#I miss this artist wherever she is.

[vetyver-soaked-stars]

Photo of: QUINN B-039 and JOSHUA CAIN S-077

DATE: 255X

POST-INSURECTION. MISSION: [REDACTED] GENERAL CORBIN: MIA UNSC LOG: B-039 and S-077 are to return to UNSC post for debriefing due to failure of [REDACTED]. All rogue agents were either MIA or rescued by UNSC militia. Both were hired by a supposed General Corbin along with an Agent Jacobs.

FILES- TELECOM&lt;< 25:34 [[FILES AMENDED BY ONI. ACCESS CODE 113780]]

[elixirfromthestars]

A Night of Frights & Delights

Pairing: Athlete!Bucky Barnes x Artist!Reader (College AU)

Summary: It’s Friday the 13th and the college kids in town decided to host a weekend camping trip on the outskirts of town. Your best friend convinced you to go much to your reluctance. What could go wrong when the one guy you can’t stand is also there?

Word Count: 7k

Warning(s): slight horror themes / suggestive tones + implications / mentions of a past murder (not in graphic detail just campfire storytelling) / slow burn / suspense + other elements of spookiness / touch starved elements / be prepared for lots of back and forth + tension

Prompt: Campsite + forced proximity + “ It’s not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we’ve gotta have a full moon too?”

a/n: here’s my entry for @witchywithwhiskey ‘s summer slasher writing challenge. Any chance to celebrate summerween and I’m there 🤭✨ I got carried away with the spooky element of it and this ended up longer than expected. Thank you for reading! 🧡 Feedback is always appreciated!! 🎃🧡

a steamy part two ❤️‍🔥

“ It’s Friday the 13th! Gather ‘round, for some good ol’ scary campfire stories!” Sam Wilson called out to anyone who would listen. A task that wasn’t the easiest thing to ask for when all the college students in the area were trying to have their last bit of fun before fall semester started. Amongst the ones that weren’t already drunk or passed out, a few were trying to find the perfect opportunity to sneak away into the night.

You on the other hand sat near the bonfire, appreciating the warmth it provided on this chilly night. Your back was resting against a log. The scratchy surface grazes against your black sweater at the slightest movement. Camping wasn’t your ideal choice for a weekend getaway, but when your best friend Jane insisted on you coming along it was hard to say no. Especially, since you had already said no to multiple get-togethers throughout the summer. 

It’s not like you didn’t want to hang out with her. The issue was that wherever she was her boyfriend was—and wherever he was his friends were. And his friends included one smartass star pitcher for your university’s baseball team who made it his life’s mission to be a thorn in your side. 

Needless to say, you couldn’t stand the man.

“ It was actually 1982, not 1985,” Jane whispers her comment to you, nudging your arm lightly. You snapped out of your thoughts and looked at her, your clueless eyes meeting her amused ones. 

“ You’re not paying attention to Sam’s story, are you?” She quietly calls you out, leaning slightly closer. You shake your head sheepishly,“ No. Kind of got lost in thought,” you admit. Jane nods in acknowledgment,“ You’re not missing much. He’s just telling the story of the murders that happened here in ‘82,” she explains. You nod slowly, an eerie chill creeping up your spine. Everyone within fifty miles of the town knew of the horrific crime. It was the worst the town had ever seen. 

A group of teenagers had snuck off into the woods to party a week before their senior graduation. They brought their camping gear to spend the night under the full moon to celebrate the milestone. They had gone so deep into the woods no one heard their music blasting all night. 

No one heard their screams either as their life was taken from them. 

You took a shaky breath, your fingers tracing random patterns into the dirt beneath you. Even though you could recite this story from memory it was different hearing it told in gruesome detail. Something Sam was not shying away from doing. 

“ Don’t let Sam’s story get to you—here have a s’more,” Thor spoke up, handing you a small disposable plate with a freshly assembled s’more. His way of trying to comfort you. 

“ Thanks,” you shot Thor an appreciative smile, taking the sweet treat. Jane’s boyfriend had always been kind to you and you got along well. The mutual friendliness extended to all of his baseball friends.

Well, the friendliness extended to all his friends except for one.  

“ He’s telling it wrong anyway, so don’t pay it any mind,” Jane says causing you to let out a small laugh. Leave it to Jane to alleviate your nerves by just being herself. 

You try to drown out Sam’s true crime retelling and focus on the sugary gooeyness on your lap. Jane and Thor snuggle into each other beside you and a small smile appears on your face at the sight. You take a bite of the s’more, letting the flavors melt into your mouth. 

“ The next morning the cops led a search party into these very woods. Everyone searched day and night for three days straight. Scouting every inch, no stone unturned, to find them. And then one day, one member of the search party found something. That member being my Titi—so listen close,” Sam sets up the big reveal. 

“ Wanna know what they found?” A voice you know all too well whispers into your ear from behind. The hairs on the back of your neck stand as his breath fans your ear. 

“ I already know,” you grit out, turning your head to glare at him. Bucky can’t help the cocky grin that overcomes him when you look at him like that. He makes his way over the log and sits right next to you. You don’t hide the displeasure on your face. 

“ Couldn’t find anyone else to annoy, James?” 

 “ None worth my time, sweetheart—and it's Bucky.” 

You roll your eyes biting back a snarky comment. No matter the number of times he insists on you calling him by his nickname, you refuse to. Only his friends call him Bucky, and you're not friends—far from it. So to you, he’s James and nothing more. 

“ We’re not friends, James. Friends don’t make you miss your biology final,” you remind him bitterly. He looks at you with slight disbelief,“ You’re still stuck on that? How is it my fault the party went until four in the morning?” You bristle at his defensiveness. 

“ I don’t know. Maybe by not kicking everyone out of your apartment?” you retort, taking another bite of your s’more. Hoping to lose yourself in the sweetness of it before the distaste of his presence taints it. 

“ At least the professor let you make it up…” he mutters under his breath. 

“ That’s not the point,” you snip, unable to let him have the last word. You pretend to focus on Sam’s story, but really your attention is on the flames in front of you. The way they dance and crackle as if telling their own story alongside Sam’s. 

Bucky stares at you, his eyes scanning every detail of your face. His favorite pastime is finding all the ways to push your buttons. There’s something about your reactions that he can’t help but want to see more of. He openly enjoys being the only one who can elicit such responses from you. Hell, you could say he was proud of it. 

“ Stop it.” 

“ Stop what?” 

“ The staring.” 

“ Don't want to.” 

You turn to give him a piece of your mind but abruptly stop when you see the way he’s looking at you—or more so the way he’s examining your lips. His eyes reflecting more than just the golden flames in the bonfire. There was something deeper and not entirely unfamiliar. He had looked at you this way before, and yet it was still unrecognizable to you. An emotion you couldn’t pinpoint, but that was heartstopping nonetheless. 

His hand lifts to your face, his thumb brushing away at something on the corner of your mouth. Your tongue instinctively darts out to lick your lips and remove whatever remnants of the s’more are left. Something unreadable flashes in his eyes. You wonder what he must be seeing in yours when his eyes drift from your lips to your gaze. 

“ You had a little something there,” his voice has a deeper cadence to it, contrasting the cheeky grin plastered on his face. That damn grin. It’s all you need to snap out of whatever trance you were just in. 

“ You’re insufferable,” you hiss out, getting up from your spot on the ground and stepping away from the bonfire. You hate how he does this—how easily he’s able to mess with you. It’s like it's his second nature to know exactly how to get a reaction from you. Almost as if he knew you better than you knew yourself.

The vulnerability of it all is what ground your gears the most. Bucky was used to this. The flirting, the back and forth, the teasing, and having girls wrapped around his finger. The last time you were in a relationship was your freshman year of college—a few years ago. It had been too long of being touch-starved that the slightest of touches or gazes brought about a yearning deep within you. One that you swore Bucky could see right through and it made you detest the man more. 

You hated feeling like you were being toyed with. But above all, you hated how much you actually didn’t hate the attention he gave you. 

You make your way over to one of the many trashcans around the campsite and dump the last bits of your s’more in along with the disposable plate. Your appetite for the treat long gone after his little stunt. 

You use your phone as a flashlight as you walk over to where all the tents are stationed. It’s not too far from the bonfire, but far enough that the voices of everyone drown out into a low hum. A few people are already in the tents enjoying the night without the warmth of the fire. 

“ Y/n! Hold up!” Jane calls out to you from behind. You face her confused expression, “ Everything okay?” You nod, your hands hiding in the pockets of your grey sweatpants,“ Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just gonna call it a night,” you say tiredly. You don’t want her to worry or keep her from enjoying her night. 

“ Okay…Are you sure? Because you seemed off after Bucky—” 

“ Please for the love of everything don’t mention him.”

Jane drops the subject entirely, “ Okay, okay. I won’t,” she assures you and pauses for a moment before she adds, “ By the way, I’ll be staying with Thor tonight, so you have our tent all to yourself.” 

“ Oh? Oh…behave yourself, Foster,” you warn her playfully. She rolls her eyes waving off your tease,“ No promises.” You laugh together—the exchange alleviating the heaviness in your shoulders.

After a light farewell, your best friend retreats to the bonfire. You find your eyes drifting from her figure to the back of Bucky’s head. He’s still sitting in the same spot, right next to where you had sat. He was drinking away at a beer as Sam continues his story. You look away, ignoring the way your heart feels a small pang as it wonders if it would have been so bad if you had stayed.

Only Bucky had this way of infuriating you, but enticing you at the same time. A magnetic push and pull that tugs at you whenever you’re near him. 

You crouch down and unzip your humble abode for the night. Gazing up at the sky before heading in. The moon is bright and full amongst the dark hazy clouds. 

“ It's not bad enough to have Friday the 13th, we've gotta have a full moon too?” you grumble before entering the tent. The knowledge of being in here alone all night sounds less appealing now. You wish Sam had told a different story to set the mood for tonight. 

For the next couple of hours, you lose yourself in your sketchbook. Every corner of the tent became your makeshift desk as the soft scratches of graphite filled the air. A small LED lantern casting just enough glow to guide your intricate curves and shadows across the paper. At first, you were sketching a flower you had seen earlier in the day along a trail. You don’t recognize the species, but the cluster of pretty violet petals vividly lived in your head and you wanted it forever memorialized in your sketchbook. 

At some point, however, the petals turn into doodles and then unrecognizable scribbles. The creative flow taking a life of its own. You soon find yourself drawing a pair of eyes on another page. Giving them a space of their own. These eyes you recognize deep down, but they still have the same unreadable expression from earlier. Almost as if you hoped to decipher it by putting it on paper. 

Maybe then it would be easier to look at them without being affected—without feeling that pull. 

There’s a loud thump that echoes close to your tent. You freeze at the sound. By this point, everyone had called it a night and retreated to their sleeping arrangements. It had been at least half an hour that you hadn’t heard a single sound except for the chirping of crickets amongst a chorus of other creepy crawlers. 

When no sound followed the thump you decided to ignore it—acting like you hadn’t heard a thing. And yet, your fingers swiftly moved to turn off the lantern and close your sketchbook, neatly tucking it beneath your pillow. 

Another noise rang out—the skidding of dirt. And this time it was closer to your tent. Not directly outside it, but almost. You don’t know why your heart dropped or why your fingertips went cold, but they did. You tell yourself it’s probably just someone going out to use the bathroom or some other related activity. 

Your body betrayed your mind as it started to feel enclosed in the tent. Like a prey caught in a trap. Hopelessly awaiting the moment the predator decided to take them out. 

You swallow the lump in your throat and with numb fingers, you grab your phone. The tent shrinking around you as your heart pounded in your chest. Going out to investigate the source of the noise wasn't the smartest idea. However, continuing to be a sitting duck in the tent was distressing you more—and that helpless feeling overpowered anything else. 

You slowly unzip the tent, trying to make as minimal noise as possible. You slip on your moccasins, putting one foot in front of the other as you step out into the night. Your surroundings are cast in shadows as the moon seems to be hiding behind a gloomy cluster of clouds. You look around and notice no one else is awake. Only dormant tents with sleeping residents inside accompany you in the night. 

You scan the area, training your ear to see if you can pick up any noise. 

That’s when you hear it—a rustling in the bushes. 

You peer into the woods, your eyes narrowing hoping to center on something, but you can’t see anything. There’s a slight fog that encases the lines of trees encircling the campsite obstructing your view. 

You take a few steps forward, hugging your sweater closer to your body. The outside air catches you off guard with its falling degrees. The shadows at every corner of the woods become creatures of the night if you stare at them for too long. 

Why were you doing this? Why had you decided this was a good idea? 

You questioned yourself. An unpleasant shiver goes up your spine at the thought of you walking straight into a creature’s claws. Your footing stumbled, and yet you found yourself walking further in the direction of the sound, the faint glow of your phone illuminating your path. You decided against using the actual flashlight on your phone as it could easily alert whatever was hiding in the foliage of the woods. 

You don’t go too far from the campsite. Your legs only take you a few feet away from the perimeter of it before tensing at the way the hoot of an owl cuts through the stillness of the night. Your breath caught in your throat, and you gripped your phone tighter. The edges of it digging into your skin. 

“ What are we looking for?” A voice too close for comfort whispers behind you and it causes you to shriek, your phone tumbling to the ground as you jump away from the source. Your eyes zero in on the culprit—your blood boiling when your gaze meets his ceruleans. 

James Buchanan fucking Barnes.

A deep chuckle erupts from Bucky at your reaction. Not only at the way you jumped, but also at the way you’re now seething. He stands there in a basic white tee and black joggers, his hair slightly unkempt from lying on it earlier in the night. 

“ What the hell is wrong with you?” You hiss, bending down to pick up your phone from the ground. The anxiety from before dissipating into irritation. 

“ Me? What’s up with you? Sneaking around in the woods at night. That’s kinda creepy, sweetheart,” he jabs with a smirk. You roll your eyes, exhaling to steady your breath,“ Stop calling me that. And I'm not sneaking around—I heard something.” 

“ And you came to check it out?” 

“ Yeah.”

“ You have no survival instincts, do you?”

“ And you do? You're out here too.”

Bucky crosses his arms, his eyes roaming over your figure. He’s thoroughly entertained by your attempt to catch whatever is out there in your cozy outfit. It’s not exactly monster-hunting material. 

“ I let my buddy have the tent for the night. He’s got a girl in there. Thought I'd sleep under the stars like nature intended,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. A wry smile appears on your face,“ Aren’t you a great friend,” you reply sarcastically. He’s about to give you a snippy retort when a branch breaks ahead of you, causing you both to snap your attention to it. 

You both go silent—wondering if you’ll hear anything more. Bucky takes a few steps forward to stand in front of you. Positioning himself between you and the unknown noise. 

“ Is that what you heard earlier?” He asks, his voice a hushed whisper. Your eyes drift up his form and the way his arm is slightly outstretched in your direction in a protective stance. He’s looking in the direction of where the sound came from, but then his head turns back to look at you. 

It takes you a second to gather your words,“ Sort of. At first there was like a loud thud by my tent and then some rustling—and now this,” you describe the unfolding events thus far.

He frowns,“ Is your tent the one by Wanda’s?”At his question you nod,“ Yeah…why?” He tilts his head slightly as he tries to recollect something. 

“ The two-person one with the purple edges?” 

“ Yeah…” 

His features soften, dawning on a sheepish expression. His protective stance faltering as he scratches the back of his neck,“ The noise was me then—sorry. I tripped over something while looking for a place to piss.” 

“ Oh…” Is all you manage to say. Feeling utterly foolish for getting so worked up over nothing. What you had thought was something going bump in the night ended up being Bucky stumbling to relieve himself. 

Another branch cracks in the murky fog. Reminding you that although the noises you heard outside your tent were explained, the ones here, not too far from you and Bucky—weren’t. 

“ I’m gonna go check it out,” he takes a step forward, but you stop him. Your hand shoots out to grip the hem of his shirt,“ Don’t! Are you crazy? You’re going to get yourself killed or something!”

His eyebrows raise, not expecting you to have that reaction.“ Are you worried about me, sweetheart?” A smirk spreads across his face, a twinkle in his eye.“ As if—screw you,” you deny harsher than you intended, removing your hold from his shirt. This only provokes him more, his smirk turning into a cheeky grin,“ You wanna?” 

“ You know what? I hope whatever is out there gets you.” 

“ Oh, you’d miss me if it did. But don’t worry—if it gets me, I’ll make sure to let it know you’re the one worth chasing." 

Bucky doesn’t give you a second to process what his words really mean. Instead, he takes out a small flashlight from the pocket of his joggers. He turns it on, shining the area ahead of him. A brazen expression is the last thing you see before he wanders into that direction of the woods as if there wasn’t potentially something dangerous up ahead. 

You wanted to protest, but you didn’t. Rather, you end up standing there amongst the wilderness, watching as his form gets smaller and smaller until it disappears into the haze of the fog. 

You feel uneasy as soon as you don’t see him. Your chest feels heavy with the unknown. You call out to him. Thinking maybe he’s doing this to prove something or to mess with you. When he doesn’t call back you find apprehension in the sinking pit of your stomach. 

Behind you, the campsite is still in sight. The smart thing to do would be to go wake someone up—like Thor—to go after Bucky. However, your feet work faster than your mind does, pushing you to follow after him. 

This time you use the flashlight on your phone to light your path. The luminescence cuts through the fog as you trudge through it. Leaves crunching beneath your feet, and hands outstretched lightly to use the passing trees as support to persist onward. 

You walk for a good few minutes before you finally spot him. He’s standing by a tall pine tree, his right hand tracing over something etched into the bark. 

“ James! Come back to the campsite!” You whisper yelled, approaching him. He hummed,“ So you are worried about me,” the smugness in his tone doesn’t go unnoticed by you. When he turns to face you his eyes tell you he was expecting you. Like he knew in the end your stubbornness and pride wouldn’t matter because you’d end up following after him after all.

You are worried about him. He needs no further proof than your actions. 

There was a prickling of annoyance building up in your system. More than anything, you wanted to get out of the woods as soon as possible. The campsite feels like a haven awaiting your return. 

“ Can you stop being so insufferably cocky for one second and just come back to the camp before I drag your ass back?” You say through gritted teeth. You wanted to have more bark to your bite, but the inkling dread of what could be out here stopped you from crossing that line. 

He stepped closer to you, the glow of his flashlight reflecting in his eyes in tiny glimmers,“ Why? I thought you didn't care if ‘whatever is out there’ got me.”

“ I don’t—but I’d hate to be an accomplice to that thing.” 

“ Admit it. You’re worried about me.”

By now Bucky was mere inches away from you. Having slowly sauntered right up to you. His eyes were daring you to speak the truth—his arrogant smile tempting you to do even more. 

“ I came to get you back, but if you’re determined to stay here then stay,” you huff, spinning on your heels to storm off. 

Bucky’s hand reaches out and encloses your wrist gently. Just enough to keep you from walking away. He sighs with defeated ire. 

“ Sweetheart, why won't you admit—” he’s cut off by the swift movement of something dashing past the both of you. He immediately pulls you in closer, his arms encasing you protectively—his body a shield. One arm is wrapped around your waist while the other holds your head. Your own body leans into his as if bracing for impact. 

From the corner of your eye, you can see the culprit of the racket. A deer dashing through the woods like it had somewhere to be. You held back a laugh at the revelation. 

This is what had you so worried this whole time? A deer? 

Even so, your heart races in your chest. And Bucky has you so tightly pressed into his that you can feel the way his own heart is thrumming rapidly. Both of your breaths work to steady from their instability as you realize there is nothing truly to be worried about. 

You stay like this for what seems like an eternity. Finding comfort in each other’s arms. The fog dances around your figures as if pushing you closer. The tips of your fingers tingle from where they’re pressed at his chest. 

When you finally register whose touch it is, you pull away. Bucky reluctantly lets you go. His arms awkwardly falling to his sides. You don’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to start.

Why was his instinct to protect you? To keep you from harm’s way? 

And why had you felt the safest all night in his arms? 

You swallow the questions that desire to escape. There’s a part of you that feels like you should thank him, but then the other part feels stupid for wanting to do so. Knowing how much it would feed his ego to vindicate him as a hero. 

“ Guess it was just a deer, huh?” Bucky tries to cut through whatever tension is starting to build. 

“ Yeah…silly us…” you reply, half-heartedly. Your mind still reeling from his touch. 

You both go quiet again. The silence welcomes you where words fail to. 

Out of nowhere, you feel a tiny bead land on your head. Followed by one on your hand and then your cheek. It's beginning to drizzle. The rain cutting through the trees and promising to kiss every inch of your skin. 

“ We should get going,” Bucky says, his palm cupped to catch a few droplets. 

“ Yeah, that’s a good idea,” you agree, clearing your throat. In other circumstances, Bucky would rejoice and point out how, for once, you aren’t arguing with him. But not right now—not at this moment. Not when the memory of holding each other stirred something within you both. 

No, now instead you walk back to the campsite in silence. You’re a few steps ahead as Bucky decides to tow along at a slower pace. Seemingly lost in thought. 

When you’re back at the campsite your eyes dart to your tent. It’s within reach. A safety you can hideout in until the emotions Bucky arose in you fade away.  

“ Can I chill in your tent for a while? Just until the rain stops,” Bucky surprises you with his request. Until you remember he gave up his tent to his friend for the night. 

“ What? No,” your response is immediate. The thought of you and Bucky alone in your tent causes many scenarios to run through your head. You didn’t think you’d make it through the night with him in it. You were barely hanging on as it is. 

“ I just saved your life.” 

“ You did not.”

“ Did too.” 

“ James, you absolutely did not–” 

“ Please,” his soft plea tugs at the very part of you that wants to say yes. He’s not the kind of guy to beg, but he’ll do anything to not stand out in the cold rain. You being in an enclosed space with him was just a bonus. 

An extremely tantalizing bonus. 

“ Fine…but only until the rain stops,” you concede. You weren’t heartless enough to leave him out in the rain. 

You zip open the tent and climb inside. You remove your moccasins and leave them by the entrance. The inside is spacious enough for the two of you, but you still find yourself going into the furthest right corner of it. You sit crossed-legged as you turn on the small LED lantern to illuminate the tent with its muted glow. He makes his way inside, his hair glistening from the rain. He leaves his muddied slides by your moccasins. 

“ This tent is way nicer than the one Sam and I got,” he comments, running a hand through his hair to dispel the droplets. He’s trying to make light conversation, keeping his distance as he sits in the corner by the entrance diagonally from you. 

“ Jane’s family is really into camping so she had this one laying around…” you mention. The oddity of small talk between you fills the space with a foreign dynamic. The rain goes from a sprinkle to a pour. Hitting the top of the fabric cacoon in harsh strokes.  

He chooses to pivot the conversation.“ Do you have everything ready for fall semester?” He asks you, maneuvering to sit with his knees bent, his shirt hiking up the smallest bit to expose the skin at his hips. You avert your gaze when your heart does a little flip. 

“ Almost. I still have one or two textbooks to get,” you reply, playing with a few loose threads of the blanket beneath you. Anything to not have your eyes wander back to him. 

He scoffs lightly,“ You already got your textbooks? There’s no way. I always get ‘em after the first week.” Unlike you, he can’t seem to keep his pretty blues away from you. Your features heightened in the gentle sheen of the lantern. Intricate shadows scattered across your figure that made you look ethereal. The way his heart hammered in his chest romanticizing the sight of you.

“ That's because I’m responsible and you’re not.” 

“ I am responsible. As captain of the baseball team—”

“ Spare me the team leader speech, please,” you groan, stopping him from continuing. There’s only so much you can take for one night. And hearing Bucky light up as he talks about the one thing he’s passionate about—the one thing that humanizes him to you beyond his usual cheeky self. It would do more to you than just make your heart do a little flip.

You’d end up saying or doing something you wouldn’t be able to take back. 

“ Look, Y/n, I’m just trying to make conversation here. You don’t have to be so difficult all the time. Just talk to me,” Bucky brings you out of your thoughts not only by his exasperated tone, but by the way your name rolls off his tongue. He so rarely calls you by it. He’s called you sweetheart endlessly—and he’s even slipped a few sunshines in the mix—but your name was foreign to his vocabulary.  

 Bucky is usually good at dealing with your constant back and forth. Some days it's the only thing he looks forward to. However, right now it was irritating him how much you pushed back. He wanted you to give in. To what, he wasn’t sure. But he wondered what normalcy felt like with you—what just a damn friendly conversation felt like. 

You sigh, meeting his eyes.“ I don’t want to talk. Sorry, I think I’m just tired. Maybe we should go to bed,” you suggest, hoping that if he says yes you can sleep away the bubbling of emotions in your chest. 

You can see the way he contemplates something, biting the inside of his bottom lip. Now he’s the one holding back. A beat passes and you nervously wonder if he’ll turn down your suggestion. 

“ Fine—it's late anyway. But only if I get to sleep next to you. I promise I’ll keep my distance. It’s just there’s water leaking through the zipper at the entrance,” he mentions, his hand motioning to the entry. Your eyes dart to where he’s pointing and sure enough there’s a small puddle of water pooling by it. Not knowing how long the rain would continue, you knew you had to deal with the issue.

You grab Jane’s camping gear that holds numerous amount of supplies in all of its various pockets. She always came extra prepared no matter the occasion. You take out a washcloth, scooting over to the entrance to soak up the forming puddle. You decide to leave it there neatly tucked underneath where the water was finding its way in.

“ Alright, but if you snore I'm kicking you out,” you warn, but it’s more playful than serious. Something to lighten the mood before you go to bed. A way to dissipate whatever tension’s built up so you'd be able to fall asleep. 

It’s hard to cut through the tension and alleviate its symptoms when your shelter from the storm seems to shrink the more you chat with Bucky. And now sitting right next to him—shoulder to shoulder—it seems like a damn near impossible task. 

" I’ll take my chances. But just so you know, I don’t go down without a fight,” he winks at you, your shoulders brushing. Your heart rate picks up and it takes everything within you to stare into his eyes and not focus on the way that simple contact sent a shiver down your spine. 

His eyes drift to your lips causing your breath to hitch. The implications of where this could go are enough to pull you away from his spell. 

“ Goodnight,” you choke out. Subtly rushing over to your sleeping bag and settling into it. You don’t see when he shakes his head, but you do hear how he chuckles lowly. He mumbles something under his breath, but you can’t pick it up. 

He makes his way over to Jane’s sleeping bag, but lays on top of it instead of nestling into it. Choosing to cover himself only in the maroon fleece blanket that was draped over your body too. 

“ Goodnight,” he finally says, his body turning to face away from you. You respond by turning off the lantern. The space is now engulfed by darkness. Only the faintest of light shines in from the outside, letting your eyes trace the outlines of objects. 

 You turn to your side. Your back facing his. You take a deep breath, concentrating on the sound of the rain to hopefully lull you into a slumber. But the air felt too thick and your body was burning up from the heat radiating under the blanket. There was a good foot or so separating your body and Bucky’s. And yet, you could feel the heat radiating off of him as if he was pressed up right against you. 

It was too much. You swore you started sweating, so you shuffled under the covers and out of the sleeping bag. Every movement slow and deliberate as if to not snap the rope keeping the palpable tension in place. 

When only the plush fleece covered your body, the heat radiated less. But the fluttering of the blanket caused Bucky’s cologne to waft your way. A pleasant scent of musky woodiness with a hint of something that was entirely him. You gripped the cover tightly and counted to ten in your head. You were going mad. 

“ Would you stop hogging the blanket? ” Bucky muttered from beside you. There were a lot of things he wanted to tell you to stop doing. Because you and your constant fidgeting were driving him crazy. Every fiber of his being holding back from doing something to snap that rope. 

You didn’t realize you had been pulling it your way until he mentioned it. Your grip on it loosened,“ Sorry. I wasn’t hogging it though,” you argued for no reason other than to fill the silence. 

“ Yes, you were.” 

“ No, I wasn’t.” 

There was something about the proximity of your bodies that made the blanket seem smaller. Like there was no possible way it could equally cover both of your sleeping forms. Maybe this is what caused you to then tug at it, however, he holds it firmly to himself too.  

Persistently you pull at the blanket again. He pulls back—a tug of war ensues between you. You can hear him huff in the darkness, but you're not letting up. Bucky couldn't care less about the blanket. He only cared about not letting you get the upper hand. His competitive streak showing.  

While you solely really didn’t want to let him win. 

You wrap the end of the blanket around yourself—almost like a cacoon. The delicate fleece encases you. Leaving the bare minimum amount for Bucky to cover himself with. 

“ You have got to be one of the most stubborn people I have ever met in my goddamn life,” he practically growls as he yanks forcefully on the blanket. A tiny yelp escapes you as you get pulled along with it. 

You underestimated the strength of the star pitcher. 

You end up on top of him. The blanket now an extra cushy barrier between your bodies. In the dim light, your eyes lock, and you can faintly see the outline of a boyish grin on his face. You don’t move away. There’s like an invisible force that keeps you there. Your body pressed against his feeling his warmth tenfold. You can’t tell if either of you are breathing because all you're aware of now is how his heart beats in time with yours. 

“ You’re insufferable you know that?” you swallow hard, your voice lacking its usual bite.

“ You sure about that, sweetheart?” he challenges, his voice barely above a whisper. His lips brushing against yours with feather-light contact.

When had your lips gotten so close? 

You don’t know who leans in first. The one who finally breaks the standoff because your lips seem to meet at the same time. The kiss is sweet, but with a slight hesitance to it. As if neither of you are completely sure the other wants this. Or more like neither of you believes this is happening. However, when his hands grip the back of your thighs, sliding your legs from on top of him to his sides so you straddle him—you believe it. And when your hands find themselves threading in his hair—he believes it. 

One kiss that tests the waters turns into one that slowly sinks into the feeling. Until the two of you fully submerge into the depths of whatever has been simmering between you for what seems like too long. Delicate kisses that get more heated—more intense as your lips continue to meet. Bucky beams at the fact that you’re no longer pushing, but pulling into him. His craving for you only increasing now that he’s had a taste. 

His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, slow and gentle. Asking for permission to deepen the kiss. Bucky Barnes isn’t the type to be slow and gentle—but when it comes to you he finds himself wanting to relish every second he gets. Not knowing when he’ll get another moment like this with you again. 

Your lips part enough for him to slip his tongue in to truly kiss you like he wanted to. As soon as you grant access he takes full opportunity to explore every corner of your mouth. His tongue molding with yours in fervor. Your fingers lightly tug at his hair while his hands roam your body memorizing every curve and dip. Wherever he gripped and caressed, his touch left heat in its wake. 

A heat you had to contain before it consumed you both. 

“ If you think you’re getting lucky tonight—think again. This is the most you’ll get,” You say breathlessly, pulling away to help your lungs remember what oxygen is. 

He groans, breath panting, the outline of his pout evident in the dim light,“ Don’t do this to me, sweetheart. Can’t leave me like this.” His voice a desperate whine that allured you to keep going. 

“ Too bad. You're dreaming if you think this is going any further.” 

“ God, you don’t wanna know what I've dreamed about.” 

“ Shut up,” you cut off his groan with another kiss. Fierce enough to silence him immediately. He hopes you shut him up like this more often. 

Your lips meet again in a hasty lock. No hesitation now as your tongues meet quicker. You seem to be obsessed with his hair as you run your fingers through it again. He shivers at the touch. His hands slide under your sweater to trail along your soft skin. Keeping his hands along your back and waist. Teetering around the boundary you drew, so he didn’t get carried away. But it was hard when kissing you felt as good as throwing the perfect game—maybe even better.

He realizes the emotions you bring out of him are worth a lifetime waiting for.

He pulls away this time to catch his breath, his hands sliding up your body to cup your face,“ I’m in no rush, sweetheart. I’ve got all the time in the world to take it all the way—make you fall for me.” 

You hum, leaning into his touch,“ You seem sure of yourself. ”

His voice is rough yet affectionate when he speaks,“ I’m sure of you, sweetheart. You’re worth every second, and I’m not stopping until you see it too.” 

He gives you one final tender kiss. One that's full of promise for the future. You weren’t sure if it was his words or the meaning in the kiss that stole your breath away. 

After a few seconds, you both pull away. Separating your bodies from each other to provide that much-needed space before lines were crossed.

“ Goodnight, Bucky,” you say, staring up at the ceiling, wondering how you would keep your hands and lips to yourself come tomorrow. Bucky’s heart skipped a beat when you called him by his nickname. Bringing a genuine smile to his face, loving the way it sounded coming from you. 

“ Goodnight, Y/n.”

Even after saying goodnight, the two of you can’t fall asleep immediately. You try to, but there are small moments in the night where you drift back to each other. Where in the darkness your lips meet again and again—satiating the tension in parts. Where your hands find themselves under the covers and layers of clothing. Flaming the fans of desire just enough so it doesn’t completely burn out, but smoldering to be reignited at any moment’s chance. 

You don’t realize when you fall asleep. Your eyelids growing heavy at some point tangled up in his body under the covers. Your face in the crook of his neck. His head resting on top of yours. Your bodies fit like puzzle pieces like they were meant to be connected in every way. 

It’s not until that morning when you wake up and find yourself in his arms, snuggled into his side, that the events of last night sink in. You pull away the tiniest bit. Merely enough to be able to get a look at him. The brown strands of his hair tousled and clinging to his forehead. The slope of his nose, his dark lashes fanned delicately against his skin, and the tiniest parting of his lips. He looks peaceful—almost angelic as he slumbers. 

You’re itching to sketch the image in front of you. 

You can’t stop yourself from reaching out to touch the strands at his forehead. It’s enough to have his eyes flutter open, their color brighter in the daylight. He gives you a lazy smile the instant he realizes last night wasn’t a dream and you really were here, nestled in his arms. 

No words were exchanged, but both of you were conscious of the line you had drawn last night. And yet, you both also knew that in time, that line would be crossed again and again. Until the line blurred into oblivion.

[betyloca]

members of the x-men with a s/o who was in a mutant circus and his/her mutation in which she is a symbiote

scott summers

• heard that the new student came from a circus

• I wouldn't ask I wouldn't want to ask and make you uncomfortable

• but he didn't want to miss the opportunity to meet a new student

- Hi, I'm Scott Summers.

- Hello, I'm y/n.

- If you need to get out of here I know how to escape and take you wherever you want

• this boy had no idea what your mutation was, he thought you were very strong

• until he saw you create symbiotic tentacles

• He is impressed by your mutation and offers to help you in your training.

• worries when there are loud sounds that could hurt you

• is impressed with the amount of food you can eat

•He loves your full symbiote form and thinks you're very intimidating, which would help him scare people for fun.

• he lets you work with him so that you can be with him

jean gray

• found out that a new student had arrived

• She knows where you come from and what your life was like in the circus because she read your mind.

• you were in the courtyard of the mansion when you met her

- Hi I am ..

- y/n I know I'm Jean Gray

- how do you know my name?

- I'm a telepath

- oh can I sit with you?

- of course, why not

• they began to be almost always with her

• One day you showed him your mutation by making claws appear and your arm turning a symbiotic black color.

• You thought you had scared her but she already knew about your mutation. You're glad she wasn't scared.

• She knows what it's like for people to fear you so she doesn't let anyone mess with you.

• He likes to have lunch with you in the mansion garden even though you always end up eating almost everything due to your voracious hunger.

• likes it when you do stunts to impress the

• He likes it when you are in your symbiotic mass form and you are lying on his bed or couch and you are on his chest sleeping while he caresses you.

• I wouldn't let you have fun with her, she's afraid that she'll hurt you with her telepathy.

• He doesn't get scared when he sees your full symbiote form because he knows you would melt at his touch.

kurt wagner

• he was excited at the idea of making a new friend

• He heard rumors that you came from a circus. He knew what it was like to live there since he was in one.

• you were walking through the hallways lost when you ran into him

- Excuse me, do you know where the classrooms are?

- If you want I can take you

- okay thanks, I'm y/n

- I'm Kurt Wagner

• immediately became your friend

• He doesn't leave your side until he told you that he also lived in a circus

• That's how they began to share experiences of how they lived

• He likes it when you show off your stunts since you were a trapeze artist.

• One day when they were at the mall a guy started making fun of his appearance making him feel horrible.

boy: look that guy looks like a monster hahaha* laughing with his friends*

Kurt: We better go* while looking at the ground*

y/n: hey, the only monster is me, you idiot* while deforming his face making his eyes white and his mouth bigger with sharp fangs*

boy: ooh shit let's go * while he runs with his friends *

• He is impressed by your mutation and likes to ask what else you can do.

• gets worried when there are loud noises and when it happens he covers your ears

• At Christmas I give you headphones to prevent you from hearing the fireworks so they don't hurt you.

• keeps you away from anything flammable wants you to be safe

• He likes it when you are in your symbiotic dough form. He thinks you are very cute. He loves having you in his hands while he feeds you (he likes to concentrate on you).

•When this boy finds out that you can have fun with a person, he feels curious and nervous when you have fun with him.

• when he gets used to it he likes to be with you all the time talking to you while you talk to him in his head

• At first he was scared by your full symbiote form but he didn't mean to. He liked how intimidating you looked but he knows you wouldn't like him

[sykokilljoyy]

If reqs are still open, could you do w2s harry x golden retriever!Reader? Like she’s just always happy and overjoyed? I’m curious to see their dynamic

WROETOSHAW X GOLDEN RETRIEVER!READER HEADCANONS

a/n: i am in love with whoever sent this anon. i love people w golden retriever energy they're my favs so this is my fav y/n concept ever ever. also quickly learnt i have no idea how to spell retriever it's so hard for no reason. love u all!! more writing coming soon x

firstly, this man is cuddly. i don't care who you ask, he's a real life teddy bear and i'm not accepting any arguments

so when it comes to you, and your very apparent love language of touch, this sweet man cannot stop his arms from opening to you.

2am, 6am, 11pm, no matter when, and no matter the reason, he can't deny how persuasive your giddy grin can be, and the puppy dog eyes, of course

you're his biggest supporter by a mile

he makes some toast?? round of applause for this man

you're so proud of him no matter what

and you make it so obvious, which he appreciates beyond words

you both come as a package

wherever he goes, you go – happily, with a smile on your face

to summarise the dynamic, it's a lot of heart eyes

the first time you both went public with the relationship, on a Sidemen Sunday of all places, the comments consisted of basically a lot of;

'oh my god the way they look at him is so cute'

'i can't get over the way they look at him'

'Y/N IS ADORABLE I CAN'T'

harry is a big gift giver

sometimes it's hard for him to convey his emotions with words, he can struggle with affection from time to time

but when things get hard and he can't tell you how much he loves you, you'll come home to a beautiful necklace, or tickets to a concert from favourite artist, or a romantic getaway somewhere expensive

you hop excitedly into his room to thank him

he's sitting at his desk, nervous, hoping his gift is telling you what he can't

him seeing your bright, loving smile and the buzz in your eyes makes his whole body relax and he finally finds the words

“i love you so much, y/n”

you jump to him, face buried in his neck, and he can't deny that the feeling of your embrace makes his heart sore out of his chest

one morning, after a long day the day before

you’re laying in his bed, barely conscious, your eyes still misty from sleep

immediately, you feel harry’s arms pull gently at your waist, bringing you towards him

his lips are on your cheek, hands touching your skin softly

he can feel your smile without even opening his eyes

“you know you reach for me in your sleep” he whispers, his voice is still haunted by sleep

“because i love you, and you’re always warm”

“you’re like a golden retriever, you know”

he feels you smile wider

the only downside of this dynamic, is when arguments arise

conflict is always natural in a relationship, and you do understand that

but you wear your heart on your sleeve, and your admiration for your boyfriend is so strong that when it gets rough, and maybe communication gets skewed, you find it incredibly hard

if he needs space, you find it difficult to keep your mind from him

you give him whatever he needs to get his head straight, and he does the same, but it rattles you a little, not being with him when you need to the most

but when he calls you one night, with his tone warm as honey, asking how you are, that he's missed you and he's ready to talk things through, your heart fills with happiness and relief

overall, it's the sweetest dynamic, and harry adores it

you're a bundle of joy with a heart of gold, and the love you have for this man, you're never secretive about it

he wouldn't ever change it for the world <3

[luveline]

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

three | chapter list

Finding out you’re a princess isn’t half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can’t seem to stop flirting with you. 

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au, all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance, slowburn, background wolfstar

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Julianna is a real princess. As a granddaughter of the Queen, step-daughter of a prince, her title is official. She’s been a princess nearly all her life, and it’s a detail you can’t miss. 

James’ hand is hot but amicable against your shoulder blade. He hasn’t stepped away from you since Julianna arrived, though what threat she poses has yet to be seen. She doesn’t seem particularly volatile. You can’t imagine her in all her dewy skin and fine clothing lifting a finger, let alone her fist. 

“Mama says you’re an artist,” she drawls. 

“Not really.” How her mother knows anything about you is a mystery. “It’s a hobby, is all.” 

“And you didn’t finish university?”

“No.” You don’t owe her anything. You know you don’t. But it’s not just her you want to defend yourself to, not when Remus is sitting by the window of the parlour and James is close enough to hear your heartbeat. “I tried to, obviously, but I couldn’t, uh, afford to not work.”

“Ah.”

You don’t expect her to understand it. You know most people don't. Studying and working, the majority can handle both. You’d been ashamed of yourself for failing, but you’d come to the realisation that it was sink or swim. You could sink —resent yourself for needing more time, more space, more accommodation— or you could swim. Accept your ‘shortcomings’. Make the most of what you have. 

Find yourself in a foreign country surrounded by the highly educated and the ridiculously wealthy. People who might never comprehend why you’ve struggled, or how. 

In that moment, you decide to treat this heart-wrenching trip as nothing more than a holiday. James is nice to you. The food is free and apparently plentiful. The grounds… 

Fuck, the grounds. The scenery. The royals aren’t currently living in their most famous residence, Loswell Castle, but are instead mourning the Prince at the more private and more subtle Bellaverden House. Subtle, yet gorgeous. The grass is green and stretches as far as the eye can see in all directions, broken up only by the silhouette of the alps to the east and the shimmering Lake Orlo to the west. The palace itself is nothing like you’d expected, and so far from the capital city of Genovia it is no surprise to find that the royals let their personal tastes bleed into every corner. It’s tasteful, silent wealth, no crystal chandeliers hanging from the eaves but instead a Rembrandt in the hallway. No solid gold cutlery, but instead Noritake porcelain tea cups and their matching exorbitant saucers.

“Loswell is the gaudier of the two houses,” James had said, evidently pleased by your wide-eyed surprise.

A nice boy who’s being paid to spend time with you and his funny friends. All you have to do is survive the paparazzi (check!) and your suspicious possible relatives (less so).

Any hour now, the paternity test will come up negative and they’ll be shepherding you home in search of the actual princess, wherever she may be. 

If she exists at all. 

“You haven’t eaten anything today,” James says softly, for your ears only. “Should we go down to the kitchens?”

It’s hard to describe the true and daunting scale of Bellaverden House, but James’ use of ‘kitchens’ rather than ‘kitchen’ sums it up nicely. 

Julianna rolls her shoulders, reaching for a black telephone on the side table. “No need. We’ll have it brought up. What do you like? They have yards of fresh pasta prepared by now. Doesn’t matter, I’ll ask for some of everything.”

“Oh, no,” you say, stepping out of James' reach. “I don’t want to be an imposition while I’m here.”

“That ship has sailed,” she says neatly. 

Ouch. You look back to James without intending to, an automatic movement. He’s become your safety net too quickly. His job is to protect you from harm, not your catty maybe-cousin’s mild disdain. 

“Sit,” Julianna says. “James, you can take up station in the hallway. Go on.”

Her voice possesses all the snobbish airiness you’d expect it to. She’s regal, elegant, and rude. James’ hand stretches toward yours, your fingers not quite touching. You think it might be his silent way of saying he won’t be far.

He gives you a reassuring half-smile. “If you need me,” he says. 

“Tutor,” Julianna adds once James is at the door, “you can leave us.”

“Remus, please.” You smile at Julianna appealingly, piping up before she can steal your last lifeline. “I need him to tell me what silverware to use. If I have any hope of catching up, I’ll have to start learning about proper etiquette straight away.”

You look to your tutor to make sure he’s on board. Remus gestures for you to sit and crosses the hardwood floors between you, his footsteps soundless. Julianna sniffs, your suggestion agreeable but tiresome for her, and pulls the telephone receiver to her ear. 

Remus settles into the chair next to yours at the table. 

“Don’t worry. We won’t leave you for wolves,” he says.

You’re grateful. You nod to the book in his hands. “What are you reading?”

He turns the book around. A Comprehensive History of Contemporary Genovia. 

“I’ve never had to educate someone who didn’t already know a very specific, very intricate history of our country,” he says in his melding voice, the barest hints of his accent peaking through. He says our country like you already belong as he does, not native but citizen anyhow. “I provide supplementary education for the well-educated, I… I’m like a second chance for rich slackers. You’re neither, and so I’m not sure how I can make this easy on you.”

You admire his thinking. You’ve been lucky to find yourself in the care of people who put your comfort first. Remus, James, Sirius, even the ambassadors of the country, and the matron you’d been introduced to upon your arrival here, they’ve all been so conscientious. 

But it won’t matter. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he says. 

“You do?”

“You’ve made it clear how much faith you have in the current situation. I believe…” that you’re who we suspect you are, you think he might say, but he parts his legs to bump his knee into yours. “I believe we’re going to be good friends.”

That is… “Thank you,” you say softly.

The telephone jingles as Julianna slams it down. “So, what’s with the bruise?” she asks. “And the bad makeup. Mean boyfriend back home?”

Her cavalier attitude chafes. “I was a little too close to the door when someone opened it,” you say.

“Ah.”

Again with the Ah. Extra syllables must be at cost. 

Positivity, you remind yourself. This is a vacation. This inane and insane need to constantly prove yourself to the people around you is going to make you crazy, especially when all of this is temporary. Who cares what princess Julianna thinks of you now when, in a day or two, she’ll remember you as nothing more than the girl who they brought by mistake? And wouldn’t it be nice to just… not care? Who cares what Julianna thinks?

You stand and walk to the door where James is standing, because calling for him would make you feel like an entitled dick. He turns his head to you obligingly. 

“Would you come back inside? The painting is giving me the jeebies.”

“That’s a portrait of your great great grandmother.”

“She’s scary.”

He claps your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “If the test comes out negative, I’ll happily commit royal espionage for you and fix the results.”

“That is not a joke you should make,” Remus calls mildly. 

“Probably not. I’ve made it now. Sit down, Princess, the food’s arriving.”

The food they bring up to you is Genovian specialty cuisine, recipes borrowed from the Italians hundreds of years ago, and how fortunate you are for that. You have no clue where to start, surrounded by rich smells of broth and stewed vegetables, the spritely aroma of white wine and tomatoes so fresh their roasted skins split under the gentle bottom of your spoon. 

James refuses to eat with you, as he’s on the clock, but Remus sits down at the table as promised to guide you through the fascinatingly intricate etiquette it takes to be a new royal. 

“That’s Cioppino,” Remus says, pointing to a dark red stew bragging large pieces of crab, smaller chunks of a white meat you’re unsure of, and the distinct dark brackets of mussel shells. “It’s actually an Italian-American dish. It’s served with sourdough or French bread, but in our case, where you can’t necessarily use your hands, we’ll go without.”

“There’s nobody here I need to impress, right?” you ask quietly. 

You swear you can hear Julianna twitching. 

Remus doesn’t respond to your comment, though his voice is riddled with amusement when he continues. “It’s more common for the crab to be served in its shell, but I don’t suppose they want the royals using crab forks and crackers." He points to a second bowl. “This, from the looks of it, is a variation of stufato di capra e fagioli, Italian for ‘stew of goat meat and beans’. Self explanatory. It’s very popular here in the winter, it’s,” —his voice drops to a lower register— “Sirius’ favourite. Shoulder meat, onions, carrots, celery, white wine and white beans. I don’t suppose I have to tell you what that is.” He nods to a heaping bowl of gnocchi coated in a green, buttery sauce, and its familiar wingman — fettuccine alfredo. 

“Now there’s one I know,” you say with a smile. 

“I think they’ve gone easy on you,” Remus says. “Given you something they knew would be familiar. The head cooks, Marlene and Marsha, hardly ever serve fettuccine without ragù di pollo. Chicken ragù. It’s a sacrament in Marlene’s eyes to separate the two.”

He moves so easily from English to Italian. You wonder if he speaks Genovian. Is there a Genovian language? You’re too embarrassed to ask, instead piling a mound of unadventurous fettuccine into your bowl. 

Julianna picks up the telephone again and you let yourself relax as her conversation begins. She pokes at her food and talks in Italian down the line, staring straight at you as she says the word, ‘principessa’. You don’t have to be a linguistics expert to know she’s talking about you. Eventually, her attention fades. Remus loosens at your side. 

“This spoon,” he corrects, before opening his book and sagging into his seat.

You're famished, yet all the rich food makes you nauseous. You toy with your fettuccine and a little of the cioppino. Weirdly, you miss the ordinary smells of your kitchen.

A figure moves behind you, James’ shadow shifting to cover your hands. “Unladylike as it might be,” he says, “you’ll regret it if you don’t try the bread, Princess. Freshly baked, soaked in pesto, it’s what us peasant folk fight over at the end of a shift.”

You hold your hand to a beautiful sliced baguette, “This one?”

“That’s the one.”

You pull the bread apart and enter a stodgy, olive oily sort of heaven. The only thing better than how it tastes is James' happy sound when you set aside a huge slice in a napkin and usher it behind your back, as inconspicuous as you can possibly be. He has no choice but to take it. A telltale crunch comes quickly and poorly smothered. 

Julianna excuses herself, and a maid comes to take her plates and dirtied cutlery on a silver cart.

You lean toward Remus with a hand over your mouth. “What do you call them? The ladies in uniform?”

“Princess, you can call them whatever you want to,” James butts in, returning to your side now Julianna is absent. He wipes his mouth with a napkin and sits in one of the chairs facing the door.

“But what’s nicest?”

“You’ll learn their names in time,” Remus says easily. “You’ll be fine. Officially, they’re ‘attendants’. Maids, cleaners. Oh, you’ll have a lady in waiting–”

“A what?” 

“A personal assistant,” James says. 

Your face heats up like an instant flush, all hot pinpricks and embarrassment, “No,” you beg, standing up, “please, that would be entirely unnecessary, it’s not like I’m some sort of–”

“Princess!” A familiar voice shouts. Sirius has weaselled inside the door and closed it tight, his back pressed against it for a moment like he’s keeping someone out. He wears an exuberant smile and a brilliant dark ensemble with fine pinstripes that mess with your eyes as he approaches. He’s practically running. “I’ve spoken to Delilah who’s spoken to Beau who’s spoken to Lily who’s been in contact with the legal team in charge of your care here in Genovia, and they’ve heard from the medical team who have been fighting tooth and nail to be put in talks with you,” —he looks at you emphatically now, and there’s something about his expression, part wide-eyed awe, part sympathy, that freezes you to the spot— “because it’s technically your care, and–”

“Sirius, get to the point, please,” James says. He’s looking at you in a different way. Like he’s waiting for you to fall over. 

“Your father,” Sirius says, promptly deciding to start again. “The paternity test is positive. Your DNA is a conclusive match for the Prince, may he rest in peace. You’re a princess. You’re the Princess, by blood. You are a Renaldi.”

There’s a stretching silence. You wrap your hand around the back of your chair and stare at the velvet upholstery of the seat. 

“Terrible last name,” he adds sympathetically. 

You don’t want to be the girl who faints. That would be ridiculous, to fall over and crack your head. So, though you hate to ask for anything, you mumble, “James?”

He wraps a shapely arm behind your shoulders and under your armpit before you lose the feeling in your legs. 

“I think I need to sit down again,” you say. 

“Reckon you do," he agrees, as he pulls the chair around with his foot and arranges you in it efficiently, the tip of his thumb pushed into the pulse point on your neck. “We’ll get you something cold, Princess. You can breathe.” He gives you a little shake, hand spreading wider as it drags down your collar. The pressure is like the safety release of a suction cup. You take in a huge breath. “Breathe, lovely.”

“I’m fine," you say meekly. 

“It’s alright,” he says, with his impossible softness. He’s unafraid to be kind even when there are people watching. 

“I’m fine. I–” You can’t finish your sentence. You’d wanted to say you’ll be okay. That this is just some melodramatic episode, but it isn’t. This is a human reaction to unbelievable news. Because you’re a– you’re a princess. 

You cover your face with both hands and curl in toward your thighs. Silence pervades, your ears abuzz with white noise. You aren’t sure how long you sit there paralysed, but soon James’ gentle murmuring and shushing cuts through the ringing. “It’s alright,” he’s saying, his hand at your elbow, “I swear, it’s alright. You take as long as you need.”

“Mickey’s at the door,” Sirius says. 

“Good. Tell him to radio in a level two security detail and stay there for now. Who else knows, Sirius?”

“By now? Everybody in the castle. Including government officials.”

“And you’re sure?” Sure said severely. 

“Of course I am.”

You’re trying very hard to keep your pasta down. This can’t be happening. It can’t be right. Their test is wrong. They swabbed the inside of your mouth wrong, or got it mixed up with some other person test, or the doctors are lying. Not once in your whole life has there ever been any indication that you are more than the nothing you’ve always been. All your worst insecurities rip to the surface. Not me. Not me.

“Level two isn’t as bad as it sounds,” James says, still so gentle. He’s been talking to you again. “All it means is that I’m not at full attention, and I need someone else to watch the room. That’s all it is.”

“I’m not,” you say. 

“You’re okay.”

“I’m not a princess,” you say, peeking at him through your parted fingers. 

His hand curves around your arm. He pulls it toward him. Encouraging rather than demanding. You let him. 

“Whatever it is that you are,” he says, meeting your eyes, “I’m here to take care of you. Okay? Try to calm down for me.” He nods, hoping you’ll nod back no doubt. You worry at your lip, your teeth scratching delicate skin. 

“Sorry,” you say. 

“No one’s expecting you to feel a certain way right now,” Sirius says.

The urgency in his expression has departed completely. He has an air of regret about him now, an uncomfortable set to his jaw. 

It’s not just James in the room witnessing your wobble. You cover your face again and try to become one with the furniture. 

James stands off of his knees, having seemingly decided that you aren’t in any mental peril. He stays hovering behind your chair. You think you might’ve found them all at a loss for what to do. 

The door opens. You imagine a nightmare, Julianna coming to play nice, but it’s the British ambassador Lily once again. She looks as perfect as she did when you saw her last with an immaculately straightened sheet of hair fluttering behind her, her steps hurried. Despite her speed, she doesn’t look unhappy. She’s smiling. The Genovian ambassador Emmeline follows behind her. 

You try to straighten up. 

“We have wonderful news,” Lily says.

“You’re the Princess!” Emmeline squeaks, her tiny stature no bounds for her excitement. “Welcome home!”

She begins clapping. It slows when nobody joins in. 

“What?” she asks cluelessly. “Has something bad happened?”

That’s what you’re trying to work out.

—

James can hear you sniffling.

He rests his shoulders against the wall by your bedroom door and sighs. You'd held in tears for hours after the announcement. Sirius' last announcement has toppled you over. You have to meet your grandmother tomorrow to begin preparing for your father's funeral. James thinks you might have reached your breaking point. He can't imagine the grief of losing a father you didn't know you had, and the stress of being pulled out of your life so suddenly, carted across Europe and left under the judgemental eyes of royals and officials with little direction. Now that the paternity test has been found positive and checked by many, many professionals, your confirmed identity should provide a more stable schedule. From James’ perspective, the days ahead will be easy. For you, they are going to be very, very hard. 

You'll meet the Queen tomorrow at breakfast. The plans for your permanent residency in Genovia will be decided. Your entire life is about to change, and there's nothing you can do to stop it. 

Well… James doesn't really want you to stop it, but it's not entirely true that you can't. You could reject your heritage and go home to your flat, your art, your degree equivalent classes. Maybe you're crying because you're scared you don't have options. 

James thinks about knocking on the door to talk to you. He meant it when he said he has a duty to all aspects of your health, the mental as well as the physical, but it's difficult to define the line between professionalism and being friendly. He's already crossed it. 

He sighs and rubs his weary head. He's tired. Today has been the longest day ever. You'd slept for an hour in the car from the airport to Bellaverden Castle, and James had watched you half jealous and half enraptured. He won't mind looking after you no matter how you look, but your being easy on the eyes is a brilliant plus. Well, when ignoring the huge bruise staining your cheek. 

"Fuck," he says. 

He hasn't been doing very well. Honestly, his failure to keep you from harm in your flat (even if the harm had been him) and then his screw up with the paparazzi has left him off kilter.

James pulls out his pager. He should swap with one of the night guards, and he trusts them all, having picked them himself, but he won’t feel right walking away while you're crying. 

He clicks in Remus' code and waits until he hears it back. It's shorthand between them: if Remus wasn't awake or didn't want to see James, he could've ignored James' page and there'd be no hard feelings. But he answered. Tonight, once James has made sure you're okay, he'll crawl into Remus' bed like when they were kids in a cold dormitory and missing home to sleep for a glorious eight hours. He might even tell Remus how stressed he is. He knows his friend will listen. 

He'd invite Sirius, of course, (and that's assuming he isn't already there) if it weren’t well past ten. Sirius is definitely asleep. 

James hasn't had a proper night's sleep in a week. He feels poorly. He misses his mum. He's hungry. This job is great, he loves what he does; he gets paid to take care of people. It's also too much. It eats at him. 

"Fuck," he says again. 

"James?" 

He flinches hard. 

There it is, his third mistake. He's very lucky that the chief of royal security is busy making funeral arrangements, because if Mary were here she'd gut him. 

You've crept up on him in his distraction. How could he not notice your footsteps across the floor, or your door handle's heavy metallic thunk?

"Princess," he says, biting his tongue when you wince. He'll have to call you something else. "I'm sorry, I–" James squints at your sore eyes. 

"It's okay. I just wanted to ask… are you alright?" 

"Am I alright?" 

“I just heard you and I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. You sounded… stressy." 

"You don't have to worry about me. That's my job." He frowns at the remnants of your tear stains, dampness shining at the corners of your eyes and your lashes sticking together in darkened triangles. "I was just about to come and see you, actually. I know today's been hard, and I know I haven't helped. I'm so sorry, again, for hurting you. And at the airport, I know the scuffle with the photographers didn't help your nerves. I know," he stresses, "this is hard. I swear things will be smoother from now on. You have my word." 

You rub your elbow wordlessly. He's about to backtrack, perhaps dig himself a bigger hole, but then you give him one of the softest smiles anyone's ever given him in all his years. 

"It's forgiven. Believe me, James, this is the least of my worries," you say, gesturing to your cheek. It only takes a second for shame to stick its hooks in you, yanking your gaze to the floor. You're wearing an expression he's seen a thousand times on the people closest to him. 

He flicks you under the chin gently. 

"Things are gonna get easier. I swear it," he says.

You plaster a smile on. James figures he can push it some more and wipes the smudgy shine of old tears off of your cheeks. 

"There. Looking good, angel. Why don’t you try and get some rest now, yeah?" 

He keeps getting this odd feeling like you're an old friend and not his charge. It's fleeting and it's making him stupid. This and the sleep deprivation. He swears to himself he'll be better tomorrow. 

You bid him goodnight. James listens to your night time motions until another guard comes to release him from duty, rushing to his room for a shower and a cereal bar, giving his teeth a half-hearted brush before he sets off for Remus' room halfway across the castle. Remus and the other scarcely employed scholars don't have to sleep in the servant quarters like he and Sirius do. Schmucks.

He finds the door unlatched. Mercifully, James decides to spare them both the safety-related lecture. He tries to be as quiet as he can, a head of sandy brown hair turning his way just two steps into the room.

"James?" Remus asks, his voice thick with fatigue. 

"Sorry. You can go back to sleep." 

"I was waiting for you. Drifted off." 

James scrubs a hand through his damp hair and closes the door. He can find his way in the dark. 

"Sirius isn't here?" 

"James…"

"What, are we still pretending?"

"James."

"I'm sorry. Forgive me, Moony." 

"Yeah. Don't lean on my left side. I'll move over." 

"What's wrong with your left side?" 

"I don't know. Maybe from carrying the bags. Maybe not." 

James slides into the warm space Remus has made for him and tries not to feel overprotective. Loving someone who's constantly in pain can be confusing. You don't know how much love you're allowed to give before it starts to be patronising. Remus can take care of himself, but he doesn't need to. 

"Anything I can do?" James whispers. 

"Tell me what's bothering you." 

"Oh, you know… Everything. Nothing. I'm so happy we're all together again, I mean, what are the fucking odds? How long has it been since I could come and see you guys after work without making an appointment? … I didn't love the Prince, but I hate that he's dead, and I…" 

Remus turns his head to James. They're a pillow apart. When James looks at him, he can't remember what Remus looked like when they were young, but he can feel the years of knowing one another stretching out between them. A straining cast of light from under the door catches the edges of Remus' features. James can see the corner of an uneven smile. 

"Go on," Remus says quietly. 

"She's nice. She's really nice. I don't want her to get hurt, but I don’t know that I’m up to this, Moony."

"James, you're up for everything. Always have been." 

"I thought this was a demotion." 

"Isn't it?" 

"If it is, it's one I deserve. I deserve another one. Once Mary sees the mess I've made…" 

Remus reaches across the sheets to pinch James' bicep. "Nobody is good at their new job. Sirius didn't touch up the princess' bruise when we got off the plane, and while they're paid off for now, someone who needs the better payout is going to publish those photos, and soon. Sirius should've been doing his job, but he was too busy looking after me." 

"I tried to cover it–" 

"I know. You did a good job and I'm not blaming you. My point is that he made a mistake. Does he deserve a demotion?" 

James wrinkles his nose. Hate you.

"And I should've better prepared her for meeting Princess Julianna. It was my fault that she felt embarrassed. I tried my best to fit in some coaching for breakfast tomorrow but the poor girl doesn't know a butter knife from a paring knife." 

"That's not true." 

"No," Remus agrees. "I'm making her seem less educated than she is to prove my own point… James, she isn't a princess. She has the blood, and soon she'll get the official title, the land and the money and the education and maybe some of the bad bits, as well. But right now, she's new to being a princess, and she's not very good at it." 

"I get it." 

"Yeah, I know." 

Remus readjusts in bed. James almost misses the pain in his friend's exhale under the sound of crunching fresh sheets. 

"Are you sure I can't do something for you?" 

"I wish," Remus says. He isn't depressed. The opposite, he sounds way too spritely for the time. "You could stop hogging the blankets, for starters." 

James feeds Remus some more blanket and sighs. The mattress is heavenly. The quilts and sheets and pillowcases are soft and thick. By all means, James should've fallen asleep the second his head touched Remus’ pillow.

"You've asked Mickey to look after her tomorrow, right?" Remus asks. 

James had radio'd Mikkelson after his shower to put the early morning shift and protocols in his jurisdiction temporarily. That means James will hopefully be able to sleep until his body feels like it can hold itself together again. He doesn't like leaving you to face the Queen by yourself but it's not as though she'll hurt you, and Sirius will see you bright and early to help you get dressed. James isn't worried. 

"I have. How did you know that?" 

"You're the only one of us who knows how to properly take care of themselves," Remus explains easily. "Good. I'm glad you did. You haven't been sleeping."

"How do you know that?" 

"I love you. I know everything about you." 

James smiles at the ceiling. There is nothing quite as valuable to him than his family. He would do more to keep them all safe and healthy than he should admit on the record, so he keeps it tucked inside and out of view. It's terrifying and freeing at once to look at someone you love and know you're going to do something awful one day if it means they'll come out on the other side of it alive. 

"Not everything," he murmurs. 

"Everything, James."

"Yeah? How many fingers am I holding up right now." 

"One." 

"Which?" 

"Middle."

"Lucky guess." James laughs at their childish squabbling. "I love you, too. I'm really glad we're in the same place again."

"What did you say? What are the fucking odds?" Remus quotes, so tired now that his words are running together. "I'm not sod enough to do the maths, I think it's gotta be deep in the decimals. Lily's and Mary's involvement definitely helped, but to have someone come along who needs security detail, special education, and a lady in waiting is unfathomable." 

James laughs and feels his abdomen shaking. "I'm telling Sirius you called him a lady in waiting." 

"Sorry," Remus says, and James knows his friend is genuinely repentant, though Sirius would've laughed himself if he'd heard the joke. "I'm not trying to put him down. He's worked so hard, he– He's working so hard. He thinks it's easy work because he's good at it. He doesn't realise it's easy because he worked hard to be good at it." 

James has to chew it over for a moment to understand what Remus is saying. Once he understands, he vehemently agrees. Sirius is skilled in many areas. He's a media liaison, a sleuth, a sweet talker. He understands the inner workings of Western media — Sirius can deduce the honesty of a smile from a precursory glance. He may not always trust what he's seeing, but he sees it undeniably. And he can dress well.

"He's the best of us," James sighs agreeably, stretching down the length of the bed until his spine pops and his calves burn. "Shit. I need to start working out properly again now we're here." 

"Tomorrow. We'll figure it all out tomorrow, James. Go to sleep." 

James is obedient. He falls asleep, and doesn’t wake until the sun is warming his cheeks. His hair is still damp at the back and he feels awful in a new way. Better for having slept with someone close by, and catching up on the hours he’s been missing. But his back is stiff. 

He goes back to his room. His neck aches as he brushes his teeth. He does a workout and stretches his rigid limbs until he feels human again. 

The black telephone on his nightstand starts to ring.

“Hello, sir,” Lily says cheerfully down the line. James can picture her sweet smile. “I couldn’t help but notice your absence this morning.”

“How did it go?” he asks, trying to tug on a new pair of socks one handed. 

Lily hums. “It wasn’t awful. It wasn’t good, but it could’ve been worse. Her majesty liked her. Y/N was quiet, she was awkward, but we all know they prefer quiet to mouthy. The last thing they wanted was another Julianna. I felt kind of bad, really. Like I was handing her over.”

“She…” James sighs. “She didn’t seem upset, did she, Lils?”

“No, I actually think she was feeling good. Your boys took good care of her.”

“Brilliant. Oh, and to answer your unasked question, I’m being slovenly. I’ll be back on duty by noon.”

“Slovenly,” she repeats. “I’ve never known you to be any sort of lazy.” She laughs. James is happy that the sound doesn’t break his heart anymore. “Alright, James. I’ll see you later.”

He appreciates what she’s doing, letting him know you’re okay while he’s away. It’s uncanny how fast the people in charge of your care can band together, and Lily has always been kind.

James gives himself a minute to wipe away yesterday and prepare for today. He closes his eyes and shakes his head ferociously, his hair flying every which way. He sorts through all his worries one by one, letting that anxiety eat at him methodically —he’s a bad bodyguard, he’s a bad friend, he doesn’t call his mum enough, he’s chicken shit scared of dying alone, the works— and then pushing it away. Today is a new day with new opportunities. He can prove to you and to himself that he’s good at his job, he can make sure his friends are doing alright, he can call his mum tonight before dinner, and dying alone? He isn’t dying today. That one’s on the back burner. 

He makes his way from his room in the quarter and into the main building, wary that he might come upon a duke or duchess. His radio, clipped as it always is against his left shoulder, chirps with chatter. He bites back a scolding about keeping the line clear and looks out of a Goliath glass window at the grounds below. A marble water fountain spurts proudly at the foot of the stairs, and an elaborate hedgework stands at pruned attention. It’s a nice day. He wonders if you’ll be up for walking. 

He looks for you in the secondary parlour, the den, the library, the dining room. He swings by your room, and when you aren’t there he admits defeat and unclamps his radio, cutting through an inappropriate joke unapologetically. 

“Afternoon. Location on Princess Y/N?”

He imagines his subordinates scrambling to answer, embarrassed by their unprofessionalism, but it’s likely they just don’t know where you are. 

“If I don’t get an answer in the next five seconds, you can all expect to be running laps tonight. That includes you, Mikkelson, I don’t care how much overtime–”

“Sir, this is Daniels. Me and Roma are with the princess in the south wing.”

“Why?”

“She wanted a pencil sharpener.”

James grins to himself. The south wing (or, as James might put it, the guest wing), houses the scholars, the ambassadors, and whatever government official the royals are trying to butter up at the time. He’s feeling positively joyful when he finds you sketching, your face pressed to the window. The Genovian mountainscapes take shape on your page one confident stroke of graphite at a time, a small leather bound sketchbook pressed flat to your knee.

“Settling in?” he asks. 

You raise your head but not your eyes. “You could say that.”

“How was meeting Her Majesty?”

You frown. 

“That bad?” he asks. 

“No, I mean. You know. She’s a queen. It was terrifying.”

Despite your unhappy mouth, you look as relaxed as you have since the moment he met you, dressed in a casual Genovian dress with subtle but remarkable stitching a shade darker than the dress itself and a squared neckline. Your calves are out and glossy in the daylight. They’re rather distracting. 

“You look good,” James says carefully. 

“I’ll miss the fancy lotions,” you say. Your pencil scratches away. 

James’ hands falter where they’re clasped behind his back. “What?”

You meet his eyes properly. He hadn’t realised you’d been avoiding his gaze until you weren’t, your face ringed with guilt, an explanation slow to come. 

“I’m not staying. I can’t be a princess, James.” You shake your head mildly. “I’m going home.”

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thanks so much for reading! oh no, you want to go home!! rest assured, james and co aren’t letting you go too easily. i hope you enjoyed, reblogs are always appreciated, a thousand kisses for all of you either way <3<3

[didnt-hear-idsb-live-again]

hm. I don't know how to say this but like. I reblogged a post earlier today about least favorite album, and after reading that more than half the tags said Midnights and TTPD, I've just been thinking. I'm glad for Taylor that she doesn't have to do promo or interviews, and she doesn't have to do full-fledged eras anymore, and I get and appreciate that she's the biggest she's ever been, right now, in this moment, when she's not employing that stuff. but it's interesting to me also that her size currently is largely in part to re-records, celebrating past eras, and to the Eras Tour.... neither of which would be capable of existing if not for the effort she had previously put in to eras, appearances, interviews, etc, and having branding for each album that actually gets seen through; creating worlds and universes out of each album (as opposed to TTPD and a lesser extent Midnights, which, to me and I think a lot of others, are just 2 collections of music. and the worlds that they "create", which seemed promising in the beginning, didn't really... carry through for an extended period of time). Like a part of being an albums artist is not just recording albums, but it's also... making those albums entire universes? Carrying the aesthetic of the album wherever you're seen / etc, doing appearances and exciting things for fans and releasing content that fits in the world of the album. It honestly made sense for that to be minimal with folklore and evermore because, as pandemic albums, that kind of... fit?

But content-wise, TTPD literally may as well be a pandemic album. I loved the world the Fortnight video created. But that's.... it. I miss hearing her talk about her work, I miss her on socials embodying that work in various ways, I miss fan-oriented cool things. and like again I get that that's not necessary for her now, but it's weird that that's literally how she got where she is, and why she's beloved in this moment. But I wonder.... will that continue if she never has a proper era again? Like I don't think anyone's going to look back and be nostalgic about TTPD or Midnights even (they will think back on this time because of Eras, but it's not about the album whatsoever) in the way look back on 1989 / rep / speak now / Lover etc. And it sucks because tbh sonically TTPD is my favorite record of hers, but I'm such an album person and this album being like, one (pretty non-cohesive except it's in black and white) photoshoot and one video and legit nothing else, it's really... hard to love it the way I've loved her other albums. Even single covers just being random tour photos or already-used shots from the album booklet! It feels like gearing up for something and then slamming the breaks the second it gets going.

[liquidorcard]

HEY Y'ALL IT'S MIKAILER WITH AN "ER" WHY IS THAT SO HARD TO GRASP!?

---

Did I get your attention, Mikaila? I hope so, let's see.

Mikaila, I don't like you. You've done shit that's soured my opinion of you. I'm acknowledging that now to get that out of the way. I'm not here to be two-faced about this or blow smoke up your ass.

But as one idiot who stayed in a toxic relationship to another-- I'm not making fun of you because I think I'm better. I know. Being in a relationship like that brings out some ugly shit. You resent and fear people will never forgive you. You don't know if you will forgive yourself. I'm not making fun of you because I think I'm better than you.

And it feels kinda good, being treated badly? In a weird way? When you're used to it? When you feel you kind of deserve it? It did for me too. My abuser did some fucked up shit to me. I don't know how to describe to you the strange feelings I'm left with now. Sometimes I think I finally hate her, sometimes, as pathetic as it makes me feel, I still miss her. It's a rot in you that never really goes away, but you learn to live with it. I understand that agony. I understand that anger of how fucking unfair it is.

You know my opinion of Lily. You're not going to trust me that I'm not saying all this just to get you two to break up to hurt her. Fair. Very fair, not going to pretend like it's not. But if Lily loves you, nothing I'm about to say should be an issue. She should want what's best for you, right?

Here's the rub Mikaila, it's been a few years now. I know you want out of your situation at home, but it doesn't seem like Lily's going to be able to help you with that at this point. I'm sure Lily's given you plenty of reasons as to why, and it's time to listen to her.

If you're heart's set on coming to Canada, your best bet is getting a job here. Or even, going to school. Art degrees (Here in Canada) aren't as expensive, provided you go to the right school. Even taking out a student loan for just one year to figure your shit out. I know you're in quite a bit of debt right now and don't want to get into more, but. You gotta do what you gotta do.

Here's the college I went to. Yes, your work is sufficient to potentially get admitted. Believe it or not, art school's get that illustration is a learned skill. Artists start from all different levels:

Look through the admissions requirements to see if you have the academic records to be admitted. If not, you could also consider upgrading through online classes aswell.

Again though, your best bet is to try to find employment. The cost of living isn't great here right now, but it isn't great anywhere. I doubt you'll be able to find cheaper rent in America.

Once you're here or wherever you end up, away from the chaos of your home, you might find it a lot easier to get your head around, establishing some better independence and becoming a citizen by yourself. It's a shitty process, but not as bad as the one you guys have in the States. We stan an immigrant here.

You need to look out for you, Mikaila. It's not selfish. It's not a matter of whether you "really deserve it or not." Nobody's going to save you. You're emotionally spent because of your parents, You're emotionally spent because of Lily. And it feels kind of nice how much Lily needs you. But you can't help her until you help yourself - and again, if we're all wrong and Lily really loves you, she shouldn't have a problem with you finding your way.

My own mother once told me I was "born sad." I've never not hated myself. I ate up any little bit of love and validation no matter how many bitter, razor pills that came with it too. That's just how it is for some of us.

But you know what Mikaila? Fuck em. Fuck all of them. Fuck everything. Fuck me, Mikaila. You've got one life. One body. One you. Whatever you think of her, someone's gotta fight for that poor bitch. Why not you fight for you?

Everyone's a stinky meat bag stripped down, Mikaila. Everyone's made a fool in the wake of the shit people like you and I have been through. Not everyone's going to be able to forgive everything, but everyone's not wholly past forgiveness.

I'm no better than you Mikaila. Nobody is. Some of us just get to know the worst sides of ourselves better than others.

I don't like some of the things you've done, girl. But I see you. I get it. Tell us all to eat shit. Fix your life. Don't rely on Lily to make you feel whole or to save you. To make you feel worthy. No person can do that. She could be the reincarnation of Mary Mother of God herself, and you couldn't expect that from her. Be your own advocate. If your relationship isn't toxic, it can survive you becoming a more whole you.

This asshole is rooting for you. Give me an excuse to undoomer "Mikailer." My girl needs a win.

[imprintmoonstone]

Dear Liam,

Na bangaaram (transl. 'My Beloved' in Telugu, my native language), where do I begin?

I first became a fan of 1D in 2015, just a few months after Zayn left. My friend (she was a big fangirl!) suggested that I listen to your songs. But frankly, I was disinterested. I was like, "meh! okay.." But a week or so later, the Drag Me Down music video was in my YouTube recommendations, and I was kinda curious, so I finally watched the music video and thought to myself, "Damn! these guys are fantastic and so talented!!" And the rest is history. In no time, I had become a big fan of 1D.

Even though I liked all the boys, I always had a soft spot for you and Zayn. You were both my favorites. In 2017, I remember another friend spamming my phone with texts when the 'Strip That Down' music video was released. He and I went bonkers that day, haha (He was a big fan of you and Zayn, too! He loved 'Get Low' and 'Bedroom Floor' a lot.) I also remember waking up early to listen to LP1 while staying in bed, watching your LP shows until 3 AM during 2020, all your cute Insta lives, etc. I have so many fun memories like these that I'm eternally grateful for 💝

Liam, I have always admired your kindness, passion, strength, patience, and bravery. Even with all the noise outside from many people, you stood firm. You loved everyone loudly and were always there for them. Your music made me so happy, and your voice always had a soothing effect on me. Your musical talent (especially your live performances and acoustic versions) and artistic skills always amazed me! Your interviews and weekly round-up videos during quarantine time helped me stay sane (I still watch all these videos and instantly feel relaxed.)

You've become my comfort person, honestly. There was a time when I wanted to give up, but you gave me the strength to move forward. You inspired me to be kind and gentle with myself. I can't thank you enough for being the warmth I needed during my coldest nights. I'll love you forever, my hero ❤️

I'm sorry that the world was never nice to you. It was so painful to see all the unwarranted hate towards you. You deserved all the love and kindness you always spread. It's devastating that you didn't get to do the things you were so passionate about. I'll miss your kind eyes, voice, your warm smiles and sweet giggles, your goofiness. I'll miss you so much, Liam, and I'll forever cherish all these memories.

Rest gently, angel. I hope that wherever you are now, you find peace 🕊️❤️‍🩹

Love,

Ri

[riddle-rosethorns]

I can't believe I missed the fact that your requests are open! I've failed you, Mr. President... ;_;

Request time: could I get some headcanons for what kinds of music the housewardens listen to?

The Housewardens' Music Taste

Summary: Having your own private dorm room at NRC means having the freedom to blast whatever you want through your speakers. But just what exactly are our dorm leaders listening to when nobody else is around?

Characters: All Housewardens Pairings: None CWs: Swearing, she/they pronouns for Idia.

A/N: I'm sorry this took *checks calendar* almost ten months for me to answer, I promise it hasn't been for lack of interest! Sometimes writing is hard and my brain is mean. Thank you for your patience! These takes are admittedly heavily biased by my own music taste and knowledge, so feel free to let me know if you think I missed any artists!

Riddle Rosehearts

You can't convince me his mom wasn't constantly playing classical music for him when he was growing up. I honestly think he still defaults to classical music, especially to improve his focus while reading or studying.

I also think Cater has definitely exposed him to a lot more modern music and, though he is undoubtedly very picky, there's even some of it he likes.

Artists that come to mind for Riddle include Vivaldi, Tchaikovsky, Red Velvet, and Mitski.

Leona Kingscholar

For the most part, I'd imagine Leona mostly listens to pretty chill music that's easy to nap to, like R&B or soft rock.

That's not to say he doesn't actively enjoy listening to music though. If he's in the mood to jam, I could see him turning on some hip-hop or even some angry punk music.

Artists that come to mind for Leona include Lil Nas X, Gorillaz, Gym Class Heroes, and The Weeknd.

Azul Ashengrotto

Lounge music feels like the easy answer here. Lots of smooth jazz and easy listening.

However, I also can't resist suggesting that Azul might have a secret fondness for electro-swing that he keeps secret due to the genre's reputation for being considered "cringe".

Artists that come to mind for Azul include Frank Sinatra, Kenny G, Michael Bublé, and Caravan Palace.

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim strikes me as one of those guys that would say that he likes every genre of music, only he would actually mean every genre- rap and country included.

That being said, his preference definitely skews heavily in the direction of songs that he can dance to. Bonus points if the composition and instrumentation have a clear Scalding Sands influence.

Artists that come to mind for Kalim include Cascada, Saint Levant, Shakira, and Christina Aguilera.

Vil Schoenheit

For Vil, my brain immediately jumps to all the gayest, poppiest, cunt-serviest stuff I can think of. Imagine every song you and your friends might put on a playlist for pride with some sad girl music sprinkled in for flavor.

Being in Film Studies Club, I'd also imagine he spends a decent amount of time listening to and analyzing movie soundtracks, though whether this counts as part of his "music taste" is up for debate.

Artists that come to mind for Vil include Lady Gaga, Todrick Hall, Britney Spears, and MARINA.

Idia Shroud

This bitch's playlists are absolutely filled with Vocaloid songs, nightcore remixes, anime openings, and video game soundtracks. She is an absolute fucking nerd and I know her music taste reflects this. Let's not forget she is canonically an idol stan.

As for "normal" music, I think they probably listen to about what you'd expect- weird emo shit.

Artists that come to mind for Idia include My Chemical Romance, Utsu-P, Yasuharu Takanashi, and Will Wood.

Malleus Draconia

I genuinely don't even know where to start with Malleus. I feel like this guy listens to Gregorian chants and spooky Halloween sound effect compilations.

In all seriousness, I feel like Malleus would greatly enjoy pieces involving stringed instruments, seeing as he has a talent for playing them. The rest of his music taste probably stems from whatever Lilia and the others have exposed him to, and so is likely very strange.

Artists that come to mind for Malleus include The Correspondents, Burn the Ballroom, Scissor Sisters, and Lindsey Stirling.

[mollywog]

A stand-alone Regency Everlark One shot inspired by this

Read on Ao3

She peers around the shrubbery, thankful to see the next row vacant before glancing over her shoulder to ensure she’s alone. Years of childhood games in the Mellark hedge maze have made navigating them second nature. She knows all the most secluded tucked away spots.

Scowling down at a cluster of lilacs, she contemplates how long she linger here before her absence is noted, when the sound of heavy footfall moving purposefully towards her interrupts her thoughts. Her heartbeat quickens.

“Are you lost Miss Everdeen?” A man’s voice comes from behind her.

She whirls around and there he is, just a few yards away.

His face has lost some of its boyish roundness, his shoulders broader, and his hair has grown out, but despite all the small changes, his smile is the same. She lets out a strangled shriek, taking two steps before launching herself into his arms.

Two years.

It’s been two long years since she saw him last.

They’d lived in the same county all their lives, but had only really become acquainted at eleven when she and her sister had moved to their Guardian's estate. The Mellark lands bordered Lord Abernathy’s and as a consequence the inhabitants of both houses spent much time together. The seeds were sown and while all the children soon became chums, Katniss and Peeta's friendship blossomed into romance.

By the age of sixteen they were madly in love and eager to wed, however, although the match was generally approved of, their prospects were grim. As a third son there was no land nor income to inherit, and even with Katniss’s generous dowry, the money would quickly dwindle without an occupation.

Peeta’s eldest brother Graham, head of the Mellark family, had proposed a solution; he would finance Peeta’s artistic endeavors abroad if he would only wait to attach himself until after his return. The offer was too generous for her to allow him to turn down for her sake.

So he had gone, and she had stayed and waited for his return.

“That was rather unladylike,” he teases in the affected accent of the odious vicar’s wife.

She scowls up at him, “Have you taken a fancy for fine ladies while you were away. You’ve always had a weakness for beauty.” She lifts her chin. “Perhaps you’d prefer Lady Undersee or Miss Cartwright?”

He uses his index finger to smooth the wrinkle in her brow. “An eye for beauty, not a weakness,” he says, cupping her face and caressing her cheek with his thumb. “No, you are still my one weakness. But what of you? Your new cousin is not as common as your letters would have had me believe. Do I have a rival?”

Colonel Hawthorne had become a regular fixture at Victor’s Village since her guardian had married his mother. He’s escorted her to many an event as an easy introduction to the eligible ladies of her acquaintance. Not that he needed it, his looks and military status were admired wherever he went. She supposes he’s handsome, but his smiles are far too rare for her to find him really attractive.

No. This man was her choice; anything else was unimaginable.

They’d coorsponded frequently over the years. Though it was the right decision, Katniss had spent many a sleepless night wondering if she could compete with the beauty and splendor he enjoyed while away.

He’s still smiling though she knows him well enough to see the uncertainty in his eyes. It had never occurred to her that he might be in doubt of her constancy as well.

Words often fail her at times such as these, so she allows her actions to lead. Grasping the hand that has since paused its motion, she turns it to find his ring. It no longer gleams as it had when she’d gifted it to him with the plait of hair, but she smiles despite it; The worn gold surface and fraying dark tresse a testament to its continuous wear. She runs her thumb over its surface, before bringing it to her lips, peering up at him through her lashes, “There is no competition. My heart belongs to you alone.”

He sighs and a rigidity she had not noticed previously, melts away as he leans in to rest his forehead to hers. “I have much to tell you.”

His voice sends a delicious shiver down her spine, and she can wait no longer, “and I should like to hear it all, but there will be many chaperoned hours to speak and only a precious few moments here alone.”

“Right you are,” she can hear rather than see his smile as his lips meet hers.

This was the place she first kissed him.

They’d been thirteen and playing ghost in the graveyard. Stumbling upon each other while hiding in the hedges, Peeta’s voice, not yet lowered, carried high over the shrubbery and in a desperate attempt to silence him, she’d kissed him… At least that was the excuse he’d given her meddlesome sister who’d spotted them.

At eighteen their kisses are just as giddy, if not half so innocent as the stolen ones of their youth. She loses herself and all sense of time in the reunion, until a feminine voice cuts through the passionate haze, “Mr. Mellark!”

They spring apart, wide eyed, and undeniably guilty, but the speaker is nowhere to be found.

“What a lovely party,” Katniss slumps in relief as Primrose’s voice floats over the hedges.

An indistinguishable muffled response comes from the same direction and Katniss turns back to Peeta, inspecting them both for signs of their wanton activities, before the voices raise loud enough to be heard yet again, “Primrose, now that we’ve dispensed with the niceties, you wouldn’t happen to know where I can find my brother, would you?”

“Last I saw, he was headed towards the house.”

She silently apologizes for any hash thoughts she’s ever had of her sister. She suspects Prim had caught on to their plot and followed her here to stand guard. Peeta could exit the maze to the north, round the corner and appear to have just come from inside. Katniss makes note to purchase a pocketful of peppermints for her sister in thanks on the next trip to town.

The male voice, Graham, she’s determined, hums an acknowledgement, “and what of your sister? I have not seen her this last quarter hour either.”

“I’m certain Posy is with Hazelle,” Prim says, sounding far too innocent to Katniss’s ear.

“That is not the sister to whom I refer.”

“Oh! You mean Katniss,” she winces at her sister’s overzealous acting. “Have you checked the refreshment table? She’s often stationed there.”

Forget the peppermints, she’d sneak pepper in Prim’s next cup of tea. She can feel Peeta’s body trembling with repressed laughter behind her and she jabs her elbow into his stomach. Perhaps she’ll add some to his next cup as well.

Graham’s voice comes again as another set of footsteps approach, “Ah, brother, you have just come from the house, did you see the guest of honor while there?” Really this was his fault. Had he not arranged this gathering for Peeta’s return, there would be no cause for them to sneak off.

“I did not. Is he missing?” The mirth is evident in the middle Mellark’s voice as he continues, “how curious, the elder Miss Everdeen appears to be missing as well? He has not been away from home so long as to lose his way in the hedge maze, do you suppose? I could rally a search party if you wish-”

Katniss huffs, none of them should expect decent tea next she pours.

“That will be unnecessary.” Graham says before raising his voice, “I’m certain wherever they are, they will both find their way back to the party before their absence is more widely noted.”

The trio depart with a choir of laughter, but not before the shrubbery in front of them jostles, from the other side.

Peeta chuckles softly, “It’s good to be home,” it’s said without irony, and she can’t help but smile despite herself. “I’ll call tomorrow,” he says, dropping a final kiss before lowering his voice next to her ear, “If I remember correctly, there are plenty of paths to lose our way on at Victor’s Villiage. After all, they can’t watch us all the time.”

[lambsouvlaki]

Jason Todd fic Masterlist

I am accepting ✨fic prompts✨

The Hand that Feeds Bit Me First

Ongoing Jason Todd x con artist female OC fic. A friends to lovers/slow burn story exploring every era of Jason Todd comics, from Robin to UtRH to Current era. Comedy, Hurt/Comfort, Angst. OC is a regular Gothamite with a more sense of humour then common sense.

Jason had known Louise for years. She’d been his getaway driver, his alibi, a co-conspirator. He had bailed her out of the trouble she got herself into more times than he could count. With a straight face she told Batman she had never even heard of the Red Hood, while he was passed out on her couch. He confirmed to many an HR department that she definitely worked for him, uh-huh, five years in accounts? Absolutely, best accountant he’d ever had. He held her hand at her grandpa's funeral. Boyfriends and girlfriends came and went. Heroes and villains, dubious costumes and harebrained schemes. They remained.

For the Hell of it (AO3 link)

Tumblr Masterlist

Completed Jason Todd x civilian female OC fic. Friends to lovers slow burn, slice of life overall, with occasional forays into hurt/comfort. Warm and fluffy. OC is a racially ambiguous woman studying at Gotham U named Andy.

She leaned her cheek against his back as the bike took off. Before she met him she would have been shocked at even the idea of getting onto some man’s motorbike to go wherever he decided they were going. But she didn’t feel threatened by Jason, not in the least. She felt safer around him than she had in a long time. “Okay?” he called over his shoulder as they slowed to a stop at some lights. “Okay!” She wondered if her instincts were leading her astray. She wasn’t stupid, the 200 pounds of man between her legs was obviously very dangerous. The scars on his knuckles were impossible to miss. But he treated her so carefully, so gently. Like a little bird in his large hands, delicate heartbeat fluttering a mile a minute. She could blush at just how much she liked it.

AUs

The Crime Lord & The Crime Lord, Part 2, & Part 3. A bittersweet love story set in a world where the Red Hood never stopped his campaign to control Gotham’s underworld.

Kid Fic: His Heart & part 2 & Part 3: Christmas edition, part 4 & part 5. In which Jason has a one year old baby girl with his long term girlfriend. Mostly fluff surrounding a doting Dad!Jason.

[light-yaers]

Take Care: Chapter Nine

Fic Masterpost | AO3 | Chapter List

Warnings: swearing, eventual smut, emotional themes.

A/N: i love angst and i love it when roy acts like a middle aged white woman at a wine party where he laughs too loud and pretends he's having a great time just to get through it all

Word count: 6.5k

Chapter Nine

After a few weeks, you’d already got used to the tube journey from Richmond to Somerset House. You reluctantly found out that, despite London being one city and the tube routes being easy, it was so fucking huge that it took you almost an hour to get to work. Maybe that was your fault for staying in Richmond instead of moving, but you didn’t mind a longer commute into the City of London if that meant you got to stay put.

Pluto Press was unique, and you felt proud to have a position there. Your desk was by the window, looking over the Strand outside. Your colleagues were nice, and you got to work alongside artists and writers wherever you went. It was like a dream come true. Which was why, as you arrived home on the Friday of your second week, you couldn’t understand why you felt so… shit. You felt lonely, isolated, and so overtired that you were certain your brain wasn’t working at full capacity. You missed the team at AFC Richmond, talks with Keeley and Rebecca, Ted’s american jokes– Roy.

Since his last game, Roy had gone off the grid. You were lucky if you randomly saw him out and about in Richmond. You’d attempted to meet up with him after his retirement press conference, a month after the end of your placement and his injury, but to no avail. And even now, staring at your phone, glass of wine in your hand as you settled in for another Friday night alone, you had the urge to text him. You downed your wine before you did, and dropped the glass onto your coffee table as you opened up Roy’s and yours text chain. Then, you typed:

Are you coming to the game tomorrow? I’d love to see you!

Enthusiasm wasn’t the key to Roy’s heart, but you’d run out of options to get him to respond. It was only a friendly match, anyway, since the season was still a few months out. You wanted to imagine him there tomorrow, black shirt and black leather jacket donned, hands stuffed in his pockets, as he settled into his seat at the Dogtrack– not as a player, but as an admirer, maybe. 

When you sat in the owner’s box the next day, with the whistle about to be blown, you couldn’t stop calling yourself an idiot. Why the fuck would Roy want to come back here, of all places? The pitch where he played his last game, the stadium where he trained for his last season ever, surrounded by the people who got to keep playing after he all but faded away. 

You settled into your seat with a sour taste in your mouth and a frown on your face. Keeley squeezed your hand affectionately. “You okay, babe?” she asked. 

You shook your head, trying to get yourself out of this hole. “I asked Roy to come,” you told her. “Stupid, really.”

Keeley frowned at you empathetically. “ You tried, babe, but I think that’s all we can do right now after his retirement.”

You nodded, feeling sick. “Yeah.” You forced yourself to perk up, to focus on the positives, and abruptly shot up from your seat. “Come on, Richmond!” you screamed into the void, in some attempt to make you feel better about it all. 

That feeling only lasted so many days. By Tuesday of the next week, you were back to feeling overwhelmed, overtired, and so lonely that you genuinely didn’t know what to do with yourself. Most of your colleagues at work didn’t live anywhere near the west, so you were forced to leave after work drinks early, or not go at all, just to get home at a reasonable hour. 

The walk from Richmond station to your flat was becoming so dull that you could hardly stand it. One Thursday in the beginning of July, you elected to cut through Richmond Green and travel a longer route home, just to stop your brain from imploding. You left the station in the complete opposite direction to your flat, and said fuck it in your head. You passed over the green, treading along the concrete paving around the edge, until you reached Mae’s pub. 

To your surprise, inside you saw the unmistakable moustache of one Ted Lasso, sitting opposite the familiar hat donned by one Coach Beard. Your heart soared, and you bound into the pub before you could tell yourself to slow the fuck down. Ted spotted you as soon as you entered the bar, and stood up immediately. You realigned your direction of movement and took a hard right, heading straight towards the coaches.

“Well, howdy–!” You wrapped your arms around him before he’d even finished speaking. The happy smile on his face quickly dropped to a confused frown. Ted embraced you warmly, and it was clear to see that something was very wrong. “Hey–” He was going to ask if you were alright, but he stopped himself. “It’s okay. It’s alright.”

Beard peered up at the two of you, his face stoney and thoughtful. His finger tapped on his chin in subtle curiosity and concern. Ted didn’t urge you to say anything, not for those few moments where he held you tightly. Beard gestured to Mae at the bar, and whispered “One lager, please, Mae. On our tab.” She brought it over in a matter of seconds, and you finally pulled away from Ted long enough to suck in a breath. 

You glanced at the beer on the table for you. “Thank you, Mae,” you croaked, turning to look at her as she strolled back to the bar. She smiled at you warmly, and you finally took a seat alongside the coaches. “Sorry, Coach. Didn’t mean to ambush you,” you breathed out. 

“I don’t mind it, not when it’s you who’s doing the ambushing,” Ted said, taking a sip of his beer and waving it off like it was nothing. 

“Seems to me like there’s something going on,” Beard chimed in, and took a sip of beer to mimic Ted before him. His eyes seemed mischievous, like he was looking for gossip, but that was generally what Beard looked like when he wanted to know something. He was like an old, wise owl. He placed his beer back on the table. “It’s either that, or I just haven’t noticed that you’ve always looked like you’re in the middle of an existential crisis.”

“Very funny,” you let out, tapping your glass anxiously. “I’d go with the former over the latter, Beard.” 

“I know,” he said, before he smiled at you knowingly. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You frowned at the table while Ted and Beard waited patiently for you to open up. You felt silly. How could you put your loneliness into words when it felt so unnatural? You had no reason to feel so terrible. You had a great new job, lived in a gorgeous neighbourhood, and had everything you could possibly want in life. You had the guys, and couldn’t wait until the season started up again in a few months, despite them being relegated to the Championship. You had Keeley and Rebecca, two strong and powerful women who you could confide in and rely on if you really needed to. You had… Well, that was just it. 

Did you really have Roy anymore? 

“It’s so stupid,” you started, trying to keep yourself steady, but all composure went out of the window as soon as those three words left your lips. “I have no reason to be this way. My new job is fucking fantastic, and I still get to live in Richmond, in my flat that I love so much, and I still get to go to games and see the guys and walk to Nelson Road across the green. This is all so fucking stupid.” You smacked your hands over your face in frustration. “I have no reason to feel this alone.” Your words were muffled beneath your palms, but Ted and Beard still glanced at each other with concern. 

“You’re feeling lonely?” Ted asked gently. 

You dragged your hands down your cheeks and sniffed through your snotty nose. “A little bit.” 

“A little bit.” Beard mimicked you. You scoffed abruptly, and it felt good just for a second.

Ted shuffled next to you, and readied himself to speak. “Lemme tell you something about loneliness,” he started. “When you feel it, you always feel silly. You feel like a dang moron, because all it does is make you think about all the people you have in your life that are there to listen to you, yet when you reach out, you pretend not to feel that loneliness, am I right?” 

You remembered the text you’d sent to Roy. So over enthusiastic in some attempt to hide how awful you’d been feeling. When he didn’t respond, or give you any indication that he’d even read your message, it just made you feel even worse. If you’d been honest, maybe he would have been more inclined to reply.

You nodded at Ted in understanding. “It’s hard sometimes. To tell people close to you that you’re struggling.” 

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Ted said. “That’s the catch, ain’t it? You wanna keep things light, you wanna keep things happy, but sometimes you can’t. And that’s alright. It’s okay to feel lonely, and tired, and tearful. Don’t beat yourself up for any of that.” 

You held onto Ted’s words for dear life. You’d never understand how he was able to be so optimistic, so constantly happy. No one was truly like that, so you bet it was all a bit of an act. Even so, Ted had a way of getting through to you. His words resonated, and you found yourself listening to him more than shrugging him off. He was good to you. You had the small green, army man that he’d given you for good luck, in your pocket or your bag constantly, moving it around like a chapstick from garment to garment. 

Even now, as you gently stuck your hand into your jacket pocket, the army man was there. Gun raised, knees bent in a defensive stance, ready to protect you. 

“Have you… heard from Roy?” you asked. 

Beard looked at Ted sullenly, almost, and you understand immediately. “Roy will be Roy,” Ted said, smiling at you halfheartedly. “His retirement press conference, though– jeez, it didn’t half tug on my heartstrings, here.”

“The end of an era,” Beard said, widening his eyes with grandeur. 

“I haven’t seen him since the Man City game in May,” you said. “Two months.”

“He’ll come around eventually,” Ted said, trying to reassure you, but you were sure that nothing but seeing Roy’s face in person would be able to do that. Ted suddenly perked up. “Anyway, how’s the new job! Got some new friends? Got some new besties? Oh– have you met anyone special yet?”

If you didn’t already know Ted, this would be incredibly out of the blue. But, you did know him. He was sweet, and kind, and capable of distracting you from your sadness. He made you feel welcome, and loved, and thought about. And– he made you roll your eyes to oblivion. 

You did just that, rolled your eyes into your skull with a smile on your face. “Job is great, but the dating pool is still very much dry, Ted.”

“Dang it!” he exclaimed. “Maybe the guys were right, all those months ago, huh? You should get on some dating apps, just for funzies.”

“Keeley has been wanting me to try out one, to be honest. It’ll only be a matter of time before she forces all of you guys to get on it,” you said, pointing at Ted and Beard in warning. “It’s called… um– something with a B. Like, Bantz, or Bumz. I don’t know.” You waved your hand in front of your face, giving up on remembering. 

“Might be worth a try all the same?” Ted said, egging you on. 

You sat for a moment, thinking, before you nodded. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I should put myself out there, yeah?”

“Heck yeah,” Ted said enthusiastically. “No harm in it, right?”

Was there any harm in it? Surely not. You were a single woman, you were free to branch out. But, underneath it all, there was still something that held you back. Without meaning to, Roy’s head popped into the back of your mind. All that you’d shared over your year at Richmond, that unspoken thing that fluctuated between you. 

You thought back to his final game then, as you remembered it all. The gentle way you held each other’s faces as you knelt on the floor beneath him, just to be close, just to let him know that you were there. The soft way he’d draped his arm over your shoulder as the team gathered after relegation. Despite the loss, and the end of his career, Roy had still laughed alongside the guys. His fingers had skimmed over your knuckles under those fluorescent lights, noticed by everyone, but it had all gone unsaid. It didn’t need to be mentioned, not when everyone had known this was bound to happen eventually. 

You and him, him and you. It fit, didn’t it? 

But, with the silence of the past few months, you didn’t know anymore. Maybe it was just the proximity, the familiarity of being around each other, that had made you believe it all to be so. Roy hadn’t said a word to you in months, hadn’t tried to. Had it all been in your mind?

As you finished your pint with Ted and Beard, talking about the new season, you forced yourself to stop thinking about Roy. You’d let him know you were there, and it had gone unreciprocated. As much as a part of you still yearned for him to be near, you had to stop putting in effort when he wasn’t trying to do the same to you. 

The name of the dating app was Bantr, and as soon as you messaged Keeley to say you were doing it, she replied with a winky face. You scoffed to yourself as you filled out your profile, and within an hour had got chatting to a guy from Richmond. 

The thing about Bantr; it was anonymous. You knew ages, and usernames, and location, but not actual names, or looks. It was a refreshing change from other apps, and you found yourself having a great conversation. Within a week, you’d already arranged to go out for dinner in the town.

As you walked to your date, a week or so after seeing Ted and Beard, you spoke to Keeley on the phone for a pep talk. 

“What if he’s ugly? Or boring?” you said. 

“Give it a chance, babes, you haven’t even met him yet!”

“I know, I know. I don’t think I was made for dating apps, honestly,” you let out, laughing to yourself to avoid a proper anxious meltdown. You thought you looked quite good, as you wore the same jumpsuit that you had for the charity ball last year. It was amongst the only fancy clothes you fucking owned. 

“You’ll get used to it. How long has it been, anyway?”

“Since I’ve got some, or since I’ve been on a date?” you joked. 

Keeley cackled down the phone. “The date. No– both.”

“A long time. For both, unfortunately.” You could practically feel Keeley grimacing.

“Go and get some then, babes,” she urged you on. “You never know, he might be your soulmate.”

You felt sick immediately, and frowned in disgust. “Ew, stop talking like that. Soulmates aren’t real. And if they were, I doubt I would meet him on Bantr.”

“Stop being so cynical,” she said, like a teacher telling off a student. “Take it from me– even if he’s not your soulmate, still try and have a good time, alright?”

You laughed softly. “Alright,” you gave in. 

“You deserve some fun! Promise me you'll have fun,” Keeley said sternly. You would never be able to deny her. 

“I promise,” you let out, alongside a smile. 

“Tell me everything. Love you.”

“Love you too, babes,” you said, before you hung up. 

You dropped your phone into your bag, and inhaled sharply as you made your way into the restaurant. Maybe this would be a good thing. A change of pace, something to get you back out there into the real world. As you waited at the bar, you shoved away the thought of Roy from your head. He didn’t belong there anymore, not when he’d made no attempt to stay close. 

Rebecca had been right. Footballers were dangerous. Especially the ones who pretended not to care. 

You spent the first twenty minutes of your date wondering if you were being pranked. There had to be a camera crew round the corner, there had to be some presenter who would pop out and tell you it was all a massive joke– because he was gorgeous. 

Lucas was his name. He had a face that lit up a room, and a voice that whacked you in the chest. For a week, you’d been discussing books, films and all the things you enjoyed over text. That didn’t change when you were face to face, but the accompaniment of seeing his face was definitely a plus. He bought you drinks, and was interested when you spoke, and all the things you’d been dying for over the past few years of being chronically single. 

“You’re new to the area, aren’t you?” he asked, as you finished your main courses. 

“Partially,” you said, tapping your wine glass. “I moved here last year for a masters degree.”

“Oh, fantastic. In what?”

You let out a breath. “It’s sort of a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” he said, smiling. “We still haven’t had dessert.”

Jesus fucking Christ, he was utterly perfect. You told him everything. The mix up from the university, the placement being at AFC Richmond, of all places. You spoke about your time there in depth, not even realising that you’d been whittling on about the guys, and Ted and Beard, for a while. By the time you were done, your dessert plates were thoroughly devoured, and you’d both moved onto something a little stronger. Lucas swilled a whiskey, and you clutched onto a gin and tonic. 

“That sounds like an awfully big adventure,” Lucas said, awestruck, when you were finally finished. 

“It was a blessing in disguise, really,” you said, smiling to yourself as all the memories of the year came flooding back. “I still got a position at Pluto Press, and I got to know some of the best people I’ve ever known. Luck was really on my side for this one, I think.”

“Definitely sounds like it,” Lucas said, gawking at you with eyes that only made you feel one thing; heard. “So, you’re still friends with them all?”

You nodded. “Absolutely. I saw Ted and Beard last week, actually. They convinced me to get on Bantr, funnily enough.”

“Well,” Lucas said softly. “You’ll have to thank them the next time you see them. I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.” Your heart lurched in your chest. You fought the urge to look away and cool your face down by fanning your hands. “Also, you need to do me a favour,” he continued, and you smiled questioningly. 

“What’s that?”

“I was a big Chelsea fan growing up, the biggest, if you can imagine it,” Lucas said. “My favourite player of all time was number six, Roy Kent.” Your heart dropped into your gut. When before it had been pumping happily, it was now a stone in your stomach, ready to be ejected through your windpipe. “The next time you see him, can you get me his autograph?”

You stopped breathing for a moment, from a lack of what to say. As soon as Lucas saw your face, he changed his demeanour immediately. 

He leant forward and looked at you with a gentle smile. “I’m totally joking,” he said quickly. You could breathe again, and found yourself stuttering out some chuckles of relief. “It was a joke, truly,” he repeated himself. 

The two of you shared some awkward laughter, but you were thankful it was all a bit of fun. “You scared me,” you said. “You don’t know Roy. If I asked for an autograph he’d fully think I’d gone mad.”

“You seem to know him quite well,” Lucas figured out. “I’m probably barking up the wrong tree, but he doesn’t seem like the friendly type.”

Your chest burst with the need to defend him immediately. “That’s not true at all. Don’t believe what the press says,” you said quickly. “Roy is… he’s… well– an arseshole, completely, but…” You swallowed, allowing yourself to think of him, just this once. “He’s also one of the kindest people I know.”

Lucas smiled, satisfied. “I’ll take your word for it,” he said. 

He paid the bill, and batted away every attempt you gave to pay half of it. As the two of you left the restaurant, Lucas put his arm out for you. You took it graciously, and the two of you walked back into town together. He walked you to your door as you continued your conversation, and when he rose up the steps to your building, he gently let your arm go. 

“I had a really lovely time tonight,” he said. 

“Me too,” you smiled. You meant it. 

“I’d really like to see you again,” he said strongly, before he backed up slightly. “Only if that was something that you wanted, as well, of course.”

You were already laughing by the time he’d finished. “I would love that, yes.”

“Great,” he said. “I’ll call you?”

You nodded, and he nodded too, both of you smiling like two school children who’d just discovered crushes on the other. As he left, you watched him walk away and around the corner. You felt giddy, you felt content, and you couldn’t believe it had all gone so well. Part of you was certain it was all too good to be true, but you followed Keeley’s advice as you entered your flat. You told yourself not to overthink it, to let yourself have a good time, to embrace something going well for once. 

Even so, as you got ready for bed at home, your mind kept flashing back to Roy. He was part of you, and it was impossible to ignore it all. As much as you shouldn’t have, you felt guilty. You and Roy had never been a thing, never gone there, yet you felt like you’d betrayed him, almost. The happiness from your beautiful evening quickly descended into sadness. You’d never felt more lonely than this, despite having a lovely meal with a gorgeous man. 

You dropped yourself onto your sofa, and brought out your phone. Quickly, you clicked on Roy’s name and began typing out a message. You sent it before your slightly drunk self could take it back, choosing to be honest with him for once in your life. 

I miss you. 

As the season kicked off, you focused on work. You applied yourself generously, and were hanging out with your colleagues in the city even more so. You took Keeley’s and Ted’s advice on board– you opened yourself up to more. You went on a few more dates on Bantr, including a second date with Lucas, over the next few weeks. 

None of them had worked out well, apart from Lucas himself. He’d kissed you after your second date, and you’d had to tell yourself not to invite him into your flat for a drink. You didn’t want to rush it all, didn’t want to dive into something that you were enjoying at this pace. Despite being in need– desperately, if you were being honest– you held yourself to a higher standard than that. Not that there was anything wrong with having fun and sleeping around, but you were out of practice. You’d rather sleep with someone you knew a bit more, before jumping straight in. 

Lucas seemed fine with that, too. He made an active effort to call you occasionally, and you’d both talk about work or your plans or your friends and family. He made you laugh, and that was a big green flag in your eyes. 

“So, when are you going to fuck?” Keeley said, and you scoffed abruptly. You both sat in the owner’s box at the Dogtrack, watching Richmond’s third match of the Championship season. July was well and truly over, as the second week of August had just begun. 

Still– nothing from Roy. You’d stopped caring to count the days. 

“Not everything has to be about sex,” you hit back. 

“Sure, I know that. But if he’s really as gorgeous as you say, why the fuck haven’t you yet? Are you playing hard to get?”

“Absolutely not. If anything I probably reply too fast to his messages,” you said. “I just… I don’t want to rush. We’re having fun, and he’s lovely, and– I just don’t need to worry about when sex is going to happen or not happen.” You made yourself believe the words you were saying, but you were definitely lying.

Keeley saw straight through you. “It’s going to happen on your next date, isn’t it?”

“God, I fucking hope so,” you burst. “It’s been over a year for me, you know.”

“A year? Like– a calendar year?”

You nodded severely, like it was the worst thing in the world that you hadn’t been dicked down in over 365 days. Since moving to Richmond, you’d never had the opportunity to, if you thought about it. You had your work colleagues, who overlapped as your friends. Shitting where you ate was always a bad idea, especially with a bunch of footballers. As much as they were all gorgeous in their own ways, you couldn’t imagine sleeping with any of them– well, except…

“What about Roy?” Keeley’s tone changed to something much softer. Her gaze hit you gently, and her eyes told you it was okay to open up to her. “You didn’t ever… you know.”

You frowned as soon as she brought him up. You shook your head, not knowing what else to say. When Roy was brought to your attention now, all you felt was anger. Red, burning rage, penetrating deep into your bones. Your prior loneliness and sadness had turned to being pissed off. 

“No. We never did.” Your voice was blunt, plain, so devoid of anything other than severity, that you hated the way you sounded. You let out a sigh, and told yourself to push forward. “He’s a footballer, Keeley. And you know exactly what he’s like. Maybe I thought something was there, but it’s been three fucking months. He hasn’t contacted me at all, and honestly– I’m done with it.”

Keeley quickly dropped her hand into your lap, clutching her fingers over your own. She smiled at you. “Screw him. You’re so much better than you were last month, so fucking screw him.”

You smiled at her, feeling your anger dissipate. You were lucky to have her, Keeley, because she wholeheartedly understood you. She supported you, and held you when you needed to be held, and yelled encouragement at you when you needed it, too. It was then, as Richmond failed to score a goal, and subsequently performed their third tie of their season so far, that you couldn’t wait for her to meet Lucas. Maybe this would turn into something great, if you only let yourself fall into it. 

A week later, across the green and beyond his neighbourhood, Roy stared at his phone for the umpteenth time that day. He had no new messages, no missed calls, not even any notifications from Dominos or Pizza Hut. He counted the days in his head– thirty-four– since you’d last contacted him. That message, the last one you’d sent him, saying you missed him; he still found his gut coiling and his chest compressing when he thought about it. 

As he oversaw his under 9’s girls football team on the pitch, he slotted his phone back into his tracksuit. This was all getting to be too much for him– missing you, avoiding Richmond, growing out his fucking hair– but he couldn’t seem to shake himself out of this after-retirement slump. 

He regretted the conference. Putting his heart on the line at the end of his career, bursting into tears behind the microphone and in front of the press. You’d messaged him about that, too, saying that you were proud of him, that you wanted to see him, that it’d been a while. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself to respond. He was a prick, he knew that more than anyone, and the fact that he was actively avoiding you and other people who gave a shit, made him feel even worse about it all. 

It only made him want to stay away more. 

Maybe he could coach these under 9’s for the rest of his life, and live in seclusion, only interrupted by his yoga mums and an occasional glass of rosé. 

He entered his house that evening, grabbing a beer as soon as he did. He popped off the top, and glugged back a few gulps. The evenings were bright in summer, and it only made his house feel emptier. He glanced around his living room, skimming his eyes over his overflowing bookshelves, when he caught a look at your article. 

He’d framed it, and placed it in the middle of his homemade cards from Phoebe. As much as it stung him to look at now, it was a reminder of you. Those months together at Richmond, his final game, all of it. He thought of it all more often than he wanted, as his mind roamed and landed upon things that only made him feel worse. Going from playing football everyday to this was a big change. It hurt his heart profusely, but he knew it was partly his own doing.

He’d cut himself off from everyone, shut himself away for the foreseeable future. In some ways, he felt he deserved it. He’d battered away every attempt at people to reach out. You, Ted, Keeley; their names sat in his phone with messages from over a month ago that he’d never responded to. He gulped back more of his beer as he started getting angry at himself, and a split second decision had him finishing his drink and grabbing his house keys. He left his empty house and headed into town, as the sun still shone high over Richmond. 

You hugged Lucas as you approached the bar, and your table outside. He kissed you on the cheek affectionately, before he pulled out your chair. You sat, and he confidently waved over a waitress to take your drink orders. 

This was nice. Your third date, and neither of you could get enough of the other. You sipped on wine and talked about your daily lives, sharing jokes over some olives, as the sun skittered across the lush outside space of a central Richmond bar. 

“How are they doing?” Lucas asked, popping an olive into his mouth. 

“Not good,” you said. “They’ve tied three games in a row. Not the best after relegation, really.” You shrugged, picturing Sam’s sullen face after the game last week. 

They were all so tired, all so capable, but they’d lost Roy. It was doing a number on all of them. They missed their ex-captain.

“Hm, that’s a shame. What do you reckon is holding them back?” he asked. 

You often felt giddy when Lucas asked you about football. He listened to what you had to say, took on board your points, and thought you knew a lot more about the sport in general. It was a welcomed change from what the guys at the club had thought of your knowledge. 

“Lots of things, I suppose,” you said, taking a sip of your drink before you started. “Having Ted and Beard was always going to be a learning curve, but that wasn’t the reason for their relegation. Jamie Tartt was taken back by Man City a few months before the end of their previous season, which drastically made things worse, amongst other things.”

Other things being Roy. 

“Other things?” Lucas said, and you wished he hadn’t. 

You were trying this thing where you didn’t bring up Roy when you didn’t need to. It had helped you a lot so far, over the past few weeks, and kept your moods happier in general. When you thought of him, it was often difficult to get him out of your mind again. It only ever reminded you of the past few months of silence, and no one needed to be in the firing line for that– except him. 

Nevertheless, you sucked in a breath, and drank a large gulp of your wine, before you forced yourself to continue. “Well, their final game of last season. Other than the loss, and the relegation itself, they were definitely shaken up by–” You stopped, but not because of anything in your mind. 

Your heart catapulted into your throat when your eyes focused on him. Black t-shirt, black leather jacket, black jeans. His hair had grown out. He looked scruffy, and unkempt, and all the things that he hadn’t only a few months ago. You noticed his limp first, next to the steely gaze that he shot to the world around him. 

“Roy.” His name burst from your mouth.

He was fast approaching, about to pass the bar, and you didn’t want him to spot you. You weren’t in the mood to see him now. You wanted to enjoy your date, and get laid afterwards, and not think about him ever. 

Lucas hummed and nodded. “Oh, yeah. Losing Roy must have been a big change for them, you’re right.”

“No– uh,” you said, suddenly leaning forward to clutch onto Lucas’s arm. “Can we go inside? I suddenly have a really bad chill.”

Lucas widened his eyes at you in concern, but he didn’t seem to catch on. “Really? It’s still quite warm. I can grab you a blanket, would that help?” he suggested. God dammit he was so considerate, and kind, but you didn’t think a blanket would fix this. Panic set in tenfold.

You rethought your escape plan. “I– I’ll go to the loo, and grab one on my way out,” you said frantically, standing up far too quickly. 

Your leg hit the table abruptly, sending a sharp pain through your kneecap. You squeaked, and your glass toppled over suddenly. It was too late to be stopped, as it fell from the table and smashed upon the floor. Glass shards littered the concrete, and your presence was alerted to everyone at the bar, and beyond. 

Lucas got up swiftly, and clutched your arm. “Are you okay?” he asked, worried. 

“Yeah, I just–” You looked up, and you froze. 

Roy Kent stopped walking, as his eyes focused on your face. You felt your blood boil uncomfortably beneath your skin, as his gaze took in the panicked expression on your brow. The jig was up. He’d spotted you, due to your utter clumsiness, and a wave of upset ravaged in your chest. 

The first thing Roy thought when he saw you, was how much you were glowing. You hadn’t glowed like that in a while, not unless he counted the night of the charity ball, or when you’d interviewed him in his dining room. The sun settled over your shocked expression, a look that should have made you look scary, like a deer in headlights, but it only made his heart lurch. 

There was a man before you, clutching onto your arm as he asked you if you were okay again. He rounded the table and held you close, and as he did you finally looked away. You smiled at him, clearly embarrassed that you’d broken a glass and whacked yourself. That look was one that Roy recognised– you’d looked at him that like many times before.

This is what he’d allowed himself to pass by. You, and drinks in the summer, chatting over a bowl of olives as you swished a straw into a spritzer or got froth on your upper lip from a beer. He was a fucking idiot. Roy told himself this was it. He could either go over, and get you back– get it all back– or he could miss this opportunity and never fucking try. When he started walking again, you snapped your gaze back at him in warning. 

Roy chose to ignore it.

You could’ve punched him.

“What was that all about–?” Lucas said, as he followed your gaze. He stopped short as soon as he saw Roy, and smiled excitedly as he looked back at you. “Is that… Roy Kent?”

You inhaled sharply, deeply, trying to calm yourself down as a wave of anger rose from within you. “Yes. Yes, it is,” you said, giving up. There was a look on Roy’s face that you knew well, that fake smile that he put on for people, when he was pretending to be a joking version of himself.

“What a coincidence!” Lucas exclaimed. 

You hummed, trying to keep your tone light. “Massive,” you said bluntly. 

As Roy stepped towards you both, you felt your chest crumble ever so slightly. Lucas peered at him like an awestruck kid. This was the last thing you’d ever wanted to fucking happen. 

Roy gestured to the broken glass on the floor. “Think you dropped something.”

“Thanks for the heads up,” you said, as you inhaled his words for the first time in three months. Alongside your anger, you felt your throat start to close. Seeing his face again after so long was a hit. 

“Roy Kent,” Lucas said happily, sticking his hand out. Roy shot you an amused look as he leaned in and shook it. “Big fan. I’ve heard a lot about you from this one,” he said, gesturing to you affectionately. 

“Have you now?” Roy said. The sweet way he was talking was all a farce. He was playing nice for your sake, but you had a horrible feeling that he was going to go overboard. 

“Yes. All bad things,” you said, smiling sarcastically. Lucas laughed loudly, and Roy smiled overenthusiastically, like someone at a pantomime performance. It was incredibly off-putting, and made you feel slightly sick. It was probably overlaid from the deep panic you felt in your gut, amongst other things. 

Roy and Lucas parted. As they did, Lucas peered down at you. He took one look at your face– your gaze stuck on Roy bluntly and trying not to scream– and utterly misinterpreted your emotions. “Would you care to join us for a drink?” he asked Roy. 

You sucked in a breath. “Oh, no, he’s–”

“You know what,” Roy cut over you. “I’d love to.”

After a year of knowing him, you knew this was it– this would finally be the time you punched Roy Kent in his fucking face. 

CHAPTER TEN

Tag list: @atjamesbbarnes @20th-centu-fairy-girl @royalestrellas @weakmoony-stuff@ironmanmagnetfridge @lemonpiegurll @hellomagicalsouls @her-fandom-sanctum @gothicwidowsworld @old-enough-to-know-better73 @djarindroid @afraidofshrimp @respondingtoshowerthoughts-blog @queen-of-dumbasses @sogoodtoheritsvicious @lznnph1l @crav1ngc4ke @onceuponaoneshot @jamieolivia27 @dadbodfanatic-x @kelp-dreaming @harrypedro465 @lonely-escape-artist @abeeabeeabee @nicklet94 @libsybum  @cha0sdreaming @toomany24s @kashee-h @infinetlyforgotten @secretnook @cluelesslilsharkie @callmecasey81 @deepdarkvelvet @twiceinabluemoon @cardeegans @golden-hoax @kingleahhh @hoalkk1 @sunderland-6 @ellouisa17 @thesestrangerslikeme @elissaaa @scrumptiousroadponymoney @confessionsofatotaldramaslut @ysmmsy @seacactusplant @pedritosgirl2000 @loveslide @ryleyrooroo @hanybunch @tweasley20 @witchyanya-7

[vampirestookmydoubts]

The Prince's Debutante - Series

A/N: This is a series based and written on the ideas of @aninhatatu, Prince Friedrich deserves all the love.

Summary: As the daughter of a disowned marquis and a common maid, you enter your debut season under the watchful eyes of your grandmother, hoping for a humble suitor, to secure your family's future. But your plans change when Prince Friedrich falls for you, sparking an unexpected romance.

Will you and Friedrich be able to find a way to unite love and duty, as you navigate the complexities of society? Or will your blooming love succumb to your family's different expectations and societal scrutinies?

Pairings: Prince Friedrich x Reader

Warnings: none

Chapter 2: Blossoming Affections

From the Society Papers of Lady Whistledown:

My dear readers, it appears that amidst the glittering diamonds of the ton, a hidden gemstone has emerged in the form of Miss Y/N Whitlock. While she may not possess the dazzling allure of a diamond, I daresay that she shines just as brightly, if not more so. Could it be that Miss Whitlock is the rarest of gems—a ruby in a sea of diamonds, catching the eye and heart of a Prussian nobleman? Only time will tell, but I for one am eager to watch this intriguing dance unfold. After all, in matters of the heart, sometimes it is the hidden gems that prove to be the most valuable of all.

In the wake of your memorable dance, the reports of Lady Whistledown didn’t wait and surely didn’t disappoint the ton’s interest in the unexpected relationship that started to unfold in front of everyone’s eyes.

Despite the murmurs and gazes that seemed to follow you wherever you went, you found yourself increasingly drawn to Prince Friedrich's company, and Fortuna seemed more than willing to cross your paths. Your encounters at balls and soirées became a regular occurrence, each meeting deepening your connection.

Your grandmother, Lady Clarece, was invited to see the latest exhibition presented at the museum, and decided to take you with her. ‘See and be seen’, as she told you in the carriage. Especially now that you were the center of the ton’s talks.

You absentmindedly walked through the exhibition of paintings and sculptures, taking in the different shapes and colors the artists used to bring their imagination to life, when someone approached you from the side.

“Remarkable how artists are able to bring the pictures in their mind onto paper, isn’t it?”

You turned around to the familiar and soft voice, dropping into a curtsy to greet the man. “I was just thinking about the same thing”, you admitted, which made Friedrich smile at you.

“I had hoped to meet you here, Y/N”, the blonde said, turning to the side and extending his arm in an invitation to follow him. “In this case I should thank my grandmother’s secret love for gossip and self-presentation, for my attendance to this event”, you joked, which made Friedrich stifle a laugh.

“Do you think her love for self-presentation would like to be publicly thanked for in front of London’s high society? Or maybe a bouquet of flowers?” You grimaced at the mere thought of Friedrich highly praising and thanking your grandmother. “Please, I beg you, don’t.”

You and him shared a laugh as you both seemed to imagine your grandmother’s reaction to his potential thank you speech.

“Well, then how about you tell me about the book you bought a few days ago. You couldn’t tell me about it the last time I saw you as you hadn’t started it yet.” As you strolled through the museum's hallowed halls, the world around you seemed to fade into insignificance, the exhibits becoming mere backdrop to the captivating exchange unfolding between you.

Your heart fluttered lightly at his genuine interest in your interests.

"It's called ‘The Enchanted Mansion'," you explained, your voice suddenly alive with excitement. "The story follows a young woman named Thea, who inherits a sprawling estate by her late grandfather, which is shrouded in secrets. Soon her grandfather’s dark past catches up with her, and she has to embark on an adventure of self-discovery, learning who she truly wants to be and overcoming formidable challenges. But she also finds true and honest love along the way."

As you speak, your own words painting a vivid picture of the fantastical world described in the book, you didn’t catch the way Friedrich was gazing at you.

"But what I love most about the book," you continued, voice suddenly softening with emotion, "is how it captures the essence of longing and desire. Thea yearns for something more and deeper in her life, something beyond the confines of her ordinary existence. And as she explores the mansion’s and her grandfather’s secrets, she discovers that the power to change the cycle and therefore her fate lies within her own hands and heart."

Friedrich listened intently, captivated by your passionate retelling of the story.

"It sounds like a truly remarkable book," Friedrich remarks, his gaze locked on your face. "I can see why it resonates with you so deeply."

You smiled warmly in response, grateful for Friedrich's genuine interest and understanding.

In that moment, you felt a profound connection with him, but your excitement was tinged with a hint of self-doubt.

"I hope I'm not boring you with the books I like to read," you confessed, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as you suddenly remembered who he was. "I imagine you prefer more sophisticated and clever books."

Friedrich's smile was warm and reassuring as he shook his head. "Not at all, Y/N. I find your passion for this story quite endearing." He reached out to gently squeeze your hand, his touch sending a shiver of warmth down your spine. "In fact, I've always had a fondness for tales like these."

Your eyes widened in surprise, heart skipping a beat at his unexpected admission.

"You do?"

Friedrich nodded, his gaze steady and sincere. "Yes, indeed. In fact, I quite enjoyed ‘The Duelist’s Honor’ by Mrs. Hartley, who is also the author of the book you're describing if I’m correct."

Your jaw momentarily dropped in astonishment, your mind reeling at the revelation. "I had no idea! I've always admired her work, but I never would have imagined that you—"

Friedrich grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement at your undertone. "That I, a prince, would enjoy stories like these? Believe me, Y/N, there is much more to me than meets the eye."

Your conversation flowed effortlessly, each literature revelation bringing you closer to Friedrich.

The following day, you were pleasantly surprised to be presented by a stunning bouquet of flowers the housemaid positioned in front of you in the drawing room.

A gesture that left your parents both intrigued and delighted.

"Beautiful flowers," your father remarked, examining the bouquet over his newspaper with interest. "I once sent your mother a very similar one."

Your mother's eyes sparkled with excitement, as she mused over the colorful arrangement. "Who would send such a precious bouquet?”

Their speculation was interrupted by the housemaid announcing a sudden visitor at the door.

Your heart skipped a beat as you recognized the familiar figure presenting himself at your doorstep: Prince Friedrich himself.

The sight of the prince elicited gasps of astonishment from your family, who were unaccustomed to receiving such esteemed guests at their humble abode.

As Friedrich entered the drawing room with effortless grace and charm, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and excitement at the prospect of introducing him to your family.

Your parents jumped from their seats, greeting him with a blend of surprise and delight, their expressions a curious mix of reverence and nervousness.

"Your Highness," your father stammered, bowing slightly. "To what do we owe the honor of your visit in our modest home?"

Friedrich smiled warmly, his presence commanding the room with ease. "I hope I am not intruding, Sir Whitlock. I simply wished to pay my respects and express my admiration for your daughter."

Your heart swelled with pride at Friedrich's words, though you couldn't help but feel a pang of anxiety at the thought of your family's reaction to his unexpected visit. By now you had grown accustomed to navigating the intricacies of society, but having the prince suddenly in your own home felt like uncharted territory.

Your mother, ever the picture of grace under pressure, welcomed Friedrich with open arms, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.

"Please, Your Highness, make yourself at home. It is an honor to have you here."

The blonde prince lowered his head in gratitude. “I hope you like the flowers I picked for you. The florist almost denied making it and wanted to change my mind to a bouquet of roses. But to me flowers hold a very special meaning and message.”

Your mother beamed with excitement at his words, as Friedrich settled into a comfortable chair.

“What a beautiful thing to say your highness!” Ever the inquisitive one, your younger brother quirked up from the sidelines.

 “So, what do they mean? And what about the flowers on your lapel?” your brother, James, asked and added a hasty ‘your Highness’ when he met your mothers gaze.

Your eyes now fell to the blue flowers that were neatly attached to the lapel of his jacket.

Friedrich smiled at the young boy, leaning slightly forward in his chair, meeting your eyes. “Much like the hidden meaning within these flowers, it is a secret that only a heart touched by true affection can ever hope to decipher.”

James looked between you and the prince with one of his eyebrows raised in a lack of understanding.

"Your Highness," he began tentatively, "What brings you really here?" His cheeky question earned him another stern look from your mother, but Friedrich just chuckled as he turned to James, his expression warm. "I wished to spend some time with your sister. She has captured my heart in a way I never thought possible."

Your cheeks flushed at Friedrich's candid declaration, and you felt a rush of emotion as you met his sincere gaze. Despite the unconventional nature of your forming relationship, you knew in that moment that your feelings for Friedrich were also deeper and more profound than you had ever imagined.

Throughout the visit, Friedrich charmed your family with tales of his homeland and shared his aspirations for the future. He spoke with warmth and honesty, putting everyone at ease with his easygoing demeanor and genuine interest in their lives.

As the evening ended, Friedrich rose to take his leave, his departure marked by expressions of gratitude and goodwill from your family.

As he turned to leave, Friedrich stopped in his tracks, turning back to you with a smile.

“I almost forgot!” Reaching into the inside of his coat, he pulled out a rectangle wrapped in silken cloth. “Flowers are beautiful, but their beauty is fleeting. They wilt and fade away so quickly. But words... written words have a lasting charm. They never lose their beauty or their ability to transport us to different worlds." Taking the gift from him you smiled, opening the wonky looking bow – you assumed he wrapped it himself – to be presented with a book bound in green leather and golden letters, spelling ‘The Last Marigold’.

"Indeed. While flowers may brighten a room for a few days, a book can stay with you forever, providing solace, excitement, and inspiration long after the petals have fallen. It makes books truly timeless treasures", you said, turning the book in your hands, feeling the leather under your fingertips. Friedrich’s smile also grew at your words.

“I found it in a small bookstore, in an alley hidden from the eyes of the ton. I thought you might like it.” The thought of him scanning rows and rows of bookshelves in even the tiniest of bookstores in London, when he could have just sent a servant to an expensive store, warmed your heart. He pulled out another copy of the book from his coat. “I’d love to hear your opinions on it the next time we meet.” With that and a deep bow and kiss to the back of your hand, he bid you and your family farewell.

The moment the door closed behind him, you swiftly escaped your excited and beaming mother, making your way to the quiet sanctuary of the library. With purposeful steps, you approached a familiar bookshelf and pulled out a thick, leather-bound volume, its cover adorned with an embossed flower and letters that had faded to near obscurity. ‘The Language of Flowers’ had been one of your cherished companions growing up. Your love for flowers had only deepened when your mother first shared the secret messages your father had sent her through bouquets during their forbidden courtship.

You began flipping through the pages until your eyes landed on the bluish flower you had noticed on Friedrich’s lapel. “Cornflower—the national flower of Prussia…” you read softly. Of course, he would choose something so symbolic of his homeland, you mused, scanning the passage until a sentence stopped you cold, making your heart skip a beat.

‘An unmarried gentleman in love might be seen with a freshly plucked cornflower, pinned upon his breast. The fate of his affection is said to be reflected in the flower’s bloom. Should the cornflower remain vibrant and fresh, it signals a hopeful promise that his love may be returned. But if the flower withers and fades too quickly, it is taken as a most unfortunate omen, a silent whisper from nature that his heart’s desire might remain unfulfilled.’

A smile tugged at your lips as excitement fluttered in your chest.

The bouquet Friedrich had sent you suddenly felt like a puzzle waiting to be solved, and you couldn’t wait to decipher its hidden message. Roaming through the pages, you hastily scribbled down the meanings of each flower—gloxinias, baby’s breath, primroses, daisies, and peonies—until you pieced together a message that made your heart race and your cheeks flush.

"From the moment I first beheld you, my heart was irrevocably yours. You have become the very essence of my existence, and life without you is unthinkable. It is my deepest hope that we might soon unite in marriage and spend our days together for a lifetime and beyond."

It was as though you could hear Friedrich’s voice in your mind, a tender whisper sharing the secret message only a heart touched by true affection could ever hope to decipher.

______________________________________________________ Tag list: @rebeccawinters, @inutheangel, @bbubbllejisoo

[e-dubbc11]

this is for the sleepover summer song:

idk if the song fits but this does remind me of summer 🥺

Hello my sweet friend! Thank you for this ask. This song is SO fun! Oh, I didn’t know who you had in mind for this but I went with Tattoo Artist and Dad! Billy. I hope you like it and thank you again for participating in my summer sleepover♥️

Happy

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Billy Russo x F! Reader & Family

Warnings: None. Pure fluff

Word Count: 1.3K-ish

Summary: Little Raven and Dylan love to have dance parties every day after coming home from daycare.

A/N: Part of The Sweetest Pain Series. I’ll link the rest of the series HERE

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

Working a full time job and trying to take care of two kids was exhausting even though you had plenty of help. It was a little easier when Anna was in school all day so you only had to pay for Dylan to go to daycare but now that she was out of school for the summer months, they were both going and it was just go, go, go from the time you got up until you went to bed.

They didn’t go every day though; Maria watched them one day a week and your mother also took them one day a week. The relationship between the two of you became a little better after you had kids. It still wasn’t the best but it was a start and both Anna and Dylan loved their grammy.

It was a little bit of a further commute to work every day but you and Billy finally bought a house not too long after Dylan was born.

Maria had mentioned there was one for sale a couple of streets over when you went into labor on Halloween with Dylan so she was thrilled when your offer was accepted and you all were now living close by.

Anna Raven, now 6 years old, was growing her own little personality. You could hold conversations with her and she had plenty of opinions of her own.

Baby boy Dylan was two years old, constantly following his big sister around, and just a very happy child; both of your children were. Their smiles matched their father’s but their laugh was all yours.

After your work day was over, you would pick both kids up from wherever they were for the day and head for home. They both loved music, loved to dance, and sing along so Little Raven had gotten into the habit of having, what she called, “dance parties.”

It was just something fun for the three of you to do for a little while before you started to cook dinner. Billy usually missed them because he was working but Anna would always fill him in on what songs you danced to that day.

It was such a beautiful and warm day that you suggested to Anna and Dylan that you have your dance party outside today. Your perfect little backyard was somewhat hidden from the neighbors with a high fence and flowering shrubs.

Holding your phone and Bluetooth speaker, you looked at the kids and asked them, “What do you guys wanna listen to today?”

Their cheeks were still flushed from running around at daycare all day long but also very excited to be home. They looked forward to their dance parties every day.

In her polka dot dress, Anna clapped her hands together and replied, “Happeeeeeee!!! I wanna listen to Happy, Mommy!”

You turned to Dylan.

“What about you, baby boy? What do you wanna listen to? You wanna listen to Happy too?” You asked.

“Happy, Mommy!” Replied Dylan.

And a dance party wouldn’t be complete without props, so you brought out the toy guitars, tambourines, hats, and sunglasses.

Dylan’s guitar was almost as big as he was while you preferred the tambourine so you could do your best Stevie Nicks impersonation. And Little Raven loved wearing sunglasses and big hats while singing into your hairbrush.

“Happy it is then! Ok, you guys ready?” You asked them, excitedly.

Dylan gave you the thumbs up which was his new way of saying “yes,” and Anna said, “Hit it, Mommy!”

No record deal, no dream fulfilled,

No three minute video

No catchy jingle,

No big hit single playing on the radio

Watching your children dance and sing in the backyard made your heart soar. They loved it and you did too. You only wished Billy were here to see it.

Can make me happy

Can make me feel the way you do

You make me happy

I wanna make You happy too

You make me happy

You make me happy

What you didn’t know is Billy had come home from the studio earlier than he usually did and the music was so loud, none of you heard him call out to you. He walked through the house calling out for anyone that would answer and that’s when he heard the music coming from the backyard.

You were having such a good time, that you didn’t notice Billy was watching from the back door. A wide smile played across his lips while his family put on an outdoor concert.

No flashy cars, no movie stars,

No man, woman, boy or girl

No fancy things, no diamond rings,

Nothing in the whole wide world

“Sing, Mommy!” Little Raven exclaimed.

Can make me happy

Can make me feel the way You do

You make me happy

I want to make You happy too

You make me happy

You make me feel the way I do

You make me happy

I wish the whole world knew You too

The late afternoon sun warmed the high points of your face as you took Anna’s hand to spin her in a circle. Dylan clumsily strummed the strings on his toy guitar and danced as you continued to sing to both of them while Billy chuckled from the doorway.

Little Raven was the first to notice her dad.

“Hi Daddy!!! Sing to Daddy, Mommy!” She said.

“Oh Daddy doesn’t wanna here me sing, baby girl.” You said.

Billy flashed his million-dollar smile at you.

“Sure I do, sweet girl.” He said with a wink, walking out into the backyard.

No I cannot count the ways

You have made my life so blessed

All I know is that You came

And made beauty of my mess

Said I cannot count the ways

You have made my life so blessed

All I know is that You came

And made beauty of my mess

Those words to the song were a perfect description of how you felt about Billy and your children. It is fitting that the kids picked that song on the day that their father came home early and watched their backyard dance party.

You make me happy

I want to make You happy too

You make me happy

You make me feel the way I do

You make me happy

I wish the whole world knew You too

He pulled you in close to him while the kids danced around you with his arms wrapped tightly around your waist, he asked, “I make you happy, baby?”

Raking your nails against his scalp, you bit back a smile and wrinkled your nose. “You make me very happy, my love. Plus, look at how happy you made these guys by coming home early. Now you can participate in the dance party too!” You said and gently pressed your lips to his.

“Oh no…you know I don’t dance, sweet girl.” Said Billy, shaking his head.

Looking down at Anna Raven, you pointed and said, “Look at that face, tell me you’re NOT gonna dance with your little miss?”

Anna then climbed on top of Billy’s feet and grabbed his hands. She looked up him with her big dark chocolate colored eyes, pouted a little and begged, “Pleeeeeeease, Daddy.”

Billy shook his head, pointed his finger at her and said, “You learned that look from your mother.”

He started moving his feet so it looked like Little Raven was dancing as you picked up Dylan, held him against your chest and started dancing with him.

“I’m dancing with Daddy, Mommy!” Exclaimed Anna.

When Billy saw how happy it made Little Raven to be able to dance with her dad, all of the embarrassment went away and he was all smiles.

“I’ll try and make it home in time for more of these, baby.” Said Billy.

With Anna on top of his feet, he moved closer to you, and met your gaze with his own. Billy paused to smile at you again before he kissed you. Being this close to him, you could smell the green soap on his clothes and taste the peppermint gum on his lips.

You loved him so much.

Looking down at Anna and then over at Dylan, you smiled and replied, “We’d love that.”

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @idaoftheburningmind @rafaelakelley @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @fictional-hooman @gijos @celestialend @nutmeg17 @k-marzolf @vaguekayla @rosaleenablack @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mysteriouslydeafeningwerewolf @aoi-targaryen @rachlovesactors

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend @mrsbillyrusso

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[elucienweekofficial]

Instagram ・ AO3 Collection ・ Twitter ・ Event Masterlist

Thank you to everyone who participated in Day 3 of Elucien Week!

We did our best to keep track of all of the tumblr contributions below, but if we missed anyone or made any mistakes please assume best intentions and kindly reach out to one of our mods! 🌸🦊

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📝Fics, drabbles, and poetry:

All the Fear and the Fire by @elliemarchetti

When Words Fail by @asnowfern

Wild Flowers by @annaskareninas

ACOWAR (Elucien's version) by @crazy-ache

Vines on a Tree by @teddyhoneybear

Oh What A Flower by @fieldofdaisiies

Adventurers by @shadowisles-writes

Take My Hand Poem by @acourtofthought

Elain's day out : Exploring Tortuga by @sonics-atelier

A Heart of Gold by @jules-writes-stories

I Dream of Rain/ I Dream of Fire by @missfckingfortune

Something About April by @starsreminisce

Long Live by @separatist-apologist

What Do You Know About Love? by @the-lonelybarricade

Pearls Part 2 by @lady-sunbeam

Karma Is My Boyfriend by @rosanna-writer

Dream a Little Dream of Me by @beesays

Elucien’s First Time by @nestagetbehindme

Elucien mini epilogue by @acourtofthought

Blooming Bonds by @booksnwriting

🎨Art:

Elucien in the crumbling ruins by @goddessofwisdom18

Wild Boy // Wild Joy by @climbthemountain2020

Lucien teaching Elain how to fish comissioned by @moonpatroclus and @cauldronblssd from artist @/ranadela_x

Elucien handkiss in the tulip fields comissioned by @lulufoxlainfawn from artist @majuandrad

Elucien in the tulip field comissioned by @kbirdie03 and @gwynrieldefenseatty from artist @mysleepyblue

Power Couple by @lily-nyx

Adventurers 🌻 comissioned by @lovelygwyneth from artist btzart_

Elucien sailing the world by @artedeabs

Elucien dancing in nature by @daliasmay

Dinner & A Show comissioned by @foxylady13 from artist @moonrosesxart

Baulder's Gate 3 Elucien comissioned by @separatist-apologist and @the-lonelybarricade from artist @velidewrites

Double Date in the Tulip Fields by @luciensdefenseattorney

DnD Elucien by @nesta-apologist

Adventurers 📜🌱 by @positivewitch

𝒜 𝓁𝒾𝒻𝑒𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒶𝒹𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝑒𝓈 comissioned by @acourtdelaluna from artist @/oli_diart

Lucien and Elain approaching Koschei by @works-of-heart

Someone give Elain a Pegasus by @majuandrad

Elucien sitting in a tree by @stargirlie25

Adventurers by @jadedbugart

she is the sun by @evermorelore

Day III "Adventurers" by @brielyasmin

🎶Misc:

Elucien Wedding Headcanon by @wishfulimaginings

Acotar 6 Moodboard by @onlyinmymiiiind

Warrior of the Mind: Chapter III Moodboard and Exerpt by @starfall-spirit

The Clever Fox & The Lovely Fawn Moodboard by @lomlloll

Elucien Tulip Feild Headcanon, Moodboard, and Poem by @shadowqueenjude

t r a v e l Moodboard by @spore-loser

Sometimes Home Has a Heartbeat Moodboard by @iheartfjords

Adventures Across the Continent Moodboard by @lucienarcheron

Lucien's Camera Roll by @shallyne

Wherever, My Beloved Moodboard by @bookishwithathought

ELAIN AND ELUCIEN: ADVENTURES (LUNATHION'S VERSION) by @octobers-veryown

Day Court Elain Fancast by @shallyne

Tulip Fields Analysis by @olenvasynyt

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Thank you as well to everyone who coloured today's Coloring Page!

Adventurers coloring page by @sadiegirl2021

Adventurers coloring page by @yaralulu

Adventurers coloring page by @ladymidnight-goesforth

Adventurers coloring page by @tsunami-of-tears

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If we missed one of your contributions, kindly reach out to one of our event runners!

Header art by @laxibbeb

[valentoru]

|| Limitless ||

[CHAPTER 17]

SYNOPSIS: Gojo Satoru, a big time artist, who’s known for leaving a trail of broken hearts in his wake wherever he goes. And you, the lead guitarist of an upcoming band, who’s absolutely certain that no one will ever love you. Through an accident in which you happened to kiss Gojo in a frantic state, you both decide, via convenience alone—and zero regard for both of your managers—to pull a fake dating stunt what could go wrong? Any press is good press…right?

PREVIOUS : MASTERLIST : NEXT

It was Thursday night, you would be leaving for the airport in eight hours to catch your flight to LA. You had missed fake-dating-Thursday as Satoru was already in LA. Not having fake-dating-Thursday this week pained you a little, it seemed it hadn’t really occurred to you how much you enjoyed it till it had gone. You would see him in fourteen hours though, that was a bonus.

You weren’t really sure why not seeing him saddened you so much, you clearly really relied on his presence in your life to keep you company.

You shoved some underwear into your suit case, it was full. Too full. When you had closed it, the edges didn’t meet. You had to climb up on your bed and sit on your suitcase in order to zip it shut.

When you had finally won the wrestle with your suitcase, you went into the kitchen where Megumi and Maki were waiting for you. You had told them you would only be a minute and ended up taking an hour. You plopped down in the other chair at your dining table, folding your arms on the table and resting your head on them.

Maki reached her hand over and rubbed your back. “Packing getting to you?”

“Yeah. It sucks. I hate packing.”

“Well, you could go and nap, we have like four hours till we need to get ready to go.”

“I would, but I’m actually going to go to the studio and practice.”

Maki’s hand halted. “Y/N.” You lifted your head up, Megumi and Maki were sharing a look. A look that your couldn’t quite decipher.

Megumi sighed. “Y/N you’ve been spending so much time at the studio, like, twelve hours a day.”

“Yeah, we’re worried. We’ve hardly seen you.”

If you were being honest, you had kind of been kind of been hiding from them. Or well, not them per se but definitely from Maki, considering she is the only one out of the three of you unaware of you and Satoru not actually being a couple. If you didn’t spend time around her there was no reason to lie, thus, the lie couldn’t get any worse. But you also wanted to keep practicing for Geto’s event, it was convenient timing if anything.

“I’ve just been busy, you know Geto’s event means a lot to me and I want to be my absolute best.” Well at least there was some truth.

“And you will be, but if you overwork yourself you’re just going to exhaust your talent.”

You sighed. She was right, actually. You had been burning yourself out. You had known when you got home at 4am on a Wednesday, but chose to ignore it. You were enjoying the distraction, when you were in the studio there was no one there to lie to, there was no one there to pretend to be dating, the was no one pecking you, bugging you, just you alone with your thoughts. Which had actually given you time to handle the situation with Toge outing your “relationship” in a much more civilised way—especially compared to your initial reaction.

“No you’re right. I’m actually going to go and catch some sleep, like you said.”

“Good.”

Megumi, though not speaking, gave you a nod of approval.

You got up and went back to your room quickly setting an alarm on your phone. You sunk into your bed and closed you eyes, falling asleep almost immediately.

Your alarm had scared you awake. You practically sat up straight in your bed. It had been a long while since you had to set one, you forgot how loud they can be.

You laid in bed for a while, simply mustering up the strength to get out of it. When you finally did you felt like your head was spinning, you'd had one of those naps where you didn't feel any better after it. You stumbled into the kitchen and quickly got yourself a much needed glass of water.

“Hey sleeping beauty.” The voice had almost startled you. You spun on your heel to be met with Yuji. It felt like forever since you had actually seen him like this, the last time it was just a one on one conversation with the two of you you’d ended up arguing about Yuji’s obvious feelings for Megumi.

Yuji was sat at your breakfast bar, his note book under him. You walked over to where he was sat, resting your elbows on the worktop. “What you writing?”

“Just some lyrics for Nobara.” You tried your best to get a peek of it, however, Yuji shut the note book and put it aside when he caught wind of what you were trying to do. You never really got why he was so protective over that note book, but you never questioned it. Everyone had something they didn’t want people to see, you figured that was just his.

“Okay.” You straightened your spine. “Okay, Im going to go freshen up then I think we can go to the airport.”

Yuji nodded. “I’ll go tell Megumi and Maki you’re just freshening up then we’ll go.” He spilled out of the stool and disappeared to Megumi’s room.

You went to your room and quickly threw on some comfortable clothes and grabbed your suitcase and carry-on, quickly checking through your notes on your phone to see if you had ticked off everything you needed. You had, luckily. You were free to go. You quickly left your room, being sure to shut your bedroom door behind you.

You were going to see Satoru soon.

The thought almost startled you. You’d been doing a fairly good job of not thinking about him, or how you hadn’t seen him all week. Not at fake-dating Thursday, not even in passing. You hadn’t seen him all week, it felt like a part of you had gone missing. It had never really dawned on you how much you relied on his presence in your life. You never realised how much you relied on “norm” which for you consisted of; seeing Megumi every morning, going to work, seeing Maki and seeing Satoru.

But for now, you had to not think about that. You had bigger things to think about. Like airport security, something your deeply despised. You loved flying and travelling however you could not stand airport security. You understand the need for it you just hated how longwinded it was, and how time consuming it was, and how mentally and physically draining it was.

You slipped your trainers on stood up. “We ready to go?”

Maki nodded. “Yep! I helped Megumi pack while you were asleep and Yuji and I came over here fully packed so we’re ready to go!” She was beaming. Over the last few weeks she had been a lot more smiley, you almost felt responsible for it, if you hadn’t of lied to her she wouldn’t be with Yuta. She would still be miserable. Given you’d put yourself through utter misery for close to 3 months but it was worth it to see you best friend so happy.

“Let’s go then.” Megumi grabbed his keys and opened the door, holding it open for everyone. One by one you filed out. Megumi locked the door and you left the apartment complex.

The whole travel you thought about Satoru. You allowed yourself to. You were excited to see him—not that you’d let him know. Despite the worries that had once circled your mind upon agreeing to sharing a room with him, you were honestly excited for it. Sharing a room with him wouldn’t be so bad, not at all actually. You enjoyed his company, a lot. He was fun to be around and it turned out you actually did have a lot in common with him.

This was going to be an amazing trip.

TAGLIST(34/50): @bbmsxlene @lunavelha @satoryaa @tranzumaki @k-kkiana @luvkvni @lysaray @kalulakunundrum @arysbruv @r4veeen @stillnotherapy @catobsessedlady @colortheoryrocks @minzxec @dazqa @packsvlog @luvvmae @simplysm1le @mintfyi @littlecritteryay @fackeraccount @astro-stars @lavender-hvze @miizuzu @rayrayline @kanaojacksonofc @letsmyy @serenadesvt @art-n-rot @aastrobliss @herdemisee @tikideedee @tittiesarenice @fire-child-kira @csolya

AN:

Did you guys miss me ehe…

The uploads are going to get verrrry slow now since I’m starting college again so I don’t really have time to write, so it likely will be weekend before I’m doing anything, I’m so sorry guys, I’ll try and get stuff to you as quick as I can and keep checking my account for updates because Im sure some weeks I won’t be able to upload at all with the amount of workload imma have I can’t apologise enough!

© valentoru all rights reserved- do not publish my work on other platforms, plagiarise or translate.