#i want none of this anymore. none of this none of it

[a-b-riddle]

Part Six

Can't stop thinking about reader finally giving the boys a taste of their own medicine. And hurting my own feelings in the process of it all. I wanted to make this a baddie reader chapter, but its just a saddie reader chapter. I played Down Bad by T.S on repeat while writing this. Y'all need to thank @blueladys-world for being my ventor for this part.

None of them came the next day to pick up the box of everything you had collected. By everything, quite literally everything. Birthday cards and gifts. Keepsakes from your time together they had given you. Even going as far as returning lingerie they had given you. You didn't want any trace of them in your home anymore. You were gonna have to work hard in rebuilding it to be your safe space once again.

You were surprised that someone from the expo had DM'd you. Renée was an author who had tried to stop by to your stand, but got too caught up in the day. She was in London, working on her next series installment and wanted to pick your brain. Writer to writer.

The two of you agreed on a time. She had mentioned wanting to try this restaurant the last time she visited and you already knew you would be putting that meal on a credit card. It was a bit of splurge, but after the past week you deserved it. You could even wear that sexy black number that had been collecting dust in your closet.

By the time you were done getting ready and squeezing into your dress, you looked more ready for a date than dinner with a colleague.

A colleague. You had a colleague!!!

The knock on the door pulled you from your girlish glee. You didn't need to guess who it was. Your friends knew to text you before they came over and Renée had agreed just to meet you at the restaurant.

It was one of them.

You didn't even t bother looking through your peephole before you opened the door to find Johnny standing there with a floral arrangement of your favorite flowers.

Johnny began to speak, afraid you were going to shut him down immediately no less. But no words came out. His eyes traveled up and down your body, taking you in.

A vision.

You wanted to snap at him that your eyes weren't located on your hips. But damn if it didn’t feel empowering seeing Johnny’s gaze gloss over.

"Fuck me." He swore, gathering his bearings before realizing you were dressed. In a sexy black dress and heels and makeup and oh, fuck you were going out. "Where are you going?"

"First off, none of your business," you said holding a finger up. "And secondly, what are you doing here?"

"Listen," "Bon-"

"The box is right there." You said pointing to a large cardboard box on the floor. "That's everything."

"If you just let me make it-"

"Up to me?" You cut him off again. "I'm over it. Really."

"Just give me a chance."

"Either you haven't spoken to the other two to know I am well and truly done with this situationship, or you’re hoping some half-ass apology and flowers will let you get a last fuck in and the skedaddle. So hopefully if it was latter, hopefully the former answered that for ya.”

So if that's all you came here for, I've got to get going. My reservation is at seven and it's rude to keep a friend waiting."

"It's been a week and you're already going on a date?" He accused.

"Who said anything about a date?" You didn't outright say it wasn't. Where would be the fun in that? “It's just dinner with a colleague.” You didn’t want to lie. It wasn’t a date. But you didn’t need to say it was a woman. “Hardly a date.”

“Look at the sight of ye!" He said, taking the opportunity to take a quick look at how deliciously your ass filled that dress. “A fookin’ dinner with a colleague. Like one of us would show up to a briefing like that.” You opened your compact. Not needed in the age of cellphones but loving the feminine touch.

There was something so... seductive about using a compact mirror to apply your lipstick.

“Kyle does have the legs for this dress.” You said, applying that lipstick he loves. That same shade that looked beautiful on your lips. The same lipstick you would mark all over Johnny’s body. “Believe what you want. Not my problem anymore.”

You put your compact back in your purse along with the lipstick in case you needed to reapply it after dinner.

Johnny's eyes zeroed in on your lips before his eyes met yours. That's when you felt it again. That undeniably spark of chemistry that you had with him. With all of them. That feeling that sucked the very breath from your lungs and for a moment all you could see was the man in front of you.

"Bonnie," he said placing his hands on your neck. His thumbs stroking your cheeks softly. "Just one more chance." He begged, his voice breaking. "I'm a fucking git, but I won't let you go again. I won't leave." You knew that when it came to promises, Johnny had proven that even if he didn't mean to break them, he had forgotten he made them in the first place.

But in that moment you didn't care. Even after everything, Meredith was right. You had loved them. Everything else had ended so shitty. John had blamed you. Kyle had only shown up until it was too late. And Simon. The last time you would ever hear his voice was after he said such cruel things to you.

No.

If you were done with Johnny, you won't let the last time he fucked you being a quick, rough fuck doggystyle before leaving you naked and alone in your bed.

No. The last time with Johnny needed to be good. It might make it harder to finally leave, but you needed this. You needed to know that he could still make love to you and not just fuck you like an animal in heat.

"Johnny?" You asked. Your mouth dangerously close to his. "I don't want you to fuck me."

"I don't have to," he said, starting to take a step back to give you some space before your hands reached his. Holding him in place.

He can't let you go. You couldn't let him go. Not yet. Just one more. You needed just one more time to get him out of your system. The closure you needed.

"Make love to me." You begged, your eyes pleading. "I need to know that I wasn't just something you wanted to fuck." You don't move as his eyes search yours, looking for reassurance. When you nod, his mouth softly touches your own.

His hands travel along your body, but never fully leave you. Sliding your neck to your back. Pulling your body closer to his. A hand placed on your hip so tightly he's afraid you might disappear.

There's no rush, no haste in his touch. His mouth not eager to devour you.

He's slow. With his hands, his tongue. Even when he picks you up and walks to your bedroom with your legs around his waist.

He doesn't throw you on the bed.

Not this time.

He lays you down. His body laying on top of yours. His hand skimming along your bare thighs, but not daring to travel any higher.

But damn you needed him. You wanted love making, but if he didn't get inside you soon, you weren't sure you could let him go after this. You weren't sure you would be able to leave.

"Johnny," you whimpered, pulling away from his mouth. "Please." You took his hand, putting it between your thigh. Aching for any friction.

He obeyed without hesitation. If you told him to get on his bark, he would in that moment. Anything to make you happy. Anything to keep you.

"Got to get you out of this dress first." He resting on his knees before he began to slide the black satin from your thighs to your stomach. You maneuvered, helping him undress you leaving you in nothing.

"I thought you liked the dress." You couldn't help, but tease. Your hand finding its home on the back of his neck, pulling you to him once more.

In a tone lacking any note of humor and in all seriousness, he looked at you. Really looking at you. Taking in how your smile reached your beautiful eyes before he said, "I want you bare to me when I take you."

You felt your stomach flutter at his words before he began to take off his clothes.

He joined you again. His body relaxing when they got between your legs again. His mouth traveled from your exposed neck to your nipples. Sucking and flicking them with his tongue until your back arched. Pressing harder into his mouth.

Your hands tangled in his soft brown hair before you boldly guided him to your already dripping core. He slid down your body before his hands began to push your knees apart until you were fully expose to him.

With your knees bent, Johnny settled on his stomach, placing soft kisses on your soft inner thighs. God, did he love seeing you squirm. He smiled at your tortured expression before looking down at your sex. "There she is." He said before placing a kiss on your pussy.

It wasn't sloppy. He wasn't diving in and licking at your center like so many times before. He was kissing it just as tenderly as he kissed your mouth. Slowly building it deeper and deeper. Adding tongue. Breaking away to readjust his head.

The delicious ache between your thighs began to become to unbearable. "Need you inside me." You panted. "Johnny-"

"Shhh." He soothed. "Got to warm you up first , Bonnie." He said before slipping his finger inside of you. One was all it took before your head settled against the pillows again. When your body relaxed, he added another. He would need to add three to make sure you were good and ready.

His digits stroked that spongy spot inside of you that made your toes curl. "You're barely fitting around my fingers." Johnny was a good 6 inches in length, but the girth is what always did you in. It hurt to take anything past his head into your mouth. If you fucked him without any preparation, especially after a week of no sex, he would tear you into too.

His tongue caressed your clit, your eyes squeezing shut as you felt your first orgasm creeping up on you.

"Johnny." You moaned, your fingers running through his soft brown hair.

"Give it to me, beauty." He panted. "Come on my face. Squeeze my fingers, Lass." He begged before his mouth went back to you.

It was like lightning. Your body now sensitive after being forsaken for so long. Your vision blurred and before you could process it, Johnny was sitting on his haunches between your legs, stroking his cock.

You could only nod, dazed and barely keeping a grip onto the reality of what this was.

The end.

He leaned forward, his cock nestling against you. You knew this was going to be nothing compared to his fingers. "Tell me if I need to stop."

You smiled, mockingly. Reminding him, "Not our first time together, Johnny." just our last.

"You were wrapped tight around my fingers." He gave a half smile before kissing your forehead. The gesture like a knife twisting in your heart. "I just don't want to hurt you."

"I'm ready." You brought your legs around his waist again. Pulling him to you, your arms wrapping around his neck as your mouths meet.

He presses into you. The head of his cock sliding inside just one or two inches. You body contracting around him in a small spasm. He swallows your moan and lets you adjust. He pulls away before looking down where the two of you meet.

"I could die like this, Lass." He said, his breath coming out unsteady as he tries his best to control himself. So close to just burying himself inside of you to the fucking hilt. "Seeing you like this is this first thing I want to see when I make it to the other side." You let out a choked cry as he pushes deeper inside you. Another inch. And another. And another until you're taking all of him.

He slurs something that sound like "fuck", but you are in too much of a daze to care. You arch into him, trying to get closer.

His thrusts are slow and deep. His pubic bone brushing against your clit making you whine and squirm. Begging for more.

You're not sure how long he had fucked you like that.

You needed it to stop.

You couldn't handle it. The softness. His words.

I could die like this, Lass.

Your lip quivered as you told him you wanted to be on top. You needed a moment. A chance to create a bit of space before he shattered your world yet again.

He pulled out. His absence already making you ache for him again before he settled beside you.

You squatted above his cock. Your feet flat against the mattress as you grabbed his hardness and slipping it inside of you. The sound you let out was pornographic. A high pitched, soft moan slipping from your lips as he buried himself inside of you again.

You placed you hands on his chest. Using the leverage to ride him. Your arms serving as barrier for you to get your bearings.

You used his body just as he had used yours. Throwing your head back, you moved faster and faster. Readjusting so your hands went from his chest to his stomach, giving him a better view of your connecting bodies.

His hand slips between the two of you, thumb pressing against your clit, and you tighten even more around. A needy whimper coming out of your throat. The sound mixing in with the sounds of his labored breathing and slapping skin as he begins to fuck up into you.

Even though he had been doing all the work for the last several minutes, you felt the tension start to creep into your calf.

"Fuck fuck fuck." You screech, barely able to hold yourself up any longer. "Ow." You hissed as the cramp took hold.

"Leg cramp?" He asked, not even faltering in his thrusts. You pathetically nod before he takes it upon himself to flip you on your back again.

"I'm going to do this every chance I can." He promises, pressing a searing kiss onto your exposed neck. "Any chance you'll give me." You can't take it. His words, his mouth, his fucking cock. It's too much. "I'm going to show you how much I want you. How much I want to fucking worship ye. Do anything to make you feel good. Not going to leave you again like that, Bonnie."

You reach for him again, pull him into a searing kiss just to shut him up. You need him to shut up. You couldn't take his false promises. You wouldn't survive it. Couldn't.

"Shit." His thrusts quicken, his thumb returning to your swollen bud. Flicking it in a way he had crafted into an art. He buries his face into your neck and you know he's getting close.

You weren't too far behind.

He didn't want to come, not yet, but this was fully out of his control. It was pathetic. A week without sex and you had him nearly coming in the first ten minutes.

But that's what you want. To see him lost in the idea that you would stay.

"Johnny." You groan out. "Please. Cum inside me."

He draws fast, beautiful circles around your clit that immediately push you over the edge. You shut your eyes tight, squeezing him like a vice as you come in strong waves, continuing to push inside you.

in out in out in out.

Deliciously clenching around him tighter and tighter until he can't take it anymore.

"Fuck," he says again, and you see it in his face, and you see it in his face, the second it's all over for him. You want to sear the image in your head. Keep it there forever. Knowing you'll never see it again. The way those enchanting blue eyes squint nearly shut before closing in complete ecstacy.

His mouth would open. A moan caught in his throat that he isn't ready to let go.

His hand closes around your hip, holding you to him while he presses as far as he can go, and it's only then do you feel his cock twitch in quick, jerky movements. He moans out your name before taking your mouth into a searing kiss.

"I fucking love you." He says. "So fucking much."

He was still under the blanket when you returned from the bathroom. You picked up your clothes up from the floor. Looking at the clock realizing you had less than five minutes to get out the door before you would be late for dinner.

"What are you doing?" he asked. You couldn't look at him. Hearing the panic in his voice almost made you stop. Tell him it really was just dinner with a colleague. A woman. That you would be back. Beg him to wait until you came home.

"I can't cancel on the dinner." You said slipping your feet into your heels. "This was a mistake."

You weren't sure why you said it. You weren't sure if you were trying to convince him or yourself. If you wanted to hurt him or make him think you regretted it when you would truthfully do it again. You would do it again and again. You would never stop.

Like Johnny, you could have died in that moment, but for a completely different. Where he would be content, you would be saved from the pain. The pain currently coursing throughout your very soul.

"Lock the door behind you." You say as you practically sprint out the bedroom. Only slowing in your stride to snatch your purse off the kitchen counter before running out. The door slamming behind you.

The restaurant was nicer than you expected. The wine alone was the price of an entree. You didn't seem to be phased at all and were relieved when Renée insisted on picking up the bill.

Your dinner had been delicious and the conversation even better. Renée wrote fantasy romance and wanted to pick your brain about a Why Choose. You had nearly spent out the over priced wine you weren't even really enjoying. Oh the irony.

"It's like all the rage now, but it's hard to make more than one appealing as the love interest. You should have seen the Goodreads comments on my last book. So many people bitched about my FMC not ending up with a character who was quite literally her adopted brother."

"So," you took a breath trying to find the words. "I'm going to be honest. I only read your latest book and I loved Luka. But I can't compare him to other MMCs you've written about so I don't know if they are similar or different. But what I can say is that I'm seeing like this trend of MMCs where they are all this dark-haired, brooding or mysterious character who dislikes mostly everyone and is only soft for either a select few or only the FMC."

"I think if you are going to write a Why Choose you need to think of guys you wouldn't mind falling in love with." You couldn't help, but think of what drew you to your boys. "One could be the leader. Someone who isn't afraid to have his neck on the line. To make sure everyone else is taken care of and being strong enough to handle the stress of that. He would be big on words of affirmation. Lifting the FMC up. For me, it would be someone that I know will take care of business. He's confident in his decision. That confidence would extend to me." You clear your throat. "If I was the FMC, that is."

"Okay." She nodded, pulling out a pen and notepad. "You don't mind if I-"

"I don't write about polygamy." Crossed that bridge. Currently trying to burn it. "So feel free."

"Another could be the one who it's so easy to fall in love with their charm. The one who falls to his knees. Wanting to worship every inch of her. The one who makes her laugh. That one to make her forget about the sadness that creeps into her bones. The one to hold her whenever he could. He's about quality time and physical touch."

"So different love languages." She said, her pen quickly scribbling.

"Yeah." You said, leaning forward. "Then there is the gift giver." Your mind went to Gaz. Most of the gifts and trinkets in the box sitting by your door had came from him. He had gotten you new earbuds when yours broke. When you were being harassed at your gym, he had bought you and him a membership at a different one. "The one who would give her the world if she asked for it. If you're going with a high fantasy then maybe the one to take note of something at a market that the FMC had been eyeing and he bought it for her. Just someone who takes notice like that."

"So acts of service would fall with all of them then you think?"

No. Simon had been the one who probably spent the least amount of money on you. He didn't praise you like John. He didn't even try to attach himself at your hip like Johnny.

But if you needed something fixed, he would come fix it himself. He'd be damned letting a strange man into your apartment. And alone? Fucking forget about it. The one who hated any sort of cardio activity outside of fucking you, but didn't hesitate in attempting to keep up with you when you wanted to go on a run and get some fresh air. If you needed something done, he didn't pay someone else to do it. He did it. If you wanted to do something, he made it happen. He made you safe.

You couldn't bring yourself to say explain it. Your eyes begin to itch. Warning you to think of something else.

So instead you just told her yeah. That they would all commit acts of service. And even in your hypothetical explanation of characters that haven't even been written yet, Simon was still the ghost among them.

"Lucky fucking girl." Renée said setting down her pen.

"Yeah." You said, downing the rest of your wine.

You walked home. The cool crisp wind feeling like it was whipping your exposed skin. It was soothing as the ghost of Johnny's touch still seemed to burn you.

You had hoped that you would get some closure, but you just felt hollow. You came twice and still manage to leave unsatisfied. Johnny wasn't malicious... he was Johnny. He wasn't like the others. Simon would never apologize and John and Kyle wouldn't try to keep reaching out after you told them know once.

Johnny couldn't stand you being mad at him. He never could. He would beg and beg for your forgiveness. You didn't regret fucking him one last time. He needed to know that you were well and truly done. There was no going back from this.

"Hey, Love!" You were pulled from your thoughts at the sound of a voice coming from a source you couldn't see. You perked up, quickly scanning the dimly lit street before your eyes settled on a cluster of shadows just across the street. "Yeah." The slurring voice said again. "Talking to you gorgeous!"

You resumed your trek home. Now picking up your pace. "Don't be like that! Where ya off to?" The voice followed you. You kept your gaze straight. You were three minutes away. Three minutes and you would be at your building.

Three minutes.

Three minutes.

"What's the rush?" Another voice joined the cacophony. "Just want to have a chat."

You turned. They were maybe twenty feet away. You kept your eyes glued to them as your started to make a run for it.

You had made it about ten feet before your body collided with someone. Firm hands gripped your upper arms, steading you as you threatened to fall back.

You sucked in a breath of air, ready to scream when you looked up. It was too dark to make out the man's facial features. He was tall. His head eclipsing the street lamp just behind him. You shook beneath his hands. The voices behind you now silent.

"Keep walking." You didn't need to see his face. You knew that deep timber voice anywhere. He released you from his grip before letting you pass him.

"Just wanted to have a chat." You heard one of them try to reason. "No harm done."

"No harm done yet." Was the last thing you heard Simon say before you broke out into a full fledged run.

#captain john price #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #call of duty #angst

[emiko-matsui]

Okay, I just need to get something out of the way when it comes to the Kipperlilly conversation nobody's brought up yet, which I think is insane. Almost all of The Bad Kids would be more powerful if they didn't have their tragedy porn tragic backstories.

First of all, this doesn't apply to Fig and Gorgug because if Fig wasn't Gorthalax's child she would be a lot like Kipperlilly and not the ruler of hell. I wouldn't say Gorgug has a tragic backstory, he's got a pretty normal growing up experience with ups and downs.

Let's start with her #1 nemesis, Riz Gukgak. She's so jealous that his dad was murdered and that gives him an advantage in the adventuring life. To be crude, no, it doesn't. What would give Riz an advantage in the adventuring life would be living with someone who has a direct contact to all the government's inner workings and conspiracies. Now that would be an advantage. That gives you connections and clues that no one else can get. This is not what happened. What happened was eating cereal with water for breakfast, what happened was not getting an opportunity at college, what happened was a 9 year old who stopped sleeping, what happened was not your secret agent dad giving you an advantage in the school conspiracy because he's dead. Otherwise he fucking would've.

And now Kipperlilly's new #1 nemesis, Kristen Applebees. She was ostracised from her religion for her sexuality, she achieved sainthood, and raised a dead god back to life. None of this would've happened if she hadn't been raised in The Harvestmen. No, it wouldn't, but what would have happened if Kristen had been straight? Disgusting thought, yes, I know, but let's talk about it. A Kristen who never left Helio behind would have so many more fucking advantages than the one with Cassandra has. If she had followed her birthright she would be the only chosen one of one of the world's most powerful gods. Sol is the biggest god in Spyre and Helio is his son. Helio does not have a chosen one anymore because Kristen left. It's not a title that's just given out, it could only have been Kristen. You know what's an advantage? Being the chosen one of one of the world's most powerful gods, being a god's spoken favourite, and deified by all of that god's followers. Now that would be an unfair advantage. You know what's not an advantage? Being homeless at 14 and being at the mercy of your ex-girlfriend's uncle for housing, dying and having absolutely no one there for you so you're only option to survive is to trust your own abilities enough to raise yourself from the dead, and failing school because of biased teachers.

And what of Adaine Abernant? The Elven Oracle? Her tragedy porn tragic backstory is surviving an abusive home. Now I just have to imagine that Adaine would have it a lot easier than most students, an incredible amount of unfair advantages, if her old money parents paid for every wizard whim she wanted, kept her diplomatic immunity so she could do literally anything she wanted without consequences, and gave her a direct contact into the heart of the Fallinell government. Now that is what I would call an insane amount of unfair advantage. I would be furious at this rich kid who's never had to work for anything myself. This is not even close to the case. She's barely passing classes because she can't afford the material you're required, she goes to the guidance counsellor for panic attacks, and she's being hunted by her home government. I'd say that's about every single thing in her life working against her having it easy.

Fabian Aramais Seacaster. He's complicated since he is very privileged already. He gets 5000 gold a month just for existing. He's the captain of the Owlbears because he killed the previous one. He lives alone in a mansion. Yeah, that's pretty privileged. His parents are also so severely fucked up that if they hadn't been filthy rich they would've been absolutely horrible for him. If he had parents who unconditionally supported him and stayed with him through everything, then we could talk about perhaps the most powerful person in Elmville. In Solace possibly. The most feared pirate in history who single-handedly dismantled a monarchy and fights against armies on his own is at your beck and call, does whatever you ask him to, and loves you more than anything. The greatest swordswoman in the world, that bested the most feared pirate in the world, the daughter of one of the most influential elven families and immortal will do anything you ask her, loves you to bits, and would cheat any rules for you. To have that would just be insane. You can argue that Fabian already has unfair advantages because of his social status and inheritance. This is true, but this is also true within his own adventuring party. Now his parents aren't helping him with anything and are determined that he reach his legendary status on his own. Otherwise talk about a fucking advantage.

All this to say is that if Kipperlilly got all of The Bad Kids tragedy porn like she wanted she wouldn't have been better, but she would've made them better. There is an adventuring party out there in the multiverse that has a secret agent at their disposal, the only chosen one of a Sol religion, Bill Seacaster and Hallariel Lomenelda unprompted in their corner, and a seer with unending resources and diplomatic immunity. These would've been people you start a platform about adventuring not being fair for everyone because of. The people you went against was a homeless kid, a kid with an anxiety disorder, a trust fund kid, and someone with PTSD.

I've seen your posts about Kipperlilly being wrong for her validation, but right in the fact that The Bad Kids have been given larger plots and mysteries because of their families and circumstances and I don’t want to fucking see another one. When you make that I want you to think about the adventuring party they would've been without their backstories. The insanely powerful and privileged adventuring party that almost happened. Their life got made worse, not easier because their life could have been so fucking easy. Kipperlilly can take all the tragedy porn she wants and then maybe realise that that's not what makes the adventurer. That the reason she's mad at The Bad Kids is the only reason she can even tangentially compete with them.

#dimension 20 #d20 #fantasy high #fantasy high junior year #kipperlilly copperkettle #the bad kids #fhjy #riz gukgak #kristen applebees #adaine abernant #fabian seacaster #d20 fh #the rat grinders

[getitoutofmymindwrites]

The landing | joel miller x f!reader, 13.2k

Summary: You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you. Or The one where your orbits finally collide for the final showdown.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, NO SPOILER (read A/N), ANGST, cheater!joel, discussions of infidelity, mention of food consumption, yelling, crying, the briefest mention of smut thoughts, sprinkle of fluff (blink and you'll miss it), as always let me know if I missed anything 👀

A/N: Ok, *deep breath* I know I can't make everyone happy unless I write alternate endings 😅 and I understand that infidelity can be a very triggering concept. I gave them the ending I felt they both deserved, but if you're looking for a story where they are at each other's throats for 13k words, maybe this is not for you and you are more than welcome to kindly move on. I won't spoil the ending in the Warnings, so proceed with caution, you know what the main theme is all about. All I can tell you is that this part of the story is divided into two main scenes because I didn't want to drag it out with one little scene after another. *she says after spilling 13k words🙄sorry about that👀* As always, I would love to read your thoughts on the last part and please keep in mind that writing is almost always self-indulgent.

P.S. I want to thank each and every one of you for the love I received for this mini-series, I never thought it would engage so many people. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. You've all been so kind and sweet to me, so this journey filled my heart with joy! I love you all, take care of yourselves and I'll see you -hopefully- in the comments! Oh! My asks are always open if you want to know more about their story. I could even write drabbles or one-shots about anything you'd like to know in particular. Ily, bye 😘

P.S. I deliberately left the last two lines without clarification of who says what, I leave that up to you. 🤍

Dividers by @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics @plum98

previous |

FOUR YEARS AFTER THE FALL

Are you still falling?

You’re not sure anymore. Maybe you’re just used to it. Or maybe you just learned how to fly. It certainly feels like everything has slowed down. Sometimes it feels like floating. As if you’re a feather, so lightweight, swirling around aimlessly. But you can never touch the ground. Gravity can’t quite pull you down. Every time you feel like you’re finally landing, a force of nature pulls you back up.

Maybe it is a soft, warm, summer breeze, a memory of Joel.

Maybe it is a whirlwind, a contact from the lawyers.

Maybe it is a snowstorm, sign the papers, please.

Maybe it is the whispering of a gentle wind, the possibilities of what might have been, or the lack of real closure.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

You never thought you’d enjoy leaving the big city and making a home for yourself on a ranch. But you loved it. You loved the peace and quiet, you loved this new community of people, you loved taking care of the horses, riding them, being around them. And then there was the house. A place you could almost call home. It was beautiful, rustic, warm, inviting, lacking none of the comforts a modern house needs, because you can’t quite get the big city girl out of you. The entire land had a soft, yellow-golden light enveloping every tree and every rock, everywhere your eyes reached, as if the sun shone differently here.

The days are easy. The chores are more than enough to keep you focused, there’s always something to do around here. It feels good to be busy, to keep your mind from dwelling on the past. You welcome the exhaustion of a full day’s work that accompanies your body when night comes.

Evenings are mostly good. You shower the day off, you cook, you chill on the couch with a good book or a film and more often than not, as the time passes and you feel more comfortable sharing the privacy of your home, you have friends over for dinner and drinks.

Nights though, nights are hard. At night, you pray that you are tired to the point of exhaustion so that you can sleep through it peacefully. Sometimes it works, but most of the time, not so much.

Time has intensified and lessened your emotional burden simultaneously.

The sharp pain that feels like thick acid being poured into you mellows in an inexplicable way. It still hurts, the pain oozing out of your every single pore even in a physical way. Only now, it has transformed into a sweet, slow poison conquering every hollow of your body, every vein leading from your heart to the ends of your limbs.

It’s almost a welcoming feeling, this pain, reminding you that you’re still alive, that he was real, that everything that happened was real. Because sometimes, sometimes, when you let yourself relax, when you let your guard down, all of this feels like a dream. Sometimes, you wake up in the middle of the night, confused, reaching with your hand for the other side of the bed and finding it empty. And for a split second you get that feeling. The feeling of how it used to be with him next to you.

Then you remember.

You know why this is happening and who’s responsible for it. This is a mix-up. This is what your treacherous brain does to mess with your resolve. It blends the bad stuff into the good, creating the strangest of concoctions. The clear image of black and white, neatly and perfectly hung in the center of the walls of your mind is now splashed with colorful memories from your life together, like a Pollock painting. You do your best to resist, to bring back scenes from all the vivid recollections of the night your life changed forever but your uncooperative brain pops another memory up, a good fuckin’ memory, like a projector, illuminating those bare imaginary walls with laughter and touches and whispers and scents and warmth. It’s relentless.

This dichotomy creates an uneasiness inside you, you choose to reject and pretend not to notice. Which in turn leads to self-contempt because, as always you can’t lie to yourself. You may lie to others but deep in your core you have to be honest with yourself. That is something you’re owed. To be aware, present in the reality of your life. So, you know, you know, you just sweep things under the carpet as a copy mechanism. You know what you should do.

You should confront him. You should demand answers and then finally say what you need to say to him. Not for him, not for his sake, but for yours. But you can’t. You've lost count of how many times you've picked up the phone and your thumb hovered over his contact to call him but you just can’t bring yourself to do it. And every time you tried to text him, to start a conversation, it felt too awkward. The only acceptable subject of discussion initiated by you was the progress of the divorce papers. You were unable to even remotely insinuate a more meaningful encounter. And he didn’t make any advances either. Not that you gave him any room to try and talk to you, but still, he seemed more settled with that, rather than not.

Maybe that fact itself was your cue to let it all go. He’s probably moved on. You don’t cheat on someone so blatantly and then want them back. Obviously, this whole delaying of the divorce is a power play, like everything else, it seems.

Good, yeah, that’s it. That’s it.

Now, let go. Move on. You solved it. Let go.

But this annoying little voice is scratching the walls of your weary brain, nudging the limits of the carefully made up serenity that’s hanging by a thread.

You should confront him. For your peace of mind, for your equilibrium.

But it’s nice here. Even between the earth and the sky.

Joel, will you please sign the papers?

It’s early in the evening and you’re in the garden in front of the house near the porch, on your knees, plucking a few weeds from the ground. The fatigue of the day’s work has begun to take its toll on you, your shoulder is slightly trembling as you rest your weight on one palm to dig around with the other. Sweat covers your torso, rolling down between the valley of your breasts and the hollow between your spine, leaving your t-shirt clinging to your skin, your hair sticking to your forehead, which is lightly covered in a thin layer of dirt at some places as you keep wiping your forearm over the little beads of salty water that concentrate over your brows.

You feel him before you see him. He’s still taking up space in your micro-universe. His sole presence creates ripples through the atmosphere as he walks towards you, softly nudging you to turn your head from your spot to look behind you.

There's an overload of sensations before you shift your body around to confirm what you already know in your bones. You can smell him, taste him, feel him on your suddenly tingling skin, all at the same time.

You turn slowly and your breath hitches on your throat. You just stay in place, frozen, time infinitely stretching as you take him in from where you kneel on the ground. He stops abruptly the second his eyes meet yours and you could swear he’s holding his breath, his face completely unreadable.

He looks.. he looks like your Joel and nothing like him simultaneously. Soft yet imposing. Handsome yet battered. Determined yet lost. His clothing is simpler, dark jeans, green flannel over a black t-shirt and laced boots, as if he just returned from a working site. His curls are longer, framing his handsome face in a ridiculously good way, more white hairs nestle in his beard that is not that trimmed. Neither of you speak quite yet, taking each other in.

Your mind, your bizarre, ridiculous mind is working on figuring out what day it is. Why does it matter? Did you have an appointment? This is unexpected and a long time coming all at once, regardless of the day of the week. What comes next? Do you draw up an astrological map to determine if it's a compatible date for you to meet? Get it together.

Your facial expression must be pretty funny because Joel smiles awkwardly while scratching one side of his bearded cheek; hey, it’s me.

No, shit, you mentally respond, as if you could ever forget him. Furious is the word that best describes you because these are his first words? Hey, it’s me? And that feeling escalates into an explosive retort because you now realize that you had expectations. His first words? Who cares what his first words are? Were you expecting a tearful reunion, masterfully staged and executed like a romantic film? The guy betrayed you in your own house, sorry, his house. Wake the fuck up.

“Did you sign the papers?” you spit as you rise from your spot and he reacts as if you have punched him in the stomach. His face falls; you see a series of micro-expressions pass over his features before he settles on the last one. Has he been hurt? Did you hurt his feelings? Did he also have expectations?

“Uh-”, Joel raises his brows in genuine surprise, things probably not going the way he expected or hoped.

“It’s nice to see you, too.”, he replies with mild mockery.

Your eyes snap shut and you laugh in anger, lowering your chin to your chest and then looking back up at him, your eyes blazing, your brows mimicking his previously surprised expression, “Are you serious right now?” you cross your hands defensively over your chest.

You stare at each other for a good minute, both of you taking a moment to compose yourselves and regain your balance.

You break first, dropping your head back to your chest, looking down at the heel of your shoe scraping the ground beneath you, exhaling audibly.

“Hey,” Joel tries again, after speaking your name tenderly, your name on his lips, his head dipping down and to the side to try and get your attention back to him, his gaze filled with a mixture of warmth, regret and fear, “hi.”

You shake your head from side to side in repentance, what a great start this is, you keep thinking, “Hi.” is all you give him, still not looking at him.

“Hi,” he repeats, “it’s really nice to see you, bab-, shit, sorry.”, he winces, covering his mouth with his palm, embarrassment creeping into his features. You let out a quiet laugh, exhaling through your nose. You don’t comment on the slip of endearment that leaves his mouth, you don’t correct him, accepting privately that you liked it, you missed it, you longed for it.

Joel studies your face, but makes no comment on your silence. “You look...” he pauses for a split second before deciding to continue, “you look really good.” He hesitates, he doesn't want his compliment to come across as a feeble attempt to patronize you, because he really means it. You do look good, all sweaty and muddy and human and real. You are real. If he took a few steps forward, he could actually reach out and touch you, feel your skin under his fingertips, smell your heady scent, perhaps discreetly lick the remnants of your sweat from his thumb after carefully removing the strands of hair sticking on your forehead. But he doesn’t do that. He doesn’t do any of that.

You don’t quite know how to respond to that, any answer crossing your mind seems stupid or cheesy or dismissive. How do you respond to a compliment from the man who made you worship in his altar, only to have your faith ripped out of your heart?

His eyes keep roaming over your face, your figure, memorizing everything he can, like a blind man who has finally found his light, while he fidgets with an envelope in his hand which reminds you-

“Did you sign the papers, Joel?”, is what escapes your lips before you can think twice.

“No.” and now it’s his turn to lower his head, his eyes avoiding your gaze, as he looks down at his feet.

“Joel!”, you exclaim infuriated, rolling your eyes at him, knitting your brows together in a sign of frustration.

“No, no, it’s not like that. I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you want.”, Joel raises a hand in your direction to stop you from what seems to be a fair assumption, his palm up, facing you in an unspoken surrender. “I thought that- me, not signing, was a way of showing you how deeply sorry I am, how much I wanted to fix our marriage, but I understand now,” his voice wavers slightly, “that I need to respect your wishes. It’s the right thing to do. If this is still what you want, I’m gonna sign it.”

You don’t reply to that last part, only pointing out that “You didn’t have to come all this way to tell me that.”

“No, I didn’t.” Joel agrees.

“Then why are you here?” you insist, reluctant to entertain the idea that he has actually come all this way to apologize.

“Because I owe you an explanation.” is his honest and direct answer, sending little jolts of electricity through your nerves.

“Joel..” you sigh in exasperation. Not in warning or frustration, not really, but in something else. A feeling you can’t really put a name to, the closest you can come to describing it is that of a burden, woven deep into your heart, blossoming rapidly with each beat. There are so many things left unsaid; it makes you feel helpless, like you’re drowning. You want the dam you’ve built around your soul over the years to break so everything you've been holding back can finally pour out of you, but there’s just so much of it, of everything, that you’re terrified. Will the overflowing tank of emotions be completely empty? Will there be anything left unsaid? Untouched? What if the remnants left behind keep licking around your wounds, their waves pushing, shaping what’s left of you into something new, unrecognizable?

And what if, the tank will indeed be completely empty? What you’ll be left with, then? Nothing? Just.. empty? Will you remain empty? What, if anything, will take its place? Will you recognize your new self? Will you like yourself? Will you be able to live in harmony with this shell of a person? This you; you know. You hated and pitied and caressed and comforted and forgave and nurtured you into some version of a new you. But this? Everything will be torn apart, the wounds will be freshly opened, accessible to be examined in detail, plucked and bled and bruised in an all-too-familiar way.

Joel’s voice snaps you out of your trance, “No, I do. I owe you more than that, actually, but that’s the least I can do. And I wanna do that while I’m still your husband. I want to explain myself as your husband. Apologize to my wife, as her husband. Then I’m gonna sign anything you want me to.”

“And if I don’t wanna hear what you have to say?”

“Then I’ll just sign the papers and leave you in peace.” Joel confesses in all his honesty.

You just nod, looking down on the ground. You take a deep breath to ground yourself. You can do this. You want to do this. You need to do this.

You walk towards the house and sit down on the steps of the porch, as he looks at you awkwardly, not knowing where to stand. You gesture with a tilt of your head for him to come sit next to you. You can do this. You realize that you didn’t invite him into the house and you feel a bit rude for that, but it's beyond your empathetic capacity to deal with him being here and to let him into the house as well. “I just like it out here, it’s calm and-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, whatever makes you feel comfortable; I know you don’t want me here any longer than I have to be..” he interrupts you as he sits down next to you, his one side pressing against the end of the stairs, where the railing begins. He places the contract between your bodies, on the wooden floor.

It makes you uncomfortable, his statement, you always want people to feel welcome and relaxed around you. You internally chastise yourself for worrying about his feelings instead of yours, but you can’t help it, it’s embedded in your DNA. “It’s OK, Joel, I don’t mind, we can talk.”

Joel nods, but he remains silent. You don’t break the silence, giving him time to collect his thoughts. He chuckles defeated, shaking his head while rubbing his hand over his face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, you don’t look that mighty to me anymore.” you blurt out before you can stop yourself and you immediately regret it. It didn’t sound so insulting in your head. You only meant to say that he doesn’t intimidate you anymore. Which is sort of a lie and a truth at the same time. You used to find him imposing, even his mere presence had the ability to make your skin crawl, your heart flutter and your words get catch in your dry throat, you were in awe of him. Every time you laid your eyes at him, even when you were straddling his lap or gazing at his profile as he slept beside you, you always felt as if you were looking up. You admired him.

His heart loses several beats to that. He can read between your lines now. He has lost your respect. Your admiration. The time when you looked up to him in awe is long gone.

“You know, my therapist warned me about this.”, he chuckles bitterly.

“Your-” you can’t hide your shocked expression from him as you search his eyes for any sign of him joking around, but you find none. “You’ve been in therapy?”

“Yeah, I-, I spent two years hating myself,” he chuckles deprecatingly, “and then I realized it was time for me to stop being an arrogant prick, so I spent another two doing it all over again with the help of my therapist.”

You laugh wholeheartedly at that and it’s the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen in his entire life. “OK, somebody’s off to a good start. Go on.”

“You mean about the therapy?”

“I mean about you admitting you are an arrogant prick”, you say playfully.

He really laughs now, his eyes crinkle up at the sides. You used to love that. You feel your heart warming up. “You can thank Maria for that.”

“For what?”

“For kicking my ass and pushing me to help myself.” Joel admits. “She’s a good friend.”

“Yeah, she is.” you agree through your laughter, the image of Maria actually kicking Joel’s ass is priceless.

“I missed that sound.” Joel is looking at you softly, as if his gaze could break you.

“Hm.” you simply smile at him, not finding it in you to respond with a snide remark. The time for that feels like it has passed, like it’s irrelevant at this point. All you really want is to have an honest conversation, irony be damned.

You both look at your feet in silent consideration for a minute or two. “I thought you’d be mad at me.” Joel reveals.

You exhale through your nose, the edges of your mouth turning up in a gentle smile. “Four years is a long time to be mad at anyone, Joel. Even you don’t have that kind of power over me.”

“Good. I have enough burden on my shoulders as it is..”, he mumbles and you decide to change the subject.

How do you admit that you are still mad at him but in a different way? How do you describe the deep scar his existence has carved into your soul making it almost unbearable to even exist without him? How do you explain that you’ll always carry him with you, no matter what? How do you instill in him that you still believe in the best version of him, the best version you know he can be, the best version of him you once lived with. Yes, you’re not mad at him for the reasons he thinks you are. You’re mad at him because the way he made you love him is stronger than any hurt he’s ever caused you.

“So, what did your therapist warn you about?”

“She, uh- she tried to prepare me for this.”

“Oh? What did she say?”

“That I should not be prepared.”, he laughs in earnest. “That I should not obsess about what I want to say and just be open and have an honest interaction.”

“I like her, already.” you say with a straight face.

He smiles softly, looking down at his boots, while he rests his elbows on his knees, one palm encircling the other. “Yeah… I had some digging to do; I still do for that matter and will be for a long time it seems.”

“Anything you wanna share?” you reply, raising an eyebrow as if you had no idea why he was here.

“Oh, boy-” he squirms in his seat, already overwhelmed by the turn of the conversation, his chest almost vibrating with anxiety, he can barely swallow, small beads of sweat starting to form around his temples. You reluctantly reach for his forearm, trying to calm him down. “Hey, Joel?”

His whole body stiffens at your touch and he wishes his clothes would evaporate so he could feel your skin against his. He fixes his eyes on your delicate fingers lightly squeezing his tight muscles underneath the fabric. “The worst part has already happened four years ago, so-” you shrug, “just breathe.” Joel keeps his eyes on your hand, his heart rate dropping slightly; you ground him. You retract your arm and keep your hands to yourself in an effort to maintain a respectable distance between you. You shouldn’t have touched him at all.

“I think- I think I understand now.” he begins, still feeling the ghost of your touch on his forearm. “How I made you feel, what your words meant. You always did that, you know. And I found it so fascinating and so exhausting at the same time.”

You look at him, confused. Joel continues, “You always chose your words carefully. You had a reason for every single thing you said. In retrospect, I realized that you were handing me everything on a silver platter, but I was too self-absorbed to see it at the time.”

You nod in agreement, gesturing with your head for him to keep going.

Joel takes a deep breath, holding it inside his lungs for a while. His exhalation is controlled, measured. “Fuck. Okay. It was not just the fact itself. It was not just the cheatin’.”

Your stomach clenches violently at his words. The time has finally come and although you know what happened, you where there, when the words come out of Joel’s mouth it's as if you're pulled back to that threshold all over again. It really happened. You feel your hands sweating. “Go on.”, you pronounce carefully, already anxious your voice is going to betray you. You can do this.

“I don’t want to sound all full of myself-” Joel hesitates.

“You won’t.” you interrupt him with conviction. The truth has never frightened you. You welcome it. It feels like a form of catharsis, it feels like you’re finally being seen. Every nerve in your body is on fire. You’re ready for this, for the truth, if only he gives it to you. Please, set me free.

“I was your everything.” he whispers, almost embarrassed, his eyes not meeting yours. You don’t respond to that, not until he looks at you, although the admission shoots straight through your heart. You stare at the side of his face, almost forcing him to turn to you. He does.

“You were.” Simple. True. Clear as the light of day.

“And I ripped that from you.”

“You did.”

“In the worst possible way.”

“Hmhm.”, you don’t trust the stability of your voice.

“And no matter what I say, I can never take back what I did. I humiliated you, our home, our relationship, everything. I-” his brows furrow in an expression of disgust, “I disrespected myself. I burned everything down. I left nothing for you to hold on to, nothing for me to hope for, nothing.”

His chin trembles and his voice wavers as he continues. “The words to describe how sorry I am have not yet been invented. And even if they had, they still couldn’t take the pain away; what’s done, is done.”

He closes his eyes and rests his head on the railing. “I don’t know what I wish for anymore. That you had never met me, so you could be spared all this pain? But I can’t. I can’t wish that, because I’m so grateful to have met you. I married you, I had you. That is what has comforted me all these years, what has got me through all those sleepless nights.” He looks absolutely devastated, desperate.

It feels genuine, because he’s not directing it at you, he’s not trying to convince you, he’s not trying at all. “I have not thought about my pain or what I want from all this for a long time. All I pray for is-” his glistening eyes are searching frantically on the ground, his brows knitted together in a painful grimace. You rest your head on the palm of your hand, your elbow on your knee. Watching this moment like an outside observer, you realize that he's trying to live up to your standards, reminding you of a child trying to impress his parents, only to fail regardless of the outcome.

“Look, Joel, couples break up, divorce, all over the world, all the time. And I guess, they all thought their partners were their everything until they finally weren’t.”, you rationalize, putting everything that has happened into some kind of perspective. It is not the end of the world. It is the end of your world. He doesn’t have to carry this burden on his shoulders for eternity. All you need from him is to understand, to acknowledge what he's done to you, how broken you’ve been.

But if he acknowledges that, if he truly comprehends the tremendous pain he’s put you through, won’t all that anguish be transferred to him? Isn't it unbearable for a truly repentant man to know that he has deliberately caused so much pain?

“But, you see; I wanted that, I needed to be your everything.”

“It certainly fed your ego..” you grin at him.

“No, no- I craved that- that look on your face when your eyes were on me, like there was nothing else, no one else around you, but me. You drove me to be better, to move forward; I felt I had a purpose. You were my purpose.”

“Well I didn’t do much of a job then, did I?” you smile defeated.

“No, honey, this-” he’s determined to make you understand that it wasn't your fault, even if it is the last thing he is going to do. He licks his lips trying to formulate his thoughts, “-what happened, had nothing to do with you, I- I was just- I got in my head..”

You shake your head dismissively, “It’s a terrible burden to put people on a pedestal and expect them to-”

“But you see, baby, that’s the thing. You didn’t.”Joel dismisses your comment and if a bucket of ice-cold water was thrown over your head you wouldn’t feel so frozen. You search his eyes for meaning, because deep down it stings to hear that you could give more. Is that what he’s saying? You didn’t love him enough? Joel catches on and rushes to explain. “You-” god this is so hard, he’s struggling, can’t he just rip his heart open and let you examine it? “You loved me so much, baby and you never asked for anything in return. You let me be who I was. You accepted me completely. You set me free.” His eyes are blown wide, burning into yours with intensity. You look so lost, how does all this fit in with what he did then?

“Darlin’,” he expands further, “we live in a competitive world. Everyone aims to control each other, from business partners to lovers and spouses; everyone manipulates, everyone tries to tell you where to look, what to do, how to act, how to fuck, how to love. Except for you. You let me be. You put your heart in my hands and you set me free. And I took advantage of that and I am truly sorry. I’m more sorry than you’ll ever know. That’s how fucked up I am.” you look at him dumbfounded.

“I can’t connect the dots; I don’t get it, Joel, I’m sorry, I-” you run your fingers through your hair, scratching your scalp in frustration. What does he mean?

Joel winces mid-sentence because he can’t escape what’s coming. This is his last resort. And he knows it is going to sound cruel and he doesn’t even mean the first part the way you're going to perceive it, but for lack of better words, for lack of the better person he could have been, a person who should have never put you in this position in the first place, here goes.

“She made me feel wanted; you made me feel free.”,

he spits out in a hurry, praying to whatever god is listening, that you won’t even catch it, knowing full well that these may be the last words you'll ever let him speak to you.

You are utterly, completely, perfectly shocked.

Then you feel it for the first time in what feels like ages. That old friend consuming you. Rage. It burns your lungs, twists your guts and pierces your heart like a thousand needles. Everything becomes crystal clear. You’re so infuriated, that your mind goes blank. A million words and nothing at all come to your mind simultaneously.

“Let me- let me rephrase that, because actually it was never even about her, I just-” Joel begins, in a vain attempt to stop the tide from crushing you both.

Your palms become clenched fists in front of your mouth, pressing against it, crushing the velvety skin of the inside of your lips against your teeth until you draw blood, in an effort to control yourself. You inhale sharply, keeping your eyes fixed on the land in front of you, blurred by the tears gathering in your waterline.

“She- what?” are the only words you manage to choke out.

“Baby, it doesn’t matter, it was never about her, she was a means to an end and-” your eyes bulge out of your sockets at the statement, “I know- I know how that sounds- just-” his palms come together in a prayerful gesture, begging you to give him a chance to explain.

“A means to an- what the fuck are you talking about, Joel?” the veins on your forehead swell under your skin, creating a map of the river of wrath flowing aggressively through your body.

“It was never an affair sweetheart, but a transaction; one I initiated. She was only a boost to my ego.”

..she made me feel wanted..

..a boost to my ego..

It's all starting to make sense now, and it's the last thing you expect to be confronted with. You've always imagined either a heated affair, a secret love story, him realizing he had found his soul mate in someone else, or him getting bored with you, finding you too much or too emotional or too unlovable. It turns out that you were accused of the one thing you never were.

“Are you-, oh god,” you can hear your heart pounding in your ears now and it takes every ounce of strength not to vomit, “are you saying that you fucked someone else; you fucked your secretary for fuck’s sake, you fuckin’ cliché of a man, because I wasn’t jealous of you?”. Your throat is so swollen, you try to scream your words at him but they only come out in wrenched whispers.

You stand up abruptly, dizziness causing you to close your eyes tightly as you see a million white dots behind the blackness of your eyelids. Your whole body vibrates with rage. You steady yourself on the railing and then begin to pace back and forth, your hands unable to stay motionless, but moving over your face, through your hair, lowering and squeezing the sides of your waist as you lean slightly forward in a subconscious way to soothe yourself.

“Oh my god, oh my fucking god,” you laugh hysterically now, as angry tears run down your cheeks, as if you've been let in on an inside joke. “It’s my fault, everything is my fault-”

Joel is frozen in place, he’s not sure if he should get up and try to reason with you or stay where he is.. or run for the hills. He’s witnessing the unleashing of a caged animal. His tongue feels heavy and numb in the cavern of his mouth but he dares to speak again, “That’s the exact opposite of what I said, sweetheart,” he tries to explain in vain, “I’m sorry if that’s what I-” but you’re not listening to a single word he utters.

“People kept telling me, urging me on, all my life;” and you slap your palms on the sides of your thighs, looking at his direction, but not really looking, “I should be more controlling, more pushy, more..” your voice begins to fade, muttering to yourself through your teeth. “They warned me, you know, that the lack of pressure in any kind of relationship would be perceived as a lack of interest.”

Don't trust completely; hold something back; men like the illusion of power; show them you need them; make them jealous; be jealous, like a manual to a pre-installed setting.

Do you agree to the Terms & Conditions?

Press ‘Enter.’

“But I didn’t listen. I never listened. Because in what world do we choose a leash over freedom?” You turn to look at him now, addressing him as if you were talking to a third party, an outsider, asking for advise or affirmation.

Maria’s words come back to Joel’s mind, words that he had long forgotten about, finally fitting like missing pieces of a puzzle to the bigger picture.

“Maybe the wrong Miller is on a leash..”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Means that freedom is for those who can bear it.”

“I was really stupid, was I not? What on earth made me think that this time would be any different, what made me think that you’d be any different? You’re just- you’re just another man-” you spit your vile angrily as your eyes sweep over him. The look in his eyes is devastated, he feels shuttered, reduced to nothing.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid little girl. When the fuck will I learn? When the fuck am I going to accept that I don't really belong? When?”

Joel is staring at you bewildered, he never felt more helpless in his life. A thousand new thoughts and questions form in your head, things you didn’t even begin to imagine would cross your mind.

“Did you use her?” you ask with renewed vigor, a surge of energy running through your body.

Joel’s cheeks burn with humiliation but he has already admitted it once, what will it do to him to say it one more time? “Yes, I never had any feelings f-”

“No,” you interrupt impatiently, you don't care about his feelings right fuckin' now, “that night, did you use her? On purpose?”

Joel looks lost for a second but the cogs in his head finally turn and “NO! No baby, I wasn’t even aware of you coming home earlier than expected, no. Don’t even entertain this idea; it wasn’t intentional, I swear to god.”

Oh. There’s a new question for Joel. Why did you leave your business trip early? He had never thought about it before, solely focused on everything else that had happened, which now made him wonder, “Did you- did you know?”

“What?” you frown, lost in your own thoughts, not following his line of logic.

“Did you know? Is that why you came back early from your trip?”

You’re still a bit too far gone in your head to think clearly and try to prevent the next question from coming, “Of course I didn’t know, Joel, did it look like I did?” is all you say with a bite, annoyed.

“Then why-” Joel insists, pressuring you for an answer, but he doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

“I- fuck- I need a minute.” you declare and start to walk towards the house.

Joel waited on that porch for almost an hour, watching the sun set behind the mountain, afraid to move, barely breathing in case you stormed out and threw him back where he came from as if him standing still would somehow make him part of the landscape; as if he belonged.

And you certainly delivered.

He hears the screen door open, his back still to the house. You are standing behind him, your arms crossed stiffly over your chest, your face tilted down, to avoid his gaze. He could see the red-rimmed and swollen eyes of yours, despite your efforts to hide them.

“I can’t do this-”

“Please,” his whole face contorts in agony, “please, hear me-” you both speak at the same time.

“-tonight.”

“What?” his voice matching the look of confusion on his face.

“Maybe another time, but not tonight.”

“I-” he doesn’t know how to articulate his thoughts without sounding like an idiot. He drove all this way, four hours straight, to finally get things straight. His brain has short-circuited, unable to put a plan into action. Should he check into a hotel or a motel or whatever the fuck is around here in the middle of nowhere? Should he go back to his place? Do you really want to talk again? You sort of said you did. You said maybe. Fuck. What does he do?

But honestly, what did he expect? That this would be over in the course of one evening? Of course he would have to come back. His eyes are fixed on yours like a deer caught in the headlights. “I came all this way-” he mumbles, choking on the last part, already regretting the words that came out of his mouth.

“Well, too bad.” you spit emotionless as you turn and head for the safety of your house, leaving him stunned on the goddamn porch.

Joel returned the next evening, but you weren't there. He made the four hour journey and came back empty-handed. And you weren't there the next evening, or the evening after that. But he kept on driving the miles, hot wheels under the Texas sun. He didn’t check in anywhere near your small town. He went back home and then back to you again.

The last time he found nothing but a closed door, he finally got the message, so the next time he left the house, before he turned on the ignition, he texted you, as a sign of respect for your boundaries.

Is it all right if I come and see you?

Backspacebackspacebackspace

Is it OK if I come and talk?

And the answer was

Not today.

So, every day he texted you. He didn’t mean to be intrusive, he just wanted to remind you that you were never far from his thoughts, that he was always ready and eager to finish what he started.

You denied him for quite some time. You couldn’t bring yourself to face him again. The confessions he made have knocked you off your axis. Just when you finally felt like everything was falling into place, he dropped this bombshell, making you rethink everything you thought you knew and had sorted out in your mind. You just couldn’t wrap your head around what you’d heard coming out of his mouth. How could he think like that? Why couldn’t he just talk to you? You used to talk about everything; what the fuck happened? How did you not see that coming?

You were sure that he would give up, that he would stop bothering to contact you at all. Was it the monster of self-deprecation? Was it a deep disappointment in human beings and their general lack of persistence in trying to nurture and repair a relationship, or at least trying to give it a proper closure? You didn’t give it much thought afraid of the answer you might get. But you kept saying Not today, until one day, for some reason-

Can we talk?

Yes.

Joel’s heart is beating through his chest so rapidly, he has to cough to regain some of his composure. He almost drops his phone, trying to confirm the most convenient time for you before you change your mind.

That was the first Yes after the day you saw him again. You weren’t sure what you wanted to talk about; if you could pick up exactly where you left off. You weren’t even sure you could look him in the eye again, but you had to see this through.

When you hear the sound of his engine and tires on the dirt road, you take a deep breath and walk out of the house to wait for him on the porch.

“Come on in, I’m cooking dinner.” you announce as you open the screen door for him to enter the house.

“Are you sure?”, Joel is taken aback, he thought the inside of your house was strictly off-limits to him. You were also cooking dinner as if he was an old friend visiting you. He couldn’t help but wonder if he should lower his defenses or not but with the way you looked tonight you didn’t give him much of a choice.

You’re wearing a pair of warm cream jeans, paired with a white front tie shirt, the first few buttons left open, giving him a glimpse of your tanned sternum. It almost looks like a man’s shirt, just messily tied up over your soft skin, revealing bits of your stomach. Could it be another man’s shirt?

You are barefoot. The nails of your toes are painted in a fresh glossy black color. Your hair is casually tied up in a messy bun, loose strands falling around your beaming face. Joel has to restrain himself from pushing you against the wall and fucking you on the spot, by clenching and unclenching his fists. His mouth is salivating at the sight of you, excitement building in his groin. It's been so long since he's felt this way, a different kind of hunger is growing in him at a rapid pace, as if something buried deep inside his masculinity has just awakened from hibernation.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” you quirk back at him, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, what you’re both doing. “I’m starving. Coming?” you leave him at the entrance and go back into the house.

“You have a beautiful home.”, Joel admits as he takes in his surroundings, thinking that this is going better than he expected. He also can't help but prepare himself for the fact that this might not end the same way.

“Thank you.” you laugh nervously.

“What?”, he catches the note of disbelief in your voice. “I'm serious, the light is just right, it’s open and warm; it actually reminds me of you.” he says matter-of-factly.

“No, no, I know you mean it, it’s just- I guess it’s high praise, coming from you.” you admit. You always admired what he did for a living and how good he was at it and him seeing your place for the first time gave you another reason to feel kind of nervous.

“Oh, come on, none of that now.” he dismisses the compliment, his voice wavering slightly at the praise.

“Well it’s true, you are excellent at what you do, I mean, the house you built is a work of art and that’s a fact.”

“Which one?”, although he knows exactly which one, he presses on.

“The one we used to live in, together.” You can’t call it your house. You cannot. The mere thought of it makes your tongue feel like it’s on fire.

“Oh.”, Joel smiles as he presses his lips together in a thin line, “You mean our house. It was built out of love, that's why. It's the one I'm most proud of.”

“Hm.”, is all you give him. Déjà vu brings back memories out of the closet -pun intended- for both of you.

“Ok, now you really have to tell me. What is it?”, Joel crosses his forearms over his chest. He has to know.

“What do you mean?”, you try to buy some more time, cause you’re not so sure you want to go in there.

“You had the exact same reaction when I mentioned that, four years ago.”

“Ah, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

“It’s just- it always felt like it reflected your personality rather than mine. Or at least ours.”

Joel looks at you perplexed.

“I’m not complaining, I mean, how many people can claim that their husband built them a house the size of a small hotel as a wedding present?” you chuckle while you continue as nonchalantly as you can muster, “I would have lived in a cave with you, Joel, you didn’t have to go to these lengths to house two people. If you want my honest opinion, this was an ego project. I let it slide because it made you happy. And I liked you happy.” Joel looks stunned, his eyes darting back and forth between yours.

“Baby, I- I wanted to make you happy, to give you the best I could-”

“Joel, I’m not judging you. I am not. But you didn’t show me a single blueprint while you were designing the damn thing. You didn’t ask me what I wanted or how I imagined it. Sure, you equipped it with all the best stuff money could buy, but you never asked me what I thought about it. Not really.”, you see the hurt in his eyes and it unsettles you, but now the rabbit is out of the hat. “Again, I’m not judging you and I’m not being ungrateful, all I’m saying is that for some reason you needed your shinny new wife to live in a shinny new castle. It was a prestige thing. Just think about it.”

“Jesus..” Joel mutters, pinching the sides of his forehead with one hand, feeling defeated.

“Hey,” you give him a wry look, “I tried to avoid answering that question for four years. You were the one who insisted.” you defend yourself, clearly amused by his reaction.

“What else do I need to know?”, Joel wonders in a desperate manner.

“Well.. for how long can you keep coming back?” you joke absentmindedly.

“For the rest of my life..” Joel answers a little too quickly, not a hint of playfulness in his voice.

Your heart tightens at his eagerness, forcing you to admit a consideration that you have had more than a few times before. “You know,” you look over at him, lost in thought, almost like reminiscing, “sometimes I wish I had met you before your company took off.” You snap out of your daydream and consciously look at him and he looks pained as if some kind of realization has hit him. You change the subject for the sake of both of you. “Anyway, speaking of which, how is work? I heard you closed that deal, after all.” you grin mischievously.

“Yeah, I did.”, his voice takes on a strange timbre, almost like regret. But you’re not so sure about anything these days, so you let it pass. He puts the envelope with the contract on the counter in the kitchen and sits down in the chair next to the table already set for dinner.

“Good, that’s good. Let me guess, you’re all over it? First in, last out? Is it almost done?” you word vomit to cover your nervousness.

“Uh,” Joel rubs the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t know.” is all he gives you, clearly trying to avoid getting involved in the discussion.

“Um, you don’t know?”, you laugh lightly in confusion. “How is that possible?”, you ask stirring the vegetables in the pan.

“I’m not involved in the project and I have no idea about the status of the construction;” Joel answers your question and continues, revealing, “I quit. Sold my shares and got out.”

“Yeah,” you draw the vowels, still not looking in his direction, “right. Big, mighty Joel Miller left his enterprise-” you laugh mockingly, but you are met with silence. “You’re joking, right?” You turn to look at him, not believing what you have just heard. You feel your blood freeze in your veins.

Joel shakes his head in denial, “I’ve actually left the city and the only reason I haven’t sold every asset in my name is in case you want to claim any of them. They’re all yours if you want ‘em.” Your mouth is slightly agape, as you try to process what has just been delivered to you.

You open your mouth to protest but he beats you to it, by raising his hand to stop you. “I know you don’t want anything from me, but that doesn’t change the fact that I don’t want them either. Not without you. Just take them. Burn them for all I care, liquidate them and use the money as you see fit.”, Joel insists, trying to find ways to convince you.

“You can do that yourself, Joel.” is all you say; you don’t give a damn about his money. Joel nods and leaves it at that, he knows better than to talk about money right now.

You’re curious where he lives now, but you’re not sure it’s appropriate to ask, so you don’t. You prepare dinner and make small talk about simple things like your lives over the past four years. Joel asks you about the ranch, the horses, the chores; you ask him about Tommy and Maria, their newborn son, whom you haven't had a chance to meet yet. None of you dare to break the bubble of normality in which you have effortlessly found yourselves.

It feels like coming home after a long day, the way you both fall into a comfortable silence. Joel speaks your name softly, drawing your attention and your gaze back to him. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re eating?” Just a little longer, let me have it just a little longer.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, “no, I mean, what are we doing?” he gestures with his fingers between him and you.

You look at him and then at your plate, playing around with your food, lost in thought. How do you acknowledge that? How do you confess that you’re trying to stretch time? How do you admit that you’re scared out of your mind of how it's all going to end? How do you even come to terms with the fact that you’re not sure you want any of this to end? How do you accept how natural it feels to have him back in your life? How do you admit that after four years the pain has never stopped, but the force, the roughness of it has changed into something softer, yet persistent; never quite going away, lingering.

How do you admit that all the good memories are emerging, because that’s what the mind does, that’s how it protects you, that’s how it helps you survive another day, that’s how it tricks you into falling back into a comfortable routine with him. Even if what binds you together now is his betrayal. How do you admit that you’re afraid of what will become of you once you've finished confessing your truths?

Will he cease to exist for you? Will you cease to exist for him? Will he ever bother to contact you again? Do you really want him to? Will you matter to him or will he move on, start again and shake off the last vestiges of your life together?

Or maybe- maybe he has moved on with his life and that's why he's doing all this, putting all this effort into it. Maybe he is preparing a new, clear path for himself and whoever is in his life right now. Is it her? Is it still, her?

You’re spiraling, lost in your thoughts, biting your lower lip anxiously, like a snake eating its own tail. “Baby?” his baritone voice snaps you out of it, he must have called you several times before you heard him, suddenly aware of hot, fat tears streaming down your face, his thumbs gently brushing them from your cheeks.

You let out a shuddering breath; it’s the first time he’s touched you, in so, so long. And here he is again. The familiar, old friend. He’s pounding on your door now, relentless as he is, screaming for you to let him in, lead the way, take charge, take care of you. You can almost feel his maniacal banging, vibrating through your chest, let me in, let me in, let me in.

Let me in, better angry than scared.

Better angry than scared.

Your shoulders slump, your head feels unbearably heavy. The world has stopped moving. The world is moving too fast. You savor his features as he leans further in, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, his eyes pleading, the brown of his irises inviting you to let him in. Joel’s face is that of a man still in love as he continues to caress your skin and you let him.

You let him, because you are a weak person.

You let him because you have been deprived of his touch, of any touch really, for far too long.

You let him because you want to have something for yourself, selfishly.

You let him, because for once you just want to take. Take, take, take.

You let him because you just want to be held and touched and loved.

And even though your mind knows that you shouldn’t want all that from him, your heart allows you that little moment.

“Joel, I’m tired.” you begin, your voice breaking as fresh tears run down your face and onto his thumbs. “Tired to my bones. All I want is to be honest with each other. Do you think we can do that? Can we talk like two adults with nothing left to lose? Can we just be truthful to each other? I know there’s too much history between us, too much hurt and resentment but we both have to try and put it all behind us. I can’t go on like this.”

There’s a stillness in him, realization and clarity dawning on him. He thinks he understands now and it shocks him somehow, as a fact, that there are still things to uncover, to revel in, to acknowledge. Every time he thinks he’s reached the end of this journey, a new sun rises over the horizon.

You don’t need the specifics of his action, at least not right now, or not anymore. What you need is closure. True, honest closure. And that can only come from him baring himself to you. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that. We can do anything you want, baby.”, he squeezes his eyes shut, knowing where to begin, but resisting the thought. He leans back in his seat, dropping his hands from your face as he lets out the breath he seems to be holding in and begins.

“Remember that night before your business trip when you came to my office?”

“Uh, yeah? I guess.”, what a strange thing to mention, you think confused. “What about it?”

“You came to me for sex.”, Joel says bluntly, no need to beat around the bush. This is it. This is how he loses you. Once again.

You stare at him and then, for some reason, look down in embarrassment. You’ve fucked him in almost every way you can think of and now the very admission of that fact makes you feel like an exposed nerve. It dawns on you, how far away this era has slipped away. You feel vulnerable as if you’re talking to a total stranger about your most intimate moments. At the same time, you still know exactly how to touch him, how to please him and a light warmth begins to shimmer inside you.

“Well, that’s one way of putting it, but- yeah..”, you admit, still nervously picking at your food with your fork.

Joel sees your apprehension but he presses on. This is what you asked for. “And I refused you.” The look on your face betrays your confusion. Where is he going with this? Only now, he sees more. He can finally see more. The hurt. The disappointment. “What happened next?” is his next question and does he really think that you can remember all these years later? Does he honestly believe that you can recall yourself leaving his office defeated and crying yourself to sleep? “I don’t remember.” you lie, shrugging your shoulders as convincingly as you can muster.

“You said you loved me and then you left.”, Joel reminds you.

“You- you remember all that?”, your eyes are wide and the look on your face vulnerable, Joel wants to pause it all and hold you in his arms.

“I can’t seem to forget anything about you,” he reveals, “believe me, I’ve tried.”

“What’s your point?”

“Why did you do that?”

“Uh.. why did I do what?”, you narrow your eyes in confusion.

His eyes are piercing yours, provoking you to figure it out on your own.

“Loved you?” He shakes his head almost imperceptibly.

Your eyes widen again, in surprise this time, as you finally see what he means.

“Walked away?” You’re fucking shocked to the core, your voice choked, you’re not sure you spoke out loud.

“Why didn’t you insist?”

Your mouth is wide open, you’re speechless, you flatter your eyelids in search of the right words. This is your second encounter and once again he says what you least expect him to say.

“You refused” you remind him now, “and I respected that.”, your hand moves to rest on your chest, palm open, to calm your racing heart.

“I didn’t want you to.”

“You know how that sounds, don’t you?”, you mock with a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please,” Joel is quick to respond, his brows knitted in a dismissive frown, “like you could ever force yourself on me.”

You genuinely are at a loss for words, your gaze unable to stay in one place, your mind running a million miles an hour.

Apparently you both are, because Joel is no better at explaining how he feels. “I wanted you to-”, he stops, his eyes still searching yours for the right words, pleading with you to feel him.

Oh my god. Oh. My. God.

It dawns on you. All at once. You see it all playing out. You know exactly how this conversation is going to go. “-claim you? You wanted me to claim you?”, your voice rises, as does your tone. You feel the presence of your abandoned friend again. You don’t want him here. But he creeps in through your veins, nonetheless. He is not giving up. If the pounding doesn’t work then he’ll poison you, slowly and persistently.

“From who? You were supposed to be mine!”, you exclaim exasperated, immediately correcting yourself “-not that I owned you, you know what-”

“That! That’s what I’m talking about!” Joel points his finger at you, “That’s what I needed. To be yours!”

“But you were! Are we really haggling over semantics? Of course you were mine! I just never wanted you to feel suffocated by me. You were not my possession Joel, you were my partner!”

“I swear to you, I would die a happy man, baby.”

“I- I tried so hard to control myself-” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes back to your head as you shake it in denial, “-all that hunger inside of me, eating me up-”

“What?” is Joel’s turn to look like a lost puppy. What the fuck is going on here?

“You,” you point a finger at him, “you were my first and last thought every passing day, it wasn’t even healthy anymore, Joel. But- I saw that look in your eyes sometimes, a hunger, one I thought mirrored mine and then it was gone in the blink of an eye and I thought that something was holding you back; I- I was holding you back. I thought- maybe I was undeserving..” you divert your eyes from him, embarrassed at your feeling of inadequacy, “So, I accepted what you gave me if it meant I could have any part of you.”

“Oh, baby..” Joel’s hiding his face in his palms and his heart breaks as he realizes where you both stand. How did the two of you get to this point? How could his judgment be so clouded, how could he be so blind to what was happening under his own roof? How could he be so arrogant as to seek validation, one he didn't even need, from someone else? Someone whose validation he didn't even care about. It didn't matter to him. She didn’t matter to him. How could he not sense the insecurity tantalizing your very core to the point of feeling inadequate? If only you had told him sooner.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you mirror his thoughts with your voice.

“What should I say to you? I couldn’t put it into words, even now I'm not sure I can. It was an all-consuming feeling, an absolute necessity, an overwhelming need that was impossible to handle. I wasn’t mentally or emotionally prepared to deal with it. I loved you with such force that it became an obsession. I couldn’t even entertain the idea that you might not want me back in the same way. I felt helpless, vulnerable. How could I come to terms with this? With the realization that I had fucked someone else just to get a rise out of you or to prove to myself that I didn't need you that much after all?”

Joel’s palms are clenched into fists on his thighs, trying to keep himself from pressing his lips against yours. Feelings and desires that had been buried in his subconscious for too long came back as he tried to make you understand.

“A r- so, you did fuck her on our bed on purpose.”

“You asked me that before, darlin’, I promise you I did not.”

“Then how would you provoke me if you didn’t mean for me to find out?” you look at him incredulously.

“I-” Joel winces, “it wasn’t a conscious thought, I just kept fantasizing about you finding out and burning the house down for me and that single image made me so h-” Joel shuts his mouth abruptly, not the best idea to describe to you how fuckin’ hard he got, fantasizing about you while fucking someone else. You, bursting into the bedroom all raging and furious, turning the whole place upside down reclaiming what was rightfully yours.

Him.

What a sick fuck he was. “I swear to you, no. I’m not that fucked up. It was a gigantic lack of judgment, I was fuckin’ drunk, my mind was a mess at that point. That whole week was-” he’s biting his tongue hard to stop himself while rubbing his forehead with his fingers, “I was just being an idiot.”

“The week I was gone?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“Nothing, ‘snothing.” and he doesn’t elaborate. “Just a bad fuckin’ week.”

The atmosphere suddenly feels suffocating, as if all the words that have spilled out of both your mouths are hovering over your heads like a black cloud. You need some air to clear your mind, so you make your way out of the kitchen without looking back and walk slowly to the porch, sitting on the steps at the bottom of the stairs. You know he will follow. Your bare feet touch the soft soil beneath you and you try to ground yourself through the little patch of earth you call your own. It doesn’t quite work. There’s a beautiful golden glow, a last gift from the parting sun, warming your soul. Everything is going to be all right.

“Strange fantasies we both had.” you say as Joel seats down next to you, the contract once again a barrier between you. “You kept fantasizing about me finding out about your affair-”.

“It wasn’t an affair-” Joel corrects you. “Fine, fine. You imagined that, while I kept fantasizing me holding you so tightly while we fucked that our flesh became one; that’s how deep I needed you inside me, that’s how obsessively I wanted to carry you with me all the time, isn’t that totally fucked up?” you laugh dejectedly.

“I guess we are the same kind of fucked up. If only we could admit it to each other..”

“Did you really feel that I didn’t love you enough?” you whisper, almost too scared to be heard and to get an answer.

“I think we loved each other too much. I think we were both too afraid of losing each other. I think,” Joel pauses for a moment to gather his thoughts and calm his voice, “in our efforts to keep each other we did the exact opposite. More me than you, for sure. I have handled things badly and badly is an understatement.”

“You were always so patient with me. You’d always wait for me to come to you, to take my time. I needed the savage in you, or I thought I did at the time. That desperate thing I felt creeping out of you in stolen glances or bitten lips between your teeth, or when we fucked; no one has ever fucked me like you did. I did see all of you then, you know. And I think you saw all of me. If I made you feel confident or safe enough, you would have talked to me. And if I wasn’t so self-absorbed I would have asked.”

You never thought you’d hear these words from Joel, but all this time of self-reflection has changed him in a way that reminds you of the Joel you fell in love with. The one you could see behind all those layers of self-protection, the one you’d always hoped would emerge for you. And then he goes on, and you wish you knew what was coming so you could protect your heart from being torn to shreds.

“Maybe-” he closes his eyes looking pained, “maybe I was a narcissist. Maybe you gave me all you had and I kept wanting more, maybe I needed every part of you for myself. Maybe I needed you on your knees, on a leash, at my mercy, just to have the illusion of the certainty that you would never leave me. Maybe freedom is for those who can bear it, after all. Hell, maybe I was the one who needed the leash in the end. Maybe you gave me too much credit, my love, when you deemed me worthy of freedom.”

His words are earth-shuttering, obliterating, final. There’s nothing left to be said, at least nothing of substance. Final. The fucking word plays over and over in your head. Final. This is final. You could swear that you have felt every possible kind of pain during these four long years but new depths of agony are being discovered right now. The acid in your stomach makes your throat constrict. You feel petrified.

Joel can sense your distress, his words have been of no comfort to you. Your skin looks pale, covered with a thin layer of cold sweat; you look physically ill. Your forearms rest on your knees and he gently cups your elbow to check in on you. Are you OK? You smile weakly at him, the expression not reaching the corners of your eyes.

“You know I would give anything to take it all back, right?”

Your laughter is more lively now, not with malice or sarcasm, but with a sense of humor.

“Yeah, yeah, I think I do.”, you shake your head in twisted amusement, tilting your head up, to let the last rays of the sun warm your face, maybe bring back some of your lost color. It's getting dark now, the day is coming to an end, the curtains of the last sunlight are almost closed. Your eyes are closed too, your head still tilted back as you laugh to yourself, “You did that backwards, too, you know.”

“What?”

“You have burned everything to the ground, only to realize that you want to get it all back in one piece. I mean it’s- it’s-” you struggle to find the right words but Joel offers one of his own.

“Ridiculous..”

“I was gonna say pointless.. But that’s the thing, Joel. Choosing to be with someone is like faith. You believe because you just know. You don't have to find evidence to prove your choice at every turn, otherwise it’s just exhausting. You choose to trust yourself.”

“Trust me as your partner, you mean, not yourself.”

“Joel, it was never about trusting you..”

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand..”

“I’m not sure how to explain it- uh..”, you raise your shoulders and your brows in unison as you shake your head slightly, searching for the words. “Trust is a personal journey. ‘Trust’ doesn't mean ‘trust in you’, I’m not trusting you. No one can be sure of anyone. ‘Trust’ means that I have faith in myself, that even if you hurt me, even if you abandon me, I will not fall apart. And..” you shrug your shoulders, hugging yourself with your hands, “look at me, Joel..”, you finish, suggesting that you’re still here, still standing.

“I am, baby; I am..” Joel replies, taking in the sight of you as if it were the last time he’ll ever have the chance to, utterly compelled by your inner glow.

“I’m not mad at you Joel, not anymore. And I believe you, I really do. But I can’t get that scene out of my head. I just can’t. I can still hear the sounds, I can even recall the way you smelled when you were standing next to me.”

His hands are shaking.

“I’m not trying to hurt you, really.”

“I know.”, his voice is barely audible.

“I think you’ve done enough of that yourself. Maybe it’s time to forgive yourself?”

“Do you?” Do you, really? Do you forgive him after all that has been said? Do all these confessions illuminate the facts from a different perspective? Does it change what he did and what you went through? And if so, does that mean you're letting him go? Are you leaving him behind? Is he leaving you behind? Why is it so hard to let go? Why do you choose the safety of the known, even when it hurts you?

You choose not to answer and instead firmly insist, “You have to forgive yourself, Joel, it’s okay.” Be the better person. If not for him, then for yourself. Let him go.

“I can’t do that.”, Joel is adamant, shaking his head while he rejects your request.

“Yes, you can.” you urge him again. “As I can and do.” Let him go.

Joel never thought he would listen to those words coming out of your mouth. He doesn’t deserve them. He hasn’t earned them. “You forgive me?”, he repeats in utter shock and disbelief.

“Yes.” Loud and clear as daylight.

“I- You can’t- I don’t- I don’t deserve that.” Joel feels like he’s drowning in your so graciously offered Holy Grail, desperately trying to keep his head above the waters of your absolution.

“I can’t be the judge of that, Joel, hell, I can’t be the judge of anyone. The way I see it, you chose your actions and I chose mine. You chose to hurt me and I chose to walk away. We both lost something. Have we not suffered enough, Joel?” you ask him honestly.

“I don’t want to presume, but- isn’t it a great burden to carry on your shoulders when you try to move on? All this anger, all that bitterness?” you search his eyes for an answer but he doesn’t give you one.

You continue, hoping to get through to him. “Your feelings are your burden Joel and it doesn’t matter if I forgive you. That’s why it is you who needs to forgive yourself.”

His eyes still refuse to meet yours, stubbornly glued to the ground. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for me. We need to move forward, both of us.” is the last thing you say to him, not knowing if he even listened to half of what you just said.

You both fall into a thoughtful silence, but something you said is bugging him. He can’t quite figure it out, so he turns to look at you, to savor you while he still has the chance. He knows that his time is limited.

You’re just sitting there with him, trying to comfort him, you of all people. You seem lighter now, fidgeting absentmindedly with your fingers as if some of your burden has already been lifted. And as his gaze sweeps over you, he sees it again. He sees the white shirt hugging your body and he knows what’s troubling him.

I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume, I don’t want to presume.

His heart beats rapidly in his chest, panic rising inside him.

“I’ve been with you for the last four years.”

“Excuse me?” your hands freeze as you turn to face him, clearly confused.

“You said you didn’t want to presume anything and I need to set the record straight. There was and is no other woman in my life except you.”

“Joel,” you blush shyly, “this is none of my business, you are free-”

“No. No. I need you to know this, it’s important to me. I meant everything I said. You have done nothing wrong. My feelings for you have never changed-”

“Joel, please..” you beg him to stop, you can’t have this conversation now, it’s too soon. No, you’re wrong. It’s too late; too soon means there’s a future ahead of you. A future where you both fit in the same universe.

“I don’t want you to think that I came all the way out here just to tie up some loose ends and move on. That is not what this is about.”

“If you expect me to tell you about my personal life..” your what now?

“No, I don’t. And I don’t think I could handle it, anyway. You are a free woman and you deserve the world. Unlike me; I don’t deserve anything and I’ll never be free of you.”

Your chin is now trembling and you bite your lower lip to stop the involuntary muscle contraction. You can’t decipher if it’s from anger for the way things came to be or from deep, excruciating sadness for how Joel feels. For how he makes you feel.

“Free woman, huh?”, you whisper bitterly, looking down at your feet, willing yourself not to cry.

“Yes, free, as you should always have been and I’m sorry I couldn’t see it sooner.”

Joel then picks up the divorce papers from the floor next to him as he’s fishing a pen out of his pocket. He stares at you and then at the blank space where his signature should be, next to yours. He splays his palm over the last page as if to straighten it out, but it almost looks like he’s caressing it. He brings the ball of the pen to the white surface and for a moment his hand lingers over it. He doesn’t dare look at you again, his resolve is not that strong. Finally, finally he signs, filling the empty spot and he hands you the contract. It’s a strange moment, the one before the signature and the one after it.

Everything seems to be the same; it is just a signature.

Everything feels completely different; it is not just a signature.

Your fingertips brush his as you reach out to take it, the touch sending shivers down your spine. Your slightly trembling hands hold the papers gently, not sure you wanna hold on to them or scatter them on the ground. Your thumb swipes softly over his signature.

You feel it, now. You feel the ground beneath your bare feet, the warmth of the earth, the weight of your footing. The falling has stopped. The feather finally rests. You have landed.

Joel moves to stand on his feet, as you keep staring at the drying ink, when you feel something fall from above onto your thumb; but you can’t see anything as it is immediately absorbed by the hungry pores of the paper, slightly smudging his signature. You look up to catch him as he dries his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“Free as a bird, baby, ready to fly over the world.”, Joel smiles at you with a look of reverence and devotion in his eyes.

You picture the floating feather in your head and smile back at him with a serenity he hasn’t seen in a long time.

“I think I just want to walk for a while. One step at a time.”

He nods, his eyes still full of emotion and you watch as he begins to walk slowly towards his truck, when suddenly he turns his body to face you but continues to walk backward in the same direction.

“Hey!” he calls to you with a mischievous smile, raising his chin to you.

“Yeah?” you answer, your voice wavering slightly as you try to hide your smile.

“Can I take you to dinner sometime?” he asks as he reaches for his driver’s door and opens it, waiting for your answer, which never comes because you think he’s joking. But he continues to stare at you, with no expectations, quietly, earnestly, sincerely, with a soft, shy smile on his lips. Oh.

Oh.

“Joel..” is all you breathe out, closing your eyes for a moment before you look at him again, because his name is all that is left in your very being right now. Joel.

He seems lighter, too.

“Maybe, one day..?”

“Yeah.. Maybe, one day..”

previous |

Taglist: @southernbe, @orcasoul, @auteurdelabre @leggtostandon @sarahhxx03

@zliteraturehoe @msmorningstaarr @gossipgirl-03 @vabeachazn @joeldjarin

@sofiparallel

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal fandom #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #fanfic #joel miller #joel miller angst #infidelity joel miller #joel miller au #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us hbo #hbo the last of us #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x original character #joel miller x oc #joel smut #joel x reader #joel the last of us #joel x you #joel x oc #angst fic #cheater joel miller

[fictionalmenobsessor]

CW: gn reader*, angst, fluff, mentions of divorce, beautiful grovelling committed by none other than Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley because he’s our man 💪

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

there is a part 2 in the vault with smut if you guys want it 🫣 (as this story is gender neutral, the daughter can be adopted or surrogated, if you wish to put it that way. but the next part will specify that the reader is afab)*

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

husband!Simon, who is gutted but understanding when you say you want a divorce. your relationship had taken a slow but scrutinising turn ever since you had your first kid.

the flame wasn’t there anymore, and you had gone into a depressive state due to the overwhelming pressure of having to take care of your daughter by yourself every time he got deployed to another country, then having to pray he would make it out alive.

ex-husband!Simon, who moves out in a matter of days after the talk, going to a small local motel so you had your space. you are devastated at the loss of warmth on the other side of the bed. although it wouldn’t have been any different if he stayed, as you had both been isolating yourselves for a while.

ex-husband!Simon, who comes around every weeks to check up on you and your child. making sure that everything was okay, which it wasn’t, but you had pulled yourself together to make sure you were there for her.

ex-husband!Simon, who still comes to parent-teacher interviews/conferences, resting a loving hand on your thigh as your daughter’s teacher talks about how much of an amazing student she is.

you expected nothing of it as it could’ve just been a natural instinct from him.

like how he still wore his ring………. every day…

right…………

ex-husband!Simon, who helps out in the kitchen one night, after dropping off your daughter at a sleepover; passing dishes back and forth, making sure to add lingering touches, to see if they were reciprocated, or if he should stop. and you just ignored them for the time being, not wanting to give him the time of day due to the state he left you in.

ex-husband!Simon, who is on your door step the night before the divorce is finalised.

──────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ────────

“I’m not signing the papers.” He stated firmly.

Your brows furrowed at the sight of him on your doorstep this late at night; speechless, you just let out a scoff of surprise.

“What?” You asked him confused, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m not signing the papers,” He repeated, “I want to make this work.”

“You don’t get to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Waltz back into my life like it’s nothing,” You answered, “I wanted a divorce for a reason.”

“I’ll be better.” His gaze narrowed, “I’ll prioritise you and our daughter, I didn’t do a good job last time. But now, I’ll be there every step of the way, and support you.”

“I won’t leave you in the dark again. And if you’re lost, I’ll make sure to be the light.”

Your gaze softened as he grabbed your hand, bringing it up to his chest.

“Please,” He whispered, “Can we try again?”

And just like that, the walls that you had built up to make sure you didn’t get hurt again, came crashing down.

#cod imagines #call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost x you #angst #exhusband #simon riley #tf 141 #task force 141 #cod mwii #cod mw2 #ghost call of duty #ghost cod #writers on tumblr #gender neutral reader

[muchlovekatia]

✧ ˚ · . 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐅 —

. . theodore nott x

reader ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

SYNOPSIS : maybe theodore nott isn't the best boyfriend. but he is rather observant, isn't he?

⋆·˚ ༘ * 🔹

warnings! :

none :)

theodore nott and acknowledging the little things <3

.ೃ࿐ 🎞️

〰️

"i'm thinkin' about reading this new book," you spoke, your hands absentmindedly running through theo's ruffled hair in the way that you knew he loved. "mia told me it was good. my friend, remember?"

you really didn't want to bother him much whenever he seemed on the brink of sleep, but theo always insisted that he loved it whenever you talked while he was tired. he said it helped him fall asleep, which you couldn't deprive him of, so, late at night, propped up against your headboard with his head on your torso and his arms wrapped around your middle, you rattled off meaningless details about your day, from how you were a moment late to lunch, to that there was an ache in your left leg. sometimes, he responded, other times, he didn't, and you never pushed him to, either.

"the one who keeps holding you in class?" he muttered, and you huffed a laugh. since you'd developed a friendship with mia, you fell victim to talking a lot in class and getting held behind for extra work. theo loved complaining about it, too.

"yea." a soft smile tugged at your lips. "it's called 'the book thief'. from what i've heard, it sounds pretty good."

much to your surprise, theo seemed to wake himself up, drawing his head from your torso and instead, lightly resting his chin there. you peered down at him, a question in your eyes, but he spoke before you could.

"what's it about?" he asked, his eyes darkened in the dull light of the lamp on your bedside table. you breathed a laugh, skepticism creeping across your face.

"since when have you ever shown interest in what i read?" you inquired in return. often, you told your boyfriend about the books you were reading, and though he avidly listened, he never really asked about it much. below you, theo pursed his lips, face scrunching in what you couldn't guess the meaning of.

"since mia started giving you recommendations," came his reply after a bit of thinking. "why are you asking anyways? are you implying that i'm dumb 'cause i don't read a lot?" he sent you a sarcastically skeptical face, to which your mouth fell open to in mock surprise.

"i would never," you scoffed as if he was crazy for even thinking it. he kept that same look on his face for what felt like eternities until your hands reached out to tug the corners of his mouth into a smile. though he let you, each time you retracted your fingers, his mouth would drop back into that frown. "so difficult," you muttered with a laugh. theo tilted his head to the side.

"so?"

giving up, you dropped your hands at your sides and looked away, thinking back on your earlier interaction with your classmate and what she had said about the book. "i'm pretty sure it's about this german girl... something about her moving to a foster home 'cause her mom's on the run. takes place during the holocaust." your eyes strayed back to his own, which were intently assessing your face. you grinned. "why do you care, seriously?"

theo propped himself on his elbows, leaning up to kiss your lips. "can't care 'bout my girlfriend's life anymore, huh?" you giggled when he peppered your face with tender pecks, his lips soft and warm on your skin.

"answer the question, teddy." you poked his side, turning your head to the left so he could no longer kiss you. he sighed through his nose, leaning back again and shrugging as best as he could in his position.

"i dunno. i wanna talk to you," he uttered, and your laughter died, your smile blooming even further. you couldn't help but love him even more in those moments, your heart so full you felt it might explode inside your chest. "be part of your life more."

"you already are," you reassured, tilting your head to the side and reaching a hand out to run your fingers through his hair once more. he hummed his approval, resting his head on your torso the way he had before you had interrupted his sleepiness.

"okay. continue, please," theo stated against your clothed skin, hands gripping the hem of your shirt. you smiled.

"alright."

two weeks later.

〰️

the first thing you felt when you woke up was a chaste kiss against the skin of your forehead, shifting, and cold air. you struggled to open your eyes, still weak under the weight of sleep. theo's voice pulled you out a bit.

"gotta get to class, mi amore. i'll be back soon," he said. you hummed a small acknowledgment, not bothering to say anything more before you shifted below the sheets and faintly heard the door click open and closed.

an hour later, and you were sitting up against the headboard, yawning and stretching and rubbing the sleep from your eyes. the clock on your bedside table told you it was 8:03 am. still too early, but breakfast was calling to your empty stomach. you looked to the side, upset that theo was gone and expecting the sheets to be completely empty. they weren't.

a few inches from your thigh, was a thin, rectangular box. a present. it was wrapped up in a sort of newspaper design, tied with a red ribbon. calling to be opened. tentatively, you twisted your body, tucked your legs underneath you, and picked up the gift. it was cold and stark in your hands. not wanting to ruin the intricate paper design, you carefully unwrapped it, mind whirling to a bunch of different thoughts. today wasn't anything special. you couldn't think of a reason theo would gift you something, but then again, he did love buying you things without you even asking. was it even from theo?

your breath caught in your throat once it was all opened, a smile blooming on your lips. a copy of the book thief. it was— he even went with the color scheme to simply wrap it up. faded newspaper and red. you huffed a laugh, opening it up, and what was on the inside surprised you even more.

'turns out mia has good book taste.' he had read it? there was 525 pages in the book, and he read all of it. for you. flipping open the pages, what you found baffled you just further. he had left notes, as well, little annotations across the pages, with words like 'this made me think of you', or, 'we should do this together'.

mia had good taste, indeed.

.

doing this instead of studying 💪💪

#harry potter #theodore nott #theo nott #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott x slytherin!reader #theodore nott x y/n #theodore nott x you #katiasworks #theo nott fic #theo nott fluff #theodore nott fluff #theonottsmut #theo nott rec #theodore nott fic #theodore nott smut #theodore nott fanfiction #theodore nott fanfic #theodore #💼:: katiasworks

[tayytayy12]

National Anthem | Reader x LS2

Summary | American boy falls head over heels for his English girl

Warnings | None, just fluff

FaceClaim | Beabadobee

Type | SMAU

Yourusername

Liked by | LoganSargeant, Lilymhe, LilyZneimer, Laufey, and 100,280 others

Tagged | @/LoganSargeant, @/Laufey

Yourusername - Some of us (Logan), go to places like Monaco on private planes, and others (Me and Laufey) hop onto a double decker bus and go where the driver takes us, miss you American boy rah 🤍🤍🇺🇸🇺🇸🦅🦅

View all comments

User1 - I want to be in Y/n’s and Laufey’s duo

User2 - Its a need

Yourusername - *trio* @/Junialin has a cold 🥲

User3 - Thanks Y/n for feeding us with Logan pictures

User4 - She and Logan are literally everything to me 😭

Laufey - She bought Twinkie’s cause she’s never ever seen them before, then remembered her boyfriends American and got sad because she couldn’t be the first to discover American things anymore

Yourusername - Don’t be a hater ❌❌❌

User5 - She’s so British

LoganSargeant - Miss you too, Boris 🤍🤍

Yourusername - DID YOU JUST CALL ME BORIS JOHNSON?

Lilymhe - COME TO THE PADDOCK NOW 👹👹👹

Yourusername - Tell that to my uni teacher bby 🥲

User6 - I need more of her paddock fits, her silverstone 23 ate so hard

User7 - She’s been to one race in over a whole season, she needs to show up for him more smh

LoganSargeant

Liked by - Yourusername, JuniaLin and 132,862 others

Tagged | @/yourusername

LoganSargeant - A few photos that have been sent to me by my English girl in the past couple days, I’m having serious withdrawals right now.

View all comments

Yourusername - Me too baby 🥲

LoganSargeant - ITS BEEN TWO MONTHS

Yourusername - IK 😩

User8 - WHO HAS WHO SAVED AS ‘my lover ♡’ ?!????!???!!???

Yourusername - Lo to me, he’s my American boy 🤞😙

User9 - SHE GOT A CAT TATOO LMAO

User10 - This man is saying he’s having withdrawals from not seeing his girl and mine can’t even text me back

User11 - So real

User12 - We all need a Logan Sargeant

Laufey - She cried to a picture of you on her bed side table last night 💕💕

Yourusername - I hate you

User13 - She’s so unsupportive of him, Oml

User14 - Girl what

User15 - I see their point, he’s always with her on his brakes but she can nerve show up to a GP for him

User16 - She’s defo a gold digger

User17 - She’s a full time journalism student at CAMBRIDGE, she has more important things to do

User18 - And she’s been with him since she was sixteen and he was seventeen and they met when her brother was racing with him, she is anything but a gold digger

User19 - ANDDD, she’s said so many times that she’d rather be at Logan’s races supporting him then being anywhere else, their probably the most unproblematic loving couple in the whole sport world

LoganSargeant added to their story!

Replies -

User20 - HES GOING TO SEE Y/N AHHH

Yourusername - Oh my fucking god what

LoganSargeant - Surprise pretty girl 🤍

Yourusername

Liked by - LoganSargeant, GracieAbrams and 762,910 others

Tagged | @/LoganSargeant

Yourusername - I’m liking this American boy 💕 the best surprise ever I love you my Eagle Grah wtf is a kilometre USA pretty boy, it was the worst months of my life without you, the US to my UK, forever the ant to my dec

View all comments

User21 - STOP I LOVE THEM

User22 - The forehead kiss 🥲

User23 - “MY PRONOUNS ARE USA🇺🇸🦅🇺🇸🏈🇺🇸” meets “WHAT ON EARTH IS GOING ON IN THE HOUSE OF COMMONS🇬🇧🇬🇧🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿🏴󠁧󠁢󠁥󠁮󠁧󠁿⛪️⛪️🏰🏰”

Comments liked by author and LoganSargeant

LoganSargeant - My favourite girl forever 🤍

Yourusername - I loooooveeee youuuuu 🤍🤍

User24 - My favourite couple ever

User25 - I need this kind of love

User26 - We all do

LoganSargeant - My Royal Monarch 🤍

Yourusername - My national anthem 🤍

——

#formula one x reader #f1 x reader #f1 one shot #f1 imagine #charles leclerc x reader #logan sargent x reader #logan sargent fluff #ls2 x reader #ls2 x you #ls2 imagine #ls2 fic #ls2 fluff #ls2 x y/n #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you #f1 x the internet #f1 x female oc #formula one x you #formula one x y/n #formula one x oc #ln4 one shot #ln4 x y/n #ln4 fluff #ln4 imagine #ln4 fic #ln4 x reader #ln4 x you #f1 x female driver

[levisrations]

Post war Levi!

Warnings: none

Levis pretty private when it comes to his personal life, so really it’s no surprise his former squad members had no idea he was in a relationship let alone got married recently. They knew of your existence but never had a suspicion about the nature of your relationship. You and Levi were just friends to them and you helped him with whatever he needed. Little did they know, you and Levi were in love.

It’s not that Levi wanted to hide you, he just doesn’t want people asking too many questions. Also he still has that lingering feeling that everything can go to shit and he could lose you but theres no imminent danger anymore, he’s not a soldier fighting anymore. His logic is not sound to you but you respect his wishes nonetheless.

Now you were married, sharing a home, the situation is different now. So this time when former Levi squad visit their captain to catch up, they were a little shocked upon seeing you open the door to Levis home. Jean, Connie and Armin immediately just thought you were there to help Levi do something.

“Hi guys! Come in!” You greet them with a big smile. They weren’t expecting you there, although maybe they should’ve, they know you and Levi are close.

Levi comes into the living room where you all gathered in and they all greet each other, happy to see each other.

“It’s nice to see you! We weren’t expecting to see you here today.” Armin says to you as he sets down some gifts he brought for Levi. He never likes to show up empty handed to someones home.

“Well I live here now so expect it the next time you guys visit.” As you so casually announce that fact Connie spots a ring on your finger, mouth now open. He looks at Levis hand, spots a matching ring. Levi is looking at Connie waiting for him to connect the dots.

“Wait a minute, hold on” Connie starts, Armin and Jean look around him confused. “Are you two… married?”

“Yes” you both answered.

“What- when- how-“ Jean is beside himself, Armin is smiling congratulating the both of you. You and Levi explain you’ve been in a relationship for a long time just kept it to yourselves. Jean suggests we all celebrate, to show how happy they are for you and Lev, especially for Levi. It’s such wonderful news that Levi found someone to love him and care for him, not judge him, not pity him, not treat him differently, just love him for who he is.

#levi ackerman #levi #attack on titan #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader #aot #levi aot #levi ackerman fluff #levi fluff #dadvi

[carpkoinobori]

[❣︎] good luck, babe — huh yunjin x reader

[𖤐] 1/3 [please be aware this is all fiction! none of this is real and idols behavior is not accurately represented.]

song(s): good luck babe - chappel roan | runaway runaway - mars argo | casual - chappel roan |

summary: you’re dream was to debut with your best friend. what do you do when she doesn’t want to debut as your “friend” anymore?

pairing: idol!huh yunjin x soloist!fem!reader | slight idol!nakamura kazuha x soloist!fem!reader

tags: angst, eventual happy ending

wc: 2.7k

cw: mentions of dieting, internalized homophobia LITE, period-typical homophobia

ex: not beta read will do it later sorry 😞

jennifer had been your best friend since highschool— or I guess you should say huh yunjin, now. you both met in your freshman year, and bonded over your love of music and dance. she was loud, extroverted, but not in an obnoxious way— she was like the sun, shining brightly, oozing charisma. She lit up a room, and it was all you could do to chase her warmth like a desperate, frost-bitten flower.

you were still extroverted, albeit enjoying time away from people. you weren’t popular, you were a bit more reserved, a bit more closed off, but relatively well liked for your humor and academic prowess. You had one or two close friends, one of them being yunjin.

it was the summer before 2019 when she told you she wanted to be an idol. You were sleeping over at her house, since your parents were fighting, again. you, who had no real plans after highschool, whose parents didn’t really care what became of their daughter— you smiled and held her hand. You’d follow the sun anywhere it went.

you both made it onto produce 48, jumping up and down, screaming and crying for just the pure joy of it. Alone, again, with her, you held her head in your hands, finally kneeling in front of each other on the hardwood floor, your foreheads touching as you both panted, giggling and smiling still. The moment quickly broke away when you heard the door open, breaking apart faster than you could blink. That’s when it all started, you could say. When you realized you might like your best friend.

you were a rising star, praised for your smooth, detailed dance and soft, honey way of singing. You began to rank higher and higher, everyone loved you— everyone but your best friend. Everyone but who you wished would love you.

a part of you thinks if you weren’t going through your angsty teenaged romance, you wouldn’t have tried as hard to debut as you did. All your songs were about her, her hair, her voice, her eyes— everything about her. She was your reason to keep going. Maybe she deserved some credit, after all, you would never had been as popular if everyone wasn’t so curious to know who Korea’s new rising rookie was so in love with.

when yunjin was eliminated, it was the worst day of your life. The cameras caught you, with your hand over your mouth, frozen, tears falling down your face. You struggled to breath, but finally got up and ran to her. You didn’t even care if the cameras caught you, you didn’t care- you just needed her- your best friend- you needed her.

you cried for days. you tried not to bother anyone, muffling it with a pillow. you got so good at crying quietly, but everyday you’d wake up with puffy, red-rimmed eyes, and got told to cover them up. You tried to keep contact, but she “couldn’t handle the reminder,” right now, or so she said. Either way, there was a hundred messages you sent before you got that sharp reminder that you would never be anything more than a friend. maybe less, now. She was never yours. You were on borrowed time. the sun shares its warmth with the whole world, you were just naive enough to believe it was you who allowed it to be shared.

after that, Korea’s rising star fell back to earth. The pretty sunflower wilted, and broke apart. You were eliminated shortly after, and some people put two and two together. There was never enough proof for a scandal, but some people believed that you fell apart because that person you were writing about left, but they still weren’t sure who. God, they’re so dumb.

you continued to be a trainee, lying in wait.

you got called into a meeting. You had the opportunity to debut in a new group. Le Sserafim, they called it, an anagram for im fearless. A part of you laughed. you were never fearless. You were a coward. You couldn’t even tell her how much you loved her. You didn’t try to think about it, though. You hadn’t heard that name in years—

it was three years before you heard the name huh yunjin again. She was coming back, and she was going to debut. In the same group.

and like coming home after years of being lost. obviously, you were ecstatic.

all the starving, all the work, all the tears and pain and suffering— it was all for her. it’d all be worth it to feel her warmth again, to get your sun back, to end this constant winter.

You’d get to be her sunflower, again.

The heat of August in Korea was in full force, and you were wearing nothing too impressive, just a Nirvana shirt you’d had for years and a pair of baggy jeans when you saw her. To be completely transparent, you had heard her before you saw her. You could never forget that laugh. You peeked your head from behind the wall, peering down the corridor. You practically ran to her.

You beamed, barely contained excitement buzzing around you. “JEN! You’re back! Oh my god, how are you? I missed y-” you were cut off. She smiled at you, but it didn’t look.. real. It look practiced. She didn’t smile at you like how she used to.

“I’m good, and yeah, it’s great to be back. Nice to see you again, y/n,” she nodded, before she continued walking with the staff member into a different room, farther down along the corridor.

What just happened? Did she.. not like you, anymore? Did she forget? Did she move on? What were you saying— there was nothing to move on from. Stress relief, she called it. Just a distraction. Casual, easy, quick. What were you thinking? No, really, what were you thinking? She had only dated guys all throughout high school, you were probably just her experiment, just something she tried out.

You decided to find out.

You cornered her in a hallway. Not very classy, you know, but where else could you find her?

“Jen- is there a reason you stopped talking to me? I just- you probably know, we’re gonna debut together now, we need to.. work together. I just- I need to know. Did it mean nothing to you? You were my best friend,”

Yunjin looked vaguely uncomfortable, cringing towards the wall, looking to the side before she spoke. “Listen, y/n, we’re about to debut. I’m about to debut. I’ve been working on this for years, and so have you. Why would we throw it all away? We should focus on our debut, not whatever silly things we did when we were younger,” she shrugged, giving a practiced grin. “Besides, it was never serious, right? You know how I am, we both agreed we were just bored-“

“Bored? Because we were fucking bored? You’ve got to be kidding me, Jen. There’s no way you believe that- I fucking loved you-“

“Yeah, well, it’s over now. We’re debuting. Get it together,” she spat acidly, pushing past you and opening the door to the practice studio before looking over her shoulder. “I mean it, y/n. Just forget about it. It didn’t mean anything to me, and it shouldn’t have meant anything to you either,” she said icily, about to close the door. “Just call me Yunjin, now,” she muttered, door clicking shut behind her, leaving you a bitter, heart broken mess.

you didn’t follow. You figured she needed time alone- she didn’t need you, anymore. you wouldn’t have known how wrong she felt saying it, how it felt like ripping out her heart every time she watched your face break. It was for your own good, she thought. You didn’t need her ruining your chances. You both wanted this, right? To debut? That was the dream— she was doing you a favor.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t think I can debut in a group,” you said seriously, your hands clasped together. “I would rather be a soloist.. I’ve already written a few songs, I’ve planned the concept— you know how popular I was during Produce 48, right? I swear, just give me a shot-“ You pleaded, beginning to ramble before he cut you off.

“Y/n, you’re an excellent singer, and a well-rounded dancer. You’re an asset, to say the least. I never really wanted you in a group to begin with. I think you have a future as a soloist,” he smiled, nodding. “Sure, why not? Tell me your ideas,”

——————————————————————————————————

it all went from there. You were gonna debut. Either way, even if you were in a group- it wouldn’t be with your best friend, Jennifer. It’d be with Huh Yunjin, idol extraordinaire. You didn’t like her, much. You didn’t want to be her flower, or anyones, for that matter. Returning to the ground was a better choice. Sunflowers were always too bright for you anyway. You preferred white carnations, anyway.

You made your debut around the same time as Le Sserafim, and it was a smash hit. You released your debut album, LIMERENCE, with the title track ‘Good Luck, Babe!’ You were widely praised, forums discussing whether or not the song was about the same person you sang about in Produce 48. They were right, of course, but they’d never guess who. You were on a music show, getting your first win. The Le Sserafim members clapped, and you smiled graciously at them, your gaze lingering on Yunjin’s before you turned to the cameras, smiling, waving, holding the trophy before you were handed the mic for an encore. You smiled, readjusting the trophy in your arms before your voice began to ring out on the loud stage.

“I’m fine, it’s cool, you can say that we are nothing but you know the truth,” you began, glancing at Yunjin not-so-subtlely.

“and guess I’m the fool, with her arms out like an angel through the car sun roof,” memories of fooling around, joking, sneaking out your parents house to meet her, to meet Yunjin. “I don’t wanna call it off, but you don’t wanna call it love,” your voice grew in volume, periodically facing and waving at the cameras, before facing Yunjin once again. You really didn’t care if this was posted on forums, saying there was something going on saying you were rude, you didn’t care— you just needed her to know.

“You only wanna be the one that I call baby,” Yunjin tensed under your gaze, averting her eyes. Sakura and Chaewon looked at her knowingly, a bit disappointed. Kazuha and Eunchae looked a bit confused on why, exactly, you were staring at Yunjin like you wanted her to explode.

“You could kiss a hundred boys in bars, shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling. You could say it’s just the way you are, make a new excuse, another stupid reason,” memories of the seen texts, never responded to, flashed through Yunjin’s mind. That stupid argument a few months ago- was this about her? Who was she kidding, of course it was about her, y/n only loved her. She was secure, in that. She hated it though, she didn’t want to ruin your chances, you should move on from her— she wasn’t good for you, she never would be, you deserved better.

“Good luck, babe! Well, good luck, babe! You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling. Good luck, babe! Well good luck, babe! You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling,” you walked across the stage, staring into the cameras as you said this. You winked, giving a winning smile before continuing. “I’m cliche, who cares? It’s a sexually explicit kind of love affair,” another wink. “And I cry, it’s not fair,” you gave a theatric frown, pouting. “I just need a little lovin, I just need a little air,” You kept your gaze off Yunjin for the next few lyrics, acting as if you were now pleading to the crowd, the cameras, for love. Yunjin continued to watch nervously. Why weren’t you looking at her anymore? It started to sound as if you were really, actually over her.

“Think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love. I just wanna love someone who calls me baby-” you began again, gaze lingering on Kazuha, winking at her general direction, waving, and turning back to the cameras. You continued to sing, entertaining the crowd before beginning to look a little more bitter, a little more jaded, a little more angry. “When you wake up next to him in the middle of the night, with your head in your hands, you’re nothing more than his wife. And when you think about me, all of those years ago, you’re standing face to face with ‘I told you so’, you know I hate to say it, ‘I told you so,’ you know I hate to say, but- I told you so!” You cried, clutching the mic as you sang passionately, years of resentment, of confusion, of anger, of regret, pain- everything you had felt for Yunjin, everything you would feel. This is what this was for.

“You could kiss a hundred boys in bars, shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling, you can say it’s just the way you are, make a new excuse, another stupid reason,” you spat, making brief eye contact with Yunjin, hatred flashing in your eyes, a mask for the hurt to wear.

“Good luck, babe, well good luck, babe. You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling. Good luck, babe. Well good luck, babe! You’d have to stop the world just to stop the feeling,” you sang, crescendo falling, the song ending as the crowd cheered your name, and you finally walked off stage. You walked the building until you found an isolated part with little to no people. You leaned on the vending machine next to the water fountain, sighing. You told your manager you had to use the bathroom, but it was just an excuse to slip away.

You looked up when you heard footsteps. It was the pretty Le Sserafim member you saw standing near Sakura. Kazuha, you think her name was? You’d have to double check.

“Oh, hello,” You smiled, bowing slightly.

“Ack- oh, hello! Congratulations on your win- I liked your song,” The Japanese girl bowed, clasping her hands together.

“Thank you, I quite liked your song as well,” You praised. “You’re very pretty,” you said, a slight grin on your face as the other girl blushed, spluttering with her words. “What’s your name?” “Kazuha- Nakamura Kazuha,” she responded quickly, stuttering. You figured she was Japanese from her name, and smiled warmly. “it’s nice to meet you, then. I’m Y/n,” You nodded, outstretching your hand, leaning in close to the flustered girl. She took it and you shook her hand, before hearing another set of footsteps.

you looked up to see Yunjin, who looked a tad angry. “Y/n. Congratulations on your win,” she said in a stilted, stiff tone.

“Thank you, Yunjin,” you replied back coolly, carefully practiced facade slipping back into place.

“I’ve got to get going now, Jen- oh, sorry, Yunjin,” You said mockingly, not using honorifics. There were no cameras to catch you here, anyway. You walked off, leaving a dumbfounded Kazuha and even angrier Yunjin.

“…she’s really pretty-,” Kazuha began dreamily, clasping her hands together.

“No,” Yunjin said gruffly, beginning to walk back to the group with Kazuha. “Don’t even think about it, Kazuha! She’s mine,” Yunjin exclaimed childishly, warning Kazuha a bit loudly, causing Chaewon and Sakura to turn to her. “If that song was about you, Yunjin, then I think she might not be yours as much as you think,” Sakura said plainly, tone giving no room for argument as Yunjin averted her eyes, shame and embarrassment burning her face a light red.

‘This was going to be a long comeback period,’ Yunjin thought bitterly, groaning internally as she saw Kazuha begin to scroll though y/n’s Instagram posts as they waited for their manager’s car.

ermmmm hello! I’ve never written for x reader before so I’ve only ever written in third person, bear with me here while I learn how to write this genre ><! this will be three-ish(?) parts. i don’t know who for sure y/n will end up with yet, but.. I will be posting backstories to this, as it was very yn-centric and we don’t get much of yunjins thoughts. Y/n seems delusional but I SWEAAAR she’s not. I’ll post some more works abt how they acted and stories from pd48 days… she’s not insane guys!

also white carnations symbolize pure love and GOOD LUCK. get it?GOOD LUCK. GOOD LUCK, BABE! I’m so funny.

i wrote this in like 3 hours of pure chappel roan good luck babe brain rot pleas forgive me. I’ll beta read it in a few hours after I sleep. thank you jihyoruri for letting me ramble in ur anons for so long 🙏also I love asks plssss send them. byebye now, have a good day! :3

#le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x fem reader #huh yunjin x reader #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim #huh yunjin #girl group images #huh yunjin x fem reader #yunjin x reader #nakamura kazuha #kazuha x reader #nakamura kazuha x reader #kazuha x fem reader #yunjins a little toxic and childish but that’s okay #kazuha’s just happy to be here #reader is going through that one homoerotic friendship #that you can never recover from #fuck a situationship I LOVE YOU 😭😭😭 #carps works #carps masterlist

[im-chilling]

I feel like more people should talk about the backstory we have on Stone because we have some good details.

Like the fact his sister is a candy "drug" dealer, and I'm pretty sure his sister experimented on him

The first first one I assume is Stone wanting to be replaced by a rabbit so she can experiment on that instead of him.

The caption for the second picture was "No Stone you can't leave yet it's for science"

Also we know his family was shit

And there's also this information about him

Sorry if none of this makes any sense I just want to talk about this Stones backstory. It seems so interesting. I also want to know more about Avrille. But at the same time I have no idea how canon any of this is anymore because it's really old. You can find all the pictures I used on zeddyzi's Tumblr.

#ramshackle #ramshackle avrille #ramshackle stone #stone ramshackle #avrille ramshackle #i need angst and back stories damnit #i also need to find more backstory on Vinnie and Skipp #at this point I'm just trying to find as much ramshackle content as i can #i need to sleep

[sailor-aviator]

Hey.

Go ahead and get settled because this will be...long, in true Liz fashion.

So, by now I'm sure most of you have heard what's happened. If not, you can search this blog for some answers or others for more.

I joined this fandom offiicially at the end of September after being a long time lurker. I had just lost my job and times were uncertain for me. I felt inspired to write, and as someone whose formative years were shaped by the fandom experience, I wanted to feel that sense of belonging again - to feel like a part of a community. I've talked about it on here before, but I started my fandom days in the original Hunger Games fandom when the first movie had just come out, and then I shifted gears towards the SuperWhoLock fandom. If you know anything about SuperWhoLock, then you know you had to have pretty tough fucking skin to be a part of any of it.

Of course, this was back in the day when fandom was an actual community and not authors having to beg for scraps of engagement and people thinking its a numbers game. I was a fairly large blog within the SuperWhoLock community (Waywardly-Carrying-On was the username), but I left fandom for a few years because life got hectic and I felt like I had outgrown the fandom itself as I was no longer watching any of the shows. As the years went on, I started to yearn for the fandom experience again, which is how I found myself dipping toes into several different ones.

I was so excited to publish my first fanfic. I had convinced myself that I wasn't a good writer (much to the chagrin of my irl friends), and I had put a pause on writing my original story. I wanted to write this idea about a cowboy and a girl using characters that I had grown to love like I did way back in my older days. So, I started posting, and I was so excited for the story, that I kept posting almost daily. MamaMay was one of the first people to embrace not only my story, but me as a person into the fandom. She made me feel welcomed and wanted.

Pretty much right off the bat I was already getting anons telling me that I was being too much and that I needed to calm down with all the posting. I was confused because...this is Tumblr. It's literally a blogging website? Why wouldn't I post? I decided to ignore the mean words (not before giving my opinion, of course) and kept on doing my thing. Well, the anons got continually worse and worse. I had a suspiscion as to who the anons could be, but I never had concrete proof. So, I experimented with blocking suspects until finally it worked. I'm not naming names because that's not my style, so don't even bother asking.

The fact of the matter is, some of you have entered fandom spaces for the first time, and you don't know how to act. You don't care to learn fandom etiquette as you've made abundantly clear by calling fandom olds every name under the sun while utilizing the anonymous feature. Newsflash, you're part of the problem. You're the reason why authors don't want to publish anymore. You are the reason that something that's supposed to be fun is starting to feel like a goddamn chore.

How many times can authors on here say that we aren't machines? We have lives outside of this website: family, friends, jobs, school, etc. Some of you really are just hellbent on making everyone around you miserable, and it's sad. You can't just leave well enough alone and let people enjoy something, no you feel like everyone has to enjoy it the same way as you.

Some of you go after authors on here because of some weird sense of jealousy too. I don't know why my shit blew up, babe, I really don't. But I started out with no followers and no support just like everyone else. I'll tell you what helped me though: following fandom etiquette and reaching out to other creators to build an actual community. None of this "I've reblogged three of your things and now I'm messaging you so that you return the favor." No, I reached out to make actual friendships which is what fandom is SUPPOSED to be. If someone was clearly not interested, it was fine!! I backed off and kept doing my own thing.

Some of you think being mean on the internet makes you big and bad. Guess what! It doesn't! It's loser mentality and I feel genuinely sorry for you. I'm sorry that people in your own life made you feel so small as to feel like you had to lash out at strangers on the internet who are just trying to have fun.

Anyway, this is my really long way of saying that I am taking a break for a little bit. I have no idea how long it will be - could be the weekend, could be a couple of weeks, could be forever. I need time to decide if this is something I want to keep persuing. If I come back, I don't know if I will remain a TGM blog or if I'll shift gears and hop into another fandom with a rebrand. Guess we'll just have to see.

To the people on here who have been a constant source of joy, laughter, and support: thank you. From the bottom of my heart. Your presence has meant everything to me, and I hope that my break sees me wanting to come back and giggle about the silly plane movie with you all again.

Nothing but love,

Liz 💛

#psa #public service announcement #this has been a psa #liz speaks #liz rambles #long post

[lintubintu]

Kot Kot Review

I like Kot Kot a lot.

Despite the almost harsh difference between the intro and how the song progresses, it´s not too out there.

The music seems chaotic and structured, is melodic, nostalgic and two-faced more out of necessity than provocation, and it´s ongoing. It spirals.

There is a lovely moodiness to it that seems mature and balanced, deliberately using the intro as a bridge again and repurposing the funky "kot kot" into something that softens into the lighter part of the song. The change of pace is noticeable but not alarming and almost hopeful.

Kot Kot is not a big song nor does it exist to troll. It enjoys being silly with the chicken theme and builds a narrative that can be purposely misunderstood by people who don´t like him.

During my first listen I was a little confused but intrigued by the seemingly contradicting parts that adapt well by the second listen. Pop and Rap evolve from clashing into shaking hands.

It feels a bit like a song nobody would put on an album anymore because it is deemed barely good enough to keep up with its fellow, more popular tunes. It stands on its own where others see a filler track.

Overall, it makes me have more hope for the album now; for it to be an album and not just a compilation of Singles.

I wouldn´t be surprised if this song was the opening number, nor would I be shocked to not find an Intro at all – Kot Kot is an introduction in itself.

From what I understand of the lyrics, it also is the first song of his that makes me want to know more about him as a lyricist.

To start the song of with MAYDAY is a deliberate choice because the song is not what it seems.

It´s soft spoken and not a shrill cry for help but knows of something that already affects the narrator enough that reaching out soon is imminent. It´s a literal stress signal.

The teaser made me think the protagonist in this song was simply sick of being treated like someone doomed to continue staging a party for others.

Relying on translations and interpretations of this song, the protagonist seems to realise that their lifestyle will rather leave them with very little time spent having fun with friends – because even the party-goers have gone to bed earlier than them.

Those that tried to keep up with them may have lost their step and had to give in to their own different schedules, or are worse off for keeping them company. So their company diminishes further.

There might be little life beyond the lifestyle, the sobering thought that solitude is too close within reach for comfort – the time left after work cannot always be shared nor of quality due to their schedule.

A double blow. Real life and bonding has to be spent in time confetti. Throughout it all, the silliness persists.

Rather laughable is the Explicit rating of this song. Was it the Perhana!?

The ending is a jumpscare, them finally being silly, breaking the cycle. But at the same time, it´s a rooster greeting the morning – the protagonist worked the night away.

For a moment, you are relieved the song is over. And then you play it again.

I would love for the upcoming album to be a concept album.

This song seems to divide people in a different way than songs before it did.

Some of you seem puzzled, others more neutral than hateful, none of the dislike so far is really loud.

The timing might be a bit unfortunate – song releases at this hour have the same problems as the protagonist in Kot Kot.

And even if you really don´t like this song, I fell that there will be something on the album that you will like.

It´s ok to not like things and it doesn´t have to be justified.

Still, I am interested to hear what you don´t like about this song because I think it makes for a worthwhile conversation and I like interacting with you.

Let´s do that while we have the time.

#käärijä #kaarija #kot kot #700 words #no idea why I wrote this much #if you know don´t tell me #I seem to like this song #I like Kot Kot a lot lot #let me know what you think #all typos are due to it being 4:30am and my eyes being drIer than modern-day European soil #btw did you hear me make the chicken sound in the end? #I´m also a bird #lintu out

[onceuponapuffin]

Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

Beginning|| Previous || Next

It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

Beginning|| Previous || Next

#good omens #crowley #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #aziracrow #good omens 2 #good omens fandom #aziraphale x crowley #aziracrow lasts forever #good omens fanfiction #good omens fanfic #tumblr fic #poll fic #choose your own adventure #self insert #let's write #we're all in this together #fanatic intervention #part 7 #muriel #maggie #tesco #mugs and fuzzy socks #muriel has an aesthetic #yes they talked #if they made out now you wouldn't have that to look forward to later #ineffable fandom #gomens #go2 #good omens s2

[scoonsalicious]

Unwanted: Chapter 29, Unarmed, Redux - Pt. 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Fem!Reader

Summary: When your FWB relationship with your best friend Bucky Barnes turns into something more, you couldn’t be happier. That is, however, until a new Avenger sets her sights on your super soldier and he inadvertently breaks your heart. You take on a mission you might not be prepared for to put some distance between the two of you and open yourself up to past traumas. Too bad the only one who can help you heal is the one person you can no longer trust.

Warnings: (For this part only; see Story Masterlist for general Warnings) Language, mentions of injury, death, human trafficking.

Word Count: 1.5k

Previously On...: It was the final showdown! And you died.

A/N: We begin to wrap everything up :(

NOTE! The tag list is a fickle bitch, so I'm not really going to be dealing with it anymore. If you want to be notified when new story parts drop, please follow @scoonsaliciousupdates

Banner By: The absolutely amazing @mrsbuckybarnes1917!

Thank you to all those who have been reading; if you like what you've read, likes, comments, and reblogs give me life, and I truly appreciate them, and you!

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You crawled back toward consciousness with the unsettling sensation of deja vu. Bright lights, pain in your abdomen, the sound of machines incessantly beeping. You tried to pull the covers over your head, but your left arm didn’t seem to want to move.

Well, that was new, anyway.

“The fuck am I in the hospital for now?” you murmured to yourself. “One miscarriage wasn’t bad enough?”

“Ex-fucking-scuse me?” came Tony’s shocked voice from your bedside. “One fucking what now?!”

You slowly opened your eyes. “Uh… hey, Boss. How’s it going?” You glanced over at Tony; he looked terrible, eyes red rimmed and puffy. “What’s wrong? Why do you look like you’ve been crying?”

Tony barked out a laugh. “Are you kidding me? You had us all scared half to death, Kiddo. Pretty sure it took ten years off my life when word came in that Carthage fucking shot you. You know, you were clinically dead for seven whole minutes?! Longest seven minutes of my life– even longer than the Seven Minutes in “Heaven” I spent with Alice Seymour in 7th grade.” Tony shivered.

You blanched. “Seven minutes? Holy shit. I’m sorry, Tony.” You weren’t sure why you were apologizing; you hadn’t shot yourself, after all, but you still felt awful for making him worry.

Tony came to sit alongside you on the bed. “Hey,” he began, taking a hold of your hand, “you have nothing to be sorry for. At all. You warned us from the beginning that Carthage was rotten. We should have done a better job of protecting you from her. I should have done a better job of protecting you.”

“It’s not your fault, Boss,” you told him, squeezing his hand. “None of us could have realized how far gone she was until it was too late. Where is she, anyway? On a one-way trip to The Raft, I hope?”

Tony looked away from you, toward the door of your room. “Not necessary,” he said. “She’s dead.”

You sat up quickly, wincing in pain at the tugging in your abdomen as you did so.

“Easy there, Kiddo,” Tony said, helping you get upright. “You had major abdominal surgery just a few days ago; you’re gonna pull your stitches.”

You let go of Tony’s hand to gingerly prod at your stomach, flinching as you came into contact with the heavy gauze that concealed your incision. Looking back up at him, you asked: “What do you mean, ‘she’s dead,’ Tony? What the fuck happened?”

Tony cleared his throat and poured you a cup of water, as if needing to busy his hands while he considered how to go about saying what he had to tell you. “We pulled up in the Quinjet probably only a few moments after you were shot,” he said, handing the cup to you. You took it gratefully, not realizing until that moment how parched you’d been. “Barnes was holding you in his arms, just sobbing, and… God, Pocket, there was so much blood. We thought you were done. I’ve never– I’ve never seen him like that before. He wouldn’t let go of you. Cap and Point Break had to hold him off so we could get you into the jet’s onboard Cradle; he just didn’t want to be apart from you. Kept screaming it was all his fault, he should be the one who was dead instead of you. Can’t say that, in the moment, I disagreed. We ended up having to sedate him.”

As Tony spoke, bits and flashes of the event came back to you– Bucky offering himself to Jade in exchange for your life, seeing his lips on hers, the sensation of Jade’s bullet ripping through your flesh. 

“Once we got you stable, we went back out and found Carthage’s body. I’m not one hundred percent sure what happened, because Barnes still won’t talk about it, but, well, her neck was snapped.”

You blinked in shock. He’d killed her, for you. When it mattered, when it truly, truly mattered, he’d picked you over her. “Wow,” was all you could get out.

“Yeah,” Tony agreed softly.

“Where is he, Boss?” you asked, looking up at him desperately. You needed to see Bucky right away, needed to thank him for saving your life, to apologize.

“I’ve, uh… I’ve been kind of keeping him away,” Tony admitted reluctantly.

“Why?!” you asked, hurt and shocked. “Why would you do that, Tony?”

Tony looked at you defensively. “Because he admitted what he did to you, Pocket. How he hurt you, again, and again. All of it. I’m sorry, but I wasn’t going to let him come near you after everything he’d done. It was his fault you were in this mess to begin with. He’s lucky I didn’t fucking kill him. If he had stayed away from her, been faithful to you from the beginning–”

“Tony,” you interrupted, putting a hand on his forearm to stop him. “Please trust me when I tell you that the situation is a lot more complicated than it appears from the outside, okay? I’ve… I’ve seen things, things that showed me how badly she manipulated him, got into his head. I’m not saying he’s blameless,” you were quick to add when Tony opened his mouth to protest. “He’s got a lot to make up for– I know that; I’m just saying that the party who bears the most responsibility is dead. I want to see him. Please. I owe him my life.”

Tony pursed his lips as he assessed you, mulling over your words. “It’s against my better judgment,” he finally said, “but it’s your call. I’ll send him in.” He stood up, leaning forward to kiss the crown of your head. 

“Tony, wait!” you said, before he could go too far. “The missing women. The strip club. What happened with them?”

“You did good, Kiddo,” he said with a smile. “Once we got you outta there, we were able to retrace your location to find the Hydra base where they were keeping you and get into their files– they kept records of every woman they sold, who they sold to, and where they went. SHIELD’s already picked up several of the buyers and identified the key players based on what you’ve been able to get us. We’ve been able to recover seven of the women so far, but Nat’s optimistic we can track down even more.”

You let out a shaky exhale. Seven women, saved from trafficking, with your help. “That’s amazing, Boss,” you said.

“And as for the club, Kozlov’s been arrested on a slew of charges; don’t anticipate he’ll be breathing fresh air anytime soon. And your buddy? Dimitri? He was real happy to start cooperating with us if it meant he didn’t go down with his boss.”

You nodded, feeling a sense of relief, a weight being lifted off your shoulders. They weren't going to be able to hurt anyone else, you thought to yourself. You’d help make sure of that. Maybe you could make your amends to Chloe, after all.

An idea came to you then. “Boss,” you began, “how much money’s in my swear jar now?”

Tony gave you a bemused look. “Kind of a weird time to be asking about that.” He pulled up his phone and touched the screen several times before letting out a low whistle. “Well I’ll be damned, Pocket. You certainly have quite the potty mouth– there’s almost half a mil in there!”

“I’ve sworn half a million times in the last twenty months?” you asked, incredulous.

“Do you doubt it?” Tony answered, grinning.

“Abso-fucking-lutely not,” you said with a smile. “Do me a favor? Take that money and divide it up among the surviving women, okay? They’re gonna need resources for a fresh start.”

“That’s real generous of you, Kiddo,” Tony said, giving you a fond smile. “I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah, well, I learned from the best,” you half-shrugged, grinning back at him. “Gotta pay it forward, right?”

Tony nodded, then turned toward the door. “I’ll make sure it’s taken care of,” he said. “And I’ll send in Barnes."

“Thanks, Tony.”

“Oh, and if there’s one thing this entire ordeal’s taught me,” he said as he put his hand on the doorknob, “it’s that life is short. I’m gonna ask Pep to marry me.”

“Tony!” you exclaimed, delight coursing through you. “That’s fantastic! Congratulations! I’m so happy for you!”

Tony smiled at you. “Be flattered, kiddo. You’re number two to know.” With a wink, he was out the door.

You closed your eyes, smiling to yourself. Tony Fucking Stark was finally settling down. You honestly thought you’d never live to see the day. Fuck, you almost hadn’t. You felt a dull ache in your left arm. It had been strapped down in a sling to  your torso, preventing you from moving it, and you had the sinking suspicion there were probably pins holding the fracture in place. You were certainly in line for a long road to recovery.

<- Previous Chapter / Next Part ->

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fanfiction #james bucky buchanan barnes #james buchanan barnes #mcu bucky barnes #james barnes

[marvelfanfics1]

How do you think cg!Rafe would react to little!reader who has had a really bad day and is very deep in littlespace?

I'm not really happy with how this turned out but I tried 😭

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You both had been invited to some family gathering by Rafe's dad. It was a fancy restaurant and many relatives were there which already made you nervous because you had the urge to be little since you woke up but decided to push that away for the sake of Rafe not canceling, knowing he would do that in a heartbeat but you wanted to impress his family since you still felt out of place any time at one of the Cameron's gatherings and decided not to tell him.

Everything had gone smoothly until you went to use the restroom. Sitting in your stall you could hear two of his cousins talking bad about you. You tried holding back your tears but the second you heard the door shut again your feelings poured over.

You didn't know how long you had been sitting there sobbing, that fuzzy feeling you get when you're at the verge of slipping having you shake your head.

"No, no, no...not now- be big. Imma big girl-" You mumbled to yourself, getting up and checking if anyone is there before you went to look at yourself in the mirror, scolding yourself. "Stop being a baby."

If Rafe could hear you right now. Lord have mercy. He would scold you even more for disrespecting your little self.

When you were sure your crying stopped you wiped away the remaining tears and took a deep breath. Leaving the restroom you suddenly bumped into someones chest, looking up you sighed when it was da- Rafe.

"You were gone for a while, you okay?" He asked and even though you nod he knew you were lying, your puffy and red eyes giving you away. He just let it go for now as the evening is almost over and you both just wanted to get over with it.

Later in the car you were silent, just looking out the window and playing with the end of your soft pink dress. Rafe glanced your way and sighed.

"Look, I- I know something happened earlier and don't say 'it's nothing' because when you cried about it's- it's not nothing, a'ight? So, tell me."

You just shook your head, not in the mood to talk anymore today. The only thing you wanted now was to wrap yourself in a blanket and sleep.

He wanted to press the subject further, placing his hand on your thigh to give you some assurance but you only shrugged his hand off and Rafe then slowly figured that you may have slipped the second you got in the car and that you're probably just tired and overstimulated from everything.

"Okay, I understand. Let's- we'll talk about it later." He said and you didn't give him any sign of acknowledgement, looking out the window again.

Back at home you completely shut down, quickly making your way to the bedroom, grabbing your lamb stuffie and curled up under the covers. All the big emotions you felt having frustrated tears flowing down your cheeks again.

Rafe came in a few minutes later and smirked, not obvious to the situation and sat down by your side, pulling the bedsheets off your head and is instantly worried by your tears, his eyes widen.

"Hey, Hey, hey. C'mere." He pulled you into his arms, ignoring your fussing and weak attempts at trying to push him away. "No- none of that. Shh, you're okay."

You only whined, giving up and slumping against him, gripping onto his shirt and letting the tears flow. Rafe started rocking you while whispering affirmations, practically suffocating you in his hold but that's exactly what you needed right now.

After your little meltdown you pulled your face from his neck, looking up at him with big eyes, just blinking at him slowly. He was a bit irritated because he didn't know that look at all.

You only mumbled a small 'daddy' before placing your head back on his shoulder and slipping your thumb between your lips.

It then clicked in Rafe's head.

"Someone's feeling really small, hm?" He rubbed your arm, feeling you nod against him. "That's okay. That's why daddy's here, to take care of you."

He just kept holding and rocking you. When you were sound asleep he reached over to grab your paci from your nightstand and took your thumb out of your mouth, quickly replacing it with the paci when you started to stir.

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Taglist

For everything:

@my-river-lilly @pauntedblacknails @fanfictioniseverything @devilslilbabysblog @buckymydarlingangel @hallecarey1 @daybreakwinter @loveshineslikethesky @wandaslittlewhore @vase-of-lilies @white-wolf1940 @simpingbutch @mischiefsemimanaged @alina02 @teddybearsgrr @doozywoozy @angelbabydoll28 @glxwingrxse @lilymurphy03 @veryvaughnny @lokigirlszendaya @youngstarfishdinosaur @little--baby--bear @minideathgoddess @rach2602 @aagn360 @gh0stgurl @flourishandblotts-inc @fluffyblanketgecko @lovelyy-moonlight @yoruse @kissforvoid

For Rafe:

@chiaraanatra

#little!reader #daddy!rafe thoughts #daddy!rafe drabble

[batarella]

Bruce's Bathtime - Batfamily Sitcom

Bruce's mistake was thinking he could have a peaceful night in the bath on his day off when his manor is full of kids who share one brain.

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE I LOVE YOU AND IM SORRY I DISAPPEARED BUT I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING SWEET FOR YOU TO ENJOY. THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY "BATH" BY SAM AND MICKEY ON YOUTUBE.

WORDS: 1.7K

WARNINGS: NONE. IT'S WHOLESOME AND SWEET.

MASTERLIST

——-

Crime rates were always at an all-time low in time for the Superbowl.

Which meant Batman gets a day off. Duke was the only one on patrol that night. Alfred spent half an hour convincing him not to spend the night at the cave.

“Master Bruce, the bath has been drawn and I’ve taken the liberty of using the expensive lavender bath salts so you would not like to waste it.”

“You’re right, Alfred. I’m a billionaire and I find the fifty-dollar lavender salts a waste to not use.”

“Just get in the bath, Master Wayne. Just thirty minutes of quiet shall do you good. I’ve set an alarm.”

Since when did Bruce start working for him?

He did as told anyway. Bruce closed the bathroom door and stripped off his clothes to get in the tub. There were so many callouses in his body, he barely felt just how burning the temperature was.

It was just a minute in there when the first knock woke him from drifting off.

“Bruce?”

What the hell is Dick doing out of Bludhaven? “What?”

“Is the music room haunted?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I heard something inside.”

“Instruments tend to do that.”

“I did a headcount of everyone in the manor and everyone is accounted for except Duke who you sent out for patrol so I doubt it’s anyone but a ghost,” Dick said.

“Get out.”

“But I’m not even inside the bathroom.”

“Go away.”

“What if it’s not a ghost? What if it’s a spy?”

“The manor has more advanced security systems than the Pentagon, Dick.”

“That’s not a good point of comparison.”

Bruce closed his eyes and let the steam slow his rising blood pleasure.

“Just check the room. Could have been the wind.”

“I’m too scared.”

This man was almost thirty and was still giving Bruce the same amount of aneurysms as when he was eight.

“Ask Alfred to check for you.”

“Okay.”

He heard fading footsteps and let them lull him into sleep. He set his large arms onto the sides of the tub, sinking his mouth under the water.

“Father,” a voice said from out the door followed by three soft knocks by a small hand.

“What, Damian?”

“I need you to sign this letter from the school headmaster.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He doubted that.

“It’s for a parent-teacher conference.”

Bruce let the silence answer for him until Damian gave in.

“Someone attacked me in class.”

“Damian-“

“Okay, I threw the first punch but he taunted me first about how I was small for my age but I said that I’m of perfect size for my age and that I’m simply too smart to be crowded into elementary school children when my intellect belongs to that of a senior and then he asked what I was doing here and not in 5th grade and I said what was he doing here and not in 5th grade and he spat at me and now his nose is broken and they want you to cover the medical bills.”

Christ.

“Maybe you don’t have to pay it. You can call them yourself. You’re Bruce Wayne. You can get away with anything.”

“I can, but you’re not Bruce Wayne, so you have to deal with it.”

“Can you just sign this, Father?”

“Fine.”

Damian walked in, fanning the steam off his face and covering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see his own father naked, then handed him the letter to sign it.

“Make sure your handwriting is the same as when I forged it.”

His eyes could not have rolled further back into his skull.

The boy walked out, just two seconds before the next set of voices made him wish the gunman shot him in the head four decades ago and not just his parents.

“Bruce, could you tell Jason he’s not the only one who died and come back to life and that his robin costume doesn’t deserve to have to top display in the Batcave anymore especially since he’s here?” Tim said.

Jason’s voice was even more obnoxious. “I died first, asshole and no one else would have died if it weren’t for me so clearly, you should thank me. And my rebranding was better. You’re still technically a robin since, you know, it’s the other half of your name, so you don’t deserve to be memorialized.”

“You don’t deserve to be memorialized at all when you’re alive and not a memory. You’re not even the first robin.”

“You’re not the first anything.”

“I’m the first at a lot of things.”

“Replacement.”

“Glorified zombie.”

Bruce grabbed the cucumbers Alfred had laid out on the table next to him just so his eyes wouldn’t burst out in blood at how much he wanted to scream.

“Ask Alfred what to do,” Bruce said.

“Alfred is with Dick in the music room to look for ghosts. We need an answer now.”

“What do you even want me to do?”

“Tim threw my robin costume piled up with all their robin costumes when clearly, it should be in the display case,” Jason said. “And Tim wants to move my motorbike out of the cave.”

“You have so many motorbikes, would it hurt you to move just one?”

“No.”

“Bruce!”

Bruce counted to ten. “No.”

“No to what?”

“Everything.”

“You don’t even know what you’re saying no to.”

“I could not care any less.”

“Can we please come in?”

“No, I’m naked.”

“We’ve seen you naked.”

“Not on purpose.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Fine. Fine. We’ll get glass cases for both of you and we’ll pretend it’s a shrine as if you’re still dead. Happy?”

“Not from dying but sure,” said Tim.

“What about the motorbikes?”

“Put it outside,” said Bruce.

“Are you sure? What if someone sees?”

“Do whatever. Throw out the T-Rex in the cave for all I care.”

“Also, I need access to the batcomputers,” Jason said.

“For what?”

“Everyone else has access except me.”

“That’s for a reason, Jason.”

“Pretty please.”

“Get out.”

It took another five minutes of the two yapping at the other side of the door before it finally quieted down.

Then his phone started ringing. Duke.

That was when his blood pressure really started to spike.

“Duke? Is everything alright? What’s wrong?” he said to the phone.

“Me?” said Duke. “Oh yeah everything’s great! Not much crime when everyone’s watching the halftime show.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“Can I use the batmobile?”

Fuck a duck. “For what?”

“The streets are empty and you said I could drive it when there isn’t traffic.”

He hung up and threw the phone into the water before Duke could say anything else.

He had five minutes of quiet this time. Then Steph was at the door. “Bruce!”

An aneurysm. One of these days, he might actually have one.

“What now?”

“Can I change rooms?”

“Why?”

“Dick said there’s a ghost in the music room and my room is like five feet away and I don’t think I can sleep there anymore.”

“You slept there last night and everything is fine.”

“Ghosts can be quiet, Bruce, it doesn’t mean they’re not there. And you’ve made a lot of enemies, so I won’t be surprised if anyone’s settled in to haunt you.”

You’d think he wasn’t in a house full of vigilantes who fight the city’s most dangerous criminals.

“I haven’t killed anyone, Stephanie. I keep all my enemies alive.”

“What if it’s not your enemy? They don’t have to hate you to haunt you. Can I please just change rooms?”

“Move wherever you want. I don’t care.”

“Can I move to the bedroom at the west wing?”

“That’s mine,” Bruce said.

“You have a bedroom? I thought you never slept.”

“Fine. Take it. Just get out.”

“Really?” Steph squealed. “The master bedroom. Sweet!”

It took less than five seconds before the next reason for his headache started pounding at the door.

“Bruce! Jason is trying to hack into the batcomputer!”

“I did not!”

“He did!”

“The World’s Greatest Detective is just mad I guessed his password on the second try.”

Bruce sank into the water, drowning their yapping until it had blurred out. He held his breath for seven minutes straight. He could die. That wouldn’t be the worst thing. Just when it was finally quiet, again, Bruce rose up and found Damian sitting on the toilet.

He continued to look unbothered even when he looked at Bruce straight in the eye.

“Do you mind?”

“I’d like to use this toilet.”

“There’s fifteen bathrooms in the manor, Damian.”

“I like this one.”

“I understand I have not spent as much time with you, but this is not what your tutors mean by father-son bonding.”

“Oh no, don’t worry. I don’t mean to bond with you. I just like this toilet.”

“Fine. Please. Take your time.”

He did take his time. Damian sat there for a whole five minutes and pulled out a book.

“I wasn’t being serious. Get out of here.”

“Relax, father. It’s your day off.”

Bruce eyelids fluttered closed and he refused to open them until his son left the bathroom.

The next knock made a blood vessel pop. “Bruce. It’s me Barb. So sorry to bother you but I found another group of conspiracy theorists on the TikTok who made a list of billionaires who have never been seen in the same room as Batman and you’re the front liner of that list. I know you told me to never engage with these things but it’s at fifty million views right now and they’re making edits of you as Batman.”

“Make more bot accounts and pin it on Elon.”

“On it,” said Barbara. “So sorry to have disturbed you!”

He’s going to have a talk with Alfred to block off the whole floor the next time he draws these baths.

“Bruce?” It was Cass. “I hope it’s alright if I take Steph’s room. I took the liberty of putting a speaker in the music room so Dick would tell everyone there was a ghost in the manor and Steph would move out.”

The alarm went off. His thirty minutes were up.

 One of these days, Bruce might finally break his no-kill rule, and it won’t be for the Joker.

---

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU ASSHOLES AND I HOPE THIS WON'T BE THE LAST

TAGLIST

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#BATMAN #bruce wayne #batfamily #wayne family #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #duke thomas #barbara gordon #cassandra cain #stephanie brown

[wittlesissyb4by]

Normalcy

"I'm so sorry! This…this never happens!!”

She drew her lips in a line and nodded, like she’d heard it a thousand times before, then went back to smacking her gum as she balled up the soggy diaper with practiced precision.

“No! I’m serious! I’m a grown man!! It’s not like I walk around pissing myself all the time!”

She scoffed, then shrugged. “Well you weren’t doing much walking—first of all—more like waddling. But you mean to tell me you never wet yourself? You’ve never wet a diaper before?”

“No…i…”

She inclined her head to the corner of the room, where a big sack of loaded diapers sat in a blue see-through bag.

“Okay…fine, I do. But only after a very long time period!! You don’t understand! My wife will leave me in them for the whole day!”

“I’ve only been here for an hour…”

“Yes but…” i wanted to tell her that was because my wife had made me drink three entire baby bottles of nasty fluids before she left. I tried to hold it. I really did. I didn’t want her little ‘babysitter’ to see me in a soggy diaper. In hindsight, i should have just let it all out with my wife and begged her to change me before she went off with that other dude. “It’s not a regular thing!”

“She told me you wet the bed.” The girl said, hardly even blinking as she taped my plump padding into a ball.

It was hard to explain that one away. Sure, there were several drunken nights where I’d blacked out and woken up with wet sheets in our marital bed. My wife was none too happy, but somehow those incidents kept happening even when I was sober, until she finally grew sick of it.

“So how long have you been in diapers?” The girl asked, setting my old one to the side and grabbing a fresh pamper. She asked it so casually, like it was a common point of conversation.

“3 months…” I said, unable to deny it anymore. “For the last two weeks it’s been 24/7. She…threw out all my underwear.”

The girl nodded as if nothing were out of the ordinary, tapping my thighs, apparently signaling for me to lift. I did so without incident, allowing her to slide the new diaper underneath.

“Do you make poo poo’s in them too?”

“No!” I said instinctively, but again she looked at me like a rugrat attempting an obvious lie.

“So if I go put your head in that bag, you won’t suffocate under a cloud of your own shit?”

Her words were cold, I had a feeling she’d do it too.

“Okay…fine. I do…”

“Do what?”

“P-poop…”

“Poop where?” She grinned, still smacking her gum, “I want you to tell me.”

I scrunched up my nose, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I poop in the diapers.”

But she wasn’t satisfied, “now tell me wike a baybee!”

She couldn’t be serious, but when her face turned stern with impatience, it told me that she probably wasn’t someone I should cross.

“Uh…i…” I felt my voice growing smaller, higher, “I make poo poo’s in my pampies!!”

She smiled wide at that. “How do you poop?”

“I…what?” I asked, voice returning to normal.

“How do you do it? Do you crouch? Get down on hour haunches and make a pushy? Or have you learned to go in any position already? All the men I babysit have a different method. It’s adorable. One of them even has to sit on the potty in order to go!“

“I just…do it…I guess. I dunno?” Usually squatting, it came out surprisingly easy that way, but I didn’t want to tell her that, and she didn’t press further, just seemed intent on making me blush.

“Well…I don’t feel like changing a poopy diaper today. So you’re going to get the plug, okay?”

P-plug?

She reached into her diaper bag that she brought herself, and pulled out a rather large silicon buttplug.

“Oh…i dunno…” I said, squirming on top of the diaper splayed out beneath me. “My wife and I don’t really do butt stuff…”

But she just smiled and squirted some lube on it, painting the glob over it with her fingers. “It’s cute that you think you have a say in the matter.” She giggled, “legs up!”

Before I knew it, my ankles were in the air. It was like she had some sort of power over me that I couldn’t resist.

I winced as she pressed the plug to my hole, gently working it in and out, in and out. I had to bite my lip to keep the squeals (and moans?) in. It felt…surprisingly good.

By the time she’d worked it all the way in, there was a little puddle leaking out of my chastity cage. It had spread onto my belly button while my legs were in the air.

“Sorry…” I said as she grabbed a baby wipe to clean up the sticky mess I’d made.

"Don't worry about it.” She smiled, amused. “It's...normal..."

“Is it?” I asked, feeling a sense of relief.

“Sure.” She shrugged, but it came off sarcastic. “Well…not normal to be a grown man in diapers. To poop said diapers. Not normal to have your wife go off and hire a babysitter to change your diapers. And definitely not normal to have another man fuck your wife. But leaking a little cum through your chastity cage while getting a plug shoved up your ass?” She tossed the sticky wipe down into my open diaper, lifting the front so she could tape it on, “yea, I guess that’s pretty ‘normal’…”

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