#this has been weighing on me for ten years

[fox-mulder-gets-pegged]

I just wanna say bc I KNOW you're somewhere on tumblr, to the teenage girl who attended Take Your Kid To Work Day at an office building in Ontario, Canada circa 2013 and had a conversation with a middle aged woman in which you showed her your Black Veil Brides fanart and fanfics and ship content and told her about different fanfic tropes including a/b/o verse bc she happened to know who Panic! at The Disco and Fallout Boy were and thus you felt the need to show her your bandblr ship art, that was my fucking mother and I had to clarify all that to her including looking my mother in the eye and trying to explain a/b/o verse without sounding like a lunatic.

It's been 10 years and I still regularly sent evil energies in your direction. Since you'd be probably two years younger than me and thus legally an adult now, please know if this post reaches you it's on sight.

[pastafossa]

Some sad health stuff about a pet so scroll on if not your thing.

So my poor old kitty Cato. I don't post as many current pics of him cause he's not looking great. He's lost a ton of weight in the past year or so, upset stomach, fairly skin and bones now. Vet put him on prescription food and an elimination diet 5 weeks ago. And while he's stopped losing weight, and stopped vomiting so much, he's still not gaining his weight back, either. I'm technically feeding him more than the bag recommends, too. He's getting fed four times a day, almost an entire cup of food total which is HUGE when - even at a healthy weight of 9 pounds - you were a small animal.

I'm worried there's something wrong at a deeper level. He should be gaining weight back, and he's not. He's always, always hungry. He's sore if touched around his back half unless you pet him very gently. And you can feel all his little spine notches when you pet him.

I have had this cat for 13, almost 14 years. I realize that might not seem like a lot depending on age. But at mine that's a very large chunk of my life. And the idea of having to weigh what his quality of life is of this cat I've raised from a kitten, who has curled up with me by my pillow every night until fairly recently, who always follows me and sings to me and bonks his head on my face... this feels way too soon.

[saul-goodboy]

i have an appointment with my primary care provider today 😔

[squeakysleeper]

[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LEAVING LIPSTICK STAINS ON LEVI

fem!reader, sfw, fluff, you leave lipstick all over levi before a mission and the scouts find out, just something super cutesy & short while i work on some longer pieces hehe, pls ignore errors lol, 1.3k words

“promise you’ll come back in one piece?” you say, smoothing the wrinkle between levi’s brow with a kiss. 

he glances up at you from under his lashes, crinkling his nose as a short, breathy laugh escapes him, one he tries to subdue. still, he can’t deny the happiness that slips onto his features, not when joy is so fleeting because of the life that the two of you live. 

cold hands run across your back, down to your hips as you straighten his collar, kissing his sharp cheekbones, the bridge of his nose. “i’ve made it this far, haven’t i?” levi mutters, squeezing your sides gently before shifting you off of his lap.

he lifts you, sets you on the edge of his desk, causing some of the papers that erwin had dropped off earlier to crinkle. a smile graces your lips as levi stands, stretching his limbs behind him, the chair pushing away from the desk with a creak.

“i’m going to be late because of you,” levi remarks, eyes narrowed playfully, but he gives you another kiss on the lips, lingering there like it’s painful to pull away.

“then stop kissing me.” your hands splay across his chest, but you don’t push him away, feeling his heart beat under his ribcage, the melody that you will always come back to. still, levi tugs your hips forward, slots in between your legs, and kisses you even deeper. “it’s time for you to go, captain levi.” 

a heavy sigh weighs against your mouth, his exhale warm as he pulls back. “sounds like you want me gone.” 

“of course i don’t.” your voice softens as you play with his fingers for a moment, before he's tugging them away gently, withdrawing from your figure. “i'm going to have to find someone else to sleep next to while you’re away."

normally, you would’ve been going with levi and the rest of the scouts, but an injury from your last mission prevented you from going on any more for a few weeks. 

levi snorts, putting on his jacket, fixing the leather straps across his chest. “is that all i’m good for? killing titans and keeping your bed warm?”

you make a face at him, then shrug, half-hearted as he stares back at you with amusement. then, you laugh, cheerful and free; you know levi will come back to you. he has no other choice. 

levi makes his way towards the door. 

“levi?” 

he turns, the lipstick stains still visible on his cheek, dark against his pale skin. for a moment, you wonder if you should tell him—if he’d be mad if you didn’t. 

but then you remember he’s going to meet with a squad of fifteen year olds that have all almost died alongside him. if they really have a problem with their captain being loved by you, then they don’t care about him as much as you thought. 

you smile and shake your head, voice holding just enough mischief for levi to notice. “just be safe. i love you.” 

he softens. there are times where levi is hesitant to say the words, still worried you will be taken from him. but this is not one of those times. not when you will be separated for days, his life once again in danger. “i love you too, sweetheart.”

within ten minutes, levi is down to the first floor, pushing into the room where the members of his squad are already waiting. 

he’s only a minute late, but he feels like they must have been waiting for hours, the way that they are all gawking at him with wide eyes, connie’s jaw faltering slightly. “everyone here?” levi asks, doing a quick scan of the room, counting heads like he’s their babysitter. 

no one says anything. eren’s eyes look like they might bulge out of his head, and jean covers his mouth, looking away as him and sasha let out a stifled giggle. 

levi’s mouth draws into an even thinner line. “what the hell are you snickering about?" he grumbles, looking at each of them individually, wondering who will be the first to confess. 

their eyes dart away dramatically, faces red. even eren, who is normally more obnoxious than the rest, seems to have run out of words to say. 

his eye twitches; levi wonders if connie’s head might burst, or if sasha’s laugh will rip out of her first. 

“well?” levi asks again, snapping, already tired of this mission. a hot cup of tea sounds nice, in bed next to you.

armin, as usual, is the one to speak up when no one else has anything intelligent to say. “well, sir,” the blonde says, gesturing towards his own face. “i think…”

levi touches his cheek, remembering all the places you’d kissed him earlier, wearing that pretty black dress and your dark lipstick. a sigh leaves him when he pulls his fingers away, the tips coming back, smeared with a deep red. 

he should've known.

“i see," levi says, staring for a moment, before meeting eren's eyes, his lips finally widening into a grin.

“ooooh," eren sings, his expression smug as mikasa elbows him, her own features pinched tight. "the captain’s in looooove."

levi knows they are expecting a reaction, a spectacle of the fact that he adores you. but he’s never kept it a secret, and he’s certainly not ashamed of all the things he feels for you. 

“and what if i am?” levi asks instead, pointedly staring eren down as the rest of the scouts watch the exchange. “honestly, i am surprised no one noticed sooner.”

eren’s jaw falters a bit; a small wave of silence falls over the scouts. you and levi don't make a point of hiding your relationship, but really, levi shouldn’t have been surprised that no one in his squad was observant enough to notice. 

or so he thought, anyway.

historia’s smaller, high-pitched voice breaks up the quiet, repeating your name back to him, as if affirmation that you’re the one he kisses goodnight. a silly question really, considering levi has never looked at anyone else with the same kind of tenderness. 

“it is her, isn’t it?” historia asks, smiling softly. “i only know because you’re always holding hands under the table when you think no one can see.”

levi raises his eyebrow. “clearly we were wrong about that.” though, of all the things to notice, he thought it’d be the way you kiss him after every mission, the way he’s harder on you than anyone else because he doesn’t want to lose you.

eren shrieks your name like he’s never heard it before, and levi is starting to wonder if the boy actually is an idiot. his old squad had known immediately; petra caught you sneaking up to levi’s quarters when you thought everyone else was asleep, kissing him on the cheek when you thought everyone's back was turned. 

it’s been a long time since then, he supposes. maybe the years have taught you subtlety. 

“how long have you been together?”

“does she actually like you?” 

“do you—” connie makes a lewd gesture with his fingers. “you know.” 

“connie!” jean shouts, whacking him on the back of the head. “what do you think! dumbass.” 

“hey!" connie says, rubbing his head. “geez. i just can’t picture it.” 

"i’d rather you didn’t." levi’s face turns sour, disturbed by a room full of teenagers discussing his private and romantic life. “bring it up again and i’ll leave you outside of the wall on the next mission.” he pauses, crosses his arms with an exasperated exhale. “and she likes me just fine. at least, she has for the past five years.” 

“five—” 

a new wave of questioning starts and levi pinches his temples, shakes his head, the red smear of lipstick still on his face.

levi almost wishes you could’ve been there to field the questions instead. you’ve always been better with the kids, connected with them a lot easier than levi had.

even if it was would’ve exposed his lovesick eyes, the tiny lift of the corner of his mouth when you were around.

he’s never been very good about hiding it anyway.

[inkskinned]

i don't mean to sound ungrateful, but as a content creator on this site, there's a part of me that's like. they absolutely just stole my work.

i'm not, like, unaware that tumblr has been shuffling downhill for years now. sometimes i play with the idea of switching platforms, turning myself into the shark. i often get tens of thousands of notes - i could be "doing numbers" on a platform that actually pays me to do so. i could have statistics that i could use to sell myself, i could rebrand and make content pay-to-play and make brand deals. i could have the other life, i mean.

but i don't want to. i like the quiet nature of tumblr. i like that it still feels like i'm writing poetry, not like i'm fulfilling ad spots. i like the community, and that i can sometimes still take someone by surprise and write something that really speaks to them. i like the tags and reading things like oh of course it's fucking inkskinned i love you inkskinned you gay mess. my girlfriend recently told me that people tag things "inkskinned" because they assume it is similar to tagging "creative writing". that's wild. i made this word up when i was 19, and have always assumed people tag me in things so i read it (and i often do). i have nothing but love and gratitude for you all, for this tiny scoop of family.

and i haven't made any money off it. i had opportunities, and i turned them down. i could have sold this thing like a thousand times. i thought about moving my work elsewhere - over and over and over i thought about it. i weighed each option specifically. but my tumblr felt like ... it's for you guys, only. if you're still here and reading this, you deserve to do it for free.

tumblr has now, most likely, skimmed my work (and yours) in order to make money. i will never see a single cent for that violation. something about landlords, i guess - my work pays their rent.

i just lost my job on valentine's day, and am working on scrambling for solutions. i am writing this to a blog that they will probably scrape with AI. and like, what number to do you think it was? do you think it was only a couple hundred thousand? no way it was close to a million, right? my time, effort, energy - it belongs to someone else now. how many silver pieces for them to completely sell out their user base.

and it's kind of like - funny? when it isn't very-sad. because i personally don't know what to do, ya know? i might as well move to a different platform, where my efforts are ai-scraped but could eventually pay me. where i know my privacy is the cost - but it could result in actual money. anyway. i need to figure out how i'm paying for meds. i need to email like six people about COBRA benefits.

my work is powering someone else's AI. it will be a beautiful fabricated poem, made from words i've already said.

[mind-empty-just-fictional-people]

Too Many Beds

main masterlist | supernatural masterlist 

summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again

pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader

rating: R for language

word count: 2.1k 

warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad

timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one

author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol

You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family. 

When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.

So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).

“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.

“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”

“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”

“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”

There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.

“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash. 

“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.

You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.

“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”

“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.

“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints. 

**

“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.

You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”

“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.

“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.

“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”

You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”

“Understood.” He nodded.

You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.

“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”

**

You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping. 

And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation. 

As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face. 

“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.

“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”

“I thought it looked familiar.”

He rolled off of you and out of bed. 

You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.

“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”

“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.

**

You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!? 

It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since. 

But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.

Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example. 

**

“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.

“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied. 

You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!

“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.

“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile. 

“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you. 

God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.

**

It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake. 

“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.

“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”

You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.

“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.

**

“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”

Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message. 

“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.

Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound. 

As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.

“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”

“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you. 

You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.

“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”

“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face. 

“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”

“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”

“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him. 

“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”

“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…” 

You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips. 

“That,” Dean finished his previous statement. 

“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”

“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.

You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly. 

“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered. 

“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”

“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”

Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.

You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again. 

“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”

You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.

“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”

“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”

“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.

“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”

As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”

“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed. 

“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.

“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”

“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”

“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”

“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.

“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”

“What!?” you and Dean exclaimed in unison.

[cloudychoso]

dreams, gojo satoru ➢ gojo satoru x f!reader ➢ breeding kink, creampie, references somno

It's like a dream. You feel like you’re watching the world through a thick layer of vaseline as you float atop your silken sheets. It’s a haze of white and blue around you; the shadows that hide in every crevice of your room melt away under that bright blue. It rings familiar, and your brain tickles to recall from where, but the softness around you wisps you from that answer. 

The touch is feather-light on your skin. Bare. Did you fall asleep bare? Your eyes flutter as butterflies kiss down your stomach, and mixtures of eyelashes and hair graze every curve. There’s something delicious in the underwater den you look at the world through. Every wall curls inward, and the curtains sway. You reach out to feel it against your skin, only to be caught by a firm grip. 

Hands. Veiny and decorated with a golden ring and scars along the knuckles. It’s like an anchor halting your dream state as you deliriously stare at the hand that holds your wrist. So confident in its grip, yet the touch is softer than your pillows. Like you may break, like you’ll disappear. Maybe you will. The magical glaze that coats your mind slowly shrinks away as someone kisses just above your belly button with a muffled whimper. 

How long has it been since you accidentally fell into the dream state? You groan. Shouldn’t your control be better than this by now? You’re far from the ten-year-old still trying to learn why they disappear into someone’s mind every night. Whoever is on top of you repeats your groan back as if it were one of pleasure, and you let your held hand fall limp to the touch. The weight on top of you, complete with soft, fluffy white hairs that ring that same bell of familiarity in your mind, shifts as the lips trail lower. 

What could possibly be the intent of this dream? Do you play along or pretend to still be coated in a thick layer of sleep? Your stomach flutters as eyelashes graze down, and a hand squeezes under your thigh as it’s lifted to curl over your hips. The hand still held in the air drops away to stroke at your waist, and you slowly lower your palm until it finds the soft locks. They easily part for your fingers as you comb through, and your nails scratch the scalp as lightly as you can manage, but the person above you whines in bliss. You can feel their erection press to your bare body, thankfully shielded by what feels like their pants. 

Blue eyes look up at you with a grin like that of a fox, and your body stills. Gojo Satoru has pulled you into his dream — his dream about you if your bedroom setting makes any sense. You glance away from him so he can’t catch the jolt your body made, only to notice a picture frame on the bedside table. Your heart thumps as you see the wedding robes you each wear. “Finally awake?” he moves up and leans into your neck, soft hair kissing your face as his lips gently press to the lobe of your ear. The cold of his ring at your waist is all you can think about despite how he slowly presses himself against your slick cunt. “Didn’t ya wanna wait for me to get home?”

How to play it… you have no clue what little fantasy Gojo must have of you, but it must be domestic. Your own wedding band weighs heavy on your finger, and you can’t help but glance at it as you place your hands on the back of his neck, playing with the growing undercut. “Tried to stay up,” it’s dark outside, but there's no clock in the room that could help you with whatever answer his subconscious seeks. He smiles into your neck; you can feel his blindfold tickle your chest as his glowing eyes illuminate the room around you. There are more photos — baby photos. You want to scream at the information he is inadvertently giving you, “‘s not my fault you got home so late.”

Gojo laughs, and it reverberates into your skin, and the hand on your thigh slides down toward your pussy. How are you going to face him in the morning? Maybe you should become a hermit and live in the woods? You can’t help the flutter of your eyes as his finger runs up your slit, dragging slick eagerness to your clit. “I know, baby,” he seems to whine into your neck, just feeling how wet you are, his hips rutting into your thigh for friction. Your hand slides down his curved spine, eliciting a shiver through him that makes you smile, and his face lifts from the crook of your neck. His thumb circles around your clit without properly touching, eyes gazing so lovingly at you that your heart stammers in the repeated beats. “At least you had my favourite girl all wet and ready for me.”

You cringe at how he refers to your cunt, but it only makes him laugh before leaning in to capture you in a kiss of raw warmth and devotion. You kiss back as best you can, heart still thumping at the revelations of his desires, and ignore how unabashedly nervous you feel. It reminds you of the first time you awoke in someone’s dream, barely nine, and just trying to survive the nightmare of being hunted by a clown. There’s no promise of death in this dream, and you’re far better at your control now that you’ve learnt how to use the power, but you can’t help that familiar twinge of danger from creeping up your spine. Gojo won’t be able to know you were here, but can you sit with him at breakfast and listen to him talk about whatever bullshit mission he has to go on without remembering this?

Morals aside and over a decade of friendship ignored, you lose yourself in the taste of his mouth. Twinges of strawberry mochi and caramel-flavoured coffee linger on his tongue, yet it feels so right — so purely Gojo Satoru. You pull yourself closer, arms tangling around his neck and your thighs hooking on his hips. The finger that circled your clit falls away in favour of holding you flush against him, squeezing when his lips muffle your moan. You’ve never tasted something so sweet, so intoxicating, as the kiss of your best friend. 

When he tries to pull back with echoes of laughter, you greedily pull him back and steal another candy kiss from him. Your tongue passes over his as you pull on his hair with urgency, and the pair of you groan into the other’s kiss. “You-“ kiss, far shorter than the last but just as needy, “really,” his laughter makes you pull him back for another peck. His taste, his touch, his unabashed love, is a craving you doubt ever getting over. You’re certain that it would only taste sweeter in reality, “really,” one last kiss, “missed me!”

The slightest hint of embarrassment washes you in guilt while Gojo laughs, whispering about how cute you’re being. If only he knows that you’re just newly addicted to him, to the secret he has kept from you for however long. If only you could ask questions, but you know that he would get suspicious of this dream state if you did. “Of course I did! You know I hate when you do missions alone.”

His fox-like smile returns, almost out of place with his pink cheeks. Your Gojo, the real one outside of the dream world, has always been a fiend for any type of praise and care; you shouldn’t be surprised that this dream version of him is the same. “Baby, I’m the strongest! Ya know I can handle it! And it only took me a couple days!”

Shit. You refuse to break even a sweat as you keep your same expression of mock disdain. “Not fast enough. How am I meant to live without my darling husband with me?”

Gojo laughs again, his eyes sparkling as they take over your naked form once again, stopping at your lips for just a brief moment longer. “This is why Shoko says you’re turning into me,” you glance back over to the baby pictures near the dresser. A son with eyes like his and hair like yours, dressed in his father’s blindfold that’s far too big on his head. You take the knowledge and grumble aloud about being outnumbered in this house, hoping to diffuse any confusion Gojo may have. You can’t fail now; if you don’t fulfil his dream, then his week is practically ruined by the short dream-induced coma it’ll cause. “If you feel outnumbered, we can always make a mini-you this time.”

One second passes — you take that time to freak out over the insinuation that Gojo barely hides in his smirk. You’ve been aware that you’re naked the entire time, and yet it never felt quite as real until now. His erection twitches in his pants, and you can’t help but shiver. The subsequent second passes, and you return to the character you fulfil, running a finger up and down his neck as you lean up to his lips. “Let’s see if you can, Gojo.”

With the shiver that runs through him, he can’t help but whine about the use of the family name. You don’t retort beyond a few giggles, too busy staring at how he strips himself of his pants and shirt with clumsy haste. He manages to only stumble over his feet once as he rips the pants from his insanely long legs, yet you still stare at him like a hungry wolf hunting prey. Is it wrong how bad you want this? No, you rationalise that this is his dream, so he is the one who wants to have sex with you! Not the other way around!

(though if the offer presents itself in reality, you’re not going to be turning it down by any means)

“C’mere,” when he climbs back on top of you, you force him to come closer with a tantalising curl of your finger. One hand finds its rightful place at your hip again, thumb rolling over a bullet wound scar you got a few years ago. The other knots itself in your open hand, fingers lacing together in a gesture more romantic than you thought Gojo could do, “finish what you started.”

He leans his body, and you feel the naked cock slap against your cunt. You shouldn’t be so wet, even if you joined the dream late and he already spent time playing with you. You just shouldn’t be so slick with need that you squelch just when his tip rubs against you. You squeeze his hand with a gasp, already imagining how he would feel snug inside your walls and pounding over and over until you get that little you he promised. “Fuck — really did miss me, didn’t ya? I barely even used two fingers before and look at this!” He shines as if you were some new discovery he made, and yet you hold no temperament outside of desire and craving for the man on top of you. ”Might hafta take longer trips so you get more desperate,” you roll your hips into him, causing his head to press against your clit. 

The jolt of pleasure makes you moan, and your back arches as though little occurred. It feels like you’ve been on the edge of this promised fate for eternity now, the taste on his tongue still haunting your lips as your eyes close to the world around you. “Shuddup,” you mumble, though the words feel empty of animosity or threat as soon as they leave your lips. You squeeze your hand in his, the cold of his wedding ring an exhilarating sensation that only makes you wonder how it must have felt when he was fingering you before you were pulled in. “I’ll go on the missions, so you get desperate. You’ll last maybe ten minutes?”

The sentence is broken by your heavy breathing as his cock lines up with you. Just the slightest touch of it already has you stretching in anticipation, a thigh coiling over his hips to help with placement. The anticipation already has you keeling in pleasure, eagerly awaiting the pleasurable sting of being stretched out. How far will he get? From how long he felt against you… your body shivers at the thought of him entirely inside you. “Why do you get to go on missions?” he pouts without any sadness or pity, and the glimmer of excitement in his eyes sells out his dramatics with ease. 

You take the initiative and start pushing your hips down his shaft. Like when you first awoke in the dream, everything feels light and is hidden with a haze of delight. If you didn’t already know this is a dream, you’d be convinced it turned into one with how good he feels slowly filling you up. Each vein throbs against your walls, and he hisses with clouded eyes. “Cause,” you remind yourself to breathe as he gets deeper, the lull of your tongue feels too big and you try to focus on not mindlessly babbling beneath him, “‘m a Gojo, now. Re-Remember?”

It likely turned into some form of gibberish by the final few words, but nonetheless, above you, Gojo pauses. You feel how he twitches inside of you, hear how your pussy pulls him in with a shlick, but nothing tops the way his lips form a pretty ‘o’ shape as he moans into the room. Everyone and their mothers know that Gojo is a moaner in bed, but it feels so different actually seeing it and hearing how fucking delicious it sounds. You reach up and pull his lips to you for another heated kiss, already swiping your tongue at his lips. 

He wastes no time and bottoms out, and you gasp into the kiss at how full you feel. Gojo throbs with every noise you utter, and just the tiniest movement of your hips has him moaning even louder. You relish how he reacts to your body, how he sings a cacophony of whimpers and grunts just for you to hear, and the soft way he squeezes your hand with reassurance. Just having his fingers between yours has your heart fluttering even when it feels like you’ve been stuffed so full your organs squish. 

“Yes. Yes. Yes,” his kiss turns sloppy as he mutters the word repeatedly as if he is convincing himself that your words are real. Your toes curl when he starts to thrust, pounding himself nice and deep inside of you as he continues his babbling monologue of reassurance. You mewl below him, clawing at the muscles in his back that flex beneath your fingertips. “All mine. My pretty, pretty wife,” his lips slot at your jaw with a gentle bite, and your eyes roll back when it’s combined with another thrust against you. 

Tears build in the corner of your eyes as the headboard slams against the wall like a drumming melody. He has to be in your stomach by now; you’re certain he somehow found a way to fill your throat, too. The haze in his eyes only grows foggier when he notices the tears as they fall. “Satoru,” you whimper quietly while pushing yourself to meet every movement of his hips, even when his hand tries to move you faster. 

His name becomes your chant as he fucks you into the mattress, responding only with reminders of the marriage he dreamed up. You lose yourself in the way his hips bruise you and the way he treats your hand like it’s glass on the verge of shattering. Every instinct in your mind goes haywire as your tongue babbles nonsensical words of pleasure. He returns to your neck, biting and kissing areas you didn’t even know were so sensitive. There would be no evidence come morning, when you both wake up from the dream, but you let yourself think that little marks will bless you in the mirror when you have a shower. 

When he shifts your thigh higher, you don’t expect him to hang it over his shoulder, but you don’t question his choice — instead revelling in the new angle he takes. Your nails dig into his knuckles as you cry out for more. Tears fall to the pillows beneath your head, slick drools over his cock and under your ass. “My wife,” he mutters into your ear again, placing your other thigh over his shoulder to match. Only when he leans in and arches you do you realise that he puts you into a mating press. It shouldn’t be as hot as it is, but you’re already clawing at his back and screaming yes, “gotta fill you again. Looked so pretty when you were pregnant. Gonna have so many more. Let me fill ya up, please!”

He’s bordering pathetic with how he begs, and yet you only grow needier. His hair sticks to him from sweat, and his lips are puffy from kisses; those big, beautiful eyes fill with watery tears as he pleads for you. “Fuck, yes! Please, Satoru!” Your thighs tremble under his touch. Your hand desperately grips his as you babble your answer over and over again. You need him like never before, crave to be filled with all of him, and still lick at the sweetness left on your lips. “Wan’ it!”

His thumb goes under your thigh to play with your clit again. Like before, he doesn’t directly touch it, only circling closer and closer until he reverses each action. It leaves you a perfect victim to the strings of your body — apparently, only Gojo can play it like this. He whispers about all the love he has for you, even with the slurred speech of lust, your heart melts at every proclamation he gives to you. “So glad you chose me. Never gonna have you regrettin’ it.”

Gojo thimbles about how he can’t wait to have another child, a daughter, this time so that he can be the perfect girl dad he was made for. You clench around his cock and moan as the throbbing refuses to cease, each vein detailed as they press into your snug walls. Whether the dream has finally reached your own subconscious or it just unlocks the path to old feelings you refuse to acknowledge, you aren’t sure, but you’re utterly putty in your hands when he tells you to cum and remind him why he missed you so much. And you aren’t one to deny Gojo Satoru what he wants; that’s how you managed so many years of friendship together in the first place. 

Your body shudders in his tight hold, eyes shut, and nose hidden in the hair you need to touch one last time. It’s like a flood of emotions wash over you as you release all over him, slick sliding to pool on the bed. He only moves faster as you meek with sensitivity, chasing that feeling for himself until he finally fulfils his promise and cums. It fills you and leaves a thick ring of white around his cock, though instead of pulling out, he keeps his cock warm inside of you, fingers collecting anything that spills to push back in. 

When you wake up, Gojo isn’t on top of you with his cock in your overfilled pussy. There aren’t marks on your neck or bruises on your hips. Your finger is empty of a wedding band, and your lips aren’t puffy from being kissed raw. Like nothing happened. You sigh and splash more water on your face, ignoring how the bathroom door peeks open. “What’s up, Gojo?”

“You didn’t… do anything last night, right?” He looks back and forth while refusing to gaze at you properly; his sunglasses don’t work to hide those movements as well as his blindfold. You raise an eyebrow at him and start patting your skin dry, and you keep eye contact with him purely to avoid staring at his chest and how good it felt up against you. “Had a good dream, is all. Won a lifetime supply of mochi.”

The lie makes you smile, not even bothering to tease him over the blush on his cheeks. “Sounds like a really good dream.”

© cloudychoso 2024 — do not steal, repost or translate

i don’t like this i don’t think 🍆🤓

[luffysinterlude]

GHOSTIN’

summary: in which Luffy’s been your sanctuary as you grieve the loss of your sworn-soulmate — his brother.

pairings: luffy x reader / ex!ace x reader | the request

warnings: post-marineford, one sided love, slight angst/comfort, reader grew up with ASL, no gendered terms

an: haiiii!!! i’ve been working on this on the side as i’ve been reading nana. i really didn’t know how to tackle this request + song with Luffy especially, but I really tried my best. please leave feedback, it’s always appreciated!! also, as always, there’s another a/n at the end ^.^

inspiration: ghostin’ | word count: 2.2K | tip jar!

“i’ll always find a way to protect you, promise .ᐟ

— GOL PORTGAS D. ACE”

PORTGAS D. ACE IS DEFINITELY, YOUR OTHER HALF. Some might call him your lover, but to you, it was more than that. You had known the hot-headed boy since you were two were children; some say your calm and quiet demeanor balanced him out, but was just as evil and devious, which you couldn’t help but agree with that. The two of you went around the village causing trouble for fun and sometimes you’d help him with his tasks in the mountains.

Ace has always been your ray of sunshine. With everything he’s gone through — which, you were a witness to — he’s still able to light a room up with a single conversation. Literally.

When Ace informed you that he finally got a devil fruit, you thought it might’ve been a God themself that handed the Mera-Mera no Mi to Ace, because still to this day, his presence remains the brightest and captivating —

even though he physically isn’t with you anymore.

It’s been almost two years since the day the Heavens took Ace back. Years that were full of utter silence in your world; the pain weighing heavy on your body and soul. You’ve remained under the watch of Shakky and Rayleigh, asking that you get to spend as much time with Luffy as possible; the last bit of Ace you have access to.

Following the War at Marineford, you had asked Rayleigh if it was okay for you to stick around. He agreed after recognizing who you were — a childhood friend to both Ace and Luffy — figuring you didn’t have anywhere safe to go anyway; you’ve become infamous due to Ace’s influence on you during your childhood, and with your reputation, you’re not sure of what consequences you’d face if you were even near pirates or marines.

You’ve been with Shakky the most during this time: her giving you haki training in exchange for you to help her out whenever she needs it. You can’t complain though. You enjoy the feeling of having a maternal figure in your life, especially right now. You’re unsure of how to control your emotions, and Shakky’s been helping you navigate through them, and use them to your benefit.

Luffy has too. Whether the rubber boy knows it or not, you appreciate his gimmicks whenever you get to visit him on training days. He always has a bright smile on his face when greeting you, your body grows with warmth every time he sees you; like right now, you feel like the heat has gotten ten times hotter, yet his embrace just feels so familiar and welcoming, you almost forget that you have to pull away.

“Hey! You said you’d visit me two days ago! I got finished with my training early and expected to see you, but Rayleigh said your plans changed! What happened?” His voice is loud yet soft, and the way he’s looking at you makes you feel guilty. You avoid his gaze immediately, the small smile you’d painted on your face fading.

You don’t like talking about Ace to Luffy. It’s been like this since the two of you were children, but especially now. You know he’s trying his best to keep your mind astray from the grief, and he’s been doing so, so good at that. But every now and then, Ace visits you as you sleep, and the following day is so hard, you want to be left alone.

ᯓ★

Luffy’s not stupid — or at least, he knows how to navigate his feelings. It’s what helped observation haki come easy to him, and instantly he feels your demeanor switch; the sun reflected in your eyes, then suddenly disappeared. He knows when you’re having a tough time. In fact, he thinks he knows everything about you.

He’d probably never find it in him to voice it, but somewhere along the way, he thinks he’s found love within you. Even with the entire ocean separating the two of you for years, the feeling only blooms at the thought of you. He thinks this is how Ace must’ve felt.

Without hesitating, he grabs your hand and drags you into the jungle that’s served as his temporary home for the past year and a half. These days the jungle is quiet, so Luffy’s able to spend more time in it without having to worry. Plus, he’s a hundred times stronger than he was when he first reunited with you.

He giggles at your confused and shocked state, wanting to tease you about how you’re not used to his antics at this point. Instead he just basks in your flushed expression, admiring the beauty that graces you.

ᯓ★

After the most unwanted and unexpected marathon of your life, Luffy stops. You’re barely able to process your surroundings when you’re suddenly flying. Screams leave your throat immediately, only for you to be situated on a branch seconds after.

Luffy sits next to you, his left arm wraps around your waist securely and he nestles his head into your shoulder blade; it’s almost as if he’s clinging onto you like a koala, all while you’re nearly dying to catch your breath. He’s always been this close and clingy, especially on days you’re quiet, but over the years, you’ve grown accustomed to it this trait of his.

Your breathing goes back to normal after a couple of moments, and soon your eyes find the boy staring up at you, eyes wide and curious, sending a gentle shiver down your spine.

“Sooooooo…you been thinkin’ about Ace?” Luffy’s bluntness is something you should be used to by now, but sometimes you wonder how his crew’s able to deal with it.

You sigh as you lean into him, staring out in front of you: the clear sky was painted a pretty shade of pinks and blues, the sun was saying its final goodbyes, and the ocean — a symbol of your will — sang peacefully as the two of you settled in each other’s presence.

“Yeah,” you breathed softly. “Ace visited me again, the other day — It was kind of sudden, he hadn’t done that for a while now.”

“Well did he say anything?” You don’t want to answer, but the way he’s looking at you has your chest fill with warmth.

ᯓ★

Ace lays next to you in the sand, his gaze fixated on yours as his fingertips softly grazed the features of your face. It was silent as it always was, and you felt yourself relaxing into his touch. Although it was all in your head, it felt so real. As if the two of you were just taking a vacation, without a care in the world.

And for the first time in a long time, Ace’s voice reaches your ears.

“Ya know, Luffy’s always had a thing for you,” You’re taken back and your brows furrow in confusion. Ace has never actually talked to you in your dreams, so for this to be the first time makes you question your sanity. “He always asked me about you whenever we were kids. He never wanted to do things unless you were there to watch him. He cried whenever you leave. I always thought he was just overly dramatic, but even now, as I watch him, his eyes water.

He’s hoping to ask you to join his crew,” Ace pauses to chuckle, a sound that you had almost forgotten. You bite your tongue as you feel your eyes water, not wanting to move incase you’d wake up. “The boy asked me for advice. Mentioned the times you’ve denied him before, when we were kids, asking on how and what he could do to get you to join him.

He believes in himself more than ever now, and he told me he feels like he owes you something for not only taking care of him, but Sabo and I as well. I always thought it was a weird-one sided obsession, but then thought about how I feel the same way about you too. Like a treasure that must be protected — even though you’ve done well on your own already. I used to think you were a witch.” You roll your eyes at his nickname for you, slowly processing what he’s telling you.

“I’m not asking you to date him or anything — But I think you should consider joining the Strawhats. They’re promising, and I believe you’d make their crew so much stronger. Now that I’m gone, who’ll watch over my crazy little brother? If only Sabo was here, then maybe I’d have him do it instead of asking you — but you’ve always been the best of taking care of us, and Luffy’s attached to you. He’ll listen to your insight, because he thinks you’re the smartest person in the world. I agree, but only because I’m not on Earth anymore.” You scoff at his self-compliment, knowing it was just something to tease you about, but appreciating the fact that the boys always knew you were the smartest of the bunch. You roll on your side to face him, eyes widening when you notice he’s staring you straight in the eye.

He looks like the same hot-headed boy that left you those years ago. As if he was seventeen again, waving a see-you-later to you and Luffy as the ocean carried him and his tiny boat away. Nothing’s changed since then, even when you’d run into him at ports when you were venturing the sea as well.

“Again, you don’t have to feel any kind of those feelings towards him, but I think Luffy will help you ease the pain and eventually grow from it. If anything, he looks up to me. Find me in him if it helps. I’ll watch over the two of you and try my best to help you both out, but for now, please enjoy your youth and life for me — surrounded by love. You have so much to live for and so much willpower. You’ve always been the epitome of freedom to us, so please go and enjoy it.

I won’t visit you for a while now. I’ll let you go and handle business. But please, as always, be safe. Don’t go crashing out on everyone now. I love you, thank you for allowing me to grow with you.

I’m sorry that time and distance separated us, and I’ll make sure you’re always protected, just as I promised.”

You’re silent as he just smiles at you, words wanting to spill from your lips, but none of them feeling right. Your bottom lip wobbles as you stare at his face and features, blinking tears away so you can engrave his face into your brain.

“You know how to get to me; I’ll always be here for you. I’ll see ya later, hot stuff. Can’t wait to watch what trouble you make happen.”

ᯓ★

You sigh as you bring yourself back to reality, breathing in the air surrounding the two of you. It was fresh, the breeze was nice, and the sea remained humming her song quietly.

“Well, he might’ve let it slip that someone wants me to be apart of their crew,” you tease, feeling the boy suddenly jolt.

He chuckles nervously as he rubs the back of his head awkwardly, clearly not expecting to be outed by his own brother. “Huh?” He feigns innocence, “Well who?”

You roll your eyes and raise your brow, arms crossed as you stared at him, challenging his gaze to see if he breaks. When he doesn’t, you decide to mess with him.

“Shanks,” you tease; you’d met the infamous Red-Haired pirates around the same time Luffy did, and he was your first ever haki teacher. Although it was a small lie to tell, it wasn’t hard for Luffy to believe it.

His expression fell dramatically, his voice whiney as he pouted and looked towards the sky.

“ACE, YOU DIDN’T TELL ME THAT SHANKS ALREADY BEAT ME!” You giggled as the Luffy sent curses up to the Heavens, silently hoping none of the Gods cursed you for Luffy’s outburst. You grabbed his hands suddenly, and for a split second, shivers went down your spine. He turned and looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face that almost looked like regret.

“Hey, hey,” you coo to him. You’d always comfort Luffy after his brothers would tease him, and over time Luffy’s grown to love your touch and words. “‘M just teasin’. He told me that you were hoping I’d join your crew. Honestly?” His fingers intertwine with yours as he patiently waits for you to finish your thoughts; his hands are warm and soft, despite his constant training, the way they’ve always been. The way he’s always been. “I’ll do it, if it means I can help you reach your goals. I told you I’d see you off as pirate king when we were younger, didn’t I?”

Luffy gasps and wraps his arms around you tightly, burying his face in your shoulder. The sudden embrace takes you by surprise, and you feel his mouth moving but you’re unsure of what he’s saying. You welcome his embrace, thinking of all that’s happened since Marineford. Luffy’s been with you since, helping you grow stronger and stray your mind away from what you’ve lost. He’s been doing so well — he makes you laugh about the stupidest things, he’d always defend you from the former monsters of this jungle, he tells you stories from his adventures and you do the same. These past few months, it’s gotten easier to accept and let go of the grief, thanks to him.

“Promise I’ll make it worth it for ya! Thanks for trusting me! Took you such a long time to say yes,” he says as he pulls away from you, smile accompanying his lovely facial features. “We’ll have so much fun! You remember the crew, right? From that time in Alabasta?”

As you and Luffy sit and escape the world around you, you feel a new excitement grow in you. You’re just as ready as he is to reunite with everyone, even if you weren’t a Stawhat before this. For the first time in a long time, you feel free. You don’t feel this way because Ace let you go, but because he pushed you to finding your freedom. And all you can do now is live and hope to achieve all that’s waiting for you.

ᯓ★

an: i’m thinking about a part two because this felt more like it was centered around Ace and Reader’s relationship T^T. but honestly i wouldn’t mind. plus i think reader might subconsciously love Luffy the way he loves them. so maybe i will write a part two to satisfy myself, idk. it’s been a while since i’ve written and have been able to get any creativity out of my body, thanks to work 😻. anyway, please do leave your feed back!!! i’ll enjoy it. thank you so much for reading!!

[dr3amfyr-e]

moon, river - c.s. ( w. 1049 )

꒰ cregan will always defends your daughter’s claim ꒱ — cregan stark x reader

୨ ⎯ period typical misogyny. implied trouble concieving children. reader is written to be very influenced by her environment, and therefor uncertain of herself and her self worth. girl dad cregan. cregan's kind of a medieval feminist. i named your daughter for you, sorry. this is very cregan pov, not many of reader's thoughts. umm maybe not canon cregan but it’s my cregan. uhh dialogue heavy. tbh i don't even know what i was writing here. fem!reader. ⎯ ୧

i advocate for creganwives who don’t want to have ten children.

Cregan wasn’t nearly as physically imposing underneath all of his armour. 

You had observed as much before — watching keenly as he unclasped his cape and slid out of the thick leather armour. It was a sight to behold, the muscles in his shoulders and arms as he fought to disrobe. 

He was much different here, in your shared chambers. Lord Stark shed with his dayware, Cregan stood in his wake. 

You had been married for years, and still, your heart fluttered like an infatuated girl when he loomed over the bed, hair damp from the bath. 

Married for years, with two children, and yet — sprawled across the bed in naught but a thin nightgown, you ogle him as he makes his way to bed. 

He's hard to wrangle; he walks the keep and checks on your daughters, among other mindless tasks, before finally getting into bed every night. It gives him ‘time to think’, and makes you senselessly anticipatory. 

Most nights are the same. He curls into you, head on your chest, to decompress. It's sweet, to see such an intimate side of him.

Tonight, in lieu of the typical mindless drivel that lulled you both to sleep, you had been quiet. Cregan could feel the tension of whatever weighed on your mind, but he had not wished to pry.

You rub aimless little circles against his back before finally speaking, “Are you content with this?”

Cregan looks up, lifting his head from your breastbone. He doesn’t speak for a moment, reading your expression, “Content?” When you don’t reply he continues, “Of course I am content. What has prompted you to ask such?”

He can see the solemn, contemplative expression written across your face; the way you gaze down, as if through him, “It is just…” You hesitate, he keeps firm in his stare, “We have been married years, and I have not given you many children. And, no boys.” 

He doesn't reply, unsure how or what to say. True, it is, that in the years you have been married there have only been two children — both daughters. 

“Do you think,” He begins, sitting up more, “That I am discontent because you have not given me a son?” 

Silence hangs heavy in the room. You look guilty; he cannot tell what it is you feel guilty for, but he wishes you did not feel guilty at all. 

Cregan says your name once, his voice low and soft. When you meet his eyes he can sense the resignation — you wish you had not brought this up.

“I just worry, that is all,” You reply, quietly.

His expression stays set. There is solace in knowing him well enough to read his microexpressions; he isn’t brooding, he is concerned. 

He speaks, “What is it that you worry about – my discontentment?”

“Perhaps I have not performed by duty,” You shrug, as if to pass the comment off as nonchalant. Maybe it is; ladies raised to believe their self-worth lies in their good stock and ability to breed and please can talk about such matters with a level of insouciance. 

Frustration blooms in the space between his lungs. He understands the way polite society worms into young women’s brains, and how hard it is to remove that sickness once it's taken root. Still — you surely must know that your worth does not lie within your womb, he thinks.

“Your duty?” He asks, tone firmer now, “And what duty is that? To be bred like a milking cow?” 

The abruptness and near vulgarity of his words are enough to leave you taken aback, blinking at him. Cregan was certainly not one for eloquent metaphors. 

When you seem not to have a response, he begins to feel bad. This isn’t your fault. You were raised to think like this.

“I have not given you an heir,” You’re quiet, almost embarrassed. 

“You have,” He counters. 

“You have no son,” 

“I have Lyanna,” 

A log in the fireplace shifts and crackles as you sit in silence; a scullery maid shuffles by in the hallway. 

He watches you gather your composure before you speak, “And you do not mind?” You sound unsure, he hates it. 

Cregan reaches, sliding his fingers under your jaw to make you look at him fully, “Tell me — if we should have a son, would you be content to strip Lyanna of her birthright?” 

The question feels harsh. He watches guarded confusion swirl into your eyes.

Of course, you would not wish for your daughter to have her title taken from her. But so many others, men in Cregan’s council, mocked the idea. They rued Lyanna’s power, the status she already held above them as a girl of all but five. So it would be no shock if someone insisted she be stripped of her title as heir to Winterfell, and it was frightening. Frightening to imagine someone stealing your daughter’s future and freedom. 

“If it is what you wished,” You answer, resignation thinly veiled. 

“I asked you a question,” He’s firm but gentle. 

You gape for a moment, before answering, “No, never. I could not imagine doing that to her.” 

“And do you think I would?” 

“No,” 

He nods, sliding his hand up to cradle your face. You look ashamed, he tries to soothe it away with his thumb over your cheekbone. 

“Do you think you’ve disappointed me, pet?” He doesn’t wish to subject you to the humiliation of answering such a vulnerable question, so he continues, “You need not worry so much. I do not need a boy; I am more than pleased with things just how they are,” He strokes his thumb slowly, “Do not agonize over something so trivial.” 

He catches the tear that rolls down your cheek.

When you speak your voice is quiet, “You are so good,” And then, “Many lords do not care much for their daughters.”

The thought makes his chest burn; to not care for his daughters? Unthinkable, “Do not praise me for loving my children. Those girls are my world, as are you.” He feels lighter when he sees the edge of your mouth tick up, so he speaks again, “I care not that I have daughters in place of sons — I have, and for that I am lucky.”

He has and he is lucky.

[sugrhigh]

BOY NEXT DOOR 9 - ( c.s )

part eight

summary- you and your roommates live beside a bunch of senior hockey players, one of them being the infamous team captain chris sturniolo. he’s effortlessly flirty and undeniably attractive, but he’s also a pain in your ass. you find that you have to fight between lust and hatred as you finally get to know the boy next door, whether you want to or not.

warnings- angst, swearing, i think that’s it

a/n: i’m back my little goblins let’s get it!!!! part ten of this series will be the final part, and then i plan on writing an ‘epilogue’ type chapter to wrap it all up. i’m hoping to have them up as quickly as possible, but ive been absolutely slammed so im sorry if it takes me a minute. i love u always and i’ve missed being on here so i hope you enjoy <3

(if you asked to be tagged in the last part and weren’t tagged it’s bcs it wouldn’t let me!! i’m so sorry i tried my hardest)

to be let down, you have to expect something from someone. it’s a mistake you’ve made far too frequently in your years on earth, especially in college, but this time around the grief is debilitating.

you spend the rest of your weekend locked inside your room, attempting to sleep away the heartbreak. somehow dreaming almost makes it worse; for a second you’re able to forget about being completely humiliated, until you wake up in reality once more.

it doesn’t help that chris has been absolutely blowing up your phone since the moment you left. every call and text goes unanswered. it’s impossible to read them, so most of the time you don’t.

hell, you can’t even open your curtains because you’re too scared that he’ll be looking back at you when you do. so you block out the sunlight, ensuring that your room matches your dreary feelings.

you figure he’ll give up on trying to talk to you eventually. you’re not different. he’s not different. and once chris regains that pride of his, he’ll go right back to fucking some other girl he won’t care about half as much.

thoughts like those make you cry even harder, as much as you hate it. but you know the disinterest will wash over him sooner or later, and you resent that inevitable day.

cassidy and ramona check on you pretty much every other hour. it makes you feel even worse that they’re so concerned, but neither of them have ever seen you like this. at least not since freshman year, when you dated an upperclassman for a couple months just for him to dump you over text.

even that heartache was relatively short-lived. but this pain follows you into the week, trailing behind you like a shadow you can’t get rid of. it sits beside you in class, curls up next to you in bed, weighs your shoulders down whenever you walk.

it feels like you’re struggling to stay afloat, to even act like a real human anymore. chris consumes your brain, and so do the ‘what if’s’ of your situation. it makes the week drag on, even though you try to spend most of it asleep.

to make matters worse, his multiple notifications continue with a routine consistency, almost like clockwork. you figured he’d already be over it, but he clearly doesn’t want to make himself easy to forget.

you have to admit that you’re glad his persistence lasted at least this long, even if it’s for selfish reasons. you’re disgusted that the attention satisfies you, but it’s not an unwelcome change considering all you’ve been feeling lately is queasy.

still, you don’t read them, or pick up when he calls. you can’t hear his voice, because you know it’ll absolutely break you.

and then finally, on friday, you see him in the flesh. you’re walking home from your bus stop after the only lecture you managed to get to that day, and there he is, getting out of his car.

your throat seizes up; there’s no way to avoid this. it’s easy to ice someone out over text, but it’s a hell of a lot harder when he’s your neighbor.

before you can snap your head away he’s turning to look in your direction, eyes equally as wide as yours once the recognition washes over him. he looks like shit, and yet he’s still so goddamn beautiful it makes you physically sick.

for a brief moment, everything stops. you just stare at each other.

chris takes in you in, the way you look noticeably drained. he feels that familiar nauseous pang in his stomach flare up, knowing that he stole the spark from your eyes.

the worst part is that you’ll never look at him with that fire again. there’s nothing he can do to bring it back now, no way to reverse the past.

then—before he can decide what to do in the present—you break the spell, cutting through your other neighbor’s lawn to get to your front porch. everything in him wants to run after you, so much so that he has to physically restrain himself.

you hear him calling after you, and something about him shouting your name stirs the tears awake once more. but you make it through the door before they fall, because you can’t show any more vulnerability than you already have.

getting inside doesn’t mean that you make it up the stairs, though. the physical and emotional exhaustion catches up to you, and you collapse around halfway through your blurry climb to your room.

your elbows dig into your kneecaps, hands holding your head while you sob. it seems impossible to catch your breath, or calm down in the slightest, and your cries only grow louder.

normally you’d be careful about the noise, but there’s no one to hide from right now. nobody is home. it’s just you and your thoughts, which, as always, are full of him.

you may be able to push him out of your life, but you have a feeling he’ll be lingering in the corners of your mind forever.

the post-game locker room mood is completely miserable tonight. after that last minute loss and the thirty minute bitch-session they just endured from their coach, it honestly should be.

chris barely even has his skates off before his teammates are all over him, which he expected but still dreaded.

his head’s not in it, and everybody knows.

“what the fuck is wrong with you, man? it’s like you’re not even awake out there.” one of the team’s leading defensemen, luke, yanks him up by his jersey roughly.

for a second he pauses, setting his jaw and puffing his chest out slightly. the accusation, though it’s not completely untrue, pisses him off.

so much so that chris retaliates by shoving him back to his rightful place a foot away. “get the hell off of me, man.”

luke looks like he’s ready to jump into action again, but connor steps in between before anything else can happen. he’s also very visibly angry, a side that doesn’t come out often.

and just because he stopped a physical fight from breaking out doesn’t mean he’s going to stay silent. “he’s right. you’re playing like shit, and we‘re way too far into the season to be blowing it now, especially with selection show right around the corner.”

chris can feel his blood is boiling at this point, knowing that even his roommate is going to support this kind of disrespect towards his own captain. the rest of the team is watching silently, but he can’t find it anywhere in himself to care.

the words have already bubbled up, and he won’t hold them back anymore.

“oh come on, it’s not like anyone else was stepping up! dylan turned the puck over every other play, ben was offside during that odd man rush, and don’t even get me started on you and the high sticking penalty that just lost us that fucking game.” he shoves his pointer finger against connor’s chest for emphasis, trying to make sure his criticism stings as much as possible.

but his friend is quick to swat his hand away, shaking his head once sharply.

“no, you don’t get to turn it on everyone else. you lost it for us during that sorry excuse of a penalty kill. you let that little UMass shit go right by you, which is why he had a wide open shot to score the game winner. you’ve been making dumb mistakes like that for two weeks now, and we all know why.”

that implication is enough to send chris over the edge, because nobody has the right to mention what happened between you and him. knowing about the situation doesn’t mean they should get to speak on it.

he can feel his fingernails digging into his palms, both hands balled into tight fists at his side. the anger coursing through his body makes him shake ever so slightly, almost like he’s humming.

“keep going and i’ll bust your fucking face in.” chris says, voice eerily calm despite the fact that his body is screaming.

but connor doesn’t back down; he stands tall with an unwavering gaze that’s more serious than ever before. “you gotta grow a pair and start being our captain again. you fucked up, and losing someone you’re actually into because of that sucks. most of us have been there. but trying to throw everyone under the bus is bullshit when you’re the one that needs to get it together.”

nothing about his words are intentionally meant to hurt, and chris knows that, but for some reason they do. probably because he doesn’t want to hear the truth, or start coming to terms with the fact that he actually did lose you.

he really doesn’t ever want to accept it.

but his ego won’t let him say that. instead, chris shifts his gaze to observe the rest of the room, at all of his teammates, before focusing on connor once again.

“if you don’t think that i’m your captain anymore then find a new one.” he spits.

the room somehow gets even more quiet; everyone is stunned by the out-of-character reaction. for the most part, chris really is a good leader. they all voted for him to represent the team when it came time, and the group dynamic has been great since then.

but he doesn’t feel like that guy now. he’s not sure who he is anymore. so he throws the rest of his equipment into his bag and yanks it over his shoulder.

“really, chris?” it’s ben this time, who’s clearly dumbfounded by the theatrics.

he doesn’t respond, and he tries not to hesitate too much as he makes his way out of the locker room. everyone lets him pass, which makes it even harder to leave.

it feels so wrong, but his feet keep pushing him forward regardless.

when chris finally makes it home twenty minutes later, the frustration has only festered. he doesn’t like anything he’s doing, and yet it’s spiraling out of his control. by the time he gets to his room, tears of aggravation have made their way down his face.

he wipes them away harshly as he stares out his window at your room, which is still closed off by your curtains. it’s like his heart seizes up just from being this close to you, knowing that you’re in there yet he can’t reach you.

and maybe that’s the problem. chris loves hockey, but at the end of the day he clearly loves you more. and with things the way that they are, his heart is fully wrapped up in you, not the game.

it’s terrifying, and it’s painful. he never thought that there’d be anyone to test his bachelor lifestyle until you came around, and he can’t just go back to normal because he doesn’t know how.

he’s been permanently changed, and it feels like a huge part of his new life is suddenly missing.

you saw the deepest parts of him, parts that he didn’t even know existed, and he saw the same side of you. you challenged him in ways he’d never experienced, and he loved that he always felt like he was evolving when you were together.

now he just feels stagnant, unsure of himself.

the only thing he’s sure of is that he needs you, whether that makes him inconsiderate or not. he can’t keep sleepwalking through life, but he’s not sure what else there is to do.

simply put, he misses you like hell. so he lays back in bed and closes his eyes, trying to remember what it felt like to have you right beside him.

@fawnchives @l9vesick @55sturn @luverboychris @teapartyprincess4two @pinksturniolo @mattinside @stonermattsgf @impureals @chrisactualwife @fikefries @riasturns @mattybsbitch @mattsmunch @sturnifyed @julessspoetry @beijhe @gnxosblog @braindead4l @orangeypepsi @ponyosturniolo @cupidsword @rainydayenthusiast @sturnvvz @wurlibydominicfike @poopydroopt @bernardsleftbootycheek @trilliwarner @rubyjanexxx @reallykaz @neatcarrot767 @kirby0strombolli @bunnysturns @junnniiieee07 @hrt-attack @sturnssmuts @stunza @beccaluvschris @asturniolos @slutz4sturniolos @mattslolita @alorsxsturn @sturnrc @chrissystur @kellsbells-18 @realqueenofpepsi @snowysosturn @secretfangirly @scarlettbitches @satvisfavetoodles

[musicallisto]

Could I please please please ask for a lil thing about Lewis comforting his partner when they’re feeling insecure 🥺 👉🏻👈🏻

· · · · ♡ PRE-SEASON JITTERS (lh44)

… starring lewis hamilton x gn!reader (and roscoe !!)

... 1.4k words

... in which the bleak pre-season period has you feeling all sorts of anxious, but a homemade meal and affection from your favorite person (and dog!) could be just the thing you need.

... i love this request and I think we could all use a little bit of lewis reassurance every now and then 🥹 let's all forget this horrendous weekend for him btw

The pitter-patter of Roscoe's claws on the linoleum floors is what reveals your presence first. Slumbering in the kitchen amidst the fumes from the extractor hood, the bulldog suddenly straightens up, stares at the front door, ears pricked up for no apparent reason, and disappears into the hallway with a snort. That's when Lewis knows he has to set the table, add pepper to the risotto. He's not the best cook, and usually the private chef would be in charge of dinner... but in the week preceding each new season, the British driver prefers to keep his evenings and his hands busy.

Your steps are heavy, keys turning in the door laboriously—"Hi Roscoe, oh, you're a sleepy boy, aren't you?" faint between huffs and puffs. Lewis can read you like an open book after so many years: it's not just the bleak mid-February evening weighing you down.

You've had a shit day.

"Hi, Lew," you sigh as you step into the kitchen to wash your hands, something like weary relief peeking from your tone.

"Hi, love." In the cozy penthouse lights, your tense figure and slumped shoulders look out of place, too harrowed to belong in this neat space that the London night outside can't traverse. "I made dinner, nothing too fancy, sorry, but..."

"It's perfect," you cut him off gently, with those shiny eyes he adores so much, eyes that only ever seem to catch his light and nothing else's. A quick peck to his cheek unravels your twisted face a little more. "Wish it were pre-season jitters every week."

"I don't," he chuckles, the sound vibrating against your shoulder like a gentle caress. "Poor Bono's going to have a heart attack any day now... you'd think we haven't done this ten times over already."

Dinner is a ritual, almost a sacralized place for Lewis and you—and Roscoe, wagging his tail back and forth between your legs to see what he can puppy-look his humans into slipping him underneath the table. And it works, Lewis never having been one to resist him for long; Roscoe licks his chops with each mushroom he eagerly steals from the driver's fingers. Easy conversation turns into soft jokes and his latest media duty drama, your favorite to dissect after a long day... but he notices the spark in your smile doesn't reach your eyes, and your mouth contorts into a downtrodden pout when he leans over to scratch the top of Roscoe's big head.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asks in earnest, and as long as you don't meet those big, soulful brown eyes, you know you can get through the conversation without crumbling.

"Yeah, I'm just a little tired-"

"No," he shakes his head, smiling ever so slightly, as his hand reaches out to cradle your fingers on the table. "Come on, I know you by heart. I know you're upset. You know you can tell me everything that's on your mind, right?"

Moonlight filters through the large glass windows, mixing with the ceiling light's warm glow and casting a hundred different hues on your cheeks—fractals of white and gold softening the blacks of your eye bags. Lewis aches to see you so—gorgeous and exhausted, yet unwaveringly surrendered to him, willing to crash headfirst into his safe haven. His hand clasps yours at the same time as Roscoe rests a warm, heavy head on your lap.

"It's just... this stupid thing at work. I'm so... behind on everything, and there's this new guy who's always being passive-aggressive towards me in front of our boss, and he's a fucking idiot but—everyone loves him and his ideas, and I feel like no one... appreciates anything I do or even just values my presence, and..." Quivers in your voice you barely control anymore. "And also, you're gonna be leaving next week and I hate it so much when you're gone because then I feel sad but being sad makes me feel like a big burden to you because you're supposed to be focusing on racing and not... not babysitting me or listening to me drag you down, and then I—"

"Hey," he interrupts before your tirade degenerates, and you almost don't notice him getting up from his chair, shapes moving beyond the blurry veil of your eyelashes.

You rush to wipe them; in the blink of an eye he's there, with a gentle hand on your shoulder; its weight grounds you, much like Roscoe's chin pressing a little deeper against your thigh. As if sensing your distress.

"I think you may be getting into your own head a little. Don't you think?"

He speaks softly, but nothing paternalistic; a conciliatory hum that echoes the steady purring of the washing machine, and down below, all these cars full of people headed back to their own little warm huts. Words don't come to your tongue, blocked by the acerbic shame that bubbles in the pit of your throat—how many times must you fall to pieces over nothing in front of him like this? Instead, you shake your head, and that's good enough for him.

"You're not a burden, love."

You've heard it before, from unremarkable social media influencers and good-natured friends, but it's only when Lewis says it, with the perfect balance of pragmatism and warmth, that you truly let the meaning seep in.

"Not now, and not ever. I listen to you because I choose to listen to you, because I want to be there for you. And about work—look at it this way. Do you really think they'd keep you around if you contributed nothing? I know I'd get axed."

You laugh despite yourself, which Roscoe takes as a sign that the sudden sour mood is gone and everyone's attention will soon return to the food if the content little yelp he lets out is any indication.

"No one would ever axe you, Lew, you can't be bothered to do media day like every other week and have never been told anything. But I'm not a seven-time world champion of anything."

"You don't need to!" he chuckles too, raising his hands in mock innocence. "I'm just being realistic here. You're valued. You really do matter. Who do you trust more, some pathetic high school bully or a seven-time world champion?"

"You just want me to stroke your ego," you retort, rolling your eyes, though a small smile creeps on you lips when Lewis leans even closer, eye to eye with you.

"Well you brought it up first, and I can't exactly help being the greatest at what I do."

"Shut up," more giggles escape through your pursed lips.

Lewis' eyes crinkle a little brighter with each of your chuckles, but his grin fades into tenderness when he kisses your forehead. As he pulls back, his features are more relaxed, more quiet, but no less expressive for all that.

"Whenever I start beating myself up after a particularly shit weekend, you always tell me you wish I could see myself through your eyes, right? How admirable it is that I always give it my all, and that I always strive to be the best I possibly can? Well, that goes both ways. You get all caught up in your own head and don't realize how people see you... but I love you, and I do. From outside your head," he ends with a playful tap to the tip of your nose, where a few gleaming tears have dug a bed.

Your fingers intertwine with his out of habit, without really thinking about it, and you lean into his side just as his arms close around your frame, one hand cradling the back of your head. It's indescribable, the tranquility that overwhelms you whenever you're in Lewis' arms, like his strong heart is enough to numb all your aching nerves and wounds.

Time can't pass slow enough in his comforting embrace... much to Roscoe's dismay.

"Oh, sorry, big boy, you must be starving," Lewis laughs at the bulldog's disgruntled bark, "it's been at least ten minutes since you last ate anything..."

You ruffle Roscoe's thick neck as he nonchalantly trots behind Lewis and the treats he always smells on his clothes; though the dog's attention is too captivated by the prospect of food to pay you much attention now, you swear he rubs up against your leg like an approximative hug. Blinking away the last tears, you take in the domestic scene, Lewis mumbling sweet nothings to his waddling companion, the familiar sound of his food bowl scraping against the floor.

At least you do hold some significance in your small corner of London, you think. In between these walls, in the depths of their hearts—hearts that have, somewhat and somehow, chosen you. And it won't be easy to understand just yet... but at least, for now, it will be enough to treasure.

... f1 taglist; @retvenkos @giuseppe-yuki (want to be added? send me an ask!)

[hardlyinteresting]

To Have and To Hold

Jake Seresin x Reader

Jake comes home

Warnings: The reader is referred to as she/her, with no physical description, (please let me know if you'd like me to tag anything please), I grew up in an Army household so some of my Navy knowledge may be slightly off base (no pun intended) Word count: 1.8K

The floorboards creak with the weight of his footsteps still. there's a strange comfort in the sounds of this old house settling; the hum of the refrigerator downstairs, the quiet slide of his socks across wood floors. If he listens carefully, he can hear the whistle of the wind blowing past the window he meant to reseal all those months ago. The reminder of another missed task weighs heavy in his heart; a failure to provide a safe, warm home. It's the little things that matter most, his mama's voice reminds him, but it's the little things he so often misses-- always overlooked with the prayer that he won't be made a liar when he says he'll do it later. 

Time plays him for a fool. At 35 he rushes to make sure he meets the milestones he set out for himself, steadfast and resilient in his resolve to do more-- to be more. He breaks records, and sets precedents. But, he struggles to relax. Breathing doesn't come easy to him when it's not through his aviator's mask. In for seven, out for five. He counts the seconds of his inhales and exhales grounding himself in the moment. 

He does his best to hold tight to the moments he has here, But still, it never seems to be enough. like sand through an hourglass it all seems to slip away from him; these new found days of domestic bliss escape through his fingers like the memories of his childhood back in Texas. He wonders if one day he might be afforded the chance to pick up all the pieces and fit them together in some semblance of a “normal” life. He worries about his time away from home, what he's missed, and worse yet what he stands to miss if this life is taken from him too soon. 

Tonight marks the end of a six month separation, and tomorrow morning the count down to his next inevitable departure will begin. Always running out of time. It never used to bother him, it exhilarated him even, time blasting by in a blink of an eye. Back when he was younger, back when he had nothing to lose, and no idea what he stood to gain by sticking around. Now he worries about the quality of the lock on the front door, he thinks about restaining the floor downstairs and fixing up the kitchen. Domestic life snuck up on him. Slowly but surely his house became a home. Sun-baked bricks and weather-worn siding, with a shade of green paint he's been told matches his eyes. Four walls and roof that keep the outside world at bay. 

Down the hall in their bedroom, he Expects to find his wife sleeping, waiting in dreams for him to come home to her. It's the part of his job he struggles with the most now. It's so hard to leave this life they've built now that part of him is forever tethered to the earth. 

“I worry sometimes that I'm holding you back,” she confessed one night, “your job is hard enough as it is…I don't want to make it harder for you”. He hadn't been able to find the words to tell her how wrong she was.How could he describe the ways she had changed him? 

The need to return home to her never leaves him stunted in the sky, it fuels him. Long gone are the days where he fought just to be seen; she sees him. He's quick up there, tens of thousands of feet above the ground, he's calm and he's brilliant. His colleagues can call him cocky all they want, but his confidence is founded on his proven ability, and sometimes it's necessary to show off a little bit even if it's just so he can have another story to tell his sweetheart when he gets home. He imagines himself writing her name in the sky, carving her likeness in the clouds, a blazing trail racing home to her. 

So many of his earlier years had been spent playing the field too afraid to commit, too afraid to be loved. Adaptability, while necessary for his job, had never been his strong suit. A tiny part of him deep in the back of his mind always left the hair at the back of his neck on end when faced with change.

He had struggled in school, not academically, but socially and learned to over compensate to make up for his discomfort. The navy had given him the structure he had craved, a way to make his bed and fold his clothes, instructions that weren't open to interpretation. Living on his own allowed him to follow the same schedule and practices as he did on base.  In a split second, his life on the line, he never hesitates, but sustained change to his daily life left him nauseated. Welcoming another person into his life, and into his home had pushed him past the edges of where he believed his comfort laid, but forced him to confide in a support system outside of routine. 

Over the course of a few weeks her belongings joined his, sprinkled through out the house like a treasures to be found. Without a word she had taken care to intermix her books with the few of his own on the shelf, sorting them by alphabetical order just as he'd been doing for years. His anxiety slowly waned as his darling girl continued to prove she understood him better than anyone else ever had. 

“Do you prefer flying at dusk or dawn?” She had asked a few weeks after she moved in. curled up on their sofa, her head tucked under his chin, college football playing on the tv, she traced invisible shapes across his chest. “I don't have a preference, sweetheart. I just like flying,” his response felt half-baked, but it was the honest-to-good truth. 

“But if you had to pick?” she persisted. He weighed his answer before giving it to her, “if I had to pick, it would be dusk. There’s a moment, if you're up at the right time where you can see the night sky blending into the sunset…the sky is a gray-blue and you can see the sun at the horizon and the little pinpricks of stars”. 

“It sounds beautiful,” her smile was soft and genuine when she cupped his cheek to make sure he was looking at her. A habit of hers, not letting him hide away from the softer parts of himself, she seemed to so easily pull out. “It is”.

That weekend he’d spent 72 hours on base and returned home on Monday evening to the faintest smell of fresh paint. In the low evening light, it took him a moment to figure it out, standing puzzled in the middle of the living room, still dressed in his service khakis trying to identify the source of the smell. “You’re home!” she’d grinned coming down the stairs, her jeans and t-shirt splattered with gray. It’s then he noticed with his darling girl looking so proud of herself, the walls of the living room coated in a soft heather blue-grey, no longer just a coat of contractor-grade white reflecting the shade of twilight through the windows. Flicking on the light he watched her grow nervous as he felt his brow furrow processing the unexpected change. “Do you like it?” she asked. 

“It’s perfect, baby,” he promised pulling her close and kissing her thoroughly, “It’s beautiful”. 

A few months later he came home from work to find his shower gel and shampoo had both been replaced by a new set. Confused and with no other option, he chose to use them, deciding he liked the smell of eucalyptus and mint much more than he'd liked sport: for men anyway. 

“Baby, what happened to my shower gel?” 

“You were complaining about how dry your skin has been”.

“Hmm,” the consideration to change his routine to better himself hadn't occurred to him before she moved in. 

More recently he'd come home from a night out with the squadron, and woken up under a Forest green duvet, a jarring difference to the burgundy plaid cover he'd owned for years. Momentary panic filled his chest. Like a sharp, sudden plunge into cold water he'd gasped his eyes scanning the room to confirm his location. The familiar scent of her perfume, the sound of the ocean breeze, assured him he was in fact in their room. In the dark when he'd come home, colour of the duvet hadn't been noticeable and he found himself mildly embarrassed by how badly it startled him. Her hand reaching out for him, stretching across the sheets to touch him lured him back to a flat position letting her snuggle herself right up against his side. It was then he noticed that the weight of the blanket was the same as before, and it was just as plush as it had always been. Her on going respect for his comfort continued to leave him floored. A memory of her texting him to ask his favourite colour (green) filled his mind and left him drifting back to sleep with a smile on his face. 

Secretly, he'd begun to look forward to the tiny changes she brought into his life and into the house. The littlest reminders of their strengthening bond, their lives stitching together in more tangible and visible ways. The Navy had taught him to think literally, latteral thinking developed and honed to reach conclusions and make decisions quickly and effectively, but the metaphor of their lives blending like the presence of her belongings along side his own, and freshly painted walls is not lost on him. 

Tonight the house is quiet as it often is when he returns so late. He knows if she knew what day he was set to come back home she would've done her best to stay awake for him, dozing off on the sofa with the living room curtains wide open, hoping to catch the sight of his headlights pulling into the driveway. It's thoughts of her safe and waiting for him that have pulled him through this latest deployment, so he does his best not to disturb her sleep as he makes his way to her. Like a silent sirens call an unspeakable force drags him through the house. His boots are left by the door, laces tucked in. His bag is heavy in his hand, more than just its physical weight tugging at him, and he's glad to be able to put it down by the bedroom door. 

“Welcome home,” she whispers stirring from her sleep as he slips beneath the sheets, freshly showered. 

[thelightsandtheroses]

everywhere, everything | jm x female reader [au]

Summary: In recent months, the bar your family has owned for generations has changed. Now it can't keep a bouncer beyond one shift, attracts the 'wrong' crowd, and is an albatross around you and your cousin's neck. Your cousin's latest hire, Joel Miller, seems like he might just survive the shift and as time passes, you can't help but want to know him more. AKA the Bouncer!Joel fic Word Count: 8.2k Warnings: 18+ MDNI, mentions of canon typical violence, RoadHouseBouncer!Joel AU, no outbreak, no specified age but reader has a cousin and inferred (not detailed) family deaths in the past, flirting, smut (p in v), Joel Miller is his chaotic self, mentions of death of a child (canon), many scenes set in a bar and mentions of alcohol or drinking, your standard lolabee flangst and introspection, reader mentions music, singing and playing guitar. Notes: So much appreciation for encouraging me to write this fic goes to @trulybetty for listening toand supporting my ideas and @rhoorl. Watching the new Road House movie at the same time as starting TLOU games led to this idea I couldn't let go of. Fic title isfrom the Noah Kahan song of the same name.

It’s starting to weigh on you.

You see it in your cousin more though; the weariness in her eyes as the local gangs come in and inevitably cause trouble. Both of you know where it comes from, the reasons behind it, why it’s so much worse for your roadhouse than anywhere else in the town.

Most days, you want to leave and sell up. Sometimes a fight is too much, it isn’t worth the cost, there’s too high a loss, too tiresome a battle. Everything your cousin possesses is tied up in the bar though. It’s not that simple for her and you won’t walk away from your family. You can’t.

The two of you cannot be the ones who let decades of your family’s legacy just wash away to nothing.

That was why your cousin had started with the bouncers in the first place. The two of you can only afford one, but it’s a small building, a small town.

“This one will be different,” your cousin says with a firm nod and smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “I just know he will. He’s new in town, he starts tonight and he - when you meet him, you’ll see what I mean.”

You don’t say that she said the same thing about the last bouncer - what was his name? Dave, or Frankie, or something like that. You’ve stopped learning their names now - it’s pointless when they never last longer than a few days.

The bar is still quiet; tinny music coming through the speakers as you finish unloading the clean glasses from the dishwasher.

“Are you playin’ tonight?” she asks.

“Might do. If the crowd let me,” you say, smiling at your cousin gently. It’s a joke now; the bar hasn’t been safe enough in months for that.

It used to be your favourite thing about this place; the music, the ability to perform songs and transport yourself to what could have been, what could be. It might not be Nashville, or the Sofi stadium, but it’s the closest you think you’ll ever get to feeling like a real musician. And now you don’t even have that.

“Good, they will. It’s going to be a good one tonight, you’ll see.”

The new bouncer is called Joel but your cousin calls him by his surname: Miller.

He’s quiet, not like the other one. Instead of stalking around and flexing, Miller sits in the corner of the bar, perched on a stool and staring into a cup of coffee as though it would answer all his queries about the universe.

You feel bad about the coffee; you should have warned him that it’s truly awful, pointed him in the direction of the small diner ten minutes away that serves some of the best coffee in the whole state. You think your own coffee isn’t too bad either; perfected and tweaked over years to figure out the perfect combination of beans and grind to bring the best out of your worn moka pot.

“Next time, I’d go for water,” you say lightly as you approach his side of the bar. It’s still quiet for this time of the evening but the trouble doesn’t usually start until after ten anyway.

“Oh, yeah?”

“I’m not sure we can even legally call this coffee. I think there’s more caffeine in the Kahlua.”

“You have Kahlua?” Miller asks.

“It’s a very old bottle, I really wouldn’t risk it.” You try and remember the last time someone ordered a drink with it here but it’s hazy. The Bar doesn’t exactly attract people for its cocktail list anymore.

“Pity.”

“I can get you a water if you’d prefer. Or something else?”

“It’s fine.” You notice Miller has pushed the cup slightly away from him though. He eyes it with mild disgust and you feel suddenly even more worried for him. If he can’t handle the coffee, he surely won’t be able to handle the patrons.

“You’re Joe, right?”

“Joel,” he corrects instantly.

“Joel, right. Sorry.”

“Are there that many of us passin’ through, that you don’t learn the names properly now? Is that why your boss calling me Miller?” He doesn’t know who you are, that’s clear. He doesn’t know it’s your family’s legacy here too and you’re not just a bartender. This place matters to you.

“It’s only your first shift.”

Joel sighs and meets your gaze. His eyes are deep brown and you take in the slight salt and pepper to his stubble, the surprisingly comfortable looking plaid flannel he’s wearing. At the same time, you notice the stoniness in his posture, the wariness in his eyes.

He isn’t spoiling for a fight because he lives for them, not like the other bouncers your cousin has hired.

You’ve already realised that Joel Miller fights in an entirely differently way to his predecessors. You can tell his biggest battles aren’t the ones in a bar like this. Without projecting too much, you think they’re probably inside his mind. No one has haunted eyes like that without a story. You’re a bartender, you can just tell.

“What have you have been told about this gig? Do you know what you’re getting into?”

“I know this place has some troubles,” he says carefully.

“I’ll say.”

You remember when things were different in the town, in the bar. It wasn’t like this back then. It used to be for families. Your aunt once joked that your dad’s cooking could bring the entire town together. It’s been a long time since the place was known for a family meal though.

You grew up with laughter and joy inside these walls. Now, it feels like it must have happened somewhere else entirely. This bar is still where you ran in after being asked on your first date ever, where you opened your SAT results, studied while the bar was closed, had every family significant gathering or event you can remember.

This isn’t just a job for you.

“How long have you been here? No offence, but you don’t seem the type -”

“It’s my family’s bar. Your boss you mentioned, she’s my cousin. The two of us run it these days, well I mean, I only help out. It’s her bar now more than mine but it’s been our family’s place for generations. We’re what’s left.” All that’s left.

“I didn’t know. I wasn’t - I didn’t mean anything by that.”

“Of course, Miller.” His words weren’t meant with offence but he had still managed to pick at your vulnerability that you don’t truly belong and cut at your soul.

Your family never thought you’d keep up with the bar, your cousin was the clear front runner to inherit it and you supported that. You wanted to leave your hometown, that had never been a secret and your childhood bedroom had been covered in posters and postcards for exciting and different places.

Once, you dreamt of Nashville, of music venues and guitar calloused hands playing idle melodies as a tour bus drove you to your next city across a starlit sky.

Life had different plans for you thought.

“This town didn’t used to be like this,” you add, “We’ve had a lot of bad luck and - the whole town is suffering. You wouldn’t have recognised this place if you passed through even just a few years ago.”

”I’m -“

The door to the bar crashes open before Joel can finish his sentence. You notice the first of the regular troublemakers walking in and warily look around the bar. You can tell by their posture, the look on their face exactly what type of night it’s going to be.

“Looks like your work will be getting started soon, Miller. I’d drink up.”

He might just survive his first shift. That’s annoying - you have five bucks counting on him either walking out or be stretchered out like any of the bouncers by the end of the night.

You try and pay attention to your surroundings. It’s sensible in your line of work. For so many people that line between a good night and becoming the worst version of themselves is wafer thin and you’re often the first line of defence, you’re the one who has to say when someone’s not being served anymore.

Your cousin is in the back office, trying to sort out the multitude of paperwork that comes with owning a bar or business that nobody ever thinks about.

He’s calm, polite even for the most part.

He doesn’t escalate the situation, not like some of the bouncers who have spent a shift here recently. Mostly he sits and observes. His calmness is almost disconcerting and contrasts sharply with the danger in his posture, the readiness to move he’s concealing.

There hasn’t been too much trouble so far tonight; a mild fight which was easily taken outside but you can feel the tension in the air.

“Can I get ‘nother whiskey?” Robert slurs. He’s a regular to the bar now and has a particular penchant for not being able to handle his alcohol, being very resentful at being cut off, and worse of all never has enough money to cover his bill or damages.

“I think you’re done for tonight,” you say lightly.

“Nah, I say when I’m done.”

“Not according to the liquor licence,” you snark back.

“Look, just pour me -”

“You’re done.”

“You’re such a fucking bitch.” Robert slams his fist down on the bar.

“I think it’s time to go,” Joel says politely, suddenly standing next to Robert in the bar. You’re not sure if he’ll last as a bouncer here but you’ll give him points for stealthiness. You hadn’t even heard him approaching.

“I think -“ Robert starts before pulling a sloppy punch. Joel easily dodges it, raising his eyebrow incredulously at Robert.

“C’mon, now, it’s time to go.”

He places a hand on Robert’s shoulder and guides him out. You’re struck that he didn’t escalate the situation - that was the last bouncer’s mistake. What he hadn’t counted on was what Robert is a mean drunk and often gets a second wind of energy.

Joel walks back up to you at the bar. “The way people talk about this place. That wasn’t so -“

“That, Miller, that was nothing.”

You watch as another troublemaker, Owen, walks in, all biker vest and swagger. It’s never a good night when he’s here. Usually his presence signals a full moon style night of fights, shouting and misery. He hasn’t been in for weeks to your joy; you’d heard a rumour he was in jail. Not any more though.

“Miller you see now the trouble’s really going to start. That wasn’t even your warmup.”

Sunlight streams through the window as you finish wiping over the table. It’s your favourite time of day in the bar. Your cousin is catching up on admin, sleep and supplier deliveries, the bar is empty and it’s just you, the stereo and sunlight.

You can’t help but lose yourself in the music just for a moment. You love this song, the beat, the lyrics, the way it ebbs and flows in all the right places. Music is magic.

You’re not in a rundown bar, not weighed down by obligation and memories and self-doubt. You’re not here, you’re somewhere else. In a city, in a crowd, on a stage or even just dancing around somewhere else. You’re lighter and freer and desperate for the song to continue just a little more as you spin around, humming along with the lyrics.

You hear the door open and turn around quickly. You heard about the diner getting robbed a couple of weeks ago. You should have locked the door.

Miller’s there, some light discolouration to his jaw from the one punch he didn’t dodge, but otherwise intact.

“You seem surprised to see me,” he says.

“You’ve cost me five bucks,” you reply simply.

He raises an eyebrow, “Didn’t think I could hack it*?*”

“The odds are the odds.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your money.”

“Yep, that five bucks was my ticket out of this town,” you joke.

“Not sure that would even cover a bus ticket,” he replies dryly.

“Maybe the coffee for on the bus?”

“Maybe.”

“So, day two,” you say awkwardly, swinging your arms around you and then immediately wondering why on earth you did that. You busy yourself by turning down the speakers.

“Yep,” Miller says casually, sitting on a bar stool.

“Have - are you hungry?” you ask, suddenly conscious that it’s lunchtime and Joel not doubt has another difficult day ahead.

“I could eat.”

”It’s nothing fancy, because the kitchen’s not open, but it is homemade - well, it was. I froze it but it’s defrosted and it’s really good. Also, frozen food still retains its nutrients well, and in the case of cake, freezing it makes it even better.”

“I see.” Miller pauses, “It’s not cake, is it? I don’t think I can eat frozen cake before a shift. ”

“No,” you argue, “it’s Tuesday, that’s what we’d do on a Wednesday! Today it’s lasagne.”

Miller smiles then. It’s a good smile. Slightly crooked and his eyes crease a little, the way you always associate someone smiling when they mean it. His deep eyes are momentarily lighter, there’s a change in him.

You want to tease more smiles out of this man, want to identify each and every changed in his face or the way his hands tap against the old bar. You want to keep him like this, bask in the glow that you’ve bought that expression to his face.

“Lasagne sounds great,” he says after a moment.

“Sure, okay, Miller. Coming right up.”

“Call me Joel. Please.”

“Okay, Joel.”

You like how his name sounds against your teeth, the way he smiles once more when you say his name.

It becomes a habit. Joel survives shift after shift and inevitably turns up to the bar early the following day when you’re there.

He’s lasted longer than fourteen bouncers now. He might just make it. He’s quiet, yes, but you’ve seen the violence in his movements when needed, the way he tries to be polite and then it’s over, then it’s a line. There’s something that compels and terrifies you about the violence he holds, its contradiction because he speaks to you so softly and how can a man be capable of both?

“You need a second bouncer,” he says one morning as you’re trying and failing to sort the back door out.

The employee room in the bar is a barely functioning space. Cliche after cliche with the cheap red IKEA futon, mismatching furniture and chairs and elderly microwave and kettle. The air conditioning has never worked in the room and now the back door is jammed too.

The place is falling apart.

“Can’t afford it,” you reply nonchalantly. “We’re doing our best.”

“I know. But then someone could try and watch at the door, stop some of these people coming in.”

“I know. But no one’s coming in because they’re there so we can’t afford a bouncer. It’s uh, a catch 22. Can’t even afford to replace the damn -” You shove your weight against the door to no avail.

“I can fix that,” Joel says softly as you kick the door one more time.

“The gangs? That’s ambitious.”

“The door.”

“Oh, it’s just the weather and it always gets stuck now. Replacing it would cost-”

“I can fix it. I uh, used to be a contractor.”

“A contractor?” Joel hasn’t talked about his past much before. You know he has a brother, he’s the oldest and that he’s from Texas. Joel carries that

“Did you have to say that with the air of a cowboy in an old movie?”

“I wasn’t aware I did,” he replies, cocking his eyebrow in a way.

“What sort of contractor were you?”

“Building, just the general type.”

“Oh, okay. So you could actually fix the door?”

“I said so, didn’t I?”

“How do you get from contractor to bouncer?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I’d expect so.”

Joel squirms awkwardly. You’ve watched him easily apprehend aggressive gang members shouting the vilest things to Joel and move them outside. You’ve seen him barely blink over ill drunks spilling their souls on his shoes. You’ve seen him so strong and resolute.

He looks at his watch which, for the first time, you notice is broken and then at the ground.

“It’s fine, Joel,” you say, “you don’t need to tell me anymore.”

He keeps coming back, night after night and things start to change. It’s small, a fixed door and then a window catch replaced, the fact the gangs start coming around less. It’s change but the quiet type of change you only discover through previously entrenched routines.

You’ve spent time cataloguing his details, each scar or line, the way he takes his coffee (black, but a two to one ratio of sugar that makes you wince a little). Joel Miller has a sweet tooth.

You’re used to Joel now, you like talking to him in quiet moments in the bar, before or after shifts as he hangs around just a little longer. You tell him about the town, about how it was growing up, he lets it slip he’s from Texas, mentions a brother, Tommy, and you want to unpeel his secrets more and more.

You proudly place the slab of cake in front of him. Rain hammers against the windows and roof, creating great echoes as it sounds like the bar will come down around you. It’s unseasonal, the rain, an omen of quiet days. Today you don’t mind.

“What’s the occasion?” Joel asks, looking at the cake curiously.

“It’s a Wednesday.” You take a bite of your own slice, savouring the flavours, the delicate balance of sponge and icing. If you can say so, it’s a pretty great cake. You really have improved over recent months and while this was experimental, you’re happy with the result.

“Ah. Say no more.”

“Also, congrats, you’ve officially been here for eight and half weeks.”

“I pass probation then?” Joel looks around dubiously, clearly concerned your cousin or others will suddenly pop out in some surprise party or sense of occasion.

“Pretty much passed that by coming back on day two, but that’s my cousin’s domain. I just pour drinks.”

“And provide frozen food to the bouncers.”

“Only the ones who come back. Besides, it’s defrosted. I can take that cake back you know.”

“No, don’t you dare.” Joel takes a large forkful of the cake. “So why the cake though, sweetheart?”

“You, Joel Miller, are officially our longest standing bouncer.” You clap lightly in mock celebration as he cocks an eyebrow in response.

“What an honour,” he replies sardonically.

”You’re welcome.”

“Do I need to make a speech?”

“I think it was the speech that bought the previous record holder down.” Clint had lasted forty-five minutes after that speech. It was a bad night - a particularly nasty gang fight.

“Hubris,” Joel says lightly.

“Exactly.”

“Not bad for a contractor turned bouncer though.”

Joel laughs. “You going to tell me that story one day?” you ask, hoping your teasing expression hides how genuine your question is.

“Maybe,” he says. “You’ve not hit my records yet.”

“That a challenge?”

He shrugs and walks towards the door to ready the bar for opening.

You hand Joel the frozen peas wrapped in an old cloth. After the commotion, your cousin’s closed the bar early. It’s hard to recover the night from a scene like that and you’re pretty sure the broken table and glass amount to some sort of safety violation at the least.

“Thanks,” Joel says gruffly.

“You could have a concussion.”

“I'm fine.”

“You’re bleeding.”

Joel looks at his cracked knuckles and raises a finger to the cut on his head, lightly touching it and observing the blood that comes away on his hand. “’m fine.”

“You hit the bar.”

“Standard night on the job.”

“You hit it with your head.”

Joel shrugs, nonchalance and mischief at once.

“How’s the idiot?” Owen had come in with the intention of causing trouble; something about the rival gang, or his girlfriend, or something that would never justify his trail of destruction. Joel had maintained his usual rules; polite, carefully moving Owen outside the bar, even as he tried to fight back. You’re not sure how it went so wrong, how instead of getting Owen outside suddenly there were more of the gang, broken tables and chaos.

It’s been weeks since a night like that. It makes it feel brand new, the hurt starker somehow.

“He needs to go to hospital,” you say, wrapping your jacket around you after you lock the bar door, keys heavy in your hand.

“Oh.”

“He’ll be fine. His friends are taking him. You probably need the hospital too, I’ll drive you.”

“’m fine.”

“You’re not. Get in the damn car, Joel.”

“I’m -”

“The car, Joel. Don’t make me start calling you Miller again.”

Joel holds his hands up and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll go.”

“Excellent,” you say with a sweet smile.

You drive in near silence but once you’re both in the hospital waiting room, he talks. He talks more than he ever usually does.

“I didn't need to come here,” he grumbles.

“Are you on the lam?”

“What?” He asks incredulously.

“You seem reluctant to be in a hospital that takes down personal information. It’s a reasonable question.”

He sighs, pinches between his eyebrows. “No, I’m not on the damn lam. I just - I just don’t like hospitals.”

“I don’t think a lot of people do. I guess it’s an occupational habit with your work.”

“I patch myself up usually. Last time I was in one of these places, it was … I was …”

“Joel, it’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” You reach for his bloody hand and squeeze, unsure if the blood on it is from his own split knuckles or the fight. The violence of his body contrasts so much with the man you talk to, the friend you’ve made.

“When I told you it was a long story, how I went from a contractor to this … it’s, I don’t know.”

You shift so you can face Joel and try and model your best supportive expression. Joel and you talk about everything now, but he’s guarded and this is the first time he’s volunteered this story to you.

“We can talk about it later.”

“I had a daughter,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him. “And then I had a chance, a second chance to - but it’s been a mess. I’ve been a mess. I’ve got a lot wrong.”

So much of Joel Miller makes sense to you know and you can understand the sadness that crosses his eyes sometimes, the reluctance to talk about his past.

“Haven’t we all?” You pause. “I’m really sorry about your daughter, Joel.“

“I don’t know how to make it right now though.”

“I think,” you say gently, “all you can do is try. For what it’s worth, you’re making a difference here, you’re making a difference with me.”

“Really?” He glances up at you, suddenly years younger and as you nod a slight smile light up his face briefly.

“Why don’t you tell me about her? If you want to.”

He smiles. “I do, but not tonight, but I will.”

“Joel Miller,” a doctor calls.

“C’mon, you’re up.” You squeeze Joel’s arm before standing up.

The balance has shifted and something’s changed.

The bar changes gradually like the way spring teases itself for weeks. It’s all subtle shifts, blossoms of hope and shoots of a future you didn’t dare think of too much. The bar might survive, your cousin is smiling again.

And then there’s you and Joel. Joel, who still pops in to talk to you even on his days off. Joel, who you sit out with after the bar closes and drink beer and play guitar to the stars.

“You should play here,” he says, taking a sip of his beer, “you’re good.” “You’re better. I can’t play guitar like you.” “Nah. Just had more practice at best. Your voice is pretty, so pretty.” “Oh, I’m not so good at playing. I’m better at singing,” you say. “Four basic chords are about my limit on the guitar.” “Don’t do yourself down.” “Trust me, I’m not.” You pause. ”Joel, you could - you could play with me. If I ever played here. it’s probably stupid.” There’s something unreadable in his eyes, a soft smile on his lips. “No, I’d like that.”

You’re accustomed to his presence, his low but grounding voice, his calm demeanour throughout all chaos.

He’s told you more about his past now. About Sarah and how her loss tore him apart for years, and also about the foster daughter he took in, Ellie. He won’t tell you much about Ellie though, except they stopped talking around about the time he became a bouncer. He once asked you if you would do anything to save the life of someone you love and you said yes. He nodded and moved on. You think it’s connected, you’re not sure.

You’ve worked at a bar long enough to know when it’ll be a bad night. There’s an electricity in the air, a tension that is so tight anything could snap it. You look over at Joel to see if he’s picked up on the same energy.

He’s sitting on the stool, observing quietly, but you notice the slight furrow in his brows. He looks at you and his mouth twitches into the smallest of smiles, but there’s anxiety in his eyes.

“I heard that Owen’s gang declared war on the Rattlers,” you say in a low voice. You don’t like Owen, or his friends, but the Rattlers are worst. Owen’s gang is the typical cliched grouping of a small town that’s become lost. They drink too much, throw punches without thinking and cause trouble. They’re not evil though.

The Rattlers are.

“Didn’t hear the Rattlers came through here,” Joel says in a low voice. “I heard of their reputation at a previous gig.”

“Their uh, second in command, is that the term? Anyway, he’s had a thing with someone in town for years. On and off. Guess it’s on again.”

“They cause trouble when they’re here?”

You scoff. “This was starting to feel like -”

“It still is, it still will. Let me do my job,” Joel says firmly.

You want to trust him; you do trust him. It’s the Rattlers that worry you, the feeling in your gut that this hard sought over peace is threatened, the deep and terrifying fear that this bar can never change. Not now. Not even with Joel.

Joel smiles at you, the picture of reassurance. “Owen might not come in here. This is hardly a welcome environment for his group anymore.”

“Joel,” you say nervously, “I just … I have a feeling.”

Joel doesn’t laugh or dismiss you; he straightens up and nods.

You’re not sure how things fall apart so quickly. One moment the bar was quiet, then Owen was there and before Joel could get him to leave, the Rattlers were here too. Maybe it was planned, maybe it was what they all wanted.

“Evening, unfortunately I need to ask you all to leave tonight,” Joel says politely, standing from his barstool. “I’m afraid the business is at capacity and we have a private function on.”

“Well,” Owen begins.

“Leave.”

“Look, Miller, it’s not -”

“I’m not asking, Owen.” Joel’s voice is low, deadly, the tone he uses when polite words fall flat, when it’s time to not be nice. “That goes to all of you.”

Owen falters slightly at the sound of that, you wonder if he remembers how things went the last time Joel used that voice.

“Y’all got a function on?” one of the Rattlers asks you. He’s covered in tattoos and is wearing a leather vest with numerous patches with no other top underneath. You wonder if he based his outfit on the existing tropes, if he’s intentionally as cliched as possible or if it truly is just an unspoken truth now. His hair is slicked back into a ponytail that highlights his receding hairline and a puckered scar that runs from his brow to his nose.

“I’m afraid so, gentlemen. While we, uh appreciate the desire to visit, I’m afraid Mr Miller is correct.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh. It doesn’t look so-”

“Please,” you say quietly.

For a moment you wonder if it will work, you’re on bated breath as the Rattler steps back and moves to say something to his gang. However, that’s the very moment Owen smashes a chair on his back and hell breaks loose.

“Oh, thank you so fucking much for that,” Joel says in an irritated voice, immediately pulled into action to try and get the situation outside, away from the patrons, from you.

You step backwards, hoping the protection of the bar will be enough.

People are running out of the bar as the chaos unfolds. It’s a flood of sound,

Someone pushes Owen onto the bar, pummelling him as you try and back away. “Please stop,” you say.

Then a flash and searing heat.

That’s when you hear Joel swear, you notice his eyes have darkened, his entire demeanour has changed.

Your vision is blurred by something and you can feel a sharp pain on your face along with something sticky and hot when you touch it.

You shut your eyes, willing the events away and allowing yourself to crouch under the bar and wait for the noises to stop.

It’s fine. It’s fine.

You’re fine.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay,” a soothing voice says. “Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise but we do have to close early today.”

There’s a pause, noise around you and then something cool on your face. “I need to see the damage, okay? It’s me, it’s Joel, you’re going to be okay. I’ve got you.”

You open your eyes to see Joel crouched in front of you. He’s holding a damp cloth that is already soaked in red.

“You’ll need stitches, I’ll drive you.” Joel moves your head gently and nods. “Your eye looks okay; can you see normally?”

“Yeah. What happened?”

”Fucking - it was Owen, he grabbed a glass from the bar and instead of hitting the rattler - ”

“Got me.”

“Yeah. It’s deep but um ‘”

“I’ll live. I’m okay. Don’t need hospital.”

“Huh, you trying to prove a point here? How annoyin’ it is when someone who needs hospital won’t go?”

”It’s fine, Joel.”

“You’re hurt,” he says and he looks disappointed.

You feel a burst of shame, you should have defended yourself better.

“I’m going to call your cousin and tell her what happened and then I’m driving you to hospital. No arguments, okay?”

You try and smile weakly in acquiescence which seems to only make Joel frown more.

His hand lingers on your shoulder slightly as he hands you the seatbelt after bundling you into his truck. He moved quickly, closing the bar, making a hushed call in the corner to your cousin and then immediately guiding you out, a clean cloth placed in your hands to hold against your cut.

There’s a nodding dog ornament on the dash, something that doesn’t seem like Joel at all.

“Ellie,” he says quietly as he notices you looking at it. “Keep the pressure on that wound, okay?”

He turns out of the bar.

“Didn’t seem your sort of ornament,” you reply placidly.

“She called it Ernie, I - that kid.” Joel sighs heavily.

“You could call her,” you say, braver in the wake of your injury.

“I would. But she doesn’t want to hear from me, trust me.” He mumbles something else you can’t make out.

“You’re a good person, Joel. She -”

“I’m not.”

“You are,” you say, “trust me, I know bad men, but you aren’t one of them. Owen? The Rattlers?”

“The bar’s pretty damn low there.”

“You know the town I live in.”

Joel chuckles mirthlessly.

“I was going to play tonight,” you say quietly, “I thought it was time. That’ll teach me.”

“You could still play, maybe tomorrow though.”

“It would be harder with the blood right now.”

“Just a tad.”

“Thanks for driving me.”

“Of course.”

You wonder if he’s trying to return a favour, whether he’s the sort of person who just can’t feel indebted to someone else. Now you’ve bled on his car too, now you’re even?

He looked worried though. You think about the way he sounded too, the forced calmness when he checked on you.

You’re friends.

That’s normal, right?

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. “You shouldn’t have got hurt.”

“Joel, it’s … you can’t be everywhere at once. It’s not on you.”

“I should have -”

“Miller,” you say sharply, “it’s not on you. Not one bit. Do you think I can bar Owen for good now?”

Joel chuckles. “Yeah, I reckon so.

“Good, well that’s something, isn’t it? Almost makes it worth it. Do you think it will scar?”

“I don’t know, sweetheart.”

You pause. It’s vanity, you know, but the idea of this leaving a permanent scar on your face hurts worse than the injury itself.

“That’s not ideal. I-it’s stupid.” It feels so foolish to be worried about a scar when things could be so much worse, for your own vanity to say ‘well, now, you’ll never make it as a musician or star’ or to focus on your looks. It’s normal, it’s human, but it makes you feel guilty.

Joel looks at you carefully and he places a warm, solid hand on your hand that is not holding a compress to your face. “You’re so beautiful, you know that, right?” he says in a low voice. “This won’t change that. It couldn’t, okay?”

No-one calls you beautiful. There’s been half-hearted claims of your ‘hotness’ with exes, of your friends’ encouragement when you make a particular effort in your appearance, but nothing like this. Nothing that feels this sincere either.

He takes his hand away as the doctor joins you. You can feel the heat lingering like butterflies as the doctor attends to your wound.

Joel stays with you the whole time.

You hear the guitar before you can see him. Soft, melodic chords that reach a crescendo as you walk closer to the small cabin style house he’s renting. You’re not sure if it’s a complete betrayal of the trust from when you dropped him off after his hospital trip weeks ago, but you need to see him outside of the bar.

“Hey,” he says in surprise when he sees you. He places the guitar carefully down before standing up to greet you.

“I’m sorry to just turn up, I hope it’s okay.” You awkwardly clasp your hands and wring them together. “I was passing through and I thought - I thought I’d say hi.”

This is a complete lie; you are not passing through at all.

You’re wearing your favourite outfit and you sprayed an extra two spritzes of your best perfume on this morning. In fact, you have made considerable effort when you think about all of this.

“No, it’s great. I’m happy you stopped by.”

“You’re good. The guitar, it was … really good. I’ve not heard you play that before.”

“Oh, it’s just something I’ve been working on.”

“It’s really good.”

“Nah, not really.”

You frown, hands on your hips and he raises his own hands in defence.

“Can I - do you want a drink?” Joel indicates inside the cabin and you nod enthusiastically.

“That would be great, thanks Joel.”

There are three cabins in the area that a local businessman rents out. Joel’s cabin is the closest to the woods, the one that’s slightly hidden away. Inside it looks like a typical rental; the slightly shabby furniture and neutral demeanour that feels void of any character, the aged kitchen stove and units, an abundance of wood furniture.

There are touches of Joel too though. There’s a vinyl player and box of records on the coffee table, a plaid blanket over the sofa and a couple of photos on the fireplace mantle. You think they might be Sarah, maybe Ellie, but you don’t want to pry.

This changes things. It’s not the bar, neither of you are at work, or hanging out outside after a shift. This feels more personal, more intimate. This is Joel Miller, the real Joel, the one you can’t hide your feelings for now.

You do have feelings for Joel.

It’s funny, when he started you wanted to keep him at a distance because you expected him to leave like everyone else, you thought the bar was beyond help. You wondered if you were beyond your dreams. He’s helping bring you back though.

It’s his calm demeanour, the wry expressions and dry humour, his plaid shirts and the way when he smiles, which is rare but you’ve seen it, his whole face softens and lightens up. It’s electric.

You think about him all the time; reading articles you try and remember to bring up at the bar, when you hear a song he’d like. Joel’s found his way into your life and you don’t want to let him go.

He’ll leave though. The bouncers inevitably do, most people in your life do. You just don’t want that with him. You want him to stay.

“Are you okay?” Joel asks.

“Why?”

“You have that serious thought face on.”

“I have a serious thought face?”

Joel scoffs. “So, what’s up?”

“I just - I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.”

Joel frowns then. “Why not?”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay, c’mon I said I’d get you a drink, right?” Joel indicates the sturdy wooden table and you sit obligingly. “So I’ve got a choice of tea, well It says it’s tea anyway. Uh, some whiskey, beer, water …. I’m out of coffee.”

“That should be illegal.”

“Shouldn’t it?”

“I might just leave now.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya.”

He’s close to you now and you feel emboldened by the fact you’re here, you’re with him and he’s not pushing you away or looking like he wants to leave. Maybe, just maybe this is a great idea.

“Now I think about it though, I’m not sure that I’m thirsty after all,” you say boldly.

“Oh no?” He leans in closer, hands hovering just over your waist. “Look, you don’t want -”

“I do. I do want.”

Joel swallows. “Really?” He’s looking at you as though you’re something mythical, something intangible he could lose at any second. There’s reverence in his eyes and it’s overwhelming and beautiful at once.

You nod. “I’m not the only one here who - I’m not though, right?” There’s a hint of nervousness in your voice now, a sense that perhaps this isn’t the great idea you thought it was just seconds ago. It’s like whiplash. This is why you should just focus on music instead.

“No,” Joel says softly, “you’re not.”

His hands, hands you’ve seen both acts of violence and hold your injured face so gently, skim your body. Joel’s hands, like him, are contradictions. He steps minutely closer, a little more into your space and oh so welcome.

He smells like soap and coffee, with the faint hints of autumn you noticed around the cabin and there’s something magic in this Joel Miller. Something in every sense of him, the way he touches you, the sound of his voice, the feel of his skin and sound of his voice that instantly draws you closer, that makes heat pool in your stomach.

He kisses you and you reach for his hands, entwines them together. He stops, concern mounting over his face. “You’re injured, I should have -”

“Doesn’t hurt,” you say softly, drawing him close again.

You’re a mess of hands and lips, a clash of sensations and finally, finally this is happening you think as h guides you further into the cabin. Towards his bedroom.

He guides you past the kitchenette, down the narrow corridor to his room.

You want to drink him in, absorb every detail of his body and commit it to memory.

There’s a ragged scar on his abdomen, a light scattering of stories across his body from other bars, other jobs, other Joels.

There are other details you want to remember though, especially the look in his eyes right now, heavy with desire.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says. You’ve heard the words before in similar settings but it’s been clear to you it’s the lust, it’s the ‘right’ thing to say. You know when isn’t meant, the lack sincerity signalling a paint by the numbers dalliance at best.

Joel’s voice is fervent though. Honest. He means this.

The majority of your clothes are soon discarded, both yours and his in a combined mess on the floor.

Your hands are running through his hair as he guides you onto the bed, as his fingers hover over the edge of your underwear.

He pauses, just for a moment. You wonder if it’s recognition of the line you’re both about to cross, if it’s to give you the space to confirm that yes, you still want him, to offer an out just in case.

You reach for his face, run your hand down his stubbly cheek. You’re trying to sum up your thoughts, to bring everything you want to say together into a neat sentence.

You smile and gently say, “I want you, want this. I thought you knew.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t think you’d want me. Been driving myself crazy thinkin’ about you lately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Why don’t you show me what you thought about?” you ask.

He smiles as his fingers finally reach beneath your underwear, carefully pulling them down and then gently gliding his finger.

You’re wet, almost embarrassingly so, you think, for just making out.

“This all for me?” He asks with a devilishly teasing tone.

You don’t immediately answer, just smirk as he teases up to your clit and traces circles around it, smiling as you finally make a groan of contentment.

He slides a finger inside you, lazily moving it within you, finding that spot that makes you moan, adding another finger.

You feel close already, but he withdraws his fingers and then, looking at you, brings them to his mouth one at a time in a move that makes your cheeks heat up.

He moves to his bedside drawer, fumbling for a box of condoms you suppose. You’re still lost in catching your breath, in replaying the last few moments, in anticipating what’s about to happen.

He kisses you before positioning himself and you ready yourself for him.

You’re entwined, adjusting yourself for the feel of him, the weight of him. Hands interlocked with his as he finally moves, as he meets your kiss once again.

He adapts quickly, noticing micro=movements or sounds and changing his rhythm to draw every one of them out, to bring you to the edge once more.

You’re both a mess of rushed breaths, a chorus of names and gasps, ebbing and flowing to tease each other apart.

He’s everything and nothing like you expected. Hoped for even.

The feeling builds in your stomach, the rush of pleasure building almost unbearably.

Finally, finally you get your release. The ripples of pleasure ride through your body as the two of you lie together, boneless, catching your breath.

You usually feel a need to say something, to fill a silence, but it’s comfortable. You roll over, daringly placing an arm over Joel’s chest and leaning close. He pulls you towards you, kissing your brow lazily

You can feel his heartbeat, the warmth of his skin.

You feel like you could stay here forever.

Instead though, you’re practical. You excuse yourself to his bathroom to clean up.

You take in your reflection; the telltale signs of your exploits feel so visible to you as you freshen up.

He’s not in bed when you return. You pull your clothes on and head back into the main room of the cabin.

Joel’s wearing his jeans and not much else, humming as he concentrates on something by the stove.

“I promised tea, didn’t I?”

“We did get sidetracked.”

“Well, that was welcome,” Joel says. His voice is so much softer than you’ve heard it in the bar. There’s a vulnerability leaking through with each moment you stay here. It’s two sided, you can feel your own edges softening, a desire to open yourself even more to the man in front of you.

“I agree.”

The kettle boils and you watch Joel making the tea, try and not lose yourself in the broadness of his shoulders.

“So …” you break off, swinging your arms nervously and then wrapping them around yourself.

Joel hands you a steaming mug. “So,” he says. His voice is calm though, relaxed and somehow that helps.

“That wasn’t exactly what I thought was - I didn’t turn up for this specifically, you know? It wasn’t intentional.” Not that intentional.

“Would you have been wearing a trench coat if it was? Seduce me properly?” There’s mischief in his eyes as you meet his gaze.

“That a fantasy or something, Joel?”

He laughs. “Maybe, maybe it is.”

“Okay then. Logging that for another day.”

“Oh really?” Joel’s smile warms his entire face, it softens each feature and it’s something you never want to stop seeing.

It feels like you’ve known him so much longer. You feel comfortable in his house, you feel comfortable around him.

“So we’re opening back up at the weekend,” you say, “Got any plans for this time off?”

“Nope. You?”

You shake your head. “How about that?”

“Hmm, that’s not right. We should do something about that. Let me take you to dinner?”

“Dinner?“

“People still do that, right?”

“Yes, but - I’d love to.”

“Great. I’ll uh, defer to your recommendation, seeing as you know this area more.” It hits you then. Joel doesn’t have roots here and the bar, except for the Rattlers, has improved. What does this town, what do you have to offer?

“Are you going to leave?” you ask suddenly, the anxious thought you’ve tried to suppress bubbling to the surface.

“Leave?”

“When the bar’s open, when there’s no trouble.”

“There’s always some trouble.”

“Don’t. You know what I mean.”

Joel sighs and takes a sip of his drink. “Usually, I would.”

“But this isn’t usual?”

He points his hand at you and adds, “I don’t make a habit of this. I don’t …. Usually, yes I go in and out of places and I don’t stay long.”

Your heart sinks. “I understand,” you lie.

“I think, I think maybe there are some reasons to stick around here though?” It’s a question, not a confirmation. It strikes you then that maybe Joel feels just as exposed as you do.

“I think there could be,” you say.

“Good. I’m glad.“

The bar looks like the Rattlers never came through here. Everything is neat, clean and in its place. There are no broken chairs or tables. It seems almost impossible for how short a time ago it was.

Joel helped, you realise, he helped your cousin bring this place back.

“Are you okay?” she asks, “I can cover the bar if you need -”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re sure.”

You pause and run your hand over the smooth, clean bar surface. You think of Joel, of the conversations over so many nights about music, about what makes you happy. “Can you still cover the bar for a bit?”

“Sure.” Your cousin pauses and hesitantly puts down the crate of soda bottles. “Is everything -”

“I want to play tonight.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, I’ve got to stop waiting right for the right moment, right? Just do it,” you say.

“And this has nothing to do with a certain bouncer?”

“No,” you say, thinking of the scar on your face, the battles you’ve won and will win in the future. “It’s for me.”

You can feel his eyes on you. It doesn’t make you feel nervous or under a spotlight though as you carefully sit on the stool.

It’s almost as though it’s just the two of you. Another night after work under the stars and messing around with a guitar. Or outside his cabin, thick flannel wrapped around you as you both play.

The bar feels safer somehow. It’s funny considering the recent Rattlers attack. Maybe that’s why - they came in and they tried to wreck the place, you were caught in that crossfire, but you survived. The bar survived. And the locals are back, the locals you wanted back. If you shut your eyes, it almost feels like before when your family ran the place.

It’s different though, because it’s your cousins. Because even though it might not be on paper, it’s yours too. Your legacy. You don’t want to fight it anymore. You don’t want to feel cynical about this town.

You look at Joel and smile and then you start playing.

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed@pedrostories@hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

[xthejazzdalorianx]

Kindred Souls (One-Shot)

pairing(s): Erik (Magneto) Lehnsherr x Telekinetic!Mutant!Female!Reader

warning(s): EXPLICIT SO MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, angst, SMUT, fluff, yearning, angst, fluff, p in v sex, reverence, and romance. Erik is rude as hell, but he warms up anyway. Oh yea, edging, too.

a/n: credit to my coworker for the title name, but i hope y’all enjoy this one! this would be my second fan fiction that i have ever written so please let me know if you have any tips & tricks or if you would like to see more! <3

word count: 4.1k

- - - - - - -

summary: In this story, Erik, struggling with Charles' death and his new role as X-Men leader, faces unresolved feelings for you. Your sudden return after ten years rekindles their deep connection, leading to a heartfelt confrontation about love and regret. The story ends with an intimate reunion that symbolizes healing and growth, as Erik seeks forgiveness and you offer unwavering support, setting the stage for a shared future.

- - - - - - -

It was evening in New York at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters, and the air was cool and crisp with a hint of winter. The mansion, usually bustling with activity, was eerily quiet since Charles' passing. Outside, the city slept in blissful ignorance of the heavy decisions weighing on Erik's shoulders.

The sky above the mansion was a deep shade of indigo, the street lamps casting a soft golden glow on the surrounding buildings. The bare trees rustled in the crisp breeze, their branches casting long, spindly shadows across the quiet grounds. The mansion itself was a grand, old-fashioned building, its windows dark and silent.

Before he died, Charles had left a will with a profound request: that if anything were to happen to him, Erik would take over as leader of the X-Men and continue their mission to create harmony between humans and mutants. Though Erik wasn't sure if he still believed in this vision, it was something he cared deeply about. Charles had been more than just a friend; he was like a brother. And it was Charles who had seen the depth of Erik's feelings for you.

You were the light that brightened Erik's life, and your absence has left a void that he struggles to fill. The pain of losing you lingers like a shadow, a constant reminder of what once was. He buries his emotions deep inside, masking them with a facade of strength and control, but they never truly go away.

Erik now goes by Magneto, embracing the name as a symbol of power and dominance. It shields him from the world and makes him feel invincible. But at the same time, it creates a barrier that prevents him from facing his own vulnerability. His helmet serves as both a shield from external noise and a cage that keeps him isolated from his own feelings.

- - - - - - -

Sitting in Charles' old wheelchair, its leather worn and creaky under his weight, Magneto stared at his helmet. The metallic surface reflected the dim light of the room as he let out a heavy sigh, conveying the weariness in his soul.

He reached out, his fingertips brushing the cool metal of the helmet. With a flick of his wrist, it rose into the air, spinning slowly before his eyes. The power coursed through him, as natural as breathing, yet it brought him no comfort.

"What would you do, old friend?" he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper in the empty room. The silence that answered was deafening.

He was facing a harsh reality: he had lost your love and with it, a part of himself. His determination to fight for mutant rights often felt hollow without you by his side. The X-Men, who had once seen him as an enemy, now looked to him for guidance with a mix of suspicion and hope. He couldn't blame them; his actions in the past had been driven by his own relentless pursuit of power and control.

Despite the mistrust and fractured mission, Erik clung to Charles' vision. Though it may have faded over time, he still believed that mutants deserved equality, respect, and a chance at peaceful coexistence with humanity. It was a dream that seemed just as distant as the warmth he once found in your embrace.

Leaning back in the wheelchair, Magneto tried to focus on plans for the X-Men, but his mind kept drifting back to you. The plans seemed insignificant compared to the memories of your laughter and touch. As he attempted to steer his thoughts back towards the future he was trying to build, the weight of his emotions bore down heavily on him. The road ahead felt isolating and uncertain, but for Charles, for the X-Men, and for the hope of a better world, he would continue forward - no matter how shattered his heart may feel.

The door creaked open and shut quietly as you stepped into the room. For a moment, everything seemed frozen in time. It had been ten years since you last laid eyes on each other, and seeing Erik in the dim light of the study felt almost surreal. Your heart raced with uncertainty as you questioned whether this moment was real or simply a figment of your imagination.

- - - - - - -

"Erik?" Your voice was a hesitant whisper filled with a mix of emotions - uncertainty, longing, and the weight of years apart.

Erik's head whipped around upon hearing his name, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his face. For a moment, he thought he must be dreaming, but as he turned to fully face you, the reality of your presence was undeniable. His expression hardened into a mask of controlled stoicism, a defense mechanism honed from years of guarding his heart.

"What are you doing here?" Erik's voice remained steady, but a hint of vulnerability seeped through. "I wanted to be alone, and you have no right to call me that." His frown deepened, his emotions threatening to break through the carefully crafted facade he tried so hard to maintain.

As you laid eyes on him, the tension between you seemed palpable, almost visible in the air. His rigid stance and guarded expression were like a shield, shielding him from the emotions that threatened to break through.

Erik's body language spoke volumes - his stiff posture, the slight tensing of his jaw, the way he avoided making direct eye contact. He seemed to be trying to hold his emotions in check, but his eyes betrayed him, revealing a mix of longing and pain.

"I heard about Charles," you said softly, your heart aching for him. "I came to see how you're doing. The X-Men are worried about you, and I know how much he meant to you..." Your eyes were filled with sadness as you spoke, reaching out for him despite his attempt to push you away. You wanted to offer comfort, but hesitated, unsure of how he would react.

Magneto scoffed at your concern, his face a blend of disbelief and anger. He couldn't help but wonder: Did you truly care about Charles, or was there another reason for your return? What was your true agenda? "Why are you really here?" His voice held a hint of frustration, but beneath it lay a vulnerability he could barely acknowledge.

You were taken aback by his coldness, but took a deep breath before responding. "I'm here for both you and the X-Men, Erik." You paused before correcting yourself, "Magneto." Lowering your gaze briefly before looking back up at him, you continued, "Just because we have history doesn't mean I don't still care about you."

“You walked away,” he spat, his words stinging like a whip. “And now you're not my responsibility anymore.” His tone was harsh and sharp, piercing through your heart, but you knew it was just a mask to hide the pain you had caused him. You could feel the hurt that lingered from your departure, and while you understood his anger, you couldn't help but wonder if he was also struggling with his own unresolved emotions. Was he trying to come to terms with why you had left? Beneath his calm facade, you sensed a tempest of emotions brewing, but you weren't sure if he was ready to confront them.

You took a hesitant step forward, drawn towards the comforting warmth of the fireplace near his desk. He watched you closely, tracking your every move. As you gazed into the crackling flames, you tried to gather your thoughts and find the right words to address the past.

Turning back to face him, your mouth opened and closed as you struggled to speak. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes, but you looked away, unwilling to show him your vulnerability. “I left because I wanted a future with you,” you said softly, barely above a whisper. “I wanted us to have a family together. But then things changed...you started hurting people, Erik. You scared me…” Your voice trailed off as you wrapped your arms around yourself, unable to contain the weight of your emotions any longer.

Erik's expression softened as he placed the helmet on the desk and stood up from Charles' wheelchair. He walked towards you with purpose, his footsteps slow and deliberate. Gently, he lifted your chin to meet his gaze. "I'm sorry, liebling," he said, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability.

- - - - - - -

As tears slowly rolled down your cheeks, Erik tenderly brushed them away with a gentle touch. "I wish you had told me," he whispered regretfully. "But I understand now why you left. I thought I was doing what needed to be done..." His voice trailed off as he searched for answers and a connection that he believed was lost forever.

His hand moved to rest against your cheek, and you leaned into it, closing your eyes. Your heart skipped a beat at his presence. "I know...my love," you said softly, filled with tenderness.

Erik's eyes widened as the word "love" fell from your lips. It was a word he hadn't heard in years, and it brought back memories that still haunted him. He struggled to find the right words, his heart racing at the thought of finally admitting his feelings for you. He opened his mouth several times, but no sound came out. After a few moments of silence, he managed to choke out, "Why...now?" He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. "Why are you telling me this now?" Despite the distance and time that had passed since they were together, his love for you had never truly gone away. It had always been there, even amidst his strong dedication to mutant rights.

You were at a loss for words. Your mind was buzzing with thoughts, unsure of what words to form or if you should even say anything at all.

He cautiously stepped closer, closing the gap between you. His familiar scent enveloped you, reminding you of all the memories you had tried so hard to bury. Your heart raced as he reached out, his fingers barely grazing your arm.

"I never thought I'd see you again," he murmured roughly, overcome with emotion.

You fought back tears as best as you could. "I didn't think you'd want to," you whispered.

A shadow of pain passed over his face. "I've regretted that day for years," he admitted. "If I could go back..."

You shook your head, cutting him off. "We can't change the past, Erik. I couldn't stay away any longer," you confessed. "I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you focus on your mission. But then I realized..." You took a deep breath, trying to hold back your emotions. "I realized that life is too short and unpredictable, especially for people like us."

Erik winced at your words. He had been younger then, fueled by his intense hatred towards humanity and the injustices he had endured. He hadn't expected that hatred to overshadow his ability to love, and your words left him struggling to find a response.

You pleaded with him, desperate for a response. Your eyes scanned his face, hoping to catch a glimpse of what he truly felt. Suddenly, you noticed a change in his expression - a fleeting look of desire and vulnerability.

In a rush of emotion, Erik blurted out, "Will you stay with me?" His voice quivered with unspoken worries. "I can't handle losing you again, mein liebe."

You didn’t hesitate to agree to stay. The thought of being apart from him once more was unbearable; you had missed him desperately. Erik never truly believed that you would return to him. He thought you would want nothing to do with him after everything that had happened.

- - - - - - -

As soon as your words left your lips, his heart began to pound and his mind raced out of control. Memories of your love flooded his mind: the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice, the scent of your perfume. They overwhelmed him, filling the space between you with a powerful and bittersweet nostalgia.

Your voice trembled with emotion as you spoke again. "I will never leave you again," you said softly. "My love for you has never faltered. Even after all these years apart, I never moved on." Your words hit him hard, a gut-punch he wasn't expecting. His heart felt like it was about to burst from the intensity of emotions that surged through him. Hearing you declare your love once more was a truth he had struggled to accept himself. Deep down, he had never truly let go of his feelings for you.

He took a shaky breath and gently placed his hand on the back of your neck. You both closed your eyes as he pulled you in closer until your foreheads were touching. “I have never stopped loving you,” he whispered, barely above a murmur. “It was torture when you left…” He swallowed hard, trying to contain the flood of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. All the years apart, battles fought, and loneliness endured came crashing down in that moment.

With a few calming breaths, you both opened your eyes and slowly pulled apart, the closeness still tangible. His gaze held yours, baring his heart in a raw, vulnerable state. "You were my everything," he whispered, his voice trembling. "I didn't realize until now how lost I was without you." He searched your face for any sign of the promised love, hoping against hope that this time would bring something different.

There was an invisible force between you, pulling you together with a magnetic power that could not be resisted. Your eyes remained locked on each other's lips, filled with anticipation and unspoken promises. Then, without hesitation, your lips met in a passionate embrace. As the kiss deepened, years of yearning finally gave way to the storm of emotions between you.

The initial touch of your lips sparked an electric current through him, nearly causing him to lose his balance. Guided by a tender yet commanding force, his hands firmly grasped your hips and drew you closer. A deep hum escaped him as each kiss reignited long-suppressed desires. Amidst the exchange of fervent kisses, you whispered how much you had missed him, soothing his aching heart with every word.

Erik felt another surge of longing as each kiss intensified their shared confessions, drawing them closer with every heated touch. The urgency in their kisses grew more insistent, begging for closeness as he pulled her tighter against him. Unable to wait any longer, he reluctantly broke the embrace and gazed at her pleadingly as she reached for him. In a raw and desperate voice, he whispered, "Please...I need you." There was no room for hesitation in his tone, only an overwhelming urgency that demanded immediate action.

- - - - - - -

As your eyes meet, a silent understanding passes between you. You use your powers to change the room, and the furniture rearranges itself as if by magic. The soft glow of the fireplace reflects off the cozy blankets and plush pillows, inviting you to indulge in the moment.

The room was quickly transformed into a warm and inviting space, the furniture moving under your careful control as you worked together. The blankets and pillows seemed to dance in the air, creating a cozy and intimate nook by the fireplace. The flickering flames cast a soft orange glow, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

Erik led you to a cozy nest of pillows and blankets near the flickering fire, gazing at you with a mix of longing and adoration. He guided you onto the soft surface with gentle movements, his eyes drinking in every curve and contour of your body as if he wanted to commit them to memory.

His thumb traced along your jawline, causing you to let out a gasp. The tension in your body only fueled Erik's desire for you. His hand ventured down your body and slipped into your pants, finding the heat and wetness waiting for him.

Your breath caught at his touch, and your body instinctively moved towards him. The intensity in Erik's eyes grew as he watched your reaction. With skillful precision, he brushed his fingers between the folds of your sex, hitting all the sensitive spots that sent waves of pleasure through you. Your body trembled beneath him as he continued to pleasure you.

Erik’s lips traced a path down your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. With his free hand, he worked on unbuttoning your shirt, revealing more of your flesh to his hungry gaze. As each button came undone, he placed soft kisses on the newly exposed skin, gradually making his way down your chest. Your breath hitched as he reached the swell of your breasts, teasingly brushing his hot mouth against the edge of your bra.

"Erik, please," you whimpered, arching into his touch.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want, love," he murmured against your skin.

"I want you," you gasped. "All of you."

With a growl, Erik captured your lips again in a searing kiss. His hands made quick work of the rest of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath him. You tugged at his shirt impatiently, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Erik let out a soft chuckle as he pulled away, discarding his clothes before settling back above you. Your eyes drank in the sight of his toned body as he positioned himself back into place. One hand stayed close to your head while the other made its way down to your center. As he began to gently massage small circles on your most sensitive spot, your muscles tensed and your breath hitched in your throat.

He craved your scent, wanting to lose himself in it completely. He wanted to savor every bit of you.

Suddenly, he slid his middle and ring fingers between your folds, causing you to cry out in shock. As he started to move in and out of you, you couldn't help but whisper his name like a holy chant. "Erik," you moaned, cherishing the way his name felt on your lips.

Erik's smirk only widened as he continued to tease you with his fingers. "Liebling, if you keep calling my name like that, I don't know if I can hold back much longer," he playfully warned.

His fingers slipped into you at a frustratingly slow pace and you could feel yourself reaching the brink of pleasure. "Please, Erik... faster..." you pleaded, desperate for him to pick up the pace. He obliged, finding that perfect spot inside of you that sent waves of ecstasy through your body. The books on the bookshelf started to topple as your telekinetic powers reacted to the overwhelming sensation. Erik clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"I'm close," you whimpered, but Erik shook his head.

"Not yet... not until I say so," he said with a teasing tone. This only made you groan in frustration, your hips moving in rhythm with his fingers in a desperate attempt to reach your climax. But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he pulled his fingers out.

You let out a whimper at the loss of his touch. Erik chuckled softly and positioned himself between your legs, pumping himself a few times before rubbing his cock against your folds, teasing you even further.

"Stop teasing me," you pouted, your frustration palpable. You wanted to smack him for holding back your release and taunting you with his erection.

After some playful teasing, he entered you, emitting a deep groan as he felt the warmth radiating from you. He waited for you to adjust to his size before moving again.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders. "Yes," you gasped. "Please..."

Erik started to move at a gentle pace, each thrust bringing waves of pleasure. You arched your back, matching his movements. His lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your sensitive skin.

As passion overtook both of you, the tempo increased gradually. The air was filled with soft moans and gasps as Erik's strong arms held you close, driving deeper into your body. You ran your fingers through his hair, overwhelmed by the intense sensations.

"Erik," you cried out as waves of ecstasy began to build inside you. Your body trembled under his urgent movements as he buried his face in your neck, sending shivers down your spine with his hot breath.

"You feel amazing," he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

Your fingers dug into his broad shoulders as the intensity grew, and Erik's lips found your neck, leaving hot kisses along your sensitive skin. You arched your back against his solid chest, unable to hold back your pleasure any longer.

"Oh god, Erik," you moaned desperately.

He responded by increasing his pace, driving you both closer to the edge. The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself on the brink of release.

Erik's ragged breathing and urgent movements pushed you over the edge. "Come for me," he growled in your ear, his desire evident in his husky voice.

Those words were all it took for you to tumble into mind-blowing ecstasy. Erik followed moments later, whispering your name as he found his own release.

You clung to each other, riding out the waves of pleasure together.

His hand moved to your clit, gently rubbing it in slow circles that made you arch your hips up in delight. "E-erik!," you gasped, unable to contain yourself. He silenced you with a tender shush and continued peppering kisses along your neck, marking you as his own.

The pleasure was reaching an overwhelming level, rendering you speechless as your brows furrowed in sheer ecstasy. He wanted to prolong your orgasm, drawing out every moment of bliss. Suddenly, without warning, a surge of release overcame you and you gasped for breath. Erik smirked, pleased with the outcome of his actions. He withdrew from you, leaving a mix of his cum and your juices scattered around.

"Good girl," he whispers, kissing your forehead. As Erik shifts to the side, you snuggle against his chest and feel the quick thumping of his heart. His arms wrap around you, keeping you warm and secure as your breath slows back to a steady rhythm. A sense of deep satisfaction washes over you as you revel in the peaceful aftermath.

For a long while, you lay together in contented silence, basking in the afterglow. Erik's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as you nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. The crackling fire cast a warm glow over your entwined bodies.

"I've missed this," Erik murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Missed you."

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, seeing a vulnerability there that he rarely showed. "I've missed you too," you whispered. "More than you know."

His arms tightened around you. "I was a fool to let you go," he said, voice thick with emotion. "I won't make

The room was bathed in a warm glow from the fireplace, casting dancing shadows on the repositioned furniture. The blankets and pillows seemed to float effortlessly through the air, creating a cozy and inviting space.

As your eyes meet, a silent understanding passes between you. You use your powers to change the room, and the furniture rearranges itself as if by magic. The soft glow of the fireplace reflects off the cozy blankets and plush pillows, inviting you to indulge in the moment.

The room was quickly transformed into a warm and inviting space, the furniture moving under your careful control as you worked together. The blankets and pillows seemed to dance in the air, creating a cozy and intimate nook by the fireplace. The flickering flames cast a soft orange glow, adding to the romantic atmosphere.

- - - - - - -

Erik led you to a cozy nest of pillows and blankets near the flickering fire, gazing at you with a mix of longing and adoration. He guided you onto the soft surface with gentle movements, his eyes drinking in every curve and contour of your body as if he wanted to commit them to memory.

His thumb traced along your jawline, causing you to let out a moan. The tension in your body only fueled Erik's desire for you. His hand ventured down your body and slipped into your pants, finding the heat and wetness waiting for him.

Your breath caught at his touch, and your body instinctively moved towards him. The intensity in Erik's eyes grew as he watched your reaction. With skillful precision, he brushed his fingers between the folds of your sex, hitting all the sensitive spots that sent waves of pleasure through you. Your body trembled beneath him as he continued to pleasure you.

Erik’s lips traced a path down your neck, nibbling and sucking at the sensitive skin. With his free hand, he worked on unbuttoning your shirt, revealing more of your flesh to his hungry gaze. As each button came undone, he placed soft kisses on the newly exposed skin, gradually making his way down your chest. Your breath hitched as he reached the swell of your breasts, teasingly brushing his hot mouth against the edge of your bra.

"Erik, please," you whimpered, arching into his touch.

He looked up at you, eyes dark with desire. "Tell me what you want, love," he murmured against your skin.

"I want you," you gasped. "All of you."

With a growl, Erik captured your lips again in a searing kiss. His hands made quick work of the rest of your clothing, leaving you bare beneath him. You tugged at his shirt impatiently, desperate to feel his skin against yours.

Erik let out a soft chuckle as he pulled away, discarding his clothes before settling back above you. Your eyes drank in the sight of his toned body as he positioned himself back into place. One hand stayed close to your head while the other made its way down to your center. As he began to gently massage small circles on your most sensitive spot, your muscles tensed and your breath hitched in your throat.

He craved your scent, wanting to lose himself in it completely. He wanted to savor every bit of you.

Suddenly, he slid his middle and ring fingers between your folds, causing you to cry out in shock. As he started to move in and out of you, you couldn't help but whisper his name like a holy chant. "Erik," you moaned, cherishing the way his name felt on your lips.

Erik's smirk only widened as he continued to tease you with his fingers. "Liebling, if you keep calling my name like that, I don't know if I can hold back much longer," he playfully warned.

His fingers slipped into you at a frustratingly slow pace and you could feel yourself reaching the brink of pleasure. "Please, Erik... faster..." you pleaded, desperate for him to pick up the pace. He obliged, finding that perfect spot inside of you that sent waves of ecstasy through your body. The books on the bookshelf started to topple as your telekinetic powers reacted to the overwhelming sensation. Erik clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

"I'm close," you whimpered, but Erik shook his head.

"Not yet... not until I say so," he said with a teasing tone. This only made you groan in frustration, your hips moving in rhythm with his fingers in a desperate attempt to reach your climax. But just when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, he pulled his fingers out.

You let out a whimper at the loss of his touch. Erik chuckled softly and positioned himself between your legs, pumping himself a few times before rubbing his cock against your folds, teasing you even further.

"Stop teasing me," you pouted, your frustration palpable. You wanted to smack him for holding back your release and taunting you with his erection.

After some playful teasing, he entered you, emitting a deep groan as he felt the warmth radiating from you. He waited for you to adjust to his size before moving again.

"Are you okay?" he whispered, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders. "Yes," you gasped. "Please..."

Erik started to move at a gentle pace, each thrust bringing waves of pleasure. You arched your back, matching his movements. His lips found their way to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses along your sensitive skin.

As passion overtook both of you, the tempo increased gradually. The air was filled with soft moans and gasps as Erik's strong arms held you close, driving deeper into your body. You ran your fingers through his hair, overwhelmed by the intense sensations.

"Erik," you cried out as waves of ecstasy began to build inside you. Your body trembled under his urgent movements as he buried his face in your neck, sending shivers down your spine with his hot breath.

"You feel amazing," he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

Your fingers dug into his broad shoulders as the intensity grew, and Erik's lips found your neck, leaving hot kisses along your sensitive skin. You arched your back against his solid chest, unable to hold back your pleasure any longer.

"Oh god, Erik," you moaned desperately.

He responded by increasing his pace, driving you both closer to the edge. The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You could feel yourself on the brink of release.

Erik's ragged breathing and urgent movements pushed you over the edge. "Come for me," he growled in your ear, his desire evident in his husky voice.

Those words were all it took for you to tumble into mind-blowing ecstasy. Erik followed moments later, whispering your name as he found his own release.

You clung to each other, riding out the waves of pleasure together.

His hand moved to your clit, gently rubbing it in slow circles that made you arch your hips up in delight. "E-erik!," you gasped, unable to contain yourself. He silenced you with a tender shush and continued peppering kisses along your neck, marking you as his own.

The pleasure was reaching an overwhelming level, rendering you speechless as your brows furrowed in sheer ecstasy. He wanted to prolong your orgasm, drawing out every moment of bliss. Suddenly, without warning, a surge of release overcame you and you gasped for breath. Erik smirked, pleased with the outcome of his actions. He withdrew from you, leaving a mix of his cum and your juices scattered around.

"Good girl," he whispers, kissing your forehead. As Erik shifts to the side, you snuggle against his chest and feel the quick thumping of his heart. His arms wrap around you, keeping you warm and secure as your breath slows back to a steady rhythm. A sense of deep satisfaction washes over you as you revel in the peaceful aftermath.

- - - - - - -

For a long while, you lay together in contented silence, basking in the afterglow. Erik's fingers traced lazy patterns on your skin as you nestled against his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow. The crackling fire cast a warm glow over your entwined bodies.

"I've missed this," Erik murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Missed you."

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, seeing a vulnerability there that he rarely showed. "I've missed you too," you whispered. "More than you know."

His arms tightened around you. "I was a fool to let you go," he said, voice thick with emotion. "I won't make that mistake again."

"We both made mistakes," you replied gently. "But we're here now. That's what matters."

Erik nodded, a small smile playing at his lips. His fingers continued to trace lazy patterns on your skin as you lay nestled against him. The crackling fire cast flickering shadows across the room, enveloping you both in warmth and intimacy.

"What happens now?" you asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Erik was quiet for a moment, his hand stilling on your back. "I don't know," he admitted. "Charles left me with an enormous responsibility. The X-Men, the school... it's all in my hands now." His voice held a note of uncertainty you'd rarely heard from him before.

You propped yourself up on an elbow to look at him. "You don't have to do it alone," you said. "I'm here. And the X-Men - they may not trust you fully yet, but they'll support you. It's what Charles would have wanted."

Erik's eyes searched yours, a mix of emotions playing across his face. "You're right," he said softly. "Charles always believed in the power of unity, even when I couldn't see it." He paused, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. "But can you forgive me for the things I've done? The pain I've caused?"

You leaned into his touch, your heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. "I forgave you a long time ago, Erik," you whispered. "The question is, can you forgive yourself?"

He closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. When he opened them again, there was a determination there that you recognized. "I want to try," he said. "For Charles. For the X-Men. For us."

You smiled, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to his lips. "Then that's where we'll start.”

- - - - - - -

glossary: liebling = darling, mein liebe = my darling

[wildemaven]

strangers : oasis | dave york

pairing - dave york x f!reader word count - 4876 content warnings - 18+blog; anxious thoughts, lots of emotions, soft dave, kissing, lots of fluff, mentions of food and alcohol consumption, established relationship, workaholic Dave, mentions of miscommunication, lots of tears, reader is mentioned wearing a dress/heals/jewelry- but zero description features, no age given but it's implied she's over 30, no y/n, this is au- no Carol or kids, if I missed anything let me know notes - FINALLY!!!! I broke through my writers block and found inspiration to give these two the happy ending they deserve! I’m literally so excited for this chapter!!! I appreciate you all being so so patient with me through this too. I’m excited for the next chapter and an epilogue to finish off their story! Big thank you to Lellen for holding my hand through this and encouraging me when I felt like i couldn’t string words together properly— ily 😘

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“Good evening Mr. and Mrs. York. My name is Ashley. As the Director of Events, I am so happy for your arrival to our intimate courtyard here at the hotel.” The beautiful woman greets you and Dave. 

Ashley. It’s like a Pavlovian response the way your body tenses immediately at her name.

Dave detects the immediate shift in your demeanor when Ashley introduces herself, your grip tightening on his bicep, he places his hand over yours to soothe the glaring trepidation that’s evident in the way your eyes are keenly locked on the woman in front of you. 

I want to tell you everything, but I think it’s best if I show you first.

Dave’s words from earlier halt your mind's natural fight or flight spiraling response. Closing your eyes briefly, a slow intake of air through your lungs. Dave’s signature  blend of woody notes and smoky leather hits your olfactory neurons and sparks peace within you. 

“Give me five— ten minutes tops. And if you still want to leave, we’ll go right back up to the room and pack— we’ll head to the airport tonight.” Dave’s voice is low as he leans his forehead to your temple, his words fanning across the side of your face bringing you a sense of warmth and comfort. 

“Okay.” You nod, agreeing without hesitation. Knowing in all the years you’ve been with Dave, he’s never one to go back on his word. 

Dave looks to where Ashley still stands, waiting patiently with her bright inviting smile. There’s silent exchange between them that puts whatever plan Dave has actively in motion. 

“Mr. and Mrs. York, your guests are very excited for your arrival.” Ashley says, pulling one of the large wooden doors open and stepping out of the way. 

“Guests? What is she talking…” You turn to Dave, confused by the way Ashley had been expecting the two of you and is now ushering you to some mystery guests. Dave’s lips press to your forehead before he nods in the direction of the awaiting open doors. 

You’re frozen. Stunned. Overwhelmed. Time continues to move around you as your emotions catapult from your stomach and settle into your chest. Veining out slowly and catching in your throat. 

All your tempered thoughts and unrealistic fears dissolve freely, compartmentalizing them into a distant realm of your mind. 

At some point your feet begin to guide you of their own free will, carrying you past the open doors. Except you don’t fully register you're even moving. Almost gliding. Floating. The heaviness from earlier in the evening no longer weighs you down. Your fragile heart feels lighter and lighter with each step you make. 

Everything around you becomes a blurred space. Watery distortion settling along your lash line, obstructing your vision as you begin to attempt to take everything in all at once. The atmosphere holds a rich layer of familiarity, sprinkled among the lush greenery and dramatic up-lighting of the secluded hotel garden. 

The tears finally fall and things gradually shift into focus and you allow yourself to slowly take it all in. 

You’re not sure how you even missed this beautiful oasis to begin with. A tropical paradise tucked away from the foot traffic of hotel guests and tourists. Giant plants and trees lining the perimeter of the garden. Fanned out leaves in varying sizes and shades of green canopy over the space, perfectly framing the ceiling of glimmering stars above.

When you lock eyes with your mom and dad, a calmness comes to your mind. Your dad’s arms wrapped around your mom’s shoulders as she dabs at the corners of her eyes. Both of them beaming with pure happiness. Reminding you of all the important occasions in your life, being on the receiving end of their love. Graduating from high school then college, securing a job in a field you worked so hard to be in, even when you brought Dave to dinner all those years ago and told them he was the one. And this moment, whatever it is, fits along perfectly with the others. They’re always so eager to jump at any chance to make sure you know how proud they are of you. 

A slight twirl in the opposite direction you’re met with Dave’s parents, Carol and Tom. Both are similarly as happy as your parents. Carol resting her head on Tom’s chest as she also pats the joyful tears on her cheeks. Did she find out? Call me when you can, we’ll talk about it then. Carol’s text message must have been referring to this, given Carol’s heartwarming response to see you it only makes sense it would be. The two of them have always made you feel like an extension of their family, never as the enemy who married their son. It’s evident that it still rings true as they stand before you now. 

Feels instinctually normal to want to run into Jacey’s arms and squeeze her until you’re gasping for air. To hold each other longer than needed because she’s your lifeline and best friend for so long— a sister in many ways. You hold off for the time being, a proper hug and catch up surely will happen after as she is preoccupied with the handsome stranger standing next to her, cradling her hands in his. It’s second nature the way you’re both able to pick up on what the other is saying or thinking without so much as a single word exchanged between you. Your brief Who is this?? wide-eyed expression is met with her Girl, I have so much to tell you! love-drunk dopey smile as she nestles closer into her random plus-one’s side. 

“Oh my gosh! What— what are you all doing here?” You’re not sure who to look at for answers, all of them here for one reason that is still unclear to you. Your hand pressed firmly against your chest in an attempt to settle your rapidly beating heart, aimlessly shifting on your feet as you keep redirecting your buzzing energy between all of them. 

Your lively movements are halted when you realize all the answers to your questions are standing merely feet away from you. 

Dave. 

Pillared candles illuminate a small walkway that leads to where Dave is waiting for you. His hands continue their nervous fidgeting in his pockets, but still the minute his eyes land on you. You take him all in for the second time tonight, dressed in his favorite black suit, one that you never waste an opportunity to tell him how handsome he looks in it.

His chest expands slightly, calming his nerves with a deep steady breath, his demeanor settling into a more relaxed tone as you slowly approach him. 

“Hi, Sweetheart.” There’s a gentleness in his tone, still cautious and aware of your words from early in the room. 

It soothes any worries you’ve been carrying with you since the start of this trip, over every part of you that’s felt so disconnected, slowly begins stitching up the tattered seams of your relationship you’ve been so desperately trying to hold together. 

“Hi.” You reach for his hand, your need to feel grounded in this moment seems equally needed on his end as you feel his rigid grip soften instantly. 

“How are you feeling?” 

“I honestly don’t even know what I’m feeling— I’m so confused why they’re all here right now.” You nervously laugh as a new wave of fresh tears spill over now due to an overwhelming state of happier emotions, taking a second look over the small group of your loved ones before looking back to Dave who’s eyes haven’t left you. “God— I definitely look like a mess now.”

“No— still beautiful.” He squeezes your hand a few times to reinforce the sentiment. 

You’re dying to know, hear everything he has to say but there’s a small part of you that wants this little point in time to stretch on forever. The look in his eyes, burning with intense devotion, is an all consuming feeling you will never tire of. The way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters, you want to bask in his gaze uninterrupted a little longer. 

“If you need a moment, I can wait— I’ll wait however long you need.” Ever the patient man and yet so eager for this moment to finally share everything with you. “Like I said earlier, I just need five minutes—“

“No— it’s okay. I’m ready.” 

“I know this last year hasn't been perfect for us— more specifically these last few months. There were so many moving parts to making this whole thing happen and none of them seemed to work out like I had planned. But that’s neither here nor there at the moment.” You squeeze his hand tightly when he pauses to collect his thoughts. 

“Firstly, I want to tell you that I love you so much. These last 10 years with you have felt like we’ve already lived a lifetime together. And yet I don’t feel like it’s been enough time to show you how much you mean to me. So I want to renew my promise to you. I want to be the man you deserve every day and continue loving you for the rest of our lives.”

“D-Dave— I love you. I-I’m beyond speechless right now.“

You make zero effort to control your emotional state listening to Dave profess his love for you. Dave reaches out, the back of his hand caressing down the side of your face then his thumb lovingly brushes over your quivering bottom lip. 

You catch the moment he allows himself to breathe, soaking it all in. The faint flicker of ambient light glistens wildly in the few tears that descend down the slope of his cheeks. Relief exuding from his body over the fact that you’re still standing before him. 

“There’s one more thing.” Dave says, wiping at his own tears. Releasing the hold on your hand, he reaches into the pocket of his slacks and presents you with a small velvet box.  

His smile becomes increasingly infectious as the hinged box opens and reveals the most beautiful ring inside it. 

“Dave— W-wait! How? How did you know?” You gasp in disbelief, your hand clasping over his wrist that is holding the small delicate piece of jewelry. 

“Someone who can’t keep a secret to save her life might have mentioned it to me.” 

*

Dave was away for work the weekend that Jacey declared it was a good excuse for an adventure. One you weren’t sure you were up for, but Dave encouraged you to go up until he left for the airport, insisting you would have so much fun you wouldn’t even realize he was gone. 

Most of her adventures usually entailed traipsing through town with zero planning— a full throttle method of letting the day unfold as it went. 

Brunch with overflowing mimosas while snacking on platters of fruits and ridiculously delicious cheeses. Window shopping and perusing of small intimate shops that lined the downtown area. It always ended with either stopping into your favorite restaurant for dinner or calling in for pizza while you both lounged in one of your living rooms spending the rest of the night watching some sappy old movie that would have you both crying into your wine glasses. 

And this particular weekend carried on as such. A steady but faint bubbly buzz followed brunch as you and Jacey walked along the sidewalk in search of the first boutique that would draw you in with all its charm and pretty little offerings. And while each of them you were already familiar with, you both pretended like it was the first time stepping foot into each shop. Taking on the roles of tourists exploring the town. 

By late afternoon, the residual effects of the fruity drinks had started to wane and you felt like your feet couldn’t carry you any farther, Jacey pulled you into one last shop before calling it a day. 

At some point the two of you were separated, Jacey drifting off further into the store, admiring the curated goods of fragrant candles, a luxurious apothecary selection and locally sourced handmade items. Even as enticing as the store was, you kept yourself rooted near the cash stand by the entrance, less of a chance to lose Jacey and her wandering ways. 

You decided to send Dave a text, check in with him on how things are going and also let him know how eager you are for him to come home. 

Missing you. Just wanted to say hi and see how you are holding up. Hopefully not too stressful?

You seem to always pick the perfect time to make my day better. Things are good. Just wrapped up for the day. Grabbing some food and then heading back to the hotel to pore over paperwork and notes. Miss you too. How’s your day been??

That’s so great to hear. It’s been good— a typical adventure with Jace. I’m tired though, ready to throw in the towel for the day and head home. She wanted to stop at one more store before we get a ride back, so I’m just waiting for her to finish up. 

Your focus shifted from Dave’s incoming text messages to the glass case you stood in front of. 

The fiery sun rays that breached the front window refracting across the display case of fine jewelry. An array of diamonds and gemstones sparkling brilliantly had you memorized. Their intricate details and elegantly executed settings were so hard to pry your attention away from. 

Sounds like you two are having fun then?

We are. I think I’m just exhausted from the week and just ready for you to be home. 

There’s a brief moment where you catch a glimpse of Jacey, her arms filled with more than she can handle, before she disappears again. 

You’re drawn back to the small collection of beautiful rings displayed on the top shelf of the case. Ranging from dainty and simple to elaborate and showy, but in a tasteful manner. 

“Is there something you’d like to see? You’re more than welcome to try anything on.” The sweet sales associate asked, seeing the way you were so fixated on the jewelry she could tell you just needed a little push to sway your decision. 

“Actually, yes. Could I try that one on?” You tap on the glass, directing her to the ring that you couldn’t seem to stray from. 

It was perfect— almost too perfect. The 2 carat emerald cut setting and beveled gold band was far from anything you would have ever picked out for yourself, but the way it dazzled on your finger was so much better than you expected. 

The ring Dave had proposed to you with was simple but gorgeous. It was also within the budget you and Dave had discussed, being that you both didn’t want to spend outside your means. Drowning in debt over a ring wasn’t a priority for either of you. 

You’d be lying though if you said you didn’t dream of upgrading to a new ring now that you both weren’t 20 something year olds struggling through a mortgage and making ends meet. Though you could never really bring yourself to allow it to be anything beyond just a silly little dream. 

“Oh my god! Please tell me you are walking out of here with that on your finger immediately!?” Jacey nearly screamed as she set her items on the counter. 

“No! I’m just trying it on.” But I love it so much. 

“But it looks so good. Please please please!! Get it!!” She grabbed your hand to admire it close up, you could have sworn she almost started to tear up as she did. 

“No, Jace. I don’t need it. Just admiring it for a moment.” 

“Okay— but you want it?”

“Sure. I would love it. But I don’t need it. So it’s going to go back to the case where it will wait for someone to come buy it and I can just dream about it.” You told Jacey, placing the ring back into the hands of the associate and squashing the dream instantly before you became too attached.

“You’re ridiculous, woman. You do you though.” Jacey rolled her eyes sarcastically, but affectionately, as her items were being rung up. 

You pulled your phone out to see Dave had sent a new message. 

Get anything for yourself?

No. Nothing really caught my eye. Going home empty handed this time. Call me when you get settled in your room?

Okay. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you!

Love you!

*

Dave slides the ring onto your left hand and it sits proudly nestled at the base of your ring finger. 

You’re captivated by the sight. The pads of Dave’s fingers lingering, softly sweeping over your knuckles as you flex the tiny muscles of your hand just so. The smallest adjustments allow the dim lighting to catch the perfectly formed facets of the stone. 

There's a brief blip of a memory that flashes through your mind. A sudden realization from earlier at the bar. Dave’s mention of your absent ring wasn’t a coincidence. It was the perfect accident for his plan. An innocent foreshadowing of what was to come. 

“Dave—'' There's a fluttering softness to your voice as your chest tightens with the excruciating amount of love you have for your husband. Your gaze lifts gradually, eyes connecting with his and you see forever staring back at you. 

“Happy Anniversary, Baby.” Dave says with a faint smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. 

No words hold any equivalence to the feeling shared in this kiss. It’s all encompassing and articulating every authentic emotion in a measured tone. Everything and everyone fading into the darkness, existing only as the tiny atoms they’re formed from. 

Time on his lips marries your past, present and future into a promise of an endless life of devotion and fidelity. Your fingers tangled tightly in Dave’s chestnut locks, his hand firmly held against the base of your spine. Renewed. That inseparable feeling that has always existed, a mutually assured recognition of how united the two of you have always been. It’s a feeling you’ll never tire of. One you long for at the end of a taxing day or when you’ve been reunited with Dave after he returns from a work trip. To feel so deeply loved and cherished— to feel whole again. 

“I can’t believe it’s been ten years already.” You’re breathless, giving into the smile that’s grown on your lips since breaking the kiss, your forehead settled against Dave’s.

“Best ten years of my life. I can’t wait for the rest of them.” Dave’s words imprint permanently on your heart, meticulously embellished with a brilliant fervency. 

“How did you even manage to pull this off? I made all the travel arrangements for this trip.” 

“I had some help in planning. All of which didn’t go exactly as planned either. Coordinating flights was a nightmare. Making sure everyone was hidden away took some effort. And someone might have lost the ring briefly—“

“I didn’t lose it— I just… might have forgotten where I put it for a brief period of time. It made it here in one piece though, so you’re welcome.” Jacey interrupts in her classic matter of fact fashion, wearing that infectious sweet smile that continues to be such a beacon of light in your life. 

The garden fills with a subdued laughter. Soft music emanates from hidden speakers, amping up the romantic atmosphere that Dave assembled just for you. 

A handful of I love you’s are quietly exchanged before joining your loved ones to continue basking in the surprise of their presence— tears, hugs, laughter —your heart so full to be able to celebrate the serendipitous evening with all of them. 

You spot Jacey over the shoulder of your mom, who has yet to release you from her arms, void of the man you still have yet to properly meet. You kiss your mom’s cheek and away from her clasp, promising to return after you get a moment alone with your best friend.  

“Well, well well—” You start to say, the interruption produces a vivid brightness in Jacey’s eyes as you approach her.

“Wait! Spin first, hug second!” She instructs. 

You give her the best twirl you can manage in the heels you’re wearing. Dress skirt fanning out and your arms extended out, while Jacey watches you proudly with her phone held out, snapping a few photos that she’ll surely airdrop to you later on. She pockets her phone and wraps you in a tight hug as a fit of giggles wracks through your bodies, falling further into each other’s arms to stabilize yourselves.

“God, you look stunning.” Jacey fawns over you, untangling herself from you and reaching for your hand. “Dave did so good!”

“I’m guessing you’re partially to blame for some of this?” You say in a jovial tone, your gaze follows suit to the shiny diamond, wasting no effort in becoming flawlessly acquainted with your finger. 

“If by blame you mean ‘make sure my best friend gets everything she deserves’, then yes— I’m partially to blame.” Jacey says in jest, but it’s really not a coincidence that she would have a small part in some of this. She looks at you, schooling her desire to be her fun sarcastic self, exuding pure warmth and authenticity. “Dave was stressing about your anniversary, wanting to make it special being that it’s a rather big one. I mentioned that you had fallen in love with the ring while we were out shopping, which got his attention. He decided he wanted to make it something extravagant, so he tasked me with planting the idea of a vacation— I’d say mission accomplished.”

“Thank you, Jace!” Prompting another shared embrace. You remember she wasn’t alone when you walked into the garden earlier. You take a step back, excited to hear all about her mystery man. “On to more important matters— your date! Where did you find him?”

“Oh him… I might have met him at the pool yesterday. It was after you and Dave were there.” She explains, seeing the way you were trying to connect the dots and timestamps between your visit to the pool and her meet-cute. “We spent hours talking and kind haven’t left each other’s sides since.”

“Where is he?” You take a quick scan of the garden, noting Dave engaged in a conversation with both of your Dad’s, while Carol and your mom are huddled together on a couch near the outdoor fireplace.

“He had to make a quick call. Should be back soon though. Can’t believe I still got it.” Jacey seductively bites at her painted red lower lip as her hips sway about, her confidence always her best accessory. 

“Jace, I don’t think you ever lost it.” You snort. 

“You might be right! I’m now his plus one tomorrow at a wedding he’s here for— kinda meant to be, right? Here he comes— fuck, he’s so delicious. Babe!” She squeals. The usage of a term of endearment so soon isn’t even remotely surprising. You love seeing how she instantly lights up when the tall handsome man saunters closer, wearing a lopsided grin as if Jacey hung the moon— it’s not hard to see how smitten they are for each other. 

“Hey there, Darlin’. Miss me?” He asks Jacey, wrapping one of his arms around her waist, you can tell it’s taking everything in her to not haul him back to the nearest vacant room. 

“Everything okay with your brother?” Jacey asks, her hand intuitively grazing over his chest. 

“Yep.” Letting the P pop before he continues. “Joel was just freakin’ out a bit. Father of the bride gettin’ all emotional ‘bout his baby girl gettin’ married tomorrow.” 

In some weird twist of circumstances, you find yourself in Joel’s orbit yet again. Despite the lust filled dream you had about him, you find the whole thing quite comical now as you try your best to stifle your snickering with your hand— but it catches Joel’s brother’s attention. 

“Where are my manners?” He directs his Texas drawl to you, finding his manners swiftly as he extends a hand out and quickly engulfing yours. “I’m Tommy Miller. So nice to finally meet you. This one hasn’t been able to shut up about you— all good things o‘course.” 

“It’s so nice to meet you, Tommy. I think I met your brother, Joel, yesterday at the pool. You’ll have to send my congratulations to him and your niece for me.” 

“Wait! is he the cute pool guy from your—“ Jacey interjects but you manage to cough just so that she shuts up instantly, your eyes boring into hers. You know that she will be asking for details about it at a later date. 

“Congratulations to you and your husband as well. Ten years is a mighty long time. That’s some special kinda love that you got there.” Tommy readjusts his arm, draping it over Jacey’s shoulder and she wastes no time interlocking her fingers with his. 

The rough swells of your worries and fears have finally calmed, nothing but tranquil waves for as far as you can see. 

You’re now fully aware that the deafening thoughts and emotions you’d been carrying around were seemingly a self-inflicted wound that could have been so easily prevented had you just voiced the way you were feeling to Dave.

“Thank you. That’s really so kind of you to say. Seems like a special kind of love might be in your future.” Jacey and Tommy lock eyes at your mention of a special love— you know she deserves it. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m going to go find that husband of mine.” 

Dave’s still wrapped up in a conversation with the other older men. Now that everything has been revealed, you can see how relaxed he feels. No longer carrying rigid weight in his shoulders. The walls you were desperately trying to breach had finally crumbled to dust. 

“Hello, gentlemen. I hate to break this conversation up, but I’m going to steal my wonderful husband away for a bit.” Your hand slipping around Dave’s bicep to pull him away. He huffs a quiet laugh, rolling his lips inward as his body willingly abandons the conversation. 

There’s a somewhat secluded spot tucked in between some large palm leaves on the perimeter of the garden space. It’s quiet enough to give the two of you just enough privacy from your guests while you take a break from the excitement that’s still filtering through the air. 

There’s so much you want to say and share with Dave, but you need to feel him before anything is said. There’s no rush as your lips move together, seeking a slow intensity that satiates and soothes every longing ache that yearns for this handsome man you love so deeply. 

Your breaths mingle as the kiss comes to a close. Lips tingling with aftershocks as you collect your thoughts back to the present. 

“Thank you— for all of this.” Your hands slip under his open suit jacket, roaming over the plain of his back. “We don’t have to talk about it all right now, but I just wanted to apologize, for earlier. I’ve been so in my head that I conjured up all these things and I should have just communicated that to you sooner.” 

“No need to apologize. It’s something we can work on together moving forward. I was stressed with work. Quietly making sure all of this came together. I didn’t even realize how it was affecting you— us. I love you so fucking much, Sweetheart and I’m sorry I ever made you feel otherwise.” Dave says with a quiet empathetic tone, his hands running up and down the length of your bare arms. “I got a call this morning and they let me know I officially got the promotion I’ve been working for. My hours will be better— less long nights and time away. I’ll be home more.”

“Baby, I’m so proud of you! knew you would get it. I love you— so much, Dave.” 

Your skin pebbles as Dave’s tongue slips over your lips. Sweet and earnest as ever. The sentiment vibrates through his exhaustive movements. Languid lust filled strokes meander around the expanse of your mouth, triggering a rush of blooming desire begging to be cashed in on. 

A muted moan departs with a ragged breath as Dave gently nips at your lower lip. 

“Mmmm— When does everyone leave?” You release a pleased hum that flutters over Dave’s quirked lips, needing more than a heated kiss behind oversized greenery with your family in earshot. 

“A few days— they fly out the same day as us.” Dave rasps, his gaze dropping from your eyes to your mouth then back, the pad of his thumb dragging seductively over your swollen lip. 

“Do you think they’ll notice if we quietly slip away for the night?” 

“Hmmm— What does my beautiful wife have in mind?”

“I need more of you, Dave.”

“Lead the way, Mrs. York.”