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studentinpursuitofclouds · 3 months

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hi! could you write the bachelor/ettes with a m!farmer that dresses very fem? like— with all the stuff that's stereotypically related to girls?

Heya 👋 Sure, why not.

I honestly didn't know what format to choose. At first it was going to be big stories, but I thought it would be too long to read lol. Thanks for the ask btw! 💕

SDV bachelors/ettes with male!Farmer that dresses very fem:

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Abigail was filled with envy because Farmer is a man who could wear whatever he wanted and not be told by his parents that he "had to dress properly". Amethyst lover still has to listen from mom that "a lady should wear a skirt" or from dad "a lady should this and that". Ugh... Oh, and Farmer looks gorgeous! Damn, Abby's jealous >:/

"You're such a weirdo, what's with the girly clothes?" Alex should have learnt not to say the first thing that comes to mind out loud, but we all have our flaws. Athlete has nothing bad to say towards the Farmer himself, but clearly doesn't understand his taste in clothing. Neither does he understand why Sebastian is always walking around in black clothes. Farmer looks... alright, Alex think. But he just doesn't get it.

Oh, how happy Emily is to have another person in town who loves to express himself through clothes! Everything is harmoniously matched, the fabric is of the best quality.... And most importantly, the Farmer feels comfortable! The blue-haired girl doesn't care that it's "not for a man". Emily can make clothes for Farmer according to his style, if he doesn't mind of course!

In the past, Abby had been teased for dressing like a boy, and Sebby had been insulted for having long, "girlish" fringes.... More than once Sam has threatened to hit the offenders with his guitar if they keep it up. So if Farmer gets harassed too, he shouldn't hesitate to ask Sam for help. Farmer looks cool, by the way!

To be honest, Farmer's fem style of dressing for Penny is rather extravagant. The young teacher is modest by nature and with old-fashioned ideas about how men and women should dress. On the other hand, she admires Farmer's courage to express himself and not afraid to be judged.

There were at least three times in Sebastian's life when some tourists picked on his "fem look", namely his tight jeans and black-painted nails. The local emo even then knew that judging people by their appearance is a complete nonsense, so he would not react to Farmer's atypical clothes in the bad way. And Farmer look cool, though Sebby is not a fan of his style, preferring everything black.

Yoba, is this the latest collection from the same famous designer that Haley always orders clothes from?! She recognises these clothes anywhere. Haley thought the new farmer always wore dirty overalls. And these clothes look so stylish on him! What? Who frickin cares if the clothes are feminine, the Farmer looks great! Slay! 💅

Shane was about to open his mouth and comment on Farmer's, as he think, ridiculous outfit. But then he remembered that it wasn't his place to judge people by their clothes, considering that his everyday clothes were a torn blue jumper with Joja's logo on it, pizza-stained shorts, and ragged crocs. After Emily's clothing therapy, Shane will have a little change of heart. But in general, he doesn't give a shit what Farmer wears, even if it's a trash bag.

"Hey, you look great." Believe me, Farmer, Leah's words are genuine. This woman is always used to being honest with people, and she will honestly praise her friend's appearance. Because a lot of people express themselves in different ways. Leah chose to express herself through creativity, while Farmer chose to express himself through clothes, and that's totally cool.

Harvey marvelled at the fact that Farmer walks around in these clothes and is completely unafraid of criticism..... No, no, don't get him wrong, Farmer looks good! It's just... In a way, Harvey is jealous, because he has to sneak around to aerobics in fear that some of the other bachelors will see him and make fun of him. But you know, just seeing Farmer has inspired the doctor to be braver.

Although in Maru's situation it was not about clothes, she too had to deal with this type of conflicts. Her grandparents told her mom, Robin, that her job as a carpenter was "not for women", while her father's relatives condemned Maru's passion for inventions as "not for young lady". How nice that Maru's parents were supportive and that Farmer has also defied criticism and is doing what makes him happy. Don't listen to anyone and do what your heart desire!

Quite extravagant, but Elliott even likes his style. Farmer definitely has the taste to pick colours and accessories harmoniously. What? Judging? Pfft! Dear friend, when Elliott lived in town before moving to Stardew Valley, the people there also tried to ridicule his clothing choices, calling him a dandy and, pardon his language, a "pompous peacock." Ugh, some people just have no taste! But at least Elliott has excellent clothing taste. And Farmer has it as well!

#stardew valley #sdv #sdv headcanons #sdv abigail #sdv penny #sdv emily #sdv haley #sdv leah #sdv maru #sdv shane #sdv alex #sdv sebastian #sdv sam #sdv harvey #sdv elliott #thanks for the ask!

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jazzythursday · 9 months

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Prompts: Dressing | Sensitive (721 words)

It’s a known and documented fact that Wylan likes wearing Jesper’s clothes.

He’s been doing it almost as long as they’ve been together. Slipping his arms into Jesper’s soft shirts in bed, nicking his rings to fiddle with and twist around his fingers during the day. Stealing a jumper left over the bed post or at the back of the wardrobe on colder days to wear as he sketches or tinkers, when there’s nothing to call him away from their room. Lifting his ridiculously loose ties over Jesper’s head and putting them around his own neck before moving to undo buttons.

It’s like a reminder, like a message that says Jesper Fahey was here. An added layer of warmth and comfort when he puts on one of Jesper’s shirts in the small hours of the night. One that proves every morning they wake up together that it’s all real.

Jesper’s clothes are as loud as the sharpshooter himself. He mixes patterns and colours Wylan wouldn’t ever dream of considering for himself. But somehow, Jesper manages to pull them off.

“I dress to impress,” Jesper had said, the time Wylan commented on the fact that going to the Kooperoom in three piece yellow and blue plaid was hardly the casual breakfast he’d proposed. “And I am. Or, so I’ve been told.”

“I can imagine,” Wylan had teased, smoothing his hands over Jesper’s lapels and leaning in close. “You’re very impressive.” And he’d taken Jesper’s matching tie pin and wore it himself for the whole day, just to prove that he could.

Dressing up is part of the allure of Barrel life for him, Wylan supposes. Like the flashy feathers of a male Gouldian Finch or Scarlet Macaw. He wears colours like he wears his revolvers at his hips, proudly and with the express intent of drawing attention. A message to stay away or come closer. A constant reminder to everyone around exactly who he is and what he’s capable of. Jesper treats every day like a fashion show. Each hat chosen with the same flourish that he twirls his guns. It’s not a costume so much as it’s the parts of himself he chooses to present to the public, exaggerated. Jesper Fahey: Crow, sharpshooter, gambler, and renownedly generous lover.

The last one, Wylan can attest, is not an exaggeration. Not by any stretch of the imagination.

He’s wearing one of Jesper’s shirts now, a silky and wide-sleeved purple thing with embossed curls patterned all over the delicate material. Jesper had worn it the night before while they were out, and the smell of gunsmoke and Jesper’s cologne and sweat still lingers on the fabric. It probably lingers on Wylan too, and he finds he likes the idea quite a lot. Likes the concept that Jesper, bright and dazzling and inexplicably warm, is leaving a mark.

“You’re a shameless thief, Wy," Jesper teases, when he sees, but it’s clear that he doesn’t mind in the least, and Wylan can’t really deny the accusations anyway. It’s no secret that Wylan likes wearing his clothes, and it’s no secret either that Jesper likes it too. He goes soft around the edges every time he notices Wylan’s wearing something of his.

He’s just come back from the washroom, towel slung low around his waist, and his hair is still a bit damp. It hangs over his forehead in looser coils than his usual style, little droplets clinging to the curls. The sight does things to Wylan that he can’t articulate.

“Am I?”

Jesper nods sagely. His eyes roam freely up and down Wylan’s body as he grins. “One day I won’t have any shirts left, at this rate.”

“Oh no,” Wylan answers, lifting his eyebrows and shrugging, not bothering to fix Jesper’s shirt—too loose on his smaller frame—as it slips off one of his shoulders and pools down around his arm. “That is a problem, whatever will we do?”

“I have ideas.”

“Yes?”

“Well,” Jesper says, crossing the distance between them and joining Wylan on the bed. Hands already roaming under the folds of the shirt, replacing the reminders of Jesper with the real thing. Thumbs drawing brackets down the sides of Wylan’s rib cage, coming ever closer. Kissing the sensitive skin under Wylan’s jaw, his neck, further down. “I’ll just have to take it off.”

#a drabble for your troubles?#jazzy writes fanfiction #jazzy writes #wesper fic club #flash fic #shadow and bone #wylan van eck #wesper #six of crows #jesper fahey

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limmastyles · 2 years

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https://at.tumblr.com/laughrry/also-im-pretty-sure-that-harry-wore-the-whole/v53zq442gzq2 I just know that she saw those pap pics of him before the NYC DWD Premiere and was sprinting to bode to get this zip up jumper!! Then he wore HIS jumper backstage at the final MSG night, took pics in it and that’s when she knew everyone would have seen him wear that so that’s why she wore it for that pathetic pap day in Bedford! She knows harries are fucking dumb and will think they either „share“ or that they have a „matching set“ 🤦🏻‍♀️☠️🤐🥱 everything she does is calculated!! And Harries fall for this shit every time!! 🙄

I'm still surprised by the fact that the Harries buy into it like stupid kids. Because it's not the first time she's done this kind of shit. She started doing it more often since the winter of last year. I don't understand why they haven't seen the pattern yet

#fauxlivia #holivia is fake #holivia stunt #pr stunt #publicitystunt #holivia #pr relationships #holivia pr stunt #publicity stunt #olivia wilde

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gayspock · 2 years

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top 5 spock looks??? (i don't know him but he has to have 5)

OMG YES YES YES- okay other than his standard outfit (bc I think it's icnic, of course, and he looks so GOOD! in blue) MY TOP 5 FAVES, ACTUALLY ORDERED BC IM OBSESSED

5. His gangster suit from A Piece of the Action

I'm usually not a fan of brown suits but his hat means everything to me. Also the way it matches with Jim. Also, also, also it's one of my favourite TOS episodes in general- idc, anyone can kill me for it, but it's my favourite comedic one and I think it's way better than the Tribbles episode<3. ALso, also, also, also him with the big stupid gun that finishes the whole look is brilliant.

4. The little beanie he wore in The City on the Edge of Forever

I will say- I DO prefer Jim's look, with the flannel. But literally this look places here because of the beanie. The rest of it is also nice, I will say- underneath the coat at least, he's wearing a cute little button down... What I DO wish though, is that he was wearing a sensible little sweater to go with the beanie. That would really make my day. With the button down poking out underneath? Stop it... That's everything.

3. Hooded Cape and Waistcoat from The Return of the Archons Okay so the thing is, I DID almost not put this one and instead I put the TOS movie uniforms (because he looks super good in red) because this is very similar to my number one pick, but like... Right it does serve too much cunt for me not to use it, yah?

Like the fucking cape- the hood... And the way it's not just a hood, but like squared off like that? With all the gathering fabric? Literally he did not need to do that much. AND THEN WHEN IT COMES OFF? AND HE'S IN THAT DAPPER LITTLE WAISTCOAT LOOKING OH SO SENSIBLE? CRAZY. IM CRAZY FOR IT.

2. Sparkly Toga from Plato's Stepchildren

I know there's mixed opinions on this ep... Shan't get into all that mess<3. But his fucking OUTFIT in this... ATE. LEFT NO FUCKING CRUMBS. I would post a full length one to show off just how short it is, bc that is of course INTEGRAL to this look but this exact screenshot is like... Everything and more to me. So I have to use it.

1. His "Honey, I'm home!" look from The Motion Picture

IT HAD TO BE THIS ONE. IT HAD TO BE. ITS NOT JUST THE GOTH LOOK. THE ALL BLACK CAPE. THE MOVEMENT OF IT AS HE WALKS. ITS WHAT IT REPRESENTS. ITS THE CONTEXT OF THE THING. BESTIE DISAPPEARS FOR YEARS TO UNDERGO THE KOLINAHR RITUAL AND PURGE ALL EMOTION. ABORTS IT LAST MOMENT BECAUSE THAT GIRLIE THERE WAS LIKE "GO AWAY YOURE GAY. YOUR SOULMATE, LOVER, BESTIE, ETC. NEEDS YOU." AND HES LIKE KNEELING THERE IN THE FUCKING DIRT LOOKING ALL A MESS. SO HES LIKE. :/. AND SO OF COURSE... OF COURSE BESTIE, DESPITE THE SEVERITY OF THIS WHOLE SITUATION, AND FACT THAT THERE IS AN UNKNOWN ENTITY HURTLING TOWARDS EARTH ON THE DAMN WARPATH, HAS TO GO STOP OFF FOR A MAKEOVER TO IMPRESS AND THEN WHEN THE BASTARD WALKS IN HE LITERALLY IGNORES EVERYONE POINT BLANK. LIKE OH I DONT CARE ABOUT THIS ACTUALLY. LIKE IF YOU DID NOT CARE WOULD YOU COME IN AND EAT IT UP HM? NO. YOU WOULDNT. GOD. GOD FUCKING BLESS.

Honourable mentions, however, go to: - When he's just in his little black undershirt. Whore. - Mirror!Spock. Not spock but very shiny and the facial hair fucks. - His little spocket booties - the tos spacesuit. looks like dogshit and it means a lot to me. its just not here bc i think chekov looked even funnier in it and i dont want to take that away from him - his little yellow jumper number, from the unaired pilot (and potentially? also? the menagerie flashbacks? can't remember if it was in that too)

#egg yells back #antonbf

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thedeaconj · 4 years

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A Cup of Sugar? Part 3

(Wow this story had a great reception! Please find parts one and two here: https://thedeaconj.tumblr.com/post/624650236299821056/a-cup-of-sugar-parts-1-and-2)

That day, Sophie was so thankful not to be in work. The last two days wore on her so heavily that she could afford to get up a little later. Still, she did have some errands to run, and she still had to keep herself in shape. Sophie rose out of bed in her vest top and undies, ready to face the day ahead of her. Usually she’d put on her exercise clothes, but then realised the new benefit of her minimalist fashion style. She could simple exercise as she was, the clothes were going in the wash anyways, so why not? Starting off with her stretches and yoga, she found it as usual, sweaty work in her apartment. Her mind went to the thought of Mark’s cooling ceiling fan, how it span around and around, and made the whole place a lot cooler. Maybe it was thinking of the cool breeze, but the rest of her exercises seemed to fly by. She even admired her body a little in the mirror afterwards, a sense of pride washed over her. Sophie was on the verge of C cups, not that she was ever bothered too much by the size of her breasts. She also wasn’t too bothered about her butt, although today she gave the mirror a little wiggle, thought how cute it looked and then turned sheet white. What was up with her? Cute? Showing off in the mirror? She was independent, and proud, but was she really so vain to start ogling herself in the mirror? Sophie shook her head, she took a shower, then decided on her outfit for the day.

Sophie decided to face facts, city life was hot, so she’d need to start dressing better for it. Her vest tops would no longer be hidden under jumpers and coats, although she wasn’t the type to have skirts or shorts available. Given it was her day off too that meant no heavy work boots, the thought of them on her feet was so uncomfortable to her. Instead, in a rather bold choice, she opted for flip flops. She also picked a grey vest top out, as she knew the forecast for today was hotter than usual, this was coupled with her usual choice of black jeans. Sophie ate a quick breakfast, then headed out of her apartment to get some errands done. She headed out and bumped straight into Mark.

They both fell back; Sophie was quick to apologise.

‘It’s fine Sophie don’t worry about it,’ he said. He looked her over and gave her an approving smile.

‘So, you’ve finally started to dress for the heat?’ he asked.

‘Well, I guess I have to adapt to city life sooner or later,’ Sophie said, she couldn’t help but enjoy him smiling at her. She supposed it was because he was a smart man, so she must have been doing something right to make him happy.

‘That’s true, Sophie, did you have any plans for lunch today? You mentioned it was your day off yesterday and that you’d be running around with errands, so if you feel yourself getting hungry please feel free to stop by,’ Mark said.

She frowned, when did she mention that yesterday? Still, he was just being nice to her, she wished she could give him something in return, when she realised, she actually could.

‘Your screwdriver! I totally forgot it’s still at mine, I’ll pop in and get it,’

Sophie went to turn, as Mark placed his hand on her shoulder. It felt firm, slightly cold, but soothing on her bare skin. A few days ago, if Mark did this she would have screamed at him, but today, it didn’t seem to bother her for some reason.

‘Please Sophie, you can drop it off when you stop by for lunch,’ he said.

Sophie looked back at him, he was smart, so maybe he knew what he was talking about. She’d usually grab some fast food from somewhere while out and about running errands, so she could save a little money too. She relaxed a little, not really noticing Mark’s hand was still on her shoulder.

‘Yes, alright, I’ll see you then,’ she couldn’t help but smile a little. Sophie then went off to do her errands, wondering in the back of her mind what lunch would be.

After a while, Sophie found herself wandering into a place she didn’t think to see herself at in a million years. It was a clothing store, with a focus on pink, cute, girly clothing. Why was she here? It wasn’t like she could afford to get new clothes, and this wasn’t her style, was it? She was saving a bit of money though by not eating out, and there was no harm in browsing. For some reason, the place reminded her of Mark, no doubt because of that hot pink sofa. She couldn’t help but giggle when thinking about it, it may have been bought for him as a joke, but she could tell he kept it because it was so comfortable. It felt nice to lie on too, to immerse herself on that bed of pink, like Sophie was now as she wandered the store. That’s when she spotted it and couldn’t help but giggle some more. A skirt, the exact same colour as the sofa! It would be down to her knees, so still fairly conservative, but it was a little billowy looking, like it could spread up so easily. She checked the price tag out of curiosity, to find it was cheap! Sophie considered it for another moment, was she really going to buy it? It would be a big leap in her style, but maybe that’s what she needed. She could even wear it over to Mark’s later, as a sort of in joke. Sophie took a deep breath and took the plunge, a few moments later she walked out of the store, happy in her purchase.

Sophie headed back into her apartment, her stomach already beginning to rumble. She’d head over to Marks soon, but first she would put away her other shopping, and go get the screwdriver. After this, Sophie opened her bag from the clothing store, only to find an addition to the skirt in there. A pair of pink, cotton undies with a white frill. How’d they get in there? Were they in the bag by mistake, did they come with the skirt? Either way Sophie was pretty sure she didn’t buy them. She pulled them out of the bag, inspecting them. They were quite small, a good deal different to the underwear she’d usually wear. They did however, go well with the skirt, that she had to admit. Plus, they seemed to have been free. Maybe it was a sign, she thought, that her new way of fashion was already paying off. Sophie changed into both the skirt and underwear, once again admiring herself in the mirror. She did a little spin, seeing how this lifted her skirt up, and gave flash of her upper legs. Then, she lifted the skirt all the way up. Only to see how far it would need to go up to be revealing of course, she wasn’t checking out how she looked in her new undies. Even when she turned around and bent over, shaking her butt as she did. She couldn’t help but laugh at herself, why shouldn’t she after all, just because she was independent, didn’t mean she had to take herself so seriously.

Sophie knocked on Mark’s door, as per usual he was right there, right on queue. Sophie held up his screwdriver, which he grabbed off her, but not before noticing the skirt.

‘It’s a joke gift from me to me, it matches your sofa,’ she said.

Mark chuckled, which caused Sophie to giggle as she walked into the apartment. She took a deep breath in, smelling something wonderful cooking.

‘I’ve got a fondue going, it should be ready soon enough, in the meantime please take a seat Sophie,’ Mark said.

He was wearing an apron over his usual clothing today, a novelty one with “Kiss the chef” written on it, Sophie smirked at it, and wondered how often that really worked. She took a seat on the sofa, and gasped. It wasn’t the footrest that got her by surprise this time, but just how good it felt on more of her bare skin. The fan was at a lazy pace today, but the cool, smooth feeling of the sofa more than made up for it.

‘Still not used to the footrest huh?’ she heard Mark call out.

‘Something like that,’ Sophie said, she writhed against the sofa, but then came to her senses a bit more.

What would Mark think of her if he saw her doing that? He’d think there was something wrong with her, so she stopped. Instead, she got a bit more comfortable, as Mark asked her about her errands.

‘Say, did you get that skirt at the place on Second street?’ he asked.

‘I did, how’d you know?’

‘I’ve walked past there before, it’s quite a change from your usual style, but I think you wear it well,’ Mark said.

Sophie did blush slightly, there was something about him complimenting her that felt good, but then he was so much older, it felt a little wrong to her.

‘Thank you Mark, I figured why not try out something new. Although I guess it does make me look young, which I already do anyways,’ Sophie replied.

As Sophie relaxed, she lay back fully on the sofa, uncaring about if her skirt hiked up a bit. She also kicked off her flip flops onto the floor beside her, although she wasn’t sure why. She looked up at the lazy, spinning ceiling fan, totally chilled out, as she smelt that wonderful cheesy smell getting closer. Mark placed the bowl of fondue on the side table, her view of the ceiling fan was replaced by a view of Marks face. Sophie smiled at him, was it just her imagination, or was he looking a little better these days? Maybe he’d scrubbed up for his gathering, which she really was thinking of going to.

‘That place down on second street is quite the walk though, especially in flip flops. If you like you can lie back and I can just lower the food into your mouth, no effort needed,’ he said.

Sophie thought it sounded a little weird, but it did smell so good, and he was right, the walk had taken it out of her.

‘Well, alright I suppose,’ Sophie said.

Before she could think on it much more, a piece of bread covered in fondue was in her mouth. It was truly delicious, the taste felt incredible as it coated her mouth, a warm wonderful feeling that flowed throughout her. Mark fed her a few more pieces, as he saw her pupils dilate, her jaw go slack, and her entire body relax.

‘Are you getting full Sophie?’ Mark asked.

‘Uh huhh’ was all she could say.

Mark walked around the other side of the sofa, he looked over Sophie as she spread out on it.

‘Why not sit up on the sofa for a moment Sophie, I have an idea,’

Sophie did as she was asked, as Mark sat alongside her. Her head was swimming, she didn’t know why or really care why though.

‘Such a long day already Sophie, and it’s only lunchtime. Thankfully, I have a way to fill you back up with the energy you need,’ Mark said.

‘You do?’ Sophie asked, she stared directly ahead, but in her mind saw the ceiling fan.

‘Yes, just let me direct you for a moment, now please, lay back, head in my lap,’ he said.

Sophie hesitated for a moment, wasn’t this just a little inappropriate? But, still, she’d need the energy for the rest of the day, and what was the harm in it? Sophie fell back onto Mark’s lap, instead of looking up into a ceiling fan, she now looked up into those eyes. Those lovely brown eyes. He stroked her hair with one hand.

‘You have such nice hair Sophie, have you considered experimenting with it for your new look? Maybe a nice, cute blonde,’ he said.

Yes, a nice cute blonde. That would complete her look. Mark was such a smart man.

‘That would be nice, yes,’ Sophie said and smiled up at him.

‘Very good Sophie, now just relax, I’m going to get you up on your feet again shortly,’ Mark said.

With one hand, he grabbed just under her chin lightly, and held her head in place. With the other, he placed his thumb just on Sophie’s forehead. She offered up no resistance to any of this.

‘Now, fix your eyes up on my thumb Sophie, follow it for me,’ he said.

‘Okay,’

As her eyes locked onto his thumb, it began to move on her forehead in a slow, circular fashion. His other hand stroked just under her chin, which was such a comforting feeling. Sophie's eyes rolled around as she tried to keep up on following the thumb, the whole motion made her feel so dizzy. Despite what Mark said she wasn’t feeling full of energy just yet, if anything this was relaxing her further. The stroking under the chin didn’t help in that regard either, as his touch just felt so soothing on her face.

‘So, how’s your change of style going Sophie?’ Mark asked.

There was something about his voice now, she wasn’t sure if it was because of his thumb on her forehead, but it was like she heard it inside her own mind, as if she’d thought it, not even heard it.

‘Okay, I’m enjoying it so far, I don’t have much money though for new clothes,’ she said.

‘That’s a shame, if you need money for it then I’d be happy to help you out, was it just the skirt you bought then today?’

Sophie squirmed, the idea of him giving her money went against everything she stood for. She couldn’t just take money; it was a step too far. Everything else she could chalk up to neighbourly hospitality, even this strange but incredible feeling from Mark’s technique to get her up and running again.

‘I couldn’t take the money, and yeah just that,’ Sophie paused. She wasn’t sure why she told him what she did next.

‘Well, except I got home, and there were some undies in the bag too,’ she said.

She turned red, what was she saying? It was all getting too much, whatever his thumb was doing was making her forget herself, forget that he was this older man with her laying on his lap. He must think I’m some sort of pervert, she thought. Instead, Mark just chuckled, which led to Sophie giggling.

‘Please, I can see talking about this is a little strange for you, but it’s perfectly natural. My advice and what I’ve talked about hasn’t steered you wrong so far, has it Sophie?’ Mark said.

No, it hadn’t, he was right. His hands felt so very good and his words echoed in her mind, which made it so much truer.

‘No it hasn’t,’

‘Very good Sophie, so please continue what you were saying,’ he said.

It was if her usual filter, her usual, natural inhibition was gone, as the words spilled out of her.

‘Well at first I thought about going back and returning them, but they just looked so cute. I had to try them on, they fit really well too, like my butt looks great in them,’ she said.

Mark smiled down at her, as he sped his thumb up. Sophie’s eyes could barely follow as the room span around her, she couldn’t really see, just relying on Mark’s voice to guide her along.

‘I bet it does Sophie, very good, body confidence is important, especially in such a hot city like this, there’s no harm or shame in enjoying how you look,’ he said.

Sophie felt compelled to agree, he began to talk some more but she started having trouble grasping a lot of it. No doubt it was about something smart, so she could just let it drift into her head. As her body went limp, she felt something by her lips, it was Mark’s thumb. Her lips parted as she welcomed it into her mouth, sucking on it hungrily. She didn’t know why she did it, just that it felt good, it felt right. Her eyes fully rolled up, she went entirely limp and fell into darkness.

‘Okay and up you get Sophie!’

Sophie sprang from Mark’s lap to her feet, blinking her eyes. It worked! She felt so full of energy, so full of life now. She bent over to pick up her flip flops, wiggling her hips as she did, blissfully unaware of the show she was putting on for Mark. She slid them back onto her feet, and turned back to face him. Sophie looked again at the “kiss the chef” apron, she couldn’t help but smile. It was a silly apron, how funny would it be if she did kiss Mark, if she let his smooth hands explore the rest of her body like they did her face? She shook her head, snapping out of that daydream. It was a strange one for sure, but it was just her overactive imagination.

‘Wow I feel so alive and vibrant, thanks so much Mark!” she said.

‘Of course, anytime Sophie, although I did have an idea, if you’d hear me out,’

Sophie nodded her head eagerly, Mark’s ideas were good ideas, ones she should listen to.

‘You didn’t seem comfortable with the idea of me giving you money outright, but how about a bit of paid work? My place is still a bit of a mess and I’m useless at cleaning, so I could pay you for cleaning up the living room,’ he said.

Sophie looked around, the place was already looking better than it was, it wouldn’t be too much hard work to clean the place up a bit. She was free tomorrow anyways, so why not do it then?’

‘Sure Mark, I can come by tomorrow to do it,’ Sophie said, as she smiled at him.

‘That’s fantastic, well I’ll see you then!’

Sophie was a little torn, she did want to stay with Mark for a bit longer, maybe to learn more from him, and he had surprisingly good style tips for a guy his age. Still, she’d get to see him tomorrow anyways. Sophie headed out of his apartment and back to her own, surprised by just how long she’d been in Mark’s as she read the clock on the wall. Time flies when you’re having fun, and Sophie did have a lot of fun there. With the remainder of her evening she decided to model some of her old clothes. To decide what to throw out, what to keep, what looked good. Some things she took a scissors to, cutting it down to size, to suit the city more. As she tried on each outfit, she couldn’t help but admire herself. She was just being body confident, which was important, she was a cute young lady who wanted to show herself off. Sophie giggled, wasn’t she just thinking how she weren’t vain? Maybe a little vanity was okay then, it was part of her new style after all.

That night, as Sophie got ready for bed, she thought her vest top seemed awful warm to be wearing to sleep. Instead, she decided to just sleep in her new undies. Tomorrow she’d be off bright and early to clean Mark’s apartment. She visualised it now, her being bent over dusting something, or on her hands and knees, her butt waving side to side, the sophisticated and sorta handsome Mark, being a gentleman and trying not to look. Sophie giggled, it was a silly fantasy, but maybe she was a bit of a silly girl, and soon her daydreams faded, as she drifted off to sleep.

#hypnosis #erotichypnosis #hypnokink #hypnotized #mindcontrol #mind control #brainwashing #brainwashed #brainwash #oc

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m-oana-archive · 4 years

Text

A Love Too Heavy (For Just One to Hold) pt. 3

catch up on pt. 1 | pt 2.

Pairing: Sirius Black x Reader x Remus Lupin

Words: 3629

Summary: After pining after Y/N for years, Sirius finally gets the girl: the happy ending the story is supposed to end with. The only problem is the fact Sirius’ feelings for Remus still haven’t seemed to go away. But he isn’t the only one starting to question their ability to love two people at the same time.

A/N: This is the last part, and includes too many italicized words and usages of “oh” (which are almost always italicized).

requestor: @shinysilverunicorn-blog | read on AO3 | Masterlist

Y/N’s POV

How to describe Sirius and Remus? Y/N could do so simply, stating they were her closest friends, easily the two most important people in her life. But that wouldn’t include the whole of it. The way each of them were so different that both were essential to the functions of her heart.

Sirius was like a catchy tune: people got drawn to him. Even if he got annoying and overbearing, there was something that made him impossible to distance yourself from fully. And like a catchy tune, you wouldn’t expect there to be more than one layer to him, but that was wrong entirely. He wore leather and confidence, but only because he knew what it did for him, not because it matched what was held underneath. He knew about himself—his fears, hopes, failures, self-destructive tendencies—well enough to know how to look like he had none of them. Then there was Remus. The opposite. There was nothing about him that didn’t suggest introspection, from books to sweaters to tea to somehow swerving away from the Marauder reputation by being difficult to associate with petty pranks. But, while it seemed to be easy for him to dive deep into the depths of his soul, he always stood shivering at the shore before turning away, afraid of what he’d find under cold water. But with terror came beauty, and Remus couldn’t see past the first part to understand how gorgeous he was.

They were both wonderful in different ways: if Sirius was the sun, Remus was the shade that protected you. If Remus was a cup of tea, Sirius was the sugar that made it palatable. It was hard not to love one and not the other because it seemed as if both were necessary to survive.

Or, at least, that was the problem Y/N was facing.

Y/N remembered the first time she saw both. It was hard to look away from Sirius; sometimes, Y/N swore that his purpose was to be admired. But, in a similar vein, it was hard to ignore Remus. While, out of the rest of them, James was too earnest to be captivating and Peter too unsure of himself to be found attractive, Remus was quiet in the way he knew he didn’t have to give himself up to gain attention. Remus was identical to the pages he read: once you finished one, you couldn’t help flipping to the next.

She hadn’t meant, or expected, either adorations to turn into crushes. Instantly, she had wanted to be friends with the whole lot of them. Not even the cold blood was enough to turn her away; in fact, with her Slytherin ambition, showing her ability to make friendships despite the rivalry became part of the appeal. But, unbeknownst to her, feelings had started. With Remus, they were the moments he was loud and obnoxious and so bloody smart it was hard to be anything except amazed. Similarly, Sirius was at his easiest to fall in love with when he was without facades, wearing some torn-up jumper that belonged to one of “his lads”—almost always Remus—and speaking very quietly of whatever came to his mind first. They were two sides of the same coin, one that Y/N wished she could hold between her fingers, that Y/N wished she could keep.

At first, because of her platonic intention, Sirius’ obvious interest was overwhelming, like lights being flashed on in a room right after darkness, not giving eyes time to adjust. But once her eyes had adjusted, they could barely look at anyone else, envision anyone else kissing her; holding her hand; laying on her bed with her, bodies forming shapes that fit one another perfectly.

Remus was chillingly indifferent. When Y/N stated her wishes that someone would ask her to Hogsmeade—subconsciously, this was a complaint that Remus wasn’t doing so—Remus brushed it off casually, saying that someday someone would come along who would treat her right. The heartbreak of it made her realize how deep her emotions were for him; she was willing to waste her life trying to catch an unreachable moon just so Remus wouldn’t have to endure being transformed by it every month. And, when she inevitably failed, at least he’d know he was worth a whole lifetime.

So she picked Sirius, not through a choice, but through a lack of one. Because, if Y/N truly had her way, she would choose both.

But apparently, Remus wouldn’t. Not based on what he had just said to her, moments after some stupid, hopeful part of Y/N thought they might have kissed.

The sounds of the words Remus had said were gone, but the weight pulled the room down, including everything inside of Y/N. Her soul felt like the library: all the brightness was sucked out except for two small lights that weren’t enough to make her feel alive anymore.

“Oh.” She meant to say it, but she whispered it instead. Or sighed it.

For the first time in a long time since meeting and getting to know Remus, her eyes did not want to meet his face.

Silence followed. A long one; so long that it transcended tension and peace to turn into an overwhelming shallowness, the same kind Y/N felt inside of her chest as she stood waiting. She knew instinctively that Remus’ mouth was opening and closing above her, trying sentences in his head before realizing he didn’t want to say them out loud. Y/N wished he would have planned the sentence he had said before with that kind of carefulness. Since when was Remus so spontaneous, anyway? When did he make the decision to abandon so much of what made him him, even if it was in the name of honesty?

The first sound was Remus’ swallow. Then, his hand brushing through his hair. Then, his voice, saying, “I didn’t mean that to say I don’t want you to be with him. I’ve never seen him happier.” There was such sadness in the admission, the kind of sadness that is made of happiness. The kind of sadness that is made of love.

Instantly, something within Y/N shifted. Anger disappeared. She looked up to Remus and she could see it on his face, on the purse of his lips and twisting of his eyes and lock of his jaw: Remus really was in love with Sirius. Or at least could love him. If given the chance.

“I can’t just…” Y/N started, drifting, struggling to say anything because words felt so loud. “You’re… you’re my best friend. How am I supposed to just sit around dating him in front of you in good conscience? You’ve put me in quite a position here. Either I hurt you until you get over him, or I hurt him to spare you.”

“Please, don’t do anything for me,” Remus automatically replied. “Really, that wasn’t a cry for pity—”

“Then why the hell did you tell me that?”

Remus tugged on his hair. “I don’t know! I just couldn’t bear lying to you anymore!”

“Then want to know something else true?” Y?N said, despite her stomach telling her to stop talking, saying that this was a terrible idea, one rooted out of nothing except anger and childishness. “I fucking, I fucking had feelings for you, Remus. But you were so fucking indifferent, always brushing me aside, making me feel like I was just another person to you, no one special. I stayed in. I stayed for you. Struggled silently, hurting every damn day, just because I knew you didn’t mean it. Why couldn’t you have just waited until… until…”

Her words faded into a tense silence. Remus lifted an eyebrow at her. “Until what? Until I got over him?”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say it? I don’t…”

Remus was looking at her, and she was doing everything to collapse into herself, to not let her red cheeks be noticed, to make them disappear. “Oh.” He paused. A single moment encapsulating a thousand different ones. “Y/N, do you still have feelings for me?”

Y/N laid her hands out in front of her, her body ready to express a logical counter argument her mind could not provide. Her stature sunk.

“What does it matter?”

“It matters because…” Remus hesitated, hands still in his hair, running through it desperately. “Okay, if we’re being very honest here, which we are, I need you to know that, um, a lot of the reason I’m not dating Sirius is because I’m conflicted between him and someone else, someone else who is also in a relationship… and it could work, but I… I’m not sure…”

“How to politely ask me to remove myself from my own relationship?” Y/N offered.

Remus’ face hardened. “No,” he said. It was stern, absolute. All at once, Y/N understood.

Just as suddenly, there was a gasp of wood from the side. Y/N turned to the door, finding Sirius there. He had a look of confusion nearing pain on his face and Remus’ jumper on.

Oh, Y/N realized. Oh.

If the rumors and legends were true, this could have been the last moment of her life: everything was coming back in flashes. There were fuzzy, alcohol-smudged scenes of parties, where, in something she misnamed as drunken dumbfuckery, Remus and Sirius were dancing with bodies close together, laughter taking up every part of their mouths. Times that she would see Sirius leaning in close to whisper something in Remus’ ear, Remus’ ears turning pink regardless of how many times it must have been done before. There were all the times that Y/N turned around in class to meet Remus’ eyes, just to find they were already on her. When she would borrow Remus’ jumper from Sirius and Remus wouldn’t protest; “It fits you,” he had said, which she had taken far too literally. The fact that Sirius wore that jumper more than Remus, yet Remus would never protest. The late nights of crying herself to sleep, afraid that she had made the wrong choice, because she wanted not one, but both of them.

She looked back to Remus first. He was already looking at her. “Wait here,” she whispered, fighting the urge to kiss him on the cheek nonchalantly before turning and walking towards Sirius.

This was it. This had to be it.

Y/N got to Sirius faster than she had meant too, but had no time to feel self-conscious about it. “I need you alone for a second,” she said. Her hands were on his arm, redirecting him out into the corridor before he had time to protest.

Once they were alone, door closed, Sirius’ body instinctively adjusted into an argument stance: there was a rolling back of his shoulders, a cocking of his chin, a tense spot in his jaw, a crossing of his arms. “You were real fucking close in there, Y/N. In dim light, after six hours together… he’s not your boyfriend! I am! I barely even see you today and when I finally find you you’re almost kissing him.”

Y/N waited, trying to cover the ache in her chest with an unbothered expression. She knew she needed to apologize, but had to wait: they didn’t have time for this argument right then. They might never have to have it again, too, if she was right. She hoped she was right.

“You have a right to be jealous of him,” she admitted. “But, let me ask you something: are you jealous of me?”

Sirius’ muscles softened, or, maybe, they buckled under the pressure of him having been uncovered. It was too soon to know, too similar to tell. He opened his mouth, then closed it. The anger in his eyes was transformed into pain.

Y/N reached to touch his face. The way he melted into her touch was enough to break her heart, again. “Sirius. I’m not asking about what this means for us right now. I just need to know, honestly, how you feel about Remus.”

“It’s complicated,” he frowned.

“It might complicate, but it’s not complicated. Even if things change because of how you feel, I will always love you so much. It would be unfair to ask you to tell me the truth and then get mad at you for doing it.”

With a deep exhale underneath Remus’ jumper and his lips, warm, against the side of Y/N’s hand, Sirius said, “I have feelings for him. So many. It’s painful.”

I know. God, I know, Y/N thought to herself. How could anyone meet Remus and not be madly, irresistibly, unforgivably in love with him? It was foolish of her to think she could not love him; it was nice to know that someone else had also been equally mindless. Perhaps this was something that made Sirius and Y/N so compatible.

“It’s okay,” Y/N decided upon saying. She brushed her thumb against his stubbled cheek. “I just need to know, does this change how you feel about me? What dating me means?”

Sirius’ eyes met hers instantly. “Merlin, no. I’m still so ridiculously into you, too, which is why I never told you about Remus—because I usually tell you about everything—because I didn’t know what it meant. I was so confused. I still am.”

“Sirius.” She stepped closer to him, feeling her eyes fill with tears, either from understanding his sadness or from realizing both of them were helping create it for so long. “I know.”

His eyes were angry again, despite the fact hers were wet.

“I know. I understand. God, Sirius, I have feelings for him too! And I hid it for so long, because I thought he didn’t feel the same, and I liked you so much, and I didn’t know I didn’t have to choose between the two of you.”

“You didn’t? You don’t?” Sirius asked with such shock, it came out as a scream.

A relief, golden as sunlight, filled Y/N so deeply that she could only shake her head in response, too overwhelmed to do anything else. The tension that was held inside of her for so long was finally undone and all she could see was how possible everything was now.

“He told me he feels like we do about him. It’s been so simple! All of this time, Sirius. It’s absolutely ridiculous.”

Sirius layered his hand on top of Y/N’s, tracing the curvature of her knuckles. “I want to barge in there and kiss that fucker right now,” he admitted, a laugh blossoming out of Y/N’s mouth. “But I want to ask: are you 100 percent on this? I know we just started dating, and I always felt like I was so much more eager than you, but you met me there. But this seems a lot… bigger. I don’t want you to go beyond what you can handle for me. You can still have me. No matter what you say. I promised I’d stick by you.”

Y/N pulled herself up to Sirius, kissing him, mouth absorbing the weight of the words he just said, but knowing this was something good. She pulled away sooner than she wanted to. Sirius looked both more rooted and more disheveled. “I know, Sirius. That’s why I’m okay with this. I trust you. I know you won’t push me aside. And I won’t leave you, either. I love you, and this is about all three of us, not any two of us.”

“As long as Remus is comfortable,” Sirius piped up.

“As long as Remus is comfortable,” Y/N agreed.

They both looked over at the closed library door. Something that was keeping Remus outside all of this. A threshold he’d have to be invited to cross, and would want to.

Sirius was the first to ask the looming question. “How do we…”

“You go,” Y/N offered, automatically getting his eyes on her for the demand of it. “This has been forever for you, hasn’t it? Since you met.”

“Yeah.” It was soft. He was flustered, a blush creeping up his neck, as if Y/N hadn’t seen him do much more embarrassing things. Loving Remus Lupin was not something to be embarrassed about.

“Then you deserve to be the one. Plus, he’s your best mate. And I’ve had to deal with him for six bloody hours.”

Sirius laughed, and everything felt better. “Okay,” he breathed. “Wish me luck?”

Y/N wanted to yell at him, knock some sense into him. He’s bloody in love with you! she wanted to shout. But it was too true to be cocky. Something struck her here: the fact that, while deeply in love with the both of them and utterly confused, Remus had to hear Sirius say this before asking Y/N out. Sadness kept finding its way in, as much as it felt wrong, as much as Y/N refused it.

“Good luck, love,” Y/N said. He released her hand, slid away from her, slipped between the doors, and was gone.

It was difficult, those minutes that felt like years, spent waiting for Sirius to explain himself to Remus. But it felt right. She had so much time with both of them separately that it was their time to come to terms for what this meant for them. There was also something so private in the intimacy of a first kiss; if they wanted to share theirs now, Y/N felt as though they should have the room to do so. And what place is better than a dark, musty library, as secret in the night as their love for one another, filled with as much logic as Remus and as much mystery as Sirius?

When the door finally opened, only one body emerged. It was Remus. He looked different, like something that was knocked over and finally set upright. He was smiling in a devilish way. Y/N knew instantly that they had kissed; it was the implantation of Sirius’ lips on his that had left his mouth hanging in the same crooked way that Sirius’ always does.

“Hi,” she offered, lamely. The result was rather surprising: Remus' smile straightened and softened. It was so true she almost had to look away from him. Again.

Remus came up to her, close enough to do so much—her mind was raking through possibilities—but failing to; she knew from six years of knowing him that this wasn’t due to anything except respect for her. She loved him more for it. Somehow.

“Sirius told me everything,” he said. “And I’d be the happiest person in the entire world if I got to have both of you.”

Y/N understood Sirius’ earlier sudden shyness: hearing Remus say that made her knees weaken and the words she had planned to say jumbled up inside of her head. The only thing she could think to respond with was, “How was the kiss?”

Remus’ smirk was back. “How’d you know?”

“You looked triumphant and cocky. It was obvious.” Remus laughed, hand finding the back of his neck to rub it. She felt the need to add, “It makes sense, considering how long you waited for that kiss.”

“Well…” he took a step in, close enough his mouth was almost touching Y/N’s, but still failing to. “There’s still one more I’m waiting for. If you’ll have me.”

“Yeah,” she said, already breathless. “Of course I will.”

Y/N’s heart was beating impossibly fast as Remus stepped close, cupped her cheek, and led his mouth onto hers. She thought she’d have the ability to compare his kiss to Sirius’. She thought wrong; it was too consuming—not in the intensity but the depth of it, the realness of it—it was impossible for her to think about anything except the fact she was kissing Remus Lupin. She was kissing Remus Lupin. It had worked. It had all worked out. She had Remus’ right hand on her cheek, the left trailing up the back of her head. She had his sweater in the clutches of her fists, a silent ask for more. She had Remus’ tongue in her mouth—she had Remus’ goddamned tongue in her mouth—turning her stomach into a night sky riddled with fireworks. It was too surreal to be real. But it was.

When they parted, they were both breathless. Y/N released her fists to allow her fingers to instead draw random shapes across Remus’ sturdy chest. She felt happy, at peace. Yet there was still something missing.

“Sirius,” she called from over Remus’ shoulder. “Open that damn door and get over here!”

He appeared instantaneously. Without explanation, he spelled the lights off inside of the library, and produced a key from his pocket which he then used to lock the door.

Sirius came up to them, attaching himself to Remus’ side in the same way he always had, but leaning into him more than usual, as if to say this is how I always have felt, but now I can show it. Y/N scanned both of their faces, two beautiful boys, scarred and wonderful in their own ways, and hers.

“Walk me home?” she asked. They both nodded, starting off into the night. A natural formation befell the three of them: Remus standing in the center, Sirius leaning into him in a way that demanded Remus to wrap his arm around his waist, and Y/N holding Remus’ hand, his thumb stroking her palm. All around them, evening was whispering, with cricket chirps, light breezes, and clouds shifting the moonlight from above. It was soft and calm and real, real, real. Somehow. It was real.

⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥ ⬥

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added): @astertist @beskarjedi @bluemadcnna @boring-viola @carolinesbookworld @finnofamerica @fortisfiliae @gabriel-r3ap3r-reyes @gryffndor @jamcspotters @just-some-nerd @lonelyheart-jadedsoul @neewtmas @portkeys-and-prose @siriusement @siriuslyimmoony @sly-vixen-up2nogood @swellwriting @the-apple-princess @theboywhocriedlupin @who-cares-unknown @woakiees @wzardings @samcycle @luckygirl144

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blackbrothersbitch · 4 years

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Thought of this really cute idea so here ya go. Sharing it with you guys.

Sirius' 17th Birthday

To say Sirius Orion Black was excited for his 17th birthday, was an understatement. Today was the day he could finally do magic outside of Hogwarts, not only that it was the first birthday away from the dark cloud that was looming over his head. Today, also marked the that it had been a year since leaving said dark cloud. It was important to him. It was the day marking his freedom. So when he woke up to find the other 4 beds in the dorm empty, he was kinda dissapointed. Frank, he could almost understand because, well, they talk a little but not that much that he would know the importance of his day for Sirius. The rest though, he felt a pang of hurt run through him. Getting up and taking a shower, he took longer than usual,decided that if his friends didn't wait for him to get up, he wasn't going to rush. It was petty, and he knew it. But Sirius Orion Black is a petty boy. But after getting out of the shower, and getting dressed, re realize his tie was missing. Deciding that today he'd be fine without it, he left.

On the way to the great hall, Sirius noticed his tie hanging from a light. With furrowed eyebrows, the newly deemed adult reached up to grab his tie when it fell before he could reach it. Confused washed over sirius, but as he bent to reach it, the thing that made it fall came into veiw. About a foot away from sirius sat a velvet black box. It wasn't too big, or small, but couldn't hold anything more than a belt or something. The box popped open and Sirius had to take a double take. It was tradition for the sons of every family to get a watch on their 17th birthday, it was meant to represent their newfound adulthood. Picking up the watch, Sirius took it in. It had a white face with the roman numerals in the place of the numbers, it had a black leather to match his jacket. Inside the box was also a note. It read

HAPPY BIRTHDAY PADS!

Hope you have a great day, and rush to the hall yeah? It's freezing wearing these.

- your family

Sirius' eye sight became blurry after reading 'your family'. Letting a single tear fall, he quickly placed the watch on his left hand and sprinted to the great hall with the intension of saying thank you to his brothers and maybe getting a quick hug off his other brother, whom he missed dearly.

But upon entering the hall, it suddenly became dark. The candles had gone off and everyone was in a panic now. Familiar calloused hands grabbed Sirius' and he was dragged to, what he assumed was the front of the hall. Sirius' was so nervous about Remus holding his hands, his ears didn't pick up on the loud clack of shoes hitting the floor. Sirius was set down in a singular chair and the confusion was practically seeping out of him. A gasp of shock escaped his mouth when a freezing cold liquid came over him. After that a spot light came on him. Opening his eyes, Sirius took in the red goo covering him, but before he could react to is yellow feathers washed over him as well. Soon pink glitter joined the list. Sirius' coughed when a junk of glitter got into his mouth. 'well', sirius though, 'ill be breathing pink glitter forever now'.

Looking around, the sound of heals clicking against wood sounded through the hall. The lights came on and the entire hall gasped at what they saw. On the far right, at the Ravenclaw table, was remus. On the table. Wearing a small, and I mean small, two peice pink sparkly skirt and shirt. Looking very uncomfortable, Remus pulled down his skirt in a hope of covering more skin with the small skirt. Looking at the table beside it, which would be the Hufflepuff table, was Peter wearing the same thing but in yellow. Peter didn't seem fazed from the outfit but the people staring at him made him flustered. But the funniest one was James. He was on the Gryffindore table wearing a smug smile and the same outfit, his was blue. James sent Sirius a knowing smile. Knowing how important these particular colours were to him. Sirius had recently decided he wanted to tell the rest of the school he was Pansexual. Wither the school was going to put it together was up to them. James' voice rang through the hall, as all the teachers and students were stunned.

"Happy Birthday Mate."

After James finished the sentence, the familiar tune blasted through the hall. Sirius had played the song non-stop since it came out and the fact that the other 3/4's of The Marauders were prepared for the level of embarrassment to come with it, brought the tears back to Sirius' eyes. Remus started.

"Ooh

You can dance

You can jive

Having the time of your life

Ooh, see that girl

Watch that scene

Digging the dancing queen"

Soon the other boys joined in for the chorus. Laughter sounded through the hall and when the sang the start of the choras, they all jumped, bringing attention to the matching heels they all wore. Almost everyone was surprised they could jump but they continued with the dance. After the song ended, the three boys came down from the tables and walked up to him. Smiles on all four boys faces, Sirius got up from the chair. James was the first to approach and he slapped Sirius on the back, saying a 'happy birthday' and moving beside him. Peter went next doing the same but gave Sirius a hug as well,not caring about the face he was covered in gross stuff. Remus was next but insted of giving him a hug, he walked up to him, deciding to have confidence in himself. Remus didn't think about how everyone in the hall could see his scars or how 3/4 of his skin was on show, he swayed his hips and walked up to Sirius. James and Peter watched in shock as Remus pushed sirius back down into the chair and used a spell to clean him up. Then the entire hall gasped when Remus grabbed Sirius' hsir and kissed him. It was a firery and passionate kiss and lated a bit longer than how much would be appropriate in public. But neither cared. Remus pulls away, but bites sirius lip as he does so. Poth panting hard and endlessly happy, they stared at each other. Silence followed through the hall at the shock of Jock, emo man-whore being kissed by the over-sized jumper-wearing prefect. Realization dawned on Remus and he blushed the same colour as Molly Weasleys hair. Licking his lips, Sirius smirked.

"Well.... Happy birthday to me."

"MISTER POTTER, MISTER PETTIGREW AND MISTER LUPIN!"

Three said boys eyes widened, and with a glance at each other the began to run down the hall, out the doors, into the corridors, Minerva McGonagle following hot on their tails.

Sirius smiled down at the floor because he knew, he finally had a family. Looking up and locking eyes with his younger brother, Regulus, his brother got up and walked across the hall to him.

"Hey Reggie."

"Hey Siri."

Both boys smiled at each other, both missing the other a great amount. Regulus reached into his bag and pulled out a card. It was a simple black one with the words 'happy Birthday, brother. It s a special one this time.' scribbled across it in neat handwriting, that sirius recognised as his brothers, Sirius finally left the tears leave his eyes. Standing up from the chair he was sitting in, he grabbed his btohrr and brought him in for a bone crushing hug. Regulus gladlt returned it and hugged him just as tight.

The hall marvelled at the sight of the two brothers being welcomed with open arms, even after a wall being built around them, confining one to their parents wishes and confining the other to his own.

But their parents weren't around to pick and prod and do worse things to Regulus for hugging his brother, and Sirius was getting exactly what he wanted for his birthday.

The unconditional love and support from his family.

At least the family that mattered to him.

And that would be it. It was super long and I'm sorry for that but this is just how I imagined Sirius' 17th birthday going. Have a great day/night/ whatever. Larb you, and don't you ever forget it

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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turn my touches into neon light (Vanessa x Monique) - Ortega

a/n: i quite simply have no excuse for this, quarantine is clearly making mincemeat of my head and i just don’t give a shit about what i submit anymore, apparently? this is part of the n19f verse and is set in between chapters 16 and 17 but it can be read standalone, there’s nothing really essential to the plot here. the title’s from Bitches (Remix) by Tove Lo bc it was the catalyst to my bisexual awakening xo. anyway if u liked this pls let me know bc this genre is not my strong suit and i would love a crumb of Believing In Myself. (smut. it’s smut.)

summary: Vanessa’s still reeling from Brooke breaking things off with her and she’s not over her yet. Monique is willing to be everything she needs in the meantime.

***

The fairy lights strung up in Monique’s room are soft and warm, her heavy red curtains drawn and shutting all the light out, not as if there’s much light to be let in in the first place. The small black alarm clock on her wooden IKEA bedside table reads 21.24, and Vanessa only arrived a few moments ago from the library after getting a message from Monique saying she’d just bought some good wine that was on offer and she had nobody to drink it with. Vanessa suspects this is a white lie- even though Cracker is out on a date with that Kameron girl she’s seeing and Monet is obviously round at Nina’s (and Brooke’s, she reminds herself with a stab to her heart), Bob’s still in and she could quite easily have shared the wine with her. But then again, Vanessa thinks, biting back a smile, Monique doesn’t have the same relationship with her flatmate as she does with Vanessa.

“Two glasses! I should’ve just brought two straws, but we can at least pretend we’re classy,” Monique announces, almost booting the door off its hinges as she stumbles into her bedroom holding two wine glasses in one hand, a corkscrew in the other, and balancing a bottle of red very precariously in the crook of her elbow. Vanessa laughs, a little thrill running down her spine as Monique’s brilliant white smile gets flashed her way. Her hair’s orange today, a bouncy slick of wavy flames that Vanessa already can’t wait to tear her fingers through, and her eyelids are covered in glitter that’s making her brown eyes sparkle even more than they normally do.

Vanessa watches as Monique launches herself down on the bed beside her, giving scant regard for the glasses in her hand. She places them onto the duvet then begins driving the corkscrew into the top of the bottle.

“Oh shit, this bitch has a cork! We are so classy this evening,” Vanessa murmurs her approval, Monique smiling smugly beside her.

“Bitch, I told you it was good wine! You ain’t believe me or somethin’?” she narrows her eyes, Vanessa protesting with a laugh. Monique gives a little satisfied cry of delight as the cork pops out of the bottle. She snatches up one of the glasses and sloshes the crimson liquid into it, so thick and red that they may as well be drinking blood. Vanessa smiles shyly as Monique passes the glass to her, thanking her as she takes a small sip. This is nice. The wine, the curtains, the twinkling lights. It’s the nicest non-date that Vanessa’s been on in a while.

“See I might be a hoe, but I can be a lady when I want to be,” Monique shrugs lightly as she swirls her own wine around in its glass before taking a long drink. Vanessa lets out a derisive snort.

“You’re not a hoe, shut up.”

Monique fixes Vanessa with a look that makes her melt a little bit. “Bitch, if you don’t think I’m a hoe by now then I’m clearly not doing my job right.”

Vanessa feels herself blushing. It’s out of character for her. She’s so used to being the one with the upper hand, the confident one who knows she can make girls do anything she wants. That’s what she was with Brooke Lynn, anyway. But Monique has this intoxicating mystery to her that keeps Vanessa on her toes, and she’d be lying if she said she didn’t enjoy not being the one calling the shots all the time. Vanessa can’t help but flirt back a little. “Oh, so what is your job?"

"Making you forget about your bitch-ass ex girlfriend?” Monique gestures as if it’s obvious. Vanessa feels another small stab to her gut.

“She wasn’t a bitch, don’t be mean! She just…wanted something else,” she explains, sipping her wine again. She feels her heartbeat accelerate when Monique rests a hand on her thigh.

“Okay, how ‘bout I call her…weird? ‘Cuz if she didn’t want you then that’s weird behaviour,” Monique says matter-of-factly. Vanessa smiles bashfully. She likes being flattered like this, likes being told things she hasn’t heard in a while. Monique brings out a coy, demure side to Vanessa that very rarely gets seen. She is so used to being outspoken, loud, confident, on transmit constantly.

“You can call her weird, then,” Vanessa murmurs, her pitch low as Monique traces patterns across her skin. Vanessa is glad she wore the outfit she did to the library- short denim skirt, oversized red jumper tucked into the waistband of it. Briefly, it flashes through her mind to wonder what underwear she put on this morning. It’s not like her and Monique are together- far from it, they are the definition of friends with benefits- but if the girl’s going to make her come, the least she can do is look presentable for her.

“’M glad you came round,” Monique says quietly, leaning against her purple headboard. Her hair is a shock of orange against the violet fabric. The admission is too soft, hits too close to home. Vanessa doesn’t know if she likes it or if it breaks her heart a bit. It sounds too much like being wanted.

“You would’ve found someone else to sink this with. Bob’s in, isn’t she?” Vanessa argues, unable to accept the compliment.

Monique shrugs her disagreement, her fingers gentle against Vanessa’s skin. “She ain’t Vanessa, though.”

She feels something in her body fizz when she hears Monique say her name; the little lilt to her voice and the way she drags it out like it’s the most beautiful word in the world. Vanessa gives a small shiver as she feels a throb between her legs. She shoots Monique a little smirk. “Stop flirting, bitch.”

Monique shuffles closer, a satisfied look on her face that makes Vanessa feel like a fly caught in a web in the best way possible. “If a cute girl’s in my bed, I’m gonna flirt with her. Sorry. Just facts."

Vanessa wants to reach out and touch Monique, wants her hands all over her body like the other night. Monique’s very experienced, something else that renders Vanessa speechless whenever they sleep with each other. Tentatively, Vanessa replaces her wine glass on one of the bedside tables and rests her free hand on Monique’s hip. The black leggings she’s wearing don’t leave a huge amount to the imagination. Monique senses her hesitation and pouts at her mock-sympathetically. "You know you can touch if you want to, baby.”

Vanessa lets out a little sigh at the pet name, which in turn makes something flash in Monique’s eyes and she goes from stroking the outside of Vanessa’s thigh to the soft skin on the inside. Vanessa wordlessly spreads her legs, the heat between them almost unbearable, and she wonders how Monique can make her so desperate to be touched in so few words and tracings against her skin.

“You’re so easy, Jesus,” Monique teases, and Vanessa is aching to kiss the smirk off her face but loves the anticipation too much to burst the bubble yet.

“You love it,” she bites back quietly, snaking a hand underneath Monique’s cropped t shirt to stroke along her spine. She’s rewarded by Monique throwing one leg over the other, her eyes dark as she looks at her. Monique places her own glass on her bedside table, Vanessa giving a little laugh. “Shit, how long did that last? Five minutes?”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t know exactly why I wanted you round,” Monique retorts. Her hand strokes a little higher. Vanessa bucks her hips a little and Monique gives a little appreciative hum. “Damn. You’re so needy.”

“Be less needy if you weren’t such a tease,” Vanessa is ready with her comeback, Monique biting her lip and smiling as the frustration starts to show a little in Vanessa’s voice.

“I’m not teasin’, you’re just impatient,” Monique shrugs, Vanessa almost crying out in desperation as she pulls away. She’s rewarded when Monique grabs the hem of her top and pulls it over her head to reveal a red lace bralet that Vanessa hasn’t seen her wear before. The colour pops against her dark skin and Vanessa is torn between not taking her eyes off her in it or trying to tear it off her. Monique sees her reaction and replaces her hand between her legs, Vanessa giving a little sigh of anticipation as she speaks. “You like this?”

Vanessa simply nods, too scared that if she replies she’ll end up begging Monique to touch her, so she bites her lip instead. Monique gives a little smirk, takes her hand away again and quickly rips off her leggings to reveal matching red underwear, the top of which curves upwards to expose her hipbones and sits high near her waist. The whole thing makes Vanessa feel like she’s having a heart attack; she can feel her pulse racing. Unable to help herself, Vanessa reaches out, loops a finger under the elastic of the waistband and uses it to pull Monique in to kiss her. When their lips touch, Vanessa has to stop herself from letting out a moan. Monique kisses slowly and unrelentingly, completely ignoring Vanessa’s attempts to speed things up, and when she slides her tongue over Vanessa’s it reminds her of what it can do. Everything is hot and wet and languid and Vanessa can feel herself getting worked up. At this rate it’s not going to take a lot for Monique to make her come apart.

“Fuck, you’re so perfect,” Monique murmurs against her lips, and Vanessa whines like a brat as she tries to grind down against her fingers. Monique smiles smugly at the action, kissing her deeply. Vanessa runs a light hand up and down her back, letting her nails graze her skin slightly because she knows it drives Monique wild. As Monique hums her appreciation against her mouth, Vanessa can’t take it any longer and she throws a leg over Monique’s so that she’s straddling her. The sudden friction almost makes Vanessa’s eyes roll into the back of her head and judging by the expression on Monique’s face her reaction was well received. Vanessa bites back a whimper as Monique drops her lips down to her neck, kissing it slowly once and then a second time.

“You’re the most beautiful fuckin’ girl I’ve ever met, oh my God. I wish you could see yourself right now,” Monique whispers into her ear. Vanessa moans, can feel how wet she is through the fabric of her underwear against Monique’s bare skin, and she blushes as she realises she’s not going to last much longer if Monique keeps talking to her like this. As if she reads her mind, Monique keeps whispering. “I was so gutted when we met at that party because you were seeing that girl, and all I wanted to do was to get you into my room and make you beg for it…you were wearin’ that black satin body and I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you for days…”

Vanessa tilts her head to meet Monique’s lips, brings her jaw up to kiss her messily. As if to fulfil the fantasy Monique’s just told her about, Vanessa breaks away and whispers frantically. “Please, babygirl, please, please, please.”

“What do you want, princess?”

Vanessa is close and the pet name isn’t helping. She lets out a gasp as she bucks her hips, realises Monique’s touching herself with her free hand while the other is ripping out the hem of Vanessa’s sweater where it’s tucked into the waistband of her skirt. “Keep talking, fuck.”

“You want me to tell you how pretty you look, baby? You want me to tell you how fuckin’ pretty you look gettin’ yourself off against my thigh like a desperate lil’ brat?” Monique taunts her, Vanessa giving a squeal as Monique dips her fingers under the cup of her bra and brushes her fingers against one of her nipples. “You’ve not even taken your clothes off and you’re this wound up, fuck, you’re so wet and I’ve not touched you…”

Vanessa’s senses are in overload. Her hair is all in her face, Monique’s still teasing her nipples, and she can feel herself slick against Monique’s skin as she grinds against her thigh. Her clit is throbbing so much she feels like she’s going to explode. “M'nique, I’m gonna…fuck…”

“Go, baby. Do it,” Monique whispers. Her voice is low and sinful and she’s barely whispered her permission before Vanessa is crying out embarrassingly loudly, completely unable to control herself but not able to bring herself to care as she gives another, slightly quieter cry then a tiny squeal as she feels herself shudder, coming down from the high. She’s blushing as she kisses Monique, the other girl smiling against her lips, and Vanessa realises she’s still touching herself. She leans back and smiles, gasping a little and trying to collect herself.

“Shit,” is the first thought she can verbalise, causing Monique to laugh out loud. “That escalated fast.”

Monique nods, smiling guiltily. Vanessa looks at her spread out on the bed; hand down her pants, chest rising and falling quickly, hair spread out against the pillow, and the sheen Vanessa left against her thigh. The sight is enough to make Vanessa run her tongue over her lips slightly.

“You still want me, baby?” she murmurs quietly, Monique pouting and nodding again, a little needy sigh escaping her full lips. Vanessa tugs her sweater over her head, pulls her skirt over her ankles and tosses it onto the floor. She sits up and pats her lap gently. “C'mere."

Monique obediently crawls over to her, sits on her lap and kisses her as Vanessa threads her hands through her long, orange hair.

It’s nice to feel wanted.

#rpdr fanfiction #turn my touches into neon light #ortega #lesbian au #smut #university au #college au #n19f verse #n19f #vanessa vanjie mateo #monique heart #s10 #vanique

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stainandscribble · 4 years

Text

REVENANT (Part 2)

Pairing: Baekhyun X OC (Original Female Character)

Genre: Baekhyun Witch AU; fluff; fantasy; angst

Summary: To witches, names hold power, and Eleonora happens to have a very dangerous gift, one that can be deadly when misused- she has the ability to read names, true names that the witches and warlocks share only with people of utmost trust. It is a secret she hopes to take to her grave. Baekhyun had left his coven, and joined one with Suho’s. They too, possess unspeakable gifts. When Junmyeon warns him of his marriage, Baekhyun begins preparing, but so does Eleonora. With the veil thinning, and the darker half approaching, will their secrets stay safe? Or will the world burn?

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4 PART 5 PART 6 PART 7

Word Count: 2121

A/N: This one is a little short, but part 3 will be coming up sometime at the end of the upcoming week, maybe next Wednesday/Thursday.

Once their meeting had ended, and the two covens parted ways, Baekhyun didn’t know what to do with himself. He tried sitting at home to finish the matching hat and scarf he was making, but he found himself unable to follow the pattern. He tied baking himself something for dessert, but after he burnt the vanilla cupcakes into charcoal he gave up. Instead, he found himself occupied with bouncing the light off of stained-glass windows in his attic, flicking his lights on and off and basking in the sun streaming from his windows.

After a day of this, he decided to sulk around in Suho’s home.

He sat at the table with Junmyeon and Winnie, slumped over the dinner they had graciously provided for him, a bowl of rice and warm stew.

“Was it like this for you?” He finally asked, playing with the broth, the light bouncing off his empty glass in all directions.

“After we left I made the water in my bath float.” Junmyeon confessed, taking hold of Winnie's hand and intertwining their fingers. Winnie smiled at him, before her eyes fell on Baekhyun, an inquisitive look on her face. She supposed it would be interesting to watch her two friends fall in love, especially knowing how stubborn they both could be.

“That is a good thing Baekhyun.” His leader told him, sincerity lacing the warm tones of his voice as he looked at the struggling man, behaving like a lovesick puppy as he moped around at his table.

“That is why we give and receive warnings.” He told him, and Baekhyun looked up from his food to look him directly in the eyes.

“How is this a good thing?”

“Because you are becoming infatuated. And you will later love her.” Junmyeon answered, playing with the spoon in his hands.

“Does she feel like that too?” The curiosity and hopeful tones that broke through Baekhyun’s dejection made Junmyeon laugh. The sound broke through the still air and flew over Baek like a warm shower, making him feel reassured.

“Do you know how many jars exploded when he left?” Winnie asked, giving Junmyeon a sly glance as her lips turned into a smirk. It was a rhetorical question, but Baekhyun wanted to embarrass her anyway. Before he could even open his mouth, Winnie’s steel tone cut him off.

“Don’t ask!”

-----------------

“What is happening to me?” Eleanora asked her mother when she missed another eye in the knitting pattern. By now the jumper looked more like holey cheese than something wearable, and Eleonora was at her wit's end, ready to just start over rather than keep the mess she had so far. The sweet taste of rocky road mixed in with the tang of cherries blossomed on her tongue, and she cursed the fact she could taste her own feelings, along with everyone else’s.

“Are you thinking of Beak?” Her mother asked, smiling knowingly as she put another batch of cookies in the oven. She could taste her mother’s amusement, like lemonade on her tongue, mixed with the minty freshness of relief at the idea that she did think of him.

“No...” Eleonora’s voice faded slowly into nothing, her eyes not meeting her mothers. Despite that, she knew her daughter was frustrated. She knew she was planning on leaving, running somewhere far she had never been to. Eleonora wanted to run, belong to no place, hear no names blaring like bells in her head. She had dreamed of tasting foods and feelings she was unfamiliar with. Now, after the Crone had come to her with a Warning, her plans fell through, and she had to pick up a knitting needle rather than a plane ticket. She was angry, and her mother had no doubt she was bitter too. Bitter, angry, defiant. She knew she could run, fate could not force her to do its bidding, but fate had its ways. Fate had its ways, and it had done what it wanted to her daughter, or so it seemed.

Eleonora watched her mother, bitterness light on her tongue, as she watched her mother think, knowing that there was disappointment in her heart, and defiance too, fainter than her own, but still fragrant.

“That is why they give you Warnings.” Her mother told her, laying her warm hands on Eleonora’s shoulder, squeezing it gently as she threw away her needles.

“To make sure you don’t burn your house down?” She huffed, making her mother laugh.

“More or less.” She nodded, looking behind her shoulder at her husband.

Eleonora’s father rummaged through the fridge, finally pulling the glass sugar bowl out of the fridge, raising it in a toast towards his daughter.

“You have a real talent sweetheart!” He called out, smiling brightly, watching with gleeful eyes as Eleonora sank into the couch with a huff.

“Maybe you should meet up?” Her father suggested, and your mother nodded in agreement, eyes shining.

“I met up with your dad after we met.” She confirmed, looking between her mother and father, and tasting nothing.

“Meet up and go where?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“That nice café down the block? It has Halloween themed desserts right now.” Her mother pointed out, swatting her father’s hands away from the pie

“I eat that every day.” Eleonora complained, and her parent’s amusement flooded her tongue.

“No, you don’t. Don’t be dramatic.” Her mother smiled.

“Off you go. Call him!” Her father ushered her off the couch, walking her towards the door as he handed her mismatched hats and scarves lying about on top of the shoe rack.

“Did they leave their phone numbers?” Eleonora asked, putting her shoes on.

“Yes. Go to the Coven House, The Crone should give it to you.” Her father told her, waving goodbye as she disappeared outside, her figure swallowed by the golden rays of the cool autumn sun.

-------------------

It was only an hour after she left her house, that she found herself sitting in the café right outside of the town square. The pavements outside were littered with golden leaves, the trees that were green and lush only a few months ago were standing nearly bare, ready for their winter sleep. The sun shone but had almost no warmth to it.

“Hello.” Baekhyun said, his voice ringing through the quiet café as he reached her table.

“How are you?” She asked, smiling at him as he sat down across her. His hair was tasselled by the wind, his jumped was fluffy, and the blue denim jacket he wore hung loosely on his shoulders. Despite his slightly dishevelled appearance, his smile was bright, disarmingly so. He seemed to be shining when he grinned.

The two got up to order coffee after he settled down. He paid for Eleonora’s coffee, ordered her cake and toom their tray to their table. All the while, Baekhyun carried the conversation, joking with Eleonora about Halloween, laughing at the infinite number of pumpkin-spiced treats, pointing out the witch cut-outs decorating the café.

“Do we really look like that?” He smiled when they finally sat down, eyes glued to the window decal right beside him. Eleonora laughed, shaking her head, the sweet taste of chocolate and cherry that made up rocky road thick in her tongue now that Baekhyun sat in front of her.

“I burned the cupcakes.” Baekhyun confessed to her, his fingers fidgeted with the small silver dessert fork. His eyes no longer met hers as a shy blush dusted his cheeks.

“I burned the apple pie and put the sugar into the fridge.” Eleonora confessed, remembering her father pulling it out along with the milk.

“I always wondered why they call it a warning.” Baekhyun mused, eyes falling on Eleonora, where they stayed. Their intensity burning into her.

“This is nice.” Eleonora whispered, taking another bite of cake.

“It is.” Baekhyun nodded, looking at her over his coffee.

They sat in comfortable silence, enjoying the sweet cake and warm coffee, watching life happen outside, unaware that a great and old magic was taking place around them. The smell of burning hung in the air, and both Baekhyun and Eleonora smelled it. They felt the chill of the autumn air and the draft coming through the Thinning Veil that came with it. Their eyes rested on the charms each one wore as protection. The pretty copper bracelets, and the charms that hung on chains around their necks, all meant to ward off evil spirits as the darker half approached.

“What does your coven think of me?” She broke the silence, and Baekhyun’s gaze was piercing, looking through her as if he was looking for something. For a moment he didn’t speak, and she could taste an inner battle on her tongue.

“They find your empathy quite interesting. They started wondering what feelings taste like.” He spoke, his voice even and serious, the playful tone was gone.

“Do you know what romantic love tastes like?” He asked as the world seemed to shine a little brighter as excitement and curiosity returned to his voice. Eleonora shook her head, and for a moment, she could see Baekhyun’s grin falter, and the light in his eyes dim a little. She scrambled for a better answer, something to explain why that was.

“I know what infatuation tastes like though.” She quipped, sheepishly turning her head away from his. She hoped he would not see the blush rising on her cheeks, but the light giggle had told her he already had.

“What is it?” He asked, leaning closer, the playful glimmer in his brown eyes seemed golden, and Eleonora relented, turning back and looking at him with a serious expression, the blush now gone from her cheeks.

“Rocky Road ice cream.” She stated. Her straight face did not match the response she gave him, and Baekhyun could not help but laugh, the sound light and contagious, coaxing Eleonora’s laugh.

“Why?” He asked through deep breaths, eyes confidently looking her over.

“It’s exciting, I guess.” She sipped on her drink, her gaze matching Baekhyun’s.

“Do you want to get some ice cream?” He asked, getting up from his seat and extending his hand so she could grab it.

“Now?” Eleonora asked, watching him nod eagerly.

“Now.”

“Come on.” He said, grabbing her hand and walking out of the coffee shop, their hands clasped together loosely.

--------------------

The ice cream parlour wasn’t far away, since most cafes were situated in the town square. The walls outside were painted a bubble gum pink, and inside they were painted a pastel yellow, with flowers and pot plants decorating the interior. An older witch from her coven ran the place, and Eleonora had greeted her with a kiss on the cheek, as the elder gave her a sly wink, looking from her to her hand, still in Baekhyun’s own.

They had ordered their ice cream, and walked off into the town, passing through alleys, dried leaves crumbling under their shoes and the autumn sun painting everything golden.

“Is this what being with me tastes like?” Baekhyun asked, licking his ice cream. he had insisted on getting rocky road, while Eleonora went for one of the more unusual flavours they were serving- a rose sorbet. Truthfully, she had been tasting the decadent flavour so much she wanted something different for a change, something to cleanse her palette.

“Sure.” She nodded, stirring Baekhyun into a shortcut that would take them to the park.

“You said you can taste feelings. Surely you have been around people in love before.” He mentioned. taking her hand in a firmer hold.

“There are limitations to every gift.” She mused, eyes looking up into the sky, the sunset turning the sky various hues of pink and orange.

“I can only taste the feelings I have felt myself.” She told him, licking her ice cream as they walked. Baekhyun pondered over her words and she began explaining.

“If I have never felt something, I cannot taste it.” Eleanora kicked up some of the golden leaves lying on the pavement.

Baekhyun smiled, the prospect of being the one to make her finally taste romantic love was exciting. So exciting in fact, that the sunset lasts longer than usual that day, and when he had come home, he watched as all the lightbulbs in his home exploded, one by one as he turned the lights off. For the rest of the night, he had played with the silk moonlight streaming through his windows, the candles burning yellow flames around him.

He thought about what Eleonora said, about being with him tasting like something exciting and decadent, and he began wondering, once the infatuation is gone, and love settles in, what would it taste like?

#baekhyun #EXO baekhyun #byun baekhyun #exo fanfiction #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun fluff #baekyun fanfiction #baekhyun x oc #witch!baekhyun #exo witch au #exo fantasy au #baekhyun fantasy au #exo fluff #kpop fanfic #kpop fluff #exo au #baekhyun series #exo x oc

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afjakwritesarchive · 5 years

Note

usuk fic?? much angst??? soulmate au where everything you write on your wrist goes on your soulmates??????????? and maybe alfred is blind? so he cant see anything written there much less reply? so arthur thinks he aint got no soulmate? jgbshajhygvshuytb i love your writingg hhhhh i read all your usuk fanfics in like a day

Title: you were right here all the time (i was blind)Pairing: USUKWords: 3,114AU: Human/SoulmateGenre: Romance/AngstSummary: Arthur grows up believing he has no soulmate. Then he runs into him in a grocery store.A/N: Wow! I can’t believe it’s been over a month since my last post! I changed the prompt a little, but I hope you like it nonetheless. Title taken from OK GO’s Skyscrapers. !!! TW for mentions of self harm and alcoholism !!!

Arthur was six years old the first time he saw his father’s neat handwriting appear seemingly by magic upon the back of his mother’s pale, freckled hand.

“Mum, what’s that?” He asked, forest green eyes peering curiously at her hand.

Alice’s eyes–the same sparkling green as Arthur’s–flitted downward and a soft, fond smile stretched across her slim face. “Your father’s making a grocery list,” she said gently, watching as the words appeared letter-by-letter upon the milky white skin of her hand.

Milk, tomatoes, butter, tea, spaghetti noodles.

Alice smiled and reached into her pocket, extracting a pen. Don’t forget bread, she added in her loopy cursive script. Arthur watched in wide-eyed fascination as more words appeared below hers, again in his father’s handwriting. Right. Love you.

I love you too, wrote Alice in return before raising her eyes to her son’s face and giggling at the starstruck expression he wore.

“Mum, are you and dad magic?!” Asked Arthur excitedly.

Alice’s giggle turned into a full-on laugh. She reached out, resting her ink-covered hand over Arthur’s shoulder and smiling broadly at him. “No, sweetheart, although I believe there’s a certain magic about your father and I share. We’re soulmates.”

“Soulmates?” Arthur echoed curiously. He’d heard the word more times than he could count, but he’d never fully understood its meaning.

“Yes. When people are meant to be together, they can communicate in a way they can’t with others. Whatever your soulmate writes on themselves will appear on you, and vice versa. Your father and I are soulmates, which is why we can write back and forth to each other.”

“When can you start writing to your soulmate?”

“Well, you have to know how to write first. Your father wrote to me for the first time when I was only two–he’s six years older than me, so it took me a while before I could write back. But once I could we wrote to each other every day.”

Arthur peered down at his mother’s other hand, which was empty of words, and then down to his own pale palm. “Do I have a soulmate?”

“Of course,” she said. “Everyone does, either platonic or romantic.”

“Can I write to them?”

“Yes, if you want,” she said, smiling gently.

Arthur reached for the pen and put it to his arm, writing the words Hello soulmate in the messy script of a six-year-old. His mother grinned and moved her hand from his shoulder to his head, ruffling his pale blond hair affectionately.

“We’ll have to wait for them to respond now.”

“How long will it take?” Arthur questioned.

“That’s up to them,” Alice replied gently.

Arthur never got a response.

As the years wore on, Arthur wrote to his soulmate daily. When he was nine and still hadn’t received a response, his mother assured him that there was nothing to worry about. Perhaps he was older than his his soulmate, she suggested, like she and his father. His soulmate may not have been able to write back yet; or, perhaps, they weren’t even born yet.

When Arthur was twelve and still hadn’t received a response, his father patted him on the back and told him that sometimes people got nervous about responding. He had felt strange about replying to Arthur’s mother at times, he said, because she was so much younger than him and wanted to talk about their relationship. Perhaps Arthur’s soulmate could tell that he was much younger and felt uncomfortable writing back, too.

When Arthur was fourteen, Arthur shed the first of many tears over his absent soulmate. His best friend, Francis, rested his ink-covered palm over Arthur’s blank one and promised Arthur that his soulmate was out there. That night, Arthur put a pen to his arm and wrote please, please be out there.

When Arthur was seventeen, he accepted the fact that he had no perfect match. That night he took something much sharper than a pen to his wrist.

When Arthur was twenty-eight, he started writing to his soulmate again. He knew, realistically, that he didn’t have one; he’d long since come to terms with the fact that he was one of those extraordinarily rare individuals who had no ideally-suited match. In his teenage years, the knowledge that he was destined to be alone had resulted in more nights with his fingers clasped around a bottle or a blade than he could count, but he’d long since cleaned up his act. Knowing that he would never have something 99% of the population had–especially when that something was so beautiful–was painful, of course, but he wasn’t entirely alone.

There were people with awful soulmates, people whose soulmates were abusers. There were people whose soulmates were dead or dying. There were people who disliked their soulmates or had fallen out of love with them; it wasn’t uncommon for married soulmates to get divorced and re-marry someone outside of their match these days, although some still considered it taboo.

Arthur could accept that, he thought. He could be happy falling in love with someone outside of a match, if he ever found them. After all, love was what one made it; if two people really loved each other, they could make it work no matter the odds. At least, that was what his friends and family had told him. Arthur didn’t know if he was totally sold on the idea of “true love” yet. How could he be, when the universe was clearly trying to tell him that it couldn’t happen for him?

Nonetheless, he’d started to write on himself again as a way to cope. It was nice to write to his soulmate, even if he knew that he was writing to a person who didn’t exist. He covered himself from elbow to wrist, thigh to ankle, in ink. He wrote about his hopes and dreams, his fears, his day, anything and everything that came to him. He liked the idea of his soulmate reading his words and being comforted by them, although he knew it was impossible.

Today, Arthur jotted a grocery list down on the heel of his palm the way he’d seen his father do all those years ago. He even signed it with an I love you, and imagined his soulmate taking up a pen the way his mother had and writing a soft, I love you too in return.

The walk to the supermarket was a calm and easy one. The sun was low in the sky, the world awash with its golden light. It was warm enough that Arthur didn’t even bother with a jacket, and he’d rolled his jumper up to the elbows. It used to embarrass him, having all of the ink he covered himself in on display, but now he rather enjoyed how normal it made him feel. People would walk by and smile, complimenting him on how sweet he and his soulmate were for writing so much to each other, and Arthur would get to pretend, if only for a moment, that there was someone out there writing back to him.

Arthur entered the supermarket, scooping up a basket on his way in. He walked slowly through the aisles, taking his time to find what he needed. He’d stopped and was reaching out to grab some tea when an older woman approached with a smile, patting his shoulder. “You and your soulmate are so sweet, writing to each other like that,” she said, eyes glittering with sincere happiness.

Arthur smiled softly down at her, “thank you, miss.”

“It’s adorable that you write to each other even though you’re together now, too. People must compliment the two of you all the time!”

Arthur’s thick brows furrowed and he blinked, confused. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure what you mean. I haven’t met my soulmate yet,” he lied, because it was easier than explaining that he was pathetic enough to write to someone who didn’t exist.

“Oh! I’m sorry, dear. I saw a man with arms covered like yours in the next aisle over and assumed he was with you because the handwriting looked similar. I’m sorry to bother you, then!” She chuckled, patting his shoulder lightly before turning and walking off.

Arthur paused, watching her leave with widened eyes. There couldn’t… She couldn’t have seen… No. It was impossible. Arthur didn’t have a soulmate; it was just a coincidence, surely. There were other people who wrote a lot to each other; it wasn’t as if he was the only one with ink-covered arms. There was no use getting his hopes over nothing.

And yet, Arthur felt his heart beating faster in his chest, and a feeling eh couldn’t place had settled over him. It was something like longing, something urging him to investigate, to seek out this man. But why? Surely he had no soulmate, so why work himself up? His soulmate wouldn’t had gone all these years without ever writing back to him… Would they?

Before Arthur could stop himself, he was turning on his heel and rushing into the next aisle. It was empty, aside from two tall, blond men standing side-by-side at the opposite end. They were nearly identical in appearance; twins, most likely. One had a pair of round glasses and was scanning the shelf while the other had his back to Arthur and was speaking animatedly, arms moving wildly as he spoke. Sure enough, in his sky blue t-shirt, his ink-covered arms were clearly visible. Arthur was standing too far away to make out any of the words or the handwriting, but something about the sight made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

Self-conscious, Arthur rolled down the sleeves of his deep green jumper to hide his writing. His heart was racing and he didn’t know why. He tried to convince himself that it didn’t matter what was written on the man’s arms because he had no soulmate, but he couldn’t make himself walk away. In fact, his feet began to carry him forward, toward the two pair of men, until he was approaching the one with his back turned.

“Excuse me,” he said. The man with his back turned jumped, startled, and whirled around. His twin placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“It’s okay, Al,” said the one with round glasses before meeting Arthur’s gaze over his brother’s shoulder and smiling politely. “Hello,” he greeted, obviously confused by the stranger who had approached.

“Hi,” Arthur said, shifting his weight from foot to foot and feeling incredibly foolish. “I couldn’t help but to notice your arms. I-I just think it’s so sweet, how much you and your soulmate write to each other,” he said, parroting the words of the woman from before. He couldn’t bring himself to look down and scan the man’s arms, nor could he bring himself to look up into the man’s face, so instead he settled for looking past him to his twin.

“Oh,” said the man–Al, as his twin had called him–sheepishly. “Thanks! I guess they write to me a lot. I think it’s sweet too!”

“They sure write a lot,” his twin added with a smile, “Alfred already had words on him when he was born.”

Arthur still hadn’t brought himself to look into the man’s face or at his arms. “Is that so? That must have been quite the surprise for your parents. Would you mind if I…?” Arthur trailed off, freckled cheeks flushing awkwardly.

“Oh! Sure!” The man exclaimed, raising an arm slightly. “I’m Alfred, by the way, and that’s Matthew.”

Arthur barely had the sense to give Alfred his name in return, already reaching out to take Alfred’s arm in his hand. He’d hardly taken a glance at his the man’s arm when he paled, his familiar script unmistakable to him. He glanced down and caught sight of the shopping list he’d written less than an hour ago on Alfred’s palm. The sight of his “I love you” on Alfred’s tan hand made his heart ache.

“What’s wrong?” Matthew asked, seeming to realize that something was off based on the ghost like paleness of Arthur’s face.

“I-I…” Arthur trailed off and slowly released Alfred’s arm. He was still reeling from the shock of what was happening, but he managed to pull up one of his sleeves to reveal the identical writing along his arm. Not once had he looked into Alfred’s face, unable to meet the man’s eyes knowing what he knew. So he had a soulmate after all, and somehow it was still painful. Arthur had hoped and prayed for this for years, and yet now that it was happening all he could feel was pain. Obviously Alfred didn’t want him–why else would he have never responded?

Matthew’s eyes flickered from Alfred’s arm to Arthur’s and back. His jaw fell open. “Oh my god,” he gasped.

“What? Mattie, what’s wrong?” Alfred asked, as if he were entirely oblivious to the entire encounter. Arthur felt a bit of rage flare up within him at that; how could Alfred act so unaware? How could his soulmate be someone so cruel?

“Al, you–This is–your arms match! This is your soulmate!” Matthew cried, still gaping.

“What?!” Alfred cried incredulously, his voice taking on a sweet, sing-song quality out of excitement. “Oh my god, it’s so nice to meet you! You said it was Arthur, right? That’s such a cute name. I love your accent too! I-I can’t believe you’re here, oh my god, I wanna know everything! You’re from England, right? How old are you? What are your hobbies? What do you–”

“Al, give him a chance to breathe!” Matthew cut in hurriedly, seeming to note the distress written across Arthur’s handsome face.

Despite Alfred’s obvious enthusiasm, Arthur was incredibly confused and more than a little angry. How could he act so excited and happy as if he hadn’t left Arthur alone and thinking he didn’t have a soulmate for most of his life? Rage was burning hot within him, forcing its way out of his body in the form of hot tears that gathered in the corner of his virescent eyes. Arthur finally gathered the courage to raise his head and look into his soulmate’s face for the first time, fixing him with a heated glare.

Alfred was grinning widely, his smile by far the most beautiful thing Arthur had ever seen. His eyes were a gorgeous, striking blue with flecks of gold and his thick lashes made them look even larger than they were. Excitement was clear in his expression, and yet there was something slightly off. Alfred wasn’t looking into Arthur’s face and rather at the top of his head, perhaps a little past him.

“Why did you never write back?” Arthur demanded, ignoring his soulmate’s confusing behavior. “I spent all this time thinking I had no one! I wrote to you every single night for years, begging you to respond to me! I-I thought I was destined to be alone forever, and you let me! How could you?!” He asked, immediately turning on his heel and making to run.

“Wait!” Matthew cried, pushing past Alfred to grab Arthur by the wrist. Arthur stopped, astonished, and whipped around to glare at him.

“Why the hell are you defending him?! Let go of me!” Arthur yanked his wrist out of Matthew’s strong hand, punctuating his action with a string of loud curse words.

“I’m blind!” Alfred suddenly shouted over Arthur, taking a few steps forward until his shoulder bumped against Matthew’s. “I’m so sorry, I-I know I must have hurt you, but I swear I didn’t mean to! Sometimes Mattie read them to me, but I could never respond because I don’t write very well. Please, please don’t go,” he begged, and Arthur noted with rapidly growing horror that tears had appeared in the corners of Alfred’s eyes too.

“You’re blind,” Arthur said, a stab of guilt cutting through him as he spoke. “Oh my god, you’re blind.”

Alfred’s cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment. “I’m so sorry,” he said, “I promise I didn’t mean to make you feel alone, and I understand if you’re still angry, but… Please don’t go.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Arthur asked, shaking his head rapidly. Tears were springing to his eyes again, but this time they were from relief. “Oh my god, I’m such an arse. I can’t believe I just yelled at you for being blind.”

“It’s okay,” Alfred said, a bit of laughter escaping him, “you’re kind of a hothead, aren’t you?”

Arthur’s cheeks flooded with heat, still feeling extremely guilty for his outburst. “Again, I apologize. If you’d give me a chance, I’d love to make a better second impression,” he said, and flashed a sheepishly apologetic smile at Matthew, who was watching the scene unfold.

Alfred beamed, his eyes still looking a little past Arthur. “Dude, I’m just glad you still want me,” he laughed. “You sounded pretty angry there for a second.”

Arthur couldn’t help but to laugh a little, years of hurt seeming to melt away within seconds when faced with Alfred’s carefree smile. “Of course I do.”

“In that case, would you mind if I felt your face? Nothing creepy, it’s just to get a sense of what you look like.”

“Of course,” Arthur said. Alfred raised his hands and Arthur took them gently in his own, guiding them to his face.

“You’re short,” Alfred said with a startled laugh. “Have I been looking past you this whole time?”

“It’s alright,” Arthur said, flushing when the American’s warm palms came to rest on his cheeks. Slowly, gently, Alfred’s hands moved across his face; when his thumb brushed along Arthur’s lips, he let out a little hum of appreciation that had Arthur going cherry red.

“You have soft skin,” Alfred mused. “What color?”

Arthur was half-tempted to lie, if only to make himself seem more attractive, but he knew that wouldn’t be fair. “Pale as a ghost and covered in freckles,” he sighed, resigned to his fate.

“Cute,” Alfred replied. “What color are your eyes?” He asked as he brushed his thumb gently along Arthur’s thick lashes.

“Green,” Arthur supplied.

“You’re really handsome.”

Arthur flushed. “Thank you. You are, too.”

Alfred’s smile widened. “Really?”

“Of course,” Arthur said, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in his voice. “You’re gorgeous.”

Alfred’s cheeks went delightfully red and he opened his mouth to say something back, only to stall when his fingers ran across Arthur’s thick eyebrows. “Holy shit, your eyebrows are huge!” He exclaimed loudly, still with a happy smile stuck upon his face.

Arthur was so lovestruck, he couldn’t even find it in him to be mad.

#aph #aph fic #usuk #usuk fic #soulmate au #hetalia #hetalia fic #arthur kirkland #alfred f jones #aph america #aph england #my writing #matthew williams #aph canada #hope y'all like this!!#i need to write more blind alfred he's so good

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donttellstiles · 4 years

Text

Magic Bullet

MAGIC BULLET

CH.4

unedited

♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦

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I was beyond Happy when I head my Aunt Kate was here. I quickly bounced out of bed and rushed over towards the guest bedroom down stairs after I'd finished breakfast. Once I saw the door was wide open I squealed in excitement and rushed in, Kate turning around with a huge smile on her face.

She laughs with me and gives me a big hug. I pull away and excitedly jump onto the bed, eagerly wanting to hear what she has been up to lately.

''God I've missed you...'' She trails off as she skims over my pj's.

''And your crazy socks!'' She finishes. I was known by always mis-matching my socks with any outfit I wore, even my pyjamas.

''I can't believe I don't see you for a year and you turn into a freaking runway model? Look at you! Ugh, I hate you'' I shy away and put a hand in front of my face.

''I haven't even showered yet'' It was nice to know that I've grown a bit over the year. The last year had been the... hardest on me. School wise and body wise.

''Sweetie you're a knock out. In fact, I hope you have the boys knocking each others teeth out for your attention'' I giggled and blushed at the compliment.

''I kind of have a lot'' I murmured. She smirked proudly.

''That's my girl, you have a lot? Well you should kinda have a million'' I laughed happily at this.

''Do you need some help unpacking?'' I reached forwards but as soon as I did she gripped my wrist tightly, preventing my movements. It was so tight that it actually hurt.

''No, not that one'' I frowned. She must have saw this because I heard her sigh and slowly release my wrist.

''See? You turn out beautiful and I end up with this Kung Fu death grip'' She jokes, both of us laughing once again.

''Sorry, Sweetie, I didn't mean to be so rough'' I could hear how genuine she was.

''No worries'' I piped up as I hoped of the bed and made my way out of the room as she headed into her en-suite. I frowned to myself as I left, walking back out into the kitchen.

That was beyond strange.

~*~*~*~*

''If Derek Isn't the Alpha, if he's not the one that bit you, then who did?'' Stiles tapped the back of Scott's during History.

''I don't know'' Scott shakes his head in confusion.

''Did the Alpha kill the bus driver?'' Stiles lent forward to whisper to Scott.

''I don't know'' Scott replied again. Stiles pulled back harshly in his chair and sighed to himself. His eyes soon widened.

''Does Allison's dad know about the-'' He was cut off.

''I don't know!'' Scott snapped as soon as he turned around to face Stiles. It was loud enough for the whole class to hear. Once they had lost interest Scott turned back around and lowered his head.

He kept his head down till the graded paper came around. Once his was in front of him he picked it up and read it with a frown, not realising his best friend was reading it over his shoulder.

''Dude, you need to study more'' Scott put the piece of paper down and ignored Stiles.

''That was a joke. Scott, it's one test. You're going to make it up'' Stiles encouraged with a warm smile.

''Do you want help studying?'' He offered.

''No'' Scott sighs.

''I'm studying with Allison after school'' Scott says. Stiles perks up and smirks.

''That's my boy'' He bellows. Scott turns his head slightly.

''We're just studying'' He states.

''Uh-uh. No, you're not'' Stiles shakes his head, frazzled.

''No, I'm not?'' Scott questions back confused.

''Not if I am forced to live vicariously through you. If you go to her house today and squander that colossal opportunity, I-i swear to god I'll have you de-balled-''

''Okay'' Scott soon got the picture.

''Just, stop with the questions, man'' Scott murmurs over his shoulder

''Done. No more questions. No more talk about the Alpha or Derek. Especially Derek, who still scares me''

~*~*~*~*

‘'You know you're kind of an ass to her'' I spoke up to Jackson as he fished out things from his locker. He turned to me and frowned before returning to what he was doing.

''I know'' was all he said. I furrowed my eyebrows.

''So why?'' I asked, I was curious by nature. He sighs and peeks at me from behind his locker.

''It's who I am, come on, you've known me for a week, you really going to try and psychoanalyze me in such a short period of time?'' I huffed and crossed my arms over my chest.

''I am not trying to psychoanalyze you, just trying to get to know you better, see into your dark soul and yada-yada'' With this the both of us share a laugh.

''Come on, lighten up Mr Broody'' I playfully slapped his shoulder and he smiled.

''Why are you defending Lydia anyway? I thought you hated her'' That was a good question. I pondered over the question for a minute.

''She's not all bad I guess'' I answered. He smirked and looked over at me.

''Looks like Miss Perfect does have a heart after all'' I playfully shoved him causing up both to laugh even harder this time. It was nice to have a genuine friend.

''Where's Scott McCall?'' came a deep male voice from behind Jackson. I looked up to see a sickly pale, dark haired guy who looked as if he was very ill. Jackson closed his locker slowly before turning to face the stranger.

''Why should I tell you?'' Now was probably not the time to be a smart-ass Jackson.

''Because I asked you politely'' This guy was beginning to give me the heeby jeebies.

''Jackson?'' I spoke up, gaining both of their attention.

''Where's Scott McCall?'' The guy now turned to ask me, stepping closer. He seemed to say it with such authority that it made me cower slightly. Jackson stood in front of me.

''Hmm, okay, tough guy. How about I help you find him if you tell me what you've been selling him'' Selling? Scott? He didn't seem like the guy to be taking drugs.

''What is it? Is it Dianabol? Hmm? HGH?'' Scott's on steroids?

''Steroids?'' The mystery guy responded.

''No, girl scout cookies'' I rolled my eyes and uncrossed my arms at Jackson's remark.

''I'm leaving'' I put my arms up in mock surrender before turning to walk away. There was no way in hell I wanted to be apart of that conversation with... them any longer. The guy gave me the creeps. And he smelt, awful.

I walked around the corner and spotted Ally and Lydia walking up the stairs. I quickly rushed over to them, as fast as I could in high heeled boots.

''Scott's coming over, tonight?'' I heard Lydia ask Allison in a tone.

''We're just studying together'' She defends.

''Just studying never ends with just studying'' I almost wanted to puke by what she was insinuating.

''Gross, Lydia'' I spoke up, catching both of their attention. She turned to face me and rolled her eyes.

''As if you've never 'studied' with a guy before'' She says with sass, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she walked up the steps. Allison stopped to face me but I quickly glared at her, telling her to keep her mouth shut.

''So, what are you saying?'' Allison asked Lydia, getting her to stop once again.

''I'm just saying, you know, make sure he covers up'' She has got to be kidding me. I rolled my eyes as I walked up along Allison's side.

Poor Allison seem confused. Lydia rolled her eyes once again.

''Hello, Snow White, I'm talking about a condom'' With this her eyes widen. Both Allison and I laugh.

''Are you kidding? After one date?'' I spoke up for my sister. Lydia turns to me and smirks.

''Don't be a total prude like your sister'' I loved how Lydia just assumes stuff.

''Give him a little taste'' Lydia says to Allison.

''Well, I mean, how much is a little taste'' I had wanted to hit my head against the bricked wall.

''Oh, god. You really like him, don't you?'' She asked, slight aww in her tone.

''Well, he's just different'' I kept listening to their conversation as all three of us climbed the remaining steps, turning to walk down the hallway.

''When I first moved I had a plan, no boyfriends till college I just, move to much. But then I met him and... I don't know, I can't explain it'' Allison rambled on causing me to smile.

''I can, it's your brain flooding with phenlythylamine'' I piped up once again, both of them stopping to face me. Allison was confused while Lydia just nodded her head in agreement.

''What?'' Allison laughed confused.

''Don't worry'' I responded.

''I'll tell you what to do, when is he coming over?'' Lydia continued on with the conversation, Allison's attention now back on her.

''Right after school''

~*~*~*~*

I was happy to hear the home bell ring. I raced out of class and over towards my car which was parked in the middle of the parking bay. I went to unlock my door when I began to hear cars honking. Confused, I turned around to see a pile of cars behind an old blue jeep.

''What the hell?'' I popped the keys back into my jacket pocket and jogged over towards the blue jeep noticing three guys there. The one lying on the ground being the same guy from earlier today.

''Are you okay?'' the other two quickly turned to face me with raised eyebrows. I recognised Scott and Cutie.

''Scott?'' Brown eye's seemed to dim a little before he turned to face Scott who was looking at me with wide eyes.

''U-u-um Avery, it's okay, we've got this'' I shook my head, noticing the guy on the ground was bleeding.

''He's severely injured, we need to take him to the hospital'' I spoke, walking forward to kneel on the ground beside the guy. The guy groans and tenses in pain.

''What are you doing? Stop that!'' Scott yelled at the guy. I glanced over at Scott with a 'what the hell?' look

''That's what I'm trying to tell you, I can't''

''Scott pass me your jumper'' I spoke up, grabbing onto the guys bicep causing him to jerk in pain. I could have sworn I heard him growl but I ignored it.

''What?'' Scott asks confused.

''Your jumper, now!'' I urged. He swiftly pulled it of and passed it to me.

''What are you doing?'' He asks.

''I'm making a tourniquet to reduce the bleeding'' I explained as I began to wrap the jumper up into a make shift rope, tying it around the guys bicep making him groan in pain.

''Derek, get up'' Scott says sternly. Wait, they knew him?

''Help me put him in your car'' Scott asks his friend to help lift him. They both placed him int the passenger seat of the car, closing the door. I walked over towards the car and opened the drivers seat.

''Uhhh, what are you doing?'' Brown eyes spoke up once he saw you climb into his jeep.

''Coming, duh'' I spoke out before piling into the backseat before either boy could argue.

''Why should I help you?'' I listened in now into Scott's and Derek's conversation.

''Because you need me'' Scott is on drugs and this is his meth dealer, great. Allison is dating a total junkie.

''Hey, get him outta here'' Scott says to his friend as he hops into the car.

''I hate you for this, so much'' He turns over the engine and begins to leave the school parking lot. I frown to myself and pull out my phone, debating whether or not to text Ally.

I notice after a few minutes that we weren't travelling in the direction of the hospital.

''You should have taken the turn a few miles back for the hospital'' I spoke up, brown eyes looking at me through the mirror.

''We're not going to the hospital'' he says, then looks like he quickly regrets it. I lean forward in between the two chairs.

''No, we have to go back' I say urgently.

''He'll bleed out and possibly lose his arm! This is serious!'' I spoke again. The boy turns to face me and frowns, shaking his head as he glances over at Derek.

''He won't'' He stiffly replies.

''Like hell he won't, turn around'' I was rarely bossy, but in circumstances like these I was.

''No'' I narrowed my eyes into slits.

''Are you insane? Do you want him to die?'' I ask exasperated.

''He's not going to die...come on!'' He looks at his phone then throws it back down onto his seat.

''Hey, try not to bleed out on my seats, okay?'' I was beyond disgusted at this point. How could Scott be friends with this guy.

''He can't control his bleeding you asshole!'' I yelled. He seemed to ignore me.

''Where almost there'' He speaks.

''Almost where?'' Derek asks, still grunting in pain.

''Your house'' Stiles add.

''What? No, you can't take me there'' Derek sounds like he's becoming worried. I don't blame him.

''I can't take you to your own house?'' I wanted to strangle him. I was about to speak up when I was beaten to it.

''Not when I can't protect myself'' Derek chirps. He quickly swerves his jeep over to the side and and turns the engine off.

''What happens when Scott doesn't find your little magic bullet? hmm?'' Thy can not be seriously talking about making drugs right now. Now Scott was a messenger boy to get drugs or... make drugs?

''Start the car, now'' Derek breathes heavily.

''I don't think you should be barking orders wit the way you look. In fact, I think if I wanted to, I could probably drag your little werewolf ass out into the middle of the road and leave you for dead'' Once again I turned to glare at the boy.

''Start the car, or I'm going to rip her throat out with my teeth'' Just as your mind ha just registered the word werewolf, my eyes widened at this statement.

''You touch her and I'll-''

I feel Derek soon reach for my arm, tugging me forwards aggressively as he pulls my head over the seat. The engine soon starts and my arm is let go, my body jerking back with the car taking off. I try to calm my racing heart as I lean as far back as I can.

''Let me out of this car'' I spoke up in a timid voice. Derek doesn't acknowledge me while brown eyed boy looks at me sadly.

''Let me out of this car right now or I am calling the police!'' I yelled, tears blurring my vision. Derek doesn't flinch whereas the other guy does. He glances down and sadly sighs, shaking his head.

''I can't, not till I get a hold of Scott'' he says it like he felt guilty. I reached for my phone and started dialing 911.

''My dads the sheriff...'' I look up in surprise, my eyes still coated with un-shed tears. It almost started to feel like I couldn't breathe inside this jeep.

''I need you to trust me, ok?'' I stared at him in disbelief. Trust him?

I slowly shook my head, pulling the phone slowly away from my ear. I hung up swiftly and placed the phone onto my lap.

''Thank you'' He rushes out, reaching for his phone as soon as it began to rang.

''What am I supposed to do with him Scott?'' I perked up at the mention of Scott's name. It's silent for a moment before he smells.

''And by the way Avery is totally freaking out here and I have no idea what to do, Derek's smelling like-'' He stops abruptly then doesn't speak for a few seconds.

''Like death'' again, silence.

''What about your boss?'' He asks.

''You're not gonna believe where he's telling me to take you'' He sighs and passes the phone over to Derek.

''Did you find it?'' All this over some petty drugs?

''If you don't find it, then I'm dead, alright?''

''I'm beginning to think that's not such a bad thing'' I murmur underneath my breath but obviously the boy heard me and smiled softly.

''The Alpha called you out against your will. He's do it again. Next time, you either kill with him or you get killed'' My eyes almost felt like they were going to fall out of my head. Alpha? Kill? Be killed? What kind of sick, twisted game was this?

''So if you want to stay alive, find the bullet'' Derek hangs up.

''Wait, this whole time you're talking about an actual bullet? like a gun bullet?'' I only heard the both of them sigh in response.

~*~*~*~*

''Okay, okay'' The boy beside me tried to wiggle out of Derek's firm grasp. He also had his other hand on me, leading me inside the animal clinic. I groaned and realised that I may have just gotten myself into some shit. I was just trying to be nice.

''Can you get your hands off of me Creep?'' I groaned out, trying to shake him off of me. Even in his wounded state he seemed to be stronger than me.

''Look she has no part of this okay? Just let her go'' The boy pleaded with him once he had let us both go. He soon came over and stood right beside me at the opposite side of the bench of Derek. I couldn't control my hands from shaking with fear.

It wasn't till I felt a small arm on my back where I began to calm down a little.

''She's an Argent, of course she's involved in this'' Derek groaned out, ripping of his shirt. If it wasn't for the fact that this guy was indeed a freaking psycho I may have awwed over his perfectly god like body.

''But she doesn't know, please'' The boy beside me begged. He had certainly changed his attitude since the car. For some reason I felt more safe around him then Derek opposite us, that may have been the only reason why I lent into his side.

I heard a phone soon chirp in the silent, the boy quickly reaching for his phone.

''Does Nordic Blue Monkshood mean anything to you?'' The boy asks, now looking Derek straight in the eye as he continuously groaned in pain.

''Aconit Napel bleu nordique?'' I questioned very confused. Derek looks at me as if I just said the winning answer.

''It's rare form of wolfsbane, he has to bring me the bullet'' Derek says, now resting against the bench.

''Why?'' The boy questioned before I could. He seemed to be just as curious as me.

''Because I'm going to do without it'' Derek says seriously. It felt like a chilling shiver was going through my spine with these words. I'm about to watch someone die. It was also the first time I bothered to glance down at his wound. It was making me sick to my stomach.

''You know, that really doesn't look like anything some echinacea and a good nights sleep couldn't take care of'' If Stiles wasn't so worried he would be very proud of the brunette standing beside him.

''Once the infection reaches my heart, it'll kill me'' Okay this was getting beyond freaky for me. I looked down at the table and rested my hands against it.

''Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it?'' The boy beside me sarcastically remarked. We both watch as Derek walks away from the bench and over towards the medicinals.

''If he doesn't get here with the bullet in time, last resort...'' My eyebrows furrowed at this as I'm sure the boy's one did too.

''Which is?'' He asks, Derek searing through all the cabinets trying to look for something.

''You're going to cut off my arm'' I stared wide eyed at the hand saw in his hands. Was this guy insane?

However, brown eyes picked up the handsaw nonetheless and turned it on, the machine coming to life.

''Oh my god! What if you bleed to death?'' I was too shocked on the actual handsaw itself to even move or so anything.

''It'll heal if it works'' Derek pipes up, wrapping a small piece of cloth around his arm as a tourniquet. I squinted my eyebrows in disgust and quickly looked away, not wanting to see any of this. My mind still pondered over the word 'heal' but yet again, I chose to let it creep to the back of my mind.

'Look, I don't know if I can do this'' Brown eyes backed away a little from the table once my eyes were firmly back on Derek.

''I know, that's why she is'' Derek motioned to me once he finished tying the knot.

''Excuse me?'' I asked incredulously.

''No way'' I argued, finding some courage to utter these words.

''All right, fine. How about this?'' Derek began, not glancing at the both of us but mainly towards the boy.

''Either you cut off my arm, or I'm going to cut her head off'' My eyes widen once again at this threat. I slowly begin to creep away from the bench.

''Okay, you know, I am so not buying your threats anymore'' Derek angrily reaches over the table with his good arm and grabs a hold of my dress pulling me forward. He pulls me down right next to his mouth where I began to feel hot air over my neck sending me goose bumps.

I wanted to scream, cry, literally anything to get me out of this situation.

''Oh my god! Okay, fine, all right, bought, sold, I'll totally do it just... let her go'' Derek's grip loosen and I quickly take that as my chance to jump back where an arm quickly snaked around my waist in a protective manner.

Derek begins to lean over the bench to the side and throws up, my eyebrows furrowing in disgust.

''Holy god! What the hell is that?'' I heard him speak up from behind me.

''It's my body. It's my body trying to heal itself'' I rolled my eyes before stepping away from the boy, stepping further back from the scene.

''Well, it's not doing a very good job of it''

''Now, you gotta do it now'' for the second time today my eyes began to tear up in fear.

''Look, honestly, I don't think I can-''

''Just do it!'' Even I jumped a little at his raised voice. The boy picks up the handsaw while muttering to himself as he places it against Derek's arm. I turned my head to the side and looked away, not wanting to see what was about to happen.

''Stiles?'' I rose my head to see the one and only Scott McCall just in front of me. He glanced between all three of us with furrowed eyebrows.

''Avery, what-'' I was sure he was about to question the tears but was soon cut off by his friend 'Stiles'.

''Oh, you just prevented a lifetime of nightmares'' His friend chuckled humorlessly.

''What the hell are you doing!'' Scott yells, walking over towards them. I turn back around and bit the bottom of my lip to try and control the tears. All of this was just, too much.

''Did you get it?'' Derek asks desperately. I quickly wipe away the tears and walk over to them slowly, feeling safer now that Scott was here. Scott the delinquent drug user but still.

''Did you come back with his stash?'' I asked the boys sarcastically but neither of them seemed to pick up on it.

''The drugs, McCall'' I groaned. Scott's eyes widen as Stiles just gestures around the room.

''You really think all of this has anything to do with drugs?!" I glared at Stiles.

''Obviously not anymore!'' I yelled back, watching his face soften a little. Scott shakes his head but soon walks over followed by me. He reaches into his pocket and passes Derek what looks like a bullet.

''What are you going to do with it?'' Stiles asks, myself now standing beside him.

''I'm gonna... I'm gonna...'' Derek's eyes soon close as he falls to the ground unconscious.

''You have got to be kidding me'' I murmured to myself as I rushed over to Derek's body with Scott and Stiles.

''Derek? Derek come on, wake up'' Stiles leans over his body as he tries to shake him awake.

''He's unconscious dummy'' Stiles sighs but ignores me, trying to wake Derek up. Scott, however, runs over where the bullet when and hops onto the ground, trying to reach for it.

''Scott what the hell are we going to do?'' I ask nervously, seeing Derek not even flinching at Stiles hard slaps.

''I don't know!'' Scott answers in a scared tone.

''I can't reach it'' He says more calmly this time, though the nerves were still there.

''He's not waking up!'' I drop down beside Stiles and begin slapping Derek myself.

''I think he's dying, I think he's dead'' Stiles stresses.

''Just hold on!'' Scott replies. I place my hands over Derek's heart and begin to do compression's.

''I got it! I got it!'' Scott bellows as he sits back up with the retrieved bullet.

''Please don't kill me for this'' I hear Stiles mumble to himself as he punches Derek in the face. The both of us jump back as Derek awakens.

''Give me that'' Was the first thing he said as he reached for the bullet. Both Stiles and Scott lift him to the bench as I walk around towards the other side.

Derek chews off the lid of the bullet and begins to tip the contents from inside out. He gets the lighter from the side and lights it up, causing the contents to spark and flare up, leaving a blue smoke afterwards.

''What the...'' I muttered to myself as he soon tips the contents into his wound, pushing it in as he begins to scream in pain. He drops to the ground on his ac and thrashes on the ground as the blue smoke kept leaving his arm. Though the strangest part was watching the wound heal itself completely.

''That. Was. Awesome!'' I turned to give a Stiles a 'what the hell' look. None of this was awesome.

''Sorry'' I heard him mutter as my eyes were now focused back on Derek.

''Are you okay?'' Scott asks as he begins to sit up.

''Except from the agonizing pain?'' I stepped back as he began to rise to his feet.

''I'm guessing the ability to use sarcasm is a good sign of health'' Stiles spoke. Derek glares at Stiles in response. I cower back slightly and took small steps away from Derek, making my way over towards Scott.

''Okay, we saved your life, which means you're gonna leave us alone'' Scott literally growls.

''You got that? And if you don't, I'm gonna go back to Allison's dad and tell him everything'' What does my dad have to do with any of this?

''You're going to trust them?'' Derek made sure to glare at me when he said this.

''You think they can help you?''

''Why not? They're a lot freaking nicer than you are!'' Scott stresses. It looked as if Derek was just slapped in the face with shock.

''Yeah, I can show you how nice they are''

♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦♡♦

word count: 2637 edited; not yet

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#stiles stilinski #avery argent #romance #love #imagines #teenwolf #dylan o'brien #nina dobrev #donttellstiles #fainthearted

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glamrockmonarch · 5 years

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MiCO LTD - Brian May x Reader

A/N: I hope you enjoy this, I don't think it is too long. I didn't want to put too much info and confuse everyone... This is not exactly my first time writing more "imaginative" stuff, but it is certainly the first thing like this that I post over here. And I will be waiting for some feedback guys!

"Travelling through space and time has never been easier! Allow us to take you to the other side of the universe, the cosmos awaits! Visit our website www.mico.com to find out more about our payment programs."

The friendly high pitched voice of a woman on TV got everyone excited. The payment programs were too good to be true.

In fact, it was all a lie. We all forgot to read their name. MICO. It was so obvious and simple, it was right there on their business sheets, yet we were fooled.

You would have to be either too poor or too ignorant if you did not get yourself a seat on the Nautilus.

It was all fun and games. The world coming together to watch the ultimate show. To have the stars dance for us, in front of our eyes. Nobody could know, predict or tell how fucked we were.

Royally fucked. Some of the teens described it later, before they were pulled into the youth cells.

Their red overalls stained with dark patches over the knees, evidence of the long day they had at the fields. Like everyone, they wore white long sleeved shirts underneath, as a sign of rebellion some of them cut the sleeves to make them ¾ or even removed the sleeves entirely. These teens were often pulled aside and were seen again with brand new shirts and dilated pupils.

The young ones suffer the most, being 12 already counts as a teen for them. Some are only children still, forced to work all morning, attend school in the afternoons and go to the youth cells every night...but I digress.

Once you had your ticket you were told to pack nothing but your passport. If you had a ticket you were issued a new one. Mine was a metallic blue card with nothing but the words U.S.E on one side and a small golden chip shinning on the corner of the other side - women with university degrees got the same one.

Women without degrees were given golden ones. A platinum one meant that you were an elder. Pink and Violet ones were for the "sexually diverse" - as they call them in HIə. Men with or without university degrees got yellow ones. Children got green ones, all teenagers got red ones.

We failed to see the differences, too distracted by the novelty of a card with a chip as an official document. It contained everything that there was to know about us, beyond our addresses it contained information about our physical examinations prior to the trip, what we were beyond who we were... it was too late when we discovered it.

The ship, the large and beautiful Nautilus, was a piece of metal engineered to take all of us through the galaxy. All of my friends and their mother were going too. Half the world population took ships alike. The classes on the ship were oddly assigned, while women had the best rooms and seats in the viewing salon, men were put on different rooms at the bottom of the spaceship. The children had to stay in a special viewing salon where mechanic Nana's looked after them. Upon entering the ship we were given uniforms. Everyone's passport cards matched their pants and jumpers, we thought at first it meant something like the meal plan people were on, which was later debunked as we were separated from our friends and family.

That was the worst part. That moment when we realized this was a mistake, that we had no option but to do as we were told. When I look down at my hands I can almost see it still, my husband's llong fingers fiercely tangled with my own before the officers pulled us apart.

In many ways, I wish it had gone down a different way. Brian meant well when he got us into the whole thing. He wanted to take the chance, to see the very thing he spent so many years studying. I could see the childish wish spread on his face when we first talked about it. The great darkness of the universe unveiled at last. The large planets, the small moons, the dying stars, black holes and craters on alien earths. We fell for it. Worse, we dragged people along.

It was a nice trip all the way till the third month, regardless of us being apart for the evenings, we were still allowed to eat together and wander inside the ship in the company of whomever we wanted. It was then, when we were supposed to be heading back that we saw the real problem; we were never meant to come back to earth. The ship moved forward still. Had it not been for the airplane pilots in the crowd we would not have seen it happening. The ship was not bringing us back to earth. It took us here, or as they spell it on this planet: HIə.

HIə is a strange place. The city is made up of tubes and cabins. Some call it Earth 90214. We call it... Here. Because there is nowhere else to go.

We got separated from each other. All bluesies, goldens, and greenies went straight to the training camp. The rest were taken away. Apparently Pinks, Violettes and Reds got taken into the reduction chambers before joining us. Male Plats, elders, were put on psyche wards for evaluation while Female Plats were selected and discarded.

The new world awaited, we did not know it until it was too late to reject it. Rejection of the social order meant discarding, meaning you were put inside a tube and shot outside of the atmosphere. Here has breathable air, we could go outside from time to time, see the odd light of the sun on the rocks, but we were not allowed to talk among ourselves until the programme was over. There are plants and wild animals. We have seen them, but it doesn't feel like home when you are put in large rooms with 49 roommates all sleeping in bunk beds.

I don't know what has been of my friends, I fear to know. Are they dead? Have they been discarded? Will I be discarded?

This training...it is starting to look like brainwashing, we reply to the Great Question, we call it Master. Who does that?

We call this home. I know this place is not home. They have machines put chips in the nape of our necks. Will they read my thoughts? Program me like a cheap machine? Use me?

I don't know.

I wonder, as I roll the ring on my finger, and I look out the window in the large sleeping hall. Bunk beds around me, the jumper shining under the light of our night. It is winter in Here. Nights are longer, cold and wet. Sunlight shines the strangest shade of violet during the day, night is pitch black. The glass is starting to become foggy and I have to pull my sleeve over my palm to wipe it. Three moons stare back at me from their odd formation in the night sky.

"Are you thinking of him again?" A little voice to my left hisses.

Rolling on her side she sighs. The bags under her eyes tell the truth of our situation. She pulls her knees up to her chest under the fluffy covers of her bed.

"He must be thinking of you too," she assures me.

I shake my head. A frown forming on my face at the pain inside me.

"They will discard him," I voice my concern, "he is older. Stubborn. They cannot change him into their pet." I hiss.

Another capsule flies away up into the wide nothing and my stomach sinks. Every one of them could be him and I wouldn't know. I am so scared. What do we do? If he is gone, what am I holding on to?

Hope.

I hope he is alive. I hope he is well. I hope they haven't brainwashed him.

"He is famous on Earth. He is smart. They have no reason to throw him into space." She whispers, her voice soft and soothing.

I wipe my face of tears I didn't feel falling.

That is even worse: them using him.

My mouth feels dry, words are gone in my brain. The training has started to take its toll. I sit and stare at the reflection on the mirror and ignore her voice as I stand from the window sill and walk back to my bed, laying down with my eyes looking forward and my body going limp.

Hope is stupid, and resistance is futile.

#welcome to my shitshow scifi fic #brian may #present day brian may x young reader #present day brian #new fic?#if this flops dont worry I might not continue

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thekintsugi-adult · 5 years

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Okay hi so quick note before this starts first of all this is a fanfic sort of with a prompt I used from the creator of this blog and second of all, adjectives are hard :’/

The Woodsdale Cafe

Warning for this chapter: Cursing

Okay so also, all of the characters are around the ages of 18-22. Mars is 19, and so is Erin, with Lucas being 20. Trystann (Mars’s roommate) is about 18

Chapter 1: Welcome to Woodsdale

Mars woke up to the sounds of birds chirping and the morning sun shining brilliantly through her large bay window. They grabbed their phone from her nightstand, the bright blue hand-painted case glittering from the sunlight as they checked the time. It was 7:03 am. They had just enough time to make it to work. Seeing this, they quickly jumped out of bed, leaving the sheets in a tangled mess. They hurried off to their bathroom to shower while messily grabbing clothes on the way. When they got out of the shower, they quickly combed through their messy short red hair and slipped on their chest binder. Gazing into the mirror, they saw themself, their bright blue eyes glistening behind Mars’s eyelashes. Smiling, they quickly pulled on their clothes, a white t-shirt, a red flannel, and crazy ripped jeans that they had decorated with many odd paint stains over the weeks of having them. As they finished getting dressed, they checked the time again. 7:45. They had to go quickly, or they would be late for their crush- I MEAN UH, their favorite customer (wink wink uwu) to come into the cafe for their morning coffee and plate of pastries. As they rushed out the door, their roommate called out to them.

“Yo Mars! Forgetting something?” the roommate said, holding up a name tag with “Mars” written on it in beautiful calligraphy.

“Oh shit... that would’ve been bad!” Mars said back, giggling as they ran up to their roommate to grab the name tag.

“See you after work!” they called, running off to their skateboard to get to work relatively on time for their... favorite customer.

8:00 precisely. Mars had made it in time. Sure, the cafe was only a street or two away, but it got pretty busy at this time on Woodsdale avenue, especially on Thursdays, when they had their specials. They sped inside, sloppily grabbing their apron from the hat rack by the door and hastily pinning on their name tag before jumping behind the counter.

“Hey Mars, you just made it!” their best friend called. He wore a striped jumper today, with jeans that closely resembled the ones Mars had on. His skinny lil self was too small for the jumper, making it seem very large for him. And, like always, he sported a black beanie to match his sweater and cover his curly brown hair. Mars had had a crush on him for years, all those years before he got a girlfriend, all those years when they were still a girl. They had given up though, given that he had a girlfriend and that he was as straight as a rod (a/n: I have nothing against straight people I swear). Mars had been best friends with him since way before he transitioned, although his dysphoria was easing up quite a bit now that he had started testosterone. They were proud of their best friend, even if he was a little dumb sometimes.

“Hey Lucas! Great to see you, man.” Mars exclaimed while giving him a tight hug. As they did this, however, Mars saw someone out of the corner of their eye. Her dark skin, violet eyes, and long black and pink hair (that had been put into neat space buns today, Mars noticed) were oddly noticeable today. She was a chubby girl, and quite tall too, but she rocked it like the true queen she was, with amazing makeup and the same adorable crop top and ripped up jeans that Mars absolutely loved seeing on her. As soon as they saw her, Mars melted a little. She sped over to the counter, leaving Lucas at the entrance to the kitchen, looking quite confused.

“Good morning, Erin!” Mars greeted. Seeing them, Erin smiled and walked over, making Mars melt even more.

“Good morning Mars! How are you today, darling?” she asked, still smiling her absolutely beautiful smile.

“I’m doing alright, you?” Mars replied. At this, they smiled back at Erin with an absolutely breathtaking smile. Mars hated their smile. I don’t know why, it’s absolutely beautiful.

“I’m doing okay.” Erin replied, her grin slowly fading to just a slightly seductive smirk. “Hey, are you doing anything on Friday?”

Mars’s face turned red. They had absolutely zero plans on Friday... in fact, they had actually planned on staying home that day, even from work, to get some drawing commissions done. If anyone else had asked them, they’d say no. But this was different... this was Erin.

“Uh, s-s-sure!” Mars spluttered out. They often got back the stutter they had years ago when they were nervous or flustered. Erin knew this, and she laughed her beautiful laugh. I mean... it is a pretty nice laugh.

“Great, darling. I’ll see you at eight am on Friday. Does that sound okay, love?” Erin asked.

“Yes! I mean, uh.. yeah, of course! Where do you wanna meet up?” Mars asked.

“Hmm.. maybe the park, over on the bridge under that one huge cherry blossom tree?”

“Sure! I’ll see ya then.”

“See you then... Mars.”

Erin blew a kiss as she walked away, out the door, and then out of sight. Mars sighed dreamily and laid their head down gently on her hand, looking quite like a lovesick puppy. At that moment, their boss, a large boy named Chad (he is in fact as muscular as you’d imagine from a chad), came over to her.

“Hey, your roommate called. They said you needed to come home immediately, said there was some kind of... cooking emergency?” He stated questioningly.

“Oh! Okay.” Mars replied, already beginning to take off their apron and name tag. They hopped back over the counter and yelled a quick goodbye to Lucas before leaving and riding away on their skateboard.

Lucas looked outside longingly. He wondered how long it would take for Mars to realize how in live with them he was.

ohmygosh you wrote this!! ack I love, Erin better not be leading Mars on or I swear she will catch these hands. -Riley

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rob12blr · 5 years

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My hubbie loves lacy knickers

Dear Susan,

May I firstly thank you for your publication which has given me considerable entertainment, and several good ideas, since I happened upon it three months ago. Unlike most of the ladies who correspond with you, I have not forced my husband into petticoats as a form of discipline, but I have exploited his natural sissy tendencies for my benefit.

I thought he had been fiddling with my clothes because things weren’t where I remembered putting them, and my drawers seemed more untidy than I left them so, one day when he was staying at home, I pretended to go to work and came back about an hour later. I caught him wearing a brand new dress and matching jacket of mine that I hadn’t even worn yet - and a pair of my tights. I was more cross that he was wearing my clothes and going behind my back than that he wanted to wear women’s clothes, so I shouted at him. It was hard not to laugh really, because he looked so silly.

He said that he didn’t want to wear women’s clothes all the time but sometimes he did and it made him relax. I said I didn’t care if he wore them all the time if they were his, in fact I was going to insist on it. He got very afraid then, and said that he couldn’t because he wouldn’t be able to go to work in women’s clothes and, anyway, he didn’t need to dress up all the time, just sometimes. I told him that from now on he would wear women’s undies all the time, and wear a dress or skirt in the house or promise never to wear any women’s clothes ever again. He said that he didn’t think he could stop completely, so he finally agreed to wear women’s undies and dresses and skirts in the house.

I made him show me what he was wearing under the dress. It was a lovely matching set of bra, lacy knickers and full slip in black nylon and lace that I was particularly fond of. There was a matching suspender belt that went with the rest of the set, but he wasn’t wearing that. He had put balloons filled with water in the bra cups. He was wearing almost £200 worth of my clothes. I told him that the clothes were now his, but he would have to give me £200 before I would let him take them off. He was now getting very embarrassed and uncomfortable, and was desperate to change back into men’s clothes, but he didn’t have £200 in the house. I told him that we would go to the cash point to get it.

I told him to go upstairs and get undressed, and he started to look happier until I finished what I was saying with, “Then get in the bath and shave your legs and underarms.” I told him to then get dressed in the same clothes after he was finished in the bathroom.

While he was shaving, I gathered up all his vests, underpants and socks and put them in an old suitcase, and into the boot of my car. When he came back from the bathroom, I wiped all the make-up off his face and re-did it so that he looked vaguely female, and restyled his hair in a more feminine way. I managed to force his feet into an old pair of sling-backs of mine (I am a 6, he is a 7). Then we drove to the local tip and I threw away all his men’s underclothes.

Next we drove to Slough, which is somewhere we rarely go shopping. After we had been to the cash point and he had given me £200, I took him to a big department store and briefed him on what I wanted him to buy for himself. I told him that as my clothes seemed to fit, he could use my sizes.

First we went to the lingerie section. I told him to buy lots of camisole tops with matching French knickers. He would need at least ten sets. He could choose the colours, but I expected them to have lots and lots of lace. He would need at least six bras – again pretty, lacy ones, as well as half slips and full slips, half a dozen suspender belts, and lots of pairs of nylon stockings. And he should get some nightdresses and a frilly pink housecoat.

I stood back and watched as he went about his task. I expected that he would attract a lot of attention but nobody seemed to notice. I was almost disappointed. When he paid for all the stuff, it was more than £800! The sales lady was very nice to him and asked if he had got the right sizes, and did he want to try on one of the bras just to make sure?

Next we went to women’s wear. Again, I told him what I expected, and then stood back and watched. This time it was five dresses, five skirts, five tops and five jumpers, together with an overcoat. He responded very well to the instruction “Pretty and feminine but sensible. They are for working in, not going to parties.” Another £500 spent. This time I had told him to ask the assistant if he could try the clothes on. She looked at him a bit sideways, but checked that there was a free cubicle and in he went.

The only things left were shoes. I decided that I would now take an active part. When we were approached by an assistant I explained that my husband was looking for a pair of plain courts in black with about a one inch heel, a pair of fluffy, heeled mules to wear around the house. We also bought a pair of black knee boots which would be quite uncomfortable to wear. It all cost a total of £320, as the boots were £250!

My life, since that day, has been absolutely brilliant. He wears a camisole and knickers under his male clothes to go to work, or if we go out. He complains that French knickers are uncomfortable because of the loose legs with no elastic. I thought they would be, which is why I told him to buy them. He had to replace the stockings with hold-ups as his hips are too narrow to keep a suspender belt up.

He changes into a dress or skirt and top as soon as he gets in from work and puts his make-up on. This is something that I forgot on our first shopping trip, but I take him shopping while all dressed up every three months so that he can keep up with fashion. He does all the clothes washing, ironing, shopping, cooking, and washing up. I no longer have to do a thing. He seems to spend half his home life washing soft and delicate ladies’ undies, and he really is a sight when he is hanging up the washing in the back garden.

I have a friend at work. We go for a drink together after work every week or two. Then she comes back to my house for some supper. And she really teases him for being dressed as a woman and doing all the “women’s jobs”. She calls him a sissy, and he has to agree. I really love him, and I keep him under control by threatening to take away all his men’s clothes and making him dress as a woman all the time. He keeps his whole body shaved and we pluck each other’s eyebrows every week.

I haven’t mentioned his name because I no longer use it. I always call him “Girl”, even when we are out with my friends. He has to accept it because that is what he is – a little sissy girl who wants to wear women’s clothes and now has to do it all the time – even in bed, and of course he has to do all the work around the house. I think I would have treated him differently if he had told me about his habit. As I said, I don’t really mind the idea of him wearing women’s clothes, it was not trusting me and going behind my back and stealing my clothes that made me cross, and a convert to petticoat discipline.

Yours sincerely, Elaine

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lovelyfictional-imagines · 6 years

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Your Noise (The Twelfth Doctor x Reader)

So you guys, I’m a massive slut for Peter Capaldi. Is he sixty? Yes. Do I care? Obviously not. There is so much love out there for the younger actors who play the Doctor, and I absolutely adore them as well, but I feel like there could be more about ole Twelve.

Forgive me if he’s a little out of character, or if descriptions aren’t in depth enough. I’ve been in a massive slump lately and this helped a little. Might be a little angsty?

Also, the song mentioned in the beginning is ‘Fly Me to the Moon’ by Frank Sinatra. I got the idea for this while listening to some Sinatra records I have a few days ago.

Anyway, hope you enjoy! Feel free to message me with feedback!

- Ashley

Loud ruckus erupted through the TARDIS, causing one of the Doctor’s bulbous blue eyes to snap open. Grumbling to himself, he clamored to his feet from the comfortable loveseat. Looking around, he saw no one. And with a final huff, he marched out and into the hall. “Why is it that every time I attempt to sleep, which isn’t often, she has to interrupt somehow?” he asked to no one in particular. Upbeat music blared through the corridor, and the Doctor marched to where he assumed his unexplainably loud companion was. Upon arriving, he couldn’t find it in him to bellow.

The Doctor smiled—yes, actually smiled—at his current companion’s antics. Currently she was dancing rather ridiculously to some American jazz song about flying to the moon. Arms swinging above her head, around her in circular motions as her sock-covered feet slid over the metallic floor. The TARDIS whirred in that way she does, the one almost like a laugh. She was in on this too, it seems. He wanted to be angry, wanted to feel irritation throb at his temples. But at that moment, he simply couldn’t. All he could find was a long-dormant feeling, stirring in his chest. One that he loathed and craved in equal measure, that he couldn’t ever seem to escape.

He hated it, hated the way she made him feel. Yet at the same time, he basked in it, reveled in the knowledge that he could still love. That this body could love despite its bitterness.

Of course, of all the things that could, this would’ve happened. How could it not? How could he resist? With her brilliant mind, her open heart, deflecting and countering his sarcasm and mood swings with her own. There was an energy about her that made him feel at home. He’d missed feeling like he belonged. Even when he knew he didn’t.

It seemed the song, along with her performance, was coming to an end as the music slowed, the artist sang one word at a time. One last “You!” came through, an air of finality carried in one syllable. As she stood near the console, panting and pulling the sleeves of her jumper up, he cleared his throat.

The speed at which she snapped her head in his direction was remarkable. “If I’d known I’d be witnessing a poorly rehearsed recital, I would’ve stayed in bed.”

A rueful grin crossed her face before it developed into a true one. “Oh shove off it, Doctor. You? In bed? Come on. Besides, you’ve never listened to Sinatra? The Americans seem to love him.”

“That must be the reason why I’ve avoided him, then.”

A laugh bubbled from her throat and she turned back to the console. The smile came through again. The one that belonged to her, though he doubted he’d ever let her see it. And he was fine with that.

Or so he thought.

“Now,” he began, breaking through his immensely long train of thought. “Where to today? Discovering little green men? Racing sauropods? Combating the emu nuisance in Australia? You choose.” While he was speaking, he’d crossed the room and made it to the console, standing opposite of her as he flipped levers and turned knobs. Intentionally avoiding her gaze.

“Hmm,” she tapped her chin. “I’m thinking, after this morning, I’m in the mood to see Sinatra live. Can we make that happen?” A mischievous grin appeared on her round face. And the Doctor knew he couldn’t resist as soon as he mustered the courage to glance her way. “I think we can.”

“Oh Doctor! That was absolutely brilliant!” (Y/N) exclaimed at his side, clutching his forearm as he walked her out of the show and back to the TARDIS. “I’m glad you liked it. Now if only he knew how to play real music, I might’ve been willing to actually listen.” His statement was hung out like bait on a fishing pole, and he waited for her to take it and run with it. Arguing was, unsurprisingly, one of his favorite pastimes. Though it seemed (Y/N) didn’t mind bickering. In fact, she thrived on it. Quarreling harmlessly brought out a certain fire in her that the Doctor had come to adore.

“Real music? Doctor! I’ve no idea if this has actually occurred to you, which, more than likely, it has, but it’s the 1950’s! Frank Sinatra predates your definition of ‘real music’ by a good thirty years!” The Doctor smiled to himself. “Excuses, excuses. It was only a matter of time before someone came forward with it, and it obviously wasn’t him.”

“Oh Doctor, maybe you should become a musician. Maybe you’d be pleased for once with something.”

Suddenly he came to a halt in the middle of the street. Everything was dark in the dead of night, only faint shadows and shapes could be made out. Despite this, he looked deep into her eyes, and she stared back at him with a straight face as he fixed her with one of his more owlish glares. “Nah!” They cried simultaneously before breaking into their own fits of laughter. And they continued on their way, (Y/N) chuckling all the way to the TARDIS.

Closing and locking the door behind them, the Doctor set their coordinates for a random point where they could drift for a while, somewhere a noisy human wouldn’t be able to disturb them. (Y/N) had wordlessly gone off down one of the halls, more than likely to her room to change and go to bed. At this time, he decided to change from his Noir-like suit to something more fitting his personal tastes. Ambling off down a different hallway, he opened the first door on his right.

A closet just large enough to stand comfortably in was what he found, thankfully, and he stepped inside. After some perusing, a few scowls and ‘hmms’ of intrigue, a comfortable pair of black trousers were located at last. Beneath the row of clothes, he found a large pile of discarded garments that had fallen from their hangars. Beneath this, he found a line of shoes in different styles, each from a different time and place in history. Deeming them unnecessary for the time being, he plucked a pair of black boots from the assortment and placed them on the ground behind him. Digging around in the pile of forgotten clothes, he found a large navy sweater. Recognizing it instantly, he held it in his wrinkled hands.

The Doctor spent what felt like ages studying his hands and their contrast against the soft fabric. It had her very essence woven into the wool, her innocence and youth, her smiles and tears, the (E/C) of her eyes and pinks of her cheeks. Wanting to cry out in anger, he clutched it tightly, as if it would disintegrate into ash if squeezed hard enough. A wave of fury swept over him. Anger at this body he’d been given this time. Why couldn’t he have gotten another young bloke? Instead he was.... this. And he felt the unfairness in it all that he’d meet her now, in this form. With no chance of her seeing him as anything other than her traveling companion, a brilliant mind, an old man. And he pulled the sweater to his face, taking in the scent of her perfume.

It was comforting, soothing his indignant attitude. Quieting his rage, leaving him feeling awfully tired. Exhausted beneath the burden of the universe, eternal loneliness tugging at his sleeves, and the pressure of all that he had done, all seeming to slam into him at once. The sweet, earthy fragrance was embedded in the woven strands that sang of inaudible songs of (Y/N) was all he had to combat the voices of those left behind at this time.

Atlas may have shrugged, but if the Doctor wasn’t careful, he’d be flattened before too much longer.

A thought finally occurred to him: she’d gone to bed. Or at least to her room deep in the TARDIS, to do whatever it is she did when she wasn’t pestering him. He chuckled lowly in the dark of the closet. It would be at least five hours before he saw her again. With one last consideration, he slipped the sweater on over his head.

To the Doctor’s surprise and great annoyance, he found himself to be very comfortable. It dwarfed (Y/N), falling to the tops of her knees. Whilst he was considerably taller than her, it still was rather roomy on him, and fell below the beltloops on his pants. Taking the boots in hand, he exited the closet, leaving his worn clothes on the floor. He headed back towards the console room, scanning it for some sort of distraction until his companion decided to join him again.

Stalking the various shelves surrounding the command center, he sighed as he found nothing. At last a large, aquamarine-hued tome with silver etchings in an ancient, foreign language seemed to appear before him on a shelf he’d searched ten times. The Doctor took this, rubbed the shelf affectionately, and plopped into a comfortable armchair, moving his feet to the matching ottoman in front of it. Deeming it a sufficient distraction for the next few hours, he buried his large nose in it. As if it helped.

Soft humming and breathing were distant in the Doctor’s senses as he slowly opened his eyes. The darkness faded to the blue iridescent lights of the console room. He took in his surroundings before looking down towards the source of the noise. There leaning on the ottoman was his companion, (H/C) hair tossed up messily, curls hanging around her round, innocent face as her (E/C) eyes watched him.

“Sleep well, Doctor?”

The honey in her hoarse, sleep-filled voice caused his to disappear. His sarcastic comment plunged to the back of his throat as he observed her figure. A brown jumper similar to the one he wore covered her arms and hands, though in turn revealed her collarbones. Forcing himself to look away, he found the will to speak again.

“Why is it your noise always finds a way to wake me up when I finally choose to sleep?” Furrowing his eyebrows, he closed his eyes and moved his face towards the ceiling. The softest of giggles erupted from her mouth, and he fought the urge to watch her smile.

“Mm, it’s one of my many talents. You have saving the universe, I have disturbing the peace of certain Time Lords. It balances out.”

He felt her remove herself from the ottoman and stand before him. His eyes remained closed, waiting to feel her walk off to open them again. Instead he felt her closer than ever. “By the way,” her husky whisper tickled his ear, causing a shiver to attempt to find its way through him. “You look fucking adorable in my sweater.” And she took off as he sprung up in his seat.

“Language!”

Her laughter was heard humming throughout the TARDIS’ halls, bouncing off the walls. And again that smile returned, much to his chagrin. But something else accompanied it.

His cheeks burned. And he grumbled once again as he fought the urge to smile, calmed his heartbeats, and resumed his façade of relaxing until she was ready to jet off to some far away galaxy. But only the Doctor knew he wouldn’t be able to remain disgruntled after that exchange.

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