#this shit just makes my hateritis flare up
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Envious
Pairing: Chris Sturniolo X Female Reader (chubby reader)
Synopsis: Y/N just hates her body, and although the triplets try to make her feel better some hate comments get to her. But Chris is there to make her feel better🫂
Warnings⚠️: None she cute asf or whatever 🤭
Song for the imagine: Jealousy, Jealousy-Olivia Rodrigo
I’m so sick of myself
I’d rather be, rather
Anyone, anyone else
I hated how scrolling through instagram made me feel. Perfect bodies, white teeth, long healthy hair, perfect boyfriends…..just everything I’ve ever wanted. I tried not to fall down this rabbit hole, but it never worked out.
I would scroll and scroll until I felt physically sick. I would then exit out of instagram and stare at myself in the mirror pointing out everything I hated about myself. My skin oily and acne prone, my hair boring, my eyebrows too thin and light, my lips not big enough, my nose huge, my body disgusting. I hated my body with a burning passion.
Curves are good but not my curves. My curves are considered fat and unattractive.My breasts too big, my stomach not flat…bending over and seeing “rolls” God I fucking hated it. My thighs too big, my ass not fat enough….it's brutal. I'm not sure why it mattered what my body looked like. I also wasn’t sure why I cared so much about what people thought of me. I hated it, and I tried to hide myself away and shelter myself from any mean comments.
I tried not to be in the triplets videos because I saw the way some of these “fans” treated Madi, and that girl is perfect….I could only imagine what they would say about me. They even body shamed Chris and it was insane to me. They talked about it in a video saying that body shaming was disgusting and it doesn’t matter what people look like, we're all humans and all our bodies are different. I agreed, but I couldn’t believe these things about myself.
Chris so badly wanted to film a TikTok with me because we both were wearing the same FreshLove shirt, and black pants, and at first I rejected it, but after some convincing I decided to film it with him. I sucked it up and decided to have fun with my friend.
“Okay let’s do the “she wish there were two of me” trend, and like I’ll say it, and then stick my hand out and you’ll slide into frame and high five me” he said
“I love that trend, let’s do it” I said laughing
He set up his phone and started recording, lip syncing
“Walk in that Bih with with that Loui V” he said, and then looked over at me backing away from the camera
“She say she wish there were two of me” he said backing up and high fiving me as I came into frame
We started dancing, and he slung his arm over my shoulder “she fuckin, she know what she doing, B” We sang laughing and dancing
We finished filming and he posted the TikTok. For once I actually wasn’t scared of him posting me because I genuinely felt cute in my outfit today. My FreshLove shirt was cropped and I had my favorite pair of flare leggings on.
“I finally got you to film with me” he said jumping around
“Yeah that's a one time occurrence” I said laughing
“Oh come onnnn so many people want you in more of our videos” he said looking at me
“Yeahhhh, but I don’t know sometimes your guys fans are a little mean” I said looking down
“Yeah well fuck those haters those aren’t fans” he said scoffing
Later on that night Chris, Matt, Nick and I were in their living room playing board games while some random movie played in the background. We were all having a great time until I got a text message, I looked at my phone to see my best friend texting me
My baby🥹
-Hey babes….Im not sure that you’ve seen the comments under Chris video with you, but they’re disgusting and don’t let that shit get to your head
My heart sank immediately, my breathing getting shallow, my throat constricting and my palms getting sweaty. What the fuck is she talking about….
I opened up TikTok and went to Chris' video opening up the comments….my mouth instantly going dry
-“I know she didn’t crop a FreshLove shirt when she’s fat🤣”
-“I hope Chris isn’t dating her, that's actually sad….he must be desperate😗”
-“Why does she think she’s so hot??? Like what am I missing LMFAOOO”
-“oh that’s not- LMFAOO WHAT IS THIS GIRL DOING”
-“makes sense why she isn’t in the video anymore….she really let herself go”
-“Is that Y/N??? When did she gain so much weight??”
These comments made my stomach churn, and my face burn with embarrassment. The one day I feel cute I’m completely torn apart by these so called “fans”
“Chris you have to take that video down of us” I said looking at him
“What?? Why I love it” he said
“Just take it down” I said
“I love that video too don’t delete it” Nick said
“I don’t want it up” I said avoiding eye contact
Matt pulled out his phone to open the video, he opened the comments and immediately his eyes were saddened
“What the fuck” he said scrolling through the comments
Chris snatched the phone from him reading the comments
“This is fucking disgusting….Y/N don’t believe this shit okay” he said looking at me
“How can I not? These are things I see too, and to have your followers point them out is making me feel disgusting” I said
“None of this shit is true okay” Nick said looking at me
“I just want to be left alone right now” I said standing up
I went down to Chris’ room where I would stay when I spent the night. I laid on his bed. Letting the comments replay in my head. My heart racing and my breathing getting deep……I was starting to have anxiety about the comments and slowly I allowed myself to cry
The tears just flowed like a stream. I tried not to let these comments get to me, but it’s hard when people are judging you on the internet and they don’t even know you. I was letting out choked sobs, trying to cover my mouth to control my sobs. This was so unfair.
I heard the door open, so I figured it was Chris. He shut the door behind him, and sat at the end of the bed as I cried
“I know you don’t want to talk and that’s okay, but I want you to listen to me” he said
“I know it’s hard to not believe what people are saying on the internet, trust me I do, but I want you to know that those comments are from a bunch of children being haters okay. None of that shit is true at all. You’re a beautiful, funny and kind souled person” Chris said
I started to calm down, allowing my tears to stop, and trying to control my breathing.
“You don’t have to change for anyone okay. Stay true to yourself. You are amazing and don’t let these haters behind a screen get to you” he said rubbing my leg
“Thank you Chris” I said in a whisper
“Of course Y/N. I’m always here for you” he said smiling at me
I wiped my eyes and began to sit up
“Follow me” he said getting up, I got up and followed him to his bathroom
“What are you doing?” I asked
He walked into the bathroom and turned the lights on
“You’re going to stand in the mirror and look at yourself, you’re going to point out what you find unattractive about yourself, and I’m going to tell you why they’re beautiful” he said standing behind me, and placing me in front of him
“Chris no…” I said looking at him through the mirror
“I’m not letting you leave till you do it” he said shrugging his shoulders
“Ugh fine” I said looking in the mirror, at my swollen eyes, the tears down my face and my lips swollen
“Let’s start with your hair” he said
“I hate it…..it’s boring it’s flat it’s ugly” I said
“Wrong! It’s beautiful. It’s long and shiny and you take the best care of it. It always smells so good” he said looking at me
I just looked at him blushing slightly
“Go on” he said nodding his head
“My eyebrows…they’re so thin and light….and my eyes the color is ugly” I said
“Wrong again! Your eyebrows shape your face beautifully, and your eyes are gorgeous. The way the sun hits them and they sparkle, and the way your lashes are so long and showcase your eyes beauty” he responded
“Do we have to keep going?” I said blushing
“Yes you must” he said
“I hate my lips they aren’t big enough, and I hate my teeth and my smile” I said
“Your lips are pretty. Always glossed, always plump and full. And your teeth….your smile is my favorite thing” he said
“Are you flirting with me?” I said
“I may be” he said giving me a sly smirk
I started to smile and roll my eyes
“Look at that beautiful smile” he said pointing at me
“Chris shut up” I said giggling
“Keep going” he said nodding
“Uhh I hate my boobs they’re too big” I said avoiding eye contact
“Umm I’m going to be careful with my words here, but uhh a real man will never complain about big tits, and I happen to be a real man” he said looking at me making a funny face
“I like how you say you’re going to be careful with your words, and then say some crazy ass shit” I said laughing
“I meannnn I could say something way worse, but I’ll keep that for another time” he said winking
I rolled my eyes at him
“I hate my stomach” I said fidgeting with my hands
“Remember when we went to that museum, and we saw all those sculptures of Aphrodite and those renaissance women and they all had bigger stomachs. Well there was a reason, bigger women were the beauty standard at one point, and the most powerful beautiful women were on the thicker side. I think a woman with meat on her bones is hot. I mean I love all women, but the thicker the better” he said
I just stared at him in awe as I blushed
“Keep going” he said
“I hate my thighs, and the fact that my ass isn’t as fat as it should be” I said
“Let me tell you something, thick thighs save lives, and I live by that okay. The bigger the thighs the better, and so what if you don’t have this crazy huge ass. Your ass is great. I’ll be vulnerable here…I sneak a look any chance I get” he said throwing his hands up in defense
“You creeper” I said laughing
“I can’t help it. When there’s all this woman in my face I just go dumb” he said looking over my body
“You have a way with words” I said sucking my teeth
“It’s all honesty though. Like I said you’re beautiful inside and out, you’re a kind soul, you’re nice, you’re funny, you’re hot….I mean you’re everything a man could want” he said
He came up behind me wrapping his hands around my waist and squeezing me tight, laying his head on shoulder
“Never let anyone tell you otherwise” he said looking at me through the mirror
“Okay” I said in a whisper
“Now give me that beautiful smile” he said pouting
“Shut up Chris” I said laughing
“There it goes!! My favorite” he said smiling with me
He turned me around and pulled me in tighter
“You’re amazing I can’t stress that enough” he said
“Thank you Chris” I responded pulling away from the hug
“Let me take you on a date” he said looking at me
“Okay, yeah I’d like that” I said getting shy
“Don’t get shy on me now Y/N” he said lifting my head up with his chin
“Lets go out tomorrow” he said looking at me
“Sure Chris” I said smiling
He smiled at me before wrapping his arm over my shoulder pulling me in and kissing my cheek
“Now let’s get back to having some fun” he said as we walked out his bathroom and he shut the light off.
We went back up to the living room where we continued to play games and watch movies. These guys were amazing…especially Chris
The End
Alright guys I hope you liked this one 😚 and I honestly think I’m going to open up my requests because I’m all out of ideas as of rn😭 LOVE YALLLL🖤🖤
-J💅🏽
#sturniolo triplets#sturniolo x reader#sturniolo#sturniolo fanfic#sturniolo triplets imagines#chris sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo#Spotify
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So, I saw your Cass & Jason should fight (& Cass should win obviously) tag and totally agree with your stance!
However, given how often Jason's been characterized as an incompetent "Thug" due to classism, I'd ideally want it to let both characters shine, which can't happen in a pure CQC scenario.
At top form Jason's a bit better than Bruce, (UTRH - Comic) which is enough to not get instantly shit stomped but not really enough to make spectacle or show off either characters best side.
Not sure how one could arrange it in current comics, but my ideal was always an alt timeline where Bruce died or had to step down post War Games & was replaced by Cass.
Naturally the dynamic with Red Hood is different, in that there isn't one, he avoids the new Batman like the plague and relies on backdoor hacking & spying to work around or sabotage her.
Thus its been a steep learning curve and exploration of Cass's other skills, IE detective work, people reading, weapons expertise (We know she's trained in guns & such after all)
A series would be ideal, but if it was just one comic issue, ideally the first third sets up the status quo & what is about to break it.
The second third lets Jason's strategic side shine, he's got ambushes, bombs, flares, those miniguns popping out of cars he loved so much.
Then the third and final segment is when Cass has finally found wherever he slipped away to after thinking he got away.
"... I don't suppose all the guns and bombs wore you out enough to make this easy on me did they?"
Cassandra just smirks.
Cue the final third (Or at least a decent portion of it) being an epic, but pointedly one-sided overall, duel. With every weapon, martial arts technique and piece of scenery put to use. All in the name of dragging out the fight for the audiences sake and cos it makes sense character wise.
Naturally Cassandra wins.
Oh my goodness?? You should write comics because I would read the HELL out of that. I definitely think Jason's intelligence has been weirdly diminished recently (definitely classism, combined with DC's push since New 52 to make Tim the 'smart' one and Jason the 'strong' one because why were they LIKE that in B&R: Eternal).
And Cass' arc in learning detective skills is one of the most underrated things in Batgirl (2000) and beyond! She is a detective and, while she for sure punches her way through stuff, her intelligence shouldn't be sidelined for her fighting prowess. So basically you've written the arc of my dreams.
Also I adore the idea that whoever takes the mantle, Jason will be there to be super annoying. Happened to Dick, and will happen to Cass as well. He's a multi-generational hater.
Someone write this please!!!!
#cassandra cain#jason todd#this NEEDS to happen#how do people come up with such good stories#WHY ARE YOU NOT HIRED BY DC YET#batgirl#red hood#this is exactly what i meant by i want cass and jason to fight
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you know you can call beetlebabes shippers 'disturbed' and other offensive ableist terms all you want but yall (antis) are the ones obsessively crossposting in our tags with ragebait on a regular fucking basis like you're desperately sending off signal flares to get our attention and also telling us to 'kys'/unalive ourselves in the case of one blog and another that threatened IRL violence against anyone perceived to be a shipper in theaters when the second film came out. Those of you doing this seem to be under the false impression that you're morally superior to us, but I promise you the moment you start threatening physical violence and telling people to unalive themselves bc of fictional characters you instantly secure yourself as a hateful if not obsessive POS and I am genuinely concerned about the safety of others around you. What other shallow prejudices deputize you to enact violence and wish death on people? Are you going to physically assault someone because they're eating a sandwich you don't personally like? OR is this just the 2024 version of early 00's edgelord nonsense? (one of the people I'm talking about also alleges to support Palestine like?? SINCE WHEN DO YOU CARE ABOUT THE WELFARE OF OTHERS??? God forbid a Palestinian person ships Beetlebabes, guess they can just succumb then) Like, we're over here writing fanfics and drawing fanart and making up headcanons and living our best lives and yall are stewing in your filth pits SO BIG MAD THAT PEOPLE DON'T THINK THE SAME WAY YOU DO!! THEY SHOULD DIE ABOUT IT!! And some of yall come in saying all kinds of hateful shit and then cry about getting 'dogpiled' and how mean the beetlebabes shippers are for trying to engage in (frankly imo v diplomatic given how yall act) dialogue with you, as if that's worse than your bros over here threatening physical violence and telling people 'kys' over a fictional fucking ship in intentionally crossposted tags to harass us. Like my god the weaponized tears, cry me a fucking river lol. ('That's victim blaming!!' Is it?? Is it victim blaming if you go into the cheese lovers convention, knowing full-well you don't like cheese, start talking about how cheese sucks and anyone who likes it is 'disturbed' and the con-goers try to start a dialogue with you about it and/or politely tell you to leave?? THAT'S being a victim?? Telling the cheese lovers to unalive themselves or get physically assaulted IRL is totally fine tho, acceptable behavior!)
Once again, we know people don't ship this and think it's gross, despite anyone commenting 'FINALLY SOMEONE SAID IT' on your harassment post you are not the first person to say this, you are not going to change minds, censor your fucking tags bc no one cares but you and the other haters. Also, there is no justification for wishing harm on other people over differences in fictional storytelling preferences, you're just being a bad, hateful, violent person looking for an outlet that should consider some form of therapy before you end up in legal trouble from your edgelord threats and if you think I'm not serious then go ahead, fuck around and find out ig.
Like, just leave it and us alone, there is no reason to act like middle school mean girl bullies. Block it. Blacklist it. You literally don't have to see any of this shit, at this point yall are CHOOSING to because you're more obsessed with your hatred of it and getting the power microdose of harassing and threatening people than you are just enjoying what you do like and imo that's very tragic and should be more concerning to you than it apparently it is.
#beetlebabes#sorry i don't like 'unalive' either but trying to play it safe#starting to feel like 2014 era again with these violent weirdoes#it's fucking beetlejuice nothing about the source material warrants this level of violent obsession like my god lol#i didn't want to address the haters AGAIN but this is ridiculous#lol also the dichotomy of that one person 'i came in here so i wouldn't be talking to an echo chamber!!!'#after people try to talk to them: 'WOW YALL ARE DOGPILING ME THIS IS SO MEAN'#like??? so you just came in here to bait people essentially and confirmed my suspicions cool
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real sorry to hear abt the deleted fic- and it's completely understandable to not wanna write things esp with homophobic shit people say and kink shaming. All I can really say to that is there are plenty of people who are supporting you- no matter which way you decide to go with things (if you write it or decide not to).
Do whats best for you and your mental health- wishing you the best. Remember to stay hydrated and rest- don't over work yourself!
<3
anon asked: Hello there!! Not really an ask but I just wanted to say I found your blog recently and really enjoy your content. I hope you’re having an amazing day and keep up the great work!! Be sure to hydrate and don’t let haters get to ya, you have a community of great people that love and appreciate you and what you do <3 Youre an amazing and talented individual who only deserve the best! Be sure to remember that 💕
anon asked: I had to turn off your notifications and turn them back on to make sure I get them, I hope you get back into your flow soon, your work is awesome!
anon asked: don't be sorry for a bunch of things outside of your control, I may have joined and read trough *everything* during your inpromptu hiatus, but like... health and life still comes first? I'm glad you're returning to everything and I wait with baited breath to see what the future holds
asdfsdfs you guys............... im gunna cry! thank you so so much for all the wonderful messages. i wish i had the words to be able to express to you guys how much all of this means to me. to have your support, to have your supportive words, means the world. esp becos ive been beating myself up abt posting. thank you, thank you, thank you.
now that ive posted a couple of stuff, i wanted to just thank you guys and also announce some things
im still getting kicked in the ass by tumblr (got two posts deleted?? one was a version of this post and another was a fic i was working on) so im pretty discouraged still. also, flare ups and new medication still kicking my ass too. im being ganged up on and not in the good way.
so, i'll only be posting on friday, saturday and sunday at 3pm til 12am. i'll try to do what i'm doing today, which is posting a fic every hour! it's hard but easier when i work on it thru the week and save them up to post later
also also, there's 400smth of you now! i'll finish up m is for marriage and then, after that, mermay. then, we can finally do the follower event that you guys have been waiting forever for.
for the 300 followers and 400 followers, i won't be doing an event but i'm working on making something really special for you guys so look forward to that!
and again, for all the people who were following and reblogging my fics, even when i wasn't posting, thank you so much. for all the kind words, thank you so much. i appreciate every single one of you
the fact that im doing this as a hobby always discouraged me but you guys have really been supportive and sweet and you guys bring back the passion. thank you thank you thank you
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anyway before I put together smth to eat what did I dream about..?
part of my dream was a dream about sleeping. except I was in my room at mom's house at around 7pm when the sun was just about freshly down but not dark yet everything was blue there was the neighbors kid maybe 5-7 years hanging out doing SOMETHING in the corner? some kind of computer game he wanted to show me...? idk. i was trying to sleep. until he told his mom that I was sleeping instead ot watching him & I was like well I can't look bad to the parents I guess so I got up I don't remember what he was playing. I think it was a turn based game for kids mouse controlled only. who knows.
then later, something about going upstairs from my room to a spaceship? or maybe I went downstairs.maybe it was just like a higher tech lab, but not high tech in an everything is white way but more how you'd see a kids lab from like an older movie. like spy kids maybe. idk lots of round flared designs, Windows that bulged out aand were like thick green or orange or purple. kind of like a kids playground at mcdonalds or something. I miss those they just don't let you do those anymore in your 20s.... anyway. indony remember much of the lab. some omega striker characters were there. I remember estelles new skin + atlas + Luna, & I think atlas got gravely injured stabbed or shot in the lung maybe body blocking for his sister ? Juliette was there too. and shenhe.. anyway he tried to heal himself but it wasn't working, so he used the lab to pit himself into stasis. luna didn't totally get it - not sure if she was in denial (considiering the loss of both their parents) or if atlas shielded her from knowing just how badly he was hurt. Julie & shenhe left briefly on some kind of travel pod to go to the nearby outpost or planet or something to explore to look for resources, but as soon as they left they messaged back again sounding haggard like thank god you're still here & it turns out there was a time anomaly related to where they were going. it brought back someone's grandma who'd come to visit us as a teenage girl.
that's where my dream memory ends but as long as im slightly mentioning omega strikers i think that purely from a character design standpoint kazan is really meh. 2/10. hater shit below
his outfit just looks bad. on his splash art they wanted him to look crazy so they gave him anime shading around the eyes but on his model he just looks like he's wearing a solid black mask. and his giant earring tassels thst look like extensions of his hair are weird, and I think his outfit is really bland it's just a black long jscket shirt over orange pants & it's all got triangles on it. idk maybe they dressed him plainly to emphasize his umbrella more & I guess it's cool they're shaking traditional umbrella fighter stereotype by not making him noble or refined it or a classy gentleman or whatever, but he's just like the joker of violence. his kit is ok it's cool he can change stances but I'm just talking from an appearance standpoint. he is ugly and his outfit sucks!!!
at least with other characters I don't like the appearance of as much either, like their personality jumps out at you immediately. Estelle's outfit with the giant shoulders cape & the skintight bodysuit is like yes this is a woman who's proud of herself and knows she looks good. kai is kai. he's got the swaggy over the shoulders jacket and a relatively plain outfit underneath. this also tells me a lot about him. even atlas 's base skin is like ok this guy is sturdy, reliable, also sciency, he's even got all the constellations inside his sleeves. i like atlas but his bsse skin is only ehh to me.like you can tell from looking at him what he's like.
and the main thing about kazan that conveys anything to me is that he stands like a crazy person on the select screen and hes doing finger guns to his head in his splash art. no drip at all. even rasmus has "young scientist" vibes.
i play with voice acting off also. I don't want to hear any of them talk. i did see that scaramouche's VA was kazan, so that's another point for him though. pat pedraza did a great job with scara. ok the end
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So there's this little New Age store I like to go to. It smells nice in there and literally everyone who works there is a friendly person. There are also tons of rocks, which is my chief interest.
Well, I've always wanted to get a card reading, and the cashier tells me they've got someone. Not only does she read cards, she's a medium, apparently. Despite being jobless and having zero moneys, I decide to go for it. Life ain't all crusts of bread. (I ended up cursing this decision later because it was expensive but it was fun at the time.)
So she flies through the door and she's this teeny tiny black Zoomer in a sleek, bright pink wig and a smocked peasant blouse with flaring sleeves. Stylish af and 2 cute 4 u. (By contrast, I am a lumpy stack of boiled hams and would wear only pajamas if I could get away with it.)
We liked each other right away. She complimented my aura (thanks I polished it yesterday). Laugh at me all you want: it was very nice to hear my aura was good shit. I was not feeling so great.
The talk ended up being therapy. She was just such a nice person and had a very different outlook on both the function of the universe and what our place was in it. Good spirits were constantly coming through for us, and we were being pushed and pulled by a myriad of factors far outside our control. She rattled off the movements of planets and stars as she flipped through her cards, explaining what that meant for me.
Now, for the record, I don't believe in any of this. This is just something I've wanted to do for my own pleasure and curiosity. I am fascinated by New Age things--partially because it's "religion a la carte," as I've seen a sociologist say. There's a deep longing in me for a world where magic and fantasy is real, and much of New Age practice smacks of fantasy novels. Additionally, I wish I had some kind of tie to a place or people, and I miss the ritual of religion. New Age beliefs may be woopy-doo, but I kinda like that there are no strings attached to any specific tradition. They just yank beliefs from wherever, especially if it is pretty and you can make jewelry out of it. (Don't get me wrong, this very naturally comes with bad side effects, but I'm not going to talk about that here rofl)
My card reading--a simple ten-card spread--was insultingly positive. I do know how to read them so she wasn't kidding. My current state: garbage. Upcoming state: super great! With a possibility of smooches.
"Just don't look for him," says the medium. "He'll come to you."
Seven of Wands popped up: "You have haters. People are using the evil eye against you, but it won't land if you don't let it."
(Me: "rofl")
The Star and the Chariot pop up. Eight of Pentacles. The Empress. Two of Staffs. I want to say I saw the Sun but that might have just been about how I felt, like: "Wait, really?" It was all about waiting for those ships to come home, and those ships were coming home. And here's the thing: I don't think they really tell the future, but also? I'm always waiting for dumb chance to kick my ass. It's nice when dumb chance is like, "Hey, you're gonna be fine! Great, even!"
Sometime in the middle of the process, she pauses theatrically and looks over my shoulder.
"Are any of your grandparents dead?"
"Yeah, three. Both paternal and one maternal."
"Which one was the maternal grandparent?"
"Grandfather."
"He has stepped forward," she said.
This was an interesting choice. My maternal grandfather is the most recent to die. Of my three perished grandparents, he was also the least affectionate and the most weird. He lived a fantastic life. He was also kind of an asshole and, in retrospect, one of the most autistic people imaginable. (One of his brothers abandoned his family to go live in the woods. Everyone was pissed about it but I think about that guy a lot)
I went ahead and asked for her services as a medium. She said this grandfather wanted to support me, and if I really wanted to feel that he was there, I should put my hand on my left shoulder. She went on overlong about how he wanted to support me and I mean... I appreciated the sentiment but this guy was happiest ensconced in a hole somewhere, and he was so happy about dying that I'm not sure you could drag him back to the living world with a team of horses. I am also not sure how much I stood out to him among all the other family members available--I have an absolutely ENORMOUS family. I mean, I suspect he liked me very well, but still... why me?
And the answer is: probably a cold reading rofl. I'm old enough to have at least one dead grandparent. Which one would I choose if I were manipulating someone? "Maternal" brings feelings of warmth and care. Let's choose that one.
I shouldn't be that cruel, really. I truly believe my medium believed what she was saying and had my best interests in mind. I talked to her for about an hour and she was incredibly kind and thoughtful and helpful the entire time.
Also, if she had chosen a paternal grandparent, this would have been even weirder, as both of them were devout evangelicals and would be horrified that I was talking to a medium. So if they showed up something would be REALLY fucking wrong. I wonder if they'd show up and start talking trash like Samuel.
I was definitely disappointed that she didn't say anything about my brother. If she'd done that I would've been like WHOOOO but John would have also been horrified I was talking to a medium so... of all the dead, Gramps was the one most likely to actually show. Like I said, he lived an interesting life, and he wasn't sold to any particular dogma.
Additionally, apparently there was a paternal great-grandmother from four or five generations back who was excited about my art and was looking after me. I started calculating in the car and I realized this was anywhere from 8 to 16 different possible women. Pretty good chances of a kickass lady existing in that sphere. She liked that I worked on visual art and was out to help me. All I could imagine was a lady in a Victorian bun and a high-necked dress. (Probably not that nicely dressed, let's be honest... most of my forebears were farmers)
During this process, the medium kept looking over my shoulder and I kept fighting myself to look over my own shoulder like that was going to reveal anything.
Also according to the medium, I had four archangels watching over me. Michael ("the sassy one"), Gabriel (the nice one), Jophiel (who apparently is out there to save my ass, very nice of her, didn't even know she existed until the reading), and… I think Chamuel?
Apparently Jophiel is the only female archangel and I was psyched about that. Apparently she wants to teach me to love myself, which is a great goal.
By the end of the process, I had been given some pretty great advice. Sure, it was said in the most woo way possible, but it was good.
She told me to pick up visual art again, get out of the house and get more social, and take this time to relax and learn a little more about myself. She also said the cards and my spirit guides were repeating over and over that I was closer to being out of the hole than I realized. Additionally:
Don't let awful people dictate how you should think or feel
Make a space just for myself. Don't put any hobbies in there. Just make a Me space
Put up boundaries. You don't have to be open to everything everyone is throwing at you
And the more I look back at this, the more I realize that it was entirely worthwhile. It was nice to be seen and commiserated with. A therapist, if they're worth their oats, keeps a step back from you. They try to provide a neutral space, as much as that is humanly possible. A medium... not so much. And to some degree, that can be helpful as well.
Thumbs up, great experience, would go again
Mmm I love you tumblr. I am so cozy rn. I have something like hope and I don't know why
Anyway do you want to hear about how I went to a psychic medium on a lark, y/n
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ooh I think #7 and #17 from the blurb list would fit very well together! if you want!
THANK YOU LINDS <3<3
prompt list here, send a number!!
#7 If we both want to fit, we’ll have to cuddle
#17 Sleeping in the same bed for the first time
THIS IS 3K IM SORRY I COULDN'T HELP MYSELF SO PLEASE REBLOG LMAOOOOOO!!!!!
"This is my room," comes a gruff voice behind you as you keep looking out the window, taking in the greenery and the beautiful ocean.
See, you knew he would be here.
You knew, because Harry and Mitch were attached at the hip, and you didn't mind. You didn't mind seeing your ex every time you were invited to hang out with MitchandSarah & co, except when said ex decided to be an evil arsehole.
Perhaps, calling him an "ex" was weird, seeing how your time alone only consisted of you both getting high, mostly naked as he whispered the filthiest things in your ear and promised to make you feel good, be the best you've ever had. Other than that, though, he was an insufferable bastard. Since you never hung out with the man without your friends around–getting rat-arsed and high... and the activities that followed aside–, you didn't know if he was always this annoying.
He seemed to be getting along just fine with the others, especially Sarah and the other girls, so you had no problems scratching off the "women hater" off your list. And you can't ever recall him being this insufferable while you both were fucking which was, in his case, miserable. So, it was definitely annoying. You weren't that interested in him to think that he was being mean because he was secretly in love with you. That was a myth, a pathetic myth, wasn't it? No, you wouldn't steep that low. He was just an arse, full stop.
You turn around with an eye-roll, and within seeing his face, you nearly clench your fists like a ten-year-old. "Do you live here?" You ask, hoping the boring expression on your face is also detectable in your tone.
It's certainly not a surprise when Harry scoffs.
"I don't, but I picked this room first. Since, you know," he looks around, and walks further into the room, finally stopping at the feet of the bed. "You were late. As per."
"Oh fuck off. This isn't summer camp. Besides, I don't see any of your shit around. The room was empty when I arrived."
"If you bothered to look inside the wardrobe..."
Seriously, you find yourself thinking, how the fuck did you ever end up with this man. Naked.
There's a commotion downstairs, so you both turn to the door, but much to your dismay, there's no one coming to check up on you and hopefully, save you from Harry Styles' pathetic gob.
You turn towards the window again, eyes squinting briefly at the last bits of sunshine that's glinting from between the branches.
"Well. You shouldn't have left then. You weren't here when I arrived."
Harry shakes his head, and you swear you can see his nostrils flaring if you look carefully. Though, you just watch him with a smug smile on your face as he walks to the wardrobe and pulls open the white doors. True to his word, his clothes are there, perfectly folded, and for a moment you feel a pang of guilt before you look back up at his face and see the furrowed eyebrows.
"See. My clothes. I'm sure Sarah will sort it out for you, find you another room or summat."
"There's only three bedrooms. Can't sleep with a pregnant woman and her boyfriend, can I?"
"What about Rachel and David? Aren't you best friend's with her?"
"Harry, you're ridiculous. Just–" you wipe the sweat off of your forehead, feeling yourself grow hotter and hotter each passing minute. "–just sleep on the sofa. This is my first vacation this year. You go on holidays every week or so. Let us commoners have this."
"Oh, please. Didn't you have a girls weekend getaway or whatever the fuck in Soho Farmhouse two weeks ago?"
You can't help the scoff that leaves your mouth, and a raised eyebrow follows. "How do you know about that?"
"Because," he rolls his eyes, and slams the wardrobe shut. "You post seven hundred stories every day."
"You're a stalker."
"You sleep on the sofa."
You smirk, noticing how he avoided your previous statement.
To be fair, you hated posting on your story. Though, knowing Harry followed you on Instagram made posting on there fun, and seeing his username on the list of who watched your stories pop up at the very top every single time whenever you posted a story almost made you let out a mingy little laugh and rub your hands together, and scream "gotcha!".
"I won't."
"You're getting on my nerves."
"What a coincidence," you ignore the stare he's sending your way and walk towards your carry on, and start taking the contents out one by one, laying everything on the bed.
He watches with a scowl on his face, arms crossed across his chest, and a satisfied smile paints your features as you take out the toiletries bag next.
"Are you seriously unpacking right now?" Harry cranes his neck so he can see better. He looks ridiculous, standing in the middle of the room with arms crossed, but you refrain from saying anything.
In fact, you don't even answer him. Perhaps, you find yourself thinking, it was silly to unpack your underwear first. It wasn't as if you brought super "sexy" shit or lace everything. You can definitely feel his gaze watching your every movement as you take everything out carefully and place them on top of each other. With most of your underwear in hand, you get on one knee in front of the bedside table and open the drawer, placing everything inside and it's surprising how he hasn't claimed the bedside table yet.
"Look," he sighs. "I'll talk to Sarah, maybe you can sleep with her and Mitch–"
"–don't be stupid we're not making them sleep with other people because you can't be a gentleman and sleep on the sofa."
"Oh for fuck's sake," he growls, and you finally look at him, eyebrows raised in hopes of making him feel as stupid as he sounds right now. Unfortunately, though, he continues, "Okay, damn it, I'll sleep on the floor."
Fool.
"Common sense, Harry. Always pick sofa. No matter what."
"Were you born to make my life a living hell?"
"Look," you sit on the bed, and look around. "This is boring me to death. I'm sleeping on the bed. If you shut your gob, you can sleep with me on the bed."
Harry lets out an obnoxious laugh. "Just admit I was here first and you didn't bother checking the–"
"Yes, I didn't and what about it? I'm here now, aren't I? I'm on the bed, babes. Anyway," you get on your feet, and with one last look at him, you start walking towards the door. "I'll see you in a bit. I guess."
You both manage to avoid each other as much as you can throughout the day, and really, it wasn't that hard considering the good company of your friends, good food and good alcohol. You mainly helped Sarah and Rachel in the kitchen as the men lounged on the sun loungers, Mitch handling the grill and David helping you guys with the drinks that came in and out of the house pretty quickly with the way you lot consumed them like water.
You spend the night eating, laughing and drinking, sometimes singing along to whatever song played on David's fancy Bluetooth speaker, and everyone begins ushering inside with full bellies and most of them–except the very pregnant Sarah–with a tipsy smile on their faces.
You leave before Harry though, leaving him smoking his last cigarette by the pool while you run up the stairs and into the room, closing the door behind you. You quickly get rid of the romper and get your favourite pyjamas on, eyes searching for the orange makeup bag so you can take off the remaining makeup before bed. You knew it was silly not to do your night routine, but you still zip the bag closed with a sad expression on your face, not wanting to see your toner and night cream any more than you needed to as you throw it on the floor next to your bags. It's pathetic really, how determined you are to get in the bed before Harry can that you forego your whole routine and stick to some cotton pads. Though, plugging your charger and getting between the cool sheets make you forget all about it as you let out a sigh, and unlock your phone to do your nightly scroll before falling asleep.
As you double tap on a selfie, the door opens, and you hear him scoff, again. You keep scrolling though, and try to sneak a few glances at him as he makes a beeline for the wardrobe, and to your surprise, begins to undress. You try to stay calm, and not to think about how domestic this whole thing seems; being in the same room as him as he gets ready for bed.
Right, getting ready for bed.
You keep your eyes on your phone as his clothes hit the floor one by one, and when you look up briefly, he's got a pair of joggers on, and he's throwing the clothes he had on in the wardrobe.
He turns around, and find your gaze, and he rolls his eyes.
"I knew you'd be in bed, here, as soon as I heard someone running. Forgot you were a literal five-year-old," he mutters under his breath, loud enough so you can still hear him. "I'm not sleeping on the sofa."
"I love how you're basically arguing with yourself."
"Like I said, I'm not sleeping on the sofa. I didn't come all the way to sleep on a bloody sofa."
"Suit yourself. I guess we're sharing. Unless," you lock your phone, and place it on the bedside table. "You want to share," you shrug, adjusting your pillow and sigh at the cool fabric against your hot cheeks.
You can feel him thinking, the wheels turning in his head, and you finally hear the floorboards creek underneath his feet as he walks closer to the bed, and pushes the sheets off of you. The whole thing.
You blink in surprise. "Stop it, dude! What the fuck."
"I'm getting in! Fuck's sake, be quiet."
"You did that just to annoy me."
You're both quiet for a minute, Harry taking his rings off and then comes his socks, and he finally copies you, laying on his back on the bed. He covers the both of you, though you know it's not intentional since he couldn't do it without covering his own body with the duvet, and then he lets out a strangled sigh.
"The bed's too small."
"Are you calling me fat?"
"What?" He turns his face to you, and perhaps it's the first time he's looking at you– really looking.
His brows are furrowed, and lips turned downwards in a pout.
"I'm taking the piss, Harry. I know you're not calling me fat."
"Good," he says, though his voice isn't exactly soft. "I wouldn't."
"Good."
Silence.
It's unbearable.
Despite the hot weather, you feel yourself shiver, and you wish you were the only one in bed so you could do the whole burrito technique with the duvet. Alas... you stay where you are. You both do.
A dog barks in the distance, the high-pitched bark coming through the open window, and you can feel Harry breathing too fast beside you. You want to shout at him, tell him to fuck off and... not breathe too fast, though it sounds a bit too rude even for you, so you stay silent and wait for the dog to pipe the fuck down.
You try to turn on your side, because you could never see yourself fall asleep laying on your back like a vampire, but you almost fall, not anticipating the tiny space you've got going on. It's bad, and you know you're not going to get a good sleep. So, you find yourself contemplating about getting up and sleeping on the sofa because honestly, fuck him.
Harry shuffles next to you, presumably trying to find a good position to sleep in himself, but he lets out a groan and it startles you.
"What's wrong with you!"
"The bed's too fucking small."
"We've established that."
He sniffs, hands clenching the sheets around his body. "I don't sleep on my back. My back hurts."
You don't say anything, hoping for him to just get up and leave, go sleep on the sofa. He doesn't, though. It's another fifteen minutes before you let out another sigh, trying to get comfortable on the bed, and Harry copies you. You both turn on your sides, facing each other and Harry groans when your knee makes contact with his thigh, making you cringe in embarrassment. A quiet sorry leaves your mouth and he shakes his head, then turns the other way, facing the door.
"Fuck," he spits after a minute. "If we both want to fit, we'll have to cuddle."
"Cuddle? Fuck no."
"Just," he turns to you again, but the bed is too small for you both so his knees touch yours. "Just come closer. Either that, or go sleep on the sofa."
"Why don't you–"
"You're so stubborn! Come closer, I won't eat you or fall in love with you. Fuck."
You groan, but oblige for some reason, feeling your heart beginning to beat faster for some ridiculous reason.
It's been a long time, you find yourself trying to convince your heart. It's been a long, long time since you've been this close to a human being. Too long since you've cuddled with someone, so obviously you were going to feel a little excited, and weird. Yes, definitely weird.
You get closer and he lifts up his arm, you both sharing a look before you roll your eyes and place your hand on his wrist, placing it on your hip. He's quiet, eyes searching yours, and the crease between his brows are gone, and you want to laugh, because who knew it only took your skin against his to wipe that stupid grimace off of his face.
"I still think you're annoying," Harry mumbles, clearly sleepy. His hold on your hip becomes tighter as his thumb strokes your skin over the fabric.
"I know. Just shut up and sleep."
#harry styles imagine#harry styles x reader#harry styles#harry styles blurb#harry styles smut#harry styles writing#harry styles concept#concepts#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#babyurthendofjune#ask
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Begone
Streamer Gang & Asexual Reader (Gender Neutral)
Warnings: Acephobia, Swearing
Genre: Platonic Fluff, Comfort, RPF (Real Person Fic)
Summary: Having recently come out as asexual, Y/N faces some less than pleasant or appropriate responses in their chat during their stream with the gang. Luckily, they’re not alone in battling the haters this time.
Requested by the lovely Anon who told acephobes to begone, yeah you know who you are hehe. Thank you so much for the request darling! Let’s show these acehobes who they’re messing with! Love, Vy ❤
Boy is this nerve-wrecking or what? Sure, I maybe woke up with a ton of confidence, I listened to motivational and uplifting talks and listened to mood boosting music. I had a healthy breakfast and a cup of coffee. Damn it, I went on a run, all in an attempt to convince myself that dealing with the online world again is but a piece of cake for a badass like me. Well, low and behold, that feeling didn’t last very long. Here I am, chewing my nails off at the though of hopping in the Discord call and Among Us lobby with my friends and starting my stream. It’s not like I’m not expecting my friends and fans to support me - of course I am! I know they’re gonna give me a ton of love and appreciation and support and uplift me no matter what. But then again, there’s still those people who believe me and other people like me to be invalid and broken and whatnot.
Those are the ones I wanna avoid.
It’s not like their words mean much to me but I simply don’t wanna see em, you know? It’s not only about me - it’s least about me actually - it’s more about all those wonderful people they are insulting when they say shit like that about asexuals and all the people on the ace spectrum. I can’t help but flare up and get angry on the behalf of all my ace friends and even people I’ve never met.
It’s also my first time being directly thrown into the fire instead of getting caught in the crossfire seeing as how I came out to my fandom via a tweet and an Instagram post a week ago, telling my identity’s truth: finally bringing my asexuality to the surface to shine its brightest so I can be be my best and reach for my full potential.
But damn am I afraid to see how everyone took it.
My friends were quick to jump in and take me offline before I start refreshing my own posts to see the comments under them. Lord knows that without them I would’ve driven myself insane, I’ll forever be grateful for what they did and the lengths they went to to keep me offline and whatnot. One word to give you an idea of how invested they were in this: origami. All of us might as well have been born with two left hands and yet we still tried doing origami. Freaking origami.
Damn do I love my friends.
But now I don’t have sheets of paper and my friends to distract me. I have a fanbase to entertain and another friend group I haven’t talked to in a while. I don’t wanna get any predictions in already so I don’t jinx myself, so I’m just gonna say it’s gonna be...interesting regardless of what happens.
Then again, when is it not interesting when the streamer gang’s involved.
Deep breaths, Y/N. You got this
Listening to that encouraging little voice inside my head, I finally equip my headphones and in one fluid motion turn my camera on, officially starting my stream and unmuting my mic as I hop in the call with everyone.
“Hi guys! Guess who’s returned!“ I exclaim cheerfully, desperate to hide the nervousness of my voice.
“You really missed your opportunity to say ‘guess who’s back...back again’ didn’t you?“ Charlie is the one who greets me first, sounding rather disappointed in me in his usual jokester manner. It’s nice to hear, it makes me feel like nothing’s changed in the week I’ve been gone. Like I’m still the same person to these people. I really am the same, I just now am a lot better version of myself. Almost as though I’ve reached my final form. It feels empowering really. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Charlie laughs again, “Congrats, by the way. You keep proving you can get cooler and cooler.“
“Careful there Charlie, I can only handle so large of an ego.“ I joke back, rolling my eyes playfully as a wide grin spreads across my face, “No, but seriously, thank you so much, man. It means the world to me that you support me.“
“Um, how could we NOT?“ That’s very clearly Rae, “Hun, you are so brave and amazing and wonderful, how could we ever NOT support you?“
“Yeah, we’ll always support you no matter what, Y/N. We’ll always be your friends, through thick, thin and beyond.“ Poki too interferes, her words only making my smile wider.
“Alright, alright, y’all are gonna make me cry and I haven’t even read my chat yet, hold on.“ I say, fanning my face to dry the tears I hope the webcam isn’t spotting, “Darn, you guys are the best. Sorry, give me a sec to gather my composure, I’ll be right back.“
I quickly mute my in-game mic as I turn to my chat where I see the same amount of love and support in the form of comments and emojis flooding in from my viewers. A warm feeling spreads throughout my chest, making me feel the most comfortable with myself I’ve ever felt. The most loved I’ve ever felt. The most seen and understood. To finally be you feels like you are finally really living in this world, not like you’ve been already living in it for God knows how long. It makes me so freaking happy and fulfilled to finally be living as me, as the real me.
Unfortunately, in life, nothing can be 100% pure and good. There’s always at least 1% there threatening to ruin all your happiness you worked so hard to build or obtain. It may be one in a hundred, but fuck it’s powerful and effective.
And in my case it comes in the form of two comments that stick out to my eyes. Acephobic comments saying my identity’s fake, claiming I’m faking it, saying us acephobes are immature creatures who refuse to grow up, or attention whores. Or just saying we’re delusional and in denial, confused about who we are.
I hadn’t even realized I was clenching my jaw and fists but when I do, I slowly relax my muscles and crack my knuckles before addressing the two people who spat out that nonsense.
“Ok, listen here, shooterpro69 and yourmom_lol. For starters, I want to apologize for your ignorance and lack of education on the matter of asexuality. In fact, for you especially, I plan on making an educational video, explaining asexuality to people who need or want to learn more. You, my friends, are in desperate need to be fed some knowledge cause damn, God knows how many people secretly think you’re hella stupid. Not that they’re wrong to think so but anyway. Unless you have anything nice or positive to say, begone from my chat. Actually, when I think about it, begone from every chat. No one needs you polluting their communities with acephobia and hate.“ I say, all spoken in a calm tone despite the boiling anger within me. People who know me well would probably be able to tell I’m fuming underneath the calm façade, but at least I got my message across loud and clear.
“WOO HOO, You tell em Y/N!“ Toast cheers, clapping his hands and whistling as more cheering arises from each my friends, leaving me in a state of mild shock and confusion.
Wait, what?!
“Um, wait, you guys heard that?“ I ask, my eyes darting to thein-game mic symbol that shows an not crossed-off mic, meaning it was enabled during the entirety of my speech.
“Hell yeah we did! You slayed them, Y/N! Damn goddamn!“ Rae whistles too, her enthusiasm wafting over me like a breath of fresh air.
“I second that!“ Corpse joins in, “And remember what we said - we’ll support you through anything. Need to bury an acephobe’s body, we’re the people you should call.” He says, confident as heck.
And I just can’t hold it in anymore - I burst out laughing, doubling over from the intensity.
If I thought I was happy and fulfilled before, this has to be the closest to paradise I’m gonna get on Earth. All thanks to these wonderful people. Friends are really something else aren’t they: they come into your life - often unexpectedly - and change it completely. Suddenly you’re not alone, you’re not forced to deal with everything and face everything on your own. Someone’s got your back and you’ve got theirs.
Through thick, thin and beyond.
And it’s so fucking amazing.
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#corpse husband#corpse#corpse fanfiction#corpse fanfic#valkyrae#rae#sykkuno#sykkuno fanfic#sykkuno fanfiction#valkyrae fanfic#disguised toast#moistcr1tikal#moistcritical#moistcr1tikal fanfic#penguinz0#poki#pokimane#amigops#corpse among us#sykkuno among us#among us#asexuality#asexual#support asexuals#end acephobia#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#fandom#fluff
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lonely together
ꜱ��ʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ʜᴏᴍᴇ
𝘱𝘢𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 - kuroo tetsurou x kozume kenma
𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘳𝘦 - fluff, comfort
𝘥𝘦𝘴𝘤 - kenma has a breakdown over haters on the internet. kuroo comforts him.
𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘵 - 1.4k
𝘵𝘸 - online people being assholes, panic attacks, referenced stalker-ish behaviors
𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦𝘴 - fluff to make up for day 1's fic. thank you for discord server friends (LouEve_094, Lena) who listened to me screech while writing this.
。o°✥✤✣ ✣✤✥°o。
Kuroo’s assistant, Takahashi, tentatively stuck his head into the conference room, where Kuroo was currently listening to a pitch about doing a joint press venture with the baseball league. It was interesting, but not enough that he didn’t notice his assistant’s frantic finger-pointing and beckoning.
Kuroo murmured a quiet “Sorry” and excused himself from the table, stepping out to converse with Takahashi. Takahashi wouldn’t bother Kuroo unless it wasn’t urgent.
“Sorry, sir, but I’m so glad Suzuki-san informed me about the situation, I—” he began. Kuroo held up a hand. Takahashi was trustworthy and brilliant with a spreadsheet program, but he could also run on for hours if one didn’t force him to cut to the chase.
“Takahashi, what exactly happened?” Kuroo said. Takahashi shot him a confused look, then his eyes widened almost comically.
“Kuroo-san, did you not see your ring?” he asked. In their world, because of some god’s whim or something, everyone was born with a ring tattoo on their right ring finger. It acted like some sort of mood ring… for your soulmate. Blue meant sadness, red meant anger, green meant disgust or jealousy, yellow happiness, gold pride, so on, so forth. When you met them, the ring would flare a bright, distinctive color. Kuroo had been fortunate enough to witness his flare as a measly 8-year-old, and Kenma had been stuck with him ever since.
Kuroo automatically glanced down at his right hand. Shit, he cursed. It was black all the way through—that was not good. That meant that something had set off Kenma’s panic attacks—a bad one, because Kuroo couldn’t see the swirls of grey that meant that his fiancée wasn’t completely lost yet—and Kuroo felt horrible for not noticing.
Takahashi gulped. Kuroo had momentarily forgotten that his assistant existed. “There’s more, Kuroo-san.” he said warily, as if approaching a wild animal.
“What?” Kuroo snapped, then shook his head quickly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” Takahashi smiled gently, a reassuring one meant to placate Kuroo’s wild emotions. “It’s okay, Kuroo-san. Um… are you sure you want to know what’s going on with Kozume-san?” he grimaced. It must be bad for Takahashi, of all people, to be making negative facial expressions. “Just tell me.” Kuroo barked. He winced. “Sorry, didn’t mean that either.”
Takahashi replied, “It’s alright. Anyways, it seems that when Kozume-san beat out that beauty youtuber, Alice007, for the first Japanese Youtuber to get 10 million subscribers today, she went on a tangent on Twitter and caused a lot of her fans to start attacking Kozume-san. They… also mentioned you.”
Kuroo’s head whipped up. “What?”
“Apparently, Alice-san’s sister went to Nekoma High too and believed that she was your soulmate. If the tweets are any indication, both of them are a little, forgive me for saying this in a professional setting, delusional.” he said apologetically. Kuroo wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. On one hand, the love of his life was being torn down online. On the other hand, Takahashi was finally saying something negative about a human being.
Kuroo tipped his head back.
“Well, I’m heading home. Sorry for flaking out on the meeting, but can you please tell them a brief summary of what’s going on? Don’t go into too much detail though, Kenma values his privacy.” he requested. Takahashi nodded. God, Kuroo was lucky to have his assistant. “Thanks, Takahashi, you’re a lifesaver. Why don’t you take Friday night out and take Mizuki-san,” Takahashi’s 158cm tall spitfire soulmate who always seemed to have an infinite supply of dirty jokes, “out on a date?”
Takahashi allowed a small smile to break his professional face. “That would be very nice, Kuroo-san. Thank you. Now go, Kozume-san needs you.” he said, shooing Kuroo down the hall towards the elevators.
For someone who acted so demure while working, Takahashi sure could be forceful when he wanted to.
。ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ。
Kuroo nudged the door to his and Kenma’s two-bedroom (one was Kenma’s streaming room) open. His arms were laden with bags from the nearby grocery store, filled with Kenma’s favorite comfort foods, a few new video games, and a box of prescription meds for his anxiety that Kenma had slowly moved on from.
“Kenma?” he called down the hallway. No response, except for sounds of muffled sobbing coming from their bedroom. Kuroo kicked off his shoes and set the bags down, heading down the hall to investigate.
He cracked open the door a few centimeters, and there Kenma was, curled up in a ball on the king-sized mattress, phone an arm’s length away, screen cracked. Kuroo tracked his eyes to the correspondingly-sized dent in the wall. He walked in, sitting down next to Kenma’s prone form, but not touching him.
“Hey, kitten.” he greeted quietly. Kenma reached for his sleeve, rubbing his hand twice, up, down, on Kuroo’s wrist. Ah. That was the signal for when he had gone nonverbal but wanted Kuroo to give him physical and verbal affection.
Kuroo scooped Kenma up into his arms, tucking him into his lap as he rested his chin on top of Kenma’s head. “I’m sorry people are being assholes, Kenma. I hope you don’t believe them, because they sure as hell aren’t true.” Small hiccups as more tears ran down Kenma’s face.
That was alright. Sometimes, Kenma just needed someone to hold him and tell him that he was alright.
“I bought that game you wanted. Overcooked? Yeah, that was its name. We can try it out when you feel up to it. Maybe invite Akaashi and Bokuto over. Chibi-chan and Kageyama too, if they’re in Tokyo.” Kuroo continued.
“You know, all these people love you, Kenma. It doesn’t matter what people online think, especially when they’re just following a deranged leader.” Kuroo reassured him.
Kenma looked up at him questioningly. Kuroo sighed. “Yeah, I heard. I have no idea who Alice-san’s sister is,” he said in response to Kenma’s silent question, “besides, I trust our parents and our own memories more than some beauty guru who can’t take being beaten.” he scoffed.
Kenma took a few deep breaths, a sign that he was slowly calming down. Kuroo rubbed comforting circles down his back. “T-Tetsu.” he murmured. “Am I a bad soulmate because I’m not that affectionate?”
Kuroo jolted, then cupped his hands gently around Kenma’s face, leaning down to press a light kiss to his lips. “No, Kenma, never. I know you love me, and you know I wouldn’t have you any other way. You’re my kitten, remember?” he reminded. Kenma nodded slowly. Good. Kuroo breathed a slight sigh of relief in his mind. It had been months since he had needed to do this.
Kenma continued, speaking even quieter. “Will everyone leave me? Am I going to be lonely in the end?” he asked. Kuroo’s heart ached. He knew that that had always been one of Kenma’s insecurities—that his aloofness would drive people away from him. “Kenma, if you’re alone, then I’ll be alone with you.” Kuroo said resolutely.
Kenma broke down into a few sobs, hopefully getting it out of his system. “T-Tetsu, they found our address.” Kuroo froze. “What?” Kenma nodded. “Yeah. S-someone sent me a red paint-stained picture of me with a knife stabbed through my f-forehead.” he struggled to get out.
“Shh, shh, Kenma, I’m here now. Don’t force yourself if you don’t want to talk.” Kuroo reassured.
Shit. They had both known that this could become a probability when Kenma had started getting famous, and they had been lucky for a few years, but someone finding out at this moment was just bad luck.
Kuroo wrapped his arms tighter around Kenma’s smaller frame. “Don’t worry, kitten, I’ll protect you. Always and forever, remember?” he said with a cheeky smile, pointing at the band (the metal one) around Kenma’s left ring finger.
Kenma’s quiet, melodic chuckle filled the air.
Kuroo chanced a glance down at his right ring finger. It was still dark and murky, but there were traces of pink and a pale color that he hoped was yellow. It wasn’t back to usual, but they were getting there.
。ₓ ू ₒ ु ˚ ू ₒ ु ₓ。
A few hours later…
Curled up on the couch, Kenma fiddled away at his PSP. Kuroo plopped down next to him, holding two steaming cups of chamomile tea. “Tetsu, I placed an order for a new phone.” Kenma said, not looking up from the phone.
“Oh also, you’re still going to have to pay half the rent for our new apartment. I’m not going to be your sugar daddy, no matter how much you beg.” Kenma deadpanned.
Kuroo snorted. Nothing ever really changed with his Kenma.
。o°✥✤✣ ✣✤✥°o。
© ʙᴇᴛʜᴇʏᴅᴏᴄʀɪᴍᴇᴡʀɪᴛᴇꜱ 2021 - ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴄʀᴇᴅɪᴛ
#haikyuu fandom#haikyuu!!#kuroken#kenma kozume#kozume kenma#kuroo tetsurou#kuroo x kenma#fluff#haikyuu fluff#comfort#kurokenweek#kurokenweek2021
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buried in your bones | b.b.
summary: “Promise you’ll love me always.”
WARNINGS: fluff, angst, blood, violence, swearing, drinking, magic and therefore magic haters pairing: king!bucky x queen!reader word count: 11.1k
a/n: inspired by hurricane by fleurie. i recommend listening to it for proper vibes :) written for @serpienten and @buckysknifecollection. i had the prompt king/queen au and a dialogue prompt that is bolded. sorry this took so long! am still working through some killer writer’s block :( but enjoy!
James can taste nothing but blood in his mouth as he plunges his sword through chainmail. His ears are ringing from the sound of metal singing with every slice, every clash of his sword against his opponents and his foot catches on a dead knight’s arm as he whirls around.
All around him, dirt is flying and there is the smell of smoke as he twirls out of the way of a horse with no rider. Sweat dripping through his armour, he spots a soldier pinned down and charges, running the attacker through his sword and kicking him off the tip.
The smell of shit fills his mouth as he sucks in a wet gasp, helping the soldier get up. Clapping his shoulder, James can barely hear himself over the clamour of battle raging around him.
“Are we winning?” Steve asks harshly, shrugging off his king’s hand, and James feels cold ice spear up his limb at the bitter glare his knight commander pins him down with. Steve has lost his helmet, his golden hair dark with mud and blood but his eyes burn bright. “Is this worth it for you?”
“Volley!”
The word pierces through the haze and the two men collapse to their knees, ducking their heads as arrows stab into the dirt around them, the inflamed tips snuffing out as soon as they sink into wet mud.
“I want nothing more than to retreat, but they attacked first,” is his reply. He knows it’s pathetic.
He knows he’s at war because his people crave what they think is justice, because his people hate what they don’t understand.
He had been the same once.
Straightening, James jerks back as a sword tries to cleave him in two, and Steve is lost to him in the furious chaos of battle. Parrying another blow, he shoves his shoulder into his opponent’s gut and knocks him off his feet, dark hair flying into his face as he shoves the metal through the man’s stomach. The strangled scream echoes in his ears as he pulls it out with a wet schluck.
Stumbling back, James looks up to see more of his men clad in their refined red and gold armour storming down the hill, and he whips around, watching as more soldiers in gold and white fall. He can barely discern who is on his side, who is on Asgard’s.
“Well, if it isn’t the King of Kings!”
The voice, even to this day, harsh and rich with arrogance that only comes from believing their purpose is righteous, causes a fire in James to ignite.
Turning around slowly, he sees the gleaming dark armour, the stained black leather, the stench of death following his wake. Lord Rumlow scrapes the blood off one short sword with the other and James swears he can see someone’s brains along his knuckles drenched in blood as he raises his own sword.
“Rumlow.”
“How are you, m’lord?” he drawls, that knifepoint smirk digging into his cheeks as he raises one of his swords, the tip pointing for James’ eyes. Scarlet drips from the edge and James swallows the knot in his throat. He has no illusions that if given the chance, the man will stab him through the throat slowly, sinking that blade through his flesh as he watched the light die from James’ eyes and relish in it, but he is a dog.
A dog with a master.
“Where is she?” James asks, the words tearing out of his throat as he sweeps his gaze through the dying battle. The ground is littered with the fallen and he can taste death on his tongue—bitter and cold and vile. “Where is she?”
Lord Rumlow merely laughs, harsh and sharp and poisonous. He circles James like a predator circles cornered prey, slowly making his way within sword range, and James watches those dark eyes narrow in bloody glee. “As if she’d come here for you.”
“I know she is.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s dark with fury as Lord Rumlow merely cocks his head, intrigued. “I saw her on the rise.” Hair sticks to his skin and his heart is nothing more than threads barely holding together. “Please, we can end this—”
“You still love her.” It is nothing but cold, brutal truth and James flinches as soon as he hears it. It exhausts him to hear those words, to know that someone like Lord Rumlow knows what he had refused to believe, to know that he’d been the fool for years.
Lord Rumlow lunges forward, bringing his short sword down upon James’ shoulder. Blocking the blow, the king falls onto his back. Metal sings in his bones as their swords drag against each other.
James manages to drive the sword into the dirt, his lungs heaving for air as he jerks his head away from the tip. A wild glint falls into the dog’s eyes as his lips curl into a vicious snarl as James tries to throw the man off. His skin is slick with mud and blood and sweat, and James can feel the heat kiss him at all sides. It’s suffocating in his armour, clouds of hot air gathering in his back, under his arms, on his face.
Brock wrenches his bassinet off and James barely has time to prepare himself for the punch before it hits. His head snaps back into the mud, nose blooming in pain as his eyes squeeze shut to prepare for another strike, but hands merely wrap around his throat.
“How dare you claim to love her? How dare you say that after what you’ve done? You’re not even fit to say her name!”
Fingers dig deeper into his throat and James gasps for air, blood slipping down his cheeks from his nostrils. Mouth gaping, he wraps his hands around Lord Rumlow’s sleeves. The cacophony falls away, the sound of everything fading as James forces his eyes open, staring into the pits of his strangler’s eyes, and his feet kick, slip through mud.
“You. It was always you,” Rumlow murmurs. “Even after all these years, she chose you time and time again with nothing to show for it. She should’ve killed you when she had the chance.”
“What did you just say to me?” James chokes out and Rumlow laughs, sharp and his teeth are bared in a sadistic grin.
“You’re in no position to threaten me, m’lord.”
“No, what— what do you mean?” Another fist to the cheek, James’ world spins as his head jerks sideways. He can hear his blood gurgling in his head, in his throat, as he digs his fingers deeper into Rumlow’s gloved hands.
“All these years and you still don’t know.”
Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy, Rumlow’s voice chants in James’ head.
It is all he can hear.
Black dots impede his vision as the strength drains from his body.
“She never trusted you. She could never trust you. And how could she? Your family ruined her life!”
What?
“Please, don’t—” That voice from so long ago, scratched and aching with its plea for mercy, echoes in his ears and his eyes flutter shut.
“And why would she? You won’t even fight for her honour,” Rumlow derides, a cruel laugh mutilating his words. “You don’t deserve her love. You deserve nothing!”
There’s a snap.
“Get off of him!” a voice snaps, dark with power, and the weight lifts from his chest, but it is too late.
James doesn’t recall falling into the abyss, but he knows he falls when everything goes silent.
.
“Prince James, let me introduce my daughter.”
That is how it starts, when he is nothing more than thirteen, reading in the garden’s hedge maze. The sun is golden, the wind smells like sugar and sweet fruits, and the sky is bluer than sapphires as he closes his book and looks up at the approaching man.
When he thinks on it years later, he thinks it is just as how all the fairytales, all fables, start.
He recognizes the man—a diplomat, lord of some powerful house.
The girl behind him, however, he doesn’t.
You’re wearing a dark red dress, your hair pulled elegantly away from your face, and you’ve the warmest eyes he’s ever seen. A fire ignites inside him, smoldering him from the inside out as you curtsy and he stands, his chair grating harshly against marble.
You smile at his flustered expression and he finds it beautiful.
“Your Highness.”
“My lady.”
“Your hedge maze was no challenge for me,” you proclaim and James laughs, tucking his book underneath his arm.
“And you’re good at puzzles?”
“The best.”
His heart no longer beats in his chest as your father explains that you’re simply here to shadow him in his diplomatic duties.
He had never worried about marrying a woman he didn’t know the name of, but now, as you cock your head and your smile grows sly at his shy grin, he knows you’ve stolen his heart the instant he laid eyes on you.
Any betrothal in his future will be for nothing because all he wants is to marry you.
.
It’s his seventeenth birthday and he’d spent the night before drinking smuggled whiskey and smoking rum with his friends. His head pounds now, with regret, as he tries to keep himself from falling asleep. His feast is going full swing, and he can’t quite recall ever feeling the effects of irresponsible drinking so strongly than tonight.
“Your Highness.”
You’re helping him in that regard.
“You can’t doze off, can you?”
He blinks, head jerking to you, and you smile.
“It wouldn’t be fit for a king to sleep at his own birthday feast.” Extending a hand over the table, you cock your head. “Dance with me. Perhaps then you’ll stay awake long enough to see the night to its end.” Standing, James feels blood rush through his body and he grins, placing his hand and yours and walking around the table. You tug him playfully into the center of the dance floor, the circlet gleaming in your hair.
The melodies of the band sink into his bones as he places a hand on your waist, the other interlacing with yours as he steps with the music.
“I apologize, my lady.”
“Oh, as you should.” You smile although your tone betrays it as he spins you around. Your dress floats, flares gracefully from your waist in dark green flames, matching the emerald on your sternum. A gift of his for your last birthday. “Illicit drinking without me? Honestly, it’s a crime.”
“Steve wanted to keep it a secret,” James protests as he dips you in one hand.
“Funnily enough, Lord Rogers said it was your idea.” Hoisting you back up, you send him a berating glare. “Honestly, you’ve never kept a secret from me. What’s going on, now? You’ve been ignoring me for days.”
“Nothing, bluebird,” he soothes as your hand settles on his shoulder, and a heat blossoms from your palm, through him. He could melt into your heat, the effortless hearth that stems from your very soul. His eyes settle on your confused expression, and he pulls you close, forehead knocking into yours. “I promise you. There is no secret.”
“You’re lying,” you murmur, eyes searching his. “You’re a terrible liar.”
“As are you.”
You scoff, drawing back and their noses brush as you narrow your gaze in a challenge. “You’d be surprised.” You twirl out of his reach with a parting glare, another lady taking your place and he’s surprised to see Lady Natasha smirking up at him. Taking her hand in his, he steps back into a bow while she curtsies. The music stalls for a moment as he kisses the redhead’s knuckles before it picks back up again.
“My lady.”
“She’s not very pleased, is she?” the redhead points out and James groans. “You invited her all this way and then chose to exclude her on the pre-celebration ritual.”
“Don’t tell me you’re the one who told her,” he complains, nearly stepping on Natasha’s toes but the lady quickly steps out from underneath his boot. “I’m trying to keep it all a secret. You know that.”
“I think you’re doing a terrible job of it. If you’re going to propose to her, it might be best not to act like she has the plague.”
“I haven’t!”
“Yes, you have. Don’t play the fool.” Natasha narrows her gaze, squeezing his hand painfully, and James winces. “You’ve never went a single week in the four years you’ve known her without sending her a letter and suddenly, the moment we get here, I have to listen to her complain about how you refuse to even look her in the eye and how you don’t spend any time on her, excusing it with flimsy reasons.” Shaking her head, Natasha pretends to accidentally step on James’ foot as they waltz around each other. “You’re lucky she loves you. She suspects something is wrong with you, and she’ll get it out.”
“And you didn’t tell her, did you?” James adds nervously, causing Natasha to sigh heavily, rolling her eyes. Her whole body seems to cave in with the stupidity James is apparently exuding as she sucks in a breath and tries to formulate a response not too rude for him.
“Of course not. Why would I ruin something like this for her, Your Highness?” With the last, biting word, Natasha is whisked away by a blond man with flushed cheeks and way too many drinks to be anything but a stuttering mess. James follows the redhead as she pulls Steve off the floor and sighs dejectedly, collapsing into the chair beside his best friend.
“Your birthday not all you wanted, my lord?” Steve crows as Natasha brings a goblet of wine to her mouth to hide her smile. James, with a glum smile, leans his cheek against his fist and watches you dance with another lord. He’s a bit older, one of the lords of your house, and handsome in a roguish sort of way.
Lord Rumlow, your sworn shield.
James does his best to bite his tongue when you toss your head back in a laugh and the knight grins, his obsidian eyes soft only for you.
The three friends exchange glances as you cup the knight’s cheek before slipping into the crowd just as the music ends, and James stands abruptly without a farewell to his companions. Pushing himself through the crowd, he mutters his pardons, your dress slipping between noble lords and ladies.
Breaking into the hall outside the ballroom, he doesn’t see a trace of you.
As if you’ve disappeared.
Sighing, he walks to the gardens. These halls are ones he knows well, ones he’s run through since he was nothing but a princeling escaping his nursemaid’s supposedly evil clutches. Then, as a boy after tutoring or a day out riding, and now…
He had walked you through these halls a dozen times and he still thinks you haven’t seen everything.
One place you do know, however, is the palace gardens.
The leaves are silver in the moonlight, a gentle wind rustling through the hedges as he makes his way through the hedge maze. Crickets chirp and some bird croons as he sucks in a warm summer breath. It smells heavenly, of flowers and sweet sugar, of light and clean water. He can hear the faint music from the palace, still, but the smell of hearty meats and smoke have faded to something softer, something warmer.
“James?”
Your voice pierces through the night air as he finds himself in the centre of the maze. You turn around on one of the benches to look at him, and he’s surprised by the morose expression printed onto your face.
“Are you alright?” Stepping to the bench, he sits down beside you with a frown. “Did something happen?”
“Brock was simply saying how I had to rest up tomorrow. We depart at dusk tomorrow to avoid the rebels.” You turn to him, a glumness to your face he’s not used to seeing and he takes your hands gently in his. “I’m sorry I have to leave so early. We were supposed to have the week together.”
“If the rebels are threatening the roads, it’s best you go before you can’t any longer,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing his lips to your brow. You inhale shakily at his touch, leaning into him. “I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”
“You can’t fix everything, Bucky,” you mumble, your nose brushing against his as you pull back. James wrinkles his nose and you cup his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eye. “I just don’t think this is a war we need to fight.”
.”These magic users are dangerous—”
“Those magic users are people,” you reply hotly, pulling back and standing. You turn away from him and James’ eyebrows knit together as he stands as well. He doesn’t reach out for you, and you wrap your arms around yourself. “They’re people who’ve been treated like beasts.” Approaching you slowly, he gently sets his hands along your shoulders and you whirl around in his grasp. Your eyes search his, and he feels something in him soften at the bleeding heart he can see in your chest.
“You know I can’t change my mother’s policies. Not after how Father died.” His throat cinches shut at the mention of the father he never knew and he turns away from your palm, looking up at the summer sky. A dark indigo canvas speckled with diamonds, it’s so vast and endless, James can’t help but wonder if his father is watching down on him.
“What happened with your father, with Steve’s father, it was one incident that somehow made everyone see people with magic like freaks. One incident was all it took.” Looking down at you again, James brushes his knuckles down your cheek. “We haven’t exactly prosecuted all of mankind for one man going on a murder spree with a knife he stole from the butcher’s shop,” you say, voice snapping like a whip as you pull away. Again, you turn away from him and James feels at a loss. Every time you turn away, he feels as if he’s splitting in two and he sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side.
“We put murderers, criminals, in jail.”
“And we’ve persecuted a whole people for the same thing.” Your shoulders fall as you let out a tremendous breath, and an emptiness in James widens at the desolate aura emanating from your very being. “I should go.”
You move towards the hedges but James walks after you. “Wait! I don’t want us to depart on these terms. I have no wish for you to leave angry at me.”
You turn slowly, your dress twisting and brushing against the dirt as you shake your head, a gentle smile upon your face.
“I’m not angry at you, James,” you assure quietly, and he believes you by the earnest glint in your eyes.
“Then, may I walk you to your room, my lady?”
You dip your head, and extend a hand for him to take. Your fingers slide easily between his, and he pauses, simply admiring your face bathed in silver light. His other hand reaches to brush against your jaw and your smile grows as you cup his jaw and pull him down.
The kiss is quiet, tender, and his eyes slide shut as your hand runs through his hair, pulling back just enough to breathe.
“Promise you’ll love me,” you whisper, words as soft as silk against his lips as he presses his brow to yours. Your eyes are still closed but his flutter open, soaking in your face as if he’ll never have enough time to memorize it. You cup his face with both hands, open your eyes and stare into his soul. A wounded ache festers in your gaze and he nods. “Promise you’ll love me always.”
Drawing back, he feels your hands tremble and brings them in his own to his lips. Mouth against your fingers, he nods again. “I promise I will always love you.” Kissing your knuckles, he does not break his gaze away as your lips curl into a tender smile. Squeezing his hands, you look younger, as if a burden has been lifted off your shoulders, and in that moment, James swears he has never seen something quite so divine.
He falls to one knee, and reaffirms his grasp on your hands before digging through his trouser pocket for the ring.
“Bucky…” you begin, bemused at his antics, but then you catch sight of the ring and your breath hitches. Eyes widening, your fingers wrap tighter around his as he brings the ring up to the moonlight. In lunar rays, it glows effervescently, winking and stunning in its shallow grooves, smooth gold, and intricately shaped hands linked together. The metal bends, caves where the fingers interlace and you let out a whispering sigh as he looks up at you.
A heat rises in his cheeks and he swallows the nerves biting at his throat. He should’ve had a drink before he came out here, but then again, he hadn’t realized this would be where—
He should’ve. This is, after all, where he first fell in love with you.
“Marry me,” he says although it’s more of a question, a request, an ask for a blessing, and your smile is brilliant as you say nothing. “It is why I have been so distant lately. I’ve been trying to find the perfect execution, but it seems my own heart has betrayed me. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you, and although I am your prince, to be your king… Do me this honour, Y/N, and be my queen.”
“Well…” Your grin digs into your cheeks as he looks up at you, and a flood of relief fills his body as you tilt your head, just as you did the first day you met him. “No more drinking without me, then I’ll marry you,” you proclaim and he laughs as you tug him onto his feet. “Promise me that.”
Sliding the ring onto your finger, he presses a warm, bruising kiss against your lips before pulling back just far enough to whisper, “You have my word.”
And then he kisses you again.
.
If, four years ago, James knew marriage would be so exhausting, he would still do it again in a heartbeat.
Your laughter, after all, is the song he wakes up to every morning.
That, or the squirming body of his son trying to get between James and you.
You laugh as his son bounces between your legs, desperate for the horse to go faster than the easy walk he paces at, and James watches as you wrap an arm around his son’s waist.
“Your stallion is ready, my king.” Turning to the stable hand, he nods his thanks and mounts easily atop the white steed, gently nudging his sides into a trot to join his family at the edge of the woods. Alpine nickers his greetings to your mare as you tug on the reins with your one hand.
“A fine afternoon,” he comments, glancing over at you as Stellan wraps his chubby hands around the handle of the saddle specifically crafted for riding with a child.
“Indeed it is, your Grace,” you tease, brushing your hair out of your face. “A fine day for riding.” Your mare bumps noses with his stallion as Stellan notices his father, clapping his hands. “The prince wants his father.” Hoisting his son out from the space between your lap, you hand him over to James with a grin.
“Papa!”
Kissing his son’s cheek, James grins when his son latches onto him, arms wrapped around his father’s neck as they start their ride into the woods. James keeps a hand on Stellan, careful not to let him fall or squirm too much.
His twenty-first year has been blessed with peace, and James can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. The rebels have been squashed into their hiding holes, and the kingdom prospers with long summers and short winters.
And his family…
He looks at you and something inside him melts. Your lips are puckered in a whistle and you repeat the bird songs chirping through the trees while the guard rides behind you, and he glances back to see Steve talking to Lady Natasha.
What joke did she tell him this time? He wonders, amused when Steve blushes at whatever Natasha said. Always flustered by whatever the bold redhead says. I hope nothing too under the skirts.
“Eyes forward, my king,” you call and he turns forward again to see you up ahead, head tilted to look over your shoulder. “We do have a clearing to reach before midday.”
“Mama?” Squirming in his arms, Stellan wriggles his way back between his father’s thighs and grabs the wooden handle of the saddle. Bouncing excitedly, the boy leans forward. “Go!” James nudges Alpine into a trot to catch up to his wife as his guard splits apart in the woods, no doubt interested in a day off simply relaxing without any drills on a sunny day like this. He’s sure some would head off to the lake for a swim while others participated in a hunt.
“Are you coming, Rogers?” a voice crows within the trees, and James grins when he hears Anthony’s squire, Peter, exclaim in pain when he hits his head on a low-hanging tree branch. “Your lady can come, too!”
“She’s not my lady, Tony!” Steve calls back as James catches up to where you’ve stopped and he pulls his reins lightly to stall as well. Glimpsing Steve’s red face, James smirks when the blond turns to Natasha. “I mean, you are my lady, my lady.”
“Aren’t you the charmer?” Natasha says dryly as the two approach the royals. Their steeds’ ears twitch and Natasha scratches her horse’s ear as you grin. “My king. My queen.”
“You do realize you are free to take the day off. We haven’t had the time to do so in ages,” you tell them kindly, your eyes darting from the lady to the lord. “Not since James has been crowned king, I feel.” Steve cocks his head when Stellan tries to reach over to him and he picks up the prince, bouncing him in his arms. “Not since this one was born for certain. You ought to take it, the both of you.”
“Spoken like a true queen,” Natasha teases. “But I agree. Diplomacy is an exhausting sport.”
“Sport? I’m sure Rhodes wouldn’t be so inclined to call it so.”
“Rhodes needs to stop and learn to relax. It’s not that complicated.”
“He knows how to relax,” James quips. “He just doesn’t take his job so lightly unlike you, Lady Natasha.”
Natasha grins, rolling her eyes before tugging the reins of her steed towards a parting in the trees. “Well, unlike Rhodes who is no doubt racing Tony to the lake, I will take a long, leisurely stroll there. Lord Rogers, if you would accompany me?”
“Of course, my lady.” Steve transfers Stellan from his arms back into his father’s, picking up his reins before dipping his head to you. “My queen.” Always with the formalities, James muses as he grabs Steve’s hand in a hearty shake farewell. “I won’t be too far away.”
“I’m counting on it,” James replies before the blond rides after the redhead, and the royals look at each other before bursting out into laughter. “God, I wonder when he’ll ever have the courage to properly ask for her hand in marriage.”
“Knowing them both, she’ll ask first,” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose and the two of you ride off into the woods.
The destination is a clearing upon a small hill, sparkling with morning dew just beginning to dry and flowers blooming in the branches. The trees part perfectly in a path down the hill to the lake and the sun casts golden shafts through the branches, the entire clearing glimmering in its blessing. The smell of fresh wind and sweet nectar fills James’ nose as you dismount beside him, lowering Stellan gently onto the grass. You unpack your saddlebag, revealing blankets and food.
James dismounts as well, patting Alpine firmly along his neck as he grabs the flagon of wine and more food from his own saddlepack while you lay the blanket gently over the grass. Feeding an apple to Alpine, he gently rubs his steed’s nose before joining his wife and son underneath the shade of a tree.
Unbuckling his belt, he rests his sword against the trunk before sinking to his knees beside you. You’re already leaning back on an arm, watching as Stellan chases a butterfly across the huge clearing and James kisses your temple, easing against the tree. You immediately lean against him, your head against his chest, and he tilts his head back to feel the breeze along his neck.
“This is wonderful,” you sigh, your hand on his chest. “Four years of nothing but non-stop madness and now we have a day to simply breathe..”
“Three years of being king, four of being a father. I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted,” he agrees. “Father always made it seem so effortless.”
“Well, that’s how fathers are,” you tease, glancing up at him. He looks down with a slight frown and you reach up to tap his nose. “You’ve been nothing but a perfect father to Stellan. You ought to slip before he thinks you’re some god.”
“Would that be too bad?” His nose wrinkles and you chuckle, pecking his lips before sitting upright. Stellan wanders back towards his parents, his chubby fist holding blades of grass and he tosses it at James before crawling into his mother’s lap. “He seems to be his mother’s son, anyway.”
“As he should,” you fire back, lifting Stellan up in your hands and throwing him up a few times. His high-pitched giggles cause James to smile as he leans down, brushes hair away from your forehead and kisses your brow. Tilting your chin up to snag his lips into another brief kiss, you settle your son against your chest and roll over.
“Mama, walk,” Stellan orders, and you look down at your son. “Go walk.”
“Your son’s already giving me orders,” you comment pointedly, sitting up as Stellan gets to his feet and James smirks, beginning to unpack the food.
“I think he’s more like you in that regard,” James fires back mischievously and you lightly smack his shoulder as their son grabs your hand and tugs you away. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, you allow yourself to be lead into the forest while James carefully sets up the wine, the food. Taking a bite out of a bit of cheese, he heads to the horses who’ve been roaming the clearing and sighs.
He must cherish this day. Tomorrow, it’ll be nothing but more meetings with diplomats, advisors, and other engagements regarding the bandits along their border.
Magic still spikes fear in the hearts of his people, despite how hard you’ve tried to dissuade the notion that magic is dangerous. It’s been your one goal since you’ve been crowned his queen, a movement that has made you…
Made you controversial, to say the least.
It has definitely put you into disfavour with his mother, but James doesn’t care.
He knows your heart is in the right place, even if he himself is still afraid. There is that bravery with you, that makes him want to be brave, too, but his father...
He will never forget the sight of his dead father.
Stroking Alpine’s snout, he feels the stallion lip at his pockets, searching for treats as your mare nickers, coming over with ears perked up in interest. Turning to the mare, he grins when she snorts against his cheek.
Grinning, he simply lets the horses nudge him every which way, threads his fingers through their manes. With a deep breath, he lets the day wash over him. He closes his eyes and presses his brow against Alpine’s.
In the distance, he can hear Natasha shouting at Anthony, Steve’s loud, bright laughter.
No matter what happens, he wouldn’t change being a king for anything if it meant ruling with these people beside him.
“Wolf! Wolf! It’s the White Wolf!”
Peter’s petrified warning shout echoes through the forest and James jerks towards his voice, eyes widening. The White Wolf?
His blood freezes in his veins. The White Wolf had been lurking through their woods for the past years, a white beast larger than horses and hungrier than ten wolves that only came out at night. With blood red eyes and claws that could eviscerate through steel armour, the White Wolf is nothing short of a monster.
Never has he heard of it roaming during the day.
Until now.
“Peter!”
“Where’s the king?”
Alpine lets out a loud neigh, stomping his foot against the soft dirt as the sound of swords and steel clashing and James grabs his belt from the tree, cinching it tight around his waist as Steve appears in the parting of the trees. His thoughts immediately race towards you and Stellan, alone in the woods, and his heart leaps to his throat as he turns to Steve.
“She went out with Stellan for a walk,” James barks, brushing past Steve roughly. Behind him is the rest of his guard, stumbling up the hills in various states of undress, but they stop as soon as they catch sight of him. Ice seeps into his veins and he ignores the thought of you mauled to pieces, a tiny body beside yours. “Find your queen!”
“Yes, my king!”
Drawing their swords, the knights split off in coordinated groups, disappearing in seconds. Steve and James pair off and sprint into the woods. His blood is racing through his body, his feet flying through the grass as he hears the loud roar of the bear.
Shouting your name, shouting Stellan’s, his lungs feel like they’re about to burst as the crashing river comes into view. The sound of the white rapids, thunderous as waves crash against rock, echoes in James’ skull as he sweeps his eyes for a glimpse of you.
There’s the dark brown of wood everywhere, the same shade as Stellan’s leather vest, and his vocal cords burn as he screams over the sounds of the rapids.
“James?” He can hear his name in the distance and then there is a flash of white smudged with green and he can see Stellan bursting through the bushes on the other side of the river, followed by you. Steve raises his hand as you scoop up your son, and James rushes to the chaotic riverside. Frigid water splashes at his boots and a chill shoots up his spine. “What is it?”
“We need to head back. The Wolf is awake.”
Eyes widening, you disappear back into the woods after a quick nod, and James turns to Steve with a grimace before they start to sprint down the river.
The only place to cross is by the lake where the river is calmer.
All he wants is to hold you in his arms.
The river calms as the trees begin to thin out once they reach the crystalline lake and Steve breaks through first just as something bursts through the bushes. Stellan’s cheeks are streaked with tears and as soon as he catches sight of his father, he runs towards you, and you tear out after him, your clothes stained with dirt and leaves, your hair a mess.
What follows is a massive beast, lunging out of the trees for you. It’s nothing but a flash of white fur and red eyes, claws gleaming in the sunlight. Drawing his sword, Steve runs into its path, bowled over with a painful clash just as James unsheathes his sword. You pick up Stellan and run up the hill, and as soon as James makes sure you’re on your way to safety, he joins Steve in the battle. The Wolf drags its claws through steel, and Steve lets out a scream, struggling to wrench its paw off of him just as James charges at the thing, running his blade through the pelt but it seems to glance off easily.
No mark stains the pelt and it swipes out a ferocious paw, knocking James aside as Steve struggles weakly, blood beginning to seep into the soil beneath. Scarlet rivulets gleam in the sunlight as James blinks his vision clear, digging his sword tip in an attempt to stand again. Terror tries to lock his limbs, but he tries to fight the swelling in his chest as he reaffirms his grip on the sword and runs at the beast once again.
The Wolf’s lips pulled back in a snarl, it leaves Steve motionless just as James tries to stab at its shoulder and it pulls back, tail thrashing. Blood drips from its maw and as James stares into the eyes of death, he wonders what he’ll see on the other side.
Hopefully, nothing.
Realistically, this will not be a painless death.
He raises his sword, and steadies his breath, sweat gathering in the hollow of his back, the seam that has stitched itself into his ribs just beginning to heal. Lungs heaving for air, he feels light-headed, near dizzy with adrenaline.
The Wolf lunges and James tries to jump out of the way too late. It catches him by the waist, drags him through the mud and his sword goes flying as teeth sink into his thigh. Grunting, he smashes his fist into the mutt’s muzzle to no avail, desperate to contain the scream trying to rip through his chest.
Black dots swarm his vision and his whole body is in flames as he raises his other leg, kicking the Wolf in the eye but it is not phased.
At least, not until something blasts it off of him.
Gasping for air, he pushes himself up and away from the Wolf that lies in a crumpled heap by the lake shore and then there is another pulse of energy, a cage of gold forming around the beast before hands hoist him up underneath his arms and drag him away.
“Are you alright?” He can hear your voice, sharp in his ear, and he turns to see you, eyes focused on the Wolf struggling to escape its prison. His whole body is aching buried deep in his bones and blooming like flowers in summer, and blood soaks through his trousers as you pull him behind a rock, dropping into a crouch beside him. “James?”
“What was that?” he whispers harshly, hand wrapping around your wrist, and your gaze jerks towards him jarringly. There is a light he does not recognize, focused, precised, glimmering in your eyes. You pull your wrist out of his grasp, turning to his oozing wound. Grabbing his hands, you push it atop the puncture, and James’ breath hitches at the warm, tingling sensation festering in his leg.
“I need to pull Steve to safety. Put pressure on that and do not move. You’ll only bleed more.” Without another word, you turn and make a lifting gesture with your hands. James cranes his head to watch a warm, golden corona surround Steve’s body and he is dragged towards them, leaving a trail of blood-soaked grass. The Wolf growls, lunges and bites, the sizzling of its energy cage filling the silence along with the clanking of Steve’s armour just as the blond is caught in your hands.
Pulling him around the rock cover, you hoist Steve up against the stone and run a glowing hand across the hemorrhaging body. Your fingers, tense and locked, seem to tremble as the blood stops flowing, and James’ eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he watches the eviscerated remains of his best friend begin to stitch together.
Turning to his own leg, he lifts his blood-red palms to see it already nearly closed, and his heart constricts as he covers it again and lets his head fall back to the stone.
Magic.
There’s the sound of branches breaking and James’ eyes snap open. Sweat pours at your brow just as he turns to look at you, and you barely flash him a smile before something snaps again and your attention is torn away.
Immediately, the stitching effect disappears and James cradles Steve’s head in his, brushes blood away from his cheek as a sharp howl pierces the air. The summer heat is thick against his cheeks as you trade blow for blow with the Wolf.
He wants nothing more than to step in beside you, but with every flash of gold, every bright burst of energy, he feels the fear he felt when he was nothing more than a child locking his legs, paralyzing his body.
Magic.
Pure, powerful magic lights up the air and he can smell it, smoke and starlight, on his tongue.
The Wolf lunges and you toss it into the lake. You send a shockwave rippling towards the hound and it merely jumps over and pins you to the ground. Its claw gouges into your chest and your scream is earth-shattering as you kick it off of you with a powerful blast from your legs. Rolling onto your hands and knees, James can see blood drip slowly down your chest, into the grass as your tattered dress blows in the gentle wind.
You seem to stare into death’s jaws, and then…
You smile.
The Wolf’s claws dig into the dirt, and then it is sprinting at you in full force just as you force yourself onto your feet.
Your name tears through his chest just as the Wolf tackles you into the lake and there is a small flash before a loud crash of water and he turns to Steve to make sure he’s still alive before stumbling to his feet to watch, and in the lake, two beasts thrash in the cold water. Jaws snap, claws drag through flesh, and he watches as a magnificent bird beats its wings, sending a rippling gale of wind through the lake. The water recedes onto the shore as fire flares and the Wolf whines in pain as talons sink into its back.
An awe fills his entire body as the gorgeous phoenix flaps its wings and takes flight, dropping the Wolf onto the shore once again and landing with delicate precision. It warbles, a gentle sound, and shakes out its feathers, droplets of silky water flying everywhere. Each quill is red-orange, near golden, and its talons glimmer with golden scales.
James’ mouth drops open as it croons at the Wolf who merely cowers in its presence. Another whimper escapes the white dog, its red eyes fading to brown and James, entranced, watches as the phoenix, wings extended, begins to sing.
A sense of melancholy seeps into his soul as the Wolf lowers its chin to its paws and the phoenix coos, the crest on its head swaying and catching the true sunlight. They shine like cut amber as its golden eyes narrow.
Then, there is another, softer glow as the phoenix buries its beak in the fur of the Wolf, and James turns away, shielding his eyes from what seems like the sun. Falling beside Steve, he looks at his best friend.
“Steve?” he murmurs, and murky blue eyes meet his just as you appear again. Magic still oozes around you like oil in the sea, and he can smell magic again, but warmer this time—like a hearth burns inside his soul. Around your shoulders is an arm attached to a young woman he doesn’t recognize in a white dress.
“Are you alright?” you ask, slowly lowering the woman to the ground as well. Reaching, you cup Steve’s face that is beginning to regain its colour, and James watches gold light up the blood beneath his skin where you touch.
Don’t touch him, he wants to say, but Steve only wakes up at the contact, eyes widening ever more so slightly.
“Y/N,” Steve rasps and your hand retreats just as you turn to the woman that’s barely stirring. James watches as you lay a hand carefully on her arm, and she raises her head groggily. Her eyes are muddy, dazed, but then they roll back and she slumps forward and Steve jerks away from the hair brushing against his hand, shuffling back against James who wraps an arm around Steve. “I thought death held me for certain.”
“It almost did, old friend,” James replies, eyes wandering to you. “And the Wolf?”
“She needs time to recover,” you reply, delicately brushing hair away from the girl’s face and James’ eyebrows rise in shock.
His whole body is wracked with fatigue, but his mouth drops open when he gets a glimpse of the necklace hanging around the girl’s neck. “I remember her. Seven years ago, House Starr reported their daughter was missing to Mother. They never found her.”
“At least not until now. I need to bring her to healers,” you say, standing and lifting the girl with surprising ease. James struggles to his feet, pulling Steve up, and your eyes soften at him as you try to smile, but the blood, the still-fading glint in your eyes, sends chills through his body.
Magic…
“We’ll need to speak later.” You dip your head in farewell before walking to the lakeshore, and Steve groans, his entire body deadweight against James’ shoulder and the king grunts, doing his best to keep him standing.
“Bluebird, wait—”
You glance at him over his shoulder, and there is a sorrowful sweetness resting in your face, a tenderness in your smile, a grief in your gaze.
Then, a golden sparks carve a line into the air, sizzling against the grass as it carves a portal into this reality. You turn forward and walk through.
It closes before he can follow.
.
His mind is cluttered, his ears full of beeswax, and he doesn’t know what is real.
Steve had been rushed to the hospital wing to be swarmed by doctors, the other knights anxious yet relieved to see both the king and their knight commander alive and safe.
He doesn’t miss the fact that Rumlow is not among those men.
In fact, he is missing, and not a single soul has heard from him.
Buried in his bones is an ache James cannot ignore. His chest feels like it’s splitting open, his ribs snapped, and as he stares at his reflection in the cheval mirror, he swallows the hard lump in his throat.
The teeth marks are already closed, scarring over yet there’s still a residual pulse of pain when he prods at it.
He doesn’t know whether or not to be enraged, relieved.
All he knows is emptiness.
“Are you alright?” Startled, James drops his pant leg and turns around to see you standing there, eyes wide and a tentative smile upon your lips. His breath catches in your throat and his eyes immediately go to his hands that you clasp before you. “James?”
“What are you doing here?” he asks, feather soft and you walk closer, your footsteps light. “Where is the Wolf?”
“Lady Ava is fine. I’ve brought her to some healers on the border of Asgard and Midgard. It was some curse inflicted upon her as a child. Parental mishap, it seems but she’ll be fine with time,” you inform quietly, your gaze dipping to your hands as you twist the ring, the ring he had given you, around your finger. “Is Steve…”
“He’s alive,” he replies stiffly, brushing past you and you turn around with him, lips twisted into a worried frown. “Thank you,” he adds quietly, genuinely. His mind is a whirlwind, his heart racing in his ears, and he can’t help the sensation that seizes his chest, the awareness of where your hands move. “Without you, he would’ve died.”
“Steve is family.” Walking up behind him, James can feel you come close. His entire body tenses, and he faces the wall, eyes slip shut. Bright blasts of gold ignite in his mind, followed by a ravaged village he had seen on his tour of his kingdom. At the hands of magic.
Hands of your kind.
He forces the next words out between gritted teeth, the words coming out flat, stoic.
“Go, before someone tells the truth about you.”
“James, you can’t possibly—” You touch his shoulder and James flinches away, whirling around to face you. Your eyes widen at the reaction, and you withdraw your hand back, stumbling to the wall. “You’re afraid of me.”
“You’re magic,” he whispers, voice wavering and you swallow audibly. Your hand shakes through the air as you retract it to your chest, and he watches the pulsing wound along your collarbone slowly stitch itself together, the flesh leaving no mark. Magic. “Of course I’m afraid of you.”
“James—”
“And Stellan,” he cuts you off cleanly, trying his best not to shake when your eyes widen, wet with tears. You blink and they fall, crystalline in the low light. You’re shaking, your entire body trembling as the two of you stand on opposite sides of the small room. “Is he…”
“Magic?” you finish for him and your voice is void of life, defeated. Your hands drop to your sides and you seem to stand straighter under his gaze as you stare at him. “After all this time, you’re still afraid of magic. You won’t even let me explain.” Your expression crumbles and you turn your face away, rubbing at the tears tracking down your face. An incredulous, sharp exhale fills the silence and James feels something inside him split open.
“Would you? Explain, that is.”
His heart wilts, his lungs collapse. His ribs seem to ache as you wipe at your face, the soft sounds of your uneven breathing filling the silence. He can feel your gaze, hot and desolate and aching against his cheek as he closes his eyes.
All he can see is his father’s splayed body, the blood soaking through the mud.
“You keep this secret from me, and expect me to trust you with the truth?”
“James…” you whisper softly, and his gaze jerks to yours jarringly. Your glassy eyes seem to stare right through him and he swallows through the bruising in his throat as he tries to hold back his own tears. “Please—”
“How could you not tell me?” he croaks, and you inhale, a shuddering, sharp thing. His chest is cracked open, his limbs are numb yet every bone in his body is solid lead. “How could you keep this from me?”
“Because I know you.”
Your words are empty in the summer air.
There is a moment of silence as everything James knows shatters around him. If he listens close enough, he can hear the shards of it colliding with the stone beneath his feet, breaking into uncountable pieces.
“Go,” he says softly, and he can’t bear to look at the devastation his words cause. “I’ll say you died in the attack, so you have enough time to leave the kingdom. Take Stellan and do not return.”
“James, no. He’s your son. Please, don’t—”
“I said, go!” The loudness of his voice shocks him and he flinches back into the wall at the eerie quiet that follows.
There is the only sound of uneven breathing, the cacophony of hearts breaking, and you step forward, the fabric of your tattered dress brushing against the floor. He can see your shadow in the candlelight, reaching for him, before you jerk back and he closes his eyes, burning tears dripping down his cheeks.
The door groans when you push it open, as if the castle is reluctant to let you leave, but then it opens and you slip out.
The door closes shut with a soft, yet thunderous boom.
.
“The King is awake!”
James’ head blisters with pain, and it only intensifies at the voice as he blinks his eyes open. The ceiling of his room is not unfamiliar, neither is the mattress he’s beginning to wear uneven beneath his back.
All these years and he never could sleep on your side of the bed.
“James!” Doors open and hands rush to help him sit up, and he groans, eyes squeezing shut when his head sways. His whole world slants and the taste of vomit burns at his throat as he slowly opens his eyes again, and he catches sight of Natasha’s red hair. The bright light streaming into his room makes his head pulse and he turns away, hand rising like it’s dragging through molasses.
“The light,” he rasps, and Natasha, who holds him by the elbows, turns to whomever is with her.
Darkness falls in his room.
“James.” Steve. “Are you alright?”
“What… how am I here?” His tongue is thick in his mouth, dry and raw, and his vocal cords twinge at his voice.
“Rumlow almost killed you,” Steve begins quietly as more people enter the room. “We lost men, but won the battle once they surrendered.”
“Surrendered?” Frowning, James’ brow wrinkles and he feels something split open with a stinging sensation digging into his skull. He hisses out, reaching to touch it but Natasha guides his hand away. “Fuck. Where—”
“In the dungeons. Waiting for you whenever you’re ready.” Natasha’s voice is soothing to the thumping in his skull.
“Help me stand.”
“Wait. Give yourself a few moments to regain your bearings,” Steve murmurs but James shakes his head despite how terribly it increases the agony chipping into his head.
“No—”
“James.”
“If she’s there, I need to see her.” Letting go of Natasha’s hand, he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, hands clutching onto the edge of his bed.
“James.”
“What?” he barks, head snapping to Steve and Natasha who look at each other with an apprehension. “Steve…” Something drags at his gut and his eyes widen in fear. Ice sluices through his chest. The silence becomes suffocating and with every passing second, he feels the world darken in on him.
No. No, no, no, no—
“She’s not there.”
“Where is she?”
“James, sit down.”
The ice melts into magma, and he thrashes off Natasha’s gentle hand.
“Where is she?”
.
Peter’s cabin is small, but warmly furbished for a squire. He lets them in before excusing himself to the castle, and James feels like he’s chained to a solid steel ball by the ankle. His limbs are wrought with bruises, and his head sways with every step as Natasha and Steve help him in.
He can see you through the open door to Peter’s room, and his breath stops in his chest.
Your body is hunched over a bed, a blanket draped over your shoulders as the sun washes over your body. You don’t stir at the entrance of the trio and James lets out the breath, the string lancing through his body snipped when you don’t immediately move. You’re dressed in oversized clothes, trousers and a linen shirt hanging off your shoulders. Your hair is slick with oil, and he can smell the poultices that must’ve been slathered onto any wounds from where he walks slowly deeper into the room, his fingers deep in Natasha’s and Steve’s arms.
“Steve,” Natasha murmurs, and she brings James’ hand to Steve before approaching the bed slowly. Steve leads James to a couch by the small hearth but James’ eyes don’t stray from Natasha as the redhead approaches your sleeping form. He cranes his head to watch through the doorway, and his blood rushes to his head, dizzying.
“Why is she here?” James whispers, voice fleeting just as Natasha lays a hand on your shoulder and you jerk up, a soft blue corona flaring around your being and Natasha raises her hands, walking around the bed. Narrowing his gaze, James tries to decipher who lays there as you stand on unsteady feet, rub at your face.
“How long have I been asleep?” you ask quietly and the sound of your voice, deeper, mature, strikes James, pulls him apart at the seams. Standing on unsteady feet, his legs knock into a table as he rushes towards the bedroom despite Steve’s attempts to grab him, and he stumbles to the door frame, his head spinning.
His vision blurs, and his head feels like it’s bashed in, but he doesn’t miss the colour of your eyes, the way your head turns to look over your shoulder.
Lightning strikes his core when your gaze fixes on his. There’s so much about you that is the same since the last time he’s seen you. Thirteen years and you’ve only grown more beautiful, more graceful. The little wrinkle in your brow as you look at him, the tightness in your lips as you frown.
“James.”
Even the way you say his name is the same.
What isn’t, though, is the fear.
He knows what fear looks like on your face, the way it floods your eyes, the way it can’t show on the rest of you because you are a queen and untouchable, but for it to be directed at him…
His head is heavier than bricks on his shoulders as you back up until your legs touch the bed, and your arms are spread.
Is this how he looked at you all those years ago? As if he holds a knife to his throat and digs the blade deeper with every second?
“What is he doing here?” you ask, scratchy and you clear your throat, not tearing your gaze away from him for a second. James stays by the door, a cold hand wrapped around his ankle, keeping him there no matter how much he wants to move.
“I don’t want to hurt you—”
“Oh, you’ve done plenty.” Your voice, pure fire, sears through his chest as you narrow your gaze. “Go.”
“Y/N—”
“I said, leave.” Although no magic flares at your fingertips, there is a shift in the way the light plays in your eyes and James’ throat closes up at the way your eyes glisten. “Don’t you think your family has done enough?”
“You’re my family.”
“No, I wasn’t,” you whisper. Natasha’s head is bowed, but her eyes still watch the scene with an uncanny glint. Even if she is your friend, she will no doubt step between you and him. Catching the woman’s gaze, James tilts his head towards the door. Eyes widening, the red lady dips her head and slowly makes her way between them, her gaze slowly dragging across James’ expression but he remains solely focused on you.
Your eyes do not stray from him either.
Walking in slowly, he closes the door behind him and his eyes flicker to the figure in the bed. Their face is cloaked in shadow, but he can see dark hair illuminated by the candle. Eyes narrowing, he tries to discern who it is.
Perhaps it is Rumlow, and he has made a tremendous error.
“Why are you here?” you whisper tightly between clenched teeth, and his eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been thirteen years and you’ve fixed nothing.”
“I didn’t know Asgard was ruled by you,” he begins. “I didn’t know until I saw you on the rise. If I had known—”
“What? Would you have attempted peace? Or would you have tried to conquer us again like your father did?” Your expression is wracked with agony as he steps closer, and you inhale softly, shakily. “Stay away from me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Stay away—”
“Bluebird—”
“Do not think me so soft that I will listen to you because you call me that.” Your words become thin, choked. “I gave you my terms, and you didn’t choose peace, just as your father did.”
“Your people are hostile.”
“And yours murdered mine. King Thor died two moons ago and the only suspect is a Midgardian” Her words hang coldly before him and he pauses in the middle of the room. “As his successor, it was only natural to want justice.”
“Why you? Why not anyone else in his court?”
“Because I was not just Midgard’s queen,” you say, finally pulling your gaze away to sit down on the edge of the mattress and turning to the figure on the bed. You touch their face, but do not tilt them to the light. “Your father tried to conquer Asgard when I was young, four or five. I was playing with my brother in the streets, my mother watching over us. I didn’t know what was happening until we heard the screams.”
James hears the tiny, trembling breath in your throat as you run your hand down the figure’s cheek.
“It was too late before we knew to run. My mother took my brother and ran, and I did my best to follow, but they just kept running after us until we separated.” Your voice goes quieter, glass-like. “I found their bodies, my mother’s hunched over Loki’s as she tried to protect him. I can still see their blood, taste it in my mouth. It felt like the entire city burned before allied Jotunheim forces arrived and chased your people out of our land.”
“Y/N—”
Your gaze finally turns to him, and he does not recognize the pitifully small girl in them, the shivering, broken girl in the rain and smoke staring back at him. “They ran through the streets like rats. I could hear them shouting in fear as they froze to death, and I thought I was going to die, too, until Brock found me. He was… he was the knight commander’s squire, and he told me I had to run.”
“So he knew all this time.”
“Of course he did. He was sworn to protect me,” you murmur, and the way your voice flips makes James’ eyebrows rise.
“He loved you, you know?”
“I know he wanted revenge. I know he wanted me to kill you at every turn. I don’t know if he could have ever picked me over the other,” you whisper, eyes drifting and finding his again. Your eyes have softened with an unspoken agony, and the candlelight plays with your face, making you simultaneously younger and older all at once. “It doesn’t matter now.”
“He’s dead, isn’t he?”
Your silence is his answer and, this time, when he comes closer, his hand against the wall, you don’t protest.
“I’m sorry.” He cranes to catch a glimpse of the face, and sees a younger face, at rest yet ashen with death. Eyebrows knitting together, he looks to you again and it’s breathtaking the way you gaze at him. Effortlessly in anguish, terrible in your grace. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
“James—”
“Forgive me.” Pushing off the wall, he falls to his knees before you and bows his head, heat rushing to his face. Head submerged in his own shame, he can feel his shoulders shake before the tears come and his throat clots as he plants his hands into the ground. “Forgive me.” A worm in his gut wriggles its way up his throat and he feels sick to his stomach as he keens over, presses his brow to the wood. “I never meant this. I don’t know—where? How did we get here, bluebird? How?”
“James.” Your voice, strong yet tender, commands you to look up at him, and his face is kissed by cold wind as he wipes at his tears. “Come sit beside me.” Raising to unsteady feet, he collapses beside you and your arm immediately wraps around his shoulders, your other hand brushing hair away from his slick cheeks, his tear-stained eyes. “You know how we got here.” Your thumb brushes over his lip and a sense of warmth fills his hollow being. Thirteen years without your warmth, and now, he drowns in it.
Your hand flattens against his cheek and guides your gaze as you twist to reveal the face on the bed. With your free hand, you tilt the boy’s face towards him.
His entire body freezes as the boy murmurs, eyebrows knitting together and turning away.
“Stellan…” Standing, he rushes around to the other side of the bed to get a better look of him, and reaches with trembling hands toward his son’s face. A large cut is drawn into his stem and disappears beneath his shirt, and a rage fills his soul. He’ll kill the man who tried to kill his son. “My son—”
Who looks just like him in nature, the same jaw and nose.
“—has grown into a man,” you say, and James wrenches his gaze to you. A sweet sorrow resides in your face as you smile. Holding Stellan’s face in his hands, James entire body alights with energy, with a breathless wonder. “And knows his father enough to save his life.” You thumb over Stellan’s cheek, your fingers barely brushing James’, golden magic spiralling beneath your hand like branching ivy, and the boy mumbles under his breath, turns to the warmth. He fights the instinct to flinch, and simply lets your magic caress his knuckles. It tickles, then melts like warm chocolate against him. “And he got a sword stem to stern for it.”
“He killed Rumlow?” James looks to you, his hands drawing away from his son’s face, and the warmth is chased away.
“It was instant. Brock felt no pain. It was all I could do to save Stellan,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even. “I don’t want us to fight, anymore, James. Bucky,” you correct yourself with a small smile, and his heart pangs as you reach for his hand across the bed. No one has called him that in years. “But if this is what happens when our people mingle, perhaps it’s best we stay apart.”
“I don’t want that,” he whispers, taking your hand and you study him with knitted eyebrows. “I don’t want to be apart from you for another moment.”
“Then, promise me you’ll fix this.” Your voice, barely a whisper and shaking, is strung with a strength he knows you have, and he looks to you, a queen all on your own.
You have never needed him, but he needs you. Your hand in his tells him as much as you weave your fingers carefully with his, and he wants to hold you tight, hold his son again.
Thirteen years have left him cold, nothing more than a skeleton in a flesh prison.
“I promise.”
At his words, your expression seems to ease, and then a shyer, girlish smile curls at your lips.
“And promise you’ll love me always.”
“I promise.”
#fic: buried in your bones#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x yn#bucky barnes x you#bucky barnes fanfiction#bucky barnes fic#bucky barnes imagine#bucky x reader#bucky x you#bucky fic#bucky fanfiction#sebastian stan#sebastian stan x reader#sebastian stan x you#sebastian stan fanfiction#sebastian stan fic#buckysknifecollectionchallenge#niks1kwritingchallenge#my writing
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gladys/alice + 53
53. Take off your shirt. (apologies in advance to any hal fans reading this lmfao i feel like i did him kinda dirty my bad. but hal haters are not allowed to clown on this post. also this did not turn out sexy just sad lmfao sorry)
read on ao3
She knew tonight would be a shit show. Didn’t matter that she had spent two weeks saving up money to actually buy a respectable enough outfit for dinner with the Coopers when she could have just stolen one. Because she wanted to fit in. Wanted them to like her. Didn’t want to feel like even more of an outcast in clothes she swiped from the local department store.
Turns out, you can take the girl out of the South Side, but you can’t take the South Side out of the girl. Not according to Prudence Cooper and the giant stick he has lodged up her ass, anyway.
Alice had been on her best behavior from the second she stepped foot on Elm Street. Had smiled and said all the right things. Had gone so far as to make Hal teach her proper dinner etiquette because she wanted to get everything perfectly right. And none of it mattered. Because all Prudence Cooper had done the whole night was look down her nose at her. Did that shit that all those bored, stuffy, suburban housewives do where they make these cryptic little jabs at you with a smile on their face so you have to think twice about if you’ve just been insulted. Because God forbid they say what they really feel. That’s too tacky, apparently. But playing mind games with a teenager is acceptable.
By the time dinner was over Alice’s palms were bleeding from her nails digging into them so hard. Because, for as much as she wanted to jump over the table and deck Prudence Cooper in her little Puritan face, she knew better. Because, in spite of his nutjob mother, Alice still loved Hal. Even though she was questioning that allegiance now.
Not once during that dinner from hell did he pipe his big mouth up to say anything in her defense. He’s her boyfriend. That’s supposed to mean something. All the shit she gets from everyone for dating a North Sider, a Cooper, no less, and she always defends him. And he can’t say one thing to his mother.
So now here she was, at some house party drowning her sorrows, her anger. She’d come here with Hal, she remembers that much. But the minute she stepped inside she made it her mission to stay away from him the rest of the night. She wanted to wipe all memory of Hal and the Coopers from her mind, and she was doing a pretty damn good job of it, if she said so herself.
There was some blue concoction in a giant bowl in the kitchen that kind of tasted like ass, if she was honest. But, fortunately, it had lost all flavor by her third cup, so she kept going back for more.
She’s lost count by now of how many times she’s sent some freshman to fetch her a refill while she hides out in any other corner of the house that isn’t the kitchen because Hal gave up trying to chase her only for her to dodge him. Thought he was being smart parking it in the kitchen to wait for her to come back for another drink. Like she wouldn’t figure out a way around that one.
But apparently Hal’s wizened up to that plan, too. She can see him moving through the crowd of partygoers, obviously looking for her. She’s got the advantage, though, crouched down on the floor out of view. Time to move, though. Can’t risk Hal finding her and turning this night into an even worse fiasco.
Getting up proves to be a little more difficult than anticipated. The room immediately starts spinning, and she has to reach her hand out to the nearest wall to steady herself. Stands still, takes a couple of deep breaths, then she’s good to go.
Except she’s not. Barely a step forward and she’s falling sideways into the wall.
“Fuck,” she says on impact before falling into a fit of giggles. The wall suddenly feels like exactly where she needs to be. It’s nice. Soft. Safe...
“Jesus, Al, how much have you had tonight?”
There’s arms around her suddenly. Strong, but skinny. Not Hal’s. And that voice... definitely not Hal’s. Too feminine, even with the grit it possesses. Something oddly familiar she can’t quite place.
“‘m fine,” she says, trying to push out of whoever’s hold she’s in. The room’s so dark around her. Can’t see shit in front her, but that doesn’t matter. She’s just gotta move forward.
“Like hell you are. C’mon, where’s that boytoy of yours?”
Alice’s eyes flutter open at that. Suddenly the room’s not so dark anymore. Gladys Cohen is the one holding her up, she sees now. Because this night just had to get worse for her.
“Don’t wanna see him.” The words slur coming out of her mouth.
Gladys huffs beside her. “Fine. Whatever. But I’m cutting you off.”
She reaches for the cup just as Alice is bringing it to her lips. The reaction is slow, but once Alice is keyed in to what Gladys is doing, she jerks her hand away out of reach. “Fuck off.”
“Don’t be a brat.”
Gladys reaches over again for the cup, this time successfully getting ahold of it. Only serves to make Alice pull back, an anger flaring up inside her.
“Get off me!”
“I’m not letting you get alcohol poisoning over a fight with your boyfriend, that’s so fucking cliche, Al!”
“It’s none of your business!”
Alice swings her arm back towards her in full force, and she feels it instantly. The warm liquid spilling down her shirt, pressing it to her skin. She looks down and sees nothing but a big purple splotch, the blue drink mixing in with the soft pink of her satin blouse.
The blouse she spent weeks saving for. The blouse that was supposed to solve all her problems. The blouse that couldn’t save her from making a bad impression on Hal’s mother.
A dam breaks. Tears free flow down her face and there’s a whine coming from the back of her throat, high and shrill and she doesn’t even care.
“Aw, shit. Al-”
“Everything’s ruined!” She yells with everything she has in her. Pounds both her fists into Gladys’ chest, hard enough that she stumbles back a step, before running off to the nearest bathroom.
She slams the door shut as soon as she gets inside. Grabs the nearest hand towel and places under the water and furiously starts scrubbing away at the stain. Some color rubs off onto the towel but it’s doing nothing to remove it from her shirt.
Vision blurry with tears, Alice gives up, throwing the towel down with a growl before gripping the countertop in front of her. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to stop the tears, but it does nothing. She should’ve known better. Playing dress-up for one night doesn’t change anything. She’ll always be South Side trash, and the universe won’t let her forget it.
There’s a soft tapping at the door. Alice rubs her sleeve under nose before answering. “Go away.” But it’s half-hearted.
The door slowly opens. Gladys peaks her head through, like she’s making sure it won’t get bitten off. When she deems it safe enough she lets herself fully in, closing the door behind her. “You okay?”
Alice sniffles. “Do I look okay?”
“Maybe not your finest hour, but I’ve got no complaints.”
Alice rolls her eyes.
“Take off your shirt,” Gladys commands, jutting her chin out at her.
“I’m not in the mood, G-”
Gladys laughs. “And I’m not trying to fuck the drunk girl. Take off your shirt.” She sets a jug of detergent she must’ve gotten from the laundry room down onto the counter before sliding her jacket off.
Alice gets the hint, then, and starts unbuttoning her blouse. Gladys is removing her own shirt - some old and hand-me-down Runaways tee - and handing it over. Stands there in nothing but her bra and ripped jeans.
With a tentative hand, Alice takes it, tries her best to avoid looking. Their fingers brushing for the briefest second before Gladys is reaching for the stained blouse. Gets to work on making it look new again.
Alice slips the old shirt on. Can smell the brand of cigarettes Gladys smokes on it. The ones they used to share under the bleachers between periods and behind the Wyrm before Alice decided to quite. There’s an undercurrent of something pleasant there, too. Cinnamon and cloves. A mix that is so distantly Gladys. It makes her head spin, but she’ll blame that on her drunken state.
It makes the tears start falling again.
“Woah, hey.” Gladys abandons the shirt in the sink and turns to pull Alice into her arms. “What’s got you all worked up, blondie?”
Sometimes Alice feels like she made a mistake. That she chose wrong. And she hates to admit because, because she loves Hal. But. She misses her old life, too. And right now... everything feels too familiar. In Gladys’ shirt, in Gladys’ arms. The way Gladys is petting her hair and making her feel okay when everything’s not okay.
She pulls back enough to look Gladys in the eyes. Gladys traces a fingertip softly at her temple, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear and in that split second Alice makes the decision to lean forward, press their lips together.
It’s wrong. She knows. Hal’s outside looking for her, worried about her. And here she is hiding away, kissing her ex girlfriend.
Gladys’ mouth opens in a gasp, and Alice takes it as an invitation. Except.
Gladys presses the palm of her hand to Alice’s chest, pushing her back gently. “I’m not doing this, Al,” she says. There’s no anger in her voice. No hostility, surprisingly. Just... a rational calm that Alice feels so far away from.
“Why not?” Alice pouts.
Gladys smiles, but it seems sad. “Because your boyfriend’s outside.”
“You don’t even like Hal.” She goes in for another kiss, but is stopped short with Gladys’ hand to her chest again.
“But you do. You’re drunk, and upset, and I’m not interested in taking advantage.”
“Gladys-”
Gladys slips her leather back on. Zips it up to just her navel before turning to open the door. She pauses, turns to nod at the shirt in the sink. “Be gentle with that but keep scrubbing. Should come out just fine. Then go make up with your boyfriend.”
She turns to leave for good this time, but the moment doesn’t feel finished. Things never really feel finished when it comes to them.
“Gladys?”
She’s chewing on her bottom lip when she turns to face Alice again. Eyebrows raised in expectancy.
But there’s no words coming to Alice. Nothing feels significant enough to encapsulate the moment, everything she’s feeling. Hell if she even knows what she’s feeling. Longing? Regret? Apologetic? All of it all at once.
The silence hangs heavy between them, but Gladys must feel it, too. She gives Alice a final nod before leaving, shutting the door behind her. And Alice is left alone, wiping a tear from her eye.
#Anonymous#this is the second time ive written alice being under the influence of something and fighting with gladys who is just trying to take care of#her... what does it mean#riverdale fanfiction#alice cooper#gladys jones#femslash february#my writing#riverparents#briana answers things
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might be a weird request but an angsty fic of calum & reader r dating at a party but cal’s been givin the silent treatment cuz the reader did smth clumsy and cal got mad & they argue & at the party a drunk dude is all on her & she’s tipsy/mad/throws a drink on him & ends up bein a big fight & the band hears & sees the guy slap her causing calum go crazy feels guilty bc he wasn’t with her & the band protect her & kicks him out, fluff at the end insp: snooki getting slapped on jersey shore djjdkd
Fine - C. Hood
TRIGGER WARNING: NON CONSENSUAL SEXUAL TOUCHING AND VIOLENCE. PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS COULD TRIGGER YOU BECAUSE YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS IMPORTANT!!
I love this idea and I had to watch that video like seven times to get inspiration. I hope you like it! I couldn’t think of a plot for so long!
Original story by sarcastically-defensive17
There was something off with Calum. No rhyme, no reason, no explanation for his bad attitude, just random bursts of anger that led to venomous words falling off of his tongue.
Y/N hadn’t seem him actually happy in a while, and she had no idea what caused his outbursts.
She had been dealing with it, but the more he snapped, the harsher he was. She was starting to really dislike being around him, even more so, being at their shared house.
She had a breaking point, but he hadn’t yet hit it, until one Thursday night she had the girls over while the guys had a night out.
The wine had been passed around and they were all a little buzzed by the time the men returned home.
Shit truly hit the fan when Y/N gestured widely with her glass in hand.
She was always a clumsy person, that was no secret, and usually Calum would tolerate it with a smile on his face.
Until she spilled red wine all over Ashton’s white shirt. Everybody laughed it off, except for Y/N.
She rushed around trying to get the liquid out of the shirt it threatened to stain, and the minute her hands lingered on Ashton’s chest for a minute too long, Calum’s insecurities went haywire.
But in true Calum fashion, he refused to mention it to her until she noticed he was giving her the silent treatment after everybody had left for the night.
“Okay, enough,” she threw the cloth she was holding. “What have I done wrong now?”
Her tone was stern. She was sick of his random outbursts and bouts of silence. She didn’t deserve to be treated that way and she was determined to let him know that.
“Nothing,” came his curt response as he directed a look towards her that told her not to push it.
But she was never one for listening.
“No, Calum. I’m sick of this.” Her jaw was set as she folded her arms across her chest.
He let out a snide laugh, and her heart sank at the sound.
She had no idea what had gotten into Calum, but she really hated it. He was a boatload of insecurities and he took them all out on her.
“What do you have to be sick of? You sure looked fine when you were all over my best mate,” he rolled his eyes, setting his jaw to match hers.
“You��re joking!” She laughed louder than she should have, completely intent on reciprocating the sarcasm dropping from his tongue. “I was trying to clean his shirt, but oh no, I’m guessing in your mind, I want him!”
“Wouldn’t surprise me,” he mumbled under his breath, turning to walk away from her.
“What did you just say?” She gaped.
He was scared of losing her. It was no excuse, but he was so terrified of her finding love in another and it made his insecurities flare up. He had been hurt many times before, and he was preparing himself for the worst.
He just didn’t realize how far he was pushing her.
She grabbed onto his shoulder and spun him around to face her.
“What did you say,” she spoke through a clenched jaw. She had enough. She was sick of being made to feel as if she couldn’t be around any other male.
“I said, it wouldn’t surprise me,” he spat and he watched as her face fell slightly.
She shook her head, puffing her cheeks as she did so.
“You are ridiculous, Calum.” Her hands were on her hips and her brows were set in fury, “So first, it was random bullshit that you had a bad day and decided to take it out on me, then you were jealous, and now you’re accusing me of wanting to be with somebody else?”
Her eyes were wide and he offered her no answer, instead choosing to clench and un-clench his jaw while looking anywhere but at her.
“News flash, Calum!” She was shouting now. It wasn’t the first time he had accused her of something similar, “I’m not going to cheat on you, or leave you or whatever! You can trust me!”
He wanted to feel sad, almost hurt that he caused such pain to seep into her tone, but all he saw was red.
“How can I trust you? How can I trust you when you were all over him tonight? Huh?”
The limit was hit. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“Fine, you don’t trust me, then get out.”
There was no room for argument. She disappeared upstairs as he scoffed behind her, collecting a bag full of his clothes and throwing it out onto the front lawn.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Y/N. I’m not leaving,” his heart started to hammer along in his chest.
She was calm. A scary sort of calm that sent sweat pooling on his heavy palms.
“I’m not staying in a house with somebody who can’t trust me, Calum.” She blinked, grabbing his keys and snatching the door to their house off of the ring before tossing the car keys to him. “Get out.”
They went back and forth until ultimately, Calum was knocking on Michael’s front door with tears in his eyes.
She was beyond angry with Calum and in pain over the argument with Calum. They hadn’t spoken since.
Unfortunately, the same weekend after she kicked him out, the guys and their significant others were at her house for a celebratory party.
One of their songs had become number 1 in some country. She was far too tired to remember. Especially after Calum had walked in.
She expected to see him, but she didn’t expect the pain that came along with the sight of her boyfriend.
Thankfully, there were more than enough people to successfully help her evade him, but not enough to keep her away from the man who wouldn’t stop chatting her ears off.
His name, Steve maybe? She couldn’t remember. The amount of alcohol running through her veins made sure of it, and she was sure she stopped his intoxicated chatter at least 5 times to ask him for his name.
In her drunken state she managed to catch Calum’s eyes from across the room and she saw his flare once he saw the man standing beside her.
Fingers clicking in her face pulled her attention away from her boyfriend.
“Are you even listening?” A gruff voice asked. It wasn’t the attractive kind of gruffness, like how Calum’s voice is when he first wakes up, but more of a voice tainted by years of cigarette smoke, and alcohol abuse, following a naturally irritating tone.
She smiled at him, intending to return to politely listening to him ramble about his high paying but low effort job.
“Sorry, I saw somebody and got distracted,” she slurred, leaning against the table and rubbing her head. Unknowingly giving the man a perfect view of her cleavage if he were to look hard enough.
A gross smirk worked onto his face and Y/N jumped as his hand connected with her backside.
“Excuse me-“
“Let’s go up to a room, yeah?” His eyes were heavy, and she flinched as he wrapped an arm round her shoulder, roughly groping the flesh he has clasped in his other hand.
“No thank you, I have a boyfriend,” she dug her heels into the ground as he tried to pull her along with him, and she could faintly see Calum’s eyes bore into the two of them.
The man scoffed, “And? I’ve got a dog at home but I still gave the little rat you’ve got upstairs a pat.”
“What did you just say about Duke?” Her anger intensified, her drunken state more worried about defending her dog than focusing on his sleezy proposition.
His hands moved up her waist, brushing her boobs as they continued up.
She shivered at the contact, feeling sick to her stomach.
“Get your hands off of me, you dog hater!” without thinking, she lifted the hand she held her cup in and threw it in the mans face.
He went silent for a moment, barely allowing her heart to beat once before she connected with the ground. Her cheek was throbbing, tears pricking her eyes.
She could barely register the commotion around her, as a head of brown curls flew towards the man and tackled him to the ground.
Three more figures rushed to pull him off of the man, and she couldn’t stop herself from clambering towards him when she saw it was Calum.
Ashton grabbed the man by the neck, dragging him towards the front of the house as Luke yelled at everybody to leave.
“It’s okay, love. I’ve got you,” Calum cooed.
She could barely think of why she was mad at him. In that moment, all she could focus on was the pain in her cheek and the feeling of his arms around her.
He ordered somebody to bring him ice, before pulling her up the stairs to their bedroom. The same one she had slept in on her own for the past couple of nights.
Except for whoever delivered the ice, they were alone in the room. Duke worked his way onto the bed to lay in his owners lap as Calum inspected her face.
“M’sorry,” she whispered into the air, her head feeling as if it were swaying. The ache intensifying from where she hit the ground.
“What for, baby?” He asked, pressing a package of frozen peas to her cheek.
“That guy touched me. Maybe he thought that I want to cheat on you like you do,” she was slurring her words. The whiskey in her blood was not doing her any favors as she tried to communicate with her boyfriend. “I don’t want to cheat on you. I love you too much, you insecure bastard.”
He snorted at the seriousness in her tone. She was observing him with a purpose.
Her mouth was moving, lacking the filter provided from her brain.
“How could anybody want to cheat on you? Have you seen you? You’re hot as fuck.” Her words were slightly muffled by the bag of peas. “I’m sorry I ruined the party. I didn’t want him to hit me.”
Calum put his hands on either side of her face, making sure to watch her cheek.
“Baby, you didn’t ruin the party.”
“But everybody left-“
“And? I don’t care about everybody else,” Calum’s eyes bore into her bleary ones, and he struggled to think of why he felt so insecure in their relationship. “I care about you, and only you. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you tonight, love. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you.”
He truly felt horrible. If he were with her, he could have kept her safe. He could have kept that sleezy guy away from her. Kept his hands off of her.
“S’okay, Cal.” She grinned behind the bag of peas, “You showed him whose boss!”
Her drunken state wasn’t the most ideal for them to discuss the issue of the past few weeks, but he made a note to do so in the morning.
He knew deep in his heart that she loved him, and it was about time he grew up and put trust into her as she did with him.
“I’m sorry he touched me,” she pouted looking down at her body. “His hands felt gross. Yours are better.”
He pressed a kiss to her forehead, pulling her close to him.
“He won’t touch you again, baby. I promise you.”
“Thank you, macho man,” she relaxed against him, letting her eyes fall shut with a sigh. “I love you.”
“I love you too, baby.”
“Also,” she sat up, letting the bag fall from her face. “If you tell me you don’t trust me again, then you can walk that fine ass out the door and I’m keeping our son.”
He chuckled softly at her, ignoring the twinge in his heart at the reminder of his disgusting words.
“Okay, Lizzo. I promise, I trust you,” she kissed him quickly, pulling back to let him continue talking. “My fine ass isn’t going anywhere unless your fine ass is right beside me, promise.”
“I do have a fine ass, don’t I?” She beamed at him.
#calum hood#calum hood x reader#luke hemmings#ashton irwin#michael clifford#5sos#5 seconds of summer#requested#calum hood angst#calum hood fluff
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Hi! I love your blog, I read almost everything you recommend. Do you happen to know any drarry fics that feature marriage proposals or their wedding? Thanks a lot and thank you for your work!
Hello lovely, first of all thank you so much for your kind words, I appreciate the support! As for proposal/wedding fics, here are a few faves. I hope you like them! 💜
I, Ferret by curiouslyfic (2014, Teen and Up, 2k)
Draco's embraced his inner Ferret. Now it's Harry's turn. Starring Veela!Draco, mpreg, an old wives' tale, and a Weddiwizard.
No Time Like Christmas by @eidheann (2014, Teen and Up, 3.5k)
How can you have a happy Christmas when you're stuck in St Mungo's?
The Proposal by @dracogotgame (2015, Teen and Up, 4.5k)
Draco’s proposal is a night to remember.
5 Times Harry Tried to Propose (and The Time He Gets it Right) by @carpemermaidtales (2016, Mature, 7k)
5+1 marriage proposals Harry makes to Draco.
Touchstone by Faith Wood (2012, Explicit, 7k)
Two years after their break up, Harry and Draco meet again under familiar circumstances: Draco is in danger, Harry saves him.
Matchmaker, Matchmaker by @firethesound (2013, Explicit, 12k)
Sometimes, Harry can't help but wonder why such strange shit always happens to him.
(The Piece) I was Missing All Along by lauren3210 (2014, Explicit, 30k)
Draco and Harry have been flatmates and best friends for years, and Draco thinks life is just perfect that way. But when something comes along and threatens to take all that away, Draco has to decide what it is he really wants, and just how hard he's going to work to get it.
Bite Me, Hate Memes by pir8fancier (2007, Explicit, 44k)
Draco Malfoy is incensed to realize that someone is trying to usurp his position as the premier Harry Potter hater.
Seeker, Chaser, Keeper by VivacissimoVoce (2013, Mature, 59k)
Rumor has it that a wealthy investor is starting up a brand new professional Quidditch team and he’s looking for players. Harry and Draco both want to make the team, but there can be only one Seeker. Will competing for the position bring them closer or drive them further apart?
The Arrangement series by RurouniHime (2015, Explicit, 72k)
It's worked for years. Why change it now?
That Old Black Magic by @bixgirl1 (2019, Explicit, 77k)
Centuries ago, marriage contracts were the norm — ready-made alliances between families, expected and complied with, without complaint. But norms have a way of changing, and when a long-dormant contract flares to life, Harry has to navigate an unexpected splintering of the path he'd thought would be easy after the war... with Draco Malfoy.
And because I’m a sneaky sneak, I’m gonna include this breathtaking story by Bella - its not a proposal/wedding story per se but it’s one of the most delicate things I’ve ever read and the perfect definition of home and it made me cry my heart out. If I had to cry so do you!
Life goes not backward by @shealwaysreads (2020, Teen and Up, 9k)
Harry still isn’t used to gifts, but this one is different. A story of coming home, finding safe ground, and the wild courage of putting down roots. Leaving one life behind isn’t always a sacrifice, and sometimes the greatest good comes from embracing the people you love.
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The Dog Ate My Bean || Deirdre & Layla
Deirdre needs some help for her dog troubles, Layla answers the call. It’s a shit show.
Deirdre was curled up on a box, lips pulled into a snarl. She was being attacked, and the bright future she imagined for herself shriveled into the vision of her stuck on boxes forever. Deirdre glanced down, offering her assailant another glare, though it did nothing to deter the fearsome creature. “Get! Go! Shoo!” She waved her hand, the creature bared its teeth and...let out a whined bark, jumping up again to try and reach the stranded Deirdre, high up on her stack of boxes. “I told you no! Dog, begone.” The dog, however, seemed only to react with more excitement to her words, alternating between jumping and yipping and sitting down and whining. For now, it had taken to resting its face on the box, looking up with its deep brown and needy eyes. “Go---” She groaned again, pausing her own whining when she caught sight of someone approaching. “Fates, finally,” she waved the girl towards her. “You’re that person I hired, right? Get this dog away. Now.” She clutched her phone closer to her, the post promising 500 dollars to whoever could get this dog to leave her alone, still shone--its own kind of odd fae-deal. She just wanted the dog gone. For some reason, it had been following her and whining and trying to jump on her leg. “Help,” she croaked again.
It was an odd request. Someone had posted about wanting help getting rid of a dog, but Layla was desperate for money, and for $500, she could handle a sweet, little dog. Going to the address she was sent, she slowly entered the house glancing around, until she heard the commotion in another room. Following the voice, she found herself in sight of a woman curled up on a stack of boxes as a dog desperately tried to jump up on her, “Yeah, um…” She was slightly confused, but otherwise prepared to approach the animal. “Hey Buddy...I don’t think the nice lady wants you jumping up on her…” Moving closer, she had almost reached the animal, until it took off running away from her, “Crap!” Standing up, she set her attention on Deirdre, “Is there a reason there’s a random dog trying to jump up on you or did I miss something?”
“Your guess is as good as mine--” Deirdre groaned. Maybe it was her fault for leaving the door open, and just hoping Anya would scare the creature away, not that she would acknowledge that. But watching the small dog scamper off gave her the confidence to crawl off her stack of boxes and dust herself off. She adjusted her hair first, making sure each strand was in its place, then steadied her breathing. It was hard to regain composure when someone had just watched her cowered on top of boxes, but that was perhaps the benefit in hiring someone she would never see again. “I’m not scared of dogs,” she added quickly, “I just don’t like them.” Deirdre pulled the cash from her pocket, compelled to do so by way of her poorly-worded posting, halted only as the dog slowly stepped into the room. “I told you to get rid of that thing,” she hissed, stuffing the money away. The dog lifted its nose up, its nostrils flaring as it sniffed the air. It took a tentative step towards Deirdre, then another, and another, until it lunged at her leg, trying to claw up her body--tail wagging. “Look at it! Look! Stop this!”
Layla was still clueless as to why she had even volunteered, but it looked as if it was going to be the easiest odd job of her life, “I don’t understand. Was that not even your dog?” She watched as Deirdre pulled out the money she had promised Layla, but before she handed it over, the small dog scampered back in the room and was trying to climb up the woman’s leg. Stifling a laugh, she slowly approached the dog once more, before managing to snag it. However, the dog wiggled free and was back out of the room before Layla could recapture the small animal, “Dammit! What is up with this dog? It apparently wants something you have.” And then it hit her, turning away from the woman, Layla sniffed the air and caught a whiff of what smelled like beans. Her focus back on Deirdre she spoke, “You don’t have any kind of food or anything on you, do you?”
"No, it's not even my dog!" To say Deirdre was in hysterics would be an understatement. Livid, she tried to shake the dog away—gently, she wasn't a monster, just an animal-hater (unless those animals were Morgan's cat)—and breathed finally when the girl picked the dog up. She opened her mouth to thank her when the dog wiggled free. Deirdre groaned, "I don't—" But her words gave her pause. So much pause that she hadn't noticed the dog slinking back into the room, cautiously with its tail tucked down. "Why would I carry food on me, Lauren?" Deirdre crossed her arms over her chest, appalled by the accusation. And then it hit her: she was carrying food. Deirdre pulled a tissue from her pocket and unfurled it to reveal a single baked bean, which she promptly held out. "There's no way this dog followed me into my house for one bean." It was a particularly fragrant bean though. And the dog did look thin. But if what it wanted was food, it should have sniffed around the fridge instead. "Before you ask, I have very good reason to be carrying a bean with m—" And before she could finish her sentence, the dog jumped up, snatching the bean from her fingers and swallowing it quick. Satisfied, it licked its lips, but anticipating backlash, it stared between the two women and waited. Its tail thumped against the hardwood, once, twice, three times in rapid succession as it sat in anticipation for more beans. "Lulu," Deirdre seethed, "that dog ate my bean."
What in Billie Eilish’s version of Hell was going on? All she could do was listen and watch as the next events unfolded. It was like something out of a movie, but the end result had been that a stray dog had somehow found its way inside of Deirdre’s house sniffing out the most random thing...a fucking baked bean. Not a pot of baked beans. Not a can. But a.single.baked.bean. And as the woman stood there complaining, Layla watched as, if in slow motion, the small, furry animal jumped up and snatched the coveted single piece of fiber out of Deirdre’s hand. It wasn’t long before she heard her name being botched yet again, but this time she could only stand there and stare in disbelief. What had her life become? She could just turn around and walk out the door and never return, but she had told this lady she would help her, “Sweet Henry Cavill on a cracker. IT’S A BEAN! But if it’s that important to you…” With a defeated sigh, Layla carefully approached the dog, “Here boy. C’mere. No one’s gonna hurt you…” She noticed the dog start to get nervous, and she quickly stopped moving, “Don’t move, Deirdre. Don’t even breathe.” Quietly, and as slowly as she could, she started to inch forward, but a draft from the house slammed the front door shut and startled the dog; herself included. Thankfully, she had managed to take a few deep breaths to calm herself, instead of wolfing out, but the dog was gone, “Come on!” Knowing Deidre wouldn’t be happy until the animal was caught, Layla regretfully turned and before long, both her and the dog were scampering through the house slidinging into walls and knocking stuff over. However, somewhere in all of the commotion, the dog had managed to take a bathroom break in the middle of the bedroom floor they were both in, and there, sticking out of the small pile of doggy poo, was Deirdre’s one perfect baked bean, untouched, “Uh...I think I found your bean…” Her voice carried through the house, but no way, in hell, was she scooping out a fucking bean for $500. She wasn’t that desperate.
“Henry who--” Deirdre blinked, but before her question could be answered she was greeted with a far more upsetting turn of events. The dog ran. The girl chased. Deirdre followed behind dumbfounded, though insistent that the dog be caught. “It’s MY bean!” Deirdre yelled as the thief and Leelo scampered around the house in amature-hour chase theatrics. “You think I’m going to let some thing walk into my house and just eat my bean!?” It was the principle of the fact, and less about the bean itself, which she didn’t much care for. But she watched, angry and amused, as furniture toppled over. A vase broke there, a painting fell here---would Morgan be up to buying new furniture with her again? She was sad only for the squandering of her girlfriend’s decorating efforts. She followed behind them with a grumble, now more focussed on getting the dog than she was about assessing the damage. Her yelling was simply variations of “catch the damn thing! I’m paying you to catch it!” until they halted in the bedroom. Deirdre fumed, and between her, the dog, and the girl that was supposed to be catching it, was one perfectly made pile of shit. And in its center, the bean. Her bean. She looked at Lucia expectantly. “Well---” She gestured, “that’s my bean. Are you going to get my bean?”
The house was in shambles. Everything was a wreck. It was almost comical, but Layla was starting to get frustrated. She knew the dog could smell what she was, and it took every ounce of her not to let out a low growl. She didn’t know this woman, or what she was capable of, but she had continually botched Layla’s name. The dog just wouldn’t fucking sit still long enough for her to catch it. And now she was staring into a pile of dog shit with a bean shaped cherry on top. Closing her eyes and balling her hands into fists, she could feel her fingernails turning into claws, as the tiniest amount of blood was starting to come from her hands. With the dog staring up at her and Deirdre going on about her bean, Layla was on the verge of snapping. Fuck your bean! It’s a bean! I’m sure there’s an entire can in your cabinet. That dog literally just shit it out onto your floor, and you expect me to go scoop it out like it’s ice cream? Hard fucking pass, Lady! “Do you at least have a spoon I could use? I’m not touching that with my bare hands…” She slowly released her fingers from the tight little fists they were in and wiped the blood on her jeans. She would get the damn bean. Get the damn dog. And then get the fuck out.
Perhaps in the absurdity of the situation, the silent apology of the dog, and the girl clearly trying not to explode with anger, Deirdre calmed down. She opened her mouth to tell the girl it was okay, she didn’t really want the bean back--she was just mad at the dog. But it was only in watching as the girl steeled herself, and then asked for a spoon, that Deirdre remembered mischief was always more fun. She broke out into a smirk, brows raised in delight. She was actually going to do it. She was going to pick the bean out of a pile of dog poop. It wasn’t a clause in the 500 dollars she was promised to give, and she had to wonder if the girl was just that desperate or if 500 dollars was a lot of money. “Who keeps a spoon in the bedroom? I’m sure people have all sorts of kinks but...a spoon?” She grinned, easily flicking a knife (her least favorite of the ones she kept on her) out of her pocket. With another flourish, she flipped it over in her hand and extended it with the handle out. “Go on then. Fetch my bean, Laurie.”
Layla had never killed a person before. Well as far as she knew. The full moon usually held something different, but when she saw the smirk followed by the knife, the redhead started cursing under her breath. Taking the knife, she sank down to the floor near the pile of dog poo. Holding her breath, she used the end of the knife to dig out the bean. But before she could get it, the dog lunged startling the teenager causing her to throw her hand up sending a chunk of poo, along with the bean, over her shoulder flying directly towards Deirdre. Hearing a splat, Layla refused to turn around not knowing where it hit, but instead closing her eyes praying it didn’t land on the woman standing behind her. If so, she could kiss her $500 goodbye.
Splat. Deirdre twitched, the stench of shit wafted over her. She lifted a hand, wiping away the hot mess against her forehead. On her fingers, clear as day, was her bean--her shit-covered bean. She twitched again. “Get,” she growled, all of her rage focused on the unfortunate redhead. She looked young...was it so bad to kill a child? “Out.” She could. She could scream and end it for her right now. She had half a mind to. “Of.” But she was better than that. Better than this. Better than getting shit flung at her. “My.” The dog had scampered off under her bed, cowering under the rage it knew was swelling. Deirdre hovered over the girl, her face twisted in apathetic anger. “House.” She snarled, dissolving into broiling rage. She had just enough sense left to control her scream, to save the windows and the girl’s health. “Now!”
Yep. It hit her. Layla opened her eyes and slowly turned around. Oh God, did it hit her. Right in the middle of the forehead, but hey, at least she had gotten her bean back...But Deirdre’s face said otherwise, and Layla knew she was screwed. So no $500 then? She couldn’t even bring herself to ask. But instead, she worked extra hard to stifle a laugh that was threatening to come out. Pushing it down so hard that it hurt. Inverting her lips and keeping them pressed together very tightly, she moved forward keeping her head low. As she passed by the woman, she glanced up to see a little bit of the dog shit slide down her forward, which caused her to let out an awkward grunt, before quickly picking up the pace and hauling ass out of the house. When she was outside, she let go of the laughter that was building and cackled the whole way home, tears rolling down her cheeks. Sure, she didn’t get the $500, but she had gotten something so much better. A moment of feeling like her life wasn’t so bad, and she’d take that bean of wisdom anyday.
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UGH! by BTS (it reminds me of their older stuff)
Havent heard this song before, but Id be happy to hear old-style BTS again.So just rapper line.
Okay first of all the freaking title is so whitty??? Damn! 욱 means “losing temper suddenly” or more like “flare up”... and it sounds similar to the English interjections “ugh” hahaha. I dunno why im finding this fuunny
This gets funnier bcz they keep using interjections through the entire song. Its hilarious bro I dunno why Im enjoying this as much as Im doing right now. “biting like dong dong dong” referring to continuous hitting of drums. But since its “biting it” its also about how especially fighting dogs bites onto their prey and never lets go. With the continuously of the drum hitting. I just find it really fun. Clearly saying haters find them as prey and will lash onto them continuously hitting them.Im just really enjoying the use of interjections in this song
I find it really funny that RM compares rage to feces tho. And talks about stepping in shit. Which literally means bad things happening. But dragging out the idiom through so many verses and making it make sense is really cool.
Okay leaving the interjections behind and going into a discussion about my personal opinions. Im a person who is VERY VERY VERY VERY VERY against any type of rage/furiosity/anger/temper tantrums. And so thus far the song is really rubbing me the wrong way. Like the lyrics are amazing, but its a lot about justifying anger as a response. and honestly Im personally all about being the bigger person and no matter how hurt you get to never step as low and hurt others the same way as youve been hurt. So an anger positive song isnt my thing. As much as the lyrics are amazing, and the anger is justified?
Okay I take it back... the other half of the song is starting and Im really liking how its going so far about being hurt by others actions and words. And how a momentary action can cause a change in someone’s entire life. ...very short but thats still a good change of pace to make me feel less iffy about the message of the song xD
Generally Id give it a 🤭 ....imma go back to it and google some stuff I didnt get from it tho. can always learn more ^^
Ask game: Send me a song/MV and I will babble about it + rate itRating:
Added to playlist 😍
This is awesome! 🤭
No opinion 😅
Yikes. Nope 😬
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In hindsight, it's scary how obviously underweight and unhealthy Taylor was during the 1989 era.
What's terrifying though, is how blind I was to it as a fan. I idolised her body. That was my dieting goal. I'd Google 'Taylor Swift diet' and obsess over how much better my life would be if I was that skinny. I thought her body was perfect but completely didn't recognise the dangers of striving to be that thin. Sometimes I still don't.
As women we've been raised to believe skinny is good. Skinny is praise. Skinny is admiration. Skinny should make us feel good and if we aren't skinny then we just aren't good enough.
The ridiculous part of all of this is that I've always had a healthy slim figure. I've just never been able to recognise it for what it was worth, because there's always some unattainable, impossible standard to compare myself to.
My healthy size should have been worth more to me than starving myself, but when you're in your early twenties you put yourself under this ridiculous amount of pressure to get back to the body you had at 18. Teenage female bodies have literally not finished maturing or developing, but society has taught us to resist the natural changes that happen to a woman's body as they go through their twenties.
Newsflash: when you're in your twenties your body WILL change. This is normal. You're biologically in your prime child bearing years, so yeah, your hips will get a little wider. Your ass might get bigger. Your stomach and thigh will retain weight more than they used to, and your metabolism will slow so it'll be harder to lose weight as well. Your boobs will get bigger. You've lived life a bit at this point and you will begin to see some lines in your forehead. Maybe your hands will begin to look a little older. That's time and nature my friends and it's the most natural thing in the world. What's hard is embracing it.
And embracing it is so hard because we're at this tumultuous, uncertain point in our lives when we're really just learning how to be an adult and live in the world and just figuring out so much shit. The unrelenting questions keeping you up at night of 'who am I?', 'who am I supposed to be?', 'what do I want to do with life?'...
Now imagine going through all that when you're as famous as Taylor Swift.
The confusion that comes with all the big changes in your life and feeling like you've lost your sense of direction. Clinging to the wrong lifeboat but realising too late when you're already up shits creek without a paddle and suddenly Kanye isn't your friend and the whole world seemingly hates you.. your worst insecurities flare up and you don't know who to turn to, who to trust, who to love.
The fact that she learnt to love herself during her darkest hour is inspiring to me. Like... the world put her through so much shit and the penny just dropped. Why appease these people? I don't need their approval, I don't need their praise, and I don't need their admiration. What matters are the people who support you, not those who tear you down.
"You are not the opinion of someone who doesn't know you".
Don't let the haters dictate the standards by which you live your life. Make your own rules and choose your own standards. Choose happiness and joy and love. Choose to support those who have your back, and turn the other cheek to those stabbing you in the back. Invest your energy in good and love yourself.
That's how I came to be okay with my body.
@taylorswift - sincerely, thank you.
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