I really want a plot where two people have a one night stand and they wake up and can’t stand each other so one of them tries to leave but can’t cause their snowed in. so they spend the rest of the night critiquing each other on how they have sex. 

"No."

❝How much do you bet?❞

✿ ♕ ❀ —                   Daisy doesn’t like this, being on the          opposite side of the room, alone, as          the two younger females seem as if          they’re scrutinizing her next from the          couch. A greeting kiss would be nice,          right about now. Daisy waves.

         ❝Nice to meet you, ladies. I’ve heard          so much about you two.❞  

The girls' reactions are difficult to gauge. Adele scrunched up her face a bit as she watched Daisy, as if trying to decipher something, before speaking in broken English. "She's... Daisy...Buchanan?" ❝Fay,❞ corrects their father, and he peers down at Christelle, who's shrunken behind his leg. ❝Alright, go, go, you'll make her nervous. Go get some things to cook for dinner. Adele, you handle the stove, please. Make sure your sister doesn't  touch it.❞ The girls scatter, wary of Daisy for very different reasons --- Adele is intimidated, Christelle just doesn't like her, the same as she didn't like their mother's new husband. 

❝Mm, so glad you're here,❞ Jean said to Daisy as he approached her, then, giving her a quick kiss. ❝I've missed you. --- And they've wanted to meet you for some time.❞

✿ ♕ ❀ —                   Daisy’s clueless about Jean’s          girls being home with him. She          has only met them, once, and          the encounter was very brief, as          all it consisted of was dropping          them off with their mother. If she          would have known, she might’ve          been less casual about just letting          herself into Jean’s place as though          she lived there herself.

         ❝Jean, I’m a little early, but I brought          something for the—-❞ Daisy then stops           as her eyes fall onto the girls, and she          very suddenly feels nervous. ❝—Girls. I          brought something for the girls.❞ She          smiles at him, and it’s half ‘I missed you’          and half ‘why didn’t you tell me?’

Jean-Claude snatched away the video game from Adele, much to her complaint, and Christelle's "I told you sos". They didn't have much time to argue about it before Daisy strode into the house, and he return- ed the smile, a bit oblivious to her awkwardness. ❝Daisy, I'm glad you're here. ---- This is Adele and Christelle. My daughters.❞

Neither of them moved from their spot on the couch, but Christelle chimed in, "What'd you get us?" Jean shot her a glare. ❝English, and don't be rude. --- Girls, this is Papa's girlfriend, Daisy.❞

                               I’ve reached over 500 followers! I adore each and every one of you. Really, I do. Without you, this blog wouldn’t be possible. I would’ve lost my muse for Mary a rather long time ago, but someone always encouraged me. And for that, I wanted to repay you. I don’t have anything to give away. Nothing of importance, anyway. So instead, I’m giving away postcards. They’re from New York City, and I got them during my trip in May. So, the rules are simple:

Again, I know it’s not much, but I wanted to do something!

Joan’s grin grew even wider and she nodded successfully. "Yes, exactly! That’s the spirit. Though you might need spirits of another variety to get you a little more into this idea of mine.         Come on, darling. Drink some whiskey.”

Jean-Claude obliged, grabbing the nearest glass to fill, and downed the entire thing in one go. Yeah, taking a dip in the public fountain was something he was going to have to be a bit drunker for. ❝You can't chicken out, you know. If I do it, you have to, too.❞

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Grace nodded, popping a piece of cheese into her mouth. “That’s right, I knew it was really French,” she admitted. “I’ve never slept with anyone who wasn’t American before. Pretty interesting.”

Ah, French. No matter if the woman was American or European, she always thought he was French --- unless she, herself, was French, and even then at times he was simply mistaken for being a northerner. He'd already long accepted that "Belgium" was hardly the first country to be recognized and their culture was many times assimilated by the French...for instance, French fries, which they invented.

No matter. He supposed if his name was something like Laurens Van Der Berg, he'd just be mistaken for  being  a Dutchman. He was starting to understand what Canadians must have felt like with their harsh cousins from the south.

❝I hope it was a good "interesting,"❞ he told her with a chuckle as he plucked up his own mug of coffee from nearby.

Joan smiled cheekily, dimpled cheeks raising slightly before she giggled energetically.                               “It’s the best idea. Where’s                                your sense of adventure?”

❝Oh, I have a sense of adventure. But...❞ Even he had his limits, he was about to say, but decided against it. ❝Okay, let's do it. Why not? Nothing stop- ping us...besides the law.❞

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"—holy shit." She sits up, hair tangled and trying to keep herself  covered as she looked over the spread. “I usually just get a  crappy cup of instant and a ‘Nice to meet you, but I have a  meeting so you gotta go.’ Thanks, uh…?”

❝Jean-Claude,❞ he informed her casually. He was already dressed, having showered as well, and he was just finishing fix- ing up his cuffs, which he'd rolled up to make her breakfast.  ❝I don't actually have work today, so I won't be ushering you off.❞ And then a check to his watch. ❝Until eleven, anyway, when we have to. ---- Grace, right?❞

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"If you don’t have coffee, I’m not waking up."

❝Good thing I come prepared, non?❞ He sets a tray beside her, fully equipped with breads, cheese, jam, and coffee. ❝It's hot, so you know.❞