#god the glass is crunchy tonight

[hannahssimblr]

I feel bad for Liam, and eventually do extend a pity invite to what I intend to be a quiet night in with a couple of beers a couple of nights later. It’s been a day just like all of the others, spent alternating between kicking a lightweight ball from the tourist shop about, barefoot on the sand, and jumping into the sea when the sun gets too hot. 

In the late afternoon, when the skin across my nose feels tight and my hair wild and crunchy from the salt, I queue for ice cream at the Surf Shack where Liam is slinging cones and coffees. I have a sense that Liam suffers. He must, while slaving away in that tiny space between the counter and the grill that’s always sizzling with the chips and burgers that his father is flipping. He smiles widely at me when I reach the head of the line, sweat pooling on his forehead and that feeling of sympathy intensifies inside me. My sympathy, partially, because I’ve never really tried to be nice to him for reasons that neither he or I can fully understand. I invite him over on the spot.

A part of me hopes he won’t come, that he’ll be too awkward, but, of course, he does. His mother drops him off outside and he knocks on the door with a big, jolly smile and a big plastic bottle of coke. I bring it to the kitchen counter with our crates of beer and bottles of vodka. 

“Will you have a glass of this?” I offer, “Or you can have a beer or something.”

“Whatever you’re having.”

“Oh, well I’ll have vodka, probably… I’ll mix it with the coke or whatever.”

Liam, thrilled that I have chosen to make use of the drink he brought, perks up as I unscrew the top, “Okay I’ll have the same then!”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, that sounds lovely.”

I pour some for him and we head down to the living room together, where Joe and Kasper are arguing animatedly about whose ipod should be connected to the aux cable. As I sink onto the sofa next to Jen, she puts her head on my shoulder. 

“You were nice to invite him,” she says, and we watch Liam as he strikes up an enthusiastic conversation with Shane about football.

“Yeah well,” I mutter, “Keep an eye on him. My money's on him getting hammered tonight.”

I don’t know if Liam gets hammered, I stop paying attention to him after an hour or so, because I, in fact, am the one who drinks too much that night. It starts when Joe starts pouring doubles in the kitchen, and Kasper starts up a dangerous bragging game, claiming that he can hold more drink than all of us combined. 

“Even more than you!” he claims, his finger stabbing at my chest, “Mister big guy. Polish can drink more than the Irish.”

“You mean American,” Joe pipes up, “Or, I dunno, what are you?”

“Not sure,” I say, and slosh an undetermined measure of vodka into my cup. It breaches the rim and splashes on the floor a bit, but I’ll definitely clean it up later. To make a point I neck the whole thing in five seconds, then Kasper tilts his head and swallows his whole cup too, wiping his mouth with a smile and a shrug like it was easy. I know I’m in trouble. 

It’s hazy after that, and when I’m pushing the living room furniture out of the way and forcing Jen to dance with me to some Armin Van Buuren song, she squeals in my arms. “God, no! I hate dancing!”

“But you love dancing with me.”

“You are so drunk, show me your face,” she grabs my cheeks and looks right into my eyes, and she’s swimming in and out of focus, “Oh my god, yes, you’re smashed.”

“I love you, Jenny.”

“I know.”

I kiss one cheek then the other, and repeat, “I love you.”

“I thought she was lesbian,” Liam comments from the sideline. 

“Come on,” she peels me off her, clamping her hand over my mouth, because she doesn’t like the way I’m trying to sing words I don’t even know into the side of her face, I try to lightly bite her palm, “Hey! Come outside with me, I’m going to have a smoke.”

“Okay.”

She takes my hand and leads me upstairs and through the kitchen where our shoes are tacky on the floor. “Ugh, sticky.”

“I’ll clean it sometime.”

“Uh huh, sure you will,” she rummages through a cabinet and produces a pack of cigarettes from behind my parents’ champagne flutes. 

“Why do you keep them in there?” I wonder. 

“Because you’ll sneak them from me if you know where they are, and then one by one they’ll be squirrelled away, but rest assured, I’ll find a new spot to hide them tomorrow.”

“I don’t smoke.”

She smirks, “okay.”

“Not properly,”

“Then don’t ask me for one,”

I was going to, but don’t, to make a point. 

She unlocks the balcony door, “I saw a film recently that I think you’d like.”

“Really?” I don’t know how she thinks I can be involved in a discussion about films right now, but I suspect she doesn’t, that she's trying to distract me so that I don’t start bumming any of her rare and precious cigarettes. My brain doesn’t have the functioning nor the willpower to let her know I’m in on her little trick, so I just listen, or half listen to her go on about it. 

“...kind of that vibe, like you think it’s a simplistic, kind of run of the mill, then all this bonkers shit starts happening and like… oh hang on, c’mere, can you bring me out that lighter in there?”

“Over there?”

“Yep, on the table.”

I grab it and bring it to her, taking a risky move and tossing it, but she’s quick, she catches it before it careens over the edge of the balcony, proving her coordination a lot better than mine in this condition. I rest my elbows against the tempered glass of the railing because I’m losing trust in myself to stay upright. Is she talking about a David Lynch film? I should have listened to her at the beginning of this conversation because now it’s too late to ask. 

The world is churning, but I am invested in watching her try to light the cigarette, because there are two lighters, two mouths, two Jens. The sight of it is funny enough to make me laugh, as both her faces float around in front of my eyes like some magical illusion. 

“Feck sake,” the lighter sparks but fails to ignite, “This one is out of juice. Here, I think there’s another one in that bowl downstairs.”

She doesn’t trust me on the balcony alone, I can tell by the things the muscles in her brow are doing, the way she tugs me away from the edge, and I don’t think I trust myself either. I picture myself falling over the railing onto the sand, and decide that I would prefer not to be paralysed or dead before I ever see Berlin. I follow her back to the kitchen. 

Beginning // Prev // Next

corresponding LG chapter

[alchemisland]

Dinner party

If these dreams heavensent be

Then the cheffing there’s magnificent

Happy to break that bread unleavened

Slather mayo on the Manna but reverently

I’m not resident evil I’m resident greedy

Whatever it is, slather a pat on and feed me

Wanting fourths waiter won’t heed me, know he sees me

Do I sound like a man who had all he could eat?

Call me Bottomless Pete, Depthful Ste, Appetite Andrew, Fullmouth Dee

Digestive dreadnought in odd socks pulling up at Camden Lock

Wearing wolf pelts and brandishing axes, asking is this Glendalough

I’m opening up a new chippy serving fish from the Liffey

Nippy crabs bathed in apricots, cotted in haricot verts

Swaddled by ears of boxer’s cauliflower, crunchy sharp taste

Like licking blades

Or eating thousand year old petrified mushrooms you find.

.

Meeting Dionysus, he says drink to discern the mysteries

Makes me a priest of Eleusis there and then

Guarding his glade Easter to Michaelmas

My angel-given glaive stays invaders

I’m breathing like Darth Vader on sports day after the first fray

Of a ten scrap melee, how I loathe tourney format

Needed my armour stretched, fastens printing bands on the gut

Marbled inside but outside a walking boulder, marvel

Glut in arms and armour

Sight to see fighting, awe-prying even deniers

Duck dive keen clean, surprisingly agile for a fat guy

I smile a lot but I’ve got a shark’s guile

Expecting at eight, ringing off with a smile

I’ve got rings on every finger

Cross at my chest like a leatherbound bible on a hotel bedside

No less a primer, no less divine, for interest’s lack

Dogs sit below me when I eat, catching tasty flak

If we fought world war two with burgers insteada bullets

I’d have ordered another few, we all would

Eat let’s not less.

.

Are what you eat, don’t remember eating so much genius

Smoke a lot of weed though, supreme priest of green

So forgetting wouldn’t surprise, I rise from the hippocrene

After a long deep drink and have a long deep think about my Limericks

I care about my lyrics than I do about living

As an alchemist watches his alembic for changes

So I must be languid and solitary for long stretches, noting differences

Your unwanted entrances swiftly enrage me

My tone barely containing hatred fails to convey my loathing thereof

I love you, dear, more than most but not more than anything

Not more than I love myself vanishing in a vanquishment of verbs

That is my flourishing, nourishment, flowering and devourment

Taking this, for even one instance, is to rob me of all power

Finding true expression only in my lessened self, rare that hour!

To suddenly be wrenched from monomania, losing Xanadu

You ask me do I want a coffee and I do but I hate you for it.

.

I wait hours, days even, worrying my shipment will not arrive

Bassanio on the shore awaiting laden vessels

In sooth I know not why I am so sad

In pursuit of source have gone quite mad

Sorry to my dad, whose plans I neither asked nor longed fulfilled

Sorry to my plants, who I failed to water, and whose frail limbs

Even now cling to life by the faintest silken thread, ill things.

.

It arrives then like a flood from God, every dog impatient before it

Flurrying words like prize tickets

Driving upon curbs to hail them

Yielding curses as vendors fall into the road

I must await patiently an egg’s arrival, let alone one hatching

Long long long boring nothing

Suddenly action more than one wished sanctioned.

.

See your scuttling hand and force it back

Abundant as City of London, surfeit what you lack

I scoop up the bill like Lacrosse, mob boss shit

Stare at all my guests down the table, like the Passion

Another year in fashion surpassing, cutlassing the champer’s neck

Lick her neck like the rim of a wine glass girdled with microdot acid

I’m hearing your noteless Fantasia

Bottle farts and men will pay you

Bombastic swelling motifs, cheeks flush when you look up

Yours or mine

Wanna ask you that at the end of tonight

Hold the door, top of the taxi line

It’s fucking fantastic, guts and arms elastic

My inner windlass turns, lash the wind to my jodhpurs

Know this might be odd but think I might be God’s son

We can’t be sure until I’m back, but keep up the practice

Drink the wine, no you’re not vampires, be to others example.

.

Dog chewing on a fifty quid hambone

In wit, landed fifty crits and my clip still got ammo

When I hear it click or jam, I out the rambo I used to cut the roast open

Used be the most hopeful, now I’m the cunt with the stuff that’s notable

Stuffing fiver notes up nose, testing that coke’s potable, Colombian opal

Wore blue crocs anticipating meat sweats, and a stripey vest

Looking like a gay sailor ready to swab decks

My guests, different to yesterday’s, feign interest, laughing at my jests

Yellow corn Elysian teasing my mouth ceiling

See it again tomorrow, hear it pinging off the porcelain

Find it that appealing

I’m the revered preacher in residence here, revered for cleaning feet

Feature of this church since, well not quite B.C.

Look upon my unpleasing feature, pitiful creature

Call me an unworthy shepherd, see me dead to highlight err

I am a scapegoat, meeting bravely inescapable fate.

.

Dreaming things edible esculent

Culinary medicine delectable tastificant

By day taste’s miser, gruel water and hard tack only

Sleeping I inhabit an oneiric epicurean

My fancies come as cured ham

Fat man’s fantasies, weighing in lbs 118

Seen heavier turkeys, eaten heavier jerkies, but only whilst asleep

Tossing in my chamber, wondering spinach or rocket

Meals in cooking frowns inspiring, much fretted over

No! That milk is over, that meat is foetid; oh move over

Send not a drover to do a shepherd’s job

Send not a Moses to Gomorrah and Sodom

Fatty lumps of succulent rump, boiling broths frothing over.

.

Lean cuts of bacon as grace my plate

Make a Vegan wanna taste, kneel to Rimmon can’t maintain God’s grace

But those ribs are glazed, parted from the rack like paid wages

Like Eve peeled away from Adam after recalcitrant Lilith was sent away

Eden is too early for suffragettes, even Pankhurst agrees

We’re having butter-stuffed English Muffins, pancakes

Hunks of bread with crusty black flanks, save me the heel

I dip it in olive grease, appealing to the Gods of the Greek

Whose breath in satisfaction makes a breeze that stirs the wheat

Water jug cold and clear, feeling like I could dip my feet in

Dive to the lapis deep end, the bravest diver Irish

What would I find, what would my dictys keep

Hunger creeps up and away just as fast

Whip up a batch of quail eggs and mayonnaise, be quick about it

Needed more apple segments in my Waldorf salad but it wasn’t too bad

Pomes like gilded planets, slice of eggplant like stamped bad banana

Beside peppered eggs like fit to burst solar blisters

Chef kiss my fingers like upon the cheek of my sisters in greeting

Feeling Grecian eating peeled apple lunula

I should get a Toga and little boots Caligula.

.

Music is classy, Dvorak suites

Cannabis infused jelly beans pyramided on a gleaming brass platter

Someone asked how many, I didn’t glance, answered it didn’t matter

First movement of the Moonlight Sonata

Conducting with my arm like I had a ghost orchestra

Clicking like Sinatra, goth chick with a split tongue telling me about Tantra

She wears legging as pants, looking like Logan’s Run

Hate that anonymous look, I slug down another finger of glug and look up

You across the room, brighter bulb looking sultry seductive

Unfit for selvedge, dress hem most distant from your heel

I am stirred like Achilles hearing his lover’s death

My breath rhythmless seeks pattern

Dancefloor pattern chequerboard like a Van or a Masonic Lodge

Two stepping malevolent dodging revellers

Boogey to your side, caught in headlights

Make me roadkill, maybe overkill but composed you three hundred odes

Tell she wants to go but not with me, wrote some of it but not this scene

Manifesting badly, broadcast full of static, she’s 4K I’m ceephax

Step back, need a stimpack, she’s wearing a skimpy backless black dress

Looks like an actress awaiting interview, somebody who knows Brad Pitt

Magnetic I am a knacker really, Brad Pitt but in Snatch, most unworthy.

[hotdamnhunnam]

Can I request these for Charlie Hunnam please?

👠🥡🤏

Thanks for your request for my Emoji Fic Fest! 💗

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Just a Pinch

Pairing: Charlie Hunnam x F!Reader Warnings: smut, swearing, kitchen counter sex Word Count: ~1.3k Emoji Prompt: 👠🥡🤏 (key words are in bold)

“Babe, you really didn’t have to go through all this trouble just because I said I wanted to stay in tonight…” you tell your loving boyfriend as you step into the kitchen. For you and Charlie, foodie Friday is a whole fucking tradition, but you’d told him earlier today that you were in the mood to stay at home and that cheap takeout would be totally alright.

Apparently he disagrees—when you came home from work you found him cooking up a feast. Preparing several of your favorite dishes just the way you please. Enough to feed five mouths at least, though it’ll be just the two of you gorging yourselves on what he cooks; Charlie eats like a fucking beast, and you will too given how yum everything looks.

You really hadn’t meant for him to go through so much trouble, but here looking at him now you must confess that Chef Charlie is wicked sexy and incredibly adorable.

“What? ‘Trouble’ my ass,” he answers with a mouthful of some crunchy vegetable, a little piece that he’d just cut. Grabs up the tall bottle of wine nearby to pour his girl a glass.

As you approach him at the counter you lean toward him for a quick peck on the lips, thanking him for the wine then taking a big sip.

He carries on as to why this is really no trouble for him and something that he’s glad to do. “I fucking love to cook and I’m amazing at it too. Especially since there’s a pinch of love in every recipe when I’m cooking for you.”

You fucking love this stupid cheesy side of him without a goddamn doubt. Your lips turn down into a playful little pout. “Aw, just a pinch…?”

He laughs. And then of course he has to crack a joke about his massive shaft. “Yeah, like my dick is just an inch.”

“I beg to differ. Slightly bigger when it’s stiffer.”

“Bitch what’re you callin’ slight—” he huffs and starts sadistically tickling your sides, through the cute dress that you changed into after work to wear for your stay-at-home date night.

Set the glass of wine aside, to avoid spilling as you burst into a fit of giggles. Miserably failing to squirm out of the firm grasp of his hands around your middle and escape his evil tickles.

“With those slutty stripper heels that you put on for me, you know you’ve got no hope to run from me,” he snarls into your ear ominously. Charlie would never really slut-shame you for what you choose to wear no matter what, but it’s a whole kink when he teases you for being such a dirty little slut. Obviously.

At last his tickles turn to tender gropes and squeezes; you surrender to him just the way he pleases. You will always be a slut for Charlie. Smile up at him provocatively. “Then take them off of me. Take everything off of me.”

Thankfully he’s a slut for you as well. Some of the stuff he’s cooking might get overdone but he just doesn’t care right now when all that he can think about is how his girl is so damn beautiful and hot as hell… so fucking lovely…

Charlie really does love cooking in this kitchen. But when your fine ass is here with him he’d much rather bend you over the counter and fuck you in that position.

First things first—as his mouth latches onto yours in a deep kiss, your eager hands reach for the fabric of his light grey shirt, tugging it upwards, since you always need to see and feel how hot he is. He is a fucking god for serious. Soon all the focus will be on stripping you naked, and if he’s still clothed through all of that you cannot fucking take it.

“Such a needy little slut,” he taunts, pulling back from the kiss to strip himself topless and treat you to the magnificent view you want. His mocking words attack your cunt. Start that familiar fucking flood. “So fucking desperate.”

Soaking in your pleasure. Gawking at the muscles of his chiseled chest and rippled ridges of his abdomen like damn. “Yes, sir. For you I always am.”

The sweet submissive slut in you is what this man lives to adore. The side of you that only Charlie Hunnam ever had the honor to explore. He knows you get this way for him alone and nothing turns him on more. “Mmm, my perfect little whore.”

His strong arms hoist you up onto the kitchen counter spread out on your back rather than facedown, so that you can watch him as he goes to town. So that you get to see the waistband of his white boxers stick out above his jeans hanging so low around his hips, now as he towers over you and licks his luscious lips. Locks his blue eyes on yours and reaches up your dress to take your panties in his grip. You quickly kick your shoes off of your feet so that your man can concentrate on more important things to strip.

He slips the black lace down the bare skin of your legs, his every move pure fucking sex.

Then flings your panties to the floor, and slides his fingers slowly up your inner thighs toward your core, hardly surprised to find you dripping like a whore.

“Who do you get so fucking wet for?”

Jesus, how you love it when he asks you this. The powerful possessive way he teases. Constantly reminding you—and himself too—that you are his. Answer with words that couldn’t possibly be truer. “You, sir. Only you.”

He loves to hear it though of course he never really needs your words to know it’s true.

One hand still playing with your pussy, every tug and twirl of his talented fingers bringing you to a whole new level of juicy, Charlie’s other hand pulls down the straps of your dress to gain access to your chest.

Typically now he’ll use his sinful mouth and fingers to worship both of your breasts. He loves to pleasure you that way. But also loves to fucking play. So that’s what’s happening today: he takes one nipple in between his thumb and forefinger and squeezes just a little bit… then devilishly drops his hand away. ‘Cause that’s all the attention that he’s giving to your tit.

“Just a pinch,” he dares to say.

Oh, fuck him! You groan loudly in frustration and for once wish that his dick were really truly just an inch, so you could sass right back and mock him.

Of course it’s not. Because he is a fucking god. And even though you hate it you have to admit that cheeky Charlie teasing you so wickedly, and flashing you his trademark playful wink… it’s a whole kink. It’s filthy, and it’s fucking hot.

He makes up for it anyway—like, right away. Next thing you know he’s anchoring his hand behind your neck, kissing you passionately till you’re just a breathless wreck, while smoothly shifting his body weight up onto the counter in between your widespread legs. All set to satisfy your inner slut before she even begs.

Before he claimed you as his girl you had seen scenes, of him on screen, having hot sex—fucking obscene—but never in your wildest dreams would you have fathomed that you’d someday be beneath this stunning sex god with your tits pressed up against his sculpted pecs… your pussy throbbing as it rubs against the huge bulge in his crotch, every last inch of you submitting to the power of his touch… hands cradling his flawless face and tangling in his golden locks, your wet cunt aching for his cock, whole body trembling as you feel his firm toned muscles tense and flex…

His dick is definitely more than just an inch. And when he fucks you he makes damn sure to pour on the love, more than enough—much more than just a pinch.

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Emoji Fic Masterlist

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[sweetdanibear]

~How the Haikyuu boys would react to you accidentally hurting them during sexy time~ fem reader

Warnings: Smut: Daddy kink, choking, edging, over stimulation, squirting,dacryphilia(crying), breeding, praising, degrading, hierophilia(fetish of being sexually attracted to  religious and sacred objects or figure)  God Complex. Usage of the words “Pastor(name” In a sexual manner, and “You’re my god (name)” also “Father(name)”

Word count: 2458

Request: Open!

Side note: If you want me to make a longer version involving any of the kinks used with the characters don’t be afraid to ask!

Side side note: For hierophilia(fetish of being sexually attracted religious and sacred objects) I used it with Tsukishima. The reader got him into the religious kink. What gave me this idea, was a fan fiction. Where Tsukishima dressed as a clergyman, and forced his sub to recite bible versus, as he destroyed their cunt. I do not know Tsukishima’s religion, but I did base it around Catholicism

Side side side note: The Oikawa one is a bit crunchy I’m so sorry

I absolutely loved that idea, and wanted to try it out. Please don’t hate too much lol! I’m not trying to mock anyone's religion at all!

I also lack the knowledge of religion, so I tried my best with research!

Also I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to do the “keep reading thing, I’m so sorry😭”

Ushijima Wakatoshi

He’s just drilling your pussy.

He hasn’t even really talked to much, his dick does all the talking anyways

He had been edging you for about two hours now, and you were currently begging to cum.

Finally he allows you.

Your legs are on his shoulder, and his back is straight, he’s gripping your hips with his large left hand, and rubbing your swollen clit with his right, to help push you over the edge.

Things are going good.

Your back arches, you cry out in pleasure, and finally cum all over his throbbing cock, and squirt on his hand. 

But he didn’t stop, he just kept rubbing your clit

You tried to beg him to stop because your body couldn’t take much more, but poor boy didn’t listen

Wakatoshi had a slight smirk plastered on his face. He has been edging you for over two hours, every time you were about to cum, he denied you the satisfaction of releasing all over his throbbing cock.

“That’s it princess..Take it. Take this cock..” Wakatoshi gently bit his lip, and sent another thrust into your aching cunt. He looked down at your beat red face. Tears staining your cheeks, some hair attached to your cheeks, and forehead due to all the sweat.

“Please! Please Daddy! Please! Let me cum! I’m begging you! Oh god please Daddy!” You tried your hardest to cry out loudly but your voice was so strained from the beginning, and moaning you’ve been doing for the past two hours.

Wakatoshi looked down at you, and finally gave in. “Since you’ve been such a good, good, girl. Cum. Cum for your daddy.” Wakatoshi moved his right hand to your clit pressing down on the sensitive bud, he rubbed his fingers in a circular motion then sped up his pace. “Don’t be shy now princess.” Wakatoshi whispered in a rugged voice right next to your ear before fixing his posture again so he could look down on you.

The pleasure shot through your body. Your spongy walls tightening around his thick warm cock trying to keep him from moving out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head letting out a loud cry of pleasure. “Daddy!!~” You slur the name for your boyfriend, and start to pant heavily. Seconds after you cum around his cock, you start to squirt all over his hand.

Wakatoshi quickly moves his hand away from your clit, watching your juices coat his pelvis, his cock, and even the lower part of his abs.

Watching you get so messy, he goes feral and rubs your clit again. He doesn’t even understand how much he’s abused your pretty little cunt.

“Daddy! Daddy stop! Gah!~” You let out a strained moan at the end, and  your body naturally tries to get away from the over stimulation. Your leg unintentionally jerks, and that’s when it happens.

Your leg jerks, smacking your heel under his jaw.

You could feel your heart absolutely stop. “Toshi!” You quickly sit up, and notice he hasn’t even moved. “T-Toshi...? Baby?” Your heart still feels like it hasn’t even started beating again.

Wakatoshi slowly pulls out from your aching cunt, and just stares off. Finally he reacts. He rubs under his chin, then presses a finger to his tongue. He pulled the finger from his mouth, and it had a bit of blood. In seconds his tongue swells up. “D-da, weally hurt-” Wakatoshi quickly stopped talking after hearing how ridiculous he sounded.

Wakatoshi narrowed his eyes, shooting daggers at you seeing you try to hold back a laugh.

You quickly cover your mouth after hearing him speak. “Awe baby! Don’t worry I’ll take care of you!” You slowly stand up, and wince slightly at the pain but you simply ignore it, and grab your robe.

You wrap your robe on, then help Wakatoshi lay down. “Let me go get you some ice..I’m assuming you’re done for tonight?” You ask while walking out of the room.

You grab a zip lock bag filling it with crushed ice then sealing it up. You wrap a thin towel over the bag, then grab four bottles of water. You walk back into the bedroom seeing Wakatoshi still glaring.

“Baby~~ I said I was sorry!“ You let out a soft huff then hand him the ice. You place down the water, then get between his legs.

“Calm down baby~ I’ll take care of you..” You give your boyfriend a devious smirk, and bring your head down to his still erected member taking it into your mouth, and sucking on the head of his member, giving him some special treatment, considering you did just kick him in the face.

Tsukishima Kei

Your face was being smothered in the navy blue silk pillow. Your ass was high in the air, and Kei was absolutely railing you.

Kei was wearing a black button up, with a clerical collar on. All the buttons on his shirt were undone except for the top one that was holding together the clerical collar.

Kei grabbed a fist full of your hair, and grabbed the gold chalice from the night stand. He finally stopped his brutal thrusting bringing the gold chalice to your plump swollen lips. “I think you deserve your reward now.” Inside the gold chalice was Kei’s thick warm cum.

“Th-Thank you Father Tsukishima...” You gently take the rim of the chalice between your lips, as he forces your head back. You take all of the cum into your mouth, drinking it all like a good saint.

Kei, pleased with you, decides to finally give you what you’ve been praying for all night.

Kei places the chalice back, and goes back to railing you but this time he’s rubbing your clit.

Kei rubs your clit at an uncomfortably fast pace, while resting his chin on your shoulder. “That’s it~ cum. Cum like a good little saint.”

Finally you cum all over his cock, squirting right after, all over the sheets, and his hand. You’re begging for him to stop but just like Wakatoshi he doesn’t. He just keeps it going.

Out of reaction, your leg kicks back. You smash your foot against his thigh, knocking him on top of you. His weight crushing you causes you to just collapse.

Kei had a nice tight grip on your shoulder with his left hand, while his right was smothering your face into the silk navy blue pillow. “That’s it! God you little sinner! Taking your pastor’s cock like such a slut.” Kei rutted deep inside you. His tip kissing your cervix, not long enough to touch it completely.

Kei ran his hand up the back of your head, then grabbed a fist full of your soft hair. Carefully pulling your head back. He snatched the gold chalice from the nightstand, and looked down at your exposed neck. “I think you deserve your reward now.”

“Th-Thank you Father Tsukishima..” You talk in a soft voice, trained to be a gentle talker, when in bed. Exception being your groans, and moans.

Kei brought the gold chalice to your lips, tipping the chalice. He watched as you quickly gulped up his warm thick cum, not wasting a single drop.

Pleased with you he decides to let you cum. “Good little saint. Now..You can cum.” Kei placed the chalice back, and grabbed a hold of your hips.

Kei pulled his cock from your aching cunt, watching it carefully. He did miss the warmth but that wasn’t going to stop him from teasing you. “Look at you..You’re so greedy, your little cunt, is pulsing around nothing. Desperate for something to fill it up. Oh well. I guess I should give in. You little sinner.”

Kei gripped your hips harder slamming his cock deep inside you, receiving a loud moan from you. Kei reached his hand down rubbing your clit at an uncomfortably fast pace.

“That’s it~ cum. Cum like a good little saint.” Kei rubs a bit faster then moving his fingers in a circular motion. Kei’s cock throbbed inside of you getting closer to cumming. He refused to cum first though.

You let out a loud cry of pleasure, throwing your head back, as your legs instinctively spread to get more of him. The veins on his cock rubbing against your walls perfectly. His tip pressing gentle kisses to your cervix despite the rough thrust. “Oh god!~ Pastor Tsukishima! Please! Please cum in me! Please I’ve been such a good saint!” You grip the silk pillow, releasing your cum all over his cock causing Kei to follow right behind.

Kei slowed down his fingers, letting out a long groan of pleasure. “F-Fuck! God I’ll fill you to the fucking brim bitch!” Kei tilted his head back feeling your cum drip down his member to his balls. Much to his surprise he then felt you squirt all over his fingers. He relaxed, as he came deep inside of you, filling you up with his thick hot cum. No doubt the sheets underneath you two were absolutely ruined.

Kei kept moving his fingers though, ignoring your pleas for him to stop. Kei was getting pretty cocky until your body twitches.

You just couldn’t control yourself, you needed to get away from the over stimulation. Your body naturally spasms, causing your leg to kick out as you cry out in pleasure.

Kei bit his lip pushing his glasses up with his left hand. The sudden kick threw him off causing him to fall forward, and on top of you.

You felt crushed underneath your boyfriend's weight. “O-Ow! Baby get off!” you let out a distressed sound.

Kei groaned in pain, at the way his body laid on you, and how his dick was situated in you. “Stop squirming! God damn it..” Kei carefully pulled his cock from your cunt, and watched as your mixed cum attached his cock to your aching cunt.

Kei took off his clerical collar then took off his shirt. “Are you alright baby?” Kei asked nervously, and watched as you nodded. “Good.” Kei flipped you over carefully then slid off his glasses putting them on the nightstand.

It didn’t even seem like that little disaster, even nicked his pride. “Now~ Where were we?” Kei let out a soft chuckle leaning down leaving open mouthed sloppy kisses on your neck. Listening to your cute little giggles, and your fingers running through his hair, that was a bit dirty from the sweat.

Oikawa Tōru

He was taking it slow. He was being all soft, telling you how precious you are. How beautiful, and perfect you are.

He was slowly fucking your warm, wet cunt.

It was heavenly, he was making you feel so special!

Until.

You fucked it all up by clawing at his pale back, and moaning out.

“A-Ah~ oh Tōru you’re a god~”

Instantly you regretted it.

Tōru had a mischievous shit eating grin right as those words left your mouth.

“A god huh? Well let your god show you how one would really fuck.”

That’s how it all started. He practically pressed your knees to your shoulders, and was using you like some cock sleeve.

You were being edged for a solid thirty minutes, until after begging, and begging, he allowed you to cum.

His pelvis was grinding against your swollen clit adding the friction you needed.

You didn’t even get a chance to cum, the way he grinded against your clit caused you to squirt all over his toned stomach, and over yourself, getting your juices on his cock as well.

He took that as your way of begging for more! So that’s just what he did.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your eyes were squeezed tight, and you reached for his back but you were way off, and knocked him right in the nose, your nail cutting his cheek on accident. 

Your head threw back, as you let out a loud cry of pleasure. “ Tōru!~ Ah!~ Slow down! Please! Please!“ Your pleading wasn’t being tolerated though by Tōru.

“Shush now my beautiful flower, just relax, and let your god take care of you.” Tōru pinned your arms down to the bed, and leaned down. He forced his thumb into your mouth, prying it open. Once getting your mouth open, he spit in your mouth having you swallow it. “That’s it baby..~ you dirty little whore.”  Tōru gives you a mischievous smirk, and goes back to thrusting deeply inside you. Tōru made a grinding motion, his pelvis rubbing against your aching clit.

Your legs started to shake a little, and waves of pleasure were crashing over you. “You’re my God!” You cry out just to boost his ego.

You love how cocky Tōru can be, he’s happy and that’s all that matters but right now your little cunt was aching. “ Tōru~ slow down~ Please~” You find a way to finally quiet down a little. But the pleasure is so overwhelming.

Tōru looked down at you with a mischievous smirk. “Quit your bellyaching.” Tōru rolled his eyes then moved your legs so they were wrapped around his waist. Tōru rolled his hips rubbing against your slick walls, your heat was so inviting it had his eyes rolling into the back of his head. “F-Fuck y/n~ god your pussy feels so good!”

Tōru pulled his upper body back a bit, and continued to roll his hips deep inside your wet cunt. “Do you like that baby girl?” Tōru ask, rolling his hips faster again, watching your back arch.

“Y-Yes! Oh god yes!” Your back lifted from the cotton sheets, and you quickly reached for hair, while your eyes were squeezed tight.

That’s when it happened....

SMACK! Right in the nose. Next thing you knew Tōru was wailing in pain. Your eyes snapped open seeing Tōru holding his nose.

Tōru covered his nose then hesitantly uncovered it. “I-Is it bad?” He asked you curiously, blood pouring from his nose.

“Oh god Tōru! Quick pinch your nose!” You held back a moan as Tōru  pulled from your cunt. He pinched his nose, and tilted his head back. “Oh god I’m so sorry! Hold on! Hold on!” You quickly stood from the bed, and scrambled to get tissues for your boyfriend.

After an hour of trying to get his nose to stop bleeding you finally did. You were apologizing a numerous number of times hoping he’ll forgive you for nearly breaking his nose.

“Baby, baby! It’s fine! I promise, it hurts, but it‘s fine!” Tōru let out a soft chuckle, and slid on his light blue briefs.

He pulled you close to him holding you in his arms. You both just held on tight to each other, lazily kissing each other's lips.

[anonymous-eggy]

✨Connor And Nicky incorrect quotes Pt. 2✨

because I said I would try to go to sleep before 2 am and here I am. still awake. incorrect quote generator used

✦

(gonna start off strong with this one)

Connor: I don't need to go to bed, I'm not tired, I'll be fine

Nicky: But, darling, I'll be so lonely without you. come curl up in my arms so I can feel whole again.

Connor: O-oh. well. Are you trying to seduce me into healthy sleeping patterns?

Nicky: is it working?

✦

Nicky: are you ready to commit?

Connor: like, a crime or a relationship?

✦

Nicky: I feel like doing something stupid.

Connor: I'm stupid, do me.

✦

Connor: wow, Nicky, you want to hold my hand before marriage? how awfully lewd of you.

Nicky: We literally slept together yesterday.

Connor: that's NOTHING compared to the lewdness of holding hands.

✦

Nicky: Did it hurt when you fell-

Connor: from heaven? wow, I didn't think you were such a flirt

Nicky: No I meant when you fell down the stairs

Connor:...

Nicky: You just laid there for 15 minutes

✦

Connor: make no mistake. not only am I party rocking, but I am also in the house tonight

Nicky: But are you shuffling?

Connor: Every day

Chris: what language are you two speaking??

✦

Nicky: I'm telling you, my team is competent

Chris, rushing in: Nicky! Connor tried to make pasta in the coffee pot and now it's broken!

✦

Chris: what's it like being tall?

Chris: Is it nice?

Chris: Can you reach comfortably for the cupboards?

Nicky: We live in constant fear of the short ones who, in my experience, will climb 4 chairs, 2 boxes, a small coffee table, and 6 oddly placed stools to get what they want.

Connor: It was one time!

✦

Nicky: Connor is a perfect cinnamon scone who's done nothing wrong in his entire life!

Ralph: done nothing wrong?! They set a warehouse on FIRE!

✦

Nicky: do you wanna know your gay name?

Connor: My... my gay name?

Nicky: Yeah it's your first name-

Connor: Haha, very funny Nicky-

Nicky: *gets down on one knee* and my last name

Connor: Oh- oh my god

✦

Nicky: sorry I'm late, I was doing things

Connor: Hi, I'm "things"

✦

Nicky: so you like cats?

Connor: Yeah!

Nicky: *tries to impress him by slowly pushing a glass off the table*

✦

Chris: Nicky got in a fight

Connor: That's bad

Connor:

Connor: Did he win?

✦

Chris: why is Connor crying?

Nicky: They saw this leaf on the sidewalk and-

Connor: IT LOOKED SO CRUNCHY

Chris: Please don't say what I think you're gonna say-

Connor: AND WHEN I STEPPED ON IT THERE WAS NO CRUNCH

Chris: NO, NOT THAT

✦

Nicky: are you trying to seduce me?

Connor: Why, are you seducible?

✦

Nicky: the first time I saw you, you stole my heart

Connor: I'm a bit of a kleptomaniac, so that doesn't mean anything.

✦

Chris: I've never asked someone out. How do you do it?

Nicky: Oh, what I do is, I look them up and down and I say: "hey how you doin?"

Connor, scoffing: oh please

Nicky, to Connor: Hey, how you doin?

Connor:

Connor: *giggles and blushes*

✦

bonus one with Alfalfa:

Nicky: why are there little handprints all over the wall?

Connor, whispering: Why are there little handprints on the wall?

Alfalfa, whispering: because I have little hands.

Connor: Because they have little hands

[teacup-crow]

Sparklers

Here's my entry @zombiesmake round 1, 25/06/21! Thanks as ever to @puptart and @crownleys!

[EDIT] Based on prompt 3 - a ThoughtCo article on Chemical Elements of Fireworks (I also used the WikiHow article 3 Ways to Make Fireworks for research and got mixed up).

Gentle Tom/Steve, which is such a rarepair I didn’t know I was writing it until Tom just. Showed up. Unexpectedly. He’s here now, I guess!

Set post S7M7 with spoilers for that mission!

He’d asked her for permission like a sixteen-year-old with a prom date, sat in her office still smelling of chemicals, the hair on his arms standing up on one end. Janine had stared him down until he looked away, her eyes piercing his flesh, her knuckles white on the desk. “If you do a single thing to hurt him, Mr Sissay, have not a shadow of a doubt, I will shoot you in the head.”

“Understood, ma’am,” Steve replied, fighting the urge to salute as he squirmed in his chair.

“Please, don’t take this personally. I have had the same conversation with Miss Marsh. Now, if you must, go and get on with it.”

So, all in all, that could have gone worse.

Steve’s father was the one who taught him all about making fireworks. On icy November evenings they would sit around the bonfire, the face of the straw-stuffed Guy melting away, and he’d watch the man’s callused, animated hands gesturing, made shadowy with flame.

“Now, it’s a more precise science than you might expect. There are an awful lot of ways this can go very, very wrong if you aren’t careful.”

The sparkler they’d made in the workshop a few days earlier spit and sputtered and spat in the boy’s grip. Three hundred grams of potassium chlorate. Sixty grams of aluminium shavings. Two grams of charcoal. “Sticking to the recipe is vital, just like your mother when she’s baking. Get it wrong, and it won’t rise off the ground. Get it wrong, and there’s too much smoke. Get it wrong enough –“ and here he chuckled – “and you burn your face off like Fawkes there.”

“John, stop scaring the boy!” His mother had admonished, then, and ushered him into the kitchen to refill the guests’ wine glasses. His father, the kind of upper-middle-class man with enough free time and money on his hands to have wildly dangerous hobbies. Steve’s mother often complained that he couldn’t have picked golf or shooting or hunting. Well, before he disappeared, and left nothing but smears of coal ash in his midst, and she had plenty worse things to complain about. He can’t remember much of the man now apart from those hands, which he sees whenever he looks at his own, warming them over a campfire.

In the present, it’s only seven PM, but it’s already growing dark. Tom is lying back in the crunchy fallen leaves, wearing Steve's favourite jumper, staring at the sky and not saying a word. It’s so rare to get the man this quiet and still and happy that Steve enjoys it while it lasts. He seems so much happier and healthier now than the wild, filthy wretch he’d been years earlier, wandering through the wasteland and baying for his sister’s blood. His eyes are clear, his skin clean and healed and soft, his face clean-shaven and ruggedly handsome. Steve finds himself staring, and tears his eyes away from a de Luca for the second time that day.

He’d planned out about a thousand ways to make this romantic – grand gestures have always been his thing, even though they never worked too well on Kefilwe. But even he knew that it would be a bad idea for Tom, who had required an itemised itinerary of what they would be doing before he even agreed to going on a date. Picnic in the forest. Share a bottle of wine. Talk about... whatever this is. Home again before the gates close for the night. It’s hard to accept that these quiet, little things might possibly be enough to show the depth of his feeling. Truth is, he’d shatter the sky into shards of multicolour glitter for the man if he could.

“Kefilwe was speaking to me today,” Tom says suddenly. His eyes are closed, now. He’s almost talking to no-one. “At the trial.”

Steve winces. He wants to ask a thousand questions. What did she tell you about me? What was she whispering in your ear? Has she told you everything she knows I’ve done? He wishes they didn’t come to him, that his first thoughts weren’t riddled with fear and guilt and shame, but he can’t help it.

“Oh?” he manages, and rummages in the bag for the drink, the matchbox at the bottom, a small tupperware case which rattles in his hands.

“She… I was glad she did, actually. She… you know, I’ve done so many terrible things,” Tom says. “Even… before. Back when I was fine. I hurt so many people. Tore apart so many families. And I just keep wondering and wondering what it was for, over and over...”

“There are people – people like us – who have to do those things to make the world spin,” Steve replies lamely. He didn’t want to have this conversation, not tonight. He’d hoped that for one night he could avoid being confronted with the reality of his sin, avoid his crimes being thrust in his face. Hasn’t he gone through enough? God knows Tom has. Haven’t they both done their penance?

“Do you really believe that?”

The lack of light pollution means there are so many more stars now than there ever used to be, even if they’re shrouded with clouds tonight. Perhaps, now the war is over, there’s no more need for fireworks. Perhaps there’s no more need for someone like him.

“Here,” he nudges Tom, who opens his eyes and sees the box of sparklers. “Want to set these alight?”

Tom props himself up on one elbow, and the side of his face not too numb with scarring to move creases into a wry smile. “Commemorating gunpowder, treason and plot, eh? Haven’t we had enough of that for a lifetime?”

“Here’s to that ending. To peace, I suppose, whatever that entails for people like us.” Steve strikes a match for both of them, and watches the sparks reflecting in the other man’s soft grey eyes. “To new beginnings.”

“Now we’ll make our own stars,” Tom says, gazing at the light. “Carve our own paths. It’s about time both of us tried that.”

[drawnecromancy]

So, a little while ago, @hannahs-kudos gave me this little prompt based on my username. It's a really fun one, so I thought I'd use it a little. I'm going to put it under a cut - it's 556 words long, so not the longest read, but I'm not certain how it'll come up with Tumblr's format ! Enjoy C:

A tall man put a foot on his chair, boasting loudly to everyone who would hear it :

- I only have to draw someone to bring them back from the dead.

His announcement led to him a few curious glances from other people in the tavern, and a stern, “please shut up” look from both the bartender and a bard who was supposed to perform tonight. With a frown on their face, the bard approached, putting their instrument down on the table and saying just as loudly as the first one spoke earlier :

- Last time you tried that, you started the apocalypse.

The first one’s smile disappeared as some whispers could be heard in the tavern. More eyes came upon the both of them. The boasting one locked eyes with the bard.

- Oh ? Remind me who had summoned that endlessly hungry god ?

- It didn’t start the-

- IT DID, I wouldn’t have summoned so many corpses if this hadn’t been your fault-

Now the conversation was getting crunchy, and a circle was slowly forming around both people. With pinched lips, the bartender was considering whether or not he’d have to call the guard about a bar fight in a few minutes. He could already see from here the broken glass he’d have to spend at least two hours cleaning up, and having to buy new chairs, and tables, and…

- MY fault ? That god wouldn’t have asked you SHIT if you hadn’t been boasting about your stupid skill like you’re doing now-

- IT WOULD HAVE EATEN THE ENTIRE PARTY.

Their back and forth was intensifying as people attempted to get more information out of them, hoping that the arguing would turn into something bigger. In a corner, as people asked questions and the two protagonists answered them angrily, a silhouette in a cloak was already helping people place bets.

At one point, after painstakingly recounting their encounter with several elder gods and an apocalyptic summoning of the dead, the bard yelled out :

- If you’re SO insistent on being right, let’s take this outside, you asshole !

They kept yelling at each other even as they strode towards the street, cutting into the mass of people that would soon follow them outside. As they left, the bartender let out a sigh of relief. He wouldn’t have to clean up any mess tonight.

The now writhing crowd engulfed itself in the door behind the pair, yelling encouragements to their favorites, and behind all those people the cloaked figure still took bets. Apparently, the bragging “necromancer” was tonight’s favorite. No one noticed the cloaked person smirk as they collected the betting money. The crowd was far too focused on its stars.

And even then the bard and the other one were still yelling at each other as if they were attempting to make the crowd wait on purpose, but people were too excited for a fight, and when the bard finally threw the first punch about half of the crowd cheered as the other half booed, making so much noise and attracting attention from poor neighbors that the cloaked figure slipped away without anyone noticing.

About an hour and a half later, on the road to the next town, three scammers shared their well-earned money of the night.

[we-are-inevitable]

not moving on, not looking back // ch. 3

A/N: AHHH HES HERE !!! 

Tag List: @tarantulas4davey (let me know if you’d like to be added!)

Read on AO3!

***

He's about five minutes early, but that's fine, right? Yeah. David raises his fist and knocks on the door.

Just a few moments later, the door opens, and David grins. “Hi, Ka-- Oh, you're... not Katherine.”

The first day is actually a lot better than David thought it would be. His kids are all pretty chill about him being the new teacher, and they all cooperated well and let him know exactly where they were and what they needed to be doing. It was a nice change of pace from the class he used to teach back in New York, which was all so fast and strict, but this is much more subdued. David loves it already, but he’s thankful it’s over; it’s been a long day, and right now, he just wants to go home and relax for a few moments before he gets ready for dinner with the Kelly’s.

Once home, which he arrives at around 4:15, David changes into something a bit more casual- a pair of ripped skinny jeans, a white shirt, and a light blue flannel that he leaves unbuttoned. The sleeves are shorter on this one, just barely to his upper arm, but he still rolls the sleeves up to his shoulder. David sees no point in dressing up particularly ‘fancy’ for this dinner; he’s 26, and Katherine seems to be around his age as well, so it isn’t like he needs to impress any actual professional adults.

David waits until about 5:30 to leave his place. According to Google Maps, Katherine’s house is about a twenty minute walk away from his own, but that's fine with David. He walked everywhere in the city, and he’s looking forward to the stroll. On his way there, David takes in everything he can: the color of the trees changing, the crunchy leaves beneath his brown boots, the crisp autumn air. He can get used to this feeling. It feels… nice. It isn’t rushed.

Maybe Tarrytown isn’t such a bad place after all.

David tilts his head to the side as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, looking down at the address. He checks the number on the mailbox and nods to himself, rubbing his arm as he walks up the driveway. The house isn’t huge, but it’s two stories. It looks historical. Colonial. He takes a deep breath and checks his watch. He's about five minutes early, but that's fine, right? Yeah. David raises his fist and knocks on the door.

Just a few moments later, the door opens, and David grins. “Hi, Ka-- Oh, you're... not Katherine.”

No, no. The man standing in front of him is most definitely not Katherine, but David isn’t exactly upset at the mixup. This guy is hot. He has a square jaw, tan skin, dark brown eyes, and perfectly messy hair- which is wavy and kind of long, coming just a few inches above his shoulders. He's a few inches shorter than David, too, but he seems pretty strong, especially since the shirt he's wearing- some college t-shirt- is perfectly tight in all the right places and, wow, David has never felt more homosexual. Someone call 911. Cause of death: hot guy.

The man standing in front of David raises a brow, then glances him over. “Nah, I ain’t Katherine. Who're you?”

Oh, fuck, his voice is deep. David isn't going to make it through dinner. “Uh-- Heh, David Jacobs, I work with Katherine… She, um, invited me. To dinner. Unless I have the wrong place--”

“David!” Katherine calls out, and he sees her rush out of the kitchen. She looks different outside of school- her hair is tied low, her bangs are swept to the side and held by a few pins, and she’s wearing a pair of mom jeans and a simple white turtleneck. She looks almost unrecognizable outside of her professional clothes. “Gosh, I’m so glad you’re here! This is my husband, Jack. Jack, this is David Jacobs. He just moved into town. Took Mrs. Ingram’s job, remember?”

“Mrs. Ingram got fired?” Jack asks under his breath with a confused expression, before shaking his head and turning his attention back to David. “Come on in, man.”

David nods slowly, taking a step into the house. It’s cute- there’s a fireplace, a big leather couch, and a nice little coffee table. A shelf lines the wall in the back of the room, with books and little knickknacks, as well as a few plants here and there. The living room was spacious, connected to a staircase that led upstairs. Everything is lit up inside, and it feels… bright. It feels homey. “You’re both really good at interior design,” David comments idly, but doesn’t miss the weird look that Jack shoots Katherine.

“Thank you! I got a lot of this stuff at TJ Maxx,” Katherine admits with a grin, before leaning up on her tiptoes to kiss Jack’s cheek. “You boys have fun, alright? I’m gonna go work on dinner.”

Just a few moments pass until Jack and David are alone. Jack looks at David with a curious expression, before gesturing for David to follow him. He walks to the living room and plops down on the couch, turning the volume on the TV down. “You’re the gay one, right?”

David sputters for a moment as he sits down, before nodding. “Yeah? Listen, if you have a problem with-”

“No, hey, it’s cool! I was just wondering. Calm down, man,” Jack shoots him a kind smile. “Want a beer?”

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself,” Jack says with a grin, then leans forward, grabbing his can of Bud Light and taking a sip. His eyes are on the TV, and as soon as the commercials turn off, Jack turns the volume back up. It isn’t very loud- probably because David is there- but Jack seems entranced by what was on the screen.

David turns to face it, and has to hold in a sigh as he sees a football game being played. Of course. David doesn’t know what else he was expecting. Slowly, he pulls his phone out of his back pocket, scrolling through his Twitter timeline for a few minutes before hearing a chuckle from beside him. “What, is football boring to you or somethin’?”

“Huh?” David glances over at Jack, who seems to be studying him. “Oh-- Sorry, no, I just don’t get how it’s played,” David admits, hurriedly shoving his phone back into his pocket.

“What do you mean, you don’t get how it’s played?” Jack asks with a bewildered look, then scoffs. “I mean, just because you’re gay doesn’t mean you can’t watch football. You’re still a dude, right?”

David shoots Jack a look. “Are you serious right now?”

“Right, sorry. I- I didn’t mean- I’m sorry. That won’t happen again,” Jack cringes, before leaning forward. “I just… Who ever said football is for beer-guzzling troglodytes in trailer parks? We scholars, you and I, can enjoy this on a whole other level!”

“Scholars?” David asks with a tilt of his head.

Jack makes a noncommittal gesture, but Katherine chimes in from the kitchen. “He’s a history professor down at Mercy!” She brags cheerfully, which causes Jack to shake his head. 

“That- That isn’t important right now. What’s important is that you know football basics when you leave my house tonight,” Jack says with a smirk, moving closer. He wraps his arm around David’s shoulder- clearly, he isn't averse to physical contact- then points toward the screen. “Look, first you got your two teams. Yeah? There’s a coin toss to begin the game. Both teams really wanna win tonight, it’s a big game, so this is gonna be intense. The coach assigns a starter and, boom, the game starts with kickoff. And…" Jack pauses, watching the action on the screen, before letting out a subdued cheer with a raised fist. "We’re four downs to the ten-yard line! Ya follow?”

“Uh…”  David really wants to speak, but Jack’s arm is still around him like that and, wow, it’s kind of hard to think. This was just a silly little attraction to Katherine’s hot husband, though, nothing worse than that. 

The rest of the first quarter goes just like that. Jack explains everything he can to David about the inner workings of the game. He’s so goddamn passionate about it, and David really has to concentrate in order to even hear what he’s saying. He’s talking, he’s saying all of this information that he knew by heart, but all David can focus on is his voice.

“Davey, dude, you’re missing the game!”

David blinks and comes back to reality for a moment. He nods and looks back at the screen, a soft blush rising to his cheeks. “Right. Okay. Focus on the fine men.”

“The offensive linemen?”

“Have you seen number 49? I said what I said.”

“Right,” Jack says with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Whatever. Choose your valentine, but let me have my game in peace.”

“Why else do people watch this stuff?” David asks with a soft laugh, smiling at Jack, and Jack smiles back and wow, David’s heart stops for a second. “When’s the intermission?”

“Inter-- What, you need a glass of wine?” Jack teases and gently nudges David’s shoulder. “God, ya kill me, Dave,” Jack murmurs, turning to face him. Their eyes lock for one, two, three seconds, before Jack tears his gaze away and focuses on the screen. “Glad you’re at least enjoyin’ yourself.”

“Me too,” David admits softly, turning back to face the TV. An awkward silence falls over them, until David slowly speaks up. “It isn’t as boring as I thought it was.”

“Huh?” Jack glances over at him, then chuckles. “Aww, you like football now?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” David clarifies, “but it was entertaining. Better than what I watched in high school, at least. I was in the marching band. Drumline.”

Jack shoots him a toothy grin, and looks as though he was about to speak until Katherine’s voice sounds from the kitchen. “Jack, David, dinner’s ready!”

[funkymeihem-fiction]

College AU! Meihem please!

They met up after classes at the little overgrown area between the gym supply sheds, off to the side of the bleachers. Jamie could smell him before he could even see him, a sickly sweet smell in the air and a faint yellow cloud that wafted away into the breeze, coming from the absolutely immense shadowed figure that was sucking a vapor device and leaning against the cement block wall.

“What flavor ya got?” Jamie demanded, not bothering with any sort of greeting. “Gimme some.”

“Go get your own,” Mako replied, exhaling more smoke.

“No wonder you like pigs so much. You’re about as greedy as one,” Jamie snapped, though without much menace. He joined his friend, skulking against the wall and shoving his hands in both pockets. For a long time there silence, before Jamie’s twitching finally got the better of him and he turned with a snarl. “Okay, fine! Ya got me! Yeah, I’m a little out of sorts, I got a problem.”

“Hm.”

“So there’s this...girl...”

Mako sighed, and Jamie shot him another venomous glare.

“Yeah! Her name’s Mei. Chinese transfer student, sits two down from me in Engineering, she’s Advanced Placement and whatnot. And she’s all...ya know? Real goody-goody, prim n’ proper, a bit prissy, kinda snitty too. I mean, she eats salads at lunch, and that’s on barbecue day. Not my type of girl at all.”

“Hm.”

“Exactly! But I still wanna...I dunno. I wanna. Is that crazy? I just really, really wanna. So I kinda...I uh, I may or may not have paid Olivia to hack the randomizer and put us together as a pair for the group project.” Jamie lifted a finger to his lips, biting off a hangnail and spitting it into the grass. “So, sorry mate, gonna need you to fuck off from the dorm this eve just in case I invite her over."

“...Don’t.”

“Wot?”

“Don’t let her see your side of the room.”

Mako frowned and blew more smoke into the air, before finally holding out the dregs of his pen. Jamison snatched it up like lightning, inhaling off it without a moment’s hesitation, and chewing on it despite Mako’s warning grumble.

Jamie ignored him. “What’s wrong with the room? You’re not still mad about stepping on those metal shavings, are you? I cleaned up the blood! And uh, guess maybe my sheets are a bit crunchy. And the old pizza boxes... Okay, could stand a little mucking out, points there. Which is prob’ly gonna take some hours. It’s fine! I can make it work! Maybe get some of those scented candles. Girls like her like candles, don’t they? How about a salad scented candle? Oi, you still got that smooth jazz playlist from when y--?”

A much softer, smaller voice sounded from the other side of the shed. 

“Hello?”

“Aw fuck!” Jamie’s eyes bugged as he recognized it, and he inhaled the wrong way and promptly dissolved into a storm of hacking and coughing, exhaling yellow-colored smoke in all directions and nearly falling over. “F-fuck me! Mei!”

“Excuse me?” A much smaller figure in a skirt and university-printed top peeked around the corner, adjusting her glasses shyly. “Um, sorry? I was looking for you.”

Jamie looked up sharply, managing a shaky smile and squinting through watery eyes. His heart thudded much faster and louder, and he wasn’t sure if it was the lack of oxygen or her words. “Ya...ya were lookin’ for--?”

Mei looked right past him to the giant figure lounging in the shadows behind him, shyly twirling a lock of hair around one finger. “Mako Rutledge, the lacrosse team’s star player? They call you Roadhog, right?”

The man in question nodded. “Yeah.”

Jamie glanced between the two, looking like he’d just been shot through the chest.

“Zarya told me all about you! She wanted me to tell you that the team’s meeting on the field a little earlier today. And good luck with the big game. Um, go Razorbacks! Yay!”  Mei said, beaming. Her happy expression faltered, then flattened altogether when she finally seemed to take notice of the still-gasping Jamison, smile turning to frown as she spied the vape still in his hand. “And I am very sorry, but you should not be back here doing that! I could smell it from far away, and what if Coach Morrison catches you? That’s very irresponsible. You could get your friend in big trouble.”

Jamie stared at her, then down at the pen, blinking stupidly.

Mako paused in thought, then looked down at him after a beat, voice flat. “Yeah. Don’t get me in trouble.”

“Wha-! Fff--Ah- I mean, y-- Ffbt-” He sputtered, spittle flying as he started trying to shove the vape pen back into the hand of his roommate, who stalwartly refused to take it. “No! No no no, it ain’t mine! I only- Fuck! God damnit, Roadie, I’ll go ya! I would never--”

“Uhuhuhuh,” Mako rumbled his low chuckle, easily keeping him at bay.

With both hands still firmly on her hips, Mei watched the two fight with disapproval still twisted into her lips, until one brow rose slowly. “Wait a minute... Oh! I’m so sorry, I didn’t even recognize you at first. You’re in my class. You’re... Fawkes, right?”

Jamie froze where he was still locked in mortal combat with his roommate, Mako’s thick arm clamped around his throat. “Uh? Uh, yeah! Jamison Fawkes. Jamie! Call me Jamie! Call me anything!”

“You’re my project partner?” She said, glancing him up and down. “Well, I guess this will be...interesting? Although I’m still not sure about your automatic gatling-style potato gun from that last project? But your mechanical work with those gear designs was amazing!”

He could feel himself grinning again, despite the forearm lodged against his trachea, his voice a gurgle. “Th-thanks, darl!”

“We should get started right away. Maybe I could come over--”

“Can’t.” Mako released Jamie suddenly, leaving him to flop over into the grass. “Need the room tonight. Gotta work.”

For the third time that afternoon, Jamie started choking. He sprang upright, eyes blazing yellow with the fury of a thousand suns, fingers curled into claws and looking ready to launch back onto his erstwhile best mate. But Mei only paused and looked thoughtful, tapping a finger to her chin before smiling again.

“Oh, all right. Then, why don’t you come over to my room instead? I’ve got plenty of supplies and I’ll clear some space for us. I’ll message you my dorm number and a time, okay? I’d better head back. And no more smoking!” She gave them both a little wave, then turned and started trotting back towards the field. “See you later!”

He could feel himself already going gooey in the chest, which he hoped wasn’t from the coughing fits earlier. “Yeah! Yeah! S-see you later, Mei!”

Mako leaned down to pick up his pen, tucking it away. He snorted, looking to Jamie’s lovestruck expression, and prodded him hard in the back. The younger boy stumbled, then seemed to remember the reasons for their battle earlier, his gaze darkening.

“What the fock was that, mate?! Ya coulda done that differently!”

“You’re welcome.”

Jamie promptly turned and socked him straight in the ribs, and the two started fighting again.

[nnatasha]

don't blame me for falling, ii

part one

tom holland x reader

 he comes back to town after years and years, and the press are just eating it up, and you’re falling too hard and too fast

an; this is a messy one cause an dElEted it so it's a lot more condensed and less,, tender because I was rage writing. ngl, the tom/yn interactions are iffy, but they improve a hecca lot more next chapter (lol remember when this was supposed to be a oneshot?)

harrison was the last person anybody thought would be getting married first.

his wedding was beautiful, all fancy and ornate and generally golden, much like the trophy wife curled around his side in an elegant slip of a dress. she looked gorgeous, not that you had expected any less from harrison. tonya, her name, was a brunette, skinny, high-earning model who was smart as whip and the dumbest person you had met in your whole life: she could crack out the answers to confusing math problems that left your mind boggling in under a minute, but she was constantly putting the fork in the microwave with the gravy she barely knew how to make. she was perfect for harrison and he knew it, beaming at her every second of every minute like she was a gift straight from god.

you supposed she was, in the grand scheme of things: harrison had been the butter in your sandwich for most of your life, sticking together all your favourite fillings and being the undertone that was such an amazing flavor that you just couldn't quite place until you switched butter brands. harrison was the guardian angel you never asked for but most definitely would die without.

you watched on with tearful eyes as he was bonded, heart and soul, to the love of his life, and you had watched on weeping when they took their first dance, the happiness radiating off them in a golden aura, warming the venue and inviting the summer sun out from behind the few clouds hung up in the sky. tonya's hair had almost looked blonde in the sunlight and you couldn't help the stray chuckle that escaped when the clumsy girl had stepped on harrison's foot for the third time. still, they swayed in time with the music, their warmth and love filling the suddenly suffocating tent.

you stepped outside, shooting a small smile to stacey, who shot you a teary grin. the sky was a beautiful blue and the grass was green, the kind of green that was so screwed into all your memories of summer as a child; lying on the grass that was a tad too long and tickled your cheeks and got caught up in your ears and your hair when you were six, a gappy grin on your face as you stared up at the slow moving clouds. climbing a tree in a game of hide and seek and falling out onto a patch of green, green grass and the green grass of the hospital gardens, which you hobbled about in with a nervous wreck of a tom looking on, feeling so, so guilty about you falling out a tree because of him. the grass that got caught up in your hair and left green stains on your favourite red dress when you were fourteen, lying all scrambled up in a big group of girls in an empty field as the sun set on you, drunken giggles warming up the chilly night.

"I love summer." you sighed to stacey, who nodded along with you, both knowing that in a couple weeks when the cute sun would turn stifling and would burn your skin, you'd both be complaining about how much you hated summer. you remember once, when you were fourteen and young, and had prayed to god in a french class to not let summer come too quickly that year, and had been positively distraught when it rained every day for two months.

stacey's elbow bumped against yours and she sighed wistfully, staring out at the long, sprawling fields filled with such green, green grass surrounding the farm harrison was gettiing married at. "summer is deceivingly beautiful." she muttered, and you noticed the sheen of sweat on her dark skin, and the iced water she was holding in one hand, and the tiny fan poking out the top of her dress, it's batteries sure to run out too soon for your friend.

"oh, but the grass." you said in an almost whine.

"oh, but the grass."

the two of you shared a small giggle before slinking back inside the huge white tent through a flap in it's exterior, bumping into a small group of guys who were almost impossible to get through.

"bloody hell," you muttered underneath your breath, "excuse me!"

and then all the love and warmth and golden hues that radiated off of harrison and tonya seeped into your soul through your skin as tom holland turned around, smile on his lips. he looked different since you had last seen him, not that it had been too difficult, with the hazy, dark images of him that had swirled through your head for weeks on end after he had up and left you for the second time in your life.

his skin was burning you through his dress shirt and his suit and you flinched away, stumbling back into stacey, whose arm wrapped around you waist and you could feel the intensity of her glare without even looking. "holland." she spat out, her voice hard and devoid of any emotion except to you, and you watched as all the anger and the hatred that was within her word traveled through the air before being engulfed in an overwhelmingly golden cloud of warmth and love.

"stace." he acknowledged and you realized that his eyes were calling for you and, of course, you were so weak, too weak, and the sea of browns and golden hues pulled you into your friend.

"hey tom." you greeted and you could almost imagine yourself spitting up your heart for him in that very moment, love sewn into each of it's chambers as you handed it over to the boy in front of you. "long time no see, eh?"

"which, personally," stacey's strong voice interjected over your shoulder, "I think was a pretty great deal! so, me and yn shall be leaving. goodbye forever!"

stacey turned on her heels -which was an impressive feat in itself, as they added an extra seven inches to her already long enough legs- and you held her hand as she dragged you away.

"wait!" tom's voice called out to you and you stopped almost immediately, blushing furiously and sending apologetic looks to a stumbling stacey before you peeked over your shoulder at tom.

"mhm?"

"are you going to harrison's thing later?" tom asked and you nodded, grin creeping onto your face. harrison's thing was, of course, a party that took the form of him not being there, on account of it being his wedding night. someone had planned the party and had said it was by harrison, who ever so graciously took the credit for it. "see you there, then." tom's voice was light and airy and something stacey was definitely going to laugh about for the next couple of months.

"I can't believe you!" said girl ranted as the two of you walked over to the drink station. "I had said 'goodbye forever', idiot! don’t you know what that means? no, obviously not if you turned around five seconds later to talk to the guy who left you to deal with an entire nation of fucking teenage girls to deal with."

you grimaced as you sipped on a glass of spiked punch (because of course harrison would do that at his wedding) , rembering the blood, sweat and tears you had shed trying to clear your name after being called 'holland's harlet' by too many media outlets too many times, "it wasn’t that bad." you weakly defended yoursled, giggling at the look stacey shot you.

"not that bad? bitch, you told kate garraway  that you lost your virginity in an abandoned office building to tom holland when you were fifteen." stacey shot at you and you groaned, head rooping onto your shoulder.

"don’t remind me of that, I think I might be traumatized." you moaned.

"you're not in a wheelchair, shut up."

"mate, I said traumatized, not petrified."

and so you and stacey laughed the wedding away, the one braincell the two of you shared gifted to tonya as a wedding present, hopefully welcomed with opened arms by the hundreds she had. neither of you realized that, indeed, you were not petrified nor traumatized nor paralyzed, just a little girl in too-big a body who didn't know how to keep her mouth shut on live news stations.

  there were no proper chip shops in your town; no crunchy, perfectly salted chips and crunchy battered cod in a blue trimmed shop owned by a nice, big man called chris who would give you an extra half-a-sausage if you sent him a toothy grin. no. there was, however, one chinese shop that had evolved into selling soggy, too-salty chips and battered sausages that were too batter-y to be called sausages. you supposed it was why they also sold the greasy, slightly too expensive for what they were, simple chinese dishes.

the shop was a two and half minutes walk from your house, and you had to cross a big two-laner and a small not-dirt-but-also-not-quite-tarmac road to get to where it was, next to a tesco express. tonight however, after harrison's wedding and the after-party and the stupid amount of alcohol you had drunk, the route took the better half of ten minutes.

you stumbled arm-in-arm with stacey, hand drunkenly tugging down the (way too bright) neon green dress that made you look like a highlighter under the street lights, but a glow stick that attracted men like moths to a light in the dark. stacey was barefoot, bar a pair of little ankle socks, and was moaning about something she stood on every couple seconds. behind you were myra and mia, the remaining two girls that completed you and stacey. they too were stumbling and giggling and whenever you glanced back, the vodka bottle (vodka and cherryade, as you kept being reminded) myra held glinted under the moon's yellow glow. leading the pack was tom, harry and sam, who's voices were loud and deep in the night air.

the seven of you had migrated back to your house around 1am, quickly becoming hungry for a good (or, rather, bad) chinese 'n' chippy. the said shop was a mere few metres away and mia was making a mental list of drinks and other snacks to get from the tescos, eyebrows furrowed and mouthing items silently as she entered the bright shop. tom and sam had taken it upon themselves to go into the shop, and you sat down on a bench with stacey.

"should I get a t'too?" she slurred, head dropping onto your shoulder.

you shook your head and stacey's answering grumble filled your ear. "just cause yours turned out shit."

"hey!" you defended loudly. "I was just a widdle baby."

"old enough to sleep with tommo." stacey giggled in your ear and you hit her leg.

"is that all you're going to talk about tonight?"

"no." stacey said and you could see the lie immediately through dizziness in your eyes. "why don't you just, I dunno, bang him again?"

"because.. im a smartie now. sex is a no-no." the words came out of you mouth and fitted together into a jigsaw set nobody could work out.

"riiight." stacey giggled again, the alcohol on her breath mingling in the air. out of the corner of your eye, you saw a flash go off just as the boys exited the shop, arms laden with bags of food. a cheer resonated through the five of you, mia wooping in delight, plastic bag crunkling on her arm.

  stacey laughed at something mia said, the noise bouncing around your lounge. you were lounged on a sofa with tom, cold toes pushed underneath his thigh, his warmth seeping into your skin, your bones, your soul. myra was pouring yet another round of shots and you groaned. your house stunk of smoke and liquor, and you weren't looking forward to when you'd have to clean it.

tom's face was lit up by your yellow toned lights, his eyes just as red as the pink of his lips, head resting against the sofa and smile etched so deep onto his face it relaxed your soul just seeing it. his hand was trailing up and down the inside of your calf, and you shuddered whenever his fingers brushed the small tattoo on your ankle.

you tore your gaze away from him when mia pushed the plastic cup of red currant rum into your left hand, the shot glass of vodka cold against your right. you rolled your at her, sloshing both back with a slight grimace, throat sore from the burn of vodka.

"yn,yn,yn." tom said in a singsong, eyes so warm and so inviting as he looked at you. an emotion flickered in them and his hand stopped and held your knee, banging it against the other one. "love you."

the quiet words traveled through the air and right into your heart, starting up all the blood and flowing right down to the tips of your fingers and your toes. "yeah?" you murmured.

he nodded forcefully, with a look that made him seem so young, like an adamant toddler, "yep! you're my bestest friend."

the warmth in your blood dissipated, even as he pulled you into his once so familiar lap, rubbing his head into your hair. it floated around you, buzzing like a flock of bees. mia had her phone out and was taking a video of the room, and you smiled as the camera panned over you, trying not to look like your heart had just been ripped out by superman.

  the next day was surprisingly cold, a light drizzle waking you up in the morning. you were in your bed, wrapped up in the warmth, stacey snoring next to you, stabbing your head like a knife with every exhale. you groaned, hand mushing across your face. mia's small figure appeared in the doorway, sending you a weak smile and pointing at your dresser, where a cup of water and a pack of head medicine lay. her face was worried and you frowned after popping two pills.

"don’t, um, don’t be mad at me. please." her voice was quiet as she padded into the room, her feet slippered in a pair of old superman slippers you had had in the cupboard. sitting on the edge of the bed, mia shoved her phone in your face gently, and it took your eyes a couple seconds to adjust to what was on the screen.

"what the fuck." you muttered, taking the phone from her. an article was pulled up, 'does holland have the hots…again?'. a few dark photos were scattered throughout text as you skimmed it, of you and him at the wedding, the chip shop, and a few screenshots of you in his lap.

"I deleted the video as soon I could, I didn't know they would be looking at my profile." mia hurried. "im so sorry, I didn’t mean-"

"it's fine, it's fine." you shushed her as stacey stirred next to you. "is he still here?"

mia nodded and you sighed in relief. "'kay, cool."

somewhere in the back of your head was furious at mia, at you, the emotion hidden in a dusty corner in a box of suppressed memories you only dug out when you were feeling extra sad. you had learnt, after the horrible aftermath of the last set of photos, that caring made things much, much worse.

you could still feel where he and trailed his fingers up and down your calf, the action so careless.

  breakfast was a quiet affair, the sounds of scraping knifes and forks digging into everyone's heads. the dread of a hangover hung in the air, weighing down every shoulder in the house. tom had, indeed, left, a mere twenty minutes after you woke up. the lack of his presence, as well as his brothers',  was an unspoken thing, however much you could feel stacey twitching beside you.

you were eating off the plates your mum had bought you when you moved into your house, their edges striped blue and white, just like the perfect chip shop that was somewhere in your head.

[pronouncingitwang]

wtgfs | 2.5K words | basically a redo of mag94 with more crying and cuddling | for tma h/c week day 6: cradled

Georgie wraps her braids and changes into her pajamas, feeling—not fear, or apprehension, because that’s not possible, but perhaps, less excitement than usual. She normally doesn’t notice her heartbeat, but tonight, she does. It’s stable, but the fact that she checked in the first place is another bad sign.

“You said you wanted to tell me something,” Melanie says as Georgie gets under her blanket.

Georgie nods slowly, then realizes that Melanie can’t see it. “Yeah. I did.”

“I… I might’ve misread you, but it sounded serious?”

Georgie’s heart continues to beat, slow and steady. “A little.”

“Do you want to start?”

“Sure.”

“Talk away, then.”

“Okay.” Georgie shifts into a more comfortable position, then closes her eyes. “You know how I graduated from uni a year late?”

“Yeahh,” Melanie says, slowly. “You said it was for mental health?”

“Right.” Georgie blows out a breath. “Which was true, definitely, but… that’s not the full story. It’s, well…”

The last time Georgie did this, it was with Jon, the Eye drawing the words out of her like sap from a particularly juicy tree. This time, there’s nothing spurring her forward but her own determination. “Blood from a stone” is a far more apt simile.

“Uh, basically, my first year at Oxford, there was some stuff going down with the med students—or wait, I should probably start by saying I had… a friend named Alex… Or… no… that’s not it, either. God,” Georgie groans. “Why is this so hard?”

“Probably because talking sucks,” Melanie says. Georgie laughs, and Melanie adds, “I could… I could hug you while you told me? If that- Would that help?”

Georgie considers it, thinks about burying her face in the scent of Melanie’s citrus shampoo, so different from the antiseptic and decay of the Oxford medical building, thinks about feeling the strength of Melanie’s arms around her as she whispers out her story. “Yeah. Maybe.”

It takes a lot of shuffling around to get into the right positions, especially since Georgie’s vast collection of pillows include a body-sized one that forms what’s practically a wall between the two of them. Melanie sniffles a little as Georgie moves a few pillows to the nightstand, and Georgie makes a mental note to buy some allergy-friendly/dust-resistant pillowcases soon. Then, there’s getting into the hug. At some point Melanie grabs Georgie’s boob, which is… something to revisit. Eventually, though, they’re settled properly, Melanie’s arms around Georgie’s waist and their legs tangled together.

“Ready to try again?” Melanie asks, in a voice Georgie’s pretty sure is meant to imitate her therapist’s. She appreciates the effort to sound soothing.

“Yeah. Okay. Rewind. So, my first year at Oxford…”

Even with the hug, it’s still not as easy as it was with Jon. With Jon, Georgie was practically in a trance, but here, she has to form every word herself, relive every image. It’s like… if the first time was Georgie walking through a fog-lined street, her boots crunching uncomfortably against the ground, the second time is Georgie walking through the same street, except the fog is gone and it turns out she’d been stepping on bird bones or something equally crunchy and awful the entire time, and every step she takes, Georgie has to watch the bones break under her feet and cane. Not only that, but she cares more about Melanie’s opinion than Jon’s. As she stumbles forward, Georgie forgets details, has to backtrack, and leaves a lot of modifiers dangling in the process.

But in some ways, this is also easier. Easier because the background sounds are Melanie’s breathing and occasional vocal stimming instead of the dead whir of a tape recorder. Easier because the main physical sensation Georgie’s experiencing isn’t her skin prickling from Jon’s intense gaze on her face, but the increasingly firm circles Melanie is rubbing into her neck.

“And… now I’m here,” Georgie finishes, inadequately. “The end. Or, I guess, the End, with a capital E, according to Jon.”

Georgie feels Melanie swallow. Then, “Georgie… you’re saying you lost—”

Georgie had figured that that part would call for more explanation, but luckily, she has an explanation prepared. “My ability to feel fear, I know, not necessarily a bad thing—”

“—your best friend,” Melanie finishes, and Georgie stops breathing. Oh.

“What?”

Melanie shifts against Georgie. “Alex Brooke, right? You said… you said she was your only friend at Oxford, and you said you never saw her again.”

Oh, Georgie thinks again, and feels a swell of love and long-buried grief rise up in her chest, oh.

The first few weeks after she woke up, Georgie had been too numb to even wonder what had happened to Alex. The month after that, she’d tried to call her, three times a day, every day. Then, one day, she’d realized that perhaps she should’ve been checking the newspapers instead of her phone. That night was the first time Georgie’s parents had seen her drunk. They’d looked so afraid—something Georgie would never be able to do again. She’d shouted at them until their concern turned to exasperation and spent the next week in bed biting her nails off.

“I guess I… hadn’t thought about that for a while.”

“I’m so sorry, Georgie,” Melanie says. She means it.

“Thanks,” Georgie whispers, for lack of better things to say, and buries her nose further into Melanie’s hair. Her joints are beginning to protest at her staying in this position for so long, but she keeps holding on. Just a few more minutes.

“Do you…” Melanie starts. “Do you miss her?”

“I…” Georgie clears her throat and tries again. “I don’t know,”

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Melanie says. “ I don’t miss my dad most days, and he died a lot more recently than Alex did.”

“Thanks,” Georgie whispers for the second time that night. “I think… I think about her sometimes, but I don’t know if it’s because I miss her, or because… It’s more like… I used to blame myself for going with her instead of- instead of trying to stop her, or pulling her out as soon as I saw how- how fucked up the situation was. And then I spent a lot of time thinking the opposite, blaming her for not leaving well enough alone. I thought, well, ‘Alex already made her choices, and her choices were bad.’ I wished so badly that my younger self had just… stayed away. Let her friend go to her death alone.”

“And now?”

“Now? After you, and Jon, and… Well, now, I don’t know,” Georgie says, and notices, for the first time, that there’s a lump in her throat and that her eyes are stinging. “I don’t”—and then she starts to cry.

Georgie hears the intake of breath from Melanie when she realizes what’s happening, feels Melanie’s thumb stop moving against her neck and just stay there, pressing into her skin. Georgie feels her own throat, choking out various ugly sounds, hears those sounds tear out of her in the form of sobs and ragged breaths. She thinks she might be getting snot on Melanie’s shirt and hair, but she’s shaking too badly to reach for a tissue to wipe it off.

Alex and Jon and Melanie and Alex. She’d failed Alex, or maybe Alex failed her. She’d let Jon stay in her guest room and watched him waste away, and then she’d practically told him that she wished he was dead and to get out of her flat. Melanie—Melanie had wanted Georgie’s help, and Georgie’s help had happened to be what Melanie needed, and Melanie is here and safe, but just for now, and if Georgie fails Melanie like she’d failed Alex she will be so fucking sad, and if Melanie fails Georgie like Alex had failed Georgie, she will be so fucking sad, and if Melanie ends up in a coma or on the run or if they cross each other’s boundaries too much she will be so fucking sad—

The first thing that cuts through the crying isn’t comfort, but a different pain—an ache in Georgie’s lower back that grows persistently harder to ignore. She groans and turns out of Melanie’s arms, back into starfish position on her side of the bed, and Melanie makes a sound of confusion at the sudden loss.

“I moved, it’s- it’s the arthritis,” Georgie explains between one sob and the next, and Melanie says, “Oh, of course.”

—and if either of them grow resentful of each other, then she will be so fucking sad, and if they have money problems or The Admiral dies she will be so fucking sad, and—

Georgie thinks, dully, that crying on her back is very different from crying on her side. Earlier, Georgie could curl into herself, into Melanie, but now, each of her sobs punches upward into empty air. The closest thing to an embrace she has now is her awareness of the potential weight of the ceiling, hanging seven feet above her, out of reach, just like Alex and Jon and maybe, one day—

“Melanie,” Georgie gasps. “Can you… hold my arm or something?”

“Of course,” Melanie responds immediately. Then, “Um, where exactly is your arm?”

“Uh, if you- if you take your hand and go up a little more—”

“Got it.” Melanie says, moving where Georgie has directed her, and for one beautiful second, all of Georgie’s consciousness narrows down to the warmth of those five fingers curling around her skin. Then, she remembers that she’s lying on her bed crying, and the moment is broken. It’s still better now, though, having something to anchor her, something to remind her that she is more than burning eyes and heaving chest.

It takes a while, but eventually, Georgie begins to calm down, her thoughts and breaths slowing down and her muscles loosening. She fumbles for the tissue box and begins to wipe at her face, then passes a few sheets to Melanie.

“I, uh, snotted on your hair a bit,” she explains. “It might be hard to feel, do you want me to get it?” and Melanie nods.

Once they’re all cleaned up and Georgie has fetched them both a glass of water, Melanie turns to her again.

“Is this…” Melanie starts, then stops. “Is this something you want to talk about more, or something you want to be distracted from?”

“I’m… not sure, actually,” Georgie croaks, wiping at her eyes again to catch any stray saltwater. “I just… I wanted you to hear it; I wasn’t really thinking about afterwards.”

“If I had to guess… That sounds like a distraction thing to me? But… I’m not sure what kind of distraction would make you feel better.”

“Well”—Georgie lets out a wet laugh—“you’re already doing miles better than Jon did, at least.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. To be fair, I didn’t cry when I told him about everything. But all he had to say was something about how he”—she puts on Jon’s posh accent and deepens her voice—“‘couldn’t believe I never told him’ or something.”

“What a wanker,” Melanie says, and unlike the other times she’s insulted Jon this week, there’s actual heat behind it.

“An inconsiderate dickhead,” Georgie agrees. “But,” she admits, “I think I’ve been worse to him.”

“I… I’d say so too,” Melanie replies, but thankfully, she doesn’t push Georgie any further in that direction. Melanie’s fingers flex against Georgie��s arm, a signal that they’ll pick up this thread of conversation later. “Though I still think the real dickhead here is Ms. Trauma Corpse of Medicalville.”

Georgie’s giggle comes out weaker than she expected. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely.” In her most passable radio announcer voice, Melanie cries, “Melanie hates her! Local medical corpse discovers supernatural method to traumatize her girlfriend. Click here to learn more and/or stab that fucker with a cool knife cane.”

Georgie laughs again, and Melanie continues, this time in a bad American tourist voice. “I visited Trauma Corpse with my family yesterday afternoon, and I have to say, it’s a real piece of shit. The human equivalent of a moldy chunk of cheese, or rice cooked in a saucepan. Zero out of five stars.”

“Would not recommend,” Georgie adds.

“Exactly. And,” Melanie presses on, returning to her normal voice, “what kind of name is ‘Trauma Corpse’ anyway? White people and their ridiculous baby names, seriously!”

This time, Georgie’s laugh is completely genuine. “I agree. It’s disgraceful. Motherfucking ‘Trauma Corpse.’”

“Motherfucking?” Melanie lets out an exaggeratedly affronted gasp. “She fucked your mother, too? A homewrecker on top of everything else? Do Ms. Corpse’s crimes ever end?”

That’s an awful—but distracting—mental image, which was probably the point. “Clearly not.”

Melanie smiles, and then, very slowly and carefully, moves to rest her cheek in Georgie’s palm. Her next words blow warm against Georgie’s wrist. “Seriously, though, Georgie… the evil thing here is The End, and whatever else may have been animating that body. Not you or Alex.”

Georgie lets the sentence linger in the air for a moment. Not Georgie’s fault. Not Alex’s. The thought wraps around her, not quite touching her skin, but warm. Close. Possible.

“Thanks,” Georgie says for the third time that night. She means it.

“God,” Melanie sighs into Georgie’s palm, “I’m not very good at this distraction thing, am I?”

“No, but it’s still helping. A lot, actually.”

“Good,” Melanie says, and chastely kisses Georgie’s wrist.

A slow smile spreads over Georgie’s face at the feeling. Said smile sparks several thoughts that occur to her in quick succession. She considers said thoughts, then performs a quick self-assessment: joints feel better, heart beating steadily, emotions fairly settled except for the part where she is very, very in love.

Finally, after making sure she’s okay one more time, Georgie turns to her side and scoots closer to Melanie. “I’m moving my hand away,” she warns her, and then, “I’m going to press my forehead to yours,” and lastly, “Can I put my hand on your hip? Cool.”

Having gotten into position, Georgie begins to speak, leaning into the Scouse a little bit more because, as she’s learned, Melanie likes it a lot. “Speaking of distracting me… if you really wanted to do that, I have a few suggestions.”

“Oh!” Melanie practically squeaks. Georgie adores her. “Do you mean sex?”

“Yes. I was thinking maybe… you could ride me? If you’d like.”

Even in the dark, Georgie can sense Melanie’s eyebrows rising. “Well… yes, I would like, but… are you okay for it?”

“Hey now,” Georgie says, “just because we’re dating now doesn’t mean we can’t continue to have sex in un-ideal emotional circumstances.” Melanie huffs out a laugh, but Georgie still clarifies, “But yes, I feel good, and I think you’re wonderful, and this isn’t a shitty coping mechanism or anything. Promise.”

“Okay, then,” Melanie says, audibly smiling. “One distraction, coming right up.”

“Emphasis on come—“ Georgie begins, but is cut off rather pleasantly by Melanie’s mouth.

Georgie kisses Melanie back. As she does so, she feels her heart begin to race.

[twoblueheartslocked]

Mini Para: November Flashback

Rating: PG/PG-13

Pairing: Seblaine.

Sebastian: @colorsicantsee

Blaine: @twoblueheartslocked

Time: Four years before the events of ( Hold On To The Memories, They Will Hold On To You ) Events taking place in November of Blaine’s Senior Year and Sebastian’s Junior Year. Blaine (17) Seb(16).

Location: Blaine’s House. Westerville, Ohio

Info: A little glimpse into the month of November and the progression of Sebastian and Blaine’s relationship. Blaine invites Seb to his small family Thanksgiving dinner. Cooper embarrasses Blaine a bit and Seb makes him feel better.

Warnings: Teens cursing, kissing, touching.

Extra Warnings: (This RP is not Kurt Hummel friendly. You’ve all been warned.)

Notes: Some canon events remain in place while others have been changed. Some things may even be out of order. You can consider this sort of canon divergent AU. A few changes are that Blaine’s parents are different from the show (His mother is Filipina), he didn’t cheat on Kurt or date Dave and Sebastian is younger than Blaine. Feel free to send a message if you have any questions!

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine paced nervously at the foot of his stairs as he waited for Sebastian to show up. He wasn’t late by any means, but Blaine was beside himself trying to get to the door before Cooper, who was in town from Los Angeles,  managed to throw it open and scare him off. Cooper had been harassing him about his relationship with Sebastian for the last two days, making ridiculous faces and taunting him with stupid questions that made Blaine blush. Oooh, going after the bad boys now? Oh my god, do you think you’ll survive college? Oooh, are you in love, Blainey? At least you get to dress yourself now, that’s a step up. Coop had been relentless and Blaine was sort of regretting inviting Seb to come over. He was now terrified that Cooper would say something dumb about love and actually chase Seb off with his idiocy.

It didn't help that he was a little afraid of how Seb might see Cooper. He’d never met him and if he saw him on the television then he’d never fessed up to it. But, people tended to like Cooper better than they liked him and Blaine couldn’t help but feel a little bit nervous that Seb might see his brother's six foot frame and blue eyes and forget he was even there. He remembered how cute Kurt had thought Cooper was and how in awe he’d seemed and the flair of jealousy Blaine had felt and now he was fighting as hard as he could to keep the jealousy at bay this time.

Blaine sighed, a little annoyed with himself because he knew better now. Sebastian seemed to only have eyes for him, seemed to only ever make time for him (and occasionally Hunter) So He knew he should calm down. Over the last month he and Sebastian had managed to get even closer. They’d spent the rest of October after his incredible birthday night in spooky bliss-Seb actually went to a Haunted House with Blaine and Sam and didn’t scream once, just clung to Blaine like a lifeline, but Blaine hadn’t minded at all. And since the start of November they'd taken more walks in parks with autumn leaves falling overhead and stepping over blankets of the crunchy ones with hot cider than he could count. And now Seb was going to be sitting at the family table with his mom, dad, Cooper and himself and he was giddy with it all.

His cheeks hurt with how happy he was. He couldn’t remember ever smiling this much before and if he had, whatever he’d been smiling about suddenly didn’t compare to the sight of Sebastian Smythe’s cheeks tinged a pinkish red whether from the cold where he got to sneak frozen kisses or from Blaine’s hands or mouth in their intimate moments as Seb sang out his name in a chorus that seemed to only be for Blaine. He was closer than ever to letting his feelings for Sebastian slip past his lips and he didn’t know what that might do to them. He’d made a promise to himself to keep it in for a bit longer, see how tonight went and maybe get through the New Year, but every day that Blaine spent with him made it harder to keep the pitter patter rhythm of I love you I love you in his heart to himself.

The very heart that skipped a beat when Sebastian’s confident and steady knock rapped through the door and pulled him from his thoughts. Blaine surged forward, throwing a look at himself in the hall mirror and noting that a curl was loose and his fitted navy blue sweater was slightly disheveled- he couldn’t care too much though, he needed to beat Cooper. He could already hear his brother’s thundering feet as he tried to get to the door first. He grabbed the handle, trying not to slip on the hardwood floor as he pulled the door open to Sebastian standing in the brisk Ohio autumn, his cheeks tinged pinkish red front the cold. A smile broke out on his face as he reached out and pulled him in, wrapping him in a hug and giving him a quick hello kiss before Cooper could round the corner and make fun of him more.

“Hey you. I see even the cold couldn’t keep you away.” 

He teased, not wanting to let go. Suddenly the thought of sharing Seb with his family for the evening seemed tortuous, especially when they could just be alone. But, Cooper's little singsong of Blainey rang out and Blaine knew that wasn’t entirely possible. He’d have to introduce them sooner or later.

“Maybe we can get a few more of those kisses in later?” He whispered before leading his person into the family room where a defeated Coop had retreated.

“Coop this is Sebastian; Seb this is my brother Cooper.”

Sebastian’s POV:

If you would have told Sebastian a year ago that he would be regularly going on planned dates and lingering on doorsteps for goodnight kisses and getting invited to family dinners, he would have laughed in your face and said a few things that would probably hurt your feelings. But here he was, walking up to Blaine’s doorsteps with a pumpkin pie his cook had prepared. The bottom of the glass dish was warm in the palm of his hand as the chilly air whipped around him. Of course, Blaine answered right away to rescue him from the biting air, as if he could sense Sebastian’s discomfort.

“Hey B.” He leaned down for a quick kiss. He could sense an edge of nerves in the other boy. “Thanksgiving dinner? I wouldn’t miss that for the world.” Seb squeezed Blaine’s hand and hoped that it had comforted him some. Sebastian knew that he was on edge about his older brother being home for the holidays. Blaine had told him about how Kurt and the New Directions fawned all over him because he was in a few insurance commercials and was typically good looking. Sebastian had assured Blaine that a few commercials didn’t impress him and that nobody was him and therefore couldn’t steal his gaze away.

“I can’t wait.” Seb whispered into Blaine’s ear before he was tugged towards the Anderson’s family room.

Cooper was tall and handsome, sure but extremely goofy and cocky (an interesting mix). Sebastian could feel the puppy dog like energy roll off of him as he clasped his hand in an energetic handshake.

“Nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Sebastian figured it was best to keep things generic. Cooper grinned and clasped a big hand on Blaine’s shoulder but kept eye contact with Seb. “I can say the same for you, big guy. You ever think of doing commercial work? I could hook you up with a gig for Athlete’s foot powder. Lacrosse, right?”

Sebastian felt his eyes widen and his mouth drop open a tiny bit. Blaine’s cheeks turned bright red like the ribbons on the Christmas tree in the family room.

He recovered and shook his head, “Nah, no thanks. But yeah, I play Lacrosse. Season starts up in February.”

Sebastian looked around the room and could smell the scent of turkey and stuffing and cinnamon drifting into the room. “Where are your parents?”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine’s smile felt far too big over something so small, but Sebastian telling him he wouldn’t miss Thanksgiving meant a lot to him. He knew that this wasn’t really Seb’s scene and the fact that he was here right now made Blaine happier than he could say. Little prickles of goosebumps broke out over his skin from the whispered words and Blaine was even more reluctant to share his time with Sebastian than he was before. Did he have to get that close to his ear? He was blushing when they entered the room and Cooper’s grin told him that he saw it too.

He stood there as Cooper looked Sebastian up and down, appraising him like one would a diamond and bit his bottom lip. Did Cooper have to make a show of everything? Athlete’s foot powder? Where did he come up with this stuff? He knew he was still blushing, the damn thing never seemed to go away when it came to Seb and he cursed himself for being so easy to read. He tried not to feel too self conscious standing in between the two of them but he felt so tiny next to them, he’d always felt that way next to Coop and with Sebastian being taller than Cooper he felt even smaller. And for the thousandths time Blaine wondered what Seb actually saw in him, especially with Cooper looking like a goddamn movie star.

“Don’t try to solicit Sebastian, Coop.” 

He groaned and shook his head watching as Cooper pulled his vibrating phone out of his pocket, his big brother gave a cheeky smile before excusing himself with a clap to Sebastian’s back and an overdramatic thumbs up to Blaine. Blaine wanted the floor to eat him up. He turned to Seb and gently took the pie from him with a shake of his head.

“I told you he was ate the hell up.” He laughed, “They’re both in the kitchen cooking away. My grandparents on my dad's side usually come but they had other engagements this year and mom and dad must have forgotten out of habit and have made too much food. Don’t be surprised if my mom tries to send you home with fifty pounds of mashed potatoes.” He grinned up at Seb. “Don’t worry though, you can say no.” He turned and linked their fingers, Seb’s fingers still warm from the pie before tugging Sebastian into the kitchen to greet his parents.

His father poked his head up from the oven, his blue eyes looking too bright in the autumnal colors of their kitchen as he smiled and greeted Sebastian with a, “Hey kid! Take your coat off, stay for a bit! Oooh, is that Pumpkin?” Before ducking back into the oven to mess around with their turkey. Blaine always felt a little useless on Thanksgiving, his parents liked to take care of everything and really didn’t let him help much in the kitchen, no matter how much he liked to cook- his mom always told him the meal was their gift to him and Cooper. Blaine appreciated but, but would much rather have been covered in cranberries than stuck listening to Cooper's harassment.

His mom wiped her hands on her apron and gratefully took the pie from Blaine and squeezed his hand before turning her attention to Sebastian, her dainty hands reaching out to squeeze both of his shoulders in a sort of but not quite hug. She’d gotten to know him enough that she knew what touching she could get by with. He watched the comfort with which they interacted, both of them smiling, and couldn’t help but smile himself. “Yes, thank you for the pie, Sebastian. And welcome to your very first Anderson Family Thanksgiving. Hopefully next year we’ll be better prepared and the food will actually be ready when you get here. Alas, you're all three going to have to wait a big longer. My husband underestimated his turkey cooking time.” She laughed and let go of Seb and looked between the two of them. “Why don’t the two of you go hang out for a bit, I think it’ll be ready in about an hour.” Blaine laughed a little as she shooed them gently away.

He nodded towards the stairs, trying to make a beeline to his room before Cooper found them again. He hoped his phone call was a long one and that his brother would get lost on his way to bother them as he pulled Sebastian into his room and closed the door. He probably should have kept it open, but his mom and dad were up to their elbows in dinner so hopefully they wouldn't notice. He turned to Seb and held out his hands for his coat.

“It really is too warm in here for you to be wearing that.” He smiled up at Seb and wanted nothing more than to cash in on those kisses right now. “Sorry about Coop, he can be a bit much.” He sat down on his bed and rolled his eyes. “Not that it stops my friends from adoring him.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian didn’t have time to ask if the Anderson’s needed any help, not that they would have taken it before they were shooed from the kitchen. He had never seen his parents interact together the way Will and Imelda did. Hell, he’d never even seen his dad prepare anything besides peanut butter sandwiches and he inherited his mother’s cooking ability, so figure that one out. It was really nice to see parents actually get along, nice to walk into a warm, inviting kitchen where there wasn’t a single staff member or catered food laid out. “I like your parents.”

Sebastian shrugged his jacket off and tossed it onto Blaine’s bed. “Now we have a reason to come back up here tonight. Can’t leave without my coat.” He sat next to the other boy and reached for his hand. Seb held Blaine’s hand in his lap and reveled in the feeling of his music worn hands. He never grew tired of his strong, calloused fingers. Sebastian would often get lost in thoughts of those hands on other parts of his body...

“Don’t apologize. He didn’t do anything too crazy.” He sighed and watched the other boy’s face. Sebastian knew that Cooper and B had a strained relationship and that the younger sibling often felt swallowed by the other’s shadow.

“But. Wait? Aren’t you...oh my god…” Sebastian moved to his knees and gasped dramatically, he wobbled a little unsteady on the bed. “Blaine Anderson?! Oh my god, I’m such a fan.” He pinned Blaine to the bed with one hand and gently tickled his side as he straddled him. “ You’re like, show choir royalty and you can play like, 465 instruments!”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine felt a wave of emotion at the mention of his parents, he smiled softly up at Sebastian and nodded, “They like you, too.” He let out a little laugh. “Mom actually told me she was surprised that she liked you so much considering the whole slushie and almost blinding me in one eye bit, but she said that she likes the way I am with you.” He shrugged, a little embarrassed to admit her words. “She said that I’m, I don’t know, like way more myself with you than I was with Kurt, and my dad agrees. So, yeah, you’re their favorite, kid.” He teased echoing his dad’s nickname from earlier. “You’re mine, too.”

He watched as Seb shrugged off his coat and a little flutter of giddiness swept through him as Sebastian sat down next to him on his bed and held his hand in his lap. They’d been on this bed before, kissing and touching, but each time it made Blaine feel twisted up and out of sorts in the best way possible.

“Mm, and of course I’ll have to come up and help you find it.” He teased. He bit his lip as Sebastian looked at him, the sigh leaving the taller boys lips making him tense up a bit. Was Seb regretting spending the holiday with him and his family? “He’s a pain in the ass, that’s what he is.” He grumbled, rolling his eyes again before looking back up at Seb, his brow furrowing in confusion for a moment at Seb’s words. Once he realized what Seb was doing his face broke out into another smile and he let out an actual giggle.

“Don’t you dare tickle me, Sebastian.”

Of course Seb had sensed Blaine’s insecurities. His shoulder came up as if to defend himself from Sebastian’s tickles and his giggles intensified as he playfully pretended to bat the other boys hands away. He let himself be pressed down onto his bed, his body wiggling in an incredibly half hearted attempt to get away. It amazed him that Sebastian knew what he needed even when Blaine wasn’t actually aware that he’d needed anything at all. The other boy had this amazing ability to pull him out of almost any funk he’d found himself in. He’d been managing to do it even before they started dating.

“You’re so sweet.” He mumbled as he caught Sebastian’s tickling hand in his own and pulled it towards him so he could press his lips against his knuckles. Blaine loved it when Seb did things like this. Blaine was confident that nobody else had gotten to see him when he was like this; sweet, and kind and smiling at him with every perfectly imperfect tooth on display and it was all just for him.  “Come here.” He whispered softly as he tugged on Seb’s hand gently, pulling him down towards him. He tilted his head back against his pillow, his face up and open towards Seb’s. His wrist was still locked in Seb’s slender fingers against the comforter, but his other hand was free and he slid it around Seb’s waist to press them close before lifting his head to connect their lips and kissing him slowly and sweetly, his eyes slipping closed as he lost himself in the blissful moment.

There was this terrible fear in the back of his mind that Cooper would burst in and ruin the moment, but he couldn’t be bothered to stop. It would be his brother’s own fault and he’d have to live with the sight. He let his free hand slide up from Seb’s waist and let his fingers curl against the back of Seb’s neck, one of Seb’s favorite places to be touched, scraping lightly against the sensitive skin and pulling the other boy even closer, a tiny little gasp escaping his lips as he rolled his hips up involuntarily. He hadn’t meant to do it, but Sebastian’s lips and body felt good and heavy against his and he wanted nothing more than to roll them over and pin Seb down so he could slide his hands up his shirt and let his fingers dance against the sprinkle of soft hair on his tummy- just to watch the other boy squirm underneath him. He wanted to touch and kiss him all over all the time and each time they got to Blaine had to stop himself from asking Seb to take things even further. They’d done plenty; Blaine could still feel every touch, taste, and movement, but they still hadn’t gone all the way in the traditional sense, they never seemed to get enough alone time, someone was always lurking about but Blaine was so ready for for that connection, yet so incredibly scared to make that move.

He sighed into the kisses knowing that if he didn’t stop soon he wouldn’t be able to explain his swollen lips and tousled hair to his mom and dad and Cooper would totally know what they were up to. He nipped playfully at Seb’s bottom lip before letting his head fall back against his pillows feeling needy and suddenly hot even though it was freezing outside. He could feel his lips pulling down into a pout and he let his fingers walk up and down the back of Seb’s neck as he spoke.

“Do you ever wish that we could just have like, a night alone?” He could feel himself start to blush again with each word as he locked onto Seb’s green gaze. “I mean, I know we get to be alone some, but I mean like… alone alone. Where there isn’t a parent in an office next to the basement stairs or down in the kitchen.” He lifted his shoulder in a shrug. “I guess I’m just super selfish and I want you all to myself and there always seems to be something we have to do.”

Sebastian’s POV:

Sebastian sighed into Blaine’s mouth. He thought that he could kiss him forever and would even be content missing out on homemade mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce and fresh pumpkin squares if that meant rolling around in the other boy’s comfy bed. Seb could feel Blaine’s fingers on his neck and his hips pressing up into his and he couldn’t help but moan a little despite himself. He loved when B touched his neck and he would often daydream about his hands on his neck in a more intimate way. God, he wished that they were in that damn house by themselves and that Cooper Anderson wasn’t loafing around, probably trying to bust into the room at any given moment.

He bit his bottom lip. Of course he thought about alone time with Blaine. “Yeah. All the time. Like….all the fucking time.” Sebastian  fixed a curl that started to pop out of place in the other’s perfectly kept hair. “And about that…” Sebastian took a deep breath. “My parent’s will be going out of town at the end of December. They’ll be gone a few days and I’ll have the place all to myself. I...was thinking that you could come over, spend the night.” He leaned down and gave Blaine a small, slow kiss. “What do you think?”  

Sebastian smiled and laughed a little bit, his nose bumped the other boy’s which made them both laugh some more. “This is probably the best Thanksgiving ever and I haven’t even tried the food yet.”

Blaine’s POV:

Blaine shivered, the sound of Seb’s little moan sending a thrill through the lower half of his body and he wondered if Sebastian could feel how into him he was. He licked his lips and shifted his hips under Sebastian’s body a bit. As much as he wanted to keep this going, he knew they needed to slow down. He lets his fingers ghost over Sebastian’s sensitive neck once more before letting his hand fall away. He reached for Seb’s hand and linked their fingers the best he could from his position and held their tangled hands to his chest. He could feel the rapid thump of his heart against his fingers.

“You do?” His voice was soft and he watched as Seb removed his hand from his pinned wrist and reached out to brush one of his curls away. He let his eyes fall closed for a moment so he could enjoy the movement and he wondered, not for the first time, what Seb’s fingers might feel like tangled in his hair after a shower, before he put product in. The thought felt so intimate and Blaine felt like he was going to go crazy with how much he wanted Sebastian. How he felt like he’d never get enough of him. And from the sound of desperation in Seb’s voice he appeared to feel the same… At least he hoped.  He bit his lip and let his eyes meet Seb’s, trying to read him. His green eyes were heavy and he suddenly seemed a little nervous and god yes Blaine wanted to spend the night with him.

As he kissed Sebastian back, the slow press of their lips made his brain feel a little fuzzy. He didn’t know how he’d do it, he’d probably have to lie to his mom and dad about staying with Sam or something, but he’d get there. He could already picture Sebastian lying naked against the sheets, shivering under Blaine’s touch, the two of them getting to explore each other's bodies without interruptions. Blaine couldn’t wait to sleep wrapped around him, couldn’t wait to tuck Seb in his arms where he’d be warm and safe and he’d make sure he got to wake next to him so he could kiss his sleepy face good morning. He smiled up at Seb softly.

“Well, I think that I’m gonna make it happen, Seb. I promise.”

He laughed as Seb’s nose bumped gently against his, “Now that’s a serious statement. Thanksgiving dinner is some of the best food ever.” He teased, his face falling into a wide smile. “I hope you still mean that when Cooper interrogates you over dessert later.” His smile softened a bit as he looked up at Sebastian. “All jokes aside, I think this has been the best Thanksgiving for me too, Seb. I’m so damn happy you’re here with me.”

And as soon has he finished his sentence the jarring sound of Cooper pounding on his bedroom door and and making them both jump with his singsong voice, “Blaaineyyyy, Sebaaassstiaaan. Dinner time! You’ve got about twenty seconds to get decent before I open the door. Twenty, nineteen…”

Blaine sighed as Seb got off of him and Blaine scooted so he could sit up and adjust himself. “I guess it was nice of him to give us a warning, yeah?” He gave a little laugh before letting himself steal one more of Sebastian’s kisses. “One for the road.” He helped Seb straighten his clothes and then his own. He glanced over at Seb’s discarded coat, excitement about getting to kiss him some more in his room later and the thought of getting to spend a whole night with him kept him even happier than normal as the evening went on without a hitch. It really had been the perfect Thanksgiving.

/fin.

[this-is-a-love-story-fleabag]

Fork you, then (1/?)

You asked for this, you degenerates.

Fleabag saves her friend Boo's life and earns a spot in the Good Place, but is everything here really so perfect? And what's up with the hot priest next door? This chapter has 1208 words. Also on ao3.

"Watch out, Boo!" I shriek, throwing myself into the cycle lane to push my best friend out of the path of an approaching phalanx of bicycles and back onto the pavement.

The world goes white for a second.

All at once, I find myself sitting on a comfortable, overstuffed sofa in a bland, warmly-lit room. Blinking my eyes open, I read the bright green text splashed across the opposite wall.

"Welcome! Everything is fine."

"Watch out, Boo!" I shriek, throwing myself into the cycle lane to push my best friend out of the path of an approaching phalanx of bicycles and back onto the pavement.

The world goes white for a second.

All at once, I find myself sitting on a comfortable, overstuffed sofa in a bland, warmly-lit room. Blinking my eyes open, I read the bright green text splashed across the opposite wall.

"Welcome! Everything is fine."

Improbable.

A door in the wall opens, and a petite blonde woman steps out into the room, a tight-lipped but polite smile on her face.

"Hi there," she says. "I'm Eleanor. Come on in."

I follow her into the office, which is classy, in an 80s hotel reception kind of way.

"This is my assistant, Michael," she says, gesturing to a handsome older gent in a sharp suit who's hiding behind a plant. Very relatable.

She picks up a folder and shuffled through some papers, and I slide awkwardly into the chair opposite her, feeling like I'm walking into a job interview.

"You are dead," she says, far too calmly.

"Are you sure? I don't feel dead," I joke. She doesn't laugh.

Oh no, I'm in hell.

"You're in the Good Place," she continues. "Thanks to your selfless and wonderful acts down on earth, you have earned your place here in paradise."

Before I can stop myself, I snort. "Standards are really slipping, then." I am incredibly uncomfortable.

A muscle twitches in the side of her face. "According to your file here, which I can totally read, you've done some amazing things. Michael?"

I look back over my shoulder as he rouses himself a bit, giving his head a shake. "Saving your friend Boo-" he offers.

"Oh right," I say, remembering suddenly. How did I forget my best friend trying to commit suicide via cyclist? I turn back to... Eleanor, was it? "Can I see her? Is she OK? She's not dead, too, is she?"

"Let's see." She makes a sharp gesture, throwing a holographic screen into mid-air, and Boo's face appears, tear-stained but physically unharmed, having a massive panic attack on the pavement. Classic Boo.

"Boo is just fine. Would you like to see how you died?"

No. God no.

"Yes, thank you," I hear myself say.

Oops.

She brings the video up on the floating screen. Ugh, I hate watching videos of myself. Is that really what my nose looks like from the side?

I was expecting to see myself get hit by the first bike. I was not expecting the second or third. Or the bus that liquefied me after I got flipped into the road.

What a waste. My arse was having a real renaissance this month.

I can't tear my eyes away for what feels like an eternity, even when all there is on screen are paramedics attending to the pile of goo and crunchy bits that was formerly my body.

"What happens now?" I ask hoarsely. "Is there some kind of trial or, I don't know, application form?"

"No, your points total has already been calculated. We know for a fact that you belong here in the Good Place."

"That cannot possibly be the case."

She balks a little before plastering another polite smile onto her face. "How about I show you around the neighbourhood?"

"Listen," I say desperately, "I'm a greedy, perverted, selfish, apathetic, cynical, depraved, morally bankrupt woman who can't even call herself a feminist, so this is either an elaborate prank or you've made a terrible mistake."

She's unmoved. Fuck, I only pull out the brutal honesty as a last resort.

"We don't make mistakes," she says, with the firm conviction of someone who definitely makes mistakes.

"Fine," I acquiesce, resolving to drop the matter for the time being. "I'm ready for the tour, I guess."

The neighbourhood is, in a word, heavenly. There's no other way to describe it - everything is clean and beautifully designed, with verdant greenery and a frozen yogurt shop on every corner. All of the people I encounter are blandly, disturbingly cheerful and friendly.

Literally not one single person has laughed at my jokes so far. I might scream.

After a short stroll through the streets, while Eleanor points out the various features and amenities available to me, we arrive at what is apparently my house - which is, I have to say, objectively nice. A red-brick townhouse tucked in a corner of a charming little cobbled street, with climbing roses trailing over the front door and freesias bursting from the window boxes.

Inside is a comfortable-looking, reasonably chic bachelorette pad, featuring a well-stocked wine cellar, a shower big enough to host an entire rugby team (goals), and a living room mantelpiece covered in framed photos of my family and friends.

My gut tightens as I see Boo's smiling face beaming at me from behind the glass, flashes of memory assaulting me. Mum, dad and Claire are watching me from an old family photo, seeing right through me. I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away from their accusing faces.

I want a cigarette. Are you allowed to smoke in heaven?

Eleanor's voice drifts through my panic. "-sometime around seven, just as an informal getting-to-know-you," she's saying.

"Sorry, what?" I have to ask.

"Ugh, I'm sorry, I don't know how to talk to British people," she says. "You probably have different words for stuff. Uh, Tahani would call it a soiree?"

"Tahani?" I ask, clearly having missed a few steps in this explanation.

"It is I!" announces a six foot tall Amazonian goddess, striding dramatically through my front door. "I heard my name and thought it would be a good moment to make an entrance. I am Tahani Al-Jamil. Welcome to the neighbourhood."

"Wow, everyone here is really attractive," I try. Hey, if I can't make them laugh, I can at least flirt a bit, right? "This really must be heaven."

"It really is," says Eleanor with another tight, insincere smile. I look around the room. Seriously, no takers?

"I'm just here to bring you a little welcome basket, with some home-baked scones and clotted cream, and to invite you to tonight's soiree," continues Tahani, as though I hadn't said anything.

"Knew it," whispers Eleanor to Michael.

Tahani air-kisses me on both cheeks and makes her exit, leaving me with a basket of baked goods and an expensive-looking card proclaiming the location, time, and dress code of the party in gold letters. Informal evening wear, apparently.

I hear a knock at my door.

"That should be your next-door neighbour," says Eleanor, unlatching the door as though she owns the place. Which I guess she does? "He said he'd come say hi after he'd settled in."

Thank Christ, maybe he's a normal person. I swear, if someone doesn't either laugh at my jokes or fuck me in the next half hour I'm going to die. Again.

Eleanor ushers him in and he steps through the open door, holding a bottle of wine and waving with his other hand. I take him in, the handsome wave of his hair, the way his shirt strains over his biceps... and the dog collar around his beautiful neck.

Oh fuck. He's a fucking priest.

[santanuborgohain]

Episode 1

Having stuffed an omelette with few pieces of crispy potato chips inside a bun I was about to gobble it up but right then, the doorbell had chimed annoyingly. It was early in November. The ordeal of having to spend a reluctant Monday-morning in Pune had already started with the new dawn. Gunjan, my host, was out for work and his corny apartment in Koregaon Park was confiscated by me.

The sweeper boy seldom used to come at that time to collect the dustbin-treasure. I always have the audacity to open the door without even peering out through the peephole despite knowing the fact that most of the sweeper boys turn out to be the murderer at length—which the eternal episodes of Crime Petrol have taught us from our very childhood. I was in my best attire that day: wearing but the only towel wrapping up around my waist for a frugal sauna bath. The doorbell had been hooted for the third time. I opened the door and encountered a someone who, for sure, wasn't coming for the dustbin.

“Yes?”

“Do you have that lighter?” she asked looking straight into my eyes. Such an encounter was never expected. I was, wearing the only towel, standing shirtless in front of a stranger exposing my emaciated physique. She was tall. Demurred in a silky white night suit, tucking her hands inside the pockets standing right in front of me.

Her pierced nose was embellished with a tiny nose-jewel and there was a small dot-like mole right beneath the edge of her lower lip. Her dark black eyes were constantly staring straight into my eyes which rather had taken me aback. I did notice everything with an astute observation at just one go. Damn! I was clueless.

“Lighter?” she asked again, this time knitting her eyebrows.

“Lighter?” I asked her back, surprised, holding a half eaten bun with potato chips jutting out of it, and of course, not knowing actually what to say. I chewed the remnant of whatever little food that was already stuffed inside my mouth and the crunchy sound of the chips did seriously made the situation a little bit more awkward.

“Never mind.” she entered my house (okay, my friend’s house) almost shoving the door and I did nothing but stood still like a dumbass still wrapping the only goddamn towel. She stumbled through the table, pulled out the drawer and created a hell lot of mess. How could she just do that ignoring my existence in this house? I wondered. But that was just a beginning. Then she pulled out the couch, shuffled the newspapers and magazines, the mattress of a bed and started wrecking havoc in the entire room. Finally she found whatever she was searching for so long—the lighter. The degree of my impatience was rising to an extreme level. All I wanted her to leave at no time. She pulled two cigarettes out of the packet and offered me one.

“No, Thanks.” I shook my head clumsily, trying to magnify the mere nuisance which I was bearing for this long.

“As expected.” she mumbled and hastily stepped out of the room. Huff, I exhaled a sigh of relief. Before I could shut the door she turned back. Christ, not again. I thought.

“Nice legs by the way.” she added and that sort of mockery was completely unnecessary. And then she entered the elevator. What the bug! I shut the door with a thud and took a vow of not to open the door until and unless there is a confirmation of the outsider. Bitch! How does Gunjan bear such a lousy neighbor? Before the doorbell would chime again, I whizzed off to the bathroom and took a lazy shower.

                                                     _____

“That was a living tsunami I saw today, you see.” I narrated the whole thing when Gunjan arrived later that evening, quite exaggerating the whole mess which she had created. He seemed to be cared absolutely nothing about it and on the contrary, he cracked out laughing like a nitwit.

“So she’s back, eh?”  he wondered.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Nothing, I mean, yeah, welcome to Pune, bro!” He kept on laughing stuffing the water bottles inside the fridge.

“Duh!”

“She’s like the monsoon rain you know; comes to Pune once a year.”

“She seemed to be the hurricane instead.” I said.

“She’s nice by the way.”

“Whatever.” I said.

“So, didn’t you like her?”

“Negative.”

“Don’t you want to know who she is?” asked Gunjan with such a contorted facial expression for which even I began to doubt myself for a second if somehow I knew her.

“Definitely she isn’t the Queen Elizabeth. Why should I bother to know about her?” I said.

“Just because of the irrefutable fact that she’s an amazing lady!”  he said.

“She’s a crazy bitch.” I said applying more gravity to the word ‘crazy’.

“Actually, she’s not. You gonna long for her company once you get to know her. I bet you.”

“Forget it. I’m already getting headache thinking about it.”

“Tell me, you gonna buy me beer for tonight if you get me proved that I’m wrong.” he challenged.

“Just leave that shit.” I denied.

“Well, at least let’s go and get that goddamn lighter.”

“Forget it.” I denied again.

“You do not have the guts, yeah?”

I was unknowingly biting my nails and then I stopped doing it when my guts were being questioned. “Say that again?” I said. Somewhere deep down, that sensitive thing called male ego was being hurt now.

“No, I’m not saying that you’re saying so. What I’m saying is…”

“Hold on.” I cracked my knuckles, wondered a little about what to say and then decided to bargain. “So what am I supposed to be getting if I win?”

He jumped up and sat on the couch. With all his excitement filling right up to the brim he asked “well, what do you want?”

“A car— Aston Martin DB11” I said, “and one thousand pounds in my account and a blank cheque with your…”

“Okay, hold on. Let me decide.” he cut me off without letting me finish my list of requirements. “If I lose, beer will be from my end for next seven days.”

“With complementary crispy chicken nugget. Every—Single—Day.”  I added.

“Deal!”

I accepted the challenge being so sure about the fact that I was to win. I was not to buy him any beer at any cost.

                                             ______

Both of us went to the 3rd floor. Gunjan pressed the doorbell of her room twice and we did wait more than a minute to get the door opened.

“Hey! Look who’s coming?” she was astonished to see Gunjan barely noticing my presence. She’s wearing a pair of cat eye glass and I was not pretty sure whether she was looking good with the glass or the specs itself looked good on her. “Don’t say you guys are here for the lighter.” she said and cracked out laughing. I tried to figure out what actually was so funny. She welcomed us inside. The evergreen retro of Mohammad Rafi shaab was rolling on “abhi na jao chhodkar ki dil abhi bhara nahi.” She lowered the volume of the music player.

I shot a panoramic view of her room. It was too early to judge her. Little did I know a girl like her could have a good number of eye-catching books stacked on the shelf. Some of them were piled up like a mountain in a wooden crib. It was quite beautifully decorated. A pleasant smell of aromatic candles was rafting inside the room. There was a sensual poster of Marilyn Monroe taped on the wall next to her bed and some photographs were clipped on the string lights twinkling on the corner wall.

“So… would I be wrong to assume that you brought your guest here to introduce to me?”

“Yeah, kind of. Where have you been all these days?” he asked.

She fetched a bundle of UNO cards and dropped on her reading table and then shot a sharp glance at me ignoring his question.

“We’ve already met.” she said looking at me “my goodness! I saw him naked.” and she laughed aloud cupping her face with her palms.

“No!” I protested. “I was wearing… well, a towel.” Gunjan looked at me in disbelief. I tried to decode his exaggerated facial expression which was portraying aur-ye-tu-mujhe-kab-batane-wala-tha? sort of interrogation.

“Dude, I swear” I laughed. “I was in…” I ginned stupidly.

“Just relax. I’m just kidding. That’s fine.” she said

That was not fine. Out of embarrassment I thought of getting out of her room in no time.

“What do wanna have: tea-coffee-milk shake?” she asked in banter way.

“Isn’t there any fourth option available?” Gunjan asked.

“Actually, we just came here to fetch his lighter.” I said.

“Oh I see.” she said.

Gunjan coughed. Twice.

“Well, that is her lighter indeed.” Gunjan corrected me as politely as he could. And this time I shot that same aur ye tu mujhe kab batane wala tha?glance at him with murderous rage. That was an antique metallic lighter which she inherited from her grandmother—he let me know. It was gifted to her grandma by a Portuguese lady during the period of Annexation of Goa in 1961. And god knows, prior to this, who gifted this lighter to whom generation after generation since the evolution of the mankind.

“Oh, I see. Well, actually I thought—”

“That I am a desperate chain smoker?” she said cutting me off.

“Not really.” I said.

She laughed and fetched a packet of cigarette from the drawer and started spinning on her fingers.

“I collect cigarettes for fun. I do not burn and smoke them.” she said with a pitying grimace.

“Cool.” I said and I thought how weird that was! “And you have a good collection of books too.” I shot a panoramic view of her room again. That’s what we usually do when we visit someone for first time and sometimes when we’re not so sure of what we are doing and what we should talk about.

“Yes. I do.” she smiled and went off to the kitchen.

Gunjan shot a blank look at me.

“What?” I said.

“Nothing.” he shook his head and kept quite.

“Dude, she’s not that bitchy as I thought.” I whispered to him.

“I told you.” he smirked.

“Shall we go now?”

“Wait. Are you crazy? The best thing is yet to be.” he said.

I was not sure about what he was talking about. Meanwhile she came out of the kitchen with three wine-glasses.

“Guys, let me get something special for you.”

“Whaaao!” Gunjan’s face got lit up just like a kid when he’s given a candy in his hand.

“Pleased to have you both around.” she said stretching out a bottle of red wine from the fridge and offering it to Gunjan. It took just a few seconds for him to pour it in the glasses. We all sat on a Kashmiri silk carpet on the floor. She had grabbed a cushion in one hand and the glass in another.

“For this beautiful evening.” Gunjan toasted the glass.

“Cheers.” Our glasses clinked.

It was an old red wine which, as she told, was to be found nowhere else in this country apart from Nashik. She knew lot more about vineyards and wine than any one of us did. I sniffed it and sipped a little from the glass and tasted the tangy wrath of grapes daggling on my tongue. Gunjan appreciated it for nth number of times. I took a sip and started to aerate it swilling it round my mouth.

“Savory!”  I appreciated the wine and she nodded.

“How did you get this cut mark here?” she asked somberly pointing near my eye.

“Old story.” I said.

“How old?”

“Almost twenty one years old. Childhood memories, you know.” I said.

“Childhood memories.” she mumbled and she seemed to be repeating it in her mind. Then she started shuffling the UNO cards. She didn’t ask anything further about the cut mark but started distributing the cards. We played three rounds and each time I lost pathetically. The clock ticked eight and then we finally decided to leave.

“What’s your plan for tomorrow?” she asked looking at Gunjan on the doorway. Weekends have never been any special neither for him, nor for me.

“Nothing as such.” He said.

“Superb. Tomorrow a friend of mine is throwing a birthday party and you guys are going with me.” she announced.

“What say?” he pushed it to me.

“What?” I said, awkwardly. “we barely know anybody there.”

“Just ignore him. We are in!” he announced.

“Did we know each other until yesterday?” she asked me.  

“We still don’t know each other. Do we?”  I said. “In fact, I haven’t even asked your name!”

“Why so hurry, mister?” she smiled. “Nobody is running away. See you guys tomorrow!” She said goodnight and shut the door.

We came back to our room. I sloppily sat on the couch and asked Gunjan who she was. He said nothing but shot a smile. I asked him again.

“She isn’t the Queen Elizabeth for sure. Why should you bother to know about her?” he quipped.

“Just out of the curiosity.” I said. The vinous tang of the wine was still lingering on my tongue. I wasn’t so sure whether I was getting drunk or what. But it just started making me feel good.

He came and stood right in front of me and asked “so, tell me, did you like her?”

“Tell me, which beer do you want to have?”  I said.

                                           ______

[beckzorz]

Snowed In (one-shot)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x f!Reader Words: 6279 Prompt: Snowed In Summary: You’re all set for a vacation in the woods. A cozy cabin, a fireplace, solitude… Then a tall stranger falls through you front door. What’s a girl to do? Rated: T for swearing A/N: Written for @interestedbystanderwrites holiday prompt challenge! Thanks for the fun :3 Hope you all enjoy! And Happy Hannukah 🕎

If you’d like some mood music, here’s a Spotify playlist I made for the story

If you like architectural layouts, here’s one for the cabin

>>> My Masterlist <<<

Bucky wiped his visor yet again and squinted into the blinding snow. The forecast had predicted a flurry, but the snow was falling in thick wet sheets. This was a straight-up blizzard. All he could hear was the struggling motor of his bike; apart from the biting cold, all he could feel was the thrum of the engine under his freezing hands. The narrow road was lined with thick trees, some of which were already bowed low under the weight of fallen snow. He could barely see ten feet in front of him. He could hear an approaching car, but there was no sight of it. Bucky hunched further over the handlebars.

A glow suddenly appeared in front of him.

“Shit!”

Bucky swerved his bike out of the way of the oncoming car, which was skidding straight at him. His front tire caught on a patch of ice and sent his bike into a careening lurch. The car’s horn blared endlessly.

“Shit shit shit!”

Bucky braced himself as his bike drove off the road into the woods, bouncing across the uneven ground. The back wheel snagged on a rock and hitched the bike up and back in an arc. Bucky pushed himself off with a grunt, heart racing and limbs flailing. He crashed right through a young tree, the splintering crack muffled by the snow, and landed heavily amid its spindly branches on the ground. His head ricocheted in his helmet; stars dotted his vision.

He groaned.

The heavy landing had shaken his whole body. The socket of his left arm, already sore from the extreme cold, throbbed with agony. The rest of him was sore, but after a moment lying still he determined nothing was broken. He pushed himself up to his knees with a fresh round of swears. Already snow had begun to seep in between his coat and the helmet. He reached up to brush it away, but his gloves were wet too. He drew his lips back in frustration and climbed slowly to his feet.

Well, he’d live.

His bike, on the other hand...

It was on its side, moving in a slow circle on the ground as the back wheel rotated against the ground. Black smoke was rising in a thin stream from the engine, the slick stench permeating his helmet. Bucky braced the frame with his boot and yanked out the key. The bike powered down with a sputter.

Great. Just great.

He was still three miles from the safe house, and the wind was picking up. He wiped the visor on his helmet for the hundredth time and nudged his bike with his boot. The road was barely visible from here. In another ten minutes the bike would be covered. No one would be able to see it, although it would take a crazy person to be out in this weather. Bucky scoffed. Well, crazy or desperate.

At any rate, he wasn’t driving a smoking bike anywhere. He was superpowered, not idiotic. Steve might have risked it, but Bucky knew he could get three miles on foot, blizzard or no.

Time to walk.

---

You wiped your face yet again and peeked under the splatter screen. The oil wasn’t quite hot enough, but another minute would do the trick. Perfect—just the right time to salt your first batch of latke batter. You sprinkled in a liberal amount of salt and mixed it through the gooey grated potatoes with a wooden spoon. By the time you were satisfied, the oil was spitting happily under the screen. You spooned a tiny test latke into the cast-iron pan and checked your watch. Thirty seconds was enough time to check out the front window to the road.

The tiny cabin in the woods was the perfect vacation spot. A loft for the bed, a roaring fireplace, a functional half-galley kitchen… Just what you needed to refresh after an aggressive autumn at work. You propped your arms on the chilly windowsill and peered out the window.

Oh, dear.

Road? What road? All you could see was an endless flurry of thick snowflakes beyond the window. Even your car in the driveway was barely visible. Well, at least the snow was pretty, especially with your menorah reflected in the glass. You snapped a photo on your phone and hurried back to the stove to flip the little latke.

The scent of frying was intoxicating, and you couldn’t help licking your lips in anticipation. As soon as the test latke was done, you fished it out of the oil and onto a paper towel. You patted it dry and popped it in your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you moaned. The mix of crunchy outside and perfectly cooked inside was perfect. The chopped onion added just the right level of sweetness. How had it taken this long for you to make homemade latkes?

Well, it wasn’t exactly a mystery. You worked, before that you were busy with school, and before that you were busy being a kid. Still, what a step up from pre-prepared.

You spooned six big dollops of latke batter around the edge of the pan. As you were dropping a final blob in the center, a loud bang echoed through the tiny cabin.

Someone was at the door.

---

Bucky felt like he had been walking for days. The endless snow erased time. His hands were stuffed in his armpits as he march onwards. Ice was building on his visor, but he was afraid to take the helmet off. It was already so cold that he wondered if his ears were blue. His fingers had to be. At least his breath was warm, though it was clinging to his cheeks and chin and freezing almost instantly. Why hadn’t he brought a scarf?

Truth was, he hadn’t prepared for this. He could’ve handled the predicted flurry—hell, even a regular snowfall. His bike would have been fine, and he would have been at the safe house ages ago. But this? This was unbearable.

He could barely feel his feet. His combat boots weren’t waterproof, and the snow had been building over the last two storms enough so that he was walking through close to a half-foot with every step. His socks were wet, and soon they’d be stuck to his feet. The snow might have been less deep on the road, but he’d almost been run over once tonight. He wasn’t taking any chances.

Bucky could survive freezing. It had kept him alive this long. Still, he’d rather not have to deal with it yet again. He bared his teeth and forced himself on.

Eventually, the caking ice completely covered the visor. He yanked the helmet off and tossed it aside with a growl. Even without the icy visor, he could barely see. The snow was falling thicker than ever, and the wind drove the icy flakes into his face, plastering them to his skin. Snow clung to his eyelashes and hair. Every blink was an effort, but the wind was too cold to keep his eyes open all the way.

The comm panel on his arm buzzed—he was in range of the safe house. Finally. He wiped his face with his sleeve, his shoulder whirring with disapproval. He could only see white. White blankness was everywhere—no trees, no safe house, no nothing. If he couldn’t feel the unevenness of the ground beneath his feet, he might not have known if he was even on dirt or concrete.

Bucky spun in a slow circle, inching forward as he tried to make out something, anything, in the blizzard.

At last, the glow of a light in a window caught his eye. Bucky shuffled along, his feet dragging on the ground. He grit his teeth and caught himself against the wall of a small cabin. Thin colored candles flickered cheerfully in the window. To his left was a lean-to entryway. Bucky braced himself against the door and banged hard with his left hand.

Then his head drooped, his chin hit his chest, and his eyes slid shut.

---

You glanced at the door, then back at your frying latkes. One minute before they needed to flip? You could make it, easy.

Who the heck was out in this weather? The blizzard was unexpected, but this cabin was in a remote part of the woods. And the closest house was much bigger—far easier to see. Closer to the main road, too.

You slipped into the entryway. Shivers immediately racked you; the warmth of the fire didn’t reach out here. The half-circle window at the top of the outer front door was half-blocked by a bent head.

Oh my gosh! They didn’t even have a hat? Were they crazy?

You unlocked the deadbolt with chilled hands. The moment you turned the doorknob, though, the door burst open, slamming you back into the side wall with a shriek as a giant man fell face-first against the inner door, which swung open under his weight. Snow swirled in from outside as you pressed a hand to the back of your head with a wince.

“Uuuugh,” the man groaned. He propped himself up on his elbows and knees, clearing the doorway. You quickly slammed the door shut and locked it automatically. Then you turned to your unexpected guest.

He was still on the floor, his clothes coated in peeling sheets of snow. You winced. How long had he been outside? You stood on tiptoes to squint out the window, but you couldn’t see another car in the driveway. Not that you could see far enough to see your own car, to be fair.

“Uh, are you okay?” you asked.

“Guh, yeah,” he grunted. He twisted up to sit and lean against the door jamb into the cabin, turning his icy face in towards the warmth. His shoulder-length dark hair was frozen in icy clumps, but they were starting to drip against his shoulders. After a moment, he turned to look up at you. “Sorry.”

You blinked. Oh. Oh my. You knew that face.

“It’s nothing,” you said quickly. “Only—can you take off your shoes? I don’t want to leave this door open for too long.”

“Oh, right.” He reached down and tried to pull at the laces to his boots, but his fingers were stiff. His brow drew low as he wiped his cheek against his shoulder, but he only succeeded in spreading the snow further.

You winced. “Let me.” You edged away from the door, watching for dry spots on the wooden floor, and knelt to pull at the frozen knot. “Yikes, you take your shoe-tying seriously, don’t you?”

He grunted. You glanced up at him as you worked. His face was starkly pale under the snow, save for the bright spots on his cheeks and nose. He hung his head and let out a slow breath when your nails finally did the trick. He pulled that foot closer and shucked off the boot, tossing it at the outer door as you made quick work of the other.

“Thank you so much,” he said as he lurched to his feet. He gestured for you to go in first, and you glanced instinctively back towards the outside before wincing—you’d stepping in a puddle. Great. Time to change your socks.

The second you stepped inside, you remembered. “Shit!” you gasped. You ran to the stove and quickly flipped the seven latkes in the pan. Somehow, they hadn’t burnt. Thank god.

“Smells good.”

You spun around, surprised. “Thanks.”

“I’m Jimmy,” the man said. He’d shut the door into the lean-to, and somewhere along the way he’d brushed most of the snow off his clothes. Still, what was left was forming a puddle on the floor. His nose was still bright red. His eyes were darting around the cabin, taking it all in.

You raised an eyebrow. Jimmy? Well, if that was what he wanted, Jimmy it was.

“Hi Jimmy,” you said. “You’re making a puddle.”

Jimmy glanced at his feet and winced. “Mind if I use the dryer?” he asked.

You shook your head and turned back to the stove where you could digest the last few minutes in relative privacy.

This was supposed to be a quiet solo vacation for cooking, reading, and introverting so hard you repelled everyone in a three-mile radius. Instead, you were suddenly trapped in a tiny cabin with a strange large man. A strange man, and a stranger.

Did you even have enough food for both of you? A guy that size was bound to have a voracious appetite. And it’s not like you could go shopping. The internet hadn’t lasted long once the storm started in earnest, but an updated forecast had predicted snows through tomorrow at least.

Well, you’d come here with plans to cook latkes for some colleagues, but they might have to wait. You weren’t about to let ‘Jimmy’ starve on your watch. That would just be unkind.

You fished the latkes out of the pan and let them drip on prepared paper towels. You wiped your face; between the fire, the stove, and the oven, the cabin was toasty. And now you had extra body heat.

The dryer turned on with a rumble, and you glanced behind you. And froze.

Jimmy had taken off more than his jacket. All he had on was long underwear and a thermal long-sleeved top, both black. They clung like a second skin. You swallowed. Jimmy looked at you with a sudden twinkle in his eye as he squeezed his hair out over one shoulder with his right hand. His left hand was behind his back.

“Want some latkes?” you asked quickly. You took out a plate from the cabinet and pulled the sour cream from the fridge.

“Uh, sure.”

Jimmy took a seat at the table. You tried not to tense under his scrutiny, but you were suddenly very aware of his eyes on you as you prepared his plate. Plus, you’d forgotten to change your socks. Oops.

“Order up,” you chirped, sliding the plate across the table to him. You turned the oven off and covered the oil with the splatter shield. Latkes were quick to make, and you needed to figure out what the hell was going on. But first, you wanted to see how the full-sized latkes turned out.

By the time you turned back to Jimmy, he was chomping on half a latke. The sour cream was untouched, making the bliss on his face even more satisfying. He swallowed thickly, and you bit your tongue as you studied his pale face.

“Oh my god,” Jimmy moaned. He swallowed and looked up at you, blue eyes wide. “This is amazing.”

“Thanks!” You leaned against the counter and grinned as you tugged off your damp socks. You had only eaten the test so far, but yeah. The moan was right on point.

Jimmy shoveled the rest of the latke into his mouth. Despite his bulky size, all you could think of as you watched him was of yourself as a kid, doing the exact same thing. Of course, you never had to hide your left hand as studiously as he did. You felt bad, but you didn’t want to spoil his pretense.

“Try it with sour cream,” you suggested. You fixed yourself a plate with the two remaining latkes and brought two glasses of water. You sat across from him, your bare feet tucked up under you. He nodded and dropped a lump of sour cream on his plate, then passed it to you. You took it with a grateful smile.

“What happened to your hands?”

You looked down at your hands in surprise. Oh, of course. The tips of your fingers were covered with red scrapes, but not for no reason. “Well, when you grate twelve pounds of potatoes, you’re liable to grate a bit of yourself, too.” A dramatic wiggle of your fingers made him cringe and push his plate back.

“Are there finger bits in here?” he asked, brow pinched. You couldn’t help blinking innocently.

“Why would you think that? Are they finger-lickin’ good?”

Jimmy squinted at you, suspicious. You bit the inside of your lip and tried not to laugh. Finally, you gave in and giggled. His lips curved into a tiny smile and his eyes crinkled.

Gosh, what blue eyes.

“No, there are no finger bits,” you told him. “That would be very unkosher.”

“Right…”

Jimmy pulled his plate back and inhaled the rest of his latkes with dogged efficiency and a frankly unhealthy amount of sour cream. You took your time. His plate was clear before you’d even finished your first.

“How are you eating so slow?” he asked.

“For starters, I wasn’t caught in a blizzard,” you said. “What happened to you?”

“I hit a patch of ice at the same time as a car coming the other direction,” he said. You clapped a hand to your mouth in horror. “Had to swerve off the road. My bike’s lying somewhere in the woods a few miles from here.”

“Oh my god, that’s horrible! You walked all that way?”

Jimmy shrugged and scratched his chest. “Made it, didn’t I?”

“Well, thank god,” you said fervently.

He smiled slowly. “Glad you’re relieved.”

“Well, of course,” you said, suddenly shy. You cut into your second latke and shrugged. “The alternative is pretty ugly.”

His bark of laughter was unexpected. “I guess so!”

“So where were you headed?” That was a reasonable question to ask, right?

“My, uh, friends have a place near here,” he said slowly. He glanced towards the window. “Man, it’s seriously snowing out there.”

“Yeah, it’s supposed to keep going until tomorrow.” Your second latke finished, you head back to the stove for another batch, abandoning Jimmy to his clogged arteries. Once the oil started to spit, you dropped the next bunch in and went back to the table.

Jimmy was quiet as he stared past the menorah at the blizzard, his profile standing out against the distant snow. You studied the lines of his face. He was frowning, you realized.

“I—”

“You can stay here,” you blurted, interrupting him.

“Oh,” he said, blinking. Then he smiled, the tension in his face fading. “Thank you so much.”

“Well, it’d take a seriously crazy person to shove you back outside in this weather,” you said. “Especially with all your stuff in the dryer!”

He grinned. “A good point,” he murmured. His bright blue eyes fixed on yours. “Still, thank you.”

“Of course,” you answer, face warmer than ever.

By the time the second batch of latkes was ready, Jimmy was studying the rest of the toppings you’d lined up on the table.

“Smoked salmon? Really?” he asked.

You laughed. “Yes! It’s great with the sour cream. If you don’t want any, that’s fine by me. I love that stuff.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I’ll try it,” he said.

“Suit yourself.”

Jimmy eventually agreed that lox was reasonable, but he left most of it for you. He seemed to favor sour cream and applesauce. Then again, those were the classics. You couldn’t blame him.

“Are you making more?” he asked.

“Not until tomorrow. They’re better fresh.” You stood up to cover the batter, reaching across the table for Jimmy’s plate as you did.

“No way,” he said. “I got the plates. It’s the least I can do.”

Jimmy washed while you cleared the food away. You cast furtive glances at him as you covered the various toppings. He didn’t seem to notice.

“So do you live here?” he asked.

“That would be ideal, but no, I’m just on vacation.”

“What do you do?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Property management,” you said. “You?”

“Security,” he said without hesitation. He finished scrubbing the silverware. “So you like the snow?”

“It’s pretty,” you told him. “I’m not particularly keen on shoveling, but it’s nice. I’m really here for the quiet.”

“Ah.” He turned to lean against the counter and crossed his thick arms over his chest. “In that case, I’m sorry to impose.”

“Oh—it’s alright. Not your fault,” you assured him. Your toes were starting to get cold. “I’m just going to get new socks.” You picked up the wet ones from the floor and tossed them in the dryer with his clothes, then climbed up into the loft to rummage through your small suitcase. “Oh hey,” you called, “I have some pajama pants that might fit you. My brother didn’t want them.”

“Uh, sure…”

You tossed down the pajama pants monogrammed with your hometown’s most famous sports team. “He doesn’t like sports,” you explained.

“You do?” Jimmy’s voice was muffled—he must have gone to change in the bathroom.

“Well, they have their place.” You pulled on a new pair of socks and climbed back down, dropping past the last few rungs with a smile. Jimmy came out of the bathroom, his left hand in his pocket. Your smile died and you swallowed thickly. Somehow, the plaid pajama pants riding low on his hips was an even sexier look than the skin-tight thermals he’d been sporting before. How was that even possible?

He popped his thermal pants in the dryer with the rest of his clothes. His shirt rode up slightly as he crouched in front of the low door, exposing a sliver of pale skin. “Thanks. Flannel is good stuff.”

“Oh, uh, you’re welcome.”

You hurried over to the fireplace, desperate for a distraction. Letting him stay was the only moral option, but my god, you were suffering. You settled for curling up on the couch, thinking hard.

Jimmy was tall enough that there was no way he’d fit comfortably on the couch, and you weren’t sure you had enough blankets to set up something makeshift on the floor. It was warm now, but as the night wore on, you knew it would get chillier.

Well, you’d cross that bridge when you got to it. In the meantime, Jimmy settled next to you, an ankle on his opposite knee. His fingers traced the plaid pattern of the pajama pants. You pulled your sweater over your knees and stared hard into the fire. You did not stare at his thighs.

“So what were you planning on doing?” Jimmy asked. “Before I showed up.”

“Nothing, really.” You tucked your hands under your feet. “Read some books, cook a billion latkes, light some candles.”

Jimmy glanced over at your menorah. Most of the candles had burnt out, but two still flickered low.

“My ma had one kinda like that,” he mused.

Your eyebrows flew up. “Really?” you asked, delighted.

“Mm.” He hummed noncommittally and fiddled with the patch logo on his pants.

You tried not to quiver with excitement. He was Jewish? You never would have guessed! You were dying to know more—but asking about his family was not the right move.

Bummer.

“One of my, uh, neighbors has one too,” he added after another minute. “It’s a different shape. Looks like a city.”

“Like Jerusalem,” you murmured.

“How do you know that?” he said sharply. His eyes narrowed.

Your pulse pounded. Uh oh. “Something Jewish with a city on it? That city is usually Jerusalem,” you said evenly.

“Oh.” He slumped back against the couch. “Right.”

“Yeah, Judaica can get a little repetitive. Stars, Jerusalem, pomegranates, tree of life… My menorah’s pretty old-fashioned. I’ll get a fancy one someday.”

“What are you waiting for?”

You shrugged. “A time when I don’t feel the need to be stingy with my disposable income? A second opinion to help me decide which style I want? Every year I see a new one I like. I don’t want to end up with something I’ll be unhappy with down the road.”

“Huh.” Jimmy shifted in his seat and propped his right arm up on the back of the couch. He wasn’t putting his arm around your shoulders or anything, but his dangling hand was only inches from your shoulder. Your eyes lingered on his blunt fingernails, the veins etched into his skin. “What’s your latest favorite?”

“It’s a tree of life,” you said. “It’s delicate, but really beautiful. It’s not just a plain straight thing, you know? It’s… I don’t know how to put it. It’s a quiet design. It reminds me of being alone up here among the trees.” You smile wistfully. “It’s also like, two hundred bucks. So that’s kind of a damper.”

“For an art piece? That’s not too bad.” Jimmy licked his lips as he looked into the fire. “Especially if it reminds you of something you like.”

“I do love it up here,” you confessed. “It’s so nice to finally get away from everything.”

“Yeah… Listen, I’m sorry to ruin your vacation.”

“Don’t be! I’m glad I could help.” You stood up and stretched. The digital clock on the stove shone bright red. That late? You winced. With a glance back at Jimmy, whose eyes are fixed on you, you make up your mind. “Listen, it’s getting late. The bed in the loft is big enough for three people, so you should fit fine. If you don’t mind sharing.”

Jimmy’s eyebrows flew up. “If I mind? Are you sure you don’t?”

“Well, I don’t really have enough blankets to spare to make up something else. Are you planning on behaving badly?”

He swallowed, his eyes darkening as he looked you over. “I wouldn’t say that…”

You laughed nervously. Much though he was the sexiest man you’d ever been this close to, you knew you couldn’t give in to that sort of talk. “Well, if you don’t think you can behave, you can use the couch. Or the floor.”

“Alright, alright.” Jimmy jumped to his feet and made for the bathroom, scratching the back of his head. His left hand was still in his pocket “Heard loud and clear.”

“Thanks, Jimmy.” As soon as the bathroom door shut behind him, you heaved a miserable sigh and stoked the fire for the night. You climbed up to the loft to prepare for bed.

If only!

---

Bucky locked the bathroom door and sat with his back to it, his ear cocked for any sudden noises. He finally pulled his hand out of his pocket. Thank god for the pajama pants, and thank god the collar on his thermal top was snug around his neck. His hostess hadn’t noticed his metal arm. Or at least, she hadn’t said anything. She’d given no indication that she recognized him at all, which was a relief. As much as this was an unplanned detour, he couldn’t say he minded it so far. A cute hostess, a cozy cabin, damn good food… Yeah, he could manage.

He tugged the thermal shirt over his head and tossed it aside. With some dedicated tugging with his fingernail, a panel on his metal wrist popped open to reveal a button and speaker. He pushed the button three times in quick succession.

“Barnes reporting,” he murmured.

Low static hissed; he pressed his ear against the door, but his hostess was out of earshot.

“Tinman, what the hell happened to you?”

“Keep it down, Wilson, I got stranded in this damn blizzard. Lost my bike. I’m stuck at a civilian’s house in the mountains not far from the pick-up point. I’ll get there as soon as I can, but it’s still snowing.”

“Yeah, I saw the forecast.” Sam spoke quieter now, thank god. “Glad you’re okay.”

“I’ll keep you posted,” Bucky promised. “Right now I think it’s bedtime.”

“Hope your civvie is cute,” Sam joked.

Bucky ended the call, cheeks warm. Yeah, she was cute. Too bad he couldn’t do anything about it. Still, he knew how to behave. And as much as he still had trouble sleeping in soft beds, he knew better than to pass up blankets on a night like tonight. He shut the panel in his wrist, pulled his shirt back on, and rinsed his mouth.

Now to make sure he got the left side of the bed.

---

“I prefer the right side, I hope you don’t mind,” you told Jimmy. You’d pulled off your sweater and were already curled up on the far side of the bed, eyes barely open.

“Whichever,” he said. He slid quietly in beside you, a healthy distance between you. “Thanks again, sweetheart.”

You froze, and then a warmth blossomed in your chest. You snuggled further down, a goofy smile on your face. “You’re welcome, Jimmy.”

---

Was the pillow always this hard? You reached up to fluff it, but your fingers ended up jabbing into someone’s underarm.

Jimmy flipped over with alarming speed, pulling his right arm from under your head so fast your head snapped the other way. Red-hot pain lanced through your neck. You cried out, eyes squeezed shut as you clutched at your throat.

“Shit shit shit, are you okay?” Jimmy demanded. He brushed his fingers against your neck, sending shivers down your spine and a sudden burst of awareness to your brain—you were in bed! With a man! And he was hot! You whimpered, but managed a nod. You didn’t dare open your eyes. The pain was agonizing, but even worse was knowing how close he was and that there was nothing you could do about it.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you croaked. You massaged your neck and waited for the pain to fade. “My fault. I forgot you were here.” You finally cracked your eyes open. Jimmy quickly buried his left hand in the blankets between you. He was crouched on his knees, hunched over to avoid the loft’s low ceiling.

“It’s seven,” he said abruptly. “Do you mind if I go through what you have in the kitchen? I can make breakfast.”

“I was planning on eggs and pancakes…” You cracked a smile. What a gem.

“You got it,” he murmured.

You closed your eyes and turned your head away to give him plausible deniability with his arm. His weight moved off the bed, and his jump down shook the whole cabin. You threw an arm over your eyes and screwed up your mouth.

Sure, jump eight feet. Very subtle, Jimmy.

By the time you made it downstairs, your neck was mostly better and Jimmy was working on the pancakes. He’d stoked the fire; it crackled cheerfully, warm and cozy.

“Wasn’t sure how you liked your eggs,” he said. “Pancakes, on the other hand, just have one setting.” You started to walk over to help, but Jimmy waved you off. “Sit down, miss. I got this.”

Plausible deniability aside, being waited on by a sexy hunk in your own pajama pants was a dream come true.

“Thank you so much,” you told him. “I really appreciate it.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

You stretched out on the couch, grabbing a book from the table and picking up where you’d left off. You got through another chapter before Jimmy came over with two plates stacked high with pancakes.

“Here,” he said, pushing one at you. He lifted your legs and sat down, dropping your legs back on his lap.

You laughed, surprised. “Thanks.”

Jimmy shot you a cheeky grin and stuffed a whole pancake in his mouth. There was a hint of stubble across his cheeks. If anything, it made him look better, even with cheeks bulging with breakfast. Why couldn’t he do something that made him less irresistible?

You ignored him as best you could as you ate. When you’d both finished, Jimmy took the dishes and washed them again. He even washed the griddle. Meanwhile, you picked dried wax off the menorah so the next set of candles would fit. The view outside was beautiful. The trees were covered in snow, your car was mostly buried, and the sky was bright.

You blinked.

“It stopped snowing!” you blurted. You spun back to Jimmy.

He turned his head just enough for you to see the curve of his jaw over his shoulder. “Yep. Guess the new forecast was reactionary.”

Jimmy’s voice wasn’t as chipper as it had been. You bit your lip, twining your fingers together as you stared at the scenery. As unexpected as his arrival had been, his company had been, surprisingly, just what you’d needed. Was he as sorry as you were that the blizzard was over?

“What’s your plan?” you asked reluctantly. Jimmy chewed his lip, thinking.

“If you’ve got a phone, I can call my buddy. He can pick me up once the road’s cleared.”

“Oh, sure…”

You knew perfectly well that this road would be cleared soon. Jimmy would call his friend, the road would get cleared, and you would be alone. Again.

Somehow, that prospect didn’t fill you with quite as much joy as it usually did.

---

“Thanks so much, man. I owe you.”

Bucky climbed into the passenger side of Sam’s SUV.

“Damn,” Sam said. He pushed his sunglasses down his nose and nodded at the cabin. “Did she kick you out or something?”

“Huh?” Bucky glanced over as he buckled in. His hostess was hovering in the window, but when he waved, she gave a tight smile and stepped back out of sight. “No, no. Just didn’t want to impose.”

Sam whistled low. “Yeah… I feel that.” He changed gears, did a tight three-point turn in the middle of the road, and drove off.

---

“Buck!”

Bucky grinned and slapped Steve on the back as they hugged. As grating as the group living at the compound could be, it was good to be home. It had taken a few days, too. “Hey man. Sorry I missed movie night. Got held up—had to fish my bike out of a snowbank, and then Sam made me do all his work.”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Steve said warmly. “You look good, all things considering. How were the latkes?”

“Amazing,” Bucky gushed. Then his eyes narrowed. “Latkes? How do you know about the latkes?”

“Oh, she told me,” Steve said, eyebrows raised and lips curled up in a smile.

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Is she okay?”

“Course she is. You didn’t scar her for life or anything,” Steve assured him, but Bucky was looking around frantically.

“But why were you talking to her? Why was she talking to you? She’s just—”

“Right there,” Steve said helpfully, turning Bucky by the shoulders. Bucky gaped. Steve grinned unrepentantly. “Funny story, that… You know she was supposed to bring me some. Instead, my portion all went to waste on you.”

“Wha…”

Right there, talking to Wanda and holding a stack of tupperware containers filled with latkes, was his hostess. Unlike last time he’d seen her, she was dressed professionally, with nice shoes instead of fuzzy socks and a fitted blazer instead of an oversized sweater.

How could he have missed her before? She was glowing, the color of her blazer just right and her smile brilliant. Did he really spend so much time to himself that he’d missed a treasure right under his nose?

She glanced aside, caught his eye, and froze. Bucky shrugged out of Steve’s grip and jogged over, eyes wide. Her lips twitched as he approached, and a sudden rush of warmth surged through him as he stopped in front of her. He nodded to her stack of tupperware.

“So… is one of those for me?”

---

You couldn’t help but laugh at Bucky’s question. “No, I’m sorry!”

“Who, then?” he pressed.

“Um, let’s see… Wanda, here, take yours.” You were left with three. Wanda gave a little wave and wandered over to Steve, glancing back at you and Bucky with a sly grin. You ignored her and touched each tupperware in turn. “One’s for Sam, one’s for Peter in Queens, and the last one is for my lunch.”

“You knew who I was the whole time,” Bucky said. “And I didn’t realize. No wonder you knew about Wanda’s menorah.”

“I mean, you are kind of famous.” You shifted your weight, suddenly a little guilty. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you. I just figured… I don’t know what you were doing, but in case you were being tailed, I figured being vague was safer for everyone.”

Bucky shook his head. “No, no way, do not apologize. It was the right thing to do. And, uh, I liked being normal for a day.”

You frowned at him, heart twisting. That was one thing you pitied the Avengers for. All you did was keep the properties up and running. You could go home, go shopping, go for the occasional night out, and no one bothered you. But if Bucky Barnes wanted a night out… Well, he didn’t get one.

“Well,” you said, “I’d be glad to be normal with you again anytime.”

“Really?” he said, inching closer. He snatched one of your containers away and hid it behind his back with a hopeful grin. “Now that everything’s cleared up, how about we give Steve his latkes, and we go be normal over lunch?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I’d like that,” you murmured, cheeks warm.

Bucky’s grin broadened. His eyes sparkled. “It’s a date,” he said.

“Alright.” You bit your lip to contain your grin, but you knew happiness shone on your face as brightly as it did on Bucky’s. “It’s a date.”

---

“You know,” you told him over lunch, “the cabin I was staying in is right next to the safehouse. They’re only, like, a hundred feet apart.”

Bucky blinked. He put down his fork and banged his head lightly against your shoulder.

“It’s okay,” you assured him, patting his head. “You probably would have frozen solid before you made it there.”

He sat up, shaking his head. “I’ll never live this down,” he groaned.

You tried not to laugh at his pathetic expression. “Well, I think it all turned out for the best.”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling at last. He brushed his thumb across your cheek. You leaned into his hand, unable to tear your gaze from his blue eyes. “Yeah, it sure as hell did.”

Thanks for reading! Tagging: @interestedbystanderwrites @kentuckybarnes @noshitstark @fortheloveofjbbarnes @sgtjbuccky @bitsandbobsandstuff @buckitybarnes @the-whitewolfie @the-canary @moonbeambucky @itsbuckysworld @c-a-v-a-l-r-y @buckybarneshairpullingkink @lexgirl79 @laurfangirl424 @alittle-crazy @kenzieam @shreddedparchment

Bold = can’t tag :/

If you would like to be tagged (or if you would not like to be) just ask!

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Prompt Challenge

So this is my writing prompt challenge. It is a very long list, and some of the quotes are very long. Every line is from my favorite author, Sherrilyn McQueen (previously known as Sherrilyn Kenyon). Quotes that inspire fluff, romance, and/or angst

[[MORE]]

You have the optimism of a child. (Julian) Peter Pan all the way. (Grace)

Life isn't finding shelter in the storm. It's about learning to dance in the rain.

But as the Roman playwright Terence once wrote, From many a bad beginning great friendships have formed

I don't suffer from my insanity -- I enjoy every minute of it.

I marvel at the fact you’ve lived to your age and no one’s taken those rose-colored glasses and shoved them up your ass.

Just because you can doesn't mean you should.

Oh contraire, mon frère. I’m able to annoy anyone in ten syllables or less. Sometimes, I don’t even have to speak at all. I just walk into the room and it rankles them.

It's easy to look at people and make quick judgments about them, their present and their past, but you'd be amazed at the pain and tears a single smile hides. What a person shows to the world is only one tiny facet of the iceberg hidden from sight. And more often then not, it's lined with cracks and scars that go all the way to the foundation of their soul.

You’re not done with me entirely, human. I’m the mother of his daughter. (CharacterA) You’re right. You are ____'s mother, poor her. But you’re wrong about one thing. (characterB) And that is? (CharacterA) I’m no longer human. I’m the Atlantie Kedemonia Theony – the guardian of the Atlantean gods. And right now there’s only one of them walking about and to save him from one more bad memory created by you, I’d bathe in your entrails, bitch. As for ___, she’s a big girl – I know, I used to live with her. She’ll survive the death of her mother. Trust me, I have firsthand experience with the subject. (characterB)

"How can anyone be afraid of love?" (CharacterA) "When you love someone... truly love them, friend or lover, you lay your heart open to them. You give them a part of yourself that you give to no one else, and you let them inside a part of you that only they can hurt—you literally hand them the razor with a map of where to cut deepest and most painfully on your heart and soul. And when they do strike, it's crippling—like having your heart carved out. It leaves you naked and exposed, wondering what you did to make them want to hurt you so badly when all you did was love them. What is so wrong with you that no one can keep faith with you? That no one can love you? To have it happen once is bad enough... but to have it repeated? Who in their right mind would not be terrified of that?" (characterB)

Aren't you an enigma wrapped in a thick coating of contradictions.

Sometimes things have to go wrong in order to go right.

Do you want my input or is this just an angry tirade you need to vent? (CharacterA) Both! (characterB) Okay, you rant and I’ll add my comments at the end. (CharacterA)

We have three kinds of family. Those we are born to, those who are born to us, and those we let into our hearts

I assure you, princess, if you saw the real me, you’d run for cover. (CharacterA) Only if I knew you’d be waiting under that cover for me. (characterB)

"Oh God, I just kissed a vampire!" "Oh Gods, I just kissed a human!"

I have a computer, a vibrator, and pizza delivery. Why should I leave the house?

Bitch please...you haven't seen mean yet.

"____! I won’t leave you here to die." (CharacterA) It’s okay, princess. I don’t mind dying for you. (characterB)

Life is a tapestry woven by the decisions we make.

If brute force doesn't work, you aren't using enough

You know the incredible thing about hearts is their unbelievable capacity for forgiveness. You’d be amazed what people will overlook when they love someone

my balls if you crawl inside a bottle and pickle yourself solid. I’ve got other things to think about now. But let me remind you of something a good friend once said to me when I was being eaten alive by feelings I didn’t understand. ‘Even when my marriage was bad, it was good.’ I had no real idea what you meant that night, but now I do and I’m grateful to the gods I can finally believe in that I took a chance on something that almost killed me. The life I have now…no, the woman I have now is worth every rotten moment of my worthless existence that led me to her door, and I would relive it all to have one kiss from her lips. You’re the one who told me that the right woman was a shelter from the storm

I wasn't born, I was unleashed.

She couldn’t very well let him join her in bed like that. Sure you could. No I can’t. Please? Hush, self, let me think.

We almost made it to thirty seconds without an insult. I think we set a new record

Get off me, you lard-ass, halitosis, flea-infested horror-movie reject! 

I thought only a wooden stake through the heart killed a vampire. (CharacterA) A wooden stake through the heart will kill just about anything. And if it doesn't, run like hell (characterB)

You’re the only thing I’ve ever done right in my entire life and if anything ever happened to you, they’d have to dig two graves ‘cause I couldn’t live a single day without my baby beside me. (parent to child)

You know, I would date, if I could find a man worth shaving my legs for. 

C'mon, Tabitha. You stabbed me the night we met without even blinking. (CharacterA) Yeah, but you were a dirtbag then. (characterB) I think I'm offended. (CharacterA)

I learned a long time ago not to judge people by what they look like, sound like, or by the clothes they wear. Just because a house is nice and shiny out front doesn’t mean it’s not rotting on the inside.

you're right ___. I am a selfish bastard. I had to be, because no one else gave a single shit about me except me

I have found my star. She is beauty and grace. Elegance and goodness. My laughter in winter. She is courageous and strong. Bold and tempting. Unlike any other in all the universe, and I cannot touch her. I dare not even try

I’m here because I know the sadness inside you. I know what it feels like to wake in the morning, lost and lonely and aching for someone to be there with me

What are you doing? (CharacterA) I'm getting into my car. (characterB) You own this?! (CharacterA) No. I'm stealing it with the key in my hand. (characterB)

So, does this make you visibly challenged? (CharacterA) No, but if you don’t lay off me, I’m going to make you breathing impaired. (characterB)

I'm the top of the food chain and well...you're the food

___ says that tragedy and adversity are the stones we sharpen our swords against ao that we can fight new battles.

Sure. My ego's had enough time to recover a modicum of dignity. Let's make sure we crush it again before I mistake myself for a god

Human will is the strongest will ever created. There are those who are born to succeed and those who are determined to succeed. The former fall into it, and the latter pursue it at all costs. They won’t be denied. Nothing daunts them.

You know when people say fine, it generally means ‘leave me the hell alone because I don’t want to talk about what’s really bothering me

Baby, I ain't trash. Trash is something you throw away. My people keep me.

We're not the damned, folks, we're the categorically fucked. 

So is there any part of you that’s not a lethal weapon? (CharacterA) No. Even my wits are sharpened. (characterB)

The worst wounds, the deadliest of them, aren't the ones people see on the outside. They're the ones that make us bleed internally

The past is dead. Tomorrow will become whatever decision you make it.

Strength through adversity. The strongest steel is forged by the fires of hell. It is pounded and struck repeatedly before it’s plunged back into the molten fire. The fire gives it power and flexibility, and the blows give it strength. Those two things make the metal pliable and able to withstand every battle it’s called upon to fight.

Love is deceitful and sublime. In its truest form, it brings out the best in all beings. At its worse, It's a tool used to manipulate and ruin any one who is stupid enough to hold it. Don't be stupid

Forgiveness is the best part of valor...Discretion is easy. It's finding the courage to forgive yourself and others that is hard

Even if I were lying on the sun itself, I would be freezing there without you

I learned the bad guys are not always bad, the good guys are not always good, and to quote Captain Barbossa, the parameters are like rules, mostly guidelines. And that it takes a little bit of bad boy to fight the evil in the world.

Laugh it up, asshole. But she who laughs last laughs longest, and I intend to belly roll tonight

I think infatuation is like a garden. If tended and cared for, it grows into love. If neglected or abused it dies. The only way to have eternal love is to never let your heart forget what it's like to live without it.

What? It's not my fault I stab all the fanged people. They shouldn't look like vampires. (CharacterA) I didn't look like a vampire, but you stabbed me. (characterB) Yeah, well, you looked like a lawyer so I had to kill you. It was a moral imperative. (CharacterA)

Where are you anyway? (CharacterA) I don't know. I hear some godawful kind of music from outside, horns blaring, and I'm in a house with a Mohawk cuckoo bird, a transvestite, and a knife-wielding lunatic. (characterB) Why are you at ____'s? (CharacterA)

You’re selfish and you’re cold, and I’m tired of getting frostbite when I touch you

He who lets fear rule him, has fear for a master

Be kind to dragons, for thou art crunchy when toasted and taste good with ketchup

If you have any care for ____ at all, don't leave him in darkness. It's not fair to show someone the sun and then to banish him from it. Even the devil may cry when he looks around hell and realizes that he's there alone

Have you ever wanted something that you knew was bad for you? Something that you ached for so much you could think of nothing else?

Gee, thanks Dad. I promise to be a good boy and play nice with the other kids.(CharacterA) Smart ass. (characterB) Better than a dumb ass.(CharacterA)

I'm too young, too smart and too good-looking to die.

You're so afraid of being hurt that you attack first. Only those who really care about you will weather the assault of your verbal attacks and stay. The rest will fall away.

Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live

The most beautiful heart of all is the one that can still love even while it bleeds, and especially after its been broken into thousands of pieces.

Just how many sisters do you have? (CharacterA) Eight. (characterB) Eight? (CharacterA) What? (characterB) I'm just pitying whatever poor males lived in that house with all of you. It must have been truly frightening at least one week out of every month. (CharacterA) Was that a joke? (characterB) Merely a frightening statement of fact. (CharacterA)

There, there, baby. We'll hide her body in the trunk later.

Sorrow spares no one, and scars respect no person.

Yeah, it never fails to amaze me how a single lie can undo an entire lifetime of good

Is he a good boy? (CharacterA) No, Mom, he’s Satan incarnate. In fact, once it’s over, we’re going to get liquored up and tattooed, then find some cheap hos and have a good time with his trust fund. (characterB)

Oh no, no, no! Are you going to suck my blood? (CharacterA) Do I look like a lawyer to you? (characterB)

Hey, yummy leather guy? Can you hear me? 

Great minds discuss ideas. Average minds discuss events. Small minds discuss other people. Life's too short to worry about what other people do or don't do. Tend your own backyard, not theirs, because yours is the one you have to live in

It would have really cramped my future plans had I died. 

No power from above can make one human love another. Love comes from within the heart.

There are always three sides to every memory…yours, theirs, and the truth, which lies somewhere in between the two

You don’t knock on the devil’s door, boy, unless you want him to answer.

Take care of him, ____. And remember it takes great courage and heart for a man who knows no kindness to show it to another. Even the wildest of beasts can be tamed by a patient and gentle hand.

To infinity then. (CharacterA)  What’s that mean? (characterB) It’s something my dad used to say when I was a kid. To infinity, meaning you’d see something through to the end. (CharacterA) Infinity is never-ending. (CharacterB) That’s right, which means you keep going and going no matter what happens or what obstacles you meet. Over, under, around or through. There’s always a way. And if you have to chase something to infinity, strap on your big-boy pants, hiking boots, and go. (CharacterA)

Whoa, what is this? Battle of the Sarcastic and Pissed? Should I make popcorn? Forget American Idol, man. This is much more entertaining

Life is serious. (CharacterA)  No, life is an adventure. It's thrilling and scary. Sometimes it's even a bit boring, but it should never be serious. (characterB)

You can take my life, but you'll never break me. So bring me your worst… And I will definitely give you mine.

Just remember, anger is always your enemy. You must keep your emotions in check. The moment you lose control of them, you lose the fight every time.

It’s a responsibility that I take most seriously, so excuse me for banning you from killing them because you have reverse PMS. (CharacterA) Reverse PMS? (characterB) Yeah, unlike a normal woman, you’re cranky twenty-eight days out of the month. (CharacterA)

You are the only warmth in my heart. The only sunshine my winter has ever known

I wonder why no one called the police about the rocket launcher? God knows my neighbors usually report it if I so much as fart in my backyard.

I am a socially awkward mandork. 

What else can I do to piss you off? (CharacterA) You can leave me. (characterB) I would never do that, ____. No one can live without their heart and that’s what you are to me. (CharacterA)

What planet are you from? Obviously Planet Insanity was missing a local, long-term resident.'

Actions that sometimes seem mean aren’t. Rather they are done by the ones we love in order to protect us without our knowing it.

Knock, knock. (CharacterA) Now, ain't this a bitch. Here I am, trying to kiss my girl, and you have to interrupt us. What, were you raised in a barn? By the way, touch the woman, or the Lamborghini, and you're a dead man. (characterB)

The wealth of a soul is measured by how much it can feel... its poverty by how little

You’re human. No one cares if you sleep with a whore. (CharacterA) (characterB did something she’d never in her life done before. She slapped another person.) You ever insult ____ again and so help me, I’ll do to you what you allowed your brother to do to him. I’ll cut your tongue out for it. ____ is the man I love and no one, ever, takes issue with him without having issues with me. (characterB)

Your destiny is shaped by choice, never by chance. Beware the decisions you make, no matter how small, for they will be your salvation...or your death.

Wake up, ____. Your psychotic criminal is playing with knives.

I accept you as you are, and I will always hold you close in my heart. I will walk beside you forever

Words are easy to say, but emotions betray the best intentions.

Because I have no boobs. My ears stand out, and I have freckles all over me. (CharacterA) Boobs? (characterB) Breasts. (CharacterA) You have very nice breasts. (CharacterB) Thanks. What about you? (CharacterA) I have no breasts. (characterB)

I love you, I love you, I love you! And if you ever die on me again, I'll kill you so dead!

I'm old enough to make you look like an embryo. 

How did you get me here? (CharacterA)I have my evil Jedi ways. The Force is strong with this one. (characterB)

Have you ever noticed that salvation, much like your car keys, is usually found where and when you least expect it?

The man may not be dead, but he was certainly stiff. And this had nothing to do with rigor mortis

He was like some wild, untamed creature that you could keep and feed for a time, but in the end you knew you'd have to let it go for its own sake as well as yours

I will fear no evil for I am the baddest bitch in the land

Ironically no one ever wants to hear what I have to say about anything. They usually argue with me to the point I want to put them through a wall. Hopefully you won’t be so dense

So you're the infamous ____. (CharacterA) Lord and Master of the great barbarian horde that roams the night. (characterB)

No one should have to pay for love in flesh or blood. 

Should I ask about the handcuffs? (CharacterA) Not unless you want to live...otherwise if anyone asks, tell them I died of a heart attack during a wild sexcapade with her. (characterB)

A flower can't grow without rain. (CharacterA) Too much rain and it drowns. (characterB) And yet the most beautiful of the lotus flowers are the ones that grow in the deepest mud. (CharacterA)

I’ve spent my entire life listening to people tell me why I can’t be loved and how I’m nothing but a worthless piece of shit. I always told myself that I didn’t care, that I didn’t need anyone else. It was a lie, you know. I do care and I want ____. If it costs me my life to be with her, it doesn’t matter. I’ve already lived past my prime, anyway. I get up every morning with more pain in my joints than the day before. If I have to die, I’d rather die knowing someone cared about me, just once. Is that really too much to ask? (CharacterA) For us? Yes. It is. We are the gutter and the gutter is all we’ll ever be. Don’t reach out for the stars. They’ll burn you until there’s nothing left. (characterB) Then let me burn. (CharacterA)

Should I warm the oven and bake you a batch of hero cookies? 

I don’t even know what to say to you. (CharacterA) Me, either. I guess we’ll just stand here and cry at each other, huh? (characterB)

Everyone cries sometimes, ____. There are some pains that run too deep for even the strongest to take without breaking. I don’t think any less of you for it.

Please nothing, she’s a vicious piranha. She looks all cute and cuddly, then she opens that mouth and lets loose so much venom she could double as a nest of scorpions

Don't worry, ___. I'm an acquired taste. Most of my best friends had to know me for years before they could even stand my presence. I'm like mold, I usually grow on you very slowly

You know, I've walked this earth for over eleven thousand years, my lady. I have seen things in my life that are unimaginable to you, and you ask me if I doubt you? Lady, I doubt the very air you breathe

(CharacterA) "You are naked."......"You are so naked" (characterB) - "I know" (CharacterA) "You are naked!" (characterB)  "We've established that." (CharacterA) "You're happy and naked." (characterB)"What?

Please don’t let it be another cop. I’m outta bail money. Wait a minute…I could sell you on eBay and make a killing. (CharacterA) Not in my current condition. You’d have to sell ___ or ____. I’m sure there’s someone willing to buy two perfectly good white boys. (characterB)

Hey!" (CharacterA) snapped as he realized (CharacterB) was about to lock him on the outside with their attackers. He pushed the door open and glared at him. "No man left behind." (characterB) scoffed. "This aint' the army, boy. It's every man for himself. Fall behind. Get eaten!"

I marvel at the fact you’ve lived to your age and no one’s taken those rose-colored glasses and shoved them up your ass.

Because I don’t feel broken when you look at me. (CharacterA) How could you feel broken? (characterB) I was shattered as a child and thrown away, like a piece of trash no on wanted. But you don’t treat me like that. You see in me the human bit and you touch that part of me. You make me feel whole and wanted. (CharacterA)

Fate is a bitch with a wicked since of humor and today I'm her punchline

If you're going to hell buddy, I'm driving the bus

I'd rather be judged by twelve than carried by six

If I am to be judged it will be for who I am. Not for who I'm trying to become

I will count the heartbeats until I see you again

It's official take a psycho to work day. Why else would I be here?

The bitterest pain of all is when you can only hold someone in your heart who you used to hold in your arms

Pain baptizes us all without prejudice or mercy

Whatever doesn't kill me better run like hell

True love will always find it's way through paths where even feral lorinas fear to prey

So goes my incentive to fight fairly. You want fair, play with kids. You wanna come at me, make out a will.

People who don't know me, think I'm quiet. People who do, wish I was.

Shall I show you to the door... Or would you rather go out through the wall?

Before you rattle my cage, you'd best make sure I'm padlocked in it

There are two ways out of this room. The window behind you and the door behind me..... You might survive the window.

Everyday do one thing that scares you. Or one thing that scares other people

The truth spills as quickly from furious lips as a lie. The trick is to learn which is meant to wound and which is meant to enlighten.

We all have out burdens... Just some of us have the ones that strike to kill us vindictively

If you want to see exactly how angry someone can get, tell them to calm down when they're already pissed off!

Don't be afraid to love. Yes its a weakness, but it's a source of greatest strength you'll ever know.

Because you are taking the most important parts of me with you, ___..... My heart and my soul. You are not just my wife. You are what sustains me.

Talk is cheap. Pain is free and I'm peddling the shit out of it. So you come and get some.

Why be difficult when with a little bit of effort you can be impossible

The lies we tell ourselves to survive seldom bring peace to our hearts

Destruction is good for my soul, but it sucks to be you

Family isn't perfect, just perfectly ours