sunday afternoon walk

anonymous asked:

Congrats on 1k! I think #13 with a young!Remus would hilarious. ;)

Thank you! :)

Remus Lupin x Reader
13. “Is that my bra?”

Originally posted by nellaey

It was an early Sunday afternoon as you walked up to the Marauders’ dormitory to borrow Remus’ Transfiguration notes. Stopping in front of the door, you heard loud arguing, so you decided it’d be needless to knock. 

As you stepped in, Sirius and Remus frozen, staring at you, whilst James tried to choke back his laugh. Firstly you didn’t understand what’s so funny, but then you saw a red underwear in Remus’ right hand.

„Is that my bra?” – you asked, eyes narrowed. Sirius stepped back with a smirk on his face as you went closer to Moony.

„No.” – his voice was weak and not convincing at all. 

„Really?” – you started with a cocked eyebrow. – „That’s interesting, because I couldn’t find an exactly same one this moring.” – you took a few step closer so your amrs almost touched; the colour of his cheeks now was similar to your bra. – „Oh, look! Even the size is the same!”

He let out a big sigh. „Alright, I stole it last night.” – you opened your mouth so answer, but he continued quickly. – „It was a dare! Sirius told me to do.”

As he looked at Sirius, he looked back at him with a puzzled expression on his face. „I have no idea what are you talking about.” 

Remus glanced at him, mouth fell open as he went on. „We didn’t even play truth or dare last night, did we?”

„Nope.” – James said across the room as he was lying on his bed, playing with a golden snitch above his head; Peter nodded strongly too.

„I will murder you all.” – Remus said with a defeated look on his face. You rolled your eyes, snatching it from his hand. „I wanted to borrow your Transfiguration notes, but maybe I should just steal it.” – you said, leaving the room.

Five minutes later Remus appeared in your dorm. „I brought you the notes.” – you reached out your hand, a mischievous smile on you face. – „Look, it was really a dare, I swear…”

„I know.” – you cut him off. – „I’m not an iditot.”

His eyes brightened. „Really? I mean I know you’re not. Just – you believe me?”

You chuckled. „Yes. I know you guys good enough by now.” 

He was already at the door when you called after him. „Just an advice. Next time you wanna see my underwear in your hands, just ask.”

„Wh – what?” – he stuttered with a same weak voice that you’ve heard earlier today from him.

„You heard me.” – you winked at him, closing the door as he just stand there in shock.


A nice warm Sunday afternoon walk, an impromptu live blues music gig, an infinite number of amazing killer cocktails, three straight white guys I totally wanted to fight, a lovely barmaid, a slightly tipsy woman who was super nice about my hair, a Trump-lookalike and his smackarse-faced wife, and a cheeky Maccie D’s later… 😙❤

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hunger - chapter 2

Hunger master post

The dog is still breathing when Stiles clambers out of the back of the SUV that hit it. The driver is in shock, and has been apologizing profusely ever since it happened. And Stiles knows it’s not the guy’s fault. The dog was going for the man who’d hurt Stiles in the alley, and ran out in front of the SUV. Which makes this Stiles’s fault, doesn’t it?

The animal clinic isn’t open, but there’s a light on inside and someone moving around, so Stiles bangs on the door. It’s opened by a dark-haired boy who looks no older than him.

“My dog,” is all Stiles manages to get out before he’s crying again.

The boy and the driver carry the dog inside on a picnic blanket from the back of the driver’s SUV, and into the examination room. Stiles curls his fingers through the dog’s ruff, and leans down close to his ear to whisper to him again how sorry he is.

The driver slips toward the door, and Stiles thinks about chasing after him for a second and demanding he pay the bill for whatever this is going to cost, but what if the guy refuses? Then the dark-haired boy will know Stiles has no money.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to the dog instead. “You’ll be okay.”

The dark-haired boy checks for a heartbeat. “His heart sounds good,” he says. He runs his hands though the dog’s fur. “I think maybe his leg is broken, and some ribs?” His forehead wrinkles with a frown as he carefully manipulates the dog’s hind leg. “Actually, maybe it’s not a break. I should really call my boss in. I just work here after school.”

“Vet school?” Stiles asks, still sniffling.

“High school,” the boy answers. He wrinkles his nose as he presses his knuckles gently against the dog’s ribcage. “I could have sworn I felt a break a second ago. He really needs an x-ray.”

Stiles nods, despite the jolt of worry that goes through him. He can’t afford that. He’s got three dollars and seventy cents in the pocket of his jeans. He’s got nothing. And, when the boy turns his worried gaze from the dog to Stiles, and rakes it down his body, he knows he can tell.

It doesn’t matter how clean Stiles tries to keep himself. It doesn’t matter if he washes his spare shirt under the faucet in the diner bathroom every few days. He’s still filthy. He can’t remember the last time he showered, or washed his hair. He can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t greasy or half-rotten. He knows he looks like shit. He knows he probably stinks like shit too, and so does the dog.

The boy runs his fingers through the dog’s fur again. “Is this a wolf hybrid?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

The boy casts him a worried look. “You’re not supposed to own them in California.”

Stiles feels a sudden flash of panic. He moves forward and nudges the boy out of the way. “We’ll go. We’ll just go.”

The dog blinks his eyes open and fixes his gaze on Stiles.

“Dude,” the boy says, sounding reproachful and regretful all at once, “I’m not going to report you. Just, if anyone finds out, he might get seized and put down.”

The dog rumbles out a growl.

“He’s fine,” Stiles says, his voice catching. “He’s fine, right?”

 “Um… I guess?” The boy looks puzzled. “He looked pretty bad when you got him here though. I really should call my boss.”

“No!” Stiles tugs at the dog’s ruff. “Come on. Come on, boy. Please get up. Come on.”

The dog rumbles again.

The boy puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Dude, don’t freak out, okay? I won’t call my boss if you don’t want me to. I won’t…” He chews his bottom lip for a moment. “You’re homeless, right?”

Stiles feels stripped bare, cold and naked. His breath hitches, and he jerks his chin in a nod.

“Look,” the boy says, squaring his shoulders. “I’m gonna give your dog some fluids, no charge, because I can really use the practice, and my mom packed me some dinner that I haven’t eaten yet. You want some?”

Stiles blinks at him for a moment. “What?”

“Homemade tamales,” the boy says, and wrinkles his nose. “I’m Scott, by the way.”

“St-Stiles,” Stiles says, his heart thumping loudly.

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The first time I saw you was a dull Sunday afternoon
You walked into the room with your hair trailing behind you in a luminous halo, reflecting the fading sunlight

The first time we struck a conversation, you laughed so hard on my shitty jokes you ended up complaining of how much your cheeks hurt

The first time we kissed, your nose was red from the cold, and your fingers trembled slightly when they touched my neck

The first time I knew I loved you, you were wearing sweatpants
your hear was pulled back in a messy bun
your feet were perched up on my dashboard
and you were giving me hell for my shitty taste in music

The first time you said you loved me,
the sky was drowning in stars
And I was drowning in you

The first time we f**ked, it was a thunderstorm
The world was on fire
The galaxies were exploding

The first time you left, my pain could have engulfed the universe

The first time you came back, I thought it would be the last

i just really want to do cute (read: boring) domestic shit w harry like force him to fold the laundry while i load the next wash, or fight over the remote while we try to find something we both want to watch, or bicker over who’s turn it is to make dinner, or bumping into friends at the grocery store while we’re out buying food neither of us have tried before but we’ll buy four packs of it anyway, or going on a walk sunday afternoon cause we spent all day in bed too lazy to get up, or get small surprises on random days just because harry saw something and he thought of me, or cuddling on the couch under blankets when we’re cold and turning up the heat would require leaving the blanket, or falling asleep spooned up against each other legs tangled together, or just big hugs and random kisses whenever we feel like it cause we saw the other one and just had to touch them somehow

For unto us a child is born, Part 3

Pairing(s):  Dean Winchester/female Reader
Prompt/Summary:  You’re the chosen one for a very special mission. It’s the first day in your new life.
Reader Gender: female
Word Count:  c. 1800
Warnings: probably bad English. Reader is still kidnapped. But now the flirting starts.

Part 1Part 2

On the 7th day you wake up to the muffled sounds of two arguing men, apparently Dean and Cas. As silently as possible you get up, tiptoeing to the bedroom door. Your ear pressed at the smooth wood you’re biting your lip in concentration.

“Stop manipulating us, Cas!”, Dean says, anger and impatience in his voice.

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{ Closed starter for @simcnblackwell }

There was an old bridge that Rachel herself had taken across the river several times in her walks near Chedworth but which, she conceded, was somewhat dilapitated and may not carry the weight of rambunctious children. As she intended to take her class to this spot in the near future, she found it prudent to have another look at that bridge. Should it be forbidden entirely, or could it be trusted if the children crossed one by one?

It was thus that Sunday afternoon found Miss Millard walking back and forth across a rickety wooden bridge on her neat buttoned shoes, every now and then giving a little hop where she thought the wood looked particularly weathered. On her fourth turn, and on a hop, the wood gave under her foot.

A-ha! The bridge was not to be trusted. She made to pull her foot out of the wood… and found it stuck.

Careful tugging did nothing. She could unlace her boots and limp back into town with one bare foot, but the thought did not appeal to her. She tugged harder, then harder, kicking at the wood, until another plank cracked and gave.

The entire bridge shuddered, then swayed. She gave a little shriek as the structure began to fall slowly to the side, her foot still caught between two planks, and reached up towards the overhanging branches of an old willow. She caught the branch just as the bridge collapsed. Her foot twisted, but the wood did not release it. She grabbed the branch with both arms and hung on for dear life.

This was how Rachel found herself caught between a tree-branch and a broken bridge, suspended over a rushing river, unable to drag herself onto the shore. After a moment’s maneuvering to try and free herself, she let go of all maidenly pride and screamed for help.

berena autumn aesthetics

bernie autumn aesthetic:
big fluffy socks with scandinavian patterns on them; the hint of cinnamon from incense that clings to her throughout the day; the way the late afternoon sun shines on her curls; the smudge of serena’s lipstick against her own making the perfect shade of pink

serena autumn aesthetic:
soft, oversized burgundy jumpers; hot chocolates at night with too much cream to be appropriate; bubble baths after long shifts with candles; sunday afternoon walks with jason in a forest full of golden and red leaves; bernie’s favourite scarf around her neck

berena autumn aesthetic:
cuddles by the fire under a big blanket in the late afternoon; bernie gazing at the way the morning sun caresses serena’s features; eva cassidy love songs on repeat; holding hands at coffee shops on rainy days; serena kissing the tip of bernie’s nose when it becomes red from the cold