jessiegerl

[jessiegerl]

Reblog and you’re guaranteed to be successful at whatever you do next!

[jessiegerl]

Khuzdul Words for Fanfiction Writers

So, I recently figured out that most Khuzdul words used in fanfiction are actually incorrect–Ghivashel isn’t actually a word in Khuzdul–and I brought it upon myself to give you all a list with the actual words.  

To do this, I used a Khuzdul dictionary created by the one and only @thedwarrowscholar.  Link to his website (specifically the Khuzdul documents that I used) is HERE.

Please note that this is just a collection of words I found useful in my writings–past, present, and future–so they may not include all words used by others.  And if you have any questions about the words, please feel free to reach out to me and I can do my best to answer/explain the complexity of the words.

**There are some naughty/suggestive phrases/words in here, so be warned**

Keep reading

[jessiegerl]

First off, your work is incredible and it's obvious the love and care you put into it, so well done for such commitment and effort! My question is: I'm trying to find a term of endearment (lover/spouse/partner) to use -I wanted to take into account that different cultures can have different or 'special' terms that fit into that culture. E.g. In Thai: Chang Noi (little elephant). As they're special animals to Thai people, bringing luck. What would be a Dwarvish equivalent of this in your opinion?

Thank you for those kind words.

What an interesting question indeed, thank you so much for that!Every culture indeed has their own terms of endearment, so I have no doubt the dwarves would have their own.

When we look at the cultures from all over the world for inspiration we see these terms of endearment are (most of the time) related to either body parts, animals, food, valuables, tiny or round things, and of course the sweet and cute (and at times somewhat nauseating)…. So let’s look at each of these and find some dwarvish terms of endearment, shall we?

A) Body Parts

Real world examples:In English we might say “sweet cheeks”. Another one is “My heart”, one you’ll find in many languages.  The Irish say “mo chuisle”, meaning “my pulse”. While the Greek say Μάτια μου (matia mou) or ματάκια μου (matakia mou), meaning “my little eyes”.  The Swedish say “sötnos”, meaning “sweet nose”.

If we translate such concepts to the dwarves we would be looking at body parts that have real meaning in their culture. I can’t think of any body part (or accessory to the body for that matter) more meaningful for a dwarf than their beard, they are all (even the females) born with one after all.

So, what about:

“zêzantê*” “My first hair” -  you are so important to the dwarf he/she puts you on the same level of importance as their first (beard) hair, what an honour.“targel” “beard of all beards” – if that isn’t a compliment among dwarves I don’t know what is.

or what about… “hulwultarg” “Sweet beard” – the dwarvish version of “sweet cheeks”. (Thorin’s beard strikes as a “sweet beard”… one for the ladies)

* Note: In Neo-Khuzdul the order of nouns and adjectives is usually noun followed by adjective, however these terms of endearment can be seen as “titles”, hence the order of such words will be reversed in Khuzdul (example: zirak gamil (old master) vs “Gamil Zirak” (“ (the) Old-master”)

B) Animals

Real world examples:Russian lovers call each other “dove”, golubchik (masc) or golubushka (fem), while in Brazil a “gato” or “gata” (cat) is slang for a handsome or pretty person. In German you’ll find “Häschen” (little hare), “Bärchen” (little bear), “Mäuschen” (little mouse), “Rehlein” (little deer), and Spätzchen (little sparrow).  While in Arabic one may hear عيون غزال (ywn ghzal), meaning  “eyes of a gazelle”.

We know from lore that dwarves didn’t have a connection with animals like most speaking peoples of Middle Earth had. Most dwarves considered animals “beings with a purpose”… either to ride, produce food, deliver messages, etc. . Though at times friendship could grow between them, it was a rare event. There is no animal more praised by dwarves than the Raven however, one who they had a long standing relationship with. Granted, this wasn’t a relationship of love, but more of professional mutual convenience. Still the respect they had for these animals was very great, hence:

“kurkarukê” “my tiny raven”

or perhaps…. “gultalut” “tiny boar” (I believe I recall someone once suggesting this would be the term of endearment Dáin used with his cousin Thorin, a fun idea)

C) Food

Real world examples:In English we say sweet pea, peaches, pumpkin, muffin, cupcake, sugar and of course sweetie-pie, cutie-pie, honey-pie, pookie-pie… (hmm, such pie lovers… I’m beginning to suspect the first English speaking Romeos were hobbits).

The French say “mon petit chou” or “my little cabbage”, while the indonesians say “buah hatiku”, meaning “fruit of my heart”. Italians at times call their loved one “fragolina” (little strawberry).  In Spain a “media naranja” is your “other half”, but is more literally half of an orange!

Looking at some of the things the dwarves of Thorin’s company ask Bilbo to bring them in the Hobbit we could come up with the following:

“tablkasabê” “my apple-pie”

“kafhfantsadzê” “my coffee bean”

“hulwulkasab” “sweet cake”

D) Valuables

Real world examples: The Dutch “schatje”, or the Flemish version of it “schatteke”, mean “my little treasure”.

Now if there is something dwarves know everything about it is hoarding treasure.

In addition, their love is a fiercely jealous one (”a fierce and jealous love, the desire of the hearts of the dwarves”), so what about:

“bunnanunê” “my tiny treasure”

“rakl-gunru” “precious property” (word of warning - to be used very carefully)

“mamamshul-‘ibinê” “my hoarded gem”

“sanzigil-kaiku” “mithril chuck”

“ ‘ibinê” “my gem”

E) The round or tiny

Real world examples:The Flemish “mijn bolleke”, meaning “my little round thing” is no exception. In some countries roundness is greatly emphasized in loving affections, like in Ecuador where you would call your girlfriend “gorda” (fat girl) and boyfriend “gordo” (fat boy).

The French go for the tiny “ma puce”, meaning “my flea”. And the Italians (always eager to outdo the French), will go even tinier than fleas and lovingly say “microbino mio” (my little microbe). Persians believe you can be so cute that you are in fact smaller than a mouse. So small that you can lovingly say “moosh bokhoradet” or “may a mouse eat you”.

Dwarves can indeed become very round (obese) when they become very rich. So I have no doubt dwarves can relate to the endearing terms related to volume, seeing that it may even be a status symbol in their culture.

“finitkutnanzâg” “wide belt” (likely for the males this one)

“duftûnayê” “my fat lady” (word of warning – I take no responsibility whatsoever if you use this and end up with a black eye or some missing teeth) “duftûnê” being the male version.

F) The somewhat nauseating….

Words like “sweetheart”, or “snuchums” are (for some) on the very edge of what the stomach can tolerate.

“Cariad”, the Welsh for “sweetheart”, or the Spanish “amorcito” (“my little love”) may be on the right side of that edge (depending on your personal taste of course).

Let’s think of a few Dwarvish alternatives:“thundanûd” “tiny embrace” (incidentally also means “tiny arms”)“merlar” “supreme love”“marali “ “element of (the) love (passion)”“ ‘ukrad” “greatest heart”

and let’s not forget the somewhat naughty…

There are terms of endearment reserved for more private intimate moments. Dwarves would be no different; in fact considering their jealous love and fondness of secrecy I believe some of these could even be quite popular behind closed doors.

“ ‘arsûn” (“hot one”, “he that is hot”), “ ‘arsûna” being the female version. (I couldn’t help throwing in the above picture of our resident “hot dwarf” for the fans out there… you are welcome ladies.)

“amrâlul-kakhaf” “lovely bottom”

“galthûn” (”delicious one”, he that is delicious), or “galthûna” (f)

“mamahmarlûna”  “she who has been made love to”, “mamahmarlûn” being the male version of this.

I hope that answers your question Anon.

Ever at your service,

The Dwarrow Scholar

[jessiegerl]

Emo Levi? Yes, please!

pout

[jessiegerl]

A Matter of Time Masterlist

ao3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9 (Final Part)

[jessiegerl]

Stuffie Humping 101. Every good girl needs to know how to properly hump her stuffie. It's an essential skill, one that brings endless joy and comfort. And Daddy is here to teach you how it's done.

Step 1: Choose Your Stuffie Wisely. Not just any stuffie will do. You need one that's the perfect size and shape for riding. Look for one with a firm body and a nice, plush head to grind against. Bonus points if it has cute, floppy ears or a fuzzy tail.

Step 2: Get Undressed. Find a quiet, comfortable spot where you won't be disturbed. Strip down to your comfiest panties, the ones that make you feel most adorable. You want to be able to focus on the task at hand.

Step 3: Positioning. This all depends on your preferred humping style. Some girls like to straddle, while others prefer to ride laying on their stomach. Experiment to find what works best for you.

Step 4: Mount Up. Carefully climb on top of your stuffie, spreading your legs wide to accommodate it. Reach down and adjust its position until it's nestled comfortably between your thighs.

Step 5: Start Slow. Begin by gently rocking back and forth, letting your stuffie rub against your wet little cunny. Focus on the sensation, the feeling of it pressing against your sensitive areas. As you get more comfortable, you can increase your speed and intensity.

Step 6: Add Some Friction. Now it's time to add some extra stimulation. Reach down and start rubbing your clit, slow circles that match each rock of your hips. Experiment with different textures - try rubbing your clit against the stuffie's ears, or using its fuzzy tail.

Step 7: Ride Hard. Start grinding hard, bounce up and down if you need to. Rub and press and flick your clit, you’re so close, now’s the time to really let loose.

Step 8: Cum Hard. As you cum, press down hard on your stuffie, squeeze your legs against it, use it to prolong your orgasm. Let the waves wash over you, feeling them build and crest. And when you're finally finished, collapse onto your stuffie, hugging it tightly to your chest. You just made a new best friend.

[jessiegerl]

Nick is back on the beat, he comes in to see you guys and see's the look on your face when you see him in uniform, offers to drive you home and.....

Fandom: Law and Order SVU

Pairing: Nick Amaro x Reader

Requested: Yes

Request: «Nick is back on the beat, he comes in to see you guys and see's the look on your face when you see him in uniform, offers to drive you home and…..» - @itsjustmyfantasyroom

Warning: SMUTTY!! Don’t read if you’re under 18!

A/N: This is for @thatesqcrush ’s kinktober bingo, covering the Mirror sex square. Also, I changed it up a little bit 👀😂 - Karen

«Counsellors? I didn’t remember asking for two of you», Olivia joked as you and Barba walked into the bullpen. «I’m just dropping Mr. Barba off», you said, patting your colleague on the shoulder. «I’ll see you tomorrow», you added, telling everyone goodbye before leaving.

Fishing out your phone at the sound of a message you didn’t see where you were going and ended up crashing into someone. «I’m so sorry», you gasped, crouching to pick up your phone whilst praying that the screen wasn’t broken. «You okay?» said a familiar voice, Nick. Looking up you were met by his chocolate brown eyes. «Detective Amaro», you said, your breath hitching in your throat. «ADA (Y/L/N)», he murmured.

Nick had been dropped back on the beat after his anger got the best of him, landing a perp in the hospital. IAB was not happy with his actions, which was evident by his demotion to patrol officer in Brooklyn. But you were overjoyed, because it meant he was closer to you, if you needed a quick booty call of course. He looked absolutely stunning in his dress blues, making you weak at the knees.

You didn’t realized you had spaced out until someone cleared their throat. Looking back up at Nick you felt your cheeks burn at the fact that you had been caught staring. «Sorry, what was that?» you asked. «I asked if you needed a lift back to Brooklyn», he said, a knowing smirk on his lips. «Uh, yeah, thank you detective, that would be nice.» Nodding you stood to the side so he could say hello to everyone.

…

By the time you were leaving, you were practically dragging Nick with you, prompting him to let out a hearty chuckle. «Slow down mami, what’s the rush?» he mused. «You’re driving me home, and then you’re coming up to my apartment with me», you stated. «I’m still on the clock cariño», he murmured, kissing the slope of your neck. «Well, then I’ll just have to get Bob out, won’t I?» you asked, your voice low as you pressed your hand to his growing bulge. «Don’t fucking tease me like that princesa», he growled, bucking his hips into your hand.

The lust in his eyes made you worry if he was going to drive back to Brooklyn with blue lights on, but he refrained from it, keeping the limit.

Getting to your apartment, Nick almost threw you over his shoulder and ran in. Not wanting to waste time anymore. «We’ve got to be quick, I need to get back soon», he commented, pushing you against the door once you were both inside. «How do you want me then detective?» you asked, biting your lip.

Not saying another word, Nick spun you around and lead you to the full length mirror on the wall by the door. «Put your hands on the wall cariño», he growled, his hands on your waist and his bulge pressed into your ass over your dress. You did as he said with great enthusiasm, pressing your palms to the wall before leaning forward.

He quickly lifted up the skirt of your dress before freeing his pulsing member. «You ready for me hermosa?» he murmured, nipping at your exposed neck. «Mhmmm», you moaned, bracing yourself.  In one swift movement he was fully in you, stretching you out deliciously. «Oh fuuuuck!» you moaned, your head dropping. «Look in the mirror while I fuck you hermosa», Nick demanded, «I want you to see how good I make you feel.» Hearing how confident he sounded made you absolutely drip. The way he spoke during sex was the biggest turn on for you, and Nick could be down right filthy if he wanted to.

It was evident, by the look on your face, how close you were at this point. Nick’s relentless pounding, and his fingers almost vibrating on your clit, made you scream out in pleasure. «You like that? You like how good I fuck you? God, you’re so wet bebé, and all this because I showed up to the precinct?» he murmured, biting down on your shoulder. «Give yourself s—fuck—some more credit Nick, you look fucking hot in that uniform, I can’t help it!» you moaned in return. «Ah, so it’s the uniform huh? Filthy little girl», he snickered.

«I’m so close! Please let me cum», you whimpered, your walls clamping down on his member. «Yeah? You think I should let you? Maybe I should make you wait until I get off my shift tonight», he growled, spanking your ass. «Please Nick, please let me cum, I’ve been so good», you cried out, there was no way you would be able to hold it off any longer. He laughed darkly, squeezing your ass  hard which would surely leave marks in the morning.

A particular thrust by Nick made you scream so loud you were sure the neighbors would complain, but you didn’t care. «Just like that Nick! Oh God! Please let me cum!» you cried, pushing back on his cock.

Pulling you up to press your back to his chest, Nick bit down on your neck and whispered, «Let go for me hermosa.» And with that, your climax hit you like fireworks, your eyes rolling back.

A string of curse words left both of you as you tried to come down from your world shattering orgasm. «That.was.intense!» you said in between breaths. «Yeah, we’re definitely doing that again cariño», he murmured, pulling out of you. «I have to go though. Can I call you after shift?» at this you nodded and turned to look at him. «Only if you come over in the uniform, detective», you purred.

[jessiegerl]

Teehee *drops this here*

[jessiegerl]

So.... there's just NO Scotty Valens x Reader fics here? None? At ALL?!

[jessiegerl]

Maybe In A Different Age

Senku/fem reader

cw: angst no comfort (i tried) ik this fandom kinda dead lowkey but I wanted to write this cause its so senku coded. Senku's an idiot (unsuprisingly). Not very good writing.

wc: uhh i wrote this in my notes, around 1k probably

-

Byakuya brings two strangers into their house on a random thursday.

"Senku, this is a close friend and her daughter, I'm sure you guys will get along splendidly."

"Ok."

Five year old Senku is harshly blunt when he meets you for the first time, staring at him silently as if you've never seen a human before. He doesn't have anything to say and it seems neither do you, so he walks off, deciding he has better things to do. Promptly ignoring the sigh and apology the older man lets out.

.

"So I got this new idea and I'm going through the basic logistics and research right now, might need your help later."

"I'll go get us some snacks and something to do while you work on it then."

Six year old Senku watches you dissappear from his doorway, absentmindedly humming while you head to the very familiar kitchen. Your family has been apparently busy as of late so he forcibly sees your face more often. You usually just eat his food, do your work, and ask him (dumb) questions. You're a friend now, he supposes.

.

"Hey dum dum, Byakuya got me new equipment, so I have some new ideas. So listen up."

"Course Senku!"

Seven year old Senku grins, you're always willing to help him out for whatever reason you have (something weird probably, in his opinion). In return, he always tells you what he's working on and his labor demands. So per usual, he excitedly gets into the details of the next project that he plans on working you and Taiju to the bone for.

.

"Hey Senku?"

"What?"

"I think I love you."

"Huh? You better not be catching feelings dum dum." He gives you a confused squint after hearing your words.

"Whatever you say." You hum

Eight year old Senku hears you say those three words for the first time, you don't say why and he doesn't know either. He thinks its rather idiotic, but he shrugs it off after you silently go back to reading. You've been picking up books more often as of late, not that he cares much.

.

"You're late for the test runs, Taiju and Yuzuriha already left."

"Sorry sorry! My teacher held me up a little later at practice today."

"Hm." His disappointed stare returns.

"Im sorry..? Love you?" You're sheepish with your response.

"How is that supposed to make up for anything? Now come help me carry this stuff"

"As you wish, princess Senku."

Nine year old Senku doesn't understand why you and Byakuya tell him that so often (or that stupid nickname sourced from his "feebleness"), but he moves on quickly to detail the results of the test and the numerous next steps. Much to his pleasure.

.

"Wake up stupid. You fell asleep." Senku (roughly) shakes you awake from your shoulders, poking at your face a few times.

"Huh? Oh sorry Senku, I guess I'm just tired."

"Well you're not gonna wanna miss this." He grins while looking up, expectant.

"Hm. Hey the moons pretty tonight yeah?"

"It looks the same as it always does. Is that poetry getting to you and making you sappy?"

You wait before responding, "Maybe."

Eleven year old Senku keeps you up on certain nights for his projects or for nights like these where there's a meteor shower. He thinks you should stop reading so much of those books that make you sound like Byakuya. You should also get more rest, he adds.

.

"Happy Valentines Day Senku!! Got you a gift, heh."

"Must I tell you again?" Senku turns to a usual sight, you waving a gift in front of his face as if he were a dog.

"I'm good I just wanted to remind you."

"Right."

Twelve year old Senku doesn't see the point in meaningless feelings or holidays for said feelings. Nevertheless, he takes the homemade chocolate from you, skimming through the card which contents include exactly what he expected (a confession of sorts, again), and placing it to the side. Ignoring it in favor of the much more sensible chemicals in front of him. Like every year though, Senku keeps it. He doesn't know why.

.

"Taiju and Yuzuriha definitely have something going on don't you think?"

"And you're bringing this up why?"

You pause, you know why, but you know he wouldn't understand. "It's cute... wish I could have something like that you know?"

"...For the last time-"

"I know I know Senku, don't worry I'll try to bother you less."

Thirteen year old Senku doesn't see you as much anymore, mostly because of your practice that your mom wants you to perfect. You come over less nowadays, a shame (for his projects obviously), but your presence isn't any smaller of an intrusion at school. So much for bothering him less.

.

Around 21:00 is when he hears the familiar ringing of his doorbell. "It's late, why are you here?"

"Got out of training not too long ago and wanted to see you before I headed in."

"Your house isn't even remotely close to mine" A raised eyebrow is all you get in response to your grin.

"What does it matter when I'm already here, but gotta go before I get scolded. Goodnight Senku, Love you!"

"You know it's never gonna happen, as you know-"

"Yeah yeah, 10 billion percent illogical, I know, but I can't let my favorite person forget can I?" You flash another smile.

"As if I'd ever with how often you say it, now goodnight."

Fourteen year old Senku closes the door after you've cheerfully said your bye and faded from his sight enough. The lack of noise is strange, now that Byakuya has "ascended like an angel" (his words not Senkus) it's much quieter. The usual noise of a certain two people is absent more often than not. He let's the silence of the house sit in.

.

"Hey, can you get me something from the storage real quick? Need it soon but that bonehead forgot when he came up here babbling about confessing to Yuzuriha"

"Of course. I'd do anything for you. Always here. You know that Sen."

Fifteen year old Senku glances at your fleeting figure. The nickname is new, for sure. And he can't say he dislikes it, but the lack of a certain three words with your departure is strange. He brushes it off to your usual forgetfulness and peers out the window at Taiju and Yuzuriha. Thoughts preoccupied until a bright green light overtakes his vision and he can't do anything but think into the void.

So he counts.

And maybe every once in a while you pop into his head like you always do.

.

Three-thousand and something year old Senku wakes up to a world where theres a lack of civilization, a lack of his decency, and most importantly, a lack of you.

You would be useful right now, he supposes.

.

Three-thousand and something year old Senku spends his free time trying to find you and the rest of the "gang" (as you would say).

He finds Taiju, he finds Yuzuriha, he also finds a lion-punching maniac, but there's no sign of you.

He's ten billion percent sure you survived.

Right?

The concerned stare Yuzuriha gives him as they part is ignored.

.

(Physically) Sixteen year old Senku celebrates this birthday gazing into the sky from his new observatory. It reminds him of a lot of things, but he can't help but notice how empty it is, it's eerily quiet.

He doesn't like it.

Senku wishes you were here.

His first real birthday wish.

.

(Still) Sixteen year old Senku breaks when he hears his father's voice again for the first time in ages. It's not his voice that gets to Senku. He's heard it plenty enough in his lifetime. It's the mention of you.

"Just kidding! I know it's you on the other side of this Senku! And ____'s there with you right? Please tell me you're dating already or even better married so I can have grandchildren. Please please please Senku! Although you can't really tell me that but-"

Senku stops himself from showing vulnerability in front of the village, and he also stops himself from pausing the record right there and then. Opting to sigh and curse his dad out as a cover up, his fist lightly punching the table.

"Damn you old man."

The questions from the villagers about who you could be are forgotten in favor of an angelic voice. Senku's quick to tune it out. It reminds him of you.

.

(Mentally) Sixteen year old Senku sits by himself that night. It's been a long day. The constant repeat of a certain melody in the background, more work for the science kingdom, and a few questions about who you were. They stopped after a few radio silences from him, feelings are hard for the scientist after all.

It's cold.

He wishes you were here.

It's dark.

He wishes you were here.

It's lonely.

He wishes you were here.

The day he can always guarantee you're there has long passed. You should be here, is what his mind tells him. You owe him for the past 3000 years of missed birthdays after all.

It's funny, in his opinion. That you were probably most-definitely always there. And the one (multiple actually, 10 billion in his mind) time he looks for you, you're not there.

He doesn't think its funny.

"I'd do anything for you huh..."

Anything but keep your word.

He scoffs, but it's directed at himself. He would never blame you for this, or anything for that matter, he can't.

So he sits. And he stays. Like you would've wanted him too. He looks at the clear sky like you usually do. And he notes how the moon is pretty tonight. Just like you.

"I love you too."

He's 10 billion percent sure he does.

-

Thanks for reading, if you did :). Sorry for any errors not fully proofread. Senku is so right person wrong time coded when it comes to romance that i had to write this even if its lowkey bad

[jessiegerl]

Snowfall in the Devildom. Sparkling white snow blanketing everything, turning the world quiet. There's quite a bit of it, to the point that all RAD classes were cancelled.

You sit by the fireplace in a blanket sipping a warm drink that someone prepared for you. The snow has stopped, but you can see flurries floating by on the wind outside. Occasional gales sneak through cracks in the window and whistle.

Someone shouts. There's stomping on the roof where the brothers have gathered to get rid of the heavy snow before it damages the house. You watch a Mammon-shaped shadow fall off the roof and take another sip of your drink.

Mammon shakes himself off and shifts into demon form. You wonder if he's cold without a shirt on. He jumps, soaring back up to the top of the house where more squabbling occurs. It's hard to make out any words.

You watch Leviathan fall off the roof this time. The end of his tail is caught around Belphegor's leg. Their shouts harmonize with the wind and a cloud of powdered snow is kicked up by their impact.

You re-adjust your blanket. You're glad they didn't invite you to clear off the roof.

[jessiegerl]

All they could give you was a symbol—a medal, small yet unbearably heavy in your palm, its weight nothing compared to the grief settling in your chest. It was meant to be an honor, a token of his sacrifice.

There was no uniform, no familiar scent of oak and Ives lingering on fabric, not even remnants of his mask worn and frayed from years of use. Nothing tangible to hold onto, nothing that felt like him. Just this medal, cold and unyielding, a poor replacement for the man who had once filled your world with warmth.  

The air felt thick, suffocating. Price stood before you, his head bowed, hands clenched at his sides, unable to meet your eyes. Maybe because he knew—knew that this wasn’t enough, knew that no medal, no folded letter of condolences, no words could ever replace the life that had been stolen from you.  

Your fingers tightened around the medal, nails digging into your palm as if holding onto it tightly enough could somehow bridge the impossible gap between the past and now. As if it could bring him back. But it couldn’t. Nothing could.

The questions flowed before your tears. How? When? Where? Was he absolutely sure that Ghost—no—Simon, your Simon, was truly gone?  

There’s a loud silence, the kind that bounces off the walls with its intensity. Gaz stares at your weeping form, or more accurately, stares through you, steeling his gaze upon you as he says— 

"Confidential."

Gaz's voice was steady, but the weight of that single word shattered everything. It rendered your questions useless, left an empty void where answers should have been. There would be no closure, no understanding of why—just a truth you weren’t ready to accept.  

Johnny shifted uncomfortably beside you, his fingers tapping restlessly against his knee before he spoke. “His pension… it’s there for you.” His voice was gentler than usual, words carefully chosen, but they felt hollow.  

As if money could ever fill the gaping wound Simon left behind.  

Your gaze flickered toward the stairs, toward the only piece of him that remained—the little one asleep upstairs, curled beneath a starry blanket, blissfully unaware. Too young to understand that his father would never be coming home. Too innocent to know that the world had just taken something irreplaceable from him before he even had the chance to hold onto it.

Loss had never felt so deafening. 

He was gone. Just like that.  

The one who had carved his name onto your heart with stupid jokes that always made you roll your eyes, with brown eyes that saw through every guarded piece of you—vanished. No warning. No final words. Just a pebble sinking into still water, disappearing beneath the surface while the ripples of his absence spread endlessly outward, touching everything, unraveling everything. 

His absence wasn’t just an empty space—it was something alive, something that pressed against you from every direction, filling in the cracks he left behind. It clung to the air, heavy and unshakable, an echo of him that refused to fade. And it was everywhere.

The house still smelled like him. Coffee and cedarwood, the faint trace of his cologne that had seeped into the fabric of the couch, the sheets, the very walls. His mug sat abandoned in the sink, a ghost of a morning that would never come again. His jacket hung by the door, his shoes still beside yours, untouched. As if he had only just stepped out, as if he might walk back in at any moment.

It was absurd, really, how the world dared to keep spinning when yours had come to a violent halt.

Grief wasn’t loud, not like they made it seem in movies. It wasn’t a storm of screaming and crying, not always. Sometimes, it was the unbearable silence that pressed against your chest in the middle of the night, where his warmth used to be. It was waking up and, for one blissful second, forgetting—only to remember again with a force so brutal it stole the breath from your lungs. 

And what were you supposed to do now? Go on? Move forward? How, when every step away from this moment felt like a betrayal? Like you were leaving him behind in a past that no longer existed, while you were forced to exist in a future he would never see? 

For the first few months, you put one foot ahead of the other, treading through grief as if carrying a wounded soldier through combat. Each step was heavy, weighted with loss, but you took them anyway—because what else was there to do? Grief wrapped itself around you, clinging like a second skin, suffocating yet familiar, a constant presence in the quiet spaces he used to fill.

But so did hope.

Faint at first, like a flicker in the dark, barely there. It lived in the steady rise and fall of your son’s chest as he slept, in the way his tiny fingers curled instinctively around yours. It was in the mornings you forced yourself to wake up, in the days that stretched forward even when you wanted time to stop. In the darkest nights, when the weight of loneliness pressed down on you like a suffocating fog, you held onto his words, the ones he whispered against your skin, against your lips, when he was still here—I’ll always come back to you.

You'll stay waiting. 

Every night, every morning. Through birthdays and quiet moments at the dinner table, through the scraped knees and bedtime stories. You told Leo his father was out there, fighting his way home, that one day he’d walk through that door like no time had passed. You painted a picture so vivid, so real, that sometimes—just sometimes—you could almost believe it yourself.  

And Leo, with his father’s sharp eyes and your steady heart, listened. He never questioned. He never doubted. He simply *believed*, because you did.  

Even as the years passed, as his baby fat melted away into the angular features of a young man, as his voice deepened and his stance mirrored the quiet strength of a man he never met, you held fast and he never once asked you to stop telling those stories.

Simon would return.  

He had to.

And until he does, you'll wait, even if your skin begins to wrinkles and your memory begins to fade.

You were told to let go, that your endless waiting would be for naught, that the man you called your husband wouldn’t be stepping through the front door anymore. Some were gentle in their suggestions, others blunt, but they all carried the same message—move on. Remarry. Start over.  

They didn’t understand.  

No man could ever be Simon Riley.  

You shut it down swiftly, time and time again. To every well-meaning friend, every hopeful stranger, every persistent suitor—you made it clear. You were not interested. You were still happily married. The ring on your finger was proof of that, a quiet testament to a love that neither death nor time could erase. Your beating heart, steady and unyielding, was an extension of the hope you carried deep inside, the belief that somehow, somewhere, Simon was still with you.  

The years pressed heavy on your shoulders. Doubt crept in like a shadow, whispering cruel what-ifs in the dead of night. But you refused to acknowledge it. Instead, you clung to his words, the ones he left behind, spoken in the deep rasp that had once been your home. Words of love, of promises made, of a future you had built together.  

And so, you waited. Not because you were lost in grief, not because you were afraid to move forward, but because love—real, true love—did not simply fade.

Because he never lied.  

And if he wasn’t back yet, it only meant one thing.  

He was still trying to find his way home.

Your endless rejections stirred whispers in the neighborhood. Boys—never men in your eyes, not with their arrogance—took turns trying to woo the widow who remained steadfast in her belief that her dead husband would return. They called you insane for waiting on a ghost, convinced that one of them should rightfully claim the hand of someone as beautiful as you. But if your cold no wasn’t enough to deter them, Leo was.

Your son stood tall, a quiet force of nature. His glare alone was enough to send would-be suitors scurrying, the cold glint in his eyes promising consequences for anyone foolish enough to try and take his father’s place. Yet, for you, his mother, that steel melted into something soft. Devotion ran deep in his veins. Whether by your side or not, he was always protecting you.

That much was clear when, on his way home from school, he was stopped by Anthony—the worst of them all. Ruthless, persistent, always flanked by lackeys who clung to his every word. Leo tried to sidestep him, choosing to ignore the man who had been a thorn in your side for years. But then, Anthony’s voice cut through the air, crude and dripping with mockery.

"When is your tramp of a mother gonna find a new husband?”

Leo froze mid-step. The words, crude and venomous, burned into his mind, igniting something primal deep in his chest. His fingers curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms as he slowly turned to face Anthony.  

The older man smirked, arms crossed over his chest, flanked by his usual lackeys who snickered behind him like hyenas waiting for a kill. They had always been vultures, circling, waiting for you to break under the weight of grief and loneliness. But you hadn’t. And neither had Leo.  

He met Anthony’s gaze head-on, eyes sharp and unyielding. “Say that again,” Leo challenged, his voice eerily calm, the kind of calm that sent a chill through the air.  

Anthony scoffed, stepping forward, puffing up his chest as if his age alone would be enough to intimidate Leo. “You heard me, kid. Everyone’s sick of watching her waste away, waiting on a dead man. She needs someone real.” His lips curled, voice dipping into something cruel. “You need a father.”  

The crack of Leo’s fist connecting with Anthony’s jaw echoed down the street. The man stumbled, caught off guard, his cronies recoiling in shock. Leo didn’t stop. His knuckles struck again, again, fury pouring out in sharp, brutal movements. Years of biting his tongue, of standing guard while men like Anthony circled like wolves, all of it exploded in that moment.  

Leo was outnumbered, but that didn’t stop him. He threw every ounce of his strength into his punches, his breath ragged, his body shaking—not just with rage, but with something deeper. Something that had been buried since the day his father disappeared. The bruises blooming across his skin were nothing compared to the weight he carried on his shoulders.

Then, suddenly, he was yanked backward. A strong grip seized his collar, wrenching him away from the fight. Leo's head snapped back, his teeth bared, ready to snarl at whoever dared to interfere—until he saw him.

Uncle Price.

The older man's weathered eyes were dark with anger as they took in the scene before him. He didn’t need to raise his voice; the look he shot at Anthony and his crew was enough to make them hesitate, stepping back just enough to feign innocence.

"Come on, son," Price said, voice firm but steady.

Leo exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted his bag. He cast one last glare at the group, knuckles still throbbing, heart still pounding. But it didn’t matter.

He had a home to get back to. A mother to protect.

You were devastated when Leo came home, his face a bloody mess. The sight of him stole the breath from your lungs. Without thinking, you rushed to him, a damp cloth in hand, gently cradling his face as you pressed it against his bruises.

Your lips parted, ready to demand what had happened—but the look in his eyes told you everything.

This was the consequence of your refusal. Of your unwavering devotion to a ghost. They wouldn’t come for you. No, they would take their anger out on your son—the boy who had done nothing wrong, who only wanted to protect you. The thought turned your stomach.

You couldn't allow this to continue.

So, in the days that followed, you devised a plan. A challenge.

If the men wanted to prove themselves worthy, they would have to earn it. Earn being your husband. Bring back game—the largest boar they could find. But there were conditions. It had to be taken down with a single shot, clean and precise. And it had to be done using the same model as your husband’s prized hunting rifle. No knives. No second chances. Just one bullet.

However, you knew—none of them had a shot that clean. Not these half-men who could barely hold a rifle, let alone wield it with precision. Their hands were too soft, untouched by real work, never having held anything heavier than their own egos.

They would try, of course. Driven by pride, by the foolish belief that brute force could replace skill. But you had no doubt—each one would fail.

Maybe then, they would finally understand.

Much to your surprise, over the course of weeks, some of them actually tried. And, as expected, they failed spectacularly.

One managed to hit himself in the nose from the recoil, clearly never having held a rifle in his life. Another showed up at your door grinning ear to ear, proudly presenting a pig instead of a boar. You slammed the door in his face without a word.

Anthony was the one who nearly had you convinced—his boar was of fair size, impressive even. But one look at the wound told you everything you needed to know. The bullet hole was too wide. A different rifle. A different shot.

The door slammed in his face, too.

This little game of yours went on for some time, keeping them preoccupied and keeping them far away from you and your son. That's what mattered.

Days after his rejection, Anthony grew restless, his anger festering like an open wound. He was a storm barely contained, his temper so volatile that even those who usually followed him began to keep their distance.

Seated at the bar, he gripped his drink so tightly it was a wonder the glass didn’t shatter in his hands. Around him, the air was thick with frustration—every man in this room had either failed in their attempts to win your hand or was still trying. Their collective agitation simmered beneath the weight of another humiliating failure.

Anthony’s voice slithered through the murmurs of the bar, wrapping around the ears of every man who had tasted rejection at your hands. His knuckles flexed, still white from how tightly he had gripped his drink moments ago.

"Can't you guys see we're being played?" His voice was sharp, cutting through the murmur of the room like a blade. He sneered, his lip curling. "How she holds us down while her bed gets colder. Holds us down while that boy gets bolder?"

The flickering candlelight caught the edge of his grin as he leaned forward, watching their faces twist with realization.

"Here and now, there's a chance for action."

That was the hook. He had them now. A shared glint of hunger flashed in their eyes, their minds shifting in unison. Some sat up straighter, others exhaled slow and deep, as if steeling themselves for the promise of something wicked.

Anthony pushed himself up onto the table, boots thudding against the wood. He stood tall, eyes dark and wild, his tone dropping to a low whisper despite the fact that every soul in the bar was already watching him.

"I say, we deal with the kid first. When he walks back from school tomorrow, we hold him down."

A pause, letting the weight of those words settle over them like a shroud. His grin widened, teeth flashing in the dim light.

"We hold him down while I break his pride, his trust, his faith—" his fingers flexed, miming a snap, "—and his bones."

A slow, creeping murmur of approval rippled through the crowd. The men weren’t just listening anymore. They were envisioning it.

"We cut him down into tiny pieces," he continued, voice thick with malice, "then throw him where she'll never know."

A few heads nodded. Some sipped their drinks, lips curling with a sick sort of anticipation.

"And when she wonders where her dear son has gone, only the earth and the trees will know."

A hush fell over them, as if nature itself was listening, horrified.

"When the deed is done, she'll have no one to stop us from breaking her door. No one to stop us from taking her love..." He let the last words drip from his lips, dragging them out like poison.

"And more."

If any of these men had an ounce of sense—if they had learned from the old tales whispered by their grandfathers about watching the dark, about never turning their backs on the unknown—they would have known to be afraid. They would have felt the weight of something beyond their understanding, lurking just outside the glow of the dim lights.

But none of them did.

None of them noticed the figure standing in the corner, veiled in shadow, unmoving, listening. None of them realized that the dark had teeth, nor that it had been waiting.

Anthony barked out a laugh, a cruel, vile thing that reeked of arrogance. The devil inside him knew no limits, no fear. "Tomorrow, my frien—"

The words barely left his tongue before the gunshot cracked through the air, a sharp and deafening roar.

The bullet found its mark with merciless precision, punching straight through his throat. His body jolted, hands flying up as if to claw at the gaping wound before his knees buckled, sending him collapsing onto the table. Blood gushed, dark and pooling fast, soaking into the wood.

The bar plunged into silence.

No one moved.

No one breathed.

They all stared, wide-eyed and frozen, at the lifeless husk of the man who had been standing, laughing, just moments ago. His glass, still half-full, teetered on the edge of the table before toppling over, the liquid spilling into the growing crimson.

Then—movement.

Eyes flicked toward the corner, toward the place where something had lurked unseen. A figure moved, gliding toward the light switch, silent as death itself.

The room plunged into darkness.

Gunfire.

It erupted like a storm, a relentless barrage that tore through the heavy air, each shot finding its home in flesh and bone. The men barely had time to scream. Shadows danced with the flashes of gunshots, their shapes twisting and writhing like specters, like the very vengeance that had come to claim them.

Retribution had arrived. And it showed no mercy.

Bodies lay sprawled across the floor in twisted, unnatural positions, men crumpled in their final moments, their faces frozen in shock and agony. Those still alive—those still breathing—scrambled in the chaos, tripping over their fallen comrades, their movements frantic, uncoordinated.

One of Anthony’s right-hand men, a stocky figure with a buzzed head, his eyes wide with panic, reached for a pocket knife. His fingers fumbled in desperation, clumsy as the adrenaline surged through his veins, his body bracing for a fight he knew he was never going to win. His hand was shaking, but he gripped the hilt with a last-ditch hope, his stance poised for the slash—except it never came.

A blade—cold, precise—pressed against his neck, the tip sinking into the flesh just below his ear. The faintest shift of pressure, and it would be over. The edge of the blade kissed his carotid artery, the promise of death within a breath.

He froze, eyes wide, unable to even speak as the weight of the situation crushed him. His body trembled as the reality hit—there was no escape, no hope of survival. Not anymore.

"I’m sorry!" he gasped, his voice trembling with desperation.

His hands shot up in surrender, palms facing out, a desperate plea for life. His heart hammered in his chest, his breath coming in ragged, panicked gasps. The blade remained at his throat, unwavering, a constant reminder of his impending fate.

A scoff brushed against his ear, low and humorless. The sound alone sent ice down his spine. Slowly, with the caution of a man facing the reaper himself, he turned his head just enough to see—

Those eyes.

Weathered, sharp as broken glass, burning with a vengeance too deep to be mortal.

A ghost.

A man they had long thought dead.

The knife against his throat pressed just a little harder, just enough to let him feel the edge of death. His pulse pounded beneath the steel, his breath coming in frantic, uneven gasps.

He swallowed hard, sweat beading at his temple. He had been so sure Simon was dead. They all were. It had been years—too many years. The man they had spoken of in past tense, the man whose wife they had planned to take like a prize, was supposed to be gone.

But here he was.

And the look in his eyes…

Those were not the eyes of a man who had merely returned. They were the eyes of something risen from the grave, something that had crawled its way out of hell itself.

“Please,” the man whimpered again, his hands trembling in the air. “Please, have mercy.”

A scoff. Low. Cold.

"Mercy?" Riley's voice was rough, hoarse from years of silence, of waiting, of watching from the shadows. "You want mercy?"

The man could only nod, his throat too tight for words.

Riley leaned in, just enough for the stench of blood and sweat to mix between them. His grip on the knife never wavered.

"You were gonna take my boy from me," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath, yet it carried more weight than any gunshot. "Hold him down. Cut him into pieces. Make his mother beg."

The man's lips quivered. He tried to speak, but the words refused to come.

Riley exhaled slowly, the sound eerily steady, controlled. "You prayed on a widow. Plotted against a child. And now you’re askin’ me for mercy?"

The man's whole body shook. He opened his mouth to beg, to say anything—

But the blade slit his throat before he ever got the chance.

A wet gurgle bubbled from his lips as his knees buckled, and he hit the floor, his hands grasping at the wound in a desperate, useless attempt to hold in what was already lost.

Simon stepped back, his expression unreadable, watching as the life drained from the man's eyes.

Then, silence.

The only thing left in that bar was death.

The rain was a heavy, persistent downpour that splattered against the windows, casting an eerie, wavering glow across the room. The knock came again, soft but insistent, like a warning or a plea. It tugged at you, pulling you from the safety of your quiet home, the stillness of the night broken by this unexpected disturbance.

The rain pounded relentlessly against the windows, its rhythmic assault filling the silence of the house like a constant whisper. The storm outside was a living thing, roaring in the night as though it, too, were trying to get your attention. And then that knock. Soft at first, almost imperceptible under the storm's roar, but then again, louder, more urgent, as if something—or someone—knew you were inside, knew you were awake even though the rest of the world seemed to be asleep.

You hesitated, standing at the base of the stairs, your eyes glancing at Leo, curled up on the couch, oblivious to the world around him. He looked so peaceful, his steady breathing a stark contrast to the storm. You could feel your chest tighten as a wave of protectiveness washed over you. Quietly, you crossed the room and covered him with a blanket, smoothing the fabric over his slouched form as you whispered a prayer under your breath for his peace, for his safety. You didn’t want to leave him, didn’t want to risk something happening to him while you were gone.

But that knock—it pulled at you. It felt like a summons, a call from somewhere deep within your soul, urging you forward, pushing you away from the comfort of your quiet home. With a soft sigh, you moved toward the door, the floor beneath your feet creaking with each step. The coldness of the wood seemed to bite into your skin as you walked past Leo, your steps careful and measured, as if the house itself was trying to hold you back, to keep you safe.

When you reached the door, it stood like a shadow before you, dark and looming. The doorknob was cool in your hand, as though it had been waiting for you to open it. You paused, your heart hammering in your chest, a knot of unease twisting in your stomach. It was an unnatural feeling, a sense that something was not right, that this moment was different from all the others before it. Another knock came, more forceful, more demanding.

Something inside you stirred, and with a shaky breath, you turned the knob. The door opened slowly, the creak of the hinges loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Standing before you, drenched to the bone, was a man—a shadow of a person. His clothes were stained in dark red, the blood soaking through the fabric in patches, his hair matted and wild, blown in odd directions by the wind. His face was pale, a look of exhaustion and pain etched across it, yet there was something eerily familiar about the figure in front of you. His body swayed slightly, as though he didn’t have the strength to stand on his own.

But it wasn’t the blood, nor the state of him that caught your attention. No, it was the nose. That crooked nose, bent in a way that only one person in your life had—one person you hadn’t seen in years. A person you’d thought lost to time, to memory.

The tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop them, the sobs catching in your throat. The man’s eyes—wide, filled with a pain you couldn’t quite place—met yours, and in that moment, your body went cold, then warm, then cold again.

It was him.

The man you've been waiting for.

Your arms wrapped around him without a second thought, the years of waiting, of hoping, of believing that Simon would somehow return, crashing into you all at once. The blood staining his clothes, the heavy scent of sweat, dirt, and blood—none of it mattered. He was here, in front of you, breathing, alive.

“Simon,” you whispered his name like a prayer, clutching him tighter as though he might slip away if you let go. Your fingers dug into his back, feeling the cold chill of his skin beneath the wet fabric. It wasn’t real, you told yourself. This couldn’t be real, could it? But the steady beat of his heart, the warmth radiating from his chest, told you it was.

He was home.

The words barely formed on your lips, your throat tight with emotion as you lifted your face to meet his. His eyes were distant, clouded with confusion and pain, but there was recognition there—faint, but it was enough. His arms, weak and trembling, slid around you, holding you with a sense of desperation that mirrored your own.

“I—I never stopped waiting for you,” you whispered, voice shaking. Tears ran down your face, unbidden, falling into the rain-soaked fabric of his shirt, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered in that moment was that Simon was here. He had come back to you, to the family he had left behind. Your heart, which had once ached with the loss, now soared with the joy of his return.

He didn’t say anything at first. There was a beat of silence where all you could hear was the heavy rain, the sound of his shallow breathing, and the thudding of your heart. He was here, alive, but something was off. He wasn’t the Simon you remembered. He was different—haunted, broken. His fingers gripped your arms, his touch gentle yet firm, as if afraid to let you slip from his grasp.

“I never… I thought you were gone. I thought you were dead,” you murmured, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “I never gave up on you, Simon. I knew you were out there.”

The way he stiffened in your arms made you pull back slightly, your hands still on his chest, your eyes searching his face. The blood, the grime, the weathered look of him—he was a far cry from the man you had kissed goodbye all those years ago. The memory of his mission, the last time you had seen him before the war had swallowed him whole, gnawed at your mind.

“I—I didn’t want you to wait for me,” Simon finally rasped, his voice raw, broken. His words trembled in the air, caught between a confession and regret. “I never meant to come back like this…”

You shook your head, brushing his hair from his face gently, as if touching him could somehow undo all the pain of the years you’d spent apart.

“It doesn’t matter,” you said, your voice steady despite the storm that raged inside you. “You’re here. You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

But even as you spoke, something in his eyes flickered, a shadow passing over them, making you wonder if this was truly the Simon you had known. Had the years away from you broken him too? Had they taken away more of him than just his body?

But before you could ask, his hands reached up, cupping your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as though he were memorizing your features, like you might disappear at any moment.

“I won’t leave you again,” he whispered his promise hoarsely, his voice full of something too raw to name.

“Good,” you murmured, leaning into his touch, your own hands trembling as they cradled his face, pulling him closer. "Because I’ll never let you go again."

For the first time in years, you felt whole. Simon was home, and despite the blood, the rain, and the years apart, nothing else mattered and when Leo awoke, the unfinished chapter in their lives for so long would finally close.

-- Dividers by: @bernardsbendystraws

[jessiegerl]

seeing straight men be disgusted by booktok smut recommenders has actually radicalized me to the side of booktok smut recommenders. girls your taste may be atrocious but i will never disparage you for exposing mainstream discourse to the concept of soaking through your underwear. spent my whole life listening to men talk about penises it’s about time they get jumpscared by women talking about pussy in crude detail on social media. go forth and goon my warriors

[jessiegerl]

Credits: Me

[jessiegerl]

Texas Romance (Georgie Cooper)

Y/n is Missy's high school friend, even though the Cooper girl is only in elementary school. She spends a lot of time at the Cooper house and learns what living with Sheldon was like. Through her years of high school, she realized that she's crushing on the eldest football playing brother Georgie. He's reckless and does things his mom doesn't approve of so Y/n questions herself of how she is falling for him. The two have to figure out if they can actually be a couple or not and deal with Missy's teasing.

Confession Struggle

Family Crazy Ride

Sheldon's Football

Girls better than Boys

Adult Talk...

Job Revenge

Bad van - Young lady

Escape Tactics

Math Wizard (First Time)

Mood Swings

Stress-relief Weekend

We're so Grounded

Defending Family

School Troubles

Baby Pictures

Money Making Baby

Wearing a Ring

Old Fun - That's Nope

Hospital Chaos

Georgie's First Born

Raising Aurora Cooper

Missy was right about Babysitting

Baseball Payback

I Can't Wear You're Ring

Teen Daddy in Jail

Garage Livin'

Hair Accident

Normal Family Feel

I Choose Georgie Cooper

Memory...Nightmare

Science Experiment

Give Him A Chance

Just Friends...We're Always More

Tags - @supernaturalgirl30 @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @patriciaplictisita

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[jessiegerl]

Detective Stabler's Daughter

Y/n begins her Senior year of college in a Criminal Profiler class but she doesn't expect the professor to be so cute. They begin forming a romantic connection without her father Elliot Stabler knowing till she gets abducted. So Detective Stabler and Reid will have to team up together.

1 - Professor Reid

2 - Coffee Thank You

3 - The First Date

4 - Calling the BAU

5 - Finding my Way Back

6 -

????

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list - send an ask to be added @hiireadstuff @person-005 @kmc1989

[jessiegerl]

It's About Time

Y/n and Georgie have been best friends for years. Everyone in town is waiting on when they will get together...including Y/n herself. When a new girl comes into town and interests Georgie will they ever get together??

1 - Matching Marks

2 - Possible Futures

3 - Memaw's Car

4 - New Feelings and a Videotape

5 - The Birthday Surprise

6 - Will He Ever Realize?

7 - Love Letter

8 - The Jealousy Plan

9 - Jealousy Plan in Motion

10 - Switching Coopers

11 - Changing the Game

12 - Late Night Confession

13 - Good / bad decisions

14 - The First Date

15 - Moving to the next Level

16 - The Day My Life Changed

17 - We’ll be Bonnie and Clyde

18 - Cooper Baby Video

19 - My New Family

20 - Man of the House

21 - Lot Can Happen in 10 Years

22 - Blast from my Past

23 - The Big City Girl

24 - Game Night

???

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tags just ask - @lover-of-books-and-tea @bvbwestfall @bubble-blu @liesanddreams @bethanymccauley @skeletonontheroad @ashsallyblue2 @kmc1989 @tallrock35 @herondale-lightworm @afraidofshrimp @eclipse134