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mggpleasedontlookhere · 5 years ago

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the governess

Summary: Y/N is brought in as a Governess to Timothee’s ward Daphine, the only daughter of his late uncle.

word count: 1,703 reading time: 6 mins warning: uses 19th century vernacular

A/N: I apologize for the rough ending, I haven’t written in months due to school, so I’m sorry for the crappy writing

“Miss Y/L/N, I take it to be?” asked the kind woman, popping her head out from the side of the rather large oak door. I nodded my head in affirmation as she stepped aside to invite me into the elaborate estate.

My eyes explored the vast space before me, taking in the engraved decorations that littered the ceilings. The polished marble floors that were tattered with chains of convoluted lines, reflecting off the light that emitted from the chandelier above. Although, it was the grand staircase that sat elegantly in view that captured my interest. It was made of the deepest of oak woods, age lines painting it beautifully and engraved in it were crafted scenes that beheld ethereal creatures.

“Mr. Chalamet will arrive momentarily, he had ventured into the town nearby for business practices and had been gone for long” the kind woman exclaimed, closing the hatchet that the door was secured with. “Mrs. Vernon” the woman introduced, stretching her hand out, in which I complied. As I observed Mrs. Vernon more, I came to the conclusion that she was at least of 40 years of age. Wrinkles have became apparent of her pale face, laugh lines seemed to emerge and carry happy memories, and the tired warm smile she expressed said it all. In contrast, she dressed in a royal blue pinafore embedded with silver pins, while lace ties embellished her silk sleeves. Based on her countenance alone, she seemed of the middle to higher rank in society.

“How long is of Mr. Chalamet’s absence, if I may ask?” I inquired.

“Close to a fortnight ma’am” she replied, crossing over the foyer into a grand living room with an articulate fireplace. She soon took her place in a grandfather chair next to the fire, resuming a textile she had begun knitting. “The help will accompany you to your quarters” she announced, not looking up from her work.

With a scuffle of shoes and low murmurs of conversation, two women came clambering down the stairs, taking my belongings upstairs. I bid both of them a cordial welcome, curtseying before them, and facing my attention to the warmth that the fireplace gave. Observing the decorum of the room, several paintings of nature’s beauty filled each frame, depicting the different temperances of the four seasons. One particular frame captured my attention, it was of a little boy next to a pale, yet elegant woman with an impeccable visage. Both of them were dressed with the finest of materials, most likely from an affluent lineage as the older woman sported an array of jewels that blemished her neck. The little boy on the other hand, despite the exaggerated clothing, wore a grimace with an almost grieved countenance.

“Miss Y/L/N?”

A voice beckoned from behind me. Turning around, it was of the servants with both her hands carrying my belongings. I apologized for my lingering, bid a goodnight to Mrs. Vernon and followed the two women up the stairs. With every creaky step on the wood steps, I took time to continue observing the estate at its glory. The walls were plastered with an elegant floral wallpaper and wood paneling, all encased by a dark brown royal trimming at the ceiling and floor. Down a dimly light corridor and a series of turns, I was led to a sizeable apartment with a queen sized bed, two dressers, and a single bay window across from the bedpost.

I thanked the two women, nodding them off as one of them placed my cases next to the dresser. With a sigh of relief and a fixed composure, I began unpacking most of my clothes into the drawer. Sorting my items, I soon thought I was ill-prepared for the expectations that the grandness of this estate might throw at me. I had only brought a series of textbooks that I owned and a dress, along with a few accessories and linen smocks.

In the midst of my thoughts, the sound of a pianoforte seeped into the room, diverting me from the concerns I had spiraled into. With a curious intent, I grabbed the lit candle that one of the servants had left and began to follow the sweet tunes that bounced off the walls. The creature playing must of been a formidable player as no note was off-tune or melody faltering. My steps slowed as the music became loud and coherent. It was a romance melody, a work of Mozart or Bach perhaps.

I came towards two heavy oak doors, my feet planted in front of the entrance as I lingered around. I, then, began to push at the door quietly, careful not to disturb the player, in order to peek at the creature that was able to convey such romantic music. As I got to look inside the room, I found it to be a grand library with the pianoforte in the corner of the room. To my surprise, the creature was little girl. She was wearing a blue gown tethered together by a lace bow on the back and she had beautiful raven-black hair that were coiled in curls, decorated with pearls.

Stepping my figure through the crevice of the door, I managed to enter the room without a sound. Although my praises were too early to be celebrated as the metal canister that housed the candle I was carrying banged into the wood of the door, emitting a loud bellow.

The music instantly faltered at a flat note and the little girl’s eyes, filled with surprise, landed on my silhouette.

“Please forgive my intrusion, I couldn’t help but hear the enchanting tune from my quarters and beckoned to investigate what it was” I explained, stepping into the light the fireplace emitted in the room, to offer a better view of myself.

The little girl then curtseyed, in which I replicated, and introduced herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/L/N. I’m gratified that my playing was music to a creature’s ears” she expressed with a polite tone, before taking a seat on the bench she had sat on before.

“It’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance, Miss?”

“Daphine Chalamet” she answered.

“I take it that you father has versed you in the implications of my employment here”

“My father?” she repeated, halting her practice on the instrument and faced me. “Mr. Chalamet?”

I nodded in puzzlement to her bizarre address and began to think of the possibility of some sort of mix up with the students. “Yes your father, the one who’s picked up my advertisement to be your governess in the papers” I elaborated.

She laughed and rose up from her seat, walking to a family portrait that hung near the the array of bookcases that lined the entire room. “He’s my cousin, not my father. My father was met by God last april, it was the fever” she explained, pointing up to the painting again where an elder man stood taut and confident.

“My condolences to the late Mr. Chalamet. I would love to stay in your society longer, although I must attend to occupying my apartme-” I was cut off by a sound of hurried footsteps clattering against the floors, as they grew closer to the room we were in. One of the maids then opened the door in a haste and stated “Mr. Chalamet is present to meet your acquaintance”. With that, she scurried off back to her duties.

Then in came a man of great height and sculpted features. His eyes were a deep green blue, similar to the color of the water near the Western river, a haven I would often find myself visiting. His hair was the color of the finest Belgian chocolates and he dressed like a man of high society.

Me and Daphine bowed at his presence as he welcomed us both.

“Salut mon cherie, comment ca va?”

Daphine ran up to the man, forgetting about any type of manners she’s been disciplined to portray. “Ca va tres bien, mon frere. Et toi?” She asked.

“Comme ci comme ca” He replied with the biggest smile he can put on as he lifted her up in the air and spun her around. He finally took a glance at me and set Daphine down before kneeling beside her. “qui est-elle“ he asked.

Daphine giggled with a light smile, “Oh don’t be ignorant cousin. That’s the governess you’ve summoned”. He picked her up once again, pulling her in for a tight hug. “I’m aware little one, now practice you’re Mozart and we’ll have supper soon”. With that, Daphine scurried off to her pianoforte and resumed her practice once again.

I took this as a signal to curtsey and introduce myself. “Y/N of Yorkshire Sir, it’s a pleasure to meet your acquaintance” I introduced. He gave me a light smile in response, bowing his head in return

“Pleasure to have you serve my Daphine, Miss Y/L/N. I hope that you find your quarters bearable” He welcomed.

“I assure you sir, it’s more than I can be offered Mr. Chalamet. I hope your venture wasn’t too long”

“No no, it certainly wasn’t”

We stared at each other for a little while, pausing with each given breath. His eyes really did resemble the haven I would often visit, Maybe, this house will be a place of paradise for me.

“Sorry Miss Y/L/N, you just have-” He paused, his voice fading out as he moved in closer to my face with his hand held up. “You have a stray hair” he continued, advancing towards me, silently asking for permission with his glance and me agreeing.

We locked onto each other once again, this time obtaining a clearer image of each other. His lips looked like pink clouds and his eyelashes decorated his eyes beautifully. His jaw was carved into perfection and so was his cheekbones.

He pulled away as he tucked the hair behind my ear, the redness harshly displaying on the apple of my cheeks as he returned back to his position.

He gave me a flattering smile and said, “I hope that if you shall need anything or company, you will come to see me first, Miss Y/L/N”

“I’ll see to it sir”

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madllamamomma · 4 years ago

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I Think I Have a Problem.... (A personal true story).

So as the title suggests, I have a strange problem…. Just as a warning, this is about my view of my younger self. It is about religion, and gender identity. This is not how I see the world anymore. It was how I told how the world should look. If you are offended in any way, please know this is a vent post and nothing to hurt anyone else. This is just what happened to me as a child. Shit….. This is about to get very long winded, so buckle up and here we go… *takes deep breath*

So a little backstory on your Mother Llama: I was raised in a weird backward ass “Independent” Baptist church most of my young life. If you guys don’t know what those are, be thankful…. But I guess I should explain it the best way I can…. they are a borderline cult. Yes. I said it. I’m not sorry. It may sound like an extreme accusation, but hold on. Just listen to me.

Now, I have no problem with Christians, or religion. You should believe whatever you want to believe in…. I do however, have a problem when religion is used as an excuse to not educate minds about the real world, force them to not let them think for themselves, and when someone questions any of it, they are punished or shamed for it instead of thinking about an answer. If you can’t tell, I am still a little angry about that shit. Imma try to keep on topic here….

I wasn’t taught science (real science anyways, it was all about ‘creation’ bs—OH! And being anything but a cis straight person was compleltly unexceptable. Woman were the weaker sex and were made to raise babies and take care of the husband. Men were superior and should be taken care of.) nor about World history or about other cultures, other than biblical of course. And when they were mentioned, they made them look evil and behave like heathens because they didn’t believe the same as they did. Everything changed when I went to public school half of fourth grade when my family moved to a different state and there wasn’t any church school like I went to. I learned a lot those years, that ‘The World’ wasn’t as bad of a place as they said it was. It was vast and had many things to offer. (No, not the World, Dio’s stan power from Jojo’s bizarre adventures—that is what our pastors called anything outside of the Baptist approved realm. Something ‘Worldly’ was basically something sinful and ungodly and therefor was bad and wrong).

So this may seem like a strange Segway in to what I am actually getting at, but I had a huge crush on this boy back when I was young and it started when I was about 12 or 13 years old and ended when I was 16. He was the same age as me, and he was the son of a pastor of a small church of about 20 people, mostly military families— we will call him.... D.... for dick...

I thought for a long time that I ‘loved’ D. I thought that ‘God made him for me’ (yes I really said that and it hurt to even write it). I really thought I knew what love was back then, but I was very wrong.

D was homeschooled, he didn’t have many friends and was also a navy brat like I was. So, naturally, we got along very well, and I would hang out with him at his house sometimes. We mainly played video games I was terrible at and he would always bet me. But I liked hanging out with him, so I didn’t care if I won or not. My heart for some reason was totally head over heels over D. And he liked me too for a while… or at least I thought he did… He however never made a move. I always thought D was just too shy, and didn’t know how to ask me. Any time I tried holding his hand, I’d chicken out. It was a stalemate. But this particular church did a thing where people had to court. Yes... COURT someone, not DATE (Courting is where you had adult chaperones keeping an eye on you two, you were never really alone. Ever, because apparently you can’t be trusted?). When we both turned 15 yo, D started a private Christian school. Being the awkward girl I was, I never told him how I felt, I just waiting for him to say something. Time passed, and I still waited and waited for him to ask me out.

But here’s the thing! He didn’t know the real me.

I was in public school, in middle school, and I started to become a weeb. Like a super cringy weeb that didn’t like anything else but anime—I was also kinda emo/punk kid thought I was edgy. (Yeah rock music was bad too, it was ‘Worldly’).Not a very good mix for Baptist I know. At school, I was one person, and at church I was another.

Well, being an anime fan meant I was exposed to a lot of things like the LGTB+ community for the first time. A lot of my friends at the time started to come out other than straight and that was very new to me.

During that time, I soon was starting to secretly question my faith, my understanding of my own sexuality and gender. Like, maybe people liking the same sex or both is actually not a bad thing after all (if you haven’t seen any of my works, hopefully you guys know that I know better that what I was taught—I am a proud fuckin’ ally! I still consider myself cis-straight, but some days I feel like I’m bi-curious, and that’s ok! It took me a long time to realize that, but I’m here now. Gender roles are dead and stupid.)

So here is the kicker~ One faithful day we had a guest pastor join us for a few weeks from another church. This mother fuckin’ nasty ass old white man from Alabama came with his ‘perfect quiet godly’ wife. Who badly ever spoke a damn word. She always just sat in the corner all ‘ladylike’.

—Oh!!! Another fun fact, I didn’t wear pants for a year when I was 10 yo becasue that was considered “cross dressing”— I’m dead fucking serious. My parents then decided after attending sporting events and stuff like that to drop that ludicrous lifestyle, becasue it was stupid. So, Outside of church, my family and I still wore pants and shorts and whatever, but in church we pretended that we didn’t wear anything but modest skirts, dresses, and long culottes. (That’s a little damaging…. don’t you think? Telling people your one thing, when in reality you're not like that at all??)

Anyways— I hated skirts, especially wearing them in the state we lived in, it was way too hot and I’d get chafed (these had to be knee length or longer btw). And of course that guest preacher would preach about the sins of women wearing pants, but I didn’t care. I wore them for so long, it just made me angry anytime someone would bring that up. I liked my jeans and I was starting to become a rebel teen who gave less than a fuck and started to speak my mind. Which was dangerous to that community…. Also I had a bad tendency of not keeping my legs together when I bent down, and one time I accidently showed my underwear (that’s really embarrassing btw, it’s not cute, it’s not funny, it’s awful when you're 14 yo-- really any age actually).

So, one day I wore a long jean skirt for a youth outing with the church. I was required to wear it, but I always wore leggings underneath so I wouldn’t accidentally show my undies if I fell down or the wind blew it. This fucker had to say something about it. The old man turned to me with a wrinkled smirk as I was passing by him and dared to utter, “Now, don’t you feel most femine and ladylike in that skirt? I’m sure Jesus would like seeing you like that.”

My shoulders clench up tight, my brow furrows. All I can remember seeing is fucking red and actually trembling with fury. (This was happening in my pastor, D’s father’s, own living room mind you.) D was there watching as I blanched about ten shades of red in anger and embarrassed because that prick of an old man called me out in front of everyone. I turned to him and half shouted, “NO! I don’t!” I could see my pastor’s mouth drop to the floor as I began to completely obliterate this old man. But I couldn't stop myself as I started to further cut into him. “—I hate wearing skirts! I don’t feel ladylike! In fact, they make me feel vulnerable! What if some guy tries to rape me! They won’t have any problem getting to me!—Why is something with a whole on the bottom more ladylike than something that actually covers me?! I like pants! They are comfortable and they make me feel safe! Why is that a sin to wear something that is more covering?!?! I’m not cross dressing, my mom bought them in the girl’s session!! [Keep in mind that was a long time ago, I don’t feel like people should care about what section they get their clothes from, wear what you want] And what do you know about wearing a skirt?! You’re a man! You try wearing them! They suck! You need to stop telling me what I can and can’t wear! I’m not dressing like a whore for wearing something with a crotch!! SO LEAVE ME ALONE!!” Everyone in the living room was just stunned at my audacity to dare speak to this pastor like I did. But he was so fucking quiet after that. And I stormed out of the house and the guest pastor never spoke to me again about it. Luckily my mom came and picked me shortly after that. She was angry too after I told her what happened. That old fuck singled me out and I was pissed off. I was a teenager and that shit was embarrassing!

But I made the mistake of showing my true self. I think after that moment, D stopped liking me after that.

Some shit went down south with my parents behind closed doors of my household, and eventually they got divorced. They left the small church because the pastor didn’t approve of it. Pastor said that my parents just needed more counseling but he didn't understand that they just needed to not be together. Sometimes you can’t make things work. Especially when your dad is a toxic piece of shit that only cares about himself.

Anyways, everyone in my family left the church, but I stuck around that shit-hole just to see if D would ask me out. I was so desperate, I felt like I waited forever, but really it was like 2-3 years, and I felt like I couldn’t give up. Eventually D and I turned 16. He started to become distant and a little mean towards me and I became confused and started to realize the worst. Finally, I was tired of waiting so I asked his older sister if he liked me on the way back taking me home. I could see it in her face, that she didn’t want to have my heart broken, but reluctantly she told me no. He actually liked another girl at his new private school and was going to ask her parents to court her instead.

I was so devastated.... It hurt so much, I cried myself to sleep that night, and most of that week I was very sad.

Obviously, after that, I stopped going to church entirely, I couldn't show my face anymore. Finally let myself question my faith, sexuality, gender roles, and humanity all together. And realized that religion was stupid (in my opinion at the time) and I came u with the conclusion that people can be sheep. I was a sheep for a long time. And I refuse to be one ever again.

High school was very enjoyable after that, and I let myself grow and started to love other religions and world history, and tried to stop being so judgmental of others and what they felt like. I even got into a relationship with a sweet boy around my age.

Eventually in college, after a break-up with my high school sweetheart, I reconnected with D via FB. Apparently, the church went under and his parents moved away to Greece to be missionaries or something. D still lives in the same town I’m in, but graduated from a “Christian academy”—not Catholic, Christian. Catholic colleges are accredited at least. But he basically told me he was a secret “bad boy” now. He lost his virginity in highschool, (like I did) and he was totally trying to booty call me. Not even hiding it either! He was like, “Hey, Llama, you wanna fuck?”.

And I was like, “D! You broke my fucking heart when we were young! Don’t you remember that???”

And he was like, “Oh no! I had no idea! (the fuckin’ liar). Well, we can fuck now!~ *wink, wink*”

🤨

This is where I was a jerk.... Because he broke my heart. I led him on, told him I would meet up with him at his house to sleep with him, and just didn’t show up—ghosted him ever since. The worst part about that, is I still don’t regret doing that to him. I hope I hurt his feelings and felt like an ass like I did.

So years have passed, I consider myself as a rather successful woman now. I’m 27, I consider myself Buddhist (I am a terrible Buddhist I know), I am an Occupational Therapy Assistant and I have a great husband (I married the guy I was with in high school). And he loves the real me—the crazy closet weeb, cartoon watching, creative, expressive, me! The person who also writes fanfiction about a romance novel and he is fine with it. Because he is a huge nerd too and we are both nerds together.

My husband is my best friend and I don’t know what I’d do without him. When I write about Rhemi and Muriel, I draw a lot of inspiration with our conversation we have and how relationship dynamics are and I think it makes the writing more authentic and makes them feel a bit more real.

I love my husband more than anything… So why do I keep dreaming about that stupid asshole that just liked the fake me? D was and always will be a total tool. He is like the basic bitch of a man. And yet I still find him creeping in my dreams and I try to cheat on my husband with him in them. I wake up feeling totally terrible and weird after them too. D is a terrible fucking person—the worst person you can be in my opinion—The kind of person why lies and tells people one thing, but hides the fact that he’s really just a nasty fuck boy. If you are one, just be honest! Don’t tell another woman you're a good christan man, when really you’ve slept with not just one, but multiple girls! That how you get fucking STDs! I hate being lied to, and I’m sure other girls do too! So I guess that’s why I do, because I felt like I was lied to my entire life. Then again, why should I even care?! Why do I feel like I still obsess over him? I hate him so much now! So why do I even care? Why do I still find myself stalking him on social media? Why does it even matter? Why do I want him to see I’m happy without him? Why do I want him to see what he could have had with me? We were just stupid teenagers! Why did I care so much? Why did it hurt so much when I found out he didn’t like me?! It’s been over a decade, and we didn’t even really date! Why did this affect me so hard? …. FUCK!

So yeah. That’s my long ass rant for you all… thanks for coming to my ted talk.

#story time #mad llama momma story #true story #weird dreams #why does my brain do this?#anybody relate?#does anyone get me?#vent post

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dcminicrcmsey · 5 years ago

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『MATTHEW DADDARIO ❙ CIS-MALE』 ⟿ looks like DOMINIC RAMSEY is here for HIS SECOND GRAD year as a ARCHITECTURE student. HE is 27 years old & known to be ANALYTICAL, CHARMING, ARROGANT & CYNICAL. They’re living in MORIS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ lynds. 21. EST. she/her.

tw: abuse

hey hello hi! even though my account hasn’t been posted yet, i will still post the intro. i am working on school stuff all day (three cheers to my university moving to online classes for the rest of the semester and me being a biology major). i also haven’t rped in like years. this whole stay at home thing has given me a little bit of time (or so i think) to pick up rping again, so bare with me i am a little rusty. i am trying to get together a biography for dominic, it should be done by today or tomorrow. i have a ton of chemistry to do, sadly. oh, i am lyndsay by the way! call me lynds, lyndsay, lyn, whatever you’d like. i’ve rped with some of you in the past and am truly excited to be doing it again. also, it may take me a bit to remember all the formatting and stuff that rp uses. i may even ask you all how to do so, because i have bad memory lol

this is dominic ramsey, he is a 27 year old in his second year of grad school. he is going for architecture. this man is good at art, but his drawings are obviously mostly building designs and all that fun stuff. his family is pretty middle class, he’s always had to work for what he wanted, it was never handed to him. he is pretty much putting himself through college by tons of loans. he does small side jobs whenever people need his help, he can pretty much do anything, this man has taught himself literally every skill there is. fix a car, he’s got it. assemble ikea furniture? even better.

dominic was the product of his mother’s affair. his mother and step-father managed to stay together. he’s the oldest of his siblings. dominic has two sisters and he looked out for them and protected them all he could growing up. they had a very abusive father. luckily, (or as he see it) the abuse was mostly done to him and not his sisters. dominic had always felt a sense of disappointment from his step-father, he knew it was because he was a product of his mother’s affair. his family, on the outside, all bright and colorful, no one could tell anything was wrong. his sisters always dressed nice, along with his mother and father. his sisters always played the narrative that their dad wanted them to, but dominic didn’t. he always wore black, or a variation. a black jacket, white t-shirt, black jeans. hair black, his sisters, blonde. maybe it was because he resembled his biological father. the black hair and dark eyes came from his biological father, however his step-father was dirty blonde with blue eyes.

dominic’s personality is very cold, probably because of the bullshit he had to deal with growing up. it doesn’t stop him from indulging, though. he is definitely a flirt. don’t let him fool you, he is terrified of relationships, in fear of being his step-father. hellllloooooo trauma.

umm this is all i have right now, i am working on a biography for him, so if you have any questions, i will most likely have an answer since i am writing out more for a biography. you feel me?

pls message me to plot. i need all the plot

edit: HIS BIO IS UP HERE

#radintro #{ ~ * dominic #{ ~ * intro #tw:abuse

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rebelminxy · 6 years ago

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Once a King, Always a King-Saturday

Pairing: KingBacchus!Jensen x PlusSize!Reader

Word Count: 6326

Square Filled: Orgasm Denial

Rating: Mature/Explicit

Warnings: Explicit Content, NSFW, 18+, Use of a toy, Some Fluff, Smut, Unprotected Sex

Summary: Jensen is heading to New Orleans to participate in Mardi Gras as the King of Bacchus. But there is one girl he wants to celebrate the fun-filled weekend with. Now that he has the chance to show her how he really feels, while being in her hometown and having some fun together, will their relationship blossom to more than just friends?

A/N: So, first off, I have total respect for the Ackles family. I adore their family dynamic and this fic isn’t meant to offend them in any way whatsoever. This is purely written for fun and I send the Ackles family all the best positive vibes I have hoping they continue to be as happy as always. For this fic, Jensen is single. I got the idea after seeing a few videos of his time down here for Mardi Gras and seeing him dressed as the King of Bacchus at the parade. This is my thirteenth square filled for @spnkinkbingo . Feedback is welcomed and hope y’all enjoy it!

A/N 2: I honestly don’t have Jensen’s entire schedule that he had while he was here, so I will mention the ones we know about from social media and add a few things here and there that he could possibly have done while in the city.

SERIES MASTERLIST

SPNKinkBingo

Masterlist

Jensen groaned into (Y/N) neck as he slammed into her wet core. He had her pinned to the shower wall as he fucked her, nibbling at the crook of her neck as her moans echoed in the room. Jensen had woken up to her naked ass wiggling against his morning wood. He had slid his hand over her stomach to her core, finding her wet arousal. From there, he took control, hammering into her quivering core.

But once wasn’t enough.

He then pulled her with him into the bathroom, urging her to join him in the shower. When she gave in, they both washed each other, caressing their bodies, lathering them until they were squeaky clean. Jensen then reached out the shower to show her the small butt plug he brought along with him without her noticing. And here they were, her legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusted into her pussy, butt plug stretching her ass. Jensen felt himself come closer, feeling her clench around his throbbing shaft. And just as quickly as she came around him, crying out his name in desperation, he came inside her. He bucked against her body, feeling the warmth of her cum trickle down to the base of his cock.

They took a moment to catch their breaths, laughing once they came down from their ecstasy. He let her legs unwrap, letting her stand as she wobbled under the showerhead. She grabbed her small towel and moved to wash her body when Jensen tried to take it away.

“Let me wash you up,” he said greedily.

“No,” she giggled as she moved away from his grasp, washing herself. “If you touch me again we will be running late.”

Jensen laughed at her response, mentally agreeing with her as he took his own little towel and washed himself. It was already difficult to keep his hands off her, touching her some more would make them miss the fitting. He did make her squeal when he pulled out the butt plug without her noticing, causing them to both laugh as she tried to slap his chest.

They quickly jumped out the shower and got dressed, (Y/N) moving to her spot at the table that she now kept her makeup and hair tools at. Today, she straightened her hair, leaving the side swept bangs to hang in front of her face. Her makeup was simple, keeping the tones neutral and no eyeliner. Jensen watched as she painted her lips with a soft pink lip stain, wishing he could wipe it away with his tongue. She wore a blush pink lace button-down dress that ended a bit above her knees. Only the shoulder area of the dress was transparent, the half sleeves ending with a nice jagged lace pattern. She also wore high heel sandal wedges, showing off her perfectly manicured feet.

The same feet he kissed and worshiped only a few hours ago in the middle of their sleep.

Jensen admired her beauty, noticing such a simple dress that hid most of her curves, made him crave her even more. Only he was able to see what was under that dress, touch each inch of her skin. He finished getting dressed, trying his best to not get a hard-on since they had to leave soon. Without her having to tell him, he walked over to her and sat down in the chair, waiting for her to do her magic. Just like always, she had his hair and makeup done in a few short minutes, smiling at her work.

“I swear, if it wasn’t for the fact there could be paparazzi when we get out of here, I would gladly leave you without the makeup,” she stated as she started putting things into her Louis Vuitton brown canvas backpack. A gift she got for herself after working on set for two months.

“We can’t be too careful though. Got to look good for the cameras.” Jensen responded as he checked himself out in the large mirror in their room.

Once they were both ready, they headed out the hotel room and down the elevator, where Jensen gave (Y/N) a few sweet kisses before they reached the main floor. Once they were out and onto the bus, they greeted everyone that was already on the bus and took their seats in the back. Jensen noticed that all his friends had a garment bag in hand.

“So what’s with the bags?” he asked someone close by.

“Oh, they told us that since you were getting your suit tailored, that we should take ours to do the same for tonight.”

Jensen leaned back into his seat, worried because he didn’t bring his tux with him. That’s when (Y/N) tapped his arm, grabbing his attention. On her lap, she held his garment bag and he looked at her with confusion.

“This is why I told you not to get so touchy in the morning. I brought it with me and you didn’t even realize it.”

“What would I have done without you?” he asked, grateful she was by his side.

“Hmm, don’t know probably walking around with the cute face you make when you are confused.”

They both laughed and moved their conversation to join everyone else. The bus arrived at another hotel, but this was in the downtown area just on Canal Street, and they were all guided off the bus to go inside.

“Welcome to the Jung Hotel and Residences,” said the doorman as he and his co-worker opened the doors wide open.

Everyone looked around and admired the marvel of the décor. One of the front desk workers called them over and guided them down a hall and to a large conference room. There were little tents set up next to each other and about four men standing in the room. One of them walked over to the group and smiled.

“Hello gentlemen, miss, I do hope you are all ready with your suits to make sure they are tailored to perfection. Gentlemen, you may pick a small tent and get dressed in your tux. Mr. Ackles, I will need you to follow me because we are going to first double check your measurements for your suit tomorrow.”

Jensen looked back at (Y/N) who took sat down at the chairs against the wall, waving at him. He joined the man who guided him to stand in front of a large mirror and he began to guide Jensen as he measured his body. Jensen didn’t know how long he was standing there, posing as the man told him to before he was told to go change into his tux. He walked over to (Y/N) and took his tux from her, noticing how lost she was on her phone. He didn’t mention anything as he made his way to an unoccupied tent to get changed. When he walked out, the man who was measuring him before was already standing there. He did minor changes, fixing the ends of the collar, taking out any loose threads he spotted. But once he was done, Jensen quickly changed back, wanting to see what (Y/N) was doing since the whole time she was glued to her phone.

“Everything ok?” Jensen asked as he made his way towards her, dressed back into his original outfit for the day.

“Yeah, just trying to see who I can hang out with while you are partying.”

“What do you mean, you are coming with me,” he stated, his eyes narrowing at her.

“J, I’m not,” she replied, looking up at him. “I don’t have a gown first off and this is invitation only. I’m not part of the Krewe either so I doubt I will be able to get in.”

“If I ask them, they will let you in.”

“J, I would also like to go have fun with my friends. They all got off tonight so we can go party.”

“You can go party with them another day, you will be here until Wednesday.”

“Jensen,” she huffed a bit impatiently. “They don’t have an open schedule like I do right now. When I told them I was here, they all agreed to get tonight off so we can meet up. I haven’t seen them in a few months…”

“They can see you after Sunday,” he pushed, raising his voice a bit but (Y/N) got up from her chair and stood in front of him, making it clear she was going to stand her ground.

“I came down to have fun and see you in the parade. Doesn’t mean I have to be by your side every fucking second of every fucking day. J, I am having fun with you, but I would really like to see my friends and honestly, I don’t need your permission to do so.”

“I wasn’t saying you had to ask, just…”

“Sure as hell felt like it.”

(Y/N) grabbed her bag and started heading for the door of the conference room, stomping her feet.

“Where are you going? We aren’t leaving yet!” Jensen yelled out at her.

“Well I sure as hell am,” she yelled back, slamming the conference door behind her.

Before Jensen could run after her, someone grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. He turned to see his closest friend standing there.

“Give her some space.”

Jensen started to argue back, but his friend shook his head, stopping him. Jensen then groaned, covering his face with his hands as he took a seat. He didn’t want to look like a demanding person, but he realized that’s exactly what he did to her.

==========

The bus ride to the restaurant was quiet, the guys not knowing what to say to Jensen expect that she was fine since she was from the city. Jensen wasn’t worried about that, he was just worried he ruined the possibility of ever having something more with (Y/N) after this weekend. She was always vocal about how she hated demanding, extremely possessive and jealous men. That she dated enough of that kind that she avoided them at all costs. And what did he do? Make it look like she HAD to go to the coronation with him. Yeah, it was a special night, but he also understood where she was coming from. Her friends that she hadn’t seen in months cleared out their busy schedules to hang out with her. She would mention how all her friends were in the service industry, making it hard to party during Mardi Gras since everyone was working overtime during the festivities.

Even after their lunch, Jensen still was down. There wasn’t much to do for Saturday since the coronation was later at night and Sunday was the big event. So, the bus was taking them back to the hotel. Arriving there, one of Jensen’s friends started hitting him, pointing out the window. There at the entrance, stood (Y/N). She had a garment bag in hand and she was just looking around, her eyes falling onto the bus as it parked. Jensen bolted off the bus and towards (Y/N), noticing her gaze dropped to the floor.

“Can we go up and talk?”

Jensen didn’t hesitate as he took her hand in his and pulled her with him. Once they were in the elevator, Jensen tried pulling her into his arms, but she stopped him.

“Not until we talk.”

Jensen stayed quiet the whole ride up. Once they were on their floor, their walk to the room felt like forever to Jensen. He was afraid of what she would say, of possibly leaving. Maybe that’s why she had the garment bag, to pack her things up. The closer they got to the room, the more fear he felt. They finally reached the door and Jensen opened it, letting her walk through first before walking in himself to shut the door behind him. (Y/N) threw the garment bag on one of the couches and turned to him, her eyes never looking up.

“(Y/N), I am so sorr…” Jensen began but was cut short as she raised her hand to him, silencing him.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed out. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did. This is your big weekend and instead of going to support you, I behaved selfishly and thought only of myself.”

“No, you were right, you always tell us how much you miss your friends here at home and…”

“No, I was in the wrong. You have been so kind, letting me stay with you. We have been having so much fun, in every sense of the word. I just… it felt like those guys from before, how they made it seem like I had no choice.”

“(Y/N) you know I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know J. You are such a sweetheart and you have such a big heart. To even think I compared you to those from before makes me feel disgusted with myself.”

“No, no, baby.” Jensen pleaded as he moved closer to her, placing his hands on her cheeks. That’s when he noticed the silent tears rolling down her face. “Don’t think like that. You have gone through a lot, I can’t blame you for letting your defenses go up the moment you felt that way.”

“Will you forgive me J? I am such a bad friend for being selfish.”

“Baby, there is nothing to forgive. I should be asking you to forgive me for expecting you to stay by my side the entire time. You came home to have fun, not spend your whole time here with me.”

“But, I love being here with you,” she whispered quietly, her eyes staying low.

“I love it too sweetheart, but you are right. You need to spend time with your friends. I seriously hope you have fun tonight.”

“About that,” she replied with sniffles. “I went to my friend who works one of the parking lots close by that hotel and told him everything, He fussed at me and made me realize that I was in the wrong. So, he called his girlfriend who works at a dress store and helped me pick out a gown for tonight.”

Jensen looked over at the garment bag then back at (Y/N).

“He said that he could tell everyone to just see if they could switch their schedules for Monday night or we can wait until the hiatus.”

Jensen stood there, holding her face in his hands, looking at her. He knew how strong-willed she was, but here she was, apologizing and admitting her wrong. Yes, he wanted her at the party tonight, but he also didn’t want to pry her away from her friends, be greedy like he had been for the past two days. He smiled at her and moved his right hand to pinch her cheek, making her look up at him.

“We will go to the party tonight and after the coronation, you can go hang out with your friends.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, the coronation happens right after the dinner so you will have time to meet up with your friends. I can’t keep being greedy with you.”

(Y/N) smiled brightly at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. It was simple and quick, a thank you kiss. But as she unwrapped her arms, Jensen quickly wrapped his to trap her close to him.

“But I want to talk to you about something very serious.”

“What is it?” she asked, her eyes blinking.

Jensen looked into her big (Y/C/E) eyes and started having second thoughts about what he wanted to say. He let her go and walked over to the big window of the sitting area and looked out, getting his nerves together.

“Everything alright, J?”

“No, not really,” he whispered. He had the words right on the tip of his tongue, but he didn’t know what had him holding back.

Whatever it was, made him chicken out. He turned around at looked at her, a smile on his face.

“I’ve been wondering since you were into that whole tying up, bondage stuff, if you would want to try something else I’ve had on my mind.”

==========

Jensen was standing in front of the mirror fixing his bowtie when he heard the bathroom door open. He looked from the corner of his eye to see (Y/N) come out in the lingerie he picked out for her. After their small talk, they had gone out to buy exactly what he wanted her to wear underneath the dress. He found the perfect blue set, a strapless push-up bra and cheeky lace panties. Matching garter belt with skin colored stocking and black high heels finished the set. But it wasn’t the lingerie set that had him craving for her, it was the little g-spot vibrator he had wanted to use last night that was sitting in its spot in her underwear. He could have gotten her a pair of panties that already had the vibrator inside but none of them caught his eye like the lingerie set did.

After their shopping trip, he took her to a hair salon to get her hair done. It was all curled back into a high ponytail, small bump on top for volume and a few loose strands surrounding her face. When they got back, she did her own makeup, a soft dark blue smokey shadow with silver glitter and fake lashes that made her eyes pop. She topped it all off with a soft pink lipstick and clear gloss.

Jensen turned to watch her walk towards her garment bag laying on the bed, a cocky smile on his face as he pressed a button on his phone, making her squeal and jump. She turned to look at him with a face of annoyance, causing a deep rumble of a chuckle.

“If you don’t want to do this we can just leave it behind.”

“It’s not that,” she argued back. “You just choose random moments taking me by surprise.”

“And that’s the whole point,” he answered. “Being in a crowd, no one knowing that I am causing you pleasure.”

As he spoke, he walked over to her, phone in hand and pressed the button as he wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her against him as the vibrator did its magic on her clit. She moaned as her body shimmied against his, begging for his touch. But just as suddenly as he turned the little toy on, he turned it right off, receiving a grumbled pout from her.

“I thought we were going to have fun with this. But all you’re doing is torturing me.”

“That’s the whole point baby, having me in control of what you want most,” he whispered, blowing into her ear, causing goosebumps along her skin.

“Well, maybe let me finish getting dressed then since we have to be downstairs in fifteen minutes.”

Jensen smiled as she pushed away from him, her attention back to her gown.

“Think you can control your facial expressions when I turn our little toy on?”

“Oh, shouldn’t be that hard. Just gotta find something that will take my focus away.”

Jensen laughed as he leaned against the dresser, watching her pull out the gown she got for the night. He had seen it before their shopping trip but finally getting to see it on her took his breath away. It was a floor length, navy blue gown, V-line cut in the front and back, with a crumpled waistline. She wore a matching colored cape style sleeve top, fluttering at her elbows with lace and sequins. Once she had the gown on, he put in her silver hoop earrings and the matching silver bracelet, jewelry Jensen got for her since she didn’t have much, to begin with.

“You look spectacular, baby.”

“Why thank you!” she exclaimed with a giggle, twirling where she stood.

Jensen turned to grab a box from the dresser and walked towards her.

“I figured this might finish up your look for tonight.”

He opened the box and inside laid a beautiful diamond pendant necklace. It was shaped in a circle, but the entire pendant was encrusted with diamonds. (Y/N) gasped as he removed it from the box, unclasping it.

“J, you shouldn’t have! How…. How much did this cost you? No… you… you have to return it!” she stammered looking up at him.

“Don’t worry about the price. It was worth it since it’s for you.”

“J, no. I don’t want you wasting money on things like this. What if I lose it?”

“You won’t because knowing you, you would do your best to take care of it. C’mon you still have the mug we all got you as a welcome gift from the first day on set, still in its box!”

“Yeah but that I’m not afraid to lose!”

“Just humor me and let me put it on.”

(Y/N) hesitated for a moment, the debate in her eyes. But she gave in and turned around, lifting her hair. He reached around her and placed the necklace on her, closing the clasp. He slid his hands onto her shoulders and pulled her towards the mirror.

“You always look beautiful, but tonight you are gorgeous. I can’t wait to show everyone my beautiful date, watch as they admire you.”

“No one will admire me J,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Yes, they will. I can’t wait to see every guy in the room check you out and know you are with me.”

As he said those words, he pulled out his phone and quickly opened the app to the vibrator, pressing the button to turn it on. He saw the change in her eyes, how dark they became. But she was able to control her facial expression, her face still serious as she looked at him in the mirror. He pressed his body against her, feeling her body shake as he raised the level of vibrations on the toy.

“I want to watch you in that crowd like this, controlling yourself as I make you wet with desire. Know that the reason you are holding back those moans is because I am causing them. Knowing that I am making you soak those panties I want to rip right off you.”

He felt her body press harder into him, her eyes fluttering close as she sucked in her bottom lip, her teeth biting down on it. He chuckled as he felt he ass squirming against his hardening cock. The urge to just lift her skirt and fuck her against the mirror was tempting, but they were short on time and he didn’t want her release just yet. As he felt her body shiver with need, he pressed the button to turn it off, a soft mewl breaking free from her. Her eyes opened back up, her chest rising and falling heavily as she tried to catch her breath.

“Let’s see if you can really control yourself tonight.”

==========

Jensen did not expect the dinner party they arrived to. He couldn’t even call it a dinner party, more like a garden party. Colorful lights and music blaring from the speakers, he guided (Y/N) through the crowd to their table. He couldn’t help but smirk at how many guys at the party were checking (Y/N) out. He kept her arm wrapped around his to make it clear she was there with him. Once everyone was settled, dinner was served. Delicious plates of gumbo, blackened fish, jambalaya, fried okra, and many more local styled cuisines. Jensen was having so much fun, cracking jokes with his friends and (Y/N) during dinner.

But even with the distractions of everyone else, that didn’t stop his fun with (Y/N). At random moments through the night, he would smile to himself when he would activate the vibrator in her panties, watching her reaction from the corner of his eye. At first, she would stumble and cough, taking control of her actions, blaming it on the spices of the food. But eventually, he could see she got a handle each time he activated the vibrator. He would turn it on and turn it back off once he saw her calm herself down to handle the pressure. After the two hours of pure torture, he could picture how wet she would feel if he slid one finger between her slit.

He watched how flushed her face would get after a few minutes with the vibrator on, notice how the table cloth would shift under her as she tried to cross her legs, how her hands would wring out her napkin on her lap, a sign for him to turn the vibrator off, not letting her get her release. This went on throughout the night, even when he went on stage to be crowned King of Bacchus. He could watch her from his spot on the stage as she squirmed in her seat to control herself, and internally laugh when she would give him a look of annoyance when he wouldn’t let her enjoy her release. Unfortunately, they asked him to sing after the crowning, so obviously, he had to do ‘Carry on my Wayward Son’ and it was epic to hear everyone there sing along with him.

Once he was off stage, everyone got up from their tables and gave him their best wished for the parade the next day. While everyone was up, the tables were cleared out and the party music began. He finally broke himself from the circle surrounding him and found (Y/N) standing there with a guy, smiling at him. Jensen couldn’t help the little green monster trying to break its way out when he noticed them holding hands. Once he reached her, he wrapped an arm around her waist and cleared his throat, smiling.

“Hey, (Y/N), having fun?”

“Oh, hey J! Yeah, tonight has been a blast! Oh, J, this an old friend of mine from beauty school Cameron. Cammie, this is Jensen…”

“OHMAGAWD Jensen ACKLES!” Cameron screamed all high pitched, making Jensen’s eyes grow wide. “I am SUCH a fan of yours, darling!”

Jensen stepped back as Cameron got closer and examined his face.

“Oh sweetie pie, you did great with his makeup. If I weren’t such a pro like you, I probably wouldn’t have noticed he was wearing any.”

“Thank…you?”

“J, Cammie here is a drag queen,” (Y/N) giggled as she looked up at Jensen. “We became very close friends because of our shared love from makeup and well, he taught me a few things when it comes to drag stuff and makeup in certain lighting while I taught him a few things about special effects.”

“This girl is the best teacher! I swear if it wasn’t for us helping each other we would have never survived beauty school.”

“Glad to know you guys made it through ok,” Jensen said slowly, still somewhat confused with Cameron’s manner of behavior.

(Y/N) probably understood the look on his face since she leaned up and whispered in his ear, “Cammie is gay.” Jensen looked down at her and let a breath of relief escape his lips.

“Sweetie pie, I really need to get the hubby over here and finally meet you in person! He will be so excited to finally get to see you in person.”

“Ok we will be here waiting,” (Y/N) laughed as Cameron excused himself into the crowd.

“Wow, he is gay, ok, was worried for a bit I would have to fight a guy off you.”

“J!” she exclaimed as she slapped his chest.

“What? Have you not seen how the guys here are looking at you?”

Jensen leaned over to whisper that in her ear, pulling out his phone to turn the vibrator on again. He enjoyed the feeling of her body’s reaction against his, hearing the intake of breath as her eyes fluttered.

“I thought you were done for the night.”

“Baby, the night is still young.”

====================

“Cash Money Records taking over for the ’99 and the 2000!”

Jensen laughed as he heard (Y/N) and Cameron scream and run to the dance floor. Once they were in the middle of the dancefloor, they began to booty pop and twerk along with the song ‘Back That Azz Up’. And to his surprise, many others did the same. It was like some alarm went off and got the crowd of young locals to overtake the dancefloor. He recalled how (Y/N) told him how this song got EVERYONE to dance, that no party could be considered a party if this certain song was played at least once. Watching her dance, twerking against Cameron, it just felt nice to see her so free and open to being herself.

Once the song was over, she came back with Cameron trying to breathe while laughing.

“I swear, I haven’t done that in ages!”

“Sweetie pie, you still got the moves for a girl that’s living up north!”

The night continued, midnight creaking just around the corner. That’s when Cameron’s phone went off. He ran off to answer the call, coming back minutes later.

“Sweetie pie, that was everyone else. They are down by the Swamp waiting for us.”

Jensen’s smile quickly began to disappear, forgetting his promise to let her go have fun with her friends. (Y/N) turned and faced him.

“I don’t have to go if you want me to stay…”

“No, go and have fun. You spent some time here and it’s only fair that you go see your friends.”

(Y/N) smiled at him and pulled him into a hug, but as Jensen wrapped his arms around her, he whispered in her ear.

“Don’t have too much fun without me, still got that vibrator to take out once you get back.”

(Y/N) gasped in his ear before pulling back to look him in the face. Her eyes were blown, and her face flushed, her skin crawling with goosebumps. He knew she was still on edge and wanted her to leave with that reminder.

“No touching no matter how much you want to.”

====================

It was almost 4 in the morning when Jensen arrived at the hotel room. He was tired yet excited for the parade later that day. Sunday finally arrived, and he had time to sleep before his dressing two hours before the parade. He threw his tux jacket onto the couch in the living area and began removing his bowtie when he walked into the bedroom. He stopped walking when his eyes fell onto the bed.

There, (Y/N) sat at the edge of the bed, her dress raised to her knees, breathing heavily. Her eyes were glazed over and her hair loose in curls. She looked up at him and tilted her head at him.

“Turn it off.”

“What do you…”

“Please, turn it off, or let me cum.”

Jensen pulled his phone out his pocket and noticed it was open on the app. And there it showed that the vibrator was in high. He quickly turned it off, and at the same time (Y/N) fell back on the bed, breathing as if she ran a marathon.

“I…got back early. Everyone needed to get…sleep for work. I was…about to undress…. when it came on.”

“Baby, I didn’t realize. I was talking to Jared on my way up I forgot I still had the app open. Probably pressed it on once I was off the elevator.”

As he apologized, Jensen helped her out her shoes and dress, leaving her only in the lingerie he got her. But he couldn’t help the groan that escaped his lips when he saw how soaked she was. It was a miracle she didn’t wet her dress, but her thighs were soaked with her slick. Jensen’s eyes roamed her body, taking in every curve that he had cherished the past few days.

“And you didn’t cum did you?” he asked.

“No, you told me… to behave.”

When she opened her eyes to look at him, they were blown with lust, begging him. Jensen couldn’t wait. He moved away from the bed and undressed, completely naked in seconds. He jumped on the bed, phone in hand and laid beside her. His fingers began trailing down her body from her cheek, leaving goosebumps behind.

“Think you can hold out for just a bit longer, baby?”

All she could do was groan and shake her head. And that was all he needed. He opened the app back up and turned the vibrator on. It was at it’s lowest settings, but (Y/N)’s body arched at the feel of it on her clit. She groaned out in pleasure as she tightened her legs together, sliding them back and forth against each other in friction. Her arms rose above her head as she grabbed hold of the sheets they were laying on. Jensen watched as her body rocked and arched, his fingers gliding over her skin. He moved his hands onto her breasts and teased her nipples through the fabric of her bra, her chest arching into his hand. He watched as he made her body ache with pleasure, his name flying off her lips like a prayer, begging.

When she raised her hips off the bed and circled them, he pictured himself between her legs, fucking her like that. He felt himself get so hard that it began to hurt.

“You like that, baby? You like how I can control you like this, make you get to the edge and not let you cum?”

“J, please, J…” she whimpered.

“Did you see how all those guys watched you dance? Because I did, I saw how they watched your body as you danced with Cameron. And the entire time, I knew they could never have you because you…are…mine…”

At the last word, Jensen turned the vibrator off, receiving a groan of complaint from her. Her body fell back down onto the bed and she swung her arms to hit the bed on her sides. She acted like a child, wanting to throw a tantrum because she wasn’t given what she wanted. (Y/N) opened her eyes and turned over to pounce Jensen. He laughed as she climbed on top of him, grinding her lower half against his hard cock. He felt her slick covered panties slide all over his cock, his hands grabbing on to her hips to slow her movement down.

“(Y/N),” he moaned out. “You keep doing that we won’t be able to do what we want.”

“But I want this, I want your cock so badly, J”

Jensen growled at her words, tossing her off him to lay back down on the bed. As she laughed, he got up from the bed and pulled her towards him. He made her sit up and face him, her legs around his waist. She moved her hips, so she could grind against him, a wicked smile playing on her lips.

“Fuck me, Jensen. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Jensen grabbed the back of her bra and pulled at the strap that held the hooks together, ripping it. (Y/N) quickly removed her bra as Jensen ripped her underwear open. He didn’t make a motion to remove it, just lifted her up so her legs could wrap around his waist. In one stroke, his cock was buried deep inside her, her warmth surrounding him. They both yelled out in pleasure once they were connected. (Y/N) didn’t hesitate to start bouncing on him, wrapping her arms around his neck to hold on. As she bounced, Jensen rammed himself into her. He knew he was being rough again, but he didn’t care. All he wanted was to be inside her and make her cum.

“You want this, baby? You want to cum?”

She responded with a groan of his name, her voice raspy from the screams he made her do.

“Tell me how much you love this cock.”

“I love it soo much! Fuck me so good!”

Jensen rammed into her a few more times, feeling how her insides tightened around his shaft. He reached in between them and used his thumb to rub her clit, making her come closer. She gasped and arched her body, and he could feel how close she really was. He rammed into her a few more times before he whispered in her ear.

“Cum now baby, let me feel you cum.”

Those simple words made her cum all over his cock, squirting all over his thighs. As she rode out her high, yelling out his name, Jensen pumped himself into her a few more times before he came inside her. He yelled out her name as he emptied himself inside her, riding his high as she came down. Once he joined her back to reality, he could feel her warm slick dripping down his leg. He also felt how limp she went in his arms, her legs barely holding on to his waist. He slowly laid her on the bed, pulling out once with a groan. He went to the bathroom and grabbed a clean, wet towel to clean her off, cleaning himself afterward.

Without a word, he pulled her up the bed and got them both under the covers. He noticed on the clock it said it was almost 5 in the morning. When he turned back to (Y/N), she had wrapped herself against his body, snuggled into his arms and asleep. He soft breathing let him know she was fast asleep, probably tired after what he put her through the entire night. He watched her sleep until he felt sleep take him over. But before he gave in, he kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer, keeping her in his arms. The last thing he saw was the diamond necklace he gave her before they went to the party, still on her neck.

“I love you, (Y/N).”

Tags:

@coffee-obsessed-writer @holylulusworld

#spnkinkbingo #spn fanfic #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #Supernatural RPF #rpf #rpf fanfic #Jensen Ackles #King of Bacchus #KING JENSEN #king of bacchus!jensen #jensen ackles x reader #jensen x reader

61 notes · View notes

qzwrites · 6 years ago

Text

fakey bullshit bodyswap

did i screw myself by getting overly invested in these extremely fucked up porn ocs? yes i fucking did here’s the warnings for this story (and the end of it is the outline for the rest of the story that....i may not ever write but goddammit it has a whole fucking Arc)

#sibling incest #age difference #teacher-student relationship #sexual harassment #nsfw text

whoo

---

"Sadie," someone said, and Sadie groaned. Then she frowned to herself and opened her eyes, because something was wrong with her voice. She was in Ben's room and her arm seemed thicker and--she was standing over herself, looking worried.

"What the hell," she muttered, and touched her throat. There was more of an Adam's Apple there than she was used to. "What's going on?" she asked the person wearing her face.

"I'm Ben," said the person who looked like her. "I don't know what happened." She--he, if it was Ben--crossed his arms, winced, and adjusted his arms around the boobs he wasn't used to having. "Please tell me you are Sadie and not some other person in my body."

"No, it's me," Sadie said. "I mean, I'm Sadie." She sat up and ran her hands down the front of her chest. "Man, that's weird," she said.

"We have to call out," Ben said. "We can't go to school like this."

She looked up at him. It was so weird seeing Ben's body language on her body. Was this what twins felt like? Well, maybe sometimes, but then, they were used to it. "Why not?" she asked. "You don't know me well enough to pretend to be me?"

Ben huffed, which made his breasts heave. Was it gay or just narcissistic to be distracted by what were technically your own boobs? "Of course I can act like you," he said. "But I haven't done the AP English reading."

"Oh my god," Sadie said, rolling her eyes, "you can fake it."

"I can't fake your handwriting," Ben said. "Maybe for a signature or a short thing, but if he has us write poetry or essays, we're both screwed."

"Well," Sadie said. "So? What's anyone going to do?"

Ben frowned. "Oh," he said.

"Besides, we don't know how this happened," she said, "so we don't know how to fix it. What if it lasts more than one day?"

"Oh, god," Ben said, groaning. He said, "I'm going to get dressed."

"Do you need help with the bra?" Sadie asked.

"Ha ha," Ben said over his shoulder, and went into the hall.

Sadie shook her head. She got out of Ben's bed and walked over to his dresser. All Ben's clothes were so boring. Ugh, and she'd have to wear pants. She grabbed his tightest t-shirt and the first pair of jeans she saw that counted for the uniform. She was hunting for his deodorant when she heard her brother, in her voice, call, "Okay, I guess I do need help with the bra."

She laughed and went to her room to find her brother straining and fumbling to get the back clasped. She glanced over his shoulder and saw part of the problem. "Ben, it's not going to fit if your boobs aren't in it."

"It was!" Ben protested. "But it fell out."

Sadie laughed and reached around him to tuck it into the cup. Ben squeaked, which was hilarious. "Just hold the front in place a sec," she said.

He did so, and muttered, "Can you not just grab them like that?"

"Why not, they're my boobs." She fastened the hooks where she usually wore this bra. She noticed he'd picked the cutest bra she had.

"Well at the moment, they're connected to my nerve endings," he said. His ears were pink. "And I'm not used to them."

If he had been anyone else, she would have continued to tease him, grabbed his chest or rubbed up against his ass. "I guess that's fair," she said. "Okay, all set back here, but you're going to need to shimmy."

"What," he said, turning to face her. She demonstrated. "Why?" he asked, looking alarmed.

"Easiest way to get them where they wanna be," she said. "It looks and feels weird to let them do it on their own."

Ben grumbled and turned away from Sadie to bend over and shimmy. Man, her body had a really nice ass.

"Alright," she said, "are you good?"

"I think so," Ben said. He turned back to her. "Okay?"

"Looks good to me," she said. "Uh, also, is there any underwear I should avoid?"

Ben nodded. "Yeah, I don't wear boxers to school this semester because I have gym."

"Aw, shit," Sadie said, and bit her thumbnail. "I forgot you had gym."

"If I can fake it through AP English, you can fake it in gym," Ben said, rolling his eyes.

"Okay, but what do I do in the locker room?" Sadie asked.

Ben grimaced. "Well don't stare at anyone."

"Uh!"

"And don't make that noise," he added, pained. "It's so girly."

"Right, right," Sadie said, "repress everything, don't make eye contact, get flustered by anyone cute who speaks to me. Got it."

Ben sighed. "Please take this seriously. And don't hit on any straight guys. I don't want you getting beat up."

"I wasn't going to hit on anyone," Sadie said. "I don't want to get laid in my brother's body, that's weird."

"Good," Ben said. "Hold onto that feeling. Now go get dressed."

And that left Sadie facing something she hadn't seen in nine years: her brother's dick. Her alarm--well, Ben's alarm--went off while she had all her clothes off. Walking across the room naked to turn it off was a little different, but not bad. She probably had it better than Ben when it came to walking around naked.

She thought about not looking, about just putting clothes on and going about her day, but like...all her willpower was accounted for, and she didn't have any left over for not ogling the body she was in. The fact she was already awake meant she had a little extra time, so she went over to the full-length mirror to do some perfectly harmless and private ogling.

She ran a hand through what was currently her chest hair and sighed. She made a face in the mirror at herself. God, this was so weird. Ben would look great in her usual makeup, though. They really had very similar features.

She realized she'd been absent-mindedly rubbing her crotch again, which was fine when she had genitals that didn't show through clothes. Now she had a chubby and had to live with it. Cis men complained about all the wrong things.

Ben pounded on her door and she jumped. He called, "I'm going to start cooking breakfast!"

"Okay!" she called back. Well, that worked well enough. Clearly Ben hadn't wasted any time ogling. His loss, her body was excellent.

She dressed and went out to the kitchen. Ben made scrambled eggs and sausage. Sadie fixed them coffee. Over breakfast, they talked about the classwork they didn't share and made plans on dealing with it.

"Oh shit," Sadie said while they were washing up. Ben glanced at her inquisitively. "I'm supposed to start my period this week," she said. Ben blanched. "Yeah," Sadie said. "So do you want a crash course on using the cup, or should I dig out some tampons?"

"Can't tampons, like, kill you?" Ben asked.

Sadie shrugged. "Only if they're not sterile or you leave them in too long," she said. "It's just that the cup has kind of a learning curve. You end up basically fisting yourself to get it out."

Ben looked ill. "Can we just hope we change back before it?"

"You'll be really screwed if you're not prepared," Sadie said. "I don't need you bleeding in all my clothes."

"Ugh," Ben said. "Tampons for now," he said, "the cup thing tonight?"

Sadie shrugged. "It's your period," she said, and Ben groaned.

Walking to the train station, Sadie said, "You do a very good me."

Ben sniffed, then looked over at her and grinned, a perfect Sadie grin. "We're outside, Ben," he said. Sadie rolled her eyes.

First period went fine. Luckily they knew each other's schedules, but it still took her a second to turn the right way to head to gym.

Gym was...rough. Finn commented on how "off" Ben was, and all Sadie could do was shrug, because they hadn't talked about telling anyone else. It felt really weird and uncomfortable to lie to Finn, who knew everything else about them.

In the hall on the way to Ben's next class, Dan asked why she had Sadie's phone, and Sadie made up a story about screwing up their data plan and switching. She texted it to Ben so they wouldn't contradict each other.

Lunch was actually great, because she had Gloria and Finn and Jordan all there. It was a little hard to keep up the Ben act, but he acted a lot like her when they were in a group.

In Chem, she got to see him. She walked over to her table to ask, "How are you doing?"

He shrugged one shoulder, a very Ben gesture. "Weird, but okay," he said. He lowered his voice, "I don't like the way Mr. Travis looks at me like this, though."

"Like what?" she asked.

He shrugged again, looking uncomfortable. "I don't know, it's just...different."

Chem was weird, because Sadie didn't know Ben's lab partner Celina very well. Then English was weird too, because they wrote practice essays. Mr. Travis stopped to give her a quirked eyebrow, but didn't otherwise comment on the "wrong" handwriting. The rest of the afternoon's classes went smoothly enough, though someone did ask why she was so fidgety. She wasn't used to pants anymore, having not worn them for years, and they were weird, especially with the new external genitals. But Ben hadn't worn a skirt since they were little and dressing up like each other, so it wasn't like she could even make an issue about the uniform policy's sexism.

The train ride home was weird, because someone got creepy and too close to Ben-in-Sadie's-body, and Sadie froze before she realized she was supposed to be Ben, and as far as anyone looking could tell, she was a guy. She yelled at him and he backed off, then she pulled Ben closer and asked how he was.

Red in the face, more like him and less like her pinking of the cheeks, he muttered, "Your body is stupid."

"Shit, did he touch you?" she asked.

"No, but it's all I could think about," he said. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder. "God, I'm so sorry."

She patted him. "It's okay, you get it now."

On the walk home, he complained that the breeze made him feel like he was flashing everyone. "And everything like, rubs together."

"Well, that's why you wear cute panties," she told him. "And I don't want to hear about rubbing when I'm wearing pants for you."

He rolled his eyes, and this time, it looked like him.

"Oh, hey," Sadie said. "Do you mind if we tell Finn?"

"Why?" Ben asked.

"I feel weird not telling him," Sadie said. "Like, we've never lied to him before."

He hummed thoughtfully. "I don't want him to think we're crazy," he said. "He won't believe us."

"He'd believe anything we told him," Sadie said. "Come on. What are you worried about?"

He was silent for a while, but had a look on his face Sadie recognized, so she let him think. "What if he knows," he said, "and he still treats us different?"

"You're worried he's sexist?" Sadie said.

"No! Ugh, I don't know," Ben said. He looked down at the sidewalk. "Never mind."

Sadie smiled. "I see how it is," she said. She nudged him with her elbow. "You're worried because of your crush on him."

He turned bright red. It was weirdly less satisfying to make him blush while he had her face. It wasn't that her face wasn't cute when it was all pink, it was just...different. "Excuse me if I don't want to see him with me but only when it's you."

Sadie scoffed. "Like that's going to happen," she said. "He's not even into me like that."

Ben rolled his eyes. "Don't be stupid," he said, "of course he is."

She frowned. "He's never said anything," she said.

"Did he say anything to Connie?" Ben asked. "He probably figures you'd say something."

"I did!" Sadie said. "God, I spent like, all of freshman year hitting on him!"

"Yeah, he didn't notice," Ben said. They turned onto their street. "You were still a little cagey freshman year."

"Well you could have said some--" Sadie snapped her mouth shut. "Anyway," she went on as if she hadn't said anything, "I don't know why you think he wouldn't be interested in you."

Ben rolled his eyes. "He's straight."

"Is he?" Sadie asked. "He's never said."

"'Never saying' means they're straight, Sa--surely," Ben said, because they were still outside and potentially could be overheard.

"Really," Sadie said, drily. "And have you ever said?"

Ben did have the good grace to blush at that. "That's different," he muttered.

"Is it," Sadie said. "Because for all we know, Finn thinks you're straight and that's why he's never made a move."

"Come on," Ben said. "There's no way he doesn't know I'm bi."

"He didn't realize I was hitting on him," Sadie said. "I love him, but he is really oblivious sometimes."

"I guess," Ben muttered. They reached their front yard, and he reached for his keys. Of course, he wasn't wearing his own pants or carrying his own keys in his pocket, so all he really did was slap his thigh. "Ugh," he said.

"I got it," Sadie said. Of course, then she had to fiddle with Ben's janky, poorly-cut key. Ben sighed deeply, a very good version of Sadie's own sarcastic overblown sigh.

Once inside, they traded bags so they had the right homework, and had a more or less normal evening.

Mr. Travis keeps Ben (in Sadie's body) after class

Ben actually tells him about the swap

fucks him anyway

tells Sadie about fucking Mr. Travis

she is astonished at his doctrine

also his hypocrisy how can he tell MR. TRAVIS and not want to tell FINN

he agrees it is only fair to let her fuck Mr. Travis too, if he will, which, Ben thinks, he definitely will

here is also when he talks about fucking Dan that one time, and probably also when Sadie calls him a penetration slut

I think also Sadie's hard for like. Half this conversation. She keeps complaining about it. Ben makes fun of her for having no self control

Sadie (in Ben's body) talks to Mr. Travis about fucking her, he agrees to stay after school for her

Sadie tells Ben about this and Ben decides to wait because they are playing with fucking fire tbh

Sadie and Mr. Travis actually spend a long time talking instead of fucking because they are jokes

They talk a lot about Ben bc see above

anyway they do have sex and Sadie is way too loud and she apologizes for being so sensitive and he's like Well I never thought I'd get to be one of your firsts so like. I'm good.

they talk afterward and Mr. Travis sort of. admits he's in love with Sadie

Mr. Travis also kind of knows Ben and Sadie are in love oops

Sadie actually brings up dating him but like. They can't keep doing this. And she reminds him how long it is until graduation

they're making out when Ben bangs on the door

Mr. Travis is mostly clothed, so he throws on more clothes and opens the door. ben barges in and locks the door behind him and tells them the custodian is on the way are you fucking done yet

he gets to "I told you so" sadie

Sadie tells him about maybe sort of agreeing to date Mr. Travis when they graduate

He gets Weird and Sad

when they get home Finn is already there bc they've been acting weird

Sadie blurts that bodyswap shit right out

also she drops the "we both fucked the same teacher" bomb

Finn is like a: omg b: oh thank god it's not me, you aren't avoiding me

I sort of forgot this part but Finn offers to date Ben so BEN doesn't feel left out, and Ben runs away bc it's overwhelming

sadie posits he's pms-ing. finn posits they (sadie and ben) need to like. Talk about Their Thing

Sadie goes and talks to ben and admits the whole thing and apologizes for always hurting him, she doesn't mean to but it's all she can do

they wind up crying and kissing and apologizing and kissing

finn comes in to check on them and is like Oh Good, but now HE looks sad

sadie nudges ben and ben tells finn he would really like to date him and finn asks if it's weird to date sadie too if they're cool

they're cool

so they have a big cuddle/makeout pile

which culminates in Sadie (still in Ben's body) and Finn double penetrating Ben (still in Sadie's body)

finn texts his parents that he's staying over and driving ben and sadie to school in the morning

nice cuddly sleepy times in ben's bed

they set the wrong alarms and wake up late after snoozing too many times

ben and sadie rush to dress but the clothes don't fit right

surprise they've swapped back

more crying and kissing and then going to school

THAT'S IT THAT'S THE ARC

but addendum: sadie lets mr. travis know they're back to normal and ben and sadie and finn spend some goddamn TIME making eyes and flirting at/with him

i think finn flirts the way i do: by talking about why he loves people and asking mr. travis why he loves sadie

i also envisioned that story hapening in the rain, with finn walking mr. travis to the car

#fakey bullshit

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tealeaves-rp · 7 years ago

Photo

Mod Sample Application for Narcissa Black

II. CHARACTER STATS:

NAME: Narcissa “Cissy” Elizabeth Black BIRTHDATE/AGE: November 24, aged 22 years

GENDER IDENTITY & PRONOUNS: cis-female; she/her pronouns

WAND:

Ebony, Dragon Heartstring, nine and a half inches. Many old, upper class families like the Blacks keep a wand or two around the house (no where that people might see them, of course!) just in case – because most old, upper class families like the Blacks have produced a wix or two over the years, even if most of those cases were hushed-up so well that even immediate relatives might not know about it. But there are usually one or two tucked away in an attic, or locked in an old cupboard, or buried in the back of mother’s dressing table…and for most of her life, that was all the wand that Narcissa ever thought to need. It was enough to practice with; enough with which to play around with her magic and her sisters. (Sometimes they would even take one with them when they went out on their illicit activities; some neighborhoods feel a lot safer when you have a few tricks up your sleeve.) It wasn’t until she got involved in the wix rights movement that Narcissa decided she wanted a wand all her own…and she knew just where to get one, too: Ollivander’s Instruments. The old man who ran the shoppe was a burr in everyone’s sides, both in the movement and outside it, but two things were certain: he knew his craft and he never, ever revealed a customer. Knowing that her secret would be safe with old Ollivander, Narcissa gritted her teeth and listened to his lecture about wandcraft…and then, because she knew she always deserved the best, she let him talk her into buying a “proper” wand – even though she’s pretty sure that Ollivander is full of it and the only difference between a secondhand wand and a “tailored” wand is the price tag! Still, she has to admit that this one does feel a little nicer in her hand than the old sticks the family keeps tucked away for emergencies…but that’s probably just because it was more recently polished and she is so very fond of pretty things!

III. DESIRED CHANGES (if none, leave blank):

IV. CHARACTERIZATION DETAILS:

SOCIAL POSITION:

An idle heiress of the upper class, Narcissa comes from wealth and privilege and comfort. Her family has enough money and influence that she rarely has to face real consequences for anything. As the youngest sister, she has less personal clout than either Bellatrix or Andromeda – but as the sole unmarried daughter of the Black family (now that her cousin has so tragically vanished) she holds a great deal of potential interest to the world, especially to anyone with a child of suitable age and status…and a tolerance for “exotic” beauties (and oh, she’s heard some interesting compliments due to that “exoticness” – but it wasn’t until she started venturing outside the comfortable confines of her sheltered social sphere that she understood there could be malice behind those backhanded compliments, because people who aren’t impressed by her last name and the associated bank accounts don’t hold back in expressing themselves) but these days that’s just about everyone of note – particularly when said beauty comes with an attachment to as lucrative a company as Tibicena Shipping to weight their social scales.

EDUCATION:

Tutors were hired for them, of course. Delicate (well…ostensibly delicate) young ladies such as Narcissa, Andromeda, and Bellatrix could not be sent away to school…but they were taught important things like fashion, grammar, comportment, posture, arithmetic, dance, and even a smattering of literature and history (largely according to their own inclinations), and in Narcissa’s case at least, the harpsichord. It was a rather standard education for girls of their class…except for the addition of a few private magic lessons. Contrary to the way many upper class families react to the idea of wixen children, Narcissa was never made to feel ashamed of her gifts; in fact she was chosen for them. (She was still taught the importance of hiding them, of course; her parents weren’t idiots and there’s a wide line between drawing entertainment from social taboos and committing social suicide!) Druella thought it would be charming to have wixen daughters and she adopted them from Hogwarts Orphanage with that exact plan in mind; as such, Cissy and her sisters actually received a bit of proper (and properly discrete) schooling in their magic…which mainly consisted of their mother hiring them a Tea Maven to teach them the basics, a wand-tutor to show them a few party tricks, and encouragement to practice little bits of illusion or performative magic with one another so that she could have them put on little shows for those friends who could be trusted both to keep their mouth shut about magic and to enjoy a bit of wixen frippery after a dinner party. That wasn’t all the sisters learned, of course…because they were curious, troublesome girls (especially Bella) and it was little hardship for one sister to lead the others into areas of bad influence, like reading old books about hexes, or giggling together over poison recipes and hair tonics, or even practicing the odd little jinx on one another – but that wasn’t part of their proper education; that was just girls being girls… NOTE: I am happy to adjust this as needed to mesh with any contradictory backgrounds put forth by an Andromeda player!

DAILY GRIND:

As an heiress, Narcissa has no need for a job – but she does have certain duties inherent to that position. To whit, she must have the family’s best interests (business and social) in mind at all times; for her, socializing is a responsibility not a lark. The seemingly-frivolous round of visits and parties, the demands of fashion, the constant flow of rumors and gossip; all those things are in fact serious matters on which the family fortune and future might well depend. True, no one is going to give Tibicena Shipping a contract to carry goods just because the owner of a certain factory liked the way Narcissa wore her hat on Tuesday…but the right exchange of compliments can start the connection that eventually leads to such a contract. That’s how business gets done more often than not, and Narcissa knows her role in that business. She was brought-up to “cultivate influential relationships” more than to make friends; fortunately as a gregarious (and nosy) child she always enjoyed that duty and was a credit to her mother’s training…until recently. Now while Cissy still does her part to chatter amiably over a pot of tea or around a drawing room table, she also engages in louder and more vulgar activities: namely, political activism. Her “cause célèbre” is wixen rights – a cause near-and-dear to her heart, because she and her sisters are all wix themselves, although that is a detail she has not seen fit to share even with her new allies; it would be a scandal of enormous proportions were the story to come out, and Cissy might be a bit radical but she isn’t stupid. She knows where to draw the lines of propriety…and when to stick her toe over that line and cause a scene.

THE TEA:

The Traditional Blend: once Narcissa’s customary drink, this combination of earl grey, lavender, wigentree bark, and vanilla with a sprig of vervain is a fortifying or restorative blend and is at its most effective when drunk straight, but was usually consumed with some cream or milk and sugar for sweetening. The family considered it a good afternoon tea, to restore one’s energy from the trials of the morning and to fortify them for the evening’s efforts…but when brewed properly (especially with a wix at the kettle) in addition to its strengthening properties it also casts a mild protective and purifying charm on the drinker. It is considered an integral drink before any serious business ventures – and before any stressful and important social situations.

The New Fad: after being introduced to the basics of this blend by her new political friends, Narcissa has adopted it as her favored drink – after a little tinkering to improve its effects. This Fukamushi Sencha green tea is supplemented with honey, cinnamon, and raw ginger for a spicy, invigorating burst of energy and warmth. The puffapod petals add an extra dose of vigor to the drink, and Narcissa is convinced that they furthermore have a preservative effect on one’s youth (although that may just be wishful thinking). Her mother thinks it is too spicy, exotic, and vulgar a tea to serve to polite (especially older and conservative) company – but that doesn’t always stop Narcissa from pouring it, especially when she wants to broaden tiny minds or make a particularly sharp point. As for her outside social activities, for protests on cold days she likes to bring along an insulated thermos or three to share with her fellow revolutionaries…and as of now, they tend to be few enough in number that this provides plenty for all to share.

GOALS:

ONE: Narcissa at this point is young, romantic, and idealistic; I thus think that it would be quite entertaining to throw her in and out of several crushes (despite my usual low interest in shipping). Overdramatic, fleeting, rose-colored, and frivolous, her romantic follies ought to be amusing for all to watch. The fact that there is (as of yet) no Lucius in this game also makes that a particularly interesting prospect because her “usual ship” is completely absent. “Lucissa” is one of the few ships in Potterverse that I actually care about, true – but exploring entirely disparate possibilities, particularly in such a non-canon world as this, sounds like quite a lot of fun, especially with a flighty Narcissa like this. TWO: The driving goal in Narcissa’s life, of course, is wix rights – although she’s hardly an expert in the field of political activity. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t think she knows exactly what she’s doing (she is a Black, of course!) and that she expects that, now that she is involved, it will all be resolved quite promptly (unlikely) and without much difficulty (likewise unlikely). This should offer lots of entertaining possibilities, from the judicially comedic as Cissy brushes up against the law from her privileged and insulated position to the personally awkward as she tries both to further the cause among her social circle and to integrate herself among the lower classes who, if she is lucky, will find her more charming than condescending. (Maybe 50/50 odds on that one.)

V. CHARACTER INTRODUCTION:

Narcissa leaned over for one last glimpse in the mirror, checking for stray curls (none, of course) and smoothing her skirts (unnecessarily) before she headed into the drawing room in a rustle of coral silks and cream colored ribbons. “Good afternoon mum, auntie,” she gushed, gracing both of them with a beaming smile as she bustled over to the tea set. The neat heels of her white leather boots clicked sharply on the floor, sounding loud against the silence. From the flow of ice wedged between the settee on which Walburga Black was perched and the armchair on which Druella Black was sitting, frosting the warm afternoon sunlight, Cissy could tell that their conversation had been going just about as well as it usually did whenever the subject of Tribicena Shipping was addressed by the family matriarchs. Pretending that she had noticed nothing, Narcissa spooned out a pile of rich black leaves into the strainer and filled the teapot with the hot water simmering in its kettle over the fireplace. She added a finger-pinch of flower petals and turned the tea timer for three and a half minutes of steeping time, then settled herself–delicately spreading her skirts over her knees so as not to rumple them–on the side couch. “It’s been lovely weather this week, hasn’t it? I hope it holds for this Friday–” Her mother’s stiff shoulders went stiffer and her head shot up, her black eyes flashing as they fastened on Narcissa’s. Druella’s lips went so thin they nearly vanished into her face and she shook her head back and forth, three minute little twitches, the warning clear. Narcissa looked back at her with a cheery smile then turned and looked straight at her aunt, hardly pausing at her mother’s wordless reprimand before saying, “We have a little rally Friday afternoon, you know, and it’ll be much nicer if the weather is clear for it.” Walburga’s face settled into a heavy frown, but her usual determined avoidance of all conversation related to Narcissa’s political activities took a backseat to her desire to needle Druella, so instead of changing the subject she said, “A rally?” Narcissa’s smile widened in direct contrast to her mother’s tightening frown and she said brightly, “Oh yes! Right outside the Old Bailey, so it’ll be delightfully visible.” She paused to pour the first cup of tea, handing it to her aunt as was polite, her being the guest; she turned back and added breezily, “I think that will make a lovely backdrop for all the photographs.” “Photographs?” Walburga asked, teacup stopped halfway to her lips. Narcissa fluttered her eyelashes while her mother silently steamed in the corner. “Oh yes,” she said, “there ought to be loads, since I’ve telegraphed all the papers!” Walburga choked on her tea. Narcissa beamed. “Sugar?” she asked.

VI. MUN BACKGROUND QUESTIONS:

What is your ideal game?

I tend to prefer canon-heavy divergence AUs, Trio slightly more than Marauders, especially those with a darker or more serious sort of drama – so this is not my usual “cup of tea” so to speak (I’m sorry) and I am thus looking forward to trying something outside my usual milieu.

What is your least favorite part of this game?

This isn’t so much a complaint and it’s rather off topic, but I think it would be very interesting to see a setting like this applied to a Trio Era Game particularly since AUs like this appear so rarely in Trio.

I chose this character because…

I love the Malfoys and I love rebels. Put those two together into one, and you’ve got a perfect character for me: absurd, stubborn, ignorant, clever, confident, shallow, melodramatic, dangerous, idealistic, and utterly ridiculous.

#harry potter rp #lsrp #literate rp #bio rp #marauders rp #narcissa black #accepted #sample #narcissa black bio #TeaAccept

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darthsharapova · 7 years ago

Note

Since you were asking for prompts... obikin with the two of them having to go undercover in some planet's ridiculously formal and complicated clothes?

Thank you so much for this prompt!! I love it! Now, I got a little carried away, but I hope you enjoy it. Let me know what you think! (Keep the prompts coming y'all, I love writing these ficlets ❤)

The Clone Wars were in full swing. The Jedi had been deployed all across the Galaxy, making it their duty to keep planets from swaying allegiance to the Separatists. Senator Amidala was called back to Naboo, political tensions had been rising among the people, and there had been calls for a switch to join the CIS. Padmé’s duty was to quell the fears of a potential mutiny by reassuming some of her old duties and helping out the current Queen. Naturally, The Negotiator and Hero with No Fear were sent as protection. Padmé feared that the presence of Jedi would only worsen the situation, so some arrangements were made to keep them rather… inconspicuous.

“Why are we here again?” Anakin sighed.

“We’re here, Anakin, to make sure that no harm comes to Senator Amidala. I’m rather surprised at your discontent.”

“You know very well that’s not what I meant.” He snapped. “I’m referring to the fact that I’m standing on display in the back room of a fabric store being felt up by a middle aged seamstress.” Anakin whispered, a slight edge to his words.

“That comes with being undercover, young one.” Obi-Wan quipped.

“Well I don’t like it. I’d much rather just conquer this issue head-on. The moment these troublemakers see our sabers; it’ll be game over.” Anakin confidently nodded his head with his words, tapping the weapon clipped to his side.

Obi-Wan lightly chuckled, closing his eyes and shaking his head, a few strands of hair falling into his eyes.

“Dear one, that’s exactly how these situations go south. You must learn patience, and most of all discretion.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He brushed the chastisement off with the wave of his cybernetic hand.

“Hold still, please.” The seamstress felt the inseam on Anakin’s pants and she placed in pin in place.

Anakin pursed his lips and squinted in Obi-Wan’s direction, the older man had to keep the back of his hand pressed to his mouth to keep from laughing. He looked on fondly at Anakin’s exasperated expressions when the gray-haired woman would drape yet another swatch of fabric onto his form, chalk it, and pin it. His gaze was fixed on the younger man’s eyes when the outburst came.

“Kriffing hell! Why do you keep sticking me!?” Anakin howled, the unassuming seamstress looking on in horror as Anakin jolted back off the pedestal.

Obi-Wan sighed as he approached the woman, who was recoiling into herself on the floor, stuttering out an apology. He lightly touched her shoulder and kneeled down to meet her face.

“Would you mind giving us a moment?” He smiled softly, and the woman returned the nod before hurrying back into the main store. Obi-Wan pushed off his knees and stood in front of Anakin, his hands on his hips. Anakin avoided his gaze, knowing what was coming. The young Jedi stared intently at the floor, occasionally grazing his bottom lip. Thoughts of a harsh talk retreated from Obi-Wan’s mind, and he let out a small puff of air.

“Anakin, I know you’re uncomfortable here, with this whole situation, but I beg you to realize that we wouldn’t be here unless it were important.” He reached out and fiddled with the fabric sagging off Anakin shoulders, lifting it up until it draped off his body as a toga off a Greek God. He brushed the lint off the area surrounding the other man’s sternum before he looked up at him again.

“Padmé needs our protection. I need your protection. I can’t do this without you, Anakin.”

“I know, Master. I’m sorry I’m being so disagreeable, but this whole disguise thing is really throwing me off.” Anakin groaned, and Obi-Wan leaned in closer and brushed the man’s cheek with his thumb. A thought came to his mind, though, and he grinned slyly.

“And, should you do exceptionally well,” he purred, easing more into Anakin’s personal space, getting much closer than was appropriate for a Master and his former Apprentice. “far be it from me to not… reward you.” He murmured in Anakin’s ear, articulating just the right words with his accent so their meaning was quite obvious. Anakin tensed under him, and he heard the uneasy hitch and release of breath from the blonde just as clearly as he felt the shiver run through him.

“Of course, Master.”. Anakin cleared his throat, attempting to clear the rasp edge. “I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.” The response that came was strained and nervously delivered. Jumping back a few feet and flashing his trademark smile, Obi-Wan responded, as if nothing had happened.

“Excellent. Let’s get on with it, shall we?”

They’d been so young the last time they were on Naboo, not to mention somewhat preoccupied, too. Anakin had been 9, and he’d only been able to see the hanger before he and R2 were whisked away to space. Obi-Wan had been engaged in the fight with a Sith that saw his own Master perish. Tonight, though, they were exposed to the true beauty and lavish life of Naboo royalty. The hall was spacious, and ornately decorated. The marble pillars that spanned the room were polished, allowing one’s reflection to be seen within them. The crown moldings lining the room were crafted from the finest ores the galaxy had to offer, hammered and shaped by hand, courtesy of the city’s artisans. The chandeliers that hung from the dome shimmered from the flickering candlelight, the chatter and hum of the party sending vibrations bouncing off the walls and massive floor-to-ceiling windows.

The guests were nobles and political figures dressed in the lavish style that was native to Naboo. The elegant headpieces sat atop intricate hairstyles. Braids woven into more braids, and fabrics swallowed up by even heavier fabrics, the colors spoke for the people. The way the garments moved, the way the flowed as they walked, versus the contrasting rigid shapes and shoulder pads; the people had made their clothes as clear a form of communication as speaking face to face. The attention to detail was astounding, and it was clear as to why Naboo had solidified itself as one of the most intricate royal costume systems in the galaxy. Despite all of this, Anakin remained in the corner, sulking, clutching a crystal tumbler filled with the finest imported Shesharilian vodka.

The younger Jedi looked rather standoffish. His arms tucked across his chest, and his facial expression cross and aggressive. If his posture didn’t turn the people away, then the frown he wore did. Obi-Wan looked over the shoulder of a woman he was in conversation with, his nod stopping upon seeing the grouch. He politely excused himself from her company and made his way to Anakin, politely offering a ‘Hello’ to anyone who may inquire after him.

“Now, I do recall that I asked you to behave.” Obi-Wan offered, turning around and taking his place next to the taller man, observing the bustling room as he did so.

“I’m sorry, Master. I am trying.”

“Are you? I can’t tell. It must be the posture, or maybe the scowl on your face. We’re supposed to be blending in, Anakin.”

“I’m wearing the garb aren’t I?”

“Oh Force, Anakin. You know well enough that’s not all that comes with the job.” Obi-Wan chided, bumping Anakin’s shoulder with his own. “You need to meet the locals. Gather intel. Mingle.” He gestured to the crowd of people swimming about, and Anakin groaned in response.

“But these people are so boring. It’s a wonder Padmé is so easy to get along with. And not to mention, these clothes don’t offer much practicality at all. I can hardly move.”

“Well, Naboo robes aren’t known for their practicality, young one. It’s all about the aesthetic here.” He nodded over to where Padmé stood. Her red gown decorated with golden thread woven into the silk, and the ornate headdress that her brunette hair was intertwined with.

“For Force sake, Obi-Wan. My robes have undergarments which have undergarments for their undergarments!” Anakin wiggled, barely doing anything to rustle the stiff getup.

“That may be the case,” he snickered. “but I think you look rather dashing.” Obi-Wan looked at Anakin from the corner of his eyes, and smirked when he blushed. He decided to push the envelope, after all, they’d done their job the last few days and things were proceeding smoothly. “What do you say we ditch the party for a while? I saw an empty room off to the side there.”

Anakin cocked an eyebrow. “What about the mission?” He rested his hands on his hips. “And what about all this mingling we’re supposed to be doing?”

Obi-Wan bit his lip and leaned up on his toes to meet Anakin’s face. “Oh, we’ll be mingling alright.” Anakin’s pupils shot, and Obi-Wan subtly grabbed hold of Anakin’s wrist, dragging him to the abandoned space. The moment the door slid shut, Obi-Wan pressed Anakin up against the door, pressing his lips to the other man’s neck. Anakin took in a sudden breath.

“Force, Obi-Wan. What’s gotten into you?” He moaned to the sensation of the lips traveling up his neck to the joint that connected his jaw.

“Have you not seen yourself, Anakin? Practical or not, these robes suit you. I’ve been eyeing you all night.” Anakin shied away from the comment, blushing.

Obi-Wan took a small step back and took in Anakin’s appearance. The moonlight from a window poured over him, and the rays drowned Anakin, a silver aura wrapping around him. The headdress he was wearing shimmered under the beams. The handcrafted golden leaves complimented the waves and curls of Anakin’s hair, the gear seemingly floating above his head. Obi-Wan’s eyes dropped to the quilted overcoat that Anakin wore. The navy fabric was topped by an amber bib that extended from his shoulders to his sternum, woven intricately with gold thread. The bib jutting out thanks to the profound shoulder pads that were hidden under one of Anakin’s many layers.

His own robes were more like his Jedi clothes. He wore a collared pink striped floor length tunic that was accompanied by a tasseled hood. It came with a pleated silk cloak a lighter shade of blue than Anakin’s, that had ‘Keeper of the Peace’ embroidered in Futhork calligraphy along the back. He wore several excess layers of clothes to keep in line with the style of making one’s frame bigger, and he had one the most uncomfortable platform boots to make him inches taller, yet he was still nowhere near Anakin’s height.

“You’re right, though. You do seem to be wearing a little too much.”

“I could say the same about you.” Anakin breathed.

Obi-Wan leaned in, his lips grabbing hold of his form apprentice’s. Both men made their sounds of approval as Obi-Wan’s arms snaked into Anakin’s overcoat. Anakin’s hands busied with untying Obi-Wan’s cloak from the collar of the tunic. Obi-Wan’s fingers fumbled with the clasp to the bib, and he broke the kiss, frustrated.

“Krif…I can’t… get the blasted thing off.”

“It took Padmé and two of her handmaidens just to get it on.” Anakin chuckled.

Obi-Wan doubled his efforts while his cloak slid off his shoulders, and Anakin attempted to take off the hood. He pushed the overcoat off the younger man, the outfit pooling at his feet. The bib still remained, laying on top of a thin mixed thread shirt. It was Anakin’s turn to mumble to himself, unable to get the hood off.

“Force. How is this thing staying on?”

“I think there are clips attached to my roots.”

Anakin dropped his hands, letting them rest on the Jedi’s shoulders. He broke into a smile, that contagious smile Obi-Wan loved, and started laughing. He leaned in a rested his forehead against Obi-Wan’s.“Oh Force, what a pair of stoopas we must look like right now.” He giggled.

“Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

Anakin moved to rest in the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck.

“I suppose this is their way of making sure things stay strictly professional.” He whined.

“Well, how about that? You were right, Anakin.”

“About what, Master?” He murmured.

“The Nabooian people are rather boring.” Obi-Wan smiled into the curls of the younger man.

#i love naboo #star wars #star wars ficlet #obikin #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #my writing #Naboo #Obikin rules all

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helenoftroybolton · 8 years ago

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National Eating Disorder Awareness Week - My Story

Hi all.

This week is National Eating Disorder Awareness Week and I’m gonna tell you something I don’t think I’ve shared in the past, like, anywhere.

I am, very much so, in constant recovery from an eating disorder. It can be best described as Restrictive Anorexia Nervosa and/or Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder, depending on which doctor you ask.

I’m going to go into the story of my eating disorder, the signs of it, the (very nonspecific) ways in which I carried it out, and how I am doing now. If it’s triggering or upsetting, please do not continue to read. But if you need to hear a story of a young woman who hasn’t “beaten” her eating disorder but is living with it, just more in check these days, please read on. I love you, be safe.

I have always been an anxious person and my anxiety specifically manifests itself in both nausea, the inability to eat, and a fear of vomiting. So you know, it was pretty easy to not eat if I was afraid that the nausea was going to make me sick. Then, sometimes, I’d just be too exhausted to get up and eat, or even carry out the actions to eat at all. Well, surprise surprise, I have Generalized Anxiety Disorder and Major Depressive Disorder. So the anxiety makes me afraid to eat. The depression makes me too tired to eat.

I also thought I was super out of shape, always, even when I was probably in really great shape, because my heart would beat really hard and I’d feel faint and out of breath whenever I did any light exercise. Well, I also have a condition known as Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome, or POTS, which basically means that my body thinks I’m bleeding out all the time, especially when I exercise. So when I don’t eat or drink enough, I get dizzy and need to sit or lie down for a while or else I may pass out.

So, lots of anxiety + nausea + fear of physical illness + feeling out of shape + Depression and lack of energy = solid building blocks of an eating disorder

The disorder itself began when I was a young teenager, before high school. My parents and a few close relatives, all of whom have struggled with their weight and were told by their doctors they needed to diet to lower their blood pressure and cholesterol levels, made a concerted effort to diet with the express purpose to lose weight. That meant that everything from a dash of table salt or a pat of butter all the way to birthday cake was not only gone from my household, but shamed if anyone expressed desire for it. I watched the Sunday breakfasts turn into SlimFast shakes and freshly baked cookies looked at as if they were the downfall of the free world.

A friend of mine in middle school was tall, lanky, and incredibly insecure with how she looked I am sure. She’d often point out how her naturally high metabolism kept her thighs from touching while she sat down or how her stomach had no pouch while she wore a bikini. Myself, a girl who hit puberty before anyone else and with curves that are oddly ridiculed when you are young, felt that my body was just wrong. It had to be.

So, I restricted my food to the bland, saltless, fatless, almost carb free and sugar free diet of my father. I’d skip breakfast, because if I could conquer the most important meal of the day, I thought, I’d be happy. I’d eat a salad for lunch and drink a huge bottle of water and feel full but sloshy inside. I’d get home at eat a high fiber pita bread, counted to exactly 100 calories, or so sad the packaging, and one whole SlimFast shake which, the bottle said, could replace a whole meal for 200 calories, and then sit, fearing dinner. The best was when there was tons of slightly charred broccoli and unseasoned, tasteless lean ground turkey, cooked in a teaspoon of olive oil, because it tasted so disgusting I didn’t eat it. I was in control. And I was winning.

My family continued to struggle with weight and tell me at every turn just how jealous they were of me; how skinny I was, how little I had to eat, and how good I was about not eating sweets. The validation was incredible. I was always considered the “smart” cousin, but never the pretty one. My parents would wonder aloud how I could possibly be their child if my waist was so small with my dress size to match.

Occasionally, either in a prediction of genetics catching up to me or jealousy, my mother would often ridicule me for wearing “tight fitting clothes” that stretched across my chest (because they were designed like that) or would only buy large or extra large shirts (even if I was a size 2, at best) because I’d “eventually just grow into them.” Horrified by this prospect of taking up any more physical space in the world, growing into something my parents taught me was “ugly,” I tried even harder. I restricted more.

It got to the point that, while I was a senior in high school, I welcomed the flu that left me unable to eat, save for the occasional spoonful of broth and sip of water. I remember weighing myself, which I did at least ten times a day (when I woke up, before I showered, after I showered, with clothes on, with clothes off, before and after meals, before and after trips to the bathroom) I realized I had lost ten pounds in a week. How amazing! All I had to do was have a 104 degree fever and restrict every single part of my diet and I’d never have to worry about fulfilling my mother’s prophecy. I felt wobbly and frail, but my thighs didn’t touch, so I must be doing something right.

Eventually, I headed out to college and began my freshman year at a university in rural Rhode Island. The place was incredibly confining and claustrophobic by the fact that I couldn’t actually leave campus if I wanted to. I was dating a handsome yet incredibly shallow man who complimented me only on my body and gave the reasoning that, because I was “so hot” he wouldn’t cheat on me. I was lauded at Thanksgiving and Christmas by my family for not gaining the dreaded “Freshman 15″ which was easy when you were too worried about the calories in beer to drink at parties or stress eat. My parents visited me often and I rarely spent time alone on campus and would often pick up extra shifts of any one of the number of jobs I worked. I filled my time of extreme anxiety and depression with the control that food restriction gave me. I knit so I could relieve pent up anxiety feelings in a positive way. I rarely ate breakfast and often only ate health foods (when I ate any food at all) and survived mostly on quarters of Clif bars and still those wonderful SlimFast shakes that my father, very kindly, gave to me in case I “went hungry” when I didn’t want to eat dining hall food.

I transferred out of that terrible school to a women’s centered college in Boston which had programming, people, and resources that helped instead of hindered me. Still, I was surrounded by predominantly women or people assigned female at birth, who all were at least raised with an expectation of those good unattainable body standards. Lots of friends were still extremely into restricting food and exercising almost to a fault. But something was different. I was much much less depressed and wanted to be participatory in a way that required me to make a change.

When I figured out I was queer and started dating other queer folks, getting rid of the straight cis male gaze, it didn’t magically cure me. I did, however, get to feel a little bit more human than object during my time there. I took active steps to helping myself, because I knew by my junior year of college that this was an issue that wouldn’t be going away on its own and barely eating was making it hard to both stay awake and be present in the things I wanted to do.

As a first step, I decided that I would stop looking at scales all together. It stressed me out too much to know if I was weighing “too much” or “too little” and came to the comfortable understanding that, as long as I fit in this one pair of yoga pants. Or something. I don’t really remember. I stopped telling myself that the world was over if I ate a brownie. Actually, I just kind of started to eat the sweets I think I deserved. Ate good food? Check? Deserving of chocolate? Also check.

And it was hard to swallow, literally, when I saw my hips get even half an inch wider or my collarbone fading more into me. And I panicked and tried to stop eating, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t let myself hurt so much again. I had things to do now and a purpose and a future, not just a controlled environment of people who want to see me stay as small as possible. To “beat” the idea of largeness. To stay sick.

It still sucks. Every single day is a shitty battle with my own brain and body. Sometimes I feel like I’m doing better with it, like treating myself and not feeling like it’s the end of the world. Sometimes, I don’t , like when I use work being “too busy” for me to take a lunch break.

Recently, I decided I wanted to start eating better and getting into shape by working out again. After a few days of eating healthily, but not adequately calorically, I started to fall down the same rabbit hole again. I need to stop eating carbs and meat and butter and cheese and oil and dessert and drink cold water because it burns more…wait. I had to stop.

Little steps in the right direction.

Last night, I took a bath and watched my stomach bunch up and I thought to myself, oh god, what have I done? It used to be flat! Now it’s basically flat but there’s fat there.

My eating disorder is never going to go away. Ever. It’s always going to be a part of me and how I interact with the world around me. Am I happy about this? No, not at all. If I could wish it away, I would.

Recognizing my negative behaviors and forcing myself to overpower them took 8 years and a whole bunch of therapists and friends who support me. There isn’t always some happy ending, but it’s not a sad ending either. In fact, there is no ending, at least not right now. It’s still going.

So that’s my story. Hope it helps or at least does not hurt anyone who has read it. I love you. Thank you for listening.

#neda week #national eating disorder awareness week #tw: eating disorder #personal #recovery #long post #okay to reblog #also okay to message

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ibroughtthisonmyselfpixels · 8 years ago

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No Return Policy

A Between-Preludes Ficlet Where Certain Clothes Take Some Adjusting to Fit Sims with One Leg

Warning: contains the use of an ableist slur, specifically one against physically disabled people, used by a physically disabled person against himself. It has been censored, but I felt it important for him to use it in this instance, to reflect his mental state at the time. It may also discuss some of the ways cis people inherently see trans people at one point, albeit briefly.

hey jsyk you left 1 of ur bags of clothes in my room? cnt remember what u wanted to do w/it so im just leavin it on the bed. drive careful x

Rigel waits for the text’s ‘delivered’ notice to pop up before flopping with a huff onto his bed, which jostles the bag he’s talking about. Weak as it is, this is the best he can do for now. By the time he found it, Lorelei’d already left with the car, so yelling from the doorway was out; phoning her will be pretty much impossible; and there’s no way he’s taking the subway just to deliver a black sack full of her old clothes to her. Not even his fondness for her can conquer that hot mess of public ‘transport’.

The scrap of lined paper that’s serving as a label is falling off, barely hanging by one sticky-taped corner at this point. SALLY POSS., it says. But what the hell would Sally want with any of Lor’s stuff? Sally’s twice her size. Unless... argh, dammit, I know she explained this before. What is this for?

It’s one of the curses of living with your best-friend-cum-ex-girlfriend, he thinks, scratching his stump. You grow complacent.

Which isn’t in itself a bad thing - he wouldn’t be staying here at all if they weren’t still enough in sync that they could get away with it. (Some people he’s talked to about it think it’s weird, that it creates an awkward atmosphere after the break-up. But honestly, he thinks it’d be even more awkward for him to just up and walk away from what’s a good thing in its own right just because one small side of it went wrong. Who do they think he is? The guy from that Dashed Hearts sitcom?) He takes care of the mechanical side of things and makes it a functioning house; she fills it with her music and makes it a home. When she’s got too few spoons to make them dinner, he orders pizza; when he’s had a rough day, she’s already turned all the lights down. It just - it works.

Except on days like this, where he’s caught short by not paying as much attention as he should have, and now he’s got a bag of clothes bound neither for Goodwill nor the garbage, taking up space.

Maybe if I look through some of them, I’ll remember why they’re in there? He side-eyes the bag again. I mean, I saw her put them all in piles, sort them out. I helped her do it, for god’s sake. (Admittedly, he mostly added to the ‘keep’ pile.) It’s gotta jog my memory somehow. And it’ll give me something to do while Lor’s out, anyway.

Before he can change his mind, he pulls it closer to him, almost-tears it open - the label finally peels off and floats to the floor - and starts rifling through what’s inside.

An old frilly red top comes out first. Then a crumpled-up black V-neck, with a glittering tiger design on it; that’s tossed off quickly. A pair of orange pumps, with - wait, was that heel splitting before or after it went in the bag? He sets them aside for now; maybe he can add some glue to them later. White distressed jeans; that one makes sense. She’s never been in the market for jeans, comfortable or stylish. A bundled up pair of tights, some white leggings, yellow t-shirt with sun motifs, yellow this, brown that...

Man, Lorelei really does have a knack for this color coordination shit. ‘specially for a Banilla. ...wonder if it’s the autism that does it? I mean, half the chicks I’ve known couldn’t get on this level, he speculates, adding some dresses to the ever-increasing out-of-the-sack pile. Or am I bias? I dunno. Maybe I am. Or maybe she just looks so comfy in her clothes that they look better by association. Wish I could be that comfy in mine.

His thoughts take on an all-too-familiar bitter tone, and not for the first time that day, his amputation sticks out too strongly where he’s sitting. A literal double-edged sword: source of pride for survival; source of scorn and shame in blackest nights when every word spoken, in bitterness or sincerity, comes back to him. Ugly leg, ugly eyebrow, ugly face, ugly figure... Crack it open the wrong way, and he bets all the uglinesses in him will fall out.

Fucking Saul. Fucking Bernadette. Fucking Gabe. Motherfucking Gabe’s fucking stupid fucking MMBC, leaving everyone dead but the fucking cr*pple, too low brow to fucking kick it. Fucking me for ever thinking I could fuckin--

A flash of sunset filling up his vision stops his long, long string of expletives. He blinks as though blinded, then the fog lifts and he realizes that he’s grabbed one of Lorelei’s more vibrant skirts in his distraction. Shifting it so he’s holding it from the top, he takes a better look at it. It’s multi-layered and ruffled, sort of like a flower; her standard yellow on top, down to orange, down to a red so dark it’s like... no, not like that, not like Bryce round the jaws of the glittering - like the YouTube logo! Yeah, that works.

Lorelei wore this for their first-but-actually-second-if-you-count-their-first-meeting-ever date, her and Rigel’s. It looked good on paper, but it didn’t really sit on her hips well - he knew it, she knew it, neither actually said so because, you know, tact; and yet it was so very obvious that he hasn’t seen it on her since. He strokes the fabric absently. Almost a shame she’s getting rid of it. This relic, almost, this beginning of a better part of his life is in his hands, on the cusp of being thrown away. Maybe if it fit him better than her, she wouldn’t have to--

That last thought throws him up short.

Whoa. Come on, Rigel. Thought you’d cracked this. Haven’t had that urge for weeks. His wonky brows knit together at the lie. Okay, days. Haven’t had that urge for days. But you can’t go back on it now, you can’t act on it now! What the hell would Lor think? Cam freaked out and he was a fucking saint, what’s she gonna do if she comes back and...?

...but she’s not coming back, and probably won’t be back for another few hours, and the decadence of the skirt cascades over his leg, drowning it out with the familiar comforting whisper of ~wear me, wear me~ he’s heard so oft...

...okay, a few minutes. Half an hour. Half an hour won’t hurt.

His trousers struggle and scratch against him, as though pleading for him to change his mind; he pushes through regardless. They always do that - always have. Through high scholarship, internship, relationship. And it’s never stopped the skirts from sliding on like silken butter, as the surviving leg pokes through, then the other, the hem stopping just at the empty knee. Never stops her heel (his? his... her heel) from stretching, landing, poised, dusted with imaginary glitter. Never stops the material clinging to her waist as she hoists herself up, brushes herself off - a little too tight, but so close to just right.

A few elastic burns are a small price to pay for feeling human.

With every step in the flowing mass of cotton and cloth towards the full length mirror in the bathroom across the hall, the thick tar that makes up Rigel Maurer drips down, seeps through the floorboards to be someone else’s problem. It’s an unknown, unseen, copper-hair(ed-legged) fatale making this walk now, swinging open the door. Beautiful. Worthwhile in her own right. Alive, despite everything, despite all that--

She jerks back involuntarily, inches from the mirror. Fuck, the skirt’s got caught on the door handle. Okay, don’t panic. She can handle this. It’s just by a belt loop - hell kind of skirt has belt loops anyway? If she tugs this way - no, this way, it ought to be able to slip out - no, nothing doing. Come on, if she just tugs--

She hears the tearing sound before she sees it. All else gets swamped up in the sudden rush of falling, crashing with an undignified thud. Pain cracks through the calf, and the skull; he’s hit his head on the sink. The room spins uncontrollably, scattered with stars, as he pushes himself back, tries to get his bearings.

The first thing he sees as his vision clears is the skirt, prone on the floor, ripped clean in half from top to bottom.

“Oh shit.”

The next hour or so goes by in a blind panicked blur for the now-re-trousered Rigel, and by the end of it the remains of the thing are, in this order: flattened out; frayed at the side where he tried and failed to do a basic blanket stitch; covered in flecks of masking tape on the inside; crumpled up after being tossed at the wall; and finally, in desperation, stuffed into a plastic bag from Mike’s Cornerstore and balanced precariously on top of a whole load of other clothes in the top of his closet. After that, for the rest of the morning and some of the afternoon, he halfheartedly puts the things he took out back into the SALLY POSS sack and potters about the house, making no attempt to escape the pitch black thundercloud over his head.

Who, besides himself, did he think he was fooling?

Since life has a bad habit of throwing everything bad at once at him, he hears the hodge-podge skirt fall out of the closet for the third time seconds before Lorelei’s car returns home, engine sounding like it’s seen better days. He’s barely got it back in place before he hears her coming, engrossed in conversation - crap crap crap - and he swings the door shut over him before he can think twice to escape. Better in here than out there, right?

“--my head if it wasn’t screwed on, Sally.” His friend’s voice is loud through the wood, soft-spoken though it is. “I swear I had the bag with the others-”

“Honestly, it’s fine! Anything that gives me a chance to visit is fine. I love what you’ve done with the place!”

“Y-yes, well. That’s mostly Rigel’s... Anyway, it’s over here, on the bed. There should be enough in there for you to work with.”

He hears Sally’s wheelchair humming into the room, then a low whistle and a rustling through. “Hoo-ee, Lorelei, you didn’t have to get this many!”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

“No, hon, I’m not knocking you for - wow, look at all this! This’ll be great to get me started!” More ruffling. “Etsy’s gonna flip when they see this.”

Etsy? Isn’t that-

“Oh, did you leave that old rahrah skirt of yours in there too? Like I asked?”

“I think so? I can’t see it now, but I know we put it in there...”

“AAAAAAA! You’re an angel! A, a preemptive angel - you know what I mean! That old thing’s gonna make the best lampshade you ever did see once I resize it - I’ll have to show you when it’s done!”

In an instant, everything Lorelei explained comes rushing back. “Fuck, of course, she’s gonna repurpose them!” he cries.

...cries a little louder than he intended, he realizes belatedly; for the next moment, the door swings open, sending the bag once again tumbling onto his head, and she’s got this curious bewildered look all over her face.

“Rigel? What are you doing in the closet?”

“Uh... I, I thought I’d practice coming out of it again. Hey, Sally,” he yells over her shoulder, “I’m bi! Thought you’d like to know.”

Sally cracks up - she knew that old chestnut about him long ago. But Lorelei, as clear through her ghost of a smile, isn’t quite as impressed with the bluff. (To be fair, who could blame her? It was weak even by his standards.) “No, seriously. Is everything okay?”

“Well, depends how you define--” The object that got him in this predicament in the first place flops down again into his hands as he moves his head, reminding him of its inevitable conclusion. “Ah, right. The skirt. Here you go. I mean, might as well.”

She takes it gratefully, without question why it’s in a separate bag, and with a “Here, catch,” throws it over to Sally.

“Oh, - just to warn you two, the thing might be a little more, uh...” But his warning comes a little too late, as she’s already lifting what’s more like a scarf than a skirt out of the bag. “...pre-ripped.”

“Um. Well, okay? That’s convenient!” chirps Sally. “It means I don’t have to go to the tro--”

“No, no no, it wasn’t meant to come like that!” Lorelei’s golden eyes are wide behind her glasses in panic, making him squirm between the coathangers. As ill-advised as the thing was, it’s probably hard for her to see it in such a state... and all the harder when she turns back to him in even more confusion. “You saw me put it in there, didn’t you? It wasn’t ripped before.”

“Y-yeah. I know.”

“W...well, well, how’d it get ripped? It can’t have just done that by itself. Could it?”

A thousand pathetic excuses rear up in Rigel’s throat like last night’s cheap wine. A stray cat did it, a washing machine, a passing gnome, a robber. No, all too unbelievable. But he won’t tell her the truth, he won’t. It’s selfish, it’s ridiculous. She’s never going to believe it if he says that-

“I was wearing it, okay?”

...but nor can he lie to her face. Not to Lorelei’s face.

“...you were wearing it?” she parrots.

“Yeah. I was looking through all the stuff and I found it, and I put it on for a bit, and it got caught on the door handle and it just - it tore.” It all spills out before he can stop himself. “I tried to fix it, really I did, I couldn’t remember if she wanted it intact or what, and, and and it’s not... It’s just something I do sometimes, y’know - wear skirts - or dresses or other such, but not like in front of anyone, it’s not a fetish thing, I - if that’s what you’re thinking... It just helps me not be Rigel sometimes. Helps be feel less Rigel and more... more me. If that makes any sense. Probably doesn’t. Y-y’know.”

It’s a long and rambly speech for someone like (more-)Rigel to make, especially spur of the moment. And the fact that Lorelei’s expression only softens slightly during it doesn’t help his nerves. But when she senses he’s done, she lets loose a sigh that cuts into his eardrums.

“Okay. Thanks for telling me, Rigel. That was...” She pauses, looking somewhere above him - probably for any more surprises. When none arrive, she adds evenly, “Okay. I’m going to go check on Sally. I’ll let you calm down in here if you want.” (Belatedly, it occurs to him that Sally actually slipped out of the room while he was doing all that talking.)

“Thanks. ...Lor, I’m really sorry--”

“It’s okay.”

“Are you mad at me?”

She ignores that, heads to the living room.

“Cus it really feels like you’re mad at me!” he calls, but again, she’s gone before he can finish. Feeling like a lemon, he finally steps out of his dark cramped box, but still opts to stay in his room for the rest of Sally’s visit, just to stay out of their way. It’s for the best.

Lorelei doesn’t approach the subject again even after Sally leaves, with the evidence of Rigel’s transgressions tucked into the rest of her clothes; nor does she bring it up by morning. In a way, it makes sense: that kind of revelation isn’t something you just discuss at the breakfast table. But even when he tentatively asks her again if she’s mad at him still, she deflects the subject onto what’s in the morning paper, and it feels wrong to press the point again after that...

Still, he almost wishes she’d just tell him to move out and take his sickness with him and get it over with. It’d be better than this hanging over his head.

That sense of anxiety follows him through his work day as well. He starts his Fixit duties by, at both her request and his instinct, looking at the car. It turns out that the cam shaft belt is slipping off, which he takes care of with his usual expediency - he even tops up the oil in a (possibly futile) attempt to sweeten the pot - and that in turn allows her to set off for ‘some more last-minute shopping’. He’s got a series of pretty furious repairs to get through besides that, too: a washing machine at the Bumble place, one of the projectors at the cineplex which takes up most of the day, and a park-based porta-potty that ‘conveniently’ clogged itself just after two Hope’s Peak students got caught making out in it. Not to mention his usual weekly check-in at the local pool to see if that’s still running smoothly; fortunately, things still seem to be in order.

It’s quite late by the time he gets home, and Lorelei still hasn’t returned, as far as he can see. No dinner on the stove, nor any sound of her in the house... though, he discovers, his bedroom door is ajar, enticingly so. His heart drops into his stomach, and he enters to face what’s surely a letter of regret, or an eviction notice, or something like that.

...what he finds instead is a well made bed, and another skirt on top of the bed.

He gasps - he can’t help himself. It’s... glamour! It’s long, he estimates about ankle-length, and looks almost like it’s made of leather, or faux-leather at the very least. And though it’s not as brightly colored as the last one he tried, it’s a deep brown flecked with lighter shades, perfectly matching the jacket he has on. He hops over to it, barely believing it’s real and in his room, touching it to make sure... no, surprisingly it’s still cotton! Very soft indeed! This’ll be a dream to -

wait, is it for...? He lifts it up and off to make sure there’s no sign that it’s just a joke, and there’s a receipt underneath it. The telltale signs of Lorelei’s scattershot handwriting bleed through from the other side.

R, I have a feeling this one might fit you better than my old one. You can keep it on when I get back round 7pm if you want so I can see how it looks. I hope it does suit you - this store has a no return policy. - L x

A wild laugh escapes him as he hugs the skirt close. “Lorelei, you deceptive little miracle-worker...!”

Unlike before, he wastes no time in getting this one on. (Except to head to the bathroom beforehand - he’s not making the same mistakes again.) The second it slides up, near seamlessly but for a zip on the side, over her hips, it feels like coming home in one swift motion. All the fears of the day dissipate in that oh-so-comfortable fit, that swooshing sound of fabric, the shaking loose of limbs and of notions and of names that have plagued her for minutes hours eons. It just screams... It doesn’t even scream Rigel. It screams her.

...so why, then, standing there in her new self, does something still not work about it? The mirror image seems just fine: top half false, bottom half real. Skirt over leg... and stump.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe the strongest beauty is also in being a little ugly. A little - risky.

With that thought pulsing through her head, she rifles through the medicine cabinet, pulls out a dainty pair of scissors, and tears a long slit up the right side of her skirt. Both loose flaps are picked up, then tucked into the top, letting her amputation shine through, true and - god forbid - proud.

“Perfect.”

#sims 3 #ts3 #sos mm bc #writing #bountifulberries #(dash sunbeam is mentioned briefly)#lyra maurer #lorelei kessler #otp: monsters in the closet #(also cameos)

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