#this close to sleeping on kitchen tile rn

[early-october-skies]

I can not sleep

[stararch4ngelqueen]

Jason slow dancing with you in the kitchen, something fluffy like that please!

Fighting sleep rn so this is perfect. You’re also getting teasing Jason for free. And a ton of other unnecessary details cause I got way too into it.

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Time written - 11:42 p.m

—

“Why’re you out of bed, babe?” A bedraggled Jason greeted your weary, squinting eyes as they got used to the kitchen lighting.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you whisper, exhaustion heavy on your tone despite your body’s refusal to succumb to it. Jason settled himself back against the counter beside the stove, continuously watching over a small pot while scrolling over mindless articles over his phone.

“C’mere.” Jason offers an arm towards you, watching your oversized shirt clad body trudge across cold tile floor to get to him. He hugs you close, your cheek hearing the drum of his steady heart as you relax against his chest, your body easing in his embrace.

“What’re you making?”

“Warming you up some milk,” Jason murmurs into your hair, rubbing soothing motions along the small of your back. The lack of sleep wasn’t new, mostly due to your persistence on waiting on him after his patrol nights ended. He felt guilty, choosing to stay extra hours to make sure you kept yourself asleep.

He didn’t mind it. He preferred you over the cold streets on a November midnight.

“Gotta treat my baby like a baby and make her a bottle.”

“Shut up,” you scoff with a smile, knowing he’d take it as an amusing compliment. He enjoyed making you laugh as much as he did taking care of you.

Your preferred milk with a dash of cinnamon and chamomile honey slowly came to a simmer on the stove, awaiting a spoonful of cocoa powder. You’ll ask if it was Alfred’s idea to having hot chocolate instead of warm milk for sleep, he’ll shrug and tell you he saw it once on a cheesy Hallmark channel.

Jason closes his eyes, a slight smile growing on his face.

“Tell me something,” he whispers, his voice still quiet, rough, and tired, the late hour shown in bright green digital numbers on the stove clock.

“Hm?”

“Just… say anything. You don’t have to put any thought behind it. I just wanna hear your voice… okay?”

You had no understanding to the reason, only coming up with him wanting to tire you out just by talking lots of nonsense. You could do that, sometimes that’s your specialty.

“Okay,” you reply, saying the first words that came to mind after taking a sigh.

“When was the last time we had Dino chicken nuggets? We’re grown adults, what’s really stopping us from eating them?”

Jason starts to chuckle a little, then his laughter grows just a little louder. He cradled you closer to body, his arms still snug around your waist. What a silly thing to say, even when that’s exactly what he had asked for.

“No, no, it’s true. Why do kids get to claim all the tasty snack food?” He chuckles, gently swaying you from side to side, not even making much of an attempt to move his feet.

“One of these days… let’s just eat like little kids for a day.” You suggest, your voice growing a bit thick with exhaustion. “Hot chocolate and dino nuggets, and we can just stay in bed. It’ll be a nice break, don’t you think? So you don’t have to be Red Hood all the time.”

He lowers his head a little, stray tufts of hair tickling your face while his lips plant gentle kisses along your neck. His heart hurts a little bit from that little desire deep in your chest to have him home more, to be a proper boyfriend and cradle you in your dreams, just as he did now.

“Yeah? I don’t mind that,” Jason says, keeping you blanketed in the safety of his embrace, slowly shifting weight along his feet to sway you with him a little more.

“You ever danced before, sweetheart?”

“Hm?” Your head tilts a bit. “No, not like this.”

“Is it making you sleepy?” He asks, catching the quirk in the corner of your lip.

“You rocking me like a baby?”

“Can see its working,” He snickers, kissing the top of your forehead. His little sleeping beauty, nestled in the arms of a crimson beast.

“Tell me more,” he whispers, raspy voice growing both soothing and quiet. “Keep talking. I wanna listen to you.”

Your head shifts, your lips muffled against his chest, amusing him with a complete lack of understanding.

“What’s that, baby?”

“You’re not home as much a lot of nights.”

Jason exhales, feeling his lungs deflating while he spares a hand to cradle the back of your neck and runs through your hair.

“I know Princess,” he responds, voice growing softer.

Then, he goes silent for a moment—as if he’s thinking of what to say next.

“D’you miss me when I’m not home?” he whispers, his voice soft and curious.

“I always do,” you admit, trailing your fingers all along his silvery scarred chest.

A light smile pulls at the side of his lips, feeling his pessimistic thoughts satiated for the time being.

He brings his hand up to your chin, caressing it softly with his thumb before tilting it upwards to get a good look at you.

“You know,” Jason responds, “I think I miss you the most when I’m not home.”

His voice is soft, as if he doesn’t want to be so vulnerable about this. This routine is something he can’t control sometimes, no matter how much he wanted to. Little nights like these where he could vanish from sight just to spend a couple extra hours with you was the greatest luxury he could ever want from the universe.

Time was the most precious possession that always slipped out of reach, he treasured every second of it with you.

“You’re always on my mind, babygirl. Try not to forget that.” As he’s saying this, he can’t help but tilt his head and kiss your forehead.

“M’tired,” you whine before opening your eyes, unaware when you had even closed them. He glances back to the stove before shutting off the burner, acknowledging he could at least save the mouthwatering concoction for breakfast in the morning.

“Too tired to wait for your bottle, huh?”

“Stooop.” You groan against the crook between his neck and shoulder, feeling the rumble of his amusement along his chest. “God, I hate you.”

“Hate me in the morning, babygirl,” he muses before slipping his arm under your knees, hoisting you up in his embrace to carry you back to bed.

[thesuetyouforgot]

I'm so sorry you've got a bad after a bad week 😔. I hope things improve for you, sending you hugs and good vibes! 💚

For the ask as a little distraction: the emperor, the hierophant, the chariot, strength, temperance

(if that's too many, pick your favourites ☀️

Thank you so much for your kind words, the hugs & good vibes! And also for the ask! 💜💜 I appreciate it so much and it indeed helped distract me throughout the day :)

•the emperor: what are some names that you like?

Oh there are so many beautiful names out there and also my taste in names changes slightly from time to time but I have a knack for 'old' names like Joachim, Hermann, Richard & Irene, Margret, Dorothea maybe (all of them with their German pronunciation, only Richard is meant to be in English) ...oh or like those 'rich people names' like Alexander, Maximilian, Constantin etc

•the hierophant: do you believe in ghosts?

Actually I do. There have been some moments that made me believe in them. I have no hard evidence, it's just a reoccurring feeling that I just accepted and don't bother questioning haha.

In my family's house for example seem to be some kind of ghosts. Because occasionally the vibes will be off when you enter a room that hasn't been used in some days or weeks and it feels like there's some kind of negative energy which will somehow affect your sleep or performance. But they aren't mean and really prefer to be on their own and I've also found out that you can actually ask them politely to please leave you alone for I'd rather be on my own and if they can go somewhere else & they will comply. And sometimes -but that is very rare- you can hear a door falling close or a chair scraping over the kitchen tiles when there's no one else at home.

Oh and there's also a story about a piano playing ghost in my family but that's not my own one.

•the chariot: thoughts on astrology?

I occasionally like to read my horoscope and love comparing birth charts for compatibility for fun but I don't believe everything - some people just don't match their sign and some astrologers also write just random stuff. I take what resonates and leave the rest. Buuut I think there definitely is some truth to it. Often the official descriptions of sign characteristics are misleading but from personal experience I can say that many people of the same sign are actually alike in certain aspects.

Sorry for not answering strength (dream occupation) and temperance (a strange dream) - The first one is a bit of a sore topic rn as i'm struggling with exactly that topic and I don't really want to think about it today 🙈. And for the dream: I always dream the weirdest, most hilarious stuff but now I just can't seem to think of a single one of them :(

Tarot Ask Game

[bigowlenergy]

eyes

whoops late to dannymay. but time aint real rn anyway, so

EDIT: the How to Raise the Dead series can be read on ao3 and ffn now!

X

Jack is up at 5, as usual. He’s always been a farm boy; getting up with the sun is in his blood.

Most mornings start easy: a trip downstairs while everyone else is still asleep, only birds in the quiet air, making up some coffee, occupying his hands with his next sewing project while the sun rises, getting breakfast going by 6:30, helping the kids rush out the door for school, then settling into the lab for the day. Maddie won’t be up til 7 herself, a later riser than anyone else in the family, mostly from keeping up so late in the lab. Jazz often joins him around 6, as bright eyed and busy tailed as himself in the early mornings. Danny used to be up with him, though he’d yawn about it and Jack’s probably the reason for his coffee addiction, but since highschool started he’s joined Maddie in sleeping in late. Jack misses that quiet companionship, and it would probably be better if he was up to get his homework done early instead of whenever he did it later at night, like Jack used to do. But he’s been a bit off, not used to the new workload and responsibilities just yet. Jack won’t wake him. Let the boy sleep in a bit, he’s earned it.

So when he goes downstairs one morning in May, no one else is around. He doesn’t expect anyone to be. Not even himself; it’s only 4:30. But the neighbor’s cats are making a ruckus outside and while Jack’s not usually one to be woken by such noises, things happen. Might as well make the most of it and get this quilting finished up.

But when he goes into the kitchen, something stays his hand from the light. Good instinct for trouble is part of being raised a ghost hunter, of being raised on a farm so near the border and the forest with it’s wolves and poachers, so when the feeling hits, Jack stays still. Takes in the room.

Empty coffee pot, stove’s off, no mud or ectoplasm on the floor, door’s locked up tight, shield’s down this week due to lack of activity, green light spills out of the basement doorway. The too-dark, pre-dawn light is utterly unfamiliar with that green tinge to it. It bounces off the white tile like a liquid stain rather than refraction from the portal downstairs, which was shut and sealed the last Jack saw of it. Maddie didn’t need it open for anything that he can recall, and she certainly wouldn’t leave it unattended. Jack crosses to the fridge with quick but quiet steps and checks the work calendar. No portal maintenance for another week, nothing active in the lab till Tuesday.

No reason for it to be open now, staining the morning like that.

With an ectogun from the weapons drawer beside the cutlery in his fist, Jack approaches the lab. Creeps down the stair one at a time, the cement eating ice into his socks. The blaster goes around the handrail first, the Jack peeks out into the cavernous room.

The portal is half open, everything is green. A figure stands before the portal, in front of their newest invention, looking over a large piece of paper. The unnatural light sets them in silhouette, makes the scene into a flat paper display in a shadow box. The Fenton Purefyer. The schematics?

Maddie?

His wife was still in bed as expected the last he saw her, but maybe she snuck down while he was in the shower, struck by sudden inspiration. It’s happened, just very rarely. But Jack likes to think that he knows Maddie, knows the shape of her body thrown into stark relief by ectoplasm, and this isn’t her. He’s as sure of that as he was of something being wrong.

He usually overexcites himself to counter the energy drain and terror aura of ghosts, but today. This too dark morning, in his own house, something is wrong.

 He takes the safety off the blaster, creeps down one more stair -

 The figure moves. Jack freezes. Remembers holding a very different gun, watching into the forest with the same baited breath, the same terror-instinct of the supernatural keeping him still, guarding a house of sleeping family. He shakes off the flash of memory, focuses on the present.

 The figure walks away from the Purefyer, sets an empty battery cell back into the charger along the wall. Removes a full one. Does something with it that Jack can’t get at from this angle. Goes back to the schematics. Turns away, towards the main lab. Still away from the stairs, but now Jack can see a bit more clearly.

 It’s hard not to see. With the brightly glowing power cell in his mouth and eyes like stoplights, it’s hard not to see Danny’s face in the gloom. He steps further into the lab, holding the schematics at arms length, probably looking at them - but with eyes like that, Jack can’t tell. He’s in his NASA pajamas. No socks. No hazmat.

 The end of the power cell ticks down a notch, goes dead like the ashes of a cigarette. Drained. Danny frowns around it, the expression overly distinct in the green, and sets the schematics down on the drafting table. Takes up a pencil from the bin and erases a few things, fills them in again with something else. A few changes to the calculations on the side of the page, a line or two in the schematic itself. The cell ticks down again.

 He returns to the machine, not a sound coming from his feet on the floor even though the empty room echoes something fierce on a normal day. A bolted side panel pops off in his hands, and he sets in aside. Reaches in with bare hands and does something that makes the small screen on the front of the machine turn on. He frowns again, face turned dangerously toward the stairs, and does something else that makes a warning error pop up. A red fatality error. Danny sits back on his heels and sighs greatly, luminous eyes closing for a few seconds. The last notch empties out.

 Whatever he’s doing is done: the panel goes back on, the power switch is flipped to turn off the screen, and he lopes back over to the portal side table to return the empty power cell to the charger.

 Jack. Creeps back up the stairs. Puts the blaster on the counter and starts a pot of coffee.

 Waits. Waits.

 The pot crackles and splutters, out of water. Jack blinks at the sudden noise, realizes he’s been staring at the open lab door for at least ten minutes. The portal light is off. No Danny.

 He picks the blaster back up and goes to the doorway. Dark. He flips on the light like nothing’s wrong with today, stares down the stair well, half expecting to be met with a sight he can’t deal with. The empty landing is somehow worse.

 The lab is empty. Portal closed and sealed. Not a hair out of place. The schematics are preliminary for the mock up sitting in the middle of the lab; there were erase marks and rewrites aplenty. Jack can’t tell the difference.

 The charging station is darker than it should be. The cells are refilling, but the highest one is only on the third notch out of five.

 Jack returns to the kitchen. Fixes a cup of coffee. Waits for his family to wake up.

 Can’t shake the sight of green eyes staring into the morning darkness out of his head, even when he’s looking into blue.

[crewhonk]

Cookie Dough

AN: this is hot. I haven’t written anything in a while and @nomadsgrogers and I’d text messages have been... sinful at best. THIS WAS REQUESTED!

Warnings: filthy fuckin smut. Brief mentions of ptsd,

DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER EIGHTEEN! IM NOT GONNA GET IN TROUBLE FOR DISTRIBUTING P*RN TO MINORS

———————————————————

You hadn’t remembered why you had shot up out of bed, covered in a thin sheen of sweat which glowed in the moonlight that shone through the open curtains of your bay window. You hadn’t remembered why your fingers itched or your bones seemed to be wound too tight. You did know, however, that you needed to get away from the damp sheets which clung to your skin too tightly and the grey walls of your room which were surely moving to close in on you.

Your steps down the hallway of the Avengers compound were uneven at best, your vision seemed dark around its edges and your fingertips grazed the walls by means to steady yourself on your way to the light at the end of the hallway. The kitchen and living quarters opened up in front of you shortly, the couches and counters set against a backdrop of the glowing New York skyline. You blinked once, sucking in a deep breath of fresh air and squeezing your eyes shut to blink away the oil on your lids and the tears which had gathered in the corner of your eyes.

You rarely had nightmares of the Red Room anymore— the old Victorian architecture and soft sounds of piano keys seeming far away, but tonight, on the anniversary of her Great Escape the memories seemed so close— so loud. The gunshots and screams and the metal of the handcuffs against the metal of your bed frame echoed too loudly in your ears. There must be some way— some way for you to block everything out, some way for you to make the horrors of That night just a little further away.

So, you found yourself in the kitchen hips swaying in time with the spoon which mixed the cookie dough in the glass bowl you had curled in your arms. Your eyes were closed, whisper-singing the words of Beyonce’s new homecoming album under your breath. The bass and drum lines ringing in your eardrums made the reality of today's meaning seem far away. Your knees and hips and neck were loose under the beat of your favorite song, and you had been so lost in the music that you hadn’t heard the whirring of one metal arm and the thumping of two socked feet.

Bucky Barnes had also been woken up from a nightmare. One which had shaken him to his core— two familiar colored eyes blurred in the background of a gun barrel. It had been the night you had escaped from the Red Room actually. You had taken the commotion of the Winter Soldiers arrival at the Red Room and had worked with the situation, taking out most of the HYDRA soldiers and even a few of your own instructors— the harsh women who had raised you to be quick and efficient and lethal.

Their fault they found themselves an early grave, Bucky guessed.

He and you had fought in the front foyer, and the Soldier could see your desperation to escape in the sloppiness of your movements. The Soldier had pulled his punches and had faced the repercussions of that the next morning, but seeing you now with your hair loose and messy and hips rolling to the beat of whatever music you were playing made every lash and smack worth it.

Steve and Sam teased him almost every day about how you treated each other. Before you had arrived, both Steve and Sam were sure Natasha would eat Bucky alive, but you rolled into the tower with a white blouse and tight black jeans and a red-lipped smile and everything changed. Natasha had finally ended up making a move on both Sam and Steve, while you and Bucky found each other in the competition on the sparring mat. You teased him relentlessly about beating him That Night, and after explaining that he had pulled his punches, ended up caging you under him, thick thighs straddling your waist and fists on the floor inches away from your temple. You had, of course, been breathless under him and just as he was about to let you up, you ground your hips against his, and after a breathless moan from him, had flipped him over and pinned him.

And that had just been the first time you had sparred.

It had been a year since then. A year of teasing and absent-minded touches and sitting too close and watching each others back on missions. You were both a precise, deadly machine alone, but when there was the added factor of danger, you and Bucky would become an unstoppable team— one that even Natasha was nervous around.

You had turned around to the island he was sitting at and finally opened your eyes to start rolling balls of dough when you saw him sitting there, one brow raised and an amused smirk on his lips.

“О, Боже, Джеймс! Какого черта ты делаешь?” [Oh, Jesus Christ, James! What the fuck are you doing?]. You cursed, catching the bowl just before it hit the tiled floor and standing back up the glare at him. “How long have you been there?” You asked, a blush rising to your cheeks at the thought of him watching you unabashedly get down to the music blasting from your earphones.

“Long enough, Приятная вещь. It was nice to see you look so—“ Sexy. Powerful. Beautiful. “Relaxed.” You just rolled your eyes and tried to fight the sudden heat that crept up from your neck to the tips of your ears. He watched it creep up your skin and let his tongue glide across his lower lip. You tried your best to swallow the whimper that threatened to erupt from your throat, quelling it down enough to be able to cover it up with a cough. You were usually above a whimper— but the sight of him in front of you, added with the vulnerability of that day meaning and the accumulation of the past few months worth of sexual tension reduced you to a whimpering mess as the mere sight of Bucky Barnes tongue.

“What’re you making?” He asked, his voice a low timbre from a combination of the thick tension in the air and sleep. It seemed to rumble in your chest and your eyelids fluttered as you tried to process the words coming from his mouth.

“I— um. Cookies. Extra chocolate chips.” You replied, shaking your head minusculely, trying to clear your head of the sudden fog which had fallen over your brain.

“My favorite, but you knew that I think.” He smiled, resting his chin on his metal fist watching your hands dig into the dough and roll it into misshapen balls. His mouth watered as he watched your fingers and tendons in your hands flex and relax under your movements.

“I did.” Your lips pulled into a mischievous smile before you spoke the next words. “I also know they’re Sam’s favorite as well.” A giggle erupted from your throat as you heard Bucky groan at your words.

“But, I didn’t make them for him.” You whispered, breath catching in your throat as his sharp gaze flicked up to you. You rushed your next words, not willing to give him the whole worm before you let him have it. “I made them for me.” He smiled at you, noticing the playful glint in your eyes.

“Wanna try some?” You asked, voice quiet and nervous as if you were asking him to do something far worse to you. He flushed but stood— the soft fabric of his sweatpants doing nothing to hide the fact that he was already half hard. You pretended not to notice as he came to stand beside you leaning his hip against the marble counter and crossing his arms.

Okay, this is how this was going to go down, huh.

You steeled your shaking hands and pinched a small ball of dough between your thumb and forefinger and holding it out for him to take. Instead of taking the dough into his own hand, his flesh hand wrapped itself around your wrist and brought your hand to his lips. You sucked in a breath and could actually feel your pupils dilating as his pink lips wrapped themselves around your fingers, his tongue circling your fingers and hollowing out his cheeks just enough to make your heart stop dead in your chest. He pulled off of your fingers with a wet pop and a smirk at your stunned expression.

“Tastes great, Darling.” He mumbled, his eyes flicking between your eyes and lips which were parted both in shock and in sudden need of oxygen. His fingers which were wrapped around your wrist moved so his fingers could intertwine with your own, smirking when he felt that your fingers were still damp. His metal hand moved to dip on finger in the dough, and steeling his nerves, raised the finger to your lips, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of your lips closing around his digit, your eyes fluttering shut, and letting out a tiny moan which he could feel vibrate through the vibranium of his arm. Once you had sucked all the dough off his finger, your eyes fluttered up and you looked up at Bucky’s wrecked expression through your lashes.

“It’s really not bad, hey— mmph!” You tried to say before Bucky crashed his lips to yours, a hungry, growling assault that had your knees weak in three seconds flat. His lips were slightly dry, but warm and they fit themselves to yours almost too easily. His metal hand cradled your cheek gently, a touch which contrasted so greatly with the roughness of his lips on your own and the tight grip he had on your hand. Your chest was pressed against his own, and you could feel the hammering of his heart against yours, making you mewl and open your mouth against his. He took the opportunity to lick into your mouth, moaning at the taste of cookie dough and coffee and toothpaste. He stepped forward, not breaking the kiss and pressing you hard against the counter, making you gasp. You could feel his hardness against your stomach and you squeaked when he unwrapped his hands from you and picked you up, planting you firmly on the counter before using one hand to pull you back to him, your hot core pressing right against him, making you both cry out.

“God, Doll. Been waitin’ to have you putty in my hands since the first time I saw you.” He grumbled, pulling away to allow you to catch your breath as he continued to plant kisses over your jaw and neck, biting down and pulling the collar of your sleep shirt to the side to leave a dark, fat bruise on your shoulder.

You sighed and wrapped your fist in his hair, not pulling him anywhere but holding him and scratching his scalp light enough to make him moan against your neck. Your legs wrapped around his and you dug your heels into the back of his thighs— closer. You needed to be closer.

“Baby.” You whimpered, your free hand drifting under his shirt and just above the waistband of his sweat, scratching his skin and making him bite your neck in surprise, trying to repress his moans to a part somewhere deep in his chest. When you noticed him trying to be quiet, you tightened the fist in your hair and pulled him off you.

His gaze was dark, and his lips were beautifully swollen and moist and pouting. You pulled him to kiss you once more before backing away and narrowing your eyes slightly.

“Wanna hear you, Baby. Wanna know what’s good for you, okay?” You whispered, scratching the back of his neck lightly, making his eyelids flutter slightly. He just nodded, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer before crashing his lips to yours.

“Need you.” You whispered against his lips, and you heard his breath catch in his throat. You smirked, making your way to his neck and planting teasing, fluttering kisses to his pulse point and the spot just below his ear, making a small whine tear up his throat. You could almost hear his heartbeat increase as your fingertips dusted just below his waistband and drawing circles in the pubic hair on his lower belly. Your hand soon found itself on the spot just above his cock before you pulled away from his neck and looking at his wrecked, breathless expression.

“No underwear, Baby?” You whispered, looking into his eyes when your hand circled itself around the base of his cock. He made a sound and dropped his head to your shoulder and buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in and trying to not come on the spot.

“Answer me, Honey.” You hummed, fingertips teasing the underside of him before drifting over the head, collecting the pre-cum and using it as further lubrication to start moving your fist slowly up and down his length.

“I usually— fuck, Doll. Jus’ like that Sweetheart. Usually, sleep naked.” His voice was husky and muffled but he skin of your neck and every organ in your chest and stomach fluttered at the thought of him just down the hall, naked every night for the past year.

“Bucky.” You whimpered, gripping him slightly tighter and moving quicker, making him whine and thrust his own hips in time with your hand. Your hips shifted against the counter underneath you, trying to find some form of friction which was so pleasantly rewarded when Bucky slipped his hand under your shorts and pressing one finger on your clit through the soft cotton of your underwear.

“Wet.” He mumbled, hips still thrusting lazily against your motions. He cleared his throat. “Wet for me, huh, Doll?” He said a little more strength behind his voice.

“Yeah, Buck.” You whimpered, gasping as his own fingers pushed your underwear to the side, teasing your folds before slipping two fingers all the way in, curling them upwards and pressing his thumb against your clit, making you see stars. It was only a few seconds of him moving inside of you, your own hand losing rhythm until the shocks of his movements made you see flickers of stars behind your closed eyes.

“Eyes open, darling.” His voice was a low baritone, and you opened your eyes to see his own inches from your own. You whined, a noise coming from somewhere in the back of your throat as your thighs started to shake around his hips.

“You wanna come for me, Sweet Thing?” He mumbled, the tip of his nose tracing over the bridge of your own. You nodded, biting your lips hard enough for the skin to turn white, and he took his other hand and pulled the lips from between your teeth. “Answer me, Honey.” He smirked, copying the words you had said to him not five minutes ago.

“Yes please,” you whined, leaning forward and grazing your teeth over his throat. You felt his moan tear through him and nipped at the skin over his Adam's apple. “Please, Bucky.”

“Not yet, Honey.” He replied, regretfully pulling his fingers from your core and you wanted to cry at the loss of him. Your fist was still wrapped around the base of his cock, your movements long stopped in the blackness of your own pleasure. He lifted his fingers to his mouth, sucking them both dry and pulling them away from his mouth with a pop.

“Tastes fucking perfect, Darling.” He moaned, kissing you again and making sure that you could taste yourself on his lips.

Instead of pulling away from you, he pulled your shorts and underwear down and dropped them on the floor, your baggy sleep shirt doing enough to cover your ass and pulled himself over the waistband of his pants and brushing the tip over your slick.

“Do we need anything, Doll?” He asked, his voice strained as he tried to fight just a little bit of the fog that lay over his brain. You winced, legs closing slightly.

“No.” Your voice was dark, yet another reminder of what today was for you. He blinked rapidly, and let a regretful expression fall over his face.

“Doll, I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay,” You mumbled, pulling him by the back of his neck to crash his lips to yours. He squeaked and pulled away quickly, hands coming to caress your face and wiping the dry skin under your eyes.

“No, It’s not. I’m sorry, Love.” He whispered. The sincerity in his eyes made your heart swell and your eyes flood with tears. Instead of letting him see your grief, you let your head fall into his shoulder and snuck your hands under his shirt, scratching your nails over his hips and waist.

“It’s okay, I promise.” You whispered, kissing his shoulder and shifting against him. The purple head of his cock brushed against your clit and you both jumped and moaned, almost forgetting how close he was to you.

“Are you sure, Doll?” He asked, his voice low in your ear as he kissed the bruise he had left on the muscle of your shoulder.

“Please, James. Need you.” And with that affirmation, he pushed all the way in, making you both gasp loudly. You arched your back and pressed closer to him, your legs widening to a near split, and then wrapping themselves around his waist. You dug your heels into his ass to pull him closer and he hissed as the soft skin of his balls rested on the cold marble.

“Move, Buck. Baby, please.” You whined, needing him to move or do something other than catch his breath. He started slowly— shallow thrusts as you stretched around him and he got used to the feeling of your silky, fluttering walls.

“Heaven.” He mumbled, his voice seemed far away as the curve of his cock completely stole the breath from your lungs. You sat back on your hands, throwing your head back and moaning, feeling every vein and ridge as his thrusts became longer. His hand played with the hem of your shirt before pushing it over your tits, leaning forward and sucking one nipple into his mouth while playing with the other, rolling the bud between two of his cold, vibranium fingers. You moaned again at the sensation and his flesh hand came to clasp itself over your mouth.

“Don’ want everyone to hear what we’re doin’ here, huh?” He grunted, thrusting harder into you, his pelvic bone brushing your clit and making a high pitched whine erupt from your lips, muffled by his hand. You pull his hand away from your mouth and lean forward, kissing him roughly and once more grasping his hair in your fist.

“Would that really be so bad, Sarge?” His thrusts stop at your words, and before you can second guess yourself, he’s pulled completely out of you, manhandled you and pressed your chest and face against the counter.

“Wanna play dirty, huh Kitten?” He grunted, slipping easily between your thighs and hitting even deeper than he had before. His vibranium hand was pressed against the space between your shoulders and his flesh hand gripped the fat on your hips, pulling you to meet every thrust and making you cry out against the countertop, your breath making foggy condensation marks against the surface.

“Harder Sarge, please.” You almost cry, hand scrambling to find purchase on anything. One of them finds the sink tap and you circle your hand around it, knuckles going white as he fucks even harder into you. He leaned forward, then, and you felt all consumed by Bucky Barnes— a feeling you would never be tired of. He started to bite the skin of your shoulder blades, soothing the red marks he left with the flat of his tongue as his hand lets go of its bruising grip of your hips and circling around your front to circle and pinch your clit.

“Fuck, Doll. ‘M close. Where are you.” He growled against your skin, rubbing his fingers harder and making your mouth open in a silent, drawn-out moan.

“‘M gonna cum, Sarge. Can I cum, please.” You half-cry half-beg and he swears you’re sent to him from heaven by God themselves.

“Cum for me, Kitten. Let everyone here know how good ‘m fuckin’ you, huh?” He grunts, pressing you hard enough into the counter that you feel your back crack as you tighten impossibly around him. Your thighs shake as your orgasm rolls through you, making your eyes roll into the back of your head and letting out a moan that comes from somewhere deep in your chest. Bucky feels his own eyes shut, balls tightening before spilling into you, warming you up from the inside and triggering a second, fainter orgasm ripple through your body.

He collapses on top of you, catching his breath against the fabric of your shirt that clings to you slightly due to sweat. His post-orgasm haze is interrupted by the feeling and sound of your giggling under him and he groans, chuckling into your back.

“I hope that perfect sound isn’t because of me.” He grumbled playfully, not opening his eyes.

“I broke the sink.” You laughed, and he opened his eyes, seeing the tap of the sink completely disconnected from its place. He joins you, laughing against the back of your neck and kissing it lightly. You opened your eyes again, sight landing on the bowl of raw cookie dough and groaning.

“I don’t wanna finish the cookies.” He chuckled, pulling himself out of you and pulling his pants back up. He picked up your shorts and underwear before putting the bowl in the fridge and scooping you into his arms. You squeak at the sudden action and cling desperately to him, afraid he would drop you. He kissed your temple, nosing it slightly and shushing you when you tried to wiggle free to wipe down the counter.

“Don’t worry, baby girl. We’ll take care fo it in the morning, okay. Right now I wanna see you curled up in my bed, okay?” He mumbled, his voice rumbling through his chest and making your heart swell with appreciation.

“M’kay, Sarge.”

“You’re gonna kill me, Kitten I swear.”

[secret-rendezvous1d]

what if Harry was at after partt or some event and he was talking with models and of course the media write about it and the missus sees the pics and she gets super insecure and a lot more than tsince she is pregnant and Harry whew comes back home ask her whatsw wrong

People like to meddle… she knows that.

She fully trusts her husband. Of course she does. But, she can’t help the twinge of jealousy that sparks inside of her when she sees fan photos and candid shots of him speaking with woman who she considers herself to be miles beneath. Who have the gorgeous blonde hair that doesn’t resemble birds nests in the mornings. Who have the white teeth that look almost too perfect. Who have the slim figure and the boobs she could only dream about having - especially when she was 8 months pregnant and sporting a bump that looked like she’d smuggled a watermelon beneath her sweater. She knows he won’t go home with any of them, she knows that they know he’s a married man who’s also an expectant father, she knows that he wouldn’t dare make a move on a woman he was talking to, and she knows she’s the lucky one that he gets to come home to every night. She knows she’s the topic of most of his conversations because he loves to show how grateful he is to have and how appreciative he is to be her husband and how in love he is with her.

She knows all of that.

But, the twinge never leaves.

She’s not like any them. She’s far from who people expect him to be with. She’s a blogger who likes to steer clear of the public eye and only ever attends appearances when she feels like she has to appear - or when she gives in to Harry’s incessant begs to be his plus one - and she’s a blogger who looks after herself and tries to keep her personal life on the downlow. She doesn’t constantly tease the fans, she doesn’t turn her back on them when they see her in public, she doesn’t throw any insults or bad manners in their direction, and she’ll always give them the time of day. Her husband wouldn’t be where he is without those fans who support him and she’s forever grateful for them - she watched him grow and that’s all on them. 

The only time she gets frustrated is when they tag her in photos that she doesn’t want to see. With captions like:

are YN and harry done?

What is he doing?!

isn’t his wife pregnant rn?

wat the fuck is he doing? he’s married!

guessing a marriage is on the rocks… yikes.

… and it breaks her to pieces. 

They’re perfectly fine. 

They kiss and they cuddle in the mornings. He makes her breakfast in bed when her feet ache too much to walk. He runs her a bath or helps her shower and lets her use his shampoo because it smells like him. He massages her back and rubs her feet and makes her dinner when she’s too tired; he’ll sometimes make runs, passed midnight, to fetch her what she was craving. 

They were fine. 

But the mere possibility of them not being okay, of them distancing away from one another until there was no love between them, broke her.

There’s been a few moments when Harry would come home and see her, tears dribbling down her cheeks and a palm rubbing her stomach, scrolling through pages that have derogatory speech on them, aimed at her and their marriage and, sometimes, he’d see that she’s gone all the way back to when they first started dating. And he hates it. He hates how she’s tearing herself down and upsetting herself over something so silly and so unnecessary. 

So, when he comes home and sees her frustratingly cleaning a kitchen counter - because she’s in the nesting phase and what’s everything to be cleaned and properly furnished and moved into better places - he knows something is bothering her. Sleeves rolled up to her elbows, cheeks bright pink from the power behind her movements, legs shaking from being on her feet for longer periods of time.

“Hey, hey. No. Sit down. You can’t be doing this,” he forgets about slipping his jacket off and immediately walks towards her, cupping her hip with one hand as his other reached over to grab the cloth from her fist, “god, what’s the matter? What are you doing awake? It’s one in the morning. You should be sle-”

“How can I fall sleep when my husband is out chatting with models?”

“I wasn’t chatting with them about anything other than my music and you. You and the baby. Our marriage. Our honeymoon They know about us. Everyone knows, for Christ sake,” he throws the cloth in the direction of the sink, missing it completely as it landed with a splat upon the tiles, and sighs deeply, “you can’t keep doing this, okay? It’s not good for your health and it certainly isn’t good for the baby.”

“It’s hard,” she whispers, her voice cracking, and for the first time since his arrival home, he catches a look at her broken face. Her cheeks sore and tear-stained, her lips cracked, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot at the corners, her nose dribbling and scrunching with sniffles and she looked exhausted. “It’s hard because you could have any one of them and not bother coming home to the huge excuse of a wife. You could have someone thin and skinny and someone who would willingly suck your dick because she doesn’t have crazy hormones making her despise anything remotely close to sex. Someone who doesn’t-”

He presses a finger against her lips and chuckles softly. 

“You’re not a huge excuse of a wife. You’re beautiful and gorgeous and so perfect, to me, and you’re wonderful at keeping me in check and looking after me. You think I care about my dick not getting wet? For god sake, I’ll just jump in the shower if I was that desperate,” he snorts, catching a smile lifting her lips as she wrapped her arms around his waist and snuggled as close as she could to his front, “you, my darling wife, are 8 months pregnant. That’s 35 weeks. With a baby. Our baby. Our little lady who we’ll meet in a short 4 weeks, won’t we? That’s exciting. I wouldn’t ever muck up what we have when we’re so close to having our perfect little family, okay? I love you. I vowed that I always would and that I’ll never stop. You make it so hard to not wake up every single day and fall more in love with you.” 

“I love you, too.”

“Now, I’ve not eaten since the afternoon so what do you say about ham and cheese toasties, with a tonne of brown sauce, and that tub of ice-cream from the freezer that we’ve saved for a special occasion?” He hums, looking down at her and catching her head as she nodded, “I think this is an ice-cream scoffing moment, for sure.” xx

[catwlw-archive]

ouuu some song lyrics coming your way!! this was actually so much harder than i thought it would be to find good prompting lyrics haha but what about "i love the way you lose your mind"? as an added challenge, maybe have one of them say it? (the lyrics are from the song headsick by july talk btw, one of my favourite bands!!)

I CAN'T TAG ANYTHING SO TW: DRUG MENTION AND LONG POST INCOMINGi getchu!!! it’s all good!!! i accepted the challenge with….some issues coming up here and there. it was quite tricky, tbh, and neither of the characters are too mentally unstable to use it literally, so it’s used as a weird quote and,,, yeahalso it was written all at once and is Not Canon (as far as I know rn) but!!! fun fact!!! it was originally supposed to be!!! i have had this idea in my head since i first conceptualized my story (it was actually written in my plan for the plot in my notes as well), but i decided to think that i wouldn’t go this route when i picked it back up. but it still could happen in the actual story. it’d just be written better. hopefully. apologies for any mistakes or anything!!! hope you somewhat enjoy this?? also i am no expert on drugs or how they make a person act so?? if it’s inaccurate, then i fully accept the responsibility for that, haha. anyways. yeah. also idk if you can “read more” an ask, let alone from mobile, so SORRY TO ANYONE ELSE WHO HAS THIS ON THEIR DASH. also hello @ the third person pov happening here versus my first person pov choice for the actual story-A slow, dull knock started at the door.Thump. Thump. Thump-thump. Thump.“Emma!” Shrill giggles sounded through the emptiness as the knocks continued.“Fucking hell. Alex, shut your…” Emma rushed out of her bedroom, flicking on all of the lights she came across and throwing the door open. “Why are you here?”Alexis let out another cackle, “I’m here ta seeyou, sssilly.” She purred, and Emma might’ve taken it seriously if she hadn’t’ve slurred her words.“Dammit.” Emma squinted, she had managed to get a few lamps on in her trek to the door, but none of them were strong enough to lighten up the area her girlfriend was standing.“Are you gonna lemme in?” Alexis stepped forward, draping her arms around Emma’s neck and leaning into her.The stench hit. Strong. And her closeness allowed those blue eyes to hit a beam of light.And they weren’t very blue anymore.“My god.” Emma murmured, gently un-looping that dead-weight. “Alexis, go home.”Her tone shifted from exhaustion to anger.“Whhat? Baby, look, we can do this. We can make up and make out and go cuddle and do ssome other things includin’ you-know-what. And you’re already ready for that, jus’ gotta take your nightie off and… Emmmma, we can smoke together, too,” she rushed out, giggling between words. “I brought some with me, here, seee?”Before Alexis could figure out her jacket pocket, Emma let a growl slip.“You are not stepping in here. And you fucking know why.”Alexis quickly pouted, slipping her empty hand out of her pocket and reaching out to Emma’s hand.“Don’t fucking touch me.” The words mirrored those of the ones she’d said the night they met, but they had switched roles of under the influence and sober. “Don’t you fucking dare touch me. Go home.”“You are my home, baby.”“Alexis, I swear to fuck. It is two in the morning.”Alexis scoffed, dragging out her ‘pff’ a bit longer than usual. “No, it’s not.”“Yes. It is. Now leave.” Stepping back, Emma began to close the door, but was quickly interrupted by her uninvited visitor storming in.“Fuck, Alexis. You can’t be here.” Emma let her door slam, as she rushed to stop Alexis. This couldn’t happen. She couldn’t let her stay. It’d be too much.“I’m hungry, baby, do you still have those egg rolls?”“Don’t.”They both ended up in the kitchen, Alexis rummaging for food and Emma trying to stop her.“Forks are just small rakes, if you really think about it.”“Alex, you know I hate when you’re like this.”Alexis giggled, nodding.“Then why’d you do it?”Emma watched as she dropped her fork, and dug her hand into a package of cookies.“Mm, wan'ed to.”“Get out,” Emma spoke through gritted teeth, tears brimming in her eyes. “Get the fuck out. Now. Before I throw you out myself.”Alexis continued to chew, studying her next chocolate chip victim in the low light.“Did you hear me?” Emma’s voice suddenly boomed, startling her distracted girlfriend. “Get the hell out, or so help me I will drag you out by your fucking hair!” She pointed towards the way they came, stepping forward.“Emmmaaa.”“Get out. Out! Out! Out! I swe- swear to God!” Her voice cracked as she yelled, and thumps from above started to sound. Whoops. Looks like she woke the neighbors.The further she walked towards Alexis, the more Alexis backed away.Good. She could use this as a way to herd her to the door.Alexis wasn’t scared, but she did realize that she should’ve been.“I jus’ wanted to have some fun, baby,” she cracked a smile.“What do you want me to say? You’re fucking crazy, Alexis. You’re stupid as hell showing up here when you know–” Emma’s voice cracked, “God, what were you expecting? Me to let you in? To actually fucking love you right now? To support your lapse in judgement? Say something like, ‘I love the way you lose your mind’? Fuck no, Alex. You know what happened to my br– you know what happened. You told me you’d never do this to me. You told me you were done. And you knew exactly how I would react. So, leave. Leave my fucking apartment and don’t even think of me until you’re sober, you selfish bitch.”“Babyy, you don’t mean that.”“Like hell I don’t.”Emma opened her door, practically shoving Alexis out into the hallway. Others were peeking out, grumbling about a loud neighbor. Glaring in their direction.“I’ll be back, baby, with flowers and food and you’ll forgive me.” Alexis pleaded, a hopeful expression on her face, “You’re so beautiful. You’re so mad at me because I know I screwed up, but you’re still so gorgeous.”“Take a fucking Uber and go to hell, Alexis.” Emma slammed the door, locking it, then leaning against it. God, how could she?The tears came freely now, rolling down Emma’s cheeks. Burning. Etching into her skin.It’d been years now. She’d hardly thought of it, and now it was so fresh.His seizing body, blood everywhere… She was going to be sick.The rest of the morning was spent on her bathroom floor, the cold tiles soothing her to a restless sleep once her stomach was empty.Whenever she managed to make it to the dark abyss, she’d remember how she found him. She’d remember the autopsy report. She’d remember how she skipped his funeral.She’d remember it all and jolt awake. Just to cry a puddle beneath her cheek once again.

[abunchofsemicoherentwords]

Interrupted (Lipstick Stains Part 2)

Summary: Part 2 of Lipstick Stains. Follows right where it left off with she and Tom getting steamy in the bathroom.

Part 1: Lipstick Stains

Pairings: Reader (?) x Tom Holland

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: A little swearing and some smuttiness

A/n: I know, I know, it took me forever, but this was hard to write. I just hope you guys like it as much as the first one. I’m actually so tired rn so ima go to sleep, but hopefully you guys will let me know what you think. Also let me know if you wanna be added to the tag list. Love ya x

Masterlist

She walked right back up to Tom, grabbed his shirt front and pulled his mouth against hers. She needed him. Now.

Their kiss grew intense, fast. She pushed him, his back hitting the wall roughly. Her arms wound around his neck and his around her waist. She couldn’t seem to get close enough to him. Their bodies already pressed together, she lifted her knee to his hip and wrapped her leg around his thigh. His hands found her ass again and once more, he lifted her up. When her legs tightened around him, he spun them, trapping her between the wall and himself.

He slid a hand between their bodies, squeezing her breast. She moaned against his mouth. He dropped his head to the crook of her neck, leaving butterfly kisses all over her delicate skin. He returned to her sweet spot, doing all he could to keep her moaning. The sounds falling from her parted lips were the best thing he had heard. The fact that he could do that to her, fuelled his desire.

He kissed back up along her neck and jaw, capturing her mouth. It was messy and heated, a battle for dominance. He tasted the lingering alcohol on her tongue. What else does she taste like?

He moved his hands to her legs and pushed them down a little, indicating that she return to the ground. Without breaking their kiss, her feet touched the floor. He placed his hands on the back of her thighs where her dress had ridden up. Grabbing the hem, he pulled it, over her ass and past the curve of her back. As he continued up past her chest, she stretched her arms above her head. Their lips parted for a moment as he pulled the dress off her completely and threw it to the floor. They didn’t miss a beat, resuming their kiss immediately.  

His hands roamed her body, the skin on skin contact so enticing, trailing from her back to her hips to her stomach. He pulled away and stared deeply, eyes dark with lust. He slowly fell to his knees in front of her, kissing over her bare skin, lower and lower. She let her head fall back against the cool tiles. He glided his hands up the back of her legs, squeezing her ass before hooking two fingers into the waistband of her panties. He paused, waiting for permission.

“Please,” she breathed.

He didn’t waste a minute more, dragging the lace fabric down her legs. She tangled her fingers in his hair, anticipating that first touch. He gently spread her legs and started just above her knee, one kiss, so light. She sighed softly. He teased her with another, just millimetres above the previous one.

“Tom,” she whined.

He chuckled softly, the vibrations against her skin sending tingles up her spine.

“Oh, no, darling, I wanna savour this,” his voice was low.

He continued kissing his way up, mouth open, leaving a trail of wetness.

“Please, Tom,” she whimpered.

He was almost there, right where she needed him. Her fingers tightened their grip on his curls.

And then, ripping them from their reverie, there came a loud banging on the door.

Her eyes fluttered open, goose bumps rising all across her skin. Adjusting to reality under the glare of the bathroom light, she suddenly felt exposed and very vulnerable.

Tom pulled away from her, turning to the source of the interruption.

“What?” he yelled, exasperation evident in his voice.

“Dude, hurry up! Sarah’s about to throw up all over your floor,” an urgent voice called back.

“Fuck.”

He returned his attention to her, but she was already tugging her dress on with haste.

“This was a mistake,” she muttered, as she ran a hand through her hair.

“Wait, what?” he stood up.

He wet a towel, wiping the lipstick smears off his face. She grabbed it from his hand, and did the same.

“This was a mistake,” she repeated firmly, handing the now-stained cloth back. She refused to meet his eyes. A quick look in the mirror convinced her she was decent enough.

Without any further explanation, she opened the door.

“All yours,” she said to the pair waiting outside. She stepped out of the way, as they rushed in.

Taking a deep breath, she held her head high and made her way back to the party. She tried to ignore Tom behind her. She knew he was eager to talk to her, to ask her why it was a mistake, to figure out what happens now; but she wasn’t. The sooner she could forget their encounter, the better.

Upon entering the living room, she spotted Kat. She saw her eyes light up at her appearance, a cheeky grin spreading across her face and excitement visibly bubbling. Excusing herself, she came bounding over.

“So, you and Tom, eh?” she asked, nudging her in the ribs.

“For like five seconds, yeah – and then I found my dignity.”

“Oh shut up and give me details. It’s about time you two hooked up. Tell me everything.”

Her mind wandered back to the bathroom. She recalled his face buried in her neck, writhing in his grasp, skin burning everywhere he touched her. She remembered the pleasure she felt with his lips pressed against her thigh, creeping higher and higher.

Feeling very hot, blushing all the way to the tips of her ears, she kicked herself mentally. You need to get a grip.

“I need alcohol,” was all she told her friend.

*

Two hours and many shots of vodka later, she was standing on the coffee table, singing off key, dancing to her own beat. She was very drunk.

Most of the guests had left already, the final stragglers wishing Kat and Haz farewell. Tom was busy cleaning up, collecting cups and empty plates into a trash bag. He couldn’t help looking at her now; he hadn’t been able to help stealing glances in her direction all night. Since she had left him hanging earlier, he didn’t know what he felt. The proud, stubborn part of him was mad at her. Maybe it was a mistake. I don’t know what I was thinking. Although there was another part of him that was sorry they didn’t get to finish. Man, the way she said my name.

He shook himself out of his thoughts, forgetting her soft skin and sultry moans. Kat and Haz walked in, it was just the four of them now. They both looked at her and Tom and exchanged a look.

“It’s late, we should sleep. Let’s clean up tomorrow,” Haz said to Tom.

“Yeah, I’m beat,” Kat agreed.

“No, no, no, I’m not tired!”

The three of them turned to see her teetering at the edge of the table, swaying unsteadily in her heels.

“Someone should get her.”

“I love her, but I’m so sleepy right now,” Kat groaned, draping herself over Haz’s shoulder.

“Come on, love, I’ll put you to bed,” he smiled down at her.

“Tom, are you okay to put her to bed?” he indicated the other girl, now mumbling incoherent lyrics.

With a sigh, he nodded.

“Yeah, you two go to bed. I’ll take care of her.”

“Great.”

They bid him goodnight and left.

He sighed again, putting the trash bag on the floor and turning the music off.

“Hey!” she cried.

“It’s time to go to bed, darling.”

“No, Tommy, I wanna dance some more,” she lifted one foot and tried to do a pirouette. However, completely lacking any stability at this point, she lost her balance. He darted to her side. Too stunned to make any noise, she toppled straight into his waiting arms.

“That was close! You’re my hero, Tommy.”

She leaned into his chest, inhaling deeply.

“You smell so nice,” she crooned.

“Okay, you are really off your face right now, aren’t you?” he asked, supporting her as she went limp.

“I’m thirsty.”

“Alright, let’s get you some water,” he said, holding her up and guiding her to the kitchen.

Pouring her a glass of chilled water, he handed it to her. She raised it to her mouth, but in her intoxicated state, half the liquid spilled down her chest.

“Oh, that’s cold!” she giggled.

“Great, now you gotta change. Honestly, darling,” he grumbled.

He wrapped an arm around her waist and walked her to his bedroom. He sat her on the edge of his bed and went to his wardrobe. He chose a sweater at random.

She was lying on her back, legs still on the ground. Her eyes were closed and she was humming a tune only she knew. There was a goofy smile on her face. She was quite adorable.

“Up you get, darling,” he pulled her back onto her feet.

There was no way she would be able to change herself, so he took it upon himself to undress her for the second time that night.

She giggled again.

“Do you wanna kiss me, Tommy?”

“We already tried that, love, didn’t work out too well,” he replied.

“Aw, that’s too bad. I wanna kiss you.”

He pulled her arms through each sleeve, ignoring her.

“There,” he said, checking her over. His jumper hung loose on her small frame, it reached halfway down her thighs and her hands were engulfed in the sleeves.

She yawned, covering her mouth with a sweater paw.

“Seems you’re tired after all, darling,” he pulled back the covers. It would be easier to allow her to sleep in here, and he take the guest room instead.

“I like when you call me ‘darling’.”

“Come lie down,” he smiled. She lay down and snuggled in as he tucked the covers around her. Leaning over her already, he placed a soft kiss on her forehead.

“Will you sleep here? Next to me?” she gazed up at him through drooping eyelids.

He paused, considering her request. Then he kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the bed beside her.

He wriggled under the covers and she shimmied back against him. He spooned her, folding a strong arm around her stomach. Her hair tickled his cheek, and he huffed, blowing it away. He liked the way she felt, nestled into his chest, legs entwined with his. He could get used to this.

“Goodnight, Tommy.”

“Goodnight, darling.”

They settled in. He waited for her breathing to become even before he too, fell sound asleep.  

Part 3: Sleepover

Tagging: @tommysdarlin @lionfart @bisexualmomfriend @girlwith100names @jjgirl4797 @spideyontherun @unfoxs @oswald-1998 @settlebackeasy @spideytomsbutt @spxderman-s

[fleetwoodmoth]

7 for shaxx/sloane and/or 16 for sloane/vera !!!

Eeeeeehehehe yes cute!

7. Routine kisses where theother person presents their cheek/forehead for the hello/goodbye kiss withouteven looking up from what they’re doing.

Shaxx scrolled through the many names and fire teams that wereset up on queue for that days Crucible, it was routine, wake up, wash face, scroll,scroll, scroll. Sloane barely bat an eye at him sitting fulling armored at thekitchen table, the only thing missing being his helmet which sat just on theother side of a plate which held the crumbs of a since eaten piece of toast.

                 “Where’s Vera?” Sloane asked, her voice hoarse fromsleep as she tugged open the fridge door.

                 “Early mission meeting with Cayde,” Shaxx said ashe finally hit the bottom of the list only to see it start to load more namesin.

                 “I didn’t hear her get up,” Sloane said, nearlypouring orange juice onto the kitchen counter rather than the cup in front ofher.

                 “You sound tired little nova, should you get somemore sleep?” Shaxx asked, finally setting the holopad down and turning to thesmall Warlock that teetered by the kitchen sink.

                 “Sloane, darling,” Shaxx called, humor in his voiceas he watched her turn to him.

                 Her big golden eyes were half closed, a t-shirtmuch too large for her frame hung from her shoulders, he recognized it as oneof his own, her short buzzed hair stuck up away from her head at differentangles; her toes curled against the cold tile of the kitchen floor as shesipped from her glass. He chuckled to himself, she looked like a damn dream, he stood, wandering over to stand before her.

                 “I wanted to say goodbye to her,” Sloane said, hervoice dejected.

                 “I know love, but you need more sleep. You were uplate last night working on that mission report for Ikora.”

                 “She needs to know, she taught me Stormcaller, it’sonly right I be as detailed as possible about my account of how I did… what Idid,” Sloane clutched her glass to her chest, looking down into it like itwould bring her some kind of lucidity.

                 Shaxx hummed for a moment before placing his handson her shoulders.

                 “When I see Vera, I’ll tell her to come home andrepay you for her rudeness of leaving without saying goodbye, how does that sound?”

                 Sloane looked up at him, a sleepy smile appearing onher lips before she nodded.

                 “But, you need to go back to bed, promise?”

                 “Promise,” Sloane said.

                 “Good, I need to go, I’ll see you later todayalright little nova?” He asked, his voice warm and quiet, Sloane smiling wideras she presented him her cheek.

                 Shaxx leaned down, closing the height differencebetween them as he pressed a kiss to her cheek before heading to the door.

                 Sloane stood with her eyes closed, breathing deeplyas she listened to him leave. She heard a yawn and the familiar tap tap tap of nails on tile as Joldercame trotting around the corner, looking just about as exhausted as Sloanefelt.

                 “Sorry to wake you sweet girl, let’s go back tobed.”

16. When one person’s face is scrunched up, and theother one kisses their lips/nose/forehead. 

“Sloane get down!” Veragrabbed for Sloane’s arm, the Warlock’s head snapping up as a Cabal missilewhizzed past her head and into the hillside behind her, she didn’t know what exactly happened next but suddenly she was tumbling, head over feet down an incline,the sky mingling with the earth as she shut her eyes trying to stop her stomach fromtossing. When she finally stopped she realized she was laying on something, orrather someone.

           Vera coughed heartily below her, both of them still for amoment as they let their bodies try and settle amongst the dust they had kickedup.

           “That was quite a sight, are you two okay?” Devrim calledover the coms system, Vera shooting up a hand from underneath Sloane with athumbs up, a chuckle coming from the sniper on the other end of the call.

           “Sloane, love, please watch your head when you’re scanning,I’m not always going to be here,” Vera said, a wheeze to her voice as Sloanerolled off of her.

           “I’m sorry, oh gosh I’m sorry I didn’t mean to zone outthere, I’m sorry,” Sloane said, hands worryingly hovering over the Hunter who laid flat on her back. Vera chuckled as she sat up, pulling her own helmet fromher head, Sloane doing the same in order to check for injury.

           “No no, blueberry it’s okay,” Vera cupped her handsaround Sloane’s face, her short hair sticking up in all matters of places fromthe helmet and sweat, but other than that she seemed intact.

           “I just worry, you need to pay a little more attention,okay?” Vera asked, Sloane averting her eyes only for Vera to chuckle.

           “Blueberry,” she said, something akin to teasing reprimand in her voice.

           Sloane scrunched up her face, lips pulled in, browknitted, nose crinkled. Vera chuckled, leaning down to press her lips againstSloane’s only for the small Warlock to startle at the sudden attention.

           “No! Stop! I was dumb! I don’t deserve this!”

           Vera wrapped her arms around Sloane’s shoulders, laughingbetween kisses as she pressed them to her cheeks and her forehead and the tipof her nose. Sloane struggled weakly before joining her in her laughter, returning kisses.

           “Okay you two, you’re adorable, but we have some work todo you know,” Devrim’s voice held a smile.

           Vera kissed her one last time, this one deeper than therest and Sloane melted into it, before Vera offered her her helmet.

           “Let’s get moving again.”

Sorry if these are short and Bad I am like half asleep rn lmao