#and for her to hold my hand. the whole time. for five hours straight and i dotn even speak at all that whole time

[coelakanths]

i miss my girlfriend

[roosterforme]

Okay, but how about the first time Jake and Darling have a fight? How would that go?

I really like your stories bc while it is fiction, I feel like you show every aspect of a relationship, not only the good parts.

🩷

OMG, nonny. I'm swooning. I try to make my stories realistic (as much as they can be for fanfic). Nobody is happy and confident all the time. Everyone is stressed about something. Relationships are hard work, and dealing with someone else is sometimes weird and annoying. So thank you, I appreciate that so much.

Jake and Darlin' argue all the time about all the small things in life. They have different opinions on a lot of things, but it's never usually anything they remember by the next day. I think their first big fight would happen shortly after she moves in with him, just after she graduates from school and starts her new job. (angsty below).

"I had the longest day at work," you muttered, shoveling the last bite of the dinner Jake made into your mouth. You set your fork down and stretched as you stood. This whole week was dragging. You realized you were probably complaining more than usual, but you were just over it. "Let's go take a bath and just go to bed. I'll clean up tomorrow morning."

Jake looked at you, his lips pressed into a firm line. "Go ahead. I'll clean it up."

You reached for his hand, but he was already stacking the plates. "You cooked. I don't want you to clean up. I'll do it later," you reiterated.

"Just go get in the bath," he snapped, carrying everything back to the kitchen.

"I don't want to take a bath without you!"

Jake dumped everything into the sink and spun around. "You're not the only one who's working full-time, but you're certainly acting like it."

With narrowed eyes, you asked, "What's that supposed to mean?"

Jake took a deep, practiced breath and let it out slowly. "I know you're tired, but it would be nice for you to acknowledge that I work longer hours than you do. So just go relax in the bath by yourself while I clean up."

"Well, now I don't want to!" You were suddenly so angry, you couldn't see straight, and you also wanted to cry. "You're treating me like a child!"

"You're acting like one."

His words hurt you more than a slap across your cheek would have, and your jaw dropped open. But then his next sentence made it even worse.

"In my house no less."

"Wow," you gasped, turning and running toward the bedroom as you started crying. It wasn't like you weren't paying to be here. You knew it wasn't much, but you had been insistant about giving Jake five hundred dollars per month. And for what? So he could act like you were an unwanted guest?

You ran into the bathroom and slammed the door behind you before you curled up on the tub mat on the floor and sobbed. Work wasn't like school. Trying to figure out how you fit in with your coworkers was exhausting, and you were still learning all the ropes. You drove back here every day mentally drained, and up until tonight, Jake was always the one who seemed willing to listen. You should have just cleaned up the kitchen, because now you felt like you didn't belong anywhere.

"Darlin'." Jake's voice was as sharp as his knock on the door. You tried to dry your tears, but it wasn't working, and maybe you really were a child compared to your boyfriend. "Darlin'!"

"It's not even locked!" you shouted, but it came out as weak as you felt. Jake opened the door, and in an instant, he was curled up on the floor with you, pulling you into his arms.

"Fuck. I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm so sorry I acted like an asshole." You tried to wriggle away from him, but he wouldn't let you. "I think I'm more exhausted this week than I'd like to admit, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you."

In spite of the fact that you were on the floor crying, you mustered up the courage to whisper, "I'm not a child."

"You're an adult," he said firmly. "An adult who just started a very impressive job. You're holding it together better than I did when I was in flight school." He kissed your forehead. "And you're absolutely right. We should have just climbed in our bathtub and then gone right to our bed. The fucking dishes do not matter right now. They can sit in our kitchen sink until whenever the fuck we feel like cleaning up."

Jake rubbed slow, soothing circles against your lower back until you were all cried out. If you thought you were tired before, it was nothing compared to how wrung out you felt now. You wanted to put forth a peace offering and just get up and clean the kitchen, but his lips were on your damp cheek and his voice was in your ear. "I love you, Darlin'. It has been a long week for both of us. I would like nothing more than to climb in a hot bath with you, relax until the water gets cold, and then get in our bed and go to sleep."

You nodded and started the water while he got two towels ready, and then both of you undressed. Jake kissed your bare shoulder and held you while the tub filled. "You belong here," he whispered. "I don't want you anywhere other than our house."

[wh0reforcoriolanussnow]

Did You Like Them? || D. Targaryen x oc (Dear Motherhood Series)

GIF by unknown DIVIDERS by @straywords

summary: A heartfelt conversation between Leyla and her closest handmaiden reveals her feelings towards her first child, Alyssa.

a/n: pls pls pls send in some requests!!! this can be for the dear motherhood series if you like!

Dear Motherhood Series Masterlist

Leyla quietly moved her feet towards the nursery. The whole of castle were fast asleep and yet she was still awake, except for the few guards around, including the two infront of the nursery. She quietly opened the door and closed it slowly. Daemon was still asleep in their bedchambers.

The young Lady walked closer to the crib at a slow pace where her daughter, Alyssa laid asleep. She crouched down beside her, her eyes studying every feature of her face. Alyssa looked very much Leyla, except for the silver hair that she inherited from Daemon.

With so much intent, Leyla stayed there for the next 10 minutes, Alyssa’s chest falling up and down at a steady rate. The door quietly opened as Alyssane, her closets friend and handmaiden, approaches her. “My Lady, what are you doing up at this hour?” she asked before crouching down beside the babe’s crib.

“I like watching her sleep,” Leyla spoke in a soft voice, admiring her daughter. A smile makes it to Alyssane’s lips, “When my children were babies, it was my favourite time too,” She says as the two make eye contact and chuckle softly.

Visiting Alyssa in the middle of the night was a daily occurrence for Leyla. Of course, Leyla often saw her daughter throughout the day but it felt different watching her at night, all alone. Whenever they were around the castle or outside, the young Hightower would often feel quite awkward holding her own child.

The looks she would be given or the whispers that would go around drove her insane. So she rather enjoy her daughter’s presence alone, without the prying eyes of court. Leyla’s eyes flicker to Alyssane, she hesitates before opening her mouth to ask her question.

“Did you like them?” She felt herself holding a breath, “Straight away?” Alyssane’s eyes snap to Leyla. She noticed her hesitation before she covered it with a small smile. “Well, I was pleased they were healthy. I would’ve killed anyone that could cause them any harm.”

“Like them? I think that comes later, my Lady” Leyla listens intently. “When I look at her,” She starts, her fingers moving away a stray lock of hair fallen on Alyssa’s face, “All I can remember is the pain of giving birth to her. Those horrible nine months I had to endure.” Leyla confessed.

Alyssane held her hand in a comforting manner. “Having a baby is a sacrifice aswell as a blessing,” Alyssane added with a sad smile. Leyla knew that when she found out she was with child, her childhood was being sacrificed. It took her some time to accept the cold truth.

“I’m afraid, Alyssane. Father is asking for more grandchildren and there’s no doubt Daemon wishes for more heirs from me,” Otto had been on Leyla’s back on having children well, ever since she married Daemon. Even more after she had her first, Alyssa.

“Don’t be, my Lady. You are incredibly strong, having a child at ten-and-five? Not many people can do that and still continue with a smile on their faces. These feelings you’re feeling right now? They will blow over and overtime, when you look at Alyssa, you will feel a sense of accomplishment”

Leyla looked back over at peaceful Alyssa, “Thank you Alysanne,” she smiled gratefully at her friend’s comforting words.

~

It was the Hour of the Owl and once again, Leyla slipped out of Daemon’s hold and quietly moved away from the bed and into the corridors. The brunette was only helped guided by the burning torches that lit up the castle, although it was nearly impulse that led her to her daughter’s nursery.

That day had been particularly hard for Leyla. Otto had found out that she had been talking about finding ways to slow down the chances of becoming pregnant. That earned Leyla a harsh slap across her face.

The young Hightower didn’t dare to tell her Lord Husband out of embarrassment. Leyla was slightly surprised to see her daughter eyes wide awake. She quickly moved to her and carefully picked her up as Alyssa cooed making her mother smile.

She opened the curtains to allow light from the moon to seep through the nursery. There, Leyla stood cradling her daughter in her arms as she sung a sweet lullaby. She cherished these moments she shared with her first born, away from the bustling of court.

Leyla was slightly startled when she felt a pair of strong arms wrap themselves around her waist. “Husband,” “Wife,” He replied back in a husky voice, his head rested on her shoulder as they both look down at their daughter. “I thought I might find you here, pray do tell, what are you doing here at this hour of the night?” He spoke calmly, leaving a small trail of kisses along her shoulder and neck.

“I could not find sleep Daemon, and neither could your daughter it seemed” She softly chuckled as he joined. “Can I?” Daemon tilted his head to Alyssa as Leyla nodded. She carefully passed the 2 month old babe to her father as he softly patted her back, a soft tune coming out of his mouth in his mother’s tongue.

Leyla thought it would be impossible to fall in love with Daemon even more, well that changed ever since he became a father. He was such a huge softie when it came to Alyssa and she liked that he only reserved this side for her.

In just a few minutes, Alyssa had fallen asleep. Daemon slowly laid her down in her crib as the two stand in each other’s arm admiring the tiny human being they created. “Goodnight, my darling” Leyla leaned down to whisper to her before placing a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Daemon smiled as he watched the whole interaction. He always knew Leyla would be a great mother to his children. The couple quietly walked back to their bedchambers hand in hand with smiles on their faces.

~

taglist

@bellstwd @sesamepancakes @writtingforfun @bunbunbl0gs @mxtokko

[sepherinaspoppies]

Tell It To My Heart

pairing: Original Male Character x Modern! Reader x Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen

summary: In her honeymoon with her new husband, Armando, she can not help but crave her first husband's touch, Aemond.

warnings: mentions of slight violence, handjob, p and v sex, and future spoilers to my main story. reader is Latina!

wc: 2,478

main story masterlist

my masterlist

notes: I'm still deciding if I should let Armando live or not lol. but anyways enjoy besties! btw Armando's face claim is Danny Ramirez ;)

“M’ not drunk, mi amor.” (my love)

Armando bibulously says as she settles her, now husband, into their honeymoon bed. She chuckles, shaking her head side to side in disbelief. “Sure you aren’t, I’ll be the judge of that in the morning when you wake up with that hangover.” She playfully quipped back, untying Armando’s shoes to get him nice and comfortable. 

“Well I had to drink for two since you can’t—” 

“Hmm, I never asked you to drink for me, Armando.” She continued to tease, holding his gaze. 

Armando smiled lovingly before he sat up straight as his tipsy self could, “I know you didn’t but I wanted to, Mrs. Flores.” It was not the new surname that made her blush beet red, but the low and suggestive timbre of his voice. 

Armando’s smile slowly abated into an angry expression as his eyes trailed from the precious diamond wedding he slid hours ago, to the faded scars around her wrists. One could hardly see them from afar but up close where he sat, he was able to make out thick circular and pink markings. 

Armando had known the cause for such ghastliness. She had confessed the whole elusive truth to Armando, in the following weeks she had moved in with him to Oaxaca. It happened when Armando started growing concern for the sixth time in a row, waking up to ear-piercing screams in the middle of the night from his fiance. 

She expected him to push her away or call her crazy, that she’d been forcefully transported into a world she only knew existed in books. Armando’s expression showed nothing of disbelief or skepticism, he listened to everything attentively letting his amor explain it all to him. (love)

What Armando could not wrap his head around, was what kind of man could ever do such malice in the name of love? Love is kind, tender, and respectful. At least that’s how Armando grew up with defining it. 

Now that they were finally together, he vowed that he would never hurt or mistreat his wife. And may the Gods strike him down if he ever did. 

She trembled as her curly headed husband brought her hands closely to study them. His touch was delicate, making sure he didn’t press too firmly on the pink scars. 

“I meant what I said in my vows,” Armando softly speaks, his brown eyes holding steady against her own. “That I will never hurt or mistreat you.” 

“I know you won’t.” 

“But at any given point that I do, you can smash a wine bottle on my head too.” Armand laughed, and immediately she threw her head back, joining in to his giggles.

After she explained all the details of her grand escape, Armando tried to hide his amused smile, proud that she’d knocked Aemond out with a wine bottle to his head. Though what was more hysterical, was Aemond orgasming in the process. She did not mention that to Armando, not that he needed to know. 

Armando’s hands intertwined with her own as his lips brushed the skin where her scars laid, giving featherlike pecks all around. She sighed, closing her eyes, comforted by the feeling of her new husband’s warmth. 

“As long as I’m alive, you and our child are safe.” Armado promised devoutly. If it were possible, her heart almost soared out of her chest. 

When Armando confessed his love for her, minutes before he got down on one knee, she had asked him if he could still love her pregnant with another man’s baby. That did not discourage Armando one bit, the twenty-five year old loved her and the child she was carrying. To him a baby was one of the greatest blessings a couple could have, and Armando would help raise and care for their child like a good husband would do. 

In Armando’s eyes, the frijolito was his too. (little bean)

Blood doesn’t make you family. Family is who is there by your side, through the good and the bad and who love you regardless. 

Armando paused, his face becoming crestfallen. “I-I know you may not love me—” He stuttered full of nerves before she interrupted.

“Armando.”

“But… I do want this marriage to work. And I’m willing to wait as many decades more until you are ready to give me your corazón.” (heart)

She hesitantly shifted, before she swung her legs to either side of Armando’s to sit on his lap. Armando’s eyes widened in full surprise, taken back at her sudden boldness. They’ve never sat this close before nor been in such an intimate position. 

They have kissed, yes, but only mere pecks to each other’s cheeks and once on the lips when the priest declared them as man and wife. 

Armando knew his wife had no love for physical contact. Especially if she did not see it coming. After both Alys and Aemond, she wanted no one close to touching her. Though, she did feel guilty when Armando would approach her in a hug after coming home tired from work. 

Little by little she tried to work over her fear. First it was holding pinkies to the mercado but with a good distance between them. Then once that voice inside her head became hushed, she granted him permission to hold her hand out in public, shoulder to shoulder. (market)

The pecks began when a certain desire started blooming inside her. It was natural, of course, her doctor told her so. So when Armando came home with a bag full of tacos and a bundle of her favorite flowers, she approached him with multiple kisses to his face. 

Later on that night, she ashamedly humped her pillow with Aemond’s tunic she kept during her escape back to the modern world. For some reason she could not explain, she didn’t get rid of it. The lustful part of her was overjoyed she didn’t as she used it for the sweet release her body deeply craved. 

In such a position, she could smell Armando’s sandalwood cologne and admire the freckles she never knew he had. She thought about what Alys had said, about opening her heart out to him. 

Little by little. 

“Mi corazón es tuyo.” She whispered softly, her lips brushing his. Armando didn’t have time to respond, choosing rather to tug the back of her neck to close the thin gap between them. (my heart is yours)

He groaned at the softness of her lips he desperately yearned for. Her kiss topped any others his lips laid on. The sort of kiss worth dying for. If she didn’t want to continue further, Armando could finish just by this alone. 

She swiped her tongue on his bottom lip, requesting access before he granted it to her. His kiss was the opposite to what Aemond’s had been. With Aemond, it was needy, rushed, and possessive. But Armando kissed her delicately, without hurry, and most importantly consensually. 

Armando began to whine as her hips started to slightly rock against his pelvis, where he knew his member was surely growing hard. 

“Wait,” Armando suddenly pulled away. “Are you sure? I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this. I’m perfectly content with just watching our telenovela and ordering some tortas and aguas frescas.”

She giggled, using her hands to push his chest down onto the bed. “It is our honeymoon, it would be a shame if we didn’t break the bed in.” Besides they could do all that in the comfort of their home, she wholeheartedly wanted him.

“I’m sure I want this, Armando.” 

It was all Armando needed to hear, but before acting he needed to confess something he thought was embarrassing. “Um, I’m gonna need you to help me. I’ve actually never done this before and I reckon one of us oughta know what they’re doing.” He admitted with his eyes casting downward. 

Her jaw dropped at his unexpected confession, “You’re a virgin?” She reassured, wanting to hear it again. Armando nodded with his eyes closed, awaiting for her to get off him. Though he wished she didn’t. 

“I’ve only done it once, though I don’t recall much of it. We can both figure it out together.” She figured that if he confessed something private about him, so could she. 

Armando opened his eyes and gave her an encouraging smile. 

They began making a work out of their clothes, she anxiously chuckled when she couldn’t reach the zipper of her dress but with Armando’s help the garment slid right down at her waist, exposing her bare breasts to Armando’s curious eyes. 

“Beautiful.” He murmured loud enough for her to hear. With a nod of approval, he palmed each heavy breast and almost immediately pulled back as she gasped in both relief and pleasure, small beads of milk running down his fingers. 

Armando hummed at the taste, it was sweet. He found himself a little jealous of their unborn child for it would be dining on her sweet breasts. 

“Please use your mouth,” She abashedly pleaded, pushing her breasts close to his face. Armando didn’t need to be told twice, he took each pebbled nipple to his mouth, swirling and suckling his tongue, digesting her sweetness. 

She sighed, lacing her fingers through his curls, tugging his head back for another kiss. Little droplets of her milk remained on his lips yet she didn’t care. 

Armando’s free hand pulled down the rest of her dress off, leaving her with just her white lacy underwear. He cheekily smiled, it had been a gift from him for their wedding but she was unaware of it. 

Her fingers unlooped the red tie around Armando’s neck, throwing it somewhere across the room along with his dress shirt. She let her hands wander around the smoothness of his chest, feeling his heart race at her palm. 

Armando shuddered once her fingers started to trail down the patch hair right below his belly button, stopping right on the belt of his pants. “Can I?” She questioned, nudging her head to where he needed her the most. 

Armando fervently nodded, “Gods, yes, please. I think I’ll die if you don’t.” 

She giggled, unbuckling the belt, his pants and boxers down his legs. With curiosity, she let her eyes linger on his cock. It was a good length. Enough to not hurt her the slightest. Where Aemond’s was impressively long and overly thick, Armando was less smaller yet firmer. 

She thought about what her friends had told her: “Sometimes big doesn’t always mean great.” 

Gods she hoped so. 

She reached forward, wrapping her hand around his length, hot, heavy, and pulsating. Armando mewled, instinctively bucking his hips up desperate for some friction. Wanting to give her husband just what he yearned, she began to give him slow pumps up and down his length. His sounds of pleasure increased and she found herself also releasing soft moans, getting wetter and wetter by it alone. 

“Shit, I’m gonna come.” Armando heavily panted. She worked her hand faster, brushing her thumb lightly on his flushed tip, causing him to stutter his release. 

There was a dazed look in Armando’s eyes as he tried to take in the aftereffects of his climax. However, the sight of his wife bringing her come-covered hand to her mouth, instantly made him grow hard again. 

By all means, Armando’s taste wasn’t unpleasant and it resembled the amounts of oranges he often ate. 

She leaned forward to kiss Armando again, allowing him to taste how sweet he was. He ardently kissed her back with equal fervor, flipping them around so that she laid beneath him. Her huge bump pressed against his lower stomach, a primal feeling he absolutely loved. 

After pulling down her underwear, Armando slowly started to make his way down between her thighs, when she looped her fingers through his hair. “I want you right now,” She writhed against the sheets. 

Armando arched a brow, “You don’t want me to return the favor?” He pouted whilst looking down there. She shook her head, wrapping her legs around his waist. 

Though Armando wanted to have just a simple taste of her goodness, he did as she wished for. He gave himself a few more tugs before swiping his tip between her folds, gathering some of her excessive wetness to not hurt her as he went inside. 

Her eyes, which she did not realize were closed, shot open. There was a slight sting, not painful enough to move away but sufficient to feel little shocks of pleasure. With Aemond, it had hurt even with the two rounds of preparation before with his mouth and fingers. 

Armando’s eyes rolled at the back of his head, he didn’t know if he could last in such paradise he felt. She was so warm, wet, and tight around him. 

He took a deep breath and with a nod of encouragement, he slowly thrust his hips at an angle that made her squeeze his length so deliciously. “You feel so good, amor. So fucking good,” Armando praised, rubbing his palm around her belly. 

She moaned against his neck at the praise. While the speed of his thrusts felt good, it wasn’t enough to get her there. She wanted him to go faster and harder, to fill every single crevice within her that desperately needed to be filled. 

Shame started to loom at her as she subconsciously knew she craved the way Aemond hit that special spot inside that had her moaning loud, deep in the castle of Harrenhal. 

Even universes away she craved him. 

And she hated it. 

“Faster, please.” She pleaded, bucking her hips up with his thrusts.

Armando halted, moving his head out of her neck. “I don't want to hurt the baby.” Last thing Armando wanted was to cause her premature labor. She was still months away from her due date but he didn’t want to risk it. 

She shook her head, “You won’t, please. Por favor amor, I need it.” (please love)

Armando hesitantly quickened his thrusts, feeling his euphoric release closely approaching. 

She rolls her hips against his, it was slightly better but still not enough. She almost wanted to cry in desperation, instead she grips Armando’s hips, guiding him into that special spot. Her grip was vice-like causing Armando to hiss in both pain and pleasure. He only needed a few more thrusts to near his end. 

She moans when she starts to feel it. “Oh Gods,” She whimpered, digging her nails on Armando’s hip bones, tugging him deeper and harder similar to Aemond’s movements. 

Armando’s release washes over him like a tide. He never felt this good before, especially with the woman he always loved. He lets his wife chase her pleasure like the good husband he is. 

But what he hears next causes his loving smile to drop. 

“Oh, Aemond!” 

Notes: I'm sorry Armando lol.

[heartthrobin]

lay me at your feet and i'll hum your favourite tune

sam winchester x female!reader

wc: 860

warnings: pda, reference to chatty!reader, sam being smitten, dean being grumpy, sweet sweet kissin and one or two sexual references

an: the idea for this literally choked me last night as i was watching spn, based off/ set in the last five minutes of ep 4x5 Monster Movie (the one w the dracula). v short, i wrote it in like 20 min at 2am hence barely checked. enjoy :)))

summary: little pda + teasing Dean drabble

“well thank you G-man. you have been a great service … to your country.”

Pennsylvania was muggy, just enough that you could begin to doubt that the town had already slipped into autumn.

the hot sound of slurping suffocated the space again. it made the open air in front of the bar stuffy.

Dean sucked down the remnants of Jamie’s breakfast straight off her tongue.

Jamie. the woman of the hour, predecessor to the ones that would surely follow over in the next state.

he hadn’t spent the night in the motel, Dean. you were sure he was being stripped of his little Hansel and Gretel outfit somewhere across town where Jamie stayed. maybe he deserved it, he’d been drugged and then fragments of moments from electrocution most of the night with Dracula at the wheel.

he came up for barely a second of breath. “what can i say, i’m very patriotic.”

but that doesn’t mean you deserved it. to stand and have to endure the sight and sound. your face twisted in mild disgust and your neck craned up to meet Sam’s head perched at the top of his towering figure.

his face painted uncomfortable, his gaze pointedly moving over the people.

the blonde woman let off a sigh far too hot and loud for the crowded town square at nine in the morning, Dean gripped at the back of her jeans.

Sam’s eyes found you. he shrugged softly. his lips parted and you already knew he was seconds off from suggesting that maybe it would be more comfortable to wait by the car.

but you were never one to miss an opportunity for theatrics.

you reached up, far up, for the collar of your boyfriend’s khaki jacket: flushing him against you.

“oh Sam, you’re my knight in shining armor,” you gasped loudly, enough to stir but not part Dean’s engagement.

tugging gently to not hurt him, but enough to nudge him down: Sam leaned over so his forehead pressed against your own.

“you’re so brave, and so handsome—“

a velvet red flush leaked up from his chest and pooled in his cheeks.

your hands came to the side of his face, one branching slowly behind to tug on the hairs at the base of his neck and he worked hard not to whine - eyes flickering feign irritation at your batting lashes because you knew how much he loved that - but you pretended not to notice either move.

his grip found your waist. your nose bumped his, asking for a quiet consent, and he gently met your lips to satiate your bottomless need to tease Dean.

Sam wasn’t a fan of public displays of affection.

well, maybe that wasn’t the right way to phrase it. he just preferred when everything was just a little … slower. when you would tire yourself out from talking against his neck after a long day before falling against his lips where he’d find his whole body vibrating with his love for you.

but you did. you liked “PDA” and Sam wanted to indulge you when he could. you liked to hold his hand, keep him close between thickets of people. he liked that okay most of the time.

but he liked this too, to his surprise. maybe there was the additional aspect that it was for the main point of pissing off his brother.

but he couldn’t really decide on that. not when your tongue was nudging softly against his amidst a hot, fast kiss. you pulled off with a pop, pretending to fan yourself: slumping against his figure.

“and so intelligent, and with such a big … heart.”

you were sure you could fry an egg off Sam’s forehead the way his skin burnt beneath your hands but the little curl at the edge of his now slick mouth relieved you of the thought that maybe it was too much. that, and the fingers that dug what would soon be deep purple welts into the swell of your hips.

your tongue was already pushing past his lips again, halfway through the most pornographic moan you could muster for such a public space when Dean had evidently had his fill, of Jamie’s breakfast and of your dramatics.

“alright, alright. we’re done. you guys can stop face-fucking now … please.”

you drew back from a blood red Sammy, grinning.

Jamie was laughing, giggling pretty like how you imagined someone as good-looking as her would.

“just saying our goodbyes. you guys did save my life.” she smiled, laughs cooking to a soft bubble and wrapping her arms around herself. “travel safe okay?”

there was a murmur of nods and goodbyes and, for Dean, last pecks.

by the time you’d fallen into the backseat and Baby began to grumble beneath you, Dean was still huffing.

“for the record, you two only had to listen to me make out for five minutes. i can barely go take a thirty second shower without having to hear you two going at it like wild animals.”

Sam still hadn’t said a thing, but a soft shake of a chuckle rippled from beneath his jacket. you laughed until your ribs hurt.

“so dramatic, Deano.”

“makes two of us.”

[mediumgayitalian]

fic rec friday 6

hi!! welcome to fic rec friday. every week, i pick five fics i have bookmarked and rec them with a little review. check them out!

Will and Nico Sitting in a Tree by percyspandapillowpet

Nico rolls his eyes. “Can’t believe I used to have a crush on that guy,” he mumbles, and then immediately covers his mouth. Oh gods. “What—what?” Will asks. “You what?” Nico turns away, burying his face in his hands. “I—I said that out loud, didn’t I?”

this one made me giggle oblivious nico always does. "Like absolutely clueless sons of Hades" yes you tell him will!! will is such a brat w the biggest eyeroll problem in the world i adore him. i know he has literally strained his ocular muscles before

2. (Im)perfect by percysandapillowpet

He was thankful his suit was black, because he was starting to sweat through it. His stomach wasn’t holding up well, either. He hadn’t eaten anything in hours, but he felt like he was going to throw up any second. He stood in the bathroom still, now holding a wet cloth to his forehead. His hand was shaking, causing the water to drip down his sleeve. Why was he so nervous?

i am weak for proposal fics and have been my whole life. 'marriage is an instituation' blah blah blah. its FUN. i LIKE READING IT. and this was CUTE AS HELL. the namebadge especially was the cutest ever touch truly

3. As Long as I'm Getting Paid by percyspandapillowpet

Nico raised his eyebrows, using his shoulder to hold the door open. “Hi. What do you want.” Will smiled, but he shifted his feet. “Can’t a friend just stop by and say hi?” “No,” Nico replied. He then moved to close the door and retreat back into his cabin, but Will lunged forward and caught it. “Wait!”

walking up the scary badass to kill the spider will never not be funny. like yes of course befriending the most dramatic kids in camp will have dire consequences for nico and those consequences will involve waking up at odd hours in the night to do the Dumbest thing possible ever

4. Two Boys, Being Straight, Doing Straight Things by percyspandapillowpet

“Remember, dessert makes her sleepy. She’ll be out by seven-thirty, and we’ll have the rest of the evening to ourselves.” “Fair point,” Ms. Solace says, handing Will and Nico each a pie wrapped in tinfoil. “We can probably hold out til then.” Will glances at the clock above the stove. “One more hour.” He glances at Nico with a grin. “And then we can be gay again.”

i love this fckn series i have to have read it like fourteen times. i love seeing them gay and older and disastrous. and this whole concept of having to pretend to be straight for wills dumbass homophobic grandma will never not be funny

5. Even If It's Forever by @wintersky101

Nico doesn’t like to be touched. Will respects that, of course, even though he’s got a lot of hugs he wants to give him. Sometimes, though, Nico doesn’t mind, and those are some of the moments Will likes best. Or, five times Will didn’t touch his boyfriend, and one time he did.

this was such a soft and wonderful character study. the soft slow build and determined communication...yeah this fic was written with such care and you can tell

thank you for joining me this friday!! happy reading!!

[countrymusiclover]

2 - Doctor Nicknames

Part 3

Feisty Coffee Girl

Izzie and I had gone to the bathroom in the gas station since we needed some groceries and the nearest grocery store was an hour away. Holding a hand over my stomach my sister ripped open the package of pregnancy tests we had just bought. “Here it should show up in five minutes after you take it.”

“I can’t be pregnant right. Mom would be furious if I were.” I gulped nervously taking the test out of her hands going into one of the stalls.

Izzie leaned her body against the wall waiting for me. “We will worry about mom after you take the test. Right now just keep calm and do the test so we’ll have an answer.”

“Okay I’m gonna do it now.” I answered her back peeing on the stick and just sitting on the toilet until the time was up. Opening my eyes I blinked through tears so emotional about what was down in front of me.

Izzie knocked on the stall door gaining my attention. “Y/n, what does it say?”

“It uh ... .it's positive.” I croaked through tears with my sister kicking open the door since I hadn’t locked it. She helps me up to my feet getting my pants up seeing me begin uncontrollably sobbing.

She wrapped her arms around my shaking body and I cling onto her for some strength. “Shhh I’m here for you. We will get through this.”

“You really think that?” I asked her.

Izzie broke the embrace holding me by my shoulders sniffing through some tears. “You and I are extremely tough and we will get through this.”

“What do you think it's going to be? Boy or girl?” Moving my hands down to my stomach I sniffed through my own tears. Closing my eyes I paused just thinking about the choice I had to make. I could get rid of it or keep it and become a teenage mother so young.

Izzie clicked her tongue with a light smile. “I'd say girl. She'll be just as badass as you are.”

“I might hope it's a girl someday too.” I gave her a weak smile. Running one of my hands over my stomach would change everything the second the baby's father said he didn’t want to be a teen parent so I ended up on my own. “I've always liked the name Everly. I'll probably name her that.”

“Everly will be an adorable name.’ My twin sister grinned hugging me again and we just held one another.

My phone had been ringing the entire time I was driving home from work. It had been almost over two weeks since I had gotten the random guy's number. Driving towards the elementary school I was on my way to pick up my daughter from school. Caroline was only able to take her during the mornings. Pulling the car to a stop in a spot I entered the school going to her classroom. “Seriously, how many times are you going to call me.” Taking out my phone I ignored the call.

“Mommy!” Lifting my head up I saw my daughter running straight to me. Her hair getting thrown in every direction until she flung herself into my waiting arms.

Wrapping my arms around her I laughed into her hair dropping myself onto my knees. “I've missed you. I miss you all the time you're not with me.”

“Can we go get pizza?” Everly asked me when we broke the embrace.

Brushing hair out of her face I chuckled. “Sure we can. Oh one second it's your aunt Izzie….hey Izzie what's up?”

“Would you be able to come to the hospital? I am stuck here for the rest of the day and I have some gossip I really need to tell you about.” She explained through the phone.

Holding the phone up to my ear with one hand I take Everly’s with my other leading her out to the car. “Izzie I don't know if that's a good idea. I have Everly with me and we want some dinner.”

“Meredith is sleeping with one of the residents in the hospital. I think that's enough of a reason to hear the whole story.” My sister declared.

Sitting my phone in the cup holder I helped Eve get into the backseat of the car getting into my driver's seat switching the phone to speaker making our way home. “Izzie, I love you. I want to spend time with you too. But it is not a good idea to bring her to the hospital.”

“I want to see aunt Izzie.” Everly said from the backseat of the car.

Izzie heard her and kept convincing me. “See, she wants to come see me. It will be fine. I can even add on that there's pizza down in the cafeteria. So please come visit me tonight.”

“Fine Isobel Stevens. We will come to the hospital. Just do your best to not get my daughter sick because then I'll have to take care of her for two weeks.” I caved running my freehand turning the steering wheel changing in the direction of the hospital. Hanging up my phone I hoped that this would just be a good visit and the next time we could hang out at my apartment or at Meredith's house that she was living in with some of her fellow interns.

Everly was already undoing her seatbelt to get out of the car by the time I had parked us outside the hospital. Leading her inside by the hand we found my sister standing at the nurse desk with her three other friends who were Alex, Christina and George. ��Aunt Izzie!” Everly removed her hand away from mine jumping up into her waiting arms.

“Oh there's my favorite little niece.” Izzie twirled her around laughing until she sat her down on her feet.

Alex came around the nurse station with a smirk on his face getting close to me. “So you’re her sister huh. I gotta say you might be hotter than Izzie is.”

“Uh…Hey Eve, I think I heard somebody say they have pizza in the cafeteria. Why don’t you go wait over there for a second and then we can go get something to eat.” Bending my knees to be her level I put my hands on my knees to be eye level with her.

Everly grinned skipping over to one of the empty waiting room seats. “Deal. Be quick, mommy.”

“Okay so what gossip were you dying to tell me that we couldn’t do at home?” I focused my attention on my twin sister with her standing in front of me.

She throws her hands up beginning to ramble off with such bright and bubbly excitement that she naturally showed off to her friends and her patients at the hospital. “The doctor that I told you Meredith slept with is the head of brain surgery and is named Derek Shepherd. But he failed to mention that he was married and then his ex wife came to work here. And now for some reason the guy who also cheated on his wife is now in the hospital in that room.”

George leaned his head to the side, getting our group's attention to focus on the open room where a guy was stitching up his own face even though Meredith was standing in front of him. “Why is he suturing his own face?”

Cristina replied. “To turn me on.”

Alex explained where I parted my mouth opened hearing he was clearly impressed. “Cause he's Mark Sloan. He's like the go-to plastic surgeon on the East Coast.”

George gasped in shock. “That's the guy Addison was sleeping with?”

“Who’s Addison?” I raised a brow at the name.

Izzie filled me in. “You can't really blame her, can you? So basically it goes like this. McDreamy is apparently been best friend up until Mark slept with Addison who was McDreamy's wife till he found them sleeping together.”

“Oh wow.” I didn't know what to say about all their crazy gossip.

Cristina said back. “No, not really.”

George gagged. “Yes you can.”

Meredith finally came around the corner entering our conversation. “McSexy wants an x-ray to check for fractures and I think it's a bad idea if I take him.”

George stammered. “Why? Why?”

Alex bolted towards the opposite direction. “I'm on it.”

George asked. “Why is it a bad idea?”

Cristina quoted. “McSexy?”

Izzie responded and Meredith made a disgusted face. “McYummy.”

Meredith and Cristina said in unison. “No.”

Meredith finally spoke up again with another nickname. “McSteamy.”

Cristina awed in agreement. “Oh there it is.”

Izzie glanced down at me. “Yep. What do you think about the nickname Y/n?”

George gagged running away the second the door open and I turned my head in the direction. “Uh, just ah choking back some McVomit.”

“I don’t see what the big fuss about him is - holy shit!” I felt my mouth hang open when a guy with dark brown hair came out wearing a black tea shirt and gray pants.

Everly spoke up. “Shit?”

“You can’t say that. Only mommy says that.” Whipping my head around I warned my daughter with a finger before putting my attention to the guy in front of our group. “I….I’ve met him.”

Christina, Meredith, Izzie and George gasped all looking over at me. “How?”

“Don’t I know you from somewhere…Feisty Blonde?” The guy that looked exactly like Mark made his way over to us. His green eyes landed only on mine and they remained there with him putting almost no gap between us. “What are you doing here, Y/n?”

Running my fingers through my hair I chuckled nervously feeling my face turn red with the interns watching our interaction. “I guess I’m meeting you for the second time, Mark Sloan.”

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[pablitogavii]

i was wondering if you write about gavi being the readers boyfriend and they have been dating secretly without telling the team and pedri or someone else on the team sees a text from amor or smth and they beg to meet her so when he is heading to her house after training he takes all his friends to her house and she is surprised and shy but she warms up to them

thanks uuuu and i love ur writing❤️❤️❤️

I like this idea! Here you go :)

Pablo was sitting in the changing room texting with you to make plans for tonights date night with a bright smile on his face that certainly didn't go unnoticed by his teammates.

"Who got you smiling so much Pablito?" Ansu teased but Pablo kept a straight face while saying that his sister was texting him something funny.

"Pablo, can I see you for a moment?" Xavi interrupted the conversation and Pablo was so glad rushing outside but forgetting to turn his phone while leaving it on the bench.

The phone kept buzzing when finally Araujo glanced at the screen reading that the message was from "amorcito <3" smirking before announcing it to the whole team.

'Liar! He is hooked boys! It's his girlfriend texting him!" Araujo said and Pedri was the first one to be shocked that Pablo didn't say anything, not even to him as his best friend.

"Are you sure it's not just Aurora?" Pedri said but Araujo took Pablo's phone showing him the screen.

"Unless she is 'amorcito' then it's definitely the girlfriend" Araujo said and in that moment Pablo walked in shocked to see Araujo holding his phone.

"Give it back, cabrón!" Pablo cussed snatching his phone seeing three unread messages from you.

"Looks like our Pablito found himself a girl!" Ferran was first to break the silence and suddenly the whole team was cheering around Pablo making him roll his eyes and tell them to calm down.

"How long have you been in this secret relationship?? And when can we meet her!?" Ansu asked what everyone was wondering.

"It's been five months..and I don't know guys, she is really shy and definitely not from our world" he explained but his teammates just kept begging him to meet you that he had to agree.

"Can't believe you hid it so well even from me!" Pedri said finally getting to hug Pablo before hitting his head playfully as they laughed.

"How will all his fangirls survive now that he is taken??" Ferran teased but Pablo was too busy replying to your text to give him any attention.

"Looks like he has finally been tamed hermanos!" Pedri smirked and Pablo raised his head asking what the hell was everyone laughing about.

Xavi walked in to get them to training and Pablo sent you a quick heart before putting his phone away.

"Guess what, coach? Pablito has a girlfriend now!" Araujo said and Xavi walked to Pablo who was blushing at this sudden attention.

"You be a good man and treat her right boy!" Xavi tapped his shoulder and Pablo smiled nodding his head.

"I will, sir" he said before they all went to get some training done for the day.

After training was over, they all were changing to regular clothes when Pablo's phone ringing caught everyone's attention. Seeing him blush when he saw that you were calling him made every yell to answer it.

"Sí amor?" he said while everyone was giving awes at the little nickname making Pablo roll his eyes and leave the changing room to finish the conversation with you in peace.

"They want to meet me?" you said a little nervous to meet first his friends as his official girlfriend and second big Barça stars all at the same time. You often forgot about Pablo Gavi's fame because to you he was just Pablo..a boy you loved.

"Yeah, I tried to talk them out of it but now that they know you exist they keep begging me to meet you...so I thought maybe I can bring them with me after training?" he said and you blushed immediately knowing that meant you will meet them all in less than half an hour.

"Okay..but promise to hold my hand the entire time??" you said and he found it adorable that you were nervous making a promise before getting inside to tell them all they can meet you today.

"I can't wait! She is probably super cool!" Ansu said and everyone agreed but Pablo did warn them not to overwhelm you or they will deal with him afterwards.

"Alright there, tough guy. We promise to keep our distance from your girl, no need to be celoso" Araujo joked but Pablo only smirked telling him none of them would have a chance next to him. You would agree with that statement fully ;)

When they drove to your house, Pablo came out first knocking on the door and when you opened and gave him a quick kiss he invited the rest of them to join immediately holding your hand like he promised.

"What if they don't like me?" you said as they all got out of their cars.

"I would prefer it if they don't like you amor.." Pablo teased and you chuckled rolling your eyes at his jealousy before smiling wide at the group of boys who was just as nervous to meet you.

"Hi chicos" you said and they immediately warm up to you saying hi and each one of them gave you a quick hug smirking at Pablo who was giving them a death glare.

"Really nice to meet you. I'm Pedri" boy said and you smiled nodding your head telling him that Pablo already told you about all of his friends.

"I get all the funny stories from training or after games" you say chuckling a little as Pablo pulled you into his arms after all his friend just had to hug you. He was getting a bit protective and you liked that very much.

"Have you been a fútbol fan before meeting our Pablito?" Araujo asked and you smiled looking up at your boy who was holding you tightly against himself.

"I have to admit I haven't been such a die heart Barça fan before but now I cheer with all my heart for you guys!" you said and they all smile thanking you for support.

"She cheers with all her heart for ME...and you guys just kinda happen to be in the same team" Pablo said making everyone laugh while you smirked giving his lips a quick peck in front of them all just to reassure him that you were always only his.

"Right! Of course! Siempre visca GAVI!" you said making everyone laugh while Pablo was smirking proudly nodding his head before kissing your hair lovingly.

"She's funnier then you Pablito!" Ansu said making you smile while leaning your head against Pablo who rolled his eyes at his friend's comment.

"How are you for a midfielder position? Maybe we can get her into the team instead of Pablito??" Pedri joked making everyone including you laugh but when you saw you boy pout you held his face shaking your head in disagreement.

"No, mi cariño is the best midfielder en todo el mundo!" you said squeezing his cheeks before pecking his lips sweetly making him smile.

"Gracias, amor! Alright, we are having our date night so I'll see you guys at tomorrows training?" Pablo said really wanting some alone time with his girl right now.

"Really nice to meet you Y/n! Good luck dealing with Pablito!"Pedri joked earning a slap on the shoulder from his friend before leaving.

"You should come watch some trainings sometimes, and we can hang out again?" Ansu said and Pablo's arms wrapped around your torso again.

"That's a great idea! We can sit around and chill" Araujo added and you smiled feeling happy that they accepted you as Pablo's girl and wanted to be friends.

"She will be sitting on my lap then!" Pablo said and you knew he was filled with jealousy knowing his possessive nature so you thanked them for the invitation before you and Pablo walked inside the house together.

"Eres adorable cuando estás celoso" you whisper into his ear and he smirked grabbing your body pushing it against nearby wall.

"Do I have to remind you who you belong to nena?" he smirked down at you and you felt you mind running wild in that moment as you bit your lit while looking up at him playfully.

"I belong to Pablo Gavi!" you smirked snaking your arms around his neck while crashing your lips to his and he hummed in content while pulling you closer to his body.

"Buena niña.." he whispered into your ear before starting to leave butterfly kisses down your neck..

Hope you enjoyed ;)

[veeluvss]

✮⋆˙ snowed in

day 4 of 12 days of Christmas

the team (Emily JJ, Hotch, Derek, Spencer and Rossi.)

1226 words

the team are stranded due to the snow so start to enjoy it

Emily groaned and threw herself onto the nearby sofa. Rossi shook his head, frustrated he was going to miss his poker game. JJ pulled out her phone to text Will. Derek sighed, frowning out of the window – almost threatening the weather to change. Spencer pulled out his book, ready to settle with another few hours reading.

“I know it sucks. I wanted to get back for Jack,” Hotch sighed.

“Do you have any idea when we can fly back?” Emily asked. “Sergio can only hold off so long.”

“You don’t feed him at all when we’re away?” Derek exclaimed.

“No, I starve him,” Emily rolled her eyes. The whole team looked at her with raised eyebrows, genuinely concerned. “I’m joking! Garcia feeds him. I meant he can’t hold off long not seeing his mommy.” The team fell into laughter, relieved that Emily wasn’t actually cruel to her cat.

“You know, we could make this delay better…” Derek said after a few minutes.

“Don’t say it, Morgan,” JJ sighed, looking at his smirk. Snow was falling pretty heavily outside now. Having already checked out, the team had no where else to go and nothing else to do.

“I agree with Derek,” Emily laughed, standing up.

“About what? What are you all talking about?” Spencer asked, looking up from his book with his confused frown.

“They want to build a snowman,” JJ sighed, rolling her eyes at their childish antics.

“Come on JJ, it’ll be fun!” Emily whined, pulling her up from the sofa.

“I’ve never built a snowman before,” Spencer perked up.

“Oooh pretty boy, you are missing out!” Derek said, slapping him on the back. Spencer put his book away. JJ groaned again.

“Emily the snow is cold,” she huffed.

“It’s part of the experience. Oh please come JJ.”

“Yeah, it’ll be fun JJ! You can teach me the tricks of building the best snowman,” Spencer encouraged. JJ thought about it for a few minutes. She looked down at what she was wearing and then out at the falling snow. It did look kind of fun. She knew she’d have to pass the time some how.

“Okay fine,” she sighed and threw up her arms. The other three cheered and then they turned to their boss, wide grins across all of their faces.

“I’m not helping you build a snowman,” Hotch said, not even looking up from his file.

“Oh Aaron please!” Emily begged.

“Nope. I have work to do,” he said.

“Fine, come on let's leave the billy no mates here,” Derek said and began heading outside.

“At least put warmer clothes on children, you’ll freeze out there.” Hotch said, trying to hide his smile.

“HEY!” Spencer gasped as the snow ball collided with his back. Derek laughed and shrugged.

“That’s what you get for not moving out of the way baby boy.”

“My back was turned and you didn’t warn me, how was I supposed to know you were throwing a snowball at me?”

Emily slapped Spencer’s shoulder. “Just throw one back.” She handed him the perfectly round snowball and Spencer frowned, eyeing it. JJ laughed from behind the tree she’d found and Emily smirked.

“What do I do?” Spencer asked Emily.

“Throw it, straight at him. Like a baseball.” Spencer scoffed, remembering how bad he was at baseball.

“Come on Reid. I’ll give you an open target,” Morgan said. He spread out his arms and legs, standing facing straight towards Spencer and Emily. What he failed to see was the other snowball in Emily’s hand and the two in JJ’s who had moved from around the tree. Reid, however, had seen them in the hotel window’s reflection and knew the plan.

“Will you count me down?” he asked, keeping up the nervous act.

“Of course, on three.”

“One.”

A wide, cocky smile spread on Morgan’s face.

“Two.”

Emily and JJ both got into their positions and Spence lifted his arm to throw the snowball.

“Three!” Emily screamed as five snowballs flew in the direction of Derek. Hotch had come from behind another tree, a pile of snowballs curled into his arm. Spencer and Emily ducked as JJ launched more from the pile by her tree. Derek shrieked, shrinking into himself as piles of snow hit him with force.

Once the snowball fight, well - attack, was over, the team worked together to build a snowman. A few other families had come out of the hotel and were building their own but Emily and Derek wanted theirs to be the best.

“You know, they’re mainly kids, you have to go easy on them,” JJ said, laughing at her competitive team mates.

“JJ, my snowman will be the best whether you like it or not-” Derek said. Emily shoved him and he fell into the snow behind him.

“OUR snowman,” she reminded him. Derek scoffed and got up, shoving Emily into the snow. JJ rolled her eyes and turned to help Spencer with the head.

Hotch had gone back inside, claiming he did actually have work to do.

They built the snowman as a team, JJ and Spencer working on the head and Emily and Derek worked on the body. They had to of course make sure it was a body builder snow man with defined muscles, big legs and fists of iron, as Derek said. It was the tallest and best built in the garden and they were impressed.

“I’m cold now, can we go in?” Spencer said.

“Me too, come on Spence,” JJ said, turning away.

“No, wait! Get Hotch to take our picture with it!” Emily suggested. Derek turned to the hotel, seeing Hotch through the window, who had been watching his children with amusement.

“Hotch!” He screamed, causing everyone to look at him.

“Derek!” JJ scolded. “At least go over and ask him!”

Hotch was, however, already on his way out.

“Right, stand nicely and pose. Big smiles!” Hotch teased as the group stood proud around their snowman. Derek and JJ kneeled on the ground in front of it and Emily and Spencer stood behind it.

“Okay, now a silly face!” Emily exclaimed before any of them could move. They laughed and pulled their funniest faces.

The trudged inside, tired and cold from the snow fun.

“Oh amigos!!” Rossi smiled and opened his arms as they came in. “Come this way for some warm pie and hot cocoa.” He lead them into the hotel restaurant and they all smiled. In each place was a steaming bowl of pie and vegetables and they each had a hot chocolate, piled with cream and marshmallows by their places.

“Oh Rossi this is sick!” Emily exclaimed, sitting in her spot.

“That’s something Henry would say,” JJ laughed, sitting beside her.

“Yeah, I saw it on Twitter. I’m trying to be more down with the kids,” Emily said.

“It’s not working,” Spencer replied, mocking what Emily had said to him years before.

“Eat up guys, pilot said we can fly home tonight since the weather cleared up.” Hotch announced, watching his kids delv into their post-snow antic food. At least they had fun, despite the back stop.

[yaut-jaknowit]

first of all I absolutely love your work honestly it is amazing!! And that last gawtin ask hurtttttt I was wondering if you could make a part two? If you want to of course maybe communication saves the day? I hope you have a good day!

Argument with Gawtin Part 2

Pairing: Gawtin (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2276

Summary: For hours, you stay in your art room, sobbing away the time until the tears run dry. Now, it's the time to figure out what to do. You don't want to leave, you never want to leave Gawtin or Qui'oky. They're your family. You'll find a way to fix this or die trying.

Author Note: Communication in relationships are incredibly important! Here, it does save the day. Thank you so much! It hurt me too to write it because I hate conflict and to have my favorite pair fight...

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1

Once the tear ran dry and left stick, crusty lines down the lengths of your cheeks, you picked your head up enough and looked around. The space was the same, empty and void of Gawtin. Old paintings and drawings covered the walls from floor to ceiling, making this place yours. A room that the green Yautja had given to you. She done so much for you.

An ache started behind your sternum as you hung your head in shame again, unable to cry again. In an instant, you shoved it back into her face while flipping the middle finger at her. You sat up in your desk chair, chin level. You had to fix this. You wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let this go. Not her love, the sweetest thing you’ve ever tasted before. The two of you were meant to be together, no matter who or what said otherwise.

How would you show how sorry you are though? You glance around the room. It’s not like you’re a hunter like her. You couldn’t bring how creature five times your size. No, you were her artist. You wield pencils, not knives.

What could you make? Something she could understand in her own culture, something that would be of great value. Then, you shook your head. No, if it came from you, it’ll be enough. You dipped your head.

A newfound determination filled your veins. You stood up abruptly and walked towards the only exit. Once you’ve reached the door though, you paused before hitting the button to open it. What if she was out there? You couldn’t just ignore her and walk out. That would be incredibly rude and inconsiderate of Gawtin. Well, you’ll cross that bridge if you reached it.

All was quiet and dark in the main room of her hut. Your shoulders sagged both in relief and disappointment. Where had she gone? Qui’oky wasn’t here, meaning he had to be with his mother. She wouldn’t leave him to his lonesome.

You left the safety of your art room. The door sliding close behind you. The floorboards barely made complaints as you walked over to the front door. A satchel hung off your shoulders, a knife sitting in one of the pockets. Not much more than for cutting stems rather than the throats of animals that could consume you whole. In another pocket sat a device similar to a GPS and could lead you back home.

So be it. You wanted to show you cared about her, that you truly did. An argument would not ruin everything you’ve built with her. You wouldn’t let it, no matter how much you wanted to take the next flight off this planet. This was your home.

Out the door you went. Cool, humid air smack you straight in the face. It was far better than the burning binary suns that would bore down on your skin during the day. You braved your way through the humidity and started a path in a random direction. You let your heart led the way.

For a few miles, you traversed with little thoughts of where to go. Only thing that filled your mind was the flashbacks of the argument. The skin of your bottom lip had been worn down till the taste of blood, an action you couldn’t help. Not when Gawtin’s voice echoed in your head to go home. You wished you had said this was your home.

And it was. You belonged at her side, holding her hand with Qui’oky perched on your hip. This was your family, you were going to fight tooth and nail for it.

A gut feeling told you to stop. For a moment, you prayed it wasn’t an instinct you were being hunted. The hairs along your neck never raised. You relaxed and scanned the surrounding area until a feeling drew you towards your right. A feeling you followed until you found a shiny rock. The colors that matched the same hue as Gawtin’s dark, forest green. It was slipped into the main pocket and sealed off from the world it once sat in.

For what was probably hours, you continued to do this even after the yawn broke across you face. When your satchel began to dig into your shoulder uncomfortably, you called it a night.

Flowers, tied together with a thin string were held in one of your hands. The other held onto the GPS tracker, helping you to trek in the right direction home. You couldn’t believe you had found yourself five miles away from the hut. The walk back would take you forever especially with how the terrain was. This is a jungle that ranged from steep mountains to gushing rivers. A few rocks had been picked up from the riverbeds and snuck their way into your satchel as well.

Though it took at least another three hours to return home, the two suns beginning to peek through the trees, you made it. Your clothes were soaked through with sticky sweat. Hunger twisted your gut with each desperate call for food. You were smart enough to have a waterskin attached to your satchel so you didn’t perish from dehydration that far from home.

The familiar forest green roof/walls met your vision as you pushed through the thickest part of the foliage that surrounded the cottage. Home. You smiled in relief and trudged up to the door. Without even thinking, too exhausted to even think up thoughts, you pushed your way into the home. Gawtin still wasn’t home. You huffed and entered your art room.

Your satchel’s contents was dumped onto tabletop. The flowers were untied ands laid out as well. It may all look like junk you’ve picked up from the jungle’s floor, but to you, it was unmade art. All it was needing was to be pieced together, like a puzzle. You had the hands to do it.

Like the artist the whole town knew you as, you began to piece what items could go together. Even with the need to collapse and sleep for ten hours straight pulled at your mind, you pushed through.

When you grew irritated when some pieces didn’t want to fit with one another, you set it off to the side and looked at the flowers. All of them had long stems, perfect for what you wanted to do. You had also grabbed a lot, possibly too many but you didn’t want to trek all the way back out there and get more.

Covered in dirt, your hands began to weave the stems carefully with one another. A pattern you had pulled up on a tablet Gawtin had given you long ago. On the screen, it looked ease to follow but grew harder with each newly added stem. At times, you were ready to rip it apart and set it on fire. Somehow, you soldiered through and finally finished the piece.

It was far too large to sit upon your head, which was exactly what you were aiming for. You didn’t have any measurements for Gawtin’s head and only estimated on her size. Not like she was home for you to measure without her growing suspicious in the first place.

Now feeling better at the fact you finished one of the projects, you moved back towards the mess of rocks and wires on the other side of your desk.

Almost a year ago, you had given Gawtin a necklace you had specifically went out to the market for. That led you into a mess of going from one vendor to another before getting captured in the end. Gawtin had to save you from the trouble but she was never mad. She expressed that after she got you to the safety of the hut.

Everyday, she wears that necklace. A sign of either pride or love, maybe even both. But you loved it and it seemed like Gawtin did too. Now, you were designing two bracelets. Either for both arms or one. Whatever she choose to do with them was up to her.

Back in the seat of your desk chair, you sat crisscross and stared upon the rocks once more. Ideas flowed freely inside of your mind, anything for this to work.

With these being on her wrist, they had to be incredibly durable. Once a hunter, always hunter. They would be put under great distress due to her everyday routine.

The wire used to keep the rocks secure was the strongest one you could find within a reasonable price and at the nearest market. Though, you used one of the young bloods to retrieve it for you for a small price. But, you had to use what you get your hands on without Gawtin knowing. You could be resourceful yourself.

You set to grueling work of designing a bracelet that could hopefully hold up to any added stress. A thick, durable band was used to tie the rocks to. The wire themselves were difficult to for around the rocks with no heat source to soften the metal. You did your best in the moment.

Before you on the wooden desk table, sat two bracelets, large in diameter but could also be tightened or loosen if need be. Again, you didn’t have her measurements on hand.

As a breath of relief left your lips, you heard the front door open then close. Even in the near dead silent house, you couldn’t pick up on the footsteps of the lumbering giant. Just one slab of metal kept the two of you away from each other.

Both of your hands began to shake. This was your one and only chance to fix this. You took in a lung filling inhale, leveled your chin, and grabbed your three items off of the desk. Your feet marched their way over to the door. It opened a second after you pressed the need button.

In the small kitchenette stood the goddess of your life. Qui’oky was at her feet and holding onto his mother’s leg. But when he saw you exit the art room, he made a noise of excitement and waddled over to you. You bend down and scooped him off of the ground. He would’ve climbed you to get into your arms if you hadn’t. You couldn’t wait for him to get older…

Timidly, you stepped over into the edge of the kitchen, eyes pointing downwards at the ground. A submissive position you hoped would be please her.

“Gawtin,” you called out softly then picked up your gaze to find her purple eyes already on you. She was lax but not letting a single ounce of emotion fall through any cracks of features. “I’m-I’m sorry. I want to start off by apologizing.”

Qui’oky grew too heavy for you to hold and got in the way. You put him back down, hoping he would loss interest in you for the moment. The prayer was answered.

The items in your hands were offered to Gawtin. The flower crown held out first. “I don’t know what way you guys apologize so I did my best. I was out all night and searched for the best because that’s all you deserve. I should’ve never said those things to you. This is my home. I want to be here. You never took me, I wanted to come with you.”

The bracelets were shown to Gawtin next. “And… and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else besides here, with you. I love you so damn much. More than I could ever speak or gift to you. You are my family and so is he.” You fall to your knees and clutched the gifts in your hands as if you where praying. “Forgive me, please. I don’t want to leave. Please, let me stay. With you.”

It was only a small crack at first. The twitch of her gem studded brow before her walls came crashing down. Gawtin knelt down in front of you and wrapped her arms around you.

“I must apologize as well. I apologize for mocking you, for telling you to leave. This is your home. You belong with me, with us,” Gawtin whispered, voice rumbling deep in her throat as she held you close to her warm body. “I do not have excuses. I should have not taken my pent up anger out on you. That is my fault. A mistake I will not make again.”

Being in her arms was the best thing you could ever ask for. You sagged against her and sobbed into her chest. New, fresh, hot tears ran new rivets down the length of your cheeks. You did your best to encase her torso with your arms but came up short. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you cried and held onto her as your lifeline. Because she is. She’s your lifeline.

Her massive hand ran up and down the length of your spine. “It is okay. Everything will be okay.”

An eternity passed until the muscles along Gawtin’s arms loosened up enough for you to pull back and look her in those beautiful purple eyes. She still kept you in her grasp, as if afraid you’ll disappeared. “Now, let me see what you have made for me, my little artist.”

In that moment, you knew everything was going to be fine. She was right. This was only a bump in the road you’ve gotten over. This is life. There will be more but as a power couple with your sweet child, you’ll make through it all. You smiled up at Gawtin through the blurry tears blocking your vision. Alien or not, you love her.

[inglorionamy-ammy]

Of Home and Haven (Ch4/6)

Chapter snippet:

The time has come for you and Gale to gather before your friends and families. A wedding, a departure, and some revelation.

Summary: A tender tale between an outlander barbarian and a scholarly wizard, navigating life, love, and belonging (aka. What "being together" means for them) in Waterdeep and beyond.

Pairing: Half-orc Barbarian F!Tav X Gale Mature

Word count: 3.5k

@senualothbrok: As always, my wonderful beta.

AO3 link: Here

Chapter Three: Here

[This chapter's illustration hides at the end ;)]

You have a dream; no, you never recall those fleeting fabrications of the mind. This is a memory.

You remember standing at the edge of the misty forest. As the first ray of sunshine lit up the vast plains before you, you took your first step.

You felt Da’s gaze, steady and proud. You heard Ma’s voice.

“Go, my love, my savage daughter,” she whispered, so as not to break the tranquility of the moment. “Weave your tale with your steps, one at a time. Perhaps one day, you’ll find your path back here again. But if not, then you’ll go far and wide, and be the fiercest of them all.”

So, you march, unwavering, towards the breaking dawn.

--

You feel Gale stir, finally. You woke up three hours ago, and have already packed your luggage and eaten your breakfast. Now you are back in bed to cradle him.

He moans hoarsely. You can almost hear his wince. Smiling with closed eyes, you reach forward and press slow circles between his shoulder blades with your thumb, eliciting a sigh of relief.

“Morning, my love,” he yawns, “I appreciate the effort, but for it to be truly effective, you may have to massage a much wider area, namely, my whole body.” He barks a surprised laugh when you reach straight to his morning erection.

--

Instead of using the teleportation scroll that Gale painstakingly prepared for all the guests, your parents have opted to travel on foot to Waterdeep. Ma explains apologetically that they would love to be on the road again, for nostalgic reasons. Gale beams with adoration, and almost successfully hides his slight disappointment. Only you see through how much he longs to immediately return to his tower for your shared four-poster bed.

Still, ever the gentleman, he refuses Ma’s suggestion for you two to go ahead without them. You gratefully give his lower back a comforting little rub as a promise of later massages, cheering his spirit up a bit.

“An escort mission it is, then!” Ma’s eyes twinkle with excitement.

Da grunts his agreement, swiftly throwing her luggage on his back, together with his full-battle equipment and traveling pack. Being on the road again clearly delights him. Following suit, you also lift Gale’s luggage off the ground, and when he protests, you lift him up as well. Ma’s ringing chortle echoes in the forest. 

Da takes a final long look at the hut and everything else they have built over the past three decades, flooded in warm sunlight. One piece at a time, your parents had turned the desolate land into somewhere you could be birthed safely and called home. Ma quietly leans against his arm, listening to the sound of the waterwheel, lost in thoughts. You hold Gale’s hand a bit tighter than necessary. He frowns, puzzled, but he won’t be for long. You know his brilliant mind will soon connect the dots, just as you had silently found out the truth five days ago, when your Da dueled you under the moonlight.

“IT’S TIME,” Da decides.

With that, you turn and leave.

--

Your father has always been a silent man. He never really sits down and tells tales like Ma does, including his own. But he doesn’t need to. You can observe.

You saw how among all enemies he destroyed orcs with the most intense hatred. Every time, he would mark their bodies at the back of their neck, the same place where he has a scar.

You saw how hard he trained you to be self-reliant and dominant, so that you would never fall prey to any malicious intent, no matter who you might encounter. Never subservient, never a slave.

You saw how he hoarded gold and jewelries in the secret basement under the hut, things that were worth nothing in this forest but were worth a fortune in any nearby settlements, and pressed the keys into Ma’s hand, preparing for the inevitable.

You saw his eyes soften with affection, when you and Ma had laughed over some witty jokes Gale made, and he thought no one else was watching him. You saw his silver dreadlocks, once dark but now fully grayed, glowing under the moonlight. You saw him training, harder than ever, ready for the road again. You know he has made his choice.

--

One evening, you and Gale are sitting next to the campfire, alone at last. Earlier, your parents had retired for the night, saying that they would like to stargaze together at a nearby ruin.

At first, you had wanted to bear the secret alone for a little longer, to not overshadow his joy for the approaching wedding. Yet, you can recognize the look of hesitation and the urge to know on his face, so you prepare for his enquiry.

“There’s more to this trip, isn’t there,” he starts, carefully choosing his words. “There’s something…solemn, about it,” a nervous chuckle, “I certainly hope that it wasn’t inspired by our union.”

You immediately shake your head. Nothing is further from the truth. In fact, Da would not make this decision if he had found Gale unworthy. 

“No,” you pause, “Just that Da is about to leave.”

“Leave?” He raises an eyebrow, “What, you mean, alone? And at this age—”

He halts, realization hitting him. He has read every scattered piece of research he could find on half-orcs. Not much was written on culture, since many assumed your kind don’t have that. But a great deal on your physicality was available. He knows that half-orcs mature faster than humans, that at sixteen they are considered an adult, at fifty an elder, and most don’t live much longer than sixty. For a robust warrior like your Da, extra physical prowess came with the cost of quickened deterioration. In a few years’ time his health will sharply decline, and he will no longer be able to support his heavy, muscular physique, let alone wield it in a meaningful way. A weapon will turn into a burden.

You nod. With a pat you invite him to sit on your lap, a futile gesture of comfort. Still, you reach out to slowly apply soothing pressure to the muscle at the back of his neck, as you explain Da’s teachings.

“A half-orc does not die in bed with sickness and old age, immobile, mourned and pitied. They die in the battlefield, breathe their last breath as a warrior and are celebrated as one. It is in this way that those who cherish them will always remember them by their potency and glory, not by fragility and death.” His fights replay in your mind, always proud, always ready. “After the wedding, Ma and I will see him off.”

For a while Gale is quiet, and so is the world. The only sound you can hear is the fire crackling. You continue to knead into him, untangling the knots in his body. A moment later, he lets out a deep breath.

“Every time I think I have deciphered the truth of your heritage, I am always humbled by the limits of my understanding.”

He chuckles in resignation, then turns to you, his voice soft but burning with urgency.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way…but I might never be able to see the appeal in that. Back when I was afflicted, a lonely, brutal death had seemed to be my fate. I used to think I could embrace it, like some sort of martyr, and it was you, my love, who showed me otherwise.”

His palm moves to your hand on his shoulder and holds it, fingers intertwined.

“Now, without it, I’ve always hoped that my last moments would be spent in the arms of my beloved, surrounded by friends instead of foes.”

You think about that.

“That’s beautiful too,” you decide.

--

Five days before your wedding, Gale’s tower has turned into some kind of tavern. You watch him, in awe, as he uses scrolls combined with his own magic to remold the interior, stretching corridors, opening new rooms, and decorating them with a snap of his fingers. Ma claps with wonder, clearly enjoying the performance. Even Da nods his approval. Gale makes an exaggerated bow in gentlemanly fashion, barely hiding a smirk.

Halsin, the massive former archdruid, is the first to arrive. After a brief handshake, a big hug follows, and between the two of you Gale is thoroughly squeezed. Shadowheart arrives an hour later, silvery hair matched by a slivery gown. You only get to greet each other briefly before she is whisked away. Her elegant presence has attracted both the attention of Morena and your Ma, and as they chat away you sense Gale’s slight unease. Hidden childhood embarrassments are sure to be spilled. You politely fight the urge to listen in.

A day later, a sudden rush of sulphur fills the front yard, follows by a snap of the air. You and Da immediately spring into a battle stance, only to relax as Karlach and Wyll step out from the Hell’s portal, hand in hand. A warmth fills your heart.

“Wyll, my friend!” Gale shouts in excitement, pulling the man into a tight embrace.

With her lover occupied, Karlach looks around and spots your Da. The pair’s gazes lock, and wild grins are shared. After that, there isn’t a day that the tower is free of the sound of sparring. You sometimes join in as an effective way to flirt with Gale.

In the evening before the union, Astarion knocks on the door, face hidden under a cloak. The rogue rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance when Gale jokes how surprised he is that the man is in fact capable of knocking. Astarion however immediately gets his comeback when he silences you all with a removal of his cloak, revealing a red and black doublet with the most intricately golden embroidery you have ever seen, his own proud work. The vampire spawn is gorgeous.

“Well, my dear wizard, I could still offer some fashion advice for the most special day in your life, if you ask very nicely,” he purrs, dragging out every syllable.

It is late, but none of you are preparing to sleep. The ceremony starts tomorrow night so you suppose you can steal a rest the coming morning. Except for Lae’zel, Jaheira, and Minsc and Boo, who will be attending the ceremony directly, the whole party has once again gathered. There are too many drinks to down, songs to sing, and gossips to share. Shadowheart and Astarion have retreated to a corner, making sarcastic remarks with wine twirling in their hands. Halsin and Da somehow find themselves in an arm-wrestling contest with Ma as the judge, and you are amused to find Morena right next to her watching with bated breath, the two mothers nearly inseparable for the past few days. At the corner of your eye, Wyll is reporting to Tara on the arrangements for tomorrow, the Blade of Avernus heeding command from the mighty Tressym. You feel at home, at ease, with your favorite wizard reclining in your embrace.

Karlach walks over, slightly drunk.

“Soldier!” She salutes.

You hum, smiling, signaling her to sit beside you. Over the past days you have learnt that her war in the Hells is almost over, and she has gained more allies than any of you would have expected. The House of Hope is now a rebellion camp. You are so proud of her.

“Awww, you two are so sweet!”

She throws an arm around you and leans on your shoulder, her mechanical heartbeat loud and hot. You tilt your head slightly to give her space without bumping into her horns.

“I could say the same about you and Wyll!” Gale replies with a chuckle. “I have always suspected a spark. All it takes is some hells fire to ignite it.” His eyes are dreamy as he asks, “when will we be attending your wedding?”

“Oi, you!” Karlach swats his arm, making him wince. “Another word from you and I may end up hijacking your big day!”

That gets a throaty laugh. “I am not sure I’m opposed to that.” Gale glances up at you with his bright brown eyes. “My love, I suppose we have room for a double wedding?” He adds cheekily, “Please?”

“Making plans without me, hm?” Wyll walks over, standing in front of you all with mock parental disapproval, hands on hips. “I’m sorry to be the one who ruins the fun, but Lady Tara has ordered that the bride and the groom must be separated for the night, not to meet until the ceremony.”

Gale whines unceremoniously and you hold him tighter. “Make me,” you challenge.

Karlach lands a tickle attack.

Instantly the room breaks into chaos. As you and Karlach end up on the floor wrestling in laugher, and Wyll tries to pry Gale away while avoiding the kicks and grabs, you see Da shaking his head with a toothy grin.

He is contented.

--

The time has come for you and Gale to gather before your friends and families.

The ceremony is held at the Heroes’ Garden. When the band starts to play, you step forward with your parents. Two gigantic half-orcs and a delicate human woman proves to be quite a sight. You hold your head up high, letting the moon rays light up the gold braided in your hair and adorning your body.

The aisles of chairs are filled with faces both familiar and unfamiliar. The Dekarios clan does take up a large portion of the seats, all of its members transfixed with curiosity, except for Morena, who looks at you with warm encouragement. Several wizards in formal attire, which you assume are Gale’s closer colleagues, quirk their heads as you walk past.

In comparison, your companions’ reaction are much more passionate. You are grateful to see all of them make it on time. Lae’zel has arrived in the form of a slightly flickering astral projection as promised, giving you an approving nod. Minsc and Boo almost jump up from their seats in excitement, barely held down by Jaheira. You are also greeted by some jolly tieflings, among them Alfira, who is wiping her joyful tears. Next to her a dragonborn stranger is clinging to her, somehow sobbing harder. Even Omeluum and Blurg grace you with their presence, and behind them is Elminster, who has closed his eyes as if enchanted by the melody.

Then you see Jina hugging her two sons, one on each side. You smile and give her a little wave. The boys squeal in excitement, shaking their mother.

Only then do you finally, finally, allow yourself to gaze upon Gale Dekarios, your husband-to-be, standing before the altar in his full glory. He looks back at you with the same fervor, his eyes wide with amazement, as if he cannot believe his sight, his luck. As he slowly exhales, you can tell that he is trying hard to control his expression. Wyll, who is standing next to him, gives him a supportive little bump.

He is so beautiful, and in a moment, he will be yours. You will away a primal urge to claim him right then and there, and instead nod to Halsin, signaling for him to start the ceremony.

--

“And now, standing among Nature and the beauty of Oak Father’s abundant creation, the bride and the groom shall exchange these rings to seal the vows.”

Wyll brings out a pair of earrings, two simple golden pieces adorned with blue sapphires. You have chosen the form of an earring instead of one worn on the finger to avoid the jewelry getting in the way of a throwing fist. Gale has chosen the style, opting for stones that speak of loyalty, of the joining of your souls.

His tender fingers reach out to you, quivering slightly as he lets out a shaking breath. They glaze past your cheek before reaching their destination, and gently fix the small adornment on your left ear lobe. You grin at him, and he mirrors you.

You then reach for him, your thumb wiping away his tears in a featherlight stroke, before slipping to his ear. There his silver earring confronts you, dangling. You slowly remove it, resisting the urge to dump it somewhere far, and drop it into his palm.

Because for him, keeping the symbol of Mystra is less about clinging to a lost love than a continuous process to navigate her inevitable role in his life, for the past, the present, and the future. You know that as a wizard, he will always be connected to her in one way or another, but in what ways, he will have to decide for himself. For so long you have waited, and now the time has come. In the meantime, you silently replace the empty space with your shared symbol of love, giving him a new anchor.

When you are finished, he lowers his gaze to his open hand.

He closes it, and with a deep breath throws the earring into the pond behind you. Someone in the crowd cheers.

With that, you crush your lips into his. You are now as much of a Dekarios as he is a Riversong, your dancing tongues celebrating your union. His scent of sandalwood embraces you fully, as much as your musk, a mixture of the warmth of the sun and the freshness of the soil, fills up his world. You cup his face, pulling him even closer. 

“Welcome home,” he mumbles against your lips.

--

Some parts deep inside you wish the morning light would never come. You wonder, when you were sixteen and ready to leave, did your parents feel the same?

Yet after all the singing and dancing and feasting, the dawn does break, and now you are standing at the city gates of Waterdeep, with your parents and your new husband by your side.

More have come. Your companions, having now made the acquaintance of your father, march together from the garden to the gate. Karlach has picked a weapon with him from the collection you have built up during your shared adventure. You are still in your wedding dress, your dreadlocks styled by your mother into a gilded braid, spiraled like a crown on your head. A simple golden necklace sits on your exposed collarbones, shiny against your purplish skin. Ma told you that it was something she had worn on the day she followed Da into the wild. You touch its chain softly, worshipping the memory it carries.

Your father seems joyful. He has told you, with spoken words more verbose than usual, how honored he is to be seen off by the Heroes of Baldur’s Gate. A sign of fortune, of victory.

He stands in front of Gale and greets him with a bow. Gale, though with turmoil in his eyes, returns the gesture. You remember how Gale struggles to see absence as an act of love, growing up with a father who disappeared without a word, leaving him and his mother to mend their broken hearts.

Da then walks to Ma and cups her face with his palm. Gently, their foreheads rest against each other.

“ELENA, MY LOVE,” he says. “BE WELL.”

And Ma simply nods with a smile, eyes shimmering. Everything that needs to be said has already been conveyed through decades of companionship.

Finally, he walks to you.

“MY GIRL, DO NOT GRIEVE MY DEPARTURE.” He holds your gaze, intense as forge flame. “IN SOLITUDE WE COME, IN SOLITUDE WE GO. SUCH IS OUR PRIDE, THE DESTINY OF A HALF-ORC.”

At the corner of your eye you see Gale turn away, the words too heavy for him to bear. He has just welcomed you into his embrace, far from ready for a foretelling of parting. Your heart aches for him, so you must ask—

“What about for a half-human?”

Gale’s eyes snap back to you, and for a while your father is startled. Then, a beam, the brightest you have ever seen, blossoms on his face. With his wrinkles softened by the morning sunlight, he suddenly looks young again. Perhaps that was what he looked like when Ma first met him, when he saved her from an orc raid all those years ago.

“THAT, MY GIRL, IS FOR YOU TO FIND OUT.”

You snort. What a cheeky answer from him, your lifelong coach on half-orc matters. You suddenly realize that perhaps what he has been teaching you was just his own experience, as a wandering lone ranger who fought his way out of servitude and into a noble’s heart. That perhaps there was never just one way to be a half-orc, a half-human, or anything between and beyond. So, you call to him, a resigned grin on your face.

“Go then, Da, my savage father. Walk far and wide, and be the fiercest of them all.”

With a roaring laugher, he marches, unwavering, towards the breaking dawn.

Chapter 5

The reason this chapter took forever was actually because of the illustration lol

My ambitious ass tries to capture all the key themes in this chapter in one drawing, so the complexity of it worsens my procrastinating tendency sigh

Anyway, it is here now! I have been looking forward to posting this. I see this chapter as an experiment to juxtapose the beginning and the end of a relationship.

Thank you for reading till the end. Would love to hear your thoughts :D

More of my works: Here

[pepi1989]

Don't mind me, just crying over this. Meds got me all emotional lol

Game, Set, Love - Ben Shelton

The racket squeaks against the ground as you adjust your grip, watching from the sidelines while Ben gathers the kids around for some sort of impromptu tennis lesson. It was supposed to be a private training session for the two of you, but the moment a group of kids wandered onto the court, Ben's focus shifted entirely.

"Alright, who's up first?" Ben calls, his voice light and easy, as one of the little boys proudly steps forward, gripping a racket almost too big for him.

You can’t help but laugh quietly, leaning against the fence as Ben crouches down to meet the kid at eye level. He's careful as he shows the boy how to hold the racket correctly, his hands guiding the small ones with such tenderness that it makes your heart flutter. Ben looks over his shoulder at you, flashing a wink that sends warmth rushing to your cheeks.

For the next half hour, Ben is in full coach mode, giving out compliments, high-fiving every little accomplishment, and being so damn patient when the balls are flying everywhere but over the net. You just watch, entranced by how natural it is for him to be around these kids, smiling every time one of them shouts his name or shows off a new trick.

"Ben, did you see that?!" one of the boys exclaims after managing to make a decent hit, and Ben’s laugh fills the air, his pride obvious.

"I saw it! You're a pro, buddy."

And that’s when it hits you, right there in the middle of this chaotic tennis court: this man is going to be the most amazing dad one day. The way he’s so gentle with them, so encouraging, so Ben… It's almost too much.

You bite your lip, heart swelling at the thought. When one of the little girls runs straight into Ben’s arms, wrapping her tiny arms around his legs, you know you’re a goner.

Once the kids finally head off the court, still chattering excitedly about their new 'coach,' Ben walks over to you, a bright smile on his face. His hair is messy, cheeks flushed from all the running around, and he's absolutely glowing.

"So," he says, reaching for your hand and intertwining your fingers. "What'd you think of my coaching skills?"

You smirk, leaning in close. "I think… you’re gonna make one hell of a dad someday."

Ben’s eyes widen just slightly, and you can see the way the words hit him, the way they warm his whole expression. He’s speechless for a second, blinking like he’s not sure he heard you right.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, pulling you just a little closer.

"Yeah," you repeat softly, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "We're definitely having babies one day."

And just like that, his face breaks into the softest smile you've ever seen, a mixture of love and joy and pure excitement. He squeezes your hand, his voice low and gentle as he says, "You have no idea how much I love hearing that."

Your heart races, and for a moment, it's like the world narrows down to just the two of you. Ben leans down, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips, and you know, deep down, that this moment? It’s just the beginning.

[dotcie]

— BAD DOG. [2]

》 PAIRING: simon 'ghost' riley x f!oc 》 NOTES: taglist is open! please let me know if you want to be added or removed. if you don't care about my OC, you can skip her backstory on ao3. 》 WARNINGS: 18+ | MDNI | hair pulling 》 CHAPTER: 3.9k | 2/? [masterlist] | AO3

Before she met Laswell, Jane did media monitoring for the DISA. 

It paid well for a job straight out of undergrad. Had reasonable hours, pleasant enough colleagues. She commuted the twenty minutes from her shitty apartment in Kingman Park to the Pentagon—arrived at seven forty-five with a cream cheese bagel and a skim milk latte. Wrote reports, emails, and memos. Hours and hours of political speeches, barking rifles, and screaming civilians ingrained in her brain. 

''Like a fucked up collage of the human greed for oil and retribution,'' she once called it over an almost empty espresso martini. Condensation pearled off the glass's rim and pooled on the table of an overpriced speakeasy bar, so unimpressive it was not worth remembering its name. Her questionable Tinder date had been late, his small-talk rather boring; No, she didn't like her job. Who ever did? But rent was expensive in DC, and Jane had student loans, expensive taste, and maybe eight hundred dollars in her checking account. 

She covered newsstreams out of Egypt, Lebanon, and Jordan. Iraq, and Yemen. Algeria. Libya.

Ate lunch at her desk—usually a salad and a protein bar, four busy screens in front of her. 

Had meetings with Cairo, Beirut, Amman, Baghdad, Sana'a, Algiers, and Tripoli.

She joined the white-collar crowd on their evening run around the Mall after work. From the Capitol steps to the Lincoln Memorial, around the reflecting pool. Two times, sometimes three. Always depending on the restlessness that hummed in her bones and tingled in her fingertips. 

Jane shoved her damp hair up with a clip and hopped on the blue metro line afterwards; sweaty and breathless, body humming with spent energy. She stopped at Whole Foods on her way home; bought dinner-for-one and a four-pack of sugar free Redbull. Put on noise canceling headphones without listening to anything on her way home—spying into warm lit windows and other people's lives. 

She ate in bed, crouched over her Macbook, the TV always set to CNN. She practiced Arabic. Scrolled through subreddits about zero-day exploits, but never commented on them. Went to bed late, woke up early. Got up the next day and did it all over again. 

Washington is a big city, in a big country, in a big world, and nothing ever changed. Jane just sat in her gunny-covered cubicle and watched whole cities crumble to dust like sandcastles. The local newspapers only covered a watered-down version of the turmoil overseas, but the mental images were always in the back of her head—no matter how loud she turned the TV. 

It's all part of a grand plan, she told herself. Just another rung on the ladder, an essential middle-step in her career. It was comfortable and disturbing. Exciting enough, but nothing impactful.

Nothing with an edge. 

The job had a sky-high turnover; a bad impact on employees. Turns out, swallowing the documentation of invasions, and civil wars, and an endless flow of American exceptionalism was only manageable for a couple of months. Jane became miserable and angry. Tired and strung-out. When handing in her two-weeks notice without a back-up plan, her supervisor accepted the neatly printed note with tired eyes and an annoyed flick of the wrist. 

Her therapist blamed her sense of weightlessness for everything she did afterwards: the thrill-seeking, the risk-taking. All her screw-ups in pursuit of sticking her fingers in better pies. When the agency sent her to the embassy in Urzikstan, Jane canceled her rent-controlled apartment lease early and donated most of her belongings to the Habitat For Humanity in Capitol Hill. Burning the boats, she called it. 

For months, no one could get a hold of her. 

Analyst positions for counter-terrorism overseas will chew you up and spit out your bones, a friend in the IOC had warned her. Jane was up for it anyway—of course she was. She had witnessed a few horrendous things through screens in Washington, but nothing compared to the situation in Sakhra. Like most soul-crushing things in life, it all wasn't real until it was. 

The first time she experienced the ruthlessness of the real world, a local contractor whose family was killed by American soldiers blew up half a base with some DIY C4. 12 soldiers dead, 24 injured. If not for Laswell yanking her into the shadows behind a M1A2 when panic erupted, she would have been trampled to death under the burning afternoon sun. 

Instead, Jane heaved, and coughed, then sank to the dusty ground with ringing ears. Kate towered over her with a drawn P890, yelling all-too-calmly over the wailing of sirens: You have twenty seconds to get it together.

They made her take time off two years later, after a black site she was stationed at suffered another, similar attack. Jane was resentful of it, but she wanted to keep her clearance, so she left with the next supply plane and said what she needed to say to pass the psych evaluation. 

She considered moving back into her grandparents ranch in Arizona. Maybe traveling through Europe, starting a new hobby (rock climbing, pottery, crocheting); but there was no real drive or push behind it. Instead, she bled in secret. Fucked strangers on her frameless king-size mattress and worked out too much in her unfurnished apartment. She got offers; a few private-sector contracts she knew she couldn't entertain. Jane wanted to stick it out with the agency—and Laswell. Especially with Laswell. 

The first question Shepherd asked her when she stepped into his office was if she had any family; a partner, kids, siblings. Parents to take care of. The General asked bluntly, but Jane was used to force as the most efficient method to get answers. 

She had spent three years interrogating Al-Qatala members and contacts. Trading money, safety, and threats for intelligence. Sleeping through the sound of gunfire, bystanding interrogations, interpreting intelligence, and snooping in places Americans aren't supposed to. Jane had left her old life behind and dove head-first into a tunnel vision.

No. She had no one. 

When saying it out loud she almost sounded proud. 

Working for the General is different. Non-official cover work for SAD intel suits her better—scratches a certain itch, too. Like finally tasting blood after biting your tongue for years. 

Laswell has been helpful, the additional training too; but nothing ever prepared her for the void between long-term missions. When the work is done and restlessness returns in weird jet-lagged hours of the fading days. When there are no objectives to sink her teeth into. No foreign streets to roam under false identities. No predictions to be made, no strings to pull. 

She's stuck in Iceland now, attending debrief after debrief. Her target is dead, the missile prototypes returned to the lab, but that isn't enough. They want to know everything. First the higher-ups at the Headquarters, then the Senate Intelligence Committee. They want the process. The months of searching, the people involved, the rules she broke. 

She did a good job, she got what she wanted, but she is part of Shepherd's system now, and he didn't approve of her moving forward with the operation. 

Since she returned to the lab, he hadn't answered any of her calls. 

Ghost is nothing but a silhouette in the low light of the crescent moon; sitting against a weathered wall of heavy concrete, a half-burned cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Insects batter against a naked lightbulb overhead—the light orange and warm against the dark of night, casting long, unproportionate shadows over the smoking area. 

The sky hangs bruised and stormy over Vatnajökull, a million stars dotting the night. It's quarter to one, and the grounds of 102 are deadly still—so still, that the sound of a nearby metal door opening and closing shut remind him of gunshots piercing through the air. 

Years ago, he would have flinched at the sound, but there is not much left that startles Simon Riley anymore. 

Jane tips her head back in annoyance as she steps outside, cradling her phone between ear and shoulder. ''Listen—,'' she scolds into it, patting the outside of her clothes for the pack of cigarettes she bought from one of the kitchen workers yesterday. ''Louise, right? Louise, with all due respect—'' 

She takes a deep breath of restraint when she finds nothing but a crumbled straw wrapper in the pockets of her leather jacket. Sharp words spill on the other end of the line, and she squeezes her eyes shut, pinches the bridge of her nose. ''I'm not going to argue with some mid-level bureaucrat, get him on the phone— No, no, you listen! I need a black passport, don't— Fuck—'' 

Jane's grip on the iPhone loosens with the sound of a disconnected call echoing blatantly against her ear. Simon can hear her mutter a spool of curses, the sound of gravel screeching under her feet, and how all sound seizes as she pauses at the sight of him. 

The smoking area is dimly lit, but there's no mistaking the broad-shouldered figure with the cramped up skull mask looming in the corner of the building. Simon appeared in her sight so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that Jane would not be surprised if he materialized out of thin air. It would suit him; Ghost that he is.

Smoke pools out of the soldier's mouth, the balaclava pulled up to his nose; exposing a sharp chin with a shadow of stubble forming its way up a jaw set tight. He is hunched over, his elbows digging into his thighs. He doesn't look up to see that the expression on her face is one of mute surprise, or that her eyes narrow at the sight of him. 

''Thought you'd be gone already,'' she calls over, lounging near the door she slipped out of. 

''Change of plans,'' he returns easy and low, eyes glued to the book in his calloused hands. 

It's only been a few days, but his voice is as deep and as resonant as Jane remembers; it fills the air and makes her blood rush with the mental images of his fingertips digging into her skin. 

There's always a certain quietness after she's been fucked good—the world stands still for a moment, and it helps to quench the thirst, to fill the void.

Jane needs to hold something in her arms sometimes. Something unattainable and distant. Something unwise. Something like him. 

''Mind if I bum one?'' She nods to the lit cigarette between his scarred fingers, stepping closer.

For a split second, she thinks he's going to ignore her—then he dog-ears the page he was reading and abandons the book onto his lap. 

Simon looks up all casually and unfazed, shakes his head. 

''Last one,'' he says, half-lidded stare fixed on her in that particular Ghost sort-of-way. The way he always gets when you rip out the half-assed social niceties and expose the weirdo underneath. 

Jane exhales through her nose, leaning against a pole holding up the roof. The urge for frustration refuses to be ignored, so she buckles, comments: ''Of course,'' like she's taking notes on the irony of it all. 

''Stop pondering, will ya?'' Inhaling another mouthful of tar, Simon stretches out along the bench, crossing his booted feet at the ankles. The set of dog tags around his neck clink together when he scratches the underside of his chin. "No point in gettin' all antsy." 

She shoots him a cold, hard look for it—the one that makes his blood sing, makes him remember the expression in her eyes when she told him she wanted her target dead. 

''Thank you, Simon, for your unsolicited wisdom.'' 

The subtle fuck you isn't boarded in her voice, but it throbs under every word of hers. He doesn't bother scolding her for saying his name again, but the bitter taste of disapproval sure does coat his tongue. He's not foolish enough to argue with her when she's like this; all gutted and pent-up. Ready to hiss, bite, and lunge at his throat. 

The familiarity of it all stirs something up in him. For a moment, Ghost almost believes that it's sympathy, maybe—or at least a pinch of pity. A distant part of his mind remembers the dogged woman he faced when they first met; working out of a one-room shithole in a broken-down, brutalist apartment building somewhere in the Balkans. Reviewing surveillance logs, transcripts, and maps in shorts and a sports bra because the AC was utter rubbish. He recalls her hunched figure and unwashed hair as she worked out of the tiny living room—the space a mess of cables and empty microwave meals, her tech always charging. Her curtains always closed, dust dancing in the beams of light that crept their way inside.

Two days after the exfil, he barely recognized her anymore; with fresh clothes, twelve-hours of sleep, and hair neatly cut to a shoulder-length. It was like meeting a stranger, a whole different woman. He was certain, then, that the only way out for her was the same as his: leaving rotten and zipped up in a body bag.

Simon holds his half-smoked cigarette out to her, and she lets her head roll to consider the silent peace-offer. Her expression bleeds into something less angry in the face of him, and she hates that it makes him snort in response. 

Jane gives him the illusion of thinking it over before breaking away from her frozen stance and closing the distance between them. She takes the stub, and sinks onto the wooden bench next to him.

''Thanks.'' — ''Mhmh.''

Even with some distance between them, Simon towers over her. He doesn't make a sound, doesn't attempt to embarrass himself with comforting words and distracting small-talk. He's quiet—a man of few words and fewer smiles—but that's what drew her to him in the first place. There's caution behind his eyes, and his words are always cleaved off at the knee. A person weathered and hardy. A man who, just like her, has seen things most wouldn't even believe.

They both fall quiet passing the cigarette back and forth, and for a moment he thinks that the conversation has faded out completely. Simon's eyes return to the book in his lap, trying to find the spot where he left off before she interrupted him, but— 

''Do you think I went too far?'' Jane keeps her eyes forward, burying her free hand in the left pocket of her jacket. 

Simon hums in response, dark and low. ''Doesn't matter what I think,'' he says in a way that makes it clear he believes it, too.

''But you are somewhat capable of forming opinions, yeah?'' 

It coaxes a half-huff, half-laugh from him. He gets it. Logically, he gets it. Everybody is somebody's dog, hanging onto a leash; but he's military, and he much prefers to not comment on any of it. 

''You ignored authority,'' he starts, then pauses. ''Whether or not it was worth it, all y'can do now is handle the repercussions.'' 

''That's not an answer.'' Two dimples appear on either side of Jane's frown as she tucks some loose strands of hair behind her ears and leans forward. ''Forget I even—''

''I think," he interrupts calmly, but stern, ''that your self-doubt won't help you.''

Jane keeps her gaze flat, level. Perhaps if she mimics the face of apathy, Simon won't be able to see that she's hanging onto every word of his. What he says resonates; a quiet truth echoing through the air between them. The regret in her chest strikes like a bomb and for a moment, she fears the possibility of Shepherd cutting her TS/SCI clearance once and for all. She's been ignoring the thought, avoiding any evidence of worry that could shape her suspicions into something tangible, something real.

''Just thinking ahead'' she says quietly, scuffing her boot against the pavement below. "Little catastrophizing, worst-case-scenario planning." 

"Doomsday prepping?" He offers and gets a little smile for that. 

His chest tightens at the sight, an aching warmth interweaving his thoughts with sympathy. He looks away then, trying to collect himself. Seeking control, reaching for reason. Better judgment. Something else.

Jane studies his side profile for a moment, and Simon suddenly feels like she's too close, too comfortable in his presence. It's only a split second, the length of a heartbeat, but it's enough for Jane to take in the way he blinks his intrusive thoughts away. 

''Why are you still here, anyway?'' She asks in a change of tone, plucking the cigarette from his fingers.

''Taking a break,'' he drawls, words dripping slowly as molasses from his mouth. There is no further explanation offered, no words wasted on reasons or truths. Simon blinks languidly, his lips pressing together as he closes his book for good. 

''Because of Soap?'' There's an off-tone in her voice. ''I thought he is getting better already?"

Simon exhales roughly. ''No,'' he says with a lazy shrug. ''Yes.'' 

It's short and curt, but she doesn't let his vague hostility deter her. Jane just stares at him, impatience reflecting in her eyes, and he's not used to it; all the questions, the curiosity. 

''Do you know,'' he continues slowly, taking the cigarette back to keep his hands busy, ''the number of classifications and regulations I'd have to ignore to tell you shite like this?'' 

It's easier than admitting that he failed his psych evaluation for a second time in three years. 

Price is doing the paperwork for him, because they apparently want to negotiate some kind of terms for him. No rumors, no records, no further questions asked. Simon would be mad about it, if he wasn't so bloody tired. 

It's been years of regaining control and gripping bloody bathroom sinks. Endless hours of running, shooting, yelling over comms, and saving Johnny from the stupid, stupid shit he gets up to when nobody's there to keep an eye out for him. Simon is not a reckless man—at least not when he doesn't let his rage blind him—but you can't teach an old dog new tricks. 

He's not sure why he hasn't been able to admit to himself that his life has been nothing but fear, rage, vigilance, wanting, and searching, wanting, and never finding what eases the pain. 

He knows that Price goes back to a Rosewood desk with whisky and cigars in the upper right drawer, before driving home to a house and a woman that were once his. Laswell has a wife named June and a flourishing garden waiting at home. Gaz goes back to a two-bedroom flat in London, decorated by a girl he met during the siege of the U.S. embassy in Urzikstan. Simon doesn't have anywhere to be—nobody's waiting for him—so he stays. For Soap, he tells himself, and everyone who's paid to listen. 

The Scot's injuries happened under his watch, so he might as well play messenger for his moms, sisters and one-thousand nephews until he can travel back home. It's what a good Lieutenant does. It's what Price would do. 

''Alright,'' Jane says cold, flatly. ''It's none of my business anyway.'' 

She declines the last drag of the cigarette when Simon offers it to her, and he can't help but feel like he's been rude; like he just ruined something delicate. A particular flavor of guilt clings to the underside of his tongue, and he's willing to answer whatever her next question might be in order to make it up to her. 

He stubs out the cigarette, and it takes a moment or two before he realizes that his guilt is the reason she gave in so quickly in the first place.

''I'm not gonna tell ya,'' he says, prompting a smile to tug at the corners of her mouth; like she doesn't fully believe it, but is willing to play along. 

He is too exhausted to not condemn her for it, so he covers himself in heavy silence. Simon doesn't break eye contact, doesn't move—his dark glance intervenes with the amusement in her eyes, and when the quiet stretches on for too long, her eyes dart to his exposed lips shamelessly. 

''Anyone ever tell ya' to mind yer' own business, Spade?''

It coaxes a genuine laugh out of her. Simon is not sure he's ever heard her laugh before; the way the sound bubbles out of her throat, limpid and clear, and then almost turns into a snort. 

''I like you,'' she says pointedly, with purpose. 

"You're just bored.'' — ''And you aren't?" 

Simon remains silent, and the glint in her glance grows bright, pinning. Like she just learned a secret; an inside joke. 

It's unhealthy, this habit she's developed of digging her fingers in his wounds. She feels like a parasite trying to crawl under his skin, and she should probably feel far more ashamed of how much she enjoys the thrill of it. 

She has heard the stories, of course. The legends about the masked, faceless man; the perfect soldier, the silent killer. Everyone affiliated with Shepherd or Shadow Company in the slightest is aware of Ghosts' reputation, and Jane had been curious to meet the man. Dead-eyed, mass of muscle. A walking depiction of death. 

The warning signs about him are written in blood, telltale stories, and that half-lidded stare of his; Stay away, they say. Keep your distance. 

''Don't—,'' he starts with the exhaustive sort of contempt: the kind that says he is tired and bored of this tedious game. ''Don't look at me like that.''

Jane bats her eyelashes at him. ''Like what?''

 ''Like you want something from me.''

''Maybe I do—''

"You don't,'' he interrupts, tongue like a blade. ''All bark no bite, last time I fucked you.'' 

In some twisted ways, his fury excites her. The insistence on his dominance, too, and Jane laughs out loud at words that don't sting. She's practiced; chin tipped up, meeting his disapproving stare with a smirk.

''You ever let anyone kiss you, Lieutenant?''

He looks away, hisses through his teeth in frustration. ''That what you want?''

''I think,'' Jane retorts in a tone both cruel and tender, ''you want it, too.''

The hard look in his eyes lets something uncurl in her. Something satisfied, something real. 

''You do,'' she says again, and then he's on her; hand tangled in her hair, pulling her close. His grip on her scalp is not gentle, nothing about him is, and she smiles—shows teeth—at the broad display of it. 

Simon stares at her for a long moment, a frustrated hum forming at the back of his throat. She can feel his breath on her face. Almost hears the whir of the wheels turning in his head; calculating, calibrating. 

''You don't know what you're getting yourself into,'' he finally says, loosening his grip. 

''I've done worse,'' she spits out, pulling away. 

It happens somewhere between her leaning back and him not wanting her to. It happens and it's familiar, and new all at once; the way he stops her from turning away, pulls her closer by a fist of hair. He kisses her like he does everything else: a little cocky, a little mean. Their teeth clack together, and Simon kisses Jane long and searching—like he was waiting for it to happen.

Like he means it. 

》 Previous Part | Next Part 》 Masterlist.

》 Tag-list: @devcica @glitterypirateduck @queen-ilmaree @widemiffyhappy @cathnoneofyourbusiness

[deanwithscissors]

Payback’s A Bitch

Title: Home Sweet Home Timestamp

Pairing: Jensen X Reader

Word Count: 1381

Warnings: Swearing, dirty talk, masturbation (f), throat holding, mentions of: nudes, spanking, degrading names, face fucking, hair pulling and edging, dom!jensen, punishment, unprotected sex, cream pie, tiny slither of angst

Summary: [Y/N]’s paying her dues for sending Jensen naughty pictures while he was with friends

Home Sweet Home Masterlist | Jensen Masterlist

A/N: jensen smut because this picture triggered everyone right?!🥲 *all mistakes are mine* feedback is appreciated, but be kind <3

It had been almost three hours since their first kiss, [Y/N] had been ordered and folded into every position possible within that time. 

Her face had been fucked, hair pulled, ass slapped, tits manipulated, clit teased and pussy hammered, and now she was riding Jensen cowgirl style in the enormous hotel bed.  

At first her back was poker straight, shoulders stretched wide and chest pushed out as she rampantly bounced on him and followed his every order. 

But now, her body was weak and slumped as she barely rocked, fatigue setting in and eating her energy.  

Her ass inflamed, bright red and pulsing from the abuse it’d taken, her lips swollen and exploited, throat burning from when he fucked her face. Her pussy red raw and aching, mind completely blown and core destroyed.  

“Jen- I- I’m tired,” she whimpered, beads of sweat trickled down her back.  

“You’re almost there, keep going,” he told her. 

“I- can’t,” her eyes fluttered closed as she swayed. 

“C’mon just a little bit more, you can do it baby.” 

She groaned as she began to roll harder and circle her clit with fatigued fingers obeying his command. His use of the word ‘baby’ energising her to carry on. 

Her thighs burned as hot as the pits of hell. It felt as if she’d done five hundred squats in a row, but apparently three hours of a clenching cunt could replicate that feeling. 

She wanted to beg him to finish her, just end it, let the suffering cease, but she knew he’d refuse. 

She’d gotten herself into this position and she had to pay. She knew that when she sent those raunchy pictures to Jensen fully aware he was at dinner with friends.  

Although, if you asked her, it was his fault for having flowing locks of shiny hair, piercing green eyes that swallowed her whole, a perfectly trimmed beard and that damn white long-sleeved top he decided to wear that day.  

In this state Jensen could only finish once she had come over his dick, but due to his extreme stubbornness, he had one rule to fully satisfy himself and fulfill her punishment; She was to use him to get her there. 

If she wanted this torture to end, she’d have to do it herself.  

Sometimes his appetite was grueling, wearing her down to the bone and squeezing the life from her, but this was beyond anything he’d put her through before. 

Of course, she could give as good as she got, but he could destroy her by a single look and make her come with just his voice. A God among men for sure.  

He was buried so deep inside her, she could feel him in her guts as he stretched her hole to the point of pain. 

“Jensen—” she moaned, “t-talk to- me.” 

Almost sobbing, she was desperate for the torment to end and too tired to get herself over the hill alone. 

“Is my baby all fucked out?” He asked, his voice wrecked and gravely, worn out from directing and taunting her for hours.  

“Y-esss.” She rocked and rubbed in a hypnotic rhythm as her skin bubbled with the heat increasing in her core. 

“You deserved it, didn’t you?” 

“Y-yes.” 

“Sendin’ me those filthy photos with your wet pussy on display while I’m out with friends, you knew what that’d do to me.” 

His hand was around her throat in a flash, like a pillar he kept her upright with his fingers denting her flesh, not forceful enough to restrict her breathing, but a decent amount of pressure to cause a little discomfort. 

Discomfort that only tripled the thrill for her as she slaved for his mercy.  

“I— did.” 

“You’re a filthy little slut, aren’t you?” His grip tightened ever so slightly, threatening her jugular vein.  

“Only for you,” she choked out.  

“Damn fuckin’ right, you’re my girl,” he growled, thrusting with all his might. 

Screaming out and falling forward, a ripple of pleasure shot through her mind, body and soul as his dick relentlessly barreled inside her.  

“How close are you?” 

“The— edge," she stuttered as his swollen head ravaged her tunnel.  

“How many times have you cum tonight?” 

“I- I, don’t—” 

“Yes, you do," he said sternly, sending a shiver ricocheting down her vertebrae. 

“Fo- five.” 

“Just one more, okay?”  

She groaned, crumbling further into his hand. "P-please Jensen." 

“Have I ruined you baby?” His plump tongue danced along his bottom lip as a devilish grin made home on his face. Pride and joy flashed through his eyes as he sneered, under her, but still in complete control.  

“Oh fuck,” she gasped as his thick throbbing shaft scraped along her inner walls, stretching her entrance to bursting point. 

She was so close, just one more little nudge— 

“Have I?” His voice lowered further and his fingers dug unforgivingly into her thigh and her throat. 

The deep bass from his words trembled over her skin, rumbled through her core and rattled her bones.  

She rode him furiously and hammered her clit, holding her breath every few seconds, inflating her lungs and tightening her core as the electrified pleasure burst through her veins, ravished her muscles and pushed her to the edge. The havoc bubbled inside, causing wave after wave of pure pleasure to tear at her soul, the almighty warmth building and building… 

Until her entire body went into rigor mortis. 

Freezing midair, back arched and mouth open, she was silent as unfiltered love from his punishment overwhelmed her small vibrating vessel.  

Holding onto his shoulders for dear life she screamed holy murder as the coil snapped, sending shrapnel everywhere, obliterating her insides, melting her brain and destroying her pussy.  

The world dismantled around her, the bed rocking as if on a stormy sea, her vision blurry and head woozy as she ascended to paradise while her orgasm ripped through her.  

"That's it baby, cum for me," Jensen encouraged as he began thrusting up into her rapidly, ready to blow himself, now that she had. 

She surrendered to her sixth orgasm, collapsing onto his chest in hysterical sobs, like a dead weight, but utterly relieved the end was here.  

Whimpering, gasping and shaking, he continued to relentlessly pound into her, chasing his own end. 

And after hours of buildup, it didn't take him long to catch it. 

His hips jutted into her as spurts of his seed flowed inside her hungry cunt and he roared just as loud as she had screamed. 

Hours of edging maximized his climax tenfold, it was glorious, furious, hectic and exhilarating, like the mother of all storms it battered him from all sides, not an inch of his body or soul being forgiven for his wicked little sins.  

His embrace tightened as he rolled through the aftermath, his dick still twitching, but balls empty.  

Sobs escaped her mouth and filled the room, just like he had promised, as she lay on top of him, essentially nothing more than a rattling corpse. 

“Are you okay?” He asked between gasps of air, the post-nut-clarity hitting hard.   

“Y-eah,” she mumbled into his chest without moving. 

“I love you,” Jensen said, kissing her hair. 

“I love you too.” 

After an ethereal and soothing comedown without words, wrapped in the bedsheet, each other and the serenity of passion, Jensen broke the silence. 

“I didn’t go too hard tonight?” 

“Of course not, I would’ve used the word, you know that,” she assured him.  

“I know, but, y’know.” 

“You’d think after seventeen years together you’d stop askin’.” 

“Do you remember what happened in LA a few years ago?” As soon as the words fell out his mouth, he regretted them. “I’m sorry, I just meant—” 

“I know. I love that you still ask me. It means you care, even after all these years.” 

“Forever babe.” 

“And always.” 

The couple had stayed in the position they’d finished in, love locking them together to relish in the gratification of the evening’s adventures, his dick big enough to remain inside her despite being completely soft.  

And although her punishment was complete, Jensen wasn’t done with her yet; Now he had to make love to her, make her feel like a celebrated Queen and a worshipped Goddess in the wake of the relentless discipline she’d taken so well. 

[fallinginvictus]

do you have any wips at all for the time loop au? 🙏🙏

WIP Wednesday Andrew & Aaron Time Loop AU

I haven't had time to write lately so I only have a tiny little bit of the first part of chapter 3 and I'm not actually sure that's how it's going to stay when I actually post the whole chapter but I'll post anyways.

part one

part two

tw: character death, suicide, mention of drug abuse, Tilda, suicidal thoughts

“You're a parasite,” his mother had told him once when he was five, her head resting on the couch, her black eyes staring at the ceiling, her clouded mind lost in the high. “You suck everything out of me and then still expect me to give you more of my love.”

Aaron stood there for a second, his puffy little hands holding tightly onto the drawing he had been trying to show her, the mother he had drawn staring lovingly at him, the mother in real life taking a puff of her cigarette, her eyes never leaving the ceiling, never looking at her son.

“I just wanted to give you the gift that I made you,” he tried to defend himself with a pout on his lips, hoping his mother would want to look at it, look at him. Hoping she would smile and thank him for his thoughtfulness, for his kindness. Hoping she would acknowledge his existence.

“I just wanted,” his mother repeated mockingly, grey smoke slithering out of her lips. “That's all you do, Aaron. You want and you want and you want and you never once think about how much you take from people. As long as you get what you want you are willing to suck me dry.”

“I-I wasn't asking to take anything,” he said softly, tears pooling in his eyes. “I just wanted to give you a gift to make you happy.”

At those words his mother's gaze finally turned towards Aaron, her black eyes looking straight through him.

“To make me happy?” she scoffed before extending her long, pale fingers towards him. “Show me then.”

Aaron hesitated for a second, his hold on his precious drawing getting tighter, the paper wrinkling in his hands.

“Come on now,” his mother tilted her head, a grin painted on her thin lips, her coral-red lipstick a little smudged. “You wanted to show me my gift, so show me my gift.”

Aaron stepped forward, a spark of hope lighting inside of his chest, the drumming of his own heart echoing in his ears, a little smile forming on his lips as he carefully handed the drawing to his mum. He had worked on it for hours that morning while she was busy getting high, he had picked his best colours and tried his hardest to stay inside the lines. It was a drawing of his mum and Aaron holding hands, big and happy smiles drawn on their faces, colourful butterflies were dancing all around them and a big yellow sun was shining on the top-right corner of the page.

“This is me and you,” he said as he shily pointed towards the two stick figures on the paper and then he placed a kiss on her cheek, his soft lips meeting the hardness of her cheekbone, his warm hands gently holding onto her cold shoulder. “Do you like it?”

“You made this just for me,” she said, arching a perfectly trimmed brow.

“For my mummy,” he nodded while smiling at her. “A gift to make you happy.”

“Oh, to make me happy you say?” she chuckled. Her tone made Aaron take two steps back and he stumbled a little when his naked feet got tangled in the black carpet. His mother's eyes were cold, the black of her pupils drowning the light brown of her eyes, none of the softness that he sometimes saw in them was visible.

“Yes I-”

“So you didn't give it to me so that I could thank you and tell you how good you are?”

Aaron didn't reply. He hadn't made her the drawing to get compliments but a part of him had still hoped for them, had hoped to hear nice words and receive warm smiles. Had hoped for warmth and love, for attention.

“See Aaron?” she said, her eyes burning holes into his skin. “You pretend to be such a lovely boy who only wants to please others but you can't fool me, I'm your mother. I know you like nobody else does. I put up with it because I love you, but no one else other than me will ever be able to put up with your selfish behaviour, with your endless needs, with your wanting and taking. I can see right through you.”

☆☆

As he lays on his unmade bed, the darkness of his room engulfing his body and his mind, Aaron finally feels light and free, the weight of the sky no longer resting on his shoulders, the cloud of darkness that had for so long engulfed his lungs finally dissipating.

He stays there for a while, staring at the darkness, searching for a crack in his heart, an ounce of doubt in his blood, regret in his mind. He searches thoroughly and critically, every thought gets analysed and pulled apart, every emotion gets dissected and categorised, and only when he's sure that nothing at all has been overlooked he finally gets out of bed, ready to face the final day of his life.

He takes longer than usual in the shower, letting the hot streams of water untangle his muscles, warm his bones. He uses all of his shampoo and conditioner, until there is not one drop left inside the bottles. He lets the water wash over him until it starts to turn cold, until there is no hot water left at all. When he finally steps out of the shower, condensation has filled the air and all of the glass surfaces and mirrors are fogged over. Aaron prefers it that way, he doesn't want to look at his face, doesn't want the reminder of what he's leaving behind. Of who he's leaving behind.

When he looks at his phone it's thirty-two minutes past seven in the morning and Aaron's heart stops beating for a few seconds: Andrew had called him five times.

A few seconds later it rings again, the phone vibrating in his hand as the ringtone fills the air, covering the sound of his now racing heart.

“What? Is something wrong?” Aaron asks as soon as he picks up the phone, worry crawling under his skin and spreading throughout his body, rooting him to the ground. Andrew would never call him of his own free will, he would never contact him unless something had gone terribly wrong.

“Are you still clean?” is what Andrew says from the other side of the line, his voice sounding strange, strained.

“What?” Aaron's blood turns into ice, freezing his veins. His thoughts drift towards the hospital's supply room, towards what he knows will take place that afternoon. For a second, for a naive and stupid second, Aaron feels touched and warmth tries to melt his frozen veins: maybe Andrew still cares for him, he thinks, maybe he still wants for Aaron to be safe.

“Just answer. Are you still clean?”

“Yes, I am. Almost 10 years.”

“Do you feel like using again?” The question feels like a trick, a trap.

“No,” he says and smiles a little: he doesn't feel like using again but it doesn't mean he won't.

“Good. Don't,” Andrew says before hanging up the phone.

Once Andrew's voice is gone and only silence can be heard in his empty house, Aaron feels hollow again. He wants to call his brother back, to hear him talk about his day, his week, his life; he wants to tell him about his annoying neighbour and his stupid little dog that barks all day and night and won't let Aaron rest; he wants to go to a café and eat three different types of cakes and discuss with him which one is better; he wants Andrew to trust him and confide in him; he wants to confess his pain and tell Andrew that there is a tiredness in him that won't ever leave him, that drags him down. He wants Andrew to burst through his door and save him. He wants and wants and wants and he hates his mother for being right: he's a parasite that will never be satisfied. Aaron won't suck Andrew and Nicky dry like he did with his mother.

☆☆

When he was thirteen, Aaron discovered that he had a brother, a twin, and something that he thought had long been lost sparked in chest again after years of laying dormant between his ribs: hope.

The whole night he paced around his bedroom, up and down and down and up, his whole body buzzing with that long forgotten feeling, thoughts getting tangled in his brain as he tried to organise them, to make sense of them.

He had a twin brother.

He stood in front of the broken and dirty floor-length mirror at the side of his room and stared at himself for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a few minutes: in front of him stood his reflection, dark circles under his eyes, hollowed-out cheeks and sharp cheekbones, rosey lips and messy blond hair. Soon enough there wouldn't just be a mindless reflection standing in front of him, but a real-life human with feelings and thoughts, a brother that looked just like him, a twin that had once been part of him, with whom he had shared the first nine months of his life.

He walked towards his desk and ripped a page from his chemistry notebook. He stared at it for a while, thinking about what he should write. He knew he was an unlovable child, he knew his personality was unlikeable and his mere presence exhausting; he wasn't friendly and he wasn't funny, he was neither sweet nor cute and he had never once been good at making friends, but he was desperate, the need to make a good first impression was burnings in his veins.

He picked up a black-ink pen. He had stolen it from one of his classmates, it was new and expensive, the gel ink rich and deep.

Five different times he began to write his letter and five different times he ripped out the page, his hands shaking, his breaths getting erratic. Aaron had never been a writer, had never liked reading, had never cared about literature, often falling asleep during Mr. Jackson lessons and now he could do nothing but curse at himself for such oversight: he didn't want his brother to think of him as an illiterate idiot who couldn't string two sentences together.

Aaron had never felt more dumb than he did on that Thursday evening as he tried his best to present himself as someone that Andrew could love, someone that was worthy of love.

☆☆

“You look happy today Doctor Minyard,” is the first thing he hears when he walks in front of the nurses station. “Did something good happen?”

Aaron smiles at Nurse Mary, “Just a good day,” he shrugs. Maybe it is a lie or maybe it isn't, Aaron isn't sure anymore.

The day passes slowly and then all at once, a strange feeling buzzing under his skin, electricity licking up his veins. He wonders if it's anticipation or dread, joy or sadness. He wonders if maybe it's a mixture of every emotion that he has ever felt throughout his life. It had been so long since he had felt so much and so strongly; it had been so long since he had felt something other than emptiness and loneliness for a prolonged period of time. He can't decide whether he enjoys the feeling or if he despises it.

He feels guilty as he walks towards the supply room: all around him are those afflicted by unimaginable sicknesses and pains and every day and every night they fight as hard they can to keep their lives: they hold on tightly onto a thin rope that is on the brink of snapping, their knuckles white, their hands bloody, their muscles aching from the strain. And here Aaron is, forfeiting his life as if it means nothing.

The keypad beeps four times, short and loud, and then a third time as the door opens. Aaron takes a deep breath as he steps inside and closes the door behind himself, the dim light inside the small room casting shadows on his face, the stale air making him feel as if he's going to suffocate at any moment. There's a thin layer of sweat on his forehead and a slight shake overtakes his hands as he tightly grips the glass vial. He stops for a second as the syringe sinks into the grey rubber stopper, his laboured breaths the only sound inside the quiet room.

There is a second after Aaron sinks the syringe in his body where flashes of Nicky's warm smile and Andrew's concerned face dance behind his eyelids, a moment where he could change his mind, put the syringe away and walk out of that room alive. But the faces disappear as quickly as they had appeared, smothered by the knowledge that he would only suck them dry, that his wants and needs would only ever hurt them. No matter how hard he tries to keep his wants sealed inside of his chest, beneath his ribs, Aaron knows that they would always find a way to escape. He's a parasite, his existence would only ever bring pain to those around him.

He pushes the morphine in his veins.

That morning he had told Andrew that he didn't feel like using again and while it had been true it hadn't been the full truth. Aaron had long since learnt that a drug addict could never stop being a drug addict. He could get clean and he could stay clean, but the addiction would never fully leave him, a part of him would always crave the drugs, the high, like a broken bone that had never healed quite right and would ache when it rained and when it snowed.

When the morphine finally makes its home in his veins, Aaron welcomes her like an old friend. He lets himself feel the euphoria as it rushes through his body and down his veins, as it reaches his every cell. His body goes limp and he slumps against the wall, the syringe slipping from his fingers. Aaron had forgotten what happiness felt like but as he lays on the snow-white hospital tiles, he thinks he has finally found it again. Maybe drugs, he ponders, had been his only real friends.

His brain goes numb after a while, a dense fog making its way inside of his mind, clouding his thoughts, blurring his vision. His body feels heavy and he lets it fall to the ground, the sound of his head forcefully hitting the ground echoing inside of the silent room. Aaron doesn't even notice. Nothing hurts anymore, the constant and unbearable ache that is his loneliness now hidden inside of the dense fog that is clouding his brain.

Why couldn't you make me just a little lovable, Aaron asks God as he falls into darkness. Why do I always have to be alone?

[lavellenchanted]

💛 & OTP: I want the whole damn thing

💛 Reunion Kiss/Relief

Jackson's an interminably long board meeting when it happens, trying to make sense of the world's most boring financial presentation, so he doesn't immediately notice the news bulletin popping up on his phone. It's only when they start hearing voices in the corridor and someone runs past the board room window that they all start to realise something's going on, and Jackson suddenly catches sight of the blinking red notification on his phone screen.

"Multi-car pile up," he explains shortly to the board, already on his feet and heading for the door, scrolling down for more information. "I'm guessing we're the nearest hospital - it's gonna be all hands on deck, so if you're qualified to hold a scalpel, get down to the pit."

(Frank, still holding the clicker for his presentation, looks thoroughly relieved that his only qualification is in accountancy.)

Halfway down the corridor, Jackson stops dead. A cold shiver run down his spine and it feels like his stomach has dropped out of him entirely as he sees the location of the accident. That's April's route to work.

Immediately he brings up her number and dials - but it goes straight to voicemail, and he wants to be sick. He shoots her off a quick text and then tries ringing again and again as he heads down to the E.R.

Each time it goes to voicemail.

He tries to tell himself not to panic. The phone lines are probably horrendously busy with people trying to contact emergency services or friends and family to make sure they're alright, and April not answering might just mean she's not looking at her phone. She's probably trying to help, if she is near there.

He tells himself that, but all he can think of is Ben calling him, telling him he was going to have to perform a C-section on April in her kitchen, of April quarantined behind glass, of watching April on the operating table of Grey-Sloan.

(How much luck can one person have?)

"Pick up, damn it!" he shouts as her voicemail message plays again, and a nurse passing jumps in fright.

"Dr Avery? Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just - I'm worried about my wife."

The word slips out automatically, and it's only after he says it that he remembers that, technically, April isn't his wife any more. Because he was stupid enough to divorce her. They're not even dating, despite the fact that they've been living together since they came to Boston, are raising Harriet together.

And yet he never really stopped thinking of her in that way, did he? Even when they were separated, when he was dating other women, when she was marrying someone else, he still thought of her as his.

"Has a woman called April Kepner been brought in? Late thirties, red hair?"

The nurse shakes her head. "I don't think so - not that I've seen. I'll check for you."

She scurries away, but before Jackson can follow or try to ring April again he's stopped and asked for a consult, and then another, and another, and then he gets pulled into a surgery and loses all track of time.

The whole way through he's repeating silently, Please, God. Please let her be okay. Please let me get another chance. I promise I won't waste this one.

His faith still isn't as strong as April's, he doubts it ever will be. Half the time he's not even really sure what it is he believes in. But it's comforting to pray, whether anyone's listening or not.

When he's finally finished and comes back out into the corridor, he immediately pulls his phone out. It's been nearly five hours, and there's still nothing from April. He wants to scream.

And then -

"There's no signs of internal bleeding, but get a CT scan just to be sure."

He spins round, his heart in his throat. April's just coming out of a patient room with an intern; she's in jeans an a tshirt instead of scrubs, dirt and what looks like splashes of blood staining them, her hair scraped back and a band-aid on her forehead, but she's alive and whole and the most beautiful thing Jackson's ever seen.

"April?"

"Jackson, there you are!" Her face lights up as she turns and sees him. Relief crashing over him, he starts running towards her. "I tried to find you but they said you were in surgery. I came with one of the -"

He cuts her off by pulling her into his arms and soundly kissing her. How she got here doesn't really seem to matter any more, just that she is here and uninjured.

She lets out a little sound of shock, and then melts into him the way she always has, her hands coming up to clutch at his scrubs. The feel of her lips is achingly familiar against his, and he rains kisses down on them, one after another, trying to make up for every time he should have kissed her but didn't. And his heart sings as she lifts herself up on tip-toes and kisses him back, meeting each stroke of his mouth with one of her own.

Finally he pulls back, but only enough to rest his forehead against hers.

"You weren't answering your phone," he says quietly.

"I was doing triage at the scene, and then the battery died. I'm sorry."

"You're alright?"

"Totally fine. I promise."

For the first time since he saw the notification on his phone, he starts to relax.

"Dr Avery?" Glancing up, he sees the nurse he was talking to earlier at the end of the corridor. "You found your wife, then?"

Jackson looks down at April, who's smiling knowingly up at him, a warmth in her eyes that gives him the confidence to reply, "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

kiss prompts