#the world doesn’t rest on my shoulders and it’s not my problem or my responsibility

[just-rogi]

I love my job so so much, I just hate that I’m the one doing it- I have an illustration I want to do to try and explain it, I love what I do- I just wish someone else could take my place and be there for these kids because I’m coming home from work every night crying and burnt out and exhausted and honestly in pain a lot of the time. I love my job and everything I stand for and everything I’m doing and I’m really truly happy but god looking at pain every single day… I love my job but I wish someone else would do it.

[miraclewoozi]

DO YOU DREAM OF ME? - c.hs

the first time you kiss your soulmate, you’ll open your eyes to a world of colour. the problem? vernon hates the thought that he might pull away from you and still see in monochrome.  or, five times he wanted to plant one on you, and the one time you beat him to it. 

pairing ; vernon x gn!reader.  content ; all the tropes. 5 times fic. soulmate au. slight college au if you squint. f2l. fluff, some angst. pining. one (1) hint of suggestiveness if u squint. MINORS STILL DO NOT HAVE MY CONSENT TO INTERACT.  content notes ; mentions of reader having a(n unnamed) partner & thereafter, going through a breakup due to said partner cheating. reader is maybe implied to be shorter than him but hopefully not too obviously or frequently. alcohol is mentioned & is a key theme in scene #3. pov switch for the final part (necessary for logistical reasons.) PLEASE let me know if i've forgotten anything. w/c ; 9.6k note ; welcome to thee most self indulgent fic ever lmao. i hope u enjoy this slight break away from what i usually post here (as if my entire brand isn’t writing losers in love. ANYWAY) -- this was very fun and a little bit special for me! <3

“What was your first kiss like?”

Initially, Vernon swears he just didn’t hear you right. It’s dark up here, where you’re hiding away from a party on the roof of his university accommodation and he’s starting to get tired. There’s some sort of siren wailing away in the distance to his left, and on the street below, a gaggle of freshmen are cackling as they walk past the building. His ear closest to you is currently listening to your favourite song. 

All the signs suggest that he simply got it wrong. 

But he doesn’t know if he believes those signs, especially not seeing as when he looks over at you, you’re staring pointedly up at the stars overhead. He doesn’t doubt that you’re giving yourself an ache in your neck in the process, too.

“Hmm?” He asks, taking out the earphone that connects him to you. The other one is still nestled away in your ear and he reaches to gently pull it away. “What was that?”

You still don’t look at him, but you do repeat yourself. Quietly. “What… was your first kiss like?”

“Oh.” 

He was right. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” you hurry to say, hugging his jacket tighter around yourself to block out the cold air that blows across the rooftop. He shrugged it off and told you to take it the very moment your teeth started chattering — almost an hour ago now. His arms are bare, shoulders and biceps only covered by a t-shirt so thin it’s practically sheer, but he isn’t cold. He’s always run hotter than most. “Sorry.”

He nudges you with his knee, silently telling you that you don’t need to apologise. He doesn’t mind — you just caught him off guard; Vernon hasn’t given this any thought in a long time, and he has to really put his mind to coming up with an answer. It was forever ago — when he was eleven or twelve, maybe, with his first ever girlfriend. They dated for a whole two and a half weeks. He doesn’t know if it really counts: the kiss was a dare, after all. 

“Kinda…” He starts, trying to follow the line of your sight, wondering if he can find the exact stars you’re looking at. “She’d just put this weird lipgloss on. It was real tingly. And like, neither of us knew what we were doing? So it… got everywhere. I think I ended up swallowing some, I don’t know. My mouth felt weird after. Thought I was having an allergic reaction.”

You laugh softly at him. “I think that would put me off for the rest of my life,” you say. 

“It almost did,” he chuckles. You hum at him and lean back on your elbows, leaving Vernon more than a little bit confused. He readjusts his hold on his knees, bringing them closer to his chest as he tilts his head down at you in your new position. 

“…why?” He asks, just as you close your eyes and take a deep inhale of the cool air. 

You just shrug. “I guess I just… wondered.”

He nods, and it’s his turn to fall short of a response, but that’s okay. You’ve known each other for too long for these silences to feel uncomfortable. He grew up with you. In fact, he’s reasonably sure he’s told you this story before. He must have done. 

Then he realises, maybe he hasn’t. Because he doesn’t know the story behind yours, and maybe that’s just a line the two of you never came to crossing. He knows he told his other friends, back then, because he was the last one in his circle to have a first kiss and he felt like it made him more grown-up, or something. Naturally, he left out the more embarrassing details. But maybe you just told your other friends who weren’t him, and went on with your life. Maybe yours was just… normal. 

Either way, he’s interested now. And there’s no time to ask like the present. 

“What was yours like?” He asks, fiddling with the strap on his wristwatch. You don’t answer straight away; he doesn’t think anything of it, because neither did he, but when he’s still waiting for you to speak a small eternity later, he prompts you again. “Hey, it can't have been worse than mine.”

You snort. 

“You’ll laugh at me,” you say, shaking your head. Vernon furrows his brows and drops his legs flat, twisting to one side to look at you. 

He doesn’t know where you’d get that idea from, but he’s… almost a bit offended by it?

“No I won’t,” he tells you softly. Maybe at first, he might’ve laughed with you, if your story happened to be as dumb as his own. But not at you. Never at. Not when he’s been the butt of the joke in too many friendship circles, for about as long as he can remember. 

You take a shallow breath, pursing your lips. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not…” you start to say, before you clear your throat and try again, this time heading in a different direction. “I don’t know. It’s dumb, I guess.”

“Don’t make me come down there,” Vernon threatens playfully, poking you in your side. You squirm, giggling despite yourself, despite the serenity of the sanctuary you two have found, despite the fact that you, too, were on the edge of falling asleep before your question came out of nowhere.  

He pokes you again, and again, and then starts to tickle your ribs instead. You squeal, swatting his hands away to no avail and you move to sit up, grabbing him by the forearms to physically make him stop. The grin on Vernon’s face is wide and heart-shaped. A warm feeling spreads through him: it has everything to do with the sweet sounds of your slowly dissolving laughter. 

You sit cross-legged across from each other like this for a moment or two. Your knees are touching. Your hands move down his arms until you’re holding him firmly by the wrists. Your eyes lock together: his crease with the sheer force of his boyish smile, while yours are narrowed, daring him to try and wiggle free and attack you again. 

He doesn’t, but for the first time ever, he’s struck with the urge to do something maybe more scary. 

The urge to just… lean in to you. 

It makes his heart do a backflip, in a way that it hasn’t done since he had his last crush. His head goes empty, and he forgets what he was even asking you before: the only thoughts he can muster are ones regarding what your lips taste like, whether they’re half as soft as they look, if you’d lightly touch his shoulder or his arm or his chest or his cheek—

Do you smile when you kiss?, he wonders. Do you sigh? Do you—

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” you answer, looking away now and letting go of him. He’s gone so loose in the moments since you grabbed hold of him that when you’re not supporting their weight, his arms fall like two cinder blocks onto his knees. 

True to his word, he doesn’t laugh. He’s surprised by your revelation, sure, but in no way humoured; actually, he feels a little saddened by it, for a reason he can’t put his finger to. He ends up not saying anything, just biting the inside of his cheek; he wants to ask why, but knows maybe that’s a bit of a dick move, and if it’s something you’re sensitive about he doesn’t want to risk hurting you.

But he’s watched people fawn over you for years, and he doesn’t think you’ve ever been short of attention from those who have thought you were attractive. So it can’t be that you’ve been lacking in chances? Surely?

“I thought… maybe I should save it,” you go on to explain. Your hands keep busy by playing with a thread at the cuff of his jacket sleeve, wrapping it around one finger until the skin beneath it pinches before you unravel it again. 

“Save it?” He asks. You nod your head.

“For when I thought I’d found them.” You pause, swallowing hard. “Like I said, it’s s—.”

“No it’s not,” Vernon says abruptly, shaking his head. He holds onto you now, one hand slipping around your back until it rests on the shoulder furthest away from him. You scoff. He squeezes you into his side. “Hey. It’s not stupid.”

He doesn’t like how this admission has, somehow, made his desire to kiss you stronger. He hates that he feels even more drawn to you, a magnet finally finding its opposing pole. It freaks him out a little. He’s never wanted to kiss anyone this badly. 

Red button theory, he tells himself to try and get back on the straight and narrow. If you hadn’t said anything, none of this would be happening.

“It’s romantic,” he says finally, swiping his thumb in small motions over the top of your shoulder. You nod, mumbling a ‘thank you’ (for what, he isn’t sure), and shiver. Vernon doesn’t know if that’s because of his proximity to you or because you’re finally starting to feel the cold. Either way, he takes the initiative to stand up and holds a hand out for you to take so he can tug you to your feet too. You get up with a little hop. 

It’s… devastatingly cute.

“Where are we going?” You ask, brushing off your jeans before shoving your hands into the jacket’s pockets. He’s already on the retreat, walking backwards towards the door that took you up here.

“To get food,” he tells you, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That party was dead, anyway.”

It doesn’t cross his mind again until your twenty-first birthday. 

He’s not your soulmate. He couldn’t be. The thought he had on the roof that autumnal night was little more than a passing fantasy; besides, he doesn’t have a thing for you. He doesn’t want to kiss you, or date you, or have you be his soulmate. The reason you work so well together is because you’re just friends; he thinks you’d drive each other crazy if things ever went romantic between you. You bicker with him for sport. He drowns away hours at a time with his headphones clamped over his ears and forgets to answer your texts. It would be a nightmare. 

Not that he’s ever thought about all that. Not actively, or even passively. Not when he should be listening to college lectures instead, for example. Not awake, nor in his dreams. He hasn’t. Not once. 

He swears. 

“You can save it ‘til tomorrow, if you want.”

Vernon bounces his leg nervously, fidgeting with the edge of your comforter as you sit on the floor in front of him, styling your hair for your party. He arrived half an hour ago while you were still waltzing around in your bathrobe, holding a small, neatly wrapped box in both of his hands. It’s several degrees too warm in your bedroom. He feels a bead of sweat roll down his back as you grumble what seems to be a threat at a strand that won’t cooperate. Thankfully, you don’t seem to notice his discomfort. (If you do, he’s grateful that you don’t say anything.)

“But it’s my birthday today,” you pouted, taking the box from him. “Let me finish getting ready, then I���ll open it. Come on.”

His wrist still aches with the pressure you held onto him with as you dragged him up the stairs. Your parents are away for the weekend and the house is all yours, so there’s a speaker blasting your favourite playlist full volume on your nightstand and there’s nobody to tell you to turn it down. He flits his attention between his phone and watching you, but he can’t fully concentrate on either; he’s too nervous that maybe you won’t like his gift, and he’s never been the type to splash out on birthday presents before but this… well, it burned a hole in his wallet, that’s for sure. 

“Okay. Wait here,” you tell him as you push up off the floor, limping on the leg that had started to fall asleep thanks to the way you were sitting. 

“All right,” he says back. As if he’d go anywhere, anyway. 

You grab a hanger from inside your closet and scurry off down the hall to the bathroom. For the first time, Vernon feels like he can actually breathe. He drops his phone onto the comforter between his crossed legs and cradles his head in his hands, telling himself that he needs to get it together. You’ve never not liked anything he’s given you, and you’ve known him now for more birthdays than you haven’t. 

Your friends said you’d love it. So did your mother, with a sparkle in her eye as she held it delicately in her fingers. He has nothing to worry about. It’s only you.

And yet—

“You’ll be honest if it looks bad?” You call from the other side of the door, interrupting how his lips move wordlessly in an endless mantra of self-reassurances. 

Vernon snaps his head up and he clears his throat, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “Aren’t I always?” He answers.

You click your tongue, evidently disagreeing, but you pull the handle and take a step into the room anyway. When you see him, he looks exactly as he did when you left, no trace of his anxieties anywhere to be seen on his face or otherwise. 

When he sees you, he feels like the world could end any moment and he’d be okay with that. 

His mouth runs dry and his eyes seem to be stuck open, unblinking, fixated on you in your all black outfit as you stand still as a statue with your hands behind your back. You cough quietly, waiting for some kind of a response other than a dumb stare, but it doesn’t come. 

Eight seconds later… still nothing. 

“Do you hate it?” you fret, because Vernon is a very good hype-man and you’ve never known him struggle to find something positive to say. “All right, uh— okay—”

“No!” He rushes, almost shouting in his urgency to assure you that that’s not the case at all. He scrambles up to his feet, taking a breath, and pushes a hand through his hair. He’s been growing it out lately, and he kind of hates how his fingers catch on a tangle even though he brushed it meticulously before he left his apartment. You keep telling him it looks good, though, so he hasn’t been to get it cut. “God, no. I’m sorry. You look amazing.”

It doesn’t sound like much to the untrained ear, but the warmth of his compliments comes less in the words he says and more in the sincerity he says them with. Your face softens, and Vernon can see the way the thoughts of changing into something else fizzle out behind your eyes. He takes a backwards step to try and tempt you further into your own bedroom, and you move in tandem with him, closing that space and coming better into the light. 

“Wow,” he says, swallowing hard and looking you up and down. “I-… wow.”

It’s your turn to clam up, now. You look down at the floor, kicking at the carpet with your toes. “Shut up,” you say. “I’m not...”

“Yes, you are,” he protests, leaving no room for argument as he crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t know who you’re trying to impress but… yeah, it’s gonna work.”

You walk past him with a scoff, barging against his shoulder on your way; he dramatically staggers to the side, rubbing at the impact site, laughing. When he faces you again, you’ve picked the gift up from the end of your bed and are moving to sit on the mattress yourself. Your eyes flicker between Vernon and the empty space in front of you. He takes the hint, settling back down with one foot tucked beneath him, the other still planted on your rug. 

His heart shoots back up into his throat and he stares down at the box, licking over his lips and frowning at how dry they feel. He glances away, lifting a hand to his mouth, running his fingertips over his lips. What would they feel like pressed against yours? He thinks, and then he cringes again. 

You misread his reaction and hesitate with your finger pressed underneath a strip of tape, tilting your head at him. “What’s going to jump out at me when I open this?” 

“Nothing,” he says, rolling his eyes at you. “What do you take me for?”

“The kind of guy who puts glitter in birthday cards because he thinks it’s funny,” you retort, earning a click of his tongue. 

“That was one time!”

“One time too many.”

“I swear,” he laughs, tight shoulders easing, both hands falling to his lap. “No sparkles, no loud noises, nothing jumpy. Cross my heart.“

You eye him a little suspiciously but eventually tug your finger beneath the wrapping and make the first rip in the paper, allowing you to tear into the gift after keeping Vernon on edge for almost an hour and a half. You peel it away and it falls to the bedsheets, in your hands now a small, square box not too dissimilar a shade to your comforter. You look from it, to him, and he thinks you notice how his cheeks are a little darker than they were before. 

He nods at you once and you slowly pull it open. On a plush, velvety bedding sits an elegant, dainty bracelet. A small gemstone is set in the metal of the bar in the middle of the chain. You skim a thumb over it, your breath held.

“Vernon,” you murmur, tearing your eyes away from the bracelet to look at him. Now, even the tips of his ears have grown flushed, but you’re kind enough not to comment on it to avoid spoiling the moment you’re in. “This is…”

“The lady in the store said it was your birthstone,” he says, twiddling his thumbs. “I mean… I’m really just taking her word for it, ‘cause they all look the same to me, but—”

He’s interrupted as all of your weight topples against him, arms thrown around his neck in a hug. He hesitates a moment before he wraps his own around your waist, drops his head to your shoulder and he smiles wider than he thinks he ever has. “Happy Birthday,” he says, dragging his thumb up and down over your hip. 

“Silly,” you scold him playfully, still pressing wholly against him and showing no signs of moving. Your voice sounds thick, a little like you’re tearing up, so Vernon squeezes you tighter. 

“I know you are,” he chuckles. “But what am I?”

You swallow hard, finally now pulling away from the hug but sitting entirely too close for comfort, one knee pressing into the outside of his thigh. 

Your surprise attack has left him dishevelled. With a quiet apology, your fingers innocently try to smooth everything back into place, but Vernon doesn’t hear you say you’re sorry. His pulse, thundering in his ears, drowns it out while also skipping a beat with each little touch. You’re not looking into his eyes as you shyly put him back to rights, too busy working to tame his — at the best of times — unruly hair. 

He’s looking into yours though, and he can’t stop. 

Your eyes, which dart all over to find strands out of place, so your hands can move them to where they ought to sit and lay them down flat. Your eyes, that drop down the length of his throat as you realign the neck of his t-shirt over his broad shoulders. 

Your eyes: the ones crinkled at the corners as you pick the bracelet back up from your bed and admire it under your bedroom light. Your eyes, landing on his, finally, in a silent plea for help. 

“The best?” you answer, now, extending your wrist to ask him to put it on you. He takes the chain from your fingers and unclasps it, slipping it beneath your hand and holding it in place. 

“I know you are,” he says again, but it’s quieter now as he concentrates on trying to reconnect the two pieces. “But what am I?”

When he successfully fastens your gift onto your arm, he looks up to see your watery eyes still staring down at it. He decides this is the time to reveal part two of the surprise. Pulling up the sleeve of his t-shirt, he reveals his own wrist to you, and you now see there’s a matching chain hanging off it. A little stone set in the metal. His stone, presumably. You choke out a laugh around your tears, shaking your head. 

“You got us friendship bracelets,” you giggle, holding your hand next to his and admiring them together. Your skin touches and he feels butterflies erupt in his stomach, which he hasn’t felt around you since…

He nods, breathing a chuckle too. “Yeah,” he says. His heart is pounding. “I guess I did. Is… that okay?”

“I love them,” you insist, leaning forward to affectionately press your lips to his cheek. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

Your doorbell sounds downstairs and Vernon’s words die in his throat. Maybe that’s for the best, though; he’s got so much nervous energy rising up inside him and he’s scared it might accidentally force up something he’ll regret saying. You spring off the bed again, fussing in the mirror, and he watches you rush out the bedroom warbling about how you’re not ready for anyone to be here yet. It’s too early. What’s going on? Who is it?

He shifts his legs so both his feet are planted on the floor, letting out a breath he doesn’t remember sucking in. 

I love them. Thank you, you said. 

It’s perfect. 

He groans when he stands up, too, tugging his sleeve back down as he starts to follow after you.

“I know you are,” he mumbles under his breath, hearing your relieved laughter at it just being the FedEx man on your doorstep. It makes him feel warm. Everywhere. “But what am I?”

Five hours later, Vernon is seeing double. 

He has Seungkwan’s hands massaging the tops of his shoulders and there are two Juns sitting across from him at your dining table. He remembers feeling fine around 9pm, distinctly: like nothing he drank was having any kind of effect on him. Like he could walk home on his hands — like he was invincible. Now, after spending exactly five minutes out in the fresh air, he’s blinking four times for every breath he takes and his friends’ voices keep phasing in and out of focus.

“But what if they’re not?” Vernon stresses for the eighth time, fingers clumsily peeling at the label on his bottle.

“And what if they are?” Jun tries. Again. Also, for the eighth time, because apparently when Vernon gets tipsy, his skull gets really really thick and nothing in the world can penetrate it. “You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

Vernon shakes his head, sitting back so heavily that his chair tips and he sends Seungkwan stumbling into the wall behind them. His friend gives up trying to rub the stupid out of him and settles into the chair at Vernon’s side instead. 

“I don’t know-…”

“If you’re about to say you don’t know what you’ll do if it isn’t them, I’m putting you in an Uber and sending you home.” Seungkwan claps his hand down onto Vernon’s knee for good measure. “It’s not even been a day.”

Vernon groans, threading his fingers into his hair and tipping his head back. “It hasn’t, though,” he whines. “What if it’s been like this since… and I just kept ignoring…”

Jun and Seungkwan exchange a look. An exhausted one. They both know Vernon turns into a complete baby when he’s had a drink and can just about manage a trip to the bathroom without somebody holding his hand, but neither of them have seen him like this before. Neither of them want to see him like this ever again.

Hell, neither of them want to be dealing with him like this right now.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” Jun’s (remarkably) calm voice repeats as he pushes up from his seat and glances towards the doorway. His ears lock onto a voice just beyond it, and in an instant, the older man recognises his chance at an exit. He casts an apologetic glance at Seungkwan, who has resorted to rubbing Vernon’s earlobes to try and get him to stop stressing, and he dips out before either of them can argue. 

On his way, though, he throws in a sly little remark. One that raises Vernon’s– and Seungkwan’s– blood pressure to a level that would get them prescribed a week of strict bed rest.

“Besides – everyone can see the two of you were practically made for each other.”

Vernon whips around to face Seungkwan with shock written into every line of his face. It paints perfect full-signal WiFi creases on his forehead; it makes his jaw hang loose. 

“I– what?” Vernon splutters, shooting a hand to the back of his head. Seungkwan hasn’t taken his eyes off the doorway since Jun slipped through it. Vernon doesn’t notice the fact that his older friend’s full genetic line is currently being cursed out. “What does he mean?”

“You don’t have to do anything tonight,” Seungkwan tries, now acutely aware of the fact that Jun has just given Vernon a nudge he should never have. There’s a fine line between bolstering a friend and straight-up causing chaos. This could get messy. Seungkwan doesn’t like messy.

But… It's too late. 

Before Seungkwan can wrangle him back into his seat, Vernon has broken away from the table and is on the hunt for you. Seungkwan follows behind, doing his best to summon Vernon back, but he can’t. He’s on a mission now. And maybe that mission involves giving in to the thing that eats away at his brain when he should be waist-deep in music theory assignments. Maybe that mission is to finally, after two years, know what it feels like to kiss you. He’s going to find you, so help him God. He has to. 

And yes. He does. He finds you, eventually. As soon as he reaches the top of the staircase, there you are. 

Being pressed into the wood of your bedroom door, wrapped up in the arms of some pretentious looking art student in an oversized button-down and baggy, ripped jeans. Your mouth is covered by theirs, your fingers are threaded through those glossy fucking locks, both of you are laughing breathlessly as you drop one hand and it fumbles blindly to reach for the doorknob. 

Vernon spins away, turning his back as he hears the door click. At this exact moment, Seungkwan comes stumbling up the stairs too and plants his forehead into Vernon’s sternum. 

But his good friend’s skull is not the only thing Vernon is struck with, not the only thing knocking the wind out of him. 

Simultaneously, he’s swept up with the sobering realisations that either this guy is your soulmate, or you’re not the same person you were when you were nineteen. 

It’s eleven o’clock and two years later when he hears your secret knock on his apartment door. 

Maybe it’s luck. Maybe it’s fate. He only took his noise cancelling headphones off a few minutes ago before he washed up and settled into bed; his head has hardly even had time to make a dent in the pillows. But whichever force is at play, the thing that matters is that he hears you and he knows it’s you, straight away. He doesn’t remember how it started, exactly. He thinks it might have been while he was in his exam-season hermit stage in his first year of university and refused to come to the door unless it was something important. 

You’ve been knocking the same way for years now though, and he slides out of bed with creased brows at how desperate your fist sounds as it pounds against the wood. He pulls on an old t-shirt and perhaps the loosest fitting pair of shorts anyone’s ever owned, at least making himself decent before he answers. He’s still tying the drawstring when he gets to the door.

When he looks through the peep-hole to make sure he’s right, you’re drying your eyes on the back of your sweatshirt sleeve. You’re shivering quite violently, and you’ve got a bag on your shoulder that’s weighing you down on one side. Vernon’s heart sinks. He unbolts the door, pulling it open just as you lift your hand to knock again; your knuckles punch the air between you as your eyes land on him, and your bottom lip wobbles in despair. 

You fall into his chest with a sob. Tears start to soak their way through his shirt until it clings to the skin underneath. 

“Hey,” he soothes you, locking his arms so tight around you that there’s a strong chance they’re the only thing holding you upright. 

“I didn’t— know where else to go—” you choke out, your arm trapped between your chest and his as he rests his head on top of yours and pats your back softly. “I’m s-”

“Don’t you dare,” he murmurs, tilting his chin down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “It’s okay. I’m here. You can always come to me.”

He holds you until your shakes start to subside, trying to talk you through whatever this is with soft reassurances and gentle shushing sounds. When you pull back from him, Vernon guides you into his apartment, flicking on the lamp in his living room so he can see to settle you down on his couch. He throws a blanket over your legs before he sits down himself, pulling your hand into his lap and holding it between both of his own, his thumb moving absently over your knuckles. You’re still crying, but when you shuffle against the seat to be a little more comfortable and finally turn to face him, he finds his voice long enough to ask you what happened. 

“He kissed— kissed someone else,” you tell him, sniffling and shaking your head. 

His blood reaches boiling point in what must be record time and he knows he accidentally starts to grip your hand tighter, but he can’t stop. 

“He what?”

Vernon knows this guy wasn’t your soulmate. You told him, a few days after your birthday. You said everything was still black and white when you pulled back from the first of — what you spared no detail in explaining was — many, many, many kisses with him that evening. But you didn’t care. Not then, and not for the whole time you’ve been together. 

He asked you about it once. About four months in (when he figured things were starting to get serious), late at night, if it bothered you. Whether you were going to keep seeing him. If you still thought about finding your soulmate. He doesn’t think he’ll ever forget what your replying message said. 

I mean, sure, I’m curious. But maybe I don’t need to see in colour. I think being in love is enough :)

So… you were in love. 

With someone who wasn’t him. 

He didn’t speak to anyone — not even you — for two whole days after that. He felt like he’d gone ten rounds with a peak-form George Foreman. He felt like he’d never be able to get rid of the pit that had developed in the depths of his gut. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely eat, he couldn’t focus: it was the worst he’d ever felt.  And, well… Vernon knew it was immature. He knew he was acting like a child. If he could’ve shaken it off, the way he’s always done with so many of the things in his life that have bothered him, he’d have loved to. But he couldn’t.

Besides. Only about four people noticed his silence, anyway. You weren’t one of them; your boyfriend was keeping you plenty busy.

“He went to a club and got completely wasted and he— he—” you say, squeezing his hand even tighter than he’s holding yours. “But-… he says he-…” Hiccup. “Everything. Straight away — his…”

You don’t need to say it out loud; if anything, he’s a little disgusted with himself that he didn’t figure this out sooner. “His soulmate,” Vernon ruefully finishes for you. He groans the words out, feeling rotten to his core. “I’m so sorry…”

Your shoulders start to shake and he wastes no time in pulling you sideways against him, both his arms locked around you again, just like before. 

“It’s so stupid,” you cry, laughing emptily. His stomach turns; he hates this. Your anguish is an assault on his eardrums, especially when he’s got you so close, but he tries so hard not to flinch, not to move away. You need him, no matter how agonised it makes him feel. “I knew he wasn’t mine, but I thought-…”

Your voice fades away to nothing. You shake your head.

“You thought he was happy the same way you were,” he finishes again. You just nod, sobbing harder. “That's not—… stop saying the way you feel is stupid.”

Vernon doesn’t understand how that loser could ever not have been happy with you. How could he dream about going out in search of something more? Hell, Vernon doesn’t think there’s a soul alive better than you — how could anyone stand to just throw you away?

He wonders briefly if you can hear his heartbeat, thundering in his chest with the rage he feels all the way into his bones. You’ve always told him that you admire how chilled out, how collected he is, but Vernon has never felt less calm in his entire life. It’s only as he acknowledges that he has no right to feel like this, that he takes a few deep breaths in an attempt to bring his fever down. You mimic him, trying to do the same, and by the time his pulse starts to settle, you’re back to just sniffling against his shoulder. 

“Stay the night here,” he tells you. It isn’t a suggestion, or really even a request. It’s an order. There’s no room for negotiation. “We’ll go get your things in the morning. I’ll be right there with you.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Vernon gets there before you do. Before you can protest the offers he’s made. Before you can ask him if he’s sure. He knows you, a little too well: he knows these are the words that are going to come out of your mouth next. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You sit back from him with a quiet chuckle, wiping your eyes again on your damp sleeve. “I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you,” you murmur. “You’re the best— the best thing that ever happened to me.”

He just rolls his eyes at you and shakes his head, standing up from the couch. (I know you are, he thinks. This isn’t the time for jokes, though.) He wishes you knew what you mean to him; how, in his eyes, you deserve the world, presented to you on a shining silver platter. Wishes you knew that he’d give it to you if thought he could carry it. 

“Go wash up,” he says, ignoring the ache in his chest at the way your watery lashes flutter when you look up at him. “I’ll find you something to sleep in.”

He locates a spare toothbrush from a travelling kit he’s never used and sets a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants on the heated towel rail, leaving you alone in the bathroom to go about your business. You emerge some fifteen minutes later to find Vernon perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through an app on his phone. He can’t help but swallow at the way his clothes fit you. How the steam from your shower clings to your skin, casts a heavenly haze around you. He hopes it isn’t obvious. This is about more than his dumb little crush. 

“Were you asleep?” You ask him, nodding towards his comforter, still pushed back on one side. He turns to glance over his shoulder, following the line of your sight, before he looks back at you and shakes his head. 

“Not even close,” he says. “I’d just got into bed when you got here.”

You worry your bottom lip between your teeth and nod. Vernon doesn't think you look totally convinced, but he can’t force you to believe him, even if it is the truth. 

It’s unspoken but accepted that you'll sleep in the bed with him; he’s never let you stay on his couch when you spend the night, and you never agree to displacing him even though he always tries to insist he doesn’t mind. You’ve been friends for enough time now that it’ll never be weird to crawl beneath the sheets with him, anyway. At first, he didn’t really like sharing (he’s a bit… particular with how he sleeps, after all), but he got used to your weight on the mattress beside him quite quickly and makes a point to say he always sleeps better with you. 

He hasn’t curled up next to you for the night in over two years. It’s awful, that that’s what he thinks about now as he turns off the lights and you settle down, shuffling under the comforter until he slides in next to you in the dark and you can lay your head on his chest. He knows it’s selfish. He thinks it probably makes him a bad person, too. 

“Do you think—” you start to say, cut off by a long, vocal yawn. Your breath feels so warm through his t-shirt. “If you fall out of love with them… do the colours go away?”

With his eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling he can’t even see, Vernon feels his heart shatter beneath the soft cushion of your cheek. He’s suddenly grateful he’s still fully clothed, as if the cotton barrier is the only thing stopping you from getting scratched by the splinters beneath his skin. He wonders if you hear it. It would be an easier explanation for why he doesn’t say anything than whatever his mouth could come up with, that’s for sure. 

“I don’t know,” he says after a few seconds too long. The arm wrapped around your shoulders slips down to your waist and he squeezes you. Briefly, he wonders if it can force your broken pieces back together. 

Vernon knows he would never do this to you. He’d never hurt you this way. Out of everyone he’s ever met, he thinks you’re the sweetest, the kindest, the most thoughtful of them all. The last person he’d ever wish a heartbreak upon. He even used to joke that he’d go to war with anyone who dared to try. 

But now he’s seeing it happen? He feels as if he really could. 

“I just hope you never have to find out,” he follows up, blinking back the thoughts that start to bubble away as your breaths slow down. 

He wrapped a band-aid around your finger when you got a papercut once and you asked him, then, if he would kiss it better. 

When you bumped your head in the playground, the same. 

He’d kiss it all better now too, if he could. He’d show you how you deserve to be loved. 

And he doesn’t just think it, anymore; Vernon knows that this makes him a terrible person. 

“I hope you don’t, either,” you mumble back. “... and I hope we find them soon.”

He’s so proud of you.

Okay, it never took much. He’s been proud of you for every good grade you’ve ever achieved, every doctor's appointment you booked for yourself, every trip to the dentist you stressed over. He’s been proud of you for finishing projects you were struggling with. Proud of you for learning new recipes. For every milestone, personal or professional, it’s the first thing he makes sure to say. 

[ hey, look at u go!!! proud of u :) ]

Now? He’s seen you crawl from rock bottom to the top of the world. It hasn’t been easy. There have been hurdles and barriers and sometimes, sixty foot high walls you’ve had to climb up and over, but you’ve done it. You’re thriving. Every time he looks at you, these days, if you’re not wearing a smile there are at least traces of one in your eyes, on your face, in your voice. Happiness suits you, and he’s so, so proud of you for getting here. 

He knows you’re doing better, because between Christmas and New Year, you asked him if he wanted to come to a party with you. At first, he wasn’t sure; the holidays left his wallet feeling a little light and he’s been on a really good streak of not drinking anything lately, but when you promised that you’d stay sober too, he kind of couldn’t say no. 

[ i just wanna see in the new year with my favourite person ever <3 ]

[ ha. flattery will get u everywhere ]

So here he finds himself, out in the backyard of somebody he’s never met, a can of Coke in one hand and your gloved fingers holding tightly onto the other. You dragged him outside at five minutes to midnight and — though he doesn’t know why — you decided you didn’t want to let go. Vernon certainly wasn’t going to be the one to make you. Your warmth down his left side is settling the slight unease he’s felt all evening while also making him feel tipsier than he’s ever been under the influence of any amount of soju; he thinks maybe this should scare him, but he’s just… so glad he came.

With sixty seconds until the clock strikes twelve, somebody stands up on top of the picnic table in the yard and starts to try and coordinate a countdown. With forty-five, Vernon squeezes your hand, butterflies where his stomach ought to be. With thirty, he takes a long drain of his drink, finishing it as if it’ll give him some courage, maybe, or… he doesn’t know. Zero sugar, zero caffeine — there’s no logic behind his process, just a lot of bubbles and artificially sweetened syrup. All the same, he crushes the can against his thigh and slips it into his pocket to throw away later. That alone relieves a bit of his adrenaline. 

Not enough, but some. 

With ten seconds remaining, the first shout drowns out the white noise in his ears, the chaos of his thoughts. 10. He joins them. So do you. 9. 8. Your voice is the loudest, the most excited sounding. You want this year to be over. You want the rest of your life to begin. 

7. 6. 5.

The crackers are set. Flames dance at the end of the garden on fire lighters, ready to send rockets shooting into the sky. 

Some people here are going to see them as they truly are. Brilliant and vibrant and colourful against the black canvas of the midnight sky. Vernon won’t. Neither will you. But what was it you said to him once?

4. 3.

Maybe I don’t need to see in colour. 

2.

For the first time, he thinks he agrees. The feeling of loving you, even if he never knows green from red, blue from orange? He doesn’t care. He has you. He loves you. That’s enough. 

1.

Happy New Year. 

As if dawn has broken early, the world becomes impossibly bright, pyrotechnics bursting not only over your own heads but everywhere, as far as his eyes can see. After the first few, he permits himself a glance over at your face: there are tears running down it, and his heart stutters, but then he hears you laugh. Brightly, wetly, more resonant than any of the booms and crackles and cheers he can feel all the way down to his toes. 

For whatever reason, Vernon starts laughing with you. 

You pull him closer into a bone-crushing hug and blink your damp lashes against the side of his neck. “Thank you for being here with me,” you say to him, practically shouting to be heard. “I love you so much.”

“I’m always gonna be with you,” he says as you pull back a little. Your arms are still around him. The chain of the bracelet he bought you all those years ago is bitterly cold against the back of his neck. He can’t feel his fingers anymore, all he knows is that they’re resting on the curve of your spine. He thinks he can see something in the way you look at him, so softly and tenderly and yet, in the twitch of your brow… 

Like you’re searching for something that might not be there. 

He knows his gaze moves in a perfect triangle — from your left eye, to your slightly parted, wind-chapped lips, to your right. He knows he stops breathing. He swears you do, too. Something builds — a spark catches, an energy festers, egged on by the curious murmurs of the people around you. 

You could do it, his brain tells him. 

So what if he’s a few minutes late for it to be traditional? Does it really matter? 

But he’s reminded, again, this time with a whizz and a boom and a crackle, that you aren’t his to have this way. His storybook moment fizzles out, the final firework bursting into sparkles overhead. He sees every one of your perfect features brighten in wonder as you tilt your head back to look up at it. Sees it beautifully reflected in your glassy eyes. He has about enough time to commit the image to memory before you clear your throat and finally step away from him, losing all touch for the first time since you came outside. 

One of your friends comes and pulls you into an embrace, before passing you along to someone else, and then someone else again. He loses you in the crowd that rushes to get back in the warm, but he makes no effort to move with them. He just stays out in the dark for a while with his own thoughts for company, shoving his frigid hands into the pockets of his jeans.

He’s happy, though. It’s like you said. 

Being in love is enough.

“There’s just one more thing,” you say as the waitress returns with your bank card and a receipt. Vernon slides you a look as he stands, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair he’s been sitting in. 

He shakes his head at you. “Whatever it is, it better not be edible,” he laughs. “I think this is the most full I’ve ever been.”

In other words, you’ve done enough already. Stop spending money on me. Please. Thankfully, your final surprise is in-keeping with his unspoken rule. 

His birthday rolled around way too quickly. The start of the year has been so chaotically busy; you swear, you’ve hardly seen him since he dropped you off home after the party. You moved out of your parents’ house for the second time a few weeks ago and settling in, unpacking boxes, sorting through clothes and belongings and trinkets has taken you much longer than you care to admit. You’ve been busy at work, too. So has he. Your social calendars have barely lined up at all. 

But you were determined to make plenty of time for him on his birthday. 

To Vernon, this has always just been another day. He’s never cared too much about big celebrations: as long as he can spend some time with people he cares about, he’s happy, and this year he’s managed exactly that. He saw his family this morning, had some friends drop by his apartment later in the day, and now, he’s with you. 

You’ve never been great at the laid-back approach, though. Not with him. How could you be, when he does so much for you, always without even batting an eye? When he deserves to be doted on, and adored, and thoroughly spoiled? It’s the same every year. You make a fuss, he playfully scolds you for it; you and he are creatures of habit. It’ll probably never change. 

This year, you invited him to your new place to open the gifts you’d bought him: the new speaker he kept saying he couldn’t justify buying, a record he looked at in the store a few months ago but never bought, a sweatshirt to replace the one you stole off him on New Years Eve. Some candies he likes. Then, after he finally stopped pouting and sighing that you really didn’t need to go to all this effort, you took him out for dinner, making a reservation for two at his favourite restaurant. 

The pouting continued. 

Only up until your appetisers came out, though. The moment your food was placed down in front of you, his eyes doubled in size and his lips became a little too busy to stay pursed. Your own dinner almost went cold with how fondly you sat and watched him. This year, you even spared Vernon the embarrassment of having the restaurant staff sing at the side of your table. 

All right, you have an ulterior motive, but… it’s the thought that counts, right? 

He holds the door open for you now as you thank the waitress who served you one last time and without him lowering his arm, you step into place beneath it. Tucked up into Vernon’s side, you’re as happy as you’ve ever been. Nervous, too, but… you have a good feeling. 

“Where to?” He asks as you fall into step together. 

“This way.”

You emerge from the shelter of the canopy outside the restaurant’s front door and immediately feel the cool tickle of a snowflake landing on your cheek. They started to fall while you were eating and Vernon couldn’t stop watching through the window, small specks that grew over the hour into big clumps that tumbled towards the ground. He’s always loved the snow, and there’s no real destination for this gift, anyway. You guide him to the left and watch as peace takes its rightful home on his beautiful features. 

“We’ve walked in a perfect square three times now,” Vernon says after a little while of meandering about in the dark, making comfortable small talk and laughing as the champagne bubbles in your stomachs continue to fizz away. “Where are we supposed to be going?”

You wondered how long it was going to take him to notice, or even if he was going to realise at all. Looking up and down the street you’re on, you stop in your tracks, standing beneath the same flickering street lamp that you’ve passed twice already. Your footprints trail both behind and in front of you, neither quite covered yet by the snowfall. You break into a laugh when you notice that the convenience store on your left has closed since the last time you came down this road. 

“I can get a map open, if…” Vernon starts, reaching into his pocket. You stop him, stepping out from under his arm and wrapping your hand around his wrist instead.

“I might’ve told a little white lie,” you confess, 

He halts with his phone only half pulled out, pushing it into his hip for fear of it falling if either of you let go. “What do you mean?” He asks. 

You know he’s probably thinking back to your earlier conversations, trying to figure out which part exactly is the mistruth you’re now admitting to. But whether he gets there on his own or not, he waits for you to answer. 

“I had it with me this whole time,” you explain, readjusting your hold on his covered forearm. His eyes dart downwards, looking at the site of contact, but he quickly lifts them back up to your face. “I was just… waiting for… ”

“What are you talking about?” Vernon asks. 

“Close your eyes.”

You know.

Unfortunately for your best friend, as hush-hush as he’s managed to be all this time, the same can’t be said for the other person he entrusts all his secrets to. A few weeks ago, when you’d called Seungkwan to coordinate timings for Vernon’s birthday plans, he’d accidentally let something slip. It was your suggestion of taking Vernon to dinner that did the trick. 

“Oh, he’s going to love that,” Seungkwan had gushed. You could hear the breadth of his smile down the phone and felt yourself growing hot at the compliment.

“You really think so?”

“Pfft. You could take him to the Eiffel Tower or to a drive-through KFC, and he’d still have hearts in his eyes – because it’s you.”

Of course, he attempted to do some damage control immediately after. Make out that he meant it in strictly platonic terms. But once the idea planted itself in your head, it sort of… made sense. You mulled it over for a couple of days but when you finally asked Seungkwan, deathly serious, if he really thought you stood a chance with Vernon?

He practically screamed ‘yes’ down the phone. 

“The last time you asked me to do this, you killed me at laser-tag,” Vernon says, narrowing his eyes. He surely doesn’t think you’re hiding a plastic gun underneath the coat he literally just watched you don, but he doesn’t do as you ask and you suck your front teeth at him.

“Luckily for you, I left all my weapons at home,” you counter. “Come on, please. Just… trust me.”

“Said that last time, too,” he snickers. But, to his merit, he finally does it. He takes in a breath and follows your instruction. “I swear to God…”

Selfishly, you take a moment to bask in how handsome he really is. His eyes twitch underneath his lids and snowflakes cling to his lashes, moving with them. It’s in his hair, too. On his shoulders. Melting on his cheeks, leaving small wet spots on his face. One lands perfectly on the tip of his nose. You would immortalise this moment, if you could.

It made sense, when you found out, because thinking back? Nobody has ever loved you how Vernon does. He shows it in so many ways – he sends you the songs that he hears and thinks you’ll like, the pretty photographs that he takes when he’s away for work, some variant of a ‘good morning’ text, almost every day. He massages your shoulders, lets you fall asleep on his lap, follows you around like an obedient puppy when you have errands to run just so you don’t have to do them on your own. 

He tries, and often fails, to cook you breakfast when you stay over. He brings you coffees, or lunch. He looks at you like you’re the moon and the stars. People have teased for years that you could be psychically connected. That you were cosmically united. That it was fate for Vernon to move into the house down the street from you when you were nine. To be the only other child your age on the block. 

Two people, perfect for one another, lives intertwined eternally by fate. Or, in other words…

“Are you…?” He asks, breaking the quiet that has only been filled with your cloud-forming breaths. 

“Give me a second,” you breathe. There’s no doubt in your mind.

You lean forward to kiss him softly, free hand settling against the side of his neck. In the February chill, Vernon freezes, no part of his body reacting to you except for his lips. Though they twitch in a gasp, they press back against yours as if he isn’t even thinking about doing it. As if it’s instinctual. As if he was always supposed to kiss you – as if he’s your…

There it all is, when you finally pull away.

Brown eyes, framed by fluttering lashes that untangle from one another to finally see you, too. Brown, you know, because when you asked your mother to tell you about Vernon’s colours when you were younger, that was the only one she told you, saying everything else might change when he got older. Warm, brown eyes. Glistening with every blink, blink, blink of the bulb above you. Pupils slowly dilating, drowning the colours out of view. You see his lids shoot wide as he realises, as he glances left and right, as he takes this new world in for the first time, too. 

“I knew it,” you say on a stuttered breath, so overwhelmed you could cry. “My soulmate.”

A brilliant smile threatens to split Vernon’s features in two as he cups your cheeks and pulls you back to him, kissing you again, and again, and again. 

“I know you are,” he says against your lips, his bare thumbs pink and cold as they press into your skin. And, before you can kiss him quiet – “but what ‘m I?”

thank u so much for reading, i really hope you enjoyed this. as always, your likes/reblogs/comments and feedback are always deeply appreciated.<3

[dreamwritesimagines]

The Eye of the Hurricane [22] - Newcomers

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback, you made my day! ❤️I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think! ❤️

Summary: New deals mean new players.

Word Count: 2300

Pairing: MobBoss!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Violence, guns, crime, blood, explicit language, dysfunctional relationship. This is an AU, friendly reminder that I don’t condone any of the actions depicted on this story and please read with care.

Series Masterlist

You had always loved watching the city at night.

When you were little, after making sure everyone else at home were asleep, you would sneak out of your room to get to the terrace, and sit there for hours, watching the glimmering stars and the city lights. Even after you grew up, it still filled you with a sense of peace-

Well.

Until now.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you only noticed Bucky’s presence in the living room when he touched your arm to hold out a cup of coffee. You paused for a moment, then shook your head.

“No thank you,” you murmured and he put it on the coffee table, then clicked his tongue.

“You didn’t sleep last night?”

“I couldn’t,” you managed to say. “I know I said I’d come to bed, but…”

A silence fell upon you before Bucky heaved a sigh from behind you.

“Charm, last night—”

“Was the proof, wasn’t it?” you asked. “He doesn’t believe in me.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It makes it official.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s official or not.”

You shook your head again and he clasped his hands over your shoulders, your eyes fluttering close for a moment despite your better judgement, a warmth spreading over your skin before you opened your eyes again.

“The therapist said open communication,” he told you, making you roll your eyes.

“You don’t even believe in all that.”

“You do,” he said. “And he said we’re supposed to talk about our feelings so, how do you feel?”

“I want to kill Ian.”

“I don’t think that counts as a feeling, Charm.”

“Not with that attitude, it doesn’t.”

A small chuckle spilled from his lips.

“Listen, you know I have no problems with killing him, but you told me yourself that it’s not the way to putting you on top. Besides—” he paused and shook his head. “Your father named him his heir, and he’s not an idiot. He would know that we killed him, which is fine by me but…”

“That’d officially put an end to the truce,” you finished his sentence for him. “It’d make me look just like Ian, and then no one would back me up because the whole reason why we’re doing this is to keep the truce.”

“Not the whole reason.”

You turned your head to look at him and he scoffed a laugh.

“Come on Charm,” he said. “You can tell everyone else whatever you want but part of the reason why you want that crown is because you want power. It’s not the worst thing in the world.”

You swallowed thickly and turned around to see him better.

“I want to keep the peace.”

“Never said you didn’t,” he murmured. “But someone has to be on that throne while keeping the peace.”

You ran a hand over your face.

“The meeting is next month with the rest of the bosses,” you said. “If my father named him heir, it means he gave him some sort of responsibility, something to give him the opportunity to show off. A part of the territory, or…”

“He wouldn’t give him a part of the territory,” Bucky told you. “Not with HYDRA attacking every territory. He can’t afford any security flaws.”

You arched a brow. “Shipment?”

“Shipment,” Bucky said with a nod of his head and you tapped your lips with your finger, stepping away from him.

“That could make things easier for me,” you said. “And to make sure he makes a mistake.”

Bucky grinned at you.

“You know how it works,” he said. “A lot of things could go wrong with the shipments.”

The question you wanted to ask him was on the tip of your tongue but before you could open your mouth, his phone started vibrating and he took a look at the screen, then held it up.

“Speaking of shipment,” he said. “Excuse me.”

He answered the phone and walked away from you, and you bit inside your cheek, massaging your temples. Your headache from last night was getting heavier by the minute the more you thought about it, so you pressed your palms on your eyes, then dropped your hands.

“I need a nap,” you muttered to yourself and made your way to the bedroom with Alpine following you.

                                            *

When you woke up from your nap to the nonstop vibration of your phone, it was already afternoon and as the note on bedside table told you, Bucky had already left for work. You rubbed at your eyes and grabbed your phone, pressing your lips together when you saw your father’s name flashing on the screen. For a couple of seconds, you considered not answering but the old habits were hard to shake off so you touched the screen and took the phone to your ear.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he said. “I hope you weren’t busy?”

You bit inside your cheek, commanding yourself to be calm.

“Father.”

“We could barely talk last night,” he said. “How are you?”

“How do you think?” you asked back and he heaved a sigh.

“I’d rather it if we didn’t have this conversation on the phone,” he said, making you let out a dry chuckle.

“I agree.”

“But I’d like to invite you and Bucky for dinner whenever you’re free this week,” he said. “Your aunt is back in the city, she arrived this morning and she’s so excited to see you again.”

You rolled your eyes and made a face.

“She said that?”

“Of course. Despite some disagreements, we’re still a family and she knows it. So does Ian.”

You dragged the tip of your tongue over your teeth, willing yourself not to take the bait.

“I know you’re angry,” he said, making you raise your brows. “But in time, you will see that I’m looking out for you.”

“Oh do you now?”

“Y/N…”

“I’ll ask Bucky when he’s free this week,” you told him. “I can let your assistant know.”

“You can just let me know,” he told you. “It’d be a nice change, getting a phone call from you. Just saying.”

You bit back the retort and threw your shoulders back.

“Is there anything else, father?” you asked, your voice completely calm and he paused for a moment before heaving a sigh.

“No,” he said. “See you at dinner then.”

“Sure,” you said and hung up, then threw the phone on the other side of the bed with a groan. Alpine meowed from her spot on the floor and you hung your head off the side of the bed to see her better.

“Fathers, am I right?” you asked and she blinked at you, then made her way to you to plop down next to you. You reached out to scratch at her head and heaved a sigh.

“Do you want to come to that dinner?”

Alpine meowed again and ran back to her spot, making you click your tongue.

“Of course you don’t,” you said and sat up, then pushed yourself off the bed. “Very well then. Let’s text auntie Becca and Leila to see what they’re up to and if they want to go shopping with me. Some distraction can’t hurt.”

                                                   *

As it turned out, Becca and Leila were busy; Becca had therapy while Leila had to drop by her office to take care of some last minute changes. You did manage to distract yourself a little with shopping, and once you got bored you decided to pick up sandwiches from the shop you knew Bucky liked, then told your driver to take you to Bucky’s office.

When you got to Bucky’s office, his assistant greeted you and stood up.

“He’s about to be finished with his meeting, Mrs. Barnes,” she said as Bucky’s laughter reached outside, making you tilt your head.

“Sounds like a fun meeting.”

She offered you an apologetic smile.

“The sign of a deal gone well,” she said. “Miss Williams was already sure of herself when she walked in, I’m not surprised."

That made you arch a brow.

“Miss Williams?” you asked and she nodded.

“Mr. Barnes’ appointment,” she said, motioning inside and you nodded.

“Ah,” you said, your stomach doing an unpleasant flip for some reason before you threw your shoulders back. “I’m in a bit of a hurry actually, I’ll just—”

You didn’t even bother finishing your sentence as you walked to the door and knocked, then stepped inside and closed the door behind you. Bucky’s smile widened when he saw you and the woman sitting on the armchair across from his desk looked over her shoulder, letting you see her face.

Oh.

Well, apparently this Miss Williams was not only funny, but also very beautiful.

What you were feeling couldn’t possibly be jealousy of course, perhaps just mild irritation but you didn’t dwell on it as Bucky stood up to walk to you.

“Hi sweetheart,” he said, pressing a kiss on your temple. “Anna, this is Y/N, my wife. Y/N, this is Anna, our new shipment manager.”

You willed a smile on your face and walked to her as she stood up as well, then offered your hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too, Mrs. Barnes,” she said with a smile as she shook your hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“So have I,” you said as Bucky went to sit behind his desk again and you took the armchair across from her. “Sam speaks very highly of you, Miss Williams.”

“Please call me Anna,” she said with a wave of her hand. “And I’m forever in Sam’s debt. He was the first person to actually give me a chance in all this.”

“Sam has a talent for finding the best people for the job,” Bucky said, making Anna grin.

“I’ll make sure to tell him that.”

“No no, don’t,” Bucky told her. “He will hold it over my head forever.”

You bit inside your cheek, trying to shake off the discomfort pulling at your stomach before you crossed your legs.

“Oh but I must tell him,” Anna teased him. “He’s my first reference after all. There has to be some loyalty.”

“Can I by any chance buy your loyalty?”

“I wouldn’t be standing here if anyone could buy my loyalty,” Anna said with a grin, making Bucky chuckle.

“Very well then.”

It wasn’t jealousy.

Of course it wasn’t, you and Bucky weren’t even together.

In any case, you were irritated because this was a business decision and Bucky had decided to hire her without so much as your input, that was all.

That had to be it.

Anna’s phone beeped and she took a look at the screen, then gasped.

“Oh I completely lost the track of time!” she said, jumping on her feet. “I had another meeting, I’m so sorry.”

“Not a problem,” Bucky said, standing up as well. “So my people will send your people the details then.”

“That sounds good,” she said and shook his hand. “Looking forward to doing business with you, Bucky.”

First name basis.

Great.

“And it was a pleasure to meet you,” she told you and you nodded, giving her a smile.

“The pleasure is all mine.”

“I’ll see you later then,” she told Bucky and walked out of the office, then closed the door behind her. You tried to get rid of the bitter taste in your mouth, then cleared your throat, shifting your weight.

“The new shipment manager?” you asked and Bucky nodded.

“She’s a genius,” he told you, making you arch a brow. “Seriously, I thought Sam was exaggerating it, but apparently he downplayed it.”

You picked at a piece of lint on your dress, humming.

“I thought I was going to be involved in the business decisions,” you said, making him frown slightly.

“Yeah but this has nothing to do with your father’s business,” he said. “Or the plan. It’s just shipment, and I killed the last guy because he tried to kill me. You were there.”

“Right.”

“Sam vouched for her,” he reminded you and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah I know, it’s just…” you trailed off and shook your head. “Never mind.”

“Charm.”

“I just think it’s funny you had no problem involving me when it was a guy, and now that it’s a very hot woman, you decided not to involve me.”

“That’s not what it’s—are you actually jealous?” he asked as if the mere idea was ridiculous and you let out a small laugh.

“Jealous?” you repeated. “Get over yourself Buck. You told me I would be involved in the business decisions, you can’t blame me for questioning whether it has changed.”

He gave you a chiding look.

“It hasn't,” he said. “Sam vouched for her, and it’s just one shipment right now as a trial period. I can give you her file if you want.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head.

“No, if you decided she’s good, I’m not going to muddy the waters,” you said. “Trial period it is.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “And you’re sure it’s just the business side of things?”

You scoffed.

“No, this is me telling you I desire you carnally,” you spat, making him chuckle and hold up his hands.

“Fine,” he said. “Just asking.”

“I brought you lunch but if you’re going to be like this, I’ll eat what I brought in front of you—”

“You brought lunch?” he cut you off, staring at you and you nodded.

“Yeah, why?”

“Marry me.”

“Way ahead of you on that one,” you deadpanned, then let out a laugh. “Why?”

“I haven’t eaten anything whole day,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “What did you bring?”

“Sandwiches from that shop you like.”

“Jesus, you’re amazing,” he told you and you grinned, then stood up from the armchair.

“I really am,” you told him as you walked to get the paper bags from the waiting room. “Make sure to keep that in mind, will you?”

Chapter 23

[mizading]

Clingy Mornings

~SATORU GOJO~

╰┈➤Synopsis: A simple morning spent with a clingy Gojo.

╰┈➤Warnings: Fluff, abandonment, overthinking.

You gasp lightly when your white-haired boyfriend suddenly rests his head on your shoulder, wrapping his arms around your waist as you brush your teeth. He groaned softly into your ear, rubbing his nose against your neck.

“Come sleep with me, please?” Gojo whined like a needy child, rubbing your stomach as he held you. Before you can mutter a response, he’s already carrying you bridal style back to bed with ease.

“Gojo.. you could’ve at least let me wash my face” you groan, the feeling of defeat settling in.

Gojo doesn’t bother replying; he carefully places you on the bed, quickly snuggling into you before you have the chance to leave. Little coos of delight leave Gojo's soft pink lips as he nuzzles himself deeper into you, inhaling your soothing scent. His soft hair trickles onto your face, tickling you lightly.

“I love you more than anything baby, you know that, right?” He whispers, placing a little kiss on your nose. He gazed at you like nothing else in the world mattered—just you.

"How could I not know when you’re holding onto me like your life depends on it?” you say between giggles, returning his nose kiss. “But I love you too baby”.

You begin tracing his stunning features, pressing feathery kisses after each stroke. He was so vulnerable in this state, letting his guard down in your presence.

Gojo takes your dainty hand, kissing each fingertip gently. Moments like these remind you just how precious Gojo was to you. There was nothing like having the strongest man in the world lying in your arms, needy for your love. You were the only one to ever see this side of Gojo.

“You left me here alone in bed, without your warmth, without your love.” Gojo whines, rubbing his cheek against yours. He felt extra sensitive today; all he wanted was for you to coddle him. Gojo just couldn’t get enough. He wanted to touch you, squeeze you, kiss you, bite you, and so much more.

“You won’t ever leave me, will you?” Gojo asks in a soft voice, burying his face into your chest. Ever since Geto left, the fear of being abandoned lingers within Gojo, whether he acknowledges it or not. His past haunts him. If only he had done this or done that, maybe he wouldn’t have lost so much.

“Of course not; why would I ever leave you?” You respond in a voice equally as soft, stroking his fluffy white locks.

“Maybe because I’m not enough..?” I’m just terrified of you leaving, just like..

Without warning, you quiet Gojo by pressing a kiss onto his soft lips, forcing him to stop talking. Gojo kisses back hungrily, pulling you deeper into the kiss when you try to pull away. He finally pulls away after losing almost all of the air he had left. One kiss from you solved just about every problem in his life.

“Sorry, I needed that. I've been missing your lips lately." Gojo whispers, wiping the bit of saliva he left on your lips.

Without speaking, you embrace Gojo once again, understanding that he just needs to be held right now. “You will always be more than enough for me, Gojo. I’m yours, and yours only.”

Gojo looks up at you with teary blue eyes, a faint smile on his beautiful lips. For the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt at peace.

“You don’t have a choice but to be mine, and mine only” he whispers, trying to lighten the mood. Gojo wraps his legs around yours, keeping you trapped within his large frame.

“Gojo.. baby, you’re suffocating me; please let me go..” You whine, desperately trying to push him away.

“Never, never ever. You’re trapped with me for forever.” He replies, littering your face with his sweet little kisses. The rest of the morning was spent with Gojo in your arms, demanding kisses and tighter snuggles.

[phireco]

Why I think that voting is pointless. Vote with your dollar. Stop buying from Amazon and Walmart. And take the time that you spend trolling the internet to put out intellectual writing for others to absorb, instead of memes, that provide a unique point of view. We can't all possibly think either point A or point B is right. That motion is completely ridiculous if you have any respect for probability and math. The people that are running do not represent us and we have been stupid enough as a citizenry to put them back in office again and again.

I've been to over 20 countries and traveled all over this world and seeing all different ways of living it I'll tell you what, we are looking less and less like one of the Premier places to live. I give it 20 years before I would like the places I've been in Southeast Asia where you look to your left and right on the bus, and you see a goat in a chicken. There's already more tents in the major American cities than there are good jobs. God forbid the Democrats or the Republicans have a solution. The Republicans have the same man running in his third consecutive presidential election representing half of the country. The Democrats have a ANOTHER First time nominee that no one thinks is the best their party has to offer.

So I'm not even going to blame the awful selection of people that represent us. I'm going to blame the idiots that register Democrat and Republican which make up the vast majority of this country. All of you are willing to make up your mind on an issue before you even hear it based on which party is arguing in the issue's favor. Anyone who makes up their mind before they hear an issue is a moron. And our country, in both parties, is chock full of moron!

It’s not the politicians we should criticize anymore. Consider how they pander to people whose interests they consistently neglect. They represent none of their true needs, yet still, half of the population admires them while the other half despises them. The opposing figures experience the same divided loyalty—this cycle is fundamentally flawed.

The blame doesn’t lie solely with the politicians; it rests on us. We should have demanded better a long time ago, even rising up for change. It’s not the politicians who are at fault; it’s the public that deserves scrutiny. Let go of hope for a moment.

If the politicians were truly the sole problem, where are the bright and principled individuals who should be stepping up to lead this nation with integrity? In truth, we seem to lack such visionary leaders in our society. Most people appear consumed by trivialities, distracted in shopping malls rather than engaging with the critical issues we face. For my part, I’ve accepted a personal resolution: on election day, I stay home. I do not vote. My reasons are twofold.

First, voting feels meaningless. This country was bought and sold long ago. What transpires every four years is simply a reshuffling of the same rhetoric.

Secondly, I’ve come to believe that those who vote relinquish their right to complain. Others often suggest that abstaining from voting strips one of that very right—a notion I reject. Where's the logic in that? If you cast your ballot and elect dishonest and incompetent leaders who mismanage the country, then you shoulder the responsibility for their actions. You bear the weight of our current state, the dismal future we hand our children, and the decline in intellectual capability that increasingly permeates society.

I, having not participated in the electoral game—staying home on election day—hold no responsibility for the choices made by those in power. I know that shortly, there will be an exciting election that many seem to relish. I’ll be at home that day, doing very little, but I know one thing: the only difference between me and the people that vote is that I'll actually produce something that represents my interests, even if in a small way.

I don’t vote. I see through the charade. It's a diversions that distract us from the journey of intellectual growth. When confronted with the issues of low intelligence and poor decision-making, people often leap to the conclusion that education is the remedy. They call for more funding—more books, teachers, classrooms—believing more resources will solve everything. Yet when we point out that despite these efforts, children continue to struggle academically, the response is often to lower standards instead. This results in a temporary boost in passing rates, making the school look good while the national IQ quietly declines. Before long, gaining access to college might just require possessing a pencil, and understanding the complexities of the end that writes versus the end that erases.

And then we scratch our heads, wondering why 24 countries produce more scientists than we do. We wonder why we are no longer in the top 25 and overall quality of education. Barely the best in this continent. We're just one slot above Mexico.

Politicians know how to wield the word “education,” and they often shield themselves behind three pillars: the flag, the Bible, and children. They tout programs like “No Child Left Behind,” yet it wasn’t long ago they were advocating for a “head start.” Are children gaining ground or losing it?

There is a fundamental reason why education falters, and it's not going to improve. Don’t expect a miracle; accept the reality as it is. The true owners of this country—wealthy business interests that orchestrate decisions and maintain control—are not interested in an educated populace capable of critical thinking. They benefit from a workforce obedient enough to follow orders, yet just intelligent enough to operate machinery and handle paperwork but not to challenge the deteriorating quality of their jobs, benefits, hours, or retirement security.

They have their sights set on your social security funds, too, seeking to reclaim that money to line the pockets of their Wall Street allies. They will achieve this eventually because they own everything—your future, your choices.

This is a vast, intertwined club, and neither you nor I are included. It’s a club that beats its members over the head with messages on what to believe and consume. The playing field is uneven; the game is rigged, and it appears that few notice or care.

Good, honest people from every walk of life—whether blue-collar or white-collar—continue to elect wealthy figures indifferent to their plight. The owners count on this ignorance, banking on the fact that Americans remain blissfully unaware of the injustices they tolerate.

The truth is simple: the American Dream exists because you must be asleep to believe in it.

When the terrorists attacked our country on September 11th 2001, we United as one and vowrd to never forget. Never in a million years did I think that's what we actually met was that, we're going to commemorate the anniversary of the year but they will accomplish their goal and destroy America and everything it stands for by knocking down a few buildings and killing a couple thousand people. Are teenagers have killed more since with guns. And don't mistake me. I'm not downplaying that tragedy. I'm saying that the terrorists knew what they are doing and we are playing right into their hands by standing here divided. Check out my video if you want to flash back to hell it felt To be an American in the weeks following that awful day.

[littlebitshylittlebitangry]

Hi, hi it’s me again… your writing was very good, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Now you must be responsible for the consequences…. Which is listening to me ramble. 

Anyways, first off small doodle!

This is what I imagine bound arcane egg looks like, and something I didn't explain, my b. Is when arcane egg gets taken to be the “heart” of the hungry ones, it’s basically an in between plane of existence. It’s between the normal world and where the hungry ones reside.

Secondly this is one of two times arcane egg goes to this inbetween, and that second time is more triumphant and it’s where her light of defiance reignites!

Anyways no more exposition, time to talk about some new stuff mainly the aftermath after arcane eggs desperate pleas for death!

Note I do imagine her pleas at that moment go from sad and desperate to manic and desperate, since at this point of the story it’s a nice contrast to how well and collected they’ve appeared so far.

But yeah when they wake up… boi it’s so sad. When they awake their very comatose and quite, very similar to how they were when they came back to life after their death by the hungry ones. I imagine that shadow milk and golden butter are waiting her them to wake up, which arcane egg can’t fathom why but, what ever. 

If you haven’t noticed arcane eggs response to their own emotions and emotional problems is to ignore, belittle, or don’t think about it. Which is in sharp contrast on who they USED to be, which was open and tbh the therapist / listener friend. But also they were honest about their feelings, so arcane egg after that display of pure raw emotion acting so… empty greatly upsets her friends.

They’ll try to get an answer but they’ll just get a chill and numb cookie in response, I do imagine they get her to talk at some point after pleading and asking persistently for a while. And it would most likely begin with arcane egg breaking down sobbing and they’ll also shake like a leaf.

Than afterwards if the two ask questions and prod for specifics, she start answering and probably tell the, how she got to this point / her history thus far. She’ll tell them that they’ve died before, that their now both alive but technically an undead thing,… that they thought about taking their own life during the dark flour war.

They wont tell about their complicated feelings about the two of them yet, no not yet. But she will spill how she feels about themselves which is again bad!

How would the two react, o honest don’t know I’ll need to think about it more. Do you have any ideas? You did a good job last time so. Anyways thanks for listening have a good day :D.

(Also tell me if you want me to post ideas to you here or on your side blog!)

Took me awhile to get back to this post-

Anyways, had to do some searching (thanks for the notes.) Ended up being four pages long-

Honestly for some reason this gives me ‘nowhere king’ vibes.

Now, Warnings; implied masscure, war crimes, sucidial thoughts, dissacation.

She blinks awake- her body is heavy and it's hard to move. She feels a hand carding through her hair, for a moment she struggles to move her head, but she does. She mentally feels the want for her shoulders to tense up- but they don’t. Yet Mystic Flour doesn’t stop carding her hands through her hair. For a minute they could almost swear her eyes opened, but she didn't say a word. Carefully moving their head around, she blinks yet again.

The room wasn’t overly big by any means, but it was a decent size. Arcane could spot Silent salt staring out the window, Burning spice was oddly calm as he rubbed his axe. Shifting her focus to the other half- she found Eternal sugar half sitting on a chair, half resting her head in her arms on the bed. Its then she spotted by a table that looked like it was dragged over that Shadow Milk was writing something onto the desk- he looked oddly frustrated. It was… It was an old memory. He’d often be over desks like that when he hit a wall with whatever he was researching or when he was lacking the creativity on his newest project. 

For a moment she puzzled over where Golden Butter was, until the door opened. The very person who they thought about walked in with a bag over to Shadow Milk, They closed their eyes as they felt Golden Butters gaze on them. The other sighs, “...Shadow… how is progress?” Shadow Milk seems to growl, “It's honestly worse than I thought! Those Damn witches that sealed us are the reason those fucking thing even exist! And that means they are the main issue on why Arcane is like this!” They can hear a fist slam onto the table, its silent for a moment, before Silent salts' rarely heard voice comes through, “....The witches did this? To her?” They don’t know what Shadow does but they hear the screeching of the chair and his words, “YES! They did! They fucked up Arcane so badly that I’m not even completely sure there is a way to undo it!” 

Mystic Flours hand pauses, she hears the other speaks, “.... Shadow Milk….are you… are you sure?” They don’t exactly hear much other then shuffling for the next few moments before an audible sigh, “..I can’t be completely sure at least now.” His tone turns resigned, slightly saddened with a hint of frustration, “If only I had my labs, the tower and…” Her heart drops, she knows just who he was going to say.

Fortune Cookie, his closest pupil. 

Fortune Cookie had a bright future ahead of them. At Least until Shadow Milk destroyed his own tower. It was of very little doubt that Fortune cookie was a casualty in that event. Fortune Cookie, she thinks, had a brain even Shadow Milk sometimes struggled with. ‘Boundless creativity filled with sky high genius’ Shadow Milk once put it as. Fortune Cookie who he likely killed. 

This hadn’t been the first time he’d regretted it.

She allows her eyes to open, everyone is still in the room just different. Eternal sugar, for once, is awake, and is blankly staring at them, Silent Salt has moved away from his window position, Burning spice had set his axe down and was gripping onto his hair with a fierce look on his face. She couldn’t see Mystic Flour from this view, but she could see Shadow Milk back as Golden Butter looked over him.

He was half hunched over and he was shaking. 

Part of them wanted to reassure him it would all work out, but wasn’t that hopeless? 

There wasn’t a cure and one person who had the most research on the hungry ones is dead, anything she did note was likely destroyed. It was hopeless. 

It threw everyone off the moment they spoke, “It's been a hopeless situation from the start. It would do you all better to just kill me now.” The air in the room became strained just at her words. Shadow Milk straightens up, brushes off Golden Butters Hand and immediately turns around and walks over very calmly. He pushes his hands on the side of the bed and looks directly at her, “We won’t, we’ll find a cure. There isn’t another option.” 

She blinks at him, “..You just said it yourself...you don’t know if there is a way to undo it… There isn’t a cure coming.” She shakes her head, “It would be the best choice- the hungry ones would be gone.” Shadow Milk shakes- not in a silent fear or overwhelming sorrow, but in a very poorly suppressed rage. “It doesn’t matter what I just said, I will find a cure.” 

Arcane egg stares at him as she speaks, “....Fortune cookie was the only one who had-” He slams his hands on the bed as he shouts, “I’ll bring back the fucking dead if I have to! I’ll face whatever goddamn consequences that come my way!” He sags, “I’ll face Fortune cookie if it means I can help you.” He looks resigned, “I’ll search every single book the witches saved, I’ll tear down kingdom after kingdom and build them back up, If I need to I’ll start a new a tower just to figure out a fucking cure, I’ll let that stupid half-a-cookie replacement of mine keep my damn soul Jam!” The rage slowly wears off, replaced by desperation, “Please- just don’t- never ask me- never ask any of us- I don’t think.” Tears well and fall off his face like the sword of damocles falling, “I don’t think we could take it.”

Something in them hurts, so very deeply hurts in a twisted sense that its like having a vine shoved right into your heart before twisting and growing. Something grabs their left hand, looking over Silent Salt, it seemed he was the one who grabbed it. Burning spice had dragged a chair over and was sitting with the backside facing her as he sat facing her. Eternal Sugar has shifted from her place and is now sitting at the edge of the bed as Shadow Milk and Golden Butter stick to her right. She can spot Mystic Flours dress off the side- likely sitting by the pillows on their left side. 

They had all moved to gather closer than previously. The next words flowed out her to easily as she looked at them. She- she doesn’t know what to think.

(She lost count after thousands of years, after watching hundreds of cookies crumble from age. Yet things linger in her memories.)

(Afterall the hungry ones have been with her for almost the same amount-- and it hurts holding them- it hurts in a sense that she can’t quite let go.)

(Everyone left in one way or another and she was left behind, Fortune died, her friends left her behind- and even when she grew close to people they disappeared. She doesn’t have anything- her friends are here now, yes. But they left so long ago- they told her not to come looking for them and-)

(- and they fell.)

Everything- Just feels so overwhelming. This isn’t the first time- something just- they feel so wrong today. They woken up for days with the group here for a number of days- some of them are normally out.

(Burning spice came back once with strawberry jam covering him, Mystic flour and Eternal Sugar just stared him down until he left. They don’t remember much of the few days after that- their head was just buzzing. She noticed the more… careful and hesitant natures when they wake up. All weapons, she noted, were always kept out of sight most times. No one ever came in the room without knocking unless they were ‘cleaned’ as Mystic Flour put it.)

Part of them just- there wasn’t an exact way to put it into words. 

(“We have been silent for so long, haven’t we?”)

(“How long must you remain to let your defiance be stamped out?”)

(“Listen to me- to yourself. Defy this fate- fight against it, do not let yourself fall.”)

(“Please- just fight off for a little more. To defy in this moment, allow yourself to be helped.”)

Its quite- a mere echo in her head- but something. Something in her breaks. 

Tears, she notes almost mutely, she’s crying. 

Someone- she's guessing Mystic Flour sits her up as Shadow Milk crawls his way onto the bed by her sides. Golden Butter sticks to the side but sits on the bed as the rest stay close. She lets it spill out.

She talks about the isolation that happened after Golden Butters sleep, she speaks of the horrors of the experiments of the witches and the hungry ones who were sealed inside her- the war she fought to save cookies who either died or forgot about her actions, she brings up letters she sent- only to learn they never received a single one of hers. She whispers of the dark flour war, the endless death, the chaos that reigned and even traced over scars left from those dark years. Of the violence that she faced in the line of cruelty of Dark Enchantress Cookie. 

The room is silent for the longest period, and then she admits the most damning thing.

She admits her death- and coming back different.

The silence is different, its stiff, its twisted and she can see something is off. Shadow Milk is the one who prodes her further with his face towards the ground. She tells the rest what they wanted to hear, she admits everything slowly hesitantly, as tears fall down, as she cries, screams, and breaks down. There are several times someone in the group leaves for a few minutes before coming back in- but Shadow Milk stays the entire time, just staying by her side. 

Somehow, she ends up asleep as the rest of the group lingers within the world. 

Shadow Milk is frowning as he takes Mystic Flours combing through Arcane Eggs hair, Golden Butter stays by his side as the rest of the group lingers around. Golden slowly speaks, “..I should’ve focused on her- I was so- I was so caught up in my own misery that I…” Golden Butter looks down. Shadow Milk sighs, laying a head on her shoulder. Its silent before he speaks, “We’ve been dealt a shitty hand- just-” He looks frustrated before looking at Arcane egg and his face softens in sad way, “...We just been playthings for the witches- they’ve- They’ve been treating us like that for so long.. I just-” Burning Spice speaks up, “They will pay.”

His words are followed by nods as Shadow Milk echos his friends words, “They will pay.” He pets Arcanes Hair, “But not now. For now, we tend to our wounds and we focus on finding a cure.” Its an unsaid agreemnt by the others.

Right now, tending in their own in the focus.

Vengeance upon The witches, Dark Enchantress cookie and any other cookie else can wait until they’ve recovered.

Then, all cards were off.

[luvworld1889-blog]

This is from my old deviant art!! I think I wrote it in like 2016 or so!

Jealousy games (Law x reader)

“You guys can not seriously think this is a good idea? Right? Bepo, tell them.” You looked pleadingly at the white bear. In response the bear simply looked from the two men and back to you before muttering out a single, “sorry.”

“Come on _____, don’t tell me you haven’t noticed that the captain treats you differently from the rest of the crew. We just want to test our theory is all.” Shachi said with a shit-eating grin.

You looked at him with a half hearted glare before replying, “Yeah, he treats me differently because I’m not a complete moron like you two!”

Penguin shot you an offended look before chiming in, “What’s the worst that’s going to happen? If he doesn’t have feelings for you then it won’t bother him or anyone else and if he does…. Well that’s a problem for future us” He paled slightly thinking of what could happen before giving Shachi a nervous look.

To which the red haired man simply rolled his eyes and said, “Man up bro! Ok here’s the plan….” he trailed off before tapping his chin in thought. “....Ok there is no plan, but basically we’ll all flirt with _____ until captain reacts or until we get bored and fuck around with something else.”

You groaned at the hope bubbling up in your chest, maybe just maybe, this insane plan would cause your stoic captain to reveal some hidden feelings. You made a noise imitating a beached whale before finally agreeing.

Attempt one.

You were sitting in the kitchen with the raven haired captain by your side, reading up on the latest medical technologies on an island named Isola. You then heard a loud bang of the door slamming open and blinked as you watched Shachi saunter in. He sidled close to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders as he feigned interest in your book.

“What’cha reading?” He spoke lowly in your ear. You blushed brightly not being used to the close contact and stuttered out an explanation. Cursing yourself you glanced over at the tattooed male who did not look the slightest bit concerned. You watched as the captain abruptly got up and made a hasty exit. You looked at Shachi accusingly to which he just gave you a grin.

Attempt two

You were struggling to get something to eat from the top shelf of the pantry and groaned as your fingers just brushed the out of reach cereal box. You suddenly felt a body behind you and a hand reach up to grab the box. You jumped in surprise and turned to see Penguin with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Thanks Penguin!” You smiled brightly at him to which he replied “No problem.” Law had been walking down the hallway and walked into the kitchen to witness the whole exchange. He felt a stab of annoyance when he saw your smile directed at someone other than him. He walked towards the fridge and slammed the door open with an expression that gave nothing away. You and Penguin jumped at the loud noise created by the pirate captain and looked at each other in question. Law simply grabbed an apple and brushed by Penguin harshly almost knocking him to the ground.

Attempt three

Bepo gave a smile as you cuddled into his fur.

“Bepo, you’re the softest, best cuddler in the whole entire world.” You sighed happily rubbing your face against him.

Law came up on this scene and before he could stop himself, barked “What are you two doing? If you have time to be cuddling, you’re wrong. Get back to work.”

You looked at him with a shocked expression as he normally never raised his voice at you or Bepo. You awkwardly cleared your throat and left the room quickly leaving Law and Bepo alone.

“Ok, this isn’t working. Maybe we were wrong and captain doesn’t have feelings for you after all. If anything I think we just made him grumpier than usual.” Penguin said sadly. Shachi sighed and nodded in defeat. Bepo just sighed and went to take a seat before bumping into you with enough force to send you flying into Shachi. He watched in horror as Law walked in and just in time to see you fall and slam your lips into the red haired man’s on accident.

“What is going on here?” Law had a terrifying look on his face as he saw you still in Shachi’s arms. You didn’t get a chance to explain as you heard “Room.” You closed your eyes waiting for the slice of Kikoku and the loss of body parts before landing softly in well muscled arms. You gasped as you opened your eyes and found a pair of silver eyes boring into your own. He growled lowly in your ear, “I’ll deal with you later.” Without another word he tilted your head and attaching his lips to your neck. You let out a soft whimper as he sucked harshly on the skin leaving a large purple and red bruise. The trio of Heart Pirates looked on in shock not knowing exactly what to do as they watched the scene unfold in front of them.

“You three, get out.” Law growled out. And without another word the three of them fought their way to the door to escape the former warlord’s wrath. You gulped as he set you down on the table. He let out a huge sigh and leaned his forehead against yours.

“You are driving me insane. I hate it when other men touch you.” The messy haired man begrudgingly said. “I thought my feelings for you were clear but let me make absolutely sure.”

He looked at you earnestly with intense silver eyes. “I’ve lost everyone I cared about and I’m not about to lose you. So ____, I love you and have loved you for quite some time. Will you be mine?”

You beamed at him and wrapped your arms around the tall man and replied with a simple, “always.”

[theorphicangel]

strangers. | Satoru x Suguru

wc: 1243

synopsis:

Satoru comes across a fellow classmate on his first day at jujutsu tech yet he somehow manages to make the wrong impression. Typical.

“Who are you?”

The resonant voice caused Satoru to stop in his tracks, interrupting his current observation of Tokyo Jujutsu High campus — his new home. 

Coming to Tokyo felt like a breath of fresh air, the keys to freedom finally placed in his hand. Of course, Satoru’s been independent for many years and left restricted to his own company but to finally be free from his clan breathing down his neck was all he ever wanted .

And he got it.

“Huh?”

Satoru turns to see a figure he’s never seen before. Tall, but not taller than him, with glossy black hair tied up into a bun. The rest fall past his shoulders, perfectly silky. First, Satoru’s eyes linger on the black ear piercings before falling upon the wavy bang which falls over his left eye where dark toffee coloured pupils stare right back at him. Despite being a warm toffee color,  the stranger’s gaze is awfully cold. 

“Who’re you?” the stranger repeats. 

Satoru notices he’s dressed in the same uniform, the exception being the bontan pants instead of the regular jujutsu tech edition. Despite the adjustment Satoru infers that he’s a student, possibly a first year like himself. 

The stranger keeps his hands within his pockets, continuing to study Satoru up and down. A light breeze passes over the two of them as they stand alone in the courtyard. Satoru’s own hair ruffles as does the stranger’s raven bangs. 

At first Satoru thinks it’s a trick question. ‘This guy has to be kidding me, right?’ he thinks.

There has never been a moment in Satoru Gojo’s life where nobody knew who he was. Ever since he was born it seemed that the whole world knew his name. People he had never even seen face to face had known his name, abilities and whereabouts. Before he stepped into the room he was already the topic of conversation, hell, just the mention of his family name and it all came together.

Yet, somehow — and whether it was by the neutral look in the stranger’s eyes or Satoru’s own overthinking — he could tell that the stranger standing in front of him was serious. 

“Gojo Satoru.”  The name slips out from his lips, smooth and confident. Satoru stands a little taller as his mind recalls the voice which spoke to him before leaving home. ‘You’re a pride to this family, remember that.’ 

 The stranger doesn’t even raise a brow, unphased. At this point Satoru expected the stranger’s eyes to widen in sudden recognition.

He expected the familiar words of  ‘This is the Gojo Satoru!?’ to stumble out of the stranger’s mouth in complete awe to immediately open up the gap. Satoru stood there, pathetically waiting for the sensation of surprise to appear on the stranger’s face but it never came. 

(There should be a gap opening up)

Maybe he didn’t speak clearly enough, the breeze too strong for the stranger to hear.

“Gojo?” He repeats after no response. “Y’know from the top three jujutsu clans in the country? The Gojo clan?”

“Mhmm.” The expression on his face is steady, simply neutral. “I’ve never heard that name before.”

Satoru’s face falls into a frown. Sure, at times he regretted the attachment of problems his name brought on but to have it disregarded like that felt so foreign to him it felt like suddenly he had teleported to an entirely different country.

The stranger picks up on Satoru’s expression.  “Am I supposed to know?” He asked. He rubbed the bridge of his nose before speaking again. “Speaking of…one of the teachers made a big deal about a certain student arriving this week. Is it you?”

Satoru scoffs before kicking his foot against the gravel, stones flying under his shoe. “How have you not heard of it? You live under a rock or something?”

“My parents are non-sorcerers, I don’t know much about the jujutsu world.”

Satoru raises a brow. He was almost on the opposite end of the scale. On one end, there stood a person who has been swallowed up by the world of jujutsu since birth and on the other end, there stood a person who had only been recently introduced.

He’d never met someone who was born to non-sorcerers, he didn’t even think that was possible. 

Until now. 

(There should be a gap opening up.)

Usually when Satoru met other sorcerers he felt a certain distance between them, a sort of gap to say the least.  He could describe it as a sort of sensation, a tingle within his body which separated himself from other people. Expectant, he waited for the familiar shiver to appear,  beginning at his fingers and reaching up to the top of his head. 

There should be a gap between him and this…stranger.

Neither of them said a single word. Another light September breeze passed by them, the rustle of greenery adding to the silence. Tall, brown oak trees and idle tweeting birds remained witness to this very moment as if they themselves were expectant of a sudden distance between the two beings. As if they were holding their breath to see the earth split open and crumble away, creating a physical gap between the two.

( But it never came. )

Satoru doesn’t move a limb, his eyes unwavering from the stranger’s waiting for a shiver. In tune with nature, he too holds his breath. 

Until the stranger breaks the silence.

“I don’t like you.”

The sentence which leaves his mouth is equivalent to a slap in the face for Satoru. Stupidly, he stands there, his mind unable to comprehend the words. 

“Huh?!”

“If you think I care about which famous clan you came from or how special you are then you should think again.” He scuffled his shoes against the gravel. “ I don’t think I like you very much and I wouldn’t want to be associated with you if you’re going to be an arrogant bastard.”

“Arrogant?” Satoru repeated. Where the hell did he get that from? They barely spoke for five minutes, hell, not even for two. Before Satoru could even ask for an elaboration the stranger had already turned his back on him.

“See you around, Gojo.”

There’s a certain unnatural tang which leaves the stranger’s mouth when saying his family name which leaves Satoru practically speechless. The sound of his footsteps on the gravel fades away as he disappears, his figure heading straight back to the dorms. 

Satoru fists are still clenched at his sides. 

Who was he to question his identity? Unlike Satoru, this guy seemed to be a complete nobody? He shouldn’t let him get to him. He was better than this.

But the petty side of him didn’t want to leave without having the last word.

“Well, I don’t like you either, whatever your name is!” The stranger doesn’t turn around, simply continuing to create a distance between him and Satoru. Mumbling to himself, his fists remain clenched.  “You’re the arrogant bastard for speaking to me like that.”

He didn’t care about him. The stranger didn’t even state his name. In fact, he’ll go the entire school year ignoring that guy.

As much as he tried to convince himself not to care, something stirred with Satoru, an itch perhaps, to go follow the stranger and find out more about him, like his name.

With clenched fists and a scowl drawn across his lips, Satoru follows after the stranger. 

Maybe this would be an interesting school year.

[dixonlvr-online-backup]

REPOST from @dixonlvr-online (my main account). I’ve been having this problem for months where none of my posts show up anywhere, neither does my account. I don’t know what to do about it, so I’m reposting some of my fics here. If you enjoy the fic, please check out more at my main account :)

“Can I sit?” You gestured to the empty spot beside the archer, who until that point had been sullenly staring out into the darkness. He grunted in response. You took it as a yes.

Seating yourself beside him, you followed his gaze to the woods, presumably waiting for a walker or two to jump out and attack your sleeping group. The room had grown suffocating for you, everyone else sleeping soundly while your eyes remained on the ceiling. After an hour of this, you’d pushed yourself off the ground and made your way here: to sit with Daryl Dixon.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, voice rough from tiredness and cigarette smoke. You nodded. “Not tired?” You snorted at his assumption.

“I’m always tired. Doesn’t mean I can sleep.”

He nodded, and you knew he understood your words. The man must’ve been exhausted from never taking a rest and always volunteering to keep watch, yet here he sat, awake in the dead of night.

The quiet was deafening, nothing to distract you from the swirling thoughts in your head. Thoughts of the old world, your old life. How miserable you’d been. How miserable you still were, now.

You felt yourself choking up. “Tell me everyone feels this bad,” you said. Daryl turned to you, eyes wide. “It’s not just me, right?”

He didn’t say a word, prompting you to face him. You watched him chew on his bottom lip, eyes averted. You couldn’t help the tear that slipped down your cheek, the sob caught in the back of your throat. It was embarrassing, breaking down in front of someone you weren’t especially close with.

Daryl finally met your eyes. “It ain’t just you. Everybody’s feelin’ like shit these days. Hell, Lori’s pregnant. Ya think she’s havin’ a great time?” he said. You laughed, wiping a tear from your face.

“You know Hershel told me something the other day,” you said. He leaned forward, listening. “He told me that he wanted me to know that happiness is possible in this world. That he knows it is because he’s happy.”

You turned to him then, gasping out the words. “How could he be happy? What is there to be happy about?” Daryl reached for you then, pulling you into his arms. For a second, you were shocked, but then you relaxed, letting his warm embrace hold you up.

“I’m happy,” he mumbled, so faintly you almost didn’t hear it. He pulled away, hands on your shoulders. “This is better than what I had before, anyway. Ain’t runnin’ around with Merle no more, wondering what kind of mess we’d get ourselves into that day. Instead, I’m sittin’ here with you, wondering what I can do to make you smile like ya did at the farm. So yeah, I’d say I’m happy, too.”

You stared at him a moment, slightly awestruck. The tears in your eyes had ceased, every previous thought out the window and replaced with his words, “What can I do to make you smile?”

He dropped his hands and sheepishly turned away, gaze returning to the woods. You smiled at his shyness, inching closer and resting your head on his shoulder. He flinched at the contact, but then wrapped his arm around you, leaning in.

You breathed in, letting the comfort of the moment wash away all your anxieties, all your exhaustion, all your seeping darkness. With Daryl at your side, you felt lighter.

“I’m happy too,” you whispered, “when I’m with you.”

[dewdropreader]

For the hug prompt! Only if you want 💛

🤕 panic hug / "I'm glad you're okay"

Or 😴 sleepy hug / falling asleep together

(Decided to do Panic Hug, but still may do a sleepy hug if the mood strikes!! Hope you enjoy!!)

🤕 panic hug / "I'm glad you're okay"

And/Or

😴 sleepy hug / falling asleep together

—

Loki really wants to know when he became such a nervous wreck.

Was it simply when he first was plucked from his timeline and brought to the TVA? Surely that would make anyone a bit more prone to being frazzled.

Maybe it was all of the world-altering chaos he’d been exposed to throughout this time. Realistically, this was probably it. He loved chaos, but found there was an amount even too much for him.

But really… he knows the true answer. None of that cataclysmic chaos would have mattered to him without stakes. Stakes brought by Mobius. Brought by being in love.

So now, even though the true catastrophes and world ending problems had been solved, he finds himself on edge where it pertains to Mobius.

And currently, Mobius is meant to be home from his mission— a simple stakeout to monitor for abnormalities on a timeline of interest— and he is nowhere to be found.

He was supposed to be home hours ago… or what passes for hours. It’s been too long, that’s all Loki knows. And Mobius hasn’t contacted him either, not since the day prior (time may be different in the TVA compared to a timeline but not enough to explain no contact for this long… unless something happened?)

Loki runs his hands through his hair for perhaps the hundredth time. He’s messaged Mobius multiple times with no response. What if there was an abnormality on the timeline? Something dangerous that shouldn’t have been there, something that hurt him?

He lets out a frustrated growl as he taps into his TemPad again, refreshing as if that will make a message suddenly appear.

If something hurt Mobius… he doesn’t know exactly what he’d do. He’s caused destruction and havoc at even the thought or threat of such, so if he were to find something happened to him after so many near misses and times he truly did lose him when trying to fix the loom and beyond… he’s not sure he could take it again.

He needs to go to the records bay, find out Mobius’ exact location and take himself there to check it out—

The door swings open, revealing a sweaty and slightly dirty but seemingly unharmed Mobius.

“Hey, Lokes, I’m sorry—”

Loki crashes into him, nearly bowling him over, only stopped by the door that Mobius just barely got to shut behind him. Mobius’ body is slightly pressed into the door with the pressure of Loki’s tight hug around him. Loki’s arms wind around Mobius’ form and squeeze, one hand coming up to cradle his head and pull it into his own shoulder.

“Oh, Loki. Missed you too,” Mobius huffs softly, a soft smile clear in his voice.

“What happened?” Loki murmurs, nuzzling his nose into the soft silver of Mobius’ hair.

“Sorry, love. My TemPad ran out of juice. You know I’m bad at charging those things.” Mobius pulls back just enough to meet Loki’s eyes, but keeps himself tucked into his hold, both hands resting on the small of Loki’s back. “We were split up for a time so I didn’t have a chance to get Verity or anyone else to message to let you know I’d be late either.”

Loki lets out a shaky sigh. “I'm glad you're home. I was so worried…”

Mobius frowns softly, but nods. “I get it. I’m sorry I scared you, darling. But I’m here, unharmed.” Mobius tilts up to press a kiss to Loki’s tense jaw. “And I’m all yours. Mission debrief isn’t until tomorrow.”

Loki smiles softly and tugs Mobius back into the tight hold. For a while, they just stand, firmly holding each other. After a moment though, Mobius feels Loki trembling slightly. Then, a soft tear lands on his head.

“Loki, are you okay?” Mobius whispers.

“I’m sorry. It’s stupid. I know you’re fine, I just…” Loki murmurs, avoiding Mobius’ gaze as he once again pulls back. “I’m so weak when it comes to you. I’ve lost you and nearly lost you so many times before, I just can’t have it happen again.”

Mobius swallows. He knows that Loki is a gentler soul than anyone ever gave him credit for, and that everything they’ve been through has only made him more intense in his already deep emotions. The fear of being alone, the desperate protectiveness over loved ones, it’s all been amplified with everything that’s happened.

“Hey,” Mobius says softly, gently tilting Loki’s face towards him with two fingers. The same fingers trace soft lines down his cheek and jaw and back again as he talks. “I know how worried you get. I’m sorry I let you panic for so long, I should have done more to check in.”

Loki shakes his head. “No. You were on a mission, it makes sense, that’s the focus. It’s not your fault. I’m just… I don’t know…”

“I get it. It’s okay. I know the feeling, we’ve both been through a thousand lifetimes, it’s made us extra cautious and on edge, especially for each other.”

Loki sniffs softly, blinking away the last of his panicked tears. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“Better than okay.” Mobius gives a soft smile, warm enough that Loki can’t help but smile in response. He leans forward and presses a long kiss to Mobius’ forehead.

Mobius simply smiles and tucks himself back into Loki’s hold, certain it’s the safest place he could ever be.

[flowercrowngods]

hi!

just read your fic of valery and shenkov (posted on thenatashapulleyuniverse) - the writing! the characterization! you capture the essence of them both in the most luscious way, a truest delight to read

thank you so much for writing it, lots of love <33333

aaah oh my god thank you!! 🥹🥰 this ask is so sweet, what a wonderful thing to wake up to 🥹 i’m so happy you liked it!!

and technically what i sent to them was only the beginning of what in my head is a slightly bigger thing (right up in my kostya feels), but i have a lot of things on my plate and thus need to be patient with myself and write only in increments unfortunately 😔

but anyway, since you’re here now— 👀🤍

[preceding snippet the ask is about]

There is no response to his words, and Valery wonders not for the first time if this house swallows noise just like the lab will swallow time. Maybe the impossibility of their situation has created the tiniest of black holes right here, swallowing the gentlest wishes of a good morning or a good night, and forcing them to repeat the words and fight to make them true.

Valery sets his coffee mug — half empty already because there are no boundaries between the two of them — beside Kostya’s, frowning when he still doesn’t move, doesn’t look up or reach over to acknowledge Valery’s presence. On other Sunday mornings, Kostya would lean back in his chair, the back of his head bumping into Valery’s chest with a happy little sigh, and he’d get a kiss to his forehead for his troubles. Then Valery would ask him what the newspaper said, what his least favourite word of the day is, and why the Brits are madmen for inventing it.

But Kostya is immovable, and Valery wonders if the tiny black hole that swallowed his voice has come and swallowed Kostya’s mind, too.

“Kostya,” he speaks instead, daring the world confined to their living room to challenge their impossibility and steal his voice once more. His hands come up — slowly and gently — to rest on Konstantin’s shoulders, which seem tense even buried beneath his navy blue sweater.

Time seems suspended between gentle touch and careful consideration, but then Valery feels tense muscles becoming rock solid for just a fraction of a second before Konstantin flinches and all but wrenches himself out of Valery’s touch with a choked breath.

Something inside him breaks at the sound of it, at the vision of Konstantin curled forward, as far out of Valery’s reach as he can be with the table in front of him. Valery takes a step back, feeling the black hole grow in size and viciousness, and stumbling as its mass bends gravity around it, sucking him in and away from Konstantin.

He grips the kitchen counter to stabilise himself and keep his mind from running away, running in circles trying to solve a problem he doesn’t yet know the origins of. All he does know is that touching Konstantin seems like a bad idea right now — no matter how his hands twitch, his mind conjuring up images of the two of them curled together, Valery draped over his back as Konstantin attempts to understand the Brits’ obsession with one thing or another, murmuring Russian insults between them like they’re a secret love language.

“I’m sorry,” comes Konstantin’s voice, too carefully crafted into something presentable that Valery can easily make out its shakiness. It hangs in the air, brittle, just waiting to break apart and reveal what it truly means.

So Valery waits. He watches as Konstantin clenches and unclenches his hand, reaching for Valery’s coffee mug to wrap his hands around it. It’s a silent message, one he might not be all that aware of but Valery is good at waiting, he’s good at observing and finding patterns. Kostya will find something of Valery’s when he could have easily used his own, and attempt to ground himself with it. Even when they’re fighting.

It leaves him grateful beneath his confusion, that he left it there.

“I’m sorry,” Konstantin says again, but still he doesn’t move. Frozen again — or still.

“It’s alright,” Valery says, his own shaky voice a thousand times more stable than Konstantin’s. “I promise, it’s alright. We’re safe.”

Konstantin huffs, and the black hole is not kind enough to swallow it this time, leaving Valery to frown, the weight of worry becoming nearly unbearable now. Does he not believe it? Does he not know?

“Talk to me, Kostya,” he pleas, his voice a whisper still, his hands clenching around the counter to keep himself from reaching out to the man he loves and challenging their impossibilities one time too many.

[cathedral-of-sinners]

Insatiable

Kinktober Day 13 - Dry Humping + Pierro

Genre: Smut (MDNI)

CW: Obligatory OOC warning, sub!reader, gn!reader (no pronouns or genitalia mentioned), swearing, petnames (darling, my star), orgasm denial (but like it’s once?), i write 'prepped yourself' but I'm referring to lube

“I’m busy.” It’s a phrase you’ve come to hate yet hear far too often. You understand the responsibility and workload that comes with being the first harbinger, but would it truly be the end of the world if Pierro just looked at you for a second?

“Darling, can’t you see I’m occupied at the moment?” Apparently, it would. Even as you take the familiar seat on his lap, lips littering kiss after kiss against his skin you yield no results. It takes you beginning to shift your hips to finally earn his attention, albeit only a fraction of it.

His large palm rests on your hip as he addresses you, but the words are lost on you, far too captivated by all that is him. Broad shoulders, piercing eyes, not to mention what's concealed beneath layers of clothing. Sat so close, can you really be blamed for venturing far off into your thoughts? Realizing this very thing, his lecture on leaving him dies on his tongue. Taking his silence you use it to say your own piece.

“Pierro, please. I’ve been lonely without you and…” you lean forward, voice hushed as you say your next words, “I’ve been thinking of you and your touch. How you fit nice and snug inside me while you ravish the rest of me.”

Pierro prides himself on his ability to keep himself in check, but that’s as a harbinger. As a man, he could hide his facial emotions all he wants, but there was no he could prevent the little twitch of his cock.

For another moment he doesn’t speak, simply staring at you as he plays with your confession in his mind. Just when you believe your efforts were futile, Pierro appears to come to some form of conclusion. He gives his response with no room for negotiation.

“Very well. Get yourself off. If you can do that much without disturbing me, I’ll reward you just as you wish.” It seemed like a fair deal, something you could do no problem. That and the heat pooling has started to become unbearable the longer you ignored it. So you nod resolutely, shifting around so that every slow grind you do brushes against his growing bulge, chest brushing up against his as you pant at the newfound friction. Surprisingly though, as soon as you start you’re stopped by thick fingers hooking under your chin and a thumb pressed on your lips.

The Jester meets your confused gaze with an even one, steel cold eyes empty. “I said no distracting me, my star,” he warns, waiting a moment before removing his hand, eyes flicking back to the paper in the other. What? You... have to stay silent? Perhaps this’ll be a little more challenging than you first imagined.

Swallowing thickly, you collect yourself, opting to bury your head in the crook of his neck. Receiving no objection to the action, you begin again. Silent.

Minutes pass and you refuse to admit the amount of time you nearly slipped up. A moan, a whimper, a sigh, you bat them down every time. You were lucky to get a warning the first time, but you know that should a repeat of your blunder happen again, Pierro might just stop you altogether before commanding you to leave and wait until he’s done. The mere notion strikes you with dread.

But dammit, it’s so fucking hard to stay quiet! Even covered he feels so damn good.

It’s worth it, you remind yourself, slipping your eyes shut. Yes, it's all worth it if you get a taste of his cock after - either metaphorically or literally you're not picky.

So deep in your task you nearly jumped at the suddenness of his voice, “look at you, making a mess of yourself.” You’re surprised to see his gaze focused on you after so much neglect. Your sex throbs at the new attention and you almost fear he could feel how just a simple look has you so needy.

You're not sure how to respond to his comment, or even if you can respond. Besides, he's right. His eyes no longer look at your half-hidden face but where your sex ruts against his, the growing wet spot hard to miss. If the pleasure wasn't so enrapturing you're sure you'd be burning in embarrassment.

Felling yourself grow close, you grind against the harbinger's bulge faster, chasing the high (how pathetic, cumming without me actually touching you Pierro thinks, silently watching you. He hates to admit it though, but, there's no denying the strain in his pants or how you're riling him up).

Orgasm within your reach, Pierro easily stops your rolling hips the moment he grips them tight. For the second time, you're left confused, pulling back to gaze at him, hoping to read what's on his mind. In one swift second everything is made clear when you find yourself bent over the large desk, papers pushed to make room.

"I suppose," Pierro breathes, hot air tickling the shell of your ear, "this outcome could not be prevented."

With one hand taking hold of your wrists, pinning them above you, the other holds your waist still, his own hips beginning to rut against the curve of your ass. There was something you found insanely hot about how you could feel his hard cock poke against you yet not actually feel the skin. A needy whine escapes your lips the more you think about it. A growl is what you get, the rumble of his chest vibrating against your back.

The First was never one to make a mess, at least not in the way he's about to, but as the coil in his lower abdomen tightens and the rub of his trousers spurs him further on, Pierro is left with a choice. Stop and finally claim you or cum now.

Well, he decides, why not both?

Slowing his thrusts just enough, he pulls down your garments and his, what he sees filling him with amusement, "you prepped yourself?"

You pant, "wanted to be ready for you..."

"Well done..." he murmurs, lining himself up. You're shaking in anticipation, feeling the tip of his cock spread you open. He sheaths himself fully, giving you no time to adjust as he resumes his previous pace. Within minutes Pierro's emptying himself in you, heat flooding your insides, though he never stops, intending to keep going until you cum as well.

The squelch that echoes in the room only serves to turn you on more, as is his persistent thrusts. Feeling him lean forward, you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse, surprised when the male tips your head more himself, lips finding yours. The kiss is searing, the man above you in utter control of it. It's an eternity before he pulls back, travelling to place a shockingly tender peak against the crook of your neck.

"Cum for me, my star," he whispers, feeling your walls grip his cock iron-tight. The tickle of his hair and the warmth of his breath cause you to moan, the sound only doubling in volume when he hits that particular spot deep within, pushing you over the edge.

As your high washes over you, you rest your head against the desk, Pierro pulling you flush against his hips, set on feeling you spasm around his entire length. Only when you start to calm does he pull out, a mix of your release and his dribbling down your thighs. You nearly let out a cry at the loss of him, hips bucking back in hopes of feeling him “M-more, please Pierro~” you beg, still fighting to catch your breath. The male hums, eyes once more trailing between your legs, watching as his cum slowly flows out of your hole. Even through your haze you can tell where he's focusing on, spreading your legs a little more. Enticing.

He makes a pleased noise, hand groping the cheek of your ass. “Again? My star, you truly are insatiable aren’t you?” With a quick snap of his hips, he slips back in with ease, right to the hilt. “Very well then, you shall have your wish.”

Tag list: @stygianoir || @rain-soaked-sun || @londonstylesxx

[gx-gameon]

About your Yugi adopts Jaden AU, I know you wrote the spiritshipping part and Jaden meeting Jesse but I want to know more.

Specifically after Jesse sacrifice

This is once again a fluid idea. It might change a bit once I actually rewatch this part of the show.

Once the school returns Yugi finds Jaden pretty fast. Between his duel spirits leading the way and Jaden’s screaming. Luckily since Jaden is freaking out it doesn’t look to suspicious that Yugi went to comfort him. (Though that’s the last thing on Yugi’s mind at the moment)

Seto has all the students called to interview, he wants to know what happened. Most of the students don’t know anything and to be honest Seto doesn’t really care. They help get the whole picture but his staff can talk to them. The DM crew pulls Jaden’s friends to talk to. Excuse: they are the students they talked to when communicating with the other dimension and the staff said they were in charge.

Téa takes Alexis and Blair

Tristan takes Hasselberry and Axel

Joey takes Jim and Syrus

Mokuba takes Chazz and Bastian

Seto handles the supposed adults in his staff. He is not happy right now and what’s to know why a group of children took charge durning an emergency.

This is just a cover so Yugi can get Jaden away from everyone and talk to him about what happened. Why were you screaming?

While the rest of the Gx crew is filling the DM crew in on what happened, Yugi and Atem are with Jaden.

The boy is having a full break down. He just lost his best friend. Who, he only realized once they were in that mess, he has a massive crush on. Jesse sacrificed himself to save Jaden and the rest of the school. But it shouldn’t have been Jesse’s job it should have been Jaden.

Yugi has worried about his son’s hero complex for a long time. And the apparent fact that both the school and his friends use it to have Jaden fight their battles. His son has always taken in the weight of the world on to his shoulders, even when he didn’t want to. It reminds Yugi so much of Atem in the early stages of their partnership. There were many times in their adventures when Atem would say a problem was his alone, even if it had nothing to do with him, and Yugi would have to remind him that they were a team. Lucky their friends always stepped up to the plate as well.

Did Jaden have anyone to remind him the world wasn’t his responsibility alone? (Yes it was Jesse and he’s gone now)

Atem understands perfectly where Jaden is coming from. After all he lost Yugi’s spirit to the oricalcos. He knows exactly what it means to be separated from a dear friend. But the difference is that was his fault, he played the seal and Yugi choice to sacrifice himself to save him. Jaden didn’t force the school into that dimension, nor did he put Jesse in the position where sacrifice himself was the only way to safe Jaden. It was whoever brought them there/attacked them’s fault.

But while was that?

When Jaden reveals it was Yubel, the air was sucked from the room. Atem and Yugi are horrified. At this point they know all about Jaden’s birth parents and how they requested to send Yubel to space as well. Seto had been looking for a way to retrieve Yubel for years. But it was hard to talk to Jaden about them since his memories of them were blocked. Atem and Yugi also remember when Yubel would reach out to Jaden’s dreams and how terrified the boy had been. They knew for a long time there was something wrong with that spirit. And now they had attacked Jaden and his friends.

Jaden blames himself. He sent Yubel away and know all of his friends have suffered for his selfishness.

(Baby you were a child under the age of seven (the age of reason) there’s no way that was your fault. Like in this au he was threeish when it happened I don’t know who old in cannon. But there is no way Kaiba Corp built a second satellite just because a child was like “my card spirit is sick do you think the space radiation will help them?” No. However if his parents were like “this card is evil and we will pay you to shoot it to the stars, maybe even blow it up.” That I can believe. I know Kaiba Corp does some crazy things but I never believed they launch Yubel just because Jaden asked. Also even if it was because he asked he was a literal baby)

Needless to say Yugi and Atem try and tell Jaden that Yubel’s actions are not his fault. They also start to come up with a plan. Seto had the ability to send individuals to other dimensions. Now that they have a lock on the other dimension maybe they can go after Jesse.

Jaden instantly wants to join this rescue mission. But Yugi hesitates, he doesn’t want his son in any more danger. Especially since Yubel will be targeting him. It’s best to keep him away from all of this.

Atem however understand exactly where Jaden is coming from. He would have done anything to save Yugi from the Oricalcos. Which is why he’s not sure if Jaden should come. The actions Atem took in the direct aftermath of losing Yugi still haunt him. And he hadn’t snapped out of it until Yugi’s spirit came to pull him back into the light.

He knows how Jaden will be in this mission. He’s going to make rash decisions. He’s going to be focused on saving Jesse and his own safety and those around him will be secondary. It’s the same way Atem was after he lost Yugi.

But neither of them know who to tell Jaden this. Telling him now when he’s already this upset and agitated will only make the situation worse. So they put it off. “Let’s talk to your Oto-san and see if we can figure out where Jesse is. He has Rainbow dragon and we got a pretty good read on that cards energy signature.” They want to see if it’s even possible before have the discussion with Jaden that he can’t go.

Seto has already started looking into it and scanning through dimensions for Jesse’s deck. Since it’s only one person dragging him into one of the pods will be easy. Doing a whole school evacuation would have taken too much time and energy and would have fried the pods. But a quick mission to grab one person they could do that easily.

But Jesse isn’t showing up in the dimension they just left, meaning he’s moved or been moved. He informs Jaden and Yugi of this when they come over to ask. (Thankfully everyone is in shock and also so used to Jaden inserting himself into problems that no one really questions why he’s talking to the King of Games and the head of Kaiba Corp.) he tells them that it will take time to find Jesse.

Jaden wants to go now but understand that they can’t. His friends come over and they all decide to head to the Slifer dorms to get some real sleep. After all competent adults are here now. They have a plan, there is nothing else they can do.

But Jaden hates waiting and after two years of being everyone’s hero and forced to solve all the problems on his own, being stagnant his driving him mad. Boys having massive anxiety over this. He goes to ‘check on the machine’ (be with his family.)

While he’s away Sheppard decides to be MESSY and tell the other students Jaden’s history with Yubel. (He was not messy enough to tell them about Jaden’s family.)

Progress is slow and it’s been a few days and Jaden’s city is reaching new heights. His dad and family help but the only thing that going to truly calm them is Jesse being alright.

Yugi and the crew finally break the news to him that he won’t be joining them on the rescue mission. Yugi, Seto, Atem, and Joey are going. The promise to be carful and to get Jesse. And no Jaden this isn’t because your weak or we think you’d slow us down. We are very proud of you. But you’re literally the target of a crazed Duel Spirit and we want you safe.

Jaden hears “this is your fault, we don’t need you. You’d put us in more danger.” This is not what was said at all but Jaden is in deep spiral mode. He’s also freaking out because Yubel wants him and now his family is going and they’re going to get hurt because of him. If anything happens to them it will be his fault! This is his mess and he’s the only one who should be going. Yubel’s after him anyone who puts themselves in between is just going to get hurt. And ya, Jaden’s terrified to face Yubel but he’ll do it for Jesse and to keep his family safe.

Needless to say Jaden gets really upset and runs off. Yugi goes to chase after him but is stoped by Atem advising he let the boy calm down. They don’t realize just how badly Jaden is spiraling. Yugi does wait but only for a bout an hour then the DM crew are all about to lose their minds and head after Jaden.

This is also a big mistake. Because Wnged Kuriboh finds a portal.

[loveinhawkins]

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 ao3

Joyce drops off Will, El and Mike with more homemade food after they’ve had dinner, which makes Steve smile. 

“Tell your mom I’m not gonna have enough space to put all of this in the fridge.”

“You can just eat some of it and then you will have space,” El says, matter-of-fact, “like what Eddie is doing.”

Eddie pauses in his eating of Koogle chocolate spread straight out the jar.

Steve laughs loudly.

Eddie sighs, leans into the melodrama of it. “Damn, right for the jugular. Haven’t I suffered enough?”

El makes a show of thinking in response. Eddie watches her with infinitely growing fondness, how she fights to keep a straight face, unable to stop her smile from breaking through. “No.”

Eddie slumps against the counter like he’s just received a fatal blow.

“Hey, person without a cast,” Steve says dryly, “help put some stuff away, this isn’t a hotel.”

“I dunno, Harrington, you seem like the type to have monogrammed dressing gowns and shit.”

The tips of Steve’s ears turn a damning red.

Eddie pounces on the sight with a delighted grin. “Oh dear god.”

“Eddie—”

“Holy shit,” Eddie whispers, like he’s found the Holy Grail. “I was just talking out my ass man, but. You do.”

“Only ‘cause Robin—it was one joke Christmas present, all right?”

“Yeah, that’s what they all say.”

They all make short work of putting the food away, but the kids linger in the kitchen, like they don’t want to say goodbye just yet.

It’s funny, Eddie has distant memories of Hawkins characterising Will Byers as a quiet little kid when he went ‘missing’, but there’s hardly any of that shyness now. The only slight hint of uneasiness Eddie can discern is that every so often, Will’s hand will rise up as if to scratch the back of his neck, like he’s hardly aware that he’s doing it; he spots El catching his hand in hers once, gently pulling it back down—does it in such a way that it never draws attention.

If anything, Mike is the quiet one, which is tripping Eddie up; he’s so used to his vocal commentary at Hellfire. He can’t tell if it’s just general post-nearly end of the world exhaustion or—something else. He doesn’t know what.

From the way Mike is standing, shoulders occasionally hiking up to his ears, Eddie gets the feeling that he doesn’t want to be asked about it.

Will does the majority of the talking, spends most of the time making references to what went down in California that Eddie can barely follow, revels in teasing Dustin about Suzie—

“Wait, Henderson’s girlfriend is real?” Eddie says.

Dustin glares at him. “Hey!”

Steve nods seriously. “I know.”

Dustin spins around, pokes Steve in the side. “Hey.”

Bizarrely, this prompts Will into an enthusiastic rendition of NeverEnding Story, which makes Dustin groan as if he’s been plagued with it for centuries. But there’s a celebratory sound to all of it, to the way Will sings cheekily, even the way Dustin is rolling his eyes—like they can’t believe they can afford the time to just be silly.

Under the cover of the kids’ laughter, Steve leans forward in his seat, catching Eddie by the wrist.

“Hey, later could you—would you mind helping me up the stairs? I wanna…” He pushes back his hair, grimacing. “Got, like, a sink wash in hospital, but it wasn’t that great.”

There’s a self-conscious air to how he speaks, how he keeps fiddling with flyaway strands of hair.

“Yeah, man, no problem,” Eddie says, matching Steve’s lowered volume. Still look good to me.

They wait until they’re alone—Dustin leaves in Joyce’s car, too, with a firm, “I’ll be back,” flung over his shoulder; Steve snorts, “Sure thing, Arnie.”

Once they conquer the stairs, Eddie’s shoulder aching from Steve needing to lean on it, Eddie optimistically believes that the rest will be plain sailing from here.

Steve’s set up on a stool, and Eddie’s standing in the bathtub, about to see how far the shower-head can stretch.

Steve is in the middle of saying, “Oh, just watch out, don’t think I changed the temperature from when I last—”

Eddie’s elbow catches on the dial. He shrieks as he’s immediately hit with a blast of cold water.

“Jesus Christ,” he wheezes, finally managing to switch the shower off. His hair is sopping wet. “How am I the freak? What kind of monster takes a cold shower willingly?”

And Steve laughs so hard that he nearly falls off the stool, as if the light-heartedness of the kids earlier has lifted his spirits, made him giddy.

“You look,” he says, through a raucous fit of giggles, “like a drowned rat.”

“Excuse me? Oh, tread very, very carefully, Harrington,” Eddie says, raising the shower-head in warning.

Steve raises an eyebrow coolly. “You’re bluffing.”

Eddie is, in fact, not bluffing.

-

“Oh wow.” Eddie makes a low whistle, like he’s just discovered a rare antique. “Why isn’t this behind glass? This shit is history; it should be preserved.”

Steve blinks, gives him a sardonic look from where he’s lying on the bed, leg propped up with pillows. “Pretty sure I’m not the only person to own a Hawkins Phys. Ed T-shirt.”

Eddie scoffs, shaking out the shirt with a pointless flourish before putting it back in the closet. “Yeah, but you, like, wore it.”

“Oh, sorry, I misunderstood you, man. So I’m the only person ever to wear a Hawkins Phys. Ed T-shirt.”

“You know what I mean, asshole.”

Before Steve got round to actually washing his hair, they had spent a lot of time just goofing around, trying to soak the other. While attempting to ensure that it was a fair fight, that Steve didn’t overbalance on the stool, Eddie ended up nearly braining himself on the tub’s faucets—but maybe he really did suffer a head injury, he reasons, otherwise there’s no excuse for what he says next.

“You made it part of your whole thing, you know? Like, yeah, people wear clothes, but you wore outfits.”

Steve laughs, rolling his eyes. “Shut up. You’re making me sound like a sitcom character.”

“Oh, but you were,” Eddie says, grinning with the knowledge that he’s about to be very annoying. “Did you see yourself in the school corridors? You walked like you had your own theme music, man.”

“Says you,” Steve retorts. “I think a laugh track would’ve helped your cafeteria sermons.” And before Eddie can attempt a theatrical gasp of offence, Steve points at a baggy sweater in the closet. “Hey, gimme that one, it’ll do.”

Eddie actually puts some effort into properly aiming the shirt when he throws it, but Steve almost drops it. Eddie turns, ready to tease him, because Steve Harrington is hardly known for fumbling a catch, but stops when he sees the stricken look on Steve’s face.

“What is it?”

“I just—I just remembered,” Steve stutters out, eyes wide. “Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry. Your vest.”

Eddie stares, uncomprehending. “Come again?”

“Your vest. Damn it, I didn’t even think to ask for… they must’ve cut it off me or—”

“Oh, Jesus,” Eddie says, and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. He shakes his head to try and clear it of the awful image they must’ve cut it off me conjures up then says, with fervour, “Steve. Don’t worry about it. Like, honestly, truly? Do not worry about it. I really can’t stress how much I don’t give a shit.”

Steve frowns, clearly still unhappy about it.

“I’ll just steal one of your polos and call it even.”

Steve smiles weakly; Eddie still counts it as a win. “Mm, I have it on good authority that the Phys. Ed T-shirt is highly sought after.”

“Damn, what idiot said that?”

Eddie turns while shutting the closet, glancing over at Steve as he does so. That’s when he sees it, sees Steve’s bare skin as he takes his shirt off, about to change into the sweater—

There’s no bandages wrapped around his middle anymore. They have healed faster than any normal wounds should, but that fact doesn’t diminish the way Eddie’s stomach lurches at the sight: the gouges in the skin from the bats, and several deep, ragged claw marks. There’s a sudden ringing in his ears; the wetness of Steve’s blood on his fingers…

He feels his knee slam against the bed frame distantly, like it’s happening to someone else. Then Steve’s hand is wrapped around his wrist, and he’s thrown back into his body, and he tilts—

“Hey, hey, you’re all right,” Steve says, and he pulls Eddie down to sit on the bed.

Eddie sways, tries to stand up again—but that just makes the sudden faintness worse.

“Woah, take it easy,” Steve murmurs, and Eddie blinks and blinks until his face swims into view, eyebrows drawn in concern. “God, you feeling okay? You went white.”

“You were bleeding,” Eddie says stupidly. He squeezes his eyes shut, tips his head down and just breathes.

And then he feels Steve gently guide his hand to rest over the wounds. Places it there, puts his own hand on top.

“Not anymore,” Steve says simply.

Eddie traces the marks. They don’t feel overly cold which helps. His hand rises and falls with every breath Steve takes.

Steve keeps his eyes on him, doesn’t let go of his hand until Eddie can stand again.

-

Steve has already drifted off to sleep on the couch when the phone rings.

Eddie picks it up with a quiet, “Hello?”

“E-Eddie?”

At first, Eddie doesn’t recognise the voice on the other end. It’s only when his name is repeated that the realisation hits.

It’s Mike.

Eddie has never heard him sound so uncertain, not even when he was first invited to sit at Hellfire’s lunch table.

“Hey, Mike,” he says, can’t stop a note of anxiety bleeding through. “What’s up?”

“It’s… it’s Nancy,” Mike says. He starts off almost reluctant, as if he’s worried about breaking some sort of sibling code by mentioning her, but the sound of his true fear quickly overrides that. “She—she left, and she told me she was gonna, um, call you, or something? I don’t know, but she… she’s not back yet and I… I don’t think she did. Call you.”

“She didn’t,” Eddie confirms, grabs a piece of his hair and pulls.

Mike’s voice pitches a little higher; he sounds very young. “I don’t know where she’s gone. Eddie, she didn’t even take her car.”

“Okay, okay.” Eddie’s eyes dart about the room, land on Steve’s car keys. “Hey, Mike? It’ll be okay, man. I’m gonna go get her.”

He heads for the door in a mad dash, one arm through his leather jacket. Before he goes, he takes the time to write Steve a note—if he wakes up, Eddie figures that there’s no point in him just sitting there alone, worrying, so he settles for something that will hopefully make him laugh instead.

Back soon. Totally not stealing your car. Cross my heart. On an unrelated note, I took your car keys. -E

-

He finds her at the trailer park, of course. Sitting right by his and Wayne’s place, in the spot where…

She’s hugging her knees, pressing the side of one cheek into them. Her boots are muddy again.

Eddie gets out of the car with more noise than is strictly necessary, so she’s not startled by his approach.

“This wasn’t the deal, Wheeler,” he says mildly, sitting down beside her.

She’s shivering.

Eddie tries very hard not to look at the trailer; it’s just a shell now, it’s just…

“Sorry,” Nancy says, too quiet. “I was… gonna call but. Lost track of time.” She sniffs, mumbles into her jeans, “Had enough of driving.”

“Why?” Eddie asks carefully.

“Because.” Nancy sniffs again. “I had to drive Jason Carver around town.”

For a moment, Eddie forgets how to breathe.

“What? Why the fuck would you even—? He could’ve—”

He stops talking abruptly as Nancy shakes her head, looking scarily calm about the whole thing.

“No. He would’ve killed you immediately. Not me; he’d have to think about it before he… It was… a calculated risk, I guess.”

Eddie barks out a sharp, fearful laugh—remembers Steve saying that him and Nancy were too similar and thinks yeah, no fucking kidding.

“Wheeler,” he breathes, “that was a stupid move.” It feels inadequate for what he actually means, which is some panicked stream of We’ve come too close to losing people, but the terror cuts down his words, makes them small. Stupid.

“He had a gun,” Nancy says, voice flat. She hovers a hand over her side, and Eddie doesn’t need to see it to know that there’ll be a mark there, from where the gun was pressed into her skin.

“Jesus Christ. Are you—”

“I’m fine. He didn’t…” Nancy sighs. “He didn’t do anything, really. I did most of the talking. Just… drove around. Stopped in a parking lot, right where one of the cracks… It’s still visible, only a little bit. Then I just. I asked him.”

“Asked him what?” Eddie says hoarsely.

Nancy’s smile is grim. “If he believed it,” she says. Her voice is as cold as steel. “If he could honestly sit there and think that a boy, that you could have done all this. And I could tell from his eyes that he didn’t, but that he was in too deep. Too cowardly to…” She seethes, spits out the next words: “I told him he could go rot.”

“Wheeler,” Eddie whispers. “God, please tell me he didn’t hurt you.”

She reaches for his hand. Squeezes. “No. I promise. He’s… everything’s being dealt with. It’s bigger than you,” she says, not unkindly. “Plus there’s—we’ve got some, um.” A tiny smile, a proper one. “Unique resources. It’s getting buried, Eddie, I swear, everything to do with you. I’m—we’re working on it. We just. The idea is to, um, replace one paranoia with another, that’s how we sell the—not a full lie, just…” She sets her jaw. “I don’t want you to be looking over your shoulder, ever again.”

Eddie has countless replies on his tongue, namely, What the fuck does all that even mean?

Is this why he’s hardly been given a second glance in the street?

Out loud, he says, “That… sounds like a helluva lot of work. You—you don’t have to—”

“I needed to.” Nancy smiles weakly. “That was the whole plan, right? Find Vecna, kill him. Clear your name.” Her smile falls. “I don’t like… I don’t like things being left… unfinished.” She sighs, repeats, voice small, “I needed to.”

It sounds different this time. Like if she didn’t have that objective, she’d fall apart.

It throws Eddie. How can he be that important? But he looks in her eyes and can tell she means it with all her heart. 

“Eddie, I…” She looks down at the ground. Briefly presses the back of her hand to her mouth. “I need to apologise to Steve. To you.”

Eddie stares at her. “No, I’m… kinda confident that you don’t.”

“No, you.” Her hand starts to shake in his. “You don’t understand.” She looks at him, eyes filled with tears. “I saw it. I saw everything. When he—when Henry showed me… there was so much of it, and it was so fast, and I. I just convinced myself that I was wrong. But then, when I saw you driving. And Steve. There was… this look on his face. And I knew—I knew he was going to die, because Henry… he showed me what he was going to do.”

Eddie can feel himself pale. Nancy withdraws her hand, turns away from him.

“I’m sorry. I thought I could stop it, if I just kept it in my head, it wouldn’t… oh, God.”

“Wheeler. Wheeler, look at me.” Eddie waits until she does, her face wet. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it.”

She moves forward, trembles in his arms. “God, Eddie,” she says, distraught, “it was awful. The whole thing.”

“Yeah.” Eddie leans his head against hers, shuts his eyes. “Fucking sucked.”

“You wouldn’t stop screaming,” Nancy whispers. She jerks her head over to where Eddie parked Steve’s car. “You fell there, and I—I was so scared you wouldn’t get up again. I told you that you had to let h-him go, and it. It was like you couldn’t hear me, and a-all I could think was I’m going to lose them both.” 

Eddie inhales. Exhales. She’d gotten him out. Time for him to return the favour.

“Nancy. Come on.” He gently guides her to stand up. “Time to go home, ‘kay?”

Mike’s waiting outside when Eddie drives up to the house; the headlights illuminate him, his too short dressing gown, his gangly teenaged vulnerability.

Nancy fumbles with the car door handle. Sighs through a sob. “Oh, Mike.”

Eddie watches them embrace, how they cling to one another. He sees Mike raise his hand while still holding onto his sister, sees him mouth Thank you.

Eddie doesn’t pull away until they’re both safely inside.

The fact that he’s driving Steve’s car helps him keep it together for the rest of the drive: the thought that he cannot be seen in public having a breakdown in it.

And then he’s back at Steve’s, and Steve is still asleep, thank God, and there’s an uncontrollable tremor to his hands when he sets Steve’s car keys on the table.

Shit, is he going to throw up? He might.

Oh no you don’t. You’re not waking Steve by upchucking onto the rug, get it together.

“You’re fine,” Eddie says, tugging harshly on his hair. “You’re fine, you’re fucking fine.”

He forces himself to breathe in and out as the wave of everything crashes over him, until he no longer sees the trailer park flash across his vision, like a ghostly afterimage.

When the worst of it is over, he perches on the arm of the couch, then carefully hovers his hand near Steve’s face, just so he can feel him breathing.

See? He’s right here, you’re not… not back there. Not anymore.

Steve stirs very slightly at the movement.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie whispers, still catching his breath through the remnants of panic.

Steve makes a soft, questioning noise. And then Eddie feels a finger, tracing letters on the back of his hand.

OK?

Eddie smiles tremulously. “Yeah, I-I’m… I am now.”

-

Eddie stays up all night.

It’s not so bad, not when he gets to see Steve wake up for his early morning meds, taken so he can have breakfast with the upcoming dose in a few hours.

“Huh? You’re never…” Steve yawns. His hair is soft from being air dried last night, falling into his eyes. “Never up this early. Not normally.”

“First time for everything,” Eddie says, which is easier than my heart was beating too fast to sleep.

Steve doesn’t call him out on the obvious dodge, still drowsy, growing even more so after he takes the pills.

“You bored? Can put something on if you want, but Dustin might’ve left a… a tape in the, um…”

Oh, there you go, Eddie thinks fondly, and watches as Steve falls asleep mid-sentence.

Some time later, he’s not sure when, the sun starts to poke through the curtains. It’s a dull kind of brightness, but still bright enough to make his eyes blink a little more… and more…

-

He’s been moved to lie on the inside of the couch. Eddie turns his head, feels the warmth of someone next to him. Steve.

“Hi,” Steve says, looking down at him with a smile. “You want some breakfast? Dustin dropped off doughnuts.”

There’s sugar at the corner of Steve’s mouth, like glitter.

Eddie hums, low and lethargic. “Maybe later. Just… mm.” He goes to rub at his eyes, but his hand stills then falls away from his face, a lassitude to his movements. “Five more minutes. Gotta… rest my eyes, just for…”

“Sure,” Steve says, and there’s affection in his teasing when he says, “You go ahead and ‘rest your eyes’ for a few more hours.”

“Mm…”

“Nance called,” Steve says, soft as anything, like he doesn’t want to wake Eddie if he’s already fallen asleep, but still wants him to know. “She’s okay. She says thanks.”

Eddie reaches out, eyes closed, pats Steve’s knee clumsily. “S’good.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, quiet. Eddie can feel him smoothing hair off his forehead, tracing his finger down his nose—makes it impossible for him to even try opening his eyes.

He barely catches it, nearly drifting… But he swears he hears Steve murmur, as if to himself, “You’re so good.”

“You’re warm,” Eddie mumbles without really meaning to.

Steve chuckles, so gently. Keeps stroking that soothing pattern, from Eddie’s brow down to his nose. “Am I now?”

Oh, you don’t know, Eddie thinks, and everything’s fading now, the world going all soft and indistinct, like cotton wool. You don’t know what it was like. I never want to feel you be that cold again.

[gluion]

on the drive home ➵ ji changmin

the three times changmin thought you two would be okay, and the one drive home that made him realize he was wrong.

requested by @vernyangel for the song "on the drive home" by niki

genre/warnings ➵ angst no happy ending, established relationship, afab reader (no-gendered terms), lowercase intended, reader is shitty but changmin still excuses their actions, jiwoo is chuu btw, chanhee is the best friend who knocks sense into changmin, sadly no proper conversation about the problem happens

word count ➵ 2.6k words

taglist ➵ @deoboyznet @kflixnet @blankjournal @winterchimez @miusgirl @jenoscafe @sweet-unicorn-world @vernyangel @mosviqu

a/n ➵ took me a bit to really pump this out :') spent so long just looping this song to really get my thoughts out. i hope you enjoy this @vernyangel! thank you for always supporting me bff </3 i hope this does justice to your request, and i hope i can do well in your other one as well. please don't forget to reblog (even if it's in your tbr!)

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! want to request? check out my guidelines! masterlist

it’s a slurry of orange and red hues that cascade all over town. the buildings are only but a blur of figures that fill the windshield, and the pavements do not hold a living soul. with the windows rolled down, warm tones fill the car, the faux leather seems to glow, and the hands on the steering wheel reflect the shades of the city. 

anything but silence fills the car; the melodies from the radio are low, and the whispers of the wind hit against eardrums. but these sounds are not enough to break the tension between changmin and you.

he doesn’t bother to talk like all the other drives back home. for once, it’s quiet on his end. he does not bother to admire the hues of the sky, and he decides against commenting on the songs from your playlist. instead, he looks at you all while your eyes are trained on the road.

he leans back in his chair, head pointed to you, and takes in the sight. the hazy buildings along with the sun setting are only a background made for you, and shades of orange make your skin glow. to him, you still look like the same person he first knew—the one who transformed the meaning of home—but now, you are nothing like the one he fell in love with.

a disheveled maze, constellated and intertwined, but somehow, my favorite kind

the sounds emitting from your speaker bounce on the four walls, filling your room with the sweet harmonies of niki accompanied by plucked guitar strings. the lamp shines over sprawled notes written in handwriting only you can decipher. all while you work, changmin is lying down on your bed. his hums come and go, his attention being divided to whatever he comes up on his phone.

the familiar strumming of a guitar plays out; it’s one you and changmin know by heart. he’s ready to sing along to snow patrol, murmuring during parts he didn’t know the lyrics to. then the song is cut short; an unfamiliar tune plays out. his eyes snap away from his phone to stare at your slouched figure by the table.

“awe, why’d you change it?” he whines. not a single response comes from you. he frowns at your back but decides to not ask again. maybe his voice was too soft for you to even hear him, or you were too caught up in your work to pay attention to his thoughts. either way, he wanted to respect your study time so long as you took enough time to rest.

a bell rings out. changmin looks back to his phone to see a text message from chanhee—are we still meeting for dinner?

“hey, are you still up to have dinner with chanhee?” changmin asks as he sits up, hair ruffled into a mess, and still…

this isn’t the first time you’ve done this. you were the type to not answer if you were caught up with something. but changmin is used to it, understanding that you needed the space to focus which resulted in tuning everything out.

he stands up and walks towards you, his hands landing on your shoulders. still, no reaction. he starts to frown at your behavior. usually, you would at least acknowledge him at this point. “earth to y/n?”

a disgruntled sound leaves you as your eyes remain on your notes. you still continue to rewrite them all while changmin stands behind you. “do you want to have dinner with chanhee?” he asks once more only to be met with you shaking your head. he hums for a moment before suggesting, “do you want me to order some food instead?”

“no.” it’s the first time he’s heard you speak since he arrived.

a pout appears on his lips. “but… you haven’t eaten.”

“pointing out the obvious, mister.” the tone is harsh, enough to have him flinch. the grip on your shoulders loosened. in front of him was a version of you he wasn’t used to. it almost seemed like you were mad at him but he didn’t know why. 

you let out a sigh. “sorry, i’m just not in the mood today.” the apology that leaves your lips almost sounds genuine. “i just have a lot of things to work on, and i need to do it now or i’ll be behind.”

changmin nods before letting go of you. “is there anything i can do?” you go back to saying nothing, only shaking your head once more, and he takes it as a sign to not bother you further.

“okay,” he whispers, taking a few steps away from you. “i’ll go have dinner then with chanhee, okay?” once again, you don’t respond; you don’t even bother to shake your head this time.

he quickly types a reply to his best friend—yeah, it’ll just be us. y/n’s got some work to catch up on. he grabs his bag that rests against your bed frame and looks back to you whose back still faces him. he walks to you and faces your cheek. a frown rests on your face, clearly concentrated on the work you’re doing.

“i’ll go, okay? just let me know once you’ve eaten.” the question is soft, but your hardened expression doesn’t falter. so he kisses your cheek, lips lingering a few seconds more than usual, before saying, “love you, take care.”

“stay safe.” your response is almost soundless, but changmin catches it. he grins at your words—it’s enough to patch up the wound you inflicted moments ago. so he exits your room, leaving you the space you seem to need.

floating in a sea of missed calls and excuses

it’s cold tonight; the wind comes in waves, hitting changmin’s cheeks in full force, and the leaves rustle along. he loves it when the weather is like this; it’s an excuse to wear hoodies without having his fingers fall off. but most of all, it’s an opportunity for him to snuggle up in bed with you. he would rest his nose against your cheek and leave trails of kisses all over your collar area, only until you’d tell him to stop from how ticklish it feels.

but tonight, he stands in the dark right outside of your favorite restaurant. the luminescence pours out, the chatter from customers and staff seeps through the cracks of the windows, and the smell of dishes lingers in the air. everyone seems like they’re having the time of their lives—can changmin say the same for himself?

his eyes stare at his shared messages with you—still no response from you. a sigh leaves him.

you were not the type to ditch plans. if something came up, you would message him as soon as you found out. but now, it’s 30 minutes past the time you were supposed to meet him, and there was no message regarding your absence. so he calls you, places his phone against his ear, and waits for your answer.

it rings for a while. changmin is almost scared you won’t pick up—what if you lost your phone? what if you were kidnapped? or what if you got into an accident?

“changmin-ah!”

changmin lets out a sigh of relief as he hears your voice. “where are you?” he can hear the faint sounds of music playing from your end, but he doesn't hear a word from you. “y/n?”

“huh? oh, sorry. what were you saying?”

his eyes flicker to the restaurant sign. “where are you? i’m already here.”

“already whe—oh, there!” you cough. “i can’t make it.”

changmin frowns before asking, “what’s wrong? are you okay?”

“yeah, i just can’t make it.” he bites the inside of his cheek as he listens intently to your words. 

“but we planned this for a while now.” he looks down to the ground as he paces around, kicking a stone off the sidewalk. “we haven’t gone on a date in months,” he whispers.

“i’m with jiwoo right now.”

his eyebrows shoot up before he asks, “is she okay?” he doesn’t want to make you feel guilty if your best friend needs you. you only hum back in response. “okay, do you want me to pass by?” not a single response comes from you. all he can hear is the muffled sounds of chattering and the faint notes of whatever song is playing in the background.

“hello?” he calls out once more.

“oh, sorry! i was talking to jiwoo. anyways, i really have to go!”

“oh, okay. love—” the call drops. “—you…” the last word trails into a whisper. you don’t even bother to say your usual farewell.

he bites the inside of his cheek as he looks down at his phone, looking back at his chat with you. as he replays the conversation, a prickly feeling consumes his heart—enough to form cuts on the organ but not enough to stab it all the way through.

the next thing he knows, he’s calling his best friend. two rings later, he picks up, even faster than you did. “changmin-ah?”

“hey, chanhee. have you had dinner?” changmin asks as he walks into the restaurant. he quickly tells one of the staff his name for his reservation.

“oh! i was about to.”

the waitress signals that they have his table, and so he follows her to where he’ll be seated. “okay. do you wanna have dinner with me?” he asks.

as they arrive at the table, he notices the setup is nicer than usual. a candle sits in the middle of a pile of fake rose petals, and a bottle of your favorite wine in an ice bucket standing beside it—they’re all special requests made by him just for you. so he signals to the waitress to clean up the roses and remove the candle. the wine that was meant to be shared with you will now be shared with his best friend instead.

“huh? i thought you were going on a date with y/n.”

changmin sighs before taking a seat saying, “something came up. they’re with jiwoo right now.” he watched her clean up the table, leaving the two sets of tableware untouched.

a beat passes.

“okay,” chanhee whispers back. “i’ll see you at that restaurant, right?” and changmin only hums before hanging up on him.

when his best friend arrived, changmin smiled at him. thankfully, tonight’s reservations would not be wasted. but for the rest of the dinner, changmin avoided talking about you.

i sit here with glistening eyes as the stripes on my back chip and dry

changmin stands outside of the door, a plastic bag full of your favorite takeout food in his hand. tonight was supposed to turn out right; come home with boxes of chinese food and spend the rest of the time talking about nothing or everything—whichever you wanted—but he doesn’t know where he went wrong.

the door swings open and it reveals his best friend. confusion paints chanhee’s face, but changmin grins as he raises the bag up. “i brought some food if you haven’t eaten.” the smile on his face is bittersweet. no matter how many times he may try to play this whole thing off, chanhee knows his best friend.

so chanhee only nods and steps to the side, letting him into his apartment. it’s instinctive for him—go to the kitchen, remove the food, and microwave it. so chanhee goes to the fridge, pulls out two cans of beer, and sets them on the table. as soon as dinner is ready, the two sit across from each other before digging into the meal.

from how changmin looks, it seems like he isn’t up to talking. all he wants to do is eat in silence, but chanhee knows it would be wrong to leave this situation hanging in the air.

“so, what’s up with you two?” changmin looks up to see his best friend whose eyes are on him as he slurps up some noodles.

“what do you mean? everything is fine,” he shoots him a smile before grabbing some beef and broccoli. as he chews away, chanhee sighs as he shakes his head.

“you know that’s a lie.” his best friend is always the type to be straightforward. if changmin was wearing an atrocious outfit, chanhee would let him know. if he was overreacting, his best friend would knock some sense into him. but most of all, if chanhee smelled bullshit on changmin’s end, he would call it. chanhee believes that his best friend’s situation is no different.

so chanhee asks, “what happened tonight?” but changmin refuses to answer, letting the silence take over—it’s enough to speak for him. he bites the inside of his cheek, drops the fork on his plate, and rests his arms on the table. as he looks intently at changmin, he says, “i think you need to talk to them.”

changmin rips his gaze away from chanhee, looking down at the food that he moves around on his plate. usually, he would listen to what his best friend would have to say, but now, he wished he could block him out.

“i wouldn’t talk about it if you didn’t want to,” chanhee starts off. “but i can’t stand watching this unfold any further. i don’t want you to keep getting hurt.”

changmin only sighs as he continues to play with his food until he feels his best friend grab hold of his hand. he looks up to see chanhee whose face is painted with concern. “i’m serious.” it’s a testament to the gravity of the elephant in the room you and he share. “this isn’t healthy, and you know that.”

changmin wishes he could retort back—you two were only going through a rough patch because of different schedules and priorities. if chanhee dissed his outfit, he would defend his fashion choices. if his best friend thought he was overreacting, he would justify his behavior by pointing out the circumstances that brought this reaction.

but the only time changmin could never defend himself is when chanhee calls bullshit on him, so he chooses to stay silent. he doesn’t try to argue with his best friend. instead, he only eats his food and hopes that this will pass—you two will be okay.

but for now, the night is young, and you are here, and snow patrol just came on the radio

changmin breathes in the sight of you, almost like it’ll be the last time he’ll ever see it, and bites on his tongue. the words shall remain unspoken. but a familiar song starts to play out, a shared favorite between you two, and he cannot help but feel his sentiments start to spill out.

“it this the end?” the question is almost soundless but he knows you hear it over the vocals of snow patrol. your hands grip on the steering wheel, and you swallow down nothing. still, your eyes remain on the road.

changmin hopes you shake your head, telling him that everything is fine, or maybe even ask what he’s pertaining to. he wouldn’t have it in him to let go of what you two formed together—a home in each other in a town that never did justice to the term. he’s only learned what it means to have one through you because you built it with him. any other response would be fine so long as it wasn’t an affirmation of his fears.

but the worst came like the breeze that hit changmin’s cheeks—you nod without sparing a glance. with a simple nod, everything he knew disintegrated.

you held the sledgehammer and swung it against his heart made of glass, and the shattered pieces fling against the wall. that action alone should be enough for him to feel anger, despair, sorrow. but he’s okay with picking up the glass shards, left to clean the mess you left because you’re still home to him even if he may not be yours.

without uttering another word, he lets his eyes drift to the road—this will be the last time you two go on the same path. but for now, he’ll remain content with his last moments with you.

if you enjoyed reading this, please reblog!

[zodiactalks]

Zodiac Signs When They Are TIRED

Everyone gets tired. It’s a force of nature that can’t be avoided.

It can be hard to function when you find yourself getting tired. Your performance level in both personal and professional life can be lowered. 

Sometimes it’s easy to not even realize how tired you are when stress is motivating you. 

So, let’s take a look at how each zodiac sign starts to act when they get tired.

Aries

Aries gets grumpy.

Every little thing becomes frustrating. Aries will begin to snap at others for little things they otherwise don’t care about. 

Left a cup on the edge of the sink? Prepare to be told how you never clean up after yourself. In a less than pleasant way.

When Aries is tired, it feels like the weight of the world is on their shoulders. All they want to do is rest, yet no one else is willing to step up for five minutes so they can.

Don’t get them wrong, Aries loves being in charge and responsible. That doesn’t mean they don’t need a break now and then.

Taurus

Taurus will slowly fall asleep on their feet.

Taurus is always tired. They can spend crazy amounts of time resting and sleeping, but that doesn’t seem to make a difference. 

Earth sign energy tends to drag people down and make them sleepy. They never quite feel rested and fully awake. 

Gemini

Gemini will slowly become more and more quiet.

It takes a lot to finally exhaust Gemini, but once they are there, that’s it. When Gemini is completely drained of energy they will slowly shut down.

As a bystander, you can see Gemini start drooping. 

When they are finally ready for bed, nothing will stop them from getting there.

Cancer

Cancer doesn’t enjoy anything when they are tired. There is a good chance they will not put up with anyone talking to them while they are tired.

Cancer is the definition of “don’t talk to me until I’ve had my coffee.” They don’t want any contact until they are fully awake.

And even then, the second they get tired again, other people become the most obnoxious thing in the world. 

Leo

Leo will find the coziest blanket and fall asleep on the floor. 

They will not wake up even for an earthquake. Leo has no problem ignoring everything around them when they are exhausted. Sleep is the most important thing now.

Leo literally can’t function when they are tired, and would rather drop everything for a nap than try to push through it. They know whatever they try to accomplish while tired won’t be their best work. So why even try?

Leo plans on taking a nap, them coming back at the top of their game.

Virgo

Virgo becomes snappish when they are tired.

If others continue to demand more of Virgo once their energy is gone, they will become rather irritated. 

Virgo already has a lot on their plate that makes them exhausted. If other people pile more responsibility on them when they are already at their limit, watch out. When Virgo has had enough, they will lose their temper quickly.

Libra

When Libra is tired, their attitude becomes stronger.

It may take a while before Libra realizes they are tired. They will have an “a-ha” moment when they do. Libra knew they were overreacting.

It’s the same as when a person is hungry and doesn’t realize if they just eat, the attitude will go away. 

Finding time for a daily nap will help Libra in the long run. 

Scorpio

Scorpio will become hostile.

When Scorpio is tired, they become more and more critical of others. They are the types to get angry at an object that keeps falling over and will probably throw it across the room. 

If they are alone, Scorpio may even break down in frustrated tears before falling asleep. 

Being tired makes everyone a little dramatic. Scorpio isn’t exempt from that.

Sagittarius

Sagittarius will try to convince themselves they aren’t tired.

They want to keep doing the thing they were invested in. Sagittarius will deny they are tired until they fall asleep.

This can lead to Sagittarius waking up in some interesting places. They don’t mind falling asleep wherever they lay down. 

It can, and likely has put Sagittarius in a couple of dangerous situations. Which they will brush off when telling others the story.

Capricorn

Capricorn becomes more logical and stern when they are tired.

Capricorn is good at setting boundaries with others. This makes a strong appearance when they are exhausted. No, they won’t help you with that thing. It can wait until tomorrow.

Unlike a lot of the zodiac that gets emotional when they are tired, Capricorn can simply say no. And that is that.

Aquarius

Aquarius becomes withdrawn when they are tired.

Aquarius wants nothing more than to retreat to their room to nap, or just relax for a while. Being around others will become more and more annoying. They won’t have the energy to be snappish with others. They just want to be alone.

This can lead Aquarius to rush through things they are required to do. They don’t care about the quality of the work now, they just want it done. Once it is, it’s a relief to be free to get away from everyone.

Pisces

Pisces gets emotional.

Their emotional responses can range from anger and crying to bouts of depression. One at a time or back-to-back, it depends on the day.

Pisces just wants to curl up in a cozy blanket and pile of pillows. Dealing with other people is the last thing they want to do. And they won’t do it.

Pisces will fake being sick to get out of school or work if they are truly exhausted. It is a good thing to do sometimes. Taking care of yourself is overlooked by too many people. 

Pisces is one of the few who will take full advantage of it.