#she is ripped. she has a six pack | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

vvanessaives · 1 year

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i was tagged by @katsigian @arklay @jillvalcntines and @morvaris thank you all sooo much!! i’m using leah’s super great version for this since they added so much stuff, thank you for your service and your amazing brain leah <3

tagging: @uldwynsovs @nuclearstorms @swordcoasts @reaperkiller @risingsh0t @nocticulas @steelport @planetkiller @indorilnerevarine @stormveils @shadowglens @denerims @faarkas @girlbosselrond @florbelles @liurnia and whoever else wants to do this!!

OC APPEARANCE SURVERY.

BODY

Long legs. Average legs. Short legs. Slender thighs. Thick thighs. Muscular thighs. Slender arms. Soft arms. Muscular arms. Lean arms. Toned stomach. Flat stomach. Ample stomach. Soft stomach. Six-pack. Beer belly. Lean frame. Muscular frame. Beefy frame. Curvy frame. Voluptuous frame. Petite frame. Lanky frame. Short nails. Long nails. Manicured nails. Acrylic nails. Dirty nails. Small breast. Average breast. Big breast. Flat ass. Toned ass. Bubble butt. Thick ass. Small waist. Straight waist. Thick waist. Narrow hips. Average hips. Wide hips. Big feet. Average feet. Small feet. Soft feet. Slender feet. Calloused hands. Soft hands. Big hands. Average hands. Small hands. Long fingers. Average fingers. Short fingers. Narrow shoulders. Average shoulders. Broad shoulders.

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

Light. Tanned. Brown. Dark. Rosy. Neutral. Olive. Golden. Pallid. Blotchy. Albinism. Vitiligo. Birthmarks. Freckles. Moles. Wrinkles. Stretch marks. Scars. Burns. Acne. Smooth. Dry. Oily. Combination.

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Dark brown. Light brown. Hazel. Green. Blue. Grey. Violet. Gold. Other. Heterochromia. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Protruding. Narrow. Monolid. Almond. Round. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

Thin. Thick. Fine. Average. Oily. Dry. Neutral. Soft. Shiny. Curly. Frizzy. Wild. Unruly. Smooth. Straight. Wavy. Cropped. Pixie-cut. Bob. Mullet. Mohawk. Half-shaved. Under cut. Buzz cut. Shaved. Bald. Hair extensions. Weave. Afro. Waves. Dreadlocks. Box braids. Braids. Twists. Faux locs. Jaw length. Shoulder length. Armpit length. Mid-back length. Waist length. Hip length. Past hip-length. Middle part. Side part. Blunt bangs. Curtain bangs. Wispy bangs. Short bangs. Side bangs. Dyed bangs. Ombre. Dyed. Grey. White. Platinum. Platinum blonde. Golden blonde. Dirty blonde. Blonde. Strawberry blonde. Ginger. Red. Auburn. Light brown. Mouse brown. Chestnut brown. Caramel brown. Chocolate brown. Dark brown. Black. Jet black. Clean shaven. Stubble. Sideburns. Moustache. Goatee. Beard. Thin eyebrows. Average eyebrows. Thick eyebrows. Plucked eyebrows.

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

Full sleeve. Half sleeve. Forearm tattoo. Wrist tattoo. Hand tattoo(s). Ankle tattoo. Calf tattoo. Thigh tattoo. Hip tattoo. Neck tattoo. Chest tattoo. Rib tattoo(s). Back tattoo. Shoulder blade tattoo. Face tattoo(s). One tattoo. A few here and there. Multiple. No tattoos. Nose piercing. Septum. Nipple piercing(s). Genital piercing(s). Prince Albert piercing. Industrial piercing. Helix piercing. Tragus piercing. Conch piercing. Earlobe piercings. Stretched out ears. Eyebrow piercing(s). Bridge piercing. Tongue piercing(s). Monroe piercing. Angel bites. Snake bites. Labret. Navel piercing. Inverse navel piercing. Cheek piercing(s). Smiley. Nape piercing(s). No piercings.

COSMETICS

Eyeliner. Light eyeliner. Heavy eyeliner. Cat eyes. Mascara. Fake eyelashes. Light eyeshadow. Neutral eyeshadow. Smoky eyes. Colourful eyeshadow. Matte lipstick. Regular lipstick. Lipgloss. Lip liner. Lip balm. Red lips. Pink lips. Neutral lips. Dark lips. Colourful lips. Bronzer. Highlighter. Blush. Light contouring. Heavy contouring. Powder. Matte foundation. Dewy foundation. Concealer. BB cream/tinted moisturiser. Wears make-up regularly. Wears it from time to time. Rarely wears make-up.

SCENT

Floral. Herbal. Earthy. Fruity. Fresh. Perfumes. Aftershave. Cocoa. Moisturiser. Shampoo. Cigarettes. Leather. Sweat. Food. Incense. Marijuana. Cologne. Whiskey. Wine. Fried food. Blood. Fire. Metal. Rain.

CLOTHES

Jeans. Tight pants. Cigarette pants. Cargo pants. Khaki pants. Harem pants. Sweatpants. Yoga pants. Leggings. Tights. Stockings. Overknee socks. Pencil skirt. Tight skirt. Loose skirt. Ballerina skirt. Long skirt. Miniskirt. Maxidress. Sundress. T-shirt/Sweater dress. Tight/Form-fitting dress. High slit dress/skirt. Cocktail dress. Gowns. Tuxedo. Suit. Tie. Waistcoat. Sweater vest. Sweater. Hoodie. Leather jacket. Denim jacket. Bomber jacket. Parka. Peacoat. Trench coat. Cardigans. Tunic. Turtleneck. Blouse. Button up shirt. Cuban shirt. Flannel shirt. Polo shirt. Camisole. Bustier. Tube top. Crop top. Tank top. Muscle T-shirt. T-shirt. Band T-shirt. Sports T-shirt. Basketball shorts. Pleated shorts. Jean shorts. Hotpants. Bodysuit. Jumpsuit. Overalls. Corset. Nightgowns. Robes. Lingerie. Bra. Sports bra. G-string. Thong. Panties. Briefs. Boxer briefs. Boxers. Loose clothing. Tight clothing. Revealing clothing. Designer. High street. Thrift. Patterns. Florals. Polka dots. Stripes. Sequins. Cotton. Linen. Silk. Lace. Leather. Velvet. Fur/Faux fur. Light colours. Pastels. Neon colours. Bright colours. Dark colours. White. Black. Heavy armour. Medium armour. Light armour.

SHOES

Bare feet. Slippers. Sandals. Gladiator shoes. Flats. Slip-ons. Loafers. Oxfords. Sneakers. High tops. Ankle boots. Hiking boots. Combat boots. Cowboy boots. Knee-high. Platforms. Wedges. Stilettos. Chunky. Kitten heels. Slingbacks. Pumps. High Heels. Stripper heels.

BODY

HEIGHT

Shorter than 140 cm. 140-150 cm. 151 cm to 160 cm. 161 cm to 170 cm. 171 cm to 180 cm. 181 cm to 190 cm. 191 cm to 2 m. Taller than 2 m.

SKIN

EYES

Small. Large. Average. Dark brown. Light brown. Hazel. Green. Blue. Grey. Violet. Gold. Other. (sectoral) Heterochromia. Doe-eyed. Close-set. Wide-set. Deep-set. Protruding. Narrow. Monolid. Almond. Round. Heavy eyelids. Upturned. Downturned.

HAIR

TATTOOS/PIERCINGS

COSMETICS

SCENT

CLOTHES

SHOES

#tag games #i had a moment there with fenix's hair. he has fluffy soft hair. shiny little bastard (i love him)#and also had another moment with vesper's body details like..SHE'S PACKED. SHE'S RIPPED. thoughts of her muscular shoulders & thighs keep me #up at night thank u for being there for me queen #also fenix's body is like. imagine a spaghetto. he's like straight like that but he's lean here and there bc of like. job u know. also me #thinks vesper had a full six pack back into her full boxer days but now she's more of lean. fenix has a lean stomach too but more on the #soft side <3 i love him truly. also now i can't stop thinking of him like spaghetti NJKSFNSKFNSKJ HELP #oc: vesper #oc: fenix

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bigmeandragonlady · 2 years

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wanted to post some of my Nikolle/Nikolle adjacent headcanons, im thinking about her again, cut for length

I also have a pinterest (there is some elettra stuff on there) and spotify playlist for her

I put her at just over 6ft tall as the tallest of the queens with thick, straight green hair that reached her waist and matching dark, green eyes.

+ Her teeth are sharper then you'd expect and her canines could be considered fangs

Her color scheme: green-blue-purple with silver accents

+ Was fully acclimated to living both in the ocean and on land. After 10-15 minutes in the water, Nikolle’s features would change to help her live in the water: webbed fingers and toes, the membrane on her feet would extend to create pseudo fins, gills become more pronounced and frills become exposed, a membrane forms over her ears and creates a fin-like structure.

The pools/fountains built for her were all saltwater and had plantlife installed, some of them even have marine life (possibly imported from kitalpha?)

She taught all of her children to swim personally as well as taught them as much Kitalphan as she was able.

Made promises to take her children home (which she never felt was Goldis) one day when things got better there: to meet their extended family and see all the beautiful, wonderful things she would tell them about

She preferred to go barefoot and would most often do so when she was in the gardens: when on her walks with Ta'jean she would often be seen holding a pair of sandals instead of wearing them.

+ While she doesn't like to wear much jewelry and keeps to a sea motif when she does, Nikolle does have a penchant for collecting bit, baubles, and shiny things. She was slightly ashamed of this habit and hid her collections.

+ One of the games she and her youngest would play would be to dive into the massive pools and see what they could find. Usually it was coins or random, heavy pieces people had simply dropped but sometimes it was jewelry: earrings and rings that had been lost, tiaras that had been dropped by rebellious children. Nikolle kept it all.

Wore high quality cotton and linen dresses most often, but was very casual about nudity and showing skin- at least in private. She still had an image to keep in the public eye.

Despite her size, had a low alcohol tolerance

+ Nikolle was often frustrated she was left out of her husband's work, the charities she was involved in could only do so much- she and Fenris had few fights and this frustration was the cause of most of them.

+ Nikolle was involved in charities and I believe one of them was to aid in disaster relief and later relocation for Kitalphans. If she had been well I think she would have made efforts to aid those who survived the collapse. But i think her efforts (especially off-world) were hampered by her government. In fact her funds and aid would have been capped and any efforts directly related to non-humans would have been paltry or simply not through the crown. Even as a beloved queen and wife she and her funds would have been closely watched.

+ Tried to befriend Lucrezia but quickly gave up; Nikolle may have been shy but did not tolerate the way Lucrezia would talk down to her or her children.

Would make an effort to play with all of the royal children, though her efforts were often rebuked with all but her own, especially as they got older.

+ Had a wonderful singing voice but was shy with it outside of people she was close to

Was physically strong enough to pick up both her toddlers at once and throw then into fountains (affectionate).

While Nikolle had always struggled with clinical depression, her mysterious mental illness that subsequently caused her debilitation was a case of early onset dementia. Early onset is just dementia that kicks in before the age of 65, and in all modern cases, it is fatal.

I could chalk it up to heartbreak/deep depression but the confusion and memory loss play heavily towards dementia

It had started to kick in a few years prior but with treatment, the progression was so slow to be considered a non-issue. However, it took a sharp nosedive when the news about Kitalphla falling reached her, just over 10 year prior to the coup/game beginning. (this would have been when the traveler was ~10)

The information she received was closely controlled and only made it worse, by design

Lucrezia, who had always resented her, saw an opportunity and controlled the information passed as well as convincing their husband to completely withdraw, likely withholding treatment, and some theorize she was actively poisoning Nikolle

Ta'jean made an effort to visit her friend but Nikolle being a shadow of herself and not being able to remember her at times (or her own children) made it too painful and she withdrew.

She was well taken care of by a personal team but within a few years was nothing like herself

The Stellar Queen's efforts to appeal to her people for relocation or treatment was met with solid rejection: they would do nothing seen as a boon or friendship with the Crown, they had already turned away thousands of Kitalphan refugees, and Ta'jean was nothing but an ornery spy to them with not nearly the authority she wanted.

Considering the Tilaari's healing specialty and that we're likely going to fix Vexx's brain, I genuinely believe they have a way to at least stop the brain from deteriorating

Arlo visited her most often, followed closely by Elettra (who would have come more often if not for her duties), while Sorren visited the least (not b/c he didn't care; it's difficult to see the people you love in that state)

Nikolle was ~51 when the coup occurred

#if smth is marked with a + it's somthing ive added since posting #on one asked but i dont know how to shut up #i heard nikolle is ripped i hear she has an 8 pack and her hair is insured for 10 million dollars #andromeda six #nikolle peg'asi #can't take credit for all this ive talked about her quite a bit with others #figure this is a good time to post my stupid hc in the tag since its all being buried by asks tehe #also might add/remove stuff over time. im going to use this post as a repository #a6 ramble

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mistercrowbar · 4 months

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Sketchy lineup of origin companion (+Aldiirn) body type headcanons because I really would have like to see more variation in game. And c’mon the guys all dumped Strength they shouldn’t have six pack abs.

Thoughts under the cut!

Lae’zel - her being the shortest mostly because its funny to me. I legitimately did not realise she’s small & thin in game until most of the way through Act 1 because she’s so freaking intimidating. So she’s just like, mini murder machine. Utterly ripped keeping with the in game look for githyanki, trying to keep her shapes sharp and muscle bodies short. No boobs because githyanki lay eggs and honestly I find them weirdly out of place on her body.

Astarion - Slim and svelte, to seduce, not scare. I know canonically Larian said he’s 5’9” but look we need at least ONE guy to be short and it’s going to be Astarion.

Aldiirn - Soft body befitting a soft heart! Also to appear non-threatening. He’s active pre-campaign so the pudge stays consistent until he transforms and tummy hurty. :(

Shadowheart - Bottom heavy with muscle that can still be seen under the fat.

Wyll - gets a pass at having the default figure because he was making a career of the hero hobo thing already. But a bit less defined.

Gale - Good hearty chonk. Fat. Man’s been cooped up for a year, lost his magic (I assume casting costs calories), and has a penchant for wine and cheese. I figure he would slim down a bit due to being more active during the campaign (and certainly the cheeses are less fine on the road) but still remain the heaviest. Not gonna be beholden to if this is act 1 or act 3 tho because I am still learning how to draw fat on guys.

Karlach - BEEF. Gets the Gamagoori treatment where she’s as big as she needs to be to be the biggest in any given frame lmao. Still, keep her muscle shapes on the rounder side (compared to lae’zel especially) because she’s a sweetie.

I didn’t draw the non-origins because HONESTLY I get overwhelmed at the number of companions wheeze but Halsin gets the bear look and is a smidge taller than Gale, Minthara is like a more filled out Lae’zel, and Jaheira and Minsc as they are in game.

#bg3 #sketch #crowbart #c:aldiirn

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beefmeister · 3 months

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BG3 male companions ranked by how ludicrous it is that they have a six pack:

4. Astarion. If you use your imagination this one actually kind of makes sense. First of all he’s clearly dehydrated, so the definition he is getting is believable. On top of that, his role is to seduce people. It’s in Cazador’s best interest to make sure his spawn are all super hot. I can imagine he’s got all seven of them on personalized workout plans to make sure they all look incredible naked.

3. Wyll. Wyll definitely works out. This man has his own superhero name, he definitely tries to maintain a superhero physique. That being said, I think his muscles are more practical. He’s not just working out the glamour muscles. He also knows the importance of eating well and drinking water, so while he might have some visible abs, he’s not getting those shrink wrap abs.

2. Halsin. I am willing to believe that Halsin has muscles. He’s running around doing bear things, he’s getting a good workout. However, there’s no way he has that little body fat. That man eats GOOD. He’s eating honey and berries and meats and breads. Idk if they have pasta in Faerün but if they do, he’s eating that too. That man should have a paunch and we all know it.

1. Gale. For a year before the start of the game, Gale has been in self-imposed exile in his wizard tower. I know some people got super ripped during the early pandemic, but most of us did not. Gale is very much in that second camp. Maybe he was working out at the start of his isolation, but by the end of it he was sitting in bed eating chocolate and reading romance novels. And I just know his mother Morena Dekarios was bringing him moussaka and baklava every day because she was afraid he would forget to eat. The idea that Gale was super cut is laughable to say the least.

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #halsin #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep

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bi-writes · 2 months

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ex-tf141!mercenary!fem!reader x ex-husband!simon because there's nothing hotter than being covered in blood and debating whether or not to kill him or fuck him (18+) ⚠️🔞

cw: reader is curvy (deal with it), mature language and content, suggestive language and content, dramatization + graphic depictions of murder + violence, criticizes military service, blood kink, size kink (simon's huge ok), pet names (luv, sweetheart, baby, honey), mw3 spoilers, reader is unhinged and unapologetic about it, dark content ahead, unprotected piv, cumplay, (can this also be considered a throuple fic? maybe...)

this isn't her. he doesn't recognize her. she doesn't fight the way he remembers, she doesn't look like she used to.

she wears all black. the black cargo pants are tight around her perfect thighs, and the way they cinch around her waist makes his mouth water. her vest covers her torso, but he has vivid memories of ripping an identical one off of her, ripping the fabric of her shirt so he could bury his mouth between her tits.

when she used to be his. when she used to be a good girl.

he watches, frozen, as she shows off her newfound ruthlessness. she fires her weapon at one man's knees, bringing him to the ground. he feels sick when she kicks him onto his back, getting on top of him, and uses her tactical knife and shoves it into the softness of his neck. she leans over him, splatters of blood freckled across her face, and she watches the life leave his eyes.

she doesn't get up until he stops twitching.

he doesn't remember this. when she used to watch his six, he remembers having to hold her close at night, quieting her cries. he remembers the conversations they used to have, where she used to tell him that whenever she closes her eyes, she sees every person she ever killed.

the justification of murder behind the patches she wore on her vest had never been enough to quiet her nightmares. she was always so soft-hearted. she was always too good, too considerate, too kind. it was something her superiors always wanted to rip away from her; it was something simon fought hard to keep.

he had lost his humanity, but she had not, and he remembers smoothing his hand over her chest and across her heart, telling himself that he would never let it go, never let her lose it.

it is gone. he knows it--he knows it because she doesn't just kill her opponents, she tortures them. she aims for vulnerable places, and then she kills them angrily. she likes to hear them scream. she watches them cry. she wipes the blood of her enemies on her thigh, and then she gets up and does it all over again, in different ways, in heinous ways. she's terrifying, and she's laughing, and there is nothing behind those fucking eyes.

he holds her in his sight. he adjusts the scope, gripping the rifle tighter, and suddenly it feels too heavy in his hands. he can see her in it, and he watches in horror.

he knows his orders. permission to kill on sight, those are his orders--mercenaries had gotten the same intel as them, but they are not here to destroy the biochemical weapons. they are here to steal them.

he can kill her right now. he has her, right where he wants her, and even from this far away, he knows he won't miss.

when she's finally alone, she stands, and she looks up, turning in a slow circle. his heart squeezes--she knows he's here. she holds up a hand, four fingers held up. he reaches up to his radio and turns the knob to the right channel. it crackles, and then he hears her voice.

"hey, baby," you coo, and he sees you smile, and it's ugly, and he hates it. "you miss me that much that you gotta follow me around at work?"

"'f y'know wot's good for you, you'll pack up your shit and leave."

you tsk, spinning the knife around in your hand before sticking it back into your boot. you wipe the sweat from your forehead, and blood smears along your brow.

"awww, teddy bear, don't be that way," you pout. "how about you come down here?" you grin wide, turning just his way, giggling when you see him perched for overwatch. "hmm? you're just cranky, baby...need me to help you relax..."

"you're right fuckin' mad," he spits, and you reach down at the man beneath you, snatching his rifle off his back and making sure it's loaded. "and i'm gonna fuckin' kill you."

you wink up at him.

"yeah? so take the shot, honey," you challenge. the smirk that blooms on your face infuriates him. he hates you. but then you turn around and keep walking, knowing that he won't shoot, and his gaze follows the sway of your hips. instead of thinking about your brains splattered against gravel, he thinks about when he used to bend you over his bed in the barracks and eat your pussy from behind you--when he used to get on his knees and fuck you with his tongue and make you cum into his mouth.

when you disappear from his view, you laugh over comms. "you're pathetic, simon," your murmur. "could never trust you to get the fucking job done."

he remembers when you left. johnny had left a scar on you--an angry one, one that refused to heal. and while simon was equally as buried in his grief, he always felt just a little better when he was kissing you, holding you, feeling the warmth of you, knowing you were alive.

"you didn't love him. not like i did--" you snap, continuing to pack.

"are you fuckin' mad?! do y'hear yourself talk?! wot the fuck do you know about me and johnny?!"

"then how are you not angry?!" you scream. "how are still standing there, so fucking normal, how are you so fucking calm?!"

"sweetheart--"

"don't fucking touch me," you bite. "you don't get it--" angry tears flow easily down your face. "--you didn't love him the same."

"i did--" he grips your face, making you look at him. "i loved him like i love you, don't say that. don't fucking say that, don't you dare pretend you're the only one that feels anything--"

you rip his hands off of you, narrowing your eyes, and he does not recognize you. this is not you.

"y-you're a liar," you whisper. "you're a fucking liar. and you make me sick."

ghost steps over the bodies that you left behind. it is a massacre of men that you leave at your feet. slit throats, bullets in knees, in stomachs, little finishers you leave between their legs. you are not a fan of men--he knows this because of how hard it had been to get close to you. how difficult it had been to even so much as touch your arm, your face--to get you into his bed, to marry you in secret and fuck you spineless. the only easy thing that had ever happened to you was the way johnny fell right into step with you.

and the hardest thing that he had ever done was fucking die.

when he finds the trunk of biochemical vials, you are not there. he has found it first, and he bends down to inspect them, closing the lid and securing them inside before moving his hand up to press on the button of his comms to alert his team.

"uh uh uh," a low voice warns. "take your hand off the radio, sweetheart."

he moves, but the bloodied tip of a tactical knife is sharp against his throat, and he swallows hard. he calls your name, and you just giggle. this is a game to you. he lowers his hand, and you reach down, grabbing his rifle and tossing it. you also unholstered his handgun and the throwing knives from his boot, throwing them behind you.

"mmm..." you smooth a hand down his back. "you're as hot as the day i met you, baby..."

ghost grunts as you grip one side of his ass, and you grip his shoulder tight, kicking him just right so he was kneeling on both knees now. you lean over him and plant a warm, wet kiss to the jaw of his mask, moving so you were standing in front of him now. you kick the trunk of vials to the side, looking down at him, digging the sharp edge of the blade harder against his neck.

"look at you..." you hum, licking your bottom lip. "you're still so big, teddy bear..." he hisses when you lean over, cupping him through his pants. your warm hand squeeze the length of him, and you whine when you feel how hard he is, how much he still feels for you. he glares at you under that plastic, terrifying mask, but your panties are soaking. "so fucking hard for me, too...you miss me, baby?"

he leans over, into the blade, growling.

"'f you leave now, you can still take your life with ya."

you pucker your lips, and he snarls. your face is not one he knows--you have drying blood along your cheeks, smears of it along the softness of your neck. you have blood and dirt under your fingernails, and there is fire in your eyes, and you are not the good girl he fell in love with, but you look like her, and it scares him.

"awww, baby, if i thought you would kill me, you would be dead--" you lean forward and lick along his hard jaw, tasting the salt and sweat of his mask. "...right along your other boys. don't lie to me. it's not a good look for you."

he bites, and you laugh, and then you nod your head.

"sit down," you demand, and he sits. he is big, and his gear is heavy, and he sits with a grunt, and you climb over him, into his lap. you reach down, your eyes on his, and you unzip his cargo pants, your hand slipping under and pulling his cock out, and you smile when it stands hard and heavy. "oh, baby...you want this, don't you?"

you lean in, kissing him through the mask, sucking along the fabric and whining.

"you want this, don't you? you still want me? you still love me?"

"fuckin' hell--"

"you wanna fuck me, teddy bear?" you spit into the palm of your hand, reaching down and smoothing your wet hand over the red tip of him. "you're so big...as big as i remember..." you whimper. "say you wanna fuck me, simon--" fuck, you're using his name, "--say you want me."

against your lips, you feel him whisper yes--fuck--yes, luv--and you can't help it. you can't help yourself.

he's so warm and big. you hold onto his shoulders, still gripping the bloody knife, and you sink down on him. it's easy though, because you're soaking, and even though you're so fucking tight, you suck him in, right until your clit is grinding against the little hairs at the base of his cock and you're bouncing in his lap.

simon is weak. he's weak, and he knows it, because he loves you, and your pussy is so tight, and your moans are music, and fucking you is the only thing he truly understands, the only thing that still makes sense.

you smooth your hands along the back of his neck, and when you whimper and moan, simon thinks he sees you. his good girl, his pretty little wife, the soft girl that he loves, the one crying as she rides his cock because he's hitting all the gooey, pretty places inside of her that make her so fucking wet. he grips your ass tight, guiding you up and down, fucking up into you as he feels his stomach turn and his balls tighten.

"simon--" you cry, and he nods his head, cradling you to his chest, his head tilted back as he looks up at you. there is blood on your skin and a knife digging into his back, but you're saying his name, and his heart aches, and your pussy is so good-- "gonna come--gonna come--"

"yeah--" he growls, and you push up his mask, lick into his mouth, kiss him sloppy and hard and desperate. "fuck--fuck, yeah--"

he takes off his glove to touch you, two big fingers on your clit as you fuck him desperately. when you come, you soak his cock, and when you tighten, he comes, too, rolling his hips as he spills out of your tight hole and onto your thighs, onto his.

it feels so good. it feels so good to be full of him, to feel him deep, and you smooth your hands down your stomach, feeling him there, stretching you so wide with his come on your thighs, and when he pulls out, you giggle when he gathers the slick onto his fingers and feeds it to you.

you suck his fingers, tasting him, and you whine, looking right into his dark eyes. your heart hurts for a moment--but only a moment. when he pulls his fingers from your mouth, your eyes flicker.

because he still wears his fucking wedding ring.

at the sight of it, you grip your knife tight, and you sink it right into his stomach.

he is laying there in a pool of blood when you're dressed, when the trunk of vials is secure for you to take. you lean over him, pressing on the button of his radio, and you call for medevac to his team, and then you rip the radio in two.

you cup his cheeks, kissing him softly over the mask, and you smooth a finger down his cheek.

"don't pull the knife out, baby, or you'll bleed out," you coo. you tilt your head to the side, knowing you only have a few second window to leave, and you smile down at him.

"until next time, simon."

when you go, you take a piece of him with you.

and fuck--fuck you. because he wants it back.

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avoxrising · 5 months

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The Feral One - Prologue

I had an idea for a mini Finnick x reader Tumblr series so I wrote a short prologue to gage y’all’s interest. Lmk if y’all want to see more!

“I want you guys to forget everything you think you know about the games,” Haymitch states as the District 12 team sits down to eat.

“Last year was child’s play,” Haymitch continues. “This year, you’re dealing with all experienced killers.”

“All right. What does that mean for us?” Peeta asks.

“That means you’re gonna have to have some allies,” he replies.

Peeta starts, “ok I think that if we…”

“Whoop,” Haymitch interrupts. “You’re not the problem.”

“No,” Katniss states as she stares at the pair, seemingly upset that they even suggested allies.

“Look,” Haymitch sighs. “You’re starting at a disadvantage. Most of these people have been friends for years.”

“That just puts us higher on their kill list,” Katniss states.

“Do it your own way,” Haymitch tells her. “But I know these people. You go it alone, their first move is going to be to hunt you down. Both of you.”

“Katniss come on,” Peeta sighs.

“How could any of us even trust each other?” she asks.

“It’s not about trust,” Haymitch responds. “It’s about staying alive.”

After the group eats they move to the lounge to watch the recap of the reapings. Haymitch proceeds to give his tributes a rundown of their competition.

“Cashmere and Gloss,” Haymitch states. “Brother and sister, District 1. They won back to back games, capital favorites, lots of sponsors. They will be lethal.”

He clicks to the next clip. “And the other half of the career pack, Brutus and Enobaria.”

“What’s with her teeth?” Katniss asks, noticing the abnormally sharp teeth in her mouth.

“She had them filed into fangs so she could rip peoples throats out,” Haymitch explains.

“She’s committed, I’ll give her that,” Peeta declares. Haymitch moves on to the next clip.

“Wiress and Beetee,” he states. “Not fighters, but brilliant and weird, real tech savvy. He won his games by electrocuting six tributes at once.” The tributes absorb this information as Haymitch moves on to the next clip.

He moves onto the next clip and Katniss speaks out. “Finnick Odair right?”

“Yes, he won his games at 14, youngest, ever, extremely humble,” Haymitch replies.

“You’re kidding,” Katniss gapes.

“Yes, I’m kidding,” Haymitch sighs. “He’s a peacock, a total preener. But he’s the capital’s darling, and they love him here; charming, smart, and very skilled at combat, especially in water.”

“What about weaknesses?” Peeta ask and Haymitch skips back to the escort calling out the female tribute’s name.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” Haymitch states. “Known in the capital as ‘the feral one’, winner of the 69th games”.

Katniss and Peeta shrink deeper into the couch.

“Isn’t she, um, a serial killer?” Peeta stutters.

“Well technically most of the victors are,” Haymitch responds. “But yes, she has killed outside of the games. She’s a deeply misunderstood creature.”

“Why is she Finnick’s weakness?” Katniss asks.

“She was Finnick’s first victor that he mentored,” Haymitch explains. “It’s hard not to get attached to the ones you bring home, especially your first. However, those two are a bit more complicated. I’d says it’s probably more of a… situationship… than an actual relationship but if you mess with either of them I can assure you that you’ll be dead pretty quickly.”

“So we should avoid them,” Peeta states, taking a mental note of Haymitch’s explanation.

“No,” Haymitch states, confusing his tributes. “The best move is to ally with them. They’re your biggest competition in the arena besides the careers, but they’re arguably more reliable and you don’t want to get on her bad side. They call her feral for a reason.”

#hunger games #finnick odair #hunger games fic #the hunger games #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick x reader #catching fire

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chocsra · 2 months

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✧ more personal chuuya hcs !!

✧ appearence hcs:

has a small small face

long, naturally curled, luscious eyelashes

soft and silky ass hair

very smooth, soft looking ivory skin

repping mestiso community, described as beautiful and unique

he actually glows in like any good lighting, golden hour does him best

his beauty is like majestic but gets called pretty a lot

bones did him soo wrong, he has toned sleeper build guys trust

naturally low-lided, sleepy eyes

he has really pretty brown eyes

has russet hair, NOT a ginger, he's more of a reddish brunette

slim, large hands that are really attractive

SNATCHED waist

he has a few pretty freckles

old money aesthetic

90s hot.

my personal hc is that his appearence comes from some sort of european descent, be it french or spanish blood that made his features so unique

looks so unreal that he looks otherworldly or like a doll; alien beauty

his skin reminds you of porcelain; this man's skin is mad flawless

ties his hair up at home into either a manbun or ponytail

has an 8+ step skincare routine..

has a super raspy voice in the morning/night

always takes his gloves off in the cuntiest manner - either biting the fingertips off one by one or that one manga panel where he bites the wrist part

whines when he stretches and it always catches u off guard

✧ crack/general hcs:

dances like hyunjin from skz (knows how to and practices his moonwalk)

bro is a WHEEZER when he genuinely laughs, he also feels the need to say ur not funny to keep ur ego in check when he is in fact laughing his ass off

when yall are laughing ur ass off (drunk or not) just know yall will be collasping on the floor feeling the six pack coming in

rip chuuya - you would've loved making electric guitar thirst traps on tiktok

he LOVES rollarcoasters or anything with a kick to it tbh (fast car or motorcycle rides) bc he loves gravity dzuh, but yknow what he CANT take??

them seats in the movie theatre where they move according to the movie, he gets way too invested in movies and the seats moving like crazy fries his brain (IM SORRY IF U DONT KNOW WHAT IM TALKING AB, THEYRE CALLED DBOX)

he ofc has a weakness for dogs but if he ever tries to feed a stray cat and it runs away or hisses he gets a little sassy and hisses back

sleeps like a dying victorian child. you walked onto him sleeping once and contemplated on calling a priest

one of those people who have copies of the same clothing item, or they're like barely any different. you see his hat rack and he gets offended bc "all his hats are completely different"

he scoffs a lot

starts chasing you if you ever MENTION the times when he was 15 (has made cringy youtube diss tracks with dazai, lost the login, now that videos up forever..)

if you're short like him and tell a story complaining about how ppl call u short, he gets personally offended FOR you

likes reading books but they vary from sophisticated novels to books like "HOW TO STAND ON BUSINESS?!?!"

his spice tolerance is wild, even if he can't actually take it he still will to prove a point

since his voice is pretty guttural whenever he has a voice crack while speaking you both pause and look at each other in silence before you laugh and he just goes "shut up.. shut up.. 😒"

he likes to mock ppl (lovingly) w higher voices like higuchi (especially when shes talking ab aku) bc it's older brother vibes and their reactions are always priceless

✧ chocsra™

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chaosandmarigolds · 21 days

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imma request more bc that adoption one actually sent me to the heavens and back..

so i have a similar idea that i wanna throw out there but have it be Dad!simon riley and foster/adopted!reader. Have like, their interactions when reader has to first meet simon, and simon is able to bond with reader bc hes traumatized too

it can be like a headcannon style or a one shot, whatever idea striked you.

like actually can i be you? like you write SO GOOD so QUICKLY my writers block could NEVER

(I'm actually a Tomato right now I'm blushing so much in my school library what- thank you so much!! your words will live rent-free in my head for the next seven to eight weeks ngl

Ahem ahem I have a new thingy- Adoptive dad Simon! lil blurb (700-1000 words i think) & foster!care reader (i don't think I used gendered pronouns but if I did please remind me)

For the record, you never thought yourself to be a problematic child, sure you were a little unruly and you lived by your own rules but to be honest any person in your situation would be the same. A child whose childhood was ripped from you the second your father grabbed a beer bottle and the rest you preferred to keep locked away under a lock with a key you kept away. So you sat in your social workers office for what you thought was the billionth time in the month, hands mindlessly fiddling with your hoodie string and eyes staring out the window.

Birds. You always wondered what it would be like to be a bird, it must be nice, to be free like one at least- no matter how cliche the thought you enjoyed it.

Only for it to be ripped from you as you hear your named hissed from the workers, Margi's, mouth. With a grumble you turn to look at her from across the oak table, trinkets from her perfect life adorning it, and her perfect little family in a golden frame, staring at you- made you sick.

"Seventh school, seventh! Are you trying to have to move counties again?" She snipped at you, her voice dull as she typed something into her computer.

"Maybe I am."

Margi gives you a look, a frown written across her face, "What does that mean?"

"The Wilsons, Adams, Johnsons, Kievs, they all suck and they were mean."

"They were mean?" She mocked your voice and then scooted her chair to face you fully, "I'm trying here, kid, I'm trying. But you-" she shuttered a laugh as if she just found your mere presence unbearable, "You make it so hard, you're goin to Douglas county."

A look is etched across your face as you take in the news, Douglas was forty miles away, so the news was a bit shocking. "Wha-"

"There is a single man-"

"No."

"Yes. You'll sleep here and he's picking you up in the morning."

It was stupid, Price had told him he needed to find purpose in his life and that fostering might fulfill that- well...he didn't realize his captain meant dogs and cats and somehow he had passed to be a foster parent. For reasons that are beyond him. So there he was, four foster kids deep- all adopted within two or so months and then going to their new homes. He wouldn't lie, he didn't like any of them but he was sure to be as kind as possible, as...open as he could (which is close to none) but according to the children he did a great job.

Somehow.

There was a new one, problematic from the file, a story reading a bit too close to his own that he almost didn't want to take it up for the sake of his own mental clarity. However, it was urgent, and there was a need and the solider in him urged him to go on and fulfill it. So that is why he was now standing in the police station at six in the morning an hour away from his home.

A brief conversation with the social worker and a few police officers that had encounters with you, all warning him with the banter of your antics and that if he had any common sense he'd 'slap some sense into you' All of that he just responded with a glare and changing the topic.

Then they brought you out your lively hood packed into a small and tattered black and blue duffle bag and clothes a bit worse for wear, looking exhausted upon all of that. Simon made eye contact with you for a moment, it almost seemed like a stare-down- until the social worker cut in-between you both.

She motions to you as she introduces you to him and she then motions to him, trying to take your bag to hand to him but you had an iron grip, "Mister Riley-"

"Simon." He interjected, giving the worker a look, "Call me Simon."

You bite back a smile at how flustered Margi became by his correction and after a few more warnings of how you like to run away and skip school and everything you had a tendency to do you sit on the bench in the building. A good forty or so minutes passed and you wouldn't lie you were hungry so as soon as 'Simon' came over you chirpped up, following as he had motioned for you to do.

"Could we get some food?"

Simon stayed quiet until you reached the truck, letting you put your duffle bag into the back and then stopping you from getting in the front, checking your height against his chest and then with a breif motion of the hand told you to sit in the back.

Alright. You thought, not a big talker.

"Diner okay?"

"There's a good one down the street-"

Simon hums and grabs his phone from his pocket as he buckles up, holding it back for you to take, "Put it in the gps, yeah?"

A faltering silence as you stared at the phone, which was new, normally your foster parents wouldn't let you touch anything of theirs- much less a piece of technology. An unlocked piece of technology.

"Can I get juice?" You ask quietly as you look over the menu, subconsciously looking for the cheapest option.

"Mmhm, what else?"

To that you look up, "An...and pancakes?"

"An' eggs."

"What?"

"An' eggs," he said again, looking up from his menu, "Growin, need protein."

"I don't...like eggs." You see his blonde eyebrows furrow to your words and you mumble on, "Not alone, I like potatoes and eggs but eggs alone make me gag."

"Then get potatoes an' eggs."

Darn, there goes pancakes. So when the waitress comes back over she gets Simon's order and then yours, and you ask for the potatoes and eggs, only for when she left Simon to be staring you down.

"Have you ever been told you're scary?"

"All th' time. Though' you wan' pancakes."

A moment and you blink, "You said to get eggs and potatoes."

"Get al' three."

"But that's expensive."

"Ah, yea- 20 dollar's for a meal tha' gonna make you full an' happy is expensive," He dully replied, and then your expression he did his best to soften his expression, "Kid, is okay, yeah? Don' feel bad."

You sniffle as you see the waitress come over with your juice and his very boring black coffee, "Can I actually pancakes?"

"I'd be offended if you didn't."

(anywaaay that's it! hope you liked it! <33 ps. i love feedback and comments it truly makes my day!

#simon fluff #simon riley x platonic! reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley fanfic #simon ghost riley #simon riley imagine #dad!simon riley #dad simon riley #dad!ghost #call of duty mw3 #ghost mw2 #mw2 ghost #ghost call of duty #cod imagine #ghost cod #coco's chaos <3

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offside-the-lines · 3 months

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tell me who i run to (if not you) | anthony beauvillier

"The first sip is joy, the second is gladness, the third is serenity, the fourth is madness, the fifth is ecstasy." - Jack Kerouac

Summary In July of 2023, Evie looked at a list of cities in North America and rolled a die. Just like that, she packed up her life and moved to Chicago, a fresh start. The 2023-24 NHL season started well for Tito; he did not expect the call on November 28th telling him that he was being traded. To the worst team in the league. And just like that. 10 months after being ripped from his home, he had to pack up and move again. To an unfamiliar city, and to unfamiliar faces. Which is why, when Tito and Evie ran into each other, quite literally, on Christmas morning, they both latched on to a familiar face. Over the next few months, they became close friends. They didn’t talk about the nights shared in Chicago clubs. They didn’t need to. Because they're just friends. Right?

This is a completed fic split into episodes for easier reading. It was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston.

Episode 1. Blue Christmas (4.9k) Episode 2. I. Winter (4.4k) Episode 3. Pal-entine's Day (4.8k) Episode 4. Four-leaf Clover (5.5k) Episode 5. Evie's Birthday 🌶️ (5.6k) Episode 6. II. Spring (4.8k) Episode 7. Not Goodbye 🌶️🌶️ (5.4k) Episode 8. III. Summer (4.8k) Episode 9. Tito's Birthday (4.2k)

Read it in full (44.5k)

🎵 Series Playlist 🎶

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

Under the cut: author's notes, tropes, warnings & disclaimer, fun tidbits, chapter summaries

Author's Notes: This fic was written for @bqstqnbruin as part of the Winter Fic Exchange 2k24 hosted by @wyattjohnston. It got so out of control long so quickly. I genuinely had so much fun writing this, it's basically my magnum opus; if you look closely, I think you can probably see my soul in there somewhere. I would like to thank @devilssacrament, @wyattjohnston, and @forgottenflowers for being my editors, holding my hand and keeping me sane in this. Also, thanks to @swissboyhisch, and @imperatorrrrr for being a sounding board for ideas . All of your help and support has meant so much to me. You are all just the fucking best, I am sorry this has been my entire personality for the past month, I will probably return to normal soon. Probably...

Tropes: a gut-wrenching mix of angst and fluff with a happy ending, slow burn friends to lover (tbh, idiots to lovers let's be real), alternating POVs

Warnings: alcohol (one instance of alcohol poisoning by side character), mature content bordering on smut (mostly occurring in clubs/public), references to a toxic past relationship. Disclaimer: This series is set in Chicago but does not mention the name of the team based there. Only other Chicago players mentioned by name are: Nick Foligno, Jason Dickinson and Connor Bedard. Other notes: NHL players featured Mat Barzal (a heavily featured supporting character/bestie) and brief mentions of Zach Hyman and Matt Martin. Assume that Tito and Evie are always speaking in French with each other.

Face claim for Evie (if you want one, but you can imagine whoever you like): Adeline Rudolph

Fun Tidbits: Original Character (she/her) called Genevieve Gignac or Evie (pronounced eh-vee) is the oldest sibling of Tito's juniors teammate and friend Brandon Gignac. Along with their other sibling Wiliam, they grew up in Montreal. Evie had been living in Toronto for six years, before moving to Chicago in the summer before the fic starts. I did way too much research so a lot of the little facts are true. Nicknames: (ma) chouette (shoo-wet): owl (mon) chou/chouchou (shoo): in practice, honey, sugar, baby, sweetheart // by definition, my cabbage or my profiterole/cream puff (depends who you ask) Solours (soul-oars): the Québécois name for the yellow Care Bear with the smiling sun on its belly Solou’ (soul-oo): a diminutive Evie decides to use

Cook, Cook, drink your tea, But save some in the pot for me. We'll watch the tea leaves in our cup When our drink is all sipped up. Happiness or fortune great, What will our future be? -- "Afternoon Tea at Pittock Mansion" by R.Z. Berry

Episode Synopses:

Blue Christmas Evie and Tito are both starting life anew in Chicago. It's an unfamiliar city with unfamiliar faces. They're both alone on Christmas. Maybe it's fate that brings them together. Jason and Alandra Dickinson are already smelling smoke from this fire.

I. Winter Tito injures his wrist in the first game of 2024, he’s out for 6-8 weeks and then his car breaks down. He thinks maybe he’s cursed. Evie becomes a shoulder to lean on. Barzy gets suspicious.

Pal-entine’s Day Tito returns her kindness by being a shoulder Evie can lean on when she is having a hard time after all-star break. She tells him it’s anxiety about work. He brings her a box of pastries and they cuddle on the couch all day; he doesn’t realize it’s Valentine’s Day. Later, a hook-up goes very wrong.

Four-leaf Clover Tito’s been playing again, and during his first stretch of away games begins to miss home. Well, Evie’s home anyway. When he sees her in the bar, he can’t help but show it. Barzy calls him out on his lies.

Evie’s Birthday Sometimes the music moves you. Sometimes the bass pounding in your chest makes you do things you wouldn’t do. Fuck it, it’s your birthday. That’s what Evie tells herself anyway. There are gifts given, but there are also secrets kept.

II. Spring Tito tries to tell her— he does— It’s just he needs to find the right time, and something keeps coming up. Evie’s honest with herself. But does that even matter? Mat decides maybe it is his time to intervene.

Not Goodbye Evie realizes that her time is running out. To do what? She doesn’t know. But she has one last night to find out. That is until— Well. It’s too late now. Tito flies home and wonders if that will be the worst mistake of his life.

III. Summer They try to get on with their summers as if nothing is wrong, convincing no one. How long will it take them to realize they can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine? And who will finally take the leap of faith?

Tito’s Birthday Tito receives the best birthday present he has ever gotten: the girl he loves standing at his parent’s front door. It was never destiny or fate; it can only be by choice. And they’ll choose each other every time. Eventually, anyway.

Requests (open) | Masterlist & Who I Write For | Join My Taglist

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deliciousangelfestival · 3 months

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All The Lies || B. Barnes - Part 3

Character: mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Y/N, haunted by guilt and betrayal, visits her ailing father, who reveals Bucky's apology and love despite their tragic past.

Warning: Angst, heartbreak.

Part 1: Echoes Of Revenge

Part 2: Shattered Echoes

Part 4: Sweetest Dreams

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more.

Six months. 182 excruciating days since Bucky's eyes, dull and defeated, had mirrored the desolation gnawing at Y/N's soul. His words, "heartless woman," still echoed through the corridors of her mind, a spectral curse that clung to every breath she took.

She told herself it was righteous anger, the echo of justified revenge, but the bitter and jagged truth was that she saw a defeated man, broken at her feet every time she closed her eyes.

Then came the call, her mother's voice, tinged with worry, shattering the fragile normalcy she'd pieced together. "He's sick," she whispered, "your father." Y/N knew, even before the words left her mother's lips, that it was an act of defiance, a silent plea for reconciliation forged in the crucible of illness.

A deep and guttural sigh ripped through her, a mirror to the chasm between her and her father. His disapproval, a boulder thrown at her heart for her unconventional methods of vengeance, had created a distance so vast it felt like galaxies separated them.

Packing was a desperate attempt to outrun the ghosts that haunted her. Once a canvas of shared dreams, the city now felt like a labyrinth of memories.

Every corner whispered of Bucky, his laughter echoing in bustling cafes, his touch lingering in the rustling of leaves in the park where they'd first kissed. Did he still walk these streets? Was he haunted by her, too, by the love she'd poisoned with her vengeance?

The hospital, sterile and reeking of disinfectant, felt like a tomb. Her mother's embrace, warm but brittle, couldn't dispel the ice clinging to Y/N's heart. "Go see him," her mother's voice cracked.

As the door slid open, revealing the sterile white room, Y/N's breath caught in her throat. There, on the bed, lay her father, pale and frail, the years etched into his face like a cruel map of her absence.

The tears, long held at bay, finally broke free, flooding the sterile room with the bitter tide of regret. She knelt beside the bed, her hand reaching for his, a desperate plea for forgiveness, for a chance to mend what she'd broken. She has disappointed her parents and destroyed Bucky.

"Forgive me. You did all of this because of me." Her father's words hung heavy in the sterile air, each syllable a shard of guilt wedging itself into Y/N's already wounded heart.

"Dad," she choked out, the word a flimsy dam against the tide of emotions threatening to engulf her. "It doesn't matter. We won."

Her father's voice, raspy with illness and regret, shifted the conversation. "That boy came here."

"Who?" Y/N's breath caught, a flicker of hope battling the embers of fear.

"Bucky."

The name now felt like ash in her mouth. "Why?"

"He… he apologized," her father said, his voice cracking. "For his father."

Y/N's heart clenched. Bucky, carrying the weight of his father's cruelty, the man she'd betrayed and used his trust, had chosen to apologize instead of blaming her.

"When I saw his eyes," her father said, his grip tightening on her hand, "I knew he was different. And he told me… he loves you. But he knew you both couldn't be together. He didn't want to burden you with the past."

"He was different," her father continued, his voice a weary echo. "From the last time I saw him. Fifteen years, can you believe it?"

"You know him?" she asked, her voice a mere tremor in the silence.

Her father nodded, a bittersweet smile twisting his lips. "The reason I stayed friends with Nicholas is because of Bucky."

"Why?" she whispered, the question a desperate plea for understanding.

Her father sighed, the sound heavy with a lifetime of unspoken words. "Nicholas is a businessman," he rasped, "cold, ruthless. Not fit to be a father. I met Bucky when I visited their home. Skinny, malnourished, haunted by his father's cruelty. I went there a few times, just to check on him, to make sure he was okay."

He continued "He's a good man."

He pulled her close, his embrace a fragile offering of comfort. "You're my precious daughter," he murmured, his voice trembling. "I don't want you haunted by the ghosts of this. You deserve to find happiness, to build a life free from the shackles of the past."

Y/N clung to her father, the tears she'd held back for so long finally spilling over. Each drop felt like a release, a purging of the guilt and anger that had poisoned her for years.

But the weight of his words, "you deserve to find happiness," echoed through her like a mournful wail. Could happiness truly exist without Bucky? Could she ever truly escape the ghosts of their shared past?

The city lights bled into the night sky, painting the air with a luminescent haze. Y/N walked, a solitary figure navigating the urban jungle, her thoughts tangled with the echo of her father's words.

The weight of his love and his pain, the burden of his betrayal and Bucky's apology, all pressed down on her, a storm brewing within.

Driven by a subconscious desire, or perhaps a cruel twist of fate, her feet led her to the pulsating heart of the city – Club Onyx, Bucky's domain.

The bass throbbed like a heartbeat, the air thick with sweat and expensive perfume. Inside, the dance floor was a kaleidoscope of bodies, lost in the rhythm, their worries and woes melting away in the strobe-lit frenzy.

But for Y/N, the music was a cacophony, the laughter a mocking echo. She perched at the bar, nursing a drink that tasted of ashes. Her unseeing gaze flickered across the crowd, searching for a ghost, a silhouette that wouldn't be there.

Even if she did find him, what would she say?

A tap on her shoulder startled her. Turning, she met the familiar eyes of Steve, Bucky's friend, a witness to their love story and its tragic demise. "Y/N?" his voice was hesitant, unsure.

She managed a weak smile. "Steve."

He slid onto the stool beside her, his gaze holding a quiet understanding. "Are you here to drown your sorrows or find him?"

Y/N shrugged, the gesture mirroring the storm raging within. "I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. "Maybe both."

Steve sighed, a deep rumble that mirrored the bass thumping through the club. "I don't know what happened between you two," he confessed, his eyes filled with a flicker of pain. "For a year, Bucky searched for you like a man possessed. Then one day, he just… left. Came back a shell of his former self."

His words cut through her like a knife, twisting the wound she'd tried to bury. The guilt, a venomous serpent, coiled tighter in her stomach. Bucky had searched for her, even after she'd pushed him away and declared him the enemy.

And what had she done in return? Abandoned him, condemned him to a life of shadows. The guilt gnawed at Y/N's insides, a relentless worm feasting on her fragile peace.

"He just kept saying 'not meant to be,'" Steve revealed, his voice heavy with concern. "Since then, the laughter died in him. Sleep became a stranger, replaced by endless work."

"As his longtime friend," Steve's voice reached through the fog of her guilt, "can I ask you to see him, just talk?"

Y/N nodded, the weight of responsibility settling on her shoulders like a leaden cloak. "I'll talk to him," she rasped, the words tasting bitter on her tongue.

Steve's eyes, weary yet hopeful, held a silent plea. "Thank you, Y/N," he said, glancing at his watch. "Bucky should be back in half an hour. He had a quick inspection at another branch. Can you wait? The drinks are on me."

Y/N raised her glass, a wan smile twisting her lips. "One is enough," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I need a clear head for this."

Steve ascended to the top floor, leaving Y/N alone with her thoughts and the pulsating rhythm of the club.

**********

Ten minutes stretched into an eternity, each tick of the clock echoing the drumbeat of her growing anxiety. What would she say? How could she mend the chasm she'd carved between them?

Seeking solace in the cool anonymity of the restroom, Y/N found herself caught in a line of impatient patrons. The air, thick with perfume and the cloying scent of cheap liquor, pressed down on her like a physical weight.

Suddenly, a sharp prick on her neck sent a jolt of pain through her. The world tilted, blurred around the edges, and then, darkness claimed her.

Steve, returning to check on Y/N and inform her of Bucky's imminent arrival, found a scene of unsettling confusion. A staff member, his face etched with concern, was helping Y/N stand upright.

"What happened to her?" Steve's voice cracked with alarm.

The staff member, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and uncertainty, stammered, "I think she's... drunk."

"Bring her upstairs," Steve barked, a tremor of unease lacing his voice despite the staff member's assurances about Y/N being just drunk. But one glass? His gut screamed otherwise.

Just as Steve turned to follow, the music surged, a deliberate shift in tempo that whipped the unsuspecting club patrons onto the dance floor, creating a human wall between him and the stairs.

Cursing under his breath, Steve fought through the crowd, his eyes scanning every face for a sign of Y/N, his heart thundering a frantic tattoo against his ribs.

******

Meanwhile, Bucky, adrenaline pumping through his veins, leaped out of the car, his heart a frantic drum solo against his ribs. Steve's message, "Y/N's at the club. Waiting for you," buzzed in his ears, a beacon of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

He strode into the club, his eyes scanning the throng, searching for any flicker of Y/N's familiar silhouette. Then, he spotted Steve, his friend's face etched with a panic that mirrored his own.

"Steve?" Bucky's voice, raw and desperate, cut through the cacophony.

Steve whirled around, his relief morphing into horror in an instant. "Bucky, Y/N is missing," he gasped, rushing towards him and spilling the disjointed story.

Y/N's single drink, the suspicious staff member, the sudden disappearance - it all painted a chilling picture of abduction, a reality too horrifying to contemplate.

The ground beneath Bucky's feet felt like it crumbled. He'd lost Y/N once, for a year that had felt like an eternity. The thought of losing her again, this time forever, was a blow that shattered his already fractured world.

Without a word, he bolted out of the club, the pulsing music a grim counterpoint to the frantic beat of his heart. The city lights, once a familiar comfort, now blurred past him, each neon sign a mocking reminder of the darkness that had snatched his light away.

His mind, a whirlwind of fear and desperate determination, raced through possibilities, each one a fragile thread in a web of uncertainty. He had to find her. He couldn't lose her again. Not this time.

The world spun, a hazy kaleidoscope of blurred lights and distorted sounds. Y/N groaned, her head throbbing like a captured bird against its cage.

Darkness, cold and clammy, wrapped around her, broken only by the dim luminescence of a distant bulb. A taste of metallic fear clung to her tongue, the echo of an impact she couldn't quite recall.

Her breath hitched as movement pricked the edges of her awareness. Footsteps, heavy and deliberate, crept closer, their rhythm an ominous drumbeat against the silence. Then, a figure materialized from the shadows, settling into the creaking chair opposite her.

More than a year had passed, but the passage of time hadn't softened the venomous edge to Ivan's features. Gone was the polished veneer of the Goldenlix capital, replaced by a scraggly beard and hair that hung like curtains around his gaunt face. His clothes, once impeccably tailored, now hung loose and threadbare, a testament to his fall from grace.

"You made me bankrupt, Y/N," he hissed, his voice a twisted mockery of its former smoothness. A cruel smirk twisted his lips, but the fire in his eyes lacked its usual spark, replaced by a simmering hatred that sent chills down her spine.

"And now," he continued, his fingers brushing against her chin with the caress of a serpent, "I need your Midas touch to make me rich again."

Author Note:

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loganlermanstanaccount · 1 year

Text

Meet the Millers (part 1)

Neighbourhood dilf!Joel Miller x Reader

(AO3 mirror) TLOU Masterlist

summary: Your neighbour, Joel Miller, has always caught your eye. After a perfect storm of events, you end up in his house. Or more accurately, in his bed.

warnings: pwp, at least half of this is just smut, fingering, grinding, squirting, dirty talk, eventual fwb, reader and Joel are oblivious asf, a bit of angst (bc i love any excuse for angst). 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: this will be a (short) series! lowkey just an excuse for me to write fwb!Joel lmao. Also, don’t look too closely: it's an au set in 2004 cuz I said so.

wc: 4k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He knows exactly what he's doing. Joel Miller on Mrs Harris’ porch, in a tank top and snug jeans, wiping the sweat of his brow. Fucking delicious in the hot summer air.

You're not watching, of course. Just…. checking the mailbox. It's not an excuse to see the way his arms ripple as he tugs at the cord of the lawnmower, or how his tanned back flexes in the sun. Nope. Not at all.

You sidle up to the mailbox, giving discreet glances at Joel on the porch opposite. The rip and roar of the lawnmower is so loud, you barely hear him call out to you.

"Hey neighbour!" He calls, giving you a wave. The hem of his shirt slides up to reveal his v-line. You make a point to keep your eyes upwards.

"Hey yourself!" You open up the mailbox to find a couple of letters. Perfect for pretending like you weren't ogling the man opposite a mere few metres away. Unbeknownst to you, he chuckles at your attempt to distract yourself from him. He thinks it's cute. He jogs across the road.

"I got something for you," Your eyes practically bulge out your head. "Think Sarah took your spare keys by accident." Oh. Oh. She'd been coming over to feed your cat for a couple weeks, whilst you were away. Procrastinating, as usual, you'd been putting off getting your keys back for the past week.

~~~

You'd moved in about six months ago. As someone who worked from home, you'd quickly built an odd routine. Joel was in the same boat: a contractor, working odd hours, some days at home and some days working from 8am to 8pm. As a new neighbour, you tried not to make a splash - quiet and respectful in the quiet Texan suburb. No kids, no husband - just you and your cat, Arlo.

You didn't ask for him in your life: sometimes seeing Joel in his yard or packing up his truck. Occasionally, you'd pass each other picking up the morning paper, or late at night after your runs. Sarah was the one to say hi first, complimenting your clothes just before a night out. You're waiting for a cab on the front porch when you see her.

"Hey neighbour!" She called, her dad behind her slamming the boot in a huff.

You wave back, dolled up in a little black dress and probably a little too much makeup. "Hey, yourself!"

She jogs towards you. "God, that is a cute dress! I've been bugging my dad for ages to let me get one just like it, where's it from?" She knocks you off guard, stuttering as you tell her the brand.

"Thanks, it's not too expensive either, and it has pockets ," Despite yourself, you give her a twirl, showing off its hidden feature.

"No freakin' way!" Sarah smiles warmly, hand on your arm and introduces herself. "Sarah. We met at the potluck a couple weeks ago."

You furrow your brow. "Oh, the Millers! Of course, you brought the veggie hotdogs and grilled kebabs."

She nods. "We haven't had the chance to say hi yet! My dad, Joel…" she turns to wave at the man who stands at the car, arms crossed like a gruff bulldog. "...he's not the friendliest. But Mrs Harris, next to us, says you came round and took a look at her computer. She said it was half dead and you fixed it up for her; you… work at a fancy tech company and you're really good at that stuff? So, I've got a weird question to ask."

"We were wondering if you could have a look at our new computer for us? I think we messed it up trying to set up and it keeps coming up with this blank blue screen…. no pressure of course! A-And we'll pay you in pancakes and coffee!" The young girl seems jittery, bouncing on the balls of her feet. You can't say no to her.

"S-sure. I've got some time, tomorrow morning. Let's say… after 9? If that's okay with your dad."

She squeals, almost knocking you over in a frantic hug. "Thank you, thank you! Dad? Dad, guess what…?"

She bounds off into her Dad's arms, excitedly babbling about your conversation. You chuckle to yourself in the light of the streetlamps. You'd noticed him around, of course. He's the only one on your street the same age as you: the rest were old and retired. At the potluck, he manned the grill, reserved but skilful. A man of few words, but Joel Miller laughed and smiled like a hyena around his daughter. It was sweet. You were happy to help.

The morning after, you felt rough, admittedly. Technically, you'd gone out for networking - strictly business. But one work drink turned into two, two turned into three; and then you were downing shots until 3 in the morning. The pounding headache at your temples seemed punishment enough. Shit. The time.

You get to Joel's at 15 past 9, impressive considering that you were in bed 10 minutes ago. You're dressed in a light sundress and slippers, standing on the doorstep. You knock, and Joel opens the door: scruffy and in a t-shirt and low gray joggers. There's the scruff of a 5 o'clock shadow on his face; making him look rugged and good in the morning light. You're imagining how it would feel on your thighs, rough beard scratching at the plush skin, dragging your sweet cunt on the apex of his nose…..

"Sarah's upstairs," He clears his throat, morning voice low and gruff.

"I'm not too early? Looks like I woke you up." You walk in and he points you up the stairs.

"S'alright sweetheart. It's not a bad view to wake up to."

You almost trip up the stairs at the implication. Joel's behind you, hand steady at the crook of your back to stop you from falling.

"I j-just meant getting our computer fixed. Sarah's been so excited and I'm not good at that kinda thing…"

"I get it. You're okay." You chuckle. He's beautifully flushed, hand snaking around the back of his neck to scratch at it nervously. "But is this all okay with you? She kinda ambushed me yesterday, and I can't make any promises-"

"-she tends to do that. She looks at you with those big brown eyes and then all of a sudden…." ...you're in your hot neighbour's house, on your hands and knees. To fix his computer, of course. "That's my Sarah. I'd be more scared if she wasn't my own."

You like her. She's buzzing through her door when you walk up the stairs, excited. She grabs your hand and leads you to Joel's office. "Morning! So, I've been fiddling around with the parts but I can't get her to turn on…"

"Her?" You laugh.

"Her name is Carol, and she's basically my kid." She kneels at the wires under the desk. "Dad had no clue how to set this up so, of course, I had to do everything. See, with this cord…"

She chatters as she explains her process. You find out she's funny, and bright: a smart young kid who sourced most of the materials herself. Frankly, she reminds you of yourself; a young upstart in college looking for an explosive new career. Under his desk, you trace the cables and explain what they all do, peeling back the clunky tower to find the source of the problem. Sarah listens, intently, asking you questions about how it all works - clearly inquisitive. Joel watches at the doorway, equally enraptured. The technical details all go over his head, but he softens when he sees Sarah so free with you. You laugh at her jokes and indulge all her questions, no matter how small. You are kind and patient with her, refusing to be patronising; engaging her at her own level.

When you finish up, Joel calls you downstairs for coffee and pancakes, as promised. Sarah races down the stairs, and you trail behind her. From the kitchen, Joel likes the way you look in his home, in a pretty dress and a smile on your face. He shakes the sudden thought out of his head.

"Dad, I swear to god, Lindsey's not gonna believe it. She told me about MySpace, but she didn't think I'd actually do it-"

"Lindsey? S'that the girl who came to your party, the one with the buck teeth?" He says, between mouthfuls of pancakes.

"That's Linda, Lindsey's-"

"The one in your math class, right? With the-" You put your hands up by head to mimic horns, pulling a face that makes her laugh. It makes him laugh, too.

It's been a couple of hours, when you get back home. You collapse on the couch, warm and content. It becomes the beginning of a gentle back and forth with the Millers.

~~~

"You alright there, sweetheart?"

You've spaced out on Joel's sofa. Joel’s by the kitchen island, rummaging around the drawers and running a lazy hand through his locks. With the way his arms flex and stretch with ease, you’re left practically drooling; head swimming with all the ways you could make his legs buckle, or how his hand would feel between your thighs, or…

He cocks his head to the side in amusement. “Think I lost you again.”

Embarrassed, you cringe into yourself. “Sorry, Joel. Just thinking.”

“....about?” He prompts.

“Work. Mostly.” You lie. “Sarah, too. Thinking about if she knows you whore yourself out to the neighbours like this.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He keep his head down, pointedly.

“... I bet Mrs Harris enjoys the view, then.” You say it under your breath, but he hears and laughs. Quiet, at first and then roaring; laughing so hard tears form at his eyes.

“You're gonna kill me, sweetheart .” he laughs.

Time and time again, the pet name makes something at the pit of your stomach bubble. At first, you thought it was Southern hospitality, something you weren’t used to before moving down here. The doll’ s and the bless ‘yer heart ’s rolled off your back coming from everyone else; at the grocery store, grabbing lunch, at the bank. But coming from Joel : with a warmth that knocks you over every time? It would be the death of you, you’re sure.

“What’s she payin’ you, then?”

His back is turned now, head into the depths of a cupboard. “..just needed to get out the house. M’goin’ crazy in here.”

You hum. “It’s quiet downtown?”

“Too quiet. The Kier contract finished a while ago, and now m’just twiddling my thumbs waiting for another one to tide me over.” He peeks out from the wooden frame. “I think I’m actually bored without Sarah.”

You giggle. God, he was such a softie. A couple days of Sarah at a summer camp and Joel seemed to be bouncing off the walls already. It was cute, even if the deep furrows in his brow made him look so frustrated. “I think if she heard that she wouldn’t let me live it down.”

You’re up now, palms dragging along the surface of the counter, a grin as big as a dinner plate plastered on your face. “Wouldn’t it be such a shame if someone were to tell her…”

He stops, dead still. “You wouldn’t dare.”

You get a little closer. “I would.”

He narrows his eyes as you step closer, until the tips of your noses almost brush together. “You-”

“- would. ” You say, barely a whisper. Thick, long eyelashes frame the chocolate brown of his eyes: stormy, lidded. You can't help it, in the tension. Your own eyes flick towards his lips and you bite down words that are a little… inappropriate.

Instead, you tap the drawer by your hip and open it up to a tray of knick knacks. In the rough and tangle, your spare keys sit squarely in the nest. Joel grabs them and takes your hand, softly, to put them in your palm.

"You wanna stay? For a drink?"

You cut the air with melodious laughter. "It's 11am, Joel."

Indifferent, he shrugs. "I've got some beer in the fridge, and an empty house. Could do with some good company…"

"...why not?" You smile.

You sit on a battered loveseat outside, on his deck. The sun is shining, the sliding door open, and you're nestled in the cushions next to Joel. He sits closer than expected, a lazy arm draped on the back of the furniture and the other swigging a cold beer. You place yours in the gap of your lap, giggling at the way he clinks your bottles together. He makes you feel like a teenager, the meat of your thighs peeking out from your shorts and touching the cool glass.

"Didn't think I'd see you out this morning.

"And why's that?" You ask.

"Would'a thought you'd be nursing a pretty mean hangover." He shrugs.

"Ummm…?"

"I saw you last night," He explains. "Real late, stumblin' out of a taxi. You were wearing a different dress to the last time, so I just thought-"

"Well, last time it was work drinks."

"S'always work drinks, sweetheart." Your heart goes thud-thud. Sweetheart.

"Last night, it was a date." You see him clench his jaw and tense up slightly.

"...But?" He prompts, taking a long swig of his beer.

"But…" You sigh. "I got stood up."

He almost does a spit take, choking on his drink. His eyebrows are raised, confused. " Seriously? "

"Seriously." You deadpan. "Probably should've known. He sounded weird on the phone a couple of days before…"

"-He didn't call you right before your date?"

" God Joel , I know how it sounds, okay? Thought I was overreacting but I guess I'm not good at seeing red flags."

He deliberates for a moment. "Yeah, me neither."

It's your turn to be confused, and so he clarifies. "Sarah's mom."

Your mouth forms a silent Oh , in realisation. You put a hand on his arm, that flopped down by your side. "Was it just you and her in the beginning?"

"Me and Sarah? Sure feels like it." He mumbles. "But I wouldn't have it any other way."

"She's a good kid." You say softly. "You did good."

He grunts in affirmation before turning to you. "You're probably the smartest person I know. Sarah looks up to you for good reason. You dodged a bullet. That dickbag doesn't know what he's missing."

"Thanks, Joel." And then you titter, softly. "Would've been nice to get laid, though."

He makes a face you can't quite read, so you nudge him with your elbow. "Not like that! It's just been a while with work and-"

"You're okay, sweetheart." He smiles with a faraway look in his eyes. Unceremoniously, he downs the rest of his beer, and says something you don't quite hear.

"I could help with that." He tucks away your hair absentmindedly, and rests his hand by your cheek.

"Huh?" You almost splutter. It comes out like an unintelligible garble.

"I could make you feel good." A little louder this time, but low and sultry. The tips of his fingers brush your cheek. Honestly, it makes you short circuit, overloading your brain with a million ways to interpret his words. He takes your silence for a no.

Apologetically, he says, "Forget I said anythin’-"

You kiss him, impossibly soft at first. You lean into one another, gulping down air with the way your chest pounds. It could be the beer, or Joel, but you feel light-headed when you separate. He stays close, thumb on your chin and never once breaks eye contact.

"Need to hear you say it." He strains.

From your mouth comes the three words it feels like he's been waiting a lifetime for. You chew your lip, but without missing a beat you say what you both need to hear. " I want you ."

He crashes his lips to yours this time, sloppy and needy and desperate. You want to swallow him whole, warmth radiating off you both. You're not thinking when you clamber onto his lap, dragging your pussy on his jeans. Groaning, he separates like it's all too much.

" F-fuck, sweetheart. "

You're sure it's suggestive, in tiny sleep shorts and no bra, eaten up in a large t-shirt. The material of your panties have been swallowed up by your cunt, soaking wet. You need his hands on you, but he seems surprisingly chaste - having them rest on your back for now. Smiling into the kiss, you tug them lower and he squeezes the plush of your ass in response. You reward him with a moan and the delicious roll of your hips in his lap. Joel’s rock hard in his jeans, and you savor the feeling of it against your pussy.

“Want you to be more specific, doll. What do you want?” He pauses to nip at the juncture of your neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake. You can’t think properly with the way his hands knead at your hips and your ass; strong, rough palms brushing against your skin under your shirt.

Without thinking, you croak. “Y-your hands. Need your fingers in me.”

He groans, hips jumping up at your words, and then takes a moment with his head on your shoulder. Cursing, he lifts you up with ease so you're on his lap facing the garden.

He slaps a big palm on the crotch of your shorts, making you jump. One strong around your waist, the others strums at your clothed cunt - rubbing you until you're soaked through. You turn your neck as much as you can to suck hickeys into the base of his neck. Flushed, you realise just how exposed you two are: with the slatted wooden fence barely covering you from view. All your neighbours had to do was step out into their gardens to see you writhing on Joel's lap. Against all reason, the thought makes you wetter, and you whine.

Ever perceptive, Joel traces his hand around the waistband of your shorts. "You like this, don't you darlin'?"

You whine when he dips his hand lower, barely glancing your clit. "F-Fuck… don't know.. what you're talking 'bout."

His other hand snakes under your shirt, slowly but surely brushing against the apex of your nipples. "That someone could see us…"

"N-no, Joel-"

"That someone could see you fucked out on my lap like this. Like a dirty slut…"

"J-Joel-"

"Can't go saying my name like that, sweetheart. Someone might hear you," He wrenches your legs open with his knees and finally, finally, circles your clit quicker. " Fuck, fuuuck, listen to how wet you are f'me. Prettiest fuckin' whore this side of town.…you make the prettiest noises.."

It's not fair, really. He kneads at your tits, sending pleasure up your spine at the way he manhandles you. He slips a thick finger into your hole and you clench at the stretch. The bulge of his cock rocking into your ass, his fingers at your pussy, and a hand pawing at your tits? You had no chance.

"M'gonna cum, fuck , Joel m'gonna.."

"Cum for me, sweetheart."

His voice is low and tender, and pushes you off the edge. With a moan, your walls clamp down onto his finger, and you see white in the heat of your orgasm. It's been a while since you've cummed; usually a desperate hand in your pussy for a quickie every now and then; but the feeling is amplified 10 times as much with Joel whispering obscenities into your ear. You shake with the aftermath and pull him into a deep kiss.

"You ok?" He asks, the concern making you laugh after the filth he had been saying mere seconds ago. You nod, smiling warmly at him in the morning sun. He gives you another kiss and then you jump as he slips another finger in you.

"Wanna give you another one," Eyes lidded, he slows, waiting for permission. "And another, and another. As many as you'll let me."

You nod, gently, and he picks up the pace. His fingers go in and out of your sopping hole, thumb tightly on your clit. Joel's fingers are magical - unwavering and hitting all the right spots. He plays you like a guitar, listening for your moans and the way your body reacts - strumming this way and that to get you to orgasm. And you do, again, but gentler; bliss washing over you like the tide.

He's your neighbour, and you've never seen him like this: in a trance-like state, moulded into you and hellbent on your pleasure. All you can do is sink into his embrace, drunk on him and the way his lips taste - beer and breathmints - in the airy light of the morning.

He's coaxing you through your third orgasm when you feel it, a pressure just behind your swollen clit. Joel notices the way your legs shiver and the subtle shake of your hips.

"You're so beautiful." He says, pumping faster. "Knew it when I saw you in that little dress, tits spillin' out and I knew it when I saw you today. You look so good with my hand buried in your cunt, humpin' my lap like a bitch in heat..."

"J-Joel I can't…"

"You can, baby, jus' one more."

"I can't.."

"So, so close for me, please . Cum on my fingers f'me, sweetheart , please -"

With a sob, you clamp down on his fingers once more. Your orgasm ripples down your body, like a tight thread snapped in a split second. Liquid gushes from your cunt; so much his hand and your shorts are covered in it. Did you just…? The pressure at the base of your stomach peters off, and Joel talks you through it.

He covers you in kisses at the apples of your cheek, your forehead, anywhere he can reach. "Did so good f'me. You're such a good girl, baby."

You whine when he separates his hand from your slick. Groaning, he brings his fingers to his lips and licks them clean; of which his fervor makes you dizzy. All you can do is watch, exhausted but satisfied, through lidded eyes. He rubs your knee with his other hand.

"Let's get you cleaned up." Nonchalant, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. You bury your head in the crook of his shoulder, embarrassed at the mess you've made. Joel only laughs, squeezing you into a hug.

~~~

Simply put, he's a gentleman; making you feel completely at ease. He urges you towards a hot shower, with a change of clothes folded neatly by the door. It's his clothes - Sarah's were too small to fit - and they're big but familiar on your body. You traipse down the stairs in Joel's old sweats and a flannel, padding into the kitchen. Joel's at the hob, wearing a new t-shirt and loose tartan bottoms. You try not to think about how he was almost elbow deep in your pussy not too long ago. Or how he made you see stars more times in an hour than you have in months .

"Just made lunch." He stirs at the pot on the stove. You sidle up to him, close but careful. He dips in a finger to the sauce he's making. "Pasta. Think it's missing something, though."

Without thinking, you hold his hands to your lips and suck the sauce off his finger. "More salt, maybe?"

He looks a little dumbfounded. Oh. Oh. God, you can't help it when he looks like that, stormy and brooding and…

"More salt it is, then. You could help me finish it? I can put on a movie or somethin’."

You want to, you really do. It would be like heaven with your head on Joel Miller's shoulder, on the sofa - seeing him soft and domestic . Like a relationship.

"I should head home, I think." You don't exactly know the etiquette for one night stands. "Next time."

To be honest, you didn't even know if this counted as a one night stand? Just sex? Friends with benefits? Would there even be a next time?

His smile seems rueful for a second before he nods.

"Next time, sweetheart."

#HE'S SOOOO #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #joel miller #tlou x reader #tlou fic #tlou #tlou smut #joel miller smut #fwb #pwp #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal x reader #kat_writes😼

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doorp · 7 months

Text

What started out as theories abt when the main cast died but got silly

Annabel + Lenore ✨

This one is pretty straightforward, there’s these Barbie movie redraws flynn did that shows Annabel and Lenore being caught by “NMPD nevermore police department” , with the year 1901 in the corner, implying that’s when they died and got sent to nevermore

This little 1901 in the corner is interesting on like a meta level to me bc 1. in the original Barbie meme theres no date on the slate thingies, so flynn decided to add that piece of info on her own, and 2. this was just after episode 67 came out (on fp I think) and uh little tidbit, before that episode there was a theory that Theo died in like the 1860s or something based on the logo in the newspaper abt his death, the ny daily tribune, and after episode 67 came out and ira mentioned a ship that wasn’t available for public use until 1899 on the discord we were trying to do mental gymnastics to make the 2 dates work but then red came on like “please we accidentally grabbed the wrong logo it’s meant to read new York tribune not New York daily tribune its fixed now we fixed it please” and then a few days later they streamed doing this piece

Anyway, ira talks about the oceanic, which was “the finest ocean liner in the world” the *largest ocean liner in the world* until 1901

The RMS oceanic had its maiden voyage in September of 1899, at the beginning of fall. Annabel says she arrived in New York a fortnight before meeting Lenore, presumably during the spring. Annabel arrives at lenores house in april/may of 1900, spends six months there, and then leaves around the fall, probably somewhere around September or October. Lenore then spends a few months doing her thing and then arrives at her family’s home in either December 1900 or January 1901, during the winter. HERES where it gets interesting. We can assume that Annabel died in the cold, from her spectres chilling atmosphere and all together appearance of corpse in a freezer. She even has frostbite on her fingers and toes, as well as snowflake like glitter in her veil. We can also assume she died on her wedding day, the way she wears her rings on different hands and her wedding dress in spectre form. So if she died in the cold and on her wedding day, then when was her wedding, and how could it be in winter?

heres my 2 theories

1. Lenore beats Annabel at chess just for funsies fairly quickly after arriving, then they try to elope and get caught by their dads

2. Lenore courts Annabel, wins her hand, and they get engaged. Since engagements usually lasted around 6 months to 2 years, their engagement could have been anywhere from however long it takes Lenore to win at chess to December 1901. If their wedding day was in November/December, that means Lenore got away with pretending to be a man for a whole YEAR and they spent that year just being gay and shit/doing schemes.

I personally like option 2 more bc its just sadder that they did get away w it for a while then ultimately got caught - it would also explain why Annabel is just SO into Lenore, if all she remembers is that year they spent being all sneaky and gay and shit, it would explain how she’s just used to flirting and holding onto Lenore in secret. It would also explain why Annabel assumes Lenore is up to scheming at nevermore. if they eloped a few weeks after they reunited it would still be like yeah that makes sense they are such u haul lesbians, but them becoming sneaky codependent gays ripped from each other on their wedding day just hurts more and makes more sense time/character wise

Duke - 1912, maybe even 1912 specifically, idk

Duke has a coin that’s dated to 1912, and Eulalie says it looks brand new. There’s been arguments about wether or not the coin is actually newly minted, but I don’t think we can say for sure. It might not matter either way- I have a theory that the suit cases the students carry aren’t actually random personal items of interest, but a suitcase they packed right before a pivotal event in their lives. Perhaps Duke does have newly minted coins in his suitcase, but he didn’t actually die in 1912. Also! Duke is implied to be a Houdini like figure, so I imagine he’s not later than the 20s.

Pluto - 1914 ish

Plutos spectre wears a British ww1 military uniform, its debated wether or not the jacket was his dads or his, but regardless he couldn’t have died earlier than 1914. Pluto is named after the cat in the short story called The Black Cat by Edgar Allan poe. In the story a cat named Pluto gets its eye slashed out by its drunken owner, eventually getting hung from a tree by the man. Theres obvious references to the story in Plutos design and shit overall, when he manifests a belt snaps around his neck implying he died from strangulation, his spectre has like, a pluming collar/leash of smoke around its neck, his spectre looks like it’s made of ash kinda (someone described him as a burnt rabbit to me once) which is probably a reference to the part in the story where the man’s house burns down, only 1 wall remaining erect, with the image of a black cat scorched into it. Plutos eye is covered by his hair, he walks into a door frame, he’s got spectre abilities called “blink” and “evil eye” so w Pluto until we get more info it’s no earlier than 1914 if you subscribe to the Pluto went to war theory or no earlier than like, say the 20s? if you subscribe to the Plutos dad was a vet theory

Berenice - 1920s

Shes a flapper, cmon. shes from the 1920s. Look at her. We already know she was run over by a cop car after running from some guy, and I tried to look into where the cop car was from but i didn’t have much luck. mostly just confirmed the era, when I searched cop cars of the 1920s pretty similar images to the one that killed bee show up. A few others I think have looked into it more? but im not completely sure. There’s been a lot of theories about where Berenice is from, I’ve seen Louisiana, Chicago, Harlem (Harlem renaissance specifically) but there’s not a lot of conclusive info about Berenice. we know her pearls were real, in the way they scattered, so she had so have some means of affording them. Pearls are held together on a string, but only real pearls have pieces of metal between the pearls to keep them from rubbing against each other. Bees pearls scatter in long strings, not completely all over the place like fake pearls without that structure would.

Eulalie - 1935

The song Eula sings in her death flashback is a Japanese lullaby that was rediscovered in 1935. Its a popular theory that Eulalies death was a hate crime, a fire started because of hate towards Japanese Americans during ww2. She probably died in the forties in america, I don’t think she died in Hiroshima or Nagasaki, the fire that killed her isnt how atomic bombs would have killed her. The kid she sings to asks if someone started the fire on purpose, so imo it was likely a hate crime.

Morella - 1950s - 70s??

Okay so, Morella. we know the least about her. with will we can guess that he was lower class and stuff, but all we know abt Morella is that she’s Irish. Shepards pie and Guinness is pretty timeless. The reason I say 50s to 70s is bc according to Remigoesinsane the clasp to her locket started to be used around that time! that’s all I have on her tbh, a theory of mine is that she died in a factory accident trying to save someone when the machinery went crazy, but that’s mostly it.

Ada - 1930s

Ada’s clothes in her death flashback match those worn by maids in the 1930s, and the lingerie she wears in the manor also matches lingerie worn in the 30s. It would also make sense for Ada’s character to be from the 30s. That decade was called the “somber thirties” bc of how fucked up the economy was after the stock market crash. It was a major time of economic disparity, and Ada’s obsession with trying to seem upper class elite could stem from not having much when she died. She probably sees nevermore as a blank slate, a place where people will see her as more than just “the help” would also make sense that the man that killed her was a rich guy using his power to take advantage of her and get away with the crime. Especially since the poem, Tamerlane, was from the pov of a rich guy lamenting a relationship he had with a lower class girl named Ada.

Prospero ✨

PROSPERO! prospero drinks espresso with his chosen last meal, which was invented in 1901. I think he died from tuberculosis. For a long time a major cause of death has been tuberculosis. So much so that Victorians made it a beauty standard. A major inspiration of Poe himself was tuberculosis, in the masque of red death, along with the grief he was left with after his wife died from it. It rots your lungs, makes you cough up your bloodied respiratory system until you suffocate in it. In the maze, prospero says he felt queasy, like something was crawling under his skin when he died. When prospero cuts his hand, he says he’s going to be sick, and tells Annabel that he’s afraid of blood. (Probably specifically his own blood bc u know he was feeding people to rats like minutes before that) This, coupled with the imagery of blood pouring out from his plague mask when he says the “queasy, like something was crawling under my skin” line, makes me think his death involved a lot of blood! And as I said before tuberculosis was like really gross and bloody and gory. Furthermore, this quote from the writer is SO interesting

In the poem prosperos namesake is in, the masque of red death, the prince prospero, hiding and ignoring a sickness ravaging his country, decides to host a huge party! Everyone’s having a grand old time, the festivities only pausing when the clock strikes, leaving everyone in a dread filled silence, the party picking up almost immediately after and brushing it off. Eventually the plague does get in though and kill them all because they ignored the feeling of dread.

The prince and the party goers die because the prince is blissfully and willfully ignorant of the disease. Bc their hubris didn’t allow them to see the threat of it. Nevermores prospero, however, is obsessed with staying healthy/hygienic as possible. He wears his gloves even when he eats, hates being touched, almost throws up when he cuts his hand. He hallucinates a thousand dirty hands grabbing him and trying to perform an operation on him with disgusting germy tools. He sees the hand he cut amputated, imagining that the wound got so infected that it had to be removed. He stares in horror at his hand before Ada even makes eye contact with him. My theory is Prospero grew up hearing terrible stories of people dying from infection, disease. He heard of people slowly drowning in their own blood. He decided to take every precaution, he simply wouldn’t allow that to be his fate. After Ada attacks him he tells Annabel “you must think me neurotic” for being so upset over the blood on his hand. This feels, so specific and intentional to me. Not just because Annabel dealt with her anxiety and her dad treating her panic attacks like he did, and this is a whole “omg look they’re bonding” moment, but bc, immediately after he tries to assure her that “im not, you know, im perfectly sane” like shit like this has happened before, where ppl called him neurotic for being that sick at the sight of his own blood, or that obsessed with hygiene. The irony being that, he spent his life obsessing over staying healthy, so much so that people called him neurotic, only to die that slow gory death anyway.

That whole, prospero dying from tb tangent aside tho, how it correlates to the time of his death. He probably died in the early 1900s, the earliest being 1901-1906ish, bc again, that’s when espresso started gaining popularity. My guess is he died around the 20s, ik the tb vaccine came out around the 20s, but people still died of it after and are still dying/contracting it today, and in the 20s there were a lot of Italians emigrating to America, and prospero is so aggressively Italian American (eating espresso and cannoli with chocolate chips for his last meal) that it’d make sense. So woo!

Monty - 1910s

Monty is a cowwwwboyyyyyy. The Wild West pretty much tapered out around the early 1900s. He can’t be that recent. He also mentions calamity Jane so that definitely puts him past the 1800s. He seemed to have a pretty wild life, kicked in the head by a horse, tooth knocked out by a human, tied to train tracks and left for dead after calling the pastors daughter loose. crazy guy crazy time

Will ???

Will is so plain i cannot get a read on where hes from im sorry

obligatory thank you for making it to the end, I barely made it myself, this was sitting in my drafts for weeks before I decided to just get it over with. <<333

#nevermore webtoon #lenore nevermore #annabel lee nevermore #white raven #ada nevermore #duke nevermore #morella nevermore #prospero nevermore #berenice nevermore #will nevermore #pluto nevermore #eulalie nevermore

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frenchkisstheabyss · 8 months

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7 Psychopaths: Yeonjun

x Summary: You are X, a seasoned assassin, and your boss has just assigned you an unusual task. You have two weeks to gather six men for a top-secret mission that requires their unique brand of psychopathy. The trick is, you've got romantic history with all of them.

A detail that might make this a walk in the park or the fight of your life. Time to find out...

x Pairing: assassin!yeonjun x assassin!chubby!fem!reader

x Genre: angst/crime au/smut

x Word Count: 2.1k

x Warnings: violence, blood, knives, guns, general criminal activity, oral sex (f receiving), unprotected sex, strong language (naturally), a smidge of rough sex but nothing crazy, misogynists and xenophobes get their karma quite painfully

x A/N: This is #1 in a series of 6 stories featuring members of TXT/ATEEZ/Stray Kids. They all follow the same theme and can be read chronologically or you can jump around. I support the chaos.

| | Next Psychopath: Lee Know | |

This? This is bullshit.

You should be sitting first class on that bullet train to Kyoto right now, sipping tea as you watch the bustling streets of Tokyo fade into a blur of neon light. Instead, your ticket is ripped to shreds at the bottom of a gutter two countries over and you’re slumming it in the back alleys of Nowhere. With the exception of a few flickering streetlights ahead of you, it’s almost too dark to cast a shadow out here. “Too dark,” insists one of the drunken assholes trailing behind you, “For a pretty little thing like you to be out here all alone.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you count five of them. The ring leader, let’s call him Red Shirt, has enough liquid courage in him to lead the pack in announcing every filthy thing they’d do with you if you let them. You roll your eyes, pushing forward to your destination, dying to escape them and the unpleasant stench that the mugginess after tonight’s rainstorm has left lingering in the air. “She’s not listening to us,” teases Black Jacket, “Maybe she thinks she’s too good for you.”

The childhood trauma of rejection at the hands of an unloving mother flips a switch inside of Red Shirt that he’d know was there if he’d gone to therapy like his ex suggested and he’s charging towards you in seconds. Shoving your hands in the pockets of your long leather jacket, you take a deep breath, bracing yourself for a confrontation that you aren’t even kind of in the mood for. There are much bigger things to worry about tonight. Much more pressing issues than Red Shirt and his band of sexually insecure misfits.

You reach the edge of the alley, almost clear of the group, when a hand slams down on your shoulder squeezing tightly enough to leave a bruise. “I know you hear me talking to you! Do you know what we do to girls like you around here?” Red Shirt hisses, venom dripping from his words. Grasping the handles of the switchblades in your pockets, you whip around, unfolding them at the speed of light and burying them in his shoulders. The flesh squishes like raw meat on a butcher's slab. You love to hear it.

Red Shirt drops to his knees, deep burgundy blood soaking through his shirt and dripping down his shoulders. The scream of anguish he lets out is enough to split the earth in two. The other four stumble back, the shock of their leader groveling in pain for likely the first time ever enough to make them want to shit themselves. You stare down at him, your eyes cold and void of any sympathy, “You know what I do to guys like you?” Twisting the blades, one of them knicks bone, making him whine like a wounded animal.

“Do you want me to show you?” you ask, smiling warmly, “Or are you gonna gather your friends and get the fuck away from me before I make sure you never use these arms again?” There’s an attempt at speaking. A croak, drowned out by the waterfall of tears rushing down his cheeks. “What’s that? I can’t quite hear you.”

“Leave. We. Leave” he manages.

It’s not the groveling that you’re used to but it’ll have to do for now. The blades ease out of his shoulders smooth as butter. His body hits the concrete hard enough that he early splashes water---at least you hope it’s just water---on your high-heeled boots. You squat down, casually cleaning your blades on his shirt. “If it makes you feel any better” you sigh, “Red is your color.”

“Do I have to talk slower so that you understand me? I Don’t. Owe. You. Shit.”

The words of the cocky American cooking up dope in the basement of this hole in the wall laundromat echo in Yeonjun’s mind. They call him San Jose for the time he spent in California locked away in a supermax prison. You learn a lot when you’re shoved into a cage in a strange new place with people you don’t know. And, for Yeonjun, English was one of those things. This American didn’t need to speak slower. San Jose understood him the first time.

The insult was just overkill which is precisely why he feels no guilt popping coins into the max load dryer the American’s currently folded into. The window's smeared with blood from the bones that had to be broken to wedge him in there, to begin with. Messy but necessary. Beneath the stained floors, marbled with dirt, Yeonjun’s associates facilitate more bloodshed among the guards too loyal or too stupid to run before things got this bad.

“You don’t have to do this!” the American begs, suddenly confident in the lack of a language barrier, “Please! I’ll get you your money! I promise!” Yeonjun taps at the glass, watching the American squirm like a panicked fish swimming in poisoned water. “So sorry” Yeonjun apologizes, “I don’t speak English.” The press of a button sets off the buzzing noise that signals the start of a cycle.

Tiny green lights glow beside the options Yeonjun patiently selected. Cycle: Heavy. Heat: High. Door: Locked.

There’d been a point where this was all about the money. But now? If he handed it over Yeonjun would throw it into the dryer and let it burn right along with him. Hypnotized by the clanking of the American’s body as the drum makes its labored turns, Yeonjun almost doesn’t hear the front door creak open. You stop dead in your tracks when you’re greeted by the barrel of a 45 ACP pistol. I said he almost didn’t hear the door. Just almost.

You throw your hands up, more as a peace offering than a sign of surrender. “You aren’t gonna shoot me are you, Yeon---” “You don’t get to call me that anymore, X” he snaps, raking his fingers through his platinum blonde hair, “You’ve got 10 seconds to turn around before I pull this trigger.” “Yeon---” He turns to you, his left eye twitching, and cocks the pistol. “San Jose” you say in an alluring tone, taking baby steps toward him, “I just wanna talk. Five minutes. That’s it. Can you give me that?”

Yeonjun can hardly look at you but he can’t bring himself to turn away. Why are the flowers most likely to kill you always the prettiest to look at? He groans, his rage softened by the sight of your face after almost a year apart, “Five minutes.”

Bent over the wooden desk in the manager’s office, you dig your heels into the floor, desperate to keep your trembling legs from giving out. You could say that you’d forgotten what it was like to have Yeonjun’s tongue performing acrobatics inside of your tight pussy but that would be a lie. There’s simply no way to forget how talented this man is with his tongue. Your memory though, pales in comparison to the real thing, and experiencing it for the first time in a long time has juices dripping down your lush thighs.

From his position behind you, the second time you’ve had a man on his knees tonight, Yeonjun’s fingers press into the softness of your ass. It looks glorious beneath the teal overhead lighting. Flawless in every way. Just like everything else about you. The taste of you is addictive. Sweet enough to rot his teeth. He squeezes your ass harder, raising you up to create the perfect angle for him to swipe his tongue between the slickness of your folds. His tongue brushes over your clit, making you moan in ways he can’t help but grin at.

“Why me?” he asks between sloppy, eager laps at your slit, “What does your boss want me for?” Nails tapping on the desk, nearly scratching the cheap plywood, you arch your back at the tugging in your lower belly. “She has plans. Something big and I don’t---aah---question her. I just---fuck.” Your body collapses, a spark traveling through your veins like liquid fire. “I just know she wants you back with us.” Yeonjun rises to his feet, pushing your dress up further to reveal the small of your back. He kisses it with the gentle lips of a man born to be a lover and bred to be a killer.

“But do you want me back?” he asks in a rare moment of vulnerability. You groan, rolling over onto your back, hands covering your face. Spending time with him, talking to him, loving him, the entire experience of being with him had been one of the only things that made waking up in the morning worth it in a life like this. None of it was ever just about the sex, as amazing as it is. It was always about him. Do you want him back? Of course, you do.

The head of his cock nudges at your slit, smearing your juices through the delicate petals of your pussy. Yeonjun runs his hands along your curves, indulging himself in the nostalgia of nights like this. “Do you?” Taking him by the collar of his shirt, you drag him on top of you, kissing him passionately as you lower yourself onto him until every inch is buried within you. “I do” you whisper, the sincerity in your eyes swearing to him that you aren’t lying. You wouldn’t. You can’t.

The feeling of being wanted by you again, knowing that you’ve wanted him all this time, is a high unlike anything else. Your legs wrap around his waist, keeping him flush against you as he dips in and out of you. The ridges of your walls when you clench around him. The blood pumping through those gorgeous veins that travel up his shaft. It’s almost too much. You kiss his forehead, stroking the back of his neck, unsure if that thumping is your heart or the body in the dryer just beyond the door. “I missed you so much” he moans into your chest, licking beads of sweat from between your cleavage.

“Fuck me harder then. Prove it.” You pose a challenge that he takes on without hesitation. Pinning your arms over your head, one hand keeping your wrists locked together, he thrusts into you with a force that carries a certain finesse civilian men painfully lack. He doesn’t miss a single sweet spot, making every tiny movement count. Every sensation pushes you closer to the edge of oblivion---and the desk. You don’t even have to speak for Yeonjun to know you’re about to cum. Your body tells him. It always has.

That thumping? It was your heart after all, and it’s at maximum volume in your ears as you come undone beneath him. The death grip that your walls have on him, your moisture coating him, leaking out to make a mess of his pants, has him coming right along with you. The warmth in your belly as he fills you up has you silently begging him not to stop, your brain still too lost in ecstasy to formulate more than a few incoherent whimpers. If he had it in him never would but you’re milking him so well, draining him of everything, that all he can do is stumble backwards before you take his soul too.

“Fuck” he pants, his body propped up against the wall behind him, “You’re the devil.” Pushing yourself up, you use what little balance you have to get your clothes back together. You wink at him, throwing your coat back on, “But you love me.” Locking eyes with him, you help him fix his pants, teasing the rim of his tip before tucking it away, “I’ll see you in Berlin then?” “Wouldn’t miss it for the world” he answers, lips hovering dangerously close to yours. You kiss him once more and his arms come around you, desperate to keep you here forever.

A cutesy ringtone blares as your phone vibrates in your pocket. You know by the sound of it that it’s your boss. “Answer it” he insists, kissing you one last time before turning you loose. With the phone in your hand, anticipating an interrogation from your boss, you march out of the manager’s office, ignoring the half conscious man with salami for skin hanging out of the dryer. “You be a good boy now, San Jose!” you shout behind you.

Yeonjun follows you out of the office, shoving the body back into the dryer without taking his eyes off of you, “You can call me Yeonjun again!” You can only laugh to yourself, disappearing back out into the night. You like that name better anyway.

#yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x you #yeonjun x y/n #txt x reader #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt au #yeonjun angst #yeonjun smut #txt angst #txt smut #chubby reader #plus size reader #thick reader

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zorosleftshoe · 1 month

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Somewhere Only We Know - (c.b)

Pairing: Colby Brock x fem!reader

Warnings: ANGST, pure angst

Summary: the wind reminds Colby of you

“And when the wind nestles itself between the locks of your hair on a warm summer’s day, know it is me.”

Colby couldn’t remember a time he had felt so utterly alone. The endless array of casseroles that lined his fridge, the countless vases of wilting roses and tulips that lined the counters, and the empty seat that had grown cold in your absence haunting him every time he stepped into the room.

It was torture.

His cheeks permanently stained with the tears that continued to fall as he reluctantly packed up the clothes in the closet that still smelled like you. You were everywhere. From the perfume that lingered on the pillow you used nightly to the pink toothbrush that sat in the bathroom, you haunted every corner of this house that was once a home.

His stomach clenched at the thought of one day not remembering the way your laugh sounded. Or how angelic his name would sound as it rolled off your tongue in a whine. You had bewitched him in every way; then you left just as quickly.

He spent the first couple days tangled in your bedsheets. Sam would drop off meals throughout the day only to be discouraged when he returned the next to find them untouched. It was day four when he finally ripped the blankets off his friend and forced him into the bathroom.

Colby assured Sam he would be okay once he was showered, fed, and sat on the couch where you once watched movies with him. Your legs tangled together messily as he ran his fingers through your hair. When his vision blurred from unshed tears, he tried to stop thinking about it.

On day six Colby attempted to go grocery shopping. The casseroles had gone bad and he knew you would want him to at least make an attempt at living a normal life. But what was normal now? Everywhere he went there were remnants of you.

It wasn’t until he was placing your favorite pastries in the cart that he realized he wasn’t ready. Ready to lose you. Ready to be out in the world alone. The grocery cart abandoned as he darted for the door, fresh tears staining his cheeks.

Day seven and eight pass in kaleidoscope blurs with your favorite song on repeat.

Day nine is when anger sets in. Why did you have to leave? Why did God need you more than he did? The house you once shared quickly becomes a tornado of pictures, glass, and feathers as Colby takes out his frustration on the trinkets that remind him of you.

He cuts his fingers on the glass but it still doesn’t hurt as much as that empty chair at the kitchen table.

Sam convinces him he should get a dog. It’s better than being alone. He sighs as the air around the two men grows tense, only to oblige and follow Sam out to his car. The shelter is jam packed with puppies, cats, even a few rabbits and Colby takes his time with each one. It isn’t until his eyes meet a pair of hazel orbs staring back at him that he feels his heart melt.

“How old is this one?” He asks the lady that kept a close distance before looking back to the small pup.

“Two weeks. Mom didn’t make it and the previous owner wasn’t in good health to take care of her.” Colby’s eyes soften as he reaches out to run a hand along the puppy’s spine. She makes a sound of content and he knows she’s the one. “If you choose her, it’ll be a couple weeks before you can take her home. Unless you know how to care for her.”

Colby watches videos, reads articles, and two days later he’s walking home with this sweet puppy cradled in his arms.

He can’t help but notice how she likes to curl up in your favorite blanket. It was the one thing Colby couldn’t get rid of and now, as he watches his puppy cuddle into it, he’s glad he didn’t. His heart flutters at the sight and he realizes he has found a new purpose in life. One that only weighs a couple of pounds and has the same beautiful eyes you did.

As weeks pass and she gets bigger, he notices an uncanny resemblance to you. She basks in the same chair you used to sit in as the sun warmed your skin. Your favorite blanket has quickly became hers as well. She spends most of her time curled in Colby’s lap. Finally, when he catches her gnawing on the strawberry pastries you always loved, he kneels down and scoops her up.

“Did she send you to me?” The puppy perks up at his words and licks his nose. “Did she send you to make sure I’d be okay?” The puppy continues to lick his nose, his cheeks, his chin, anywhere she can reach and Colby loses his composure as warm tears trickle down his face. “I’ll love you in this lifetime and the next. Thank you, sweet girl.”

Colby takes his new puppy, which he named ‘Amari’, to the fields where you used to spend your free time. He watches as Amari runs through the fields of flowers and chases butterflies, a smile lingering on his face.

The wind bellows around him and as it passes through his brown locks he swears he can feel your fingers threading through the strands of his hair. Your fingernails grazing his scalp in the way you always did. His knees nearly buckle as sobs overtake his body.

“I miss you, my love.” He looks at the trees around him as they sway to the same song you used to hum as you chopped veggies. “I love you.” He turns his head to the left and kisses the air, imagining it is your palm that he used to nuzzle into. Amari barks, catching his attention and when he looks up he swears he sees a silhouette watching the two with a smile gracing her lips. “Thank you for loving me!” Colby yells out. “I will find you! In our next lives. My soul will know yours, my sweet girl!” And as Colby chokes back a sob, he notices how the sunset fades to pinks and oranges.

He notices how its pink colors match the blush of your cheeks and he feels at home. He closes his eyes and allows the breeze to caress his face. He loves you. Even when your physical form is no longer sat beside him in this field of white daisies.

In the warmth that coats his face from the setting sun, he feels you, and that brings him enough comfort.

#sam and colby #colby brock imagine #colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #colby brock #colby brock angst

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fandomxpreferences · 1 year

Text

Say That To My Face

Pairing: Dad!Jake x female!reader

TW: mild abuse, violence, angst, fluff

Summary: Jake has always tried to set an example for his daughter but what happens when he catches her being treated like less than a princess?

Word Count:1.5k

A/N: protective dad Jake AND protective uncle Bradley? love to see it.

You left the house for twenty minutes to make a quick trip to the grocery store. Twenty minutes is all it took before your teenage son calls and tells you to come home because something is happening with your daughter and her boyfriend.

At home, Jake and Bradley are watching a football game with your son Judd when they hear a door slam. Your daughter Josie has been seeing this kid, Colt, for a while and a few months ago things took a turn.

Jake had always gone out of his way to treat both of you right and show Josie how she deserves to be loved. He took her on weekly dates, always opened doors for her, and bought her chocolates and flowers for Valentine's day every year.

He worshipped her from the second she was born and somehow his worst nightmare still came true. His sweet little girl had settled for less than her worth.

In her defense, Colt had done everything right in the beginning and Jake had even liked him. That only made him feel worse to know that he had given his seal of approval. But Colt seemed like a gentleman. He always came to the door, he brought you flowers the first time you met him, and he made Josie happy. Until he didn't.

You've tried talking to her about it but at the end of the day, she's 18 years old and you can't control her. Besides, she's just like Jake, and telling her she shouldn't do something only makes her want it more.

Jake and Bradley share a look before standing and heading toward your daughter's room. They stand outside and can hear the two of them arguing over something. Jake tenses when he hears his daughter's voice raise an octave.

"Who the fuck is Emma?" She bites and Bradley stops Jake from ripping the door open.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Colt snaps back and Josie laughs.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" She asks cynically and Colt laughs bitterly.

"She's just a friend." His voice is a little too hostile for Jake's liking and it takes all of his restraint not to butt in.

"Oh," she laughs. “Thirty seconds ago you didn't know what I was talking about but now she's just a friend? Why is there a heart next to her name?" Your daughter is yelling now, and Jake feels pride swell in his chest at the fact she won't let this asshole manipulate her.

You walk in the door just in time to catch things as they escalate, your son now standing behind his dad and uncle as well. Between Jake, Bradley, and your six-foot-four quarterback son, they look like their own faction of the avengers.

Your husband shoots you a look and you already know what's going on. Your daughter has confided in you about Colt before, this doesn't come as a surprise.

Your eyes widen when you hear glass break followed by him screaming. "You're being a crazy bitch! Can you just shut the fuck up for once?!"

That's all it takes for Jake to swing the door open and you see the color drain from the kid's face. He's met with four angry faces and you can see the exact moment he regrets being born. Jake leads the pack, everyone else waiting on standby for his orders.

"You wanna say that again to my face?" His voice is deep, his southern drawl more evident than usual.

Jake's fighting days are in the past, but Judd is a different story. You see your son's hand twitch and place a gentle hand on his elbow, a silent instruction to keep himself in check.

Josie takes a step toward her father and Jake guides her to stand behind him. She looks up at Judd and you can tell they're having their own conversation with their eyes. They break eye contact after a few seconds and she moves to stand hip to hip with her brother as he places a protective arm around her shoulder.

Colt takes a step forward to try and get to your daughter and Jake blocks the doorway with his body.

"Don't even think about it." He growls and Colt freezes. He's staring past your husband, directly at Josie and you know he's trying to intimidate her. You've seen it all before, but this time it's not going to work.

You can see the anger and hatred on Colt's face and it makes your stomach turn. They have a stare down for a minute before you hear Bradley speak.

"Answer her question." He demands and the young man snaps to look at him.

"What?" He asks and Bradley stands up taller.

"Who is Emma? Is she the other girl?" He questions and Colt's silence is all the answer they need.

"You piece of shit!" Judd yells while launching toward him and much to your surprise, your husband moves so your son can get through.

"Jake!" You scold while trying to get through but Josie grabs your hand.

"Let him go, mom. This is a long time coming."

You look back at her and the pain in her eyes is enough to make you reconsider. Maybe Judd getting in a couple good blows in isn't the worst thing in the world.

You watch as your son sends Colt flying backward with an uppercut and before he can swing again, Jake stops him.

"That's enough, son. We don't kick someone when they're down. Go watch your mom and sister." He orders and your son does as he's told without any protest.

Jake walks over to the boy who's been mistreating his only daughter and kneels down to get eye-level with him.

"You have thirty seconds to get the fuck out of my house before I finish what he started." He says, his voice deathly calm.

Colt stumbles to his feet and starts trying to grab random things that he's left over and Jake stops him.

"Leave it." He instructs and the man stops to look at him. He scoffs when he sees your husband is serious and knocks his shoulder as he pushes past him. Jake lets it slide, and remains stoic as Colt stomps away.

He falters for a second to look at Josie again and your son uses his body as a shield while staring him down. Colt looks over at you and you step forward in front of both of your kids. As threatening as the three men are, nothing compares to the wrath of a mother.

"Go." You spit, your voice dripping venom. He turns on his heel and a few seconds later, the front door slams. As soon as he's gone, everyone visibly relaxes and Josie rushes forward into her father's arms.

Jake catches her with ease, smoothing her hair down as she cries into his chest.

"Shhhh," He coos. "I've got you, princess. Daddy's got you."

"I'm sorry." She cries and Jake's heart shatters in its cage.

"You have nothing to apologize for baby. It's not your fault. You couldn't have known this is how he would turn out. I'm proud of you for recognizing you deserve better and standing up for yourself." He whispers and her sobs start to subside.

Bradley squeezes your shoulder before letting himself out and Judd goes back to the living room. You watch as they stand like that for a few minutes before she pulls back and peers up at her father. Jake brushes the hair out of her eyes and leans down to kiss her forehead, just like when she was little.

"Do you want to go out for ice cream like we used to?" He asks and Josie nods eagerly. She's always been a daddy's girl and up until Colt came into the picture a year ago, Jake still took her out for weekly dinner and ice cream dates. It killed him the first time she canceled to spend time with her boyfriend instead.

"Okay, sweetpea. Get dressed and we'll go." He says softly before meeting you in the hallway and closing the door to give her privacy.

"I love you. You're an amazing father." You tell him while wrapping your arms around his neck. You lean up to give him a sweet kiss and his hands fall to rest on your waist.

"I love you too sweets. I'm so glad we have our girl back." He confides and you smile up at the sweet man before you.

"She was never gone, just lost." You say gently and he nods. Josie comes out wearing a sundress Jake bought her and he smiles.

You give her a tight hug and kiss her cheek. "Have fun, baby. I love you."

She smiles brightly and your heart swells when you realize this is the first time she's looked happy in months. "Love you too, mama."

You watch as they leave before plopping down on the couch next to Judd and he leans his head on your shoulder. You run your hand through his messy blonde hair the way you always have and he nuzzles in further. He's always been close to you and you lean over to kiss his head.

"You did good, honey. I'm proud of you." You murmur and he moves to lay his head in your lap.

"I just did what you and dad taught me. Always protect women." He mutters and you smile to yourself. The two of you settle into the couch to watch a movie and you sigh contentedly, happy that your little family is back to normal.

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