girl on a red sofa

In the Firelight of Christmas

It was Christmas Eve and the quiet murmur of Gryffindors echoed in the common room. The fire was glowing softly and its embers in the shape of snowflakes reached up toward the chimney. Past the frosted windows, snow was flurrying onto the castle.

There were only five teenagers lounging in the common room, all of whom were blissfully oblivious to the brewing war outside the castle walls.

One of them was slumped on the floor against the sofa; Marauder’s Map in hand, snoring softly. A record player lay in front of him. It was playing slow Muggle Christmas waltzes covered by witches. Celestina Warbeck’s voice danced around the room.

On the worn sofa, there was a girl with flaming red hair in the arms of a boy wearing glasses. He was holding her close to his chest, as if he could protect her from anything. They both snuggled under the warmth of a quilt as they watched the flames move up and down in the fireplace. A ghost of a smile was on both of their faces; the boy’s chin lying on top of the girl’s head.

“Lily?” The boy weaved his fingers with hers.

“Mm?” Lily answered absently.

“I love you.”
Those three words. Each so simple yet holding the power of the universe around them. Although James told her this a lot, her heart never failed to beat faster and faster. They could be in the middle of a fight he would simply yell that he loves her. Although Lily complained, she knew she loved it. And she knew she loved him, until the very end.

James and Lily continued to cuddle until they slowly fell asleep.

Opposite the sofa of that couple, two young boys were sitting on an overstuffed armchair also facing the fire. One of them was wearing a cozy jumper and reading a book. His untidy hair seemed to glow in the soft light of the fire. With the other boy’s legs strewn across his and his head resting on his shoulder, he was a perfectly content werewolf, thank you very much (added to the fact that a steaming mug of hot cocoa was sitting next to him). The second boy was cuddled up next to the reader. This boy’s dark hair was in a hasty bun, several strands framing his face. He was asleep and nuzzling the other’s neck like a dog would. The reader looked down at him with affection in his eyes and kissed his forehead.

“Sirius?” the boy whispered.

He was answered with incoherent mumbling. He chuckled lightly and glanced at the red and gold clock above the fireplace.

“Sirius, wake up. It’s just two minutes ’til Christmas.”
Sirius rubbed his face and opened his eyes.

“Oh shite, did I fall asleep? Sorry, Re,” Sirius said apologetically as he leaned in closer, “But you’re going to love my gift for you,” he added mischievously.

“Can’t wait,” Remus murmured and gave his boyfriend a chaste kiss.

Sirius touched his cheek, his gaze never wavering from Remus’s. “How’re you feeling from last week? You still look exhausted. And pale. You need to eat more.”

Remus’s eyes glinted with amusement at his boyfriend’s concern for his ‘furry little problem’. “I’m quite alright now. I just want to get into bed.”

“Ah well, you know I can always help you with that. Anytime,” he looks at his imaginary watch, “In fact, let’s go up right now so I can make sweet love to –”

The large clock interrupted him as it struck midnight, officially making it Christmas Day. If you listened closely, you could hear the cheers and happiness from around the castle.

“Happy Christmas, Sirius,” Remus told him, pure joy radiating off him.

“You too, babe,” he wrapped his arms around Remus’s waist and gave him the best Christmas present he could’ve asked for.

The day after... What? (Part1)

Summary: You wake up to unpleasant feelings and not exactly where you supposed to be.

Pairing: reader x Mjolnir (platonic, just an academic thing), for something a little more serious it’s needed a little more time but there’s, definitely, going to be something ;-)

Warnings: swearing, hangover symptoms, a little panic, that’s all… I think.

Notes: That’s my first Marvel fanfiction. To be specific this is just the intro. I meant to make the whole story in just one post but I’m afraid it’s going to be longer than I first thought and, to say the truth, it’s a bit demanding under the point of view of the writing (it’s taking me ages) so I have decided to split it up in multiple parts. Please leave some feedback, any critic will be well accepted so comment please. (And, really, let me know if the language is intelligible).

Word count: 714 (I know it’s quite short, hopefully next will be longer.)

Originally posted by chanxbaby

Your head is buzzing. One eye slightly tries to open: why the hell there is so much light? I’ll be blind for a week! Eyes close tightly. A hand on your forehead: oh god, I’ve lost sensibility on my hand! No wait, that’s not my hand. Something really warm is wrapped around your thighs: too many blankets, kick them away. Something grunted at your kick. Blankets don’t grunt. Something terribly heavy is strapped around your left wrist. Something under you is… is breathing. What the hell is going on? Panic insinuates in you. Your eyes wide open. Too much light. Doesn’t matter. I need to see. Your sight slowly adapting at the morning light.

A white ceiling is staring back to you. Ok, that’s normal. But why so much light? You lower your eyes inspecting the room. Oh, that’s why. A whole wall of glass, the sun high in a clean light blue sky. This is not my room. Have I fallen asleep at the university? The room is big, or at least you think so: a sofa to your right prevents you from seeing any further, while on the left a gigantic TV screen is playing reruns of your favorite cartoon series (but the audio has been turned off). That’s weird, and definitely not the university center. Then your look falls on yourself, or better on the intricate mass of bodies in which you were sleeping. What?! Focus… and try to make a point of this situation. The thing breathing under you is actually a girl, probably around your age, long brown hair flowing past her shoulders. The hand on your forehead seems to belong to her too. Slowly your attention shifts to the thing wrapped around your legs. Isn’t exactly a thing. From your point of view you can’t see much but it looks like a full head of a very dark shade of brown hair, followed by big muscular arms in a red shirt. You slightly turn your head to see what is strapped at your left wrist when suddenly a sparkle brings your attention back to whoever is holding your thighs. A silvery looking hand. Your heart speeds up a little bit. Head jerking back to check once again the girl. It can’t be. Pillows on the sofa moving to show a red haired woman. Oh shit, it is.

Completely forgetful of the heavy item strapped at your wrist, you escape the hold of “that should be Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes”, try to stand up and step away only to be pulled down by your wrist and stumble upon someone else. Your wrist finally slips out of the strap and you end up crashing loudly against a little cabinet under the TV.

The whole room seems to move and now six alarmed figures are staring at you. The only thing remained immobile is the heavy object attached at the string just slipped from your wrist: Mjolnir, obviously. Oh fuck, that thing is amazing. Look at it! Thousands years of battles and not even a tiny little scratch! No questions why they used to bring little hammer pendants as amulets! Be as Mjolnir and you’re good for eternity! It’s fucking perfect. Snorri, shut up! Don’t fuss about the handle too short bla, bla, bla! That thing is just perfect! I could stay here staring at it for the next eternity and never grow bored! However, you can’t keep staring. Your head is still buzzing, and it feels like if a rave has just been thrown in it without your permission. Yet, you can feel six pair of eyes burning holes through you. Clumsily you try to stand on your feet and, surprisingly, you succeed. Your mouth feels like desert, you’d like a glass of water but… no time to waste. I have to do my move before they do theirs or probably I’m dead.

— Why am I here? — that’s the best you can pull out, your voice is harsh and an octave lower than usual but, at least, isn’t broken.

— That’s a good question! But it should be us asking it. See, technically, this is our house and you’re the intruder. — says lightly the handsome man upon whom you’ve stumble few seconds earlier. You can bet he is Samuel Thomas Wilson.

Fancy a Roll in the Hay? (Pt 7)

So here is the next part! More question and another cliffhanger on this part I am afraid but I promise things will be explained soon enough! xox

Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Part 4
Part 5
Part 6
Part 7
Part 8
Part 9
Part 10
Part 11
Part 12
Part 13
Part 14
Part 15
Part 16
Part 17
Part 18
Part 19
Part 20
Alternate Ending

You change quickly, pulling on the better fitting, clean clothes happily. Scrunching everything else up into a ball, you open the door to leave. As the door opens however you freeze, hearing raised voices.

“WHAT THE FUCK BARNES?!” You hear Pietro shouting, his accent thickening in anger. You start to walk out of the side room to find out what was happening, but freeze again when your name crops up amidst the raises voices.

“(y/n) isn’t supposed to know yet, she can’t handle it. Keep your voices down!” You hear a voice that was unmistakably Steve’s. When did he get back?

“He fucked her in a barn. A BARN!” Pietro shouts and your cheeks flush involuntarily. This was bound to make things slightly awkward.

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Tequila Makes His Clothes Fall Off Phan Oneshot

warning: smut

I wrote this at four o'clock last night don’t even ask

Phil wouldn’t attend many parties if it wasn’t for Dan. Sure, he doesn’t attend too many now, but the amount would be very sparse if it wasn’t for his best friend.

And he most definitely wouldn’t be at this one now. Which he’d be very happy about.

Phil could feel the base of the music in his fingertips before they’d even entered the house, and at first it was thrilling, the feeling filling his guts with expectations of new beginnings, but two hours in, the songs were starting to get a bit repetitive and Phil had a bit of a headache.

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