this is what i open up to

anonymous asked:

if you don't mind me asking, what did taylor say when you came out? how did the conversation go? so happy for you!!

Obviously not gonna give specifics but I’ll give a general idea. So I was next in line with my sister to meet her and my heart was racing. It felt like my heart was gonna beat out of my chest and I was so scared. I wasn’t scared about coming out to her, rather, I was scared of opening up a very vulnerable side to me in front of her. So it’s our turn, I hug her, she knows my name, and talks about my tumblr post. Then I asked her if I could tell her something super duper personal. I start my story and talk about how when I was a freshman I didn’t know who I was and it was the year 1989 came out. I said by the end of the year I figured out that I like girls. I thanked her for her lyric in Welcome to New York: “You can want who you want!!! Boys and boys and girls and girls!!!”. Then I go on to saying that I came out to my sister the following year. I told her I’m in really dark place right now because my parents say homophobic stuff and are pretty close minded. And then I finally say that she’s been the constant to my life and that a new album coming out is going to help me get through this.

I wasn’t rushed at all during my story. She looked me straight in the eye and listened to every word I had to say. Her words were so incredibly comforting and she held my hand. She talked to me for so long, she wanted to make sure that I knew everything was going to be okay. I can’t believe I did it and I will never ever forget this moment in my life.

Love you Taylor💕🏳️‍🌈

Damn you’ve got it bad

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Summary: What would have happened if Peter had gone to the pool in D.C.?

Warnings: peter being ripped, a few mentions of this because why not

A/N: I know I haven’t been very active lately, so I hope this makes up for it. I am currently working on something though :)

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Essays in Existentialism: Walls

I love your fics and was wondering if you’d write a smutty one where Clarke and Lexa are neighbors and have never met but the walls are super thin and they can hear each other through them

Sunday, April 4th; 12:04pm

As soon as her face hit the pillow, the noise started. Or at least that was what it felt like. It wasn’t even the normal noises of the city creeping through her window. Those things, the car horns and mufflers, the traffic and creaking brakes, the general hum of the world where she lived, those things all sang her to sleep most of the time. But this, this low hum, it was new.

“Are you kidding me?” she growled after looking at her clock and seeing that it was lunchtime. It didn’t matter. It was her only day off, and thus she was angry that any kind of sleep was taken from her.

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I wonder how much of that classic sense of, “I can have high expectations for how other people are treated, but view myself as trash,” comes from getting a lot of one’s basic lessons in love and empathy from books instead of peers

Like, I had almost no friends as a child, so I sat alone at recess, not playing with other children or being treated as worthwhile or interesting. The part of my brain that was supposed to encode my own personal experiences of being loved and treated well grew cobwebs while I was around other kids. So I brought library books out onto the playground with me.

Books saved me—books taught me that there were worthwhile friendships out there, and what they were like. I could tell when the characters deserved better. Books were like an author bottling up love and attention for me so I could open it up when I needed it. So I was kept entertained and learned what they looked like for other people.

But that didn’t change my own circumstances. Reading about someone being comforted when they were sad was very different than feeling someone else’s arms around me when I was crying. No matter how fiercely I wanted my life to be like the books I read, it wasn’t.

So I learned: There is a reality of love and care for other people, and there is a reality of loneliness and sorrow for me.

So no wonder I had a double standard for a lot of things in my life. My education in love was strictly bifurcated, and the important dividing line was whether a scenario included me, personally.

If true, this has all kinds of implications when it comes to treating the lonely love-starved bookworm, so I wonder.

Walking briskly, Draco headed towards the quidditch pitch. The Gryffindor practice had started a few minutes ago. He was normally never late but he had valiantly attempted to curb his addiction to watching Potter train. Unfortunately it seemed as though he lived to torture himself. He sighed as he hefted his too heavy bag onto his shoulder. He needed his books after all, to keep up appearances.

Harry looked around and was shocked by the depth of his disappointment. They finished their warm up lap and landed again to stretch. Harry landed sullenly and half heartedly joined in the team stretch. He wasn’t really paying attention to what anyone was saying, but he heard snickering and looked up. Fred and George were whispering behind their hands and pointing at the stands. Harry’s head whipped towards the stands, his heart racing when he spotted white blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight.

Fred shook his head as Harry whipped off his shirt, stretching extravagantly. George made a gagging noise that had Fred snorting. “Could they be any more obvious?” He asked.
“They could be as obvious as they were oblivious.” George quipped.
Fred laughed. “Right you are.”
“Hey, Fred?”
“Yes, George?”
“Should we help them along?”
Fred grinned wickedly. “It would be the kind thing to do, I think.”
George’s expression mirrored his own. “Lovely.”


Harry had put his shirt back on to fly, it was chilly otherwise. Wood had just finished yelling at him for losing focus, which happened pretty often when Malfoy happened to be studying when they had practice.
“Hiya, Harry.” Fred grinned as he pulled up next to Harry.
“Hello, Fred. How’s it going?” He asked.
“Good, wish we didn’t have to practice on such a lovely day though.” He said looking around at the perfect summer day.
“Yeah- hey why is George going to talk to Malfoy?” Harry asked, alarmed. What if George was going to ask him to stop coming to watch the practices?
“Ah, a shame really.” Fred said with sympathy. “We heard him having a fight with his ex boyfriend. Seems like a messy break up. George is probably just checking on him.” Fred shook his head sadly, unaware of the turmoil that had been unleashed. “Right nasty piece of work he was. I hope Malfoy keeps an eye open. He deserves a better guy than that.” And with that he flew away.

Draco very nearly dropped his book when one of the Weasley twins flew to a stop several feet from where he was sitting. “Hiya, Malfoy.” He said with a smile.
Draco inclined his head. “Weasley.”
“Are you enjoying the view?” Weasley asked him innocently.
“What?” Draco sputtered.
“Lovely day, isn’t it? Perfect day to be outside and view nature at its best.” He answered.
“Oh, yes.” Draco replied, relieved. “Very, um, sunny.”
Weasley laughed and came closer. “So, Draco. Why don’t you just tell Harry you like him?”
“What?!” Draco asked again, indignant. He could feel his face getting warmer. Weasley just smiled knowingly. “I came here to study. That’s all.”
“Mm. And studying with the book upside down helps, because..?” He taunted. Draco did drop the book then. He groaned and buried his face in his hands.
Weasley laughed, not unkindly. “Look, don’t feel bad Malfoy. He never acts like a prat until you show up.” Draco looked up questioningly. Weasley rolled his eyes. “You know, taking off his shirt and all the posing.” Draco could only gape at him. Weasley smiled. “He was having a right sulk until you showed up today.”
“So what should I do?” He asked.
“Something, Malfoy. Please just do something.”

The next day Harry was walking alone to the library. He paused at the entrance, seeing a white blonde head bowed low over a book alone at a table. He let out a heavy breath and made his way over. “Hi, Malfoy. Do you mind if I sit here?”
Draco’s head jerked up and he dropped his quill. “Um, okay.” He frowned and got busy cleaning the mess his quill had made. He kept shooting furtive glances Harry’s way. “Actually, Potter. I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in a one on one seeker game tomorrow.” He said without making eye contact.
Surprised, Harry answered. “Yeah, that sounds cool.”
Draco smiled.

Draco made sure to get there early, so that when Harry got there landed after a warm up lap.
“Hi.” Harry smiled at him shyly.
Draco was glad that he had the excuse of the wind for the pink on his cheeks. “Hey, Potter.” He cleared his throat. “I’m just warming up.” And with a fortifying breath, he whipped his shirt off.

There was so much pale, creamy skin. Malfoy was lean, with muscle definition that had Harry’s eyes traveling all over. He leaned back to stretch his back and Harry’s eyes dipped lower..
with a jerk Harry tore his gaze up to Malfoy’s amused grey eyes. He shut his mouth with an audible snap that had Malfoy smirking.
Narrowing his eyes he said, “I should warm up too.” And promptly removed his shirt. He watched as Malfoy’s eyes greedily flitted over his exposed chest and arms. He grinned in satisfaction as he saw how hard it was for Malfoy to tear his gaze away. When he eventually looked up and saw Harry grinning he blushed.
“You know, Harry.” He started. “I have a better way we could warm up.”

Fred and George were hunkered down in the hufflepuff stands breathless with silent laughter. Having heard the exchange, they couldn’t stop laughing after the two boys quickly pulled their shirts on and walked hand in hand to a thicket of trees near the forbidden forest.
Eventually they caught their breath and wiped away their tears.
Fred said. “A pair of posturing fools. Standing on the quidditch pitch with their shirts off.” He sighed a laugh.
George snickered.
“Hey, George?”
“Yes, Fred?”
“Let’s go find Ron and send him that way.”
They were howling with laughter as they stumbled towards the castle.

Inspired by a post by @rosalyfart!
Heal Me // Doctor!Shawn (A Soulmate AU) Part 2

(I think I’m going to do this as a three part series, so one more part to go!)

You were discharged from the hospital a day after you were brought in. Your sister was picking you up after work but she was late. So there you were, sitting in the huge lobby of Bergan Mercy Hospital with nothing to do but twiddle your thumbs and read three month old magazines about celebrity gossip. You check your phone and see it’s been only five minutes since she said she was on her way out of work. Which meant she was going to be driving another half an hour before she got to you and it was nearing evening time.

“Hey!” you look up and see Shawn crossing the lobby. He looks so good. The scrubs from before were damn fine but this was something else. He was in a dark green button down, sleeves rolled up, black tailored slacks and a gorgeous very expensive looking watch. You’re pretty sure he just came from an Armani photoshoot looking like that. You look down at your old winter coat and purple t-shirt from a fundraising event and your stretchy black track pants. It was stuff your sister brought by for you to wear home.

“H-hey,” you smile and he stops just in front of you. “What’re you doing?” you ask and he squats down, fingers gliding along your cast.

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Gemini moon: *extremely talkative*

Gemini moon’s mother: I wonder why you talk so much? I mean don’t get me wrong I love that about you sweetie but my GAWD I’ve always wondered who you get that from? It must be your father he NEVER shut up! No wait, probably your grandmother ugh! That woman always used to go on and on and on into infinity. I can never concentrate! It’s like you open your mouth and all that comes out is incoherent nonsense and it’s so endless I never know when you’re going to stop and I try to talk to you and you’re still going on about lord knows what it sounds like the radio and the tv are on at the same time sweetie maybe tone it down a bit? breathe? I used to think you had asthma with all the talking you did and all the breaths you had to take before you just went on again! Don’t even get my started with how I catch you talking to yourself sometimes–you know what? its definitely from your grandfather, oh boy could that man TALK your ear off and he talked about random things and couldn’t stay on one single topic! it was so confusing to listen to him just like you?? I guess we’ll never know which person your chattiness came from, wow what a mystery!!!

Messy

Pairing: Baker!Bucky x Reader
Summary: You bake Bucky a cake 
A/N: Okay so I’m somewhat addicted to writing this pairing as you can probably tell haha! Anyway, this is part of a series called The Sweetest Thing!  and I hope you enjoy it. Come let me know what you think! 
Word count : 574

Why on earth did you think this was a good idea? Your husband was the baker, not you. Here you were five months pregnant with what looked like the whole pantry on the counter. “I can do this” you whisper to yourself, glancing at the clock on the wall. Four hours. Four hours until Bucky got back. You tie the apron around your belly, and put your hair up so it’s out of the way before reaching for Bucky’s recipe journal.

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I Wanted It to be Real

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Chapter 5

I’ve been through a breakup once before, with Agatha. It was right at the beginning of the school year, when she said she thought we loved each other as friends, not as something else. I didn’t have to think about the way I should react at the time, how upset I should be, what I should say, because I’d already known for years that we were going to be endgame.

It turned out I was wrong.

I don’t have to think about it now, even though I should. I haven’t done this before, breaking up with someone over a fight, going back to hating someone I should have hated all along. It’s not hard, acting like I’m mad at Baz. It’s not the first time.

Penny is unusually quiet when I tell her about the fake breakup. Agatha rushes to console me, offering hugs and extra dessert and a shoulder to cry on if I want it. I have to keep reminding her that we were never really dating, and the breakup was staged, so of course I don’t need any of those things.

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I stirred at last from a deep, contented stupor, lifting my hand to lay it over the spot where his pulse beat slow and strong, just at the base of his breastbone.

“It’s like bicycle riding, I expect,” I said. My head rested peacefully in the curve of his shoulder, my hand idly playing with the red-gold curls that sprang up in thickets across his chest. “Did you know you’ve got lots more hairs on your chest than you used to?” 

“No,” he said drowsily, “I dinna usually count them. Have bye-sickles got lots of hair, then?” 

It caught me by surprise, and I laughed. 

“No,” I said. “I just meant that we seemed to recall what to do all right.” 

Jamie opened one eye and looked down at me consideringly. “It would take a real daftie to forget that, Sassenach,” he said. “I may be lacking practice, but I havena lost all my faculties yet.” 

We were still for a long time, aware of each other’s breathing, sensitive to each small twitch and shifting of position. We fitted well together, my head curled into the hollow of his shoulder, the territory of his body warm under my hand, both strange and familiar, awaiting rediscovery. 

The building was a solid one, and the sound of the storm outside drowned most noises from within, but now and then the sounds of feet or voices were dimly audible below us; a low, masculine laugh, or the higher voice of a woman, raised in professional flirtation. 

Hearing it, Jamie stirred a little uncomfortably. 

“I should maybe have taken ye to a tavern,” he said. “It’s only—” 

“It’s all right,” I assured him. “Though I must say, of all the places I’d imagined being with you again, I somehow never thought of a brothel.” I hesitated, not wanting to pry, but curiosity got the best of me. “You … er … don’t own this place, do you, Jamie?” 

He pulled back a little, staring down at me. 

“Me? God in heaven, Sassenach, what d’ye think I am?” 

“Well, I don’t know, do I?” I pointed out, with some asperity. “The first thing you do when I find you is faint, and as soon as I’ve got you back on your feet, you get me assaulted in a pub and chased through Edinburgh in company with a deviant Chinese, ending up in a brothel—whose madam seems to be on awfully familiar terms with you, I might add.” The tips of his ears had gone pink, and he seemed to be struggling between laughter and indignation. 

“You then take off your clothes, announce that you’re a terrible person with a depraved past, and take me to bed. What did you expect me to think?” 

Laughter won out. 

“Well, I’m no a saint, Sassenach,” he said. “But I’m no a pimp, either.” 

“Glad to hear it,” I said. There was a momentary pause, and then I said, “Do you mean to tell me what you are, or shall I go on running down the disreputable possibilities until I come close?” 

“Oh, aye?” he said, entertained by this suggestion. “What’s your best guess?” 

I looked him over carefully. He lay at ease amid the tumbled sheets, one arm behind his head, grinning at me. 

“Well, I’d bet my shift you’re not a printer,” I said. 

The grin widened. 

“Why not?” 

I poked him rudely in the ribs. “You’re much too fit. Most men in their forties have begun to go soft round the middle, and you haven’t a spare ounce on you.” 

“That’s mostly because I havena got anyone to cook for me,” he said ruefully. “If you ate in taverns all the time, ye wouldna be fat, either. Luckily, it looks as though ye eat regularly.” He patted my bottom familiarly, and then ducked, laughing, as I slapped at his hand. 

“Don’t try to distract me,” I said, resuming my dignity. “At any rate, you didn’t get muscles like that slaving over a printing press.” 

“Ever tried to work one, Sassenach?” He raised a derisive eyebrow. 

“No.” I furrowed my brow in thought. “I don’t suppose you’ve taken up highway robbery?” 

“No,” he said, the grin widening. “Guess again.” 

“Embezzlement.” 

“No.” 

“Well, likely not kidnapping for ransom,” I said, and began to tick other possibilities off on my fingers. “Petty thievery? No. Piracy? No, you couldn’t possibly, unless you’ve got over being seasick. Usury? Hardly.” I dropped my hand and stared at him. 

“You were a traitor when I last knew you, but that scarcely seems a good way of making a living.” 

“Oh, I’m still a traitor,” he assured me. “I just havena been convicted lately.” 

Lately?” 

“I spent several years in prison for treason, Sassenach,” he said, rather grimly. “For the Rising. But that was some time back.” 

“Yes, I knew that.” His eyes widened. 

“Ye knew that?” 

“That and a bit more,” I said. “I’ll tell you later. But putting that all aside for the present and returning to the point at issue—what do you do for a living these days?” 

“I’m a printer,” he said, grinning widely. 

And a traitor?” 

“And a traitor,” he confirmed, nodding. “I’ve been arrested for sedition six times in the last two years, and had my premises seized twice, but the court wasna able to prove anything.” 

“And what happens to you if they do prove it, one of these times?” 

“Oh,” he said airily, waving his free hand in the air, “the pillory. Earnailing. Flogging. Imprisonment. Transportation. That sort of thing. Likely not hanging.” 

“What a relief,” I said dryly. I felt a trifle hollow. I hadn’t even tried to imagine what his life might be like, if I found him. Now that I had, I was a little taken aback. 

“I did warn ye,” he said. The teasing was gone now, and the dark blue eyes were serious and watchful. 

“You did,” I said, and took a deep breath. 

“Do ye want to leave now?” He spoke casually enough, but I saw his fingers clench and tighten on a fold of the quilt, so that the knuckles stood out white against the sunbronzed skin. 

“No,” I said. I smiled at him, as best I could manage. “I didn’t come back just to make love with you once. I came to be with you—if you’ll have me,” I ended, a little hesitantly. 

“If I’ll have you!” He let out the breath he had been holding, and sat up to face me, cross-legged on the bed. He reached out and took my hands, engulfing them between his own. 

“I—canna even say what I felt when I touched you today, Sassenach, and knew ye to be real,” he said. His eyes traveled over me, and I felt the heat of him, yearning, and my own heat, melting toward him. “To find you again—and then to lose ye …” He stopped, throat working as he swallowed. 

I touched his face, tracing the fine, clean line of cheekbone and jaw. 

“You won’t lose me,” I said. “Not ever again.” I smiled, smoothing back the thick ruff of ruddy hair behind his ear. “Not even if I find out you’ve been committing bigamy and public drunkenness.”

Gun Owning Community Rocked By Satirical News Outlets with Sarcastic Sensibilities

The gun owning community was left in turmoil recently as satirical news outlets across the county ran a series of hard hitting digital and print articles aimed at the Second Amendment and the NRA.

“It was a complete slaughter” said one gun owner, filling out several pieces of mandatory ATF paperwork at their local gun shop. “You unload a plethora of statistical data comparing crime rates across several countries before and after their attempts at gun reform, provide a complete etymological, technical, and legal breakdown of the Second Amendment, and a mountain of data from the FBI, CDC and private watchdog entities in regards to gun crime and gun defense usage in the United States, yet one tongue in cheek article making fun of the NRA or comparing the US to the UK and it’s just all for naught.”

We asked the individual if they’d like to have their name printed in this article, but they declined, stating that revealing their identity would likely open themselves and their family up to death threats from gun control proponents. “It’s just not enough that they can completely negate your argument and its empirical merits with a widely repeated and humorous one liner from a late night talk-show host, they also have to threaten violence and death on you and your family.” The shopkeeper behind the counter nodded in sad agreement, pensively eyeing the clock as the two phones he re-dialed the NICS system from still got busy signals.

“I mean, what can you do?” they continued. “I’m not even not an NRA member and based on publicly available records the NRA isn’t even in the top 50 highest-spending lobbying groups in congress, but after these articles, how can I really tell, you know?”

horror

a/n: not requested, but I realized that I pretty much always fall asleep during horror movies, even when they’re good, and I was looking through gifs and stumbled upon this one, so thats how this imagine came about. 

Originally posted by cekmeyencekmece

~

“What do you want to watch, babe?” Shawn asks from the bathroom through the open door.

“Uh, you can choose.” You respond, staring down at your laptop, trying to work on an assignment. 

Shawn enters the room, “Y/n, it’s movie night. No more work.” 

“I know, I know. Just let me finish this one thing.” You tell him, still not taking your eyes off the screen as you read over your assignment before getting ready to submit it. Shawn plops down next to you, turning on the tv and opening up Netflix. 

After a while, you finish submit your assignment, and Shawn offers a few different options for the movie. “Lets watch a horror.” You tell him, in the mood for something scary. 

“You’re going to fall asleep.” He responds immediately. He knows you too well. 

“But I really want to watch something scary.”

There is silence as Shawn starts browsing through the horror movie options. You two finally settle on one called 13 Cameras. It starts playing, and Shawn takes your laptop and puts it on the side table next to the bed before flipping off the bedroom light so the room is only illuminated by the light from the tv screen. He climbs into bed, laying down and wrapping an arm around you as you cuddle into his side.

As the movie starts, you try to stay awake, but theres something about horror movies that always make you feel like falling asleep. 

“What the hell, he’s such a fuckin creep.” Shawn mutters about ten minutes into the movie, which causes you to open your eyes, and prevents you from falling asleep.

“Yeah, he’s gross.” You respond. 

“You weren’t watching.” He says, knowingly.

“I’m trying to, I swear.” You respond, yawning. He just smiles, shaking his head at you, fulling expecting that you’ll fall asleep soon.

You both watch in silence for another forty-five minutes. You’re interested to know what happens, but you have to fight so hard to keep from falling asleep. Shawn glances down at you, then comments, “I’m surprised you’re still awake. You normally don’t make it this far into a horror movie.” 

“I want to know why this guy is doing this.” You respond, sleepily.

He rubs your back, and you know he’s smiling by the sound of his voice as he says, “It’s okay, just sleep. I’ll tell you the end tomorrow.” He gently kisses you on the forehead. 

You smile and mumble, “Thanks, goodnight.” And you close your eyes, not bothering to fight off sleep any longer. 

“Night, baby.” 

Whoookay

Look I didn’t even say anything so what’s up with all hate asks this morning.

What’s ya mad about?

I mean just cause everyone else was just trendy and casual, but von beardy is dressed like she thinks she going to opening night???

I mean A told me what to wear sooooooo…….

So you pissy at me cause she didn’t get the memo and looks outta place??


Bbbbbbeeeeeeeaaaaarrrrddddddddddddddd.

Say it with Me now.

She

Is

Just

A

Beardy.


How much are you pissing yourself now?

You still not gonna touch my awesome day. So there.


Originally posted by usedpimpa

Lol, u spicy. That you for the Spanish prompt, especially this. I feel like my Latine expertise would reach it full potential if I wasn’t monolingual 🙃!-Admin Coran, Have A Nice Day! ♥️

HUNK

  • Hunk is insatiably curious. That’s what his mom described him as when showing Lance baby photos of 2 year old Hunk in an oversized Shrek shirt with a rock nearing his open mouth. Then when her itiiti at age 5 sat on the living room floor with an advanced history book on his legs and mind working hard to understand the paragraphs of textbook jargon.
  • Later in middle school, Hunk with a smile full of braces, holding up a first place ribbon for the science fair. Lance is photoed struggling to use Hunk as an armrest, holding up a 7th place certificate.
  • Lastly, a new picture of Hunk holding up his acceptance letter from the Garrison, his infamous smile and his mother hugging him tightly, caught mid-laugh with happy, thick tears running down her soft face weathered over the years.
  • This translated over to languages. He learned Samoan quickly at a young age, than English as a second language. When Hunk went over to Lance’s house and heard the rapid fire and lively Spanish being thrown around with ease, the engineer grew wide eyed.
  • Lance helped him happily, excited to share something with his childhood best friend. Knowing Lance, flirtious phares and some curse words were top of the list. Now Hunk is semi-fluent, due to Lance talking about others and hanging around with his family often.
  • So excited when he finds out you speak Spanish!! He loves to hear you talk in Spanish, especially if it’s a different dialect.
  • One day, you two are in lounge, your boyfriend laying across your lap with heavy eyes closed and low murmurings. You run your hand through his soft, dark hair as he holds your other hand, rubbing his thumb over your skin.
  • “Hey, can you tell me something sweet in Spanish?” He asks, allowing you to catch a glimpse of his topaz eyes.
  • You chuckle, looking up with a slight smirk “Yo quiero comer tu cola, mi amor.”
  • Behind you, Lance erupts with rib hurting laughter. He had sauntered in a few seconds before and saw the whole exchange transpire.
  • Hunk had shot up, sputtering out a laugh and face growing red, all his tiredness disappeared with embarrassment and amusement.
  • “¿No sabías que Hunk sabe español guey?” Lance chokes out, wiping a tear from his eye.
  • You look around, even more stunned and confused than a Pokémon hit with confusion. “Hunk, you know Spanish?” A whisper leaves your mouth.
  • The laughter dies down, and Hunk turns around, knees planted against the couch and hands pressed near them. He leans close and smirks, “Claro que si, sucia/o.”
  • With that, Hunk lets out a giggle and shied away as Lance coughs with surprise.
  • You are left pleasantly (?) surprised with a burning face.

KEITH

  • Monolingual brosephs over here 🤙
  • The moment he hears Spanish leave your mouth, he becomes highly impressed. Maybe a little jealous that you have such great control over a different and varying language, but 94% impressed.
  • Training was a big part in Keith’s day, but you were a bigger part in his life. So how does one combine the two?
  • “I can’t go on!” You croaked dramatically, falling against the cool, alabaster white floor. Drops of sweats traced your face as you attempted to breath steady.
  • Keith gave a chuckle, squatting down to place, siting criss cross apple sauce.
  • A sharp tap on your arm caught your attention. Keith handed you a water bottle which you took greedily.
  • “Gracias mi corazón.” You said after downing the cool water. You could feel how it traced throughout your chest and wished for more.
  • Keith hummed, looking distantly. He took sips of his drink even though he was as tired and sweaty as you.
  • “Tell me something sweet in Spanish.” He said with an oddly quiet voice.
  • “What?”
  • He didn’t respond for a moment. As you opened your mouth to ask again, he said “You just always say thanks and curse sometimes, but never anything sweet.”
  • The Black Paladin let his head hang down, fingers rubbing together as if trying to make fire spring forth.
  • Lifting yourself up, you lean against Keith, placing your hand on his forearm. “Yo quiero comer tu cola.” You whispered, face wearing the mask of an angel, though your words were devious.
  • Keith faced you, a blush hitting his face as a smile grew.
  • You leaned close, hands looking for each other.
  • “SHUT UP! YOU REALLY PLAYED HIM LIKE THAT??” A voice blasted through the still air of the training room.
  • Pulling away from one another in embarrassment and surprise, you could see Lance in room over head.
  • Dread filled your body as his snorting filled your head.
  • Keith was far too embarrassed to fully comprehend what Lance meant and pulled you out of the room.
  • Now you had to bribe Lance to keep his clam like mouth shut.

PIDGE

  • “Pidge, keep an eye on your right.” Your voice crackles over the voice comms. She snickered, pushing her Lion to speed up faster, leaving Lance behind her. “Don’t worry, this radar I put in will let me know if there’s anything near by.”
  • “Just watch your side cabrona.” You huffed, crossing your arms from inside the Castle. Coran looked over and snorted, reminiscing on his better days with Alfor.
  • “Hey, here’s an idea.” Pidge said with a mocking tone. “ You could say something nice and sweet to your girlfriend instead.”
  • “Hey, here’s an idea as well,” Lance cut in obviously annoyed by the joking couple, “Stop making me want to throw up.” You can practically hear the way his eyes roll and mouth being pulled down in a harsh scowl.
  • A deep smirk ran across your face as your lips leaned in close to the microphone on your headset. In a voice sweeter than honey, you said “Yo quiero comer tu cola.”
  • Silence filled the air.
  • Pidge scrunched her eyes together, trying to figure out what you meant since this wasn’t your usual sweet talk.
  • Coran, however, closed his hands into fists and stared at you with an open mouth, wide, shocked eyes, and face turned boiling red. You had forgotten that the Castle changes the language so diplomatic people can understand each other better.
  • Lance broke the silence with a sputtering laugh caught in his chest. “You really did NOT just say that.”
  • Pidge looks around though neither of you are there in the Green Lion, and asks “Say what?”
  • Now the both of you are cackling, but Coran feels the heat cover his face and just shakes his head.
  • “What? What did you say!?”

SHIRO

  • The dining room was spinning. Your nostrils filled with the scent of some fancy cologne he borrowed from Lance. His robotic arm held the small of your back, while the other held your hand against his chest. Eyes closed, Takashi Shirogane nuzzled into your shoulder as you did the box step around the dimmed room.
  • Music played like a hush through out the air. Your feet would crash into each other, leading to sheepish giggles.
  • Occasionally Shiro would whisper sweet nothings in to your ear, both in Japanese and English. He slows, before asking you for a few sweet words in Spanish.
  • You giggle, intoxicated by the scene of it all. The romantic dinner, impromptu dancing, the feeling of complete love growing in your chest.
  • “Yo quiero comer tu cola.”
  • Then a third voice cracked in. “I would leave that sweet talk for the bedroom.”
  • Spinning around, you saw Lance in the doorway of the dinning room, a bowl of green, jiggling, gunk in hand. He was wearing his delicate robe and face mask, but that damned smirk never changed.
  • Shiro towered behind you with a perplexed look. “ What do you mean?” His voice rumbled, but his was more curious than angry.
  • You shook you head as inconspicuously as one could, eyes pleading for Lance to keep his mouth shut, for once.
  • “They were talking about eating yo-”





  • The night before was a blur. Lance was walking around, rubbing his jaw where a spoon sized bruise formed and giving you dirty glares.
  • Shiro on the other hand grew red catching a glimpse of you or hear your name, making the others wonder what had happened.
  • Needless to say, the rest heard and it become a not so inside joke within the group.
  • It wasn’t too bad afterwards, expect when some began coming to you with questions.
Take Control

Eddie Kaspbrak disappeared every Thursday for at least three hours (often an hour or so more) after the end of the school day for no apparent reason whatsoever. All that Richie knew about it was that he took his bike to get there (which came as no surprise at all) and that he never bothered explaining where he was rushing off to or why he couldn’t see him and the other losers again until later that evening. Everyone else seemed to have accepted his mysterious weekly vanishing as one of Eddie’s many quirks and Richie had almost done the same – this had been going on ever since he’d met him, after all – until he decided he’d had enough of his Thursday afternoon boredom. Not being around Eddie always seemed to make his mind itch in anticipation and he blamed that for his frequent outbursts of irrational behaviour. While Eddie was with him, though his palms were often drenched in sweat and he could sometimes hear nothing but his own rapid heartbeat, he would always at least try not to do anything completely stupid, just so he could stay on Eddie’s good side. Without him, he simply lost control.

So on one particular Thursday in autumn, whilst the other losers all agreed to meet up at the barrens after dinner and then went their separate ways (Eddie having already rushed off to wherever he so desperately needed to go), Richie rushed off as well, just after Eddie and keeping him in sight, but making sure to remain at a safe distance from him to minimise the chances of him being seen. During the next forty minutes they rode through parts of the town Richie had never ventured into before, Eddie unknowingly leading the way.

He obviously knew the areas they crossed exceedingly well, weaving in and out of traffic and hurtling around countless street corners with ease. Richie did his best to keep up but almost lost him on more than occasion, not to mention the time he was sure he would have gotten caught because the only sounds that could be heard were the whir of his bicycle wheels and the crunch of dry, crisp reddened leaves as he rode over them. But Eddie didn’t even flinch or glance behind him. Maybe he’d known he was being followed all along, or maybe he was so focused on wherever he was headed that everything else was an irrelevant blur. Richie hoped it was the latter.

Eddie eventually came to a stop on a busy street paved with cracked concrete and lined with more shops, traffic and people than Richie was used to. He stood his bike next to a run-down building with peeling white and green paint, waited for the green door to open from the inside and walked in with his bag over his shoulder defensively. The sign above the door proclaimed, “Derry’s Dance Academy” in thick cursive lettering. Richie watched from around the nearest corner, eyes filled with curiosity and wonder. He waited for a minute before propping his bike up against the wall, pressing the buzzer by the door and heading inside once the door miraculously opened for him.

What hit him first was the smell. It wasn’t unpleasant and he contemplated it carefully as he breathed it in. It was like… shoes, mainly, but with a hint of some sort of lemon-scented air freshener as well. With a loose grip on the handrail beside him, he climbed up the pink-carpeted stairs and peered through the next door he came to, which seemed to lead out into a reception area that doubled up as a dance studio. He couldn’t see Eddie anywhere, so he turned the handle and wandered inside.

Relieved as he was to find that it wasn’t exactly packed with people (dance students or otherwise) he couldn’t help feeling alarmed that he seemed to have lost track of his friend. There were a few other places he could have gotten to, though – more specifically, through the door opposite him into another studio or into one of what he guessed were the changing rooms. Ignoring the stares from the handful of dancers stretching in front of wall-long mirror to his left, he crossed the room and gazed through into the other studio, hoping to find Eddie there doing something he could probably be blackmailed for. Instead he found himself disappointed, a stone-faced dance teacher glaring back at him through the glass. He grinned at her and excused himself, turning to the boys’ changing room. It was the only other place he could be.

And yet Eddie Kaspbrak was nowhere to be seen. All he found was a couple of other boys squabbling over whose tights were the cleanest and whitest. Richie couldn’t help thinking to himself that if Eddie did in fact have an identical pair of tights, his would obviously be the cleanest and so their argument would be rendered obsolete.

There was one place he still hadn’t checked (save for the girls’ changing room, a place he didn’t expect Eddie to have snuck into), which he hadn’t known existed until the moment he stepped into the changing room. There was a short, narrow hallway leading away from where he stood and he followed it to an archway, through which he found himself behind that stone-faced teacher he’d seen before. And passed her, holding onto a bar while he stretched his left leg out in front of him, toes perfectly pointed, was Eddie Kaspbrak.

His hair had been brushed neatly – far more neatly than Richie had ever seen – and his posture had somehow improved dramatically, his back impeccably straight as he turned and placed his other hand on the wooden bar beside him, preparing to begin stretching out his leg all over again. His usual scarlet shorts and cream t-shirt had been swapped for a navy-blue shirt and a pair of black shorts which he wore over a spotless pair of bright white tights, his trainers having been exchanged for delicate-looking peach-coloured ballet slippers.

A part of Richie wanted to laugh hysterically while the majority was too awestruck to properly form an opinion, leaving him to stand there vacantly in the doorway until he was caught and confronted by the dance teacher, who demanded in a surprising English accent (Richie had assumed she was either French or American) that if he wanted to join the class, his hair would need to be tied back and he’d need to get his hands on a uniform. He took one more glance at Eddie – who still hadn’t noticed him – before replying that he just wanted to watch, at which point Eddie recognised his voice and tripped over his own feet in the middle of what had until then been a very promising pirouette.

Richie’s trance was immediately broken, and his lips curled up into a smirk as he bit back his laughter while Eddie looked up at him from the floor. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Eds,” he commented with a mischievous grin, knowing full well Eddie was about to die of embarrassment.

“Shut up, Richie. You know I hate it when you call me that,” Eddie snapped, picking himself up from the tiled floor and dusting himself off, returning to the wooden bar that lined the room.

Several other dancers had joined him in the studio by then, but Richie only saw Eddie as they lined up at the bar. His grin still plastered on his face, he took a seat on the floor in the corner of the room, crossed his legs and kept his gaze glued to Eddie. In all the years he’d known him, he’d never seen him move so gracefully or so delicately – of course Eddie’s fragility was well-known amongst anyone who’d ever met him, but this was very different. He didn’t seem nervous or afraid as he so often did, but in fact almost confident in his ability – something Richie had only ever seen in him when he was spouting out medical facts or doing first aid. It was refreshing.

He sat there in awe for the next hour, managing to miraculously bite back every insensitive comment he felt like making (the dance teacher’s cold eyes did often wander over in his direction, quickly putting a stop to anything he felt an urge to blurt out). He did, however, find himself snickering a few times whenever Eddie happened to glance at him; he just couldn’t believe that this was what his best friend had hiding from him all this time.

When the class finally came to a close, Eddie walked over to him hesitantly and he eagerly jumped up from the floor, the countless jokes he’d wanted to make about his secret dance classes suddenly vanishing from his mind, dissolving into a pool of images of the elegance and poise he’d witnessed within the last hour. “You were good,” was all he managed to say and even Eddie didn’t seem to know how to accept such a compliment, muttering a barely audible “thanks” as he headed into the changing room.

“So, what the hell are you doing here?” he started as Richie followed him through the doorway, keeping his gaze fixed on anything that wasn’t his best friend.

“Isn’t that obvious? I followed you.” Eddie scowled at him in reply before bending down to pick up his bag and beginning to get changed. He kept quiet but soon realised that Richie’s eyes were boring holes into the back of his head and he glanced up at him, finding him leaning against the wall with a dazed look on his face. He snapped at him to stop staring, instantly dragging him out of whatever daydream he’d been trapped in. “What?” Richie grinned, gaze still fixated on him. “I just can’t get over the fact that you’re actually wearing tights!”

“Except that I’m not – not anymore, idiot. I took them off.” Richie blinked in response before scanning his friend’s body with his gaze, only to find that he’d changed back into his usual clothes without him noticing. He nudged his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, picked up Eddie’s bag for him and opening the door, asking if he was ready to leave. Eddie nodded, took the bag from him and made his way out with Richie trailing after him like a lost puppy.

Quickly catching up with the younger boy (he did have much longer legs than Eddie, after all) Richie held onto him protectively as they headed through the busy dance studio and out the door to where they had left their bikes. He didn’t like the way the other dancers were watching them, as if Eddie belonged to them and he had no place there – which, of course, they must have gotten the wrong way around because Eddie belonged to him and only him, although the rest of the losers’ club probably would have been inclined to argue with him about that.

Eddie’s bike was outside waiting for him exactly where he’d left it. Richie’s, however, was not. The two of them looked around and scanned the area but it was nowhere to be seen and after exclaiming a string of profanities which the younger boy scolded him for, Richie turned to his best friend for guidance. “What the hell am I gonna do? It’s too far to walk and I have no idea where the fuck I am! I blame you for this, Eds.”

“Me?” Eddie scoffed, climbing onto his bike and looking as if he was about to leave his friend stranded in a strange part of town (well, the whole town of Derry was strange, but this part specifically was completely unknown to Richie). “I told you when we first met never to follow me after school on Thursdays. This is your fault!”

Richie didn’t say anything but secretly wondered how it had taken him this long to finally find out where he got to once a week after school. When it looked like Eddie was about to leave, he stepped in front of his bike and grabbed the handlebars, pointing out the bus stop across the street. “Get the bus back with me? I’ll make it worth your while.” His hand grazed against the younger’s as he spoke, and Eddie flinched like he’d been touched by a personified infection. He tried not to show his disappointment but ultimately failed, Eddie catching the hurt look in his eyes and apologising immediately.

“Fine, I’ll take the bus with you. I’m not sure what you mean by “making it worth my while” but as long as you’re paying, that’ll be enough.” He hopped down from his bike and with a sheepish looking Richie in tow, wheeled it across the road to sit under the bus stop while Richie read through the timetable.

There was a bus coming in ten minutes, but all that meant to Richie was ten minutes of awkward conversation while beads of nervous sweat clung to his forehead, his palms became clammy and a single question burnt a fiery chasm in the back of his mind. His tongue crept out to wet his lower lip, his throat drying up more feverishly with every passing moment. He was close enough to Eddie to touch him and all he wanted to do was entangle his fingers in his dark, chocolate-coloured curls and breathe in his scent the way he imagined doing in his dreams every night without fail, but knowing he would be given the same look as a disease-ridden corpse kept his compulsions at bay and he shuffled ever so slightly away from him, his gaze remaining on the road ahead as pretended to look out for the number twelve bus. But really his thoughts were consumed by the boy beside him because that’s how it always was and, as far as Richie could tell, how it always would be.

He loved and cared for each of the other losers equally, but for Eddie Kaspbrak it was a different kind of love. The kind where he was in every waking thought his mind produced and in every dream, every nightmare and every reverie too. The kind where he imagined them doing things he’d never thought about doing with anyone else, like how he imagined Eddie’s lips would taste of hot cocoa and candyfloss, or how he often pictured himself sleeping next to Eddie in a bed they owned together, legs intertwined and fingers locking them in place. In his mind, the two of them were inseparable.

It was only because Eddie nudged him in the stomach with his elbow that his contemplation dispersed, the sudden roar of an engine alerting him to the fact that the bus had arrived. He paid for their tickets with a ten-dollar bill and followed Eddie to their seats, his hands finding their way onto the bike as well, both of them holding it down so it wouldn’t fall during their journey.

That question was still there, calling to him and begging to be spoken aloud. It had been there in the back of his mind for quite some time, but the sight of Eddie pirouetting across a room in tights and executing a virtually perfect arabesque had practically set it on fire.

“Eds,” he started hesitantly, the glare that he met with prompting him to correct himself. “Eddie, are you… You can answer honestly, okay? It won’t mean anything if you are but… are you gay?”

“No!” Eddie exclaimed a little too quickly, almost dropping the bike in shock. “I mean, not all male ballet dancers are gay, you know? Like the other guys in my class… they’re probably not. I don’t know.” He breathed deeply into his inhaler, the blush creeping up onto his cheeks making Richie smirk ever so slightly. “Why are you asking, anyway? Are you?”

Richie shook his head but it was his turn to blush. “I guess not. I was just… wondering, that’s all.” But he didn’t get to say what he wanted to, not if he also wanted to keep their friendship intact. So for once in his life he shut himself up, only silently adding “But I’d kiss you if you asked” and praying to every god and deity he’d ever heard of that Eddie hadn’t at some point become telepathic.

“Scanlan, are you awake?”

“Mhmm…”

Not the most convincing sound but a sound none the less. Pike snuggles closer against the line of her husband’s back and tries again, “Scanlan…”

This time Scanlan responds, voice heavy with sleep and mirth, “If you keep pressing against me like that I’ll be more than just awake in a minute…”

Pike giggles and presses a kiss and then another to his bare shoulder as further encouragement.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hey I just started playing Sims 4 even though I've owned it for a year, and I'm having a hard time getting into it. What do you tend to do with it, for fun? Thanks!

oh, i know that feel. sims four is… rocky. i LOVED sims 3 and when 4 came out i was so disappointed and honestly i’m still not as into the gameplay of 4 as i was 3. there was just something about the open world that really made 3 special. so i definitely get that 4 is hard to get in to, but that being said, i think a major way to amp up the fun is to look into custom content! like seriously it makes the game feel more… real? idk. i use a lot of clutter content to make my sims’ houses look more lived in and just that aspect makes it easier to get into the gameplay and like, playing pretend with my sims’ lives. i love to make up dramatic ass bullshit backstories for my sims… they’re basically all ocs lol

whylovesomeonelikeme  asked:

45 and 43 please omg your writing is amazing I’m in love!!!!

Hope you don’t mind I’m going to do 43 first in this ask and then make a separate post for 45 and tag you in it! I assumed you wanted these as Bughead but if not just holler at me and I’ll rewrite what you wanted! Also, you are too sweet thank you thank you! (Shameless self-promo but check out more of my writing on AO3)

43. Falling in love with best friend’s partner AU (Flipped things on its head a little bit. Also this is going to be a bit of a long one, I got carried away! I hope you like angst <3)

Maybe she should have realized it sooner, how hopelessly she was in love with Jughead Jones. Maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be standing here next to her best friend, Veronica Lodge, helping her decide which stationery to have at their wedding. They wanted an old Hollywood glamour wedding. Betty tried to be supportive, tried to be happy, but the truth was there were pages in her diary planning her marriage to the Jones boy.

Veronica didn’t like what he liked. She hardly knew him. She wasn’t the one who was by his side when his dad got thrown in jail or the one who had driven cross country so they could surprise Jellybean on her graduation day. No, she had been far too busy with that. Likely with her driver, Archibald Andrews.

Betty knew there was something happening between them. Something that would break Jughead’s heart if he knew. Something that would destroy him. Because when he loved, he loved absolutely. He held on tight, refused to let go. Kicked and screamed and fought for that person. She loved Veronica, with every fiber of her body, but this marriage was going to end in turmoil, and she couldn’t bear to see Jughead suffer like that.

“I have to go check out the flowers V,” Betty said, “I’ll be back in half an hour? Please don’t kill the caterer in that time. You know he’s trying his best but a wedding cake that huge is a lot to ask for.”

“What am I supposed to do? My groom’s single request in the entire wedding was that cake! If it’s not perfect then the wedding isn’t perfect!”

The two laughed and Betty departed, lost in her own thoughts. It didn’t take long for her to realize she’d left her phone back in the Lodge’s apartment. Despite having been together for two years, Jughead and Veronica had not moved in together. They both “valued their space”. Which meant, V liked her closet, and Jughead liked being able to leave his book and manuscripts thrown about a small room with little to no repercussion.

She turned around, frustrated. Of course, that would happen today. On top of every terrible thing that was already going wrong in her life, like watching the literal love of her life marry someone completely wrong for them, she’d left her phone 20 stories up and hadn’t noticed until she was at the bottom. And now both the elevators were broken. If she hadn’t been waiting on a call from her sister Polly, Betty would have counted her loses and come back after the florist meeting.

Enough flights to leave her breathless later and she had finally reached Veronica’s apartment again. It should have been simple. A laugh as she grabbed her phone, assurance that lilies and roses looked great together, and another sprint down the stairs.

But no. Life would not be kind to her today. The giggle was the first clue, the smear of red lipstick on Archie’s face the second. They hadn’t seen her, not yet, but Betty used her reporter’s ears and listened.

“I love you Archiekins. I wish this was our wedding I was planning,” she sounded wistful, making Betty’s stomach churn with anger, “But Daddy would never allow it.”

“You could just run away with me Ronnie. Forget this place, forget him, and we could start somewhere else together. You have that apartment in Barcelona. I could write there.”

Veronica’s voice sounded choked, tears in her eyes as she whispered, “I wish. God, I wish.”

Phone forgotten, Betty ran. Angry pedestrians shouted at her, street sellers tried to con her out of money, but it all sounded like a buzzing white noise. She didn’t know where she was running until she ended up right outside apartment 505. For a moment, she hesitated. Her moral compass was on the fritz. Could she possibly betray Veronica’s trust like this? Her best friend. But it wasn’t right for Jughead not to know. He couldn’t walk into a loveless marriage without being well informed.

She took an unsteady breath and knocked.

Shuffling from inside, followed by a sleep graveled shout let her know that Jughead, at 3 PM, was just now waking up. She couldn’t help but smile. That was just like him. Staying up until the sun was rising, burning holes in his keyboard.

When he answered the door, his signature cap missing and sleep still in his eyes, Betty smiled. Even without his morning (or rather, afternoon coffee) and his teeth unbrushed this man could blow her heart to pieces. He was everything she wanted.

“Hey Betts,” he smiled and opened the door further so she could sneak into his apartment, “What brings you here on this fine Manhattan…” his eyes drifted to the clock hanging above his desk and winced, “Afternoon. Wow. Guess I slept through every alarm I had. Want some coffee?”

“I’m fine Juggie. This isn’t purely a social call anyway…” her throat felt tight and she tried to keep the tears at bay. No this wasn’t about her. It was about him.

He shrugged and moved towards the coffee pot. “Is it about Veronica? She’s driving me up a wall lately,” his tone turned mocking, “Jug what do you think of the drapes? Jones, should we have these napkins or these? Can I call you Forsythe during our vows it sounds nicer.”

Betty tried to laugh, for his sake, to give him a moment of happiness before she crushed him. But it came out strangled, chocked. For a moment, their eyes met, worry lacing his expression, he opened his mouth to speak again, but she beat him to it.

“Veronica’s cheating on you,” Classic Cooper, breaking news like a blunt knife to the heart. She tried to think of anything to comfort him, “I-I’m sorry and-”

Jughead shook his head, pouring the coffee from the pot into his cup. He liked things black.

“I know.”

The silence came again. Nothing but the ticking of the clock’s second hand until she could finally break it. “You what?”

“I’m not an idiot Betty,” he took a sip, relaxing when the caffeinated wave hit him, “I’m not the one messing up her lipstick most Tuesday nights. I’m not the one texting her, making her smile when we’re supposed to be having date-night.”

She was taken aback, green eyes wide as saucers. “Then why haven’t you said anything? Why are you still marrying her Juggie? You’re just setting yourself up for something you know won’t work.”

At last his composure seemed to break. Tears tugged at the edges of his eyes and he looked away, forcing their gazes apart. It took a moment for him to finally speak, but when he did her heart broke.

“I’m a weirdo. A kid who’s dad is in jail for drug trafficking who writes mystery novels and forgets to sleep most nights. Normal people don’t fall in love with guys like me. And I figured if I just pretended we could have this unspoken agreement. She keeps seeing Archie behind my back and I get to pretend to have a regular life for once. Who else is going to marry someone like me, Betts?”

She took a shaky breath, closing the distance between them with a kiss. It was gentle, chaste, but hopefully he knew, without a doubt, that she had pages upon pages dedicated to just how special he was.

“I would.”

#286: You Cuddle In The Morning

A/N:

This is just like omg the best feeling ever… I’ve heard so many people complain and such about sleeping with their partners close through the whole night can be so irritating but I love it so much. The feeling of being so close to someone is like the most peaceful feeling ever and especially in the morning… It’s just so nice! 

Read When We Collide here //  Find my Masterlist here

Luke:

“Oh my god…” It was the vibrations through his body and the sound of his moaning voice that woke you up. You fluttered your eyes open to feel movements from your behind, he was getting eager. “What’s wrong?” You asked and blew a piece of hair away from your face. His arms were wrapped around you close, his chest heaving up and down from the back of your head. The constant movements definitely woke you up from your tired state. “The sun is right in my eyes.” He tried to blink away the annoying feeling, but it just wouldn’t seem to work. Looking up by his comment you couldn’t help but giggle just a little bit. Being in your position it was much easier to sleep without having to worry about anything. You could just block it out by turning around and burying your face into his warm chest. “That’s fun because I’m not having the same troubles.” You knew it was a sneaky comment and he looked down at you with wide eyes as much as he could. “You’re lucky you’re cute in the morning, you know?” He asked and leaned his head back, shutting his eyes completely because he was too comfortable to let go just yet.

Calum:

“You’re so warm oh my god.” You mumbled and snuggled closer to his chest if it was even possible. Calum chuckled lightly by your comment, it wasn’t the first time it was being said. It was almost his significant thing. “Well you were the one complaining about the cold even though the sun is high outside and we’re in Sydney.” He mumbled back, looking towards the curtains streaming in warm honey colors. “I was. Very cold. I think I still am.” You made a fake shiver just to act it out just a bit. He rolled his eyes by your lame way of just trying to get him to hold you closer but it worked. It was the best way to start out the morning and truth being spoken you didn’t want to leave for anything. “You could actually say we match. You’re cold and I’m hot. It’s like we’re soulmates.” He commented, trying to hold in the laugh from not cracking up. He just heard how ridiiclous it sounded. “You’re so romantic in the morning I must admit.” You mumbled and leaned down to kiss him on the hand that was resting casually on the top of your chest.

Michael:

“You know even in your sleep you react like this.” He commented and seconds later you started to wiggle by the kiss that was pressed onto your neck. “That’s because it tickles.” You mumbled into the sheets, feeling that your cheeks were already going red from the morning. “Yeah it’s fun to see. I’ve been doing it for the past hour trying to see if I could wake you up.” He admitted and leaned down to give you just one more. “Michael…” You almost wanted to groan, both because it still tickled and because he had actually woken up you. It wasn’t more than 9 A.M and that was early for a Saturday morning. “What…” He mumbled, pulling you closer if it was even possible. “I’ve just been missing you.” Rolling your eyes by his charming self you turned around on the mattress and looked up at him with tired eyes. “Did you know it’s possible to miss someone even in your sleep?” “No I haven’t heard of that yet.” You mumbled a bit impressed, watching how the bright smile on his face turned even bigger. “I think it’s always possible when it’s you.” He whispered and gave you a well deserved morning kiss.

Ashton:

“I have to get up in like… Less than ten minutes. This sucks.” You said sadly, trying to utter best to feel uncomfortable because that way it was easier to get up but it didn’t. There was just something about the whole situation that was perfect. Ashton’s chest was soft and warm, the sheets around you were just the same and you were laying in a nice position without a dead arm or side. You could look up at him when you wanted to and he could kiss you in the forehead when it pleased him. None of you wanted to get out already. “What sucks even more is that I have a day off for once. I don’t have to be anywhere but here waiting for you to come back again.” He mumbled, dragging you right down when you tried to stand up. “Ashton…” You giggled, looking down at him to see him shutting his eyes. “I need to find my panties.” He fluttered his eyes by your comment and within seconds he had found them under the bed sheets. But when he threw them towards the other end of the room you were forced right back to his chest. “They are too far away for now. Let’s just stay here.”

Gabriel Prompt Request

This was requested by anon: 28. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you.” with Gabriel?

(gif is not mine)

When Gabriel heard you pray his name, he wasted no time in getting to you.  He looked around your room, but didn’t see you anywhere.  It was dark and he was sure that you were here, he just didn’t know where.  That’s when he heard sobs coming from your closet.

The archangel pushed opened your closet door and found you huddled up in the back, behind your clothes.  He crouched down, a frown spreading across his lips.  “Are you okay [Y/N],” Gabriel asked in a hushed voice.  “What are you doing in the closet?”

“I’m scared,” you whispered through broken sobs.  “What if they come after me again Gabriel?  I barely escaped with my life last time.”

“I won’t let anything bad happen to you cupcake,” Gabriel assured you.  He held out his hand to you, helping you out of the closet.  He pulled you into his arms and rubbed your back slowly.  He could feel you trembling in his arms.

“I feel much safer with you Gabe,” you said softly, holding onto him with all of your strength.  “Please don’t go.”  You buried your face in his chest, enjoying the comfort you felt from him.

“Don’t worry,” Gabriel breathed.  “I’m not going anywhere.”


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