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tieronecrush · 5 months

Text

so much wine

joel miller x reader

summary: christmas is difficult for joel, with and without you.

rating: M

wc: 2.8k

warnings: no outbreak, angst MAJORLY, alcohol consumption, drunkenness, acts of mild violence (NOT towards reader or any other person, it is toward an inanimate object), joel hating christmas, grief, anger, depression, big big feelings, mention of break up, sad joel, angry joel, resentful joel, reader trying to make christmas nice, um i may be forgetting some so if you notice any big ones lmk!

a/n: ya girl is always on her angst grind. ESPECIALLY around christmas cause....issues. hope you all find the means to enjoy this lil one shot based on one of the saddest but still incredibly beautiful christmas songs. here's the link to the song! tysm to @northernbluess & @kiwisbell for beta-ing and encouraging me to post this. love you both xx

“Tommy?”

“Hey, m’so sorry to be callin’ ya on Christmas Eve. I know…Well, I know this is probably the last thing ya wanna be hearin’ but I really need your help. It’s Joel…” The noise level on the other side increases with a gust of rowdiness, clueing you in that he must be at a bar. You press the phone tighter against your ear, listening to Tommy ramble off reasonings for your help interwoven with profuse apologies. Guilt hangs heavy inside of you, the soft music and glasses clinking in the other room a reminder of your own Christmas Eve plans. How it’s supposed to go every year. Peaceful, light, fun, full of love. Your holiday with Joel looked different. Full of love, yes, but overwhelming, stifling with grief.

“I’ll be right over, Tommy.” You can’t turn away, you can’t hang up and go back to your life tonight. Not with knowing how much pain Joel’s in.

The tree lights up as you stick the plug in the socket, your nightly task for the last month just as the sun sets. Clear, warm bulbs illuminate the otherwise dark living room, shining out to the street as a beacon of a lived-in home. Reflections of warmth bounce off of the shiny glass ornaments littered around the branches, heirlooms from your family, and some you’ve collected yourself. Combined with ones from Joel’s past. It’s not cohesive, but it’s a beautiful smattering of your lives. Pine wafts from the sappy center of the tree, filling the room with the scent of evergreen, tinged with the stuffy warmth from the central heat.

You’d decorated the tree on your own a few weeks ago. Joel helped you pick up the tree from the sale lot in the H.E.B. car park, strapping it down in the bed of his pickup. More than willing to help you get it inside, into the basin, and secure it tightly to avoid any accidents. But that’s when his assistance stopped. No humming along to the Christmas CDs you queued, no suggestions of festive movies to watch, no sneaking some Bailey’s into the mugs of decaf coffee you brewed to keep warm. Instead, he retreated up to your bedroom, shutting the door behind him and effectively shutting you out for the evening.

Tommy’s truck pulls into the driveway, dropping off Joel for the holiday after last-minute projects were tied off. Joel had mentioned grabbing a drink with Tommy, to celebrate another year gone by with their new business venture, Miller Construction. You didn’t think anything of it, wishing him a good day that morning and sending him off while you prepped dinner and baked cookies to bring over to your parent’s house tomorrow.

As you sit down on the couch, Joel fumbles at the door with his keys, finally getting them jammed in and the lock turned. He stumbles inside, tripping over his own feet despite his eyes being trained on them, grumbling to himself as he frustratingly kicks off his boots. You stand up to greet him, a warm smile on your face faltering when he looks back at you with a scowl.

“Need a drink…” he slurs, avoiding you completely in the middle of the living room, frown lit up by the tree. Joel treks to the kitchen, straight for the whiskey bottle that he takes a long pull from before filling a glass halfway. The amber liquid sloshes as he turns to look at you, holding out the crystal tumbler.

“You want some, baby? S’Christmas Eve! Everybody thinks it’s something to celebrate, right?”

It never snows in Austin, but driving down the highway with your windows down, it smells like winter. Crisp, cool air rubbing your cheeks raw, running your nose. Thin air, fresh. A medicinal feeling, like inhaling the menthols you used to smoke. It’s freezing, but you can’t bring yourself to roll up the windows, to close yourself into your car as you cruise on the open roads. Everyone’s tucked away at home, with family or friends, while you drive towards something as familiar, but much more grisly.

Christmas carols crack over the stereo, painting visions of picture-perfect holidays, the feelings of joy, love, belonging, and warmth that you’ve craved for him since you met him. Something you so desperately wanted to drip back into his life from your hand, dribbling water to a lightless soul.

The glass is empty now, bottle as hollow as Joel’s eyes look. He stands in front of the tree, studying the decorations with a freshly opened bottle of wine in his grip, one you were meant to bring to your parents tomorrow. His brows haven’t relaxed, not one stitch unsewn since he walked in the door. Mumbles of anger have rolled from his chest, never directed toward you, but aimed at the world around him. At the holiday. At the lack of presents addressed to his daughter under the tree, the missing duties of playing Santa.

You met Joel after Sarah passed. He spoke about her often, telling you all about his little girl who was funny, bright, bubbly, better than him in every way. She’s been gone for a handful of years now, the tragedy worn on Joel’s face and in his curls; aged and grayed. He was still so handsome, still held a smile for you despite the deep, open aches he feels the pains of every day.

Never having a holiday with him, you didn’t know that this is ‘just how he is’. Tommy had heeded some warnings to you, had called you in a whisper as he pulled away from the house that evening with apologies — ‘I tried to cut him off, but when I left for a minute to go to the bathroom, he’d gotten the bartender to pour him another double…I tried to take it, but he wouldn’t…’

You expected feelings these days, this month, the whole season. How could a father not miss his only child when the rest of everyone’s happiness, luck, blessings are thrown back in his face? But this…this was a different Joel. Someone angry, someone cursing his own existence. He fumbled around the living room, shoving the coffee table when he bumped into it, picking tinsel off the tree and tossing it to the ground.

At the time, it seemed like a good idea to intervene. To attempt to talk him into bed, or at least into eating something and laying down on the couch. Other issues to address in the morning when he was sober.

Now, you know that was a mistake.

“What do you want from me? What does my brother want from me? Am I just supposed to get over it so everyone can have their merry little Christmas?” His voice strings words together, his drawl thicker with inebriation. Wine splatters across the kitchen tile, Joel’s arms swinging around as he speaks with his hands.

“No one is ever asking or expecting you to get over it, Joel. We just—I don’t want you to be like…to feel like this. Sarah wouldn’t want you to—”

He doesn’t raise his voice. Joel never raises his voice. The calm chill of his voice sends a wash of anxiety over your entire body, words punching clear now despite his physical state.

“Enough. Don’t even say that 'cause you wouldn’t fucking know.”

The freezing air fills your lungs, choking out as it stifles your inhale. Strong heaves of breaths expand your lungs before they squeeze out with sharp exhales, the coughing fit morphing into sobs. Tears blur your vision, flowing over your waterline and burning hot against your cheeks. Carving trails across your face with iron branding. Find the same paths of all their predecessors, all that came before them for the very same reasons.

You manage to pull off to the side of the road to compose yourself, parking near enough to your exit. Slipping out of the driver’s seat, you open the door and tumble out, talking yourself down from hysterics. Wading through the thick emotions, the unresolved slashings of anger and frustration, the unanswered love.

Facing the midnight sky, twinkling spots stare back at you, reminding you of your size in the world. How large everything feels, how all-consuming. How it doesn’t seem to be felt all the same by the one person you want it from. Need it from.

Struck with a flash of a star falling against the black backdrop, there’s a brief moment when you think it’s Santa Claus. In his sleigh pulled by reindeer, riding around to deliver joy to families across the world. Another reminder of how small you feel. How much like a kid you feel. Unsure of where you stand in his life, uncertainty facing your future, undecided in what is the right thing to do.

The sky kaleidoscopes in your watery eyes, small shining bursts gazing back at you. And your first thought is how similar they look to Joel’s eyes that night. Sad, glossy, shimmering with anger that sat long enough to finally introduce itself as grief.

You stayed out of the way after that. Let him drink himself into a hole. Dinner is left untouched until the later evening when you wrap it all up and store it away in the fridge. Noting another bottle of wine gone from the cabinet.

Joel’s corralled upstairs with less persuasion the drunker he’s gotten, craving the comfort of your shared bed the closer he gets to passing out. He trips over his feet while you walk behind him, a hand pressing into his lower back to direct him. Hiccups shake his body. Teeth stained red. Life sucked from the day, no more chances at honoring memories, no more magic left to make something special for Joel. Nothing that can sprinkle some goodness into his life.

He’s got an iron grip on his resentment, on his rage. Understandably.

But that grip drops his hand from his happiness, from his comfort, from his remembrance. It all slips through his fingers now, grains of sand falling through the lines in his palms, the ridges of his fingerprints. What was so ingrained in him, years ago with his daughter, days ago with you, is easily forgotten as the monster of misery uses your kindhearted man as a vessel. Rendering him unrecognizable.

Taking in his sleeping form, fully clothed and half covered with a quilt. He was out as soon as his head hit the pillow, his coping catching up with him to finally receive the desired effect — feeling nothing. Turning his brain off completely, emptying him to float in a void for at least one night.

His lips parted with slow, even breaths. Brows relax, falling back to lift his eyes, despite them being closed. Delicate eyelashes lay against his cheeks, and you watch as a smattering of exhausted tears slip from the corners of his shut eyes. No more stubborn will to hold them back. The first real emotion you’ve witnessed all evening.

It’s another moment before you turn away, filling the empty glass at his bedside with water from the bathroom tap. Avoiding his soft sleeping form and your empty side of the mattress, you pack a small bag to retreat to your parent's house, a short note left for Joel in the morning inviting him over when he’s feeling up for it.

One last glance at him drives an ice pick into your heart, warm blood pooling around your feet matching the shade of red on his lips. It feels cruel, to pack up and leave for the night, but without knowing if this charade continues through the next day, you don’t quite feel like sticking around to find out.

The bar is busier than you would have thought, with a good amount of groups growing rowdy for the holiday. You imagine they are there drinking in camaraderie, in celebration. The opposite to your Joel. He’s slumped over the bar in his green flannel, hugging his broad frame that shields him from the joy raucous of the room.

Tommy stands next to him, hand on his shoulder in an attempt to draw him away from the wooden bartop, to get him away from the stool and the glass filled with amber liquid.

When the bartender greets you while you approach, Tommy turns toward you, sighing and shaking his head as he leans into his older brother to mumbling loud enough for your to overhear as you settle behind Joel’s seat, “M’sorry I had to do this, Joel, but you’ve got to get home…”

Joel grumbles, shrugging off his brother’s hand. When he’s turned to address his brother with a protest, he catches you in the periphery, reacting with a molasses-like double take. Angling in your direction from his perch on the worn leather barstool, his eyes widen in shock, and he swallows hard. The drink in his hand is left discarded on the bar top, Tommy signaling for the bartender to come by and grab it while Joel stands dumbfounded by the presence of you.

“Sweetheart…”

The name is a punch in the gut, recalling every other time it raised goosebumps in its wake while it was whispered against your skin, each time it was tacked onto a gentle tease, each time it was spoken in place of feelings he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, communicate to you.

Recovering quickly, you right yourself internally, rising tall and holding your shoulders back while tender kindness masks your anguish. A head shake draws up a watery expression despite your efforts, your smile plastering onto your expression. Joel frowns, seeing straight through the guise.

“C’mon, Joel. Let’s get you home, yeah?”

Both of you stare at the hand of yours laid on his bicep, radiating heat from the contact that starts to melt the ice that froze your feelings for him in place those months ago. Joel is the first to look away, the burn of his saucer eyes drilling into your profile.

“No. No, I don’t need to—” he argues, always a mule.

“Joel,” you interrupt, voice thickened with sentiment, “please. I wanna go home. Let’s go home.”

The statement isn’t a lie. The furthest thing from an untruth.

It’s exactly what you have been wanting to say to him for months, feeling untethered and lost. You’ve been aimlessly searching for that same solace elsewhere. In other places, in other people. Nothing could compare. Joel is home. And all you want to do is return, to feel safe and warm and welcomed at home. To feel as if there is room for you there, that you aren’t driven out by the torment that tortures Joel, and in turn, you.

That’s what gets him to agree. The promise of home, with you there with him. The same piece he’s felt missing, the second heart of his home stripped from him because of his unwillingness to let up his grip on his anger and resentment. Because of his resistance to cradle his comfort, his contentment, his love for you.

“You wanna go home?” A nod answers him, rolling his actions into motion, “Okay, okay. M’gon—gonna take you home, baby. We can…I can give you your gift.”

“Sure, honey. We can do that in the morning,” you counter, the corners of your mouth turning up for a split second when Joel agrees.

His large form falls from the stool and into his brother when he attempts to get up. It’s a dance between the three of you to get him into your car and to his place. Tommy follows, there to drag him up the stairs with you behind, a hand on Joel’s lower back. He preens into every touch from you, glancing over his shoulder to check that you’re still there. That you haven’t left again. You can’t help but notice the living room illuminated by a Christmas tree, the smell of pine filling the house and the delicate glass ornaments placed carefully around the tree. He tried this year.

You do stay. This time you’re sitting with it all, ready for the confrontation of the next day. With Tommy gone, you and Joel are left alone with each other for the first time in months. In your old bedroom of all places.

Joel sits at the edge of the bed, head hanging in shame while you kneel in front of him, tentatively laying a hand on his knee.

If this time is going to be different, you need a reason to stay. A single brick taken out of his walls, the signal of the start of a wreckage that you will happily clear so long as you can have your Joel feel like a semblance of himself again.

“You’re always gonna see the bottom of your glass, Joel. Nothing can save you from that, not even all the drink in the world. It’s all still going to be there. You have to decide to face it.”

It’s quiet for a moment, the only sounds filling the room are your slow breaths in sync with each other’s. Joel picks his head up, angling it to look down at you directly. Tears have carved channels into his face, fight leaving his eyes as he opens his mouth to speak in a rasped whisper.

“Sarah always loved Christmas...”

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#writing #joel #joel x reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fic #joel miller angst #tlou fanfiction #tlou fanfic #joel miller x gn reader #joel x gn reader

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dearhargrove · 1 year

Text

True colors

Summary Ethan would always protect you. Even if he had to go against his family.

word count 1610

tags violence, blood, scream 6 spoilers, probably unrealistic but whatever :)

a/n idk but u couldn't stop thinking abt this so I wrote it heh. Pls enjoy 🫶🏻 also im morally this is very wrong and that he actually kinda coo coo towards the end of the movie but I'm delusional and gonna keep believing he was how he was most of the movie. Also yes the title is inspired by the song from the weeknd I'm sorry I couldn't think of anything else 😭

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You're standing in the middle of Sam and Tara as Bailey explains how he was the one behind all of this. You're just as shocked as the two sisters when Quinn takes off her mask and grins smugly.

The attention turns to the other Ghostface next and no one moves for a second. Bailey nudges him with a disgruntled look and they move, taking the mask off.

Your breath stops and your tears blur your vision as Ethan stands there, eyes desperate as he looks at you.

"No, no, no this can't be, please…" you cry out and shake your head, still in denial.

"(y/n)..." He tries and his voice sounds just as shaky and desperate as yours had seconds ago. "No, don't-", you're crying against Sam's shoulder as she cradles you against her protectively.

"Please, I never hurt you- I would never hurt you!" He tries again, and you can hear he's close to tears as well. You hiccup and wipe your eyes, turning around slowly.

"Ethan, you murdered one of my closest friends," he flinches as if he didn't know what he had done and you walk closer to him as anger takes over the absolute desperation you were feeling.

"That wasn't me!" He yells. Quinn interjects from behind him, proudly pointing to herself as she claims it as her own doing.

"Was this all fake to you? To get closer to Sam and Tara?" You ask, and when you're close enough, you look up and push him back with a hand on his chest, sneering. He tries denying it, "No, please, I really do love you!"

"If you did, you wouldn't have done any of this."

He chokes on a sob and chokes out another apology as his father speaks up. "You think he did anything? He was useless in this whole plan, kept saying how he couldn't hurt you, and how he would just kill Sam in the end instead of doing anything else." Bailey scoffs, and you frown.

Your head is basically exploding at this information. It certainly makes you feel less repulsed towards Ethan, but did it matter when he helped his father with this plan, anyway?

The boy in front of you hangs his head in shame, and you instinctively reach out to lay a hand on his shoulder in a reassuring motion, pulling back quickly after.

You were lost - you loved this boy, and you could easily tell when he was lying, just as you could tell he was being truthful about this. But still, he had also been an accomplice to two killers.

You definitely didn't trust him anymore - how could you? - but you couldn't just stop loving him. You turn to Sam with a lost expression, and she seems to understand, sighing.

There seemed to be a mutual agreement between you, and she huffed. She turns back to Bailey and Quinn, the two frowning at the closeness between you and Ethan.

"Get back here, boy," Bailey scolds, and Ethan sways, his fists clenching. "If you go now, every chance you have with me is gone."

He looks up again, and his expressive eyes meet yours. There's fear more than anything on his face, and he turns to look at his dad and sister before turning to you again.

He tilts his head with a frown and puts a hand on your cheek before pulling your body in front of his chest and holding a knife to your throat in one quick movement. You gasp and grasp his forearms, did he just act remorseful to kill you?

He leans forward, "Trust me," he whispers before taunting Sam and Tara about how they'd lose. Your heartbeat falters at the warmth, radiating off of him and the general comfort he gave you.

You give Sam a look, hoping she understands, but Tara is already off to fight Quinn, brick gripped tightly in her hand as she hits it over the other girl's head.

You wince at the resounding crack and turn to Sam hurriedly, Ethan walking backward with his eyes on his dad, who was watching with an approving smile. "See? Knew you could do something right, son."

Sam takes off to the man, leaving Ethan and you without any attention on you. He leads you to the back of the stage, curtain hiding you from sight.

You crouch down behind some furniture that was definitely rotting and look at him. His knife laid next to him as he kneeled next to you, anxiously surveying the area.

"Why'd you do it?" You whisper. You genuinely wanted to know. He exhales and settles his eyes on you for a moment before looking towards the doorway again.

"I... wanted dad to see me for me. Not just Richie's brother or an accomplice. As his son."

You feel remorse for him, your gaze softening, and you take his hand again, the familiar feeling making you feel less on edge. "I see you for what you've shown me of yourself. But I don't know if that was a lie. If… our relationship was even real." It hurts to say, but it's the truth - he was okay with killing, something he'd kept hidden from you for more or less good reason. What else did you not know about him?

He hesitates and fidgets with his hands, "At the beginning… at the party. I didn't have to get close to you. Dad said it'd be better if you trusted me since you're close with Sam and Tara so he wasn't against it, he just didn't tell me to do it." He starts.

"Did he tell you to get close to Chad and the others?" He nods solemnly and you hum, motioning for him to keep going.

"The more we talked the more I started liking you and.. he didn't like that." He frowns and looks around again before hurrying up, "I told him and Quinn not to hurt you and that if we had to kill you I'd do it. I would've never done that but at least they wouldn't have tried anything." He looks at you for a reaction and though you're shaken you're also surprised he was so adamant on keeping you safe from the beginning.

"Thanks," it's basically a question but he chuckles and shrugs, nodding.

"It wasn't hard to fall for you. I never really fit in so when you just went with everything I did and cared-" he smiles with a slight flush on his cheeks and under different circumstances you would've cooed at the endearing sight.

"I knew you would find out about this," he motions to his robe, "so I thought why not? And then I confessed. I never expected you'd like me back but you did," your heart clenches when he says 'did', as if he expects you to have stopped loving him in the short time you've known about all of this, "And I've never been happier than when I came to class and you were waiting somewhere for me."

His shoulders shake nearly unnoticeably but you still see it, and you watch as he hastily wipes his eyes.

"Oh, Ethan…" you mumble and pull him into a hug. He reciprocates it after a moment, his arms wrapping around your waist as good as he could with both of you kneeling in a dusty corner with the smell of rotting everything around.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he breathes and you place a hand on the back of his head. "I know," the moment is interrupted when two gunshots sound through the theater and the screaming goes silent.

He lets go of you and grabs his knife again. You wait with bated breath when footsteps start approaching and someone calls your names.

"Ethan- ah, there you are," Tara had a wound in her stomach, and there was blood splattered over her face. You smile in relief that she was, at least to an extent, okay, getting up to hug her.

She laughs, and you know it's pure relief that you were still alive. When you part, she turns to Ethan, who was standing off to the side with furrowed brows.

"You," she starts but you interrupt her. "He saved me. And he explained it. I know you don't trust him but please," she's conflicted and just stares at him, not wavering even as her older sister comes up behind her as well.

"Tara, it's okay. Trust her with this."

The younger girl huffs but nods, taking Sam's offered hand. "Listen, you tell the rest of the group the truth and the police that you were manipulated or whatever." She orders and he nods, quietly thanking her.

The pair of sisters walks away after that but not without Tara staring at Ethan with a harsh glare once more.

He shrinks even more into himself and you're somewhat glad he was still the shy bean he was before.

It took everyone some time but now, almost half a year later, you're sitting in Sam and Tara's apartment, having dinner together.

Ethan was sitting next to you, holding your hand under the table and talking to Chad. You smile happily and lean back in your chair, watching everyone interact calmly.

It had taken Mindy the longest to trust Ethan - though you're unsure if she does - but she tolerates him by now.

Your gaze falls back to your boyfriend, his fingers playing with your bracelet.

You don't think you'd ever be able to forget all of what happened back then but you stopped associating him with it quickly enough. Ethan turns to you with a confused head tilt, squeezing your hand in question. You just smile and lean against his shoulder.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #jack champion x reader #jack champion #scream 6 #scream iv #scream #tara carpenter #sam carpenter #ghostface

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year

Text

“Bitch.”

She was already scowling, but her frown deepened into a wicked sneer as she flexed her injured hand – the imprint of your teeth visible and pronounced against the meat of her palm. You hadn’t meant to bite her, but that didn’t matter, not to her, not when it came to you. She didn’t need an excuse to hurt you, just an opportunity, and you’d been stupid enough to give her one.

Her eyes flickered towards you, towards your crumpled body where she’d knocked you to the floor. The janitor’s closet she’d shove you into was dark, letting the harsh, phosphorescent lights of the school’s hallways silhouette Whitney; turn her into some great, looming monster with bleach-damaged hair and a mutilated mini-skirt. You could just barely make out the grin, wry and careless, that spread across her lips as she crouched, cupping your chin, pressing her thumb into your jaw with too much force for the gesture not to be deliberately malicious. “Now, that’s how I like to see my slut. On your knees, staring at me all doe-eyed and shit.” She paused, taking a moment to dig her nail into your cheek and savor how easy it was to make you wince. “You’re lucky I’m such a busy woman. If I had a few minutes, I’d give these losers a show and fuck you on the floor, make sure you get what you’ve been damn-near begging for all day.”

“Please, I—” You didn’t have time for her bullshit. If you missed a class, your grades would drop. If your grades dropped, Winter would notice. If Winter noticed, he’d question whether or not you were “dedicated enough” to deserve your part-time job at the museum, and if you got fired, you wouldn’t be pay Bailey at the end of the week and if you weren’t able to pay Bailey—

“I have to get to class,” You spat, if only to get yourself out of your own head. “Whitney, I don’t have time to—”

“God, you’re such a fucking nerd.” Her tone was demeaning, teasing, but her grin didn’t falter. “See, that’s the problem. You’ve been brushing me off every time I try to get a little quality time in, and I’m starting to get lonely. Is it a crime to miss my favorite slut?”

“I’ve got time after school, a-and I’ll eat lunch with you tomorrow.” Begging, now that reasoning with her had failed, pleading. Not that falling back on the blank, hope-eating void where her heart should’ve been had ever led to anything but disappointment and suffering, for you. “I can’t afford to do this, Whitney. I— I’ll fail a test, and get fired, and get evicted—

“I know.” It was almost a mercy that she didn’t even pretend to care. At least she knew what she was doing. At least she couldn't say she didn’t know how badly she was going to hurt you. “Maybe, when you’ve given up on that stupid fucking job and gotten your ass kicked out of that shitty orphanage, you’ll remember who really takes care of you.”

She leaned in, pressing a lingering kiss into your forehead. You tried to melt into it, to salvage what scraps of kindness she was willing to offer, but even your desperation was misplaced – betrayed with an airy chuckle as she dropped lower, nipping at the corner of your jaw before running her tongue across your cheek and shoving you backward, leaving you on the floor as she stood.

The last thing you saw was Whitney, a twisted smile painted across her lips and a glint of something cruel in her eyes, before the door slammed shut, a lock clicked into place, and you were left in hopeless and impenetrable darkness.

#woman loving wednesday #on thursday #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #degrees of lewdity #yandere degrees of lewdity #yandere dol #dol imagines #dol x reader #dol whitney #whitney x reader #yandere whitney #yanderecore #yancore

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pedriscroquettes · 1 year

Note

☀️ #1/2 for pablo torre please xx

anywhere – pablo torre

prompts: forehead kisses, and smiling through the kiss & resting their forehead on the other’s after a kiss

warnings: none except really cute fluff?? lots of spanish slang???

listened to a rock and a hard place by bailey zimmerman & jersey giant by elle king just so y’all know how fluffy this is.

the darkness that engulfed the room made you wonder if you were still dreaming and if the loud sound that came from the bathroom had even occurred. you were about to fall asleep again thinking you were just hearing things but soon a small mumble could be heard from the bathroom and you noticed the empty space next to you. you reached over towards your nightstand to check what time it was on your phone.

4 am.

you couldn’t help the disappointed sigh that escaped your lips. you took a few minutes to wake yourself up and made your way towards the bathroom. you were met with a half awake and half asleep pablo upon your entrance. he was currently picking up some of your lotions from the ground while still rubbing his eyes awake.

“pablo…” he turned around to face you. “you promised you would stop doing this. it isn’t healthy for you.”

the brunette had been waking up in the early hours of the morning just so he could be the first one to practice as well as to get some extra hours in the gym. you had found him sitting at the kitchen table asleep and had made him promise he would sleep for another hour or two. there was no reason for him to tire himself just to end up in the same situation over and over again. you hated seeing himself burned out just for him to see the game like a spectator instead of playing in it like he dreamed of.

“joder, me asustaste.” he combed his hair with his hand. (fuck, you scared me.)

“a lo mejor te lo mereces por la manera que estás actuando.” you grinned proud of yourself. (maybe it’s what you deserve for the way you’re acting.)

his expression falters for a moment as if he was trying to figure out how to defend himself. you can see the wheels turning in his mind. you’d known him for years, you knew when he was about to have a serious conversation and you could sense one coming up.

“i just don’t want you to feel like you moved here for nothing.” he blurts out.

“what are you talking about?” you’re concerned for him now.

“i feel like i’m letting my family, my friends, and you down every game. i never play and now they want to send me to scotland. there’s nothing wrong with ireland but we just moved here and i don’t want you to leave somewhere you just got adjusted to. if i manage to prove myself we don’t have to go through that.” pablo’s cheeks are flushed by the end of his rant.

“pablo, look at me.” he turns around to face you and step closer to him as you cup his face. “i have followed you everywhere. i left santander for you, trust me i would follow you to ireland too. and listen to me carefully when i say you have never let me down except that time you refused to let me take a picture with lewandowski.”

pablo can’t help but laugh remembering how you had told him that lewandowski was a dilf. he had never let you near him again after that.

“i just don’t like that you come to all the games when you could be studying just to see me on the bench or run around for at most fifteen minutes. i know how much your degree means to you and i don’t want to move you around anymore.” he tries to explain his point of view.

“i really appreciate how much you care about me pablo i really do but you’ve got to take care of yourself as well. i go to all your games because i support you even if you don’t play. as for my degree there’s universities in scotland too. it’ll be okay whatever happens just don’t burn yourself out.” you try to reason with him.

he can’t help but embrace you wondering how he had gotten so lucky. you’d both had been so supportive of each other ever since your geography teacher had paired the both of you up for a project. initially he had just invited you to games just for the sake of it but soon enough he had started dedicating his goals to you. he kisses your forehead as he remembers how you’ve been there for him, always.

“you’d actually move to glasgow with me if for some reason i do get loaned?” he whispers.

“only if you let me talk to robert before you leave.” he steps back glaring at you. “i’m just kidding pablito. i’m here in barcelona aren’t i? obviously i would go anywhere with you.”

“no me gustan tus gilipolleces.” he says sternly before breaking into laughter. (i don’t like your bullshit.)

“you love me.” he leans in for a kiss.

a kiss that you’ll probably never erase from your memories by the way you both smile halfway through it. pablo can’t help but rest his forehead on yours internally thinking about how he had won the lottery with you. he was eternally grateful for the project about central american nations his teacher had assigned him all those years ago. he also puts a reminder in his mind to thank you later because he missed the feeling of his comfortable mattress.

#my first fluff ever??? cheers!!#pablo torre #pablo torre imagine #pablo torre fic #football imagine #football fic #ash writes #ash answers #ash’s big 300

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ashersanity · 4 months

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Look, I know that Johan is a red flag made up of other red flags. I know logically that I couldn’t make him better, rather he’d make me dead. But I still want to consensually hold him tightly and tell him that what happened to him wasn’t his fault, that he deserves so much better, that he should be allowed to torture and murder Whitney without any legal repercussions.

YOU CAN’T DO THIS. YOU FUCKING CAN’T JUST LEAVE THIS SHIT IN MY INBOX AND EXPECT ME TO BE NORMAL ABOUT THIS, NOO.

THE ANGST AND THE COMFORT?? FUUUCKKK.

Think the truly sad part about it would be Johan’s reaction to your actions and words, having gone through his whole life, wearing this mask on his face. All smiles, gentle expression on his soft features, dead, hollow eyes that betrays what the truly lies underneath. Would probably stare at you with that exact face for a good few seconds, wondering if you’re actually joking or not, if this is some sort of sick trick to get him to be vulnerable again. Before, well, eventually, those lush pink lips of his, always slightly quirked up to form a smile slowly falters into a straight line, tightly pressed together. He’s not used to receiving such treatment and wouldn’t know how to react, nor would he exactly feel anything either.

Sorry to break it to you guys, he cannot be saved, not after what happened nor can he be redeemed with what he plans on going through with. Like a fallen angel that’s lost his wings long ago, banished to the burning pits of hell or whatever shit, man, I didn’t read the lore. He was fucked up from the start to begin with, just that Whitney hit a string deep within him that shouldn’t have been touched to begin with so now he’s after him.

Random Johan lore below, fucking scroll if uninterested, thanks!

Johan and Whitney actually go a long way back, knew each other as kids, fitted clothes forced onto their smaller frames that barely fit them, stubbed fingers hidden beneath the oversized sleeves. They were not friends, nor were they enemies, they were just sort of.. there. Y’know, crossing each other’s paths at times by pure chance, never really taking a second flitting glance back to look at the other. Well, Whitney did but that’s something for another time.

Johan could be as you call it, a model student, the kid next door that your parents bemoan and complain about how you should be more like him, impossible standards supposed to be met. The kid that everyone can’t help but be drawn to, pretty face and angelic features, scrunch of his cute nose whenever he doesn’t get the texts in the advanced books he reads, whenever someone were to tease him about his appearance, “adorable thing” they’d call it. “Your boy is quite the looker, bet he fetches for a high price.” They tell to Bailey who simply doesn’t respond, too busy, hung up on other things that need taking care of. Basically, a perfect angel. You would’ve never expect anything bad out of him because oh, how could he do any wrong, how could he commit such atrocities such as Whitney?

Whitney, the snotty, noisy brat that’s always out to cause trouble wherever he goes, probably bringing his little gang with him that he’s already formed lmfao. Tanned skin littered in bruises and bloodied cuts from fights, tumbling out on the park’s ground, from being too reckless and impulsive as usual. Overall, he’s a fucking little shit and I wouldn’t be surprised if every adult that came across him were itching to spank that nasty, potty mouth out of him.

Either way, they did know each other in a way. Though there was one thing that Whitney knew about Johan that other kids did not. He is not fucking sane in the head, fucked up little guy. I forgot to talk about his psychotic tendencies, didn’t I? I don’t remember what entirely, but pretty sure killing animals for fun as a kid or at whatever age is a sign of sociopathy or psychopathy. Not sure which, maybe both. Johan did that, did it to satisfy those urges that’d cloud his mind deep in the night, pristine, unblemished skin on his fingers, tainted in the blood and flesh of the animals he’d find in the forest, ripped to shred.

Poor Whitney who just happened to stumble upon him at the worst of times, one eye covered by his fringe as he gazes back at the other’s bloodied hands, dead animals corpses held in the palm of both his hands. Oh. Oops. It’s true, Whitney does do fucked up shit at times like uhhh, bullying other kids and harassing them but nowhere was he at the level of Johan who’d calmly dissect these little critters, peel the flesh off their bones as if it was just an orange.

Long story short, the bully was horrified and probably started a whole rumour about how Johan was some freak who liked to torture animals for fun. Not that he was wrong though who is he to accuse the boy of such things? That’s right, no one believed him in fact. Johan, innocent little Johan that eagerly attends the sermon every Sunday, clasped hands in a prayer, the boy who cheerfully helps everyone out in a time of need. How could he do any wrong?

Surely Whitney was lying.

Surely so.

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little-peril-stories · 1 month

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Find the Word Tag

I was tagged by @tabswrites in this post here. I was also tagged here by @kaylinalexanderbooks. Thank you!

My words (round 1): try, bright, teeth and smile

My words (round 2): tool, personal, appear, sour

Gently tagging (no pressure): @oh-no-another-idea @verba-writing + open tag

Your words: bristle, teem, small, perchance, sound

All of these come from the various TPOT-related short stories I've got hanging around!

Try - Are You Nobody, Too?

I whirl around, stupid Stella’s stupid voice in my stupid brain. “Don’t you dare try anything, Henry Bailey. I’m trusting you, and if you—” “Jeez, Lucy.” He sighs and takes a step back. “This doesn’t seem much like trust, does it?”

Bright - Are You Nobody, Too?

Outside, the wind picks up. Autumn is in full swing, with maple leaves now the colour of crabapples, some of them already starting to fall and coat the ground, painting it the hues of the season—sun-bright yellow, brilliant orange, and of course, blood red.

Teeth - When the Snow Falls

At the graveness of his son’s tone, and how it perfectly imitated the dour seriousness of a stern-faced schoolmaster or perhaps a proselytizing pastor, Dad muffled a snort of laughter and pressed his teeth into his knuckles.

Smile - Are You Nobody, Too?

“One week,” I say. A smile spreads across his face. “A few days off. Time to practice. And then in a week, I’ll take you up on your stupid offer. And I’ll win.”

Tool / Personal - As Good As Gold, and Better

...I put my attention back on Will. I didn’t really know what I was doing when I told him to help the children put their ornaments on the tree, but he’s doing a splendid job, so much that I almost want to let my hands fall still so I can keep watching him. He’s got this great silly smile on his face every time he kneels down to talk to one of them, and even though they’re so much smaller, none of them seem the slightest bit frightened. One of the little girls—of course, it’s the one with personal space issues, the one who crawled under my legs earlier—even leaps into his arms out of sheer excitement to put her messily drawn star as high upon the tree as she can reach.

Appear - It Isn't Much, But It is Enough For Me fun fact it's been retitled and it's now called Making Home

“Don’t play with fire unless you want to get burned,” Colette echoed, glaring him right into the kitchen, though Jamie could see the laughter trying to fight its way onto her face. Her grin faltered as she caught Jamie’s eye, and they both seemed to have the same thought at the same time. When Jamie glanced over at Geoff, he, too, appeared to be thinking it—the creeping sense that Colette’s warning applied to more than Will’s childish aversion to work.

Sour Bitter - Are You Nobody, Too?

He is, and maybe I’m a fool for taking him up on his offer, but for the first time in weeks, I’m feeling something other than the empty dread these long, bitter days have brought.

#word find tag #find the word tag #tag game #lps the prince of thieves #open tag #writeblr open tag

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starpirateee · 1 month

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Hey! Could I request a continuation of the shitty cops fic where one/both of them come out to the other? I really like their dynamic + how you write them :)

I mean, if you must... /j

Okay okay I kid. I still hate Sam Sweetly, but the shitty cops shippers have found me, so... Here's to living peacefully?

"Nah, y'know, I don't think you'd have been the only one to ralph after seeing that shit."

Sam smirked like his cocky edge had never been lost. "What's the matter, Oliver? Scared of a little blood?"

Bailey rolled his eyes. In confrontation with Sam, he found it best to rely on his instinct to keep him going. Sam didn't have the necessary number of braincells to actually think about a response, so often it was just best if he didn't think either. "I'm not the one of us who got a weak stomach over some kid." He said, matter-of-factly.

Sam lost his cool then. He'd had enough of this shit from Farris before he left the scene, which was the main reason why he hadn't told Bailey. Because Bailey was an absolute bastard for this kind of senseless drama, and he knew he'd turn it into some kind of huge deal.

So, he turned on him, grabbing both lapels of his leather jacket and digging his fingers in deep. In a couple of lengthy strides, he had him pinned against the wall, inches away from that stupid face of his. "Listen to me good, fucker. You don't get to say shit about me, cos I know you're nothing better. Think you're all high and mighty, but you're nothing more than a shit scared little pansy."

Bailey smirked as he felt his back collide with the wall, gazing intently into Sam's icy cold eyes. "You don't have shit on me, you greasy fucking rat."

"Wanna bet?"

"Go on, then. What've you got?"

"You didn't do that case last year in that old fuckin' house, cos you can't stand the thought of ghosts. Fucking ghosts! They're not even real!" He scoffed, pushing harder and really selling the point of driving him into the wall.

Bailey's head ended up inches away from slamming into the wall, and for a moment, his smirk faltered, but he managed to regain his edge. He had him with that one, though how he'd found out was another matter entirely. "Doug didn't go either. What, you gonna accuse them of some bullshit claim like being scared of ghosts too?"

"How the hell d'you know they didn't go, huh?"

"Cos I was here all day, wise guy. So were they."

Sam heard footsteps behind him. Bailey watched Shapiro walk down the corridor and stop just behind Sam. He had the gall to nod at her, forcing Sam to scowl.

"Sweetly, Bailey... If you're gonna fuck each other on work hours, at least keep it private, huh?"

Immediately, Sam flushed a violent shade of crimson red. Bailey laughed so hard he snorted, and managed to shift when Sam's guard dropped enough that he loosened his grip.

"The hell you mean, fuckin'?!" Sam growled, turning his gaze. "Him?" He nodded over his shoulder to an amused looking Bailey, but didn't seem to catch his expression. "I've got standards. This ain't it."

"That's a bar you'd have to jump over just to meet," Bailey retorted, one eyebrow raised. "And even then, you wouldn't come close."

"Shut the fuck up you cocky bastard." Despite the way his tone hadn't changed, there was a part of Sam that was rather glad for his pissed off front right now, because he was quite surprised to have been proven wrong in his assumptions.

Bailey was very much the kind of man who would loudly protest he wasn't into men if that was the case. The fact that his comment was only followed by another- albeit laced in more smugness- sparked a certain curiosity. He looked right into Bailey's eyes and watched the fluorescent lights dance in their depths.

Oh no. Not today. He hadn't had a proper kick at romance since he was seventeen. It was a kid's game. He was not going to start again today.

Besides, Bailey's eyes couldn't even decide whether they wanted to be green or brown. It was stupid. Probably for the best that he wore those shades so often...

"Make me." Bailey muttered in a way that almost made him blush harder. He knew what was going on here, he could see it in the way Sam's cocky demeanour broke.

Sam let go, but not before one last shove, about as hard as he could manage. Then he stormed off, leaving Bailey trying to get his breath back, and Shapiro still standing in the corridor, watching him go.

"He's a... Fucking mess," he heaved. The laugh that followed sounded pathetically weak, but he supposed he did tell Sam to make him shut up, and he didn't seem the type to man up and kiss the breath out of him. He stood up and straightened himself out. "God, you could... Smell the whiskey on that fucker."

Shapiro raised an eyebrow. "Are you into that, Oliver?"

Bailey stopped dead in his tracks, and shot back a glance that looked twice as offended as he felt. Maybe he could find himself into it, but god forbid, he wasn't going to admit that, especially not to Shapiro of all people. "I have standards too, y'know..."

"Sure you do, Bailey. Sure you do..."

"Hey! you don't seriously think I'd go after that bastard, do ya? He should be the one comin' after me." His shoulder blades felt tense after being slammed so fervently against the wall, but for some reason, he couldn't say he hated the feeling.

It only took him a few minutes to get his breath back, but his shoulders ached for a good hour afterwards. Long after he walked away, long after he tried to make a plan to avoud Sam as much as physically possible... It wasn't going to be easy in such a small space, but god was he going to try.

Because if there was one thing he knew about Sam Sweetly, it was that, if there was a bar for standards, he would work his cocky ass off to vault that bar.

And there was a damn good chance that he'd clear it too...

That was not something he was going to think about. That was something he couldn't afford to think about.

#starkid #officer bailey #sam sweetly #void offering #star mail #nova's tags →#a sequel? to the fic where sam puked in a high school?? more likely than you think apparently #i dont even know what to say!#the shitty cops shippers have found me!!!#which means i have to write about sam!!!#and once again i find myself obliging #because my friends on tumblr dot com asked for it

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m0ckest · 7 months

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Bailey-Moon Low-CC Makeover

Octavia & Thorne Bailey are today's hottest musical power couple, with Octavia being the lyrical genius behind all of Thorne's hits. But due to multiple public mishaps, his image has started to falter and fans are starting to realize who the real talent is of the duo is. Their good-natured son Orange has an interest in music, but due to an entire life of wanting-for-nothing, he is also a bit naive.

No-cc version available on the gallery @m0ckest🖤 See my other low-cc makeovers here

Years ago, Thorne's career blew up when a song written by him and his then-girlfriend, Octavia, caught on and was played to death on the radio. With her help since then, he's managed to become a huge name in music. He's also amassed a reputation as quite a party boy. The tabloids have loved him as a subject, eating up photos of him blacked out drunk, possibly spotted on secret dates, and a plethora of other stupid shit.

Still, Octavia stays. The public wonders why. Her confident stature and surefire wit say I'm better than this man but she's never bad-mouthed him or expressed any desire to break up, either publicly or to her fans.

What they don't know is that Octavia simply does not give a fuck. She doesn't care that her husband is an idiot who might be sneaking around with the actress of the week.

What they also don't know is that for years, Octavia has been lowkey building her brand. She has a solid foundation of fans who love her song-writing, a growing community of readers for the short stories she self-publishes, and the tightest network of publisher, developers, writers, and musicians from Del Sol to San My that one can find. It won't be too long before her first book is announced, and when fans start demanding a solo album... well, it's already in the making.

She's extremely happy with life with her son, as well as her feats. She's seeing bright stars and soft clouds for her and her son's future. The only thing that concerns her is how close Orange and Thorne are and how closely Orange's mannerisms mirror his fathers. He's a charming boy, but how will he be when he gets older?

No-CC except for my defaults and a couple skin details. I’ve added some relevant relationship levels, preferences, skills, degrees, and more.

Unedited, no-cc:

#m #townies #sims 4

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phillyphangirl · 2 years

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Schwarber was a cutie.

#philadelphia phillies #phillies #kyle schwarber #bryson stott #bryce harper #brad hand #nick castellanos #bailey falter

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baseballjerseynumbers · 9 months

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Bailey Falter takes 44. Last worn by Rich Hill earlier this season.

#Pittsburgh Pirates #bailey falter

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angrelysimpping · 2 years

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what do u think the LIs + Bailey’s reaction will be when they all find out that the pc is two timing all of them? Like,, the pc is really strict on not wanting to have sex with some random people in the town and shit but is getting it on with their 7 lovers? if u can’t tho that’s fine!! feel free to ignore this!!

jdfsdsfjh

They are not happy with you. It’s cheating, isn’t it? Having all these lovers and none of them knowing about the others? So, they’re all pissed, in their own way.

DoL Relationships; GN LIs + Bailey (they/them); GN Reader (you/your); abduction; cheating; manipulation

Alex

Alex is ready to fight! They want to fight! Will try to keep you on the farm. Will physically fight anyone who comes looking for you. Falters at Bailey and Eden, though.

Avery

You’ll be lucky if the only thing Avery does is cut you off. Not likely to try to fetch you from any of your more possessive partners.

Bailey

Pissed that they ever grew attached to you enough for this to hurt them. 50/50 on if Bailey locks you down, keeping you in the orphanage and not allowing anyone else to come near you, or if they drop you, cut you off completely. Only interacts with you when demanding their payment. Is probably harsher when dealing out punishments, but they might not. They might act like you’re so beneath them that you get the same punishments as anyone else.

Eden

You’re not leaving the cabin. The moment Eden has you again after finding out about you running around with anyone else, let alone seven other people, Eden revokes town privileges. Hell, they revoke all privileges. You’re demoted back to pet until it’s proven that you can be a good spouse. A good spouse who never leaves the forest.

Kylar

It’s basement time, baby! It’s about time you two lived together, don't you think? Because you love each other, right? You want to get married? Stay with them forever? It doesn’t matter how you respond, Kylar ignores anything that isn’t an enthusiastic yes and keeps on going. Will absolutely lose it if anyone comes looking for you. Good luck!

Robin

Just shuts down, at first. They don’t know what to do. Competing with Sydney or Kylar or, hell, even Whitney, they might be able to handle. Maybe. But…someone in the forest? Someone in the farmlands? Bailey? That they have a harder time coming to terms with. If you’d done it right, introduced Robin to the idea of an open relationship, they might even have agreed to it. They try to cling to you, try to guilt you into choosing them over everyone else, and cries if you don’t.

Sydney

Furious. Regardless of purity, Sydney is furious. And incredibly hurt. They’ve given everything to you. It feels like they’re going to physically explode with the intensity of their emotions. Has bouts of lost time where they don’t fully know what they were doing, only that they were trying to keep you with them. When corrupt, they’re more likely to act out. When pure, they’ll try to drag you to the temple to help with your “impure” actions.

Whitney

Yeah, Whitney will let other people fuck you, but only at their discretion. You decide to fool around with seven other people? Yeah, no, fuck that. You’re lucky if the only thing Whitney does is make you get more tattoos of their name. Will try to yank you around town on a leash, trying to monopolize your time, forcing you onto your knees at any given moment. Can hold their own against the other school LIs but the others might give them some difficulty.

#degrees of lewdity #alex the farmhand #avery the businessperson #bailey the caretaker #eden the hunter #kylar the loner #robin the orphan #sydney the faithful #whitney the bully #tw abduction #cw abduction #tw cheating #cw cheating

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