alwayswatchthewatchers
jennonthewire:

Hiatus Drabble Project 3/13: Made In America (what 4th of July between S11 and S12 looks like in my headcanon…)
————
“Tony.” The rasp in her voice has him smirking as he nips gently at her collarbone. Her nails dig into the bicep of one arm, as her other hand tries and fails to fist into his much shorter than usual hair. He has her trapped between his body and the bathroom sink, the porcelain causing an uncomfortable ache in her back.
When she wraps one leg around his waist, he helps her the rest of the way as both of his hands find firm grips on her thighs and hoist her upward, planting her ass on the rim. There is only a moment’s pause before she has him in a grip between her thighs, using her ankles for leverage to force him closer. He, however, has the vantage point. His fingers trail across thigh, pushing higher the already short hem of her jean cutoffs. Even though her mind is telling her to slow down, not now, not here; her body is on fire. Lately, she hasn’t been able to get enough of him – in the shower, on the couch watching a movie, before work, after work, and one almost problematic incident in the office men’s room. Not that he’s complaining, and neither is she for that matter. But the upstairs bathroom in the home of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs during a Fourth of July barbecue attended by all their friends and family is not exactly an ideal make-out location.
Trailing his lips from her collarbone to chin, he leaves wet kisses in his wake. She sighs against his mouth when he finally finds his way back to hers. Her tongue slowly traces the inside of his bottom lip, and he practically whimpers. A huff of laughter escapes her as she drags her hand from the back of his neck to fist in his shirt, holding him to her. Not one to idle, he palms her thigh with one hand, fingers massaging her taut muscles. He uses his other hand on the small of her back, arching her forward and lifting her shirt in one fluid motion.
Pulling back from her mouth, he bumps his nose with her chin urging her to give him access to the column of her neck. Every touch, every kiss, every point of contact feels electric. She darts out a hand to steady herself against the sink, knocking the soap dish into the basin with a loud clatter neither of them notice. Slowly working his way down, he makes a mental note of his fondness for v-neck shirts; particularly like the one she’s currently wearing that gives him easy access to the swell of her breasts. A low of hum of appreciation escapes her at the same point her free hand finds the back of his head, gentle pressure letting him know he’s hit the right spot.
When his fingertips drag low across her belly, she sighs softly. His hand splays out unconsciously, and she leans forward to press a kiss to the top of his head. The heat between them suffocates slowly, leaving a warmth that feels so natural tears begin to prick her eyes. She blinks quickly, regaining her composure just as he pulls himself up to rest his forehead against hers.
“I want to tell them,” he says before placing a gentle, sweet kiss to her lips. Both his arms are around her waist, holding her tightly. Her hands cradle his face, thumbs brushing across his cheeks as she speaks.
“I know. So do I. But,” she pauses, “not yet.”
“How much longer?” She brushes her fingertips lightly over his temples, and he briefly closes his eyes.
“Soon. I just need to be sure it’s…” He doesn’t let her finish.
“Ok. Yeah, I know. Me, too. I’m just…I’m…” He shrugs his shoulders and she can only smile, knowingly.
“I am excited too, my love. And I want nothing more than to tell the whole world, or at least our little corner of it that we are having a baby.” His eyes light up at her acknowledgement, and she brushes her lips against his lightly.
“The doctor just confirmed for us last week. I, well, you know I was concerned this may not happen for us.” His grip on her waist tightens as she speaks.
“I think I will feel better when we pass the first trimester. Not saying we need to wait that long, of course. We will need to tell Gibbs at least before then.” He is strong in every way that counts, but in this moment she is most grateful for his tender understanding.
He leans in then to kiss her, and she wraps her arms around his neck pulling him in close. She indulges him for several moments, before finally pulling back with quick pecks to the corner of his mouth and cheek.
“I love you, Ziva.”
“Good,” she replies playfully, dropping a kiss to the tip of his nose. His laughter reverberates through her. She feels lighter and somehow fuller than she has in years, maybe ever.
“We should probably head back downstairs before they send up a search party.” He rolls his eyes while stepping out of their embrace, and she jumps down from the sink with ease.
He entwines their fingers as he heads for the door, reaching for the handle when she stops, pulling him back gently. Her head is cocked to one side, as she studies her reflection in the mirror.
“How do you think I would look with short hair?”
“Hot.”
She snorts subtly, turning in his direction. “Is that your honest opinion?”
“Yes,” he replies, nodding vigorously.
“I did not realize you were in to women with short hair, Tony,” she says with a laugh, amused smile turning up the corners of her mouth.
“I am into you, Ziva. Short hair, long hair, no hair. Whatever.” He tugs her hand, urging her along. When they exit the bathroom, she grabs his forearm with her free hand and rests her cheek gently against his shoulder.
He leans sideways to plant a kiss to her forehead. “Good because I have an appointment next week.”
“Of course you do” is all he can reply.
 —————
(gif source: sexual-passion) ((sorry guys, didn’t realize this Tuesday’s drabble wasn’t on the queue. Better late than never!))

jennonthewire:

Hiatus Drabble Project 3/13: Made In America
(what 4th of July between S11 and S12 looks like in my headcanon…)

————

“Tony.” The rasp in her voice has him smirking as he nips gently at her collarbone. Her nails dig into the bicep of one arm, as her other hand tries and fails to fist into his much shorter than usual hair. He has her trapped between his body and the bathroom sink, the porcelain causing an uncomfortable ache in her back.

When she wraps one leg around his waist, he helps her the rest of the way as both of his hands find firm grips on her thighs and hoist her upward, planting her ass on the rim. There is only a moment’s pause before she has him in a grip between her thighs, using her ankles for leverage to force him closer. He, however, has the vantage point. His fingers trail across thigh, pushing higher the already short hem of her jean cutoffs. Even though her mind is telling her to slow down, not now, not here; her body is on fire. Lately, she hasn’t been able to get enough of him – in the shower, on the couch watching a movie, before work, after work, and one almost problematic incident in the office men’s room. Not that he’s complaining, and neither is she for that matter. But the upstairs bathroom in the home of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs during a Fourth of July barbecue attended by all their friends and family is not exactly an ideal make-out location.

Trailing his lips from her collarbone to chin, he leaves wet kisses in his wake. She sighs against his mouth when he finally finds his way back to hers. Her tongue slowly traces the inside of his bottom lip, and he practically whimpers. A huff of laughter escapes her as she drags her hand from the back of his neck to fist in his shirt, holding him to her. Not one to idle, he palms her thigh with one hand, fingers massaging her taut muscles. He uses his other hand on the small of her back, arching her forward and lifting her shirt in one fluid motion.

Pulling back from her mouth, he bumps his nose with her chin urging her to give him access to the column of her neck. Every touch, every kiss, every point of contact feels electric. She darts out a hand to steady herself against the sink, knocking the soap dish into the basin with a loud clatter neither of them notice. Slowly working his way down, he makes a mental note of his fondness for v-neck shirts; particularly like the one she’s currently wearing that gives him easy access to the swell of her breasts. A low of hum of appreciation escapes her at the same point her free hand finds the back of his head, gentle pressure letting him know he’s hit the right spot.

When his fingertips drag low across her belly, she sighs softly. His hand splays out unconsciously, and she leans forward to press a kiss to the top of his head. The heat between them suffocates slowly, leaving a warmth that feels so natural tears begin to prick her eyes. She blinks quickly, regaining her composure just as he pulls himself up to rest his forehead against hers.

“I want to tell them,” he says before placing a gentle, sweet kiss to her lips. Both his arms are around her waist, holding her tightly. Her hands cradle his face, thumbs brushing across his cheeks as she speaks.

“I know. So do I. But,” she pauses, “not yet.”

“How much longer?” She brushes her fingertips lightly over his temples, and he briefly closes his eyes.

“Soon. I just need to be sure it’s…” He doesn’t let her finish.

“Ok. Yeah, I know. Me, too. I’m just…I’m…” He shrugs his shoulders and she can only smile, knowingly.

“I am excited too, my love. And I want nothing more than to tell the whole world, or at least our little corner of it that we are having a baby.” His eyes light up at her acknowledgement, and she brushes her lips against his lightly.

“The doctor just confirmed for us last week. I, well, you know I was concerned this may not happen for us.” His grip on her waist tightens as she speaks.

“I think I will feel better when we pass the first trimester. Not saying we need to wait that long, of course. We will need to tell Gibbs at least before then.” He is strong in every way that counts, but in this moment she is most grateful for his tender understanding.

He leans in then to kiss her, and she wraps her arms around his neck pulling him in close. She indulges him for several moments, before finally pulling back with quick pecks to the corner of his mouth and cheek.

“I love you, Ziva.”

“Good,” she replies playfully, dropping a kiss to the tip of his nose. His laughter reverberates through her. She feels lighter and somehow fuller than she has in years, maybe ever.

“We should probably head back downstairs before they send up a search party.” He rolls his eyes while stepping out of their embrace, and she jumps down from the sink with ease.

He entwines their fingers as he heads for the door, reaching for the handle when she stops, pulling him back gently. Her head is cocked to one side, as she studies her reflection in the mirror.

“How do you think I would look with short hair?”

“Hot.”

She snorts subtly, turning in his direction. “Is that your honest opinion?”

“Yes,” he replies, nodding vigorously.

“I did not realize you were in to women with short hair, Tony,” she says with a laugh, amused smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

“I am into you, Ziva. Short hair, long hair, no hair. Whatever.” He tugs her hand, urging her along. When they exit the bathroom, she grabs his forearm with her free hand and rests her cheek gently against his shoulder.

He leans sideways to plant a kiss to her forehead. “Good because I have an appointment next week.”

“Of course you do” is all he can reply.

 —————

(gif source: sexual-passion)
((sorry guys, didn’t realize this Tuesday’s drabble wasn’t on the queue. Better late than never!))

quotelation

girlwiththefeels:

Synopsis: T/Z, post-11x02. “You will tell yourself: we don’t know if we will ever hear from her again. You will tell yourself: let it go. You will tell yourself: I can’t.” Tony-centric grappling with a Ziva-less year— and the truth behind the adage, “If you love someone, let them go, and if they love you back, they will soon find their way back to you again.”

Yes, yes, the wait is finally over. I now present to you the fourth sign of the Apocalypse: Zay has written a Tiva fic.

I know. I know. What even, right? But I shit you not, I wrote one. It’s long. It’s painful. But it has a happy ending, so there’s that.

The thing you need to know about this fic is that I wrote it in second person, future tense. Which, yes, is absolutely wacky, but also gives an intimacy/immediacy to the story that I couldn’t get the normal way, though I did try. So I hope you’ll give the fic a chance despite any reservations you may have. If it got my famously fickle muse inspired to write thousands of words after an eight month Tiva moratorium, then maybe it’ll do a little something to your feels too.

The existence of this fic does not necessarily mean I’m back to writing Tiva again— but sometimes, the past does not want to stay in the past. When that happens, it’s my duty to listen.

Finally, I dedicate this story to Meg (probalicious). She said something some months ago, and I wrote down a bunch of dialogue at the time that I promptly forgot about— but I found it recently and the mental wheels got turning and this happened. I hope you like what you’ve done to me, Meg. This is the fic that was never supposed to exist. And now it does.

So, in short, I hope beyond hope that you guys like this one. Reviews and reblogs make me feel like a princess; favorites and likes are also deeply cherished. xx

abeautyinyourresistance

classydepablo:

"I've learned a lot this year... I learned that things don't always turn out the way you planned, or the way you think they should. And I've learned that there are things that go wrong that don't always get fixed or get put back together the way they were before. I've learned that some broken things stay broken, and I've learned that you can get through bad times and keep looking for better ones, as long as you have people who love you."

↳ Tiva || 30 day challenge [19/30]