping him, slick mouth opening to take him inside- he cums over his chest in hot spurts, the guilt red and hot across his cheeks as the feeling snaps from his chest.

but the fever is still there when he blinks away the pleasured cloud of his orgasm.

and it's still there, burning hot like a snake of revenge in his body when he slams the door open, body still damp and quick to react to the fresh air of the upstairs bedroom.

he doesn't go back downstairs, not like this. not when the girl is down there, probably still in her own bath; he's still not sure what he's come down with, or if it could spread.

now, it’s your turn in the bathroom in the master bedroom - he'd beelined it for the office upstairs before calling for you and telling you it was your turn; he knew that something in him would snap if he were to see you while he was in this state.

but he should've gone back downstairs, because the moment he hears it, it's too late for him.

you're moaning.

it's almost clear as day; muffled through doors as you'd shut yourself from the rest of the house in the master bedroom, and Joel can't fucking unhear it.

he became painfully hard again mere minutes after his first orgasm and has been restraining himself for what can only have been the ten minutes you'd been bathing, but at the timbre of your voice, a cold shiver runs down his spine.

his eyes widen in acceptance. there must have been some sort of- poison, or aphrodisiac in that damn plant that you'd both been struck with.

"fuck." he groans, surprised as it comes out much more breathy than intended, his whole body shuddering as his brain gets even more swarmed with thoughts - you, spread for him, or on your knees, or laying on the table, his cock shoved down your throat-

he hits the wall, hard. his fist stings but it's nothing in comparison to the burning need he feels swirling in his gut and his legs carry him until he's knocking on the door to the master bedroom frantically.

he calls your name, and a weak gasp is the only response. he tries again, and then your muffled voice calls, "fuck, Joel, that plant-" you cut yourself off with what Joel can only imagine is a moan of pain and pleasure. his cock twitches and he thinks he may pass out. staggering over to the bannister, Joel calls out for Ellie. she stomps over to peak her head up towards him expectantly.

he's shaking, sweat already sheening over his whole body. he's sure he looks like hell as he grips the landing under white knuckles, "Ellie, we're sick." he groans, "stay downstairs."

she calls back up, joking that she’s going to leave the house; but she doesn't sound sincere. he barely registers her laughter before she shuts the door, closing herself off to explore the downstairs house without Joel or you to protect her. he's momentarily glad she's not suspicious, instead is relieved to have her own time to herself.

but his cock is so hard he thinks he may pass out again, and he can hear you gasping out his name from behind the door to the bedroom and bathroom.

the door to the bedroom shuts and echoes through the empty upstairs as he tears through, chest heaving. you're still in the bathroom, gasping as your moans echo through the chamber.

he calls your name as he slumps against the door frame to the bathroom, the desire coursing through his body as he shakes with the feverous affects from the plant's venom.

he can't think straight, "I can't come in." he says, shaking his head as his forehead rests against the cool wood. you wail from inside, "Joel, please, I need- I need you, please I need help." you whimper. he can practically see you, the pleading look on your face pathetic as your brows tangle together, eyes shut in frustration. he knows you're touching yourself, and it makes his cock twitch.

"I can't." he says sternly, knowing that if he is to come through that door, there may be no stopping himself. he can't let that happen, not like this. "I'll- I'll be good, just- I can't, nothing's working." you whimper.

"not like this, darlin'." he's grunting through his teeth, but he feels so much desire that it's painful, like he'll die. anger courses through his chest as you let out a drawn out moan, low and full of need even through the wall that separates you.

"fuck you." you groan, "I hate you, Joel, never let me fuckin' have anything," your voice is strangled, a shuddering moan leaving your lips that sends jolts of electricity throughout his entire being. his hand finds his aching cock, slowly trying to relieve the painful desire that shoots through him with need.

he glares through the wall, "yeah, well, fuck you too." he spits back, anger coursing through him at your bratty exclaim of irritation for him - the one who kept you safe, who let you do what you wanted - who followed you into goddamn sewer drains to find the shit that you’d lost.

"walking around, flaunting that fuckin' ass at me." his words fall from his lips before he can stop himself, the desire and haze pulling it out of him as he twists his wrist around himself. "do you know what you do to me?" he nearly growls, "every time you open that mouth it's some shit. always gotta have somethin' to say to me, huh? make me wanna shut you up."

your moan is nearly a sob this time; it's raw, full of desire, and Joel could just about cum from that noise alone. his neck heats up with the knowledge that his words pushed you even further; he always knew you'd be a dirty little thing.

but he nearly falls over as the door to the bathroom rips open, catching himself with one arm on the doorframe, his cock still in his fist. his eyes find you on the ground, fully naked, on your goddamn hands and knees for him.

his eyes nearly roll to the back of his head when you gasp, "Joel, we need to-" you swallow as though you were salivating at the sight of him above you, cock angry and flushed, "you have to fuck me, now."

he stares down at you, his whole entire body tremoring at the sight of you; your bare chest, nipples peaked at you suck in breaths, face flushed with desire and sweat, your own legs shaking terribly. your hands are glistening with your own juices. he lets out a moan.

"please," you try to get his attention again, squirming as though you're in just as much pain as he is, "please, just use me, I don't care, I want to taste you."

he shakes his head, "we-we aren't thinking straight... can't do this." he gasps, even his own words starting to sound absurd to himself. you shake your head actual tears welling up in your eyes, "I think about this all the time, Joel-" you moan, your hand slipping between your legs, the wet sounds sending streaks of desire through his body. “it’s not just the fucking plant, Joel, I need you.” you hum. his wrist hasn't stopped moving, he realizes, chasing that sweet fucking high as you stare at his cock with a wide, hungry glance, begging him to fuck you. he wonders if he’s just dreaming again.

"you know that I want this." you gasp out, tears nearly slipping from your lashline, "don't you?"

does he? how could you dare to ask that?

he groans, nodding, "shit, baby, shut the fuck up."

"you're a fucking asshole, Joel." you whine, "it hurts." you mutter, biting your lip with a ghost of a smile. that makes him snap. it hurts, and you're fucking enjoying it?

he grabs you roughly. the minute his skin touches yours it burns deliciously; he can't believe he had the control to not touch you this whole time. his moan is tandem with yours as his fingers thread through your hair, intending on lifting you to take you to the bed; your hands grip his thighs, though, and soon your hot, wet mouth finds the angry head of his cock.

you take him about halfway before you gag slightly and he slams his hand hard on the wall just above you; your eyes are fluttered shut, a tear squeezing out as your throat opens for him. he groans at the pleasure that courses through him, reaches his fingers, the nape of his neck. you're pulling on him desperately, and it makes him smirk down at you.

"what, you wan' me to fuck that pretty little mouth?" he mutters, heart thundering in his chest as his fingers shake with desire. you pull off him, gasping slightly for breath, your finger still touching yourself as you nod, a string of spit still connecting him to your lips, "yes." you say with a nod, falling back against the wall as he crowds over you.

he's not patient, not right now. he knows he could fuck your mouth until he was shooting his seed down your throat and you'd sit through it all with that pretty hair and grin and hell, you’d probably even thank him afterwards; but he doesn't have the time for that. he needs to be deep inside you, needs to be drowning in your cunt, needs to fuck you down into the mattress so hard you scream.

and you're desperate, clearly: you're two fingers deep, fucking yourself on your fingers as another tear trails down your cheek, breathless as you shift in near pain from need. he resists the urge to coo down at you, his thumb still swiping the tear from your cheek before he grabs you again, this time pulling you up and tugging you onto the bed.

you let out a moan of his name, your face flush with arousal as you spread your thighs open for him, watching with a pained expression as he pulls off his shirt and jeans, discarding his boxers as he goes. your eyes rake over him and you whimper, still not touching him until he gives you permission.

it makes him smirk, "for such a brat it's a wonder you're so obedient like this." he mutters, pulling your legs further open as he quickly stands with his legs against the edge of the bed, running his cock against your soaked, velvety cunt.

you whimper, jolting in pleasure as his head catches your sensitive, neglected nub and he smears his precum there, enthralled in the shapes your nails carve into his biceps as you gasp.

he can't pull his eyes away from your glistening center - how many times had you cum before he'd heard you? he swallows, the flames licking his belly as he pushes his head against your tight hole.

he grunts, you were so goddamn tight; your eyes widen as you try to move your hips, try to slide yourself onto his cock, but he stops you with a rough hand around your shoulder, pinning you down. "stop." he orders, leaning so he can spit down, the slick trailing down to settle right onto where his cock nestles against your entrance. you let out a strangled gasp at his actions, throat dry from your noises.

he doesn't give you time to beg, though, as he's slowly easing himself into you; you let out a yelp at the feeling, loud enough that Joel's hand clamps over your lips roughly, his breath hitting your face, "shut your damn mouth, girl."

you feel like you're splitting open as he inches in and it's barely just his head but you have never felt such excruciating bliss as now, your breath falling from your nostrils harshly as he eases himself into you.

you wonder how much he is restraining against just fucking hard into you - but you're tight after the orgasms you'd given yourself in the bath trying to satiate the feelings you'd figured out were from that fucking plant venom.

you don't even know if he'll fit all the way into you as he inches slowly in, taking a few grunting breaths before fully sheathing himself inside your hot pussy. you clamp around him, feeling full as he bites his lip, chest heaving, slick with sweat. his hand, still clamped over your mouth, tightens against you as he slowly starts to thrust; he reaches a part so deep in you that you nearly scream.

he's hitting your spot nearly immediately as he starts to quicken his pace, hips hitting against yours deeply. you moan his name, "Joel, fuck, 's so fucking deep." you gasp it, unable to think of anything but chasing the high that's been building since the second the plant's venom entered your system.

he doesn't seem to like when you start to move your hips, chasing his when he pulls away; his hand comes to your cheek in a quick smack, grabbing your attention immediately. you can't prevent the moan at the sensation, nor the way you clench tight around his cock.

the moan he lets out is half-way between your name and fuck, as he slides into you deeper, hand wrapped around your cheeks, training your eyes on his. there's a glint of something animal in his eyes: you're sure he sees the same thing in you, the venom of that plant coursing through the two of you, nearly palpable in the air of skin slapping skin.

your cunt flutters at the eye contact, the desire bringing you closer to the edge; his hands shoot to your shins, pulling them up to his chest and then he leans forward with a deep thrust, coaxing tears of pleasure from your eyes. "that's it, take it." he grunts into your hear, hips punctuating each thrust as his tip nudges that spongy spot inside you that curls your toes.

then one hand catches yours as you fist the sheets; he pulls your arm roughly down towards where he enters you as he bites the lobe of your ear. "you're going to cum." he tells you breathlessly, directing your hand towards your clit, pressing the pads of your fingers against it. you yelp in pleasure, more tears squeezing from ecstasy as you nod against his forehead, "yes, fuck, I'm gonna-gonna cum."

"that's right." he's deeper, "cum for me." he nearly whispers it, almost desperate. it's just what you need to push you over the edge: his hips angling in a way that has hot, searing pleasure coursing through you. you nearly go blind when you cum with a gasp of his name. his hips don't even stutter as he fucks you through your orgasm, the relief washing over you in waves of pleasure. you can't open your eyes, your chest heaving, arms locked on his biceps, hips quivering with the intensity of the feeling.

he keeps the roll of his hips as he slides easily through your ruined pussy, his brows pinched in pleasure.

"y'feel so good," you nearly go limp, your fourth orgasm drawn out by the touch of the man you couldn't ever stop thinking about. he's so deep inside you, you're surprised you can't feel him in your throat as he thrusts. "pretty girl," he mutters, pinching one of your nipples and sending shockwaves through you; the relief you'd felt from your orgasm, just like the previous ones, is soon washed away by the newly replaced desire, back again and somehow even more hungry.

you nearly cry at the thought, but something in you still yearns for it and you allow your ankles to cross around his hips. "never wanna leave this cunt." he mutters against your collarbone. you flutter again at his words, arousal slicking you, him, the sheets below you; the squelch of your juices fill the room as he chases his own high.

a particularly loud cry of pleasure lands you with his hand yet again over your mouth, but this time, you waste no time in pulling his fingers to your lips, sucking two of them in eagerly as your hand tries to wrap around his thick wrist.

his eyes meet yours and his jaw clenches as his hips stutter, nearing his own high. his fingers work quick; thrusting into your mouth, slick with your spit, gagging you as he bottoms out particularly roughly. your nails scrape down his back and you'd be more shocked if there weren't marks later.

a few more thrusts and you can tell he's close, so you pull his fingers out of your mouth to gasp, "please, cum in me, Joel," you whimper into his neck, biting down hard as he groans your name. his hand suddenly clasps around your throat, pushing you down against the mattress as he fucks into you deep, his eyes screwed shut, "don' say shit like that to me, darlin'."

but his thrusts are getting sloppier as you squeeze around him, luring him in, the intoxicating scent of soap and him and his musk surrounding your head. "please, I'll do anything." you whine, hand crawling up his neck to cradle his jaw. his dark eyes meet yours and he moans at how earnest you look, his hand tightening his grip around your throat and squeezing slightly, your airway constricted for a slight moment, causing you to gasp for air when he leans back.

your desire has you cloudily begging, pulling at his hair, his arms, his back, keeping him in, and finally he growls, "shut up." he snaps, "'m gonna cum in you, and you better be fuckin' good." he barely looks at you as he lightly slaps one of your tits, grabbing the other and pinching your hardened nipple as he watches your whole body bounce from the force of his thrusts. "god, you feel so good." he mutters to himself. you preen at the praise, your own high creeping near.

your lips are clamped shut, his hand holding your head down from your throat as you nearly scream, his thrusts slowing and sloppy. he lets out a delicious moan as he hits his high. "that's right, take me." he mutters, his chest shaking as he cums; he's moaning loud as he thrusts one last time, his seed coating your walls.

"fuck." he eases, his thumb falling to soothe over your hairline gently as he releases into you. "so good for me, aren't you?"

you swallow, the burning fire of desire still smoldering in your core, your tear trails long since dried, your body exhausted but full of energy. you nod, unable to trust your words.

he pumps into you slowly once more before pulling all the way out, the noise of your slick and his cum slippery as you feel empty without him filling you.

but he's already distracted, his eyes hazy as he watches a bit of his cum spill from your weeping hole, his thumb dropping to slide it back up and into you, pressing against your entrance, your breath catching.

"is it- is it gone for you?" he asks, his voice strained. you don't need to look down to see that the venom hasn't yet run its course through his system yet; his eyes are still alight with the same animalistic desire that you feel pounding in your heart. your feverish sweating, the headache - most of it's gone, replaced with an intense, destructive desire that has you keening into his hand as it cups your used pussy, his eyes teasing.

"no," you moan, "you?"

he's already dropping to his knees as he breathes out, "no."

your eyes widen. in your haze, you're searching for any relief for this growing arousal, the feelings you have for Joel driving you to beg endlessly for him, yet you hadn't expected him to do this. immediately, his hands wrap around your shaking thighs, his breath hitting your bare, throbbing pussy. you can't even think as you card your fingers back through his hair, hips jerking up away from his face as he licks a small stripe over her swollen clit.

you're so worked up that you can't help the tightening coil as he soon dives his tongue into you, cleaning up the mess you'd made between your thighs, swirling around your clit.

you tug hard at his hair's roots, hard enough he's sending a groan into you that reverberates through you, vibrating your chest as you clamp one hand over your lips.

fiery pleasure snakes through your body, your ankles falling over his shoulder onto his back as he eats you out like a staved man. you see his arm moving through your clouded vision and you let out a pathetic whimper as you realize the wet noises aren't just from his mouth on you: he's fucking his fist. his movements make your legs shake hard, eyes rolling back as he sucks lightly before releasing to swirl his tongue.

“Joel,” you mutter, his name the only thing that can come out of your mouth as you can’t help but grind down slightly. Joel's hands are hard on your hips; you know tomorrow as you pull on your jeans, you'll have ten fingerprints marked into you.

it sends a delicious swirl of pride through you as he moans into you, "you taste so good, darlin'.” he mutters lowly before slowly reattaching himself to your heat. your eyes roll back again as one of his hands reaches up to grasp your tit, thumb and finger pinching and rolling as he fucks his tongue into you. one of his hands snakes up to your ass, gripping it tightly and then slapping it, the stinging pleasure making you buck your hips against him.

“Joel, i-” you cut yourself off with a sharp gasp, the overstimulating pressure making it increasingly harder to speak. your toes curl and head tilts back as his teeth graze over your clit, your thighs clenching shut as your orgasm nears violently quick.

"you gonna cum again?" he mutters, barely breaking away from you, his own hand moving fast as he fucks his fist; you yearn to feel him in your mouth, to taste him. “please, please.” you mutter, your hips rocking on him as his tongue swirls, nipping softly at your clit and making you cry out. “please, make me cum, Joel.” you plead, tugging his head closer, his hand slapping your ass again.

and then you're clenching your thighs on either side of him and grinding down as you hit your peak, shaking in pleasure. you grind yourself onto his tongue as he drinks you in, cleaning you of every last drop, his thumb soothing over your hip. he rides you through your high, lapping at you and only pulling away when you go lax on the mattress, legs twitching, gasps ragged and scarce.

you'd have probably passed out right then and there if it hadn't been for his own strangled grunt, your eyes snapping back to him, to where his hand wraps around his own dick, slick with your cum and his own spit.

"Joel," you mumble, cheeks feeling hot as your mind starts to lift, desire yet again pooling between your thighs as you slide down, off the bed until your back hits it, hands caressing over his thighs, "let me taste you." you ask, cheek hot as it lays on his thigh, your eyes begging up at him.

he moans deeply as one had slides behind your neck, steadying you as his other grips himself, "stick out your tongue." his pupils are blown so wide you can only see black. you follow his order, sticking out your tongue as you eagerly lean towards his cock, his brows furrowing as he slaps your tongue with himself.

his hands tug you towards him, your lips tugging over him as you take him into your mouth, trying your best to look up at him. you gag around him as he thrusts his hips forward, your hands flying up to grip his thighs. "fuck, look at you," he moans, his grip tight against your head, slowly starting to fuck your throat, your eyes tearing up. "so eager for me, bet you'd let me fuck you anywhere, hm?"

your face heats up as you hum, unable to say anything as he slides into you, tip pushing against your throat, your eyes rolling back. "yeah, you would. i know you think about it, darlin'. think about it all the time."

you should be embarrassed to learn that Joel had, under more sober circumstances, noticed how you acted around him. but instead you let the trail of spit slide down your chin and onto your bare breasts, your fingers pushing it over your hardened nipples as he pulls off your mouth.

you gasp for air, looking up at him with wet eyes. "get on the bed." he orders and you scramble with weak legs onto the mattress, staring at him, the familiarly torturous desire in you throbbing. his hands push you around until you're on your elbows and knees, his hand swatting your ass. "gonna cum on that pretty ass." he mutters, hand grabbing a handful of the plush skin as he spreads you open, "okay?"

"yes, yes, please." you mutter, face sweaty and stuck with your wet hair as he leans down, spitting onto your glistening, puffy cunt. you're nearly sobbing into the sheets as he slides into your wet, warm hole, his groans just as wrecked as you.

"jesus christ, girl." he mutters to himself as he starts to thrust into you, the new angle setting your whole body alight with the coiled pleasure. it builds fast until you feel like you're on fire, his hands rough against your hips, swatting your ass every time your hips pulled away from the overstimulation.

"you need to come." his breath is hot as it hits your cheek, his chest pressing to your back. he's deep into you, tip hitting your sweet spot with every rolling thrust of his hips. then slipping one hand onto the back of your neck, the other snaking to toy with your sensitive clit.

your legs nearly give out as your back arches, the orgasm crashing over you before you can even register it.

you can't see, blind with the bliss of pleasure; your thighs shake as he mutters dirty words into your ear, Joel's hips stuttering as you clamp and flutter around him, slickening yourself and his pubic hair, skin wet with your arousal. you're so sensitive you can't do anything but take his cock as he fucks you, deeper and slower as though he's coming down with the mind fog just as you.

when he hits his own mind-numbing orgasm, he's pulling out of you fast and finishing in hot spurts onto your ass, streaking up your lower back and sliding down into your quivering core.

your name is the only thing on his lips as he slowly slumps down onto the mattress next to you.

you both wait; it's silent besides your sniffling from the overstimulation and the soreness of your throat and Joel's labored breaths. you both wait to see if that torturous feeling comes back to your groins, suffocating and clouding your judgement.

but instead, the fog clears, and within five minutes of silence and stoicism, you're sure that whatever the venom was, it'd passed through your system. "Joel?" you whisper it, cracking slightly. you hear his head shift; he'd not looked at you at all. you're not sure you blame him, embarrassment creeping through your face. but not regret. definitely not regret.

he whispers your name back, and there's a vulnerability in it that has your eyes snapping to his, searching for the dilation of his pupils, any sign to show the venom was still in his system. you can't find any. "do you- is it gone? for you?"

he blinks at you once before nodding his head, "yes. n'you?" you nod at him, muttering a small, "yeah."

he knows he should go get a cloth to clean you up. he'd possibly have to help you up, help you dress... his throat dries as his now less foggy brain recovers the memories of moments ago; the size of your pupils blown out with lust. he looks over you; he'd ruined you.

another wave of self-doubt runs through him; you were not like him, you weren't bad like him. you deserve better.

but the way you stare at him now, as though you want nothing more than to do what you'd both just done every day with him...

he opens an arm, accepting you as you slide your limp, exhausted body against his own naked form, his arm squeezing you to his chest as he sighs deeply. you nuzzle your face into his neck, your own heart racing just as fast as his.

he feels like a damn fool - it'd been far too long for him, he's not sure how to approach these feelings he harbors for you, so he'd hidden them down with anger and irritation and eye rolls; but now he's gone and fucked you like you were just some other whore.

his lips press to your forehead. he doesn't think he can say anything, not right now. he still feels like he's got a fever, and by the looks of you, you feel it too.

so he hopes the kiss he tenderly lays on your hairline says what he can't: he's sorry he was rough with you. he hopes you're okay. he hopes you don't regret it. he hopes you know... he hopes you know it wasn't just about that damn plant’s venom.

he pulls away from you after just a moment, rising to tug on his boxers. but as he crosses the threshold into the bathroom to gather a washcloth for you, your soft voice stops him.

"Joel." you mutter, eyes nervous, exhausted. he stops, looking at you.

you're just as nervous as he looks; you're unsure how to interact with him now, the man you trust with your life, the one who acts like he hates you, the one you know probably loves you; and then you'd fucked him like he was just a dick, though you wish you could tell him: he's so much to you.

"that wasn't-" you're unsure how to convey it, "it wasn't just about the-whatever that plant was. I don't regret it. and I hope you don't either." you're glad it sounds as genuine as you feel when you say it. you want him to know he didn't hurt you. and you hope you didn't hurt him.

his face flashes with relief, with adoration. "I don't." he says, turning from you quickly.

and if his lips ghost over your knees and leave goosebumps on their wake, if his hands soothe gently over every budding bruise of his handprint on your hip; you don't mention it now.

if he gently and devotedly wipes you both clean, if your hands fold together as he settles back down against you, if your hearts beat together as you settle into the fever nap that claims you both; you just smile gently at his bashful grin.

and if your lips brush against each other just before the sleep takes you both; well, then you'll talk about it all later.

taglist: (message to be on joel miller taglist/regular tag list.)

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #the last of us #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #joel miller x you #joel x reader smut #joel miller x reader smut #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal x reader

1K notes · View notes

eldritchplantmom · 2 years

Text

//hey would any of u be mad if i was kinda crack with this character

#i will shoot you with my gun // ooc #it would Be Nice to actually try to play as Rem but ive been 404ing on it since i like made the blog #so i think not taking it v seriously may give me the gumption to try again #i just wanna be funny plant mom

2 notes · View notes

frissy · 1 year

Text

Earth42! Miles Morales x fem!spider/1610!Reader

(Part 1) Part 2

MAJOR ATSV SPOILERS

• Earth 1610 Miles Morales

• You are also a spider person on Earth 1610 with Earth 42 spider DNA like Miles

• Takes place right before, and when Miles (and you) are sent to Earth 42

• possessive Earth 42 Miles

• You and Earth 1610 Miles are not in a romantic relationship

• mentions of death, guns, and blood

• violence

• angst and fluff

• some OOC Earth 42 Miles

• not proofread

Let’s do this.. one more time. Hey, I’m [name] from Earth 1610. You’ve heard the story before, I was bitten by a radioactive spider. And for over a year, I’ve been one of Brooklyn’s spider-people, along with my best friend, Miles Morales.

We keep the peace in the city, and we protect it. but.. sometimes it’s hard. Keeping our normal lives balanced with our crime fighting lives… but somehow, we still find time for each other. . End of introduction….

“DON’T LET THEM LEAVE. THEY CAN’T LEAVE.” Miguel O’Hara was shouting out at every other spider person trying to get to you and Miles.

It turns out, you guys were anomalies. You weren’t supposed to be spider-people.

But the chasing was no use, you two already made it to the machine that could send you home.

Somehow, you two managed to get inside as the almost mechanic-looking-spider began to crawl from the celling and read your DNA and build a web around you two to send you home.

But Miguel lunged over, clawing at the web, almost breaking it. He was trying to get to you and Miles. But it was no use. The avatar, who responsible for the machine looked at you and Miles with sympathy. And she pressed the ‘yes’ button to send you home. .

You both were shot onto a roof of an apartment complex. The one that Miles lived in. However he was lucky, and ended up near his room. .

Meanwhile you were shot out onto the roof, hitting your head. On concrete, which knocked you out. .

with miles…

“Miles?” A familiar voice echoed. Entering his room. It was his mom! .

“Mom!” He walked over to her. “what did you do to your hair?”

“nothing? Mom. I have to tell you something. But you have to promise me you won’t get mad.”

“Of course Miles. What is it?”

“you’ll still love me, right?”

“yes of course. Now what is it?”

Miles took a deep breath.

“Mom.. I’m Spider-Man.”

… “who’s Spider-Man?”

his stomach dropped. He tried explaining to her.. but she was brushing him off.

“So, you shoot webs out your butt?” She laughed. “No.. but I did have a nightmare about that once—“

He heard the apartment door open. He felt sick. Even more sick when he heard his voice.

it was his uncle Aaron… but how.

He couldn’t understand what his mom and uncle Aaron were talking about. He was in shock. But Aaron noticed him.

“Miles. Lets go.”

“oh.. okay.” Miles left his room. Walking with his.. uncle out of the apartment onto the roof.

Meanwhile…

“ah.. fuck.” You groaned, standing up. You couldn’t believe you got knocked out like that. You rubbed your head.. then you looked up.

Brooklyn was in shambles. .

Then it all clicked. This, this was not your earth.

You remembered Miguel’s words. .

“BECAUSE OF YOU TWO, THERE’S AN EARTH OUT THERE WITH NO SPIDER-MAN TO PROTECT IT.” .

How stupid could you and Miles have been? The machine reads the spider DNA.

the spider was from Earth 42… not 1610. You were mortified by this Earth’s Brooklyn. .

But it got worse. So much worse. You turned around.. facing a giant brick wall. Miles’s dad was staring right back at you. .

But your own face was looking right back at you too. .

You felt like passing out again. .

You were dead, you were dead in this universe. .

The door to the roof open. Put came Miles… and Aaron. He looked just as mortified as you. Seeing Brooklyn, and the mural.

That’s when you felt a sharp ping in your neck, and the last thing you heard was,

“I TOLD YOU TO WAIT!”

Your body didn’t hit the ground.. someone had caught you in their arms.

“I told you to wait for my signal.” Aaron said looking at his nephew, who held you as if you were as delicate as porcelain.

Who held you how he would always do.

Aaron had Miles slumped over his shoulder.

“I know. Unc.. but couldn’t help it.” .

Aaron sighed, and looked at his nephew who’s looked at your unconscious, breathing figure as if he had just found something that had been lost for a long time.

he looked at you, barely whispering, putting a hand on your cheek. “Mi querida..”

Aaron sighed at his behavior.

“That’s not your girl.” Aaron told his nephew, “Remember that.” He said, pointing at the mural behind him.

Miles didn’t reply. Instead he brought your body closer to him, and held you tighter.

He wanted to feel the ride and fall of your chest.

He wanted to hear your breathing.

And doing that, he felt something he hasn’t felt in so long. .

“I know she’s not my girl.” Miles replied. His voice was shaky and he didn’t take his eyes off you. .

But I can make her my girl.

He thought to himself.

TO BE CONTINUED….

#angst #miles morales #jefferson morales #rio morales #across the spiderverse #spider man: across the spider verse #across the spider verse spoilers #oneshot #loss of a loved one #tw mention of crime #earth 42 #miguel o'hara #spider man #earth 1610 #I love Earth 42 Miles so much Omg #miles morales 42 #prowler miles

726 notes · View notes

reve-writes · 1 year

Text

—if i'm dead to you [1]; leon kennedy.

ʚ leon kennedy x reader | resident evil | 1,5k words. ʚ chapter two. | you betrayed him before, resulting in a failed mission and a preventable death. years later, you cross paths. ʚ angst. profanity; violence; non-canon lore; reader murdered someone; very loosely set in re4. ʚ a/n this will have a second part! i don't write for leon a lot so he may be ooc, sorry for that. i just wanted to write some lovers-to-enemies angst while being knee-deep in leon brainrot.

"I should kill you," he theeatens. You feel the hard muzzle of his pistol on the small of your back, almost feel the coldness of the metal against your skin despite the jacket you're clad in.

God, you missed him.

"Leon," you greet casually, even as you put your hands up in a surrendering manner. He presses the gun harder—a warning. One you're choosing to ignore. "Come on, puppy. We both know you're not going to shoot."

His voice is cold when he responds, venom lacing every syllable. "Do we?"

Your heart clenches, but then again you deserve every bit of anger he throws your way. His icy tone feels so much worse than any wound you've ever had in your line of work. Each words lodging deep inside you, like a bullet without an exit wound.

“Leon,” you try again. His name flows smoothly out of your lips as if you've been saying it your whole life. Even now, as he's threatening you, your body seems to remember him anyway—gravitate towards the pads of his fingers, the warmth of his torso. You thrum with the yearning to feel his skin on yours again as much as you don't deserve to. “We can talk like civilised people.”

“We're past civilised for a while now,” he retorts, but the pressure loosens. You take your chances and slowly spin on your heels to face him. A mistake on your part. Your heart swells at the sight of him. His blond hair, sweeping over his ears. The blue in his eyes, hardened from years of experience as an agent. The set of his jaw. Your hand twitches with the desire to touch him, feel his lips against yours once more.

What do you even say?

Apologising seems like a callous move. You didn't bother to apologise five years ago. It changes nothing even if you do apologise now, because you'll do it all over again. Instead of spinning more lies or desperately trying to bury the elephant in the room, you opt for the truth.

“I'm glad you're well, Leon.” You swallow, trying to clear the scratchiness of your voice from the lump forming in your throat.

His brows furrow. His gun is still aimed towards you, but his hand is trembling ever-so-slightly. “Don't do that.”

Your head tilts to the side. “Do what?”

“Try and act as if you're not the biggest fucking liar I've ever met,” he snarls. “Fuck this. Fuck you.”

It stings. Every word acts like lacerations on the fickle little thing beating inside your chest. Your hand shakes, but you flash him a tight-lipped smile instead.

“I suppose I deserve that.”

“And a whole lot more.”

A beat passes, and then two. It doesn't seem like he's going to serve you your retribution.

You're taking in his appearance and he looks at you, so many thoughts racing in his head. Too many to pick out just one. He takes a deep breath, trying to calm the roiling anger in his veins—to keep the red at the edge of his vision instead of blinding him.

“What are you doing here?”

“You know I can't answer that.”

“The least you can do is answer my questions.” He grits his teeth. “Then again, whatever you say is most likely a lie.”

“I'll take my leave, then.” I'm glad I get to see you.

He kisses his teeth in annoyance. “Goddammit, ___. Are you really not going to say anything?”

You clench your fists, nails digging into your palms. “We don't need to do this. I'll stay out of your way.”

“What about Tracy?”

The name brings up a clear picture. Pig-tailed brunette. Fifteen years old. Freckles dusting her cheeks. The gap between her front teeth when she smiled.

Tracy Miller.

That was the name printed on your mission file five years ago. Your mission partner was Leon Kennedy. Both of you were newbies in the field, recently recruited after what went down in Raccoon City. It was supposed to be an easy mission, anyway. You were starry-eyed, excited to spend a little more time with him, giddy for experience in this godforsaken field.

Your mission was simple. The fifteen-year-old prodigy created a strain of virus. You were supposed to bring her in for questioning. They were planning to confiscate the research.

Until you were approached by your current employer—a group of self-righteous assholes whom you've caught the attention of. You were presented with an offer, but it was never much of a choice. Kill Tracy, get rid of the possibility that the virus could ever soread. You would never say yes. Never in a million years would you have aimed your gun at a helpless child.

Until they mentioned him.

It didn't take much for you to throw your morals to the backburner when it came to Leon. He was their leverage. If you didn't work for them and dispose of Tracy, then he would die. Their words over the static of your phone are the start of this nightmare.

How sure are you that you can protect him from us?

The name Tracy brings up an image. A loud ringing in your ears. The thud of her body hitting the ground. The click of your gun as it fell to the floor, a bullet missing from its magazine, lodged in the girl's skull.

You steel yourself, echoing empty words you don't quite believe in. “I did what needed to be done.”

You walked away from him. Your shoes knocking against the docks of the lake. As soon as he's out of sight, your knees buckle and you fall. Blinking your eyes, you realise that you're crying.

You don't have time for this.

Not in the middle of an infected village where its residents can appear anytime, hurling an axe at your skull or brandishing a pitchfork, fully intending to kill. There's a mission to accomplish.

Dammit.

You're filled with contradictions. Even as you curse to yourself, standing in front of him like a deer caught in the headlights, there's a part of you that lights up when you bump into him again. It overshadows the rational part—the one that dreads another confrontation, risking the exchange of words as sharp as daggers into each other's hearts.

He immediately levels his handgun at your chest. You drop yours.

“Shit. I didn't know you were here, Leon.” This is one truth that you can offer to him.

“Am I supposed to believe that?”

You sigh, spotting a hostile in your periphery ready to lob a machete at you. “Duck.”

Even if you're the one who cried wolf, the one who once served a lie so grave on a platter without batting an eye, his body responds, immediately falling to a crouch before he can even think about it. It's how the two of you operate in Raccoon City and the countless missions that follow after that. Complete trust. That's why your betrayal feels like a thousand cuts to him.

You curse under your breath, side-stepping the machete. You swoop down for your dropped gun, shooting the infected resident three times before he falls to the ground. Your gunshot is loud, drawing everyone and their mothers out of their houses.

“Great,” Leon complains under his breath.

It's a dance you remember. The way your body so naturally presses up against him to cover each other's backs. The familiar little commands the two of you exchange as you take down enemy after enemy.

“She's just eating my bullets!” He quips, dropping an empty magazine out with one hand, the other already pulling out a new one out to reload. “Shit.”

You chuckle. Suddenly, you're back in Raccoon City again. Two naive twenty-something-year-olds keeping each other alive. Leon and his quirky comments. You and your light-hearted laughs.

The last shot rings and the two of you let out a relieved sigh.

“Great work,” he says before he can stop himself, falling into old habits.

You smile—that million dollar smile that does unhealthy things to his heart. Do it again. A voice in his head says. He frowns, clenching and unclenching his fists, trying to shake off the stupor that remains after the fight.

Tracy Miller. He'll never forget the day he failed the young girl. The day you broke his trust. He swears he hates you. He wants you dead for what you did.

“You're not half bad yourself, Kennedy,” you answer.

He turns around, going to sow his rewards after all the shooting. “Stay out of my way. I won't hesitate the next time.”

The coldness returns to him. You tighten your jacket as if it can help shield you from the chill, but this is a small price you have to pay for his life. You prefer to have him absolutely loathe you than buried dead six feet underground.

You wince, walking away. “Take care, puppy.”

The nickname slips out of you and his step falters for a second. You notice—you notice every fucking thing he does bevause his presence alone heightens all your senses.

It gives you hope, a small one—one you don't deserve. Maybe. Just maybe. He'll forgive you someday.

[ ]

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #—ki writes 🍯

757 notes · View notes

kastelixa · 5 months

Text

Instead of posting pointless callouts, use your brains.

tldr: some of yall need to learn what a fucking block button is

Genuinely what is so hard about pressing the block button? Like omg I promise no one cares about your fuckass callout posts or rants. Like some of these people are embarrassing as hell. If you get triggered by shit on the internet, it’s YOUR decision on wether or not you want to interact or block and move on with your life. Like brother, i’m not going to throw a fit and freak out over some post that just so happened to contain weird shit on it. You know what I do? I MOVE ON WITH MY LIFE. Because I got better shit to worry about than some random ass fic on tumblr.

You like ddlg? Cool. Doesn’t hurt me or anyone, I don’t care. You like incest? Good for you! You like noncon? Okay! Like do y’all see how easy it is to just smile and nod? Trust, policing what people post and enjoy, is not going to change shit. It’s just annoying as fuck. People pick and choose, because some of the shit you all consume wouldn’t be considered normal either, going by what you all say.

According to all of your logic, blood kinks, knife kinks, gun kinks, piss kinks, and etc. should not be normalized either. Murder shouldn’t be written about, especially gore. Which is fucking moronic, considering how RE is built on violence and gore. Please, learn how to separate fiction from reality.

Many people are fans of iconic slasher films and horror movies. Michael Myers is a rapist and a murderer. But guess what? No one CARES! Because he’s not REAL. I could go on with so much more examples, but you should get the point by now. Hopefully. Dark content is everywhere, why is it now that it’s weird? Makes no fucking sense.

I get that some of you don’t want your precious white boy’s image to be tainted or defamed or whatever, but trust, Leon Kennedy is not reading these fics nor would he care. ‘He’s not a rapist or into incest!’, well he also wouldn’t call you ‘sweetheart’ or whatever cheesy bs fluff fics contain nowadays. But that’s the whole point, isn’t it? It’s all OOC. We KNOW he’s not a horrible person or an incredibly affectionate lover, but people write whatever they want. And no one’s going to stop them! Not the posts clogging up the tags or the weird asks.

There’s so much more, but the main arguments that keep being repeated are ‘it’s weird’ and ‘if you write about it, you’re probably going to do it in real life’. That take is so fucking stupid I can’t help but laugh. Same bs as white moms claiming their son is going to shoot some place out just because he plays violent video games. The whole point? SEPARATE FICTION FROM REALITY. And if you don’t like something? IGNORE IT? Why are you willingly engaging like omg are you stupid or dumb.

OH AND. ‘kids could see this!’ When will you all learn that no matter what you do, you cannot control what a person sees or decides to interact with. Especially minors. I’m willing to bet half of a smut writers followers are minors. Guess what? People lie all the time, about their ages and whatever else. It’s the fucking internet, of course they do. It’s not the responsibility of the blog owner to take care of children. The most they could do is plaster a big fat MDNI on their blog, that’s it. It’s the job of the parents to control what their kid watches or consumes, and we can’t exactly help with that. So don’t pretend to gaf about minors like omg.

Anyways. I’m too lazy to continue writing like I just needed to say this because some of you are slow. Me and many others are going to continue to write whatever the fuck we want. In conclusion? Block if you don’t like it LMAO. I don’t care about what some rando has to say on the internet.

#🪼☆.thinking #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x y/n #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x y/n #leon s kennedy x you #dark content #some of yall r DUMB

190 notes · View notes

no-sleep-for-insomniacs · 5 months

Text

Marble Hornets spoilers below

cw: talk of childhood Schizophrenia, guns, not mean but kinda serious rant

You know what I see all the time in the Creepypasta and even the Marble Hornets fandom that makes me so sad? The mischaracterization of Tim/Masky. Everyone always writes him as this cold, uncaring, crass edgelord, who doesn’t care about anyone but himself. It honestly makes me question if the author has even watched the source material. Because it you’ve watched Marble Hornets it’s fairly obvious that he’s an incredibly sensitive and caring person. Sure he can be “harsh” sometimes (in quotations because it was completely warranted) but that’s because he’s **emotional** and has **feelings**. When Jay was sick and unaware of himself or his surroundings, Tim took care of him and even sacrificed some of his meds (which he doesn’t have a lot of because they keep getting stollen) to try and help Jay. And during that time in the background of a couple clips you can hear him talking to Jay in a patient and loving voice, trying to comfort him. Then near the end when Alex was about to shoot him, instead of running away or attacking Alex, he took the time to try and warn Alex that he wasn’t defeating The Operator, but just doing it’s bidding. He tried to tell Alex that he went through the same thing and he can help him fight it. Again, even though his voice was raised, he was speaking in an incredibly compassionate and understanding voice, because he was feeling **empathy** for him. Even when he was first roped into the whole mess, he wouldn’t have helped Jay if he didn’t care about Brian.

All that said, I don’t have a problem with Tim being written in this way. It’s just when people treat this as cannon is what makes me uncomfortable. As someone who developed Schizophrenia at a very young age (probably around the same age as Tim) I have always struggled with paranoia of people assuming the worst about me or thinking I’m a bad person. This was probably because of something called Rejection Sensitivity Dysphoria. I think this is why it pains me so much when people think of Tim as this mean, rude, harsh person. I’m probably just projecting my experiences onto him.

This isn’t me trying to ask people to stop writing Tim in this way. That would make me a hypocrite, because I enjoy reading ooc works. But I am just asking people to acknowledge that this isn’t cannon and (based on my experience) would probably make the actual character uncomfortable.

peace and love 💕

#Marble Hornets #Tim Wright #Tim Wright Marble Hornets #Jay Merrick #Jay Merrick Marble Hornets #Alex Kralie #Alex Kralie Marble Hornets #Masky #masky marble hornets #creepypasta #ooc #out of character #Schizophrenia

162 notes · View notes

ghostaholics · 1 year

Text

ᴍɪsᴄᴏɴᴅᴜᴄᴛ

SUMMARY: Ghost doesn't tolerate bad behavior. PAIRING: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x fem!Reader (drabble) WARNING(S): illicit relationship & power imbalance; dom/sub vibes (brattiness); this is not that fleshed out but I think their background is enemies-to-lovers; fingering; ruined orgasm, but he makes it all better, sorta; oral sex (receiving) A/N: this is OOC but I still wrote it anyway because my mind would just not shut the fuck up W/C: 2.1k

HE HOLDS YOU THE SAME WAY HE HOLDS HIS GUN – with all the confidence that he can take you apart and put you back together again like it’s muscle memory.

It's not pride. It's just fact.

He wants to know the inner-workings of your brain. He wants to know what makes you tick. Hell, all he wants to know is what it's like to be inside of you.

He’s still wearing his clothes – jacket, trousers, and boots – everything down to the signature gloves and the fabric balaclava that masks his face.

You, in turn, have nothing. It’s a very unfair playing field – one that you hope to level soon. But Ghost has always been mountains above you even before the current circumstances; you've never turned down a challenge, though.

"Maybe..." he says, musingly as he stands at the foot of his bed, "I won't let you come."

It's a taunt, one that you happily indulge.

You wet your lips in anticipation. You're excited – hungry for it. Back and forth. Pressing his buttons, and in return, learning your place under his direction. A provocation to take up with the same kind of resolve you'd had when the rules said that you couldn't do it because he's your superior, your Lieutenant – it swells inside you, profuse – fills you up to the brim.

(Illicit. A violation of boundaries. Conflict of interest.)

But look at where you are now. You’ve managed to fucking do it.

It's so overwhelming that you can't possibly stop the next words that you fire back, like loaded bullets, full metal jackets shooting off at the mouth: "Maybe you just can't make me."

Ghost seizes you by the throat – hand so big it engulfs your lower jaw too; sick with power, the thought infects him like an all-consuming disease: he could crush your windpipe if he wanted to. It’d be so easy. Apply pressure. But only enough to provoke a sharp intake of breath. (You can take it.) "God, the fuckin' mouth on you," he growls.

Your voice, breathless under the force of his hand and far too flirtatious for your own good: "I can show you what else it can do." A shameless smile stretches over your mouth as if he doesn't have a noose around your neck – a palm instead of rope but equally as unforgiving.

His eyes burn holes into you. They smolder. And his temper? He's fuming. Underneath the surface, but raging all the same, make no mistake. There are a lot of things he’d like to do to you that would wipe the grin clean off your face and scrub the insubordination from your brain. "Think I’d rather take an apology, first."

"Oh," you lament around a pout. "You'll be waiting a long time before you hear one out of me."

The answer is an act of arson; it reeks of gasoline. Octane. It’s a fuel that you douse onto ever-growing flames. Scorched earth policy, like you want to sit back and watch the world go up in smoke, embers and all.

"Trust me,” he says, shucking his gloves off –doesn't want to get them dirty with your recklessness. (At least he can wash this sin from his hands later.) “You’ll feel sorry by the time I’m through with you.”

So how far can you push him? Turns out, a lot. More than you’d anticipated, actually, because earlier:

“Don’t test me.” “Why?” “You won’t want to find out.” “I think I do.”

His fingers brutally stuff your cunt, and your walls eagerly accommodate the stretch around the width of him. An uninhibited moan wretches itself from your throat at the intrusion. You clamp onto his arm instinctively for purchase. He's got you filled to capacity.

"You're so tight," he murmurs, feeling around for a bit, searching for – there it is. He hits that little spongy spot inside, and he knows he's got you. His digits slide through your hot core in that come-hither motion, and he's enticed by the way your body convulses at his discovery. He's addicted to the sensation, already knows he'll never be able to find anything else that gives him a high as good as this – that he'll never be able to quit you. Perfect, so perfect. The craving is bad, like he's been stabbed full of needles and shot up with something that he knows will have him hooked forever.

You rut down, hips canting as you fuck yourself down on his fingers, meeting him thrust-for-thrust because you're just that needy for it.

He collects every moan like it’s payment, and after the defiance you've been throwing his way, it's the least that you owe him.

And—

He doesn't need to do it – you're already soaked. But he fucking spits on your pussy anyway. Yeah, that’s good. So bloody fucking good. He watches it mix with your arousal. Slickness, everywhere. It leaks out of your puffy folds, juices running down to the juncture of his wrist where his tattoos start – floods the gaps in between the ink of his sleeve. He's aching for more.

Filthy. Filthy. Filthy.

You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch the sight. It's lewd. You nearly collapse on the spot.

But still, you capture his wrist, nails sinking into his flesh as he continues to pump in and out of your sopping cunt. You’re so wet, it’s almost embarrassing. You don’t want him to stop. You have to keep him there forever. "I'm close," you croak out. "I'm—"

"Gonna come now?"

A familiar wave of heat starts to crest within you. "God, yes." It surges, rises hard and rises fast. The feeling is blinding.

"That's it," he says around a low rumble of approval. "Give it to me."

It's the final tipping point to send you over the edge – no return. Euphoria is within sights. You're flying to a climax and it's right there, so close you can almost touch it and—

He snatches his fingers away.

You come around nothing.

You're yanked back into a cold and disappointing reality. It's disorienting. The heat fizzles out so fast it’s like a bonfire during a downpour.

That ecstasy that had been building up passes through you like a phantom. It's just gone. Goddamn it.

"No, no, no! Fuck, Ghost! What the fuck?"

You didn't finish. You didn't get to the end, because he took it from you and snuffed the life out of it with no remorse.

It's what he does best.

You're drowning in your own bitter rage, reeling between riptides of ire and violence. The feeling is highwater. You want to commit atrocities against this man.

He draws his fingers into his mouth, mask pulled up for a fraction before he sucks, eyes lazily flicking over to you – you’re the picture of red-hot anger and burning insolence. Deep satisfaction settles in his bones. He lowers the balaclava back to where it was. "You taste sweet," he comments, almost absentmindedly. "Shame the personality doesn't match."

You're seething, a temper bristling with unfathomable resentment. "You're so fucking mean."

"Hate me all you want, love. We both know whose cock you get wet for at the end of the day. You wouldn't be here otherwise."

He calls you the term of endearment as if he cares. You aren't stupid. That’s not what this is. His tone is laced with derision.

"Unbelievable," you mutter. "I'm gonna have you court-martialed for being such an asshole."

He chuckles darkly. "Let's try this again."

The first day he met you: Your file, in big bold letters with an extensive skillset, and one section that stood out to him: INTERROGATION. Everything redacted. "How good are you?"– he'd asked. "That's classified, sir. But all you really need to be worried about is that I know how to make people talk." Smartass.

"I wanna... oh, God. Let me come. I want it, need it," you moan. He's been continuing his onslaught for too long, and you can't handle it.

"Where'd all the attitude go, huh, love?"

The whimper is high in your throat. "Please."

"The begging's a nice touch. Unfortunately, it won't save you now. I’m already fresh out of fucks.”

“Simon—”

He wouldn’t call you a whore, but that’s exactly what you sound like.

Your composure snaps.

"I'm sorry," you gasp, wrecked.

Finally.

His voice is devastating – a sawtoothed-edge that threatens to tear you apart. "Done playing games?"

It sends cracks throughout your fortitude – fractures spidering along your backbone. It’s a thousand splintered fragments.

Something in you shatters. It feels a lot like your self-respect.

“Yes, sir.”

This is rock bottom, a callous reminder of where the two of you stand. You despise using his title now more than you do out on the field.

“Yeah,” he agrees, “thought so.”

He kneels in between your legs, has your thighs wrenched open between the sheer size of his bulky shoulders. Simon lifts the edge of his mask up to settle onto the bridge of his nose, just to expose the bottom half of his face – sharp contour, a determined set to his stubbled jaw. It’s not all of him, but it’s enough. Simon’s mouth is on you in no time flat. It's not something he'll admit, but he’s starving for this. Ravenous – a carnal appetite. He wants his fill. Lust gnaws at his gut; it bites away at his resolve.

"Tastes so good," he grunts, sending vibrations rocking through you. His tongue laves over your clit, your entrance, lapping it up, taking what he wants. "Anyone ever tell you how much of a brat you are?" he asks, voice like gravel.

"Christ, shut up," you mumble pathetically.

Simon sinks his teeth into the side of your thigh to show his displeasure before turning his attention back to the task at hand. He's amused at the way you curse at him for being a bastard. More passes at your clit that make you tremor under him – he could get drunk off of this. It sends a nice buzz to his head better than his favorite whiskey.

His tongue is wet and soft, dipping between your engorged folds and making the nastiest noises. He's licking his way into your cunt. "Fuck." Again and again, using his mouth to rip those pretty sounds from you – the moans and everything, he'll drink it all up.

He adds his fingers back to the foray, knuckle deep. A high-pitched whine leaves you, cresting into another low moan as you adjust around the familiar feeling of the heavy and thick drag of his fingers through you; it almost makes him come, untouched.

"Ah, Simon," you whimper.

He lifts his head, chin drenched. There's a glossy sheen to his lips. Thoroughly wet. So much. You can feel it pooling under your ass, too. The sheets are saturated. That's all you. "I'll let you come this time," he rasps, sounding just as bad as you.

And at that, you don't care. Nothing else matters anymore.

You chase the high, white-hot pleasure mounting to a fever pitch. It strikes somewhere deep inside you. Blinding ecstasy swallows you whole. It’s cataclysmic. Bliss surges through your veins. “Oh, fuck me,” you choke out, arching off the bed. Your body's wracked with spasms. It's the hardest you've ever come in your life, and you hate that he's the reason for it.

Beginning and end — everything in between, and all at once — he's there. Simon continues, even after you ride out the rest of the orgasm, working you through the entirety of it – a mercy that he grants you for your earlier penitence until you're spent and oversensitive. It's charity. He's just that generous.

"Fuckin'... just drippin' all over my fingers," he growls, "can't wait to see what kind of a mess you make on my cock. I'm gonna ruin you."

"Yeah?" you say, in between shuddering breaths.

"Mm."

You've gotten what you wanted from him already, so a vain attempt to save face: "Do your worst."

The switch is instant. His eyes flash to yours in warning. "How many times am I gonna have to prove you wrong today?"

That same smile again, the one that spells trouble – it's what started this in the first place. “However long it takes until you make me cry, maybe.”

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost #ghost smut #simon riley smut #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #call of duty smut #call of duty fic #simon riley fic #ghost fic #smut #simon riley x you

1K notes · View notes