#grey's anatomy scenarios

[astralflower-writes]

how we met (prequel)

♡ pairing: mark sloan x female! reader

♡ genre: fluff

♡ warnings: slightly suggestive content

♡ read heart like yours here

♡ check out my grey's anatomy masterlist here

"so, let us close our knees and get back to our jobs. so he can get back to his job and help the people that really need it." you heard someone say as you walked towards the main lobby where it seems almost half of the nursing staff was gathered.

after them dispersing to where they're needed. you see two doctors. "hi. i was told to find you, dr. bailey." you said approaching the two of them.

"you are?" dr. bailey asked you. "oh! i'm one of the new relocated interns."

"im y/n y/l/n."

"oh! sorry you had to hear all that, dr. y/l/n."

the other doctor introduced himself. "im dr. mark sloan. head of plastics."

he was attempting a handshake but dr. bailey motioned you the other way and dragging you away and saying you have a lot of catching up and you don't need to be acquainted with dr. sloan.

you gave him a small smile as dr. bailey dragged you into the chief’s office.

you were given a ran down about what you’ll do for the rest of your intern year.

to say that you adjusted quite perfectly in seattle grace was an understatement. you easily became friends with meredith and the other interns.

“look at sloan being all dreamy but y/n still has no idea what’s he doing.” meredith said as she and christina eyes you from the table talking to mark in line to get some food.

“hey dr. y/l/n, can’t say that you have been under my service since you got here.” mark spoke to you sweetly.

“oh yeah, i’ve been mainly under dr. montogemery’s service.” you replied not even giving mark a glance as you grabbed the apple juice.

“see ya later dr. sloan!” bidding him goodbye.

few weeks passed, you were finally under mark’s service, he was giddy to see you asking for his patients’ charts.

“y/n he’s totally flirting with you again.” christina whispered which made you blush and this doesn’t go unnoticed by mark.

“well what do we have here, dr. y/l/n. happy to have you on my service.” he spoke as he smirked at you.

since that day, he pestered you more and grabbed every chance he got to speak with you. when you were assigned in the ER with him as a fellow and he called for you every time.

“heading out now dr. y/l/n?” he said as he got in the elevator with you.

you smiled at and nodded as a reply, you were getting shy as christina and meredith pointed out that mark has been flirting with you since you started to work and you didn’t notice until they pointed it out.

“wanna go grab dinner y/n?” he asked looking at you intently as he anticipated your answer.

“oh…uh sure, dr. sloan”

“just mark” he said smirking.

you started to entertain mark, in which meredith and christina warned you about mark’s history before you arrived.

“i have nothing to loose, if he wants to be with other people then ill leave him be.”

you and mark started to go out more, this started your relationship with mark.

he gave you all of his attention and you gave him yours.

you were sleeping on an on-call room when mark came in. he was quietly calling for you on each on-call room as he wanted to have lunch with you.

he found you, sleeping so soundly.

“hey…babe.”

“come on let’s get lunch.” nudging you to wake up.

you just grumbled and turned your back on him.

“come on they’re serving mashed potatoes today.”

this caught your attention and stood up, you straightened your scrubs and started to head out the door when mark grabbed you by the wrist and captured your lips and started to kiss you deeply.

you returned the gesture which made both of you catch your breaths.

“god, i love you y/n.”

“i won’t ever let you go.”

[bloodrvvvsh]

Code Red, Code Blue. | Spencer Reid x Lexie Grey

Synopsis: When the BAU is led to a case in Seattle, with Seattle Grace Mercy West as the focal point. And after an unfortunate incident involving two cups of hot coffee and a ruined pair of scrubs, Spencer meets a girl that changes his whole life.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Lexie Grey

Warnings: Typical CM discussions of violence and gore, also typical Grey’s discussions of gore and medical talk, TL inconsistencies (I do try to keep things as canon complaint as possible but it doesn’t always work and I’m only human after all please have mercy 🙏), mentions of death, swearing, eventual smut, warnings to be added as chapters go on!

Notes: I have never been so excited to make a series in my entire life. I have adored the idea of Spencer x Lexie since I started watching Grey’s and I got attached to Lexie. I was worried this series would be too niche for others to enjoy but seeing the support I got from just a little teaser genuinely made me so excited and motivated me to write it. Anyways I hope you all enjoy!!! Also feel free to send in asks or requests for blurbs or oneshots regarding this universe! All things related to Code Red, Code Blue will be tagged under CRCB/CRCB Series!

No release dates for chapters because I like to work at my own pace. Being on a deadline makes me feel rushed and between my own life happening and my disabilites and all that comes with them, I cannot write on a schedule.

Chapter 1: Acquainted.

Chapter 2: Don't Forget To Call Me.

Chapter 3: Almost Love.

Chapter 4: Naked in DC.

Chapter 5: Out Of Time.

Chapter 6: Does Me No Harm.

Chapter 7: I Feel Like Prey.

Chapter 8: Cut Me Deep, Leave A Scar.

Epilogue: Say Yes.

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Despite not having watched the show, tumblr has made me aware of various pivotal episodes of Greys Anatomy. Namely, a plane crash and an active shooter situation.

Now, I know Lexie dies in the plane crash, but-- now hear me out-- but what if, with Lena in the mix, she DOESN'T die.

And we get to explore those two episodes through the lens of the Lexie and Lena ship?

[chrissturnioloswife88]

“I’m so proud of you”|Chris Sturniolo

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

warning- too cute, fluff, kiss, cuddling!

notes- before tumblr i wrote a few wattpad fics but tumblr is way better so im trying it out here now! im not great so bear with me!!

You found a new song a few days ago by Clairo called Sexy to Someone, and you’ve been obsessed.

When you got home from gift shopping, you changed into baggy sweatpants and a tight comfy black shirt with long sleeves. Now you’re dancing around your livingroom, blasting your new favorite song through your headphones.

As the lyrics, “Ask if i’m doing TV no I didn’t get the part.”, blared into your ears, you spun around and now you were facing the window.

I love music, you thought to yourself as you watched the sunset and swayed your hips to the beat.

Your headphones were noice canceling, so you didn’t hear when your boyfriend, Chris, came home and walked over to you. He slipped his hands around your waist from behind you as you suddenly stopped dancing and quickly took off your headphones.

“Hi ma.” He says through a chuckle while you spin to wrap your arms around him, pulling him in closely.

“I didn’t realize you’d be home so early.” You say looking up at him. The way his eyes met yours always sent a flutter through your chest.

He doesn’t answer right away, instead he smiles and walks over to where he laid his things. You slowly follow him, unable to stop the way your smile mirrors his effortlessly bright one. “Why are you so happy, baby?”

He turns around, holding up a small card shaped piece of paper with his resting face on it. He looks so good. “Look, I left early from filming to get my license!” He examines your face, excitedly waiting for your response. “It’s a temporary one until they mail my-“

You interrupt him by throwing your arms around him with a delighted squeal, and he responds by pulling you into a warm hug. “Oh my god Chris! Im so proud of you baby!”

“I wanted to surprise you! Now we don’t have to waste hella money on Uber.” He says as he walks to put it back in his wallet.

You giggle as you agree with him, walking around to the other side of the kitchen island and grabbing a pot out. “You definitely surprised me. How about I make you an amazing meal to celebrate?” You say holding up the pot to show him while raising your eyebrows.

“Sounds great, ma. Whatcha got in mind?” He walks over to you hugging you from behind, his arms wrapping around your waist as you meet his hand with yours

“I’m thinking Alfredo Pasta and your favorite potatoes?” Your say and you look up at him taking in his natural beauty.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 2 hours later

After dinner you and Chris watched an episode of Greys Anatomy before you decided to go get ready for bed.

You put on a pair of baby pink pajama pants and a matching lace tank, then crawl into bed.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ 10 minutes later

Chris finally comes to bed after finishing up the dishes. “Already in bed?”, he asks as he strips into just his boxers and climbs into bed.

“Mhm. I’m tired.”, you respond as you scoot closer to Chris and nuzzle your head in his neck.

“Go to sleep ma. I’m right here.” He reaches behind him, turning off the lamp and grabbing the remote to turn on a show for background noise.

“I love you so much.” You say watching him and paying no attention to what he was doing. “You’re amazing.”

“I love you so much it hurts.” he says through a soft sleepy smile as he pulls you closer to him.

Once you were finally asleep he let himself fall asleep.

This is going to be my wife. He thinks to himself before fully falling asleep.

[cassandralexxx]

had a convo with my roommate about how she’s watching greys and apparently she just founded out Callie is queer and she was like majorly thrown off by that. She was talking about how she figured the show was from the 2000s it wouldn’t have plot lines “like that” and how she figured it was a more modern thing for those storylines and characters to be added everywhere 💀💀💀

I was just like crazily queer people and storylines have existed for a while 😋

[avocado-writing]

Hello there dear! If you are still taking requests how would you feel about writing something for logan x reader x wade, where reader gets between them while they're arguing/in a fight and gets hurt by accident? And how they would react to that.

Totally fine if you don't like the idea. Thank you for giving us all these lovely works!

It’s hard to know which one of them started it. Probably Wade. It’s usually Wade, saying something stupid or offhand which irritates Logan into a physical reaction. But occasionally Logan forgets to mind his mouth, especially when he’s had a couple of drinks, and then they’re just at each other’s throats with knives and claws. 

They have gotten better to be fair. Calmer. More adjusted to living in the same space, being together all the time. Plus you beg - beg - them not to fight in the apartment, there just isn’t enough room for it. 

To their credit they only get into fisticuffs at Wade’s place. Your home, with your boho throws and favourite posters, has remained unscathed. It is Switzerland in this damn war of testosterone. 

You’ve had Wade’s spare key forever now, he even got you a little unlicensed Deadpool charm to put on it, and you have your headphones in when you open the door. The sound of 80s rock covers up the noise of carnage inside, and that is why you’re so totally unprepared when the bottle comes flying at you. 

It does not hit you to be fair. It shatters on the doorframe, showering you in glass. You gasp. From where Logan has Wade in a headlock and Wade is trying to stab his way out, your boys freeze. Clearly Wade tried to bottle him, Logan swatted it away, and the situation at hand was created. A beat passes as you try and recover from what’s happened, and you feel a small trickle of blood run down to your jaw from your cheek. 

You rip the headphones from your ears, more angry than you’ve ever been. Their faces drop. 

“Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me, you two?! I’ve asked you not to fight because of shit exactly like this!”

You use the plain of your hand to wipe your face and grimace when it comes back red. This seems to break the two of them out of their stupor and your boys are immediately on their feet. 

“Fuck, pookie, we’re sorry—” Wade says, at the same time Logan starts, “Baby, we didn’t mean to—”

You hold up your bloodied hand in the universal sign for them to stop. They do, like a pair of trained dogs. 

“Fuck this shit. I’m done,” you snarl, because if you don’t rev up the anger you know you’ll start to cry. Tears are starting to prickle in the corner of your eyes. Before either of them can say anything you’ve turned on your heel and left the building. 

When you’re home, a glass of Sauvignon blanc deep and with a band aid on your cheekbone, you realise you didn’t really mean it. You’re not “done”. Done with their squabbling, maybe, and done with the situation in that moment, but not done done. You should probably call Wade up and apologise to them both, but honestly you’re still sort of angry at the whole scenario. 

You shove a handful of Cheetos in your mouth and stab the play button on the remote, sinking into the sofa as the next episode of Grey’s Anatomy plays, determined to be distracted in any way possible… when there’s a knock at the door. 

When you open it of course it’s them. They look like repentant schoolboys. Logan’s holding half a dozen boxes from your favourite pizza place, Wade has a bottle of wine with a ribbon tied around the neck. There’s a tag on it. It says “we’re sorry :(“ with a little doodle of them both in Wade’s hand. 

You soften. How could you not?

“We fucked up, we know!” he says quickly, anticipating that you might slam the door on him. “We’re sorry. Isn’t that right, peanut?”

“Yeah,” Logan sighs, remarkably accepting of the nickname when he’s grovelling to you. You drum your fingers on the doorknob. “Sorry you’ve got a couple of knuckleheads as partners, honey.”

Knuckleheads. That about sums them up. What a cute word, though; you forget how adorable they can both be, when they’re not trying to kill each other.  

“Did you get the mozzarella sticks?” you ask, nodding at the pile of food. Wade grins. He knows they’ve won. 

“Two portions, honey.”

“Hmm, okay. You can come in.”

They do and you shut the door behind them. Wade wastes no time in heading to your glass cabinet and decanting a drink for each of you, Logan clearing your coffee table so he can unpack the pizza. He grabs a slice of pepperoni as you sit down between the two of them, ready to imbibe. 

“We really are fucking sorry. Seriously, pookie, we won’t do it again,” Wade reiterates as he pushes a drink into your hand. You hum. 

“I know. I’m fucking serious though, boys. I’m done with your squabbles. Next time you wanna go at each other, one of you leave the room and take a walk around the block to cool down. Even if you don’t want to, think of me and do it anyway. Okay?”

“Okay,” Wade agrees quickly before looking at Logan with intent. The older man sighs. 

“Okay,” he agrees, hand on your knee in acceptance, “anything for you. Sorry again, bub.”

You squeak as Wade reaches over to press a kiss against the band-aid on your cheek. 

“What are you doing?!”

“Making it better.” His kiss lands on your lips this time. He tastes of grease. Must have sneaked a piece of garlic bread on the way up, cheeky bastard. You feel Logan’s hands slip around your waist. 

“Mmm, boys, the pizza…”

“Can be reheated. God gave us microwaves so that we could give you orgasms,” says Wade, happily, “or we can feed you mozzarella while we eat you out, your choice.”

You look at Logan for his opinion on the matter and he shrugs. 

“Sounds good to me.”

You grin, and the pizza grows cold.  

Taglist: @falsewordz@malfoys-demigod@belilwen@mildly-salted@tvwebs@childeslegstrap@getmeoutofhell@s1eep-o@just-a-beatlemaniac69@yrthr@momopad@sugarplumz100@captainjinkx@madspads@acrosstheunivcrse@yeethaw13@na-is-salty@florduarte@hunterispunk @starfleetteddybear

[jeonride]

wonwoo reading list / fic recs part 3 !

don't forget to like + reblog fics that you like to support the authors <3

navigation

FICS ! ✧*。

A Winter Interlude (fluff, light angst, children's book illustrator!wonwoo) by @/ wondernus

Introduce Me A Good Person (fluff, angst, friends to lover, doctor!wonwoo) by @taeyegu

The Peephole (smut, roommate!wonwoo, obsessive tho) by @rubyreduji

Work Husband (fluff, smut, slice of life, coworker!wonwoo) by @bitchlessdino

I Found Love in Your Smile The Series (fluff, angst, doctor!wonwoo x lawyer fem!reader) by @wonlouvre

Bloodily Safe (smut, psychopath!wonwoo) by @starlightxsvt

Pretty Boy (fluff with smut, gamer!wonwoo) by @/fvllingflower

The Other Woman (implied smut, angst, fluff) by @idyllic-ghost

Silk (smut, established relationship) by @angelwoozi

Underlying Pretense (smut) by @lovelyhan

The Bore Next Door (smut) by @ncteez

Blown Up Love (fluff, gamer!woo, university au) by @starsstuddedsky

With Wonwoo (ceo!wonwoo x ceo!reader, fluff) by @wonlouvre

Nameless (fluff, some angst, firebender!wonwoo) by @twogyuu

Until It Feels Like You're in Heaven (smut, fluff) by @odetojeons

Sweet Chaos (angst, light fluff, assassin!wonwoo) by @viastro

One for The Tales (fluff, royal au) by @leejungchans

X + Y = You and I (smut, rivals to lovers, college au) by @angelwonie

Bookworm (fluff, highschool au) by @viastro

Your Mess (smut, angst, fluff) by @onlymingyus

Rich Girl (smut) by @blushnote

Jeon's Anatomy The Series (neurosurgeon!wonwoo x pediatric!reader, Grey's Anatomy au) by @hansols-yoda-boxers

A Moon Without Stars (angst, smut) by @chocosvt

Pomegranates (angst, royal au) by @idyllic-ghost

Knuckles to Ink (fluff, humor, literature agent!wonwoo) by @dropsofletters

Ten Questions (angst, contains blood, violence, guns) by @chocosvt

Off Limits (fluff, angst, smut) by @hinaaspanda

Campus Crush (fluff, tutor!wonwoo) by @starlightxsvt

Play Again (romance, fluff, mild angst) by @shuarush

Loving Him Was Red (fluff, angst, sugar daddy/ceo!wonwoo) by @boowanie

25c Magic (all flufffff!!!) by @thepixelelf

Matters of The Heart and Capri Sun (fluff, angst, strangers to lovers) by @twogyuu

You Mean The World To Me (fluff, angst) by @svtskneecaps

A Boyfriend for Christmas (fluff, friends to lovers) by @junkissed

Game On (smut, established relationship) by @ahloveisboo

Wonwoo : Protector [Tales from The Pack] (mentions of smut, angst, werewolf!wonwoo) by @gamerwoo

Love Sonnet (fluff, established relationship) by @ann-non

Danced Around an Impossibility (fluff, angst, humor) by @dropsofletters

Sweet As Peach (romance, friends to lovers) by @xddaengx

Players (smut, slowburn) by @smileysuh

DRABBLES / SCENARIOS ! ✧*。

the way wonwoo kiss (fluffy and soft!) by @/gyuslcve

yin and yang (all fluff!) by @/boosari

drabbles below are made by @/pepperonidk

In this Life and The Next (fluff)

loving moments with wonwoo (all flufff!! <3)

the drabbles below are made by @hansols-yoda-boxers (wc. above 1k)

day (smut)

night (smut)

how to spice up a lecture (smut)

"bite me." "if you insist." (smut)

this sofa costs fifteen thousand dollars, don't you dare to ruin it (smut)

wonwoo x nipple play (smut) by @/sluttyminghao

andante, andante (smut, 3.1k words) by @sluttywonwoo

lazy days with bf!wonwoo (fluff, smut) by @/ressonancee

just as we are now and will always be (fluff, dad!wonwoo) by @februaryflowers

valentine's day event (fluff, kinda humor tho) by @etherealyoungk

and they were newlyweds (fluff, husband!wonwoo) by @viastro

wonwoo + pda (fluff) by @jeonhwang

별로 not enough (fluff) by @cheolsblackgf

in deep shit (fluff, college au) by @yjncty

late night (fluff) by @idyllic-ghost

wonwoo as synaesthesia (this is so beautiful please you have to read this) by @fairyhaos

tickling tendencies (fluff) by @heavenshoon

wasted (fluff) by @leejihoonownsmyheart

[kaiijo]

FRIENDS TO LOVERS — [KNB]

characters: aomine daiki, midorima shintarou, hanamiya makoto content: gn! reader, reader has implied tieable hair in midorima’s, toxicity (it’s hanamiya, no one is surprised) notes: scenarios inspired by prompt list here

aomine daiki ✶

aomine yawns again as he reclines against your pillows, sitting up only to peer at you. you’re working on homework that’s due in a couple of days, headphones covering your ears. you promised that you’ll order in food and play super smash bros with him when you finished, but it’s nearing eight and you’re still hunched over a problem set.

aomine groans loudly, “are you even close to being done?”

you move one headphone cup off. “i would be closer if you didn’t interrupt me every ten minutes.”

“i didn’t ask to hang out just to sit around.”

you roll your eyes. “you can go if you want, daiki.”

he sits up fully now, moving to the edge of your bed. “why’re you even doing this? s’not due ‘til friday.”

“some of us want to be good students.” you slide your headphones back on and turn back to scribbling out complicated equations on paper.

a couple of minutes pass again and instead of asking you anything, aomine stands up and shuffles behind you, reaching around and snatching the paper from underneath you. “hey!” you protest, shooting up from your seat and tearing off your headphones. “give it back, daiki.”

“no, you said you’d be done, like, two hours ago.”

“i swear i’m almost done!” you make a lunge for it and aomine just holds it above his head, his long arm adding to his already-massive height.

“no.” he smirks at the way your eyes furrow and your cheeks puff out. your head tilts to the left, and he knows that you’re thinking. he’s sure you’re going to try and jump of it again, so as a show, he stretches up further, the hem of his shirt lifting slightly. he swears he catches your eyes flickering down and something in his body sings a song of triumph and satisfaction at the motion. he can’t say why.

what you do next though is nothing that he expects. you stand on your toes, rest your hands delicately on his shoulders, and gaze up at him through your lashes. he startles; there’s something so… heated about your expression, about those half-lidded eyes.

“daiki,” you say softly. it’s almost hypnotic, the way you say his name, and he’s watching you with one raised eyebrow. the tips of his ears feel like they’re on fire.

he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing as his arm lowers, heading for the dip of your waist. he only snaps out of it at your victorious cry. “ha!” you take advantage of his still half-dazed state and push him firmly out of your bedroom door, closing it. the lock clicks into place and he hears you call on the other side, “one more problem, daiki, i promise. be a dear and set up smash in the living room?”

he walks down your hall automatically, the fire-like feeling spreading to his neck.

midorima shintarou ✶

takao holds up a porcelain statue of a cat. “what about this?’

“takao, what about that screams ‘midorima shintarou?’”

takao shrugs. “i don’t know, maybe it’ll be december 25th’s lucky item. does oha asa put out horoscopes ahead of time?”

“no, that’s why he listens every morning when it airs,” you reply, setting down a teapot from a bigger set. you thank the tired-looking cashier, who just waves drowsily as you two exit the shop.

the two of you have been shopping all day for midorima’s christmas present, wandering all over japan and into various tchotchke stores to look. he’s a notoriously hard person to please, especially with gifts, and neither of you want a repeat of the ‘grey’s anatomy incident’ where four people got midorima the same book last holiday season when he announced his intention to go to medical school. nor do any of you want to get that look from him that struggles to look somewhat grateful while being very, very obviously displeased.

“we’ve been walking all day!” takao whines, clutching his stomach as it lets out an ungodly rumble. you check your watch; you two have been out for at least four hours. you point at a small diner boasting american food. “would you be okay with that?”

“i’d eat you right now if you’d let me.”

you snort, “hard pass. come on.”

the hostess sits you two at a booth and you shrug off your heavy winter coats. you pick up a menu and glance over it, but when you go to ask takao what he’ll be getting and if he wants to split a large order of assorted fries with you, you see he’s not looking at the menu.

you definitely do not like the way takao is eying you right now. “what?” you ask defensively, hands flying to the top of your head to try and pet down at hair you presume has been ruined by your excursion. “do i look bad or something?”

“is that shin-chan’s sweater?”

fuck. you had forgotten about pulling on one of the sweaters midorima left at your house the last time you studied together. it’s insanely soft — a mix of gray wool and cashmere — not to mention extremely cozy and warm. you tried to return it to midorima before but he just pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and huffed, “wear it until you get proper sweaters. no, sweatshirts don’t count.”

you internally groan. you don’t need takao on your ass again about whether or not you’re sure you and midorima aren’t dating or if you like him like that. honestly, the only reason you haven’t given him a certain yes or no is because… you don’t really know yourself.

you don’t have proper time to answer before the bell to the restaurant chimes and you see very recognizable green hair. of all the time and places he has to show up. (well, he did text you this morning that your zodiac sign was the least lucky and to wear a blue watch in order to improve your fortune; you should’ve found the watch.)

“oh! shin-chan!” takao waves him over, giving you a sly look. “we were just talking about—” takao’s stupid hawk-eyes zero in on midorima’s wrist as he tugs off his gloves. he looks way too please with himself as he asks, “shin-chan, is that their hair tie?”

hanamiya makoto ✶

hanamiya steps out of the locker room shower, cracking his knuckles as he makes his way to his locker to dry off and change. he rolls his shoulders, toweling off his hair as he changes back into his school uniform. yamazaki and hara are prattling away, snickering under their breaths about the injuries they inflicted: sprained ankle, a hairline fracture, a minor concussion.

hanamiya doesn’t even turn around as he growls, “can you two shut up?”

to just bug him more, hara pops his gum. loudly. “who pissed in your cereal, captain?”

furihara drones, “you were sloppier today. almost got fouled by the ref.”

hanamiya doesn’t reply, yanking the knot of his tie down furiously. “fuck off.”

hara lets out a low whistle and seto asks, “does this have to do with your little friend? they got a boyfriend, right?”

hanamiya lets out a long breath through his nose and he spins around to face his teammate. “for now,” he says, slamming his locker shut.

“you got a plan, captain?” asks yamazaki as he digs through his duffel bag.

“when do i not?”

———

you greet hanamiya’s mother with a thin smile when she opens the door. her face lights up when she sees you and she pulls you into a warm hug, telling you that hanamiya’s in his bedroom and that you could go right up.

you wonder if she can see the glossy film to your eyes or if she was polite enough not to comment on it.

hanamiya’s sitting at his desk, head propped up on his knuckle. he languidly flips through pages but you know he’s not really reading the material. he’ll get away with it too and get an a anyways, the bastard. he glances at you. “you look like shit.”

usually, you could banter with him. it’s why your friendship works; you have a thicker skin than most and you give just as good as you take, especially when it comes to hanamiya’s sneering, half-joking insults. normally, you would have replied with something like “still better than you,” but instead, your frayed nerves snap and you feels the hot tears start rolling down your cheeks.

hanamiya’s simpering expression sobers up and he sighs heavily, ushering you to sit on the bed. “why’re you crying?”

you sniffle and tell him that the guy you’ve been seeing from your literature class broke up with you. just out of the blue told you that you two wanted different things and you were going to colleges in different areas and that wouldn’t work and he was sorry and… that’s all you gleaned because his words were so rushed as he scurried off as fast as he could.

hanamiya’s brow furrows sympathetically and he draws you into a hug, saying, “i told you i didn’t like that guy. fuck him.”

you sink into his arms. “yeah,” you mutter, “fuck him.”

as you relax against him, hanamiya can’t help but smirk to himself in satisfaction. someone who runs off after a little confrontation doesn’t deserve anything from you.

[adieutristana]

lottie's masterlist

all of my fics in one place. updated in real time.

rules/request info

jinx;

✧.* general relationship (headcanons)

✧.* kissing (headcanons)

✧.* comforting s/o (scenarios)

✧.* jinx receiving a confession similar to the one mark received in greys anatomy (scenario)

✧.* s/o watching jinx with isha (scenario)

✧.* au! powder (act iii) and reader getting ready together (scenario)

✧.* getting married (headcanons)

✧.* love languages (headcanons)

✧.* jinx and s/o telling isha their love story (scenario)

✧.* jinx and s/o putting isha, vi, caitlyn, and warwick on the airship (scenario)

✧.* aftercare (headcanons)

✧.* hers (scenario) pt 1 pt 2

✧.* jinx losing her promise ring (scenario)

✧.* reader goes deaf trying to protect them (headcanons)

✧.* the hands that hold you (scenario)

✧.* pins and needles (scenario)

✧.* jinx and s/o stopping caitlyn and vi's wedding (scenario)

vi;

✧.* general relationship (headcanons)

✧.* kissing (headcanons)

✧.* comforting s/o (scenarios)

✧.* getting married (headcanons)

✧.* vi, caitlyn, and reader arguing, then making up (scenario)

✧.* love languages (headcanons)

✧.* aftercare (headcanons)

✧.* reader goes deaf trying to protect them (headcanons)

mel;

✧.* general relationship (headcanons)

✧.* kissing (headcanons)

✧.* comforting s/o (scenarios)

✧.* getting married (headcanons)

✧.* mel and low-ranking soldier!reader's first date (scenario)

✧.* love languages (headcanons)

✧.* mel and reader reuniting after the black rose (scenario)

✧.* aftercare (headcanons)

✧.* shooting star (scenario)

✧.* reader goes deaf trying to protect them (headcanons)

sevika;

✧.* general relationship (headcanons)

✧.* kissing (headcanons)

✧.* comforting s/o (scenarios)

✧.* getting married (headcanons)

✧.* love languages (headcanons)

✧.* aftercare (headcanons)

✧.* reader goes deaf trying to protect them (headcanons)

caitlyn;

✧.* kissing (headcanons)

✧.* comforting s/o (scenarios)

✧.* getting married (headcanons)

✧.* vi, caitlyn, and reader arguing, then making up (scenario)

✧.* aftercare (headcanons)

✧.* reader goes deaf trying to protect them (headcanons)

lest;

✧.* kissing (headcanons)

✧.* love languages (headcanons)

maddie;

✧.*general relationship (headcanons)

✧.* love languages (headcanons)

[thatmexisaurusrex]

I think what really gets me is what the show is telling us through that breakup. That's what hurts the most.

It's that a queer person who's sad, who's alone, who's never had a stable family life; a queer person who's only gotten to a point where they're happy with who they are later in life; a queer person who yearns for a family, for love, for being someone's first choice but doesn't believe he can ever have those things; a queer person who has obviously been burned and believes that is the only outcome for him now; that no one would want him as family. That no one would love him enough to choose him first.

He walks out that door.

Alone. Scared. Spiraling. Reacting to trauma rather than Buck himself. It's seeing that and having the show tell us, yes, that's what he deserves. That's all he gets. He doesn't get a happy ending. He doesn't get good closure. He doesn't get to believe that someone wants him enough to fight for him.

Tommy was right all along.

All his fears were true and will be what he ends up with. Older queer people who want families and are scarred by their own past experiences don't get love or a family. They don't get a place to call home.

Then, you have Buck; Buck blindsided by the trauma; Buck seeing his entire six-month relationship fall apart and just letting it happen to himself again. Having yet another person in his life, in a moment of cowardice and pain, quietly and brokenly lash out that he couldn't believe Buck would actually take this seriously; that he couldn't believe that Buck would love him once the pedestal was gone and the shininess wore off. That, once again, Buck lets his relationship play out without any idea of how to be active in it. That someone Buck loves, that he thought about possibly marriage with one day, that he wants to live with, leaves him.

That Buck, once again, is abandoned.

That Buck can't know himself.

That the show wants to lean into lazy biphobic ideas and tell us, yes, that's what Buck deserves. The thriving relationship that he had crumbles within minutes because Buck doesn't get to be happy; how can he know what happiness is if he isn't playing the field? Because nothing he did before Tommy counted. Buck 1.0 didn't count. None of his previous relationships counted. Because they were all ladies, and how can you know if you've only been with one man?

Telling the audience that you can't be happy in a relationship if it's somehow a "first", despite everything pointing to the relationship being solid and good for Buck.

It is the worst possible scenario.

It is a nightmare for both Buck and Tommy.

Both messages are terrible for the audience.

There were so many ways they could have broken up and I would have been fine with it. I've talked about it before, but I was fine with Josh and Arnold breaking up in Please Like Me and I still love the show. I watched episodes with Josh and Arnold from Please Like Me as a comfort when I was reeling about this that first night! I was fine with Alexis and Ted breaking up on Schitt's Creek and I was still fine with the show. I was okay with Amelia and Kai breaking up and I'm still watching Grey's Anatomy. Because all of those breakups were understandable. They made sense. I can like couples and be okay with them not working out. And they're fictional. Fictional shit rarely hurts me, if ever. That's not my problem at all here.

It's how this happened. It's the message it signals to the audience. It's devastating. I'm still devastated by the choice. I've never felt this way about a breakup for two characters ever. The core of my grief and genuine hurt is what the show proves it believes in through this breakup. And that's what's hurt me.

[aixeko]

──────<3 YOUR LORDSHIP ༺♱༻

WEEK 1 | SINNERS SAVAGERY / ERISETOBER

| Synopsis |  When the tempestuous waves crash against the shore and the sky turns a foreboding grey, human shells cower in fear as the mighty lord of the seas, Leviathan, awakens from the darkest pit of the deep, seeking for a human companion to aid her lonely voyage. 

| Synopsis | Yelan as Leviathan x Mortal!Reader

| Setting | MONSTER AU / Historical Era

| Scenario | [ ONESHOT ]  EVENTUAL SMUT Porn with plot. Long introduction. Arranged marriage. Emotionally abusive parents. Kidnapping. Yelan saved Reader. Hemipenes [ Double cocks ] Monsterfuck, kinda, but Yelan is in her human form. Size kink. Tail kink… Is that a thing? Consent is hot. Soft-Dom!Yelan and Virgin-Sub!Reader. No gendered pronouns used only female anatomy. Went with the flow while writing so uh yeah. NO BETA WE DIE LIKE MEN.

► RADIO CHANNEL [ Author note ]

⚝ Used to hate Yelan a lot since I don't fw her haircut but after writing this she ain’t that bad tbh. Maybe mischaracterized, I stopped playing the archon quest and genshin in general since Sumeru release. ⚝ Including biblical references and quotes in an eventual smutshot is crazy work Ik.  ⚝ Not a native speaker, just a professional dyslexic yapper + VERY RUSHED WRITING ESPECIALLY AT THE END.

[ Word count: 5205 ] | Art credit: kgynh on Twitter

Love's true essence eludes reality when forced upon by one's own guardian.

Can humanity's most sought-after reward retain its meaning amid the sea of obligations?

The shortest and simplest answer is a definite no to the victim and an utter negation to the assailant.

It seemed as though time had slipped away, as if it were only yesterday that you were a child, running barefoot along the shoreline, embracing the sea like your own kind.

Now you're freshly twenty, walking barefoot with jewelry decorating every inch of your figure and outfitted in an expensive ivory wedding dress funded by a husband whom you have never spoken to nor seen with your own eyes.

Once an innocent, carefree child turned into a young virgin delicacy for the rest of the world to corrupt, offered by your most trusted protectors, you could never again call your parents.

It's for the future of everyone here, my dearest eldest child; you are the only one capable of bestowing glory on our village, so shine, my dear, and bring forth a new era for this accursed world.

No more would your beloved, caring mother tell tales of fairy tales, replacing them with those orations each night you succumbed to uneasy slumbers, like a reminder of the miserable future that would descend upon you.

Straighten your posture, child, drop the sorrow and curve those lips, child, stop consuming so much cuisine, child; His Highness the prince wouldn't want an indolent pig as his lifelong partner.

No more would your kind father carry you through mountains and forests to show you the falsehood of paradise your child self formerly gleamed at; now he who had turned into an unfeeling man would deport you across the thunderous waves to your new life with your unknown lover.

Seated on the boat and obscured by your veil, you could only stare mindlessly at the bouquet in your hands, all the while the entirety of your community swarmed the harbor in a declaration of celebration for your safe expedition and soon-to-be prosperous life.

Children who were like you and knew nothing better than to trust their protectors admired you and wished for a future like yours, not knowing about the torture you had and would have to face. Adults who saw you grow only wish for you to one day return to this lowly village for a blessing from people who they view as higher life and, to some extent, as God-beloved children. At last, your guardians who know the cruel truth don't bat an eye at your suffering and only wish to rid themselves of you and ask forgiveness when you soon flourish in the castle life.

You realize now that all those times of 'joyous' occasions and 'love' were not anything more than a ploy, a gamble, a hefty investment that your supposed parents made the very day you were born into this world.

Do not forget about the hardship you have faced and the community that has helped you awaiting here for your anticipated return; rejoice in luxury, and proffer our kindness with your blessing, my sweet child!

Your mother's distant voice screams out in a mixture of woefulness and elation, a grand final act in her show to manipulate your already shell-shocked heart into forgiving and forgetting.

Can one's own soul mend in the face of a fierce storm?

When the world seems to continue living on while yours has stopped, a shadow of its former self, a living corpse in a world of angel-disguised devils.

Have there been no solutions to resolve this impending doom, or have the solutions always been impending doom?

A presumed hour has passed since you began your journey through the ocean; silence was all the sound you seemed to hear, with the occasional "hmph" or sigh from the man who gave life to you.

"Are you going to soak and stare mindlessly in misery for the remaining period of time? You are a smart child; I'm sure you understand that it will be long until the next sunrise before we're standing on land again."

A part of you wishes to answer, to once in your life unleash the raging sorrow he and the woman he married have anchored you to, but like always, you find your tongue tied to an invisible knot, unable to fight back due to the cowardly mannerism you've learned to adapt to.

"Resentment and anger are not traits desired by heaven, child; one day you will come to realize that the things we have done are for the sake of your own good. Had we not done so, you would be living with a poor man and left to be a rotten peasant, unable to blossom into your true potential."

Your grip on the bouquet tightens, such blaring words spoken to be only lies to ease the guilt; if his putative wisdom has a scent, it would be of the foulest smell one could inhale.

Sensing the tension in the atmosphere, for once the man chose not to escalate the situation further in fear of tragedy, especially being in the middle of practically nowhere in the vast sea.

People spoke of God as a heroic savior of the world, yet had never once in their lifetimes seen this magnificent being above humans and animals, mortal and immortal, life and death.

How can he, who is worshiped by the world as the one true salvation, allow his creations to suffer so greatly?

For the first time in a long time, you turn your gaze away from the flowers, not out of boredom, not out of impatience, but out of helplessness, out of your daydream for the life you longed for and lost in consequence of humankind's greed.

You lift your veil to reveal just enough to see with one hand while still withholding your grip on the flowers. Your first sight of the world is the ocean, a natural phenomenon you've adored for as long as you could walk; if you were asked to explain why you are so heavily interested in it, you would reply with a simple "Who wouldn't?" But if they were to ask you on a deeper level, you would respond that because you feel like nothing understands you more than it does, it's not a human, it's not a being, but because of such quality, it's why you're so fond of it.

The world is cruel, so very cruel, and so to have something as tranquil and peaceful as this enormous paradise is something to be adored with the utmost devotion.

Those of his believers who pour countless nights and days into seeking his divine revelation deserve more than silent destruction.

If God truly does exist, surely he'd answer his faithful servant's pleas for grace rather than having them suffer such a cold fate.

Before your so-called father could stop you, your hand meets the cool yet oddly soothing warmth of the water, a rare upward curve forming in the corner of your lip as a singular tear falls down and becomes one with Earth's own heaven.

If God does exist, if the legend and the myth are tales of truth, then please, please set your gaze on me; please save me from this miserable life, your lordship.

The winds begin to howl, and the sky darkens to a foreboding gray; far away from you, tempestuous waves crash violently against the coast. A single lightning strike ominously appears in the distance of the gray sky, sending chills down your spine at the signal of an impending storm.

The boat rocks violently, and you struggle to maintain stability, clutching tightly onto the edge of the boat while your father tries to manage the situation somehow, but it proves easily inefficient as a mere mortal is nothing against Mother Nature.

Your veil nearly flew off your head, and in a moment of panic, you let go of the flowers in your hand for the very first time in the interest of keeping the veil from flying away.

The boat rolls dangerously as the waves increase in abnormal strength; you struggle to hold on, and your father's screams are nearly drowned out by the cacophony of intense wind and waves if it weren't for the distinct pitch between nature and human fear.

With much grappling, you look upward to where your father's sight is set upon, and your face turns pale, hearts pounding in absolute fear from the sight of a creature only described in fairy tales and biblical books as the supreme sovereign of the seas. Unlike consuming content from secondary sources of its fearsome status, its appearance is much more petrifying in real life; from its awakening, ripples of dread are sent through the entire atmosphere, as if the very ocean itself is a body of its powerful might.

The sea serpent colossus's size covers the sky in its mass alone, and all you can do is watch in powerlessness, but as the initial fear disappears, you can't help but feel a surge of admiration for the majestic creature that has risen from the depths to grace you with its presence.

In essence, Leviathan is not just a creature of myth but can be portrayed as a powerful embodiment of the ocean’s mysteries, evoking awe and fear in equal measure; yet at this moment, Leviathan is not a myth or an embodiment anymore.

You slowly stand up, wanting to reach out for the monster in spite of your puny existence compared to it; perhaps this feeling is a manifestation of your love for the ocean. Maybe you were wrong this whole time, that this entire time the boundless mysterious abyss was, in fact, a being of greater worth than a mere mortal can comprehend. Could it be that the reason why you felt so heavily connected to the ocean was due to the fact that such a creature lay dormant in it? Could it be the case that this whole time someone has been accompanying you in your most vulnerable and lonely moments?

You stand up on your bare feet, both hands outstretched high above like a priest offering their devotion to God; you gaze up toward Leviathan, and your heart nearly bursts as you see you have gained its full attention.

"Your lordship." You whisper so silently that even your confused, fear-struck father, who is sitting beside you, cannot hear, but those words are not meant for mortal ears after all.

The last thing you feel is a coldness so soothing it could be a camouflage for fire as it engulfs you before darkness consumes you into a comforting slumber, one you've been deprived of since as early as your formative years.

It is when one has been confined for so long in the presumably eternal abyss that the light seems to shine so luminously.

Your eyes flutter open, rising to consciousness; a deep breath escapes your lips as you try to recall what has occurred, only for you to be sidetracked by where you are.

In contrast to the rough feeling of the wooden boat, you now lie comfortably in an astonishingly expensive, spacious bed made for what can only be assumed to be a titan or of the utmost royalty.

You look down at yourself and realize you're not fitted in a white ivory dress anymore but rather in extravagant, exquisite, and elaborate bridal attire belonging to a culture you're not all too familiar with.

Spotting a large mirror not too far away, you rise to your feet and examine yourself, and to your complete and utter shock, the dress was of a quality you could only have dreamed of; in comparison to the dress, the room that you thought was too lavish is lowly.

The attire is of a stunning ultramarine and silver color, with intricate embroidered patterns of what looks to resemble a sea serpent and floral motifs covering the entire garment. It's voluminous, creating a flowy silhouette and a sense of grandeur, and to add to its flowiness is your veil, which is elevated by a silver headpiece as detailed as the entire apparel.

In the corner of your eye, you spot fully bloomed lotuses with their countless petals decorating the dark blue marble floor.

Must it be that the one who brought me here intends to put on a show and allow me to follow those flowers to their awaiting destination? You thought, quite skeptical of this mysterious stranger's intentions, but seeing the pleasantries you have been showered with, you opted not to draw the wrong judgment quite yet.

You pull down your veil, which, unlike its appearance, is quite translucent on the inside—a heavily desired distinction from your previous opaque one.

At a slow pace, you follow the lotus, leaving the room for an even more unfamiliar environment; outside the bedroom is a long hallway decorated with various ornamentations that are illuminated by bioluminescent organisms you've only heard tales about.

Continuing to follow the lotuses, you admire the serene atmosphere, despite knowing nothing about anything and everything; the place seems to give a familiar feeling you've only felt toward the vast expanse of water.

You turn down countless corridors and admire different décor before you come to a stop at a grand, sturdy arch entrance; carved in it is what looks to be the depiction of Leviathan, the almighty sea serpent you have come to witness and live to tell the tale of. As well as what looks to be a mortal woman behind it, albeit a very unlikely assumption with her obscure body featuring characteristics impossible to be found on a human.

A slow inhalation and exhalation release through your nose and out of your mouth before your hands push the door open.

"Does the scenery satiate your taste, or is there any adjustment you desire to make?" A deep, rich, feminine voice booms.

You're a bit taken aback by the sound of another living being, and especially a female one at that. If it weren't for her voice, you would have mistaken the woman for a male at first sight given her chosen outfit. Similar to you, she is seemingly clothed in bridal attire with half of her chest uncovered by fabric or hair. Long, flowing garments in place of pants share colors and detailing exactly like yours with minor adjustments; a silky robe is wrapped around her like a sash, and the rest of her features are concealed by the canopy veil hanging from the roof of the castle.

She's seated on top of a throne as grand as the room is, and by the windows that are engraved in the wall, you realize that you have been underwater this whole time. Which explains the unusual source of lighting and unique embellishment never seen in this era.

A gulp ran down your dry throat, and your immediate thought was to go on your knees and bow, but you were stopped by her commanding voice.

"You are not to behave by the rules your kind has set, because here you are of the highest life that the mortal soul can achieve. Come closer; I'm sure you are curious to see what I appear as, little one."

It takes a while for any sort of response or action to manifest, but soon enough, one did.

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, this may be an intrusive question, but may I know what you are addressed by? In particular, your title or name, perhaps if you are to grant me both."

The mysterious being seems to be quite surprised but amused; you see the shadow of her head resting on her fisted hand as she answers your question with much delight.

"You are much more intriguing than meets the eye; it is no illusion that you are a unique character indeed; you should take pride in the fact of such a deed so highly as to be offered as a bride to a prince, given your status as a lower life." A chuckle was released, followed by a dreamy sigh. "Of course, I am no different; never have I risen to the mortal realm and met such a gem; you must be of this planet's favorite creation to be so blessed."

At the mention of 'favorite' and 'blessed,' you are quick to protest, an act you yourself are surprised by, taking into account your history.

"You are mistaken, your liege; I am by no means favored, and least of all blessed."

"Hm, I see," she paused. "To answer your question, you must already know me by my true form. The one whom you called 'your lordship,' the formidable sea serpent, as you mortals describe me, and by my given name, Leviathan."

At the revelation, you are much amazed; Levithan had been a name you often associated with a male creature, given its appearance, but you do recall that in one particular book, you can't place your finger on the name of, which has described Levithan as a female monster that dwells in the deepest part of the watery abyss.

"Awed, I see? You're quite an amusing little one, but I do request that you do not refer to me by that name, as it does not fit my taste. I particularly like the name Yelan, and I do hope you agree with it."

Without thinking, you begin making your way to the Lord, eager to see the one who has saved you from a miserable life, the one to rid you of a horrible life with a man who could dispose of you anytime he sought.

"I am merely an underling in a position compared to your lordship."

You were only a fair step away from seeing the godly being yourself before being swept off your feet by a massive, rugged tail. You yelped, eyes closing in fright, only to feel yourself pressed up against foreign, frosty flesh that was quite comforting in spite of its temperature.

"Repeated words are a time waster, and I'm sure I do not need to remind you again that you are not to behave by the rules your mortal friends or foes have established in that pretty little head of yours."

"I... I'm sorry, Your Highness; please do not punish me," you whimpered aloud, frightful even with the hospitality and kindness accentuating Yelan's words.

"Punish you? I am a feared monster indeed, but I am not without a soul; harming you would be a war set against grace itself."

Her rough hand carefully and tenderly touches your chin like the softest of materials, tilting it up patiently to face her.

"Open your eyes, my heaven."

Your heart fluttered at the nickname, and without any second consideration, you did as you were commanded. A single beat skipped within the close proximity of Her Highness; from a distance, she may have seemed the average human size, but being this close to her, on her lap specifically, you're awed by her enormous stature.

"Your Majesty...I-you're... huge."

Her pale skin is adorned with scales that are inherent to her true form, light jade-hued eyes bore into you like a gourmet to be savored rather than devoured, and dark blue hair with asymmetrical bangs that are lighter at the tips seems to tie it all together to make a manifestation of the perfect combination between a mythical creature and a mortal female.

Another chuckle, this time a little longer, emits from her, and you swear your pupil seems to take on the appearance of a heart at the paradisiacal sight blossoming before you.

"Oh, how I adore mortal words; it has been a long time since I have had the company of another."

Her tail slithers its way to your waist and pulls you in closer—an act in anticipation of unforeseen events, but one that you suspect will happen sooner than expected.

"But my lord... how can I, a mere human, be able to accompany you?"

"Are you suggesting I am not capable of taking care of you? If there are things you require, then a single word to me and your wish shall be granted. If you believe it's impossible, then I will rival against the heavens for it to become a reality."

"No, no, my lord, you are much more than one can imagine, but I fear I am not capable of surviving in such an environment, as I have observed; we are underwater, and I do not have the ability to breathe under such conditions, nor do I have any power."

When His Lordship arrived, it was one where many prayed countless times for it and never got to witness it in their lifetimes.

To be able to be in possession of such dutiful hands is to be seen beyond the flesh and into the deepest part of one's soul.

That day I learned that God truly does exist on this wasted planet and that God is not a man of the beyond but a woman with a nurturing soul.

"I see, you should have mentioned it earlier," her gaze evidently grew dim. "I have a method of transferring my power to you, gaining you access to my pool of destruction, albeit the technique is rather an intimate act, and by performing this, you would be marked as wholly mine, and your soul will be bound to me for as long as you have the will to exist."

Much to your shame, an immediate "yes" escaped from your lips, which left Yelan a bit taken aback by the response; nevertheless, it's one that doesn't go unappreciated by her.

"My sweet mortal, as much as I am flattered by your agreement, I suggest reconsidering all the restrictions you may have to face, and most importantly, that you are not to return to your realm without my supervision for fear that your breed may label you as part of witchcraft or satanic magic."

You shake your head; you may long for your past life when the moon is at its fullest, where the most breathtaking night sky reveals itself as the world rests, but you would never dare return to the misery forced upon you ever again.

"Your lordship, I am sold off to a man whom I have never longed for, like I have longed for a companion each moment my body embraces the sea; never have I heard his voice the same way the waves whisper a delightful siren song to my ears, nor have I grown to love every perfect imperfection of the stranger as I have to your land."

Yelan's ears turn a deep blue hue at the helix—a phenomenon you haven't a clue about the means of its cause, but you take her cheeky grin as a blissful reaction.

"And you are certain of your choice; there is no return from then on."

"I have not thought of anything but a future with you, my lord."

Yelan's features lit up with much ecstasy, and her smile exceedingly widened as she cupped your entire head with one palm, bringing you ever closer with each ring of an echoing bell.

"Then may you allow me to have a kiss?"

"Yes, my sovereign."

Thus, the tragic tale of a young mortal sold to a foreign land ends as a tale of a beauty blessed by the heavens, and a monster feared by the lords begins.

Yelan hovers above you, naked from the top half of her body, her face flustered with uneven breath reflecting yours. What was a passionate exchange of blissful lips meeting quickly stirred up the deprived sea serpent, and now you're a complete mess spread out on top of another bountiful bed for her eyes to feast on.

You're breathless, as the woman who treated you with much care is barely able to restrain herself from almost attaching her lips to yours. Your head throbs from the intensity, but you can't help admitting that this is all so new and exciting; after all, you haven't given up your virginity yet or even touched yourself.

Like a mind reader, Yelan asked, "You haven't done this before, have you? How pure; I'm almost intimidated to corrupt such innocence. If it is all too much, yell out 'lotus'; I do not want your first time to be unsatisfactory."

"Hgh... Understood, my lord."

"Yelan. I am no more or less now that I am to mate with you; we are of equal ranking. If you must, you can still refer to me as please, but I will admit the truth that I do want to hear my name out of your delectable enunciation."

"Okay—Yelan."

Yelan's instinct to the callout of her name is to kiss you again, never satiated by how addictive mortal flesh can be. You gasp into the drastically different monument of the kiss, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as she plunges you further into the generous bedding.

You tried returning her touch with eager vigor but found your hands accidentally pressed against the middle of your crotch due to your unfamiliarity with a half-beast, half-mortal form. You're flustered as an involuntary moan leaves you at the feeling of her monstrous size while Yelan is quick to use the opportunity to slither her long tongue inside, which has your body inducing visual stimuli.

You choke even more when you feel her grab your attire and rip it apart with her claws; you whine at the act, quite saddened as you have grown quite attached to the outfit, and as a result, Yelan mumbled a quiet "sorry" in between hungry kisses.

"Yelan... needs—more, ah, fast—faster!"

You come to regret your words a tad bit when you feel her lengthy tail slither its bulk around your thigh and an inch away from your womanhood.

"Comfortable or-"

"Please."

She doesn't question your neediness, nor does she require any more words for her to thrust some of the length inside, careful not to harm you as she deems you not suitable for many insertions yet.

You cry out her name at the intrusion, gripping her back and scarring it at that, but it doesn't matter as she moves from your lips to mark your body while getting rid of the distraction covering your frame.

Time is an unchangeable aspect of the universe, but in this moment of elation, it seems to go on for an eternity while flashing faster than one can comprehend the flicker of lightning. You're a whimpering mess as Yelan plants her imprint onto you. How long has it been, how long have you been doing it, and how long are you able to go on—these are all questions you don't know the answers to, and one that is least of your concerns at the feelings of how staggering her erotic touches are.

Satisfied enough to finish her final touches on your neck and collarbone, she moves to your chest, pressing airy kisses to each nipple before setting her lukewarm mouth to suck on one while rubbing the other.

"Mmm... mn, ah.. your highness, Yelan. So-so..g..” Your words run dry at the overstimulated sensations running their course.

“No need to say anything; just focus your pretty little mind on making those delectable sounds, and let me take care of the rest.”

"Shhh, no need to say anything; focus your pretty little mind on feeling my devotion to you and making those delectable sounds. Let me take care of you."

Out of the blue, Yelan pulled her tail out of you, causing you to let out a whiny whimper at the loss of contact, but not long after it would be replaced by a hitched breath.

You have never seen a penis before, only heard of its description and what its function to society is, but nobody has ever told you that they're almost as large as the size of your head, and two of them at that.

"Haha, don't look so excited now; it's truly a tempting invitation to my constrained self-control. My tail already has difficulty trying to enter you; to think you can fit these two little beasts of mine is beyond impossible."

You pull your lips into a dainty pout with a tilt of your head. 

“Is there no other way to pleasure one another, my liege?”

“You're so curious and such an obedient little one too; I truly struck gold when I found you.” Yelan kissed your cheek and slowly intertwined your hand, guiding it to wrap around the base of her shaft.

"For other means of pleasure, I can, of course, change the size of them, but it wouldn't be entertaining, now would it?" She teased, causing your clitoris to ache for her again. "I'm merely playing the fool, as I have stated; harming you is like a war against heaven. I'm sure this would be amusing to you; just move your hand up and down like this." Yelan demonstrated the movement on her large genitalia, and you perked up as you saw her ears turn a darker color, an indication you picked up as a sign of fluster.

"I'm curious, Your Highness; does a mortal man have two reproductive parts as well?"

You use both hands to give both of her members equal attention, and you are rewarded for this by a raspy moan as well as an even greater hardening of the twin beast.

"In rare cases, perhaps, but I am no mortal, and especially not a man."

Yelan, grab your hands and pin them above your head, leaving you helpless and useless with only your sight available to witness her shrinking her tools down to a size compatible with your body.

"And no mortal is capable of giving you the satisfaction you are entitled to, nor can any arise and satiate this overwhelming lust like you are in a position to."

She inserts both beasts in each of your holes, causing you to cry out her name in slight pain with overarching ecstasy. Her tails wrap around you, and she ushers her lips down to your neck, kissing and thrusting simultaneously to bring you to your well-deserved orgasm.

You feel a soothing coldness enveloping you like the ocean's hug, your back arching off the ground as your head throws back, seeing the deepest part of the beautiful watery abyss.

The Lord is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?

"The Lord is who I shall cherish evermore as my beloved soulmate." You said it out loud, opting not to write it in the last line of your autobiography.

"Exquisitely written and articulated, my dearest bride."

Yelan kissed your cheek when you turned to her after you finally stopped writing, having silently watched you and touched the floral mark of her symbol tattooed on your womb, now turning your attention solely to her.

"Your ways with words never change, do they, your lordship?"

"It has become second nature to me, hailing from the deepest part of my once indestructible soul, whose only weakness is one single mortal."

In her was life, and that life was the light of all humankind.

[astralflower-writes]

cooking your favorite meal

♡ pairing: mark sloan & female! reader

♡ genre: fluff

♡ warnings: none

♡ check out my grey's anatomy masterlist here

after series of trauma that came in, you finally had the opportunity to slump yourself into one of the on-call rooms for a breather.

but just as you closed your eyes, your phone rang.

"hey babe, where are you?"

it's mark. luckily for him it was his day off.

"still here."

you listened to him talk about how a grandma he met at a grocery were telling him how handsome and kind of him to help her around the store.

"are you okay?" he asked since you were not giving him any comments or replies.

"hmm?? uh yeah. im just really..." you didn't even get to finish your sentence when you dozed off.

"babe? y/n?" he stifled a laugh on the other line.

"sweet dreams y/n. ill be there when you wake up." he said before dropping the call.

when you woke up, you were surprised to see mark sitting on the bad with a table already set.

"hey there sleepyhead." he said kissing your forehead.

"wha- i was supposed to come home." you tried to straighten yourself up.

"nah it's fine y/n. here let's eat."

he handed you a bento box filled with your favorite food, which is burger steak paired with white rice and on the side with mushrooms and gravy.

"i hope this tastes like the ones you cook. i tried my best though." handing you a spoon to try it.

you couldn't say anything else. you tried the meal he cooked and he was waiting for your response.

"oh! wow mark, this is just as good! even better!"

you put the bento box on the table and reached to hug him. you have never felt so much love.

mark has always made you feel so special and taken care of. you couldn't help be feel so grateful for him.

[bloodrvvvsh]

Code Red, Code Blue. Chapter 1: Acquainted.

Synopsis: When the BAU is led to a case in Seattle, with Seattle Grace Mercy West as the focal point. And after an unfortunate incident involving two cups of hot coffee and a ruined pair of scrubs, Spencer meets a girl that changes his whole life.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Lexie Grey

Warnings: Typical CM discussions of crimes, typical Grey's discussions of gore and medical talk (very minimal, though!), meet-cute, literally one (1) offhanded "killing yourself" joke

Word count: 3.0K

Notes: My baby.. she's finally finished... Please enjoy, I spent way too long on this!

Likes are appreciated, but reblogs and comments help writers more!

Wednesday, September 29. 9:42 AM in Quantico, Virgina.

Spencer had only ever been to Seattle once.

Working in the BAU took him all over the country. Cases popped up in every corner, in every state, in every place you could possibly imagine. He had seen nearly every part of the vast landscape that was the US of A.

The last case that had led them across the country to Seattle was The Seattle Strangler, back when Gideon was still on the team. Spencer had mixed emotions about that thought. But he was a professional and he was going to do his job.

Their current case was as close as you could get to clean cut and dry in their line of work. Women in their 20s being stabbed. Pretty simplistic, right? 

The one connection each murder had, though, was that every single woman was eventually directed to Seattle Grace Mercy West. And while the hospital was a fairly major one, it was a Level 1 Trauma Center, after all, which meant a lot of patients, it was definitely raising a few alarm bells in their heads. Each woman was also eventually declared dead at that exact hospital.

It could never hurt to check every possible lead, could it?

Spencer used two fingers to rub at the sleep clinging to his eye still. He tried, and failed, to stifle a yawn as he shifted in his seat. Although he was quite used to struggles with sleep (hence his dependence on caffeine), it never truly got any better. 

“Late night?” Morgan inquired. He propped his arms on the top of Spencer’s seat, peering over the other man’s shoulder.

Spencer shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep,” he replied. He frowned softly, continuing to try and rid himself of the tiredness that stuck to his lashes before he was interrupted by another yawn.

God, he could really use some coffee right now.

He glanced down at his watch and his frown deepened. They still had at least another two hours until they would land. 

Spencer would consider himself a fairly patient man. He didn’t mind waiting, hell, he most often played the waiting game in his job as a BAU agent. But right now, sitting on that jet running on only five hours of sleep with not a drop of caffeine in sight, he was feeling just one moment away from simply losing it.

Not like it would actually happen, though. Spencer wasn’t that kind of guy. He was calm and reserved, even in the face of adversity. 

Hotch’s voice cut through Spencer’s internal monologue for the moment, snapping him back into reality. “We’re going to head to the police station first,” he began, casting a glance over each BAU member in eyesight, “After we get all the necessary facts, we’re going to head to the hospital. Sound good?” He was met with a round of nods from everyone and he nodded back.

~

Wednesday, September 29. 11:23 AM in Seattle, Washington.

Lexie needed a goddamn break.

Being a surgical resident had to be a punishment designed in one of the seven pits of hell. How dare she desire to save people's lives, right?

At least it was better than being an intern.

She loved her job, don’t get her wrong, being a surgeon was her dream. It’s just that she couldn’t remember the last time she got more than four hours of sleep a night and she was just so tired all the time. From running around constantly to several hours long surgeries to forty-eight hour shifts. 

Not to mention the constant drama and tragedy that filled the Seattle Grace Mercy West halls. You couldn’t turn a corner without hearing about someone sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend or about another MerDer breakup or another surprise pregnancy. Really, sometimes it was just ridiculous.

Lexie herself had been the victim of that good ol’ SGMW drama. She was trying to pull herself free from the clutches of it all, but it always seemed to follow them all. Like some sort of curse was placed on that very hospital.

But that was besides the point. The point was that she needed just one moment of peace, away from all the chaos of the hospital and the drama. Was that so selfish of her?

The sound of sneakers shuffling and her racing heart filled Lexie’s ears as she rushed through the halls. The occasional ‘excuse me’ slipped from her lips, trying not to crash into everyone that was in her way. 

When your attending pages 911, you don’t walk - you run.

Her feet skidded to a stop as the familiar emergency room came into view, nearly making her trip with the sudden halt. Her movements seemed almost practiced with the near mindless way she moved - triage gown, tie in the back, gloves. This wasn’t her first trauma, and it would be far from the last.

“What do we have?” Bailey’s voice cut through the millions of other noises filling the room - the rustling of fabric, the snapping of latex gloves on skin, the chatter of voices. The ER was ever far from being quiet.

“28-year-old woman stabbed fifteen times in the torso, majority in the chest,” Owen shot back. He rushed forwards when the glint of red and blue lights followed by the sirens that would follow them for the rest of their lives came into view, and the rest of them marched behind.

“God, overkill much?” Cristina muttered low to Meredith. Bailey, who heard everything always, shot a glare over her shoulder. Cristina threw her hands up in defense, eyes wide and eyebrows raised. Her face fell the minute Bailey turned away and she shook her head with a quiet scoff.

The doors to the ambulance flew open and out rushed a woman on a stretcher. “BP is 158 over 92, HR is 92,” an EMT announced. Owen cursed under his breath as he took the railing of the stretcher into his hands.

“She’s hypertensive,” he announced. Quickly, other hands began to grab onto the stretcher as well, guiding the women into the hospital doors. He barked out a few names and different orders and Lexie slowly loosened her grip on the railing as her feet quit keeping pace before stopping entirely. She watched as the woman was rushed towards a trauma room, a frown falling on her lips. Trauma was never a pretty sight.

With a sigh she made her way to the receptionist desk near the ER entrance doors where a few of the other residents left behind had gathered.

“That’s the third stabbing in less than two months,” April remarked. A little frown began to form on her lips as she flipped the chart in her hand. “And they’ve all been women in their late 20s.”

She didn’t have to say it. They were all thinking it. The glances exchanged spoke a thousand words.

“You don’t think..” Meredith trailed off. She shot a look towards Cristina, then glanced back at April. The current hypothesis wasn’t looking so hot.

“It’s probably just a weird coincidence,” Lexie was quick to interject. Her words did little to quell the tense energy that filled the emergency room. “I mean, Seattle’s a big city. Plenty of crazy people doing crazy things. I’m sure they’re not related.” She waved a hand dismissively. Then she added, “It is getting close to the holidays. Don’t crime rates increase during the holiday seasons, or something?”

The pager attached to her hip beeped. She groaned, a pout appearing on her face at the sound. She unclicked it from the waistband of her scrub pants to take a glance at the numbers displayed on the screen and she sighed once more. It was Derek.

With a murmur of, “I’ve got to go,” that was met with a few dismissive waves of goodbyes from her fellow residents, she made her way towards the elevators, absolutely not ready for whatever Derek had in store for her now.

~

Wednesday, September 29. 2:17 PM in Seattle, Washington.

One thing you never want to hear in a hospital is silence. And that’s exactly Lexie had been greeted when she emerged from the imaging room, a stack of paperwork and scans ordered by Derek in hand. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but something was absolutely happening and she’d be damned if she was left out of it.

It all started to make sense, though, as she made her descent down a floor of stairs and she noticed a group of her coworkers crowded behind a corner. Mentally she counted heads - Cristina, Meredith, Alex, Jackson, April.. All five of them in the same place at the same time, clearly hiding from someone (or something?), always spelled trouble.

Cautiously, she made her way towards the group. She tried to stand on her tip-toes, trying to look over their shoulders to see whatever the hell it was that was making them all stop in their tracks, but to no luck.

Finally with a huff, she decided to pipe up. “What are we looking at?” Her sudden appearance obviously spooked them, as they all nearly jumped at the sound of her voice, but they quickly relaxed when they realized it was just Lexie. She flashed a little smile that was short lived and didn’t quite reach her eyes with an utterance of ‘sorry’. 

“Them,” Meredith said. Lexie leaned to the side and she followed the finger that Meredith pointed with. Never would have Lexie guessed what would be standing before her right now.

There, talking to the Chief and Owen, was a group of people that certainly didn’t look like they belonged together. One man in particular, though, stood out among the rest - a tall man with curly brown locks and the most beautiful face Lexie had ever seen. “I heard they’re FBI agents,” Cristina cut in, knocking her out her little lovestruck daydream, and Lexie’s head snapped so quickly to look back at her, it’s a wonder it didn’t break.

“What?” Was all she could manage in response. “FBI, wh-” She shook her head, trying to clear her head from all the thoughts racing through it. “What would the FBI be doing here?” Her voice dropped low, almost to a rushed whisper.

Cristina shrugged. “Hell if I know.” Lexie frowned. And just as she opened her mouth, ready to say more, Owen gestured in the direction of their little gathering. And when the group of supposed FBI agents looked at them, they all took off, scattering away in their different directions, like roaches when you turned the lights on.

Except for Lexie. She was frozen in place, her blood running cold in her body when their hard eyes locked on her. She forced another smile, a nervous little giggle escaping her as heat washed over her cheeks in heavy waves. She raised her free hand to offer them a half-hearted greeting before pointing behind her with her thumb and then promptly spinning on her heel and hurriedly trying to escape the embarrassment that was that interaction.

~

Wednesday, September 29. 2:45 PM in Seattle, Washington.

Spencer had drank approximately four-and-a-half cups of coffee since landing in Seattle, and he was not quite satisfied yet.

Would he ever truly be satisfied with the amount of caffeine he consumed? Could anyone, really? The answer didn’t really matter. Not to him, anyways. Especially not now, when the tiredness ran bone deep and the day was nowhere near close to being finished. So, he was going to get another cup.

“I’m going to get some coffee,” he announced offhandedly as he pushed himself up from his seat. 

Morgan raised an eyebrow at the young genius as he started to make his way in the direction of the coffee machines. “Really?” Morgan said. “Another cup of coffee? Seriously, kid, you’re going to kill yourself with all that caffeine and sugar you consume.” Spencer waved a hand in response and Morgan could only shake head with a small smile falling over his lips.

“Oh, you’re getting coffee?” JJ perked up, craning her neck slightly to catch Spencer’s eye before he disappeared. “Do you think you could get me a cup, too? Please?”

Spencer nodded. “Cream and sugar?” A grin split across JJ’s face at the idea that he remembered what she liked in her coffee. Although, with Spencer, he couldn’t have possibly forgotten in the first place. “You know it!” she called out to him. “You’re the best, Spence!”

“No problem,” he called back to her as he turned the corner. 

The trek to the elevator and up to the coffee carts was not a particularly long one, but it did give Spencer enough time to get lost in his thoughts. His movements almost ran on autopilot as he got on the elevator and pressed the button with the number four painted on it.

His feet moved for him, guiding him in the direction of exactly where he wanted to be. Ideas and different theories of their current case filled his head as he walked.

All of this to say - he was not paying attention. Not one bit. Not even as he mindlessly ordered two coffees - one mocha latte with room for sugar and one black with cream and sugar. Not as he began to round the corners that he was starting to become familiar with from turning around so many times due to his near caffeine addiction.

Not even as another body rounded the same corner as him.

It wasn’t until the harsh impact came, the colliding of two people knocking hard into each other and hot coffee being dumped all over each other, that he really came back to reality.

Lexie gasped as the coffee crashed right onto her, burning through her scrubs and stinging her skin. She glanced up, wanting to look whoever just ruined her scrubs in the eye, and it was like the whole world slowed for a moment.

It was cute supposed FBI agent guy. 

Her jaw went slack, practically hitting the floor, and all she could do was stare. She almost wanted to pinch herself, check if any of this was really real, but the hot coffee burning her skin told her it was true.

“I’m so sorry,” The words fell out of Spencer’s mouth in an instant. He glanced around in search of something, anything, that could clean up the mess he just made, but he was coming up empty. “Really, I am so sorry-”

Lexie shook her head. “It’s fine-”

Spencer’s eyebrows pinched together. “I just spilled hot coffee all over you, it is not fine.” Lexie could feel her heart skip a beat.

“No, really, it- it’s fine,” she chuckled. “I have another pair of scrubs in my locker, it’s okay.” Spencer didn’t seem satisfied with that answer.

Now it was his turn to shake his head. “Can I make it up to you? You know, for.. getting you doused in coffee and ruining your scrubs.”

Lexie hesitated for a moment. While he was very cute, and seemingly very sweet, she barely knew this guy.

But something inside her told her to take her chance.

“Uh,” she bit down on her bottom lip. She waited for a beat. “Yeah,” she found herself saying, “Yeah, why don’t you buy me a coffee?” Spencer’s whole face lit up at her answer.

Could you blame him, though? Even covered in coffee, the woman before him was absolutely stunning.

“My name’s Spencer,” he finally added. “Spencer Reid. Doctor Spencer Reid, actually.’” Lexie arched a brow at him, head tilting to the side. “Doctor, huh?” she echoed. “Are you, like, new around here, or something? Did you transfer from another hospital?”

“Oh, no. I- I’m not an MD, I’m, uh.. I’m a PhD.”

Lexie slowly nodded her head. “Right,” she muttered. The smile on her face couldn’t seem to budge. “Well, I’m Lexie,” she stuck a hand out to him, “Doctor Lexie Grey, MD.” They both grinned at her words before chuckling. Spencer found himself thinking her name was beautiful. He glanced down at her outstretched hand and then so did she, and for a moment they were both just staring at her hand.

Finally, he spoke up again, “I- I don’t do handshakes,” he spit out. “The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s, uh- it’s actually safer to kiss.” 

Lexie nodded her head once more and let her hand fall back to her side. She ran her palm down the side of her thigh, subtly trying to wipe the gathering sweat. A part of her was tempted to ask if he wanted to kiss her, but she held off. For now.

“So, are you a germaphobe, or something? Or do you just know a lot of different facts?”

“Both, actually,” he said. “I, uh, I have an eidetic memory, so I remember everything I read. A lot about bacteria.”

“An eidetic memory?” Lexie echoed. “Really?”

Spencer nodded, a smirk worming its way onto his lips as he began to rock himself on his heels. “And an IQ of 187 and I can read 20,000 words per minute.”

“Oh, so you’re some sort of super genius, is that what this is?”

Spencer shrugged and his smile seemed to grow. “I don’t think intelligence can be defined by arbitrary measures. But for all intents and purposes, I am a genius.”

“You know, that’s really weird, because I actually have a photographic memory,” Lexie said. She tilted her head to the side again. “Does that make me a genius, too?”

Spencer chuckled. “Well, being a doctor isn’t an easy thing to achieve. Especially being a surgeon. I would imagine you have to be fairly smart to become one.”

Lexie’s own smile seemed to grow as well. “Well, Dr. PhD, why don’t you tell me a little bit more about yourself?” She nodded her head in the direction she came from before she started to walk. And Spencer found himself following behind her.

For some reason, Spencer felt like he wasn’t going to regret spilling coffee on her.

for @gghostwriter bc i don't have a taglist <3

(if you would like to be crcb taglist, let me know!!)

[juuuulez]

📰 | carmen berzatto x reader ; “Proximity.”

info: Carmen Berzatto x Reader, no pronouns (but written with fem! in mind), NYC era, tired Carmy, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs (cocaine/weed), you’re Carmen’s roommate.

summary: Carmen is your roommate: who happens to have terrible sleeping habits.

we rot, thinkin' lots about nothing / yeah, i could spend a lifetime / sitting here talkin' — comfort crowd, conan gray.

i don't feel like nothing special / i snag my tights out on the lawn chair / guess i’m a mess and play the role — i might say something stupid, charli xcx.

okay so BASICALLY this is kid krow boyfriend x brat girlfriend. expect three parts to this cute lil series my slayers. i’m insatiable and music makes me write.

“Jesus, what’ve I said about sleepin’ on the couch?”

Your voice is a shrill whine in the small apartment. The space itself is dingy, a two-bedroom joint in New York City. Mess forms on just about every surface, namely the coffee table, stacked high with a combination of culinary books, trays of pencils, and dirtied ashtrays.

Heels clack as you clamber into the living room, dropping down to your knees aside the couch. Carmy is dead to the world, passed out with his face pressed into the cushion, hair all tangled and wild.

You grab onto his shoulder, trying to push him upright with an exasperated groan. It doesn’t work. Finally, you use sharp, manicured nails to tug at his ear, a sharp pinch that finally awakens your roommate.

“Fuck.” Carmen grumbles, only pushing his face deeper into the pillow to evade any further scolding.

“Get off the couch, asshole.” You continue to berate him, “You pay for a room, so go sleep in it.”

Living in New York was expensive. So, you advertised for taking in a roommate. Someone lowkey who would stay out of your business, keep their shit to themselves, and best case scenario, help cook every now and then.

Carmen Berzatto seemed like the jackpot.

Except he was run absolutely ragged. Sure, the restaurant he worked at was classy, whatever. You didn’t care enough to indulge in the details. But the man would work for hours on end, and pass out on the first surface he could find.

Which brought you back to the problem at hand.

“I’m serious.” You continue, “I wanna watch Grey’s Anatomy before bed and have my joint. It’s my nightly ritual, you gotta fuckin’ move.”

At this point you were leaning your full weight against him, pushing Carmen deeper into the cushion. He groaned and finally rolled over, prompting you to let go, rubbing a hand over his eyes.

“Y’can’t watch it in y’er room?” He asks.

You huff, sitting on the hardwood floor in defeat. “No. There’s no TV in there, and my phone is dead.”

Carmen finally clears his foggy vision, blinking tiredly as he inspects your form, slumped on the ground beside him. A tight little black top clings to you, along with a matching pencil skirt.

“Did y’go out?” He asks, gaining some sense of awareness. The pair of you didn’t discuss personal stuff, most of the time Carmen had no idea what you were up to.

He was an early riser, you weren’t. Carmen would get home after a long shift and pass out, while you still roamed the streets late into the night. In a way, it was nice, as the pair of you wouldn’t often clash or argue for you simply weren’t in each other’s way.

Except for now, of course.

“Yes.” You huff, “And now it’s late and ‘m tired and have a headache. All I wanna do is watch Grey’s Anatomy and pass out on my,” You punctuate the word by stealing the throw pillow from him. “couch.”

There’s nowhere to argue. Technically, it was your couch. It was your apartment. Carmen knew he should be grateful, given that he simply had to pay a portion of rent, yet wasn’t responsible for the financial burden of all the furniture you’d collected beforehand.

Instead of just moving, Carmen finds himself wondering about your night. The headache. “How much did y’drink?” He asks.

You catch on, standing with an irritated groan. The throw pillow is tossed back down, to which Carmen grips it and pulls it to his chest. He wants to fall back asleep so badly. But now you’re causing a commotion, leaning against the wall and prying each heel off with huffs of frustration, throwing them somewhere down the hallway.

“It’s not the alcohol, it’s Katie’s bum-ass coke.” You complain loudly. “She gets it for free ‘cus she’s fucking this guy, but it’s just not good. Like, I can feel my brain cells evaporating and screaming like it’s a fiery wreck up there.”

Carmen hums, fiending understanding. Of course. It’s definitely not one of his favourite things about you. But, it’s not really his place to step in, to point out all the terrible choices you make. Sometimes he finds himself tempted to, but has to remember that would make things weird.

You didn’t want his baggage. Fuck, Carmen certainly didn’t want yours. It was a box that shouldn’t be opened, a line that won’t be crossed.

“Y’ever think about.. just not doing it?” Carmen ends up saying, his voice quiet and tentative, unable to help himself but prod the tiniest bit.

Thankfully, you brush it off, dumping a shiny pile of jewellery onto the coffee table to join the existing mess. “Yeah, right. Then I’ll get massive FOMO and it’ll kill the entire vibe. Great advice. Now scooch.”

Carmen has no choice but to shift as your stocking-clad foot nudges his thigh. There’s a hole in it, around your ankle, and he absentmindedly wonders how that happened. Regardless, he sits further up on the couch, making room for you to ungracefully slump beside him. It’s a close proximity, but one he’s slowly gotten adjusted to, finding that you’re the kind of person who simply doesn’t care about all these little touches.

The ones that make Carmen all flustered and nervous, the ones he’ll overthink whenever his mind isn’t so loud.

You lay on your side, legs curled up in the space that isn’t occupied by Carmen’s thighs. It looks like you’re ready to sleep in this position, and Carmen resists making a comment about how hypocritical that would be.

There’s a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again.

“What’s the time, anyway?” Carmen asks.

You give a little shrug, the motion halfhearted and yet full of effort. “Like, three. Wanted to leave earlier, but it was this whole big thing.”

Carmy doesn’t bother indulging, instead giving a short hum as he thinks about it. All this time, and yet he’s never met any of your friends. You don’t bring them over, mostly because you’re barely home at night. He wonders if they’re like you.

“Shoes.” You suddenly pipe up again, a foot once again nudging him. “Y’were sleepin’ in them.”

He looks down, noticing the fact that his sneakers are still on. It makes his brows furrow, brain still all hazy from sleep, resisting the urge to melt back into the couch and continue his nap.

“Wasn’t thinking.” He sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes once more. They sting slightly with the light you’ve turned on down the hall, the one neither of you will get up to switch off.

With the last of his willpower, Carmen toes off his shoes, letting them land somewhere underneath the coffee table. One of your heels lingers nearby, too.

“Clearly.” You mumble, “Your bedroom is three steps away, and you’re sleeping here. Weirdo.”

It’s not exactly venomous, and if Carmen was any other person he’d probably smile. Laugh a little. But he’s not. The pair of you are so different to the point where Carmen struggles to understand you, and to combat this issue, he’s reduced your role in his life to that of a stranger: a passing face on his eventual journey for something bigger.

“What about that joint?” He reminds you, deciding to ignore the slight snipe.

It earns another groan, drawn-out and dramatic as you press your cheek into the armrest. “No way ‘m getting up now.”

There’s a beat of silence as Carmen shifts, leaning over the couch to the floor. He finds his abandoned pile of belongings, the stuff he’d dropped after work seconds before passing out. A carton of cigarettes find his hand, tugging one out to place it between his lips.

He flicks the lighter, inhales, lets it spark to life. Then, Carmen takes it back out, passing it down and holding it in front of your face. Even with your eyes closed, you knew that noise, and didn’t need any direction to lean forward and snatch it between your teeth.

The sound you make is a pleased one, inhaling deep and letting it out. It manages to quell your headache slightly, to lessen that irritability that always grows after a night out like this, where the coming day you’ll be snappy and tired and miserable.

You ask for Alexa to play Grey’s Anatomy, the Google TV opening to the episode you were last on.

Carmen smiles when you thank it, as if the television was sentient.

Though he’s never been one for medical shows, Carmen doesn’t seem to mind. That’s because he barely watches it, passing out again maybe 5 minutes into the episode, still sitting up against the couch. It doesn’t even matter, for you follow suit not much later, the cigarette burnt out and filter falling to the floor in an ashy pile.

[catyo90]

Veil guard Romance Head-Cannon Scenario: Ballroom

(Really missed the idea of a Ball room quest from DAI. So I thought what if I made up some for ya'll.)

Taash - They wear a more formal arrangement of fabric with multiple medals and jewels with a long blue cape to accent the body and arms. At first they are really uncomfortable, the idea of lavish food and drinks and having to be polite isn't really what the Qun or Lords of Fortune teach but they do love the jewels and gold around everyone saying how everyone in the room, be it friend or enemy, they are like dragons. They will fight tooth and nail to be at the top and smote away their competition. The stares from many women and men who find them attractive causes a smirk every time knowing full well what they are thinking. Rook being there helps, they are comfortable around them no matter what and loves it when Rook winks at them. The idea of dancing with Rook makes Taash blush a tad everytime the thought comes to mind.

Harding- She wears a similar garb to what the inquisition wore in orlais but with small stitching of her own and her hair down. Having worked with the Inquisition she isn't unaware of the game needed to be played since Leliana showed her the ins and outs of everything to look for. She stays near the balconies to keep an eye out from above, a birds eye view so to speak. She loves seeing Rook coming to her and sneaking kisses around the corner knowing all too well they both want to return to the lighthouse for private time. Dancing is a bit embarrassing for her seeing as the last few times she danced it was difficult to move along but Rook let's her lead but everytime Rook can they dip her, causing them to smile as the sounds of music echo on.

Bellara - She wears a combo of elven robes and her clans as well with her hair done into two smalle buns with her signature triangle accessories. She is super excited about meeting such well known scholars and researchers. Always answering and asking questions about human customs and their love of cheese which she seems to find everywhere she went. She loves the idea of dancing with Rook, so much so she will pull them onto the dancefloor and dances in her clans way. Both a delight and welcoming from all who witness the dance. Afterwards she is out of breath having enjoyed herself too much. After the dance she thanks Rook for bringing her to experience something new.

Emmerich - He wears a long green robe with bone like trims and small silver details of the human anatomy with a flower in his pocket. Having been self taught in manners and learned to honor all people politely he finds himself quite comfortable in the noble halls, basically follows the manners maketh men like style. He stays close to the center of the room drinking fine tea brought to him by Manfred who he has in special noble robes. Everyone is delighted by Manfred and his excitement. Rook is the one to ask Emerich to a dance, at first he's not confident enough, he wonders if the others around will judge for the age difference or even the idea of a necromancer finding any companionship, he finds Rook taking his hand and whispering sweet encouragement to him helps as the gentle tones of the songs block out the whispers of those around them.

Davrin- Wears a more formal Grey Warden armor with feathers along his arms and shoulders with Assan having a matching cloak around his neck.

Being a Grey Warden and an Elf having not really been influenced by the idea of elegant dancing or as Neve would tell him playing "The Game." He does love the rich food and drinks and bringing Assan he tends to stay outside keeping an eye out on any Venetori agents while Assan tries his hardest to be polite but finding it difficult to not chase the bejeweled outfits and shiny baubles that nobles wear. Seeing Rook though does ease the time spent as he will ask Rook to save a dance for him, warning that he can't help but stare at the way they are dressed.

Lucanis - The robes he wears are a dark black and purple trim with hidden pockets for his daggers, along his shoulders are crow feathers with a long cloak and hood with a lighter sash around his waist. He is quite at home here but he sticks close to the shadows and watches every step and gesture like his life depended on it. Having been imprisoned for a year though he is a tad rusty at the small talk and rather keeps to himself on the lush couch drinking coffee all the while trying to keep spite in check who keeps smelling the secrets of every nobles desire. All the dark secrets to spite as clear as water making him laugh inside. It is lucanis that asks Rook for a dance after the mission smiling all the while as spite shows off his wings to accent the dance entirely evening gently lifting them into the air away from prying eyes.

Neve - She wears a teal dress, not too long or short but enough to show off her legs, he hair is down with a small serpent hairpin and a custom prosthetic for dancing. She is very used to this sort of atmosphere having worked with Dorian and the magistrate undercover. She loves the chase of clues and the idea of hidden secrets in the halls and in the words of servants. While she does know how to dance, after losing her leg she became a bit more restrictive in the art but with Rook that fear goes away, the reassurance of love and comfort from Rook reminds her that she doesn't have to be the detective of the streets and instead be a courted lady of the evening.

[forasecondtherewedwon]

It's Enough, It's Enough - chapter five

Fandom: My Lady Jane Pairing: Jane x Guildford Rating: E Chapter: 5 / 6

Summary: Five times Jane and Guildford pretend to have sex, and one time it’s for real.

read on tumblr: one | two | three | four

She's been reading all along. Guildford doesn't know that. She didn't want him to think she wasn't prioritizing the texts on curing Ethianism, and she never wanted him to know that, despite their conversation about marital obligations on the first night of their honeymoon, she's been contemplating the idea of fucking him this whole time. And not just contemplating it, reading about it—which, for Jane Grey, is about as serious as you can get.

Every time she starts to surrender to what her body wants and Guildford stops her, it's embarrassing. Her own fault, of course; even if the eager way she leans in whenever his face comes near totally contradicts them, her words have communicated things like “As if” and “I want a divorce.” Despite her actions, it seems that he heard her from the start and decided to listen. He's not confused. Clearly, Guildford lives in a world where people say a thing and follow through, set their own rules and then abide by them. And Jane lives in a world where her spine dissolves like wet sugar when Guildford stands just a little too close to her. Or smirks at her. Or does anything with his hands, really. Or refers to her as his wife. That gets her too.

The books on sex are as unromantic as Jane imagines is possible. This is maddening, and also probably the reason she doesn't feel like they're helping. She wants to understand, but not like that, or that, or that—flipping through pages on anatomy (she's seen a diagram of a member before) and diseases of the genitalia and their proposed treatments (her eyes widen in horror at repeated suggestions to place plants she knows to be poisonous in extremely delicate areas). It's all just too clinical, and she usually loves clinical! She loves when books present things unemotionally, letting the facts speak for themselves! But that doesn't work for her here. As much as Jane reads about blood and stiffening and insertion, she feels as though she's seeing less than half of the picture. Nothing like the way she feels around Guildford is captured in these pages. Because of that, they're almost no good to her at all.

Getting attempted-murdered in broad moonlight is an unwelcome yet extremely effective distraction. Oh yes, she's considered scenarios that would lead to her waking up on her back in the warm grass, but it was always Guildford who had something to do with that, not Mary. It takes Jane some time before she's able to figure out why she can hardly breathe: the result of Mary's thumbs mashing her windpipe, or fear that someone with stronger thumbs (or maybe a sword) was sent after Guildford to dispatch him too?

But Guildford is alive. For now. Lately, Jane feels as though everything has only been “for now.” She is continually wrong-footed in a world of impermanence. They gain access to the rest of Mary and Seymour's letters, Mary steals them back. Jane awakens from failed assassination-induced unconsciousness, ready to tell Guildford what happened (or maybe that she's starting to understand that thing he sensed she didn't yet the last time they kissed), and he's already a horse. Nothing is certain!

Guildford's father counsels her towards certainty, but it's a certainty of his own desiring, not hers. Neither giving birth to a son nor naming Guildford King (though that's not the order Lord Dudley has in mind) could be easily undone—yet the possibility exists, with so many would-be killers darting about the palace. Regardless, neither action is one she wants to take. Except for maybe the bit about making the son. In this political climate though? Jane doesn't like the idea of using a baby as a tool, even if that is the gig, part and parcel of being a monarch. Again, it's too clinical, making her think of those books with their dispassionate descriptions of the marital act. Does everything in her life need a motive? Must she always pretend to be anticipating something five steps ahead? Will she forever be expected to enjoy scheming as much as the people around her? Why is certainty synonymous with power and never happiness? Can she not fucking live?

Even the project that gives meaning to her marriage, if not her life, is revealed to be pointless; Susannah visits and assures Jane there is no cure to Ethianism. Not being able to disclose to Susannah exactly why that's such bad news makes Jane ache. She needs a friend. She needs Susannah to ask how she is, like she did after Jane's father died. Jane has no clue how to impart this information to Guildford. Is there a way, if she wants to be kind? Can he care for her if she stops being his means to a cure? If she's just a person, full of flaws, letting him down? Is there anything real left between them without their deal? They've done so much pretending. They've built a version of themselves on the lies they've told, and Jane doesn't know whether there is another version.

Leave it to her mother to force the issue. With her usual disregard for what the consequences will be for anyone other than herself, she makes two statements: Guildford is a horse, and Jane is in love with him. Though Jane manages to storm out of the room, her thoughts lack the same decisiveness. It feels to her as if her mother has thrown a knife that skewered the fundamental truth about each of them, Guildford and Jane. He is a horse, and his identity obsesses him, steers him, rides him; everything he values is valued because of its potential to either cure his Ethianism or dull his suffering while he endures the condition that is consumingly hateful to him. She loves him, and the feeling makes her ignore trial, ignore failure; his need for what she is supposed to be able to offer sustains them both. Will he want her if he doesn't need her? Will she stop being afraid long enough to let him?

There are no answers to these questions that she could find in books. There are only her rushing feet—along stone corridors, and then shushing across the lawn. Jane doesn't know how to stop Mary trying to kill her, and she doesn't know how to get justice for Edward, and she doesn't know if Susannah is right about Ethianism or simply angry at what appeared to be Jane's dismissal of their right to exist as themselves. Night has come on and the grass is damp as her dress drags across it. With all Jane's unknowns, at last, she has her certainty: she does not want a divorce. She wants Guildford to stay with her, to be with her, and to be with him, and to let him see that she is afraid, but that she will stay, if he will have her.

It's all circling around her head, so that, when she finds her husband standing at the back of the stables, she isn't sure she even says hello to him before putting a nix on divorce and demanding he kiss her.

She doesn't say she loves him. She doesn't want to talk, she isn't ready. But she's here. Jane's presence is her grand declaration. After all her hesitation, all her needless care, she can't undress him fast enough—can't make him undress her fast enough. She always thought the decision to give in would be difficult, but it's easy, easy, easy. Guildford's mouth on hers is heavy like ripe fruit. His fingers trip over the fastenings that do her up, keep her together, but once he steadies himself, this seems easy too; she wonders if he's pictured it all before: studied her clothing in moments when she was distracted and imagined what it would be like to dismantle his queen's lace and brocade armour. Has he been reading her while she read books?

This, by the way, is what the books couldn't get right: the swoop in her stomach when Guildford pulls her onto his lap, the overwhelming affection in her when she feels him smiling against her lips. Suddenly, Jane registers sympathy for those poor authors. How could they have put this on paper? How could anyone? For all the things that are meant to be read and studied and learned, what's happening between Jane and Guildford, here, now, is only meant to be felt. To transcribe would be to dilute.

She isn't ashamed to be naked before him, and there's nothing clinical about the heat of his member pressed to her thigh when he lies down on top of her in this bed he's maintained in the stables. It smells like him, even here, where the scents of hay and wood and animal are strong. The scent of the bed is exhaustion and resignation, but also refuge. This is where Guildford is both selves, the one he wants and the one he doesn't. He comes here every night when he leaves her. This bed has held her husband when he deemed it unsafe for Jane to do the same. She has a sudden urge to find out what sleep smells like on him, when his body relaxes into the bed that cradles her now. How does he look entirely disarmed? Does being here now mean he'll let her spend the night? She doesn't say she loves him, but she strokes his back while he kisses her hotly and imagines stroking it again while he sleeps.

When the time has nearly come, Jane can tell. She panics. She admits it. And Guildford, who she has seen snide, self-assured, sarcastic, and short-tempered in daily life (or... nightly life), could not be more tender, more sweet. Jane wishes their wedding could have been like this, but in a way, this is a union, and one of their own choosing. He'll show her, no condescension. She'll let him, no injured pride.

He's barely hovering over her as his fingers trace up her thigh. Guildford's touch is so light it almost tickles like his leg hair does—a sensation she's surprised to find comforting, but it reminds her of their first bedding ceremony, his clever deception that spared them both some humiliation. She has always been a consideration for him. His pledge of thoughtfulness is there in his fingertips, in the parting of her, in the caress of the place the arousing fact of his body on hers has made damp. Jane grips his shoulders. Her hands flutter like confused butterflies up to the back of his neck as she trusts him and trusts him and trusts him. She writhes beneath him so much as he runs his careful fingers over and through and into her that he makes as if to climb off her, to give her room. Alight with a pleasure that feels like ringing the rim of a glass, Jane doesn't want room. She wants her husband right here, pressing her down, working her up. She winds her legs around the back of Guildford's calves and holds fast.

His tongue is in her mouth when she finds release in his bed for the first time. Though he drags his sopping fingers out of her, he continues touching her gently while they kiss. On her end, the kisses are nearly formless in the aftermath of the nervous burst that cascaded through her body, and yet Guildford's mouth is patient and forgiving. He grins when her lips meet his teeth, and licks at her, teasingly, when she attempts to slip her tongue into his mouth. Between her thighs, she feels his wedding ring. The smooth metal band bumps over her clitoris, scattering sparks which threaten to start fires; Jane bites her husband's lip to get his attention, then makes him watch her eyes as she rubs herself against the ring that says they are bound before God and England. There will be no divorce, her eyes insist. You were given to me as much as they gave me to you. When he's apparently unable to endure any more, Guildford grasps the base of Jane's skull and devours her mouth. She comes again when he sucks the tip of her tongue. At this rate, he's going to swallow everything her body can't contain.

If she's annoyed to realize she's unwittingly following her mother's advice—mouth closed, legs open—it's a distant annoyance, and it passes. Jane reaches a hand down between them, brushing warm skin on both sides. Their mouths slide apart until Guildford's lips rest against her cheek, not quite kissing. She stops to explore the hirsute path below his navel with her fingertips, lightly scratching her nails forward and back against the texture of his hair. On top of her, Guildford's breathing changes, rough and hitching, wanting her fingers right where they are, but also elsewhere. It's not dissimilar to intoxication, Jane thinks: this warm, loose feeling within her, the way her worries and reticence have left without conscious shedding. She reaches a bit farther (Hold anything firm firmly, and anything soft softly.) and wraps her fingers around his girth.

Her husband is patient, still—if tense—while Jane keeps his member lightly encircled in her grasp as she shuffles her legs apart. The cool sheet under her warm thighs is a relief that won't last. Smoothing her other hand over Guildford's hip, she guides him into the space she's made for him. She gasps when the blunt, wet end of him prods her. When he kisses her, she doesn't know if it's supposed to distract her, but his hand closes over hers and she feels everything.

Instinctually, Jane tilts her hips as he begins to insert himself. Her eyes go wide with surprise at the sensation it was impossible to prepare herself for (not that any of the male authors of those books even thought of soliciting a female perspective on the acts they describe). She can't help laughing at the strangeness. Guildford's (knife-slinging tavern lust-object) member (thick, rigid, twitching against her abdomen while they kissed) is inside her body! They're joined together! And it doesn't even hurt! Logically, Jane understands that this has more than a little to do with Guildford's unhurried fingers preparing her, but it's tempting to surrender herself to the illogical, to romance: it doesn't hurt because he never would, never could, hurt her. Gradually, Guildford sinks deeper. Breathing shakily, Jane bends her knees to hold his hips between her thighs, and then he's fully inside her.

But the end of that part is just the beginning of so much more. Jane loops her arms around Guildford's waist, spreads her hands on his back, feels his muscles go taut as he starts the slow, rhythmic process of consummation. This is their bodies in conversation. It's another way to know one another, and a transformation of them both; Jane can tell by his face, which hovers over hers, his eyes looking down at her with something he doesn't seem able to voice either. But it's there. It's there with them in this bed, in this stable, on this night when nobody told them what to do, or how, or why. Jane hears the soft grunts huffing past her own lips. Latin, Greek, Italian—now she speaks this. It's their own language, and apparently, she's fluent.

In a moment that passes before she can catch it, the sensation of Guildford thrusting within her evolves from feeling strange but good to very, very good. She can feel how wet she is, how steadily he's gliding through, and yet there's suddenly this friction. Her grunts crack open and become breathy cries. It's because she's squeezing him, from within. She's been kneading the muscles of his back, but her own muscles, there inside her, are at least as powerful. They have the power to make Guildford pant like an animal, his hips jerking shallowly against hers until she stops clenching. She offers a slack smile in return for his stunned expression, and then they surge together, grabbing each other's face as they kiss, fingers catching on chins and ears and hair already unkempt from one another's caresses.

Guildford begins rolling his hips into hers harder—not fast, but less restrained. Jane can tell there's so much more he'll show her, something raw she won't see this first time, suppressed so he can give her no more than what she's ready to receive. But it's thrilling to feel him letting go. Her back arches as she tries to meet him in his thrusts, and his curves, his forehead pressed somewhere around her collarbone. He exhales against her skin, hot gusts of air. When he widens his legs, braced up on his knees, it pushes hers farther apart too. There's nothing coy or secret now; her body is held wide for him, and she welcomes it. She digs her fingers into his hair and closes them in a fist. Guildford's lips rub against her skin as he cries out. With quick, mindless snaps of his hips, he finishes inside her.

Feeling as if she's just been awoken from the dead (but no, that was this morning), Jane's heart beats at a rapid pace. Her thighs are shaking uncontrollably. She's overwhelmed. She wants to both crush Guildford against her and shove him away so she can order her thoughts. This is what it feels like, then, to experience someone else's pleasure so close at hand and not achieve her own end. It'll be fine in a minute—he brought her off twice before—but right now, she feels insane.

But Guildford sees it—of course he does. He lifts his head and the hazy bliss in his dark eyes sharpens as he notes the state she's in. He grips himself on withdrawal, and Jane nearly has a fit at the thought of his fingers remaining down there, massaging between her legs again (oh, she wants it, but it might be more than her overstimulated sex can bear). He doesn't do that though. Her husband holds himself heavily on top of her and starts kissing her everywhere but her mouth. He presses his thigh between hers, just presses, and makes his meandering way down her neck, lips below her jaw, lips on her throat, lips where her hair's stuck to her skin with sweat, lips where her body has surely taken on the scent of his. He explores her chest. His mouth skims the breadth of it before going lower. When he gets to her breasts, there's tongue. Guildford licks her—the underside curve, the nipples stiff with sensation—and his thin necklaces hang against her ribs, catching the candlelight when she looks. Between his curious tongue and the pressure of his thigh, Jane shuts her eyes and shudders to quiet release.

She comes back to herself with Guildford stroking her hair.

They lie side by side for a while, not speaking. She wonders if he reads much at night, or if these hours are always kept for silent contemplation. She wonders if he feels as alone here as she does up in the palace.

The bed cools, but their legs are intertwined, and Guildford runs hot. Jane has just learned that, having never lain beside him before, except for the bedding ceremony, which shouldn't count. Anyway, they weren't naked then, and they are now. She feels a bit shy, but mostly, it's nice. He touches her just because, hand sliding down her arm. He touches her like it's the only important thing. Does he love her? She wants him to love her. She wants him to love her whether or not there's a cure.

They kiss when they think they're falling asleep, but the kissing wakes them back up. Their breathing grows rough and their mouths meet with increasing need. They grab at each other, pulling themselves into greater contact. Jane's aroused like she always is when they kiss, but the familiar throb is gone, replaced by the larger, more distinct ache that says her body knows exactly what it's missing—knows Guildford's size and shape.

Very softly, he asks, “Are you too sore?”

Jane shakes her head firmly.

She is kind of sore, but a strained-muscle soreness, a blunt, tired twinge. She knows pain of all varieties. She knows the difference between pains that will hurt more and less the next morning. Tomorrow, what she's feeling now might feel worse, but this is a special circumstance. Guildford is a special circumstance.

So, Jane hooks her thigh over her husband's hip. He groans to re-enter her. He's tired and pliant and starving for her after the time they've spent wanting and not having; he pours all this feeling into her, thrusts breaking against her like deep currents churned up into waves. She rocks with him. Her limbs fold him close to her, but his thrusts get wilder, and she pulls him over her again. There is no separation, she decides. No line between what is the human world and what the natural. She wants to know everything her husband is, especially when he takes her like this—taking her with him, it feels like, wherever he plans for them to go. Good, Jane thinks. You decide.

She likes being here. She puts herself in his hands.

—

Author's Note:

I'm doing the 5 + 1 out of order (this chapter is the + 1). Though Jane and Guildford have now had sex for real, there is one more instance of pretending in their future. It ain't over yet!