"marry me. tasha Ā Ā Ā Ā "Ā
breathless, brighteyed conviction;
he's a heart beat away,
arms stretching, flying to
her side in a suit that costs
more than he'd like to think about,
so he doesn't, he thinks of her,
her,Ā he's thinking about how he can't loose
this, not again not ever,Ā never.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Sam is stubborn- sheās always known this
Itās a trait she mirrors and admires, a steel
like settling in her bones that helps her stand
tall when the world is crumbling, but sometimes
she wishes that he would cave. That he would think
of himself. She found him outside, sitting on the fire escape
and itās winter, the windās whipping and the snow is falling
trying to hush the world and heal it at the same time. SheāsĀ
not sure whatās happened now- but a letter from his mother
was face down on the counter when she got home, and heās
just where she knew to look for him.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Instead of letting him carry it alone-
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā she sits beside him, wraps a blanket
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā from the couch around his shoulder
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā presses her thigh against his. Thereās
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā a silence that sits between them for a
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā little while. Not uncomfortable- not for
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā them, but not as easy at it should be.
Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā Ā āItās cold out here, Sammy.ā
"Go inside, Tash. I'm alright." He's not built for this, frigid
ice, sharp winds slapping his cheeks, harsh white flakes
landing on his skin and settling that chill down in his bones.
the hollow ache in his chest leaks into theĀ
strain of his smile, the tilt of his neck to press his
nose to the harsh splash of red hair. he's fine.
he's going toĀ beĀ fine-- -- just notĀ right now,
not in this moment. right now, if he could, if he
wasn't who he was, he'd let his spine curl in,
let himself fall into the warmth of her presence,
let someone else take the wheel, for a minute,
a moment.
"You don't have to worry
about little ole me."Ā
James was used to people staring at him because of his appearance. It used to bother him, but if people wanted to stare, they're going to stare. There was nothing he could do about that and he wasn't going to chance his appearance. He liked the way he dressed and the way he did his hair. But today, he was minding his own business and deciding which eggs to buy at the grocery store. But apparently there is a difference between natural and organic eggs and that was making it all the more difficult.
He could feel eyes on him and he looked up to see who it was, locking eyes with a woman standing in front of the milk. He gave her a small smile and a nod before looking back down at the eggs, feeling like she was still staring at him, so he decided to speak up. "Why are there so many different kinds of eggs?"
Natasha is strong. She can stare down even the best of poker players, stay hanging in the air for hours at a time but⦠itās time to admit it. She needs some help. Itās strange, the uneasy desperation bubbling up inside of her. Sheād au paired undercover once, in Paris for a supposed ādiplomatā, and she thought this would be easier.Ā
"Steve. I need your help." She says, looking down at the wailing baby in her arms. He doesnāt have much hair, just soft little peach fuzz, but heās got the biggest bluest eyes sheās ever seen. And no matter what she does, he wonāt stop crying. "Someone else has to rock this baby."
Steve is, of course, willing to do as much as he can
to help a friend. Helping is just what he does. What
he's always done. Whether it's helping an elderly
neighbor up the stairs with her bags or punching
some guy in the nose for daring to take a "no" for a
"yes" in a back alley, he likes to help. So when
Natasha asks him, of course he's willing. He just
wasn't quite expectingĀ this.
He looks down at the baby, and he nods, taking him
carefully out of her arms. He's wailing like there's no
tomorrow, but Steve can pretty much block it out. He
used to do a lot of baby sitting back in the day, when
he was too sick or frail to do proper work, but not with
proper babies, not really. Maybe once or twice, but
usually it was older kids, kids whose moms were working
late and needed someone to look after them. But he tries,
regardless, rocking the baby softly.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
ā Live Streamingā Interactive Chatā Private Showsā HD Qualityā Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
The Not-So-Domestic Meme -Ā Send me a number and Iāll write a drabble about my muse:Ā ā 13. switching your museās coffee to decaf
Honestly, it's a miracle Steve wasn't caught when he got up during the night, disentangled himself from Natasha's embrace and faked a trip to get a glass of water. What he was in fact doing was switching out all their coffee for decaf, because they both drink a startling amount of caffeine, and caffeine just isn't good for you. Steve's not into things that aren't good for you. His fridge is full of fruit and vegetables and organic, free range foods, his cupboards too, and he hadn't realised just how much coffee they were both drinking until about a week ago. Since then, he's been planning this day; the removal of caffeine from their apartment.
He comes back after his run to find Natasha awake. He smiles, presses a kiss to the top of her head as he makes coffee for them both. It's their routine; it's what they do. He hands her her mug, and leans against the kitchen counter, and waits. He takes a sip; honestly he can't taste the difference. But he's just waiting- waiting for her to say something.
"This isn't my coffee."
But he doesn't say anything right away. He takes a sip of his own coffee, and frowns softly, trying to look nonchalant even though she can't see his face. "What do you mean?"
"Steve." She turns, coffee held in tiny, delicate, ridiculously strong hands. "Where's my coffee?"
"In your hand." He snarks, but oh no. That answer's not good enough. Her eyebrow arches, and he feels himself squirm, weight shifting from foot to foot. He takes another sip of his coffee.
"What did you do?" She asks, and Steve shakes his head resolutely.Ā
"I didn't do anything."
Natasha doesn't even call him out on it. She just stares him down. Steve should have went for the gradual fade-out rather than theĀ chuck it all out and hope she doesn't noticeĀ idea. He's an idiot, but he already knew that.
"Where did you put it?"
He hands his head. "It's in the trash."
"You put it in theĀ trash?" She asks, and she tuts as she stands. "There are children starving in Africa, Steve."
"I'll send it over to them." He says, and she rolls her eyes. She knows her point was a bit of a miss. But whatever. She leaves her mug on the bench, and leans up to press a kiss to his cheek.
"I'm going in the shower." She says. "You can join me when you've bought some proper coffee."
Send a ā!!!ā For my characters reaction to yours climbing into the shower with themĀ
Steve waits until he's sure the apartment's empty before he goes and showers, because he's had too any experiences with people (and by people he means Barton) busting in when he's trying to shower. When he hears the bathroom door open, he's automatically wary, but when Natasha slips in, he's a little relieved. Relieved, but still shocked.