makeout meme fics and random comment fics
close my eyes and it's like I never left (LOST, Jack/Kate, for hondagirll who requested 'rain')
Sometimes when it rains Kate stands outside. She lets the water wash over her and slide down her bare arms, soaking the clothes she wears. She stands so long that her skin turns cold, bumps pebbling and rising to the surface. The grass squishes between her toes, and she turns her head up. The rain blinds her. It runs over closed eyelids and into her mouth. It's the same and it's not the same.
The sound of her name is drowned out from the roaring in her ears. It's only when Jack grabs her arm, fingers tight enough to bruise, that she comes back to reality. She's not back there, she's here and everything is wrong.
Jack looks at her with both confusion and understanding when that should be impossible.
Kate kisses him. Desperate, biting, puts her lips to his and grasps at memories.
it always comes back to you (Gossip Girl, Serena/Carter, for spyglass_ who requested 'Grand Central Station')
Everything comes back to this train station. She left here, she came back here, she left here, and now she is back again. Serena has spent the last three years of her life outside of Manhattan.
She'd had enough of the fighting and the schemes and the ruining of lives, and decided on another self-exile. This time it hadn't been to boarding school outrunning her past mistakes. Rather, this time, it was a journey of self discovery that fit her flighty tendencies perfectly.
Europe had been her destination and after touching down, she'd disappeared with a trail of blonde hair and leather boots and a designer scarf loose around her neck. She'd backpacked and gotten dirt under her nails, hopped trains from city to city, country to country with a flash of her passport.
She is back now. She stands tall and statuesque in the middle of Grand Central. She is older and more at ease, comfortable in her skin in a way that is different from her adolescent years of being able to entice anyone with a quick turn of her lips.
He waits for her, that familiar smirk at the sight of her.
Serena presses her lips to him in a kiss of greeting between two people that never strayed far from each other. She takes his hand as they leave.
Carter twists his wrist until their fingers slide and entwine. Neither of them say anything.
and in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat (Criminal Minds/The West Wing, Hotch/Ainsley, for spyglass_ who requested 'thunderstorm'; and this belongs in our whole world of half crack and half not.)
There are cases where when he finally makes it back, he needs the solitude and silence of his own place. He needs to be by himself to decompress and compartmentalize. This is not one of those nights or cases. He needs reassurance tonight.
Thunder reverberates around the walls of the apartment. The storm had delayed their return flight for several hours to the annoyance of all of them. Hotch resets the alarm system and pockets the key she'd given him. Just to have, she'd said. Nothing more, nothing less.
He finds her asleep in her bed, the light from the bathroom sweeping across the curves of her form not under the comforter. She's snoring softly, and combined with the tight lines around her mouth, he can tell it's been a hard week. Lightning illuminates the room and her eyes slit open when he joins her, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Ainsley rearranges herself closer, murmuring, "You're back."
He kisses her, barely a press of lips because she's already falling back asleep. She goes still, unaffected by the storm outside. He places his hand on top of the one she has curled over her chest and tucked in the curve of her neck.
He counts her heartbeats in time with the thunder.
better not to question it (The West Wing, Josh/Joey Lucas, for shutterbug_12 who requested 'baseball game'.)
She knocks on his door. He's in the middle of watching a game. It's the fifth inning and he's already had three beers. It's one of those odd nights where the White House had been calm, and they'd all been able to leave at a decent time.
What happens is this weird sort of hanging out. She knocks on his door, he lets her in, sans Kenny, and they sit side by side on his couch. Her hands move rapidly, flurrying around her as she gestures. He's entranced in trying to understand, in looking at the long digits. Innings go by, and he's watched more of her than the game.
It should surprise him that she knows her way around baseball. It should also surprise him that he kisses her once the game is over, a quick press of lips that startles both of them. But then it really isn't a surprise when he thinks about.
Sometimes when it rains Kate stands outside. She lets the water wash over her and slide down her bare arms, soaking the clothes she wears. She stands so long that her skin turns cold, bumps pebbling and rising to the surface. The grass squishes between her toes, and she turns her head up. The rain blinds her. It runs over closed eyelids and into her mouth. It's the same and it's not the same.
The sound of her name is drowned out from the roaring in her ears. It's only when Jack grabs her arm, fingers tight enough to bruise, that she comes back to reality. She's not back there, she's here and everything is wrong.
Jack looks at her with both confusion and understanding when that should be impossible.
Kate kisses him. Desperate, biting, puts her lips to his and grasps at memories.
it always comes back to you (Gossip Girl, Serena/Carter, for spyglass_ who requested 'Grand Central Station')
Everything comes back to this train station. She left here, she came back here, she left here, and now she is back again. Serena has spent the last three years of her life outside of Manhattan.
She'd had enough of the fighting and the schemes and the ruining of lives, and decided on another self-exile. This time it hadn't been to boarding school outrunning her past mistakes. Rather, this time, it was a journey of self discovery that fit her flighty tendencies perfectly.
Europe had been her destination and after touching down, she'd disappeared with a trail of blonde hair and leather boots and a designer scarf loose around her neck. She'd backpacked and gotten dirt under her nails, hopped trains from city to city, country to country with a flash of her passport.
She is back now. She stands tall and statuesque in the middle of Grand Central. She is older and more at ease, comfortable in her skin in a way that is different from her adolescent years of being able to entice anyone with a quick turn of her lips.
He waits for her, that familiar smirk at the sight of her.
Serena presses her lips to him in a kiss of greeting between two people that never strayed far from each other. She takes his hand as they leave.
Carter twists his wrist until their fingers slide and entwine. Neither of them say anything.
and in the dark, I can hear your heartbeat (Criminal Minds/The West Wing, Hotch/Ainsley, for spyglass_ who requested 'thunderstorm'; and this belongs in our whole world of half crack and half not.)
There are cases where when he finally makes it back, he needs the solitude and silence of his own place. He needs to be by himself to decompress and compartmentalize. This is not one of those nights or cases. He needs reassurance tonight.
Thunder reverberates around the walls of the apartment. The storm had delayed their return flight for several hours to the annoyance of all of them. Hotch resets the alarm system and pockets the key she'd given him. Just to have, she'd said. Nothing more, nothing less.
He finds her asleep in her bed, the light from the bathroom sweeping across the curves of her form not under the comforter. She's snoring softly, and combined with the tight lines around her mouth, he can tell it's been a hard week. Lightning illuminates the room and her eyes slit open when he joins her, the mattress dipping under his weight.
Ainsley rearranges herself closer, murmuring, "You're back."
He kisses her, barely a press of lips because she's already falling back asleep. She goes still, unaffected by the storm outside. He places his hand on top of the one she has curled over her chest and tucked in the curve of her neck.
He counts her heartbeats in time with the thunder.
better not to question it (The West Wing, Josh/Joey Lucas, for shutterbug_12 who requested 'baseball game'.)
She knocks on his door. He's in the middle of watching a game. It's the fifth inning and he's already had three beers. It's one of those odd nights where the White House had been calm, and they'd all been able to leave at a decent time.
What happens is this weird sort of hanging out. She knocks on his door, he lets her in, sans Kenny, and they sit side by side on his couch. Her hands move rapidly, flurrying around her as she gestures. He's entranced in trying to understand, in looking at the long digits. Innings go by, and he's watched more of her than the game.
It should surprise him that she knows her way around baseball. It should also surprise him that he kisses her once the game is over, a quick press of lips that startles both of them. But then it really isn't a surprise when he thinks about.