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the time reads weekend fun o'clock
Same as any other one - but there's always a twist, right! - this time we are using the music of Glee as inspiration! That's almost 200 songs! You don't have to know Glee, or even like it, we're just using their catalog. Check it out: List of Glee Season 1 Songs, List of Glee Season 2 Songs
Any fandom. Any pairing. Any genre. Any rating. Crossovers. RPF. Have at it!
It goes a little something like this:
Prompts
Reply with a character/pairing and a prompt, using the title of a song from Glee (e.g. Star Trek, Jim/Joanna, "Don't Stand So Close To Me"/"Young Girl" or TBBT, Sheldon/Penny, "The Lady Is A Tramp" - feel free to include specific lyrics) and hopefully a kind soul will write you a fic.
Length
Drabbles, comment!fic, whatever you like. If you want to write something longer, please do. Just link back to your journal.
Authors
Respond to a prompt or write something of your own and post it in the comments.
Readers
Say nice things about the fics that have been written.
Everyone is welcome, so don't be shy to prompt and/or write something. Most importantly: HAVE FUN!
no subject
I want your love and I want your revenge
You and me could write a bad romance
I want your love and all your love is revenge
You an me could write a bad romance
baby, it's sick
It brings her close to nausea, the way he placates everyone with sweet, goofy smiles, the way he leans too close to a fan as she holds up her camera awkwardly to take a crooked photograph. His shy grin and his eyes cast downward as he laughs off compliments. The tender shine in his eyes as he speaks of his family. It makes her laugh a little harder at other men’s jokes, brush her fingers along strangers’ lapels, lift the hem of her skirt a bit higher. They all want something to look at, after all, even him. Especially him.
She’ll give him something to look at.
It’s this part she loves: the blunt edge of a mahogany desk battering the backs of her thighs as he grips her slender forearms in tight fists, a radiating pain that will leave its mark for days in black and blue. His exposed throat, flushed pink from his Adam’s apple down to his chest, all the skin she can see with half of his shirt buttons undone. His imperfect teeth, gleaming like knives.
“You think I don’t know this is how you want it?” he growls. “You think you need to tease me?”
This, she thinks, is love: his cock sliding in and out of her like harsh torment, his pace slowing when she needs it faster, the sharpest angles when she least expects it. Her back bowed and aching as he forces her down to the unforgiving wood, pushes the lace of her bra down and away, greedily sucking the freed flesh. He heel caught on the back of his knee, manicured nails scratching trails of red over his shoulders. This is all she needs, all she ever wants from him.
“You fucking love it, John,” she hisses.
And when he lifts his head, pulls her head back by her hair, the wicked gleam in his eyes tells her she’s right—the rakish grin of gratitude for this freedom. She dies a thousand times over for that look on his face, twists and screams for it. He pulls her up by her wrists until their lips are inches apart, wet and gasping.
They can both pretend it’s revenge.
Re: baby, it's sick
Re: baby, it's sick
Re: baby, it's sick
Re: baby, it's sick