or i could do something really shocking and return to colored pencils or something

wanderlustlastsforever  asked:

I Will give you my firstborn if you could do a chapter on the Vietnam AU where Jamie is jealous or Frank And Claire meet again

Vietnam AU

“Bree! You got some mail!”

Six-year-old William Fraser theatrically slammed Lallybroch’s old, heavy front door, rattling the blue vases carefully arranged on the window ledge. For the past year he had delighted in trekking the half-mile gravel track connecting the Big House to the main road, emptying the giant mailbox, and bearing all the letters and packages and magazines for the four Frasers (not including Murtagh and Suzette, who had their own cabin and mailbox) and eight Murrays who lived cozily in the four-story house that great-great-great-great-great-great-great grandpa James Fraser had constructed himself more than two hundred years before.

Cousins Ian and Kitty scampered in from the parlor, where cousin Michael kept pounding away at an old song – something about boats in the sky – on the worn piano.

“Anything for us?”

William staggered under the weight of the mail. “Don’t know – let’s go into the dining room to find out.”

Ian and Kitty raced ahead, clearing one end of the long mahogany table – crafted (they were told) by great-great-great-grandfather Simon Fraser right after the War Between The States – and watched William spill dozens of envelopes onto the polished surface.

“Will?” There was Brianna – aged seventeen – rubbing a crick on the back of her neck. William knew Mama and Da were a bit worried for her these days – she spent *so* much time studying for that SAT test, so that she could get into a good college…

“Yes! Highlights!” Ian exclaimed, grabbing the brightly-colored magazine and dashing toward the sitting room, heedless of the envelopes that showered to the ground.

Kitty sighed as she bent to clean up Ian’s mess. William squinted at the pile. “Hi Bree – you got some more college envelopes and magazines.”

“Oh cool – do you know from where?”

Now she joined them at the table, but not before pulling her brother – much younger, and so beloved – close for a quick hug.

She felt him shrug against her. “I don’t know. It all looks the same.”

Footsteps echoed in the hallway from the study.

“William! Did you get the mail again?” Da breezed in, pencil over his ear, hair all mussed – evidence of deep thinking.

Brianna pulled away from her brother to tear into her pile of envelopes.

“I did!” William exclaimed, smiling as his father ruffled his dark curls.

“Thanks, buddy – you know how much we all appreciate it. Anything for me?”

“Bree got some more college stuff. Doesn’t look like anything fun for you.”

Kitty finally found what she had been looking for – the new kit of paper dolls in 18th-century clothing – and quietly retreated upstairs to share with her sisters.

Jamie pulled out a chair to sit while sifting through the pile, then pulled out another one for Brianna, already engrossed in her mail.

“What did you get today, love?” he asked gently.

“Some more course catalogues…informational packets…and a magazine,” she replied absently. “More stuff to read.”

“From where?” Ah – there it was, last month’s feed bill for the horses and sheep. A quick glance to William – now busy sorting mail by the recipient’s name – before returning his attention to his daughter. His miracle.

“Virginia Tech…MIT…Georgia Tech…Duke…”

Jamie lay a gentle hand on Brianna’s forearm – and her eyes snapped up to meet his. His own eyes looked back at him – and not for the first time, he was amazed at how much of himself he saw in her.

“You know you’ll get into everywhere you apply, right? You’re smart, and you work hard, and you’ll be successful.”

She pursed her lips – eyes wide – and nodded.

“Just enjoy this time. It’s so exciting – you’ll have so many choices in your life, and you’ll do so many great things with that mind of yours. Don’t let any of this intimidate you.”

“I know, Da.” Her voice was quiet – hesitant. But confident. “If you and Mama keep telling me, that must make it true.”

Then she blessed him with a smile – and his heart melted as much as it had that first time she had smiled at him when she was just a few weeks old.

A daughter nearly grown – where had all the time gone?

The side door slammed – which only meant one thing –

“Mama!” William raced toward the kitchen, abandoning his task.

“Hello, love! *Ciamar a tha thu?*” Jamie and Brianna shared a smile as Claire’s voice echoed through the house.

Jamie shook his head. “She’ll always have that accent when she speaks the Gaidhlig. Unlike you, and me, and Will, and the rest of our family – she didn’t grow up speaking it. And it’s so hard for your mouth to learn new sounds without it sounding terrible.”

William’s muffled exclamations to his mother in the Gaidhlig grew louder.

“I’m just grateful we can speak it, Da.” Brianna tidied her magazines into a neat pile on the table. “It’s like our secret language. And I know it’ll make me stand out on my college applications!”

He shook his head incredulously – clever girl. And then –

“Hello loves!” There she was, William hoisted on her hip like a wee monkey, smiling broadly at her redheads.

“Hi Mama! Look what came today!”

Dr. Claire Fraser strode around the table and settled into the chair Jamie pulled out for her – easing William onto her lap and bending for a quick kiss from her husband.

Brianna pushed the magazine from Duke toward her mother. “This one looks really cool – they have a great engineering program, but there are so many other things to study, too.”

“Raleigh – not too far. And yes it’s a fantastic school.”

William settled against her shoulder – just enjoying being held by his mother – and Jamie opened the magazine on the tabletop, flanked by his women.

“Let’s see…table of contents…alumni in the news…recent publications by professors…here’s a new building going up…”

Absently he thumbed through the pages one by one –

And then Claire’s hand darted out, slamming to the table.

William – startled out of his hazy half-sleep – gasped in surprise.

Brianna watched her mother’s hand lay flat on the page, then slowly draw her fingers inward to clench into a fist.

“Mama?” So confused.

Then Claire gently scooted William to Jamie’s lap, stood, and quietly left the dining room.

“Mama!” Brianna called. “What’s wrong? What is going on?”

Panicked, she turned to her father. To see his face almost white with shock.

“Da? You’re scaring me – what is it?”

Only then did she turn her attention to the page. A small article, just a few paragraphs, in the “Alumni News” section. Something about a substantial donation to the school, to endow a program in the history department. Made by someone in California. Frank Randall, class of ’62. And there was even a picture of him – looking straight into the camera, not smiling, ensconced in a stuffy office.

“Da?”

Jamie pursed his lips. “Can you mind William? I need to talk to your Mama. Wait here.”

Wordlessly she opened her arms, and William snuggled against her, and she watched her father stride out of the dining room. Heading upstairs, to the master bedroom.

With her free hand she pulled the magazine closer, squinting at the photograph of this man who ran a real estate business in northern California. Had amassed a fortune, and given much of it to the school. Something about having no children of his own, and wanting others to benefit from his labors.

Gently she stroked William’s back, soothing.

Waiting, and thinking, and worrying, until Mama and Da came back into the room, holding hands.

ok so i’ve come up with two headcanons/situations for these two nerds in this photo. so:

1. Bakugou can get pretty riled up during one of his signature tantrums. That’s a given. But the problem is, when he gets like that, when his eyebrows knit together and his eyes narrow and he just yells, screaming his throat raw, there’s nothing to get him out of it. It’s all a waiting game as they wait for Bakugou to calm down. However, this isn’t ideal, considering how long his rants can be. Some days, he could hurt either himself or someone else pretty badly. Today was one of those days. What got Bakugou riled up in the first place completely slipped everyone’s mind. He’d been screaming and using his quirk wildly for about ten minutes now, and his attacks were starting to get more concentrated and planned. Usually people would ignore him. It’s third year, they’re used to this happening to the hot-headed hero. But this was getting old. The class knew that it wouldn’t help trying to touch or talk to him. They’ve tried it before (That’s how Kaminari got the hand-shaped scar on his chest. Apparently not everyone was as tactile as him). But as Kirishima watches his boyfriend keep yelling at people, his explosions starting to become more deliberate, he feels like he needs to do something. So in a spur of the minute decision, Kirishima grabs Bakugou’s wrist. The blonde jerks his head to look at him, his eyes wide and so full of absolute fury and loathing. It hurt a bit for Kirishima to see him like this, especially with the look pointed at himself. But now he had Bakugou’s attention. And his wrist. The next part was going to be risky, but it might just pull him out of this colossal fit he’s having. Kirishima quickly but softly presses his lips against Bakugou’s, pulling him in by the wrist. And as if by some sort of magic, Bakugou immediately is pacified, completely absorbed in this kiss. Everyone in the room is just staring at the two, slacked jawed and eyes wide. It wasn’t the kiss that they were surprised of, no. Their relationship had been very public for the last couple of months. No, what had them all in a state of shock was the fact that Bakugou fucking Katsuki was absolutely calm. His entire face was slack and almost…happy? And when the two boys pulled away from each other, he stayed that way. Bakugou was just calmed down from one of the biggest tantrums he’d ever had in public. By Kirishima. Now he just shoved his hands in his pockets and mumbled, turning around to go back upstairs. Kirishima, also shocked that it even worked, followed after Bakugou dazedly Class 1-A now knew how to calm down Bakugou. 

2. Kirishima wasn’t the best at math. This was a given. Everyone in his class knew this. What not a lot of people did know was that he was being tutored. By Bakugou. What was even lesser known was that Kirishima was also a tutor. For Bakugou. Now, Bakugou got good grades. Top three of his class, in fact. He’s a smart kid and he applies himself well. He pushes himself to his full potential, and even further beyond that. The problem is, sometimes he just doesn’t understand a subject. For him, that’s history. Lucky for him, Kirishima was a history buff. He prided himself on this knowledge, and so in return for getting help with math, he would help Bakugou with history. In the present, Kirishima was sitting in a chair pressed against Bakugou’s, chewing the end of his pencil absent-mindedly as he watched Bakugou go through an example problem step by step. He didn’t retain any of the information. His mind was, like usual, clouded with something else. He tried to keep his eyes on the paper in front of him, he really did, but Kirishima kept glancing back at their hands. Their hands were touching. Wrist to wrist, finger to finger. What’s more was that Bakugou, trying to get closer to the paper he was writing on, had moved a pinky over Kirishima’s forefinger. It was entirely unintentional, but he had kept it there out of lack of knowing just where his hand was. And it killed Kirishima. It had him biting through his pencil eraser, puncturing it with small holes due to his sharp teeth. It had him start to sweat, pulling at the collar of his t-shirt in order to get more air in. It had him glancing at their too-close hands, at Bakugou’s piercing red eyes, focusing on the work in front of him with sharp precision, at Bakugou’s lips which were in a slight pout, something he did when he was concentrating. The way they moved with such uncharacteristic grace when he was calm. The way Kirishima absolutely wanted to feel them against his own, moving softly and slowly and – “Are you even listening?” He was pulled out of his thoughts with a jerk as Bakugou bore his eyes straight into Kirishima’s head, a look of annoyance spreading across his face as his nose wrinkled at the bridge. Kirishima was at a loss of words. He definitely wasn’t just thinking about kissing his best bro. Definitely wasn’t thinking about the way their hands were brushing, about how close Bakugou was and oh god he knew if he spoke now he’d be dead and – Kirishima is pulled out of his thoughts for a second time by Bakugou. Except this time the look of annoyance is gone and replaced with an unreadable emotion. His eyes were blown wide, but his eyebrows were still handing low, knit together. His lips are drawn tight and there’s a hint of color in his cheeks and for once, Bakugou Katsuki is absolutely quiet and seemingly also at a lost of words. That’s when Kirishima realizes. He had just said what he was thinking out loud. It was a habit of Kirishima’s, a terrible habit. When he was nervous, he started to speak his thoughts out loud, for better or for worse. In this case, it was the worst possible time. And worst of it all, Bakugou wasn’t saying anything. Not even a curse. It was so out of character for him it almost scared Kirishima. But then, he blinked once. Twice. And spoke quietly. “You’ve been thinking of that this whole goddamn time, haven’t you?” His words were devoid of their usual venom. It lacked the bark that he typically placed behind his words. And his face wasn’t immediately scrunched up in disgust. Bakugou is not mad. No, not in the slightest. Kirishima swallows hard and replies with a quick “Mhm,” since it’d be no use lying now. Everything was out in the open. “I knew you were distracted, but I didn’t think it was because of…” Bakugou cards a hand through his hair, looking back at the work in front of them both now, “…me.” Kirishima doesn’t know what to say. It’s hard to even think right now. He just confessed to his best friend and dear god this was not the way it was supposed to go. Not like this. But then if by some miracle, Bakugou turns back to Kirishima. He looks at him and slowly, hesitantly, picks up the hand touching Kirishima’s, and places it entirely over Kirishima’s, now holding it. It’s some weird gesture that Bakugou totally isn’t used to and it shows, he’s not used to showing affection. Then he clears his throat awkwardly and speaks, breaking the silence. “Um. We still have to study. A lot. There’s still a fucking exam tomorrow and us being like this isn’t going to stop it,” he says, picking up the pencil again. But Kirishima doesn’t know if he’s going to actually be able to concentrate now that this is happening, now that there’s this weird unspoken thing going on between them right at this moment. “But…since I’m the one distracting you, let’s strike a deal.” Bakugou starts writing the practice problem again, as if that could lessen the awkwardness shared between them. “Every five minutes, I’ll make you do a problem. If you do it incorrectly,” he says, still writing the problem, “then you’re doing two more problems.” Kirishima watches the hand fly across the paper, leaving behind little neat letters behind as it scritches out the problem. “And if I get it right?” Kirishima says, focused on the way his hand moves, “I’m getting there, fucknut. And if you get it right,” Bakugou sets down the pencil after finishing the problem, and looks dead into Kirishima’s eyes, forcing eye contact, “Then you can kiss me.” Kirishima automatically broke out into a wide, hopeful grin, his eyes huge. “You serious?” He asks, already giddy. Of course that would bring him to attention. “Yeah sure, but don’t get your fucking hopes up. I know you haven’t been paying attention this last hour. It’s gonna take more than a fucking prayer and a half for you to get through these next questions with your scatterbrain.” And with that, Kirishima happily did his practice problems throughout the night with Bakugou by his side. He earned 15 kisses that night. And a 89% on his exam. 

Giving into Curiosity

Author: RuckyStarnes

Summary: Reader comes home to find that Steve is there waiting with a present

Warnings:  SMUT, pet play (D/s relationship), anal play, oral sex (male receiving), penetration, dirty talk, choking, collar/choker

Pairings: Steve Rogers x reader

Words: 3,3448

A/N: This use to be a OFC, so if there are any issues I apologize

Originally posted by lovelynemesis

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yourconfusedneighborhoodemo  asked:

Number 22 for Ereri please! (If you can't that's cool too you're fab always so it's always awesome) You are fabulous may I just say okay wow I LOVE your writing and I wish I could write as well as you <33333

of course my lovely! and awww thank you so much! that means a lot to me <3 

#22: “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”


Eren huffed, fingers spinning the pencil that hung between his fingers. The professor’s words were droning on and on and Eren swore that he was going to fucking die of boredom. 

But it wasn’t all that bad. Levi Ackerman was in his class too. And it was a semi-small class. Not one of the bigger lectures and because Eren sat behind the other boy, he got a perfect view of his beautiful undercut, hair pulled back so attractively so into a small pony tail and bangs left to hang out and frame his oh-so handsome face.

God he’s so hot, Eren thought to himself as his teeth took to chewing on the end of his pencil while he admired the boy from afar. Just like he had done for a couple years now. And even over that time, Levi had gotten more piercings and tattoos and even more fit and Eren would literally bend over backwards just to get a simple glimpse of his stomach. 

Yeah, he was a thirsty ho, his friends called him that all the time. Jean tried it once — didn’t work out in his favor very well. 

It just so happened that Eren and Levi were going into the same major, so for Eren, that meant at least two more years of pathetic pining and meaningless one night stands to try and get the thoughts of the raven out of his head. Yeah, like that worked.

“Mr. Jaeger.” He was pulled away from his fantasies as the professor called on him, everyone else, including Levi, now staring at him expectantly. “Would you care to answer my question?”

Eren honestly didn’t even want to give the man the time of day — he was old enough to teach fucking God, okay. 

“Only if you care to repeat it,” Eren bit back with a little more ferocity than he had meant to. But his face was flushing with a slight pink color the longer the class and Levi stared at him and he couldn’t help himself to flicker his eyes to Levi’s. Of course, to Eren’s luck, they met for a quick second and Eren swore that he fucking melted at the smirk that rose to Levi’s completely kissable lips; the lips that Eren thought about way too often.

The professor simply hummed and the next thing he said made his heart drop. “Well, moving on, I’ll be putting you all into small groups for the rest of class for discussion.” A part of Eren hoped more than anything to be with Levi, but the other part knew that he would fuck everything up and would die if he ended up with the beauty in the front of the classroom. 

“—and finally,” Eren hadn’t realized that his small panic attack had costed him the naming and pairing of everyone and he listened carefully, practically on the edge of his seat as he prayed that the professor wouldn’t say his name. “Jaeger, you will be with Ms. Magnolia and Mr. Ackerman. Mr. Church will be joining you when he returns tomorrow.”

Eren felt as though that he couldn’t breathe, all the air in his lungs had left in one sudden movement as if the professor had punched him square in the gut. He didn’t mind Isabel, if anything, she reminded him of himself since they were so alike that they could pass as siblings. In fact, many people thought they were but were always mistaken. He also didn’t mind Farlan. The boy didn’t really talk much anyway, always keeping to himself or the two other people that he stayed around with. 

Eren did, in fact, have an issues with the fact that Levi Ackerman was approaching him and — code red, pony tail, hotass is now across from me and I cannot breathe.

His thoughts were frantic and he only hoped that he wasn’t going to hyperventilate like a fucking idiot in front of his goddamn crush. And of course, like the moron that he was, Eren was staring. 

He’s way prettier up close.

“Eren?” Isabel waved a hand in front of his face and he blinked, thankful that Levi was scrolling through his phone so that he didn’t have to notice Eren’s stupid staring. “There we go,” she smiled at him. “How are you? Are you excited for the project?”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

That seemed to catch Levi’s attention and he looked up, steely, smoldering eyes staring straight into Eren’s soul and he swore that Levi could read his very thoughts. 

“You don’t pay attention much, do you?”

No, I’m much too occupied ogling your perfect ass.

“U-uh, I tend to zone out a lot.” Which wasn’t necessarily a lie.

He hummed, a sound that melted Eren down to the core. “Well, the project that Isabel is talking about…” he paused for a minute, picking up his phone with a thinking look on his face and his thumbs typed away quickly before setting it down. Then it was Isabel’s phone that buzzed and she grinned, picking it up and giggled to herself, hand covering over her mouth. 

“Okay,” she said cheerfully. 

Eren felt so out of the loop. 

“Uh?”

“I’ll just explain it to you when we meet up to work on it.”

That was the last thing that Eren was expecting from him. All the color left his face and he stared at Levi with too many emotions flickering through his eyes as fast as the thoughts that were racing through his head. 

“Here’s my number, I’ll get yours from Isabel and we’ll meet up tonight.” Without another word, Levi slung his backpack over his shoulder and walked out. 

Eren was so shocked, eyes raking over the numbers that were scribbled on the torn piece of paper in front of him. Isabel was still giggling when he turned to her. 

“What the fuck just happened?”

“You and Levi are partners for the project.”


He was still trying to wrap his brain and his thoughts around the fact that he was actually in front of Levi’s apartment door, hesitant to knock as he gripped his phone in his hand because he needed something to hold onto to keep his sanity in check. 

“Hey, you made it,” Levi said as he opened the door. 

“Y-yeah?” Eren stuttered and he wanted to jump over the railing behind him.

“C’mon. Don’t stand out there like an idiot.” He opened the door wider for Eren to step through, which he did, reluctantly. It was immaculately clean. Something he didn’t expect any less of Levi honestly. 

He said something, pausing when Eren didn’t answer. “Jesus, you do zone out a lot.”

Eren blushed, adjusting his backpack on his shoulders. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Levi padded into the kitchen. “Make yourself comfortable. Just take your shoes off. Do you want something to drink? Seems like you need it, you’re kinda tense.” Eren wasn’t sure if it was playful tone that laced through his words, and he seemed to be thinking way too into it because Levi did bring him a drink. It was practically thrust into his hands. 

They sat quietly, Eren much more tense than Levi even with the couple glasses of wine that ran through his system. “Seriously, I’m not gonna bite,” Levi finally said and Eren glanced over at him. “I mean, unless you want me to.” He made his comment as though he was talking about casual things like the weather as Eren’s face burst into a bright red.

It didn’t make it any better that Levi chuckled, seemingly laughing at him. “You’re cuter than I expected you to be.”

“Huh?” There was panic in Eren’s eyes that Levi picked up instantly. 

“Like, I had been planning to invite you over to obviously, I had thought about it before. You’re cute.”

Eren had to be dreaming. There had to be way more alcohol in his system than he thought there was. “So, uh,” he cleared his throat. “A-about the project?”

“That’s not why I invited you over. I knew that if I just simply invited you over to hang out and talk, you’d say no and so I needed an excuse.” Eren was fucking shocked, his jaw hanging open, astonished. He didn’t know what to say or what to do and Levi was moving much to close for him to react.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Levi voice was like silk, his breath fanning over Eren’s already hot face and he was shaking. Levi’s hand was on his, giving it a small squeeze while the other reached up. He grabbed Eren’s chin gently between his thumb and index finger and turned it so that he could place a gentle and chaste kiss on his.

Eren squeaked, actually fucking squeaked and Levi laughed. Honest-to-God laughed and Eren knew this was the moment that he had died and went to heaven. 

“Wh-what—why—I don’t—”

“Relax, Eren.” Levi shushed. “You don’t have to say anything. Actions speak louder than words you know.” There was that smile and Eren couldn’t help but lean into his touch. “I know you like me, have for a long time. And also Isabel told me but that’s beside the point—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“The point is,” Levi continued, ignoring his outburst. “Is that I like you too and so you don’t need to act like you’re not staring anymore. You’re really bad at hiding it anyway.”

Eren was still speechless. He was at a loss for words and just stared at Levi, eyes exmaining his face and taking in the fact that they kissed and that Levi actually likes him too

“Wait,” Eren pulls away for a second. “Was there even a project then?”

Levi smiles, pressing a kiss to Eren’s nose. “Nope.”


Send me a pairing and a number and I’ll write you

A Different Story || Peter Parker x Reader

[prompt: the main character of your story falls in love with someone they were not originally supposed to be with.]

{summary: being a fan of spiderman since he was a child, Dirk Richardson is over the moon when he finds a rather thick copy of a spiderman comic simply titled ‘homecoming’ at his local comic book store.

knowing that the movie would release during the summer, he purchases the comic and is confident that he would know the plotline to the movie before anyone else.

little does he know, this comic is a tad bit different when Peter Parker seems to have a mind of his own and focuses his attention on a girl who goes by the name [Full Name]}

this story is going to be SO META. It’s something I’ve always wanted to write this when I had first seen that prompt on Reddit’s Writing Prompt subreddit. Despite the confusing summary, it will all make sense once you all read this story, I promise 。゚(TヮT)゚。

dedicated to @siqnificance, bc mina is bae and I love her so much.

OC Mention: Dirk Richardson, an avid spiderman fan who is the narrator of this story.

warnings: none

legend: parts beginning in bold indicate Dirk’s POV.| parts beginning with italics indicates Peter’s POV.

**please don’t repost/plagiarize this story. reblogs are fine!**

——

Out of all of my superhero biases, I gotta say that my absolute favorite has to be Spider-Man.

Being an average dude of average build myself sporting dark brown hair and plain grey eyes, I could relate to Peter Parker on so many levels. Here, we are given this absolute nerd who’s just trying to survive high school. Through some twist of fate, he gets bitten by a radioactive spider and gets all of these awesome abilities.

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Favorite Things-chapter 4

Favorite Things Masterlist

Summary- Max and Avonlea finally speak after the kiss incident. Max takes drastic measures with unintended consequences.

Warnings- Angst/Anxiety, Self Esteem Issues, Possessive Max, unseen violence, fluff.

Author Notes- I think I am going to do shorter chapters so I can post sooner rather than later. Eventually, I’m going to have to switch back over to Sunny Days and work on that again.

Word Count-1.5k-ish

Tag List- Let me know if you want on or off.

@ali-pennell @stone-met @warriorqueen1991 @sherrybaby14 @unicorn-blood-splatter @flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash @ladylorelitany @melodicdolls @ninjacuddlepile @neganscatleesi @thatwriterizzy @sassyfiedscribbles @ashzombie13 @wadeyourebarelyalive @starshinesupergirl @adayinmymeadow @astrangegirlsmind @vendekk @negan–is–god @toxic-ink @jeffreydeanmorganrarechar

Originally posted by mypapawinchester

After his episode in the passageway, Max was only too happy to let Avonlea avoid him for a day or two. He wasn’t sure he could face her yet anyways. He still watched her and listened to her during the day. He avoided her bathroom and was successful at staying away while she slept.

He had learned so much about her in that time. She woke up early and wrote for an hour or two while drinking coffee every morning. She went out for errands after that. When she returned with groceries or dry cleaning, she would make herself a light lunch. Usually a salad with chicken or shrimp. Then she would clean while talking with her mom. That was his favorite part of the day. The conversations were hard to follow. They changed topic frequently without notice, and he always felt like most of what they said was an inside joke. It was worth the confusion just to hear her laughing. Light twinkling giggles or loud belly cramping bursts that would dissolve in tears. Every sound of joy was infectious. He’d sit in the darkness smiling until his cheeks burned. The thoughts of those laughs gave him reasons to smile the rest of the day.

Today, however, was the day he would see her again and explain his reaction. He would ask her out, and she would say yes. They would spend a wonderful evening together, and he would have a second chance.

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anonymous asked:

Could you do one where the reader is popular and she asks eric for help in math so he tutors her after school and they end up falling for each other even tho they are from completely different cliques

Math was definitely not your strong suit. It was something that you had always been terrible at, though it wasn’t like you could help it. When all the numbers were wrote out on the board and you looked at it, there was something in your brain that prevented you from understanding it. Your grade in the class was…. Lackluster, at best. You were barely hanging onto a C and the grade loomed over your head at all times when you were home. It was something that made your mother threaten to take you out of cheer and something that mocked you every time you got your brightly colored grade card at the end of the quarter. 
Sitting in the middle of the classroom, you crossed your legs in your chair – notebook open and pencil in hand as you waited for the teacher to come into the room. Since math was your second hour and your first class was very close to it, you were always the first one there. Always. The second person to come in was almost always Eric. He was a very punctual young man and he came in at the same time every day like clockwork. He had bowling his first hour, and you had overheard him saying he had often times had to speed to get to class on time. You always found that humorous, because you probably would go under the speed limit so you wouldn’t have to stay in class the whole time, most likely explaining your low grade. 
Eric sat next to you, gently placing his math book and notes onto the table unlike you, who practically launched them on the table from across the room with carelessness. You gave him a small, forced (because you’re in school and not very happy about it) smile and drew small doodles of random things in the margins in your notebook. 
A few seconds passed and, as you were coloring in a random shape you didn’t think had a name, Eric commented, “You draw a lot.” It was a simple statement, and his eyes didn’t even meet yours when he said it. Hell, his face was transfixed on his notes. He fingered through the pages casually, his lips pursed slightly, whistling. It shocked you a bit that he had noticed. You didn’t think anyone noticed what you did, you just thought they knew you existed. Everyone at Columbine knew you existed because you were a cheerleader. They knew what you wore, what kind of car you drove…. Your grades. But no one noticed the small things you did, and the fact that Eric, such a stellar math student who seemed to be rarely out of focus (though you didn’t really notice his habits too much) saw that you drew in your margins “a lot” left you slightly aghast and a bit flushed. 
“Yeah, sometimes,” You said passively, lacing your fingers together, your hands between your mid-thighs. “Nothing too fancy, though.” You assured him. You knew lots of people who were taking advanced art classes who bragged about their art and, not being cocky or an advanced art student, you didn’t want to look even relatively similar to those people. 
“Sometimes,” Eric laughed. “You draw all the time. That’s probably why that girl was teasing you about your grade the other day.” You sighed. He was right. A girl was teasing you for having a low C in the class. You didn’t really care, but it was irritating because you knew better than anyone that you could earn a better grade. You just didn’t need some random girl telling you that. 
“Yeah,” You admitted. “You’re probably right. I need a tutor for this class, really. I think I’d have a better grade, then.” This got Eric’s attention.
He turned to look at you, his head tilted in curiosity. “You do?” He asked. “I could help you, if you’d like.” He offered nonchalantly. 
“Really? That would be awesome!” You beamed, and Eric gave you his signature lopsided smile back. By this point, the class had filled up and the bell rang loudly throughout the halls. 

After school, you headed outside towards your car. You sat down on the hood and placed your hand on your forehead. It was getting warm out and you weren’t used to it – the sun beating down on your skin and causing you to burn, the heat causing you to sweat profusely – and your white car deflected the heat well enough that when you did place your things in your car they wouldn’t begin to cook, so to speak. 
After tossing your bag into the back seat, you exhaled and looked around the parking lot before sliding your sunglasses onto your face. The dark lenses helped to protect against the intense glares of the sun without adjusting your looks too much. Just as you opened your car door, you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned quickly, startled by the sudden contact, and exhaled gently when you saw it was Eric. “Hey,” You greeted him and smiled, your fingers lacing together loosely. 
“Hey,” He returned rather stoically before handing you a small slip of paper. You unfolded the haphazardly torn paper and examined it. Written on the front was a phone number next to the name “Eric Harris.” You slid the paper into your shirt pocket (you didn’t think you would use it, but it was handy now!) and looked at him. “Thought you might need that if you were wanting my help. ’s my number, if you didn’t draw the conclusion.”
You laughed softly and nodded. “I got it. I’ll be in contact, Eric.” You smiled and opened your car door. “It means a lot, really. Math is hard..!” You sat in your car carefully, the leather seats stinging the back of your legs with heat. You hissed quietly and ignored Eric’s soft laughter.
You rolled down your window and closed the door, then waved by to Eric as he took a couple steps back and you started your car. He turned away, then hesitated and turned back around. “Also,” He added nervously. “You don’t have to call me only for math help. We can be friends, too.”
Your face flushed a bit and you beamed. “Of course,” You assured him happily. “I’ll be sure to take you up on that. See you later, E!” You reached out for a fist bump and Eric smirked before touching his knuckles to yours. He waved and walked away to his car as you backed out of the parking space and drove out onto the street. 

A few days passed and a large test was looming in the distance, intimidating you. The past two days you had gotten help from Eric. You had met at cafes or libraries to work, but the times you actually worked were usually short because he was very good at explaining. You understood more and more standards each day, and you felt more and more confident with the final test. You really thought you would passed. Hell, your grade improved from a C to a B after you redid assignments and completed your homework from start to finish.
Since you were catching on fast, you would often stay long periods of time with Eric to just talk. Sometimes your conversations were very plain like small talk, but other times your conversations got very personal. You knew things about Eric that no one else knew, and you thought that was because you were such a good listener. He also knew how you truly felt about being labeled “popular” – that you didn’t want to be placed into a group that was so disparaging to other people and how you thought it would be easier to remain innocuous and fly under the radar. People made assumptions about you because you were a cheerleader – they thought you were easy and stupid or just another pretty face. You would rather be recognized for things you really were. 
Eric seemed to have the same view. He didn’t really want to be popular, he just wanted to be liked. He didn’t want to feel like such an outcast. You knew that people were mean to him. Brutal, in fact. They had thrown things at Eric and some of his friends during lunch while you watched. You desperately wanted to go talk to the two after the incident to comfort them, but at that time you had been so naive and allowed your friends to think they were fine. After talking to Eric, you wished you could go back in time and help him. You wished you had stepped in. You wished you could change what happened. Eric seemed very docile when talking about the situation, though there was a strange melancholy sound in his voice when he spoke and you couldn’t blame him. He described the day as the worst of his life, and you silently vowed to make sure he only had better days from then on. 
On the day of the test, you and Eric arrived at your respective times, being the first two in the class as usual. Eric smiled when he walked in, an occurrence that never happened. Ever. You smiled back, though, because his slanted grin made you happy. “You ready to pass this test?” He asked as he slid into his seat next to you. 
“Of course,” You smiled and laced your fingers together under the table between your thighs. “I had a good tutor, you know.” You added slyly.
“I hear he’s kind of a nerd, though,” Eric muttered and grinned, leaning back in his chair. You rolled your eyes, and Eric looked you over for a moment before saying, “You’re nervous.”
You blinked, a bit shocked. Admittedly, you were, but you didn’t know how he could have seen that. You tried to speak, but your words came out a long slur. Eric grinned and laced his fingers together over his lap, then looked at your hands and back to his. You furrowed your brow slightly, confused, then huffed before un-lacing your fingers and crossing your arms. “You always have your hands like this when you’re nervous. The first time we spoke, at the car when I gave you my number, almost every time we’ve talked and you and I both know that’s a lot…”
“Okay, okay,” You acquiesced. “I get it. I just didn’t think you would notice something so small.” Your voice trailed off and you subconsciously laced your fingers together.
Eric reached over and took one of your hands, enveloping your hand in his. “There’s no reason to be nervous, I promise. You know all the stuff.” Your face flushed as he squeezed your hand lightly. You were used to this kind of boldness, but not something as sweet as someone taking your hand. You squeezed his hand back and he offered his painfully sweet smile. You smiled back, but your nervousness remained, even through the test. 

The test passed, and you waited anxiously for days for your results. The results came back a painful 7 business days after you took the exam – you scored a 96% – you were advanced on the scoring scale. The amount of happiness that flowed over you nearly sent you into a state of euphoria. Later in the day, as you were heading to your car with a happy expression across your lips, you saw Eric walking towards his car. You called out to him and he turned to see you, then beamed and waved. You hurried over to him, weaving through cars on the road and parked in the lot, and brushed your hair from your eyes.
“Hey,” He said happily. “How’d you do on your test?” He ran his fingers through his hair, then adjusted his sunglasses on his face. 
“I got a 96,” You squealed, bouncing on the balls of your feet excitedly. “That’s way better than anything I could have done on my own. Thank you, really.” You gushed, unable to stop smiling. 
“Good job,” Eric said, internally screaming about how adorable you looked being so excited. “I knew you could do it.” He held his fist up for a bump and you touched your knuckles to his. You took a deep breath to calm down and looked at Eric who was now looking off into the distance, seemingly thinking about something.
Still smiling, you wrapped your arms around him tightly and placed a kiss on his cheek. His face grew hot after you kissed him, a rose bridge growing over his nose and cheeks. You pulled away to look at him and his expression was shocked and extremely flustered. You locked your hands with his and looked into his eyes. “Just remember. Even though testing is over, you’re still free to call me.” Speechless, Eric just nodded, his mouth ajar as he gaped at you. You laughed softly at this, then pressed your lips against his briefly (cause the poor bab looked like he was gonna catch fire, poor kiddo) and patted his cheek softly before slipping your hands from his and walking towards your car. 
Almost immediately after you got home, your phone rang. You picked it up quickly and placed it to your ear, answering, “Hello?”
“Hey,” The voice on the other end of the line said breathlessly. “It’s Eric. Can I talk to you?”
“Of course,” You answered, sliding your bag off your shoulders and tossing it to the side. “What’s up?”
“Well uh,” He spoke nervously, his voice seemingly shaking. “So I thought about what happened after school, and now I have a question.”
You smiled at his timidity and told him, “Ask away~.”
There was a moment of silence and Eric took a deep breath, mumbling to himself for a moment. “Will you, um… Be my girlfriend?” He asked finally and your heart skipped a few beats, it seemed. 
“I would love to,” You answered honestly and rested your head on your hand. “That would be awesome." 

After several dates, the two of you began showing affection at school. Your fellow cheerleaders treated you less well than they did before, but you didn’t really mind. Jocks stopped paying attention to you and paid more (good) attention to Eric. The two of you had reached the middle ground you had so desperately wanted. And you didn’t think that high school could get any better.

s y n d r o m e s - pt.9

Group : BTS

Members : All seven (Park Jimin is main, tho)

Genre : Criminal!BTS, psychology themes, smut, fluff, angst

Words Count : 4,332

Description :  “Lima syndrome is the result of the abductor / kidnapper sympathizing with his hostages”. And Park Jimin had never heard of it before, when he took you as his hostage.

A/N : I’m sorry that it took so long. I was kinda unmotivated to write in the last few days, because I was kinda down, kinda lonely, BUT NEVERMIND ME IM JUST BEING DRAMATIC I GUESS. Enjoy part 9 :) 

previous : part VIII | next : part X

MASTERLIST

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Art Class

Summary:  AU in which Dan and Phil has to draw each other in art class. Although Dan is good at art, he’s still super nervous since he had a secret crush on Phil for a very long time. Includes a fanboy Dan. 

Genre: fluff

Word Count: 1,810

A/N: English is my second language so there might be a few grammar mistakes. Feel free to point them out to me.

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grabby-hands-for-benedict said:Hello! Would you write about Josh being constantly inappropriate with Chris on public places? :)

I SURE AS SKIPPY WILL!


“Why does it always have to be me helping you out with this crap?” Chris is huffing, arms burning as he holds a wooden plank over his head.

“Cuz Josh is too short, man.” Mike is up on a ladder, biting screws between his teeth while he maneuvers the end of the plank against the wall, eyebrows knit together in concentration.

“Listen, broskis, being short works out in my favor sometimes. Like now, for instance.” Josh, the bastard, is leaning against the opposite wall, watching the other two sweat and struggle to put up the cabinet while he drags lazily on a joint. “Besides,” he puts on a fake Southern drawl, lips curling up into a crazy smile, “I like to watch the new guys sweat.”

“Shut up, Josh,” Chris grumbles, feeling a bead of sweat work its way down his neck and into the collar of his t-shirt. He turns to throw a glance at his older friend, and shifts just enough that it makes Mike bark at him.

“Hey, keep it steady, man! I can’t screw it into the wall if you keep fuckin’ around.”

“Shit, man, sorry,” Chris goes to right it again, focuses in on the task at hand. Tries to ignore Josh’s muffled snickers behind him. Holds the plank as steady as he can despite his muscles aching. Shit, he’s barely doing anything and he’s this exhausted already? Time to start hitting the gym with Matt again…

A vibration runs through his leg, and it makes the blonde jolt, just a little. Mike gives him a sharp glare, and Chris tries to swallow down his instinct to drop the plank and grab the buzzing phone in his pocket. It could be Ashley, texting him about their history project. It could be his mom, with news about his grandpa or something. It could be Sam, in desperate need of someone to fix her computer.

“Josh, man, do me a favor?” He can’t help it. He’s not patient, he needs to know now.

“Sure, dude, what’s up?” Josh’s tone sounds almost serious, and a little excited. He always likes it when Chris asks for help with stuff, makes him feel useful or…something.

“My phone’s buzzing, can you grab it out of my pocket and see what’s up?”

A short silence, Josh’s footsteps coming towards him. A cool, “Sure, bro.” Mischief. Aw shit, what’s he gonna–

Chris feels a hand dive into the back pocket of his jeans, and he lets out a yelp. He’d like to pretend it’s a dignified yelp, but it isn’t. Not even close. He feels breath on the back of his neck, and he can just picture the shit-eating grin on Josh’s lips.

“This pocket, bro? Is it in this one?” The hand squeezes his ass, then leaves and jumps over to his other back pocket. “What about this one?” Squeezes that cheek, too, and Chris all but drops the plank.

“Dude!” he squeaks, overlapping with Mike’s angry shout of, “I will end you, Chris!” He struggles to keep the plank steady, and Josh is laughing as subtly as he can. Which is to say, not very.

“Alright, alright, sorry man. Jesus, take a pill. I’m gettin’ it.” Chris watches Josh’s hand out of the corner of his vision, watches it slowly creep down to his front pocket, slip inside. He feels fingers wrap around his phone, but the hand doesn’t move, just stays still. Josh presses up against Chris’ back, snickering.

“Want a quick tug, Cochise?” It’s barely a whisper, a throaty mumble next to his ear, and Chris feels his face light up. He tries to bat Josh away with his elbow, and nearly drops the plank. Again. Mike yells something angry in Spanish, it sounds vaguely like a threat on his life. Josh slips his hand out of Chris’ pocket, taking the cellphone with him, giggling the entire time.


It wasn’t that Chris didn’t like Josh’s special brand of…erm, attention. It was just that it had been more aggressive as of late, a little harder to ignore. And more public. The rest of their friends never said anything, oddly enough. Must’ve figured it was par for the course, knowing the friendship they had.

Usually, it was tame enough to pass off as a weird joke. Chris would bend over to pick up a notebook he’d dropped, Josh would stand behind him and mime thrusting motions. Before gym class, Chris would take his shirt off in the locker room, and Josh would yell something loud and embarrassing, something like “love me some whtie bread!” (Funny, sure, but really dude, white bread? He’d tried to call him multi-grain in retaliation, but that just…hadn’t worked out.) Everyone was used to Josh’s stupid jokes. It was never something a well-placed ‘no homo’ couldn’t fix.

But lately it had just gotten…different.


March 18th, 3:17 pm

Chris was trying on a sweater at a store in the mall. He slid it over his head, tugging at the soft material a few times til it sat comfortably on his frame. Twisting this way and that, he gave himself a long glance in the mirror, then shrugged. He’d never been good at this stuff. This is why he had to shop with Josh or Emily, he never knew what looked good. On this trip, it was Josh, who had been all too happy to pluck a few (overpriced) sweaters from a display and usher Chris to the fitting rooms to try them on.

The one he was trying now was cozy. A heavy lambswool sweater, the color of moss, and it was ridiculously soft. He liked it well enough, he supposed, but decided to ask a second opinion. He straightened his glasses and unlatched the door, stepping out into the bright hallway to search for Josh. His dark hair popped into view immediately, followed by bright green eyes and a broad smirk.

“What d’you think?” Chris murmured, glancing over Josh’s shoulder for a moment at the cute blonde girl that was refolding merchandise. She gave him a quick glance and smiled. Chris grinned in response, then looked back to Josh. Who was narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“No. No, not this one. No way. Can’t buy it.”

“What? Why not?” Chris had thought it looked pretty good…plus it was warm as hell. Huge plus in Chris’ books.

“Cuz it looks too good. I’d just rip it off you the second you put it on.” Josh’s grin bloomed wider, and Chris felt his cheeks burn red. The blonde worker whipped her head up to stare at the pair of them, eyebrows raised so high they may as well have rocketed off her face. Tongue suddenly thick and dumb, he spun on his heel and marched back into the dressing room, Josh’s snickers trailing behind him.

He doesn’t buy the sweater.


April 4th, 10:14 am

One of the mistakes teachers often made was sitting Josh and Chris beside each other. Chris was a good student…mostly. He got in trouble for looking at his phone during class, but otherwise, he was attentive. It was Josh that caused the issues. He cracked jokes, bugged Chris, one time he even tried to make it a point to crawl, on his stomach, across the entire room, unnoticed. Just to pass Emily a note.

Josh mostly liked to focus his attention on Chris. Because Chris could take it. He could absorb the jokes and let them pass. No amount of pencil pokes or passed notes could make him emote large enough to get them in trouble. And Josh loved to push his boundaries.

The assignment was simple: read a chapter of the textbook, write down a few questions or comments, and there would be a class discussion. Josh, as always, had forgotten his book in his car, so he slid a chair over to Chris’ desk to share with him. Normal occurrence. But there was a gleam in his eyes, like he was planning something. He was always planning something.

Chris started to read, pen scratching tiny notes and questions on his open notebook. Josh read a few sentences, then placed a hand on Chris’ knee. The blond looked up, gave him a long stare. A ‘don’t-do-whatever-it-is-you-want-to-do’ stare. Josh smiled, and looked back down to the reading. His hand stayed on Chris’ knee. Chris returned to reading. The hand scooched up his leg, maybe an inch. Neither boy said anything. The hand inched up again. And again.

“Imma grab your dick,” Josh whispered, his hand edging up to lay on Chris’ thigh. Chris jolted his leg up, slamming Josh’s hand (and his knee) against the underside of the desk with a loud bang! Both boys groaned in pain, and the teacher glared at them.

They were sent to the Principal’s office. Josh wouldn’t stop smirking.


December 12th, 12:32 pm

Christmas was just around the corner, and Chris couldn’t wait. He loved Christmas time. Lots of warm sweaters and hot coffee and all the cute people at school bundled up against the Southern California cold? It was, without a doubt, his favorite time of year. Not to mention it meant that the annual Blackwood Mountain trip was only a few months away.

He was walking to his locker with Beth in tow, chatting about plans for the trip, securing transport, what sort of wintertime fun they could have. When they finally got round to his locker, he started to spin the lock on it, putting in his combination. When it popped open, he swung the door open, and was promptly smacked in the face by a piece of felt on a spring.

“Is…that mistletoe?” Beth asked. Chris didn’t even respond, just stared at the green and red hot-glued monstrosity that was stuck against the locker door. Who the hell broke into his locker and stuck mistletoe–? It didn’t make any sense.

“Does that mean we have to kiss?” Beth’s voice brings him back to reality, and he stares down at her, eyes blown wide with shock. Shit. Shit, shit, did she think he set this up? He didn’t, he wasn’t trying to mack on girls at his locker, that would be so dumb. She has her eyebrows knitted together, looking at him with a mixed expression, and he puts his hands up defensively.

“I didn’t do this,” his voice cracks when he says it, and a shiver runs down his back. “I swear I didn’t–”

“Aw, man, you beat me here!” A gravelly voice behind him makes Chris jump, and he whirls around to see a slightly out-of breath Josh. Josh looks between his sister, Chris, and the craft-store hellspawn mistletoe, and lets out a huff. “You tryin’ to kiss my sister, man?”

“No, no no no, I have no–”

“Well, I guess the best idea would be for me to take the fall for her. Y’know. Keep her safe from your wily womanizing ways.” A smirk lights up the sharp edges of his face, and Chris starts to wonder if maybe, somehow, Josh is connected to this whole thing somehow. But there isn’t time to think about that now. Josh is pressing up on his tiptoes and Beth is covering a grin with her hand and Chris does just about the only thing he can do at this point.

He kisses Josh.

Sweater Weather

Mal and Regina spend a fall afternoon cuddling in a hammock, and Regina reflects on the year they’ve spent together. 

For @trina-deckers, who requested “sweater weather” for DQ from my Prompt List; and for @oparu, who is pretty has earned herself a Fandom Patience Award this week. 

Also for the anon who requested “There’s a leaf in your hair” for DQ from my prompt list. 

@emmaswanchoosesyou, I hope you enjoy, as well :)

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He Said, She Said [for whenfearlosespower]

Dear Gladys,

Your brother and I are shagging each other now.

George absolutely did not write that sentence down as an opener to his latest letter. But he imagined doing it anyway, just for the shock value, even though he was fairly certain she would never speak to him again if she knew the truth about his relationship with Harry. If he put it on paper, could see it in print, maybe that would help this new development feel real, instead of something he still could barely believe had actually happened. Was happening.

And yes of course he was fully aware that they weren’t really shagging each other. But it was close enough. And Gladys probably wouldn’t care to make that differentiation anyway. She’d be horrified no matter what.

I hope this letter finds you still well, and you find this letter readable. Letters are after all private things, and yours should be no different; so I have taken the liberty of obtaining the tools necessary to write in Braille, that you need not be reliant on a third party to read my correspondence to you. Just the same, you may write to me in kind and be assured of my ability to read it. I am a quick study, and I have a book to help guide me should I need it.

He had said nothing of his plans in any of his previous letters to Gladys, intending for it to be a surprise. George meant what he had laboriously spelled out using slate and stylus, though. Letters between two people were only meant to be read by those two people, right? That privacy was something he had previously taken for granted, but came to actively think about after he began exchanging letters with Gladys. You couldn’t share anything meaningful with each other if a third party was involved. It wasn’t personal. And that wasn’t really fair to Gladys, who deserved to have her privacy just like every other sighted person in the world.

Thus, he had decided to learn how to write (and read) in her language.

It was slow going, writing out his letter and then transcribing it into Braille. For one thing, he had to spell out each word backwards. And the slate for punching in the raised dots in an even manner on paper needed constant re-positioning. Reading her return reply, which he did hope would be in Braille, was going to be even more laborious. But he was determined to make it work.

Harry will be on tour with his show soon so of course he is working himself to the bone in preparation. Adelaide of course is worried for him. I have tried to reassure her that he surely knows how to take care of himself by now, but I think I am having little effect. She will miss him terribly while he is gone.

As would he, but Gladys didn’t need to know that. George didn’t mind sharing details of his everyday life with her, but he was careful to frame them in such a way that made him appear to be Harry and Adelaide’s good friend only. Their neighbor, only. Not a lover, not a housemate. To that end, he wrote about his latest adventures in photography (double exposures could be clever) and pencil-pushing at Scotland Yard, asked how she was doing at settling into life in New York, and related the results of Victoria’s book of artwork from Harry and Adelaide’s wedding.

You make an appearance in several of her sketches and full-color portraits, of course. I believe she captured your likeness quite well. And before you think it, as I imagine you will, you do not detract from the loveliness of the artwork at all.

Until next time, I remain,

George

Awkward // Park Chanyeol

Originally posted by essentyeol


Prompt: I just dropped my sketch book with a detailed portrait of you showing right in front of you wow this is awkward

Words: 1160

A/N: this is actually something that could probably happen to me but would end horribly. sorry if this sucks next time will be better.

°°°

The booth squeaked as you sat down in your usual place in the small cafe patiently waiting for your order to be ready. You carefully removed a sketch book and a small box filled with a assortment of different pencils and blending stumps. You looked around the cafe the quite aura making you feel calm. Suddenly a loud laugh caught your attention eyes immediately darting to the front door. You watched two boys enter the taller one laughing at the other.

“Do it one more time beakhyun, it’s so funny I don’t know why” the tall one continued laughing. You smiled the two boys were cute. The tall one had a head of silver hair and big ears that made you smile, and the shorter one, or baekhyun apparently, had a cute little nose and light pink hair. You looked at you own hair wondering if you could pull off that color.

“Fine fine. Chanyeol” baekhyun smiled clearing his throat a little “ANNYEONGHASEYO" he spoke in a loud high pitched girly voice.

Chanyeols whole face lit up letting out another loud laugh making the shorter boy smile brightly. You couldn’t help the small smile that made it’s way onto your face, the pair seemed so cheery it made you miss your own friend who was busy out of her mind this week.

While watching the pair chanyeols eyes met yours and immediately a blush covered your cheeks at being caught. You had expected a glare but instead the happy boy gave you a small warm smile, you quickly gave a shy smile before quickly looking away. You mentally scolded yourself for being weird and opened your pencil box beginning to choose which one you wanted to start with eventually settling for a lighter one, it was a sunny day. “Y/N your order is ready!” The cashier yelled. You quickly walked next to the pair of boys grabbing your tea and cookie and mumbling a short ‘thank you’

“No problem! What will you be drawing today hm?” she asked

“Oh… I don’t know I just go for it" you chuckled giving her a light smile and heading back to your seat.

Sat at the Booth eyes lingering on the passersby before returning your attention to your sketch book. You sipped at your drink squinting at you paper wondering what to draw.

“Baekhyun can I have a bite of you pastry” you heard a deep voice you lifted your eyes to see that the loud pair from before had decided to stay and we’re now only two tables away. You blushed when again chanyeol smiled at you.

Signing pencil touched paper and you we’re at work drawing what came to mind, it didn’t take long before you recognized the beautiful face of the boy, chanyeol staring out the window on your paper. Unfortunately, you weren’t fast enough to cover the paper when the cashier approached your side.

“Hey, need any- aww that’s so good you think he’s cute yeah?” She asked smiling lightly, you frowned annoyed at this girl always in your business she wouldn’t even tell you her name. I share one piece of information about my life, that I haven’t had a boyfriend, and she tries to set you up with every guy that steps in here.

“I-i what” you stuttered shocked at her sudden question.

“Ohhh looks like he agrees” she smirked, you looked up to see chanyeol looking at you and then pulled out the extra chair at the table giving you a crooked smile. She looked at me once more before snatching my cup and pencils and making a dash for their table and setting them there and going back to her counter. I looked back over to them and chanyeol shrugged scratching the back of his neck nervously. You stood up pick grabbing you sketch book in your shaking hands and started towards their table. You weren’t sure really how in the five feet away and only looking down trying to close your sketch you managed to fall to the floor but you did. A hand came down on your shoulder catching your attention, you quickly looked up at the silver haired boy kneeling next to you.

“are you alright?” he asked, you nodded he smiled before something else caught his attention. Your eyes immediately followed his to your, sadly for you, open sketch book where he could fully see your drawing of him. You tried to grab it but he beat you and grasped it in his hand before pulling you to your feet. Watching his expression worriedly looking for any sign to run as he examined the art before him a grin settled on his face.

“beakhyun, you’ve gotta see this its so cool” he grabbed your wrist leading you to the open chair at the table and handed baekhyun the book taking a seat himself. Nervously you watched the two while occasionally now taking sips of the drink now in front of you again.

“You just drew this right now?!” beakhyun asked amazed

“um, yea its not really finished. I just come in here and draw whatever I have dozens of unfinished ones in all of my sketch books” I said quickly waiting to explain how I wasn’t some creeper.

“do you always draw people?” chanyeol asked.

“Oh no this is the first time i’ve done that in here”

“oh” a small smile made its way onto his face not breaking eye contact with you, luckily before you got too shy baekhyun spoke up.

“Ah, chanyeol we’ve gotta go” He said quickly handing me my book and began picking up things.

A small frowned made its way onto my face as i’d probably never see the pair again “Hey why the long face?” chanyeol asked.

“huh, oh nothing just lost in thought” you quickly covered up.

The two bid their goodbyes leaving you sat alone at the table, as a matter of fact you were now alone in the whole cafe. You started to pick up your things suddenly feeling the aura of the cafe change to a lonesome one while sat at the table alone. Just as you were getting up to leave you heard the door open and chanyeol entered once again out of breath as he walked over to you. he held up his finger as you looked at him surprised signifying to hold on before he spoke between breaths “I forgot to give you my number” he huffed handing you a small piece of paper with his name and number.

You couldn’t help but grin at him making him smile in return “thanks i’ll text you later” you spoke calmly before leaving the cafe. In actuality in your head you were doing a happy dance while back at the cafe chanyeol was actually leaving while doing a happy dance and across the street beakhyun just laughed at the boy walking towards him in such a happy state.

hi i did a thing even tho i should’ve been doing hw!! it was raining last night and i just had the urge to write some fluff bc i’m a sap!! i posted this on ao3 too which is p exciting bc that’s my first time posting something there :0 here’s the link if u prefer reading on ao3

hope u guys enjoy :’)

The rain pouring outside provided the quiet background noise he needed. Yamaguchi worked better with noise. He couldn’t stand the quiet. It felt suffocating, like he was going to be swallowed up by it and disappear. He exhaled a sigh of relief as the rain continued. He laid his head down on the desk in front of him, moving his homework and pencil aside so they didn’t get in his way. It felt like he had been on the same problem for hours, he deserved a break.

He glanced towards the window, looking at how the rain outside poured down the glass. It was soothing to watch and after moments of just lying there, Yamaguchi felt his eyes start to droop. He almost gave in to temptation when he heard a loud crumple of paper across the room, presumably being balled up.

Tsukki.

Keep reading

Not so Gleeful pt. 4 (The Prank War)

(One month and 2 weeks after Jeremiah moved to Gravity Falls)

Jeremiah Gleeful woke up happy. He was in an awesome town, he had awesome friends, he had an awesome job (working at the school library), and he was safe. Everything was awesome. He also hadn’t had an attack in two weeks which was always good.

Jeremiah got out of bed and went to take a shower. After that, he went downstairs to get breakfast. Sofia was there making omelets. Jeremiah sat down and took out his math homework (it was the one subject where he struggled).

Sofia looked up, smiling as she added spinach and cheese to the middle of the omelette. Two seconds later she was rolling on the floor laughing.

“Are you okay?” Jeremiah asked, concerned.

“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO YOUR HAIR?!” Sofia screamed through the tears, still laughing too hard to stand. The omelette was starting to burn by the time she was able to get back on her feet.

Jeremiah got up and ran to the mirror in the bathroom. One look was enough.


His usually platinum blonde hair was now a very bright shade of electric blue. Threaded through it were strands of hair just a few shades darker or lighter, giving the impression he had flowing water on his head.


“Acacia.” He muttered, his mind already set on revenge. He was going to get her back. “She must have used magic” he thought as he inspected his shampoo, seeing that it was normal. He stormed out of the bathroom, picked up his books, and walked out the door.
—————————

Acacia had woken up happy. Wondering about whether or not a dream about a horse and a handsome stranger meant anything or not (she had been reading some of her mother’s romance novels) she started getting ready for school.

Walking past her sister on her way to the bathroom, Acacia was smiling smugly, wondering what Willow would say when she saw his hair.


“Acacia?”

Acacia stopped on the landing, turning to Willow. Her smile immediately fell. Why was Willow frowning?


“Yeah?”

“Why does your hair look blellow?”


“What?” Acacia asked, rushing to the bathroom. Two seconds later, there came a scream that only belonged in horror movies.
—————————

Alcor appeared next to Willow, decked out in full on demon mode complete with the gold on black brickwork pattern. Her mother came storming up the stairs along with her brother and dad.

“WHAT’S WRONG?!” Alcor growled out, prepared for attackers.

Willow pointed to Acacia who was now stumbling from the bathroom, horror and bloody murder etched onto her face. Her hair was that unique shade of yellow that you get when you color over black with yellow. And it was one of the few colors that Acacia actually despised.

It took a second, but then everyone was laughing and crying at the indignation on her face. Because for once, the prankster had been pranked.

Dipper was floating up near the ceiling, demon mode gone, his laughter making him blink in and out of sight. Hank had fallen to the floor laughing, Willow propping him up so he wouldn’t fall down the stairs.

“Will you guys shut up? Im trying to sleep here” came Grunkle Stans grouchy voice from his bedroom.

Mabel was on her knees, tears streaming down her face. “Sweetie,” she started shakily, getting up and leaning on Henry, who was clutching the banister as if his life depended on it. “I don’t think that’s your color.”

Everyone started laughing again as she squinted, mind going a mile a minute, and walked back to her room. Her counter strike was already being assembled in her mind.

“I am going to get that blonde haired jerk! AND WOULD YOU PLEASE STOP LAUGHING?!”
—————————

The cafeteria went silent as the two combatants walked towards each other. They had all been shocked to find out that Jeremiah was actually pretty snarky, coming up with quick retorts to Acacia’s jabs in class. Now he had surprised them again.

Jeremiah was smirking. His hair color spell was working perfectly for something he had come up with on the fly.

Acacia wasn’t smiling. She hadn’t been able to remove the spell that had turned her hair blellow. That and her mom was right. This really wasn’t her color. She had no clothes that went with this hair color. Her only consolation was her spell. The hair spell was well thought out and was still growing. In a few days Jeremiah’s hair would glow in the dark like a super bright beacon.

“I’ll bet you’re pretty proud of yourself aren’t you?” She asked him, her hair seeming to expand, almost as if she was trying to threaten him with it.

“Yeah. Pretty proud. I mean I was going to go with neon pink, but I figured you’d like that. So I settled on one of the few colors you don’t like.”

“Change my hair back. And maybe I won’t retaliate.”

“No. This is what you get for turning my hair blue.”

“Fine.” She turned to leave, but she stopped and looked at him, pointing dramatically. “But remember! I gave you a chance to back down. I was merciful! Now the full impact of my revenge shall fall on you. Beware my wrath, Jeremiah Gleeful. Beware.”

Jeremiah smiled. “Bring it on.”
—————————

The next two weeks saw something Gravity Falls had never seen. Acacia, troublemaker that she was, had pulled out all the stops, making sure that her word was kept. The surprising part was that Jeremiah could keep up. He wasn’t budging an inch.

Acacia wasted no time. She had harpies follow Jeremiah, put a spell on him that turned his skin purple, and added pink highlights to his now electric blue hair, all in one day.

Jeremiah was also putting in his all. In response to the harpies, he had enlisted the help of pixies, (relatives of fairies) whose dust made Acacia sneeze. Jeremiah made sure the dust was in every classroom and in every one of her textbooks. He also turned her skin green and gave her puce streaks in her hair. Then, with a little magical help, he managed to convince all the colors in her pencil and marker packs to be their exact opposite, but keep the name.

They went on like this for three days, attacking and retaliating.

The school was divided. Half wanted to do nothing, just stay out of the warpath. The other half was split down the middle. While everyone agreed that Acacia instigated, half were backing Acacia, pride in the Gravity Falls born and raised prankster, and half were backing Jeremiah, the new kid who was proving to be a match for one of the most wild and out there people who had ever lived. This made a huge mess of things because pranks were made on behalf of the brightly/strangely colored warriors.

Like the pink powder that was dropped on everyone at assembly (courtesy of Team Pines). Or the slime pool that appeared in every hallway (proudly donated by Team Gleeful). The forest in the art classroom had brought on a full day of raining tadpoles over the track in retaliation. (The kids didn’t have enough energy to make it rain frogs.) In fact most of the pranks caused by the ones backing the rivals were borderline vandalism. Meanwhile, Hank and Willow were caught in the middle.

Acacia had been the first to recruit one of the remaining triplets. The first was the time that Acacia and Hank had made the computers only type one thing over and over again when Jeremiah was trying to do classwork. (The computers kept saying “Jeremiah Gleeful is a butthead.) The revenge prank was Willow helping Jeremiah thin out the paper in Acacia’s notebook so she would break the paper every time she wrote or drew.

The war was put on hold, however, as someone had slipped a few packets of smile dip into Acacia’s mashed potatoes at lunch. The resulting chaos was incredible. (She had spent several minutes acting unusually quiet. Then she had exploded with energy and had tried to eat her colored pencils while running around the hallways. She then dropped everything and jumped around on the desks yelling “Onward Aoshima!!!” and “you taste delicious!”)

Acacia had taken a day off to recuperate, which led into the weekend, (which was a nonnegotiable truce. Nobody wanted their weekend spoiled) during which they had both found the counterspells to get rid of their odd colors. During the weekend, they hung out, the war still going on, but their friendship even more important. They congratulated each other on their pranks, asked where they got the inspiration, and proceeded to dream up new schemes.

Upon their return to school, the battles had escalated. Coming up with new ways to torture Jeremiah, Acacia had set magical traps, and other minor inconveniences that were triggered only by Jeremiah. (So as to reduce casualties.)

Jeremiah, meanwhile, placed wards and spells on every doorway, so Acacia couldn’t walk through school without something happening.
—————————

The week was filled with explosions of color and paint. Dye packs were thrown in the hallways, supernatural creatures ran wild through classes (gnomes, sprites, faeries), and spells were cast by those who knew how to use them.

By Thursday of the second week, however, everyone had gotten tired of the Prank War. Jeremiah and Acacia weren’t backing down though.
—————————

“Things were fun recently,” the Principal said to himself, smiling at the sight of everyone having laughs. Except for the incident with the smile dip, everything had been alright.

Then came the parent complaints. “Why did my daughter come home covered in pink powder?” And “why is my son’s hair swarming with tadpoles?”

The principal sighed, knowing he had to stop this now.
—————————

(Friday, 6th period)

The entire school was stuffed into the football stadium. Teachers, students, faculty, heck even some parents had come to see the end of the Prank War.

The principle was standing on a platform. Also on the platform, seated at a small table, were Acacia and Jeremiah. Neither one looked happy, but both agreed that the war had to end.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I know this has been a long two weeks. And I know that many of you have chosen sides. But many of you haven’t. And you shouldn’t have to suffer because of two peoples feud. Which is why as of right now, the Prank War is OVER!”

Cheers erupted on all side as the principal announced the news. Interspersed in the crowd were shouts of “who won?”

“Now I know many of you want to know who won the war. Well neither yet. You see the two um… battle hardened warriors, are going to play a game. Rock paper scissors. Best two out of three wins!” The statement was met with laughter on all sides.

He moved to the table.

“Ready?”

“Wait!” Acacia shouted. “Let’s make this interesting. How about… winner picks losers punishment? Nothing too out there. Agreed?” The crowd groaned as she reached out her hand, and everyone could easily imagine her hand wreathed in blue flames.

“Agreed.” Jeremiah shook. There was no going back.

“Ready?”

“Yes.” Two voices said.

“Go!”

Rock, paper, scissors.

“Point to Acacia. Ready? Again!”

Rock, paper, scissors.

“Point to Jeremiah. Last one. Go!”

Rock, paper, scissors.

“Tie. Again!”

Rock, paper, scissors.

“Point to Acacia. Acacia wins.” The entire crowd cheered, happy the Prank War was over. Alot of people looked worried though. Just what was she going to make him do?

Jeremiah dropped his head, his punishment looming over him. Acacia was grinning demonically, her eyes sparkling as she stood over him. An Empress who had conquered a nation.

“Your punishment for defying my logic, not accepting a favor, and starting a civil war shall be swift and painless. It shall be… understanding. For your punishment you are to walk a night in my shoes.”

“What?!”

“On Halloween you are going to spend the entire night dressed as me. The ENTIRE NIGHT. Down to the red curls atop my head. So say I, winner of the Prank War! MUAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!”

Jeremiah stared at the ground. He shivered slightly. “Well, Halloween is definitely going to be creepy.”

You’re a Mess

Request: Stiles Fluff? Like super duper marshmallow fluff? Please? Love your story btw!!!

Warnings: None

Hey, so I hope this is okay! See if you can tell that I’m drowning in homework and about to fail a quiz tomorrow lol. ~ Andromeda

There were a grand total of two humans in the pack: you, and Stiles. Being human wasn’t your only similarity, though. You were both dead smart and determined to help your friends, so you ended up spending quite a lot of time together- for better or for worse. Since you had a massive crush on the big dork, you couldn’t decide which one it was.

You and the rest of the pack were sitting around Scott’s kitchen table, supposedly catching up on homework since you had all missed so much school with all the supernatural stuff going on. You were trying to concentrate on your AP Calculus homework, but your eyes kept drifting over to Stiles. He was scowling at his physics book, a pencil clenched between his teeth, his dark hair rumpled in a way that you found extremely cute.

“Y/n, earth to Y/n,” Lydia hissed in your ear. You started and turned to face her.

“Huh?” you asked, trying to hide your blush. Lydia rolled her eyes and pointed to your homework.

“Number thirty-three. How’d you get a negative answer? Mine was positive. Also, I seriously don’t see why you don’t just tell him you like him,” she added in a whisper. You shot her a death glare and proceeded to explain the problem, refusing to acknowledge her second comment.

“I’m starving. And bored,” Scott groaned from across the table, slamming his AP Biology book shut and jumping to his feet. “Stiles, come help me get some food from the kitchen.” Stiles slid out of his chair and followed Scott to the kitchen, but lingered in the doorway. “Tortilla chips and salsa or salt and vinegar chips?” Scott asked, holding up a bag of chips in each hand. He turned around and sighed at the sight of Stiles watching you from the doorway. “Stiles!”

Stiles jumped violently and spun around, flailing his arms a little. “Wha-what? Oh, chips. Right. Uh… how about both?” he stuttered, straightening his t-shirt. Scott laughed and shook his head.

“Dude, just ask her out or something.”

Stiles’s dark brown eyes went wide as he glared at Scott as though he had suggested running naked through the streets of Beacon Hills. “Uh- no. No, that is not a good idea. In fact, I would say that it’s a very bad idea.”

“And why is that?” Scott inquired, cocking an eyebrow. Stiles rolled his eyes and gave a heavy sigh.

“Because, dude, I’ve got one shot, okay? One. If Y/n says no, that’s it- I’m done. Our friendship will be all screwy, right? So I can’t let her gorgeous hair and those pretty eyes and her cute little laugh and-” he trailed off, staring absently into space, and then snapped himself out of it just before Scott was about to prompt him. “Uh anyway, I can’t let her tempt me into screwing it up.”

“Whatever. But I don’t think she’ll say no,” Scott replied with a shrug as he started to walk back into the kitchen. Stiles grabbed him by the back of the shirt and dragged him back.

“Why? What do you know? How do you know?” he demanded. Scott just grinned and pointed to himself and said,
“Werewolf.”

After about three more hours of studying, you realized that there was no way you could focus here, and you really needed to get all your homework done. You could practically feel stress stacking up on your shoulders, and as much as you wanted to be with your friends, you knew you shouldn’t stay. That constricting feeling of stress and anxiety was one you knew well.

“That’s it- I’m calling it,” you announced, leaning back in your chair and stretching. “I can’t concentrate here, I’m gonna head home and finish this stuff.”

Everyone around the table gave an obligatory “Aww, are you sure?” and Liam looked at you in disbelief. “Who’s gonna help me on my biology?” he demanded, gesturing to his textbook. You grinned and ruffled his hair.

“Ask Lydia or Scott. Don’t worry little dude, my specialty is chemistry anyway.” Liam pouted, but you just slung your backpack over your shoulder and headed for the door, giving a two fingered wave of goodbye.

“Do you need a ride, Y/n?” Stiles blurted out. You paused at the door and smiled, shaking your head.

“Thanks, but I drove here. It’s sweet of you to offer, though. See you guys tomorrow!” you called, heading out the door. Just before you shut the door, you heard Liam say, “Aww she called you swee-OW!” Realizing that Stiles probably smacked him upside the head, you smirked as you got into your car, refusing to let yourself think about why Liam would be teasing Stiles about you. No, you couldn’t give yourself hope, because that would just make everything harder.

You sat at your desk in your dimly lit room, staring in horror at the third calculus problem in a row that you had gotten wrong. Maybe the back of the book is wrong, you thought desperately. You sat back and looked around at the notes and books littering your desk. It was already ten o’clock at night and you were nowhere close to being finished, not to mention you were going to FAIL that calculus quiz tomorrow. You turned your already blasting music up a little louder and threw your pencil down. Closing your eyes and fighting back the tears you felt gathering in your eyes, you took a deep breath. Suddenly, your phone went off, making you jerk violently. Sighing in exasperation, you read the new text from Stiles. It read: Seriously, how loud is your music? I could hear it from outside. Come to the door, I’ve been ringing the doorbell for like ten minutes.

Your heart jumped in your chest as you turned down your music and sprinted downstairs, nearly slipping down the stairs because of your socks against the hardwood floors. You could see him through the front window, standing on your porch, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet nervously. You flung open the door and instantly felt guilty, because the outside air had a little chill to it and Stiles didn’t have a jacket.

“I saw you almost fall down the stairs,” he chuckled, foregoing a greeting, his dark eyes twinkling.

“No you didn’t,” you shot back, grinning widely. “Come on, I’ve been working upstairs.” You led him up to your room and sat back at your desk, gesturing for him to take a seat on your unmade bed. His eyes widened at the messy state of your room, and he zeroed in on the books and notes across your desk.

“You are a mess,” he observed in a matter-of-fact tone. You rolled your eyes and shrugged.

“Tell me something I don’t know. I think I’m starting to get used to living in a constant mental state of chaos, though. Practice makes perfect,” you joked, giving a little laugh and dropping your eyes to the floor. “But anyway-”

“Why do you always do that?” he suddenly demanded, his voice as serious as you had ever heard it. You looked up in surprise, cocking your eyebrow. His sudden change in demeanor was throwing you off. “You know, the way every time something comes up that kind of upsets you, you make a joke and then try to change the subject,” he explained, his eyes earnest and boring into yours.

“I- uh, I don’t know, I mean no one wants to hear me being negative or anything, so I just-”

“That’s not being negative, and we do want to hear what bothers you! You’re always there for us! We want to return the favor- we want to help, I want to help,” he said, much quieter this time. You sighed and smiled uncomfortably, abandoning your seat at your desk and sitting next to him on the rumpled comforter of your bed.

“Are you sure you want to open that can of worms?” you joked, shoving his shoulder lightly.

“You’re doing it again! Yes, alright! Of course I want to open that can of worms- I love you, Y/n!”

As soon as the words left his lips both of your eyes went wide and all the color drained from his face. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have-” he stammered, but you weren’t even listening, you were mustering the courage to do something you wished you’d done a long time ago. You held his face in your hands and pushed your lips against his. It was quick, and gentle, and sweet, and it was certainly the best kiss you’d ever tasted. When you pulled away, he still looked shocked, but now it was in a good way. He opened and shut his mouth a few times like a fish, looking for words but coming up short.

“Did you mean it?” you asked in a quiet voice. He nodded numbly, staring at you in something that resembled awe. You smiled and blushed, but then asked, “Stiles, I just don’t think you want to get into this, you know? I mean, you said it yourself- I’m a mess,” you mumbled, starting to turn your face away. He caught it with his warm hands and guided you into another sweet kiss, this one longer.

“I don’t care,” he mumbled against your lips. “I want you to be my mess, because I love you, Y/n, I really do. I love the way you laugh too loudly, I love the way you wrinkle your nose at your homework when you don’t understand it, I love the way that you work hard on everything even when you don’t want to, the way your eyes get all hazy when you’re sleepy, and the way they sparkle when you’re excited. Please, please, just give this a chance,” he begged, his eyes more pleading than his voice. You took his hand and locked fingers with him, gazing at your joined hands, a gentle smile on your lips. You nodded, a little in shock, but completely ignoring the blush on your cheeks. “Is that a yes?” he asked, craning his neck so that he could look you in the eye even when your face was cast downward. You pulled him against you for another kiss and shot him a coy smile.

“What do you think?”

He laughed and gave his most goofy grin before wrapping you in his arms.

Tailored

She fell on her bed, every muscle aching. Her day had been long and tedious. Hours of paperwork and then hours of corpses left her dazed. Her jacket was too heavy on her shoulders. Removing every scrap of formaldehyde smelling fabric was enough to lift the weight of work just a smidge. It wasn’t until she’d emerged from the shower washed and tingling did she feel revived.

It was to her surprise then that her drawers were not filled with duck covered pyjama pants or slouchy t shirts. Even greater still was her shock when she went to her closet and found not her usual bright, bubbly dresses and loose, comfy slacks, but instead saw dress suits. Slim, smooth, silky. They were sophisticated and smart. Everything she wasn’t. She knew who they were from. She only knows one person who could afford to replace everything in her wardrobe with this quality.

She glanced around the room. It wouldn’t be the first time he hid himself away in her flat. No signs of him. She’s figured out how to tell when he was near.

She slid a pencil skirt over her legs. She felt beautiful, the tailoring perfectly sculpting her calves and bum. She’d have to get proper stockings for them. The blouse that hung with it flattered her, pops of color remannts of her own style. Perhaps her favorite was the blazer. She recognized the style. Boyfriend blazer, the sleeves pulled up her elbows. The reflection in the mirror hardly looked like her, if not for her still dripping hair and still small mouth and still too sharp cheeks.

She felt like a child dressed in her mother’s clothes. Suddenly, the woman staring back at her looked ridiculous. What would she even wear these to? They were hardly practical for the morgue. She didn’t have dates. She could maybe wear them to meetings, but she didn’t know any fancy hairstyles. All she knew were braids and ponytails. Suddenly her style seemed juvenile. Everything felt juvenile. Maybe that had been his point. Maybe he thought she was childish, immature. Maybe he was trying to make her look better. Presentable.

What an arse.

“You don’t like it.” He’s at her doorway. She hadn’t even heard him come in. “You liked it until just a second ago. What happened?” He sounds truly puzzled. He’s not concerned, just flummoxed.

“I like my old clothes.”

“You planning to buy something new.” He had made the observation ages ago, but she had forgotten.

“Something Sherlock, not everything.” She wants out of the suit, wants out of the burning embarrassed skin she wears. She might as well be a teenager with a schoolyard crush.

“I overstepped.”

“You replaced my entire bloody closet, of course you overstepped!” He looks hurt briefly, but he reels it in before she can comment.

“I’m sorry.” He doesn’t say anything for a moment.

“They don’t suit me.” She smooths the buttons, a reluctant glance in the mirror confirming she still looks ridiculous. “I’m not… These don’t look like me.”

“Hm.” He comes closer, eyes the cut and the fit. He steps back and she resists the urge to fidget. He’s still studying her, taking in every detail. “It’s too dull. You’re right. It doesn’t suit you.” He leaves.

She’s embarrassed, completely and thoroughly embarrassed as she’s always been when he does something for her. She strips the impeccable clothes off and spends the night in the nude. It’s her flat after all. She could spend it however she wanted.

The next day she is forced to wear one of the outfits he’s had made for her to the morgue and littered among the compliments are snide undercurrents. What’s Molly doing in such nice clothes? Where’d she get the money for those? How’s she going to work in all that get up? It doesn’t help that she really can’t work in all the get up, that she spent an hour trying to figure out a suitable hairstyle, and had spent half as long attempting the beautiful, subtle make up she’d seen on other fine women.

She’d gone home halfway through the day out of frustration with the pencil skirt and irritation with the remarks. Well-meaning or not, they sounded cruel. Her door was unlocked, ruffling sounds from her bedroom alerting her that he was in there. He wasn’t trying to hide today.

“Sherlock, please stop meddling in my clothes. You’ve cost me hours at work, and I could honestly use all of those—” Her room was covered in exactly her style of clothing. Flowing dresses. Bright colors. Comfortable, fitted slacks. Flowers and patterns and textures. Her complaint fell away.

“I realized I tried to dress you up as me. Not of course, because I want you to be more like me. Men have a tendency to… to express possession via the sharing of personal clothing or styles and as…” He struggled, but she’s turning red already.

“Possession? Like you own me?” The rise in her voice must have alerted him to his folly.

“No, no, that’s not what I meant. It was a subconscious decision at best but…” He looks around the room. “These will suit you better. It is just a thank you, for all you have done. I know it was me who wrecked your,” his brows drew in, “thing with Tom.”

“Why clothes Sherlock?”

“From what I understand, nice clothes are a big part of the wedding experience. As I’d deprived you of—” She knew he wasn’t like other men. He didn’t realize the significance of what he’d done. He didn’t realize the depth the gift held. She couldn’t hold it back as she kissed him, gratitude against his lips.

He didn’t return the affection but she hadn’t expected him to. He instead stood there for a long while, eyes scrunched, mouth slightly ajar, body tense. It was several minutes later while she bustled in the kitchen that he smiled, cheeks tinted the palest pink of blushes.