#I meant to post this on here too yesterday but I forgot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bi-writes · 21 days ago

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polarity | ghost x f!reader

maybe we're not so different after all.

type: one-shot (8.3k), AO3

cw: this piece is actually super dark proceed with caution, dark!ghost, dark!simon, sunshine!reader, mature language and content, suggestive language and content, graphic depictions of violence + gore, smut, unprotected piv, cumplay, oral, simon is not a good or nice person (except to reader), reader also maybe isn't a good person who knows, reader has hair long enough to hold, curvy/plus-sized!reader, meet-cute until it's not, background breeding kink, size difference, size kink, military inaccuracies, references to simon's past canon trauma, 18+

Ghost does not believe in love at first sight.

The concept is for children; even when he was a child, he doesn’t think he would’ve believed it then, either. There was no love where he went, even to the places where it was owed to him. In his own house, he feared what love felt like. The kind he knew was pain and misery and the terrifying reality of what it meant to always be looking over his own shoulder.

Love at first sight chewed Simon Riley up—and what it spat out was terrible, big, and caged-off from the rest of the world.

Ghost is built of many layers. Not like an onion, no—onions are easy to manipulate. With the tip of a knife, you can cut right through its skin and tear it apart, but Ghost is not built the same way. He laid concrete out in front of himself a long time ago. The things around him are rotten, curled in on itself, and it would take too long to unbury him for anyone at all to want to spend the time and try. He prefers it this way. He likes it this way. Being alone means there are no surprises, and there is no one waiting for you. There is no one to disappoint, and there is no one to prove right or wrong. There is only today and tomorrow, because yesterday has already passed, and he doesn’t care to think about what already was.

It’s Johnny that’s brought him here. In a pub too loud, with watered-down drinks that cost a quid too much. He didn’t have an excuse today to turn him down. Johnny’s got a sister he needs to see, and his sister has got a friend—someone from her uni, taking the same chemistry courses, or something like that. He can’t really remember, he wasn’t paying attention too closely, but Johnny offered to pay if his lieutenant just gave him company in the long drive into the city.

The booth is too small. His bourbon tastes off. All he wants to do is smoke a cigarette, but he’s been staring daggers at the “No Smoking” sign that’s posted behind the bar. There’s a ringing in his ears that’s been following him since they got off their last op just a few days ago, and it feels strongest here in this room, with too many unknowns in too many dark corners.

“Johnny!”

A soft voice squeals. Simon’s eye twitches, and he looks over Johnny’s shoulder to see a pretty brunette with bright, blue eyes smiling wide as she hurries towards them. Johnny slips out of his seat to cradle the woman to his chest, rocking back and forth as he hugs her. His baby Emily, he hears Johnny mutter. She’s got that same square jaw and strong brows, and Ghost imagines that if Johnny were to grow out his hair, it’d grow in the same matching, bouncy curls that Emily has. She sounds so happy to see him, and Ghost swirls a gloved finger around the rim of his glass as he watches.

It tastes sour, looking at something that he used to have. He wishes that he didn’t want it as much as he thinks he does at this very moment.

“Oh! Sorry, forgot for a wee second there. This is who I told you about—”

Emily steps aside, and there you stand.

Glossy, pink-tinted lips. A cardigan that hugs your frame with a knit, sunflower pattern. Light wash jeans, baby blue boots. Your fingertips are painted glittery and pink, and your baby blue purse matches your shoes.

Emily says your name, and you hold out your hand for Johnny to shake. It’s then that your eyes move to the shadow behind him, and Ghost licks over his teeth, satisfied, when you visibly swallow and your eyes widen a little.

“Ach, don’t mind ‘im. Tha’ scary bastard is just my lieutenant, Simon,” Johnny nods his head over his shoulder. “Simon, would ye introduce yerself, fer fuck’s sake? Stop brooding over there.”

Naturally, Emily sits next to her brother, already squeezing his shoulders and excitedly telling him about some fellowship opportunity she was up for. You slip your purse off your shoulder, shuffling towards the space next to Simon. You grip the edge of the booth to hoist yourself up onto the high seat, and you smile a little when Simon holds out his hand for you.

You take it, smooth palm in his gloved one, and it takes no effort at all for him to tug gently and get you up to sit. He sniffs, looking up when he finds himself staring a little too long at the curve of your jeans, but it’s hard not to when both of you take up the entirety of the booth. Just to fit, Simon has to lean back, and you adjust your cardigan over your shoulder when Simon stretches one big arm out behind you.

“So, uh…” You clear your throat. “What are you drinking, Lieutenant?”

“Piss water,” Simon says lowly. He cringes a little at the bite of his tone—he never means to be curt, but it always comes out that way. You purse your lips, tapping your nails on the wood, and you look at him over your shoulder.

“Hmm,” you make a face, “so Johnny made it?”

It takes a few moments for Simon to realize you’re telling a joke. The silence must mortify you, because you’re looking down and tearing a piece of yarn out of your sweater, and Simon realizes he’s wearing his mask, and you can’t see his face, and she’s trying to break the fucking ice—

“Nah,” Simon shrugs, shaking his head. “His tastes more like right shit.”

Your eyes flicker up, and you stare at him for just a few moments under your lashes before your hand goes up to cover your mouth. You giggle, cheeks warm, and he blinks at you slowly as your entire body relaxes. Your thigh touches his, and his fingers flex on the hand that’s thrown behind you, twitching as he thinks about letting them graze the skin peeking out from under your sweater.

When he gets the urge to touch you under your chin, he nearly curses out loud because fuck—

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Simon knows it as soon as he lays his eyes on you again. Staring right into yours, hand fidgeting behind you as it wants so desperately to cup the back of your neck and tangle into the strands of your hair—fuck, fuck, fuck—he’s so fucked.

He knows it, too, when you’re in his bed. Sunflower sweater draped across his floor, boots in the hallway, glittered nail-polish piercing his biceps as he tilts your head back, bares your throat, sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh there. You giggle, and it’s the rainbow after a storm. The drink of water after days in the desert, the stitch that holds the seams together, the pins that will take his broken bones and put them all back together again—

He’s feeling his cum dripping between your thighs when you ask him about his scars. He adjusts the edge of his mask as soon as you ask, sniffing under it as you smooth a finger over a puckered scar on his chest left behind by the ricochet of a stray bullet, one of many. You squeeze your thighs together when his long fingers move in squelching circles over your cunt, and your back arches when he slips them inside of you. You take his jaw between a few fingers and grip it tight, pressing your lips against his mask as you whine and kick your feet in overstimulation.

He doesn’t want you to ask questions. He doesn’t want to burst this bubble of warmth and goodness and intimacy that he’s created, because then this will be something else. Right now, he’s the mysterious, black ops military man you’ve spent an incredible night with, and if you start talking, you’ll learn. You’ll understand. You’ll find out why he doesn’t want to talk much. You’ll discover what he is under the skin he wears, and he already knows he’ll terrify you. There is nothing good about what someone uncovers under the lid he keeps over his head.

“Where did you get this one?” You point to a particular nasty white gash on the side of his ribs. He rubs a thick hand down your bare back, cupping your ass and squeezing gently.

“Op in Baghdad,” Simon murmurs. “Hand to hand.”

You touch a small circular scar on his arm.

“And this one?”

“Cigarette.”

You push the blankets down a little and bring your knee up. Simon grips the side of your thigh, and you hike your leg up to give him a better look at the puffed scar across your kneecap.

“Look at this,” you giggle. “I fell off my bike when I was little.”

“Tha’ right, swee’eart?”

“Mhm. Just like you.”

“Just like me.”

You’re still there in the morning. Cheek smushed against his chest, leg tangled between his, arm curled around his middle. There’s a little drool drying on the side of your mouth, and Simon thumbs along your jaw as he watches you sleep. The glittery eyeshadow you were wearing last night has smeared across your cheek a little, and you’re glowing. A good shag and a good night’s sleep, and you look like a right angel in the early hours.

You look like one on his couch, too. You look like one in his shirt that barely fits over your tits, watching his telly, eating the shit plate of eggs he made you since he’s never bothered to learn how to cook. You look beautiful getting your clothes back on and smelling just like him as he drives you back to your flat.

You look like his when he crowds you against the door of your place, masked mouth against your open lips as you fumble for the doorknob and yank him inside to get his pants off.

Your flat blinds him. There’s different colors scattered across the place. A fluffy pink carpet in the living room. String lights hung everywhere, in different colors, twinkling gently. There’s plants of all shapes and sizes hanging from the ceiling and overflowing from their brightly colored pots. No plate or cup is the same shape or color or even matches one another, and there’s lamps in the shapes of mushrooms and fish sitting on your mismatched coffee and side tables. You collect everything—movie posters of all kinds on the walls, an entire wall of funny clocks, another wall of arts and crafts that must be homemade, framed and hung up.

Your home is what you are. Fun and colorful and happy and bright, and Simon hikes his mask up so he can bite and lick and nearly eat you as he tries to absorb all of it. There is nothing inside of this place that doesn’t incite joy, and he feeds on it like a leech. He must have it, because he never has before, and whenever he lets go, he feels it less, and that cannot happen, he won’t let it go.

If it isn’t your smile keeping him close, your pussy is the next best thing. You look incredible on your knees—perched on your elbows, ass up, pushing back against him as he fucks into you lazily. You’re so beautiful, in every position, but there’s something about getting to push your thighs apart a little and watch you take his cock that makes his belly clench as he watches you suck him in again and again and again. There’s a ring of slick gathering at the base, making it nice and easy for him to kiss your cervix, and you sound so pretty—soft whines of his name, little mewls that make his jaw tick.

“Simon—Simon, please—”

He doesn’t like to hear you beg. You deserve whatever you ask for, whatever you want. Those big eyes should never desire anything. He never wants to see you pout or blubber—he wants you relaxed and pleasured and incoherent from how fed you are in every aspect, and he’s going to fuck you right into this mattress until he gets you right where you’re meant to be.

You tell him he looks funny in your bed, surrounded by the squishmallows and fluffy teddy bears, but he doesn’t mind. He didn’t realize what a proper bed could do for his back, because yours has springs and memory foam, and his body just sinks into it just right.

He gets woken up in the middle of the night by his phone. Wheels up at 0500, and now he’s dreading getting into his truck. There’s something warm on his chest, and for a moment he thinks it’s you, but then he blinks into focus when the thing on his chest moves and stretches, staring down at him with curious green eyes. It’s a chunky tuxedo cat, and it’s wearing a black bedazzled collar.

“‘ello,” Simon mutters, scratching under its chin. The big thing just nuzzles against his hand before moving to the end of the bed to curl up between your feet.

Simon tries not to think about you on the drive back, and he tries not to think about you as he puts his gear on; but there’s a bouquet of fake sunflowers on a secretary’s desk mocking him, and when he goes to put his gloves on, there’s still glitter on his fingertips.

You are everywhere. You are in the warmth of the sand that gets under the fabric of his mask. You are in the water that sustains him on hour fifteen of sitting on a rooftop. He sees you in the bright red that trickles from the hole in his target’s forehead, matching the red of the strawberry plushie that you were holding the morning he left.

He notices himself more. How much space he takes up. How loud his voice is. He compares the way his cock looks in his hand now to the way it looked in yours, and he has to swallow the groan that threatens to break when he thinks about the way you thumbed at the tip and cooed about how pretty he was. Delicate, pretty hands, not at all like his own—not at all like the roughness of his palms, the scars along the backs of his hands, the blood against his raw knuckles from beating a hostile into the ground just to feel something.

Just to feel anything.

Standing next to you, it is all too clear what kind of man Simon Riley is. He’s not a man at all—he’s nothing more than an extension to his rifle, and when the trigger isn’t getting pulled, he’s just not that fucking useful.

Johnny is in a mood. Scowling like a brat. Glaring at the back of his head. Hitting him with his shoulder whenever they pass by each other. Simon is indifferent, and Simon pretends not to care, so he takes it in stride, but it makes his teeth ache with how annoyed he is.

“What the fuck is wrong with ye?”

He doesn’t like being scolded, especially not by his sergeant; but he sits there, and he takes it, because what Johnny is telling him isn’t a lie. There’s a girl that woke up in an empty bed—a sweet one, with glassy eyes, and she thinks he’s a two-faced asshole that slipped out when she wasn’t looking. A girl that can do casual, but not a girl that can tell him about the dreams she’s too scared to write down and lets him rest his head on the same pillow where she rests her own. Too intimate, too many words, too many times he came inside of her and told her that’s where it’s supposed to be—in y’r pretty pussy, baby, right there—

He’s never done this before. He doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t stick around where he knows he doesn’t belong, and he never thinks he’s done anything wrong enough to warrant some kind of apology. With Simon, you get what you get, and he doesn’t think he advertises himself as someone warm, empathetic, considerate; but he’s sitting here, his truck still running, and there’s a decaying plastic-encased bouquet of yellow tulips resting haphazard in the passenger seat.

He’s been waiting on your doorstep for more than five minutes. He sees you peeking through the window in your kitchen, and his eyes find yours through the blinds. He narrows his eyes at you, squeezing the bouquet until the plastic crinkles under his fists. It takes a couple more moments before you open the door, and Simon sniffs under the mask when he sees your eyes again. They’re big and wet and sad.

He never wants to see them like this again.

You’re sweet, so you take the flowers from him. You purse your lips as you stand there, trying to keep your lip from wobbling, but it’s very clear you’re trying not to cry. You hug the flowers close to your chest, and Simon brings his hand up, tucking his gloved fingers under your chin and tipping it up.

“‘ello, swee’eart,” he murmurs. “Were y’lookin’ for me?”

“N-No.”

“Y’r a bad liar, baby.”

It takes a few minutes to get you settled. Sitting on your couch, batting at your tears with the sleeve of your sweater as Simon turns the kettle on in your kitchen. The cat weaves between his legs as he steeps the tea bags, and when he comes back into your living room, you’re staring at the droopy tulips, rubbing a thumb over the petals.

“‘ere,” Simon murmurs, setting down a mug in front of you.

“I…” You wipe under your nose. “I-I don’t need your pity, Simon.”

“Not here for tha’.”

“I know Johnny said something to you, and I really don’t want to talk about it—a-and if that’s why you’re here, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

You pick up one of the stuffed animals that sits on your couch. It’s a goldfish, fat with stuffing around the middle, with a comical smile and rainbow-colored scales. You hug it, resting your cheek on it, staring at Simon through wet eyelashes as he stiffens uncomfortably. Crying, emotions, talking—he doesn’t do any of these things. This complicates things. Relationships make things more difficult, and connections mean he has obligations, and he’s already seeing now what this kind of thing will be between you.

It’s too much.

It’s not enough.

“He did say somethin’,” Simon mutters. He sniffs, looking down at his gloved hands. His fingers curl into fists as they rest on his thighs, and he lets out the breath he’s holding harshly, shaking his head. He doesn’t understand what he’s doing here, but the thought of getting up and leaving seems worse. “Didn’t sit right wit’ me.”

You tuck your legs underneath you, and he watches as you absentmindedly knead the stuffed fish. You hum lowly, sheepish, and then you open and close your mouth as you try to find the words to say.

“I know we…” You flinch a little. “It was just…I know it was just a day. A night.” You rub your nose. “I feel so stupid. I don’t want you to feel bad. I don’t want you to feel…like you h-have to come here and…explain, I…” You close your eyes. “I-I just…I really like you, Simon.”

I really like you, Simon.

He leans his head back against the back of your couch. Something in his chest squeezes tight, and he swallows hard as he listens to you say it again and again in his head.

I really like you, Simon. I really like you, Simon. Don’t you like me?

“Oh, love,” Simon breathes. He turns his head to look at you, and you’re already looking at him. You have the fish to your chest, hugging it tighter, and he reaches over and touches under your chin gently. “Y’don’t want this. Y’don’t want me. I know y’think y’do, and ‘s sweet, but y’don’t want this.”

“Tell me why,” you say softly. “Convince me, then.”

“Do you…do you even know wot we do?” He asks. “The kinds of things they ask us to do? Wot I’ve done t’get here?”

You shake your head, and when his hand opens up, your cheek finds his palm, resting there, nuzzling.

“We’re murderers with fuckin’ passes,” he whispers. “There isn’t a line we don’t cross. No boundary we don’t ignore. They killed my whole fuckin’ family, and then I came back for more, because tha’s the kind of life I live, and tha’s the kind of work I do. When I come home, I have someone else’s blood on my clothes, do y’understand tha’?” He leans closer, touching his nose to yours. “We go places tha’ no one comes back from. Even now—” He pinches your chin between two fingers, “—I strangled someone with these very hands, love, tha’s the kind of man I am. Look at me—”

You flutter your lashes, meeting his eyes, and he shakes his head.

“Tha’s wot I do, love,” Simon grunts. “And the worst part of it is tha’ I fuckin’ like it.”

You lift a hand up and wrap it around his wrist. There is no resistance as you draw his hand off your face and hold it instead, intertwining your fingers and resting them in your lap. His hand dwarfs yours—long, deft fingers and spread palm that covers your own completely. You scoot a little closer, getting up onto your knees, and Simon’s eyes follow you as you abandon the stuffed fish to put one hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his masked cheek.

“You didn’t say no.”

“Wot?”

“You won’t say no,” you whisper, sliding the hand on his shoulder up to caress the back of his neck. “To me. To this.”

“Because I can’t,” Simon groans. “Need you t’do it.”

“But I…” You lean down and press your forehead to his. “I-I do want it. I want you. You’re…” You kiss him through the mask, a soft press of your lips against his. You feel him kiss back, and you pull away slowly. “Please. Please, Simon?” You kiss down his cheek, thumbing under his eye, and he lets out a shaky breath as you fall into his lap, knees on either side of him. His hands come up easily, cupping under your thighs, and you whine as he drags your hips forward, a slow grind that makes you shake. “Won’t you try? For me?”

Getting Simon into your bed is too easy. He looks nice here, underneath you. You press down onto his chest for leverage, using it to help throw your hips back against his. He’s deep, pulsing inside of your cunt—your rhythm stutters every time he touches your cervix, but his tight grip on your ass keeps you moving.

You’re so wet. You’ve never been wetter with another man. Sweat, tears, slick—every part of you leaks when you’re with Simon. You dig your nails into his chest, and he grunts, when you start to feel your orgasm creeping up on you, you arch your back to get friction onto your clit and squeal when Simon gets the hint; he lifts you up and plants his feet against the bed to fuck up into you and force your eyes into the back of your head.

He tastes like you after awhile. After spending days in your flat, his kisses start to taste as sweet as the pastries you make, and he starts to smell like the citrus soaps you keep in your bathroom. You get a whiff of lavender from his clothes after using your laundry detergent, and he sleeps like the dead after round two inside of you. Cum cooling between your thighs, mouth fixed to your throat, fingers stuffed inside of you to keep warm as he breathes in a sigh of relief until he’s deep asleep. He still doesn’t take his mask off, but he gives you his mouth, and you fix yourself there, mouth against his, kissing him feverishly whenever he exposes his lips just for you.

“Will you miss me?” You ask. He’s standing at the door, pulling his jacket on. He flips the hood up over his head, clicking his tongue as he fits a hand into the back pocket of your jeans and squeezes, pulling you towards him and into his chest.

“Mhm,” he mutters. You giggle, cupping his cheeks, and when he puts his thumb between your lips, you let him open your mouth, tilting your head as he spits onto your tongue before kissing you wetly. You wrap your arms around his neck, charmed bracelets jingling as you try to climb up to him. He bends, gripping you under your thighs before he hoists you up and against the wall. You moan, scratching along his back.

“Do you really have to go?” You whisper between kisses, and he hisses in response.

“Got to,” Simon sighs, but you smile wide when you hear the sound of his belt buckle. “But I can be late.”

Like you, Simon feels like he’s seeing the world for the very first time—all in color. Food has taste. Views have beauty. His gun feels heavy, and his cot is cold to the touch. Time finally has duration—it hangs and drags now, minutes and seconds taking too long as he sits in a dark room and listens to his captain explain an op he could care less about. His leg bounces impatiently, fingers twitching as he watches the screen and tries to pay attention.

Complicated. Difficult. Not enough and too much.

You are so beautiful. Your name lights up his phone, several pink and yellow emojis beside your name that you entered yourself.

we miss u! xoxo

There’s a picture of you and your cat. You’re seated on your couch, a pink blanket in your lap, a selfie of you holding up your cat in one arm. Simon clenches his jaw when he sees that you’re practically naked—in just a yellow lace bra, blanket covering your lower half. You send another picture after a few seconds, and Simon licks over his teeth. Another selfie of you, cleavage on display, and he can see the little rhinestones that are sewn into your bra. He can also see the little butterfly clips you have in your hair and the darling smile you wear.

He comes in his fist later, selfie on display in one hand, his mind on the sound of your voice. It’s never happened so fast—just a few languid tugs, and he’s spilling over his thighs like a teenager.

It’s all he thinks about. The blood runs warmer, easier. His gun fires quicker. He’s got tunnel-vision now, eyes on his prize—the sooner he finishes, the quicker he gets home, so he sinks his blade into throats and keeps his feet moving. He keeps quiet, keeps steady, and as soon as he’s got his target in his sights, he pulls the trigger without a second thought.

“Got somethin’ on yer mind, LT?”

Simon narrows his eyes. Johnny looks smug—a ghost of a smirk on his face, face red from sweat and his own cheekiness. Simon just leans his head back against the side of the helicopter, looking outside as the ground gets farther and farther away.

“Never pegged ye fer the type.”

Simon’s hands dig into his rifle.

“Always liked tha’ one,” Johnny continues. “Got a sweet face. Always wondered why she never liked me. Guess she likes ‘em big ‘n scary.”

“Careful, Johnny,” Simon warns, glaring at him.

“I just—”

“No, listen ‘ere,” Simon snaps. “We don’t talk about ‘er. We don’t mention ‘er. She is off limits, to you or anyone else. As far as y’r concerned, she doesn’t exist, yeah? Repeat it back t’me.”

“Don’t know who yer talkin’ about, LT,” Johnny says after a few moments. Simon looks away, shaking his head.

“Good boy.”

He doesn’t go back to his flat. There isn’t anything there that he wants; everything he needs leads straight to you. You’re cooing when he comes through the door, murmuring lowly as he drops his duffel bag and shoves his masked face into the crook of your neck. He crowds you against the door when you shut it, and you giggle as he takes deep breaths of your perfume. His hands grab at your waist, sliding down the backs of your thighs, feeling over the soft skin and biting at your throat even through the mask.

“What happened, teddy bear?” You mumble, scratching the back of his neck. “What did they do to you, huh?”

Dog, mutt, devour. He’s been away for too long, been starving ever since he left, and you take it with a smile. Simon is never too much for you. Simon is never too rough or too loud, and he is never too far into your space or too attached. You drink it so lovingly, and you never push him away.

He watches you carefully as you help him take his gear off. You start with the weapons. You slip the gun out of its holster on his chest, emptying the chamber and taking the magazine out. His grip on your waist tightens at the sight of you handling it with such ease, and you just shrug as you set it aside.

“I’ve been practicing.”

You unload all of his throwing knives, from his thigh holster and from inside of his boot. You find another small pistol attached to his boot, and you sigh as you unload it the same. Your hands find the buckles of his thigh holsters, and when you slide it off of him, you settle on your knees and tip your head back to look up at him.

He caresses the back of your head, and you swear you hear him purr. You lean forward, pressing your cheek to where his belt is. You kiss there, right against his zipper, and his fingers tangle into your hair just enough for you to feel a little pressure. He’s still gentle, still kind, but his eyes are so dark. You wonder if the way he looks at you now is the way he looks at his targets. Is this hunger the same—the same for you as it is to get the job done? They say love and hate are so alike, so intertwined; is that why he keeps coming back? Does he chase this feeling all the time?

What is it that you are?

An addiction? Or a necessity?

You take his dirty clothes from him as he undresses in the bathroom. Shirt, jacket, belt, pants, socks, boxers—you eye him with a smile, biting your lip, and Simon winks at you from under the mask as he slides a big hand down his middle.

“Wot?” He asks. “Like wot y’see, love?”

It would be impossible not to. Thick arms, tattoos on display. Unforgiving muscle and fat. His hands ungloved, you can see the split of his knuckles and the bruising from where he must’ve hit something—someone. Then your eyes skim over the curls just over his cock, which hangs heavy and red between his thighs. Simon has no shame—his nakedness is not something he cares to hide, especially not to you. You stand on your toes and gives his cheek a kiss before taking his clothes to the laundry room.

You’re at the sink when he’s freshly showered. There’s a bottle of peroxide next to you, and you’re wearing gloves, and he watches as you have his pants half in the sink as you work on scrubbing at the fabric.

“Wot ‘appened?” Simon asks. You hum, shrugging, ringing out a bit of the fabric.

“Just some blood. I’ll get it out. What do you want to eat for dinner, baby?”

Simon thinks that’s the moment he knew he was in love with you. Hair pinned back, baby pink matching lounge outfit with the tiniest shorts he’s ever fucking seen, scrubbing out the blood from his clothes as you talk about supper.

He knows he was fucked from the moment he met you—but it’s now that he knows he’ll never leave.

He’s reminded again of that feeling when you call him angrily from your flat. He’s pushing a trolly in the store, eyes sweeping over the selection of chocolate in the baking section. You were baking chocolate scones and would be making some ganache tomorrow, and he’s squinting at the paper you gave him with your list when his phone starts ringing.

“‘ello, love?”

“Simon, are you serious?!”

“Wot happened?”

“There’s—Simon! There’s a grenade in…in the jar!”

“Wot’s tha’?”

“The jar with my powdered sugar. I found a grenade in there!”

“Oh. Mmm. Right. Leave it there.”

“Simon! And are you taping ninja stars under my tables? I found two already!”

“Dunno. But sounds like someone ‘ad a good idea, wanted t’be prepared, y’should leave them there.”

“Simon, you are—” There’s a pause, and then he smiles under the mask when you laugh. “Just get my chocolate and get back here, please.”

You have no idea what Simon was talking about. You don’t understand what it is that he was running from. There’s so much of himself that he was meant to show to someone else. He’s been hiding for so long, and not just underneath the mask he wears—but there’s a man under it all, and you love when he comes out to meet you.

Maybe he is a little terrible. Maybe he really is just the thing you don’t need. You think about that a little too long when the water in the sink runs red again, his shirt an entirely different color from whatever it is that he had done before he got home. Maybe he really is wrong for you—it crosses your mind when you’re dusting the shelves and find a loaded pistol in the vase that used to hold your apology tulips.

He lives an entirely different life than you. He drags colors into your home that you tried so hard not to embrace, all the black and blue and grey that you’ve always felt could swallow your entire self—but you don’t know what the alternative is. There is no one else in the world that looks at you the way that he does. There isn’t anyone’s hand that feels the way his does when it’s against the side of your face or tangled between the strands of your hair or warm between your thighs.

You don’t think anyone else would mean it if they saw you crying and threatened to kill whoever had made you so sad; because he does mean it, doesn’t he? He would do it if you asked, wouldn’t he?

That’s love; you’re convinced it is. Love is the boundaries you say you won’t cross that you step right over without thinking. Love is the places you say you could never go that are already behind you. Love—real love—is the doorway that Simon keeps passing through even though he promises you that this is the last time whenever he leaves.

“Look at me—ha, Simon!—look here.” You fit the headband onto over his head, fitting the cat ears on top of his head. He grunts a little, sighing through his nose, and you warm up the makeup remover between your hands. Delicately, you start to rub it into his face. He closes his eyes, and you carefully work your fingers against his skin as the eye-black begins to run easily. “Almost done.”

You use a warm cloth to wipe his face. The eye-black comes off, but the scars remain, and when he opens his eyes, you know that you haven’t really taken anything away from him. There’s still something that weighs heavy on his shoulders, and you lean forward to get closer to him, keeping your voice quiet.

“What was it this time?” You ask, putting both hands on his face and keeping his eyes on yours. He blinks, and he goes somewhere else. He’s thinking about it. There’s something he’s looking at, somewhere far away, over your shoulder.

“He begged me not to,” Simon murmurs. “Told me their names.”

Moms. Dads. Partner. Children. They always have names at the end—as if attaching themselves to another will make their deaths harder. Men are singular beings. Rarely are they life support for another.

“It’s okay,” you tell Simon. You close your eyes as you rest your cheek against his.

“It is?”

“Uh huh.” It’s so warm here, arms around him, face tucked against his. “I forgive you.”

It’s okay. I forgive you. Everything is just as it should be.

“Y’don’t know wot I did,” Simon counters. “Wot I…got outta him.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you say softly. You squeeze the towel out, wetting it again with warm water before passing it over his face again. You hold him under his chin, catching the droplets of water, and you smile as you kiss his nose gently. “It never does. Never will.”

“But—”

“I made your favorite,” you interrupt, plucking the cat ears off of him and tossing everything into the laundry basket. “There’s brownies in the kitchen. I want you to try.”

Is Simon really committing heinous war crimes when his reward is chocolate decadence and wet pussy?

You look so cute. You’re wearing a flowery pajama set, tiny shorts and cropped shirt, something that leaves nothing to the imagination as he pulls the gusset of your panties to the side and sinks into you easily. You brace yourself against the back of the couch, sitting up in his lap. Simon groans when your tits are right in his face, pebbled nipples poking through your shirt fabric, and he reaches up to pinch them between greedy fingers as you sit right down on his dick and take him to the tilt.

“Fuuuuuuuuck—” Simon breathes. The wet squelch is making his head spin. His wet girl, his pretty girl, his sweet girl. He sharpens his teeth when he leaves, and you dull them when he comes home, letting him sink his teeth into you and eat. You keep him in balance; the push and pull that he always felt he struggled with is nonexistent now that you’re here. When Ghost used to get put back into his duffel, Simon felt like what was left behind was almost too much to take. The nightmares, the torture, the disregard for what was moral in favor of what got the job done—it is gone with you. Your absolution resolves him of this debt.

How can he feel he’s done anything wrong when you’re calling him teddy bear and taking his cock like this?

You drag the hem of your shirt up slowly, and when your tits are bouncing, bare and sweaty in front of his face, Simon loses his train of thought. His mouth falls open, tongue hanging out, and you cup the back of his neck to draw him close until his lips wrap around your nipple and suck. You whimper, keeping him there, slowing your hips to watch him let go for just long enough to spit on your chest and lick it right back up.

“Feels so good, teddy bear,” you whine. “You’re so big…” You wiggle your hips until just the tip of him is inside you, and then you sit back down, drawing out a long moan from the both of you. His hands fall to cup under your thighs, and you feel like you’re melting as his tip prods against a squishy spot inside of you and makes you see double. You grab onto his shoulders, digging your nails in, crying. “Oh—right t-there, baby—right there—”

“Right there, swee’eart?”

“Mhm! M-More…”

“My sweet girl,” he mumbles, and you squeak when he grips the fabric of your shorts, grunting as he tears the fabric apart. His fingers cup both sides of your ass, spreading them, using the new leverage he has on you to start picking you up and bouncing you with nothing but sheer strength. You’re thick everywhere that he needs you to be—hips, stomach, thighs, all the perfect places he hopes any girl he’s with will be. They never quite had it the way you do; when his fingers dig and feel nothing but softness, he hisses because it feels so good to grab onto you. It makes his mouth water. It makes him so fucking hungry. It makes his cock ache and his balls heavy, and he’s going to come if he keeps seeing your breasts sway like that as you take his cock so well. “Fuck—” He shakes his head. “Fuck!”

You lick into his mouth just as he loses control. Fingers under his chin, tongue around his teeth as he holds you down on his lap and fills you nice and warm. Your hips stutter, and he lets you lean back just enough so you can touch your clit and squeeze around him. You look down between your bodies, touching tenderly where you’re connected, like you’re fascinated by how much of him fits inside of you.

You settle after a few minutes. You rest your palms on his chest, squishy muscle supporting you as you lift your hips and let him out. You lean over him, whining when you feel fluid slipping down your thighs and gathering underneath you.

“You’re thinking too much,” you whisper as you slip your shirt back on. Simon hums as he holds you in his lap, cock twitching as he watches you move your hair out of your eyes and lick your own fingers.

“Got a lot on my mind,” is all Simon gives you. You let your knee fall open, and you use your fingers to swirl between your folds before you guide them up and into Simon’s mouth. He chuckles, taking them, and you lean forward to kiss his cheek just as you pull your fingers back out.

“You’re not supposed to think about things,” you murmur. “How many times do I have to tell you, Simon?” You cup one side of his face, making him look at you. “You could never do something wrong. Everything is okay.” You smile. “You believe me, don’t you, teddy bear?”

It’s so easy to believe you when you look at him like that. You’re so pretty—you always are. There is nothing terrible about your mind. Your brain isn’t rotten between the flesh as his must be. There is no blood forever under your fingernails, and you don’t sleep thinking about the graveyards you fill with your heavy hand. You don’t know what it feels like to have a gun burn in your palm, and you’ve never heard the screaming of someone who only has one limb left to spare. You don’t know how long it takes before a father will give up his children, and you’ve never seen your tombstone so clearly that the callous of your hands feel like the rock it’s made of.

Whatever you say must be true. Whatever you forgive him of must be good enough. There is nothing you cannot give, and there is nothing you can say that won’t be absolute reality. He feels like he poisons you every time he touches you, but when he takes his hands away, the skin underneath looks the same, and your smile never fades. You don’t bruise like other people do when he puts a hand on them. You don’t flinch when he raises his arm. You don’t scream when he comes close to you.

He hears your laughter wherever he goes. He’s kneeling now, bone digging into the ground as he lifts up his arm that holds a blade high. The bullet would be quicker, but this feels better. It pierces the neck, flesh giving away to its sharpness like a hot knife through butter, and Ghost licks over his teeth as he watches something sacred leave their eyes. For a moment, he feels bad about what he’s done. He closes his eyes, squeezing them shut, looking for his alternate reality.

I am no good. There is nothing good in me. I am not made of it.

There you are. Sitting on your knees between his thighs, cheek nuzzled against his jeans, sparkly, glossy lips curled into a wicked smile as you fist his cock and coo up at him. When you kiss his tip, you leave it shining, and then your tongue comes out of your mouth, and it’s over for him. There is a heaven inside of you. When you suck, his mind blurs, and his jaw aches with how hard he clenches it as you dip your head and take him deep. You whine because you like it. No one’s ever liked Ghost the way you like him. No one’s ever seen the mask and giggled the way you do. There’s no one that looked at the layers he’s made of and thought to use their fingers to lift them up to tuck themselves inside. His shell is not a barrier, it’s merely an illusion, and there you are—blinking up at him, bouncing in that sunflower sweater, wet eyes like diamonds. He feels warmth in his hands, and he thinks it’s from how hard he’s just come, but when he opens his eyes, it’s merely blood soaking into the fabric of his gloves.

The house is dark when he comes home. The cat is staring at him from her spot by the window, blinking slowly as he toes off his boots and passes by her with a soft scratch under her chin. He finds you in your bed, face against your silk pillow, wearing fuzzy purple pajamas and hugging a well-loved stuffed bear. Your nightlight is on, casting soft shadows of a moon and her stars, and Ghost finds himself watching you for more than just a moment. He stays there in the doorway, rooted to the spot, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you snooze.

You wake up when the bed dips from his weight. Groggily, your hand moves, searching for him, and when you find the fabric of his hoodie, you close your fist around it and pull him until he’s nearly on top of you.

You taste sweet. When you kiss, Ghost chases the sugar sweet that still lingers on your lips, and you seek the ash from the cigarette he smoked outside. Your knees fall open, and Ghost settles between them. Too big, but he forces himself there anyways, one big arm wrapping around you and under your back before he yanks it into an arch and bites against the side of your neck. Where he saw blood earlier, all he sees is the give of your skin under his teeth. Instead of begging, instead of screaming, he hears your soft whine, a breathy call of his name that makes his cock so hard, he has to yank down the zipper of his jeans before he cuts himself on it.

Where he saw death in their eyes, he finds nothing like it in your own. When he is inside of you again, he tells himself he’ll never leave. His body has new purpose, and this is it.

You’re sleepy all over again once you come. Draped over his chest, palm rubbing against his solid middle, legs tangled between his. You smile at him as he turns his head to look at you, and he slips his hand under the hem of your shirt to caress you at the base of your spine.

“Good day at work?” You mumble, snuggling into his side. Simon tightens his grip on your middle. When he feels the flesh squish under his hand, he breathes nice and easy. Just what he expected. Exactly as he prefers.

“Good day, love.”

“You got all the bad guys, teddy bear?”

Simon licks his lips. He thinks about who had the unfortunate opportunity of being at the end of his scope today, and he thinks about who it’ll be tomorrow. He likes this routine. It satiates something nasty in him, but he’s never been quiet about the way it makes him feel. It’s what drew you to him, wasn’t it? He told you about all the horrible things that exist in his head, and you’re still here, you’re still in his bed—it wasn’t enough to push you away, so there’s no need to hide this dark truth from you. If anything, you might want to go again.

His cock twitches at the thought.

“No,” Simon tells you, and you shrug, closing your eyes.

“That’s okay. There’s still tomorrow.”

Simon feels something ache under his ribs when you say it—like taking the words straight out of his mouth. You are so in tune, it would scare him if he wasn’t already convinced that you were meant for him.

But even if you weren’t, I’d chain you to this bed. Never let you go.

He wonders what color your blood runs. He doesn’t think it would be red—you’re too pretty to have blood be such a color. Maybe it’s pink. Purple. Maybe it’s yellow. Maybe it glitters just like the sparkles you love to wear.

Maybe it runs black. Maybe, underneath it all, you and Simon are one and the same. Maybe you are rotten inside. Maybe you’re an illusion, too, maybe what he sees is just a mirror-view, and the real you hides and plays your limbs with puppet strings and masks the horrible, terrible, evil things that live inside of you—

You pat his chest a little, pouting, an annoyed breath leaving you as you close your eyes.

“Go to sleep, Simon. It’s late.”

It is late. You’re right. Always right, his smart girl, always telling him how he needs to hear it so his mind settles and his body relaxes.

It’s okay.

Isn’t it?

I forgive you.

He can never do anything wrong.

Everything is just as it should be.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost call of duty #ghost mwii #ghost x reader #cod #call of duty #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley smut #dark!ghost #dark!simon

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llxferim · 8 months ago

Text

“My name’s not God, Sweetheart”

a/n: YALL 145 NOTES ON MY LAST FIC IS CRAZYY THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH, THIS GIVES ME SO MUCH MOTIVATION AGHH. also i meant to post this yesterday but i forgot…

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! (pls request smth😔)

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: You came back from yet another mission from Fury, who has been pushing you a little over the edge lately, barely giving you any time to catch a breath and heal up, this time you got seriously injured. your girlfriend— who’s on a mission overboard was supposed come back in a few days, but she decided to come home early as a surprise.

Warnings: smut, 18+ MDNI, no yn used, nat is a bit of a tease, established relationship, thigh riding, eventual smut, smut with little plot. teasing, receiving oral (reader). fem!reader, flirting, injured reader, fluff, little angst, cuts;bruises mentioned, not proofread

Word count: 1.6 k

You sat on the cold concrete, your back against the remains of a shattered structure. Normally, you took pride in completing your missions without collateral damage, but the exhaustion was too much for today, leaving you indifferent to the wreckage around you.

Every part of you ached, and standing felt like an impossible task. Fury had been relentless with the assignments lately, barely allowing you a moment to catch your breath and heal. When you tried to bring it up with him, he simply shrugged you off. “If you can’t handle it, maybe you don’t belong here.”

His words struck deep. You had given everything to prove yourself to him, and now that dedication felt like a burden rather than a badge of honor.

You usually took on the missions with your girlfriend, Natasha. But this time, she was overseas, deep undercover, and due to return in a few days. All you wanted was to clean up and heal your bruises before she came back, so she wouldn’t have to worry about you.

Her absence left a hollow ache in your chest, and you longed for the comfort of her presence as you finally stood up with a grunt. Walking back home didn’t sound good but you didn’t really have another choice, so you suck it up and push through the pain.

After a long walk, you finally reach home and lean against the elevator frame, waiting for the doors to open. When they do, you stumble inside and press the button for the 8th floor, sinking to the ground and closing your eyes for a moment.

Just as the elevator stopped, you heard a familiar voice. “Love? What are you doing down there? Are you okay?” You opened your eyes to find Wanda crouched in front of you, concern etched across her face.

“Nat? What are you doing here? I thought you were coming back in a few days,” you asked, surprised.

“Surprise,” she replied, though her worried expression lingered.

“Let’s get you up. Come on,” she said, sliding your arm around her shoulder for support. You winced at the movement but leaned into her, grateful for her presence.

“what happened?” she asks as she opens the front door, and closes it with a flick of her hand as soon as you both walk in.

“Nothing, I just came back from a mission” you grunt out as she helps you sit down on your bed.

Natasha's eyes scan over your battered form, her brow furrowing with concern. "Just a mission? You look like you've been through a war." Her hands gently cup your face, her thumbs stroking your cheeks. "Tell me what happened."

You sigh, the weight of your exhaustion pressing down on you. "Fury's been... relentless lately. I've barely had time to breathe between assignments."

Natasha's expression darkens. "He's pushing you too hard. This isn't right."

As she helps you remove your gear, you wince at every movement. Natasha notices and her concern deepens. "You're hurt. Let me help."

“I’m fine, I just need to lay down.” you refuse, not wanting her to see the rest of your body.

“c’mon, darling, you know I can’t leave you like this” she cups your face, “let me help. I’ll bandage the wounds at least.” she tugged your shirt upwards, you didn’t have the energy left to argue so you just raise your arms as she gently takes off your shirt.

“This is what you call ‘nothing’?” Her voice is soft but tinged with anger.

“You’re taking the week off. I’ll have a word with Fury myself,” she says, her jaw set. She grabs a first aid kit and kneels in front of you, her movements steady and careful as she begins cleaning your wounds, her expression hurting you more than any other wound. Seeing her worried— for you, just didn’t feel right.

“Nat, I’m fine. I just need a day’s rest,” you try to reassure her, but the worry etched on her face doesn’t ease. She pauses, then rests her head on your lap, her arms wrapped around your waist. “I hate seeing you hurt,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

Despite the pain, you gently place a hand on her head, brushing your fingers through her soft, scarlet hair. “I’ll be okay, really,” you murmur, lifting her face to meet your gaze before pressing a light kiss to her lips. The effort sends a wave of pain through you, and you wince.

“Don’t move,” she says quickly, regaining her composure as she resumes bandaging you with even greater care. When she’s done, she helps you into bed, then disappears into the kitchen, returning with a pill and a glass of water.

“Here, this should help.” She hands you a painkiller, her expression softened.

"Thank you, love," you say, swallowing the pill with a grateful smile. She leans in, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. She lays down next to you, her movements still careful, afraid of causing you pain. "I don't feel like sleeping," you murmur, turning to face her as she plants soft kisses on your hand.

"Would you like me to cook something for you?" she offers, her green eyes brimming with concern and love—all for you. You can't help but wonder how someone as perfect as she is could have chosen you. She notices you drifting off to your thoughts and gives you a quick peck to bring you back, But instead of letting her pull away, you slip a hand to the back of her neck and deepen the kiss, savoring the warmth and connection you’ve missed so much.

"In the mood, are we?" she teases, her voice low and amused, a playful spark lighting up her face.

"Maybe," you reply with a smirk. "I mean, my girlfriend has been gone for a month." You try to play it off, ignoring the dull ache that’s settled into your muscles.

She chuckles, tracing a finger down your cheek before resting her hand gently on your shoulder. “I'm sure we can make up for lost time," she says, laughter dancing in her tone, "but not today.”

"Why not?" You blink, half confused, half pouting, as she quirks an eyebrow.

"Do I need to remind you that just half an hour ago, you could barely walk from the pain?" she says, her eyebrow raised in playful challenge. in response you get on top of her, holding back a grunt from the pain. you look her in the eyes, as you cup her face in your hands, “you’re making it really hard to refuse you right now” she whispers, “that’s the plan” you whisper back in her ear, before kissing her, again.

She kisses you back but notices the little flinch of pain. “lay back down” she says through the kiss, and you obey. “The pain gets even a little worse, you tell me. okay?” she pulls away, to look at you. You hum in response, grabbing her face and pulling her back down for the kiss, feeling impatient. you feel her knee in between your legs, causing you to groan into the kiss.

“up” was all she needed to say before you sat up, the pleasure of the moment covering any pain you felt. she leaned on the bed frame, placing you on top of her thigh as she pulled you back into the kiss. the heat between your legs was increasing yearning for more, causing you to grind on her thigh.

she takes off your shirt, softly so as to not hurt you, landing wet kisses across your body, on your bruises, cuts, and scars.

you speed up, riding her thigh while resting your head on her shoulder out of exhaustion. Nat traces your nipples with her fingers, bringing her mouth down. brushing soft kisses, before roughly sucking them off, causing you to make sounds that are sinful to listen to.

You desperately start speeding up, “Nat” You moan breathlessly, voice coiled at your throat and your hands on her hair. She looks up at you, suddenly stopping and softly turning you and laying you down on the bed, as she travelled down your stomach. your legs parted— for her, as she took off your pants along with your panties.

“You’re so beautiful” she pants, before landing wet kisses on your pussy, tauntingly. making you flinch. “Please” You raise your hips in an attempt to get what you’re yearning for but she quickly guides them back down. “Patience, Darling.”.

She spreads your lips, licking the wetness, making you flinch, before slowly entering her tongue in your cunt. you whimper out in pleasure, but she barely gives you any time before speeding up, causing you to clutch whatever you can. you bring your hands down on her hair, tugging her deeper and deeper, as you cry out in satisfaction.

“God…it feels good” you whine out in pleasure before your insides clench around her tongue, finally giving you the sweet release. she rises, licking her lips “My name’s not god, Sweetheart.”

As Natasha wraps her arms around your waist, pulling you close, her warm breath tickles your ear as she asks, “What are you thinking about?”

You smile, recalling a cozy evening from not long ago. “Just thinking of those cookies you made last month,” you murmur, turning your head to meet her gaze with a playful glint in your eye.

She raises an eyebrow, a mischievous smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh? You liked them that much?”

“Maybe…” you tease, nudging her gently. Her smirk widens, and she lets out a soft chuckle. “Well, if it’s cookies you want…”

With a gentle kiss, she pulls away, her hand brushing down your arm before she stands up. “Consider it done,” she says, her voice laced with determination. As she pads toward the kitchen, A smile tugs at your lips as you watch her disappear into the kitchen. Just moments ago, she’d had you gasping and whispering her name in ways that felt sinful—and now here she is, slipping out of bed to bake cookies.

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honeydippedfiction · 2 months ago

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Hi Cici! Can I request angst/fluff Joe x reader from the pre-relationship prompt no 10. They’ve broken up but they still love each other. Reader’s mom invites Joe to dinner and they reunite after 2 months. Can you make it a happy ending pls?

"Hey, my mom wants to know if you're coming to family dinner tonight?" "Isn't it weird for me to come? We broke up two months ago, baby." "Okay, I'm not going to lie, you're giving me mixed signals. I'm telling her you're coming.”

Ayyye it’s a bad bitch birthday y’all, BIG 24🤪🤪 sorry for not posting yesterday, things got a little crazy. But here’s some Joey to make up for it, love yaaa😚💋

1k & Birthday Bash nav | main navigation | reqs | table of contents

#10. "Hey, my mom wants to know if you're coming to family dinner tonight?" "Isn't it weird for me to come? We broke up two months ago, baby." "Okay, I'm not going to lie, you're giving me mixed signals. I'm telling her you're coming.”

Joe Burrow x black!femreader

• you DO NOT have my permission to copy my work, upload as your own, translate, or repost on any other website •

They didn’t fall apart all at once.

No one slammed a door. No one shouted across the kitchen table. There were no ultimatums thrown like grenades, no harsh words hurled in the heat of anger. Instead, it was quiet—the kind of quiet that creeps in like cold air through an open window. The kind you don’t notice at first, until one day you realize you’re shivering.

That was how it ended.

Joe was deep into the off-season grind—film study, conditioning, meetings with coaches, and early press obligations. He kept saying he was fine. That he was just busy. That he was trying to be better.

And Y/N—she was trying too. Trying to be patient, trying not to count how many texts went unanswered. Trying not to take it personally when he forgot the dinner reservation she'd made for their anniversary. Trying to convince herself that love was supposed to bend under pressure. That he’d come back to her when the weight lifted.

But weeks passed. Then more. And with every day, she felt herself slipping from his periphery—like background noise to a life she used to be centered in.

They had their final fight on a Wednesday night.

She had waited for him to come home after practice, her dinner long cold on the stove. She’d spent hours rehearsing how to talk to him gently, how to ask for more without sounding like she was demanding it. But the second he walked through the door, eyes heavy and voice detached, the words scattered.

“You don’t see me anymore,” she’d said quietly, arms folded across her chest.

Joe had stopped mid-step, the key still in his hand.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You’re here,” she said. “But you’re not with me.”

He rubbed a hand over his face. “Y/N, I can’t give you all of me right now. You know what’s on the line this season.”

“And what about what’s on the line with us?” she asked, voice cracking under the weight of her restraint. “I’m not asking for your whole career. I’m asking for a place in your life that doesn’t feel optional.”

That hit something tender. He flinched. But then the wall came up. That impenetrable, practiced calm he wore in press conferences and on fourth downs.

“I’m doing the best I can.”

“No, Joe,” she said, tears burning at the edges of her vision, “you’re doing the best you can for you. And I’m just collateral damage.”

The silence after that was louder than any shouting match could’ve been. He didn’t chase her when she walked out. She didn’t call when she packed her overnight bag. Neither of them said goodbye, but they both knew what it meant when days passed and no one reached out.

It was the kind of breakup that didn’t feel like a clean cut. It was a tear—uneven, ragged. The kind you keep running your fingers over, hoping the skin will knit itself back together.

But it didn’t.

Not for a while.

✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧

Two months later, and she could still hear the last thing he said as she closed the door behind her:

“I don’t know how to love you right now.”

And she, broken in ways she didn’t have the words for, had only whispered back:

“Then you don’t get to love me at all.”

✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧✧○♥ꊞ♥○ꊞ○♥ꊞ♥○✧

The late summer heat in Cincinnati was starting to soften into something more bearable—less suffocating, more nostalgic. The kind of weather that whispered of changing seasons, even if the days still clung to a sticky kind of warmth. The breeze carried the faintest hint of something crisp, something about to end or maybe about to begin.

Y/N stood barefoot on the concrete balcony of her apartment, her toes curled against the cool surface. The skyline stretched hazy in the distance, the sun dipping behind buildings like it didn’t want to be seen anymore. She cradled her phone loosely in one hand, thumb tracing the edge of the screen, debating—for the fifth time in the last half hour—whether to call him.

Inside, her living room was quiet except for the distant hum of the ceiling fan. Her dinner sat untouched on the coffee table, congealed now, the takeout box slightly ajar. The text from her mother still glowed at the top of her screen like a dare:

“Tell Joseph to come to dinner tonight. I’m making gumbo and peach cobbler.”

No context. No awareness—or maybe just willful ignorance—of the two-month silence between them. As if she hadn’t sobbed into her mother’s arms the night after the breakup. As if Joe Burrow was still part of the family like he’d always been.

She hadn’t answered right away. She’d stared at the message, then scrolled back through old texts she’d never deleted, some of them still marked unread even though she could recite them by heart.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to see him. That was the problem—she did. Too much. Still.

The phone felt heavier than usual in her hand. Her finger hovered over his name in her contacts—Joey 🏈💬. Stupid nickname. Stupid emoji. She hadn’t changed it.

Then, finally, she sighed and hit Call.

It rang twice.

“Hey,” his voice came through, low and quiet. Familiar, even with the rougher edge that hadn’t been there before.

“Hey,” she echoed, her voice tighter than she meant it to be. She bit the inside of her cheek, suddenly conscious of the stretch of silence folding around them.

There was faint movement on his end—something shifting, a soft thud, maybe the creak of his old leather couch. Then, the sound of him exhaling.

“My mom wanted me to ask if you’re coming to family dinner tonight,” she said at last, her eyes fixed on the pink glow of the skyline. “She’s making gumbo. Peach cobbler too.”

Another pause. Longer. Deeper. She imagined him in that familiar kitchen of his, leaning on the counter, rubbing the back of his neck like he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

“Isn’t it weird for me to come?” he said, eventually. His voice dipped lower. “We broke up two months ago, baby.”

That word—baby—landed like a pebble tossed into still water. It rippled through her, sudden and unwanted, stirring up everything she had tried to settle.

Y/N blinked hard, gripping the balcony railing.

“Okay, I’m not gonna lie, you’re giving me mixed signals.” Her tone was brisk, a shade too light. “I’m telling her you’re coming.”

She expected him to push back. Say don’t. Say I can’t. But he didn’t. He was quiet for a second, then—

“I’ve missed her cooking,” he said, soft. Almost too soft to hear. “And... I’ve missed you.”

Her breath caught. Her fingers curled tighter around the railing.

“You don’t get to say that, Joe,” she said quietly. “Not unless you mean it.”

There was a rustle on the line. She could almost see him now—jaw clenched, brow furrowed, eyes somewhere on the floor.

“I do mean it.” His voice cracked. Just a little. “I think I always meant it. I just didn’t know what to do with it.”

That stopped her. Her chest ached. She closed her eyes, the breeze brushing loose strands of hair against her cheek.

“You don’t get to act like you’re the only one who didn’t know what to do,” she murmured. “We were both lost, Joe.”

He was silent.

Then: “Can I come early?”

The question hung in the air between them.

She opened her eyes. The sky had shifted to deeper gold. The city looked softer, like it had been smudged at the edges.

“You want to come early?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just us. For a bit. If that’s okay.”

Y/N swallowed. Her pulse thudded in her throat.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be there in twenty.”

The line went dead.

She stared at the screen, the call log glowing like it knew something she didn’t. Her fingers trembled slightly as she lowered the phone. Inside, her untouched dinner looked sad and irrelevant now.

Y/N walked back in, her bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. She caught her reflection in the mirror above the couch and paused, brushing her hair back, eyes searching her own face as if trying to remember what he used to see there.

Maybe it was still there.

She changed out of her oversized T-shirt into something more neutral—simple. Familiar. A soft tank and jeans. Nothing that screamed I want you back, but not indifferent either.

Then she waited.

And twenty-three minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

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The Burrow name didn’t exactly go unnoticed in the city, and yet somehow, It was nearly dusk when Joe turned onto the quiet street, unnoticed, where Y/N’s childhood home stood. The tires of his SUV crunched against the curb as he parked across from the house, letting the engine idle for a few seconds longer than necessary.

The porch light glowed faintly against the darkening sky, casting long shadows across the yard. Through the front window, he could see the flicker of movement—people laughing, passing plates, a burst of someone’s high-pitched voice.

It had been two months. And yet, pulling up to this house felt like a reflex. He’d spent entire holidays here. Off-seasons. Weeknights. Lazy Sundays. Y/N’s mom treated him like a second son, and her cousins never passed up an opportunity to challenge him to a basketball game in the driveway.

But this was different.

This was after.

Joe took a breath, then another, resting his forehead briefly against the steering wheel. His fingers flexed around the neck of the wine bottle he’d brought as a peace offering. He wasn’t sure who it was really for—Y/N’s mom, or Y/N herself.

He climbed out of the car and made his way up the porch steps.

The door opened before he could knock.

“Joseph!” Y/N’s mom greeted him like no time had passed at all. She pulled him into a hug that squeezed the breath out of him. “Lord, you still don’t call me enough.”

“Sorry, Mrs. L,” Joe said with a sheepish grin. “I brought wine?”

“You trying to bribe me?” she asked, plucking the bottle from his hands. “It’s working.”

Inside, the air was rich with spices—onion, celery, garlic, and heat. The gumbo simmered in a cast iron pot on the stove, and laughter echoed from the living room. The house felt alive.

He stepped into the kitchen, heart stuttering when he saw her.

Y/N stood at the stove, stirring the pot with one hand, her face turned slightly toward the doorway like she’d felt him arrive. She wore a faded Spelman sweatshirt and jeans, her curls piled loosely atop her head. The sight of her sent something crashing through his chest—grief, want, familiarity.

She turned slowly, her gaze meeting his.

“Hey,” she said, her voice soft, careful.

“Hey,” he replied.

He hadn’t seen her in person since the breakup. Not really. There had been a brush of arms at a team event she helped organize. A glimpse of her car leaving his building. But not this—proximity, silence, her voice spoken only for him.

The tension between them was thick enough to chew.

Joe stayed out of the way during dinner, letting the family orbit him while Y/N moved through the room with practiced grace. Her cousins grilled him about the season. Her aunt complimented his posture. Her mom forced second and third helpings onto his plate. It was familiar, even comforting.

But beneath it all was the undercurrent—the absence they had tried to hide. Y/N laughed, but she didn’t look at him when she did. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were in the same room, breathing the same air, but the space between them held a history neither of them had figured out how to put down.

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The table was set like it always had been—cloth napkins folded with care, the good dishes pulled from the cabinet where they were only ever used for holidays or homecomings. The gumbo simmered in the center, rich with heat and spice, and the peach cobbler cooled on the counter, its sugar crust still bubbling at the edges. The dining room glowed under the soft dome light, as if trying to pretend this was a normal evening, like dozens before it.

Y/N sat across from Joe. Her mother took the head of the table, ladling out generous portions as if she hadn’t just dropped a grenade into the calm of their lives by inviting her daughter’s ex-boyfriend to dinner without warning.

“So, Joseph,” her mom said, tone light but watchful. “How have you been, sweetheart?”

Joe looked up from his bowl, spoon poised mid-air. He swallowed whatever he'd been about to say, then offered a polite, measured smile.

“I’ve been good. Busy. Camp started a few weeks ago, so… full days. A lot of film. A lot of lifting. You know how it is.”

Her mother nodded, scooping more rice onto her plate. “Of course. You look tired, though. You getting enough rest?”

Y/N watched him glance briefly her way—just a flick of the eyes, quick and unsure.

“Trying to,” he said. “There’s always a lot on my mind this time of year.”

Y/N’s mother made a small sound of agreement, something between a hum and a sigh. “Well, I hope you’re eating enough. You always forget to feed yourself when the season starts. Y/N used to nag you about that constantly.”

“Still does,” Joe said, before he could stop himself.

The words hung there. They were soft. Not accusatory, not hopeful. Just… factual. Like a line from a shared history that neither of them could quite stop quoting.

Y/N pressed her lips together, reached for her glass of water, and took a long sip.

Y/N glanced at him without meaning to. He looked… different. The kind of different you only notice when you haven’t been allowed to look for a while. His hair was a little shorter, jaw sharper from preseason grind, but the tired under his eyes was the same. It always showed in August.

Her mother, of course, kept talking. “Well, you’ve certainly been busy. I saw you at the Met Gala.”

Joe blinked. “You did?”

“Oh, please,” she said, waving a hand. “The moment your photo hit the internet, Y/N was showing me every angle of that suit. That blue-on-blue? Absolutely gorgeous. You looked gorgeous.”

Y/N choked on her water.

Joe’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Did she now?”

Y/N shot her mom a look. “I didn’t show you every angle.”

“You showed me enough,” her mom said, sipping her wine with barely disguised mischief. “He looked good. That suit was beautiful. Right, Y/N?”

The silence that followed was immediate and awful.

Y/N cleared her throat. “It was fine.”

“Fine,” Joe echoed, grinning now. “Wow. High praise.”

“You were styled well,” Y/N said carefully, stabbing her gumbo a little too aggressively. “Good tailoring. No complaints.”

Her mother beamed, delighted. “See? I raised a woman who knows a good lapel when she sees one.”

Joe laughed, shaking his head. “I’m putting that on my résumé.”

The laughter that followed was brief but real. And that was somehow worse.

Because for a moment, it felt like nothing had changed. Like they were still together. Like she could still reach under the table and rest her foot lightly against his like she used to when the conversation got too long and his mind started to wander.

Y/N didn’t reach. But she remembered.

“Your mom must’ve loved that look,” her mother continued. “She’s always said you clean up well.”

“She did,” Joe said. “She kept trying to get me to pose like I was on a cologne ad. Said I looked ‘mysterious.’”

He glanced across the table at Y/N.

“I didn’t feel mysterious. I felt like an idiot trying not to sweat through my shirt.”

Her mother looked between them but didn’t comment. She simply passed the hot sauce down the table.

“And your parents?” she asked instead, ever the master of casual redirection. “They doing okay?”

“They’re good,” Joe replied. “My mom says hi, by the way. She, uh… she was surprised when I told her I was coming here tonight.”

Y/N’s mom raised her brows, but her smile never wavered. “Was she now?”

He nodded, then hesitated. “Yeah. But I think… I think she was happy. Said it was nice to hear your name again.”

That landed differently. Softer. Slower.

Y/N’s fork paused mid-scoop, gumbo dripping back into the bowl. She didn’t look up.

“Tell her I said hello,” her mother replied, folding her napkin neatly in her lap. “And next time she’s in town, she better come over for coffee.”

“I will.”

They fell into silence for a beat—just the clink of silverware and the low hum of crickets outside the open window.

Joe took a bite, then set his spoon down.

“This is amazing, by the way,” he said. “I’ve missed your cooking.”

“You always did eat like you hadn’t seen food in days,” her mom teased gently. Then, with a glance in Y/N’s direction: “I don’t suppose you’ve managed to cook anything for yourself, have you?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grateful for the normalcy of the jab. “I’ve cooked.”

Joe coughed into his napkin. “Microwaving Trader Joe’s doesn’t count.”

“I will kick you under this table, Burrow.”

He laughed—really laughed—and the sound hit her like a memory wrapped in sunlight.

Her mother just smiled, sipping from her glass of wine. “Well, some things haven’t changed.”

No one answered that. They didn’t have to.

After a moment, Joe reached for the breadbasket and passed it across the table to Y/N, the edge of his finger brushing hers.

She didn’t pull away.

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The lingering warmth of the evening wrapped the apartment in a quiet afterglow. The game blared from the living room as the rest of the group settled in front of the TV—familiar voices and laughter floating through the air, as if time hadn’t shifted beneath them. Y/N's mother, settled in her usual chair, clapped occasionally and cheered for a team she only pretended to follow. Her father, reclined with his legs up, seemed content enough just to be part of it all. The familiar hum of the house felt like a strange balm, smoothing over the awkwardness between her and Joe, even if they weren’t quite done with it yet.

But Joe, ever the gentleman—or maybe just trying to stay busy—hung back. As the others crowded into the living room, he made his way to the kitchen, where Y/N stood at the sink, sleeves pushed up, water steaming around her wrists. The clink of ceramic plates met the gentle trickle of running water.

“Hey,” she said, a quiet murmur as he began to collect the leftover dishes from the table, a familiar rhythm between them. “You don’t have to do that,” she said

Y/N didn’t immediately turn to look at him. Her hands worked in practiced motions, setting dishes into the sink, rinsing them with a quiet determination. The hum of the faucet seemed to fill the silence between them. She shrugged, still focused on the task at hand. “You didn’t have to come over.”

Joe paused. His hands, still holding a plate, lingered in the air. He let out a soft exhale, then placed it gently into the soapy water. “You didn’t invite me. She did.”

Y/N’s lips curved slightly in that half-smile he knew so well. “She made that pretty clear,” she said, her voice carrying an edge of humor, as if she were trying to dismiss the awkwardness that hung between them like a fragile thread.

“But you called me,” Joe said, his voice lower now, quieter.

Y/N set a plate down with a little more force than necessary, the sound sharper in the otherwise calm room. She didn’t look at him, but her words were steady. “Because I knew she wouldn’t leave me alone until I did.”

Joe stepped closer, moving to stand beside her at the sink. The space between them was small but charged, the faintest brush of his arm against hers making the hairs on the back of her neck rise. The scent of his cologne, familiar and warm, mingled with the steam from the water. He kept his voice just above a whisper, careful not to break the fragile silence. “You could’ve just texted me.”

She finally turned, meeting his eyes. Really meeting them—no distractions, no excuses.

“I wanted to hear your voice,” she said, so softly it barely reached the space between them.

That was all it took. The weight of her words broke open everything they’d been carefully avoiding for months. Joe’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, neither of them moved. The kitchen felt suddenly smaller, the noise from the living room faint in the background like a distant memory.

“I didn’t want us to end like that,” Joe said, his voice rougher now, as if he were confessing something he hadn’t known how to say until this very second.

Y/N pressed her lips together, swallowing hard. Her gaze dropped to the sink, the water swirling in lazy spirals. She was quiet for a moment, but when she spoke, her voice was tight. “Then why did we?”

Joe looked down, his jaw flexing as he considered the question. His fingers lingered on the plate he was holding, not sure what to do with it now.

“I thought I couldn’t give you what you needed,” he said, the words coming slow, weighed down with regret. “I thought if I loved you less, if I focused more on... everything else, I could keep my life from falling apart. And if I focused more, maybe I could be a better version of myself. But I was wrong. Because the whole time I was trying to make everything perfect, I... I loved you more than I thought I could. And that scared the hell out of me.”

Y/N held her breath as she absorbed his words, the rawness of them striking deep inside her chest. She glanced down at her hands, the wetness of the spoon she held reminding her of everything she’d lost in the silence between them.

“You hurt me, Joe,” she said, her voice a little smaller than she’d intended, her fingers trembling as they held onto the spoon. It was hard, even now, to say those words without feeling the weight of them.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve hated myself for it every day since.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, the hardness in her chest giving way to the tenderness she’d been guarding for so long. She turned toward him, her breath steadying, though her heart was racing. “What do you want from me?” The words felt like a plea, but she couldn’t keep them back. She needed to know.

Joe stepped a little closer, the space between them shrinking. He reached out, hesitated, then lowered his hand to his side. “I want another chance. I want to make it right. I know it won’t be easy, but I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m here, Y/N. I’m all in, every day. Win or lose.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The room felt too small now, too close. She could hear the beating of her heart, the faintest sound of the game still playing in the background. But it was distant. Fading.

She wiped her hands on the dish towel slowly, the fabric rough under her fingertips. She exhaled a long, tired breath, not ready yet to make a decision, but not quite ready to say no. Not yet. “Well...” she murmured, the words slipping out with a quiet finality. “We can talk about it... after cobbler.”

Joe looked at her, eyes softening, and he couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him. It was light, genuine—like a weight had been lifted, if only for a moment.

“Deal,” he said, his voice low but filled with relief.

Y/N turned to step toward the living room, but just before she reached the doorway, she felt him move behind her. His hand found her wrist, gentle but insistent, and in a swift motion, he pulled her back. Without a word, he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb grazing the line of her jaw.

She froze for a heartbeat, caught between hesitation and something stronger—something she hadn’t let herself feel in months.

Then, slowly, carefully, he kissed her. It was soft at first, almost tentative, as if they were both unsure of the ground beneath them. But soon, the weight of it grew—layers of longing, regret, and the faintest trace of hope filling the space between their lips. It felt like the world was holding its breath.

And just as Y/N thought she might let herself fall completely into it, the sound of her mother’s voice—loud and unrestrained—broke through the quiet like a gong.

“Oh, finally!” her mom cheered from the living room, her voice so high-pitched with excitement that it echoed off the walls. “I’ve been waiting for this! Now you two can get started on those grandbabies!”

Y/N pulled back immediately, her face flushing crimson. She looked at Joe, embarrassed and wide-eyed, but he only laughed—his deep, genuine laugh that sent a flutter through her chest. His arms circled her, pulling her close, and in that moment, it wasn’t just the awkwardness of the situation that made her heart race. It was the warmth of him, the steadiness she’d always found in his arms.

“Well,” Joe said, his voice low and teasing, “I guess we better get started, huh?”

Y/N buried her face in his chest, both mortified and relieved at the same time. But as he held her close, she knew, deep down, that this was just the beginning.

149 notes · View notes

kaliforniahigh · 2 months ago

Text

we'll try again, when we're not so different - n.s.

Exhusband!Noah and Exwife!Reader.

Warnings: angst, the end of a marriage, hurtful words, heartbreak, Noah's new "girlfriend", self-deprecating thoughts from both Noah and Reader, curse words, miscommunication, happy ending. Sorry if I forgot something.

I definitely don't want to end their story here. I feel like there's so much potential from this universe, so, feel free to send me asks to talk about their little life. Can be either pre or post divorce :)

WC: 9.6k

You still remember everything as if it happened yesterday.

You remember marrying him. You remember your improptu honeymoon that wasn't really anything fancy, but still held meaning to the two of you. You remember finding you you were pregnant, and even though you felt very scared of becoming a parent, you also felt very excited for the future.

But what you remember the most of all these things, is when everything started to fall apart. If you tried, you feel like you could recite word for word of what was said that day.

You were both in the kitchen. The kitchen island between you and Noah physically showing the rift that has grown between the two of you in the past years, as each one of you stood on one side.

The folder set on the counter was like a giant elephant in the room. It felt like it was staring, and mocking you. You felt like it was looking you in the face and saying "see? You failed. You failed at keeping this marriage together. And I'm the proof of it".

Neither you nor Noah have said anything since you handed him the papers and he looked through them. The silence felt like it was swallowing you two alive. You wanted him to say something, even if it was to get angry at you.

He sighed out loud, and ran a hand through his hair. And in that moment, you couldn't help but think about how your going to miss doing it yourself.

Because divorcing him didn't only mean letting go of your marriage. It meant letting go of him. It meant he was no longer gonna be yours.

You would go to bed alone. You would only cook meals for two people instead of three. And you would have no one to tell about your day. No one to let know when you arrived somewhere, or when you were headed back home.

But then you remember you've been feeling this way for a long time already. What different would it make? He was never home anyway, you felt like you were in a one person marriage.

"Y/N", he said your name, startling you out of your thoughts. "What the fuck is this?", he asked, pointing to the folder in front of you.

He didn't sound angry, he didn't raise his voice. You think he actually sounded betrayed.

"I think you know what it is", you whispered, but the silence was so loud, he could hear you clearly.

"Where is this coming from?", he questions you, and for a second you think he must not be serious right now.

Did he not remember all of the fights you've had? Did he not remember the countless nights you've called him, crying and frustrated because you couldn't put your son to sleep? Did he not remember when you got a call from his school, saying that Ezra fell from the monkey bars and needed to be taken to the hospital? And you couldn't even call him, because he was on stage somewhere halfway across the world.

"I think this is a long time coming, Noah", you point out and you can tell he's getting frustrated with your short answers.

"Long time coming? For how long have you been thinking of divorcing me? How come we never sat down and talked about it?", he was getting agitated now. Pacing back and forth.

The truth is, you knew that if you had sat down and talked to him, he would make you the same promises he's made you before, and then you wouldn't go through with it.

And you needed this. You needed to stop pretending like this is working anymore. And now you need to make him see it too.

"I don't think you want to know for how long I've been thinking about it", you answered, truthfully.

"No, I need to know. I need to know when you started to give up on us"

You whip your head to look at him when he said this.

"Give up on us?", you ask, incredulity seeping into your tone. "How dare you say Im giving up on us when I've been trying to make this work for four years? How dare you say I'm giving up on us when all you've ever given me is nothing but empty promises?", you question him, patience vanishing.

You didn't want this to become a fight. But you guess it was always going to be this way.

"Nothing? You're standing here saying that I give you nothing? I've given you everything for the past five years of my life"

"How can you tell me you've given me everything when I've been telling you tour after tour how fucking lonely I feel everytime you're away?", you question him. Has he forgotten everything?

"And I've told you that I can't change that right now!", he exclaims, frustrated. "Don't you think I'd rather stay here with the two of you instead of going away for months? You think I don't beat myself up for missing so much of Ezra's life because I was away somewhere in fucking Europe?"

"You can't change that and I can't keep living like this", you shrugged, understading where he's coming from, but tired of hearing the same thing you've heard so many times before.

"And you think this is gonna fix it?", he grabbed the folder and slightly slammed it on the counter. "You're running away from the problem instead of trying to fix it"

"I can't run from something that can't be fixed. I can't wait four more years for you to be here for us. I just can't"

"What about Ezra? Are you even thinking about him? How is he gonna take this? How is this gonna change his life?"

This was the breaking point for you, Noah talking about your son as if you're completely disregarding his well-being in this situation. The only person you had in mind was your son.

So, you said something that, to this day, you regret telling him. Because as much as you wished he was home more, that he called more, you couldn't deny that he was an amazing father. He cared for Ezra with his whole life, and you could actually see so much of Noah in him that it surprised you at times.

But, what was said can't be taken back.

"I don't know, Noah. Is it even gonna make much of a difference? You're never here anyway, so I don't even think he'd notice the change"

As soon as you said this, you could see the fight leave his body. His shoulders slumped and his eyes became downcast as the realization of what you just said hit him in the face.

He looked away from you, and you wanted to take it back immediately, but how could you?

"I'll get some of the guys to get my shit tomorrow", he said, turning his back to you and walking to the living room, grabbing the key to his car.

"Noah...", you called out, following after him, even though you have no idea what you could even say to him.

"I think you've said enough", he told you, and you haven't seen his face as cold as it was in that moment in all of the years you've been together. Actually, what brought you the most comfort was the warmth of his eyes.

Leaving the house, he half slammed the door behind him, leaving you standing there with your thoughts.

Sitting on the couch, you absolutely crumbled. Not being able to hold your tears anymore. You laid down in a fetal position, sobs racking through your body and reverberating in the emptiness of the house.

Your family was over. You were on your own now. And for a split second, you questioned if you did the right thing.

All of your friends were looking at you as if you had grown two heads. And you were desperately trying to pretend that you weren't affected by what was said just a few seconds ago.

After separating from Noah, you still kept the same friends. It just happened that your friends were also his friends. Or, they were friends, or significant others of his friends. Hearing about him and what he was up to was unavoidable. But you had to give it to them, they actually did try to keep his name out of most conversations.

It wasn't like you never spoke to him ever again. You did, because you had a kid together, after all. But the conversations were about Ezra 90% of the time. Never straying to personal matters and other topics.

You congratulated him on new music, or a new album when it came out. You told him when something happened at school with Ezra, or when something happened at the studio and you'd be late picking up Ezra from his place.

After being on your own, you went back to pursuing your dreams of being a tattoo artist, which is something you've started doing before getting pregnant. With the baby and the responsabilities you had, you started working less and less, until you stopped altogether.

You were happy to say your studio was thriving for about four years now. It took a while for you to get your footing back. Both emotionally and financially. And obviously, to fit everything into Ezra's schedule.

Today, you were grabbing lunch with a few friends, amongst them, were Matt, Davis and their girlfriends. The band had a final show of their tour here in California, and they were all excited about it.

Apparently, a few people from the industry were invited, and the venue was going to be larger than normal, probably their largest crowd yet.

You felt happy for them. The band deserved it and so did Noah. Especially after how hard they all worked for this.

It was when they were listing all of the people invited, that Matt let slip a very important information.

"Yeah, we're inviting the boys from Erra, and we're thinking of the possibility of Jesse playing guitar on stage", Lilly, Matt's girlfriend said.

"Crimson Halo is also going. I'll love to see how the internet is going to freak out about that", Matt pointed out, laughing at the idea.

"Why would the internet freak out?", you questioned.

Everyone started to look at each other funny. As if they shared a secret, an information you weren't in on. You started to feel uncomfortable.

"Guys?", you questioned again. "Is someone gonna tell me what is going on?"

"I don't know if you're going to like it", Lilly said, looking at Matt. You were now more confused than ever.

"Noah is dating Emery. The lead singer of the band", Davis ripped off the bandaid, and a heavy silence settled over the table.

You, on the other hand, was trying to act unaffected, but it was becoming more difficult as everyone was staring at you, trying to gauge your reaction.

"Oh, okay", you said, honestly not knowing the right way to respond to this.

You knew Noah must have been with other women after your split. You never heard about it, but five years have gone by, he must have been dating around in that time.

But this was the first time it was confirmed to you that he was in a new relationship, and you didn't know what to feel. It must be serious though, since she's attending his concerts.

Not to mention the fact that your son is going to be there. What is Noah going to say? Is he gonna tell him he has a new girlfriend? How is your son going to react? You hated this, since you knew you weren't supposed to know about it. But now that you did, you guess you'll have to talk to him about the situation.

"For how long have they been together?", you ask.

"For a couple of months", Davis answered, and you appreciated his honesty.

"I just wonder when he was planning on telling me this", you said, reaching for a fry and popping it into your mouth, needing something to do while you stewed in this information.

"I don't know. We also found out recently", Matt told you, and you could tell he felt bad about how the situation was unfolding.

"I was probably gonna find out from some fan account on Twitter, right?", you joked, but it didn't land. The show is in a couple of days from now, and if Noah thought this information wasn't important enough to share with you, it means you were going to find out from some blurry picture of them kissing or whatever.

The thought made your heart beat faster with anxiety.

After this, it goes without saying that the vibe wasn't the same. And in less than an hour, everyone was saying their goodbyes, and hugging each other.

Lilly enveloped you in her arms, but before parting completely, she held you at arm's length and leaned a little closer.

"If you're worried about Ezra, just know that Noah would never do anything to jeopardize the relationship with his son", she told you, and you saw sincerity in her eyes.

You knew this. You knew that Noah was a responsible father. But still, the fact that you were in the dark about all of this left a bitter taste in your mouth.

"Thank, Lilly. I appreciate it", you smiled, and everyone went their own way.

Back home, you sat on the couch while Ezra did his homework on the kitchen table. You pondered if you should do anything about this new piece of information. By now, Noah must know that you knew about it, since Matt and Davis most likely told him already.

You should just be quiet, and let this be. It was his relationship. It was his decision to tell you or not.

But, despite knowing this. You still send him a text.

You: If you are serious about her, let me know, so we can think of a way to tell Ezra.

Yeah, you were never good at keeping to yourself when it comes to him.

A few seconds later, your phone buzzes with a reply.

Noah: Can I come over later?

You sighed. If Noah wants to show up at your house, then the talk he wants to have must be important. You texted him back an "ok". Good thing Ezra is spending the night at his grandma's tonight. Your mom has been dying for a sleepover, and since it was a Friday, spending the weekend there would be the perfect opportunity.

You and Noah had joint custody, but a flexible schedule due to his job. Even though Ezra spent the most amount of time with you, you never limited for how long he was with Noah whenever he was not on tour.

After dropping off Ezra at your mom's house, you grabbed take out on the way back home. One rule that you kept even after the divorce, is that Fridays were the days for take out, and not cooking.

Grabbing your meal and thanking the server, you put the car in drive. But before you could start making your way back home, your phone vibrated on the center console. You saw it was a text message from Noah.

Noah: I'm on my way.

You didn't bother to answer, since you were about 5 minutes from your house. You would most likely arrive just in time to meet him there.

As you predicted, as soon as you set the food container on the kitchen counter, you heard a knock on your door. Opening it, you were met with Noah on the other side of the door. He was dressed as he usually was. Dark pants and a Bad Omens hoodie. You kept some of those in your closet as well. You got rid of the ones that belonged to him, and that for some reason, he had left behind when he moved out. The other ones were too comfy to throw in the donation pile.

"Come in", you told him, stepping aside to let him in the house.

There were few times when he actually came into your house, oftentimes, he stayed in the car while Ezra took his backpack and ran along the driveway to meet his dad. Whenever you were running late, he came in, but never went further into the house than the living room and kitchen.

You heard him closing the door behind him, as you made your way back to the kitchen, opening a drawer and grabbing a fork.

"Still doing no cooking Friday, I see", he pointed out, sitting in one of the stools in the kitchen island.

"Yep. You know how it is", you answered, as you sat down yourself. You pointed to the food in front of you, silently asking if he wanted some, but he just shook his head no.

Right now, you weren't too sure if you wanted to have this conversation with him eating. But, oh well.

"Matt told me what happened today at lunch", he started.

"To say it was a little uncomfortable would be an understatement", you pointed out. You really didn't mean to be petty about this, but as soon as he touched on the subject, it just came out of you. You decided to dial it down a little bit. You didn't want this to become a fight.

"I'm sorry. I was going to tell you. I was just waiting for the right time"

"You couldn't find the right time in the couple of months you've been together?", you challenged him. He was talking as if he started dating this girl last week.

"I was never going to introduce her to Ezra without talking to you", Noah said. And it was true. He knew how protective you were of Ezra, and he was never going to take a miscalculated step that could affect his son's life.

"I believe you. It would just be nice to know"

He nodded, showing you he understood where you were coming from.

"But now that I know, we need to talk about how things are going to be from now on"

"I still don't pretend to introduce her as my girlfriend to him, Y/N"

You ignored the way he said "my girlfriend" tugged at your heart in a way you were not ready to admit.

"Ok, but what about when you decide to do it?", you question him.

"We've been separated for a while now. It would be natural for us to start dating other people. He's 9, he'll understand", he said and you sighed. Your son was a very emotionally mature kid, you gotta give him that.

"Just be careful when you do it, ok? I don't want him hurting", you pointed the fork at him when you said it. "And please, only do it if you know for sure that this girl is going to stick around"

You knew that Noah was completely aware of everything you were saying to him. But he let you say it anyway, because he knew it took a weight off your chest to do it.

"You don't have to worry about it", he reassured you, and you nodded in response. "This is not the only thing I came here to talk about"

You stopped chewing the second he said this. You had a feeling that whatever it was, wouldn't make you happy.

"Ezra is coming to the concert next friday, right?", he asked and you hummed in agreement. Every time the band performed here, Ezra would attend the concert. "I need you there with him this time", he said and you almost choked on your food.

"What?", you ask, indignation in your voice. Ever since separating, you never attented one of his concerts again. It was actually something you told him you did not want to do. Whenever Ezra would go, Alana would pick him up and stay with him the whole time, so you didn't have to worry.

"Alana is actually very sick this time, and she can't go. Ezra is really excited and I didn't want him to miss it", Noah explained.

"And you don't have anyone else?"

"Not really", he shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone else is going to be busy, and I can't be with him all the time"

You knew how chaotic it could get while getting ready for a concert. The boys would all be running around, making sure everything goes to plan. And truth be told, you didn't expect any of them to stop what they were doing to take care of a nine year old.

"I already told you I didn't want to go anymore", you said, head low. You suddenly didn't want to look at him anymore. You also lost your appetite, so your hand just stirred the food around with your fork aimlessly.

The thing is, going to these concerts were one of your favorite things to do when you and Noah were still together. You loved to watch him go up on the stage. You loved to watch him sing his heart out, and command the crowd in the way only he knew how to do.

In the last stages of your relationship though, it was such a bittersweet feeling. Because you knew that no matter what you did, nothing could ever compare to the thrill he felt up there. In a way, you resented the stage, but you started to understand why he went away for months and months to perform.

"Listen, you don't have to watch if you don't want to. But he needs you there this time", Noah said. You knew he was right, and you hated the idea of telling your son he wouldn't get to go.

"Ok, I'll be there", you decided. Not too excited about the idea, but there's nothing you could do about it right now. "Can you tell your girlfriend I'm going? Just so it isn't awkward or anything", you add.

"I will. You don't have to worry about that", Noah reassures you, and you nod in appreciation.

You take another bite of your food, as a silence falls over the two of you. It was always like this. Awkaward silences, trying to find something to talk about. It felt like you didn't have anything in common anymore. It felt like you couldn't relate to each other anymore. And you weren't sure of what hurt more, even after five years.

After a few more seconds, he stood up.

"I should get going", he said, grabbing his car keys set on the counter in front of him. You abandon your food in order to open the door for him.

"I'll se you on Friday, I guess", you tell him, as he steps onto your front porch.

"I'll see you. I'll get Matt to text you the details, along with your backstage pass", Noah informs you, you say thanks and then he's back on his car, peeling off the driveway.

Noah waits until he rounds the corner to stop his car. He feels like he needs to catch his breath. Every time he's inside your house, it takes all of the energy out of him. And this time, it's no different.

He replays the interation word by word in his head. When Matt had texted him, saying that he let it slip that Noah has a new girlfriend, he knew he needed to talk to you about it sooner rather than later.

He was just avoiding it, and for many reasons. Emery was a nice girl, but Noah would be lying if he said he saw a future for them. A future further than what they had right now. He didn't even know if he could call her his girlfriend. He never really asked her oficially, but after a couple of weeks of them being together, going out together, going to each other's places, he thinks he doesn't really need to say much. Besides, other people around him just started to refer to them as boyfriend and girlfriend, and he didn't have the heart to correct them.

He knows he should say something. He should say he's not emotionally available right now. He should say he's not looking for something long lasting. But, the truth is, he doesn't want to look like a fool. Because, the moment he says that, he knows he'll need to talk about you. Because you're the reason he hasn't been available for the past five years, and, honestly, how can he say that?

How can he say he hasn't moved on from a relationship that's ended five years ago? How can he say that you're still the only that can get his heart beating faster every time you look at him? How can he say that after everything you've said to him that night, he can still feel like you're the only one for him?

He knows he needs to talk about it. Maybe with a professional, like the boys have hinted at many times. He just feels like if he gets rid of these feelings, if he finally moves on, he'll be losing that last piece of you. That last piece of how you were together, despite the bad times and the fights. And he's not ready for that.

Pulling the car in drive again, he sighs out loud before starting to drive. He's headed to Emery's place. Earlier in the day, she had invited him for dinner, and he had said yes. Right now, he doesn't really feel like it, but he also doesn't feel like cancelling last minute. So he just drives.

When he arrives, Noah turns off his car and hops off, making his way to her front door and ringing the doorbell. When she opens the door, she's wearing this cute apron, and she greets him with a smile on her face and a peck on the lips, ushering him in.

The first thing Noah notices is the smell permeating the house, and his stomach grumbles almost instantly.

"What are you making?", he asks, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down, as he watches Emery carry on what she was doing before he arrived.

"I'm just putting together a lasagna. You like that, right?", she asks, and he could've sworn he froze right there. Before she could catch him though, he schooled his features and told her that yes, he does like lasagna.

The dish just happened to be your specialty, though. Making lasagna used to be your favorite thing to do in the kitchen, and the preparation could take days, since you insisted to make the lasagna sheets from scratch, instead of those you buy at the store and just boil.

Needless to say, it was Noah's favorite dish of yours. Nothing could ever compare to it, and every time there was a get together, the boys always requested you made it, and you always said yes, with the biggest smile on your face.

For a second, Noah wondered if this would ever stop. Would there be a day when he wouldn't compare everything to how things were before? Would you ever stop permeating his every interation? Would there be a day when he wouldn't remember you when something like this happens? If yes, then how long more would he have to wait?

They sit down on the couch and talk, as a movie is playing in the background, and they're waiting for the dish to cool down a bit, since it was just pulled out of the oven.

"How are the preparations for the concert on Friday?", Emery asks. Noah takes a gulp of the beer she offered him.

"It's going well. There's only so much we can prepare for, you know?", he answers. One of the things they bonded over when they met was music, and since Emery also had her own band, she could understand a few things Noah went through with his.

"Yeah, I know", she agrees. "Some stuff are still gonna go wrong, anyways"

Noah thought this was a good time as any to tell her you were attending the concert. He didn't talk about you often when he's with her, and whenever he did, he could notice the girl grow a but uneasy at the topic of conversation.

Part of him wanted to tell her to not worry about it, that you've been split up for five years, and there was no way you would get back together. But the other part of him couldn't lie. If the opportunity ever presented itself, if you could ever talk about things and make the wrongs rights. If in some magic land you decided to try again, he would take that opportunity and never look back.

"By the way, I wanted to tell you something. Just so you're ready for it", he started, and she nodded for him to keep going. "Y/N is going to be there to accompany Ezra. Lana is the one who's usually with him, but since she's sick this time, his mom has to go"

As per usual, at the mention of your name, her smile falters a little and he can see her trying to conceal it.

"Oh, ok", she answers shortly, and he can see her struggling with her words.

"She wanted me to tell you, so things aren't awkward", Noah explained it further, not really knowing why. You're the mother of his kid, he doesn't really have to explain himself when it comes to this.

"You talk to her a lot?", she asks, changing the subject completely. Noah has caught her asking these questions lately, and he's been usually good at answering - or dodging - them. This time though, after everything that's happened today, he doesn't really have the emotional intelligence to answer her without letting some annoyance slip into his voice.

"Of course I do. We have a kid together", he tells her, not leaving much room for debate.

"I know that. I was just wondering if that would ever be a problem in the future, for us", he says, and Noah has to do some mental gymnastics to understand what the hell she is on about. When he doesn't say anything, she keeps going.

"Are you going to introduce me as your girlfriend?"

"She already knows about us"

Noah wanted to tell her that no, he's not introducing her as his girlfriend, because that's not what she is, but decided that's an argument he didn't want to have tonight.

"What about other people?", she asks again, and Noah gets frustrated with her questions.

"If you want to ask me something, just do it. You don't have to dance around the subject", he is upfront with her.

"When are you going to tell your son we're dating?", Emery asks, and for a second, Noah regrets asking for honesty. He rubs his forehead and sighs. Now he remembers more than ever why he's been avoiding relationships all this time.

"For him, you're my friend. And that's it", Noah answers with full honesty. That's one subject he is set on making it clear with Emery. He doesn't play about his son, and he needs her to know that. He's not ready for this, and if she can't understand that, then too bad for her.

"I feel like that's all I am to you as well", she says and he wants to bolt out of this house and end this conversation.

"Listen, Emery. This is what I can give you right now, ok? I told you from the beginning that I have a kid, and that things were going to be very different. You said that was ok, and now you want me to tell my son that we're together? It really doesn't work like that", Noah is losing his patience, and she could tell.

"If this is going nowhere, I just want you to be honest with me about it, because I won't play second to a woman who has been out of your life for five years", Emery says, getting up to set the table.

Suddenly, Noah feels suffocated in this house. He is dreading having to sit at the table with her and eat, pretending that this is ok. It is not ok, and he wantes to scream in her face to never talk about you like that ever again. That she couldn't understand, not in a million years, what you meant to him. She couldn't understand how you made him the happiest man alive. How you gave him the best thing that has ever happened to him. His son.

Instead, he gets up, mutters an "I can't do this", and leaves through the front door.

You're doing your makeup in the bathroom when Ezra comes in, calling out for you.

"Mom, look at my clothes", he stands there, and you turn around to take a look at him. A smile immediately taking over your face.

"You look great, buddy", you compliment him, eyes going up and down his small - but ever growing - frame. "Is that a new shirt?", you ask him, since you don't remember him having this Bad Omens shirt in his closet the last time you checked. You always had to keep an eye on him, especially after he started putting together his own outfits. You never knew what combination could come out of that closet.

"Yes, it is! Uncle Davis gave me one, and he said it's not even released yet, and I'm the only one who has it", his smile is even bigger now, his energy almost overflowing. Something Noah was adamant on doing, ever since having a kid, was create a Bad Omens merch line for kids. It was a total succes and has been for a few years now. Ezra even modeled a few times.

"Well, that sure is nice", you tell him, turning around and going back to your makeup. "I think you're missing something, though", you observe, and you see the lightbulb going off in his head, as he bolts out of the bathroom and back to his bedroom.

A few seconds later, he's back, tugging his fake tattoo sleeves up his arms.

"Thanks for reminding me, mom", he tells you, and you let out a genuine laugh at the way he's so relieved you remembered.

You loved those damn fake tattoo sleeves he always wears so much. It started off with him wanting to look just like Noah. But then, as you went back to working in the studio, he realized both of his parents were tattoo enthusiasts, and the habit had a whole new meaning for him.

You knew Noah would lose it when he sees him wearing them, despite seeing it a hundred times before, it never really gets old.

"I'm just finishing here. Why don't you wait for me on the couch?", you instruct and watch him leave once again.

You take a look at the clock and see that you still have a few minutes until you have to leave the house. You opted for an all-black outfit, with the intent to blend in as much as you could. You actually thought about the possibility of wearing one of your old merch shirts, but ultimately decided against it.

Last night, when you were overthinking and debating on whether to cancel this last minute or not, you found yourself on Instagram. One thing led to another and suddenly, you were deep in Emery's profile.

You couldn't help but notice how gorgeous she was, and how much she fit in with Noah's lifestyle. Probably in a way you never could.

They probably bonded over so many things. Music, tours, albums, production. All of the things Noah came home trying to explain to you after a stressful day in the studio, but noticed you couldn't really grasp the idea of everything they did in there.

Their conversations probably flowed way easier too. She probably helped him during studio sessions, and he probably did the same. Hell, you wouldn't even be surprised of they collabed together.

Before you could go into a way deeper spiral of comparison, you looked in the mirror and decided it was enough effort for today. You were probably wearing the most amount of makeup you've worn in weeks, and that in itself was enough for you. Who were you trying to impress anyway?

Grabbing your purse from the couch, you put on your sneakers, turn off all the lights, and go around the house cheking one more time if everything is locked as it is supposed to be.

Calling out to Ezra, you grab you car keys, but before you could even do anything, the kid has already opened the front door, and is eagerly waiting for you to unlok the car. Once you did, he hopped in the back and strapped himself in.

Being Noah's son, Ezra didn't even need a booster seat around this age anymore, and you were 100% sure he would grow to be as tall, if not even taller, than his dad.

"Let's go, buddy", you tell him, getting in yourself and turning on the car.

"Mom, I'm so happy you're coming tonight. You're going to love it!", you looked in the rearview mirror and saw his smile, and for that moment, you weren't even conflicted about going anymore.

You had texted Noah about thirty minutes ago, telling him that you and Ezra were on your way. He was waiting in the bus area, since that's where he told you to park.

Meanwhile, Noah thought about how Emery was inside. They haven't really spoken after their argument a few days ago. But tonight, she did tell him she wanted to talk after the concert is over. Noah has decided he was going to "break up" with her, even though they weren't together officially in the first place.

Now, he needed to focus on you and Ezra. And if things went well tonight, maybe you'd let him take you guys to dinner after the concert. He was holding his hopes high.

After a couple of minutes, he sees your car parking not too far from where he's standing. The headlights turn off and you step out along with Ezra, who immediately runs to his father.

"Dad! Look at my new merch", he says, grabbing the bottom of his shirt, showing it off. Noah couldn't help but chuckle at the way he never lets go of the fake tattoo sleeves. They're even a little ripped in places, he's even offered to buy him a new one, but he refuses every time.

"You look awesome, buddy", Noah envelops his son in a hug, lifting him off his feet a little. "You ready to rock tonight?", he asks and his kid answers with a very enthusiastic yes.

"I'm sorry it took me a while, there was a little bit of traffic", you tell him, and he can't help but observe how you look tonight. He never fails to get startruck by your beauty.

"It's ok. We should be heading in", he leads you both inside the venue, through the halls and finally, you step inside the green room.

"You guys can stay in here. There's water and catering outside if you need anything", he tells you.

"I know how it works, don't worry about us. Soon, this little one here will want to walk around and explore the place, right?", you ruffle Ezra's head and he agrees with you. The kid can never stay in one place for too long.

"There's security outside if you need anything. I'll have to get ready since the concert is starting soon", you nod in acknowledgement, reassuring Noah that, once again, everything is going to be ok.

He leaves to get ready and in about fifteen minutes, you and Ezra are walking around the halls backstage. You see and talk to people you haven't seen in years, but they look well acquainted with your son, and you feel happy to see him fitting in Noah's life so seamlessly.

Soon enough, you're standing beside Ezra on side stage, the concert about to start shortly.

"I'm gonna grab us some water bottles, ok?", you tell him, signaling for a security guard to keep an eye on him, and he answers you with a smile that tells you that he's used to keeping an eye on the kid when he's watching the concert.

Back in the green room, you go through some notifications on your phone before grabbing the water bottles, knowing you won't have time to do it while the concert is happening.

You're standing there when you hear the door open behind you, and you're ready to tell Ezra he could've stayed where he was, before the words die on your lips when you're met with Emery.

Your mind had kind of scraped her from your thoughts since arriving. You hadn't seen her yet and you actually thought she might not be attending.

"Oh, hi", she greets, and you can clock the fake tone of her voice the minute she speaks. "I think I have the wrong room", she says, but makes no move to get out.

"Can I help you with something?", you ask her, and you can tell that she knows who you are. Suddenly, it doesn't really look like she got in here by mistake.

"I was just looking for some water"

"There are some in here, you can grab one if you want", you tell her, pointing to the mini fridge.

She makes her way over, opening it and grabbing a water bottle. Popping the cap, she takes a few gulps while you watch her.

"I think Noah has mentioned you before", she wonders out loud. "What's your name again?", she asks.

You know what she's doing, and you're 100% sure Noah has mentioned you before and that she knows your name.

"I'm Y/N", you tell her, not bothering to shake hands or anything.

"Oh, you're the ex-wife!", she exclaims, as if she's making a huge point by saying this.

"That's me", you don't bother to hide your annoyance with her. You knew she came in here with the intent to have this conversation, and to probably rile you up and make you feel some kind of jealousy of her relationship.

"So, you're the reason why Noah can't commit to anyone anymore, huh?", she points out and you have to do a double take to make sure you heard her right.

"Excuse me?", you question.

"Yeah, you heard me. Five years later and he still can't get you out of his head"

"Listen, my son is waiting for me, and the concert is about to start. Besides, I really don't want to be having this conversation", you tell her, turning on your back. You really needed to tell Noah his taste in girls has declined drastically over the years.

"You're the reason why he hasn't asked me to be his girlfriend", she half yells after you.

"I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you're not gonna raise your voice at me", you throw back at her.

"Oh, you wanna act so high and mighty as if you haven't ruined Noah's life"

"You know nothing about me, and you know nothing about our relationship. So, I suggest you get you act right before I call security on you", you warn her, and you see her opening her mouth to retort when a voice speaks from the door.

"What the fuck is happening in here?", Noah's standing there, looking between the two of you, before his eyes settle on Emery.

"She was screaming at me, and threatening to call security on me. Can you believer her, Noah?", Emery says, voice calm this time. You sigh out loud at her fakeness.

"She won't have to, I am doing it myself", Noah tells her, and her face falls at his words. In seconds, there is a burly security guard scorting Emery out of the premises, as she's still throwing false accusations at you.

Once she's gone, and you and Noah are alone in the green room, a heavy silence settles over the two of you.

"That's your girlfriend?", you ask him, a hint of teasing in your voice. He only shakes his head.

"I can't explaing everything right now, because if I do, I'll be late to go on stage. But I'd really to talk to you when the concert is over. Is that ok?", he asks.

"Yeah, of course. We'll need to talk about this regardless", you agree with him.

Not too long after, you're back beside Ezra and the concert has started. To say you're focused would be a lie. You're not really absorbing anything that is happening before you. You can feel Ezra's presence beside you, absolutely rocking his little heart out. But you can't help but replay the conversation from earlier.

When Matt let it slip that Noah was dating someone else, you thought that Noah and this girl were official. And now you meet her, and she's blaming you because Noah doesn't want to commit? Why didn't he make it clear to you that they were not actually dating? You actually feel a little like a fool. For texting him about it, for questioning if he pretended to introduce her to Ezra, while they weren't even together.

You zone out for a little longer, until the music goes quiet and Noah is talking to the crowd.

"This is somewhat of a new version of a song you guys already know", he says, grabbing an acoustic guitar one of the techs hand out to him. Making his way back to the mic stand, his eyes meet yours for a second, before he's focused back on the crowd.

"You all will be the first crowd to hear the acoustic version of Just Pretend", he announces, and for a second, the noise from the crowd is so defeaning, you can't even hear the first couple of strums on the guitar.

After a few seconds, the whole crowd is holding up their flashlights, and Noah starts singing.

I'm not afraid

Of the war you've come to wage against my sins

I'm not okay

But I can try my best to just pretend

You've heard this song before. Of course you have. Especially after all of the discourse on social media saying he wrote it about your relationship. In one interview though, he did say it was just to show how easy you can make a radio hit. You decided to run with that excuse as well. It was easiar to cope with the words he wrote, and is now singing in front of you.

I can wait for you at the bottom

I can stay away if you want me to

I can wait for years if I gotta

Heaven knows I ain't getting over you

You couldn't help but connect the words to what Emery told you earlier. You always thought Noah would have an easier time moving on than you. He was always on the road, he had things to distract his mind. He had girls waiting for him at every tour stop. Now, as you look at him, with his eyes closed and so focused on every word from the song, you wonder if he really hasn't gotten over you.

We'll try again

When we're not so different

We will make amends

till then I'll just pretend

You're standing still, not able to take your eyes away from him, when his head slightly turns to the side, and he looks at you. The eyes you used to love so much, now looking at you with so much sincerity and longing, you were sure you could dissolve right then and there. You were always able to communicate with him through looks, with his eyes being so expressive, there were many times when he didn't even have to tell you what he was thinking for you to figure it out.

Now, you realize that ability never really went away. Because you saw begging in his eyes. You saw the tool that being away from you has taken on him.

Weigh down on me, stay till morning

Way down, would you say I'm worthy?

Weigh down on me, stay till morning

Way down, would you say I'm worthy?

He finishes the song, and before you know it, you're wiping tears from your eyes. It feels like the night has taken a turn, and you're not sure if you want to face what comes next, but, for the first time in a while, you feel like things could be ok again.

You're waiting for Noah in the green room you were in before. You were sat on the couch, fingers unable to stay still, as you pick on your nails, your cuticles, anything to distract your mind and quiet your anxiety for a few seconds.

Ezra is off helping Matt pack up his things, and you just know it's going to take a while, from what you can remember, especially with how meticulous Matt is with his equipment.

The door opens, momentarily letting in the noise from outside, and you turn your head to look at Noah. His hair is wet, and a few strands are clinging to his forehead.

You remember well how it was when he finished concerts, especially when you guys were younger, and couldn't keep your hands off of each other. You always thought he looked his best a little out of breath, voice a little hoarse from singing. Apparently, that hasn't changed.

"I'm sorry for what happened earlier", he started, leaning on the table set on the corner of the room, leaving a little space between you.

"You don't have to apologize for her actions. I just want to know why you didn't tell me you weren't really dating her", you question him, and he lowers his head. You could tell he was bracing himself and trying to be vulnerable to the best of his abilities.

"We started hanging out, and I guess everyone just assumed we were together. I never really asked her to be my girlfriend", he started. You didn't say anything, deciding to wait for him to gather his thoughts. "I haven't dated anyone since the divorce".

The admission shocks you a little bit. You were 100% sure there have been other people since you.

"Why not?", you ask, voice a little hesitant and quiet.

"Isn't it obvious? I mean, she told you why"

"I wanna hear you say it"

"You wanna hear me say that I haven't been able to get over you in the five years we've been divorced? You wanna hear me say that I blame myself for that goddamn divorce every fucking day of my life? Because that's how I feel"

"I don't blame you for the divorce", you tell him, and you really don't. Over the years, you were able to realize if it hadn't happened then, it would've happened later on anyway.

"I blame myself because I should've tried harder. I should've tried harder to make you stay. I should've told you everything that was going on. But no, I just signed the papers like a damn fool"

"What do you mean tell me everything that was going on?", you question him, that part of his speech cathing your attention.

"We were under so much pressure from the label. I asked them to make the tours shorter, so I could spend more time with you and Ezra, that was only just a baby back then. They basically told me that if I wasn't willing to put in the work, we could find another label to release our album", he told you.

This was new information for you, you never knew that Noah talked to the label, and that they denied his requests.

"How could I do that? If I was a solo artist, I would've let them drop me in the blink of an eye so I could be with you two. But I had the guys to think about. So many other people were waiting on the success of the album. And once it was out, everything just got worse. They were scheduling tours after tours, and we couldn't say no, because we had a contract signed"

You didn't know what to say. You had your forehead pressed to your palms. All this new information making your head spin.

"Why didn't you tell me?", you raise your head and look him in the eye. "This is the kind of shit that you tell your wife", you were growing frustrated over the fact that he didn't communicate with you back then.

"I was afraid I would push you away. I was afraid you'd realize this isn't the kind of life you wanted and you'd leave me eventually. Look where that fucking got me, huh?", he motions around him, hands falling on his sides in frustration and resignation.

"I thought you weren't trying. I felt so alone because I thought you weren't putting in the effort because you thought the road was so much more interesting than staying at home, taking care of a baby and cleaning up spit and changing diapers", you get up from the couch, your own frustration showing. "You should've fucking talked to me", you say, once again, as you get closer to him.

"Everything I've ever wanted was to stay at home, taking care of my baby, cleaning spit and changing diapers", he tells you and your eyes start to water from the intensity of the moment.

You don't know what to do with yourself right now. You were angry at him for not saying anything earlier. You were angry at yourself because you just assumed the worst from him.

"I don't know what to do", you confess to him.

"I don't know either", he confesses back to you.

In the second you lock eyes, all of the emotions spill over. You take a step closer and crash into his arms. He envelops his arms around you in an instant, holding you firm and sure as you cry in his chest.

You don't know why you're crying so much. You think it's because you finally get to feel him again after so long without his touch. Maybe because right now, in his arms, things feel like they felt almost ten years ago, and he was your safe haven. He was the one who could make all of the sadness and pain go away. He was the one who could shut your mind off and make you focus only on him.

"Shh, I'm here, ok?", he reassures you, running his fringers through your hair.

"I'm so sorry", you're sobbing as you part from him and look him in the eyes. "I'm so sorry. I feel like I ruined everything".

"You haven't ruined anything", he told you, grasping your face in his hands, and you lean on his touch. "I would never make you stay in a relationship when you didn't feel happy. Your feelings were valid and you made the decision you thought was right", he caressed your cheeks with his thumb, wiping away a few tears that still slipped from your eyes.

"You deserve so much more than what I gave you. You deserve someone who can see you as the amazing person that you are. You deserve....", he shuts off your rambling by pressing his lips on yours. You're stunned, and you don't move for a second. After realizing what is happening, and you register his warm lips on yours, just like they felt so long ago, you completely relax. He doesn't move, doesn't deepen the kiss. You just stay there for a second, feeling each other. And it feels so perfect, that you want to cry all over again.

"I had to stop you there. You weren't making much sense, to be honest", he tells you, parting from your lips, but keeping close.

"I'm sorry", you say, once again. And he nods, telling you that he knows.

You stay wrapped in his arms for a while longer, resting your head on his chest, and Noah revels in the feeling of you against him. He feels like he can finally breath easier for the first time in years.

"The boys and I are leaving Sumerian", he tells you, and you part from him to look him in the face.

"Really?", you ask and he nods. "Why?"

"Our contract is up and we're not re-signing", he explains, like it's the most logical thing ever.

"What label are you signing with?"

"Our own", he says, and you have a puzzled look on your face.

"Your own?"

"The boys and I are opening an independent label"

Your mouth hangs open in shock, and you feel happy for all of them. This is something they've wanted for such a long time now.

"This is so great, Noah", you tell him and he smiles at you.

"Now, we won't have that pressure anymore. Everythig becomes a little easier and we're able to control our schedule much better", he explains, and you know where he's getting at. A flutter of happiness takes over you. You were going to be ok.

"I was thinking that we could go have dinner after everything's packed up. You, Ezra and I", you tell him, deciding to start with baby steps first.

"It's like you read my mind", Noah grasps your face once again, placing his lips on yours for the second time tonight, and this time, you circle your arms around his neck.

You want to stay here forever, and now, you felt like you could.

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#bad omens #noah sebastian #bad omens imagine #noah sebastian imagine #bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #bad omens angst #noah sebastian angst #exhusband!Noah #exwife!reader #divorce fic #Forest Green 228B22

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steelheart-redux · 1 month ago

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Steelheart Redux: Year 1 Retrospective

I meant to post this yesterday but forgot. Oops. Anyway, June 1st marked the official first full year of Steelheart Redux! For me, at least. While the comic didn’t go public until September, those who have been here since the start remember that I uploaded all of chapter 1 at once. That work started in June, so I consider that the comic’s effective birthday.

With that disclaimer out of the way: what a year it’s been! In 365 days, I drew 153 comic pages. That’s about 0.4 pages a day— a little shy of a page every other day. Granted, those numbers aren’t an even spread. I made all of chapter 1 in three months (68 pages) and then had to take a break for a while because of wrist strain (wonder how THAT happened…) and then the amount of backlog I had fluctuated wildly for a while. Some days I have more time and motivation than others. It happens.

Quite honestly, I’m mainly happy that I’ve stuck with the project. My worst fear was that I’d get a month or two into Actually Doing The Thing, then get bored, demotivated, and give up. Luckily, my brain has allowed me to stick with Redux with a level of consistency that is frankly unforeseen from me, and I’m just as motivated as I was a year ago, if not more, thanks to people's interest. I’ve said it before, but the reception to the story already regularly blows me away. I went into this with the expectation that it would take years for the comic to gain any real traction, if it ever happened at all. But here we are, a year in, with tens, if not hundreds of regular readers across multiple platforms. It’s an honor I don’t take lightly, and as I’ve said, I’m so, so grateful for the trust and support.

Looking back, the comic started on wobbly feet. That’s something I knew even at the time and had to make my peace with. Steelheart Redux is my first original story project, first long-form comic (first colored comic longer than a few pages, tbh), and first time I've ever really left the title of "fanartist" behind for longer than a month or so. I knew I was entering uncharted waters and that whatever I made, I'd later come to see as 'bad', or at least, not executed as well as it could have been. Unfortunately, the only way to get that experience and improve is to do it bad. So I did it bad!

STRUGGLES:

Chapter 1 is way too long. Not in terms of content, but in terms of page count. For some reason, I was utterly allergic to the idea of putting more than four panels on a page. While I do like the pacing of it, and the sort of slow ease-in to the world and the setting, I made way more work for myself than I needed to. I definitely could have cut at least 10 pages by compressing things without seriously hurting the pacing, and it would have saved me a lot of trouble. Figuring out how to "trim the fat" and get to where I'm going as fast as possible without making things feel rushed is still something I'm working on, but I'm a lot more intentional about things now that I know it can cost me time and physical strain. You can see the font size slowly shrinking throughout the comic's run as I pack more in, lol. Honestly, it kind of works.

I have various other nitpicks. I'm sparing myself from the general "I don't like how I drew that"s in terms of anatomy and such, as those are just an inescapable result of improving as an artist and not worth getting in the weeds over. I will raise my eyebrows over some lighting choices-- I went out of my way to plan out a way to make the nighttime section of early chapter 2 read as "night, but not dark", and then the entire bit was annoyingly dark as hell. Trying to get the purple DRACO to visually stand out from the concrete there was obnoxiously difficult. I don't think it's bad-- I like the 'scribble background' gimmick I came up with to save myself from having to do backgrounds there, for one thing-- but I don't think it would have killed me to brighten up that section a bit. Something to keep in mind for later.

Speaking of backgrounds. Maybe it's too early to say, but at least right now, changing the background style was a game changer. That was one of the largest time sinks of early pages, adding 2-3 hours to every page that had at least one or two backgrounds. They were doable, but tedious, and as time went on, I found myself enjoying them less and less, instead of more and more as I'd hoped. You can see details start to disappear as a result, as backgrounds stopped being a "fun worldbuilding element" and "visual element of the page" and became just "something I had to draw to get the page done". Changing the style to a much looser one has brought the fun back, and made it much easier to pack in all the details I actually enjoy drawing without getting bogged down in "is the perspective exactly right". I've written posts before about making things easier for yourself if you're doing a long-form project; this is honestly my best example.

GROWTH:

I feel like, looking back, I can see myself become a lot more confident with drawing various things. Steelheart Redux is filled-- intentionally and not-- with things I'm bad at drawing, which has forced me to improve at those things sheerly through unavoidable repetition. Mainly, this includes backgrounds, mechs (still can't get me to draw cars though LOL), full bodies, and profiles.

It's also interesting to see the way I draw characters change. Going into the comic, I'd already been drawing Arthur for years, but making pages forced me to really lock in his design and get comfortable with drawing it. While it's not too different in terms of content, it has a different 'feel' now. This, too, I know is inevitable, and honestly something I look forward to.

I've become a lot more confident in doing these things, which makes making pages less intimidating and lets me experiment more with layouts and angles I might have otherwise been afraid to try. It's nice! It shows in a lot of the end of chapter 2, which is one of my favorite parts of the chapter. I was worried about hitting those emotional beats, because they're setting up for a lot and really needed to feel meaningful, but I think I landed them alright. My character writing is still something I worry a bit about-- there's a lot of subtlety to these guys and this story I worry I won't be able to get across in a more visual story-- but that's something for me to increasingly focus on going forward.

Away from the comic, I've also improved a lot as a 3D modeler. My robot rigs have improved, and I have much better human bases to work off. I can also slam out a layout for a scene much faster, which is a nice time boost to my workflow.

Overall, despite the hurdles and rough edges of some of the early stuff, I'm incredibly proud of everything I've produced. This is the first time I've ever put my heart, body, and soul so thoroughly into a project like this, and I'd like to think it shows.

While we're still in somewhat of the early stage of the comic's story, I'm hoping I've made a solid foundation for myself. I'm so excited for what's to come, and hoping I can execute it even better, year by year.

#steelheart redux #behind the redux #retrospective #long post

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undyingdecay · 19 days ago

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bucharest blues — 01

pairing: james buchanan (bucky) barnes x reader cw: mentions of violence, mention of disability (a character is deaf), sort fresh out of hydra bucky (just before civil war took place), eventually smut (not in this chapter), eventually violence, eventually drug use. a/n: i had no plans to post this, but it was sitting in my drafts so why not. depending on how it does, i may continue it

this had to be hell.

hell brought to earth — but in a way so personal, so surgically precise in its cruelty, that you began to wonder if it was crafted just for you. the kind of punishment not doled out in fire and brimstone, but in endless gray skies and streets slick with yesterday’s rain. was this karma?

you leaned against the wooden pillar beside you. careful not to put too much weight against it, lest a splinter find its way beneath your skin. the old woman who owned this rickety shop-home hadn’t sanded the wood in, well, maybe ever. it was the kind of place time forgot, where nothing new arrived unless it came in the back of a dented white truck with a cartoon cow on its side, grinning ear to ear like it hadn’t seen the slaughterhouse yet.

bucharest in winter could be beautiful, you supposed. if you squinted past the cracked sidewalks and graffiti-tagged alleyways, past the old churches with their stone faces weathered by centuries of rain and sorrow. but to you, it was less a city and more a purgatory — a place where sound went to die and people faded into themselves.

silence ruled here. not the kind of quiet you get in the lull before a storm, or in a church pew. no, this was the heavy kind. the kind that settles in your bones. it made you wonder if maybe silence wasn’t just the absence of sound, but the presence of something else entirely. a lingering, oppressive weight.

the tourists were sparse this time of year, which made your so-called job harder. less people meant fewer pockets to pick, fewer naive foreigners to overcharge for “freshly-picked local goods.” in truth, you had no real idea where any of it came from. every morning like clockwork, the same tired truck would rumble to a stop in front of the shop. same driver, same clipboard, same cartoon cow. the old woman, too frail and half-deaf, would wave you out to scrawl a name you weren’t even sure belonged to either of you.

you didn’t know her real name. nobody ever told you. the locals called her the little deaf girl in that shop when they spoke of her past — if they spoke of her at all. she had been all you’d known for as long as you could remember. a silent, sharp-eyed woman who communicated with curt hand gestures and smacks to the back of your head when you failed to pick up the alphabet in sign. you still hadn’t learned.

the crates in front of you were an uneven arrangement of bruised apples, plums, glass jars of god-knows-what preserves, and dusty glass bottles whose labels had long since faded. the goods themselves weren’t important. the game was. find a mark. spot the outsider. reel them in.

you scanned the passing faces. a woman dragging a child by the wrist while haggling with a jeweler — too much trouble. two men in round sunglasses, despite the cloudy sky. you rolled your eyes. no. not them.

and then you saw him.

“hey!” you called, cupping your hands around your mouth as though it would somehow make the sound sharper, carry farther.

he turned before the word even left your lips. like the syllable itself was a trigger. his head snapped toward you in a way that made the hairs on your arms stand. a soldier’s reflex. or something worse.

the man was built like a warhorse — broad-shouldered, thick through the chest, with long hair that brushed his jaw and a few days’ stubble along his sharp jawline. dark jeans, a black henley that clung to him like it had been made for his frame. but it was the gloves that caught your eye.

black leather, even in the chill. not the kind worn for fashion, but for necessity. for hiding something. a glimmer of old movies flickered through your mind — soldiers in war-torn cities, secret agents slipping through crowded streets. you didn’t know it yet, but you were staring at a ghost. not the white-sheet kind. the kind with blood under their nails and a thousand-yard stare.

you realized you were still staring.

and he was staring back.

his gaze was sharp, not wide-eyed or startled, but measuring. as if he was calculating a hundred things about you in a single heartbeat — how fast you could run, how loud you could scream, how easily you could disappear. you swallowed hard, the taste of metal and old fear heavy on your tongue.

this was not a tourist.

this was not someone you could sell dusty jars of pickled cherries to.

but you damn sure could try.

the money never went to you. never had. not a single crumpled bill or faded leu note ever found its way into your pockets. it went to the old woman in the sagging chair by the window upstairs, who counted every coin like she was still trying to win a game she didn’t even remember the rules to. but for her, anything was worth it. a sale was a small victory against the world’s indifference.

so you moved.

sweaty palms against frayed fabric as you left the stand unattended, weaving through the thin stream of passersby. a few curious glances flicked your way — not at you, but at him. because even in a city that saw its share of ghosts, this one stood out.

when you stopped in front of him, the world felt quieter somehow. like the air thickened between you, sound getting stuck somewhere in the space that separated your two chests. you’d never been superstitious, but some part of you whispered that if you said the wrong thing here, if you made the wrong move, your bones might be found in some alley three weeks from now, gnawed on by stray dogs.

god, if he killed you… who’d tell the old lady?

you forced yourself to breathe.

“would you like to buy any of our goods?” you asked, words tumbling out with a roughness you hadn’t intended. you turned partway, gesturing toward the stand as though it was something worth being proud of. “pickled cherries. apricot preserves. apples… a little bruised but still good.”

his gaze didn’t follow your hand.

didn’t look at the stand.

didn’t even blink.

he just looked at you. that unreadable stare — the kind of eyes that didn’t live here. didn’t belong to these streets, this time, this decade. you saw it then. the ghost of old wars. of a man who might’ve once walked with steve rogers on cold european battlefields, heard the whistle of artillery shells overhead, smelt blood in the mud.

the gloves shifted against his palms. black leather flexing faintly. a twitch, maybe. you wondered if it was nerves or habit or something worse.

his jaw tensed. a flicker of hesitation.

then, a word — low, rough, american.

“no.”

simple. final. like a verdict.

but something in the way he said it wasn’t unkind. it wasn’t sharp, or angry, or cruel. it was tired. the kind of no someone gave the world when they’d long since stopped wanting anything from it.

and yet, he didn’t move. didn’t walk away.

people like him didn’t stay in plain sight for long. you didn’t know his name, didn’t know the sins sewn into his skin, but you knew that. he should’ve left already. slipped away like smoke between buildings. but here he was.

there was a long, heavy second where neither of you spoke. the world around you blurred at the edges. the hum of a distant car radio. a child laughing two streets over. somewhere, a dog barked.

he finally let out a slow, almost soundless breath through his nose.

“you shouldn’t yell like that,” he said quietly, voice hoarse, like it hadn’t been used much in a long, long while. his eyes flicked to the corners of the street, the rooftops, the windows where curtains shifted a fraction too quickly. he didn’t look at you when he spoke.

“not safe.”

and with that, he turned.

started to walk away.

something in your gut turned to ice. not because you feared him — though you probably should have — but because you knew what that was. that wasn’t a threat. that wasn’t some local tough trying to scare a street kid. that was a warning from someone who understood how ugly the world could get, someone who’d seen it firsthand and was still carrying its weight. you could see it in his shoulders. the way he walked like a man who never let his back face an open room.

but it was a damn shame you never cared much for warning signs.

especially not when you hadn’t made a single damn sale all day.

not when she was counting on you, sitting up there by the window like a ghost of her own, waiting for the clink of coins in the old glass jar.

so you moved. quick steps. your heartbeat in your throat, the cold air biting at your skin. you caught up to him before your better judgment had time to scream what the hell are you doing?

and you grabbed his wrist.

a mistake.

the world tilted in a blink — faster than your eyes could follow. one moment your fingers brushed cold leather, the next his grip was around your wrist like iron. not painful, but firm. enough to tell you, without a word, that if he wanted, your bones could shatter like glass.

his head turned. that same look.

“one fruit,” you blurted, desperate now, voice cracking a little. “just one. apples. dragon fruit. plums—”

that one word seemed to catch him.

his eyes flickered, a subtle shift you might’ve missed if you weren’t already watching for something — anything. not a wide-eyed recognition, not some dramatic gasp. just a flicker. a memory, maybe. some shadow of a time before metal arms and cold rooms with flickering lights. a memory of simpler things.

plums.

you latched onto it.

“they’re good,” you said, softer now, sensing the tightrope you were on. “we don’t get them often. imported. little soft, but… sweet.”

a beat passed.

the street moved around you. life went on, as if it didn’t realize it was holding its breath.

and slowly, his hand loosened from your wrist. he didn’t move away. didn’t say anything.

you took a chance. “you don’t have to eat it. just… take one.”

for her.

for you.

for whatever stupid, stubborn part of you didn’t want to go home empty-handed again.

another beat.

and then, wordlessly, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a coin — old leu, worn thin from years of handling — and pressed it into your palm. his gloves brushed your skin. cold as hell.

he nodded, once.

a barely-there thing.

and turned away again.

not a word.

not a look back.

karma had to be real.

you didn’t believe in much — not saints or fate or any of those old bedtime stories the village grandmothers told in crumbling dialects over cracked cups of tea. but standing here now, stomach gnawing itself hollow, knuckles whitening around the wicker handle of a half-empty basket, you were damn sure something in the universe was watching and having a good laugh at your expense.

because there he was.

again.

the man from yesterday.

the one you’d harassed for a coin.

the one with the winter-gray eyes and the leather gloves and the presence that clung to him like a shadow no amount of daylight could chase off.

and now he was standing directly in front of the meat counter.

you stared. couldn’t help it. couldn’t seem to look away. he stood there, broad shoulders squared, watching the butcher weigh a few cuts of something red and marbled with fat. his hair was tied back this time — a messy, too-long knot at the nape of his neck. a few loose strands brushed his stubble-darkened jaw, and for some stupid, irrational reason, it made your throat go dry.

of course.

because it wasn’t enough for him to be intimidating — no, the bastard had to be hot, too.

your grip on the basket tightened, the frayed handle digging into the crease of your fingers. you should’ve turned around, ducked down another aisle, abandoned the meat and the stew and any shred of dignity you had left. the old woman would understand, right? you could almost hear yourself explaining it to her later:

‘sorry, couldn’t get the beef because the super hot guy i harassed for spare change was standing in front of it, and i didn’t feel like getting murdered in the frozen foods section.’

yeah.

that’d go over real well.

but your eyes drifted to him again, and this time you noticed it — the way his shoulders seemed too stiff, how his gaze darted up toward the mirror bolted into the corner of the shop ceiling, scanning the handful of people wandering the aisles. he was watching, not shopping. every inch of him looked like it wanted to disappear through the wall.

you should’ve let him.

should’ve minded your own business, grabbed a loaf of bread and called it a night. but something — stubbornness maybe, or that same reckless streak that’d made you grab his wrist earlier — kept your feet rooted to the cracked tile.

and before you could talk yourself out of it, your voice cut the stale air.

“hey.”

quiet this time. not a yell, barely a murmur, but somehow his head still turned.

those pale eyes landed on you, and for half a second you wished you’d swallowed your tongue.

he didn’t say anything. just waited.

you coughed, shifting your basket higher on your hip. “you, uh… never took your plum.”

a flicker in his expression. not a smile, not even a smirk, but something — a twitch of his brow, a tightening around his mouth. like he wasn’t sure whether you were trying to be funny or just terminally stupid.

“i didn’t want one,” he said, voice low and rough. the kind of voice that sounded like it hadn’t been used much lately. like maybe words felt heavier for him than most.

you shrugged, pretending your stomach wasn’t a mess of nerves. “didn’t say you had to want it. it’s already paid for. be a shame to let it rot.”

his gaze didn’t soften. didn’t harden either. just lingered on you a second longer than you expected. the butcher behind the counter said something in romanian, something about prices rising again, but neither of you moved.

you forced a lopsided grin. “not poison, if that’s what you’re thinking. promise. i mean—” you gestured at yourself with your free hand, “if i wanted you dead, probably wouldn’t have chased you down for pocket change.”

that earned you a breath — not quite a laugh, but a huff of something close to it. his eyes flicked to the front of the shop, then back to you. always watching the exits.

“you follow everyone you harass,” he muttered, the barest ghost of dry humor in his tone, “or just me?”

you blinked. then grinned, a real one this time. “only the ones built like tanks.”

a pause.

then, against all odds, he let out a quiet exhale that might’ve passed for amusement if you weren’t sure he was incapable of it.

“show me,” he said.

and for a moment you thought you’d misheard. but he was already moving, tucking his wrapped package under one arm, cutting through the narrow aisle with that same silent, predatory grace. you scrambled after him, basket bumping against your leg.

outside, the air hit colder than before, sinking teeth into your skin. the sun had dipped lower, the streets thinning of people. you could hear a dog barking somewhere, a distant radio playing a scratchy folk song.

you led him back toward the stand, heart hammering, wondering what the hell you were even doing. when you reached it, you plucked the best-looking plum from the pile — a little soft, sure, but still a deep, glossy purple — and held it out like a peace offering.

he stopped in front of you, staring down at it. didn’t take it right away.

you rolled your eyes. “c’mon. it’s not gonna bite you.”

slowly, he reached out, leather glove brushing against your fingers as he took it. he turned it over in his hand once, studying it like it might reveal some hidden message.

“i don’t eat sweets,” he muttered.

“good thing it’s a fruit then,” you shot back.

and for the briefest second, something cracked through that impossible wall of his. a tiny, sardonic twitch at the corner of his mouth. gone almost before it appeared, but you caught it.

without a word, he reached into his pocket and dropped another coin into the old jar by the stall. you stared down at it.

“you didn’t have to—”

“keep it.”

and then, like smoke, like a ghost, he turned and vanished down the narrow street, leaving you standing there with a half-full basket, a fading grin, and a heart still racing like you’d just outrun the devil.

the plum pitifully soft in your palm.

karma, you thought again.

yeah, she had a hell of a sense of humor.

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sentientgolfball · 3 months ago

Note

I humbly ask forn copia,dew and phantom being all sweet and cuddly :3

Im gonna be real I meant to post this yesterday and completely forgot but ! Here it is now !

Have a short little drabble of Copia, Dew, and Phantom cuddling before having to leave for tour

Copia jumps away with a gasp when he feels something brush against his leg. He frantically looks around the room as his tired mind tries to boot up and make sense of the darkened world. As he twists and turns in his bed, his fist makes contact with something warm and solid. A small hiss immediately follows.

“We come to see you and this is the thanks we get?” A familiar scratchy voice whisper shouts near his ear.

Copia rubs his eyes before looking in the direction of the voice. A pair of yellow pinpricks greet him. To anyone else, the sight would only further the panic. But they only make Copia smile.

“Dewdrop,” he breathes a sigh of relief, “what are you doing here? Should you not be resting? You leave in the morning.”

“We wanted to see you Papa!” Another voice calls from his other side. Copia jumps again and whips his head around to see mismatched purple eyes and glowing lichtenberg figure scars.

“Phantom! Coccolone! You are here too?”

“I did say we.” Dew nudges him lightly.

“Is ehh anyone else here?” He looks around, squinting in the darkness to search for anymore shining pricks of light.

“Just us,” Dew assures him.

Copia nods though he feels a slight pang of disappointment in his chest, “Well I am glad you wanted to see me but ehh is there a reason you could not wait for a more reasonable hour?”

He jumps a little when he feels a cold body press against his side. Phantom buried their face into his chest, tail and arms circling around his waist. They take a deep breath of his scent before responding with a hushed tone, “Just wanted to spend one more night with you.”

Copia’s face immediately softens as he runs his fingers through Phantom’s mess of black and white hair. He looks toward Dew to see if he shares the sentiment, but he does not meet his eyes. Copia smiles and lifts his other arm in invitation. Dew darts forward with no hesitation, curling his body around Copia’s and tangling their legs together. He squeezes both of them as he falls back to lay against his pillows again.

He keeps one hand moving through Phantom’s hair, quite little chuffs vibrating through with each pass over their scalp. His other hand traces patterns on Dew’s arm, following trails of scars he knows by heart. He takes the time to memorize them all over again. So he does not forget the feel of him while he is away.

He savors the feeling of Dew’s unnatural warmth. The cold of Phantom’s skin caused by the void at their core. The pricks of claws as they knead at his stomach. The rough texture of Dew’s charred tail. His smoky cinnamon scent. Their frozen apple scent. He savors all the little things that he will miss about his ghouls. A few months away might as well be an eternity with how much his chest aches.

He cranes his neck to press a kiss between Phantom’s horns before turning to do the same for Dew. “My sweet ghouls,” he murmurs into the darkness.

He laughs softly as Dew presses his forehead to the underside of his jaw. His face falls though when he hears the shaky breath he takes. “Take care of Aether for me,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

Copia squeezes him just a little tighter. It breaks his heart knowing how much Dew will suffer before he can adjust to being without his mate once more. And this time he cannot be there to hold him when he needs it. But he has to remind himself Dew will have the rest of the pack. He will be okay even without him.

“Si si. I will. But rest for now. You need your energy for tomorrow. Both of you.” He shifts much to the ghouls’ dismay so that he can pull his discarded blanket up to their shoulders. Once settled again, both ghoul press themselves even closer to Copia. Limbs and tails tangling together as each of them clings to these last moments together.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fic #copia #frater imperator #dewdrop ghoul #phantom ghoul #golfball writes

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the-wip-project · 1 month ago

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Hello writerly friends!

I meant to make a mid-week post yesterday and I completely forgot. And the coming days are also terribly busy for me, I'm gonna struggle to even find time to do my own writing.

Hence I'm giving you a quicky advice today.

Brandon Sanderson has been uploading his creative writing college classes a few years ago, and he's doing it again this year.

It's 15 videos. This is a college level creative writing class by one of the most prolific fantasy writers of today, that you can watch and learn from FOR FREE.

I watched his lecture when it was uploaded by one of his students in 15 minutes segments in 2013 and then again in 2020, and I honestly wouldn't be here, still writing, if I had not watched and learned from this course. It's suitable for outliners and discovery writers, for writers who want to get published in any way or not.

Take a notebook, and go learn. It's never too late to learn some more and it never is wasted time.

Happy writing!

~ barbex

#the wip project #brandon sanderson #creative writing class #free education #reach for the stars

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secretleeme · 3 months ago

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Fish-tastic! (sfw t-word fic)

Ler: Finn

Lee: Gigi

(This one is kinda short, but I haven’t posted in a while sooooo)

“Knock knock!”

Glisten sighed as he stared at the fishbowl. “I’m not doing this Finn.”

Being trapped in the elevator with the most annoying toon he knew was not a good start to Glisten’s morning.

“Come on pleaseeeee?”

Finn gave him pleading puppy dog eyes. Glisten groaned.

“I said…”

“Who’s there?”

A voice came from behind Finn. Gigi looked at the fish bowl with curiosity.

“Gigi don’t!”

Glisten cried, but it was too late. Finn’s smile widened as he turned to Gigi.

“Fish!”

“Fish who-?”

“FISH-ious temper Glisten has today!”

Finn giggled, looking back at the mirror, who stared at him in disgust.

“Get me OUT of this elevator!”

Glisten started pounding on the elevator door.

Gigi burst out laughing.

“Oh my COD Glisten get a grip!”

Glisten and Finn gasped.

“I…SEA what you did there!”

Finns eyes widened in admiration as he giggled.

“No…NO NOT YOU TOO!”

Glisten groaned as Gigi laughed harder.

Luckily for the mirror the run was pretty much over as the elevator door opened, revealing the lobby.

“I’m out of here. I’m telling Rodger you’re both bullying me!”

Glisten called out as he strutted away.

“Well, he’s ofFISHally pissed!”

Finn giggled as he turned to Gigi.

“I did not know you knew fish puns! Cod I am so proud!”

Finn wrapped his arm around Gigi as they walked out the elevator.

“Well…I learned from the best.”

Gigi smiled as Finn blushed.

“I wouldn’t say I was the BEST but-“

“Not you, Goob!”

Gigi giggled.

“GOOB?!” Finn shouted, louder than he meant to.

“When has Goob EVER made a fish pun?”

“Just yesterday, actually. You weren’t there.”

“What even was the joke?”

“Uhhh…”

Gigi thought for a moment.

“I forgot sorry!”

Finn eyed Gigi suspiciously.

“Are you squidding me right now?”

“O-of course not!”

Gigi shrugged, avoiding eye contact.

“Okay then, lets ask Goob what the joke was. I’m sure he’ll let minnow!”

“Ugh…Okay okay! I lied…”

Gigi sighed.

“I knew it! No-one tells better fish jokes than me!”

Finn then turned to face Gigi.

“You’re not a very good liar, y’know!”

He giggled.

“S-shut uppp!”

Gigi playfully punched Finn’s shoulder, chuckling.

After the giggling toned down, Finn spoke up.

“We should really find Glisten before he talks to Rodger, I don’t want another lecture from him.”

Finn went to grab Gigi’s hand, but accidentally grabbed her side, resulting in a giggly yelp.

“H-hey!”

Gigi slammed her arm down, protecting her side.

Finn took a while to process what had happened, but when he realised, his eyes widened and he gave a big goofy grin.

“You’re ticklish?!”

Finn cried.

“N-No!! You just startled me!”

Gigi went to walk away but Finn squeezed her side again.

“Fihihihin-!”

Gigi snapped around and grabbed his hand.

“You know, I wasn’t lying when I said you’re a bad liar…”

Finn shook Gigi’s hands away and started tickling her sides.

“FIHHIHIHIHIHIHIHN!”

Gigi wiggled around, waving her arms frantically.

“Oh Gigi, this is krilling you isn’t it?”

Finn laughed, as he tickled faster.

“HEHEHEHEHEHE NOHOHOHOHOHOHO”

“My cod, this is kraken me up!”

Finn then moved his hands to Gigi’s stomach.

“EEK AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”

Gigi shook around even harder, trying to use her arms to defend herself, to no avail.

“Wow, you sure do love these fish puns, hehe!”

Finn smirked.

“YOUHOHOHO JEHEHEHERK!”

“I wonder what will happen if I go….HERE!”

He then went up to Gigi’s underarms.

“FIHIHIHIN PLEAHAHAHSE”

Gigi was practically crying with laughter at this point, slamming her arms down.

The gachapon was lucky Connie wasn’t here to witness this ordeal, she would never hear the end of it.

“Ooooh a bad spot? You’re fin-ished!” Finn continued to scribble his fingers as Gigi squirmed frantically.

“Coochy coochy coo!”

“NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STAHHhhhppp”

Gigi’s voice started to get weaker, her squirming becoming slower.

“Hmm, looks like you’ve haddock nough!”

Finn then stopped the tickling, leaving poor Gigi giggling.

“You’re…evil…”

She huffed.

“Aw c’mon, it was shrimply funny!”

Finn laughed, patting Gigi on the back.

“It really wasn’t”

A deep, stern voice interrupted the two gigglebugs.

Rodger.

Man, they had forgotten completely about Glisten and Rodger.

“Aw carp….”

“You mean EELY wasn’t!!”

Gigi snickered.

Rodger’s stern demeanour didn’t change as he stared at the two, not a hint of a smile in sight. Glisten peered from behind him, a small smirk on his face.

“…….Fish paste.”

#dandys world tickle #ler!finn #lee!gigi #dandys world tickles

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eroticallywritten · 22 days ago

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The first chapter for my Joel Miller x Reader fanfic was posted today over on Ao3. You can read it here: BLUE HORIZON ♡

I'll also be posting the first chapter here as a courtesy. I've been working on this for a few weeks now. I always appreciate feedback.

Summary —

You’ve lived in Jackson for five years now — quietly tending your trade, burying memories under dirt and roots. But one cold afternoon, a too-heavy sack of potatoes and a too-soft look from Joel Miller begin to unravel something much heavier. What starts as a simple dinner offer turns into a quiet evening of laughter, firelight, and the first honest moment between two people who have never quite said what they meant to.

⇩⇩ READ BELOW ⇩⇩

CHAPTER 1: THE DINNER

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead and groan. Three weeks now you’ve kept putting off this haul of potatoes to the General Store and now the sack was too big as you drag it down the streets of Jackson.

Dirt kicks up and you slip under. Groaning even louder from your own frustration, you try your best to pull the sack but sadly slip under once again.

“Mother - fuck!” You shout. Even as a child you were easily tempered. Though in this instance it was more of the sheer embarrassment caused to yourself having to lug this huge sack around like Claus on Christmas Eve. Your shout echoes and suddenly a familiar voice is calling to you.

Joel was sitting on his porch cleaning his guitar, enjoying the sun and the feeling of safety and comfort of Jackson. Yesterday was a hustle and bustle with his most recent scouting mission so today he meant to be lazy but he saw you before even hearing your shout.

Your houses weren’t too far apart. Fifty-two steps to be exact. Joel's stride, specifically.

"Everything okay over there?" He asks as he puts his guitar aside leaning it against the side table positioned between the two rocking chairs of his porch. His attention immediately on you and your rugged sack.

“Yeah, Joel… I’m fine.” You reply, growling under your breath as sweat pelts down your temples and slips into the corners of your eyes.

He lifts himself from his seated position and folds his glasses up and into his shirt’s front pocket. Three steps down from his porch and he walks up to you. Without a word, without even an ask, he grabs the sack of potatoes off the ground.

"Jesus, how heavy is this?" He says as he leans forward and throws the sack over his shoulder.

You scoff and rub your dirty hands over the fabric of your blue jeans, shrugging. “Dunno, twenty… thirty pounds.”

A smirk crawls across your lips and you elbow him, making him teeter with the sack over his shoulder.

—

You met Joel five years ago. Cold and hungry, you had made it to Jackson, barely hanging by a thread along with the rest of your group. Your small town of Rock Springs was burned to the ground by raiders, rapists, cultists – they had many names and many more ways of hurting people. The attack took your Mother, it took most of your community, and not to mention took the only place you ever called Home.

You were born two years after the outbreak. Your Father died protecting you and your Mother. Just a baby you were, clinging to your Mother’s arms as she fought through the Hell that was on Earth. Human chaos. Cordyceps maculate itself on the Earth and onto everyone’s skin, into their brains. Traveling from Kansas where you were born and finding shelter in Rock Springs, Wyoming – your Mother fought hard to give you what life she could in all the misery.

Joel was at the front gate. He checked your group. Him and his brother Tommy, gave you shelter. Gave you a new community. You stuck out to him, because despite your slovenly appearance, you made a joke, you made him laugh.

“I got busy. I forgot to do my weekly drop off, potatoes are growing well this year.” You explain, wiping more sweat from your forehead as he steadies himself from your inconsiderate nudge, giving you a side-eye.

Joel starts walking in the direction of the General store, the potato sack on his shoulder, heavy but him managing it to look like a light bag of grapes or a sack full of feathers.

“Twenty pounds? Don’t make me laugh, kiddo. Bet this thing weighs as much as you do.” Joel taunts, keeping his stride leisurely so as not to leave you behind.

“Don’t think you’d be carrying it so easily if it weighed as much as me...” You sneer at him, being sure to walk directly beside him. The town of Jackson was bustling. It was that time of the year. The snow was coming, and everyone was stocking up and amassing as much as they could. Wood, food, cloth, you name it. Just about everything. Even one another.

Joel chuckles at your comment.

"That attitude of yours is gonna get you into trouble one day, girl."

He notices the commotion around town as you both walk. His eyebrows drew together.

"Busy day today… Folks ain't wasting any time prepping for the snows." His slick Texan accent comes out low and smooth.

“Or the infected.” You mumble just enough for Joel to hear you.

As you both continue on your walk to the General store, you can’t help but notice the flow of people going in and out of the gun store. You had to have a license that was provided by Jackson Town Hall to own a gun. Everyone was allowed to obtain a gun by town’s law, you just had to put in the time and effort of obtaining said license to own one. Scouts, perimeter guards and most town officials, like Joel, owned one by default, but they had their own set of laws to follow. Keep the peace.

We arrive at the General Store a few moments later and Joel hauls the potatoes through the swinging door. Amy behind the counter makes a face. You feel childish as you pout in her direction, sensing her annoyance of your untimely delay for your usual supply drop. You weren’t a farmer by choice, no, you were an amateur botanist but besides the study of the Cordyceps and the occasional herbal run, you needed a steady trade within the walls of Jackson. Luckily farming meant dealing with plants to a certain degree, even if some sprouted too fast and were shaped like Mr. Potato head. My Mother told me about him. Toys that come to life, some movie.

Before Joel heads over to the counter you stop him. “Wait.” You pull down at the sack and take a few out and set them aside. You grab a paper bag from Amy’s counter and drop a few in, then proceed to hold it up towards him. “Here — for helping me.”

Walking closer to the counter he sets the sack down with a grunt of relief, grateful for the weight off his shoulders. Joel looks at the paper bag of potatoes you hand him, a little surprised by your gesture.

"You don't have to do that, kiddo. It was nothin'. Really.” His lips curve up in a small smile but he’d easily deny it.

You roll your eyes before you speak again. Why he always insisted on calling you kiddo baffled you. You were coming to the end of your twenties. Far from a child.

“You helped me, when you didn’t need to.” You reach for his wrist, jerking it forward and making him grab the paper bag of potatoes. When he still refused, you exhaled hard, becoming resigned to his refusal of what you know he deemed “charity”.

“If you won’t take them, at least let me come around, cook ‘em for you?” Now your Southern drawl seeps out.

Joel stared at you for a moment. He tightened his grip on the paper bag, making it crumble at the crease and chuckled as you insisted, realizing there was no point in arguing. You were a firecracker, just like him. Head to head. Once at a dinner party, months ago, you both refused to carry on with the celebrations because you contended back and forth on what made a buck a buck and a stag a stag.

"All right, all right, fine." He finally takes the potatoes, giving in to your insistence.

"You’re stubborn as an ox, anyone ever tell you that?"

Joel shakes his head, but can't help but let out a puff of air, almost like a chuckle. "Comin’ over… to cook just potatoes?” Another puff of air leaves his lips as we both head for the exit.

“Well sure, among other things... how about tonight?” You reiterate as you both walk out.

The bell chiming as the front door swung shut. The first sight of snowfall was showing in the mountain’s peaks just outside and above Jackson. Winter was moving in fast.

Joel follows your line of sight and glances up towards the mountain peaks as well, noting the first hints of snow. "Tonight, huh?"

He contemplates for a moment. "Sure, sounds good. I ain't got much goin' on."

He looks back at you with a slight smirk.

"Just don't try to poison me with your cooking, alright?"

You both split off after the General store and return back to your respective houses.

Buying time before dinner, you mosey around your home, grabbing herbs from your own personal garden and spot cleaning out of sheer anxiety.

Anxiety? Why were you nervous? This wasn’t the first time you had been to Joel’s house and for far lesser things as well. Perhaps though, that was it. This was a dinner between the two of you. More face time with him to confront the unspoken battle between your ribcage. How he pulled you in a way you haven’t felt since you were young and unsure of what love even was.

—

The sun began to set, casting a warm golden hue over Jackson. The town was settling down for the evening. It was time for dinner.

Joel sat on the porch of his simple but cozy house, taking a moment to revel in the peace. The air crisp with a slight chill indicative of the cold months ahead. The sound of some birds nearby fills the air.

Just as the golden hue casts further down, Joel's ears perk. He hears the sound of someone approaching. Boots against dirt. Looking up to see, he feels a small smile pull at his lips. It's you. He waves.

"Heya, kiddo. Right on time." He says, gesturing for you to come sit in the rocking chair next to him.

You’d think the guy was in his 80s the way he sits perched on his porch all the time, rocking away. Odd behavior for a 50 year man.

You walk up the steps and sit in the rocking chair beside him, my hands stuffed deep into my coat’s pockets. “Got chilly, fast…” You mumble.

Joel chuckles at your observation. "Yeah, winter ain't messin' around this year, it seems."

He rocked back and forth in his chair, a small creak coming from it with each movement.

"You look frozen through." He remarked. "Should've worn more layers."

“Well we aren’t cooking outside are we?” You scoff and roll your eyes at him, giving off a snarky smirk after.

Joel couldn’t help but chuckle at your sarcasm. "Nah, we wouldn't want you freezein' completely solid out here."

He stretched back in his chair, gazing up at the sky and watching as hues of pink and yellow dance around. "Come on, let's go inside and warm up. Got a fire goin' already."

He stands to his feet, offering a hand to help you up.

You take his hand and go inside.

—

Joel stokes the fire as you start with the potatoes you gave him earlier in the day. Scalloping them and preparing a glaze while Joel cooks two pork loins for us. You nip a bit of rosemary from your garden and hand it over to him. Laughter echoes in his kitchen as you both sip beer and swap horror stories of our time out on the road before Jackson.

Joel cooked the pork loins to perfection, the savory aroma filling the air. He added the rosemary you had provided, infusing the dish with its earthy fragrance.

As they sat down to eat, the stories flew back and forth across the table. "So there I was, cornered by a damn Bloater and no Molotovs left. It was... not a good time." Joel reminisced with a smirk, shaking his head.

“Holy shit. How the hell did you get out of that?” You say, trying to not talk too much with your mouth full.

Joel leans back, another small smirk playing on his lips. “Well... turns out I was so intimidating, it booked it all the way to Missouri."

He chuckles at his own joke, taking a swig of beer. "In reality, I had to play it smart and sneak around it. Distract it by throwing a brick to the other end of the room, then I high tailed it out a window."

You snort at his incredible “dad” joke and then swallow your bite, washing it down with some beer. You take a few more bites out of the scalloped potatoes and then set your fork down, looping your fingers together as you rest your elbows on his dinner table.

“Ya' know, sometimes I think I was better out there than here. Not so much the fighting to survive or that constant feeling of hopelessness… it’s the people that seem more challenging. I was so distant growing up. I always wanted to be out, crawling the walls of my community just to get a glance of the world beyond the walls. Beyond the people.” You sip some beer to coat your throat. “Yet, I end up right back where I left.”

Joel listens intently, taking in your words with a thoughtful expression. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Out there, it was pretty simple — survive or die. But dealing with people... that's a whole other ball game." He takes a sip of his beer, contemplating. "And going from being constantly on the run to suddenly having a whole community, it can be a hard adjustment."

He sets down his beer, eyeing you.

“Yeah. Exactly…” You push around vegetables on your plate, nodding slowly. “Exactly.”

—

We finish some more beers and stand outside on his porch. Joel has a cigarette and you lean on his railing, watching as the first snowfall from the mountains makes its way into Jackson.

“There it is…”

Joel puffs away on his cigarette, the smoke wisping away into the cold air. “Yeah, there it is. Winter's officially here."

He leans against the porch rail next to you, staring out into the snow-dusted landscape.

"Always weird, first snowfall of the season. Feels like the world's changin' again." He grunts.

“Makes me remember how calm things can be but not too much to forget the chaos that exists just outside those walls.” You nudge your beer bottle to the outer wall in the distance. Jackson started out so small, two-hundred at the beginning. Now there are thousands of people, and every day more come or traders from all over stop in. A glance into the reality of what life use to be before the infected came to be.

“What was it like…” You drift off a bit. The alcohol making you feel a little fuzzy. “…before it all became shit?”

Joel takes a moment to collect his thoughts before answering the question.

"Before the world went tits up... it was... different. There was so much we took for granted. I remember goin' to malls, havin' a steak from a nice restaurant, drivin’ around just to feel the wind. Normal stuff, you know?" He pauses, looking off into the distance.

He continues. "But also... a lot more rules. People were chained by that, by the expectations to be good. Nobody really lived life like they do now, just felt like... we just existed at times.” He moves his eyes away from the distance and looks over to you. “But things were more safe, in a different way.”

“Uh huh… I see.” You exhale into your bottle before you take the last few sips then set it down. You turn to him, with a soft hiccup and offer a small smile.

“I think it's about time I call it a night.”

Joel glances at you, he returns your smile finding your hiccup endearing. He finishes his cigarette and stubs it out on the porch rail. "Yeah, probably a good idea. 'Bout that time."

He pushes himself off the rail, gesturing towards the steps. "Need me to walk you home, kiddo?"

“Will ya?” You tilt your head and raise your brows. You were only a few blocks away but you didn’t trust yourself to pass out in the snow beneath you and die of frostbite.

Joel snorts at your request, shaking his head with a grin.

"Yeah, I'll walk you. Can't have you sprawled out in the snow like a damn drunken starfish."

He leads the way down the porch steps and makes sure to keep his pace slow so he can walk beside, heading in the direction of your house.

—

The walk to your house is short and quiet, except for the crunches of snow under your boots and the soft rustle of wind through the trees. Joel maintains his pace with you, his hands in the pockets of his coat.

When you both reach your house, Joel turns to you. His cheeks and the tip of his nose pink from the cold.

"Alright. Here we are. You made it." He remarks with a small smile.

You feel your heart race. “Thanks Joel. For everything today. The potatoes. The help. The dinner… this…" You extend your hands out to insinuate the walk to your home. “The company.”

Joel shrugs, waving off your thanks.

"It ain't nothin'. Just lookin' out for each other, right?"

He returns your smile. "Always up for some company. Hell, you kept me entertained for the night. Better than every other dull and boring evening by myself."

We share a laugh and then look up at him, some snow attaches itself to his hair and you reach up. “You got…”

You slowly pull a single snowflake from a lock of his brown hair, your hand lingering and lightly trailing down his face. Letting your nails brush just over his beard.

Joel remains still, feeling the slight touch of your hand on his cheek. He looks down at you with a mix of surprise and confusion. "You uh... got it?" He asks, slightly disoriented by the sudden closeness.

“Y-Yeah.” You let your thumb linger for just a moment more before you completely take your hand away. ”Got it.”

Joel clears his throat, feeling a bit unnerved by your lingering touch. He takes a step back, trying to shake off the unexpected intimacy.

"Well uh... thanks." He glances down at you with slight awkwardness. A silence falls between you both before Joel speaks up again.

“You should probably get inside. Get some rest."

“You too.” Your voice is soft, just above a whisper as you begin to walk up your steps before you take out your keys and turn your doorknob, opening your door but not before turning back to watch him walk away into the snowy dark distance.

“Be safe… Joel.” You call out.

Joel stops, turning back to look at you with a puzzled expression. He's a little taken aback by your concern.

"Oh hey, don’t worry about me. I can handle myself. You do the same." His voice is gruff, concealing a hint of vulnerability. His eyes linger over your form as snow blows around him. "Goodnight, kiddo."

Once you shut your front door, you lay your hand over your chest, feeling your heart race as you exhale. "Does he not know? How much more obvious can I be?" You think to yourself as your eyes shift down and you turn back to your door, locking it and retreating deeper inside your home and getting ready for bed.

—

Joel watches you enter your house and close the door, his mind still replaying the brief moment of closeness between the two of you. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts, and starts heading back toward his own home.

As he walks, he can't help but wonder about what just happened. He's been alone for so long, and your unexpected touch had caught him off guard. He wonders if you meant something by it or if he's just overthinking things.

Joel's mind continues to race as he finally arrives back home and walks directly into his bedroom after locking up, replaying the moment over and over. It's unfamiliar territory for him, and he can't quite put his finger on how he feels about it.

He takes off his coat and tosses it onto a chair in the corner. Plopping down onto the edge of his bed, he runs a hand through his hair, still deep in thought.

Processing. Thought after thought. His mind keeps wandering back to the feeling of your hand on his face, your soft skin against his beard. It was an odd sensation, one he couldn't remember experiencing in such a long time.

Joel slips out of his boots and lies back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. He lets out a long exhale, still trying to make sense of what just happened and what it all meant but soon exhaustion finds him. Slowly but surely he drifts to sleep. His eyes shifting behind his lids as his breath evens out. He begins to dream, which he rarely does, and all he seems to dream of is a blue horizon and… you.

#pedro pascal #pedropascal #the last of us #tlou #joel miller #fan fiction #ao3 #joel miller fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #the last of us 2 #the last of us: part 2 #pedrohub #joel miller x reader #ao3 fanfic #*mine #*bluehorizon

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fortemelody · 10 months ago

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AHHHSHFBTKFNTLFKGNFMDM SONIC 3 TRAILER SONIC 3 TRAILER SONIC 3 TRAILER IM LOOSING MY SHIT RN

here’s some things i noticed/wondered/loved:

- i think in that scene where tom is on the ground yelling for sonic, he is wearing a special forces suit. maybe he upgraded from cop to working with gun?? if so i think that’s a really good use of his character actually! he wanted to save a life and raise a family above all else yes, but he still got his previous dream of doing more serious cop work!

- shadow just. has a big ass portal?? like holy shit he’s just suckin the life outta earth and ig that’s one way to do it (or maybe it’s just a ring and i’m stupid idek)

- i’m sure we’ll learn more about this in the actual movie so i’m not too worried, but i’m super confused at the very beginning scene. apparently sonic didn’t change his heart…but he did tho? like he learned what being a true hero meant in the last movie. tbh i feel like that’s enough but hey i’m not against more character development for our boy so!! (also that bit where he’s like “in my lungs” was actually really funny to me, ben schwartz’ awesome delivery caught me off guard)

- GERALD ROBOTNIK ALIVE HUUUUH?! tbh i would’ve preferred if maria was alive, i feel like that would be an interesting dynamic. but also ig that would make it harder for shadow to learn anything so i totally get it. anyways i’m just glad they’re putting a little twist on the story, it keeps it interesting. they already sorta did that with the knuckles and iblis thing actually! (even if that show sucked ass and although that probably wasn’t intentional 😭)

- even tho bro only got like… 3 lines, i really think keanu fits shadow. he’s very soft spoken in comparison to the rest of the case which feels nice. also he’s like the “really bad” guy so ofc he’s not gonna be yappin on and on like sonic or robotnik and he’s gonna take things uber seriously.

- where was my girl maddie :( i think she was only in like a singular frame. hope shes in the movie a somewhat significant amount. i heart pretzel lady!! could live without wade tho like pls im so sick of his bowling soap opera 💀

- FAT ROBOTNIK FAT ROBOTNIK FAT ROBOTNIK!!! after fucking 3 movies they finally fulfilled jim carrey’s wishes!! let the man get creative like please i love jim carrey sm aughdfhfnfmschxj. also love how we got so much stobonik content within that short scene like jesus come get y’all’s food

- shadow at one point says something along the lines of “when we’re done, there won’t be anything left.” maybe i’m reading WAY to into this but what does the “we’re” part mean?? is he working with others? i feel like this is either gonna be team dark or some new movie exclusive character(s). edit: someone made a valid point that he’s actually probably referring to gerald (look at reblogs!)

-CHAO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! lowkey wonder if the room therye in is like an amusement park or somethin like that

- no sign of amy :( but honestly my prediction now is that she’s gonna be the post credit scene teaser cus they always do a new character reveal there. first tails, then shadow. and honestly now i think it might be better that way so shadow can have a chance to breathe and show his story in full. i’m pretty sure i vaguely remember colleen (tails’ VA) being kinda mysterious about amy’s appearance when asked, and also the fact that it was confirmed that this isn’t the end of the movie franchise/universe. but ig we’ll just have to wait and see!

so sorry i stated this yesterday morning to give my initial thoughts but then got busy and completely forgot to post/finish it. and today i started (and am close to finishing) a very long edit of the trailer, so be on the look out for that too!

genuinely i feel like this movie is gonna somehow be even more record breaking than any of the previous movies and i am so here for the hype 🙏

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worstdisastermaster · 1 month ago

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HAPPY GAY MONTH YALL

Aight i made a subtle aroace flag for myself while watching movies with my grandparents and if u all want u can use it too. U can use it if u like it or if, like me, its not safe to be openly gay at ur house :(

Oh also if u think someone would notice the little blatant sunset flag colors in the corner i added to make it more obvi that its inspired by the flag heres a version without it so its more subtle!!!

As far as i can tell u can use the sunset aroace flag even if u arent sure where u r on the spectrum yet so im using it for me as a ‘aspec somehow ?’ flag cuz idk where i am on the spectrum rn and i dont have the free time to figure it out,,, sooooooo. Ur welcome to use this if u arent sure!!! Cuz i made it and i said so >:)

Soooo i made it based on the sunset aroace flag (duh haha) and i tried to do the same thing last year with traditional materials and it didnt turn out well HAHAHAH but we tried again this year and it turned out sooo much better imo!! I decided on a fox standing on the snow for a lot of reasons but mainly bc i saw this one thing earlier this week and it made me laugh,,,,

so. A fox. Yes. Also I like foxes. (Almost a year ago my idea was "omg aceflag but UNICORN bc the whole virginity thjng- and then I remembered virginity is a concept meant to control women and also has no real importance to someone being aspec and if i made a flag based on that it would actually be quite aphobic so im glad i got sleep and was able tk THIBK AB IT befire j made it 💀😭) oh and also my dog looks like a fox (shiba inuuuuuu) and she hates everybody ecept me so. and then butterflies bc change and all blah blah blah (cuz like. Demis and also people who aren't sure but feel one way at one stage and may feel dif later and and and- lots of thoughts not enough brain rn HAHAH but I hope u get the gist?) but also i didnt want to do like. A parrot. And i had a reason for not drawing a corvid i swear i just dont remember them HAHAAHHA (mayhaps next year i will do it anyway..) and crocuses!! And uh. Symbolism and all that jazz. If i had smth else i forgot im tired :( i have the WORST habit of only posting when sleep deprived whyyy

ANYWAY i apologize if anything is wrong or offensive in my flag its just supposed to be a silly thing I made yesterday and forgot to post that I made for myself but wondered if anyone else wojld want so. Please forgive me if I managed to do something stupid I know things get pretty heated up sometimes ab gay stuff and my intention was just to have something to celebrate a part of myself thag I can't trust with any of my family or even talk ab at school so :( pretty please no hate? Just tell me if I did smth stupid I mess up a lot but I'm doing my best I swear :((

anYways. Heres my subtle gay flag for my first gay month celebraiton!!! I hope yall like it :)

(ALSO HOW COME NO ONE TOLD ME ACEWEEK WAS A THING. WHAT THE HECK YALL I WOULD HAVE WRITTEN OR DRAWN SMTH GOOD FOR THAT RAHHHHH ugh ill just have to be on the lookout fo rit next year. grr.)

ANYWAY gn yall my summer course starts tomorrow :((((((

(2 more prompts yall. That's only 2000 words [...+. gonna be honest prob more] but ILL GET IT DONE SOON I SWEAR RAHH WORKING ON THE SECOND TK LAST DAY HALF TODAY HALF TOMORROW AND THE LAST HOPEFULLY SOON TOO IMMA FINISH TOAPRIL RAHHHHH)

#my art #ramblings with regina #art practice #gay month #hehe #digital art #aroace #arospec #aromantic #asexual #wherever on the soectrums u might be ur welcome to use it #just credit me pretty pretty please ty #pride month #subtle aroace flag #subtle gay flag #sunset aroace flag #i still dont know how to tag 💀#posting anyway!!!! <3

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dbnightingale24 · 10 months ago

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A Stepcest Love Story About Jim

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

I think my internet has finally stopped hating me, but I can't be too sure. We'll see what happens.

Word Count: 5,531

Warning(s): SMUT (MINORS DNI), Swearing, Stepcest, Infidelity, Step-Daughter/Step-Father relations, Family Drama, Forbidden Love, Lying, Sneaking Around, Emotional Cheating, Drinking, Self Loathing, FLUFF, Crying...I think that's it?

Summary: You and Jim have discovered that you don't want to stop, and don't even want to entertain the idea of it.

I do not give permission/consent for my stories/works to get posted elsewhere. I do not condone this type of behavior/relationship, this is for entertainment purposes only.

Chapter 4

You and Jim are horrible people, there’s no other way to put it. Jim woke you up the next day with his head between your legs, and you didn’t even attempt to stop him. Nor did you stop him when he told you get on top of him and get yourself off on him. The first two hours of the day were spent getting lost in one another and, for a moment, you forgot why it was wrong.

Then, you heard your Mother the second you opened the basement door.

“Well, why did ya sleep on the sofa, Jim?!” she snapped.

“My kids are still asleep, Y/M/N,” he huffed as he ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “You were a mess yesterday and-”

“I wasn’t that bad.”

“I had to carry you up the stairs in the middle of the movie.”

“Listen, I’m sorry, okay? I got nervous and they seemed to take more to-”

“That’s been your reason for every time your shit faced now, and it’s always Y/N’s fault.”

“I don’t say that it is-”

“Yes you do, and she’s only here because you asked her to come! Jesus, where’s the woman I met? The woman I fell in love with?!” he snipped and your heart broke.

You wished you’d never come back.

“And you? What do you think?” your Mother asked once she spotted you trying to creep out of the kitchen.

“Please, leave me out-”

“What do you think?” she snapped.

You let out a heavy sigh, because you knew how the rest of the day was going to go.

“I think I should’ve never come back,” you sighed as you leaned against the entry way. “I feel like you do better when we don’t see each other, and I’m not even mad about that. That’s how things have always been between us, and I don’t know why I expected it to change. Since I’ve been home, you’ve been drinking non-stop and an emotional wreck. You asked me to come back and I feel like it’s something I shouldn’t have done. I messed up your progress,” you finished softly as you toyed with your fingers, avoiding her hurt and irritated gaze.

As far as she was concerned, you and Jim were ganging up on her. Hell, if you hadn’t spent the previous night and that morning fucking her husband, you would’ve been able to feel like you weren’t ganging up on her. However, the guilt was eating you alive instantly, and it only got worse when she grabbed a bottle of whiskey off of the top of the fridge.

It wasn’t even 10am and she’d snapped.

She was drunk off of her ass by 12pm, which meant that it was up to you to save the day for your...step-siblings.

The day wasn’t even hard because you didn’t like them, it was hard because of what you’d done. With their Father. It didn’t help that they really had seemed to take a liking to you, and they wanted to do everything with you. Especially after your Mother passed out at 1:30pm.

“You alright, Angel?” Jim asked softly once he’d closed the door behind him to your bedroom.

The room that was right next to your Mother’s.

“It’s fine. They go back tomorrow and I’ll go to Ciara’s-”

“I want you here-”

“We already had this talk. Once was enough, Jim.”

“Angel-”

“It’s wrong! You’re married to her! Even if you get a divorce, she’s still my Mother! We can’t just...no, this can’t happen again.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about ya all day, Angel,” he confessed softly as he made his way closer to your bed.

“You’ve been thinkin’ about fuckin’ me.”

“No, I’ve been thinkin’ about you,” he confirmed softly. “Your smile, the way you laugh, the sound of your laugh, how caring and sincere you are, how thoughtful-”

“Jim-”

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he promised as his right hand cupped the side of your face. “Have you been thinking about me?”

“Jim-”

“Have you?” he asked sincerely as he focused your gaze on him.

It slipped out before you even had a chance to stop yourself.

“Yes.”

You honestly hadn’t meant to get so caught up in the kiss, and you hadn’t meant to give him a blowjob. However, both of those things happened, which led to him fucking senseless in your bed.

Which is, once again, right next to your Mother’s bedroom. The bedroom that she shares with your Stepfather.

You couldn’t get out of that house fast enough the following day. However, when you got to Ciara’s, she wasn’t proving to be much help either.

“I’m sorry, you two did what?! How many times?!” she squealed before she took a sip of wine.

“We only did that position once, but we had sex.. a few times,” you mumbled, very clearly ashamed of yourself. “What the fuck is wrong with me?”

“You’re in love,” she shrugged as if it was the most simple thing in the world.

“I’m in love with my Stepfather. He’s married to my Mother-”

“Your Mother is awful.”

“Be that as it may, she’s my Mother. She wanted to start a new chapter with Jim, and her new found sense of-”

“She did this, love. She created this fake version of herself, then let it all come crumbling down when you came home. She invited you back, then had a meltdown on the both of you. Is this right? Of course not. However, do I understand it? Of course. I know you feel terrible, and I would too, but lets not pretend you meant for any of this to happen. Hell, you didn’t even know she’d gotten married. Yes, it’s wrong, but you both did your best to fight this and seemed like the harder you two fought against it, the more she went out of her way to be problematic,” she sighed as your phone went off again. “What’s goin’ on there?”

“Jim and my Mother have been messaging me all day,” you muttered with an eye roll. “She wants me to come back because she feels awful and is tired of driving me away. He wants me to come back because he misses me and wants to fall asleep next to me. I’m staying far the fuck away from both of them.”

“You’ll be goin’ back soon enough, and that should help,” she smiled mournfully.

Honestly? It should’ve. It should’ve been enough to keep you focused and your thoughts away from all of the other bullshit. It’s your final year, and you have so many things to figure out. You need to decide on a job, figuring out living arrangements, where you’re going to live, and a million other things. However, Jim was persistent. If he wasn’t calling and texting, he was sending you flowers with the cutest notes attached.

By day four, you’d crumbled and told him to come to Ciara’s.

He took you out to dinner at a cute little restaurant outside of town, and spent the entire time picking your brain. He wanted to know if you were excited or nervous about graduating (you told him that it’s an evil mixture of both), he wanted to know if there’s anything in particular you’re excited about getting back to (you told him about the cute dog adoption center that’s not too far from campus that you visit when you’re feeling too overwhelmed), and he wanted to know your favorite things (that had you rambling longer than you meant to).

Yes, the whole thing was sweet, but you rightfully had your reservations.

“Jim, how do you know this is real? No to be a total fucking cunt, but this will be your second failed marriage. What makes you so sure this will work?” you asked softly before you took a sip of your drink.

“This isn’t like what Yvonne and I did. I was in a good marriage and I fucked it up. I fucked it up for selfish reasons and looked for everyone to blame but myself. This...I honestly never knew this side to your Mum. If I had, I wouldn’t have married her in the first place. Yvonne and I...it started for all the wrong reasons. It started for selfish reasons on both of our parts, but this isn’t wrong or selfish, I promise.”

“Your wife made you unhappy-”

“Don’t. This isn’t something I started because I was havin’ a bad day. You just...you’re so beautiful, Angel. I don’t just mean on the outside. You step up when you shouldn’t have to, you’re thoughtful, you’re so damn funny, you’re witty, you’re patient, you’re painfully considerate...I could go on for hours. When everything started to fall apart, you stepped up and kept a level head. Between the two of us, you were the more mature and calm one. Hell, this whole thing started because I can’t control my feelings for you.”

“What about when I make you mad?” you asked timidly as you toyed with your fingers.

“You’re not your Mum, Angel. We can talk things out and make it work. We can have an actual relationship that works.”

“Your kids-”

“They love you-”

“As their step-sister.”

“They’ll get used to it.”

“Jim-”

“Angel, I love you and I want this with you. I know I have a lot to prove, but I’m willing to try if you are. We’ll...test this out for a few months and you can decide-”

“A few months?! Jim, she’s my Mother-”

“I’m filing for a divorce, Angel. No matter what we do, I’m filing for a divorce. Things aren’t what they were and they never will be again,” he confessed with a scoff, but you could hear the pain in his voice.

He really thought he got it right with your Mother.

“We can’t...we have to take our time with this,” you told him softly as you tried to force yourself to come to terms with what you were saying.

What you were agreeing to.

“We can do whatever you want, Angel. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“We should wait until we have sex again.”

“If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do,” he promised with a nod as the waiter came over to ask if you both if you wanted anything else.

You folded like a lawn chair the second you and Jim were in front of Ciara’s house. You pulled him to the backseat of his car and had him until you were both spent. He ended up sleeping over Ciara’s that night, and he held you so close, as if he were afraid you’d run off in the night.

No, none of it had gone ideally. You and Jim spent every moment you could together, and he made it so easy to ignore the guilt. Every kiss, every touch, every date, every laugh...he made you forget how wrong all of it was. He made you forget that the both of you were committing the worst kind of betrayal.

Which is why you’re now pacing around your dorm room, waiting for his phone call. It doesn’t matter that you have an essay you need to start on, or that you have job applications to fill out, because you miss him and he makes you feel like a lovesick idiot. It also doesn’t help that he sent you a beautiful bouquet of pink peonies earlier in the day.

The second your phone goes off, you almost pounce to answer it.

“Baby?” you ask breathlessly, a smile coming to your lips.

A horrible way to answer the phone for the current situation you’re in, honestly.

“It’s me, Angel,” he chuckles softly. “I miss you too.”

“In my defense I ‘aven’t been this excited to speak to someone...ever,” you giggle softly and he laughs. “How was your day?”

“A bit stressful, but it was good. I hate drivin’.”

“Why were you driving?”

“Had some things to take care of,” he sighs as someone knocks on your door. “Who’s that?”

“I’ve no clue. I didn’t make any plans with anyone,” you shrug as you make your way to the door and unlock it. “JIM!” you scream, throwing your phone to the side and jumping on him as your legs wrap around him, and he laughs softly. “Why are you here?! How?!” you giggle as you wrap your arms around his neck.

“Hi to you too, Angel,” he laughs, carrying you inside with a smile, before kicking the door shut behind him. “I missed you, and I wanted you to have a good few days before...”

“Before what?” you question with a cocked eyebrow.

“When I go back....I’m filing.”

“Jim...”

“I want this, Angel. I want us. I’m not gonna regret this and I hope you won’t either.”

“I just...Jim...”

“Do you still want this?”

“You know I do, but...you have to really commit. You’re leaving your wife for her daughter. Are you truly sure this is something you want? Are ya sure you want me?”

“Get dressed,” he smiles once he sets you down, “I’ve got somewhere to-”

He’s cut off by a knock on your door, “Y/N, are you in? It’s Mum,” your Mother proclaims from the other side of your door.

FUCK. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

“What are ya doin’ here? Give us a moment, I just got out of the shower!” you panic as both you and Jim try to find a place to hide him.

“Well, Jim is gonna be gone for a few days to go and see a friend, so I figured I should come and see you. We didn’t end on the best of terms.”

“Mum, I really don’t have any issue with you or Jim. It’s just better for you if-”

“I know I haven’t always been the best Mother, but I want to change that. With time, you and Jim will grow to like each other and get along. I know I don’t always act like it, but I want all of this to work. I want us to be a proper family,” she confesses, remorse painfully clear in her voice.

By the look in his eyes, you can tell that Jim wants to say something, but he can’t without giving himself away.

“I don’t hate Jim,” you prattle on as you push him into your bathroom and motion for him to lay down in the bathtub.

You’re quick to run to the sink and wet your hair, while trying to swallow down all of the anxiety and guilt.

“I don’t hate either of you,” you continue as you look yourself over in the mirror, “I just felt that it would be better if I finished holiday with Ciara. Let you two work on things.”

Lie, lie, lie.

“I just feel like me being around only makes things worse for you, and I don’t want that,” you explain, making your way back over to the shower. “Silence your phone,” you whisper before closing the shower curtain.

Taking a deep breath, you open the door to your room, “I really wish you would’ve called.”

“I figured it would be fine since you didn’t get back too long ago. You don’t have too much work, do ya? We could grab a quick bite,” she smiles hopefully.

You truthfully don’t know what to do, because it’s not like the trip from Dublin to London is an easy one, but Jim also made the same trek and is currently hiding in your bathroom. Seeing as he is about to file for a divorce just to be with you, maybe you should go to dinner with her.

However, Jim did get here first.

“What are you doin’ tomorrow?” you ask, hopeful that she won’t be too hurt.

It’s not as if you’re saying no all together, just not right now.

“Leaving,” she laughs awkwardly. “I figured I’d head back early tomorrow. I’m hoping Jim will come back early and we can talk things out. We got into a bit of an argument before he left, and I’m afraid I’ve really made a mess of things,” she admits shyly.

Fuck.

“Let me grab my things and we’ll go,” you smile solemnly.

Quickly grabbing your phone, you text Jim a quick ‘I’m sorry’, before grabbing your purse and key to your dorm.

“Is there any place in particular that you wanna go to?” you ask, locking the door to your bedroom.

“I figured we’d go somewhere you love. My treat,” she smiles and it only makes you feel worse.

“We can go to Chez Jules, and don’t worry about me, I can pay for-”

“I’m surprisin’ ya, I should at least pay for dinner. Besides, I put you through a tough Summer-”

“It’s alright-”

“Just let me be a proper Mum for once. Please?”

You hate yourself. You hate yourself to your core. Yes, you and her have always had a turbulent relationship, but never in a million years did you see this scenario playing out as it is. Hell, you honestly didn’t think you two would be in each other’s lives at this point. You and Jim falling in love isn’t even a result of you being angry with her, it just happened. Hell, you fought it so hard because you do actually love your Mother.

Now, it’s just a big mess. You don’t want to hurt her, but you can’t pretend your feelings for Jim aren’t real. You honestly wish you never came home for the Summer.

“How does it feel to be back?” your Mother asks once you’re both seated.

“It’s weird,” you laugh awkwardly, “I can’t believe this is my final year.”

“I’m so proud. Ya did what I couldn’t.”

“You can always go back whenever you want. You know that.”

“It was never for me. I don’t think an of this was ever for me,” she laughs softly.

You don’t even catch yourself as you mumble, “don’t I know it,” slips out.

“ ‘m sorry, Y/N. I really am.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You’re hurt and you’re angry. You have every right to be. This past Summer...I don’t know why I reacted like I did. I don’t know why I always react the way I do to you. I do love you, I just don’t know how to be a Mother. I never have and I never wanted to be one. I just...I really thought it was a role I could grow in to. I’d like to think I’m better now, but we both know that I’m not and it doesn’t even matter now. You’re an adult all on your own and your own person.”

“Can we not do this in public? I’m too sober for an argument-”

“I don’t want to argue, I want to be honest. I’m trying to...I want to apologize. Ya didn’t know about Jim and for me to react the way I did...I just felt like he was taken with you more than I would’ve liked,” she sighs as the waitress comes over.

“Y/N, I already know your order,” she laughs before turning her attention to your Mother, “for you?”

“Gin,” she smiles.

“Do you need a moment for food?”

“Um, I’ll have the pork loin steak.”

“Mum!”

“Jesus, I can afford it, as can you,” she laughs. “What do ya want?”

“I don’t-”

“She’ll take the braised shoulder of lamb,” your Mother nods, grabbing your menu and handing it back to the waitress.

“Mum, we can’t-”

“It’s a girl’s night!”

“I have class in the morning,” you lie with a giggle. “I can’t be out too late.”

“I won’t keep ya too long,” she smiles. “I just felt like this would be good for us. I was afraid if I called, ya’d say no.”

“I just...time apart has always been best for us.”

“That’s not how it should be. Jim loves ya, his kids love ya, and I just...I got jealous. You getting to the house before me...I should’ve waited, because I knew you would’ve been hurt. It was a big decision and I didn’t even take you into consideration. I was just so in love with Jim and I felt like...I figured I could finally do it, ya know? Be a proper wife and Mother. Be someone everyone could finally be proud of. I didn’t tell Jim much about my past, because it’s not anything to be proud of, but I did tell him about you. I told him that you’re the only thing I’ve done that’s right. I knew you two would get along, but I still had my reservations. The way I had been with him was a side of me you’d never seen, and I was afraid you’d resent me for being better with him and his kids than I ever was with you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me about him?” you ask, swirling your drink in the glass.

“I don’t know. We were in our own little bubble, and it was nice. I didn’t want to ruin it, and I know you’ve never been a fan of the men I’ve been with, which I can’t blame ya for. I was just scared. It got so bad so fast, and I know it’s on me. I’ve never actually committed to this part of myself and failed before I even gave myself a chance. I let you down, again, and I’m sorry.”

You say nothing as a new wave of guilt washes over you as your dinner is delivered. How could you fuck up this badly? How could you let yourself end up in a situation that will end so horribly?

“I know it was all in my head though,” she continues after the waitress walks away. “Jim barely knows you and you don’t see him like that. You don’t know him well enough to look at him in that light. It was just my own insecurities getting in the way, and I’ll do better. I’ll be better for the both of ya.”

“What did you and Jim argue about before he left?” you ask, doing your best to fight back your tears as you cut up your lamb,

“He’s rightfully angry with me. The drinking, the way I acted around his children, the way I treated you...he said he doesn’t know how to be with me anymore. I was drunk, we both raised our voices, I threw some things...it’s not lookin’ good,” she chuckles humorlessly as she wipes away a few tears.

“What do you think-”

“He wants to leave me,” she interrupts with a shrug. “He didn’t come right out and say it, but he said it in so many words.”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t, but I can tell that he really is at his end. Even with sex-”

“Sex?” you eagerly cut off before you mean to.

You hate that you care so much.

“Don’t worry, I’m not goin’ to give you too much information,” she laughs softly. “We barely ever have it, and I feel like I have to beg for it anyway. When we do, he never seems to be...in the moment. He always feels a million miles away, and it feels so empty. It was never like this before, and I know it’s on me. I made such a mess of everything this Summer.”

“Maybe you two just need some time apart,” you suggest, knowing damn well that, that won’t solve anything.

The man is waiting for you in your dorm room.

“He seemed pretty put off before he left. I tried to talk to him, but he just...he walked out. He doesn’t love me anymore, and I have no one to blame but myself.”

“Well, why do you do this shite? Huh? You finally had what you wanted-”

“I know, I know,” she sighs, throwing her fork down and drying her eyes with the backs of her hand. “It was goin’ too good. I got too nervous and I just...I let my fears win. I took it out on you, I took it out on him...I can’t fix it,” she sniffles, drying her eyes.

“I can talk to him for you,” you offer quietly.

You fucking idiot.

“My estranged daughter pleading my case for me? That’s even more pathetic,” she scoffs, before taking a sip of her drink then picking up her fork. “Anyway, tell me about school! Are you more excited to be back, or to be graduatin’ soon?”

For the rest of dinner, you try to keep up appearances, but your mind is going a million miles a minute. You know what you need to do, but you also know how much it’s going to hurt. You and Jim have spent so much time trying to build some form of a relationship, and you’re about to destroy it.

To be fair, the relationship should’ve never happened in the first place.

“You’ll tell me when you’re home and safe?” you ask once you two are back at your dorm.

“Of course,” she smiles, wrapping you in a tight hug, “thank you for this. I really needed it.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll let you get back to your studies,” she laughs awkwardly as she lets go of you. “I love you.”

“I love you,” you smile with a nod before unlocking your door, “let me know when you’re at your hostel, yeah?”

“I promise.”

“Well...goodnight,” you nod once you’re in your room.”

“Night.”

You wait until you see her turn the corridor down the hall before finally closing the door, and letting out a heavy sigh. You know what comes next is gonna break both you and Jim’s heart.

“I know that sigh,” he comments as you close the door.

“Ya can’t leave her, Jim. Make it work.”

“Angel-”

“She’s so in love with you and she’s so sorry-”

“Stop it.”

“She’s my Mother! What do you want me to do-”

“Why do you keep trying to spare her feelings? She did this!”

“Jim, please-”

“I love you, Angel. I’m in love with you-”

“She’s your wife, Jim. She’s your wife and I’m her daughter. Your stepdaughter!”

“I didn’t even know you until I met you! This isn’t some relationship that we built up over years! I met you and we just-”

“Jim...please,” you sob.

He lets out a heavy as he wraps his arms around you, “please don’t cry.”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be the reason you walk away-”

“She did this! She lied, she drank herself into a stupor, she lied-”

“You married her,” you sob softly, looking up to meet his heartbroken gaze. “I can’t hurt her like this, Jim. I can’t be the reason something else-”

“You’ve never taken anything from her!”

“Jim...”

“I love you! What’s the point of staying with her if my heart isn’t in it? What’s the point of faking it-”

“You two can find that happiness again-”

“I’ve found it with you, Angel,” he husks as he pins you against the wall.

“Jim...stop,” you moan as he kisses down your neck.

“No.”

“Jim-”

“Say it like you mean it. If you really want me to stop, I’ll stop,” he promises, unbuttoning your shorts and pushing them down along with your panties.

“This...this is the last time,” you whimper as he starts teasing your clit.

“Sure it is, Angel,” he chuckles as he hoists you up and forces your legs around his waist. “Whatever you say.”

“Fuck...Jim!”

“I know, Angel. I need you too,” he groans as you undo his jeans, and force them down.

“I love you so much!”

“Do ya? Do ya want me?”

You know where he’s going with this, and you know it can’t go any farther.

“You know it’s wrong, Jim! We can’t keep on as we are!”

“Lets see how wrong we can be tonight, shall we?” he chuckles as he thrust himself inside of you, barely giving you a chance to breathe before he starts loving you hard and fast.

“Jim...don’t stop!’

“That’s a good girl.”

Yes, you’re going to end things with Jim and do your best to move on from this completely fucked up situation, but for now? For now you just want to live in this moment.

You just want to be with him.

“I want to be with you,” he pants as he lays you on your bed, before resuming his pace and fucking you brutally hard. “I love you!”

“Oh my God!”

You don’t care if you two wake up the whole damn building.

“Tell me you don’t feel the same! Lie to me and tell me you don’t feel the same!”

“I fucking love...Jesus...Jim! Don’t stop!”

“That’s right, Angel. Take everything I’m givin’ ya,” he husks, pinning your hands above your head as starts biting and sucking on your neck.

“Oh fuck!”

“I’ve missed you so much, my Angel,” he grunts, the feel of his breath on your neck making you clench him tighter. “Fuck, just suckin’ me in!”

“Jim...aht...please!”

“Give it to me,” he groans as you ball your hands into fists.

You squirt hard as you lull your head back and arch your back,”fuck!”

“So good for me, Angel,” he groans as he pulls out.

Before you can whine in protest, he flips you as if you weigh nothing, and you’re instantly ready to go again.

“Hands and knees for me, Angel,” he demands gruffly, and you instantly comply, arching your back and curling your toes in anticipation. “You think we can just stop?” he asks rhetorically, gripping your hips tight before thrusting into you.

“Ah shit!”

“You’re mine, Angel. You’re mine, just like I’m yours,” he whispers seductively against the shell of your ear, thrusting harder and faster.

“Jim...I love you! Fuck, I love you so much! God...that’s it!” you cry out, strangling your pillows as he hits that spot he’s only ever been able to find. “Right fuckin’ there! Don’t stop!”

“Say it! Fuckin’ tell me what I need to hear!”

“ ‘m yours, Jim! All yours, always!”

“Fuck, not gonna...cum with me Angel! Please!” he husks pathetically, resting his head in the crook of your neck, kissing it softly as he coats your inner walls with his desire.

You have no choice but to obey, and you yell his name in the process, as mind numbing pleasure washes over you.

“So good for me, my Angel. So sweet,” he coos as he rides out both of your highs.

You’re quick to collapse onto your bed, trying to clear the euphoric clouds out

of your head. You don’t know why you thought you’d be able to think clearly

around him, especially when you’re already so emotional. You know what the

right thing to do is, but it’s not what you want. It’s not what either of you want.

You hate this so much.

“We can figure this out,” Jim promises softly as he gets in bed next to

you, instantly pulling you close.

“Jim...what we’re doing is wrong. What we’ve been doing is wrong-”

“I want to be with you.”

“You’re her husband and she’s my Mother. Jim, it should’ve never

gotten this far. We’re horrible people.”

“Are you afraid of her hating you?”

“I can deal with her hating me. Shes always resented me a bit and

that’s fine, I’ve always been able to handle it. What’s hard to handle is me

being the reason she’s heartbroken. She doesn’t deserve that.��

“It wouldn’t be-”

“Jim you may have been the one who initiated everything, but it’s not

like I ever tell you no and meant it. I want every part of ya just as much as you

want every part of me.”

“I don’t wanna stop, Angel. I don’t want you with anyone else and I

don’t wanna be with anyone else.”

“I love you and I’m so happy when we’re together. So fuckin’ happy,

but this isn’t right. You leaving her for me...Jim, we can’t.”

“So, this is it?”

“We don’t have a choice.”

“We do, you just don’t like the other option.”

“Jim, for as angry as ya are, I know you don’t wanna hurt her.”

“I don’t, but you’re who I’ve always been lookin’ for. We were made for

each other.”

“Jim...we have to let each other go.”

“After this week,” he sighs heavily, pressing a kiss to the back of your

neck, “I’ll stay away.”

“Jim, I do love you, it’s just that...this is the right thing to do. Give it a

few months, and everything will be back to how it was. It’ll hurt for a while, but

it’ll be alright.”

“How it is now is how it always should be,” he mumbles into your hair

before pressing a soft kiss into it. “Lets sleep, you have a lot of work to do in

the morning.”

It’s not like this isn’t ripping your heart up. You want to be with Jim more than

anything, but you can’t handle hurting your Mother like this. The ultimate

betrayal. You have to get over this, because what’s the point? Your

happiness shouldn’t have to make your Mother miserable. No, this is for the

best. Yes, it’ll hurt and drive you insane for a while, but it won’t always be like

this. It’ll get better.

Or so you hope.

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