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imeternallylove · 11 months

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Like what? - S.Strange

Pairing: Stephen Strange x reader

Genre: just smut 🤤🤟🏻

Warning: none

Word: approx 900

main mastetlist | request | prompts

The door slammed shut behind him as your boyfriend stormed in, growling, “I’m mad.”

Cutting your eyes at him, you snapped, “Don’t break my freaking door.”

Stephen was at your side in a heartbeat, leering over you with a very frustrated and equally hungry look on his face. “I like when you yell at me,” he flirted, cocking an eyebrow.

Scoffing, you rose to meet him, grabbing the collar of his shirt in your hands. “You know, when you’re needy, it’s really obvious.”

“I tried,” your boyfriend whined, winking dramatically at you. “Now, can you help me with this really big problem in my pants?”

Pouting your lips, you teased, “oh, big problem, you say?”

He nodded, puffing up his cheeks to look cute and pathetic. Gosh, did it work.

“You seem tense and stressed,” you crooned, gripping his biceps and massaging them before working your way to his chest.

Swallowing loudly, Stephen grabbed your hips and kneaded at your waist.

“I’ll make you a deal,” you said softly, bringing your lips to the side of his neck and pressing a loud, open-mouthed kiss.

“Mm, what’s that?” he hummed, tightening his hold on you.

You stared into his eyes and told him, “I’m going to bend over the back of this couch and let you fuck all that stress out, on the one condition, I better finish.”

“Fuck yes, you will,” he growled.

Smirking up at him, you pecked a quick kiss on his lips and followed your promise, spinning on your heels and grabbing the top of the kitchen counter. With your plump butt offered to him in shorts, he drew a blank, standing there with his jaw slacked before he came back to his senses.

The belt jingled and his jeans hit the floor around his ankles. A hand slid between your thighs, fingers working their way around the material of your shorts and panties before pushing between your lower lips. You braced your forearms on the cold surface of the counter and bit your lip, inhaling sharply as a digit pumped inside you.

“You’re wet enough,” Stephen rasped a moment later, yanking your panties and shorts down your legs, without bothering to free them from your ankles. A second later, the head of his member was at your entrance.

“Mmph,” you exhaled as he thrust into you, bruising your hips with his restraint. He curved gently at first, steadily picking up speed until he couldn’t hold back anymore.

“Damn it,” Stephen groaned, squeezing your waist in a death grip as he pounded into you, letting out all his stress and anger and borderline exhausting himself.

Your legs buckled at this, struggling with the intensity of his thrusts into your core, and you wavered on tiptoes, trying to use more of the counter where it has dinner over there for balance.

In a heartbeat, Stephen wrapped his arms around your waist, driving you back into his chest. His hand was at your jaw, turning your head so he could lick at your lips before sliding his tongue between them. Fingers moved to your clit, rolling and pinching at the rhythm of his hips.

"Steph..." You whimpered, your eyes rolling, and your back instinctively slumped down into the frigid surface, both of your legs on his firmly gripped arms. “S-so good, babeㅡ“ all you do while he works hard on his sex-making job is only whine beneath him, every move of his hips thrusting in and out eagerly more than you could bear, it's smack your face and showing you how wet you are.

“Shh…” he grunted, bumping your core more speedy and pulled out when he sensed you reach your cloud nine before him just as usual, Stephen grins that you finally splash out to your orgasm juice all at once. He then holding you against him possessively while chasing the high for you both. And when you put out your tongue in lots of pleasure, his white sticky cum splashes all over your face.

“Ahㅡ you made me came so fast, Y/N.”

”Hmm, and your taste so good.”

You laughed as you licked your lips and bite your fingernails, you spotted him slip his cock and release even more sperm on your stomach. His stiff cock, which still stands upright and points at your face, is quite endearing.

Stephen isn't done with you yet, and you know it, which is why he has got his hand on your hips again. When his tip slides, circling on your wet fold, till he pushes it into you and buries his palms on the back of your head, you begin to quaver moan once more.

He starts to fuck you again, this time slowly as you always pleasing.

“I really want to stay like this forever,”

“Like what? Like this?” With chuckling, you brushing his sweaty hair on his brow upward. “Then how we gonna walk while your dick inside me ‘like this.’”

He smirked, shrugging. "Maybe like this." Then he quickly lifts you up off the counter, his muscular arm now pressing on your spine to support the weight of you. It makes you scream with thrill, tie your legs around his quickly, your palm confusedly gripping his shoulder and then wrapped around his neck, his hard cock too deep.

“Oh一” you cried out, shuddered and grasping for breath, “fuck, oh my, fuckㅡ Stephen!”

“I got you, baby girl.”

oi oi

#multiverse of madness #doctor strange #stephen strange x reader #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange fanfiction #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange one shot #stephen strange one shot #marvel fanfiction #stephen strange #doctor strange imagine #doctor strange smut #stephen strange smut #dr strange smut #mcu x reader #doctor stephen strange #benedict cumberbatch #imeternallylove

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french-vanilla-in-the-clouds · 1 year

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𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐓𝐚𝐠 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞!

𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒔! 𝑮𝒆𝒕 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒄𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒇𝒍𝒚!

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐎𝐍𝐄: Head over to your camera roll. The last celebrity or fictional character saved to your gallery is your Valentine's date --- oh! what a cutie! 💗

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐖𝐎: Sneak a peek at my Valentine's Date scenario chart! Here's how it works: Choose the first letter of your first name, your birthday month, and your star sign to reveal the ins-and-outs of your romantic getaway! 🥀

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐏 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄: Share the deets and share the love! Tag any lovely moots or followers that you think might get a kick out of this! Cheers! 🥂

𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐄! 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄 𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓!

I'll go first...

Okay... the Governor and I are headed to Vienna to catch a show at the theatre and I'll be gifted a love letter! I love this man to bits but I'm expecting a double cross... ❤️🥀

moots, assemble! *no pressure, of course!*: @starstruck-loner @goldencherriess @astudyinlaura @lumosouls @misaverawrites @selcouthangel @asherloki @baby-bloos @thespiritoflife @lydiablack-m @starryeddie @andthevillainshallrises @bakerstreethound @silverdaydreamer @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @classickook @lucywrites02 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @blogthebooklover @imeternallylove @fictional-hooman @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @amplifyme @frostandflamesfanfic @mindibindi @foxmulderlovebot @space-helen @inlovewithfictionalcharacters666 @paperheartsarts @aephereal @christinasyellowflowers @natti-ice

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asgards-princess-of-mischief · 6 months

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Last Updated: 2023-11-30

Disclaimer: I am not the author of these stories, just sharing my favourite BBC!Sherlock Holmes stories. Find the authors' links below. If you want your work removed, message me privately.

❧ Holmes Family, the by victoriaholmeswriting • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Summary: "When refusing to dress up for Halloween results in an argument with his wife, Sherlock re-evaluates his priorities and tries to make it right."

❧ Truth Behind It, the by specialagentlokitty • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

Prompt(s): "Person A loves Halloween, but sees that Person B hates it. A wants to find out why, but B doesn't want to say it."

❧ Are You Jealous by imeternallylove • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❧ Halloween at 221B by jpat82 • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❧ Haunted House by randomfandomimagine • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❧ Just Walk by specialagentlokitty • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❧ Pumpkin Carving by classickook • 〔F〕 •

❧ Ridiculous Costumes￨Prt. II by thepokyone • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❧ Seasonal Starbucks by dyns33 • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❧ Skeletons and Sugar Rushes by thepokyone • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

❧ Tis the Season by make-me-imagine • 〔F〕 •

❧ Warm Enough by prettyxlittlexwriter • 〔F〕 • ♥︎ •

See Also: Navigation | BBC!Sherlock Master Index

Authors: @classickook || @dyns33 || @imeternallylove || @jpat82 || @make-me-imagine || @prettyxlittlexwriter || @randomfandomimagine || @specialagentlokitty || @thepokyone || @victoriaholmeswriting ||

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader #Sherlock Holmes x Y/N #Sherlock Holmes x You #Sherlock x Reader #Sherlock x Female Reader #Sherlock x Y/N #Sherlock x You #BBC Sherlock x Reader #BBC Sherlock x Female Reader #BBC Sherlock x Y/N #BBC Sherlock x You #Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader #Benedict Cumberbatch x Female Reader #Benedict Cumberbatch x Y/N #Benedict Cumberbatch x You

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ao3feed-sylki · 4 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Loki (TV 2021), Silent Witness (TV), The Night Manager (TV 2016) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Loki/Sylvie (Loki TV), Loki & Sylvie (Loki TV) Characters: Jonathan Pine, Claire Ashby, Loki (Marvel), Sylvie (Loki TV) Additional Tags: Crossover Pairings, Cooking Summary:

"We should have stopped at Spar or something." Hand on her face, Claire muttered tiredly, kicking off her high heels and heading straight for the kitchen.

"We have food here."

#sylki #sylvie x loki #loki x sylvie #sylvie #loki #marvel #disney #ao3 sylki #crossover #silent witness #the night manager

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enretrogue · 2 years

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𝐒𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐦𝐞𝐬 (𝐁𝐁𝐂) 𝐅𝐢𝐜 𝐑𝐞𝐜𝐬

(These are not my works; full credit goes to the original writers. If you'd like your work removed, just shoot me a message and I'll remove it for you!)

✪ ~ BIPOC reader or writer (if this is wrong or you’d like it added, let me know!)

Fanfics Rec List

Kiss Me, Mr Detective — @angeli-marco-writes Dating Sherlock Holmes and Living In 221C Baker Street — @bluebellhairpin Mind-Lists and Morning Cravings — @bluebellhairpin Pick My Poison — @bluebellhairpin Investigating A Crime Scene with Sherlock and John — @bluebellhairpin Breaking Sherlock — @bluebellhairpin Having Tea with Sherlock Holmes — @bluebellhairpin Goodbye — @imeternallylove Bored Bored! — @imeternallylove Happy Chaos Wedding Day ⎢ Part 2 — @imeternallylove Christmas Lights — @imdreamingaboutwhitechristmas Thirst Ask — @renaissansse Swan Lake — @sukunababy Assistant, Always Annoyed ⎢ Part 2 — @scandalous-chaos How to Ruin a Wedding — @scandalous-chaos I Can Kill You Right Here, Right Now and No One Would Know — @scandalous-chaos The Walkout — @scandalous-chaos

#lala’s fic recs #sherlock holmes x reader #sherlock holmes #sherlock bbc

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wint3r-h3art · 2 years

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cast your mutuals as different types of cheese 👁️👁️

join my summer party !!

alfhwepj!

ok ok! lololol! I have to search for some of these because I can only have a certain kind of cheese lol

Brie @crazycookiecrumbles

Buratta @fluffyprettykitty

Chedder @strange-mischief

Comte @hollandparkersx

Cotija @blackbat05

Feta @sanctumsanctorumshenanigans

Mozzarella @tom-whore-dleston

Gouda @strange-dreams-are-made-of-these

Gruyere @lucywrites02

Parmesan @sobeautifullyobsessed

Pepperjack @boop-le-snoot

Provolone @imeternallylove

Ricotta @yummymatcha

Romano @psychedelic-ink

Muenster @buckybleu

Halloumi @e-dubbc11

#linda answered #lindassummerparty #lindas2k

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boryes · 10 years

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Hi. I love your blog. Is the best, congratulations!!!.

Thank you very much

#replies #imeternallylove

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imeternallylove · 1 year

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Soap: There are seven chairs and ten kids. What do you do?

Price: Have everyone stand.

Gaz: Bring three more chairs!

Y/N: The most important ones can sit down.

Ghost: Kill three.

#cod mw2 #cod gaz #cod ghost #cod soap #cod price #call of duty modern warfare 2 #imeternallylove #incorrect quotes #incorrect quote cod #cod #call of duty #simon riley #soap mctavish #kyle garrick #john price #captain price #cod x reader #modern warfare ii #mw2

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imeternallylove · 1 year

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Ghost: Nothing in life is free.

Y/N: Love is free!

Soap: Adventure is free.

Gaz: Knowledge is free.

Price: Everything is free if you take it without paying.

my first incorrect quote of this year eh? 😂

#imeternallylove #incorrect quotes #incorrect quote cod #cod #cod mw2 #cod ghost #cod gaz #cod price #cod soap #call of duty #simon riley #soap mctavish #kyle garrick #john price #captain price #cod x reader #modern warfare ii #mw2

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imeternallylove · 11 months

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y’all ready for Monsieur Stephen?

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imeternallylove · 1 year

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Prepared for takeoff - S.Strange

Pairing: Flight Crew!Stephen Strange x Reader

genre: aw just fuffly hahah

warning: implied make out idk should it be‘warning’ or not lel

word: approx 2.6k

main mastetlist | request | prompts

"All flight attendants please prepare for takeoff."

Captain Strange's deep voice filled the aircraft all at once, and you attempted to hide the shudder that raced up your spine as you stowed away the trolley for departure; when you were helping, Captain Strange would always make his voice a little deeper. As you took your jump seat alongside Christina, who is side eyeing you in distaste before scoffing, a faint smile formed across your face.

"Wipe that smug look off your face Y/N, we're mid flight." She corrects and you fiddles with your fingers in your lap, turning your head ever so slightly to look around the corner at the handsome, broad shoulders of your captain for today's trip from New York to Oslo. You wasn’t ashamed to say the sigh you let out when while leaning into you palm, dreamily as they begin assent isn't boredom induced.

The sound of Christina unbuckling beside you is heard a few minutes later and you grins at the rest of girly crew gang widely in silent gratitude as the younger had agreed to trade your own number four position as Galley-coach to Christina’s number one serving first class to be close to their dreamy pilot.

First thing you do after unbuckling is go to greet the pilots for a second time, as you had only gotten to say a short hello earlier so instead you step into the cockpit, leaning close to the blue suited man and wrapping his arms slowly over his shoulders and down his chest as if in mock massage before resting his chin against the crook of his neck.

"Good to see you again, captains." You breathe, not missing the smirk rising to Stephen’s face as he keeps his eyes straight ahead.

"How is my favorite flight attendant? Are you well rested? You'll need to be for our date after we land." He teases and you puff your cheeks while playing with the pins on the your collar.

"My rules are simple, and the first is that I can talk about anything related to my job on the flight." You grin with a shade of red on your lips, leaning towards his side to make his heart ache, then let him just glimpse your thighs beneath your tight tiny skirt, paired with your black high heels, which make you look utterly fascinated. Well, you know how to make your short-term lure during flight swing berserk.

The first few hours of the flight were, predictably, boring. Doting on first class passengers wasn't resilient for you, and most of the men and women slept while you served beverages or snacks; you weren't obliged to put forth any kind of effort for it, and the way you worked as a flight attendant illustrates that it's nothing new.

Around three hours in, you sought a break and trudged over to the bunks for a short siesta. You walk in after giving the pilot a worn out, smiling nod. However, before you could even close the curtain to your bunk; your back end up by get forced up against the wall, a hard, powerful arm wrapping around your waist.

"We have already squandered three hours of our time together. Miss, I would really like to enjoy the sweetness of your voice for more than just the safety demonstration." Before you leaned up and pushed your lips to the pilot's face, the owner of the baritone voice murmurs, wiping the locks of hair from your tired eyes.

"You're so hot, Steph, but I don't think I can give up my rest time, even for your adorable face." You mumble, slipping your hands beneath the taller's jacket and untucking his neatly ironed shirt to push against your chiseled, warm body. "But.. If you leave your door cracked for me at the hotel, I promise to make it worthy."

"That's quite a big pledge." Stephen grins and glides his hand down his back onto your thighs. "On the contrary, you always deliver though, don't you?" He mumbles, lightly kissing your ear. "We have a 20-hour layover; if you don't let me take you out this time, I have a feeling I'll go insane." He breathes heavily. "You've played dirty minds and tricks on me more than once, and I've never been able to do anything further."

“Oh? Like erm- you want me to tell ya my hobbies and favorite foods? Well, I’m allergies to ginger, you already knows." You divide away his ardent contact while nudging the door open, signifying that you intend for Stephen to leave, and Barry stumbles in, undoubtedly ready for a break, before freezing with startled eyes and hurrying out with a slur. 'I'll give you both 2 minutes.'

You chuckled, waving an innocent bye-bye to Barry while sending him your sensual wink.

"I'll make sure you get that date, honey. I promise." You redirect your attention to Stephen, caressing the corner of the content captain's jaw before leading him out and returning to your bunk with a cheesy smirk on your whole face.

The water has reached boiling point, and you like it quite a lot.

It wasn't always so tense between them. You remember when you two first met; you were a brand new hire, steadily making friends within your airline with your bright smile and loud sense of humour, but that day when you stepped onto the plane for a quick flight from HNL to KIX and Christina nudged you shoulder, playfully greeting your greeting with a wry smile.

"Did you see today's crew? Heard we've got some hot pilots." She sings tunes that make you blink in awe.

"Pilots? Have they arrived yet?" You whisper, and Barry sighs and tosses his head before stiffening and peering over your shoulder, causing you to glance around attentively.

You first encountered the one of a pilot on the broad, strong chest of a tall, lean man with light brown hair bursting out from beneath his pilot cap. His deep blue eyes were fixed on you, a slight smirk tugging at his lips as the rest of the crew gaped, yet you both stayed like this long enough for a long, strong arm to wrap flirtatiously around your waist.

"I'm Leroy, the second captain for this flight, and you are?" He spoke meticulously and lightly shaking his hand with yours. It made you blush before you two parted ways as a taller man walked hurriedly past you.

"King, keep an eye on your ass, Y/N is part of this crew." He tsks, as if reprimanding a youngster, but it appears to work, as Leroy draws his arm away from you as if he's been scorched. You turn to read the first captain's squinted eyes, who shrugs his head in counterfeit scorn before disappearing into his cock pit without saying another word.

Behind people around, you pinching your bottom lips.

The flight went about as well as you'd expect after that. You worked First Class on that flight as well and with every soft offer of coffee or tea to the, possibly, fatigued pilots ended in a dismissive glare from the taller, cold first captain.

Captain Strange's startlingly deep voice came over the speaker, demonstrating his dominance over Leroy, as Barry and Christina described (the co-pilot never did the announcement). Strange was a genius in every way. The more two of your friends talked him about the athletic, intellectual, musically inclined man with a secure job and a passion for cooking, the more enraged you became. Mr. Perfect didn't even know you one bit, and yet he immediately despised and judged you based on his foolish guts due to the minor blunder of establishing out eyes contact with Leroy's for two seconds.

He didn't let that bother his trip however. That night the crew ended up all going to dinner in the city of Osaka. They had a late afternoon pick up in the lobby so they were happy to explore the foreign city all night. Turns out Mr. Perfect was also a damn good translator and was the only way the coworkers managed to order their food.

Strange ordered you ginger sauce despite your allergies, you swear, not that the staff made a mistake.

You told the chefs you couldn't have any of ginger in your food with dead glare and ready-to-kill smile, and they all understand that. You then heard an 'Oh' from the grumpy man next you, who looked damn cute in his tight ripped jeans and hoodie, his hair was just the right amount of a bit curly with metallic curls around the corners of his hairline that made you want to play with it. If he wasn't so irritated at you all the time, you'd be the one dry humping his awkwardly long limbs on the small casual bar's dance floor instead of downing another shot that your fragile body probably couldn't and shouldn't handle, because right now, every part of you is glowing red.

You absolutely no memory of how you reached back to the hotel, and you don't attempt to fantasize about how you hauled your drowsy form to the suite.

Later on the plane heading back to Hawaii, Stephen Strange whispers to you precisely in your ears and it is extremely hazardous closeness while the two of you strolled pass through the gate into the plane.

"La Bouche Rouge Nude, nice choice."

You were completely distracted the entire flight, serving red wine although your passengers only needed mineral water, and Stephen Strange is the only one reason to be blamed.

You scolded him inside your head all the way from the terminal through an uber to your apartment, and even until you drifted asleep.

Praying that he won't be your captain on the next flight.

"You look bored." Again, Stephen says, it's excessively close to your ear. So, now you're all in Sydney, spending time in the bar since everyone on the crew has 14 hours for wander here before to get back to New York. And, if you aren't erroneously this is nearly your 36th flight with Captain Strange. By now, it has been over a year.

You turned and immediately regretted it because the first captain has locked you up against the bar, a huge grin on his face as you tried to lean back but the booze and warmth of the body in front of you convince you differently. You can smell the alcohol on your pilot and know you shouldn't be playing this dangerous game, but the look this man gives you as you lean in, never taking your gaze away from his lips until they're finally locked together in such a passionate and lustful kiss that you can't remember how you both got back to the hotel.

Only that you were halfway into his pants by the time they got to the lobby, which lead to the most incredible night of sex that the young Y/L/N had ever had.

The next morning was...horrible. You awoke after Stephen, who was staring at you from across the bed. As you sat up, he brought you a bagel with cream cheese already spread and a glass of orange juice. You and he stayed silent till you finished your light meal.

Stephen brought you a water bottle before gently and sweetly touching your face, making you dizzy once again. You immediately rushed back to your room, forcing your dress back on and saying softly that you needed to clean up and wash your uniform. You did your best to ignore Stephen's dimples, without looking back at the pilot, who was watching you from his own door frame.

You felt much better after going back to sleep and snoozing until the very last second before gathering yourself and meeting the group downstairs in uniform. You tried not to notice the eyes on you, but every now and then his damn stare would meet and you'd be the first to look away; the cycle continued until they boarded the plane and Stephen finally grabbed your wrist, forcing you into the lavatory and pressing your body into the tiny sink as he hovered over you, breathing down your neck.

"At least look at me." He hisses, and you hiss back, raising your eyes to see the frustrated man who gently grips the side of your face. "Last night was fantastic." He speaks again, surprising you into silence so that you only nod, agreeing too enthusiastically that your cheeks flush with shame.

"But you ran away." He goes on, and you raise your head, softly biting your lip before your captain kisses you, forcing that cursed lip out of the confines of your teeth. "You were beautiful." As you sheepishly poke at his chest, he complements you and you feel like you're back in high school. The captain responded to your bashful response with delicate kisses on the light brunette's neck. "I'd like to take you out." The powerful man mutters against your hot skin, and you nod in return, fiddling with Stephen's coat lapels before pressing a soft kiss to his lips and finally leaving the tight room.

But after that, every flight you had together became a game of cat and mouse. Stephen was serious about the dating thing, insisting on the steward giving you an opportunity to sweep you off your feet on every trip they took together. But Mr. Perfect only made you nervous and sometimes you felt irritated.

Because. Sex was simple. Sex is a drug, and the brilliant, handsome, and charming pilot would get lost in the throes of desire, unable to truly express his love for any woman on plane. So why should you put your trust in them?

When you landed at Heathrow, you didn't have to wait long for the hotel shuttle since Stephen's warm arms were wrapped around your petite frame, murmuring soothing words into where your sensitive spot would be aroused. You'd noticed Stephen was fluent in an annoying number of languages over the last year of working together, including English, as he helped the driver in cutely accented British English that made your heart flutter and your fingers squeeze ever so slightly around Stephen's, eliciting a soft but toothy smile in response.

How can you deny the adorableness that he is? Right?

Over the course of that brief bus ride, you persuaded yourself to go on that date and sent Stephen off to your own room to get dressed with a long kiss in the corridor. You bath had a painfully nice time with all of the necessary giggling and cuddling before making the long walk back to the hotel since neither of you wanted it to end.

By watching him munching his noodle from the Chinese cuisine shop, you mentally swallowed your own opinions about the two of you having little chemistry outside of the bedroom.

To be honest, it was frightening how much they had in common. Stephen, like you, was a true nerd who enjoyed anime and arcade games. He was amusing and far too relaxed to be around on your first date, but everything just seemed perfect.

If you didn't know any better, you could believe in soulmates.

When Stephen dropped you off at your door #6164, you stood there for a long time staring up at the man who stared back at you, your fingers playing with the collar of his leather jacket as the first captain's hands wrapped around your hand gently as if just wanting more contact, making you wiggle the tiniest bit closer with each thump of your heart.

"Come inside?" You make a gentle proposition, and he raises a mischievous brow. "Well, I can make you some goodnight tea maybe."

"On our first date gorgeous? Isn't it a bit much." Stephen smirks, but you simply lean up on your toes and kiss his dimple that forms alongside your smile.

"Dunno… All I want to do is fall asleep in your arms." You can't believe those words came out of your mouth, and by the look on your date's face, neither can you, but a smile soon replaces it, and Stephen takes the hotel key from your pocket, pulling you into his chest as he unlocks the door, and he kisses the shell of your ear before he speaks.

"I think that sounds perfect."

no no I still cannot wrote smut well by now so sorry huhuhuhu 😆

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imeternallylove · 11 months

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Moulin Rouge Sous le Ciel Bleu - S.Strange

Red Mill under the Blue Sky: the roaring '20s era

Pairing: Stephen Strange x Reader

Genre: angst and fluff, mostly bittersweet 💔✌️

Warning: forbidden love, sexual content

Word: approx 4k

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A brilliant red mill stood out among the other buildings in the Jardin de Paris, at the foot of the hill in the Montmartre neighborhood, commanding attention with its vibrant color and unusual façade. Large metal letters spelled out the word Moulin Rouge over the entryway to the colorful venue. The Red Mill, because it was exactly what the building looked like. It certainly drew attention to itself, and Monsieur Strange had no doubt that this was the proprietors' goal. Moulin Rouge had grown infamous in Paris, and he had no doubt that it was also infamous throughout the rest of France.

The building's bright scarlet façade contrasted with the pristine blue of the sky above it, making it stand out even more on clear days like today. Stephen would not have imagined, looking at the red mill, that this was the edifice known as The Bastion of Pleasures in the city of love. It wasn't visually appealing, but it was a novelty, and the mill at the entryway was one of the reasons for the establishment's notoriety. That, and the female cabaret performers.

Stephen Vincent Strange, heir of an eastern trade enterprise and an expert in oriental goods, was known as "young Monsieur Strange." He had been sent to France by his father a year before starting university to acquire the French language, and now, years later, he was studying for a degree in Orientalism at the famed Sorbonne. He'd become a go-to man for Parisian socialites, advising them on real Chinese and silk textiles, among other things, all sourced from his family's import business.

But, underneath the elegant and wealthy heir, he had become enthralled by the revolution, a movement that began in the middle of the last century, a stride towards freedoms and liberties that he had never known in his own home of New York.

That's how he ended himself in the Moulin Rouge cabaret. Stephen adored it. The excitement of doing something that would be considered inappropriate in his own nation was exhilarating. He wished he was an artist or a poet some days. Of course, he was brilliant at both due to his considerable schooling, so it wasn't that he couldn't do either. Nonetheless, he wished that he could live off his riches and do whatever he pleased, composing poetry, creating watercolours on rice paper, and attending the cabaret.

Most crucially, in those crazy daydreams, he could freely love you.

You'd met when he came to consult with you about some costumes you were working on for a Moulin Rouge performance. The surroundings were supposed to be inspired by the Orient, interesting, exotic, and beautiful all at the same time, and you required assistance with the designs. Young Monsieur Strange had paid you a visit in your sewing chamber as an orientalist. He was impressed by the attention to detail you had placed into the costumes and was eager to help you in perfecting the ideas.

He was back in your workrooms a few weeks later, checking the finished product as well as the music hall stage set. Because your lodgings were close to the Moulin Rouge, he stopped by to see you and your fellow seamstresses on his way back. He had admired your outfits and had recommended you to the proprietors.

That's how you met and then kept meeting, each one ending with you smiling a little brighter, his smile getting cheekier and cheekier.

Stephen often assumed that falling in love with one of the dancers would be simple. Monsieur Strange, on the other hand, was not one to take the easy way out. He had been unimpressed by the dancers' charm, flirty manner, and womanly figure. He was an orientalist visiting Paris from his hometown, and he had no interest for the loud women of the cabaret, famous for their cancan.

Instead, he had chosen the difficult path. He fell for you.

It was an impossible love. Hopeless in more ways than one; not only had he fallen head over heels for you irrevocably and explicitly, but there was no future in which he could do so. Your love was ephemeral, not because the sensations vanished, but because you couldn't freely love each other in this world, neither in France nor anywhere else. It was a forbidden love.

Something forbidden.

It's a hopeless love.

You knew it wouldn't last, you wouldn’t; but nothing does, so you loved him the same way he loved you.

Stephen would never marry a mere seamstress. He was a class above you, and he was certain his father had already picked a merchant's daughter for him, one from New York, just like him, just like his father wanted.

Tonight, he could spend naked in your arms, snuggled in the warm sheets of his bed, listening to his heartbeat while his long fingers combed through your hair.

"The sky was falling," you said as his heat cock finally came out, weary, clogged, and squeezed all the air out of your lungs. The palm of his hand lingered warmly on your exposed breasts, like a boy's toy.

Your hair is wet, and so is his. You look at the mess on the bedsheet, it's like a war, so criminally. Unless, of course Stephen's sharp smile, the top of his chest breaths heavily, and the bottom is buried beneath his blanket, but you pull out it to cover yourself so you can glimpse his entire body again. "And I'm falling for you, amour."

It was a quiet night. He'd snuck you into one of his smaller homes, where no servants could spy on you two. You had a glass of dry red wine and a baguette with camembert and red grapes. It was a basic dish by his standards, but it was everything the two of you could have desired for dinner tonight.

You had been kept busy by the continual repairs of Moulin Rouge costumes, as well as other work sent to you by higher and middle-class women, in the heart of balmy summer, with the sun shining down in all its splendor, warming you up and making all proper ladies sweat under their garments. You made no complaint. It was good job, and there was always additional money, which you could never have enough of.

Stephen did all the whining for you, about how you didn't have time for him, about how he felt neglected, about how you were too gorgeous to spend the days in a workroom instead of on the garden outside, enjoying in the sun and definitely keeping him company.

Finally, your work was completed, and you decided to take the day off, and now, at the end of the day spent in his arms, you were falling asleep in his arms, his gentle breathing feeling like a summer breeze in your hair, and his golden skin was warm on yours. Because of your body heat and the warm night, you couldn't sleep beneath a blanket, so you slept on a light linen sheet.

"Mon plus cher amour," he said into the air, that’s the way he called; "my dearest love." And you had responded to his call through the thin veil of sleep, turning in his arms to face him, your lips brushing against his as he spoke, the delicate touch sending thrills down Stephen's spine.

"Mon cherrie?" You'd wondered, laying a sly kiss on his pouty lips.

"I cannot imagine living without you." He engaged, his eyes staring into yours with such affection that you wondered if a mortal man could be filled with so much love. Such deep feeling was surely destined for something more holy than you; for ladies whose beauty lived on in legend, a kind of beauty caught by poems, songs, and prayers. Not you, mortal, frail, and average.

"Don't say such things." You murmured softly, your tone echoing Stephen's love in his gaze. His breath caught, and you could feel his heart rattling against your chest, its steady beat matching the pace of your own. "They make me fall in love with you even more." Your lover grinned at your comments, his long fingers reaching to gently hold your hand before bringing it to his lips, kissing your knuckles delicately, his lips smooth like rosebuds, flushed a deep pink as blood flowed through him, red and strong. His aquatic eyes never left yours for a second.

Hopelessly, you loved him so badly, too.

The days passed without him, and eventually, after all work was finished, Stephen decided to take you to the premiere of the new cabaret show, the one you had spent months sewing costumes for, and now he would allow you the pleasure of seeing the fruit of your labors, and you had a feeling it would be sweet.

Tonight, he had taken you to the cabaret. The moulin rouge was full with patrons, their cacophonous banter before the show was like the beginning of a birdsong, someplace deep in the rainforest, their words, not always French, rang throughout the room like a flock of tropical songbirds, unorganized but cheerful. You sat at a table for two, he in a magnificent black suit, you in your best dress, your hair done up in a stylish style you had seen many of your clients wear. When you looked in the mirror before leaving the house, you couldn't believe the lady in the reflection was you. You wondered if he had always thought you were beautiful.

"You are lovely to look at. Never forget that, mon amour." He leaned in to whisper into your ears, the dim light shimmering golden against his skin, making the shape of his nose and the plushness of his lips even more refined, even more seductive. Your heart skipped a beat despite your will. As the dancers entered the stage, the flock fell silent, leaving only the melody of the orchestra. Stephen relaxed in his chair, entirely at ease, sipping champagne.

The show was spectacular, but no one expected less from the legendary Moulin Rouge. The dancers glided around the stage in perfect synchronicity. Even their most frantic routines were carried out with beauty and precision. others gowns were shorter than others, and others were more scandalous. You hadn't skimped on the feathers and sequins. Each costume was meticulously fitted, with every thread perfectly in place and every color carefully chosen.

"Something like this would never be tolerated where I come from." Stephen whispered in your ear. Even without looking at him, you could tell that his gaze was drawn to the dancers and his lips formed a sneer against your ears. You knew he wasn't talking about the cabaret. "I'm glad it's allowed here." When you didn't react, he whispered, and you felt a delightful chill down your spine.

"They look gorgeous." Instead, you stated that your gaze never leaves the stage. The dancers span, their skirts swirling with them, exposing more of their legs, and the audience couldn't stop gasping.

He questioned as he took another sip from his flute. "The dancers?"

"Pretty women look good in pretty clothing." When another round of cacophonous delight rippled through the audience, you responded with a nod, a smile on your lips.

"Are those your dresses?" Stephen smiled, his eyes twinkling as he examined the colorful outfits, feather plumes, and embroidery on the bodices and skirts.

“Oui.” You sipped your drink, allowing the buzz of alcohol to enhance your enjoyment of the evening. "What's the point of staring at me?" After a while, you said, the feeling of Stephen's deep ocean eyesight staring at you becoming uncomfortable as the night progressed, your second flute of champagne now standing empty in front of you.

"I can't stop myself. You are like the moon." He smiled, turning his head to look at you from a fresh perspective. "So attracting me." He spoke, and his hand moved across the table to grip yours, his long fingers weaving through yours.

You stayed like that till the end of the show.

When the night was done and he had draped your coat over your shoulders like a gentleman, a cheeky smile graced his lips, his eyes bright with mischief.

"We went to the pleasure palace, and yet my greatest pleasure was watching you." He told you, tucking a stray lock of hair behind your ear, savoring the crimson that warmed your cheeks, both from the champagne and from him.

Another week passed, and you were again in his chambers, laying among the lovely covers, holding a book as Stephen dressed. He was dressed in a suit identical to the one he wore to Moulin Rouge, but he had changed the jacket to something more suited for dinner. You liked his straight brows and heavy lashes as you combed his hair back away from his face.

"How do you think I look?" He approached, tying his black bowtie in front of the mirror above his dresser.

Looking at his tiny figure over your book, you told him. "Handsome as always." You said that when he turned around and winked at him. "You will be fine, Monsieur Strange."

"Whatever you want to say, Mademoiselle." He smiled as he walked over to the bed and knelt down. His plush lips were on yours in an instant, and you melted into the kiss.

When he turned to slide into his jacket, he looked back at you, his eyes filled with concern. You could tell he was tense by the clench of his jaw and the strain in his shoulders.

"Enjoy yourself." You smiled at him, attempting to cheer him up. Whatever was on his thoughts was weighing heavily on him. Enough to make him wary of telling you about it. It was a rare occurrence.

"It's just another business meeting; I'm recommending teapot purchases." He muttered, presumably to himself, and you sprang from the bed, wrapping your arms around his torso and staring into his eyes. Their maritime blue reminded you of hot coffee and chocolate in the morning. "New York ceramics have grown in popularity among those who can afford to import them." He spoke, his arms wrapping over your shoulders. Stephen buried his face in your hair, and you gave him a minute of silence. He pressed you against him, and you listened to his heartbeat, sure and steady like him.

"Selling a lot of teapots, then, mon cherie." You told him, and he let you go with one more farewell kiss.

"Don't worry about missing me too much, mon plus cher amour." He called out as he walked out of the room, and you couldn't help but smile as you watched him go.

Sadly, you do.

The dinner was drab. The hosts were rich, as they always were, and they loved to gossip, as they always did. Normally, Stephen avoided the ladies' gossip, preferring to sit and drink whiskey with the males, but tonight he found himself in the center of it. Not because he was really interested, but because he was the topic of it.

Many guys stood around the room conversing, and some women avoided the host's wife, who was a nasty gossip who could run her mouth like no other. Unfortunately, Stephen was on his way to meet his business partner, Monsieur Holmes from England, when he overheard the conversation.

The guests sat on luxurious sofas, with a tiny wooden mahogany coffee table in the center, containing a lovely tea set, white porcelain with delicate lotus blossoms painted in red for adornment. Last summer, it was one of the models they carried. Surprisingly, it was not a high-end set.

"I heard he went to the cabaret with his mistress last week. I'm curious who she is." The harsh voice of one of the ladies pierced his eardrums. Stephen could tell she was one of your clientele based on her attire. In your shop window, a similar dress, however green rather than the caustic salmon color this woman was wearing, was shown. He could recognize your work from anywhere right now.

"There will be no high standing." Another woman interrupted him, and he wanted to stop listening. Morbid curiosity kept him quiet, listening to those women criticize you, his blood boiling under his skin.

"A Frenchwoman and a New Yorker. In public!" Stephen tried to stop himself from cursing after hearing the woman in salmon scream.

"How are you doing, ladies?" Instead, he put on a happy face and walked right into the women's chat, interrupting their gossip. "I heard you ordered two tea sets, Madame." He turned to gaze at an older woman sitting between the two who were chatting about you.

“Yes. My daughter is marrying into a good family, and I want to make sure she brings only the best to her new home." She had spoken, her nose turned almost comically high as she tried to gaze at him with contempt.

"I hope you will be pleased with the quality of our products." He had bowed lightly, a sickly-sweet smile lingering on his lips, as rage had no doubt poked through his eyes. When you glanced into his eyes, you stated you could tell he was upset. He would have spoken more, but Shrr had come to his rescue, his cheerful attitude brightening the mood of the women.

"Ah, Monsieur Strange, I was looking for you." He talked, his rich voice filled with joy as he tried to pull Stephen away.

He pushed him to the side and handed the shorter man a tumbler of scotch. Sherlock's massive body towered over him, hiding him from the gossips' gaze. His huge hand reached out and squeezed Stephen's shoulder in reassurance.

"Young men are young men regardless of where they come from." Do not listen to old rumor." Sherlock's powerful voice slowed to a mumble, and Stephen assumed his companion was growling rather than speaking.

"Thank you, Sherlock." He mumbled, gulping the scotch down, too frustrated to taste it. He found the burn of alcohol to be a pleasant distraction.

"Better to love one woman than to hate one woman." When his pal looked down on him, his teal eyes were soft.

Stephen asked shifting the conversation from one unpleasant issue to another. "Any news from my father?"

“None yet. I’m not sure he even knows about her.” Sherlock reassured him, a small smile playing on his lips. He sipped on his scotch.

"If he knew," Stephen said, his heart pounding wildly against his chest, making him dizzy, before Sherlock cut him off.

"You'd have been on a ship back by now, and that merchant's daughter would have been waiting for you at the docks." He finished for him, gulping down the rest of his scotch before proceeding to refill their glasses.Stephen received an increasing number of inquiries for imported pottery as the evening continued. Tea sets, plates, and bowls were among the items requested. By the end of the meal, his notebook was full of names and catalog numbers.

Stephen had removed his coat and unfastened his bowtie when he returned home. His white shirt had a few buttons undone, displaying his golden collarbone. He sat on his living room sofa, sipping more scotch from a crystal glass. When he arrived, you tossed the book and sat alongside him on the couch, your head resting on his shoulder. The fabric beneath you was velvet, far more expensive than you could possibly afford. You could see he had it built to order.

Stephen had remained silent other than greetings and a couple brief kisses. Despite the drink he consumed, the worry shown on his face had not subsided. From the corner of your eye, you noticed his jaw clenched and relaxed.

"Are you ready to tell me now?" You asked him, and he turned his chin towards you. His gaze was drawn to your lips first, then up into your eyes. He'd always assumed they were sapphires. Not because they were blue, but because they reminded him of the sea, deep and uncharted. They hid your heart, so they gleamed like valuable stones and reflected light like the tumultuous waters of the sea. Deep, so deep that he lost himself in them and found himself in them as well.

"I'm worried about my father." His heavenly voice broke, heavy with uncertainty, and he mumbled.

"We knew about your father from the start,” you told him as you pressed your palm against his cheek, allowing Stephen to sink into your contact and relish in how warm he felt against you. “We knew how this was going to end before it even started."

"What if I don't want this to come to an end?" He asked whether and you were the one to lose yourself in the depths of his irises this time.

You kissed him with your other hand on his cheek. Passionately and uninhibitedly. It didn't matter if the end was coming or if it was already here. You had feelings for him. You were hopelessly in love with him.

Stephen went violet when you touched him. He felt it seep into him when he pressed his lips to yours with bruising force, and again when you grabbed him in his bed, and again when you left purple marks over his collar bones, each one a visible stain on his body; something to remind him he was yours, something to remind you that you were his.

Days flew by in a blur of color. You awoke in his bed, went to work, and spent the evening at Moulin Rouge. Every night was spectacular; every night was the same. You had grown fond of Moulin Rouge. Stephen could sit by you in public and flaunt your devotion for him. In Montmartre, most people were preoccupied with the concept of liberty and freedom. You shared their hopes, that the world will be a better place to live one day. Both you and he fit in. It was simple to be at the Bastion of Pleasures.

After one of the shows, when you had finally returned home to recuperate, an unexpected guest appeared.

Sherlock had come in one evening, just as Stephen was falling asleep in your lap, your voice calming him. The British man had arrived with a letter. It was obvious that it was from Stephen's father. Because the characters were strange, you were illiterate and blissfully unaware of the contents.

"Not good." Stephen had risen from your lap and was pacing as he read over the letter. Sherlock had taken a seat near you, his form looming over you. You weren't bothered because you were used to being in his shadow, but the expressions on both men's faces made you nervous.

Sherlock told them. "He wants you to return by the end of the next year." His strong voice boomed through the room, and his loving brown eyes looked down at you, and then at Stephen, with such sadness that you couldn't tell who was more saddened by the news.

"I understand." Stephen paused his pacing and requested that one of his assistants bring them some cognac. "To one more year." When the vodka was poured into crystal glasses and delivered to the three of them, he toasted.

You raised your glass with a cheeky smile, toasting with him. Sherlock raised his glass reluctantly and witheredly, the amber liquid shimmering in the faint light, before taking a gulp.

You lay wrapped in Stephen's arms that night, a pleasant breeze blowing through the open window, drifting over your naked shoulders as you glanced up at your sweetheart.

"Let us leave. Just… Run away with me." Stephen mumbled, his eyes gleaming in the dim light of his room, more pensive than you had ever seen him.

"Is this? …New Americana proposal’s? Where’s my ring?" You commented, a broad smile on your face, as though pondering of the possibilities, soon, your shoulders jolted down. "Where shall we go?"

"Wherever my father won't find us." You pressed closer to him, further into the protection of his arms, as he aware you. “Italy?” You sought out, considering locations too far away for the Strange business to pursue you to.

“Britain? Erm-”

"French Indochina?" You kissed his forehead, with an awkward smile on your lips.

"I don't care… literally. Where we go; my heart goes to loving you everywhere." He spoke softly, and you knew he loved you now more than ever.

Stephen was ready to leave everything to be with you, where his father could not intervene, and you were ready to leave with him, you knew you would; for anything even your cabaret flora life here; for one condition… just be with him.

"Then let's go anywhere." You gave in, putting a kiss to his lips and whispering love words into his ears as he held you. He whispered them back, breathed love into you with his kisses, was firm and soothing alongside you, and despite the frost in the air, you were warm.

His lengthy fingers knead over yours, enveloping them. You know he staked his entire future on it. You are mindful of this. "Whether it's an ice-covered world or warfare, I'll be the one that burns it." Your lips curled together, his words so sincere, and his rich tone melt with every emotion you've ever beheld. "Like frost and flame; hot and cold both evaporated."

You draw stars on his chest, another one, another one… Attentively paying attention to his heartbeat. The galactic cosmos feels incredibly near whenever you're with him, your Monsieur Strange, yours.

"Trust me?"

"Always have."

Love was occasionally hopeless, but maybe this time, just this time, there was hope.

And this is hope that you want would be go on survived.

For everlasting.

a/t: how was it 🥹 idk why but the plot comes while i listen this so bitter, tortured but sweetener so it’s challenging me to write 1920’ era. Well… in fact, the forbidden love is my first time writing… so erm yk what i mean? just please give love to it bc Monsieur Strange is watching you 😂🥹🤭 the core of this story is foreign man who has love affair with the owner of cabaret and he bet everything on it to stay with his heart, so fucking romantic yeah? this side is so rare to see from Stephen x reader ff and that’s why, so sorry to bring him out of character again bc it’s not my first time actually HAHAHAHAHA xD well next story we will see new youtuber Stephen who open YouTube channel so bright the boredom of quarantine by corona, he’s doctor right? let’s go romantic comedy yahooooo

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imeternallylove · 2 months

Text

Don't grow up, it's a trap - Brian May; Prologue

Pairing: Brian May x Reader

Warning: none

Word: approx 1.3k

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If he knew he had grown up this way.

Perhaps it was preferable to be a youngster who knew nothing except eating, playing, and napping.

People beings grow up in many civilizations. Some are born under a lucky star and are unaware that there is a demon named afflictive and wounded existing in this universe. However, certain persons who were raised. No, it should be called 'lived on their own' 一will have a higher level of immunity than others.

That does not imply their goodness. But it was an essential weapon for survival when facing tough times; it was intended just for anybody like him who lived below the poverty line. It kept on threatening his life, shattering every piece of his bone and cruelly smashing them to the ground. Despite being awake, it seemed like a terror nightmare that he couldn't wake up from.

'Brian May' is an uncommon boy. However, it isn't actually noteworthy. It sounds tricky, doesn't it? But that was his life after his parents' disappearance due to debt, while the whole town was during the world war.

The boy recalled the hectic circumstances at home throughout that extended period of time, and how they remained to be that way, over and over. He nearly lost sight of the definition of happiness and the proper way to smile or laugh.

Delicious food was once the thing on each evening dinner table, but that is starting to change. There were just grilled potatoes obtainable lately, and the soup was given as a side dish to enhance the flavour of the tasteless potatoes that had to be consumed all in one bowl, for the whole family.

He heard his parents arguing constantly, and headphones ended up being his best buddy by default. However, that is not nearly as unpleasant as hearing the creditors' relentless pounding on the door, who appear prepared to burst in at any moment if they are serious about it.

Only in the closet could sixteen-year-old Brian give a hug to his younger sister. With her head pressed against his chest, he protected her even though he was conscious that he wouldn't be able to stop the door from breaking in. After their parents made the decision to disappear without a trace since they had creditors pursuing them. From that moment on, Brian's biggest duty towards his younger sister has been to be strong for her, even when it meant leaving only tears on her cheeks.

Yes, he understands that his parents weren't abandoning him or his younger sister. Nevertheless, it seems that things happened this way because they had to leave this environment. Because his parents are unaware of how creditors would make demands for money if they were there. Which was probably worse than the hammering at the house door, which scared the hell out of him and his sister and made them afraid to leave.

A sixteen-year-old boy whose sole pursuits in life are music and education. To continue living his realities, he had to give go of his fantasies. Give up on the band, put the handmade guitar in the cupboard, and start working a part-time job after school.

For a young boy who had never experienced hardship before, he was unsure about what to do with the remaining money and where it would take him and his sister. However, it was lucky that the uncle next door, who was a neighbour, constantly prepared meals for him. And thus, day by day, he and his sister lived. 'Betty May' is still quite young. Brian does not want his younger sister to have to worry about this. But he had no idea what to do. Because additional money is insufficient, he will soon have to pay tuition. He is unlikely to be able to provide for himself and his younger sister financially. However, requesting a loan from a neighbour, like Uncle David, would be excessive.

Brian sensed he was in trouble. However, seeking assistance from others should be done in moderation.

Humans have a tendency to do dumb things when they feel hopeless. Yes, Brian feels this is the case. When he sat looking at the square screen with his hands on the keyboard in a computer lesson, his friend from the computer science department was overjoyed to show him it was a prototype. He looked like he suffered from a lack of sleep while learning how to use with.

The sixteen-year-old boy stared at it for a moment before writing the tragic tales of his own life on a blank page, and thanks to his highest grade at Imperial College, he had the kind privilege of receiving a tiny article published in the newspapers for the entire city of London, which has at least three million readers per day.

Brian couldn't recall what he had written, and he didn't want to. It might be filled with disappointment in life, what he was excellent at, or the whole agony that has been suppressed in his heart. Asking for help in vain and not knowing whether anyone will respond with a boy who has no idea who they are and no interest in life.

But it wasn't too horrible. When God told him to believe in, 'the miracles' one more time.

Not long afterward, the professor contacted him to schedule an appointment. He said that someone had seen his letter in the newspapers and offered to help with schooling and monthly expenditures, even if it was a small amount. So he asked Brian if he still needed lend a hand in helping, because here was his opportunity.

The boy was dumbfounded by what he had heard. He was thinking about hitting himself in the face once to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. Is it truly feasible for somebody to reach out and support kids who do not know who they are? Brian sat calmly for quite some time, and his professor was silent, indicating that Brian, his student, wanted to concentrate.

Brian was still half believing and half unbelieving. It wasn't until he received a cheque with credit to cash at the bank, along with a huge shopping bag with a pair of black and light brown suit-and-tie sets and black leather shoes. He noticed a pair of freshly released flower pattern shift dresses for ladies in other bags, as well as maroon Mary-Jane heels, with a short message and charming calligraphy expressing delight in him and Betty, which the tall boy could guess was from whom.

The boy finally discovered the world wasn't all devils around him. Who were these people? How did the benefactors who saved his and his sister's lives appear? The boy was confident that they were angels. The boy vividly recalls the emotion of the first moment; even the corners of his eyes turned blazing red and his younger sister had to hold and soothe him.

Brian returned to see his professor the next day, this time wearing a new pair of gleaming black leather shoes. After staying up all night wondering, 'Why are the benefactors so kind?', he was keen to find out who the wonderful person was who rescued him and his sister from the demon hordes. Why did they decide to help? Because even if the entire world is full of lack of thoroughness, and depth of character and he is much too young to confront it, that person seems not to be concerned whether the message he has written is a falsehood or real.

As his professor consultant was done with some papers, he smiled softly as he informed his student. "Her name is Y/N..."

Brian fails to control himself; he gasps suddenly with his mouth open and barely knows how to breathe, just because he eventually discovered their name, noㅡ her name.

"Miss Y/L/N. Y/N Y/L/N."

oh hi

#imeternallylove #brian may x reader #brian may #queen #queen band #queenies #roger taylor #brian harold may #bohemian rhapsody #brian may fluff #brian may headcanon #brian may imagine #brian may x female reader #brian may x reader fluff #brian may x you #bohemianbri #freddie mercury #john deacon

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