her perfection makes me cry

so i might’ve been watching stardust and i might’ve gotten soppy about vanessa and usnavi so… have a vansnavi stardust au

i dont think ive ever made it clear how much i deeply DEEPLY love toradora. one of the most perfect romances of any medium. fight me.

anonymous asked:

since the last tag went so well we have another one: Simblr Book Club! Here's what you do: 1. List 5 writers & their story that you've been following (bonus: why you love them) 2. Tag 3 people you want to read those stories & do this tag!

YAY! Magic Story Tag anon is back!!! But this is going to be so hard to limit to five omg q.q Well, I guess no one said I had to listen… 

1. @pixeltrashcan - Twisted Hearts: Aside from the obvious reason that the writer is my best fucking friend and the love of my life, this story kicks me in the feels, and while I’m usually not into being hurt, and then returning for more, she makes it hurt really good. I’m so attached to all of her characters, even when they drive me freakin crazy, and I love the push and pull with their realistic drama. It feels like I want more. 

2. @lovelychooser - The Hunt: I’m picking The Hunt, because even though absolutely everything Jules does is amazing, and all of her characters are perfection, The Hunt is so good it makes me want to cry. Also, because she did all of it in ts3 and that makes it about 10x more impressive? I attach my ts3 nostalgia to this story so hard, and I get so fucking disappointed when I start playing ts3 and my sims lives are less exciting that Faye’s. Who I’m in love with by the way. Faye drives this story, and she’s so quirky and relatable, and that’s why I will always love it ♥

3. @bubble-sims - Dayneko Family: I legit cannot get enough of this story. It’s so freaking good, it makes me scream. I love seeing new posts from it, even when there’s crazy stuff going on. I could read this story for like hours and hours if she would just keep posting. 

4. @simflowerseeds - Legacy: I’m giving this a mention even though I only just started reading it a few days (a week?) ago. Because it’s really super cute, and Orchid reminds me of myself. The writing is adorable and it’s super feel-good, which I love. 

5. @lunarian-sim - Barefoot on a Blood of Roses 2.0: Because lunarian has always been my #aesthetic goals, and I’m making a spirit animal farm out of all her characters. Everything she does is presented so beautifully that I’m so jealous, but also having fun following along with the revamped version of this story.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

hey, sorry to bother you but I wanted to ask you if you have any ffxv fic or writer recommendations? kinda new to the fandom...

Oh, no don’t worry Nonnie, you’re not bothering me at all with this. (*^▽^*)

That’s actually a really good question. Of course it always depends on what you’re looking for (smut, disgusting fluff, angst, etc.) but I’ll try my best to give you a sort of variety. 

My personal favourite writers, when it comes to FFXV, are
@hypaalicious (she’s the one who dragged me even deeper into Ignis hell even though I thought that wasn’t possible)
@ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade (magician with words, seriously, her stories and headcannons kill me every, single time)
@ffxvhoe (her headcannons and drabbles are always so sweet and perfect and make me cry a lot)
@ka-za-ri (her stories are so poetic and beautiful and yes, they make me cry a lot as well)
@inconsistencys (beautiful, fluffy headcannons and drabbles)

and there are a lot more, but I can’t possibly list them all.

And when it comes to fic recommendations you can always look at my bookmarks on AO3, but I’ll give you a (hopefully) short list of my favourites as well:

  • ‘The Strategist and the Redhead’ and ‘Memory Lane and Pastries’ by @ignis-scientia-estrogen-brigade
    (you can find them here and here)
  • ‘PN 6259-6268′ and ‘Clean’ by @ka-za-ri
    (you can find them here and here)
  • ‘Glitch’ and the ‘Chocobros x Reader’ series by @hypaalicious
    (you find them here and here and prepare for some serious ovaries annihilation)
  • ‘I think I love you’ by @ffxvhoe 
    (you can find it here)
  • ‘The Green-Eyed Daemon’ by @alicemoonwonderland
    (you can find it here)
  • ‘The Draconian’ by @atarostarling
    (you can find it here)

I do realise that a lot of these are reader inserts, but trust me, they are all so good. I hope I could help you out with this, Nonnie, and happy reading! (。・ω・。)ノ♡


Yamazaki Sousuke in Yoneda Kou sensei’s art style  

Auslly fanfiction


Wonderstruck-Ambition (just read all of the stories and cry because they’re absolutely perfect)

xxsimplyxadorkablexx (her stories makes me smile a lot)

Stories And Short Stories:

Camp Heartache

Deadwood Convent

You Can’t Fix What Isn’t Broken


Letters from Home

A Summer To Remember

Something About Texas

My Heart ( I cried so much and cry everytime when I read it)

of jerseys & charity games

playing with yarn

Pancakes & Staring

Airports & Hoodies

Dreams & Jealousy

Waking Up In Vegas

Seven Minutes In Heaven

"I Won't Let You Leave Me."

Author’s Note: Hi! :) This is my first Omelia fanfic though I’m not too sure about it so lots of love or thoughts in general would be appreciated! :) It takes place after the scene in 12x20 (last episode) :) It seems to me that a serious conversation between these two either means a breakup, sex, or friendship-turned sex :P So, fair warning, this is a combination of smut, fluff, and angst. :) It’s called “I Won’t Let You Leave Me.” I hope you like it! :)


“I did it. That was the last thing I ever said to her.”

You didn’t mean to.“


Her arms were soft around his shoulders, a comforting weight upon his body which he welcomed gratefully, putting his hands there, wanting it to stay, wanting her to stay, to never leave him. 

When he felt her lips along the skin of his neck, in translation of the gentlest kiss, a sigh left his mouth; and then she spoke, quietly, a pale whisper to accompany the tactility of her affection, leaving behind the ghost of a breath, making his hairs stand. “You didn’t mean to.”

Turning around, he made contact with her gaze, solemn and kind, staring, waiting, never wavering. A blink and she was kissing him, wholly, deeply, but careful, gripping his cheek, so close she was breathing in his air, their air.

“Amelia,” he gasped, fingers combing her hair, mildly fighting the pressure she applied to his mouth, though not hard enough to force them apart, because, truthfully, that was the last thing he wanted.

“Square one,” he reminded reluctantly, breaking apart from her, his mouth against the shell of her ear now.

Her hands travelled across his shoulders, clutching them, turning the chair around, and pulling him up off of it. When her head tilted upwards so she could better look at him, he was reminded of something, a memory so fleeting, a moment so far away in time, so quickly gone, like a butterfly wing caressing his cheek.

He’d told her that he never found tall people attractive, and he was right to have said that, he was now realizing as he watched her stare up at him, her tiny stature screaming the need for protection. However, that in itself was a walking contradiction, because if anybody needed safe-guarding, it wasn’t her. Amelia was brave, independent, having overcome so much with the help of her own self-will, and not a lot else. He admired her for such, as in this moment, when she told him the same thing she told that little boy, Peter, not long before.

“You didn’t mean to, Owen. Say it for me. Believe it for me, for yourself.”

Taking in a sharp breath of air, he shut his eyes and opened them again, finding her there in the same place she was, and holding his arms now, her fingers indenting his skin through his dress shirt. He leaned forward, his forehead touching hers, their noses slightly off-base, but still, he could feel every movement she made, could feel her hair tickling his face, could see even the tiniest freckle upon her nose, the ones makeup wouldn’t cover. 

“Owen, please.”

Her voice had a raspy timbre, always has, for as long as he’d known her, probably due to something he’d rather not think about, the abuse she’d put herself through for however long, and he wondered briefly, if she thought about it on her worse days, on those during which it was harder to resist, resist whatever was being offered to her if she had the flu, or in the case of alcohol, as a gesture of social compliancy; he wondered if she thought about how many times she came close to death, or if it were a larger number than he’d feared, and suddenly, it wasn’t his sister he was thinking about, but Amelia, and how, if she’d been gone before he got a chance to ever know her, for her to be that support for him, for her to hold him at the brink of sanity as she was now, it would be an unbearable tragedy.

That thought is what started the tears, and they came slowly at first, trailing down his cheeks with lethargy, as if the heaviness of these impending moments, and those before, were too real for his baring of emotion, as it was a rarity usually, never mind the circumstance.

He heard her gasp, but it was barely a sound to him, his auditory sense becoming submerged within that of his heightened sense of touch; her thumbs upon her cheeks, wiping those tears that fell, her arms around his neck, softly pulling the tufts of hair at the base, and then her lips.

The tears began to forge faster down his face and when she kissed them away, it was warm, like sunshine wishing away the rain, falling from the bright blue of the sky, and the crystalized orbs of his eyes.

“Oh, Owen…Owen…please…please don’t cry.”

He tried to respond, tried to tell her that it wasn’t anything to do with what she thought, but the words became caught in his throat, became a grittiness there that he choked on, sputtering, feeling a shamefulness regarding his exposure of a secret vulnerability, affectively ruining her vision of perfect.

“I – I – Amelia - “

“God, Owen, you’re gonna make me cry too. And I hate being sad, you know that. I can’t deal with sad. At least no more than I have right now, so please, stop.”

Her pleading only made his anguish intensify, and when the passionate heat of her mouth kept coming in contact with the dewy warmth of his continuous tears, he moaned with a faint feeling of pleasure, because this was Amelia, and he could never deny the attraction he had towards her, lustful or otherwise.

He’d been drawn towards her from, quite honestly, the moment he first really saw her.

Standing there, with the worlds most shocked expression taking over her features: her blue eyes wide, her skin, like that of the princess who ate poison apples, paler than what was natural, and in those seconds when he held her gaze, he fought to banish the thought of repeatedly running his hands through her hair, a dark color, battling with flyaway pieces, when he kissed away the surprise that was shaping her mouth. 

When he took her head in his hands and initiated a kiss now, this, that day, was what he thought of, and it helped a little in alleviating his earlier sorrow, calming the flow of his tears. His hands went directly into her hair, his fingers becoming tangled in the gossamer strands, his palms pressing against the sides of her skull, supporting her.

Her hands now cupped his face, fingers going up and over his ears, her body pushing closer into his.

This was nothing like the teenaged kiss they shared on Meredith’s porch weeks ago, or like the one in the elevator that, if it hadn’t opened, would have led to potential charges of public and workplace fornication, this was something much more adult, much less abandoned; it was something of a kiss that made him light-headed, weak in the knees like a pathetic schoolgirl, and he was forced to sit down again in the chair, pulling her on top of him.

As her head moved in an effort to allow advantageous access to his mouth on her neck, he caught his breath, breathing in and letting out that same pocket of oxygen again and again, infused with the scent of her perfume and antiseptic, an intoxicating blend that made him love-drunk past the point of no return.

He began to suck on the spot he’d known to drive her crazy, and when her sounds became too loud, and her curses too obvious, he slammed his lips over hers.

“Owen,” she whined, “Screw square one. Let’s just…keep going…okay?”

Her mouth moved atop his when she talked, and though it wasn’t friction in its purest form, he craved more of it, and of something much more intense, rougher, harder, but tender just the same.

“Okay,” he allowed, breathless, as they separated for a moment.

“Okay,” he said again, though his intonation was more of a question, a higher inflection, and when she nodded, barely perceptible, he held onto her hips to help her rise so she could wiggle out of her pants. At the same time, she undid the knot on his scrubs, and pulled them off as he completely removed her pants. They were both bare in a matter of seconds, and, instead of moving, they were frozen in this moment, not touching, aside from his calloused hands supporting her hips and holding her weight.

Biting her lip, she stared at him and he reciprocated, reminded of the day she once looked at him like that, from under her lashes, a peaked innocence that didn’t seem to fade even as she asked the question. “A rule – no co-workers?”

He’d known, of course, what she had been wondering then, the implication as clear as a 3D MRI, and he’d stuttered a response, entirely caught off guard, but was blessed, as she left the room, with images left unspoken of.

Without a word, he gently lowered her, and it only took seconds for a moan to escape as she enveloped him completely, without abruption, and the empyreal feeling of her so damned close to him, was more satisfying than anything else he’d ever experienced; when her head came forward to rest on his shoulder, and a whimper expelled from her closed mouth, he leaned down to press his face to her hair, inhaling, and the smell of her shampoo mingling gregariously with the unnameable hospital aroma made him crazy, but the mild taste of his cologne on her skin had him nearly losing it then and there.

“Amelia…” he sighed, saying nothing else, too hyped up on sexualized adrenaline to form proper words, and the sound of his name articulated by her voice, in a pleading and raspy accent, wasn’t helping.

“Owen…I…I just…I need you to…”

“What? What do you need?”

Asking this question however, was probably the stupidest thing, as the vigorous up-and-down rocking of her hips was as good an indication as if she’d answered outright.

He moved with her, joining her in synchrony, being fed by her incessant motivation, moans passing from her mouth to his, and in each breath he took he could taste her pleasure, feel her quake slightly beneath his touch, even though he knew she was nowhere close. They’d done it enough times, after all.

“Maybe we should…move to the couch? This is kind of…not that I’m not enjoying this because I am…I really…really am…but aren’t you uncomfortable?”

Her giggles made him smile, and with a delicate caress, his fingers traced the chiasmic dimple in her left cheek, and in reactivity, she lowered her head, shying away. “What? They’re nothing special, I’ve had them since forever.”

“They’re beautiful,” he assured, “I love them.”

Owen moved his arms under her and stood, and she let out a breathy ‘oh my god’ as the movement caused a shift, and he too, shut his eyes for a few seconds, allowing it to pass over them both before moving to the couch adjacent to the chair.

Lying her down first, he crawled quite gracefully over top of her, managing not to cause any hurt. Now that she was below him, he could see more of her, could revel in her rapturous beauty - the darkness of her hair splaying along the naked skin of her shoulders, and her widened eyes, like the mouth of a river, showing to him the reflection of herself.



“Keep going,” she pulled his face down to hers, relaxing as his hand weaved gently through her hair. “Please.”

He surrendered to her wishes, beginning slow once again, but it was obvious that she wasn’t used to the change from the frenetic pace they’d usually lose themselves in, taken by a blunt desire, and never given up until both were sweat-ridden and breathless, mouthing each other’s names in the aftermath.

This was what he wanted, however; he needed to have her there for longer, needed to love her senseless, in case he lost the privilege too soon. The thought still haunted him now: she was so close to taking those drugs, and had he not shown up…the very probable outcome was a pain he never wanted to know.

Her lips were like fire upon his own, hot and pulsating in the wind of their shared breaths, and her tongue palmed the damp flesh of his mouth, seeking what, he didn’t know, but her motions were provocative.

The taste of her was saccharine, and he experienced a moment of paranoia: that maybe the drink Nathan had bought her wasn’t her last, and maybe she’d drank today, but when her mouth opened to take a haphazard breath in, he realized how angry she’d be if she could read his mind, how upset she’d be if she found out that he doubted her, irrational, if only for a split second. It was crazy, he knew, but he had to be sure.

“Amelia?” Owen broke away from her reluctantly, sighing heavily as she slowly opened her eyes, seeming barely lucid under her desirous haze.

“What is it? Is everything okay?” She stroked his cheek, and he could tell that she was worried, though expectant, maybe hoping he’d say more about his sister, even though it would totally kill the mood.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he tried once more to rationalize his runaway thoughts but to no avail, deciding to just say it, with what comes next a forefront thought. “Was that drink…the one that Riggs bought you that night…it was your last, right?”

Her reaction wasn’t what he had been anticipating, but there wasn’t a negative connotation there. Instead of lashing out, she remained silent, blinking, and unsure of his implication. “Owen, what exactly are you saying?”

He could sense her oncoming defenses, and rushed to explain himself further as he moved closer, which was a natural instinct when talking to her, but it caused the application of pressure and she shut her eyes tight, failing to resist her body’s innate reaction, which was to arch into the motion.

“Ah, I…Owen…if we’re gonna have this conversation…at least the one I think we’re about to have…we can’t do it like this. Okay?”

Owen nodded softly, dropping a culmination of sweet kisses into her hair and along the crown of her head, hoping to commit her scent and everything else about her to memory in this one, precarious moment as he left her body. Her eyes remained closed even after his mouth wasn’t there anymore, her breathing slow, and slightly ragged, as she rolled over onto her side.

He faced her now, and when she opened her eyes, he noticed the curiosity deep within. She placed a palm on his bare chest, wrapping her legs around his own, so that they became a tangle of limbs, close, but not close enough, in his opinion. They could never be close enough lately, at least not in the way he yearned for them to be, really together.

“I need you to…tell me. Was it the last?”

“Yes! I promise you. What do you take me for, Owen? I was…I was stressed, I was upset and so…it just seemed like the closest option.”

Owen sighed emphatically, wavering on his next words. “You know I’m always here for you, Amelia. Even when I’m upset, or you’re upset, or whatever situation we’re in, we’re in it together. I want…”

Her hands travelled around his back and up into his hair, her head tilting upwards as they weren’t exactly level in stature. “You want what, Owen? Tell me.”

Cupping her face in his hands, another sigh left his lips and he was certain that she could feel its physicality upon her flushed face, the heat beginning to drain from her cheeks only now, making her appear as if she’d been frostbitten in a winter’s snow, warmed gently by a fire, after having come inside.

She looked more beautiful now, than she would in full makeup and a slinky black dress, though if she ever were in such an outfit, he wouldn’t be in a place to complain. Shaking his head to remove any licentious thoughts he was having, there came a third sigh.

“I just…I need you to promise me that whenever you’re going through something, no matter how difficult, or how much or how little it has to do with me, I want to be there. Don’t shut me out, please. That’s how it starts, isn’t it?”

“I can’t – I won’t – I won’t lose you, Amelia. Not to alcohol, not to drugs…not to anything. I keep…when I learned that Riggs had bought you that drink…I thought the worst. I don’t doubt for a second that you have the strength to pull yourself back up, because you do.”

He paused, rubbing his thumbs gingerly along her cheeks, noticing that the first sign of tears was beginning to build, “I just worry. I worry that if you started again, I wouldn’t be able to stop you. Not until it was too late.”

“Owen,” Amelia cooed, “I can promise you that it would never be your fault…if anything were to happen…okay? I can’t fully promise that nothing will…you have no idea how much I wish I could, honestly, but…with addicts it’s never guaranteed. One injection, one drink, could be a game-changer, and it sucks, it really does, but the difference between me and others who relapse, is that I have people when things get hard. I have you. And you are the basic equivalent of like a thousand people so, I think I’m covered.”

The right side of her mouth upturned slightly, and he scoffed, smiling also. “The point is, Owen, is that you can’t be worried about me breaking, or losing me, because I’m here now, and whole and sober. It may be 60 days for the fourth time in my life, but isn’t it fourth time’s a charm?”

“Third actually,” he interjected, chuckling at her apparent disregard as she waved a hand.

”Well…please, just believe me okay? Believe in me when I say that I’ll be fine. And that you shouldn’t worry. Because I can handle being in charge of my own health. I love that you care about me enough to get angry on my behalf, but that was my stupid decision, accepting the drink. It wasn’t Riggs’ fault. And it most certainly wasn’t yours. It was mine and mine alone. So I won’t let you bare any guilt, or let you worry yourself sick about me. It’s not your job. It’s mine.”

“But I –“

“Owen,” she warned, her tone taking on a soft scolding as she lightly kissed his lips. “Shush. Stop talking.”

“Amelia I won’t stop – “

“Owen,” she said again, touching the side of his face, her fingers shaping his stubble, the softness of her eyes showing him just how serious she really was.

“I won’t let you be in charge of me. I know you care, I do, and I really can’t thank you enough for that. And having you in my life makes me better, sure, but ever since I was five years old, I had people – well, Derek, interrogating me about every single decision I ever made. Whether or not it was a good idea, what the consequences of my actions would be, what trouble it could cause…my decisions always seemed like bad ones. He didn’t believe in me as much as he didn’t trust my judgement, he never let me live, and I just…I wanted to live my life, so bad, to not be trapped in bubble wrap for the rest of my life…but he never let me.”

“And the drugs…” she took a deep breath, feeling his hand rubbing soothing circles on her arm, “were they my escape? Maybe. I don’t know. But soon enough, I got clean. I found a way to live my life the way I wanted, without that help. And when Derek died…I lost that way…my way…again. And I thought, drugs are easy, they numb the pain, and they give temporary thrills…I relied on them for so long…but – “

“Amelia,” Owen whispered, so gently, it was as though he were speaking to a child who had just lost a parent, and not a fully-grown woman. “You don’t have to talk about this. I get it.”

She sighed, biting her bottom lip and down-casting her gaze, unable to look at the pity within his own any longer.

“No, I do, because you don’t. Not really. I had interventions. A few of them. Addison was there…my dad – “her voice cracked on the last word and a red-hot shame coursed through her veins as she felt her composure slipping away, into the abyss of a grief that was so bottomless, she had been sure, at the time, that it would kill her.

“My dad –“ she gasped, not allowing the heavy sob to emit itself from her mouth, so she covered it as she felt his lips on her forehead and in her hair. He didn’t have to say anything, not right now, and she was so glad that he didn’t.

“My dad was there. I could feel him there. But I didn’t listen then. To anybody. And I should have. And so, when you showed up that night, and I had that Oxy in my hand…I saw the look on your face when you saw me. And I knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t do to you what I did to the others that tried until they couldn’t anymore to help me. I care…I care so much, I care way too much…about you…it’s terrifying, sometimes.”

“So, I didn’t do it. I knew I wouldn’t even before you started talking. Because I couldn’t do that to you. But your words…you have this way with your words that’s so…you’re not perfect, I know, but honestly, it is perfect. You just knew what to say to get me to listen, and that’s special, Owen. Not many people do. Derek did, but he’s gone. He’s…really gone…but you, you’re still here. The fact that you saw me just about to jump and you stuck by me to make sure I didn’t…you must really care about me. So thank you.”

There, naked bodies tangled up in one another on the couch, they just stared at each other. He could see the dim light of the lamp playing upon her facial features, highlighting the dried tears upon her skin and the shining relief behind her eyes; he could feel her heart beats on his chest, the eurythmic property so melodious it was almost peaceful, and it would be entirely, had it not been for the hesitancy of his next words, something he prayed only he could notice.

“You’re welcome.”

The two of them were dancing around the word ‘love’ and substituting it with ‘care,’ and it was obvious, well, to him it was, anyway.

He could hear it in her voice, the reverent way in which she spoke to or about him, and it was written all over her face, the way she would just barely bite her lip when they’d exchange conversation, if only in passing amongst the busy hospital halls, or when she would let out a light gasp at his touch when they were in the work environment, always careful.

He loved her. He showed it in the way he pleasured her, delaying gratification to himself to give her everything she needed and more. He showed it in the way he protected her, coming to her defense when she couldn’t see a reason to herself, or in the way he held her when she grieved, allowing her to completely come undone, to drop her guard and just cry.

He knew he loved her then, that night on Meredith’s balcony, when he was being physically torn apart by the loud, startling, sound of the relentless sobs that wracked her body, causing her to shake violently in his arms, when he was genuinely afraid that she may never catch a proper breath. He knew he loved her as he stroked her hair in a way he perceived as soothing, as he left his lips to linger on the burning skin of her forehead, when she finally gave some distance between them, though he still could feel her haggard breaths, could still taste the bitterness of her sorrow, and so the space was futile, but it was also in that moment when he realized he needed her to be as close as she was. He loved her.

It was ironic really, and had he expected anything else, he’d be branded a fool. She had explained that the all of the men she loved always died, and the outcome wasn’t all that rosy with the women he loved either. It wasn’t fair.

As he clutched the bag containing the drugs – they weren’t hers anymore – in his pocket, he prayed. Despite the fact that religion had never been a dictating part of his life, he prayed, to any higher power that would listen to his pleas, right there on the deck, silently, lest she hear him, surrounded by her fragile being and the night sky.

He prayed that this love of his would be different, that he and Amelia would work, that they would make it, and that he wouldn’t ever lose her in some, stupid way like he did the others.


“Owen,” she scoffed, like he was being silly, drawing out his words for so long. “Just tell me. For crying out loud, I just spewed my shortcomings all over this ugly carpet, the least you can do is tell me what’s on your mind.”

She giggled, though it was not a humorful sound, more like any sound at all to fill the suspense with something other than silence and amplified breaths.

He took a sharp breath in, tightening his legs around hers and grabbing both of her hands, palm to palm. They weren’t in an ideal position, haven’t been for a few hours now, and he was certain their backs would be sore in the morning; however that was tolerable, because what he was about to say couldn’t wait anymore. He knew that now.

“I love you, Amelia. God, I love you. I do. I don’t just care about you. I care about you so much that even the mere thought of losing you is hell. It’s a type of grief, a type of torture that I’ll never, ever recover from, because that’s how much I love you.”

“I can’t possibly put it into words that you can understand because I don’t even understand it. I thought I would never love again, not after…not after Christina…but then there was you, Amelia. The women I’ve loved before, they’ve always left me. I won’t let you leave me. I’m never going to let you get so high that you don’t remember my name, or so drunk that you pass out in a bar and get taken advantage of by some sleaze who thought buying you a drink or two was how he was going to get into your pants.”

Owen steadied his breathing and loosened his grip around her back, for his fingers were suddenly digging into her skin so hard, he was afraid it was going to leave bruising. “Sorry,” he apologized gruffly, taking her hands again instead.

“Oh…Owen…” He saw the water pooling around her sclera, leaving her eyes with a certain delicacy that made wiping away her tears that much easier.

“I love you too. I’ve been denying it for a while, because allowing myself to fall is what allows vulnerability, which is the breeding ground for…but I know you won’t jeopardize my sobriety, I trust you. I trust you more than I’ve trusted anybody in a very, very, long time.”

She smiled a tiny smile, which stretched her facial contours to maximum attractiveness, putting the natural rouge back into her cheeks and the endearing sparkle back into her eyes, an oceanic blue that he would love to get lost in and never find his way back from.

“So this is real?”

“So real,” she affirmed, squeezing his hands and intertwining their fingers.

He grinned, leaning forward only slightly to place a feathery kiss onto her nose, then her forehead. He watched her as she opened her eyes again, as they shut reflexively at his touch, and saw the same concupiscence that had made home in her eyes before, back when they’d decided starting over could wait. His gaze found her lips, still kiss-swollen, and she moved their hands higher up the couch.

“Are you going to lock the door? Or are we taking a walk on the wild side tonight?” she mumbled, kissing his cheek, once, twice, three times, moving suavely to his neck as he fought their hands, wanting desperately to run his own through her hair, but settled for rolling over and lavishing the crevice between her shoulder and neck with his mouth, intending to leave one hell of a hickey there.

“We never locked the door before…” he groaned, speaking solely into the hotness of her skin and the tenseness of her muscles, her pulse crashing against his lips with the force of one thousand hummingbirds.

She laughed. “Because we didn’t know that it was going to happen before. It seems to be a running theme for us, doesn’t it?”

He nodded against her chest, chuckling. “It sure does. Amelia?”


“I think maybe we should get some sleep. We both have early surgeries tomorrow.”

She raised her head from his neck, an expression he couldn’t read taking refuge on her face.

He was tired, he had a long day and so did she, but it wasn’t the real reason he couldn’t do this with her now. He didn’t want to taint the moment they’d had, when they’d told of their feelings, with some…definitely not meaningless, as it would mean more now than it ever has in the past, but their sex would be different, less of a lusty act and more of a sentiment. He wanted it to be that way, for it to last longer, and he knew if they had sex now, that wouldn’t be the case.

“Okay,” she relented, moving to get up.

“No, no, no.” he chastised jokingly, pulling her back down on top of him. “Where are you going?”

“To get dressed and find an on-call room,” she replied, bemused. “Where are you going?”

“I’m staying here. And so are you. I’m comfy like this.”

“As if,” she laughed, smacking his head lightly and threading her fingers through the curls on the nape of his neck. “But okay. Just pass me my clothes. I’m freezing.”

Owen did as he was told, and they both got dressed, curling around one another again like grapevines reaching towards the sun, on the couch.

He stayed awake until she fell asleep, watching her let go of the last shred of consciousness, and as it slipped through her lithe fingers, her breathing became more labored, and her face become placid, showing no signs of worry. It was the way he wished she could stay for the rest of her life: painless and free of her demons.

As he too lost himself to a sleep as deep as his nature would allow, he kissed her forehead, not wanting to rouse her by kissing her lips instead, and whispered his love to her unconscious, to the woman who was cuddled against his chest, her face nuzzled into the fabric of his scrub top, faraway dreaming yet as close to him as she’d ever been.

“I love you, Amelia.”


It was the next morning, and Meredith Grey had come in exceptionally early for rounds and wondering where her sister had stayed last night. She had spoken to Meredith on the phone, saying that she’d be home soon, claiming exhaustion but the need of her own bed. So, it made sense that Meredith was left confused upon Amelia’s no-showing, and she resolved to check all of the on-call rooms after making a cup of coffee, not wanting to wake Maggie or the kids with the noise of making some at home.

Opening the door to the Attending’s lounge, she was greeted by the surprise of two people having already gotten there, or more accurately, having never left. Owen Hunt and Amelia Shepherd were sound asleep, their grip on one another almost death-like. His hands were buried in her hair, his head resting not on a pillow but on her shoulder. Her face was so close to his chest it was a wonder that she hadn’t suffocated at some point during the night, but the little moans expelling from her mouth every so often said that she was fine.

Looking at them now, so peaceful, and at the little cheesy smiles that emerged on their lips at her change of position, Meredith saw what she hadn’t wanted herself to before. She saw two people who were very obviously in love, and was left wondering if they’d admitted it to each other yet. Then came a whisper, so faint it was a miracle she’d ever heard it in the first place.

“I love you, Amelia…so much…I’m not going to let you leave me, ever. You hear me?” It was Owen’s voice and to Meredith that didn’t come as much of a surprise. Christina had mentioned that he frequently talked in his sleep. She smiled. Last night was obviously a big night for her sister and Owen, and she was glad for them both.

Owen deserved happiness. He deserved a family and babies and all Christina couldn’t give him. He deserved her. He deserved Amelia.

Amelia too, deserved happiness, happiness after Derek, happiness after all that has happened to her. Meredith could tell she wanted children, by the way she interacted with her own, and she deserved them. She deserved him. She deserved Owen.

“Amelia? Doctor Hunt?” Meredith coughed, then held in her laughter when the both of them shot up straight and just about seriously injured each other in the process.

“Grey, uh, hey…” Owen spoke first, as Amelia bit her lip and shook her head, now facing her sister head-on.

“Hey Mer…I’m sorry…this isn’t…at all professional…we…I told him we should find an on-call room.”

Meredith giggled, narrowing her eyes slightly in realization. “You two didn’t have sex on this couch, did you? Because it’s literally the only comfy piece of furniture in this entire hospital.”

“Whoops?” Amelia offered feebly, bashfully hiding her face in Owen’s chest as he awkwardly cleared his throat, carding his fingers through her hair.

“Well, you’re buying a new one,” was all Meredith said, turning towards the door.

“Oh please,” Amelia interjected boldly, “as if you and Derek didn’t do it all over this place. You’re no saint, Meredith Grey. I’m onto you.”

Owen almost choked on his shock, and Meredith whipped around to see a smug expression on her sister’s face, like, ‘I was right. You’ve been caught.’

“Mhm. So be quiet. And if you’re leaving, kindly lock the door on your way out. We have rounds in an hour.”

Owen laughed at Meredith’s balked expression as she remained silent, shutting the door with a dulcet slam as the lock clicked over.

He raised his eyebrows at Amelia, her eyes dancing in a coquettish rhythm, as she began to remove her top. “We have an hour, Dr. Hunt.”

“One. Hour,” she emphasized, taking off her pants next as he remained fully clothed, watching her. “How many times can we go in an hour? You up for the challenge?”

He smirked at the honeyed seduction that dripped from her mouth, and he lost every bit of clothing at her accord a second later. “I never back down from a good old-fashioned challenge, Amelia Shepherd. Don’t you know me at all?”

She giggled, squealing as he gave her no choice but to straddle his hips and lock her ankles, when he lifted her up and all but slammed her against the opposite wall.

“You’re gonna be sore Owen…standing like this.”

He chuckled, finding the point on her neck that made her tick and began sucking, darkening the hickey from the night before.

“Who said we would be here for long, huh?” he grumbled huskily, grabbing greedily at her ass and forcefully pushing her into him.

The action caused her to scream – really scream – and he’d known it to be a combination of shock and finding the exact spot on the first try, something he prided himself on with her.

“Holy shit…Owen Hunt…you are…dammit…you are so – “

Another gleeful scream punctuated her profanity laden words as he picked up his pace, never giving her the time to recover from his harsh entering, and the luxury of recovery wasn’t something she was missing, not right now; not when she was being so brutally taken, like she was a whore from the rougher side of town and not a renowned neurosurgeon at a prestigious hospital.

“I know…I know…fuck…you’re so…come on…let it all go for me, Amelia. I know you want to. I can feel that you want to. Don’t torture yourself.”

She was so stubborn sometimes with him, because coming first met a loss of control, and such a loss was so familiar to her and it was hard to relive, but she needed to know that she was safe with him and always would be; he would always be there to bring her back onto the ground.

To show this, he slowed his thrusts, and gently rubbed her cheek, forcing her to open her eyes, previously clamped shut so tight he was afraid the vessels would burst, and really see him, in this moment, through the blurriness of her euphoric haze.

“Hey…you know that I’ll be there to pull you back down, right? You won’t be stuck there forever. I’m here. And I’ll always be here. Don’t resist, Amelia. Let your body take control. You have me.”

“Okay,” she whispered mutely, in a way that was befogged with exhaustion, raspy and defeated.

She bucked her hips forward, and he almost stopped completely, giving her the upper hand, only helping her along in the last few seconds, using his fingers to encourage her finishing.

“Owen?” she gasped heavily afterwards, after she had reciprocated his favor in her own way, after only a minute or so, as he rode out his orgasm.


“I love you. Last night was so…I just want to make sure you know that. And we’re real.”

“So real,” he chuckled, echoing what she had said the previous night. “And I love you too, Amelia.”

She leaned in to kiss him and it was like she had put the entire weight of her body into the kiss, long and slow-burning, like the embers of a fire, not the flames.


omfg i can’t frickin believe i hit 5,000 followers!! its so unreal to me that 5,000 of you enjoy the things i make and the things i reblog. when i joined the magcult, i had 2k already from a different fandom and its insane how in only a couple of months i gained 3,000 of ya! <3<3 thank you guys for bein such sweethearts like you guys have never said anything mean to me and i just appreciate that sooooo much. you guys rock!! :~)

first i’m gonna mention my fav people eva. these fellas are amazing in every way and their blogs are outta this worldddd

samwilkinsons: nat is the sweetest person in this entire fandom omfg. aint even kidding, tell her that she looks ratchet and she’d say thank you. she is so funny and an easy person to talk to. did i mention she makes the bestest gifs ever?? ilysm :~)

shawnsmirk: elena is so cute!! seriously once u see her u ship her with shawn automatically (i did). her text posts never fail to make me laugh and her gifs and edits make me cry bc perfection. ily stay swag!! <3

jackgilinksys: michelle is the bomb omfg. she’s so funny and her url is amazin. her preferences are absolutely the cutest thing on earth and u have to read them!! she also gives u cookie if ur as swag as me 8) ilu hehehe

nineboyz: brandy is adorbz!! she’s so real my gosh she will straight up tell u if she doesn’t like ur outfit. she’s so funny and her gifs are amazing. ily <3 

gilinskis: chanel!! she is the most chillest person ever. her gifs are SOOOO GOOD literally just scroll through her gif page tagged thingy and you will be amazed trust me. ilu:) 


other outta this world blogs u should def follow!! :~)

taylorcaniffsluts thejackgilinsky holymagcon nashtygriers merster98 hayesbae shawnismymandes jackgilinsexy frickmematt screwyoudallas cashtbh espixosa gilinskymendestbh magc0nboys teammagcon cam-dallas flawlesshawn flawlessdallas iconsmagcon pumamagcon imagcon nashxgrier ollieandivy

if you weren’t mentioned here, doesn’t mean i don’t love you any less. these were just blogs that came to mind. :~) once again thank u so much for 5k. love u all so much <3<3<3

i can literally ship olivia with every male and female character in this game, i need to be STOPPED. she’s so versatile. she’s so shy but she has these little spunky moments, she is passionate, she’s SExY AS HELL !!!!!!!! and her english voice makes me cry from how perfect it is. it’s not super high, it’s got that right amount of maturity. and don’t even get me started. on her dance…. ok like i usually turn off battle animations to save time but when i have olivia on my map i turn them back on to see her dance. neckbeard status is too high rn