#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.

[superhoeva]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘 𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘: 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐎𝐋 𝐕𝐈𝐒𝐈𝐓

main masterlist | series masterlist | tag

⬩ pairing(s) gomez inspired!simon "ghost" riley x morticia inspired!fem!reader

⬩ warning(s) language, spiders, devoted husband!simon (seriously, he's absolutely obsessed with you!), pregnancy (mention), dad!simon, mom!reader

⬩ author's note spooky season might be over but it's always halloween at the riley house! saw an addams family gif a little while ago and had to go back and watch the sitcom version from '64. i ended up not being able to stop imagining simon in a relationship like gomez and morticia's–passionate and completely devoted to each other and their family! i hope you enjoy this as much as i did writing it, as there is much more of the riley family to come! (lovely divider is by @wethairjoel)

⬩ word count 1.4k

You’re uncomfortable here. Simon can feel it without even having to look at you.

The lights are too bright in the headmaster’s office, as are all the colors decorating the walls around you. No wonder his little Raven comes home with a frown that reminds him of yours and stories that make the entire house groan.

It’s when you shift for the second time, sniffing and rolling your stiff shoulders, that Simon places a warm palm on the back of your neck. The man watches you carefully as you all but melt into the touch, sinking against his hand with a soft sigh. It takes you a moment but you finally turn your head to meet his eyes, a silent thank you oozing from them in the quiet. His response–a squeeze of his hand–works well to settle you.

“Just a little longer, my darling,” your husband murmurs softly, not having to lean very far in his chair to plant a lingering kiss on the shell of your ear. He takes in a long inhale, the smell of you somewhat calming his frayed nerves. He breathes you in once more before kissing you again, this time on your jaw. “Then we’ll pick up our girl and leave this fuckin' hell they call a school.”

Simon’s lips drag nicely against you as he speaks. Slipping against you with light pecks, and staying there so long that it glides your hand into his grasp without you even noticing.

“I wonder what she’s done now. Hopefully something only a little unfortunate…” you sigh out, Simon laughing shortly against you as his mind fills with all the possible troubles his firstborn can cause. She takes after both you and Simon, he finds. Wickedly smart, fearless, and holds just enough disdain to make it the rest of the world’s problem.

Oh, your little Raven. Named after the blackbird that landed on the window seal the foggy morning you found out you were pregnant nearly seven years ago.

Neither of you bother to look when the door creaks open behind you, as Headmaster Archer is no one to be impressed by. A microscopic grin, however, cracks your lips when you hear his steps hesitate at the sight of you and your husband settled in front of his desk. It’s gone quicker than it came when you remind yourself where you are; in a little man’s stupid office for a reason you already know you’ll despise.

The footsteps resume after a quiet sigh, Headmaster Archer plastering an obviously fake smile as his greeting. He has to ease down in his chair, still not used to how harsh the pitch-black hue of your and Simon’s clothing clashes with the rest of the school.

“Mr. and Mrs. Riley… always a pleasure.”

“I wish we could say the same,” Simon rumbles back with an unimpressed look, the index finger of his free hand absentmindedly drawing swirls on the back of your hand. “Can we get on with it? ‘Ve got places to be.”

“Don’t we all,” Headmaster Archer chuckles rather nervously. The smile on his face drops into something uneasy at the displeased expressions on your and Simon’s faces. He gathers himself with a pathetic clearing of his throat and straightening of some blank, unimportant papers. He doesn’t even attempt to look at you, knowing that his bones will shake hard enough to shatter if he were to do such a thing. Instead, the headmaster settles for a few meek glances in Simon’s direction. “Alright. Well, I’ll try to make this as simple as possible; there was an… incident that occurred in Raven’s class today.”

Even with Simon still gripping just above your back, you grow painfully rigid. Your question leaves you, hot and quick.

“What incident?”

Headmaster Archer swallows thickly, still unable to flick his eyes your way. “It happened during today’s show and tell–”

“Look at my wife when you speak to her, Headmaster.”

The man behind the desk nearly jumps at Simon’s words. They ring darkly in the room, and the headmaster has to wring his shaking fingers hard to gain the courage to finally do as Simon commands. He doesn’t remember how to talk until an arched eyebrow from you has his voice croaking out.

“Tarantulas. She brought tarantulas–three of them, all as big and hairy as a rat–for show and tell. Pulled them out like they were nothing, then tried to pass them around. Her instructor was barely able to reign them up in all the chaos they caused. Children were crying. The adults were shaking. In all my years, I’ve never seen anything like it…”

The ramble trails off into nothing, allowing you and Simon a moment of quiet while the headmaster wipes at his face with a cheap handkerchief. God, you two make him sweat, and not in a good way.

Tilting your head, you peek over at your husband. He’s already looking at you, face reading ‘For fuck’s sake.’ Licking your lips, your eyes cut back to Headmaster Archer. 

“Not to be obtuse,Headmaster, but I don’t see what your issue is. All she wanted was to show her fellow pupils her favorite pets. Is that really so bad?”

“It is when the pets are spiders, Mrs. Riley. Not just spiders, but dangerous ones that, frankly, a child as young as Raven should not have access to.”

The headmaster has no idea where the things spilling out of his mouth are coming from. Maybe it’s the heat of the room making him a little braver. Maybe it’s because he knows he’ll see Raven’s spiders in his nightmares tonight, you and Simon standing along with them happily while they eat him alive. 

Regret soon washes over him faster than he can think. Even more so when he sees Simon, in all his dark clothes and scars and thick muscles, clench his jaw and shift in his seat like he’s thinking about hitting the man. Coincidentally, you’re the one moving first, giving the hand of a seething Simon a tender squeeze before you uncross your legs to stand.

You don’t have to move any closer than you are now to say what you want. The anger dripping from your tone is sharp enough to slice at him as it always does.

You’re all sinister smiles as you promise the man. “If you upset my daughter again, you’ll have a lot more than a few spiders to worry about, Headmaster.”

With that, you’re gone. Nothing more from you other than one last glare at the headmaster and a sweet kiss on Simon’s cheek before your heels click out of the horrid office. If Simon wasn’t so miffed, he’d remember to swivel his head to watch your hips as you go.

Unlucky for the headmaster, Simon does not swivel or admire. All he does is stare something horrid into the man across from him, eyes so hot they could bore a hole into the sweaty head of Archer if Simon wished it hard enough. 

The two remain in that position for a good while–Headmaster Archer doing all he can not to evaporate into a puddle of fear and Simon nearly wishing the man dead for making his girls upset. It’s around five minutes later when a small voice sounds at the office entrance.

“Papa, can we leave now? Mama’s ready.”

Simon rips away his glare, making sure to soften his eyes as he looks back at his daughter. He can tell she’s a little sad, mostly annoyed, as she cradles her tarantulas in a see-through cage. 

“Of course,” he coos without a second look to the headmaster, raising from his chair and moving to lift his daughter into his arms. He kisses her forehead, arms encircling her to ensure she doesn’t fall. “And you did nothing wrong, my girl. Do you hear me? Let’s just make sure to keep our pets at home from now on, yes? These silly little people don’t know how to appreciate them like you do.”

“Yes, Papa,” little Raven nods dutifully, Simon rewarding her with another kiss on the cheek and rub on her back. “Can we stop and catch crickets for my spiders on the way home? They’ve had a rough day…”

Simon huffs a laugh, glancing down at the cage of spiders with a short smile. He looks back up at his daughter and winks, exiting the office and leaving behind a shaking, sweating, helpless Headmaster Archer.

“Anything for you, my little devil.”

VOTE IN THE LATEST POLL (NOV 4-5)

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[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

[rottenfyre]

⸻ ᴀ ʟ ʟ ɪ ʜ ᴀ ᴠ ᴇ ⸻

Pairing: Show Aegon II Targaryen x Fem Reader

Headcanon: how would he be when he's obsessed?

˚꒰notes꒱‧ English is not my first language. Gifs belong to @joekeerys. Hope you enjoy!

Aegon never wanted the throne, never wanted the responsibilities that came with it, but what he does want is you. From the moment you entered his life, everything changed. You’re the one thing that makes sense to him, the one thing that feels right. Aegon is a mess of conflicting desires, plagued by his trauma, but when it comes to you, his love is the only thing he’s sure of.

Aegon has never had anyone in his life who genuinely cared about him. His family is fractured, and he’s spent his whole life drowning in self-loathing. But when you show him the slightest bit of affection, it’s like a drug. He needs it, needs you. You’re his lifeline, the one person who can make him feel like he’s worth something.

He’s incredibly clingy. Every time he sees you, he’s either hanging off of you, resting his head on your shoulder, or playing with your hair. It’s as if he can’t bear to be apart from you for even a moment. His hands are always on you, in a way that’s both affectionate and a little too possessive.

“I can’t stand it when you’re away,” he’d murmur, pressing his face into the crook of your neck. “Stay with me. Always stay with me.”

Aegon’s insecurities run deep, and that means he’s always on edge when it comes to other people. He’s constantly worried that someone will take you away from him, that you’ll realize you deserve better and leave him behind. His jealousy is all-consuming, and he has no problem making sure anyone who even looks at you the wrong way knows you belong to him.

If someone tries to get close to you, Aegon’s mood shifts instantly. His playful, drunken demeanor turns cold, his eyes narrowing as he watches every move they make around you. He doesn’t trust anyone—not your friends, not your family, and especially not his own family. In his mind, they’re all threats, and he’ll do whatever it takes to keep you to himself.

“No one will ever love you like I do,” he’d say, his voice low and serious. “You know that, don’t you?”

He needs to know everything about you—where you are, who you’re with, what you’re thinking. He’ll start off subtly, asking about your day, wanting to know every little detail. But soon, it becomes more than that. He wants to control every aspect of your life, making sure that you’re always with him, always safe, always his.

He’s the type to show up unannounced, drunk and demanding your attention, whether you want to give it or not. If you try to push him away, he’ll sulk, using his own pain and insecurities to guilt you into staying by his side. It’s manipulative, but in his twisted mind, he thinks he’s doing it out of love.

“You’re mine,” he’d whisper, wrapping his arms around you from behind, his breath hot against your skin. “You’ll always be mine.”

Aegon knows he’s not the perfect prince (and later king). He’s flawed, broken, and he hates himself for it. But when it comes to you, he’ll use that brokenness to his advantage. Whenever you try to pull away, he’ll remind you of how much he needs you, how lost he’d be without you. He’s not afraid to play the victim, to make you feel like leaving him would be the cruelest thing in the world.

He’ll come to you late at night, drunk and miserable, talking about how everyone hates him, how he’s not good enough for you. His words are filled with self-pity, and he’ll cling to you, practically begging you to reassure him that you’ll stay.

“You’re the only one who cares about me,” he’d say, his voice cracking with desperation. “Don’t leave me. I can’t… I can’t do this without you.”

For all his selfishness, Aegon genuinely believes he’s protecting you. The world is dangerous, full of people who would hurt you or take you from him. In his mind, he’s the only one who can keep you safe. He’ll go to any lengths to ensure that no one can harm you—not even your family or friends if he thinks they’re a threat.

He’ll isolate you if he has to, keeping you away from anyone who might try to come between you. He’ll even use his power as king to keep you locked away, safe in the Red Keep where no one can touch you. To him, it’s an act of love—protecting you from the dangers of the world.

“I’m doing this for you,” he’d say, his eyes wild with a mix of desperation and affection. “No one will hurt you if you’re with me. I’ll burn anyone who tries.”

Aegon’s love for you is twisted, born out of his own pain and insecurities, but it’s real. In his mind, you’re the only thing keeping him together. He’s broken, damaged by years of neglect and abuse, and you’re the only one who makes him feel whole. He’ll do anything to keep you by his side, even if it means crossing lines no one else would dare to cross.

He’s the kind of lover who would rather see you dead than let you leave him. If he can’t have you, then no one can. His love is suffocating, dangerous, and all-consuming. But in the end, he truly believes that he’s doing it all because he loves you.

“You don’t understand,” he’d say, tears in his eyes as he holds you close. “You’re all I have. I can’t lose you. I won’t lose you.”

@ʀᴏᴛᴛᴇɴꜰʏʀᴇ 2024. ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ᴛʀᴀɴꜱʟᴀᴛᴇ ᴏʀ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴀɴʏ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ʜᴇʀᴇ ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ ᴡᴇʙꜱɪᴛᴇꜱ

[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

[annie-creates]

Almost four hundred years

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x sister reader

Genre: fluff

Words: 900

Note: So I usually don't introduce new characters on a whim but I've been so obsessed I literally jumped out of the shower for this, so I just had to write it right away even when it's not that good. And to my possibly new Marvel/witchy/Agatha fans who haven't seen me before, hi, I hope you like this and please check out my blog for more very demure, very cutesy and most of all very lesbian fanfictions I write.

When you got on the Witch’s road, you didn’t know exactly what you expected to get out of it. You weren’t hungry for power, you were doing alright for yourself and there were seemingly no problems to be fixed or mysteries to be answered in your case. But the thought of belonging somewhere some time again was taunting, almost mocking you. You knew building an actual lasting coven with Agatha by your side was impossible, but still you hoped to have something that at least reminded of home.

As you left today’s trial behind and healed the teen’s wounds, you set up a campfire gathering around, using whatever was available to sit on. In your opinion, the ground covered in leaves was good enough. The kid was resting and Agatha was nowhere to be found, which gave room for an actual friendly conversation with the rest of the witches. One by one they shared stories and funny encounters, keeping the mood up, and you quite enjoyed their quirky company.

“Y/n, what’s your problem with the kid?” Lilia asked suddenly, all of them noticing you weren’t exactly fond of his chirpy personality. “Why are you so cold to him?”

“Nonsense, I’m great with children,” you emphasized, slightly offended.

“Come on now,” Jen forced with an amused smile.

“Well first of all, he’s unhealthily obsessed with Agatha and that in itself is a red flag if you ask me,” you shrugged. “And anyone who likes her this much just doesn’t know her enough.”

“Well for how long have you known her?” Alice reiterated.

“Almost four hundred years,” you admitted with a bit of shyness.

“How come?” asked Teen joining you at the fire without you noticing. “What’s your problem with her anyway. People change, she’s not the same witch she was in Salem.”

“Not this much, no. She killed my mom… my family, my coven, everyone I knew at the time,” even after all this time it was hard admitting everything that happened, partly because you blamed yourself for at least half of it. “And unfortunately, she’s my sister.”

“Wait so you’re… Y/n Harkness?” Alice questioned.

“Yeah,” sometimes that name scared even you yourself. “And believe me there isn’t a day I didn’t wish I was there back then to stop her. But at the same time… she’s my sister, you know? And she wasn’t always bad… she was a good witch, corrupted by her powers too young,” you turned to Teen. “It’s like having an emo kid, you think it’s just a phase and fun and the next day they’re smoking pot and running around at 1 a.m. playing Batman.”

“You think dark magic is just a phase?” Jen laughs.

“Well who hasn’t ever tried a bit of it, right?” you brush it off with a guilty smile.

“Wow you’re acting like I’m the only one wicked here. I clearly remember you set your ex-boyfriend’s car on fire… with him in it,” Agatha snaps back as she joins your circle.

“Hey, that was your idea! And I was only a 100, you led me to it,” at your response she snorts and gets up again to rather get a walk.

With a sigh you get up off the ground to follow her this time, which wasn’t any hard of a task. Your relationship with Agatha was complicated at the very least, but to you, she was still the only family you had left, even if it was her fault. Gently brushing her clearly tired shoulder she refuses to look at you.

“Agatha… I know I haven’t always been the nicest to you, but you’re my family, I love you. And I want you to know I will always stand by your side, even if I don’t agree with you,” after all you would be a little lost in this world without her.

Giving into your comforting words she turns around embracing you in a tight hug. It was hard being mad at you, after all she was the one who always caused the problems in your relationship. No matter how much you wanted to talk sense into her, she was always selfish and short sighted. As she hugged you, she felt herself finally catching the first break in at least the last five years. You could feel all the trauma and exhaustion from the past few days getting just the littlest bit lighter when you shared it together.

“I miss him so much,” she admitted into your shoulder.

“I know. I miss him too,” you assure her, her lost son clearly being a constant on her mind lately.

“I don’t know if I can save him,” Agatha whispered with vulnerability you didn’t see often.

You thought of something comforting to say. „I know you will try everything you can to get him back,” you kissed her cheek lightly.

Holding onto her, you didn’t feel completely lost in the wide world, and you realized no matter how bad she screwed up, you’ll always be her light, just like she was your torch, hurtful when held too close for too long but helpful, warm and comforting at the same time. You didn’t know if there was any chance her son was still somewhere at least a little alive, but you knew that if there was one parent in the world who would move mountains and rivers to find their child, it was Agatha.

[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.

[multi-fandoms-posts]

Passion in Chaos

X Men Masterlist

X Men Masterlist 2

SMUT

The Xavier Institute is unusually quiet. Charles has left for a few days to handle some matter, leaving Erik and Y/N in charge of the institute. But tonight, with all the students finally in their rooms and peace settling in, they’ve found a rare moment for themselves.

In the soft light of their bedroom, Y/N lies beneath Erik, their bodies entwined. He is deep inside her, his movements fast and intense, muscles taut. His gaze is soft, filled with affection.

Y/N lets out a loud moan, her hands gripping his shoulders tightly. “Erik…” she whispers, her voice husky with desire and closeness.

Erik, his face resting near her neck, murmurs softly, “You’re incredible.” He quickens the pace, and Y/N can feel how close they both are to the edge. Her nails lightly dig into his back, and she moans again as Erik thrusts deeper and harder.

Suddenly, a deafening bang echoes from inside the building. The entire institute shakes, as if something heavy has toppled or exploded. Erik pauses briefly, his instincts immediately focused on the danger.

But before he can pull away, Y/N grabs a fistful of his hair, gently tugging his head back. Her eyes gleam with determination and desire. “Erik, I swear, if you stop now, you’re sleeping on the couch.”

Erik stays silent for a moment, then raises an eyebrow, an amused smile tugging at his lips. “Is my wife threatening me?” His voice is quiet and teasing, but there’s no trace of anger.

Y/N pulls him closer, her voice demanding. “Yes, and you know I mean it. Finish what you started.”

Erik grins, almost helpless against her resolve. “Impossible,” he murmurs, his words soaked in tenderness. Without another word, he resumes his pace, his movements stronger and more deliberate.

As Y/N moans beneath him, her breathing quickening, a knock suddenly sounds at the door. “Erik! Y/N!” Hank calls from outside, his voice laced with concern. “There’s a problem. Something’s happened out here!”

Erik doesn’t stop, his movements only becoming more intense as Y/N writhes beneath him. “Erik! Y/N!” Hank calls again, louder this time, almost panicked.

Erik, breathless and nearing his own release, finally shouts toward the door, “I’ll… be right there!” The double meaning of his words isn’t lost on Y/N, and she chuckles softly, wrapping her legs even tighter around him.

Erik flashes her a grin before fully focusing on what they’re about to achieve. The world outside their room seems to vanish for a moment as they both finally let go in a shared, intense climax. Y/N cries out, and Erik stays buried deep inside her, his muscles tensed as the last waves of pleasure roll through him.

After they finish, Erik lingers above her for a moment, his forehead resting against hers, both of them panting, savoring the aftermath. Then Erik presses a gentle kiss to her lips, his affection clear in the gesture. “That was worth it,” he murmurs softly, before slowly pulling away.

Y/N, still smiling and completely content, watches him as he stands and grabs his boxers from the floor. He pulls them on and reaches for his shirt, tossing it over his shoulders but leaving it unbuttoned. His chest, still glistening with sweat from their exertion, rises and falls quickly as he leans against the bed.

“Erik!” Hank calls again from the door. “It’s important!”

Erik gives Y/N a knowing look, murmuring with a mischievous grin, “Sometimes, I wish this institute wasn’t so chaotic.”

Y/N laughs quietly, sitting up with her hair tousled and her skin flushed. “You can’t avoid responsibility forever, love. Besides, who would’ve thought the great Magneto had trouble multitasking?”

Erik shakes his head, the grin still on his lips. “You don’t make it easy, you know that?”

“That’s my job,” Y/N replies playfully, giving him one last kiss on the lips.

Erik chuckles softly before standing and heading to the door, where Hank is visibly anxious, waiting.

“Finally,” Hank sighs in relief. “There was a loud bang, and it looks like something exploded in the library. We should check it out.”

Erik nods, throwing Y/N a glance over his shoulder before following Hank. “Let’s go see.”

Y/N grabs her robe and joins them.

When they reach the library, they see a large hole in the wall and a group of younger mutants standing around, looking guilty. Some of the bookshelves have toppled over, and pages are scattered everywhere. Erik lets out a deep sigh as he surveys the destruction.

“What happened here?” he asks in a deep voice, eyeing the students.

One of the students steps forward hesitantly. “I’m sorry, Mr. Lehnsherr. I… I lost control of my powers. It was an accident.”

Y/N stands beside Erik, watching the scene with a mix of amusement and understanding. “It’s always like this when Charles is away,” she murmurs quietly.

Erik shakes his head, but a hint of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Alright,” he says finally. “Let’s clean this up.”

[qrrieterisunnq]

Too Much - Trevor Zegras

trevor!zegras x fem!reader Summary: Y/n is so overwhelmed by everything happening in her life. One night she can’t keep it in, so she lets it out on the first person she has around herself, Trevor A/N: I don't really know what to say/text in here. Just enjoy this angst/fluff and happy rest of the day! requested: yes/no likes are good, reblogs are better <3 gif, not mine word count: 0,7K warning(s): angst, overwhelmed reader, yelling, protective boyfriend Trevor

masterlist | wip's

It’s too much.

Everything is just too much.

Your work, your boss, your parents, and your life.

Everything is just so much on you.

You feel like the weight of the world is lying on your shoulders. If you screw something up everything is just gonna fall apart and you’ll be responsible for it.

With a sigh, you straighten yourself and let out a groan when your back cracks, relief spreading through your muscles. Standing up from your sitting position, you walk over to your room for the book you’ve been reading for the past few days.

You sat back on the couch, getting comfy under the blanket Trevor gave you for your third anniversary, last year. Sighing you let the book pull you into the plot, enjoying the presence of the characters in the book.

Even though you are so drawn into the plot, a voice pulls you out of it, an annoyed groan leaving your lips.

“I’m home!” Trevor yells from the hall announcing his arrival. You say nothing as you continue to read trying to ignore his presence. Not that you are unpleased he’s home, but right now, you need your peace and silence. “My legs are hurting! Couch had us do twenty laps and I’m so tired.” He complains making you roll your eyes. He sits down next to you, peaking from behind your shoulder on what are you reading.

“What?” you snap at him lightly, looking at him with bored eyes.

“Woah! Nothing just looking at what are you reading,” he raises his hands in the air. “No need to be so snappy.” he chuckles shaking his head as he pats your tight.

“I'm not snappy.” you look at him before your attention is back on your book.

Trevor's brows furrow in a thin line at his girl's behavior. He notices the little changes a few days ago, but he tells himself it's because of the big project she's been working on. But now, after the project was done, and she's still like this, he doesn’t know the cause.

“What’s going on babes?” he takes the book in his hands and places it next to him, earning your full attention. “Why are you acting like this?”

“Like what?” you snap at him, standing from your seat when you feel his hand touching your tight. “I’m acting the same, that’s the problem. I’m always the same person!” You shout, throwing your arms in the air. ”I’m always the one who does a slave for everyone around her. My parents, my boss, everyone.” You are heavy breathing with your hands on your hips.

“You aren’t a slave, y/n,” Trevor whispers, a small smile playing on his lips when he walks over to her. He places his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to him. “You are an amazing human. Yeah maybe, sometimes, you are too nice to some people, but you are not a slave,” with a sigh, he cups her cheek and forces her to look him in the eyes. “I may not know what is going on now, but I know you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, my love.” He says with a smile playing on his lips. You rest your head on his chest, tears now sliding down your cheeks from the overwhelming stress that I slowly dripping down your shoulders.

“I am so sorry, that I snapped at you like that.” You cry out, wrapping your hands around his torso as you snuggle closer into him, breathing in his scent.

“That’s completely okay love, I know how it is when there is too much to hold in. You had to let it out. But next time, don’t hold it in for too long. I’m here to communicate with and help you, so use me as much as you want.” Trevor tickles your sides, trying to cheer you up, which he does when you giggle in his chest.

“I will, I promise,” you pull away from him, wiping away the tears and taking a deep breath. “And I’m really sorry. It’s just too much on me and I don’t know what to do first.”

“I get it, I have these times too,” He chuckles, walks over to his bag, and pulls out his hoodie as he tosses it on her. “Put it on.”

“Thank you.” You grin at him, slipping into the hoodie.

[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.

[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.

[huihuiheart]

First For Forever - Woodz

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Soloist Masterlist

Pairing:  Seungyoun x Afab! Reader

Genre: Established Relationship, Light Fluff, Smut

Summary: The happenings on you and Seungyoun’s wedding night. Something so sweet and loving and special.

Warnings: Very very slight ring kink, fingering, light cum eating, unprotected sex, implied cumming inside (though never explicitly said). I think that’s it this is really so soft I was like sick. 

Word Count: 1751

The sparkle of his ring seemed to reflect off your eyes and it made him smile. You adored it so much, the way the ring sat on his finger showed the world that he was yours forever. He loved the way it seemed to affect you so, making you melt from any distance whenever your eyes picked up on it again. It had been an all-night occurrence throughout the long reception after your ceremony. Though Seungyoun was sure he was likely the same way after he proposed and placed the ring on your finger all those months ago, he’s just had time to adjust to the sight unlike you. It was cute how obvious you were though, even if you were also entirely clueless. He had no problem showing the ring off for you though, just like he had never had a problem displaying the claim you held entirely over him. 

Seungyoun is quick in leaving the conversation he was a part of, despite having lost focus on it long ago in favor of noticing you, his bride, from across the room. Making his way back to you, after separating for the first time since the wedding with the goal of greeting more guests. Though neither of you seemed to be able to last without the other for long. Seungyoun smiling at you as he brushes some hair out of your eyes, the same eyes that followed the wedding ring throughout the motion. Only losing sight of it as his fingers brush over your cheek delicately, letting you feel the chill of the metal against your skin and making a shiver run down your spine.

“How are you feeling my love? Doing okay?” It was so simple and yet that alone could have you melting into him. Just leaning against him for a few moments, charging you back up some, even if your battery was draining for the night.

“Yeah, but I think after a few more songs I’ll be ready to tell everyone goodnight and get out of here.” You admit, swaying with him as he hums in response to you.

“You know I’ll never argue with a chance to get you all to myself.” Seungyoun chuckles, kissing your forehead, “Just tell me whenever really. I’m fine with partying longer, but I also would love to dote on my lovely wife, so I shall be content either way.” 

You hum back, contemplating for a few moments before sighing, “Then why wait? It’s time to be alone, just us... husband and wife.” 

"I couldn't agree more, sweetheart." Seungyoun guides you to make the final goodbyes and announce your send-off. Everyone going outside now to do that, lighting your path with lanterns made for such an occasion. Your husband opens the door to the car for you and lets you in before making his way now as well.

He doesn't drive for long seeing as how the two of you won't be leaving for your honeymoon tonight. Instead going back home tonight before leaving the following day to allow you both some comfort and rest before your trip.

Seungyoun helps you out of the car and guides you inside, arms slipping around your center from behind as you both look over your form in the mirror. His lips meet your bare shoulder with a smile, "How about I help you get more comfortable and then draw you a bath? You can relax while I bring in all the gifts."

"The gifts can wait. I just want you, love. Though you're more than welcome to get me more comfortable. I would love nothing more than your touch right now." Seungyoun chuckles, drawing back just to work on unlacing the back of your dress.

“So impatient all the time.” He teases smirking at you in the mirror, “You can wait a little longer my love.”

Your soft whines are cut short when he starts placing tender kisses over your neck, fingers finally slipping under your dress now that it’s fully unlaced and moving to help you slip it off.

“This was tied so tightly on you sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me you were uncomfortable sooner?” He takes your hand to help you step out of the dress now pooling at your feet, leaving you simply in panties and your glittering shoes.

“I barely noticed most of the night, too elated to finally fully be yours.” You admit, not letting go of his hand as you step closer now.

“You can just admit that I’m distracting sweetheart.” Seungyoun teases, his tongue poking at his cheek as he does before he smirks at you, “You are too though. Especially because I couldn’t help but think about how I wanted to show you all the love that I hold for you tonight my lovely wife.”

“And will you show me all the love you hold for me tonight?” You ask him softly and Seungyoung smiles wider now than he has all night. 

“Tonight and every night my lovely wife.” He tells you honestly before leaning in for a sweet kiss. Only this one has more heated undertones. Seungyoun hums into your mouth as he feels you working to unbutton his shirt. His tie had been lost somewhere in the chaos of the car having thrown it in with things after having removed it at the reception. Something you were thankful for as it now meant one less offensive article between you and him. Seungyoun pulls away as you push his shirt off.

“Lay down love, I want to spoil you.” He says, hands on your hips as he already guides you to lay back onto the bed for him. Seungyoun carefully slips your panties off but leaves your shoes on to add to how you’re adorned beneath him. Glittering from the shows and the jewelry gifted to you by him, as well as your wetness of course.

“I don’t think there’s a prettier sight in the world.” Seungyoun’s praise makes you whine, squirming a little at the heat of his gaze. He’s on a mission though, truly meaning it when he said he wanted to spoil you. Two of his fingers slip through your folds to collect some of your arousal before circling lightly over your clit to get more of that. His intent is not to tease though so once he feels you’ve given him enough more his middle finger slips inside while his thumb takes over on your clit. His movements are slow but deliberate, not teasing or lazy. He is in no rush, wanting to allow you both to savor this moment. Seungyoun’s actions seek out all of the points that make you feel the best while his pace allows him to ensure that every detail no matter how minuscule can be committed to memory.

This was not the first time that you both were intimate, but this time was different, special. You were reminded of this when his ring finger slipped in beside his other one, gasping a little louder at the feeling of the cold metal ring there now. Seungyoun’s pupils dilate further at how it shines brighter now that it’s covered in you. The ring teases against you with each slow drag of his fingers until Seungyoun finally pushes them a little deeper when your thighs begin to tremble just slightly.

“That’s it sweetheart, cum for your husband my love.” Seungyoun softly eggs you on as his fingers work more deliberately to get you there, “I want you to show me how good and loved you feel. I want you to leave a trail of it on my fingers and ring my beautiful wife.” 

His sweet words, as they often were, became your undoing. The final push that you needed to give in to how good Seungyoun was making you feel. Something special in the air between you both. Seungyoun’s gaze is soft yet lustful as he brings his fingers to his mouth, humming at the taste of you. His saliva drips down to glisten along with your cum on his wedding ring until he cleans there as well. His hand then cups your jaw, tilting your head to look at him as he settles on his knees between your legs.

“I want you to keep your eyes on me, love. I want us to be fully immersed in one another on our first night as husband and wife.” Seungyoun leans down to place a delicate kiss on your lips for a brief moment before he looks back into your eyes as he slowly pushes in. His gaze never wavers as he intently takes in every expression you make for him, adoring how your eyes are practically filled with stars as you look back up at him. 

Seungyoun’s actions now follow the same pattern as earlier. Every move that he makes is slow and purposeful, a deliberate attempt at reveling in every flawlessly pleasurable detail of you both inside and out. In the process allowing for you to do the same. Spending more time in the bliss of each other now than when you first obsessively learned each other’s bodies. Seungyoun is getting as deep as he can as if he’s looking to learn even more and offer you the same. His pace however does not mean he lacks a desire to make you fall apart for him, on the contrary. He shows you this in how he intentionally moves to press against every spot that sends tingles through your body and his constant attention to your clit. Like him you wish that you could stay in this heavenly moment forever, it is simply too good for that to happen though. Your body signaling that your end was soon to come to your disappointment, especially as Seungyoun notices.

“It’s okay love you can cum for me. We’re husband and wife now, devoted to one another forever. Which means I will work to always give you whatever you desire and deserve including these moments.” Seungyoun assures you watching how your eyes glitter with a few tears at his loving words before being swept away in pleasure. Your expressions and sounds of pure bliss are what send Seungyoun over the edge as well. The man is not working so hard with his thrusts as he rides you both through it, smiling at you as he watches you blink back out of the haze of your orgasm, “I meant every word of what I said, sweetheart… I love you.”

“I love you too.”

[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.