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rae-pss · 3 months

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Hello again rae! So I just saw that you read my ask about my think in chap 5 in whb. And I am so happy we have thing in common so here I give you some another imagine of whb self aware idea for you. Since I think about it long enough and want to share it with you. ( Just take you time to have a idea to writing about this content , I will be waiting 😄 ).

Just imagine that we ( the reader ) found out a way to control the mc in a short or long moment or talk through the mc body.

- Everytime sitri call the mc (Ra-on) solomon ( own sexy pewpaw , I can't lie the fact that he so beautiful , no wonder god like him ). the reader will be like ' I will find a way to control the mc to make them ignore him or make him cry on his knee to apologize and call out the MC's name correctly '.

- everytime the seraphim attack the hell or even talk nonsense about kill the mc or enything about god the reader will be like ' no wonder why god leave you all , because you all are so annoying and dumb '.

- ( Like I say in another ask about bully leviathan ) in his H-scent , the moment he talk shit about minhyeok and say human are weak then the reader like ' fuck this , I will teach you lesson ' control the Mc body and then dominant him back like choke him by the whip he give them and then choke him hard until he almost faint then I will stop. And no is not done yet. Is the mc not dominant the hell out of him then the reader will do it , until he beg for more and I will stop and get out of there leave him like that as a pay back. ( cockblock him make him so close to cum and then leave him like that ).

And that all what I want to say. And feel free to use my imagine is one of it make you have a idea to write , I even happy is you do ☺️😄🤔

masterlist

˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ . . . shout out to the inspiration i suddenly got to do sitri and levi' parts. i hope you like it, dear anon (<3). ˗ˏˋ꒰ 💭 ꒱ . . . lowercase intended, 944 words, first it's sitri, then gabriel, and lastly leaviathan. mentions of the word cock and choking (character receiving) in levi's part since it has a little smut (?).

how you achieved that was something that not even you could understand. was there even a way to do it? well, the existential questions could wait for another time, now you had to take advantage of every damn second that fate had given you.

you couldn't waste this opportunity to talk to your beloved characters.

the walk seemed very normal for the blue-stranded demon, one more of the many that sitri had taken with his beloved solomon since his recent return. how much he missed those moments of quiet peace when it was just him, solomon, and their precious heartbeat.

—how are you feeling, sol-?

the demon didn't even have time before one hand grabbed the black cravat (handkerchief) of his shirt and then pulled with force, thus making his eyes come face to face with solomon's. and, once again gaining on him in time, they spoke loud and clear.

—call me by that dead man's name one more time and you'll end up crying on a street corner, ignored by me until the day I decide to forgive your sorry ass.

their eyes seemed to shine with a unique intensity. it was certainly similar to how satan's eyes did when someone alluded to his lack of height; however, something about them appeared different. it wasn't the usual way their irises looked, now they felt more… more alive.

regardless, a few seconds later their hand left his garment as quickly as they had first grabbed it. their expression showed some stupor, but sitri decided to disregard it for the moment. maybe the influence of his king was harming his beloved sol- his beloved ra-on.

no one could say exactly how many times they had already met, nor was it so crucial to know the number. not when, once again, the Seraph was flying over a devastated and decaying gehenna, looking down from the sky at the destruction he and his angels had brought to the kingdom of wrath.

despite the initial pleasure that such sights brought him, his smile was erased from his pale face when his eyes fell on the figure of a certain human.

"that damn descendant of that dead man..."

with his eyebrows furrowed and his jaw already clenched, gabriel pointed the blade of his scythe at them.

—how annoying it's... you foolish human being still alive.

and, as usually happened in each of his meetings, not very pleasant ones to whoever had to listen to the white-haired angel, he began to talk and talk about his love for god, about how everyone who wasn’t in heaven were beings unworthy of being alive, of how god will return, of how he should kill them in an instant... in general, he began his long monologue with himself out loud.

—no wonder why god left you all, i mean, you’re so annoying.

that was as if a drop of water had fallen on his head. some words that he never expected to hear from that human's lips. a simple phrase that awakened every desire to end their pathetic existence once and for all.

—you, insolent child!

he could say little more when, as usually happened, the demons made an appearance and the battle started once more.

the day he had them in his hands... that day gabriel would make them pay for having dared to say such things, about him and his dear god.

this was new. it was the first time in his long existence as king that someone had left him in such a miserable state without even hesitating twice. so renewed was it that, even there leviathan was still lying on the ground with his right hand on his neck, caressing the irritated skin, and his cock standing proud waiting for any release.

not long ago he was with that descendant of solomon, that peculiar human, helping them with the dose of demonic essence they so much needed to stay alive down there. although, he thought he’d give it to them in his way.

what he never expected from such an excuse of a being was that they’d use his tactics against him so naturally.

it was the exact moment in which their gaze became more intense, their fist tightened the handle of the whip and, with a sigh escaping past their lips, they took a few assertive steps forward until, without even thinking about it, they wrapped the rope around his neck. and tightened the material.

seconds were what leviathan needed to notice how the air disappeared agonizingly from his lungs, how the little oxygen in him vanished after the oppression of the whip around his neck.

—don't think you can go around saying those things like it's nothing.

the human commented fiercely, letting themselves sit comfortably on his lap without any problem. the force they used on the object increased and decreased depending on how blue they noticed his face. yet, some other color also dared to be seen on his cheeks.

—this excites you, doesn't it?

they spat hatefully, squeezing the ends of the whip harder, they let the demon beneath their body writhe in a mixture of the most lascivious of pleasures and the most tortuous of agonies. all of this would have been better if they hadn't noticed his hardened member twitching underneath their crotch.

—pathetic that you get so eager when being choked... as pathetic as only you could be.

from there, everything became a blurry memory for him. a memory blinded by the balance of passion and pain that ended once they had their fair fun with him. to then, leave him there on the floor like the waste they remarked him he was.

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countrymusiclover · 11 months

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48 - Official Wedding Planner

Part 49

Gemini Runaway

Tag list ask to be added @dragonixfrye @secretdreamlandmentality

Blinking my eyes open I snuggled my head into the crook of Nik’s neck feeling him running his fingers through my hair not breaking the comfortable silence that was in the bedroom at the moment. The girls were spending time at Cami’s house since we didn’t trust Freya being around them. “I don’t think we have had this peaceful of a moment since the girls have been born.”

“Three powerful miracle babies can be a handful that is for certain.” I pointed out to him shifting my weight so that my head was now laying on his bare chest.

His fingers threaded themselves into my blonde hair twisting some of the strands in between them. He had learned long before I was turned that I liked it and it helped me fall asleep on the nights that I couldn’t go to sleep. “Certainly are a handful. So what did you wish to do today while our children are under the watchful eye of my family therapist?”

“Absolutely nothing.” I began tracing the tattoo on his shirt feeling his other hand sneak underneath the shirt I slept in last night.

He quickly pushed me onto my back where he was hovering above me smirking. The sunlight was coming through the window and brightening his natural dirty blonde hair. “I’m not sure about doing absolutely nothing. You see I know you have some ideas running through that head of yours.”

“Ah…could you help remind me what you think is running through my head. I seem to have forgotten.” I joked up at him with a cheeky smirk on my face.

“Gladly, I’ll never refuse my queen. “Nik’s smirk grew wider before he leaned down, capturing my lips with his gentle but hungry at the same time.

Moving my fingers up along his back my nails dug into his back deepening the kiss instantly. “Nik! I need you…please.” I begged him when he laid his head against my heart bridge even though neither of us needed air.

“I am trying to take things slowly, Raelyn.” He chuckled into my tea shirt when I smacked him on his forearm holding his face in my hands.

My eyes sent him a glare spotting at him with my sharp tongue knowing he was kidding but I wasn’t in the mood. “Niklaus, we’ve given up on being slow in this relationship. We slept together and you got me pregnant. Now we’re engaged. I don’t think we know the definition of slow and to be honest…I say , hell to slow anymore.”

“Tell me what you want, Rae Rae. Use your words and I’ll do it.” He said in his thick accent making my entire body shiver, feeling my face turn red at his words.

Grabbing a hold of his dog tag necklace I yanked his lips down onto mine vamping him onto his back catching him off guard for probably the first time. “If anyone else did that their head would be on the end of a spike!” He growled up at me with his hands behind his head smirking that devilish one.

“Yes, yes I know.” I attempted to mimic his accent by throwing my hands up in the air. “I will hunt down everyone you know and everyone you love because I am the Hybrid - ah Klaus!”

I squealed like a schoolgirl when he moved his hands under my shirt tearing it down in half. He buried his face in the crook of my neck when I threw my head back hitting my sweat spot. “Raelyn you are a masterpiece all to myself.” He flipped my back onto the mattress with his hybrid speed proudly grinning down at me.

“Incendia!” I waved my left hand up in the air lighting the candles on the table by the door that had some sage burning in a circle around it.

He tilted his head at me glancing over to the candles. “Have you been studying my mother’s grimoires, sweetheart. If I recall, my mother only burnt sage for a specific reason.”

“Yes and I have good reason to.” I responded reaching down for his shorts until he grabbed my wrist with one hand, pinning both my hands above my head.

“Whatever for I wonder…” He pretended to play dumb but he clearly knew when his eyes darkened.

Yanking my hands out his grasp I scratched his shoulders tugging him down on top of me not wanting to talk anymore this morning. “Well duh, Mikaelson. I don’t want your siblings to hear us by the time you and I are crying the other's name like last time. If I burn the sage they can’t vamp spy on us.”

His hands resting on my hips looking deep in my eyes before he rests a hand behind my neck pulling my lips to his. "I could spend the rest of my days waking up to you, just like this, my heart." We broke apart resting our foreheads together, his raspy morning voice smiling.

I smiled softly, slowly sliding my hand from his shoulder to his cheek, the feel of his stubble against it. “Always trying to be so charming.” My eyes drifted down to his lips then back to his blue gaze that had been intensified solely on me. “You don’t need to be.”

I brushed my lips feather light against his at first and drew back when I felt him inhale sharply, making me pull back waiting for him. Nik stared at me in awe before the hand on my waist slid up my back drawing patterns on it before pressing it against my cheek, he pressed forward, his lips capturing my own and angling my head to deepen the kiss. "We should get up, can't just lie around in bed all day."

Nik's arms slid around my waist as he breathed me in, enjoying the feel of me pressed against him. "I think we’re good where we are, don't you, love?” His head dipped to my neck nudging my hair out of his way and pressed slow kisses to my neck.

I tipped my head back giving him more access as my hands through his hair, the soft curls slipping between my fingers, as I lightly moaned at the feeling. Klaus lips traveled back up from my neck across my jaw and recaptured our lips, one of his hands tangling in my hair, his lips move over mine slowly, savoring the feel of my lips against his. Wanting this moment to be engrained in both their memories for a thousand years to come.

Though we broke apart again my voice raspy as my phone began ringing on the nightstand table. He was moments away from removing the rest of our clothing until I reached over snatching the phone up. “Who the hell is calling me?”

“Woah, Ms. Grouchy. I would have thought you would be thrilled to hear I was calling.” Caroline’s voice came through the phone.

Klaus scooted up until his front was pressing into my back with his mouth on the shell of my ear. “Tell her to stop interrupting our glorious morning of sex.”

“Nik, ohh…stop that.” I moaned holding my hand over the phone speaker when he kept repeatedly kissing my sweat spot until I pushed him away lightly. “Sorry Caroline. You were saying?”

She began spatting off her words at a fast pace. “So basically there was these people called Travelers that have now made it impossible for anyone who is supernatural to cross back over into Mystic Falls. Elena and I are attending college but we still aren’t over Damon and Bonnie dying after destroying this thing called the other side and-“

“Woah Care slow down. What do you mean no one can get into Mystic Falls?” I cut her off hearing Nik flop down on the bed while still listening to our conversation.

She sighed, slowing her words carefully. “If anyone supernaturally crosses the border then they die. Actually die again like how they became a vampire all over again until they cross back over away from the line.”

“Holy crap that’s insane.” Running a hand through my hair I laid down beside Nik sending him a shocked look when he mirrored my shock. “Is there anything else we should know about?”

The blonde vampire responded back to us. “Basically Stefan won’t answer my phone calls so I am on my own on finding a way back into town. I am in college now and oh we are going to the campus your cousin Jo works at. Whitemore, is what you said it was once. What’s new with you?”

“You’re interrupting morning sex, Caroline!” Nik shouted knowing she would hear him where I covered my face blushing like a mad woman even though she couldn’t see me.

Slapping his chest he chuckled tugging me to straddle his waist with me remaining to hold onto the phone too. “Not everyone in New Orleans or Whitmore college needs to hear you, Niklaus!”

“I can call back if that’s-“

“No, it's fine. He can wait a little bit so I’ll make this fast. Basically I finally had my beautiful babies after some witches wanted to sacrifice them for more insane power. Then we just learned that Esther had another daughter named Freya who we don’t really trust at the moment. Oh and don’t be angry but Nik proposed.” I sucked in a breath blabbering on.

She squealed through the phone making us both wince since it was even louder with vampire hearing. “You got engaged and you didn’t tell me. Oh my god Raelyn. You know what, I am coming straight to Orleans and we are going dress shopping because you need an amazing wedding planner.”

“Caroline, thank you. But you don’t have to do that. Go enjoy college.” I told her not wanting to keep her from my life with my own stuff going on.

She scoffed back at me. “Nonsense this is more important. Now did you make any new friends there besides me and Rebekah. If you do, send me their numbers and I’ll tell them what is going on.”

“Alright I have two that I’ll give you. See you later, Caroline.” Hanging up the phone I sit it on the table getting tugged back by my forearm grinning down at my fiance. “Are you mad am I spending our day without the kids with Caroline instead?”

He brushed hair behind my ear kissing my other hand that he held in his. “I’m not happy about you leaving. But I suppose I can let you hang out with your friends for a few hours while I handle our mysterious sister problem.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll definitely make it up to you later I promise.” Hugging him giggling lightly he wrapped his arms around me kissing my hair.

He moved his lips up against my ear, kissing it gently when he whispered. “Before you go through I had a thought, since you used to be a virgin that means you’ve never experienced it in the shower. Care to give it a try?”

“Ooh that is so tempting, Nik.” Rolling the words off my tongue I drew my head back resting my hands on his shoulder. “But Care will hate me if I bail on her, so can we save that for the honeymoon pretty please.”

He gives me a slight glare through his puppy dog eyes leaning forward pressing a kiss to my lips briefly. “Fine, anything for you, Raelyn.”

“Thank you, I love you.” Climbing from the bed I head toward the closet searching through my clothes deciding on what to wear.

He sat up so when I glanced back over my shoulder he was laying in the bed bare chest and his hair a tousled mess making it so difficult to not just jump right back into bed with him. “I’ll remember that, siphon queen. But I love you too.” Heading back over to him I perked his lips with a quick kiss needing to change before he convinced me to stay right with him.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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commonpeople-fic · 1 year

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ok, so...I know you promised that you're still working on this story that despite myself I am still obsessed with... and I know we won't get a new chapter until it's complete and perfect, but.... how about a tiny preview, like just a few paragraphes, to keep the dream alive?? :D If you don't want to, I understand and no pressure. I will wait until you feel it's ready! xxx

Dear anon!

You are wonderful, thank you so much for still carrying a torch for this story :) It's been a while since I could devote any brain power to writing, or the time for writing as a hobby, when I needed to write for pay (and you guys know I hate writing, so that was too much writing...).

HOWEVER, from time to time me and @madfatty my lovely beta and friend, had been sporadically working on it. We were making real progress... and then I decided to re-work an entire plot point, so now there's even more writing to do 😐

I guess what I'm saying is - as always - it's coming, only very slowly. And yes, dearest anon, as per your request, here's a small part of the next chapter. Note that it's not fully beta-ed! so all mistakes are mine alone. Oh, and you don't get much of anything really interesting (I know what your guys are really interested in wink wink). But hey.

I hope this helps to restore your faith in me... and thank you for asking! 💖💖💖 Shiri AKA Witchstuff

Excerpt from Common People, chapter 9

... Forty minutes later, Rae is feeling a whole lot better. She’s still got tremors in her hands, she can still feel the choking tears in her aching throat, but when you go through a magical door into an alternate universe made of light and noise and people and excited expectation, other shit tends to fade into the background.

Rae’s never felt anything like it before. Every fantasy she’s ever had about attending a big concert to watch proper musicians that she loves, has paled in comparison with the feeling of actually standing in the venue, in the middle of the enormous lobby crowded with people who are just as excited as she is. She’s trying to take it all in, her eyes are gobbling it all up, to remember every moment, every sound.

On the one hand, she’s never been anywhere that’s more her in all her life. The noise, the excitement, the fans practically climbing out of their skin from sheer anticipation; that is exactly how she should spend her life. Band T-shirts and the occasional snippet of excited music-related conversation made her feel she’s finally in her element; these are her people.

On the other hand,it’s all absolutely terrifying. Rae feels uniquely exposed, as if they all can see how clueless she is. As if they all know each other, but she’s a stranger at the party and they can all tell that it’s her first time and that she’s a total poseur who just doesn’t belong.

She’d spent twenty minutes with her back to a wall, as befitting a wallflower who suddenly found herself at the cool kids’ party unprepared. She wants to go exploring, check out the merchandise booth, piled high with Stone Roses garments calling her name. She wants to make eye contact with some of the fans and maybe get into a conversation about her favorite topic. But she just has to hold the wall up, can’t just step away from it, she’s holding her personal sky from falling.

Clasping her hands in a futile attempt to get rid of the tremors, she takes a big breath and shuts her eyes, frantically trying to remind herself this is the best night of her life. They don’t know you, she repeats inwardly, they don’t know you’re not like them. She’s still trying to convince her feet to move, her body to fake confidence and walk to the merch booth, when her ears catch a bit of the conversation taking place not too far from her. “- shouldn’t have worn these dumb clothes. I should’ve put on my own shirt, like that cool girl. Look at her, she’s fucking boss”. “You look hot, though!”, says another girl, sounding apologetic. Her friend’s not having it. Her voice rises in frustration. “I look dumb and I’ve got high heels on, for fuck sake. Is the cool girl wearing high heels? No. She’s got converse on and she looks fucking perfect…” The drive-by convo moves past Rae and now she sees the pretty, leggy blond girl in a hot-pink mini dress throwing adoring looks back her way. Rae almost turns to look for the “cool girl” in question when she realizes in shock, they’re looking right at her. At Rae.

For a few seconds more, she continues to stare blindly at the spot where both girls (proper girls, girly girls, Chloe-type girls, what her mum wants her to be type-girls), had disappeared into the crowd.

They were literally talking about her.

Rae smiles and goes exploring.

+++

She stands in front of the merch booth and she’s close to tears again, this time in frustration at how unfair life is. Every fucking thing on that table is so bloody expensive, Rae would need to go home, get a job, work for a month and come back, and even then she could probably only afford like a key chain or something. She checks out every product anyway, trying to console herself that the designs aren’t that great, that there isn’t that much variety, that she prefers underground stuff made by fans, not corporations… she can almost believe it.

A bored looking sales girl asks if she can help her. Rae pretends that she’s interested in purchasing a T-shirt. And then, it happens. Of all the things that could go wrong, and really, the way this night is going, it could be anything, the one thing she never expected, was that she’d be standing by the merch table, with an impatient sales girl suggesting loudly that she get a Men’s XXL, because “They don’t make women’s shirts in your size”, and that would be the moment she runs into Finn fucking-everywhere Nelson.

#common people fic #common people #chapter 9 #snippet #excerpt #mmfd fanfiction #mmfd fanfic #mmfd fic #mmfd #my mad fat diary #rae earl #finn nelson #pride and prejudice fanfiction #pride & prejudice #p&p #p&p au #thanks for ASKing!#writing is haaaaaaaaard

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watching-pictures-move · 6 months

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Put On Your Raincoats | Scenes They Wouldn't Let Me Shoot! (Pachard, 1984)

Henri Pachard introduces this movie by describing the proceedings as an assortment of scenes that he either didn’t think fit into or wasn’t allowed to shoot for other movies. Pachard I’ve found to be a pretty genial presence anytime he’s stepped in front of the camera, so the tone of his introduction is less confrontational than the title would suggest and more “here’s a bunch of scenes that I hope you like.” I’d previously seen Pachard employ a bit of this “how the sausage is made” framing device in Viva Vanessa, where he allows himself to look somewhat unflattering when surprising his star Vanessa Del Rio with a figure from her past. There’s only very mild pushback here, but I think this element helps make this pretty interesting. Obviously this is geared towards straight men, but I think the most daring thing about this is the extent to which it dissolves the barriers between male and female fantasies. All but one of the sex scenes are explicitly framed as the fantasies of one of the women who participate, but Pachard lets you hear him direct as well, which gives the fantasy framing device a certain charge.

There’s the first scene where Honey Wilder envisions being encouraged by Sharon Kane to feel beautiful and participate in group sex. A lot of the power of this scene comes from Wilder’s trepidation and vulnerability. Group sex is the raison d’etre, but the scene centres Wilder’s desire to give it some emotional grounding. I often find group scenes kinda boring to watch, but Wilder gives this a clear focal point. The only downside to this scene is that I didn’t really buy leather daddy Jamie Gillis as an object of desire, mostly because I think wearing a vest without a shirt underneath looks dumb. Maybe that’s a me problem.

Then we get a scene where Annette Heinz fantasizes about fucking a man she cares about in the ass with a strap-on (which she later refers to as her cock), and then proceeds to actualize her desires with the help of Taija Rae and David Christopher in a scene with a firm domination element. I’m mostly used to seeing BDSM in vintage pornography in a roughie context, so it’s nice to see it presented as consensual without losing its charge. I should also note that the video image makes Heinz’s hair look radioactive.

The next scene is a lesbian scene that further pushes the gender bending, with Renee Summers disguised as a man getting found out and then dominated by Sharon Kane who then similarly deploys a strap-on into the action. This one also further emphasizes the artifice of the domination elements, as we can hear Kane checking in on Summers during their scene alongside the direction by Pachard as their scene progresses. At this point I should note that Summers looks a lot like Irm Hermann, so if anyone asks why I watched this, I thought it was a Fassbinder movie. I should also note that Summers has cute cheeks, so I think I’ll check out some more “Fassbinder movies.”

Then we get Pachard explaining the importance of consent when filming a scene and the challenge of depicting nonconsensual sex. In this case, it’s Eric Edwards getting ravished by Robin Everett, Tiffany Clark and Summers (who returns for this and the next scene). This scene presents some mild pushback to Pachard’s direction, as the respond to him at one point with “We’re not acrobats, Ron!”

The last one has Summers fantasizing about sneaking into the men’s room to watch men urinate while she masturbates, only to be discovered and subject to some degrading sex. This is definitely the edgiest scene, with some absolutely filthy narration by Summers plus Jamie Gillis and George Payne bringing some strong dom energy as they double-team her. (I think Gillis is a lot more compelling here than in his earlier scene. Also, I don’t know how much this will do it and for whom, but Gillis and Payne shake their hands and talk about their dates during the scene.) To be honest, this scene is probably the least to my taste in terms of content, but I think this is where the framing device saves it in my eyes. I could easily see this playing as mean-spirited and sleazy, but the fact that it presents the proceedings from Summers’ POV and gives her so much narration gives it a pleasingly perverted charge.

This is an SOV production so perhaps there are limitations to how good it can look, but I think Pachard solutions for it pretty effectively with minimalist mise en scene and stripped down colour schemes: blue and gold in the Wilder group scene, the black background in the Heinz strap-on scene, the blue lighting in the Kane-Summers lesbian scene, the blue bed and black background in the reverse gangbang. Only the last scene isn’t stylized in this respect, although the fact that it looks like a real bathroom likely gives it some of its charge. Pachard’s camera knows where to look and when to cut to keep the proceedings nice and spicy, and the domination and fantasy elements let the performers have presence despite the lack of plot. The Boingoingoing factor is strong, is what I’m saying. And while I’ve apparently seen her in a few things, Renee Summers is a real discovery in this, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m just going to go watch more “Fassbinder movies.”

#film #movie review #put on your raincoats #scenes they wouldn't let me shoot!#henri pachard

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alliedbiscuit · 2 years

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rules: tag 9 people you want to get to know better.

tagged by: thank you, @ellivia

favourite time of the year: fall. sweater weather, baby!

comfort food: the midwestern church dinner staple of chicken and noodles with mashed potatoes underneath. also my mom makes this white chicken chili and usually makes cornbread with it, and that's hearty stuff.

do you collect something: dumb t-shirts maybe? i went hog wild on super yaki stuff during the pandemic

favourite drink: alcoholic - a gin and tonic is about the only thing i like. non-alcoholic - i don't have it often, but the drink that gives me the most joy is a cherry limeade from sonic

favourite song: i'm torn between springsteen songs, so i'm just gonna say "run away with me" by carly rae jepsen

current favourite song: "about damn time" by lizzo currently resides in my brain

favourite fic: very difficult question, but seriously, "the boy on the beach" by cecily_sass has a chokehold on my life

Tagging: not sure i know 9 people who haven't done this yet, but @smashthegiantkiller, @shanie-the-toyaddict, @baronessblixen, @truncated-symphony, and any and all who wish

#this is real this is me #about me

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worldofbryant · 2 years

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June 14, 2017

Stella Jenkins, you have showed your truest colors tonight! You're going back over and repeating the same ole tired bullshit line of Daphne allegedly disrespecting you by rolling her eyes at you and huffing when you ask her to do something...get the fuck over your damn self you tired whiny ass brat!!! Now, to you Daphne...i should never give you a reason for you to be scare of me. Me throwing what i did was just beyond foolish of me and me grabbing you by the back of your shirt was stupid and beyond ignorant. Daph, i know that youre gonna tell your mom and that's when she will come after me( she will have the right to). I've got to get my anger under control quickly before something really stupid happens. I've also got to practice what i preach when i say that Daphne needs to learn how to ignore mom's dumb ass. Corey, start setting a better example for your child and yourself. Give Daphne something positive to follow when it comes to you. Oh, mother dearest, you claim that when i leave for Hannibal, you wont ask me for nothing or get in touch with me when something happens to you...remember your dumb ass said that! Last point in this entry, Daphne Rae Bryant comes before anyone walking this earth...even my mother! Daphne has had me only for 10 years and making sure that she's emotionally taken care of amongst other ways, will come before anyone in my life...and so what if she has me wrapped her fingers...that's what daughters are supposed to do when it comes to their fathers

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iguessitsjustme · 2 years

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Someone take the internet away from me cause I keep designing the dumbest t-shirts. I love them so much. Also thank you to @heretherebedork for the last shirt idea.

#tonhon chonlatee #tonhon chonlatee the series #not me #not me the series #the last one is for kinnporsche based off of a brilliant metaphor but i'm not tagging that show #also thanks to my mom for giving me that quote for tonhon #that's literally verbatim what she said to me #bless her #i have a bajillion ideas #should i make a tag for this in case i post more?#i guess i will hmmm #rae makes dumb shirts

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scene118 · 4 years

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r the ramones [band] awesome -_-

#rae;#my mom baught me a shirt and i wanna make sure theyre not like dumb or whatever yknow #ik theyre like a rockband from like the 80s ??? and its rlly hit or miss when it comes to those guys -_-

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finelinevogue · 3 years

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for tour content, maybe you could do an imagine that’s like a series of small moments like little interactions on stage or picking tour outfits or nights in the tour bus/airplane ! just little domestic things <3

i’m going to do this because i have so many weird ideas and just no way of putting them all together ! ;

Grilled Cheese Conversations

The tour bus smelt like it was on fire.

You had been sitting in the living room with Harry for a couple of hours, both of you just skimming through photos from the Met Gala together - judging obviously, before Harry announced he wanted to make himself some food and so left for the kitchen.

He’d been in there for 45 minutes now and the smells that were diffusing from their smelt bloody awful. Harry could cook really extravagant foods, like caviar and lobster, but when it came to something as simple as making a sandwich he was absolutely terrible for some reason. The point was proven when he walked back into the room with a burnt coal looking sandwich.

“What, is that?” You laughed, still sitting with your phone in your hand and waiting for him to come back so you could continue judging these Met outfits together.

“It’s a grilled cheese sandwich?” He spoke as if you were dumb and you should have known that instantly. He walked over to you, sitting down next to you and resting the plate on the table in front of him.

“No, that’s a piece of char.” You raised your eyebrows disapprovingly and watched as he scowled at you for being mean to his culinary skills.

“Well i’m sure it’ll taste great.” He looked smug, up until he took a bite from the cheesy melted - burnt - bread. As soon as the food touched his tongue he was quick to spit it back out again, you groaning in disgust. He pushed the plate away and looked at it in anger. “45 bloody minutes and it tastes of burnt wood.”

“I’m not even going to ask why you know that.” You raised your hands and laughed, watching as he turned to scowl at you again. He had quite the angry face when he wanted to. “Sorry, alright! Do you want me to go make you one?” You asked, sitting up to go and make him one if he wanted.

Harry pulled you into his lap so you were sat with your back to his front, his arms looping around your waist tightly to keep you with him. His chin rested on your shoulder and he kissed your cheek because he could. “No. Stay w’me.” He got all cuddly and soft and you loved it when Harry was like this. He was like a life-size version of your stuffed teddy bear you used to sleep with at night - all cute and cuddly.

“Okay, okay.” You calmed him when he thought you were just going to get up and go. “Let’s judge some people again.” You pulled out your phone and opened it to a twitter account which had posted all of them.

“Where did we get up to?” Harry asked, fiddling with the skin on your stomach as his hands snaked beneath your hoodie.

“Um, Kim K.” You clicked on the image of her and tried to hold back the laugh. It was a dreadful outfit and highly meme worthy, so you’ve heard.

“Well…” Harry sighed, reaching his own hand to swipe seeing as he didn’t have anything more to say on this particular one.

“Billie looked beautiful.” You smiled as Billie’s huge dress came on display, looking a fluffy pink marshmallow dream. She looked very Monroe with her makeup and you were always so shocked when people told you her age, because she looked so mature.

“She must’ve taken inspiration from Marilyn Monroe.” Harry added, nodding in approval of Billie’s outfit.

“More so than bloody Addison Rae.” You laughed, thinking about how far that had been from the truth.

“Addison who?” Harry asked and it made you smile and turn your head around to look at him. He looked down at you, noticing the cheeky glint in your eyes and couldn’t help but steal a glance at your beautiful lips.

“This is why I love you.” You sighed happily and gave him a kiss on the lips, cupping his cheek to direct him better. You were only going for a peck, but Harry made it that you got the full taste of him and kissed you for a minute longer. He felt perfect against you and you really did just simply love him.

“Yeah,” Harry broke from the kiss for a brief moment to tell you something important, “and I love you.”

••••

All Things Sparkles

It was an hour before the Dallas show and Harry was getting ready for another big show.

Dallas were known for being crazy and you were so excited for the energy they’d bring for Harry tonight. Harry always enjoyed the shows more when the crowd was actually ecstatic to be there and he knew Dallas wouldn’t let him down.

He was putting on his silk trousers, Lambert just to the side as he was ironing the shirt to get rid of all its crinkles. Your Harry currently looked so funny in his Gucci silk trousers, his bright yellow socks with bananas all over them, his suspenders hanging down by his sides and no shirt on as of yet. It was the socks that really pieced everything together. He had just had his hair and makeup done, just needing to get dressed before he was completely ready.

He was really glowing tonight. It made you happy to see him like this.

You were watching him through the vanity mirror as you touched up your own makeup, adding highlighter to the areas you wanted to shine a little brighter. You also started adding some gems around your eyes, wanting to be a bit different tonight along with your glittery eye shadow that you didn’t normally do. You were glueing your gems when you felt your boyfriends presence behind you, the heat of his bare chest radiating against the skin of your back.

“You look stunning, m’love.” You looked up through the vanity to catch his gaze, he smiled and you smiled back.

“Thank you. Not too bad looking y’self.” You cheekily replied, motioning towards his bare chest. “Are y’going to be keeping that out all night?” You asked, being hopeful that he would, because fuck it was hot, but also wouldn’t, because you wanted this part of him all to yourself.

“You’d like that wouldn’t y’yeah.” He squinted his eyes at you and nodded, a clear sign that no his tits were not going to be out for Dallas. “Up.” He spoke, lifting you up from under your armpits and walking around the chair so that he could sit down himself. He plonked you right back on top of his lap and watched as you leant forwards to add another gem to the corner of your eye.

“Y’putting me off.” You whined, your ass leaning right back onto the hard of his cock. He couldn’t keep soft around you, that was his kryptonite.

“Oh i’m sorry. It’s not like m’girlfriend is just sitting there looking ridiculously beautiful and yet so innocent.” He leaned forwards to whisper the rest of his words, because they were only for you. “Just look so fuckable right now.”

You had to bite your tongue from turning around and shoving it down his throat, because god did his words make you want to jump his bones. “Shut up, before y’get us both in trouble.” You wiggled your ass back over his cock as you sat back to admire the work of the gems brightening up around your eyes.

“Then stop being a fuckin’ tease.” He grabbed your hips and stopped your from moving anymore. You just smiled and put the lid back on the glue before it went everywhere, especially over Harry’s expensive clothing - even the banana socks were £17.

You looked at him through the mirror to find him already looking at you. You blushed quietly as you watched him take in your beauty. It was quite hard to get over just how ethereal he looked tonight and it made you so feral knowing he was all yours and only yours. Looking down at the gems you got an idea.

“Do y’want me to put some gems on y’too?” You asked, pointing to the ones around your eyes and thinking that he’d looked even prettier with some around his.

“Only if i’m matching w’you yeah.” Harry nodded excitedly. You got up from the chair and swizzled yourself around until you were sat back on his lap, only this time straddling him. You were so close to him now that it was getting ridiculously harder to stop yourself from taking him here and now. You leant down, instead, and gave him a lasting kiss on the skin covering his heart. Your lips lingered there for a moment, before you moved back up to see him already staring down. He smiled when he saw the stain of your lipstick printed over where his heart beat. “I proper love you, Y/N.” He smiled and cupped your chin in his fingers to bring your lips to him.

“No!” Lambert shouted, making you two pause. “You two’ll never stop if you start, so don’t start until after the bloody show.” He rolled his eyes and continued with his ironing, making you and Harry chuckle feeling like high-school kids.

“Okay, now stay still.” You spoke as you glued the first gem and held it steady against the corner of his eye. He wanted to keep his eyes open to keep looking at you, because that’s all he ever wanted to do, but you instructed him to close them just to be on the safer side. It went on easy, sticking to the outer corner of his eye, in a soft white colour that matched his trousers. Yours were the same creamy white colour to match the colour of your dress.

“Do I look pretty yet?” Harry asked rhetorically, but you replied anyways.

“Y’look pretty always.” You kissed the top of his nose whilst you glued the other gem. He closed his eyes as you told him to, but he still smiled at your words. You concentrated as you stuck the gem to the corner of the other eye and sat back to make sure they were even. Harry opened his eyes to see you making sure they looked good. “S’perfect.”

“Like you then.” He hummed in appreciation of you.

“Let’s see then.” Lambert asked, making you both turn in the chair to face him and you readjusting yourself so you were sat back against his chest. “Oh yes! Okay this is photo worthy.” Lambert took out his phone and held it up to face you both, making sure you could see the gems.

“I don’t even have a shirt on!” Harry exclaimed, but held you close anyways as you smiled for the photos and his words making you belly laugh. You posed more seriously for a few and then took a few silly ones to. Your favourite one, though, was one where you were laughing so happily and Harry was looking at you and smiling in awe over you.

He set it as his lock screen. You set it as yours. It would stay that way until your new favourite photos became your wedding day photos.

••••

Sign Of The Times

Tonight was the first Love on Tour show you were attending, only having missed opening night in Las Vegas.

Harry knew that you were coming, but you’d told him to source you out within the crowds because you wanted a full fan experience. You’d gotten the all-clear from Harry’s security, allowing your from backstage and straight through into the cherry pit. You had your lanyard and your sign ready, as fans started to pile in. You were originally going to go straight to the barricade, but you thought the fans deserved that more than you so you hung back and stayed the ends of the crowds.

A few fans spotted you and came up to asking for photos, so you did. Posing with your mask on was weird because you still smiled underneath the mask even though it wouldn’t be seen in the photo. Some fans asked whether they could stay and dance with you ask night to which you were so happy for, because dancing alone would’ve been embarrassing even for you.

The intro for golden started and the crowds were deafening, but all you could think about was your boyfriend and his challenge to spot you within the crowds. Golden and Carolina came and went, you dancing like a crazed fan along with all your new friends. Everyone was so happy and some were even crying tears of joy.

There was just love, love, love, everywhere.

Harry came to his first pause and took a quick drink since he was already quite hot and the altitude in Denver was crazy.

“Good evening Denver!” He shouted into the mic, waiting for the screams of his fans to uproar and then settle before speaking on, “The altitude is crazy here. I’ve barely done anything and I can’t breathe!” He spoke, making you slightly anxious for him but you knew he would be okay because he had an oxygen tank on stage. “Now, m’girlfriend is somewhere here tonight and i’ve gotta find Y/N before I lose the challenge.”

The fans around you started screaming that you were here and the message kept on getting passed down the crowds until they reached the front. Harry was walking around your side of the stage until he met the fans at the front saying that you were behind them. Harry held his hand over his eyes to help him find you better and you held up your sign to help him. Your sign had taken you all of 5 minutes to doodle, but the message was clear;

“I want a kiss from the one in suspenders.”

“There y’are.” He laughed when he saw your sign, dropping his mic and leaning over himself to catch his breathe from the belly laugh that he just let out. You smiled when you saw him laugh, the fans around you screaming and thanking you for making him be this way. Harry stood up and looked at you, messing with his earpiece so he could hear the arena better.

“Kiss me!” You shouted and the people around you were also shouting for him to kiss you. Even with masks on Harry could clearly understand the message.

“I wanna kiss you but I can’t!” He spoke through his mic and his voice echoed throughout the arena, making everyone scream and you simply blush. You knew he couldn’t come and just give you a kiss, it would be too dangerous, but he sent you loads of blown kisses instead and you kept them all. You sent your own back and he stuffed them all in his back pocket, before moving on to his next song before he got told off.

“Damn, he really loved you.” One of your new fans friends says next to you and all you could think was; yeah, yeah he does.

••••

My Only Angel*

For four hours he had been gone.

Four hours since he was in this hotel room with you. Four hours since you had first started acting like a brat. Four hours since he’d gotten fed up of our attitude and tied you up and left a vibrator pulsing against your clit. Four hours since your first orgasm, four minutes since your last.

The whole time Harry had been on stage, all he could think about was you being bound tight in his hotel room and dripping wet from the number of orgasms you would’ve had. He knew you’d never be able to hold yourself for four hours, so he didn’t say you couldn’t cum only he forgot to mention that the number of times that you did cum would be the number of times he denied you later on in the evening. Harry had gotten especially hard performing Only Angel, because that was your song that he’d written for you and then fucked you countless times to. Fans noticed, but put it down to the adrenaline of being onstage rather than the thought of his girlfriend being tied up and overstimulated back in his hotel room.

You just came down from the high of another orgasm when Harry walked through the door. You sighed when you saw him, thinking this would finally be it and he’d let you go free now you’ve suffered your punishment. That was wishful thinking, however.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there.” Harry pretended, wanting to tease you as much as possible, as he walked past you and hung his jacket on the back of a chair.

“H-harry.” You sighed, squeezing your eyes when you moved and felt the vibrator hit and new and exciting angle. You moaned quietly and had to suppress the embarrassing cries you wanted to let out.

“Yes?” Harry moved so he was standing at the edge of the bed, undoing the buttons on his shirt one-by-one. He looked so hot with his sleeves rolled and the suspenders already dropped down to his sides.

“I-I please s-st- enough.” You whimpered, pulling on the restraints to try and stop it yourself but you’d already tried that one too many times and nothing has come of it.

Your wrists were slightly red and bruised from all the tugging you’d been doing and Harry noticed that as he peeled away his shirt from his body. He threw the silk shirt somewhere else in the room and walked over to the right side of the bed, sitting down to get a closer look at your wrists. He leant down to give it a gentle rub and a kiss. You sighed in delight at the feeling of his cool lips burn against your flaming skin. Harry sat up and tilted your face to the side so you could face him, slight tears in your eyes. He looked at you for a few moments, taking in the shear beauty of you and your glorious body, before making sure you were alright.

“What’s your colour, baby?” He asked you gently, stroking your cheek and then running his thumb along your bottom lip with a soft pull.

“G-green.” You nodded and he smiled, leaning in to kiss you on your desperate lips. You basked in the taste of him, closing your eyes like you needed to save this moment to memory forever. You loved him like this, when he was dominant with you. He let you be submissive like you wanted to be.

“That’s my good girl.” He leaned back from you and moved onto the bed more, straddling your bare body. The silk of his pants felt erotic against your hot skin and you moaned at the dreamy sensation. He ran his large, ringed, hands up and down your body, feeling every curve and crevice. He massaged your boobs lightly in his hands, up and down your stomach and to your inner thighs behind him. You hummed at the feeling, gasping when Harry finally turned off the vibrator and moved it away from you. You felt lighter from freedom all of a sudden.

“T-hank you.” You breathed out, opening your eyes to meet his electric green ones. Wow, he looked beautiful - still slightly sweaty and hot from his concert.

“Don’t thank me yet, angel.” He grinned as he took down his trousers and pants, pushing them to the floor with his foot.

He didn’t even wait for you to register what was going on before he slipped himself inside of you. You loved the feeling so greatly, but your clit was still so sensitive. You shuddered as he picked up his pace and thrusted into you harder and harder, faster and faster. The sound of his skin slapping against yours, made you arch your back and your toes curl and then feeling if him so deep inside of you was enough to make you cum already, again.

“Feel s-so good.” You looked at him and saw the desire within his eyes. He was so full of lust right now, because the sight of you tied up with him pounding into you is better than simply imagining it. Nothing could feel more euphoric than this, both of you were sure of that.

“Yeah? Feel me all around you? So perfect f’me. M’beautiful angel.” Harry moaned out, cupping one of his hands around your throat and pushing you deeper into the mattress, whilst his other hand went to cup your breasts and give them the devotion they deserved.

Everything felt everywhere.

His rocks became sloppier as he reached his high, yours approaching much sooner than you thought it would. You were surprised you actually had anything left in you. His cock hit a spot inside of you that made you scream out and he felt you collapse around him all at once, causing his own release to quickly follow. He continued to fuck you through your release and bent himself over to press his lips to yours. He felt and tasted amazing, you couldn’t get enough. It would never be enough.

“Love you so much.” You spoke the best you could and Harry released his hand from your throat, leaning down to kiss it softly. He reached over to your hands to untie them afterwards, giving them both a few kisses over your wrists when he saw the harsh marks. Your arms were so tired that they just fell to your sides, but Harry kept on touching you softly; stroking your messy hair away from your face and caressing your cheek softly as if he hadn’t just fucked you raw. He kept his face close to you as he whispered the words that would stay imprinted on your heart forever.

“I love you, Y/N.”

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joannasteez · 3 years

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Oh Frank request! Could be soft or smutty but like you know how he has his Henleys he loves what about you wearing them. When’s he gone because you miss him and he catches you sleeping in one? Or he knows how much you love them so he buys some for you but you still just end up stealing his? Idk anything with this man and his beloveds shirts will bring me joy. K bye 🥰💖

—“I think I know my Frank request -- Frank comes in late at night after an awful day and sees you sleeping? He snuggles you, which makes you wake up, and you share some sweet kisses? Ugh this probably sounds dumb so feel free to alter the prompt to however speaks to you. 💜🌿— @rae-gar-targaryen

A/N: The two request were pretty similar so I decided to mesh them together!!! Naturally I turned this into something much more than what was asked because……. Well…… I cant help it.

WARNING: NSFW at the end!

Tag-list: @rae-gar-targaryen @sadthotsonlylove @straightestgay-voice @moonofheroin @herefortheart @sesamepancakes @nightlywords7 @write-fromthe-start @allaboardthereadingrailroad @appropriate-writers-name @generic-posts @nutterbu @my-rosegold-soul ……slashed through @’s mean your blog didn’t show up!

𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐋𝐔𝐑𝐄

...all warfare is based on deception...

War was the worst thing he knew, everything he hated. Then it became the best thing he had, nearly everything he loved. Then it was the only thing......Idle. War was, is, always would be idle. An unceasing cycle. Men killing, men stealing, men defying the limits of their goodness. Dancing graceless beyond the safety of moral thresholds, fading to become one with the furthest reaches of malevolent shadows. It was easy. War like this, colored in darkness and sinking in bottomless sin, was terribly easy. It molded and bathed its doers, melted crimson hell into their veins till the smell, touch, taste of it was all they knew. Till they loved it.

But this war? This clash of tender touches and bruising kisses he'd been in, was like nothing he'd seen. Felt. Heard. It'd been too long. Time gave perception hell, blotted and blurred his, rendering it to total annihilation. But it did that to everyone, struck them with grief, marauded them of truth, only then to place before them a towering foe. It just so happened that deception was Frank's formless, faceless adversary. Because that's what all this was right? The possibility of having, holding, full possession of intimacy. Complete fondness for another. Dare he even think... love unconditional. 'Yeah fuck that', he thought. He was right to struggle, be at war with this, with you. Give you longing stares that contradicted the soulless touch of his fingers, because you were duplicitous. And so was your tenderness...

...the gentle rain of breath falling from your lips to his skin, so soothing...

...warming kisses that melt the stinging ache of blue lesioned muscle...

It was all a lie. You were going to sink the knife into him any day now, prove he was unworthy of all this affection. Up and leave on your own or by force of the deathly chaos clouding him. Pack your bags and change your locks, or be packed away by a damn bullet.

Those thoughts were months old now though. Long gone.

...the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting...

Waving white flags isn't Frank's thing, never would be. He's a 'to the death' sort of soldier.

But you-

You started wearing his shirts. His henley's.

He'd known then, he was losing the war, that maybe the deception was an illusion of his own making, conjured up by fear, because hope was too big a thing to grasp at the time. Too large to hold and too heavy to carry. But it'd felt so good to fail, be trodden upon by your patience. A quality that made you picturesque. Like paintings of old, the way they sit and wait for wondered eyes to come and admire. They know the beauty they possess, the stunning ways of their marred nature, they're just waiting for you to realize it too. That it's inescapable.

He'd came to your place one day, saw you shaped in the softly sewn cotton blend of his shirt, same as he can see it now, and had felt completely arrested. Subdued by a heavy intensity drowning his limbs, awakening his purpose. Revitalizing it. He'd been doing it for some time, erasing the grime from the streets, ridding the earth of scum too unworthy of life to even breathe. It was bad to some, evil, but to him it was necessary. An action taken to garner peace, for the greater good of the city he called home. But it wasn't just that anymore, it was you now too.

Purpose, it felt, feels like goddamn, God given purpose .

Roaming about your apartment in his clothes, sipping away at a stained coffee mug, fingering the pages of an old, worn novel, it all meant something. That when people stare fondly at roses, they place in them all the love they have to give. That when we look to the stars, a sense of our wonder shines through with every twinkle. We give our hope to futures unknown, to tomorrows we cant even see. It's not love he feels, at least he doesn't think it's love, but when he comes to you, sees you stretched out along the sheets, looks to you with wonder the way we do the sky, wearing things that belong to him, hope twists sharp in his chest. Rips into him possibilities that feel a little ways away from not wanting to be without you. It's too complex a thing to put into words, maybe one day he can muster the courage, flatten the tip of his tongue to the roof of his mouth before laying it down. Utter the beginnings of a four letter word that feels dangerous and all too like forever. Un-surety is a state Frank's been in for a while, but he knows you in this moment, it's something he wants to protect.

"You just gonna stand there?"

Your words make him move. "Forgot you were a light sleeper".

His voice is a midnight blue. Dark with staggering depth, littered with specs of starry warmth.

You roll around, shuffle up against propped up pillows, blinking away weariness. He forgets sometimes, complicated isn't just his M.O. Life's got that unearthly way about it for everyone that comes into it. The way it trudges you through a flood of grime, smatters you with light, but never enough to blot out the murky darkness. Shatters your resolve, you're nothing but flattened cracked pieces of glass. Hardens your instinct, now you're partially made of steel, or at least something like it. You stopped sleeping heavy a long time ago.

"Go back to sleep". A command. Soft, but still a command. He can't help himself. Heavy, red stained hands peeling away layers of black. You've been trying to get him into wearing other things, but never having specified a color. Coming back washed in blood seems to be his way of compromising.

"Cant now. You woke me up".

He prioritizes the shower over extending to you a proper greeting, but with good enough reason. Waiting with as much patience as he has for the umber of his eyes to return. Subdue the rough, hellish black that tends to appear, takes over in his time of vigilantism. You don't deserve soulless eyes, so he tries never to give them to you.

He's surrounded by old wall tiling, a slightly chipped, tawny brown organization of squares. It's not old to you though, "it's seasoned Frank", you’d told him once. The rushing of water, raining down like winter morning snow on the skin. Hell's kitchen swirling down the drain. Vindication, in this cozy little bathroom, it all feels like vindication.

The peripheral sight of him bombards the flit of your eyes over small letters. Morrison's about to give a deep ass metaphor, something to do with armless-ness and parental negligence, but Frank strides out the bathroom. Body a canvas of harshly scattered indigoes, accented by splotches of sangria. A stark swatch of mauve coloring the pale apple of his cheek. And then here comes the mumbling, "had a shirt in here", thick fingers rummaging through a draw he kind of just took over one day. "Where's my damn shirt". You're not really sure how it happened, one day miscellaneous things rested idle there, and now they lay else where, a small sea of black clothing items rolled up military style and tucked away in their place.

He turns, settles his stare on you shirtless, somehow towering the length and width of the bed. 'It's his shoulders', you think. The way he squares them, it makes him look bigger. 'His eyes'. Those bad boys could make anybody feel small. "Is that my last shirt?"

Your eyes roll back to your book. "Hi to you too".

"Hi". It's more of a grunt than a greeting, but with Frank those tend to be one and the same. "Is that my last shirt?"

"I don't know, maybe". You look down on the slightly baggy top. Feigning confusion. "Is it?"

"Where's yours?"

In the garbage...somewhere taking up space in the closet...on the rack at a good will... on someone else's back. There's a bunch of answers you could give. "Stop asking me things you know the answer to".

He settles for a tank top. "The point of me buying you your own was so we don't have to share".

"I didn't ask you to do that".

He sighs, comes over to you and leans up against your nest of pillows, a quiet battle of adrenaline and fatigue ensuing, warring through his hard body. Makes it uneasy to settle amongst the softness surrounding him. But you mediate, swinging a leg over his waist, straddling built denim clad thighs. You stopped trying to figure out the jeans in bed situation a while back, it's better for your mental that way. "Look", you start, "There's a science behind this that you're missing Frank. I can't wear them unless you've already worn them. Your scent is vital to my relaxation process".

He gives you this mix between a scoff and a chuckle. "It's soundin' like you're pushing obsessed sweetheart".

"Maybe", you tease. Feeling the rough indentations of his hands smoothening over your thighs, slowing up the curve of your ass, till they're at your waist. Prompting you to come closer. A sly grin manifesting itself over your lips. "But I don't hear you complainin' about it".

Realization piques now that you're closer to him. The circling of mauve on his cheek wasn't there the last time you saw him. About three weeks ago. "Rough night?"

"Yeah somethin' like that".

You hum, work your way out of worrying about new bruises and into something much less fretting. Everything about Frank is hard, rigidly defined, but the tinged pastel pink shaping his every word with a cupids bow, is soft. Accessorized by a slim crimson slit. He gives you a hum of his own, pulsing bass reverberating under your touch as you draw him in at the nape of his neck, meeting his lips. A kiss that feels all too much like a war truce, calming silence amidst the mayhem of your lives. The slip of his tongue working in tandem with his mouth, peace in times of raised hell. He likes to hold your face, feel your jaw move against stout fingers. Buttery skin and the faint taste of coffee. A shiver quickening up warm to redden his ears, hearing the fervid twist of your lips. And when you catch his tongue, pressure it with your own for a lush little suck, he groans. Chases you for more as you push away. Leg swinging over and off the bed, moving onward to the bathroom.

'Whose obsessed now' you think. The slightest sigh escaping him as he loses you in his hold.

You're on a little mission of your own it seems to him, the clattering of bottles sounding, mumbles of determination sounding with them till it's all drowned out by the steady rise of a thumping bass. Groovy melody from next door bleeding through your thin apartment walls, saturating the small insignificant cracks, till it's all he can hear. 'Some of the greatest to ever do it', he thinks. 'Earth, Wind and fuckin' Fire'.

It's rare you see him like this. Laid back, subdued, a little bop of rhythm dancing his head, ticking his socked feet. "First Wutang and now Earth, Wind and Fire?", you smirk. "Might have to keep you around a little longer with all this good music taste".

You come back to him with a jar in hand, wrist unscrewing the top. Eyes devoutly attentive to his cheek. 'Old family recipe", you whispered to him once, voice rousing his gut to tense in the dead of the night. A foreign tenderness melting into him as you smeared the cool salve over purpled contusions.

"Is that how this is workin'? You keeping me around".

A finger of yours dips into the creamy white of the jar, applying it to the area thats bruised. Mirth widening your lips. "Don't tell me you thought it was the other way around".

He remembers the first go around of you doing this, tending to hour old wounds, a bit of your lip tucked between your teeth, his marred body seeming to be your top priority. Touch new and feeling all too familiar at the same time. Sinking his heart a little similar to when he's about to pull a trigger, not breathing, fear and excitement, this unusual concoction. And maybe it's why he warred with you, fought against you for a time, because you scared him, forced his heart to race and his skin to tingle. Because maybe just maybe you were a new beginning? Because beginnings were just as scary as endings and he'd felt the ending of a thing before. The tear of his heart beneath a steel blade of impermanence. The comfortable crushing weight of something familiar lifting, stopping sudden, leaving nerves split raw. His body shaking and shivering, turning cold from the frozen bitterness of never having what he loved again.

"It's a good song". His voice wavering, eyes wandering else where about the room. Hesitation, it weakens even the deadliest of men. "We uh", he looks to you. Umber eyes beautifully vulnerable. "We used to sing to it all the time".

Whats that famous expression?... Whats understood doesn't have to be explained. You know the we, because it's apart of him, always will be. But who knows, maybe you can be a version of that we. Someday.

You smile, screwing up the jar and leaving it on the small nightstand. "I can't imagine you singing along to this".

"Then what huh", lip twitching to reveal a lopsided grin. Heavy eyes trailing along the curve of your lips before they bore into yours. His thick fingers pulling you to him again. "What'chu imagine me doing"

It's better to show than tell, though words and tongue are just as useful at times, your mouth catching his in another heated kiss. This one all swirling tongue and tensing teeth. 'You could kill a man with a tongue like that you know that?', he'd said once, looking down on you from a standing position. Chuckle breathy, trying to mask the flustered rush of his blood. Frank's a grunter, a groaner, emits rough, gravely noises into your ear every chance you give him, the one he gives you now is drawn as you lead a hand of his to the wetness pooling at the center of your thighs.

"Here?", voice teasing. Lips sucking hard at your pulse, maneuvering you to lay along the sheets with his body following, fingers bypassing thin panties to circle lazy at your awaiting clit. "Feels like you need me here".

If nothing else his touch is never faint in moments like these, unless of course he wants it to be. It's better to say that he's meticulous, knows every inch of you like an across the ocean desert, has memorized the way pinching at your clit makes you gasp. That when he licks up the side of your neck just right, your chest draws up, back curving into a delicate arch that pronounces the rounded swells of your breast. Something he can appreciate, even when the sight is covered by a knitted button up. He's a damn menace when he's in the mood. "Gimme those eyes sweetheart".

Dilated and low sitting, they meet his. Blood running warm and swift, legs reassuring the length of time passed since you last seen him with a tingling that comes just before the ache. You want to plead a little, part your lips to ask for it nicely, but he's a lot more generous tonight, doesn't make you work for it. No, he gives it to you good, smears two fingers in your wetness before digging them slow into your pussy. "That's it, take it easy for me". You've never heard a calming thunderstorm till Frank, the way the words fall from him. Fingers stretching, pulling back just to delve in further, applying a tolerable pressure as they open you up. "Let me in".

Let me in... the way he says it. God like he fucking means it.

"You look like fuckin' heaven girl". His middle and ring fingers stroking deep, curving just right, nestling against the spot that makes you breathless. Eyes a useless tool for vision as they roll. "Damn beautiful".

You feel hot in the sweater you love, skin sweltering, but when you go to fully take the damn thing off, he's telling you to leave it on, so you manage by simply roughing it up instead. Fingers twisting and pulling at the hardened peaks of your breast. Hips canting to meet the wet dip and dig of his digits. It's persistent, hard strokes against the desperate pulse of your pussy, he won't let up and if he does, you'd consider killing him. He takes your mindless chant of cursing as evidence that you're close to your well awaited bliss. Absolutely amused with every "fuck", and "yes", thats said. The way you can only rely on those two things to express just how good those thick, war torn fingers feel deep inside you.

A hand of yours journeys down to hold at his wrist, knowing the tell tale signs of an approaching orgasm and feeling every bit of it. But if you had just a little more awareness you'd think to apply pressure, tell him to let up a bit but you can't. "You gonna give it to me?" He asks as if he'd actually need confirmation, like you weren't tightening up around him more every second. Dripping against your freshly laundered sheets. Giving him the look of a woman whose nearing the borders of heaven. "You gonna let me have it?" But this time you answer, moan a "yes" that settles way down into the pit of his belly. Births something raw, something desperate, a roughened neediness to see you coat his fingers, feel you constrict to your limit.

"Soak my fingers good". He's not Frank if he doesn't command something, drive your body to follow the order of his words. And you do just that, shuddering and whimpering as you go taut. His fingers slowing, thumb easing a soothing pattern onto your slit as you roll through the clouded haze. His tongue licking into your mouth, rolling into a kiss. "Atta girl".

497 notes · View notes

darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 3 years

Text

Looking for a Place to Happen 5

Warnings: non-consent sex and rape, age gap, general stupidity, some violence and threats, coercion, manipulation, trauma, sextoy, recording, anal.

This is dark!biker!Sam Wilson x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Series Synopsis: There’s lots happening in Birch and you find it all too amusing.

Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, Little Bones, and Fully Completely

Note: It was close but y’all wanted more Birch!Sam so here we go. This one is... porn. Let’s be honest lmao.

Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

Chapter 5: Come on in, sit right down

💀💀💀

It was a pain you’d never felt before. It was more than physical, it was deep, it was like part of you was missing. Something taken from you. More than just that outdated concept of purity that you never bought into, more so your autonomy. You never felt very in control of your life, trapped in the small town with dreams but now your life was completely out of your grasp.

Sam left late, some time after midnight. It didn’t matter, you still felt him inside of you. You tried to rinse him off of you, out of you, but the shower only left you cold and hollow. You gave up on sleep just after five in the morning and you typed in a trance, barely thinking as your fingers fluttered over the keyboard.

Hours passed like days and you descended as you heard your nan below, the clink of her heavy cast iron pot on the stove. She cooked her oatmeal in it and it was heavy enough to hammer back in the loose floorboard in front of the fridge. She offered you some as you entered the kitchen and you sat at the table with a sigh.

“Is that man coming back?” she asked.

You tilted your head at her as she put a bowl in front of you and the bag of sugar just for you. You sprinkled the brown granules over your oatmeal and added milk, “you looking forward to it?”

“The only reason I didn’t spray Lysol in his eyes was because of you, girly,” she sat heavy with the jar of artificial sugar and the little cinnamon container, “you know I’d do anything to keep you safe even if you’re too dumb for your own good.”

You nodded and scooped up the thick oatmeal. You pushed your tongue through the oats and said nothing.

“I told you to stay away from that bar,” she huffed. The crotchety old lady was back.

“You seemed happy enough about the pie and wine,” you shrugged.

“You think I don’t know his kind. I’m an old lady, that won’t keep him from cracking my skull like poor old Mikey Rae,” she tutted, “that was the first biker I fucked with.”

“Nan,” you gasped at her language.

“Well, you’re an adult now. Gonna have to grow up quick if you messin’ with those boys,” she pointed her spoon at you, “but you say the word and I’ll twist his balls off. Being old only means I gotta be patient.”

You couldn’t help but snicker. You knew she was serious and you realised then that it was all a show. A cautious act that you’d mirrored for her own sake. But this was a problem you had to deal with yourself. The one thing you couldn’t live with was bringing harm to the woman who raised you.

“No ball twisting, nan,” you shook your head, “alright?”

“For now,” she returned, “but you be careful, girly. You’re in deep enough.”

“I know,” you bit the edge of your lip, “nan?”

“Mmm,” she grumbled as she swallowed.

“Mikey Ray, if he was one of them, who bashed him?” you asked.

“The second one, Colin,” she frowned, “cocky bugger, took what he wanted… until he got what he couldn’t handle.”

“And what happened to him?”

It was the most your nan ever told you about those days, more inclined to talk about her hippy festivals and protest arrests.

“I twisted his balls off,” she snickered, “in a manner of speaking.”

You drew your brows together as you watched her take another bite and she opened the pocket book of crosswords she kept on the table.

“In a manner of speaking?” you wondered.

“I plead the fifth,” she took the pencil from between the pages and adjusted her thick glasses, “but he wasn’t around to cause me any trouble.”

You shoved another spoonful into your mouth and sat back. You always thought your nan was a tough old bitch, you couldn’t imagine what she was like when she was your age.

💀

Sam showed up just after noon. You weren’t surprised but you weren’t happy either. You were only thankful he came in the back. You didn’t need Nan following through on her threats and you would rather she didn’t know about the visit. If you were fortunate, she didn’t notice him for her knitting.

He knocked on your door and you unlocked it. He made no move to enter as he twirled your phone between his fingers.

“Charged it last night,” he smiled, “thought we could have some more fun.”

“I’m working,” you said quietly.

“Did I ask?” his lips straightened and he tilted his head, “and it’s about time you came over. Kind feels off with the old lady just on the other side of the wall.” You winced at the memory of the night before. He noticed and chuckled. “Kinda hot too but… still,” he mused.

“You can’t come back later?” you crossed your arms.

“You were so good last night,” he said, “I don’t like this little game you’re playing so don’t make me give the old lady a show. Let’s go.”

You dropped your arms and grabbed your thinner jacket from the back of your chair and shoved your feet into your zip up Martens. He waited with his arm across the open door and you stepped past him as his other hand went to your ass and squeezed. He closed the door and followed you down the wooden steps.

The snow wasn’t as deep as the first fall and you crunched through to the sidewalk. He placed his arm over your shoulders as he ushered you along to the main road. You passed The Asp and cut through the lot as he waved to other members of the club.

“I talked to Bucky, let him know you won’t be an issue any longer,” he said, “right?”

“Right,” you echoed and hugged yourself against the bitter air.

“Aw, honey, don’t worry, we’re about to get you warmed up,” he led you down another side street and up the paved walk of a pale blue house, “this is my place, Chez, uh, Wilson.”

He let you inside and nudged you further in as he followed. You slid out of your boots and he helped you out of your jacket. His impatience showed as he unzipped his coat and tore off his own boots. He took out your phone and grinned.

“Today,” he held it up, “you can get this back… if you earn it.”

You stared at him and picked at the hem of your shirt. His eyes followed the movement of your fingers and he licked his lips.

“Why yes, you can take that off, that’s a great start,” he purred, “all of it.”

You clenched your teeth and gripped the fabric nervously. He shouldered past you and pointed across the front room.

“You can go wait for me in there,” he said, “I’ll be a couple.”

You nodded and made to pass him but he stopped you before you could enter the living room. The place was cozy even if you didn’t want to be there. He bent and turned your face up to kiss you sloppily. He tapped your ass again as he urged you onward.

“Gotta loosen you up,” he taunted, “in more ways than one.”

You continued across the room if only to get away from him, even if it wouldn't be for long. You pushed past the painted door and entered the bedroom. The wall was hung with a large framed diagram of a Harley and another of a bike engine. There was a large poster for the Godfather and a Marvin Gaye album leaned against a retro player. The bed was made and the carpet freshly vacuumed.

You went to the dresser and looked over the dog tags that hung from a miniature statue of David. You looked up at the large mirror over the dresser and you looked as scared as you felt. You gulped down your nerves as he entered and looked away from your reflection.

He had a stool in hand and kicked the door closed. He placed it between the bed and the dresser. He kept his hands on the top and his chest flexed beneath his grey henley. He watched you knowingly and tutted.

“You’re not naked,” he said, “don’t you want this back?”

He let go of the stool and revealed your phone once more. You murmured and lifted your shirt slowly. He went to the dresser and unfolded a small metal tripod and affixed the cell to it. He angled it then slid out the top drawer. You scoffed as he turned around with a large suction dildo and stuck it to the top of the stool, your hands frozen on your open fly.

“Um, what the hell?” you sputtered.

“I think you know what the hell but I’m more than happy to give direction,” he wiggled the dildo and let it wobble as he pulled away.

You gaped at it. You couldn’t fit that whole thing in you. How were you even supposed to get yourself onto that?

“Honey, quit stalling,” he warned as he put his hands on his hips. You blinked at him and scowled, “or we can make a special post for TikTok… but I think it might be against their terms of service.”

You glanced away and pushed down your jeans. You let your socks crumple in the ankles and stood to unhook your bra. He hummed as he moved to lean against the wall beside the dresser and crossed his arms over his chest. You hesitated before you shimmied out of your panties, shying away as you eyed the stool.

“Oh,” he pushed away from the wall and reached into the drawer again. He tossed you a tube and you caught it. Lubricant. “You’re gonna wanna get some of that on there.”

You inhaled deeply and flipped open the cap. You cringed as you hovered the bottle over the tip of the dildo and squirted it onto the silicone. You spread it down the length of the toy and your hand shook. You felt him watching you as embarrassment burned through you.

You finished and capped the lube and set it on the dresser. He nodded to the toy and lifted a brow. You hid your discomfort and approached the stool. You stepped up onto the crossbar and clung to the edge of the seat as you brought your knee up. You felt as if it would all topple as you brought your other leg up.

You shuddered as you felt the tip against your cunt and you reached unsteadily between your legs. You rubbed the head of the toy against your folds to spread the lube and peeked over at Sam.

“Go on,” he ordered, “if you can get that whole thing inside you, I’ll give you your phone back.”

You gripped the toy and pushed it back to your entrance. You lowered yourself a little so it stretched you just slightly. You scrunched your nose at the discomfort and slowly eased further onto it. You got halfway and stopped as you gasped. Your fingers curled around the seat and the toy.

“You’re doing good, honey,” his voice was smoky and you looked at yourself in the mirror. The phone blocked the bottom half of the toy but you could see your cunt around the top.

You bent your knees further and groaned as your walls strained around the dildo. Your eyes watered as it hit your cervix and you arched your back to take it as deep as you could. You cried out as you reached the base.

“Whoa, you really did it,” he mused, “fuck, you look good all stretched out.”

You whimpered and adjusted your legs as you tried not to slip.

“Well, you know what to do,” he motioned up and down with his fingers.

“Please,” you breathed, “I did--”

“Not done yet,” he said pointedly.

You huffed and lifted yourself carefully. You pushed back down and let out a moan as the toy grazed your walls. The fullness was overwhelming, a painful pressure laced with pleasure. You rocked your hips as you moved on your knees and gripped the edge of the stool, mindful not to shake the stool too much.

You closed your eyes as your breath hitched. You needed more. The toy could only do so much as your clit thrummed and the wetness spread down your thighs.

“Mmmm,” Sam came around you and snaked his arm down your front. He pushed his fingers between your swollen folds and circled your bud, “you like that, don’t you, honey?”

You whined as your nerves sparked at his fingertips and you sped up. He planted his foot on the crossbar to keep the stool from tipping and you rode out your orgasm as his touch spurred you on.

“Ah, fuck,” he pressed against your back, “I’m so fucking hard.”

You panted and opened your eyes. You looked at yourself in the mirror but quickly shied away. You were weak, so weak.

He stepped around you and reached for the lube. You watched him as you didn’t move from atop the toy and he rounded you again. He drizzled the lube between your cheeks and flung the lube away. He pushed his fingers along your ass and lingered on your tight ring. You winced and tried to lift yourself off the dildo.

He caught your shoulder and held you down.

“Again,” he ordered.

You glanced at him in the mirror and he gave you a stern look as his fingers tightened around your shoulder. You held your breath and began to fuck the toy again. He nuzzled the back of your head and poked against your ass until his finger slid inside. You cried out and his hand went to your neck as he urged you on.

“Ah, honey,” he whispered against your hair.

He drew his finger in and out of your ass as a burning pressure seared through you and added to that in your cunt.

“You can touch yourself,” he uttered as his fiery breath encircled you.

You did so without thinking. He pushed another finger into you and a squeak escaped your lips. You couldn’t help but delight in how the sensations mingled and bloomed to a new climax. He sped up in time with your hips and your legs shook as you came in a series of strangled mewls.

He kept on until you slowed to catch your breath. He slipped his fingers out of you and your head lolled as he removed his hand from your neck. You heard his zipper and as you looked back, his hand stretched across the back of your head and turned it straight. He bent so his head was next to yours and grasped your chin as he made you look at him in the mirror.

“One more time, honey,” he pulled his dick out and his tip brushed along your ass.

You tried to lift yourself off the toy but he hooked his arm around your middle and kept you on it.

“Sam, no, please,” you begged, “I can’t--”

“You can handle it all, honey,” he purred, “I know you can.”

His tip pressed to your ring as he forced you down on the toy. You exclaimed and he pushed until you stretched around the head of his cock. You gritted your teeth and threw your head back against his shoulder.

He pulled back and pushed in again. He got deeper with each slow thrust, an inch at a time, until you were filled by him and the toy. Your eyes welled and the tears trickled down your cheeks as you held onto the stool and grunted through each tilt of his hips.

He trailed his hand down between your legs and spread your folds as he flicked your clit with his middle finger. He moved you against him and on the toy. He pushed into as the dildo reached its limit and your voice grew louder and louder.

Through the agony, you couldn’t help but feel the unyielding tingle in your core and it crawled down your thighs and up your spine. The stool rocked with his motion but he kept you flush to him as he fucked you from behind. Your legs slipped over the side of the seat and you were impaled on the toy.

He didn’t let up as you gasped and gulped, whining as your cunt twitched around the silicone and you came as you reached back to scratch at his open jeans. He rutted into you without relent as he kneaded your thighs and his breath seared down your flesh.

“Ah, honey,” he muttered through his delighted groans, “goddamn, god-- shit, I’m gonna fill you up.”

He slammed into you as deep as he could and you felt him burst. He gave several long thrusts as rode out his orgasm and groaned. When he stilled he leaned against you and sighed.

“You can have the phone back,” he rasped as he caressed your thigh, “tomorrow.”

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bootydukedraws · 4 years

Photo

so the scorfuma and catradora kids that rae and noelle designed inspired me to make more she-ra kids, and i have no self-control, so i made one for the rest of the endgame couples. i even gave them nicknames (except finn) and personalities cause i love them now

the kids (left to right): “Flora” - scorfuma kid, struggles with growing plants, but has a talent for speaking to plants, which she uses to help them flourish when others have no idea what they need. she’s the one in the group with the brain cells, she knows how to plan for the future, and even though she’s the smallest (at the moment, she’s FOR SURE gonna have a growth spurt), she’s definitely the mom friend. “Emily” - entrapdak kid, 100% made in a test tube and proud. even though she can move her hair the same way her mom does, she mainly uses that ability for the aesthetic, aka emo hair styles. she loves building robots, too, especially those built for disability assistance. “Shimmer” - glimbow kid, has her mom’s powers but constantly forgets to recharge. she loves building things with her dad and runs a yoga class once a week. she’s extremely extroverted and all of her favorite things to do involve other people. “Finn” - catradora kid, they’re a total punk, as noelle put it. they like conquering any challenge, even if it’s dumb, so they’re the kind of person to ask “dare me to climb that tree?” “Scales” - seamista kid, he’s the kid everyone his age has a lowkey crush on, you know the type. he seems cool and intimidating, but when he’s comfortable opening up to someone, he turns out to be a HUGE nerd for marine biology.

( image description: five fan kids for characters from she-ra and the princesses of power stand in front of a sparkly purple background. from left to right, they’re flora, emily, shimmer, finn, and scales. flora is the shortest, with black eyes, tan/freckled skin, and white hair filled with flowers. emily is a tall girl with gray skin, purple hair shaved on one side, lines on her chin and cheeks, pink eyes, and pointy ears. she is also wearing overalls and a choker. shimmer is a tall, fit girl with dark purple hair and eyes, medium brown skin, a big smile, a notch in her eyebrows, and hands on her hips. she’s wearing a purple crop top, mismatched earrings, a transparent shawl, and one long white glove. finn is a nonbinary kid with freckled, light skin, fluffy cat ears, blue eyes, and hands on their hips. they’re wearing a black undershirt, a white muscle shirt, red neckerchief, and fingerless gloves. scales is a boy with one hand on his hip, medium brown skin, black eyes, and purple, shiny hair. he’s wearing a blue undershirt, a blue button-down embellished with gold accents, gold choker with a teal pendant, and several gold earrings. end description. )

#spop #she-ra #she-ra next gen #she-ra fankid #fankids #she-ra fan kid #she-ra and the princesses of power #fanart #she-ra fanart #my art #art #scorfuma #entrapdak #glimbow #catradora #seamista

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lapushbaby · 4 years

Text

me and my pals have mapped out entire personalities for the pack and i think their vibes need to be shared

so here are my stupid wolf pack hc’s

Quil:

really smart, like really smart, but he’s never tried hard for his grades at all, it just comes to him.

a clean freak, he starts visibly shaking when people don’t use coasters

thinks he is the most handsome man alive and refuses to take criticism

shares a bunk bed with embry (because they all live in sam’s house)

lives life with the “do it for the vine” mentality

will jump off of concernigly high objects just to see if it will hurt

Embry

really stupid, but in a super wholesome way

thinks he can fight anyone

is always hyping everyone up because he loves his friends

never cut his hair

super outgoing and is nice to everyone he meets, exemplifies “you could pour soup in my lap and i’d probably apologize to you” but not because he’s anxious he just hates being mean

extremely messy, which is not good for his bunk bed mate

Sam:

america’s #1 dad

pretends that he hates the rest of the pack but actually cares about them more than anything else

loves his wife™️

really stoic and barely ever displays emotion

hates the cullens with a burning passion

never dated leah (because she doesn’t need a tragic backstory to be a good character)

Paul:

literally thinks of himself as a god

dumb as a rock, has never had a single thought

puts sticky notes of his name on every piece of food in the house

the rest of the pack hates him, sort of in a brotherly way but he’s just hella annoying

himbo supreme

scared of leah

Jared:

also stupid but really upbeat

makes friends really easily

total jock

drinks respect women juice like it’s nobody’s business

always running around, super fidgety

somehow does ok in school because he’s a people pleaser and doesn’t want to disappoint teachers (or sam)

favourite artist is carly rae jepson

Seth:

a baby

the pack worships him

he can do no wrong

cares about everyone all the time

loves the cullens, is convinced esme is his third mother

probably wears light up sketchers

Jacob:

never cut his hair, eclipse jake does not exist

took no for an answer when bella said she wanted to stay friends

is bella’s best friend in the whole world

pranks sam constantly

still hates edward but not because he’s jealous, he just thinks he sucks and that he manipulates bella. jake has a burn book dedicated to ned, him and leah bond over it

listens to 100 gecs

Leah:

doesn’t wear a full shirt after phasing back to human, a sports bra at the MOST

flirts with bella to spite sam

is the pack’s older sister, abuses them like siblings do

scarily competitive

despises edward, she has a little note book she carries around to record every incorrect thing he does

Emily:

the kindest woman to walk the earth

does. not. have. a. scar.

the breadwinner for the household, her job as an art teacher is the family’s main source of income aside from the pack’s part time jobs

treats everyone like her own child

goes over to see esme once a week so they can gossip about their kids

#forks washington #twilight #twilight saga #jacob black #la push #twilight new moon #wolf pack #jared cameron #leah clearwater #seth clearwater #embry call #quil ateara #sam uley #emily young #paul lahote

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tarysande · 4 years

Text

Lucifer Fic: Sheet Happens (1/1)

For @thedeckerstarnetwork’s Halloween Challenge. @calia05 asked for “ghost” and “trick,” and said she loved Ella and Azrael. This is the result! <3

Also on AO3

Sheet Happens

Miss Lopez delivered the invitation in typical Miss Lopez fashion: as exuberantly as the world's friendliest golden retriever high on Adderall. Clearly handmade, she’d cut the card into the shape of a cartoonish ghost, white bedsheet and all, and covered it with an absurd amount of silvery glitter. Meaning, of course, that it covered him with an absurd amount of silvery glitter in short order. The sparkles stood out against the black of his suit like snowflakes. Or dandruff. Not that the Devil was in any way personally acquainted with the latter.

“Thank you,” he said gravely, holding the glitter bomb at as close to arm’s length as he could politely get away with.

Miss Lopez wore her every emotion not just on her sleeve, but from the top of her head to the tips of her platformed running shoes. Today’s t-shirt featured a sad ghost with a spilled cup of coffee and the phrase ‘Sheet Happens.’ “So, you’ll come?”

“Ah.” Even as the syllable emerged, Miss Lopez’s face began to fall. “It’s a … popular evening at Lux. I do rather feel I owe my patrons an appearance.”

“Oh,” she said, smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand and leaving ghostly glitter behind. “Duh. I should’ve thought of that.”

The glitter was sentient. He could practically feel it creeping up his fingers. He would have to burn the suit; once infected, recovery was impossible. He could only imagine how infested her home must be. The mind behind the creation of the stuff was truly devious; in the darkest of hellscapes, he’d never come across anything quite so … persistent.

“Would you … prefer to offer the invitation to someone else?” he asked, gesturing slightly with the ghost held between the tips of finger and thumb.

This was, evidently, the wrong thing to have said. She wilted, and when she shook her head, even her ponytail seemed sad. “I made it for you,” she tossed over her shoulder, already fleeing back to her lab as fast as her impractically high shoes would allow.

“You’re going, Lou.”

Lucifer blinked. Though the music and revelry, sin and sensation raged around him at top volume, the words reached his ears as clearly as if they were spoken into utter silence. Beside him, Azrael slouched, wearing the form so clearly influenced by Miss Lopez.

Or perhaps it was the other way around? The Azrael of old hadn’t slouched. She hadn’t worn bizarre spectacles or sported bowl-cut hair and t-shirts with sayings on them. When she glared up at him, hands planted on hips, her cloak parted wide enough for him to make out today’s offering. In the same cute-cartoon style as Ms. Lopez’s, it depicted a Grim Reaper, coffee in hand and wearing the exhausted expression Lucifer had so often seen on human faces after too little sleep or too much alcohol, next to the words ‘I FEEL LIKE DEATH.’

Lucifer sipped his whiskey to give his hands and his mouth something to do besides reply.

“Not just for Ells. Literally every one of your friends is there.”

He sighed, stepping aside as a tipsy angel with crooked wings tried to press up against his side. The cloying scent of her cheap Victoria’s Secret perfume wasn’t as easy to avoid. Neither was her pout.

“But you’re the Devil,” she whined in a voice he wished he heard much less clearly. “And I’m an angel. It’s sexy.”

“More like incestuous,” Azrael murmured, catching Lucifer so off-guard he choked on his drink. The smug grin she shot him was entirely the Rae-Rae of old. She nudged him with her cloaked elbow. “Still got it.”

He inclined his head at the disappointed angel, sidestepped a werewolf and vampire with tongues so deeply down each other’s throats that witnesses would convert to #TeamWhoNeedsBellaWhenYouHaveEdwardAndJacob at the sight of it, and swiped a bottle of whiskey he refused to see poured for anyone with such undiscerning tastes as the Borat who’d just ordered it. Evidently the bouncers had forgotten the longstanding no-neon-green-mankinis rule.

Azrael followed on his heels, and though he bloody well knew no one else could see her, somehow the seething crowds parted more easily for her than they had even for him.

“Why are you here instead of there?”

“I—you see how busy—”

“Uh, I see how you haven’t talked to anyone for longer than two minutes, your piano’s nowhere to be seen, and you’re basically oozing sulking-Devil-do-not-approach vibes.”

“You try my patience, Azrael.”

She shrugged. A trio of sexy nurses—or perhaps maids; it was hard to tell given the lack of fabric—contorted themselves into shapes he should have found pleasing to avoid being too near to her. One attempted to fall toward him, but he slid to the side so she ended up grappling with one of the evening’s nineteen (at last count) Captains America.

“Yeah? Well, you’re bugging me too,” she said, evidently oblivious to the effect her presence was having. “You didn’t even read the card, did you?”

“The … excuse me?”

Azrael’s prodigious eye roll involved every muscle in her face. “From Ella?”

A twinge of something like regret turned the whiskey on his tongue to ashes. He’d dropped disco-ghost into an evidence bag before it could do any more damage and left it at the precinct without sparing it a second thought.

Azrael thrust that same evidence bag into his chest hard enough to send him staggering back half a step. Another angel got partway through a curse Lucifer had a hard time imagining any of his siblings speaking before she realized the Devil to whom that curse was directed. He sensed a new rule for the bouncers brewing.

Of course, the most persistent of the angels presently irritating him didn’t obligingly flit off into the crowd at his glower. He’d no idea how someone so vertically challenged could make him feel small, and yet. The evidence bag and its spectral occupant had fluttered to the ground between them, where it lay like a murder victim bathed in blood glittering red from the overhead lighting. Sheet happens.

He bent from the waist, snatching up the invitation and stalking toward the elevator. The sea of demons and various sexy professionals and animals and … bloody hell, Sexy Donald Trump was infinitely worse than the worst mankinied Borat. Some things couldn’t be unseen.

And then he was in the elevator, and it didn’t matter that Azrael wasn’t with him because she’d be waiting for him with her ridiculous fringe and, beneath it, eyes that always reflected the brother he could have been, perhaps, if he didn’t fail so spectacularly so often.

He scanned the room when the elevator door opened but saw nothing out of place, and when he called out, no one answered. Azrael could creep and hide and lurk as effectively as the angelic purpose over which she held dominion, but rarely from him.

He opened the evidence bag and dumped its contents on the bar, releasing the spirit and its miasma of sparkles. The bloody thing looked so bloody cheerful—and not at all like any of the spirits he’d had occasion to meet over the millennia.

Then again, give the thing a spectral ponytail and a cute t-shirt and maybe—

He silenced the thought by reaching for a bottle. He didn’t, at least for the first burning pull, even bother with a glass.

He poured the second drink. By the third, he was ready to open the damned—ha bloody ha—thing. In the ebullient handwriting so familiar from paperwork and post-it notes, Miss Lopez had written, “My brothers made Halloween more about tricks than treats, usually at my expense. It would be ‘boo’tiful if you could come to my party. COSTUMES MANDATORY.” Instead of her name, she’d drawn a pair of ghosts. One was grinning. It had a ponytail. The other was taller; it held a microphone. It also had devil horns and a tail.

It was grinning, too.

Lucifer closed the invitation and pushed it away with trembling fingertips.

“Why aren’t you there, Lou?”

He gripped the edge of the bar until the moment before the marble would have crumbled. “Surely you know better than anyone, sister.”

The sound she made, caught somewhere between a gasp and a cry, was enough to turn his head. “I’m not—Lucifer, you know I’m not—”

“But you will,” he said. “Because they’re human. Because you’re you. And because you will do as you must. So forgive me for choosing to spend this night of specters and shadows amidst those whose deaths, when they come, will not weigh near so heavily.”

Moments stretched into minutes. Azrael’s jaw worked, and her expression said the words she chewed were bitter ones. Finally, narrowing her eyes, she said, “That’s bullshit.”

Unexpected.

A flush rose in her cheeks and her eyes sparkled not with admiration or sisterly love, but with anger. “You’re sad their time is finite, so you’re wasting what time you do have sitting around feeling sorry for yourself. Listen to yourself, Lou. No, seriously. Like, stop for one minute and actually hear the crap coming out of your mouth.” She glanced down at her hands like she was trying to figure out just how much damage they were capable of inflicting. “You’re so … dumb. Like. Just … dumb.”

And though he wanted to protest, wanted to explain in painful, specific detail just why death and eternity and banishment from Heaven made his situation so much bloody worse … he didn’t.

Because Miss Lopez had drawn them as grinning ghosts. To her, this night was treats and costumes and friends and, as in so many traditions throughout all of bloody human history, defying the coming dark by facing it head-on. Perhaps the current tradition didn’t involve bonfires or sacrifices, but he’d be bloody damned—more damned—if gorging on candy and gathering in friendship and depicting the things humans knew went bump in the night without truly knowing how to name them as cartoons and bad puns wasn’t the very same flavor of ritual.

He released his grip on the bar. His hands glittered.

“Costumes are mandatory,” Rae-Rae reminded him.

When he glanced over his shoulder again, she was gone.

He stood outside, listening to the laughter within, for fifteen minutes. He raised his hand to knock eighteen times. He turned to leave at least seven.

“I’m gonna do it if you don’t, Lou.”

Bloody sisters.

He knocked. Moments stretched into eternities.

The door, decorated with glimmering ghosts and glittering pumpkins, opened, revealing Miss Lopez in all her pool-noodle-turned-double-helix-DNA glory.

For a moment, Miss Lopez’s wide eyes were so like Rae-Rae’s—the same belief in him; the same, dare he say it, love—that Lucifer couldn’t find breath for whatever foolish, nonchalant nonsense he’d usually have opened with. And when those eyes filled with glistening tears to accompany a grin no drawing could possibly capture, he was the first to look away.

“You came! In costume!” Leaning forward, she squinted at him, then reached out and plucked at his costume. “Oh my God, Lucifer, tell me you didn’t cut eyeholes in a freaking silk sheet that probably cost like, a month of paychecks.”

“I do not lie, Miss Lopez, so I can say no such thing.” Though she couldn’t see it, he grinned at the way horror and delight mingled on her features. He brushed close, close enough to give the phantom equivalent of the hugs she handed out so enthusiastically, and pretended not to feel a little teary-eyed himself at how tightly she returned the gesture. “Who am I to defy your command?”

She laughed and punched him on the arm. “Have you met you?”

“Ahh,” he replied gently. “But have you met you?”

This time, the laughter he heard belonged not to Miss Lopez but to his sister. And though she, too, was bound to her commands, as he stepped into the warmth and light and laughter of Miss Lopez’s home, Azrael’s dominion was the very last thing on his mind.

#thedeckerstarnetwork #lucifer morningstar #chloe decker #deckerstar #lucifer on netflix #calia05 #thank you for your prompts #it's still halloween ... in Hawaii?#i'm not in hawaii #but at least it's halloween somewhere #my fic #lucifer fic #HAPPY HALLOWEEN

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

Note

so turns out these are all very cute.. "54. Against a Locker kiss" with malum perhaps? -fiancee

hiya this is cheesy and stupid and cute i hope you like it

ao3 link!

Michael’s getting his books for class when he feels someone close in on him.

“Hi,” he says, turning to see Calum. Calum, with a mischievous smile on his face.

“Hi,” Calum says.

“How was Mali’s birthday?”

Calum shrugs, leaning over Michael with one palm flat against the locker next to Michael’s. “Fine. All her friends were over so I basically just stayed in my room. But they watched some girly movie anyway, so no big loss.”

“You’re full of shit,” Michael informs him, retrieving his last book and closing his locker. “You love girly movies.”

Calum scoffs. “I do not!”

“You made me watch Love, Actually last Christmas.”

“Because it’s a Christmas movie!”

“Full of shit,” Michael repeats. Calum shakes his head.

“Wanna go somewhere?” he asks.

Michael realizes he’s backed against the locker. He could move — could slide to the right and step around Calum — but he likes where he is just fine.

“When? Now?”

Calum nods. “Come on, I don’t feel like doing maths today,” he cajoles. That explains the mischievous smile, at least.

“I never feel like doing maths,” Michael says. “We’d be abandoning Luke, though.”

“Well, that’s Luke’s fault for not being either of our boyfriends,” Calum says. Which is a fair point.

“Speaking of.” Michael folds his arms over his chest. “What’s with the greeting, Hood?”

Calum’s face screws up into a look of confusion. “What?”

“‘Hi,’” Michael parrots. “That’s it? No kiss? What kind of shit boyfriend are you?”

Calum rolls his eyes fondly. “I’m not that easy, mate. You’ve got to earn your kisses.”

“I’ll ditch with you if you kiss me,” Michael barters, and Calum grins.

“I will let you have that,” Calum says. “Because it’s a win-win situation for me.”

It’s a win-win situation for Michael, too, and he’s about to say so when Calum crowds into Michael’s space, closer than he’d been, and kisses him softly. The cold metal of the locker seeps through the back of Michael’s t-shirt, a harsh juxtaposition to the warmth of Calum’s lips on his. When he leans away, Michael smiles.

“Okay. Let me put my books back and then we can go.”

Calum grins.

—

Neither of them drive, so they walk back to Michael’s house.

“Water,” Calum commands Michael as they enter through the back door. They don’t really need to — Michael’s parents are definitely at work and won’t be home until late afternoon — but it’s always more fun, pretending like there’s a lot at stake when there’s not. The thrill is only really fun when it’s pretend, but when it’s pretend, it’s awfully fun.

“Say please.”

“Water, please.”

Michael grins and pinches Calum’s cheek. “Yes, sir.”

Michael gets water for them both while Calum heads to the living room to set up FIFA. After a moment standing at the tap, he hears the first notes of ‘Jasey Rae’ floating in from the other room, and smiles.

“You’ve got good taste in music,” he says as he enters the living room. Calum graciously accepts his glass.

“I have,” he says. “Very true.”

The song is playing from Calum’s phone, which is perched precariously on the armrest of the sofa. On the TV, the game is already loaded up, so Michael takes his controller into his lap and, with don’t make this easy, I want you to mean it backing him up, proceeds to destroy Calum in the first round.

His second victory closes out with ‘Feeling This’; his third, ‘Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous,’ at which point Calum tosses his controller aside and collapses dramatically over Michael’s lap. “I surrender. I give up.”

“Fuck yes! Victory,” Michael crows, poking Calum’s cheek.

“I’ll beat you one of these days,” Calum announces, looking up at Michael with wide, sparkling eyes. “Just have to, like, break your thumb or something.”

“Hey, is that a threat? I’m pretty sure that’s against the rules. Red card.”

“You can’t red card me for that!”

“You just threatened to break my thumb!”

“I wasn’t saying I’d do it. I was saying that it would have to happen to you.”

“Red card, red card,” Michael declares. “This could be terrible for your career, Hood. If you don’t make this right, the FIFA people are going to ban you from FIFA.”

Calum snorts. “How do I make it right?”

Michael pretends to think. “The committee has decided there’s a solution, but it’s a weird one,” he warns Calum.

Calum shifts and sits up, giving Michael a solemn look. “I’ll do anything. Anything at all. FIFA is my life.”

“Okay, well.” Michael drops his voice conspiratorially. “To start, you have to make out with me for at least ten seconds.”

Calum groans in faux despair. “No! Anything but that.”

“You have to, Cal, or else you’re banned from FIFA.”

“Fine.” The twinkle in Calum’s eye is now in his smile as well, gleaming off his teeth as he wraps a hand around Michael’s neck and pulls him in. “Twist my arm, I’ll do it,” he murmurs, before kissing Michael, and Michael all but melts into it and almost forgets what his second condition for not banning Calum from FIFA was supposed to be. He loves Calum, and though he’s never said it in as many words, he’s pretty sure Calum knows.

It’s probably longer than ten seconds before Calum pulls back, but he doesn’t seem too pressed about the timing. Michael gives him a cheeky smile. “Secondly, you have to call me sir for the rest of the day.”

Calum laughs. “I am not doing that.”

“You have to!”

“One more round,” Calum says instead. “Winner takes all. If you win, I’ll call you whatever you want. If I win, FIFA can't ban me.”

And, like. Michael hadn’t really been married to the sir idea (although he does think it would be pretty funny and kind of hot to have Calum calling him sir for the day), and Calum looks too hopeful to shoot down. “What makes you think you’ll win this round after I just totally crushed you the last three?”

Calum picks up his controller in lieu of responding. “Get ready to die, Cliffo.”

So Michael sighs and starts the game again.

It’s not that Calum’s bad at FIFA. It’s just that Michael’s way better. That’s probably because the game is Michael’s, and Calum’s only real practice is when he comes over to Michael’s, since Mali refuses to play, but whatever. Michael likes being better than Calum at something, when Calum is so much, like, smarter and hotter and cooler and more sociable than Michael. Michael’s not insecure, per se, but it’s nice to be able to annihilate his boyfriend in at least one area.

Except Calum’s a dirty fucking cheat, apparently. Because the game is tied, they’re down to the last minutes, and just as Michael’s lining up a shot, Calum reaches over and squeezes Michael’s thigh, and Michael jerks, distracted, and misses the goal. “You absolute shit!”

Calum just chuckles and leans towards Michael with a guilty grin. “Not my fault you’re irresistible,” he says in his defense, and kisses Michael. Harder than the last time, enough that Michael has to take a second to recover his senses when they break, and as he’s collecting himself he sees Calum smoothly sink a shot into his goal as the timer runs down to zero.

“Are you kidding me, fuck you!” Michael protests, because, really, that’s so incredibly unfair, but Calum’s cheers basically drown him out.

“Victory is mine!” he chants. “I just absolutely wrecked you, Michael! I just fucking ended your entire football career! See, this is way more true to real life.”

“You’re a cheater,” Michael argues. “You distracted me!”

“That’s called strategy.” His stupid fucking grin-of-questionable-intentions is back. “I beat you. Admit it. If not fair and square, then at least at all.”

It’s not like Michael had really had anything at stake here — look, he’d basically figured Calum would cheat, because even Calum isn’t enough of an idiot to expect to beat Michael on his own merit in a game he’s just lost at three times, especially with the threat of having to concede to some dumb condition Michael had set up if he lost — but still. It’s the principle. “You’re such a cheater,” he says again. “How can I trust you in a relationship if I can’t even trust you in FIFA?”

Calum snickers. “I gain nothing if I cheat on you,” he says. “While cheating at FIFA means I don’t have to call you sir all day.”

Michael shakes his head. “So dishonest.”

“You love it,” Calum wheedles. And yeah, Michael does. Obviously he does. He loves everything about Calum.

“Your mum,” he says, instead of that.

Because, like. Calum knows. And there’s no point wasting words on something as trivial as admitting to being in love when he could instead crack a dumb joke.

(He’ll say it another day, and frankly it will probably also happen in a FIFA-related situation, because they find themselves in those a lot. He will. They have time.)

“Your mum,” Calum says back, shouldering Michael. He gives him a smile. “Another round? Promise not to cheat.”

Michael would play it anyway, even if Calum swore up and down that he’d be the dirtiest cheater on the planet. Basically, he’d do anything Calum suggested.

“Okay,” he says, quickly kissing Calum on the nose and then the lips. “I’ll wipe that smug look right off your face, mark my words.”

And he does beat Calum. By a lot.

(But Calum doesn’t look disappointed at all, just kind of happy and warm, and Michael knows, all of a sudden, what Calum hasn’t said either, and knows that they could go the rest of their lives without saying it aloud, and Michael would still be one hundred percent certain that Calum loves him.)

#michael clifford #calum hood #malum #malum fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #i was thinking about em whilst writing this so em if you're reading this now you know #here's some dumb stupid fluff for your malum hearts and souls #i am gonna queue it actually though so i don't know when it'll post #ill probably queue this and the other one #and then shuffle the queue #god i love being able to shuffle my queue #yeah that's all i got! enjoy :)#anonymous #ask #answered

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grasslandgirl · 4 years

Note

oooo i sent it more as a fix prompt but also from one adhdhead to another i’m glad we agree!! thinking about sam and peter study dates

ahhhh fvbjsjvkbjf im so dumb i’m sorry i saw “adhd sam” and my brain just yelled YEAH. RADICAL. and that was it kjdvskfj

that being said i’ve been haunted by ricky montgomery’s Line Without a Hook + eldonado since yesterday so........ hmmm.... (oh no this got wildly out of hand)

-----------

Peter threw himself wholeheartedly into anything he worked on. It was just how he was built. Peter was either on or he was off, and it was hard to get him to change course once he was en route. Head down, eyes narrowed, his whole body angled down at his computer like if he got his face close enough to the screen, it would start streaming information right to and from his brain. His hair would flop, unnoticed, into his eyes and he would shove his glasses so far up his nose that Sam would worry he was going to bruise his nose.

All this to say, of course, that study dates were something of an occupational hazard when you were best friends with Peter Maldonado.

And also secretly in love with him.

Well, mostly-secretly. Secretly to Peter, and probably only Peter, because Sam was 90% sure everyone else was in on the secret and knew how hopelessly gone Sam was for his oblivious best friend. Gabi was the only one who ever said anything to him about it, though. So, little victories.

Finals were looming over their heads like a dark storm cloud. Looming on the horizon, fucking with barometric pressure just enough to make everyone jumpy and nervous. Peter worked well under pressure- which was a good thing, because Sam knew Peter put more pressure on himself than anyone else did- but he would always show up the night before a big exam and demand that Sam help him study. It was so commonplace after seven years of friendship that Sam didn’t question it anymore. Mostly.

There was always that small, hopeful, and nervous voice in the back of his head asking why Peter always studied with Sam when he studied just as well on his own. The only answer he could think of was that Peter knew Sam studied better with him there. But that wasn’t- that couldn’t- Sam always shut that annoying little voice down before it spiraled any further.

It didn’t do anyone any good to overcomplicate things that were objectively very simple. Peter liked routine, they were best friends, Sam was the only one who could talk Peter down from an academics-induced panic attack at 2 in the morning the night before a final exam. 2 + 2 = 4. Simple math.

Sam was slumped on his back, halfway falling off his bed with his head and shoulders draped over the side of his mattress. The notebook he was supposed to be reviewing was abandoned, sitting on his stomach. Peter was sitting at Sam’s desk, leaned over and scowling at his laptop.

It was unfair, really, how pretty Peter looked illuminated by the blue-white light of his notes document. Sam had the perfect view of Peter’s upside down profile, all furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw and dark hair that’d had hands run through it too many times. It was late and Sam’s brain was wrung out and exhausted, only able to focus on Peter’s expression as he mouthed whatever obsolete moment in history he was trying to commit to memory, and the looping chorus of a Carly Rae Jepsen song he’d had stuck in his head for the last two hours.

A big part of being friends with Peter Maldonado was knowing when to draw the line.

“Pete, dude.” Peter looked up, blinking away the lines of notes Sam could almost see in his eyes. “It’s the middle of the night. Either we know it or we don’t at this point.”

“You think we should cut our losses?”

“I know you can survive on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee, dude, but I can’t.” Sam tapped himself on the forehead. “This baby needs r&r or I can’t fucking function.”

“Right, right. What time is it?”

Sam sat up- an impressive showcase of his abs that Peter didn’t notice, of course- and dug around in his rumpled comforter for his phone. “12:30.”

Peter sighed heavily, tipping his head back against the headrest of Sam’s computer chair. “I should go home.”

“Dude. Just-” Sam was his own worst enemy sometimes- “just spend the night.”

“Yeah? Your moms won’t mind?”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they assumed that’s what was happening when you showed up after dinner.”

It was probably just a weird reflection from the computer light on one of Sam’s posters onto Peter’s face. There was no way that Peter was blushing.

“Anyway,” he continued, shoving his textbook and notes off of his bed instead of looking at Peter, “I’m gonna drive you tomorrow anyway, right? Saves me a trip.”

Peter closed his laptop with a soft click. “Yeah, sure, if it’s not-”

“It’s cool, dude, don’t be weird. Just two bros-”

“Chilling in a hot tub?”

Sam prayed Peter couldn’t see the hot blush he felt rising to his cheeks. Five feet apart cause they’re not gay. “Whatever you want, dude.”

Peter knew Sam was gay. He was the first person Sam had come out to- followed closely by Gabi and his moms. But there was a difference, Sam was sure, to having your best friend be gay versus having your best friend be gay and in love with you. An invisible line in the sand that would shift their relationship forever. Sam didn’t want to test how that shift would happen. Didn’t want to risk losing his best friend on the off chance that he wasn’t alone.

“Right.” Peter repeated.

They went to bed in pieces: Sam pulling on an old pair of sweatpants and throwing one to Peter, Peter neatly stacking all his notes on one corner of Sam’s desk, Sam kicking all his schoolwork to the edges of his bedroom floor as opposed to the middle of it, Peter brushing his teeth with the same toothbrush he’d kept in the Ecklund house since they were ten, Sam turning off all the lights, Peter wandering back into his bedroom, Peter’s hair turning to gold and ink in the faint streetlight coming in from the window, the two of them curling up back to back in Sam’s bed just like they always did.

And then it was dark and quiet and all Sam could hear was the faint sound of Peter’s breathing beside him. The warmth from Peter’s back mere inches from Sam’s. They’d fallen asleep next to each other a million times, but Sam still felt electric with the proximity. How easy it would be to just- stretch his legs out and wind his feet with Peter’s, to flip over and press his nose into the soft place where his hairline met the back of his neck, to whisper something hopeful and mortifying into the still night air and hear Peter’s breath catch in silent response.

Sam stayed still, held himself perfectly motionless lest he finally show his hand. And eventually, they both fell asleep.

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

Peter woke up surrounded by Sam. The pillow he’d pressed his face into smelled like Sam’s hair and the sheets on his bed were the same tacky Star Wars ones he’d been so proud of in the seventh grade and the bed was warm with Sam’s body next to him. For an instant, Peter let himself consider it: waking up next to Sam like this every day. Falling asleep with his arms wrapped around Sam and waking up with his head on his chest.

He squeezed his eyes shut against the glaring dawn light, and against the daydream that quickly threatened to spin out of control. He could still hear Sam’s sleep heavy breathing behind him.

Slowly, Peter sat up in bed, pushing his hair out of his face and scrounging the nightstand as quietly as he could for his glasses. He allowed himself a single glance at Sam- sleep soft and sprawled out on the bed, his hand inches from where Peter’s shoulder had been, like he’d been reaching out in his sleep- before standing up and grabbing his phone from where he’d left it charging on the desk.

“Sam.” Peter poked his shoulder. “Sam.”

He groaned incoherently, but rolled over, which was a good sign.

“You have to get up, dude.”

“Breakfast?” Sam mumbled.

“Yeah,” Peter laughed a little, “I’m sure your mom’s making breakfast.”

“Urrgghhh.”

Peter grabbed the clothes he’d left in the corner the night before and pulled an old t shirt out of Sam’s closet. “I’m stealing a shirt.”

“Oh,” Sam said, half sitting up and blinking the sleep out of his eyes. “Yeah- good, okay.”

“I’m gonna go-” Peter gestured weakly towards the door, and beyond it, the bathroom. Sam peered up at him, the light from the window hitting his face in a single pane, like something out of a sun-soaked French movie. Like this was the moment where one of them broke the uncertainty, the silence. Peter could see the scene unfolding in his mind’s eye, like he’d seen it a hundred times. He’d say something like, did you sleep well? And Sam would answer, better with you here, and Peter would oh-so-slowly close the distance and drop his jeans to the floor and Sam would arch up and meet him halfway and the camera would pan away, leaving them both washed in the golden early-morning light. “Bathroom. I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Peter said, and closed the bedroom door behind him.

He splashed water on his face and combed through his hair with his fingers, throwing on yesterday’s jeans and Sam’s t shirt under his sweatshirt and hoping it wasn’t obvious to anyone else how badly Peter wished every morning could be like this.

He left the bathroom quickly and perched on the edge of Sam’s bed, scrolling through twitter while Sam did his hair in the bathroom.

Breakfast was quiet and normal and filled with the usual mini-dramas in the Ecklund house. Kara didn’t want PB&J for lunch and one of Sam’s moms left the flat iron on in their bathroom and Leah almost burned the eggs and Sam spent half of breakfast finishing the math homework he’d almost forgotten he had.

Sam drove them both to school early for the Morning Show, laughing and singing along to his “perfectly composed drive to school playlist,” and the rest of the day went on normally. He took his history test and saw Sam in math class and they sat with Ming and Randall and Phil at lunch.

But all the while, Peter couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. He’d had... feelings for Sam for a while, unquantifiable and nebulous. He’d categorized them all: the way his stomach twisted when Sam smiled at him crookedly, the skipped beat of his heart when Sam slung his arm around Peter’s shoulders, how his hands got clammy when he caught Sam watching him out of the corner of his eye, how he always found ways to hangout during and after school. But he’d never dared to name the feeling. Defining it meant- meant he should do something about it. Made it real.

But that morning, waking up next to Sam, borrowing his t shirt to wear to school, falling asleep next to each other- they were all things they’d done a million times before. Peter’s chest ached with the normalcy, the domesticity of it.

Peter’s fingers itched to try and piece it all together, his feelings and Sam’s and their history together. String it all together on a corkboard until it made sense. But Peter knew it wouldn’t work. Not without Sam there to see the bigger picture in the first place. It’s why they worked so well together; Peter would gather and organize all the information, but Sam was the one that knew how to put it together, knew how to see the forest from the trees in a way Peter never could on his own. Even if he tried to map out the snarl of feelings in his chest, Peter knew he’d be left with a labyrinth of post-its and red string without Sam there to untangle it for him.

Dramatic irony, he supposed.

Peter caught the bus home, Sam had something for theatre after school, and spent the entire ride with his music turned as high as it would go, trying not to think about Sam as he stared out the window.

The problem, Peter realized, with being a self-professed movie lover, is that your brain starts to treat life like a movie. He could imagine a dozen different ways his life could spiral out from this moment, a dozen different movie time-lines he could find himself in. The tragedy, where he never tells Sam and lives his entire life in uncertainty. The drama, where he tells Sam and it tears their friendship apart. The tragic love story, where he and Sam are together and happy until they’re not. The comedy, where Sam laughs him off and they go back to their friendship with a tiny crack between them, spackled over with laughter that’s just a little strained.

The romantic comedy, where everything goes perfect and they ride out into the sunset.

Life wasn’t like the movies, though, nothing ever went as simple or as straightforward or as cinematic. There isn’t a director behind the camera who can call cut and change the scene halfway through. There aren’t any sweeping cinematic shots with atmospheric indie pop playing in the background.

It was just Peter, and Sam, and the creeping uncertainty hanging between them.

Right before dinner that night, Peter got a text from Sam.

sam: thanks for the study help last night, felt good about the test today

sam: don’t stress i know youre freaking out about it too

sam: you did great on the test pete i know it

Peter blinked at his phone, at the unspoken I know you hidden inbetween the lines. Sam knew him better than anyone, knew his habits and his worries and his annoying little tendencies. And he was still there.

And that, Peter realized, said more than anything else.

Love wasn’t a panoramic of a passionate kiss at sunset. It was knowing someone, learning them backwards and forwards, all the good and the bad pieces of them. It was staying, not despite everything, but because of it.

Peter loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that.

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

The doorbell rang at the end of dinner. Sam rushed to get to the door before his sisters- if he was lucky, it was their batty old neighbor Mrs Gorschtt and she would prattle on for fifteen minutes about her cat, shove a cake into Sam’s hands, and get him out of having to help clean the kitchen.

But when he opened the door, it wasn’t Mrs Gorschtt standing on the front porch, it was Peter.

“Hey, dude, what’s up? We don’t have like a math test tomorrow I blanked on, do we?”

“Huh?” Peter blinked at him, “No, no.”

“So, what’s up?” Sam stepped out onto the porch beside Peter, closing the front door behind him. Maybe he could still get out of washing the dinner dishes.

“Uh- so, the thing is-” Peter muttered, twisting one of the strings from his hoodie between his fingers. Sam’s stomach dropped; something was wrong. Peter was nervous, uncertain about something. He wasn’t looking Sam in the eye, and he had one arm wrapped around his stomach like a shield. His head started spinning with a million different things Peter could be upset about, but the thing Sam kept coming back to- he knew.

Somehow, Peter had finally figured him out. And he was coming to tell Sam- what? That they couldn’t be friends anymore? That Sam had made it weird?

“Pete-” Sam started, trying to cover his bases, trying to fix this before his best friendship in the world went up in flames.

“You’re the only one who calls me that.” Peter interrupted, finally looking at Sam.

“What?”

“Pete. You’re the only one.”

“I- we’re friends, dude, I’m allowed to have nicknames.” Sam tried to laugh, but it sounded forced, even to his ears.

“I- I know,” Peter’s eyebrows were furrowed, and he was staring at Sam like he was a page of history notes he was trying to memorize. “I got your text.”

“Oh, uh okay.”

“Sammy, I uh, I have to say something, and I want you to promise you’ll let me finish.”

Sam’s stomach dropped even further. Here it was. The end of everything. “Right,” he tried to smile at Peter, “sure dude, whatever you need.”

Peter nodded. “You’ve been my best friend since the fifth grade. You know all of my secrets, all the bad things that I don’t tell anyone else. You know that I don’t like orange-flavored things because I had too much orange-flavored medicine as a child and that I stay up too late studying the night before a test and I panic after I finish taking it. You watch movies I recommend, even though you think High School Musical 2 is the best movie ever made, you- god-” Peter scrubs his hands through his hair, clenching his eyes closed briefly- “this would be so much easier if I could just- you can see the big picture. Like with this you could just- take the words, the discrete pieces of data and put them together. Make it cohesive, coherent. I’m not making sense,” he muttered.

“Pete-”

“I don’t want to just spend the night after study dates.” Peter blurted out abruptly. His face froze, like he wasn’t sure what he just said, like he was terrified Sam was going to misunderstand. “I- I mean. I want to do real dates. With you. And spend the night and wear your clothes and have my hoodies smell like you and watch you spin around in the morning show chairs without having to worry about you catching me and I want to see you without gel in your hair and I want to lean against you when we have movie nights and-”

“Pete.”

“Sammy,” Peter said, kind of breathless. “Go on a date with me.”

“Like a study date?” Sam said, also kind of breathless.

“Like a date-date. Please.”

“Yeah. Yeah, just- come here-” and then Sam’s hands were on either side of Peter’s face and his fingers were in his hair and Peter’s hands were caught in Sam’s sweater and then-

Peter kissed like he didn’t know all the answers, for once, and he was okay with it. Peter kissed like he was memorizing everything about the moment. Peter kissed like he was planning on replaying it like an old video tape, over and over until the tape wore thin and tore. Peter kissed like he could hear the orchestra playing behind them, like they were in some cheesy made for tv rom com and were about to get their happy ending.

Peter kissed like Sam was his happy ending.

Finally, they broke apart- more to catch their breath than anything else.

“Hell of a study date,” Sam breathed, unable to stop smiling.

“Shut up.” Peter was smiling, too.

And, leaning back in, Sam did.

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