#not saying the system is broken and i was let down but i’m not NOT saying that

[rainydayathogwarts]

Bloody introductions - Charlie Weasley

summary: some of charlie's siblings break in to his apartment to surprise him and find out about his roommate/girlfriend wc: 1.1k+

Charlie grunted, hand around your waist tightening as he tried stablising you all whilst unlocking the front door to your shared apartment. You winced, limping slightly but Charlie tutted at you, encouraging you to lift your injured leg off the ground, using him as a crutch system. You awkwardly hopped into your apartment, immediately beelining towards your kitchen for a glass of water. Charlie locked the door, slowly following you to the kitchen, where he leaned against the doorway, observing you carefully. “Sit down, I’ll go get the healing kit, yeah?” 

You blew your boyfriend a kiss from where you stood, shuffling a chair backwards so you could sit on it as Charlie began leaving the kitchen. However, before he could leave, a loud clattering was heard from the direction of your living room. You both froze mid-movement, eyes wide in alert as listened closely for other sounds.   You stood up slowly, grabbing your wand and nodding at Charlie, who began stalking closer to the living room. You limped behind him, all pain from your leg seemingly gone as adrenaline raced through your body. You kept your back close to the wall as Charlie peeked behind the corner. His shoulders immediately slumped in relief, but emotions quickly overtook his body, and he yelled out “What are you guys doing here?” 

The four Weasley in the living room all held the same facial expression, you realised when you dipped your head out of hiding to see the situation. They were all grimacing at Charlie, glancing at each other nervously. “We were going to surprise you but Ron ruined the surprise.” Snitched Ginny, glaring at her brother profusely. You gulped, quickly hiding behind the wall again, letting your boyfriend interact with his siblings. You could tell he felt conflicted - on one hand he hadn’t seen his siblings in almost a year, on the other hand, they had broken into his apartment that he shared with the girlfriend they didn’t know existed. 

As they shared much needed hugs with each other, you heard one of the twins tease “Hey this is a pretty feminine apartment Charlie. Almost like you’re living with that girlfriend of yours.” Well, never mind then. Charlie turned around, shooting you a panicked look. He began stuttering. “You can’t tell mum! She’ll kill me if she knows I’m living with a woman she hasn’t met. A woman I’m not even married to.” You laughed nervously just in time to see a ginger haired woman peek around the corner into the hallway you stood in. She smiled at you widely, excitedly saying “Hi!” as she threw her arms out, bringing you into a hug. “Nice to meet you!” You exclaimed, turning to introduce yourself to Charlie’s other siblings.

Before you managed to though, you noticed the terrified look on Ron’s features, all blood drained from his already pale face. You glanced down at your leg, and sighed “Oh.” Attracting Charlie’s gaze, he gasped, rushing towards you. “You’ve started bleeding on the floor.” Indeed, the large cut on your leg from the ukrainian iron belly had started trailing down your leg, pooling around your shoes and leaving a stain on the floor. Around the cut from the dragon’s fiery claws, there’d been a nasty burn, undoubted what bothered the young Weasley brother so much. 

Charlie came running back to you with the healing kit, an arm wrapping around your waist and lifting most of your weight off the ground to quickly get you back to the kitchen. 

You sat on the same chair as before, kicking your shoe off as Charlie carefully wiped all the excess blood off your leg. “Um, so how’d you guys get in here? I mean, clearly if a few teenagers can break into our place, we’re not using the right protection measures?” You called out, watching as the identical gingers and their younger sister walked into the room. “Stole mum’s spare key from home.” Your eyes widened and you looked down at Charlie in disbelief. 

“Your mum has a spare key to our apartment and she doesn’t even know that we live together!?” Charlie chuckled apprehensively, eyes briefly meeting yours. “Just for emergencies. Bill has one too.” You huffed, shrugging your shoulders. “That's understandable. Bill’s stayed with us for weeks at a time but your mother? Jesus, Charlie.” 

“Bill has stayed with you guys for weeks but we’re only just finding out you live together!?” 

“Hey, for what it’s worth, I didn’t know you guys even knew I existed.”

Ginny spluttered, “What!” You hummed, wincing and gripping the sides of your chair as Charlie disinfected your wound, putting a healing ointment onto it before wrapping it up with a bandaid. “Okay Ron, you can come out now.” Charlie called, running a hand through his hair as he got up from his knees.

“So, no offense, but why are you guys here? Like not here here, but in Romania?” Charlie put his hands on his hips at your question, turning around to face his siblings. “Yeah, why are you here?” “We each have our own reason.” Ron started, “She doesn’t want me to take my internship for the Holyhead Harpies Quidditch Youth because she thinks that I can’t stand three weeks away from home.” cut off Ginny. Ron huffed at her interruption, opening his mouth once more. “And she thinks we shouldn’t open our shop because that requires 'real adult responsibilities.'” Added Fred and George in unison, causing Ron to throw his hands up in the air in annoyance. Charlie crossed his arms over his chest, humming considerately. “And she won’t let me go on a trip with Harry, Neville, Dean and Seamus!” Charlie barked out a laugh, gesturing towards the kitchen.

“Well you guys can split sleeping arrangements in the living room.” He gestured towards the living room before turning to you and furrowing his eyebrows. You shrugged your shoulders, pushing yourself up to your feet, whimpering at the pain that shot up your leg. “Woah, careful.” Charlie steadied you with gentle hands on your hips, pressing a soft kiss on your forehead. “It’s fine, we booked a room at his motel nearby, just wanted to drop by to surprise you, and show mum we can survive somewhere else for a while. Like adults.” 

“Did you tell her?” “We left her a note.” 

You frowned, looking at Charlie worriedly “A note?” You whispered. Charlie shrugged, mumbling back “Me and Bill did way worse when we were their age. A note is good enough” His siblings fled into the living room, leaving you alone with your boyfriend. “Well, that means you only have two more people to meet until I can put a ring on that finger.” You felt your face heat up, pushing yourself up onto the tippy toes of your uninjured leg to chastely kiss Charlie. Yeah, two people who would probably come all the way here looking for their children anyway.

@mmmunson @ravisinghs-wife @starry-remus @pain-in-the-ashe

[creatingblackcharacters]

“It’s Giving” AAVE, and the Denied Yet Undeniable Impact of Black Culture

I grew up knowing it as Ebonics; I didn’t hear 'AAVE' until I was an adult. Apparently it’s used derogatorily- I did not know. But when Robert Williams coined the term in the 70s, its meaning was:

“…the linguistic and paralinguistic features which on a concentric continuum represents the communicative compentence of the West African, Caribbean, and United States idioms, patois, argots, ideolects, and social forces of black people…Ebonics derives its form from ebony (black) and phonics (sound, study of sound) and refers to the study of the language of black people in all its cultural uniqueness.”

Familiar Examples include but are not limited to:

The History

It was unbelievably difficult to find a solely Black perspective on the subject. I’m gonna need everyone to let Black linguists talk, it’s literally their job. Anyway, I need y’all to actually WATCH this video. Don’t skip it thinking I’ll summarize. Watch it. Actually listen. That’s part of the problem to begin with, is not listening. Even if you have to read this lesson later, so be it.

One of the points emphasized in this video was that AAVE was formed of the need to communicate, and specifically to communicate in a way that hid what we were saying and thinking from antagonistic white society.

“…“the disguise language used by enslaved Africans to conceal their conversations from their white slave masters to the lyrics of today’s rap music, [the magical power of] the word has been shaped by a time when, as observed by Harlem newspaper writer Earl Conrad, ‘it was necessary for the Negro to speak and sing and even think in a kind of code.’””

Because it was in a form that white people could not understand, as well as already existing racist biases against the humanity and intelligence of Black people, naturally it was assumed that our way of communicating was ignorant and ‘false’. Even acknowledging it as a valid language was seen as abhorrent, by nonblack and certain Black people.

“For decades, linguists and other educators, pointing to the logic and science of language, have tried to convince people that Black English exists, that isn’t just a politically correct label for a poor version of English but is a valid system of language, with its own consistent grammar. In 1996, with the unanimous support of linguists, the Oakland School Board voted to recognize AAVE, or the more politicized term “Ebonics” (a portmanteau of “Ebony” and “phonics”), as a community language for African American students, a decision which might have opened up much needed additional funding for education. Instead it resulted in intense public backlash and derision due to the still widespread, incorrect belief that Black English was an inferior, uneducated form of English associated with illiteracy, poverty, and crime. It’s hard for a language to get ahead when it keeps getting put down. Some linguists, such as John Russell Rickford, have noted how even sympathetic linguistic research, which has derived a lot of benefit and understanding from Black English grammar, can unknowingly focus on data that represents African American communities negatively, giving “the impression that black speech was the lingo of criminals, dope pushers, teenage hoodlums, and various and sundry hustlers, who spoke only in ‘muthafuckas’ and ‘pussy-copping raps.’” The term “Ebonics” even now is used mockingly by some as a byword for broken English.”"

(Some of) The Rules

AAVE is a full dialect with grammar and social rules. But the ones most people are familiar with include:

Th becoming D (“dats”)

Double Negative (“I ain’t see nobody”)

Habitual Be (“It’s cuz he be on that phone”)

Possessive s absence (“I’m going to my grandaddy house”)

Question word order (“who that is with the ice cream and cake?”)

Zero copula (“who that?”)

"Why do you talk like that" Would you rather I code switch?

“Code switching, or adjusting one’s normal behavior to fit into an environment, has long been a strategy for BlPOC individuals to navigate interracial interactions successfully. Code switching often occurs in spaces where negative stereotypes of Black individuals run counter to what are considered appropriate or professional behaviors and norms in a specific environment, and regularly happen in work settings.”

In this context, you might recognize it better as “using your white people voice”.

Some Black Americans, for varying reasons including internalized antiblackness and a desire for assimilation, hate AAVE! Some people will hate that you don’t use AAVE! Never assume we’re all on the same page about its use! My own mother used to be big on speaking ‘proper English’.

Regional Differences

The same way regional differences affect standard pronunciation, it’ll affect the AAVE used. Culture in the area as well will affect the words that come from it. So someone Black using a phrase in Philadelphia might not automatically know what someone Black from Compton is saying.

Someone did their dissertation on this topic, and while I’m going to link the summary for yall to give it a shot, Imma be honest- I do not understand this. I tried. It’s interesting how something that comes so innately, once written out like this is like WHAT. But the research has been done!

Easier examples include:

"Aaron earned an iron urn"- Baltimore

GloRilla and "Mursic"- Memphis

A lot of AAVE from New York City is popularized; so you might hear words from anywhere that originated from Harlem or Queens, or New York Ballroom culture

Tonal Languages

One major source of misunderstanding AAVE is people not understanding tonality. AAVE is often tonal, similar to many African languages, languages in general- meaning that unless you hear it or are innately familiar with how it’s spoken, you might not know HOW I’m saying something and therefore will not understand what I’m trying to convey. Given the history, this was on purpose!

Black language- Black culture in general, really- is often conveyed orally. Everything we say and do is not going to be written down for someone else to study. Doesn’t mean we weren’t saying or doing it. If you want to understand, you have to listen!

“Linguist Margaret G. Lee notes how black speech and verbal expressions have often been found crossing over into mainstream prestige speech, such as in the news, when journalists talk about politicians “dissing” each other, or the New York Times puts out punchy headlines like “Grifters Gonna Grift”. These many borrowings have occurred across major historical eras of African American linguistic creativity. Now-common terms like “you’re the man,” “brother,” “cool,” and “high five” extend from the period of slavery to civil rights, from the Jazz Age to hip-hop: the poetry of the people. This phenomenon reflects how central language and the oral tradition are to the black experience.”

Some examples:

1) "You Good" can mean, depending on how it is said and the context in which it is spoken:

Are you okay?

Do we have a problem?

You’re okay.

You don’t want these problems so chill.

Do you have enough money/resource?

It’s fine! Don’t worry about it.

2) This was an interesting experience, watching the misunderstanding of AAVE occur live. It’s the realization that people read this as “This is something Bugs Bunny would wear” versus “Bugs Bunny would wear the fuck outta that outfit”. But if you didn’t know that, if you aren’t familiar with the tonality of AAVE, of course you’d think the first one is what it meant! And it's not wrong-wrong - he would wear it, but that's not necessarily all it meant.

3) “Chill-ay” versus “Chile”. Yeah, we didn’t forget that. This is often why AAVE is used to sound “aggressive” on the internet- if you perceive (however subconsciously) how Black people speak is aggressive, then when you decide to emulate my speech in your moment of aggression, it is because you think my Blackness will make you seem more intimidating! You find Blackness… intimidating. Same reason you think it makes you funnier than if you were to deliver the same joke using your own dialect. It means the jokes not funny; my language is what’s funny.

Black American Sign Language

We even communicate differently in sign language; there’s an entire history and culture behind the Black deaf experience.

“In April 2020, Nakia Smith, aka Charmay, created a TikTok account introducing five generations of her Black Deaf family and how they communicate in Black ASL. As a social media influencer of Black ASL content, Charmay made a series of educational and informative videos on the history and practice of Black ASL. Charmay’s video went viral, landing in a New York Times article, Black, Deaf and Extremely Online, and Blavity: TikToker Has Gone Viral For Putting The Culture On To Black American Sign Language. Additionally, Netflix requested Charmay to explain the difference between Black ASL and ASL.”

Everyone doesn’t speak AAVE!

If your Black character is not Black American, and has never once been connected with Black American culture or people, they are probably NOT going to speak AAVE! They’re going to speak whatever dialect THEY have! And that doesn’t make it any less “Black” of them!

Different dialects and languages across the diaspora include but are certainly not limited to:

Black British English

Haitian Creole

Gullah

Jamaican and Caribbean Patois

Everyone Owes Rihanna an Apology

Y’all remember the song Work. I know you do. It was mainstream’s love and joy when this song dropped to be overtly racist about it, Black Americans included. Everyone claimed it was ‘gibberish’, that she was just mimicking language on a song and ‘it would be popular’.

Meanwhile, it was her singing in her native island patois! The people who spoke her language understood it! Anybody who actually tried to understand it, understood it! Another popular song, Sean Paul’s Temperature, is also in patois! And I thought we loved that song!

So next time Black people speak and you find yourself thinking- ‘wow, this makes no sense’, I want you to think to yourself: ‘does it make no sense, or do I just lack the context/knowledge/language to understand it?’

NOW THAT WE’VE HAD SOME EXPLANATION BEHIND THE LANGUAGE!

Writing AAVE

Me personally, I admit I don’t like it being used in stories where it is clear the author doesn’t understand the dialect, or where it’s clear the only person who speaks it is the “Black character who OMG DID I TELL YOU THEY WERE BLACK”. I’d rather it be the regular Queen’s English. We speak that too. I’m not going to decry your fanfiction or your regular modern-day original story as “bad” if you choose to use whatever language your region commonly uses. We know how to speak it. We will be okay. Using AAVE is not going to sell me that this character is “Black” if the rest of the character writing is still bad.

If it means that much to you, because it is important to the character, then you as the writer need to commit to learning proper AAVE! This isn’t going to be a “look up every turn of phrase on google” or “ask Ice what every single thing means”. You’re going to have to do what everyone who learns a language does- immerse yourself in it! If you can’t be bothered to learn my language, I’m going to know that when I read your work.

Obviously if there’s a context where the Black people involved do not know how to speak a language, it is perfectly fine to show that, as long as you are showing that it’s not due to some innate stupidity or other stereotype that this person cannot communicate the same way others communicate around them.

“The N Word”

I know someone’s thinking it, so let’s address it. There’s a translation for this word in damn near every language that’s ever come across Black people. So don’t go “oh we don’t have that word in my language-” I bet money you do.

Yes, it could be used in historical context- the ‘hard -er’. Yes, it could be used in social context- the ‘-a’. It follows the tonality rules I discussed earlier; that is, the way it’s used and who is using it makes ALL the difference in how it will be received.

Everyone is not on the same page about the use of this word within our community. Some Black people think it should never be used, period, even by us! Some Black people think that it should be reclaimed and use it as such! The only thing we’re on the same page about is that YOU should not be using it.

I say this to say to nonblack writers: put the pen down.

My stance is, if you can’t understand AAVE, you CERTAINLY aren’t going to be able to incorporate the social use of this word. Period. If you scared of the potential smoke incurred if you fuck it up- and if we see it, you will catch it- don’t bother. Trying to “write realistically” does not cut it. You should be doing everything in your power to understand and write a great Black character in all ways before ever thinking this is something you should do. In fact, if you're that thirsty to use this word, you have some other things you need to consider.

In the historical context, just watch yourself. If you’re gonna drop that word, you need to be damn well-researched on every other aspect of Black life and oppression in whatever era you’re writing. Just dropping this word to say “life is racist” shows a lazy lack of understanding of antiblackness. You don’t even have to drop the whole word. A “ni-” at the end of the sentence is enough for me to know exactly where we’re going! But if you not gone do the rest of the work… you know what they say about stupid games.

The Fundamental Disrespect

If you watched the prior videos (and you should have) and paid attention up to this point, you have already heard the struggles that both AAVE as a dialect and those that speak it go through.

There’s a societal connotation of stupidity, aggression, and silliness behind the way I speak. None of those things are true, and it’s hard to be told that even the way you communicate with others is bad.

But the other reason it’s so hard is because we spend our lives hearing that those are the connotations… when WE speak it. It is not the language- it’s ME that makes it so! And that gets into the other part of this lesson, something that AAVE is oft victim to.

This part is a little scarier for me to write, because people don’t like it when you talk about Black Americans as a separate entity from the US of A as it is known. I’m gonna put on my political hat for a second, but I promise this ties into my overall point so stick with me!

Stolen Cultural Hegemony

The reality is that the United States of America has forced a cultural hegemony upon the planet (amongst other forms). Yes. That is due to the capitalism, colonialism, imperialism and damn near just about every other -ism at the US government and military’s disposal. I am not saying that part somehow changes, of course not. That’s just facts. There are people far smarter than I (Edward Said, take the wheel) who could explain this far better. But I’m only here to explain this one point.

What DOESN’T get acknowledged is how much of what is deemed American pop culture across the world is both 1) stolen 2) Black culture! We do not have equivalent political power despite what our hypervisibility would suggest, but our social currency is raw diamond- so naturally, it has to be plundered! The white American dollar might mean far more than my life, but it’ll pay for my creations- even more so when I’m not involved!

The issue is that if your society says that I am less than, how can you justify how you covet everything I create? If I’m supposed to be so much less than you, why do you seek my language, my fashion, my music, my body? Why do you feel entitled to my creation, but you think you should have it… Without me?

Sit on that one for a second!

Appropriation of AAVE

Let's refer back to that chart at the beginning. How many of these have you seen or even used before? How long did it take for you to know it was AAVE? Don’t get me started on the influence of AAVE in queer spaces!

Of course I’m going to get started. Ballroom culture, created by Black and Latino people in New York City in the 80s (Paris is Burning, anyone?), has spawned so much popular “gay” lingo, and it’s not even just “gay”- it’s of color! Black English in particular is the source of many of the words that queer people use now in casual conversation, brought into the ballrooms, normalized, and then proliferated with other communities.

I can always tell when a new phrase from AAVE has hit nonblack audiences because it’ll suddenly be in every sentence I see, often butchered. Remember that historical context- of having to speak in code. Have you ever considered why AAVE is always evolving? Why we have to find new ways to communicate with each other? Have you considered that when people are constantly taking and misplacing your words, they may lose meaning or value, and so you have to come up with something else?

Appropriation of Black Music

Jazz, swing, the blues, disco, rock and roll, pop, even rap and hiphop have all been subject to appropriation- intentional or not. Far more intentional than you might want to believe. And it all comes back to money!

White audiences in the 1900s loved Black music- as long as they didn’t know Black people were singing it! Often, songs would be completely lifted and given to white bands to re-record. When Frankie Lymon first came on stage to perform, some of the audience was stunned! Even you know Itty Bitty Pretty One!

A more modern-day example: not to pick on the K-Poppies, but unfortunately it’s a low hanging branch example.

What K-Pop groups are doing now is heavily influenced what Black pop, rap, and R&B artists were doing from the late 90s to this very day. Part of the reason I enjoy K-Pop is because it reminds me of the stuff I used to listen to growing up. How many times have you heard someone think a Korean rapper in a K-Pop group is “fine”, but “don’t like” rap otherwise? Or will listen to K-Pop groups, but have very few to no one Black of the same sound on their playlists?

Examples:

Rover by Kai (2023) vs Swalla by Jason Derulo (2017)- Idk how popular Kai is outside of EXO, but I do know that some influence was had. And I like the song, btw! I prefer the music video! It’s just not the first time it’s been done!

Sweet Juice by Purple Kiss (2023) vs Say It Right by Nelly Furtado on a Timbaland beat (2006)

Taemin and Michael Jackson, period. Taemin having a song called The Rizzness. How did ‘rizz’ get to him? How did he know? More relevantly, how did the people who wrote his music know? How did something that started with Black people in Baltimore get all the way to Taemin in South Korea without influence?

I’ll use another example, so it doesn’t feel like I’m picking on K-Pop. I’m currently listening to CĂN NHÀ TRANH MÁI LÁ (Vietnamese, if you couldn’t tell) and as much of a banger as it is, with its own amazing cultural spin on the delivery… it is CLEARLY influenced by Black American rap. He nicknamed himself Vietgunna. Yall.

A non-American musical example: Afrobeats has taken the music industry by storm… How many of those people who enjoy an afrobeat from a nonblack artist will enjoy it from Wizkid or TEMS?

Those polls, where they ask how many Black artists you listen to… try paying attention to see just how much of your music takes inspiration from Black creators, but there’s a non-equivalent amount of Black artists that you support!

Political Bastardization of Powerful Black Colloquialisms

The appropriation of Black English isn’t always for entertainment. Sometimes, it’s a purposeful, malicious tactic to demean the words, and therefore the intent behind them.

“Woke”

“Michael Harriot, columnist at TheGrio and author of the upcoming book, Black AF History: The Unwhitewashed Story of America, explains that this kind of insidious takeover and flipping of Black vernacular to anti-Black pejorative has numerous parallels in America’s past and runs all the way up to present day. “When you look at the long arc of history and America’s reaction to the request for Black liberation – every time Black people try to use a phrase or coin a phrase that symbolizes our desire for liberation, it will eventually become a cuss word to white people,” Harriot says in an interview with [Legal Defense Fund]. It’s perhaps this very context — Black people’s awareness of their history and their power to resist injustice — that made woke so ripe for the pernicious mutation it has now undergone. Indeed, the forced transformation of the colloquialism echoes how countless other Black ideas and intellectual contributions have been maligned. “When people during the civil rights movement began saying ‘Black power,’ all of a sudden it became a term that people equated with communism and anti-white sentiment — and then it eventually gave birth to ‘white power,’” Harriot tells LDF. “The ‘1619 Project’ [which centers the ramifications of slavery and the contributions of Black people in American history] has become an insult. ‘Black Lives Matter’ became an ‘anti-white sentiment’ that was banned in school and spawned ‘all lives matter’ and ‘blue lives matter.’”

#SayHerName

This discourse is happening again, it happens like every six months on here, and it’s one of the things on here that fills me with a hatred that I struggle with every single time. It is hard, I literally feel that hatred in the pit of my chest right now as I type this.

Kimberle Crenshaw (Black woman and the originator of the legal term ‘intersectionality’), the Center for Intersectionality and Social Policy Studies, and African American Policy Forum coined the hashtag in 2014. TWENTY FOURTEEN.

It was meant to highlight the violent deaths of Black women and girls at the hands of police, which happens at a high rate like Black men and boys, but often goes far less acknowledged. By appropriating the hashtag, you are actively choosing to speak over the very names and deaths of Black women and girls we don’t know, because we are NOT SAYING THEM, and therefore are allowing those deaths to continue as though they do not matter.

I’m going to stop before I get more upset. But know what violence you’re contributing to in your negligence.

How to Avoid Cultural Appropriation while Showing Appreciation

Everything is obviously not appropriation. It is possible for people to appreciate, replicate, and take influence without being disrespectful! It happens! And because it is possible, is why it’s so infuriating that it does not.

It’s frustrating that when something is on me, it’s ghetto, ugly, ignorant. But when it’s on the right stick thin pale girl, it’s chic, it’s fashionable, it’s new. So if it’s not the language, and it’s not the fashion or music you don’t like… It must be… Me. I am somehow not worthy of respect for the very culture I create.

Can you imagine being told that? That you are not worthy of being… you?

If you are worried about cultural appropriation, both in your writing and in your life, the easiest way to avoid that is to:

1) acknowledge and support the culture that created what you’re saying or doing and

2) actually treat them like human beings instead of zoo animals or a species to study. Show respect! It’s not hard!

This is my body, my language, my creation. It’s not just to entertain you! It’s my life! I talk like this because this is how I speak, not because I want to get Tiktok cool points. If I’m around people who treat the way I talk like childish babble, it makes me feel stupid and disrespected. We can see that, and we can read it in your writing.

And yes, you may be saying “well none of that is unique to AAVE, that’s how other languages work!” Okay then go speak those languages then lmao. But if you’re absolutely determined to understand and utilize mine, then you need to treat it with respect and not like the Gen Z slang babble (or worse- the threat) y’all treat it as. It’s a form of antiblackness that is so normalized that we don’t even think about it… but now that you’ve read this lesson, you can start! You can start taking the time to actively dedicate a thought to what you’re saying and doing and where it came from. You can take the time to notice when something isn’t right- and maybe even choose to speak up, because it’s the thought that counts, but the action that delivers.

[euthymiya]

Sukuna who was never close to his twin brother and never cared about the pipsqueak runt of a kid who’s his nephew.

He doesn’t care and doesn’t want to be associated with that bullshit. His brother doesn’t take the hint ever and invites him to everything. “My sons’s birthday party” this and “my son’s kindergarten graduation” that. What sort of graduation is meant for a kindergartener anyway? That’s a load of nonsense. But Jin is as annoying as ever with insisting on keeping contact and trying to get Sukuna involved and he hates it until by some tragedy out of nowhere, his brother and sister and law are dead. Yuuji’s left an orphan and no one can care for that kid because there’s no one left.

No one except Sukuna.

They ask him, too. The social workers. They turn to him and say some pitiful script about being “the only family left to take custody of him.” He knows pretty well what’s going to happen to the pipsqueak if he doesn’t agree. The foster care system and the possible horrors such a bright (even if annoying) kid could face makes him question saying no for a second. He’s surprisingly conflicted.

And it’s out of sheer impulsiveness alone does he end up as a single, grumpy, begrudging uncle who’s got custody of a child he never really cared to know in the first place.

And then he meets you.

Sweet, bubbly, warm, and so weirdly happy. Dictionary definition of what an elementary school teacher should be. Yuuji’s absolute favorite person on the planet as he waves hello at you enthusiastically every time that Sukuna drops him off and goodbye every time that Sukuna picks him up.

“I heard his new guardian would be his uncle. It’s nice to meet you,” you murmur to him the first day he picks up Yuuji after school, a look of pure melancholy on your face as you stare at him with an unearthly amount of compassion and sympathy. “Yuuji’s parents were wonderful people. I’m really sorry for your loss.”

“Wasn’t that close with either of them,” he grunts out. You look over at where Yuuji’s gleefully playing on the slide of the playground. Too young and innocent to realize that’s been ripped away from him. Too naive to understand what it means to grieve. Too hopeful about the world around him to realize just how cruel it can really be.

“Oh,” you murmur, nodding slowly.

He thinks that your unnaturally kind demeanor will finally be broken for a split second of judgement. What sort of heartless bastard doesn’t feel an ounce of grief for his own brother’s death? Instead, however, you seem to look at him with some weird sense of wonder.

“You’re a good uncle for stepping up regardless,” you say softly, “it’s more than what most would do in your shoes.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he clicks his teeth, unbearably uncomfortable with how weirdly sentimental this all is. “He’s just a five year old. How much trouble could he be?”

You raise a brow in amusement, eyeing him like he’s got one hell of a surprise waiting for him. He doesn’t like the vague way you hum, “Yeah. How could such a little human cause trouble, right?”

“I’ve got it under control,” he grumbles, a little annoyed that you seem to think that out of all things, a simple child would be enough to cause Sukuna any issues.

“Let me know if you need anything,” you smile.

Yuuji calls to you from the distance, squealing look what I can do! before he does a rather clumsy spin. Sukuna raises an unimpressed brow. You clap and praise him with an exaggerated gasp of approval.

It’s oddly endearing, he thinks to himself—you, not the kid. The kid’s barely tolerable.

“C’mon, you brat,” Sukuna calls. And then he looks at you and gruffly adds, “And I don’t need help.”

“Okay,” you grin brightly. It almost feels like you’re saying that a little sarcastically. “I’m sure you’ve got this parent thing down.”

Before he can even correct you that he’s an uncle, not parent, Yuuji comes running over on clumsy, short little legs and grabs onto Sukuna’s hand.

“C’mon, Uncle ‘Kuna!”

Sukuna doesn’t miss the way your eyes soften. Weirdly enough, he feels this odd sort of squeeze in his chest that doesn’t make any sense. Maybe he’s just getting old—that has to be it.

[gregmarriage]

watching videos of myself as a child be like ‘baby girl, you are so autistic and you don’t even know.’

[pathologicalreid]

central nervous system | s.r.

in which you are drugged on what should've been a routine case

margovember

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: angst; hurt/comfort content warnings: being drugged, threatened sexual assault, season 10, blood, broken glass, in a bar but reader doesn't drink, jareau!reader. word count: 1.7k a/n: oh dear. this week was so eternally long. work was crazy busy i worked overtime and almost ended up in the hospital which all led up to me taking the lsat today. crazy shit, but margovember will prevail. also! i'm hoping to get masterlists updated tomorrow if that's something you've been waiting on.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you around here before,” an unfamiliar voice intrudes on your private thoughts, looking around the bar that you had been planted in to see if you could catch your UnSub before he had the chance to attack someone else.

He sets a glass in front of you, and you drop some cash on the wooden surface, you shrug, “I’m in town on business.”

The bartender laughs heartily at your response before shaking his head, “Sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just—that’s a line I hear a lot.”

Your face warms at the recognition that the bartender was flirting with you, but this is a man who gets paid to be nice. You take his words at face value and sip at your drink, “Well, I have no reason to lie to you,” you squint at his name tag, “Jackson.”

He wipes down a spill, hooking the rag over the sink, and smiling at you, “Well, it’s nice to meet an honest woman.”

Following him with your eyes as he walks away, that last comment rubs you the wrong way, but Jackson Gleason was the bar manager, and Garcia had already cleared him from the suspect list.

You find yourself wishing Hotch had sent you into the bar with an earbud to communicate with the team, but instead, you were handed a phone, preprogrammed to alert the team if you hit the power button. There was a plainclothes officer somewhere in a corner to keep an eye on you, and the rest of the team was at the precinct or in an unmarked van outside.

Kate had coached you to the best of her abilities, but this wasn’t your first time going undercover. Catching serial rapists was more her speed, but she was pregnant, which immediately took her out of the running. Sipping from the thin straw in your glass, you let your eyes wander around the bar, antique posters and advertisements are littered across the walls, and someone just started playing Radiohead on the jukebox.

Eyeing the phone in your purse, you sigh, stirring the ice in your cup listlessly.

“Can I get you another? Maybe something stronger?” The manager offers, returning from the employees-only door with a new package of straws to restock the bar.

You shake your head, holding your empty glass out of him to take, “The same thing is fine.” Ignoring the fact that you don’t drink—you couldn’t drink on the job; all you’d been given was a coke.

He raises his eyebrows at that, “Suit yourself,” he says, ignoring the fact that you were trying to hand off your already dirtied glass to him and filling a clean cup with ice and coke.

Brushing it off as company policy, you thank him for the drink, placing another few dollars on the bar and smiling at him. Over your shoulder, you glance at the plainclothes officer, engaging in an animated conversation with another patron over whatever sports game is playing on the TV. You suspect he’s a little too good at pretending to be off the clock.

You make a face at the straw in your glass, and the bartender notices, “Sorry, just ran out of plastic.”

Taken aback, you use the paper straw anyway, sipping at your drink while you still can—knowing the straw will inevitably disintegrate.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice something wrong, a dull ache in your chest exacerbated by a slight rise in your body temperature. Your fingertips feel hot like they would after coming inside from the cold. You look down to find the emergency phone in your purse, but your head droops with your eyes, every controlled movement before a struggle.

“Hey,” Gleason says, jutting his chin in your direction, “You don’t look so great.”

A different version of yourself would’ve given him snark in return, but that different version of yourself would’ve been able to feel her extremities. “Woah,” You breathe, trying to swing your legs off of the stool only to find that you’re much higher from the ground than you initially thought.

When you lift your head again, whipping it back so hard you’re afraid it might fly off, he’s standing directly in front of you, “Why don’t I take you out back? You can get some fresh air,” the offer is innocent enough, but it rubs you the wrong way. His hand is on your waist, at the very least you know that’s wrong—you have a boyfriend, and it’s not this guy.

No, your boyfriend is outside of the bar in a van, waiting for your signal because you’re… oh. “No,” you whisper, trying to get your breathing under control. “I’m— Where’s my phone?” You’re digging through your purse as he stands you up and guides you to the back of the bar, closer to a large exit sign.

Sirens are going off in your head, but even they sound separated from your situation. “I can call a cab for you,” he assures you, leading you by your arm and closer to the back door.

“No,” you say again, “I really need my phone…” his grip tightens on your wrist, practically dragging you out of the bar while you use your free hand to find your phone, pushing the power button before it slips out of your hand, clattering to the ground. “That really hurts,” you tell him, now able to give more of your focus to evading the man who was most decidedly not Jackson Gleason.

Pulling your arm back, you manage to break free from him, the momentum from your struggle sends your hand flying into a picture frame, shattering the glass and causing the UnSub to spin on his heel. “Look at what you did,” he seethes, gripping your hair at the back of your head and forcing you to look at the shattered glass.

Your mouth gapes at the sensation of your hair being pulled until there’s a rush of cold air and he pushes you forward, into the waiting arms of someone else, “Woah, hey, I’ve got you,” Spencer says, keeping you off of the floor and, with the help of someone else, carrying your dead weight over to one of the booths.

Spencer clambers into the booth seat first, seating you in front of him so that your back is pressing against his chest. You let out a low groan when he wraps an arm around your waist, keeping your body from flopping onto the sticky hardwood.

“Do you know what you took?” He asks, pressing his face into your hair so that the two of you can keep your voices down.

Vaguely aware of the way his fingers are pressing into the pulse point on your wrist, you shake your head, “I didn’t take anything.”

He hums in response, “You were drugged. I— I’m so sorry we didn’t realize who it was sooner. By the time we realized there was a discrepancy in Jackson Gleason’s file, you had already pushed the alert button,” he tells you, being careful not to move around too much. “Can you lift your head for me? It’ll help your breathing.”

With tremendous effort—and some help from Spencer—you lift your head, letting it rest on him. Now, you can see that the majority of the bar has cleared out, Rossi watches you nervously from the bar, telling Spencer something about paramedics. You huff, “Where’s JJ?”

“She’ll meet us at the hospital, love,” he answers you, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your head.

Trying to adjust yourself, you shake your head indeterminably, “No, it’s… I need my sister. I need my sister.” Somewhere—a past version of yourself, perhaps—you knew that JJ was at the hospital, speaking with one of the survivors.

Spencer speaks with someone that you can’t see, they’re standing in your periphery, a mangled blur of a person. Moments later, something cold is pressed to your face, and the sensation makes you jump, “Ow,” you whine, though it doesn’t hurt.

“Ducky?” Your sister’s voice rings through the phone, and you’re surprised to hear her using your nickname. Although, your status as JJ’s little sister tends to come through when you’re hurt.

You hum into the receiver, “Hi, J,” you greet wearily.

A sigh of relief is her next response, “Hey, Derek said you’re waiting for the paramedics to take you to the hospital, and I’ll be here to greet you when you arrive. Does that sound alright?”

“It’s cold in here,” you mumble, wondering if Derek is the blurry shape remaining in your periphery.

There’s a pause on her end before she speaks up again, “I’m sorry, Ducky.” There it was again. “You’ll be okay though; you just have to wait it out.”

You nod as a jacket is laid out on your lap; Spencer must’ve heard you mention being cold to your sister. Your boyfriend whispers something to you, “Spencer says the paramedics are here and I can’t talk to you anymore.”

JJ laughs slightly on the phone, “I’ll see you when you get here, okay?”

“Yeah, J,” you whisper, letting someone take the phone from you. You frown at Spencer, “I don’t feel quite right.”

Helping you get on the gurney, Spencer holds your hand while an EMT wraps a blood pressure cuff around your arm, “He likely gave you a central nervous system inhibitor.”

You nod slowly, wrinkling your nose when the other paramedic shines a light in your eyes, “I am nervous,” you answer. Trying to listen to the medical personnel as they explain what’s going on, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. One of them crudely wraps a cut on your hand to staunch the bleeding, but you couldn’t even remember when it started to bleed.

Anxiously, you pull your bottom lip between your teeth. “Don’t bite down on your lip,” Spencer instructs, “You could bite right through it and not even realize.”

Releasing your lip, your eyes widen at him while he pulls a blanket over your shoulders. “That’s scary,” you whisper.

“I agree,” he says, leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, “It is scary.”

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Date Night Distractions

“Stop squirming or I’m going to pull out,” he growls into my ear. I whine softly, feeling my pussy clench down around his cock inside of me as I reluctantly keep still. He huffs softly against my neck and grabs the TV remote off the couch, turning up the volume on whatever inane movie is playing.

When he’d suggested we stream a movie for date night, I did not think I’d end up naked, seated on his lap, locked in his arms, and cockwarming him for the entire two hour long film. I checked out of the movie an hour ago, focusing only on the feeling of his long, hard cock filling my pussy so perfectly. But no matter how much I squirmed, begged, and wriggled around on his lap, he refused to fuck me or do anything other than lightly kiss my shoulder and stroke my arms.

Not even a few minutes later, I’m impatiently rocking my hips against him, feeling his hard cock brush up against my g-spot with every move. Small, breathless moans are escaping between my parted lips as I melt against him, eyes closing in pleasure and leaning the back of my head on his shoulder, letting my legs splay open on either side.

“You really can’t follow directions tonight, huh, darling?” He murmurs.

“Please, daddy, please I want you to fuck me,” I whimper, turning my neck to stare up at him beggingly.

“Nope, not until the movie is over,” he says mockingly, “Be good and maybe I’ll give you something to tide you over.” His fingers trail down my stomach, brushing softly against my pussy before retracting again. I whine and beg him, “Please, please, please touch me, daddy.”

He laughs softly in my ear, “You are such a perfect little whore. Can’t even keep your composure throughout a movie with daddy’s cock in your desperate little pussy.”

I can feel my pussy clenching around him at his words, and I know I’m dripping. His fingers brush lightly against my stomach again and he runs them down towards my pussy. I’m gasping and panting in anticipation, wanting him to do something, do anything to make the burning need inside of me go away for a little.

His fingers come to where we’re joined, collecting some of my wetness before he pulls them away and licks my essence off his fingers. “Fuck, darling, you always taste so sweet,” his voice is growly and I feel his cock jerk inside of me slightly. I whimper, the praise making me even hotter and wetter.

He fingers come back down to the apex of my thighs and he flicks my clit with the lightest touch. My back arches and I let out a broken moan and rock against him. The sharp pleasure shocks my system, making my head spin and lights flash in my vision.

“Good girl, you like that huh?” He murmurs softly as his fingers rub my clit softly without stopping. “Ah, fuck, yes, please daddy, it feels so good,” my voice is breathless and pitchy with pleasure. His doesn’t stop moving his fingers, stroking my clit in tight circles with varying speed and pressure, pushing my body closer and closer toward orgasm.

“Such a pretty girl, I can feel your tight pussy clenching around my cock. Fuck, you’re perfect, darling,” his praise is delivered with soft groans and growls as he plays with my body. I whine wordlessly, feeling my body moments away from shattering in a breathtaking orgasm.

“Come on, darling, cum all over my cock and on my fingers,” he murmurs, moving his fingers faster and harder against my pulsing clit. I moan as I feel the orgasm burning through my body, my pussy bearing down on his cock and pulsing rhythmically. I ride the wave of pleasure and hear his whispered praise in my ear, the combination of everything making me feel so warm and so loved.

“Good girl, just like that, cumming for me. So, so pretty when you fall apart, that’s it, that feels good huh?” He hums softly in my ear in approval, “Look at how drippy you are, darling, all that’s for me.”

My mind is spinning, thoughts floating away as the orgasm fades, leaving the most delicious, bone-settling haze and fullness. But he doesn’t stop playing with my clit, and slowly, the warmth fades and is replaced with a burning overstimulation that makes me cry out and squirm, my legs closing to protect my clit.

“Please, daddy, please it’s too much! I need a break!”

He laughs darkly in my ear. “Oh no, darling, no you don’t. You can take it, I know you can. Such a drippy little mess for me, your perfect pussy is so good around my cock.” His rips my legs apart, one hand holding me down while the other continues its assault on my clit.

I squeeze my eyes shut, my legs shaking as a second orgasm starts to build despite the overstimulation wracking my body. He’s merciless as he strums my clit effortlessly, the fullness of his cock combined with the relentless pleasure forcing my orgasm out of me. Stars light up in my vision and tears well up in my eyes as the painful pleasure makes my body go rigid and my pussy clench.

“Fuck, you’re so lovely when you fall apart like this. Good girl, keep cumming for daddy,” his voice seems to float around me, wrapping me up in an all-encompassing cloud of unbearable pleasure. I’m keening softly, letting out whimpering sobs as my body is pushed to its capacity.

“No more, please, no more,” my voice is small and desperate, my legs shaking and trying to close. I’m too cum-drunk to fight back properly and his fingers continue to brutalize me, pushing me toward another peak.

“One more, darling. I know you can do it, pretty girl, come on, let me feel your perfect little pussy fall apart one more time,” he coaxes me, the gentle words a shocking juxtaposition to his rough fingers and hard cock inside of me. He rolls my clit between his fingers and I whine.

Before long, a third orgasm crests inside of me, and I feel my pussy tighten around him again. This time, the pleasure is overwhelming and nerve-fraying. I’m incoherent as I moan and beg, babbling from overstimulation. He plays my body like an instrument and I feel my orgasm erupt, my pussy gushing around his cock, squirting my release.

“Good girl, perfect girl, squirt for daddy. That’s it, baby,” he kisses my neck as his fingers finally slow and stop their assault on my pulsing jewel. He pulls my boneless body off his cock, the feeling of it leaving my body making me whine softly with loss despite how thoroughly decimated I feel. My pussy is achingly empty as he wraps me up in his arms, pulling me close into his chest.

“You did so well, darling. So perfect for me,” he says, kissing the top of my head. I whimper softly and look up at his with bleary eyes, feeling his praise and love surround me. We sit together like this for a few moments, the room aglow with the TV screen still playing whatever stupid movie he’d put on to begin with. I’d almost drifted off in his arms when I feel him shift.

“Come on, darling. We have another thirty minutes left of the movie,” he purrs, smiling deviously at me. And so, I find myself seated on his cock again, my overstimulated pussy pulsing around his hardness, stuffed full, and head hazy with pleasure.

[p0orbaby]

You’re Tired of Moving, Your Body’s Aching

summary: after a loss, you’re there to ease the pain

warnings: all the feels

a/n: something small and soft

word count: 1k

-

The night is sweltering, a thick humidity hanging in the air like an unwanted guest. Paris, usually dripping with charm, feels oppressive, each winding street and picturesque facade mocking you with their indifference. The Eiffel Tower glows in the distance, a cruel beacon in a night you’ll never forget. It’s as if the city itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make your move.

You’ve spent the past hour navigating bureaucratic labyrinths, slipping through cracks in the system with well-timed smiles and carefully chosen words. Getting into the Olympic Village isn’t easy, especially now, but you’ve managed it. Your heart hammers in your chest as you finally make it to the Spanish team’s floor, your shoes barely making a sound on the polished tiles. It’s too quiet, the kind of quiet that buzzes in your ears and makes your skin prickle.

Alexia’s room is at the end of the hall, a sliver of light spilling out into the corridor like a weak beacon. The door is slightly ajar, and as you push it open gently, it creaks, the sound almost deafening in the stillness. She’s there, sitting on the edge of her bed, still in her kit, her face buried in her hands. Seeing her like this, broken, vulnerable, makes your chest ache. A dull, persistent pain that settles behind your ribs.

“Alexia,” you whisper, stepping inside and closing the door softly behind you. She doesn’t look up, but you know she’s heard you. The room feels too small, the air thick with unspoken grief. You cross the room and kneel in front of her, your fingers trembling as you reach for her hands.

She lifts her head slowly, her eyes red and puffy, tears tracing silent paths down her cheeks. Her face, usually so fierce and determined, is a mask of despair. The sight twists a knife in your gut. You wish you could take her pain and make it yours, to bear the weight she’s carrying.

“Hey,” you murmur, cupping her face in your hands. Her skin is warm and damp, her tears mixing with the sweat of the match. “I’m here”

Her eyes, usually so full of fire, are dull and distant. She leans into your touch, closing her eyes as if trying to shut out the world. You brush away her tears with your thumbs, your heart breaking with every hitch in her breath. The silence between you is heavy, each breath a struggle.

“It’s not fair,” she whispers, voice cracking. “We were so close”

“I know,” you acknowledge, because what else can you say? Words feel inadequate, useless. You slide onto the bed beside her, pulling her into your arms. She comes willingly, burying her face in your neck, her body trembling with sobs.

You hold her tight, fingers threading through her hair, murmuring soothing nonsense into her ear. The room is filled with the sound of her crying, the harsh, ragged breaths that speak of a pain too deep for words. Each sob feels like a blow, a reminder of her shattered dreams.

You’re not allowed to stay in the Village, but you’ve made arrangements to be here tonight. It took some doing, a few favours called in, but it was worth it. You’d have done anything to be here for her. The logistics and politics are nothing compared to the sight of her, broken and needing you.

As the minutes tick by, her sobs begin to subside, her breathing evening out. You press a kiss to her temple, lingering there, feeling the warmth of her skin against your lips. The taste of her tears lingers, a bitter reminder of her heartbreak.

“I love you,” you whisper, because she needs to hear it, because you need to say it. “I’m so proud of you, Alexia. So, so proud”

She pulls back just enough to look at you, her eyes searching your face. “I let everyone down,” she says, her voice barely more than a breath, laden with self-recrimination.

“No,” you say firmly, shaking your head. “You gave everything you had. You fought with everything in you. That’s not letting anyone down. That’s being a leader. That’s being a champion”

A fresh wave of tears spills over her cheeks, but there’s something else in her eyes now. A spark of the fire you know so well. You lean in and kiss her, softly at first, then deeper, pouring all your love and reassurance into that one kiss. The taste of salt and sorrow mingles with the heat of your desperation to make her feel something other than pain.

When you finally pull back, you rest your forehead against hers, your breaths mingling. “You’re not alone,” you tell her. “You’ve got one match left, and you’re going to win that bronze. I can feel it”

She nods, a small, fragile smile curving her lips. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being here”

“Always,” you promise, the word a vow that echoes in the quiet room.

You spend the night wrapped around each other, the darkness outside the window a stark contrast to the soft glow of the lamp beside the bed. You talk, you cry, you kiss when she wants to. You hold her as if your very presence can stitch her broken pieces back together. Each touch, each whispered word, is an attempt to rebuild, to heal.

As dawn begins to break, casting a pale light over the room, Alexia finally falls into a restless sleep, her head on your chest, your fingers still tangled in her hair. You stay awake, watching over her, knowing that this is where you’re meant to be. The early morning light paints her face in soft hues, the remnants of her tears glistening like dewdrops.

In the quiet of the early morning, with the world slowly coming to life outside, you make a silent vow. To stand by her, to lift her up when she falls, to be her rock in the storm. Because love is more than just the good times; it’s the strength to face the bad ones together. You press a final kiss to her forehead, the gesture a silent promise.

[g0dlyunsub]

prove it.

you confront spencer about a broken promise on his day off from work, and he’s determined to make it up to you.

pairing :: spencer x gn!reader 

warnings :: established relationship, some intimacy (a shower scene), use of pet names (once), fluff and some angst

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: originally an anonymous request, it took me forever to write the ending but it’s finished!! anyways, soft spencer >>>

accompanying song ::  i don't want to talk by wallows

“sorry baby, give me five minutes to look at this. they just found another cipher.”

“any chance you could force the gears in your head to move faster?”

you clap your hand over your mouth right after you say those words, but you’ve already set the wheels in motion.

spencer chuckles as if amused by your comment, still not looking up from the printed sheet, and begins to twirl the pen around his fingers. he looks so attractive whenever he performs the maneuver, you unconsciously bite down on your bottom lip.

“mm… combined cipher with the first being a simple vigenere…” he trails off, scratching the paper with multiple pen strokes.

you pout and make your way over to his desk. your boyfriend had told you that today was going to be your day, that he’d be ready to do whatever you wanted. anything, he said. 

but if there’s anything you should conclude, it’s that the man will never fail to occupy his brain with something to solve, like it’s a necessity for survival. despite his team insisting that he take the day off, you know that even they won’t interfere when it comes to the laborious task of decrypting ciphers. 

still, you think it won’t hurt to try.

you lift his left arm over your head so you can move in and slowly slide onto his lap. as you settle down, you wrap your arms around his neck and lower your head on his shoulder. you feel spencer lean into the back of his chair ever so slightly, but he doesn’t return the embrace. instead, he continues to write on his paper wordlessly.

not even a minute passes when a vibration spreads across spencer’s lap. with a light grunt, his hand grips the flesh of your thigh and moves it lower on his lap, and he reaches into his pocket. you let out a disgruntled sigh as he accepts the phone call.

“hey garcia, what is it?”

as spencer listens to the tech analyst on the other side of the line, you start to run your hands along the fabric of his cardigan. he told you that he was keeping the professional attire on “just in case they wanted to video call”, but everything you wanted to do with him was anything but professional. 

you move your hands to his hair that’s been recently trimmed, following the trail until it thins out at the nape of his neck. 

“that’s fine, i’ll check it when you send it over. i think i solved the cipher by the way, it’s a combined-“ 

his breath hitches when you start to kiss the side of his neck that’s angled perfectly for your lips, and he taps at your thigh warningly. 

“-cipher that uses a vigenere for the first part and a phillips system for the second. using a hill climbing search for the rest of the ciphers might help,” he tries again, releasing a shaky exhale.

you ignore his signal and continue to explore lower, littering kisses all over his collarbone.

“i uh, i gotta go. let me know if you find anything else.”

you smile as spencer hastily cuts the call and returns the phone into his pocket. 

“now’s not a good time.”

you pull away from his skin at the sudden comment, raising your brows in surprise. “but you said five minutes-”

“i can’t focus when you’re here,” he interrupts, gaze lingering on your smooth lips.

“i’m just too distracting?”

“yeah, no- yes. at least when i’m at work i’m not in the same room as you, but at home, when you’re doing this, it’s just… i can’t think about anything else.”

“you should do something about it then.”

spencer narrows his eyes, looking at you questioningly. it’s at this moment when all signs of your boldness dissipate into the air, and you swallow hard.

“maybe… maybe it isn’t necessarily a bad thing to be distracted. i mean what if it’s just mentally torturing you because you’re not doing anything about it?” 

for a moment, spencer seems deep in thought, like he’s contemplating every implication, every untold possibility embedded in your proposal. but he doesn’t deliberate for long, because he lifts you by the back of your knees and sets you on your feet again, further away from his desk. he then gestures at the door.

you stand crestfallen, like you’ve just been deeply humbled, unable to move or react. but when he simply reverts his attention back to his sheet of code, you know that he’s making it clear he doesn’t want to entertain your thoughts any longer.

“fine,” you mutter at last, angrily walking out the door without exchanging another look.

you’re lying in spencer’s bed when you hear the knock at the bedroom door, and before you can say anything, your boyfriend walks in.

“i just finished. are you-”

you lie still, tears welling in your eyes as you refuse to acknowledge his presence. 

maybe if you play pretend and make him think you’re asleep, he’ll leave you alone. you suppose then he’ll occupy himself with even more work.

you hear his footsteps thud louder as he approaches you. when he stops, you can practically feel him, standing just a few inches from your face. 

you then feel him stoop slightly and lower his fingers to comb through your hair. he sweeps your strands slowly, like applying any more force would harm you.

“i know you’re awake.” 

you don’t respond.

“hm. maybe not.”

you hear the sound of receding footsteps and when you think you’re safe, you open your eyes.

only to lock eyes with spencer. his mouth widens into a cheeky grin, and his soft hair falls over his eyes as he takes in your flushed expression.

“got you.”

“that is so unfair!” you pout, pushing your palms against the bed to sit up. you hug your knees to your chest and look down, trying to save yourself the embarrassment of showing him your reddening cheeks.

his chuckles fill the silence for a second before he clears his throat, and he slowly sinks into the bed beside you. the air suddenly feels ten times heavier, weighed down with the unresolved incident from earlier.

“i owe you an apology,” spencer starts as he inhales, “i couldn’t keep a simple promise and i just… i told you to leave.”

“you can save it, it doesn’t matter anymore,” you return, tears muddling your voice.

“yes, yes it does. i know that saying sorry doesn’t change what i did, and you have every right to be mad at me. i deserve it.”

you look up at him, and his broken expression immediately shatters your heart into fragments. you can’t really stay mad at him, at the man who saves lives without asking for anything in return. he’s never held a single malicious thought towards anyone; he’s pure kindness personified.

you just wish he could feel at peace with you and not constantly worry about work.

you lower your head against his chest and listen to the soft palpitations of his heart, while he wraps an arm around you. 

“you can choose not to accept my apology,” spencer utters with a plaintive voice, “but i’ll do everything to prove how sorry i am.”

“everything?” you ask, lifting your head and slowly standing back on your feet. you wrap your hand around his tie, looping one finger at a time, and he watches you with curious eyes.

you lightly tug at the fabric, urging him to stand, and walk backwards until your feet knock into the bathroom door. you fiddle with the wooden frame and when you find the knob, you step inside without breaking eye contact.

spencer raises his brows, a soft chuckle exiting his upturned lips as he closes the door behind him without looking back. “if you’ll let me, i can try.”

you clench your jaw, taking great interest in the way he eyes your lips. “show me,” you utter, your voice an alluring mix of sweet and spicy.

with one hand, he removes his tie, while with the other, he traces your lips and slides his thumb down to your chin.

“mm,” you hum and pull away from him teasingly. “you need to work harder than that.”

just then, his phone rings again, high-pitched beeps sounding from his pants pocket.

your expression falls when he holds the phone against his ear. but this time, he looks at you with a straight face when he speaks into the mic: “sorry jj, now’s not a good time.” 

your eyes immediately widen at his response, the same words that made you upset just a few hours earlier now filling you with irrepressible desire. 

spencer seems to reciprocate the urge, because he ends the call, tosses his phone to the side, and wraps his hands around your waist. without another moment of hesitation, your lips ram onto his with such force that everything meshes into a blur. his face, his hair, his clothes — his everything intertwines with yours. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispers as his palms slide under your shirt and massage your sides in circles.

it doesn’t take long for your back to bump against the slippery walls of the shower, for the water to tangle your hair around spencer’s fingers as he grips the back of your head. 

if you thought he was just going to plant a few kisses here and there, you were deeply mistaken. he works his tongue like a starved man, hungrily pushing past your teeth to leave his taste inside.

“i’m sorry,” he murmurs as you gasp for air and claw at his back from the heavenly sensation.

“i’m sorry,” he pants as his tongue falls onto the expanse of your neck, popping the soapy bubbles lathering your skin one by one. he peppers you with kisses wetter than the drops of water spraying you from the showerhead.

there’s nothing but the sounds of gushing water to drown out his whispers and your soft whimpers of his name.

[westside-rot]

Talk To Me Nice

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black reader

No warnings for this one. Hopefully there aren't too many errors cuz it's only lightly edited. I'm trying to squeeze in my last post of the year lol

This little idea is the result of a writing prompt and @megamindsecretlair keeping me honest about writing something every day. Figured I'd share the results with whoever else wants to check it out.

“That’s a bit harsh my love…”

After spending the last 20 minutes filling your home with negative energy you expected reciprocation.  Instead you were being derailed with a new form of gaslighting, the kind reserved for evolved men who appeared harmless on the surface but harbored a petty side few got to see. Though impressive, you knew Terry was only using kind words to paint himself the victim. It didn’t matter how many steps ahead you thought you were. The guilt still hit with the same bruising force.

Six months of newlywed bliss cruelly interrupted by disappointment you never wanted to feel so early into your marriage. Perhaps there was a better way to convey that hurt to your husband. Maybe sitting him down for a mature conversation would’ve spared you from the growing pressure around your temples and the rawness in your throat from all the yelling you’d been doing. You were convinced the window for apologies and grand romantic gestures had closed. He'd started it. You were damn sure going to finish it.

You pushed through your doubts and committed to your frustrations with arms folded tightly across your chest, the initial urge to roll your eyes shifting to a hard, resolute stare. “Well Terrence sometimes harsh is necessary.”

He scratched his beard and nodded as though you’d just agreed on what to have for dinner. Silence took over the room once again, intensifying the conflict between you. His eyes never broke contact.

“Are you done?” From anyone else the question would’ve triggered your inner toxic and possibly resulted in the police being called. But there was note of calmness in your husband’s voice that exonerated him from the accusation before it became your new truth. Terry wasn’t being dismissive. He was simply better at regulating his emotions.  His inability to stop wringing his hands together revealed the stress hidden within. For a second time you were forced to ignore your guilt for the sake of winning. Mirroring his casual demeanor, you continued to stand firm and prepared for whatever he intended to say next.

“I must’ve imagined sitting in premarital counseling for all those weeks. Or maybe I was the only one taking it seriously. That must be it 'cause at the first sign of a problem you’ve broken every promise we made to each other.” His words landed direct hits on your conscience. Everything holding you together began to cave under the weight of his response. Terry wasn’t wrong. Instinctively, you went into defense mode anyway.  

“That’s not fai—”

“Nah, you’re not about to interrupt me. I let you speak. You’ll show me the same respect. Understand?” The natural base in his voice instantly got your attention. Yes sir rang so clearly in your mind you weren’t entirely convinced you hadn’t said it out loud. You prayed Terry couldn’t somehow feel the lust pulsing alongside everything else flooding your system. One day soon under normal circumstances you were going to explore his newfound aggressive side. How, you weren’t entirely sure. With a new goal seared into your brain and soaked through panties clinging to your ass you managed to retain a sense of dignity as you obeyed your husband’s command. 

“You’re my wife. One day you’ll be the mother of our children. I refuse to let them hear us talking crazy to each other, so I’m gonna need you to find a better way to communicate your feelings. If I need to sign us back up for therapy I will but this shit ends tonight.”

All the fight drained from your body. Shame took its place. In its presence you were finally able to recall those important conversations leading up to your wedding, the dreams you shared, the legacy you wanted to create. If not for your anger you could have revisited them sooner and found a better use for them. Now you were facing an evening apart, perhaps more depending on how long Terry held on to a grudge.

All you could do was stare at the ground and wait for it to be over with. Hopefully you’d find a way to sleep knowing you had failed your first test as a wife. When your lip started to quiver you promptly bit down on it to keep your hurt feelings in check.  You hadn’t behaved in a way deserving of care but when Terry's long fingers reached out to palm the side of your face you sought out his warmth like a needy kitten.

“Now you’re breaking my heart.”

“I can’t help it. Did you have to be so mean?” Though you found your ability to speak you burrowed your pout lips further into his hand. The loudest person in the room didn’t deserve to cry. If you were lucky you'd disappear and rematerialize tomorrow with more sense.

“It got your attention. Besides, I thought harsh was necessary. Or does that only apply when you’re cursing me out?” He chuckled.  You weren’t persuaded by the playfulness in his voice to look up. Terry initiated the gesture with fingers affectionately placed beneath your chin. It wasn’t lost on you that he'd repositioned your face at the same proud angle you held while lecturing him as if two nights apart somehow equated to years of neglect. You wanted to look away but soon discovered his eyes remained steadfast and beautiful in the aftermath of the storm you’d caused. They connected with your soul in an instant providing a gentle assurance that you were safe with him.

 The words flowed through your upturned lips effortlessly. “I’m sorry baby. You didn’t deserve all those ugly things I said to you.” Before you could say more he captured your face in both hands, stroking your cheek with his thumb.

“You’re already forgiven my love.” Terry’s lips grazed yours as he spoke. The distance was torture. Finally, after what felt like an unbearably long time, he covered your mouth with his, reestablishing his dominance with a tenderness that sets your heart and mind at ease.  It was a proper reconciliation, but it also wasn’t enough. Not after the way you behaved tonight.

You treated the sincerity on his lips as your own personal buffet. When it became difficult to breathe you pulled away to regain control over the situation.  “I still have a lot to make up for.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he pushed the curls back from your face. “We both do. Your approach needs some work, but you had a right to be upset with me.” You nodded and yet nothing in you wanted to celebrate the vindication. You were simply relieved to know you hadn’t caused any irrevocable damage by overreacting. Even more relieved to see him smiling again.  "I think my beautiful and extremely childish wife should get the honor of going first.”

The frown you attempted to hold cracked under the pressure of his wide grin. You hate being teased. You were also guilty on all counts and willing to take your punishment. “I suppose that’s fair.”

“It’s very fair.” He mumbled between prolonged kisses down your neck.

You exhaled and curved your fingers over his broad shoulders. It was becoming harder to think or even breathe with him sucking everywhere his lips could reach. “Can we talk it out like grown-ups tomorrow?”

“Of course, baby. It's mandatory from now on.” When he spoke the guttural quality possessing his voice registered deep in the places he’s yet to touch. You felt painfully empty but knew you wouldn’t stay that way for long. At the rate his lips were moving you weren’t convinced you'd make it past the couch. You preferred the comfort of your king-sized bed the scene of your crime was a fitting place for getting down on your knees to make proper use of your mouth.

Terry surprised you when he broke the suction on your collarbone to reunite at eye level. There was a noticeable glint of mischief in his eyes before he bent down to throw you over his shoulder. You squealed and braced a hand at the center of his back for support you really didn't need.

"You better not drop me trying to be cute!"

"I was planning on letting you off easy tonight. Now I'm thinking your apology needs to be as loud as all that shit you've been talking."

"Yes daddy. Remind me what all these big strong muscles are really for. Also, please send help!"

With a single act you reclaim the home you’ve built, your gasps and combined laughter echoing along the walls as he carried you upstairs.

[empresskylo]

➠𝐌𝐃𝐍𝐈; 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓; 𝐄𝐗𝐏𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐓 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓 ➠SIMON "GHOST" RILEY X AFAB!READER ➠WARNINGS | afab!reader. kinda mean!ghost to sad/sweet!ghost. smut. rough sex. trauma/ptsd. dub-con sorta. wc 1.8k ➠SUMMARY | after a bad mission, simon comes back and takes his pain out on you. ➠AUTHOR'S NOTE | had to get this out of my system okay....

𝐜𝐨𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ✩ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ghost found you in his room as you sat peacefully on his small bed, a book nestled in your lap. you lazily turned the page unaware of his presence. the single light in the room created haunting shadows across your face that made you appear ethereal. usually, that would gain a smile from him, but he just glowered.

ghost had basically stormed into the barracks, soap trying to reassure him that the mission wasn’t a total bust as he made his way down the hall, heavy-footed and stomping.

when he made it to his room, he was less than pleased to see you on his bed. usually, he enjoyed having you with him after a long mission, your warm body pressed against his side, your hands stroking through his hair, his arms wrapped possessively around you. but not tonight. not after what he went through.

“out,” he barked.

you startled, putting a hand to your chest. “jesus, you scared me.” 

he threw his tactical vest on his desk chair and glowered at you. “i said out,” he demanded. 

a small sense of apprehension spread through you. you closed the book and placed it beside you on the bed. “is everything okay?” you asked timidly.

ghost took in an impatient breath, his eyes focusing on his wardrobe rather than on you.

“you need to leave.” he tore his mask off then his gloves and dropped them on his small desk. he ran a hand through his disheveled hair and took a breath to compose himself. he didn’t want to yell at you. “i’m not in a good mood. i jus’ don’t wanna take it out on you.” he had to muster all his willpower to explain this gently. 

he squeezed his fists into a tight knot and he shut his eyes, his mind going back to his men shouting in frustration and pain, calling out to ghost, unsure of what to do next. ghost saw himself panic and make the wrong call. 

“please, just leave.” his voice was more defeated that time, his patience wearing thin.

you stood up off the bed and ghost almost let out a sigh of relief until he heard you stepping closer to him. 

he spun to meet you. “god fucking damnit!” he cursed, slamming his hand on the wall beside your head.

you held back a flinch but he could see the heartache in your eyes. 

“i’m not afraid of you.” ghost sucked in a breath at your words.

simon’s face was scarred and broken from years of hell. and usually, that didn’t hinder the beautiful man buried beneath. but tonight, his eyes were dark and angry. his lips were pulled back in a snarl. he frightened you. not because you were worried he’d purposely harm you, but because you knew he would tear himself apart if left to his own devices. he thought he needed to be alone to decompress, but that wasn’t true. that would strand him in his own thoughts.

“i’m not leaving,” you tried to say with merit but your voice was soft. 

simon’s other hand came out and slipped around your neck, putting a small bit of force on your windpipe as he hunched over to speak, his breath fanning against your lips. “i’m in a destructive mood, pet. i don’t wanna hurt you.” 

“maybe i want to be hurt,” you challenged him. simon’s eyes darted between yours, contemplating picking you up, tossing you out, and locking the door, that, or letting his dark thoughts win.

“i won’t be able to stop once i start,” he warned.

you nodded, “i know.”

against his better judgment, his let the latter succeed, conceding to his fucked up mood filled with frustration, anger, acrimony, malice, and self-hatred. he quickly spun you around, pushing you up against the wall. his hands immediately went to your pants and he yanked them down in a hard pull, making you gasp.

one hand went to the back of your neck to keep you flat against the wall, the other fiddled with his belt. the clinking of metal had you squeezing your thighs together in anticipation. simon was rather gentle when you were together, he never wanted to put you in harm's way. it was the complete opposite really–he’d do anything to protect you. 

but tonight he felt like he had gone back to his old self. the version of him that was set on avenging his family. the part of him that had been tortured and locked away–beaten and broken. and he couldn’t seem to get those emotions to leave his system. 

simon thrusted his hips against you, one hand on the wall, one hand on your neck. you whimpered when you felt his cock slide against you, between your thighs and bumping your clit. your pants were gathered around your knees, making it hard for you to spread them further for him. both of simon’s hands came up and squeezed your breasts forcefully, pulling you into him in a hasty motion. 

“tell me what happened,” you whispered. 

simon grunted, nipping at your neck making you cry out. 

he spun you both around and bent you over his desk, shoving your face against the wood. his hands gripped your hips, holding them so tight you worried you’d have bruises come morning. 

in one swift motion, he buried himself inside you. you whined and he groaned loudly. his voice was guttural and husky as he spoke. “lost good men over a stupid fuckin’ mistake.” his hands yanked your hips back to meet his thrusts. “they died because of me.” his words were slightly slurred as he spoke through grunts. 

“simon,” you said faintly, but he likely didn’t hear you, too lost in his own mind. 

“i froze. i don’t know why i fuckin’ froze,” he said with pure, unhindered anger. you cried out as he slammed into you harder. you knew you were going to be a new level of sore by tomorrow. 

simon roughly grabbed you, pulling you up to him, his hand wrapping around your neck tightly, cutting off most of your airflow, and holding your body against his own. he continued to rut into you, your hips hitting the desk with each of his thrusts. you mewled, closing your eyes and holding back any tears that threatened to fall. 

his hand around your throat slid up a bit further, his fingers splayed across your jaw. his hot breath was by your ear now, leaving goosebumps. “you feel so fuckin’ good,” he growled. 

you weren’t used to this side of simon. sure, he was a cold-blooded killer, the antagonist of people’s nightmares. but not with you. he was never that way with you. 

but you’d be lying if you said the way he was using your body, letting everything out of his system, didn’t send sizzling tingles straight to your belly and between your thighs.

you felt like his fingers were leaving dark red marks along your throat and you struggled to swallow. “just let go, simon,” you encouraged, your voice staggered. 

one of his hands dragged across your stomach as he pulled you into him, his other hand on your neck pulling it to the side so he could nip and bite along your throat. “fuck. fuck,” he moaned. 

his hips never let up, if anything, he began thrusting into you harder and faster. “it’s not your fault,” you managed to get out. 

you heard him groan. you both stumbled forward a bit and your hips hit the desk painfully, making it slide back in a screeching motion. that didn’t deter simon as his hand slid down to your waist, then along your hip, yanking you back to meet his thrusts. 

he quickly pulled out of you and spun you around to face him. you saw tear marks streaking his face paint as you studied him for that brief moment of reprieve. 

he backed you against the wall and shuffled as he pulled your pants the rest of the way off and tossed them aside. he stood up, gripping your ass and hoisting you up. you wrapped your legs around him and he was immediately back inside you, rutting his hips at the same speed as earlier. 

he leaned into you, his face buried in your neck, his hand tugging at your hair. you yelped quietly at the way he pulled on your hair, your body slamming against the wall with each flick of his hips. you heard what might have been a whimper, his lips leaving little kisses along your neck where bite marks had appeared. 

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” he swore. his hand gripped your waist painfully tight and the fingers of his other hand–half buried in your hair, half against your cheek–pressed aggressively against you. the way he claimed you, took you for himself, and let his anger pour out of him, was almost possessive. 

you clenched around him, reaching your own high, triggering simon’s. his nails dug into you as yours tore against his clothed back. “god,” he grunted, followed by your name in a breathy tone, his hips keeping the same speed as his came inside you. 

you clung onto him, letting the last bit of pain leave him, before he slowed and gently loosened his grip on you. 

after several seconds of breathing heavily into your neck, he pulled back to look at you. you could see the tears that had lined his cheeks clearly now and one of your hands came up to rest against his jaw. he leaned into your touch, his fingers rubbing circles wherever they were against you. 

“im sorry,” he said faintly. 

“it’s okay, simon.” you gave him a weak smile. 

“it’s not.” he looked at you. saw the marks along your skin. felt the way his hand had been gripping you, sure to leave dark bruises. “i didn’t want to hurt you.” his voice broke over his last words. 

a tear slid down your cheek and he quickly wiped it away with his thumb. he set you down and you slid your hand in his, lacing your fingers together, and tugged him toward his bed. you pushed him down so he sat on the mattress and watched you. you stripped the rest of your clothes off and encouraged him to do the same. you slid on one of his t-shirts from his drawers and simon stripped down to just his boxers. 

you pushed him back and curled into the bed with him, clicking the light off. his arms immediately wrapped around you on instinct. he pulled you close and buried his face in your hair. his hands slid up under your shirt and you felt him rubbing patterns on your back. “i’m okay,” you promised him. 

he pulled you closer against him, tucking you into his side, wanting to have you as close as possible. “i love you,” he murmured, his thoughts settling to just thoughts of you. no one else. nothing else from that day. just you. 

“i love you, too,” you said back, your low voice honey to his ears. 

[yuriisclumsy]

hii!! can I request cale with a s/o who's high on anaesthesia? like they see cale for the first time, and they're already rambling about how pretty he is– only to find out they're married!! to him!! she tells everyone (who is willing to listen) about her pretty husband and how she's lucky to have him^^ thank youu

We’re…Married?

[Authors Note]: Hi guys! I'm back into making Cale x Reader request! At least for the ones I have on my inbox, until I get out of the authors block I have for my Genshin series. PS. This request is back from July...

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 735

»»►AWWWEE this is adorable. I want to keep it in a box and bury it 7 feet underneath.

»»►Okay, for this, I want it to stay in the fantasy setting since I don’t really like writing modern AUs. So, there will be some kind of herb that is used that has the same effect as anesthesia.

»»►As for why she had to take it. Let us say she had to get surgery for a broken bone she fractured because she ran and fell off a hill. Don’t ask me how this happened, because I don’t know either.

The sun’s rays shine through curtains, bringing light to the already dim room. They softly hit the face of a red-head that had fallen asleep on a chair instead of his warm bed.

The reason he hadn’t slept in his bed was for one small, lovable–his words not mine–dork he had grown to love; his wife: You.

And the only red-head who was insane enough to marry you was none other than Cale Hanituse.

Cale stared at your resting face with a neutral face. What else could he do, other than wait for his lovely wife to wake up?

Unbelievable… The moment I look away, she’s gone and clumsily stumbled down a mountain and off a cliff. Honestly, when will I get some rest from this girl? the man thought as he closed his eyes, getting irked at the memory of you falling off the cliff for the third time.

It was getting repetitive…and annoying.

“Hmmgh…” the sound of sheets shuffling made him open his eyes to see the movement.

“[Name]?” asked Cale. “Are you awake?” He gently leaned towards you to check. His hand moved away the messy hair on your forehead to get a better look. You slowly open your eyelids and see a handsome young man touching you.

“You’re awake… Took you long enough,” Cale said, still combing your hair straight.

You pushed his hand away. “..Don’T tOucH mE…I haVe a HusBaND…” you say with a growly voice.

Clearly, the herb that was used to sedate you was still in your system.

“[Name], stop. You’re still delirious and can’t differentiate what-for-what,” Cale tried to reason with you. But everyone knows that you can’t debate with someone that truly isn’t here.

“nO! yUO aRe An ImPOsTeR..!” You semi-yelled at him. “WhErE iS my HusBanD, yOu tHieF!”

Cale sighted at your idiocy. He found the way you argued rather adorable... Ahh, that’s beside the point!

“[Name],” he grabbed you by the shoulders to ground you as you squirmed, “I am your husband.”

“Wu-huh?” Your anger was now replaced with confusion and a stupid expression. “Whut?”

“I’m your husband,” Cale repeated. “The man you swore to be with the rest of your life, remember?”

“HUuuhhh??” The stupid expression you wore was now filled with reds. “We’Re…mArRieD?”

“Yes. Look,” he made you look at both your hands that had the wedding bands. “See? Married. For all of eternity.”

“..ThAt’S A LooOoNg tIMe…”

“I know,” Cale nodded at your comment, “do you…like the sound of that?” He shouldn't be asking this, in case the answer he hears isn't something he wanted to hear from you, but he had to. Curiosity dug deep within his heart.

You remained silent. This only printed Cale to regret his question. He’ll need to live with this for the rest of his life now.

“You don’t have to answer tha—”

“I do…”

Cale’s eyes widened. “What was that? Sorry, I couldn’t hear…” He had to make sure he heard right.

“I sAid…” you grabbed him by either side of his face and brought him closer to your face, “I. DO.”

He stared at you for a second before smiling, and then laughing at your antics. “Hehehe… I get, I get it…” Cale grabbed both your arms. “You need rest. Especially after the surgery on your left arm.”

“Surgery…?” You slowly ask, then your gaze follows his gaze at the arm he mentioned and loudly gasp, “WHAT IS THIS?”

There was a cast on the arm he said there was a surgery for.

Cale looked a bit confused. “Did you not realize there was a cast on your arm? [Name], how unaware can you be?” he flicked your forehead.

“OW–”

“Now, down you go. Off to the land of dreams,” he helped you get comfy in bed. “I’ll wake you up when dinner breakfast is ready, it’s still early in the morning.”

“Kay…” you yawned, ready to go back to the dream you left. “Night…”

“Good night…” Cale got back to lay in the chair he had slept all night in.

He snatched the blanket that had fallen off of him, and wrapped himself with it. As he was ready to take a quick nap before breakfast, he heard your voice creep up in the silence.

“..Cale…?”

“Yes?”

“I love you,” you say before falling asleep.

“...” he looked at your peaceful face and cracked a small smile, he whispered, “I love you too…”

Fin

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[inlovewrafe]

I still love you, I promise

pairings: ex!lovers; rafe x thornton!reader; rafe x sofia;

warnings: angst; sickness; ed; pregnancy;

You were shifting around in your bed. The hoodie you were wearing was clinging to your skin uncomfortably.

The now familiar wave of nausea hit you as you bolted out of bed, running towards the bathroom. Your hands were clinging to the toilet seat as you emptied the little food that you ate yesterday in the toilet. Your body was shaking slightly. You got up from the floor, walking towards the sink to brush your teeth.

After you were done you headed downstairs towards the kitchen. You sat down at the table while looking down at the screen of your phone where you saw a post from Sarah’s account with you two from three months ago when you were at Toppers birthday party.

You noticed Topper walking into the room while mumbling a “Good morning” as he made his way towards the coffee machine. “Do you want a coffee?” He turned to face you as if he couldn’t talk to you if his back was facing you. “Yeah, sure.” You muttered before going back to scrolling on instagram. “Then you can make your own.” He replied with a slight smile on his face.

“Oh, come on Top.” You whine lowly. “I was just joking around.” He laughed but he then noticed how your cheerful expression that you once had on your face every day two months ago was tiredly looking at him unfazed by his playful demeanor. He also notices how you started eating less and less and how your once full of life and love expression turned into a cold and broken one. The bags under your eyes from your sleepless nights and the pale color of your skin were replacing the pinkish shade you always used to have on your cheeks and the way you always looked rested and put together.

He was pulled from his thoughts by the beeping sound of the coffee machine. He placed the mug he made you coffee in, on the table. You noticed that it was your favorite mug that you always used. You mumbled a small “Thank you!” before you took a sip letting the caffeine get in your system.

He made his way towards the fridge, opening the large door and scanning the interior for food. He decided that he was just going to have some eggs and bacon. “Are you hungry?” He asked as he turned around to face you. “No, I’m okay. I’ll probably eat later.” You said lowly as he hesitantly nodded his head. He made his food and he placed it on the table next to you. He sat down and started eating.

The long silence between you two was broken by the buzzing sound of his phone. He quickly scanned the text before glancing up at you and then back at his phone. He cleared his throat before looking at you with a look of regret on his face as he said “Kelce and uh- Rafe are coming over. They said they’ll be here in two minutes.” You choked on the coffee that you were drinking. “What? No! They can’t- I can’t” You panicked at the thought of seeing him. Seeing Rafe.

You hadn’t seen him in two months since you and him had broken up. And you didn’t want to see him now. What were you going to say to him? What are you- How are you even going to face him? He just moved on and now was dating Sofia, a girl that you knew and used to be friends with. Not close but still you guys talked and were at maybe stage two of friendship.

You found out he was dating her from Topper and you were devastated. You refused to eat anything and cried yourself to sleep. You were a whole mess over the fact that he replaced you in just a month.

You were pulled out of your thoughts by a loud knock on the front door. Before you managed to react, Topper was already at the door, opening it for the boys to come in the house.

You quickly started to run towards the stairs but you noticed that you forgot your phone on the table so now you had to go back and get it. After you got the phone, you sprinted towards the stairs while cursing your parents out in your thoughts for making the stairs near the front door.

By the time you got there they were already in the house, watching as your small figure was drowning in an oversized black hoodie with the hood up. They were facing your side as you tried to run up the stairs. You slipped and hit your leg with a loud thud. “Fuck!” You yelped in pain as you were now holding your leg in the middle of the stairs.

“Hey, you okay?” Kelce asked from down the stairs as they all looked at you. You mumbled a quick “I’m fine.” Before quickly making your way up the last steps and to your room.

Rafes heart felt a tight squeeze at how you were running away from this, from him. He only noticed your thinner frame as it practically sprinted past him to put a long distance between you two without even sparing him a glance. He was pulled out of his thoughts by Topper and Kelce who were heading towards the kitchen to grab some snack. He followed closely behind them and stopped dead in his tracks at the mug that was long forgotten on the table.

He observed how your favorite mug was displayed on the table with a little coffee in it. You probably left it there when you went upstairs. Actually ran upstairs. He made his way towards it before grabbing it and putting it in the sink.

When you entered your room upstairs you scanned the darkening spot on your leg with a sigh. Your phone buzzed from where you threw it on your bed. You picked it up and saw that it was Sarah.

You made your way down the stairs and just as you stepped down the last step, there was a knock at the front door. You opened it and pulled Sarah in a tight hug. “Hey babes.” She muttered, still holding you. “Hey.” You smiled a little in the warm and soft embrace. “You hungry? The boys are ordering food.” You muttered while making your way towards the couch. “Yeah, you?” She responded so quickly that you let out a laugh. “Damn, okay. Yes, I haven’t eaten in forever.” You laughed, but she stopped dead in her tracks staring at you with a face full of concern. “What do you mean? You have to eat.” She inhaled sharply, her tone suddenly changing. “Come on, I was just joking around.” You tried to push this conversation away but she wouldn’t budge.

Thankfully Topper and Kelce came into view. “Hey girl. How are you?” Kelce asked while pulling you in a hug.

“Hey Top, has she eaten today?” “Come on Sarah, just let it go, please.” “No, she hasn’t! Why?”

Sarah turned around, raising a brow and crossing her arms with a knowing expression. “You are skipping meals!” She raised her voice just slightly to show you that she was mad at you. “ ‘Am not!” You responded, trying to sound firm. “You are skipping meals? Why?” You heard Kelce bug in while stepping next to Sarah. You gave Topper a pleading look as to make him help you out. But he didn’t. He joined them instead.

You were now full on interrogated by your friends and brother until he walked in the room. “Come on, you can’t do this to yourself just because of him. You can’t continue skipping meals. It’s not good for you.” Sarah let out a frustrated sigh while signaling with her hands to show just how mad she was.

When Rafe came into view the room fell dead silent. It was the first time you saw him in two whole months. Damn almost three. He was just standing there, like he was processing what he heard. He was repeating the words over and over in his head as the expression on his face changed.

This was the first time you looked at him in months. His deep blue eyes awakening memories and reopening wounds that you weren’t sure were healed in the first place. He furrowed his brows, suddenly processing everything while his face turned into an expression of pure horror. You weren’t eating because of him.

“What? What did you just say?” you heard him ask. The voice you once loved, hell, you still loved was full of shock and pure terror at what he just heard.

The tension in the room could be cut with a knife. You stared down while fidgeting with your hands. He knew you did that when you were anxious. “Don’t do that. Stop it.” “Why aren’t you eating?”

The voice that was once whispering sweet nothings to you and how much he loved you was now tinged with judgement. You stayed silent. Your hands now resting on both sides of your body. “I-I don’t know- I can’t-“ You grabbed your car keys from the holder and ran towards your car. You were sick. Sick from whatever was making you sick all the time, your friend’s judgement and Rafe.

You let the tears fall while you made your way towards the hospital. You wanted to find out what’s wrong with you. But you already had a feeling you knew what it was.

a/n: this is just PART 1 of my series that i want to start. hope you like it!!

[merrybloomwrites]

She's (Not) Afraid

Summary: Y/N's living her best life as a guitarist for One Direction until faulty tech leads to an unexpected injury. Luckily, her boyfriend Niall is by her side to help her through.

Word Count: 1.7K

CW: burns, fire, injury

AN: Welcome to Whumptober! I'm a big fan of whump and hurt/comfort so I'm excited to be participating this year! Quick note that I am not a medical professional so if there are any incorrect details here, I'm sorry! I tried to keep it as accurate as possible.

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Never in a million years did you think you’d get hired as one of the guitarists to tour with One Direction. But still you had to try. So you sent in your audition tape, not expecting to hear back. 

But then you did. And they had you come play in person. After a few more auditions in front of numerous people, you got offered the job. 

It’s been a dream come true. It’s hard, intense, the schedule is packed with shows, travel, rehearsal, recording. But even though you’re exhausted, you’re having the time of your life. 

You’ve grown close with all of the boys, but by the end of the first tour it was clear there was something special between you and Niall. It makes sense, since you both played guitar, leading you to spend more time with him than the others. 

So it didn’t come as a surprise to anyone when he’d asked you on a date right when the tour was over. 

It’s been more than a year of you and Niall being together and everything has been perfect. He’s an absolutely wonderful boyfriend, and you’re over the moon in love with each other. 

He knows everything about you, every dream, every favorite, every fear. 

Which is why he tried so hard to fight against pyrotechnics being used for this tour. He knew you had a bad experience with a campfire when you were young, and it had left you with some trauma and fear of fire. 

You wouldn’t go near another bonfire or a lit fireplace, never mess with sparklers or fireworks, even gas stoves made you nervous because of the open flame. 

But management insisted that pyrotechnics were non-negotiable. Niall continued to press and got them to agree that nothing would be set up close to your spot on the stage. 

Now, months into the Take Me Home Tour, you’ve gotten used to the flames shooting up at every show. You still don’t love it, but there must be something to be said about exposure therapy, because by this point you barely notice it anymore. 

You’re on stage, playing guitar in front of thousands of people, sharing some secret glances with Niall. You’re on top of the world, the excitement and adrenaline running through your system making you feel invincible. 

But then your worst fear comes true. You finish “She’s Not Afraid” and go to switch guitars. You place your current one on the stand, but before you can grab the other one, a wave of heat rushes over you. 

Hands grab you and pull you away, but not fast enough. Your left arm is radiating the worst pain you've ever felt. It’s all you can focus on, the sounds of the people in the arena going silent as your ears start ringing. 

You’re shaking head to toe full body tremors, your breaths coming out as broken gasps. Familiar arms slide under your legs and around your back in order to carry you off stage. You tuck into Niall, letting his presence comfort you. 

He places you down on a folding chair backstage, taking your right hand in his when you begin to cry at the separation. 

“I’m right here, baby. Just giving them room to check you out, see where you’re hurt,” Niall says. 

You nod to show you understand, taking a deep breath to calm down and finally choking out, “I think it’s just my left arm. I was reaching for the guitar so that was the closest so I think it’s the only spot that got hit.” 

“Okay, that’s good sweetheart. Chris is here, he’s going to check the burn.”

Slowly, you extend your left arm to the EMT crouched next to you. He’s gentle as he cradles your arm, turning it to see the extent of the injury. 

After a moment he says, “It’s mostly surface level, but there’s a couple spots that are definitely second degree. You can see here, where it’s blistering,” he explains pointing to a spot on your skin. Rather than looking at it you watch Niall, who is focused on every word Chris says. 

“Does she need the hospital?” Niall asks. 

“Yes, she’ll need to see a doctor. I’m going to run cool water over her arm first and then she’ll need to be brought to the hospital.”

“Niall!” A shout catches everyone’s attention, Niall whipping around at the sound of his voice. Robert, one of their least favorite members of management, is walking over. “Encore time, let’s go,” he says. 

“What are you talking about? A member of the band just got burned on stage and you’re continuing the show?”

“They disconnected the faulty tech. Michael’s going to fill in for her. And you will go back out there and tell the audience that it’s a mild burn and everything is just fine.”

“I can’t just leave her-” Niall begins to argue, but Robert cuts him off, saying, “You can, and you will. Now get out there and finish the show.”

Knowing he had no choice, Niall quickly cups your face in his hands. He presses a kiss to your lips and says, “I will be right back. You’re in good hands, Chris is going to take care of you. I’ll only be gone a couple minutes, okay?”

“Okay,” you reply, though this situation is anything but okay. 

Niall leaves and your anxiety spikes once again. 

“C’mon kid, let’s get you patched up,” Chris says as he helps you up. He leads you back to your dressing room and into the bathroom within. He leaves you standing there for a moment while he starts the shower and gets it to the correct temperature. When he turns back to you he notices how shaky and pale you are and how quickly you’re breathing. 

“Y/N, I’m going to have you lay here and put your arm in the shower. Careful, gently now,” he says and he helps you lay down on a couple of towels that another EMT placed down. Chris leads your arm into the stream of water and it stings at first before you finally feel relief from the burning. 

Minutes pass and suddenly more voices fill the room. 

“Baby, I’m here,” Niall says and he holds your free hand once again. You look at him with a weak smile and he asks how you’re feeling.

“Better,” you answer. “Doesn’t hurt as much. I’m a little cold.” You’re just realizing that you’re shivering, which you feel is wrong considering you literally got hit with fire, but maybe the cool water is really doing its job. 

“Grab a blanket,” Niall says to someone behind him and you turn in time to see Louis step away. You look out the doorway and see the other boys standing there, all wearing matching expressions of worry. 

“Guys, I’m okay,” you say, hating how scared they look.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to be okay right now. We’ll take care of you,” Niall says.

“I love you,” you reply, not able to keep that thought in. You’re used to being strong, you’ve never been one to be coddled. And Niall knows that. He’s the first person who’s been there for you. It’s still unusual for you to depend on other people, but you’re grateful for the reminder in this moment. 

Louis comes back and hands Niall the blanket which he then gently places over you. 

“How much longer does she need to keep her arm under the water?” Louis asks.

“Few more minutes and then I’ll wrap it up so she can get to the hospital,” Chris answers.

“Ni?”

“What is it, baby?”

“Can you have everyone else leave? Please?” Immediately understanding that you’re overwhelmed by all the attention, he turns to Louis and asks him something quietly. Shortly after that the room clears of everyone except Niall, Chris and the other EMT. 

“Time to dry and wrap it,” Chris says. He turns the water off and pats the area. He’s as gentle as possible, but it still hurts. You turn to Niall who leans close and presses kisses to your face to distract you from the pain. 

Once the wound is covered you head out to the ambulance that they insist you take, which feels more embarrassing than anything. Niall stays with you the entire time, holding your hand for the drive there as well as the entire hospital visit. The doctor there examines the burn, applies cream and bandages it once more. He gives strict care instructions which Niall listens to intently, promising the doctor that he’ll be making sure you heal properly.

Luckily it’s not a travel night, and you head back to the hotel at some godforsaken hour of the morning. Management doesn’t even try to fight it when Niall joins you in your room, knowing that’s a fight they wouldn’t be winning. 

The pain medicine is doing its best, but you’re still somewhat uncomfortable by the time you get in bed. Niall holds you close to him, singing quietly to lull you to sleep.

Of course peaceful sleep is too much to ask for, and you’re plagued by nightmares, multiple ones that are so intense they wake you up sweating, unable to catch your breath. Niall is there, never complaining about the lack of sleep, letting you cry and vent as much as you need.

You’re given time off to recover, and though management still argues to keep the pyros, only two remain onstage, far away from the band. 

Your fear of fire returns, worse than ever. And while some people may laugh at you for getting scared by lightning or campfires, Niall never joins in. He validates your fears. He understands where you’re coming from and never belittles you. 

Over time your burn heals, though the scar remains. You hate looking at it, seeing how ugly it is and remembering one of the scariest moments of your life. But Niall is always there to tell you how beautiful it is, and to remind you how strong you are. While you hate that this happened to you, it’s proved that Niall is there for you, no matter what. And that means the world to you.

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AN: Thanks for reading! Louis x reader up next in 2 weeks!

[jiwoneiric]

give me your forever

the world is against you, except one.

pairing: non-idol!pham hanni x bestfriend!reader

genre: hurt comfort

tags: y/n got her heart broken, pham hanni isn't having any of it, y/n is ofc a '04 liner, y/n is much taller than hanni.

warning: cursing, self-hatred, injuries, self-doubts

word counts: 1.8k

playlist

you are never going to be enough for anyone.

the last sentence your girlfriend said to you lingers in your mind.

wait, no.

she’s your ex-girlfriend now.

it was the last thing she said to you and the last thing you have heard from anyone since you drowned yourself in the comfort of your bed. you’ve cried a lot. too much to the point you can’t physically cry anymore. it’s like you have run out of tears to let out. your friends have simultaneously come and go to your dormitory room but no one could get over the other side of the wall. 

well, at least, not yet.

you know deep inside that you will only allow your best friend to do so but her being MIA for the past few days got you worried, and inevitably hurt. 

where did she go? is she sick? or is she just going to abandon you like jinah did?

her absence affects you so much but you don’t have the energy to reach out, adding to the fact that what jinah said to you has affected you significantly.

so, you just wait, albeit the sting on your heart starts to grow into a punch on your heart.

you know your friends are getting worried with the nonstop notifications and ringtones ringing from your phone but you still lay lifelessly on your bed.

it is not that you like jinah that much but the way she took your heart and stomped on that poor thing two days ago hurt you a little bit too much. you hated how you remember vividly the way she slipped out all those words about you being undeserving of being loved, about you being so egoistic that no one would dare to look your way again.

and it is all because of the dare she took from her best friend, who turned out to be one of the suitors you have rejected in the past.

was your rejection too harsh? you don’t think so. you rejected her politely, saying how she is a good person but you are not interested in having a romantic relationship with her. so, why was jinah’s best friend so mad?

or was it jinah who was mad all along?

you don’t know and thinking about the possibilities hurts your head so bad so you shrug it off.

and a soft knock on your door pulls your attention.

“choi y/n?”

the long-awaited voice has finally arrived. you smile bitterly before standing up to open the door for her.

“hey—”

you hadn’t finished greeting her when you got engulfed in a tight hug from pham hanni. reciprocating the hug, you freeze when she lets out a wince.

“han?”

“i’m fine, i’m fine.”

not convinced, you break the hug immediately and the sight in front of you causes you to gasp loudly.

hanni has bandages all over her arms. her left cheek is in the shade of dark purple, most probably from a punch or two.

“w-what happened?”

your sorrow is neglected as worries fill your entire system. knowing that han won’t budge, you immediately yet carefully guide her to take a seat on the side of your bed.

“y/n—”

“who did you beat?”

you say sternly, giving hanni zero chance to change the topic.

“or, should i ask, who the hell beaten you up?”

you let out a grunt when all she did was look away, avoiding your questions like the plague. you are not in a good mood so her act irritates you more than it should.

“if you are not going to tell me, just go.”

that sentence was what you needed to make her look your way again. you know you caught her off-guarded with those words, causing her to panic almost instantly.

“o—okay! i’ll tell you! just…”

her voice dies down but you wait, knowing how she needs some time to rethink her decision and let the silence engulf the room.

“i kinda need a hug…”

you noticed the pained and drained look on her face and immediately agreed in silence as you climbed your bed to lie down before patting the space beside you.

once you think she’s comfortable in her position, you pull her into your embrace. a smile formed on your face when you heard her contented sigh.

“so, the thing is that i was really really mad, and still am, to be very honest, at that damn jinah so i kinda went up to her when i saw her walking outside yesterday.”

“so you throw the punch first, hm?”

you giggle softly when hanni can only let out a whine.

“i mean, she looked so smug at that time i couldn’t hold myself back any more!”

you feel hanni’s grip on your shirt tighten. you love how you can read hanni like an open book and the fact that she only acts like this with you. you keep caressing her silky hair that recently got shorter since she said she wants a change in her so-called dull life, in an attempt to comfort her and yourself. 

“oh no, yn…”

you are so surprised by hanni’s words that you pull back from the embrace to ensure she’s fine.

“why? why? are you hurting somewhere?”

you are left confused as hanni buries her face into your neck.

“the one who should do the comforting is me, not you…”

oh.

you are dazed upon the realisation that you forgot about your feelings the moment you saw hanni in front of your door earlier.

“it’s ok—”

you couldn’t finish your sentence when hanni wiggled her way out of your embrace and sat up immediately before looking back at you.

“what did she say to you?”

you stifled your laugh upon seeing her sudden serious face but to be honest, she just looks super cute right now with her lips pursed and her eyebrows so close to each other.

but still, your smile wears down while sitting up when you get taken back to the scene that happened two days ago. when jinah took your heart and stomped it on the ground heartlessly—as if she’s the one being taken her heart away—before throwing out the haunting sentence that filled up your mind.

you didn’t realise how long you were completely quiet until you registered han’s soft and gentle touch on your arm.

“do you want to tell me what happened?”

you hesitate a bit, wary about putting burdens on your best friend’s shoulder.

but the said best friend can also read you like an open book. before you can decline her, she encourages you first.

“just so you know, you won’t burden me with this at all.”

your heart suddenly clenched, your eyes suddenly filled with tears and your head hung low as you bit your lower lips when hanni started caressing your hair.

your resistance has proven weak, especially in hanni’s arms when you started sobbing your heart out while the caressing on your hair gets even gentler than you thought was possible.

“it’s okay, y/n. let it all out. i’m here to catch you. i’m here.”

hanni’s heart breaks when she feels your grip on her shirt tighten alongside your loudened sobs. a tinge of anger seeps inside her heart upon the thought of what jinah had done to make you cry so miserably. even if you won’t tell her what happened, she’ll make sure jinah will pay the price.

“sh-she said that it was all for a revenge b-because i rejected her best friend before.”

you managed to slip it out without stuttering much. you expected hanni to shout her anger like she always does when you’re feeling down because of someone else but all she did was furrow her eyebrows and caress your hair, signing that she’s trying her best to let you let your feelings all out.

“and sh-she said that,”

you gulp your tears down, feeling your heart clenched even harder at the flashback in your head.

“that i will never be enough for anyone…”

the way your voice quietens down hurts hanni’s heart so bad.

“you might not believe me now, y/n but you are more than enough for me”

“how can i be, han?” 

you deny weakly. everyone who knows choi y/n know how strong-minded you are, and how you never get wavered by people’s talks. how you always managed to stand straight no matter what fell upon you.

but this time, it hurts you so bad knowing that someone you allow yourself to be vulnerable with thinks of you like that.

“y/n..”

“jinah won't say it if she didn’t mean it, didn’t she?”

“either she meant it or not, she’s so wrong, y/n. you are everything to me, you are enough to be my best friend, you are enough as my listener and you are also enough to be my menace too.”

you smile a bit when hanni ends her assurance with a light chuckle.

“really?”

“yeah.”

“even when i ghosted you for two days straight?”

“it’s understandable, y/n. you were hurt, still are, and it is just right for me to give you space for a little bit.”

the past few days you were so mad at her for not checking up on you when all she was trying to do was to give you space to recollect yourself. a small frown appears upon the disappointment hits you. you were cut off from your thoughts when you felt hanni’s small fingers drawing circles and patterns on the back of your hands.

“what’s wrong, hm?”

“I was so mad at you thinking that you didn’t care about me but it turned out that you care the most…”

your heart breaks a little upon seeing the surprise on hanni’s face.

“oh, y/n… i should have told you first, shouldn’t i?"

you shake your head, disagreeing with her.

“no, no. i should have known better, han. seriously.”

she probably sensed that you are not hiding anything as she proceed to tuck your head under her neck while caressing your hair.

a comfortable silent fills the room, driving you sleepy with the warmth of hanni’s embrace. 

"you're not falling asleep on me, are you?" 

"uhuh..." 

you try to force your eyes open for just a little while but the sleepless nights have caught on you. you let hanni lay you down before pulling you into her embrace once again. hanni’s soft chuckle is the last thing you heard before you were taken to dreamland.

hanni smiles fondly, letting her finger graze on your face, touching every detail on it that she had long engraved in her memory.

“have a good sleep, my love.”

she kisses your forehead so softly as if you are a valuable masterpiece. her heart swollen upon hearing your contented sigh.

“i wish i could hold you like this forever, y/n.”

hanni confesses, pulling you impossibly closer to herself as she, too, drifts into dreamland.

a/n: thank you for giving this a read! feel free to leave a request on my ask :D comments and reblogs are so appreciated :))))

p/s: might do a second part since I'm on my sem break idk hihi

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#51: The Mr. & Mrs. Grimes (1.05)

gif cred: @ricksmarlene

The utter perfection of this scene continues as Rick's beautiful words are met with a beautiful response from Mrs. Grimes. 🥲

I adore that after both staying so loyally in love with each other, Michonne and Rick get to now look into each other's eyes and express that all these years, it was always only you 🥹...

One of the many reasons that Richonne resonates with me so much is because this TWD world could easily have been strictly bleak, dark, and dreary, and yet Richonne’s love bursts in with this bright light that refuses to dim no matter the state of their broken world.

Richonne is this inspiring reminder that love prevails even in the hardest circumstances. And Richonne's enduring love shines so brightly in this proposal scene.

So yeah, the happy dancing will never be out of my system over every second of this moment. 😇💍 Because one thing that always comes with the territory of being a Richonne fan...

As Rick holds up a ring while on one knee looking up at the love of his life, Michonne has such a precious heartfelt reaction to this. 🥰

I paused it for a sec and my extra self literally just had to stop and marvel for a moment that I’m really looking at a scene of Michonne smiling down at Rick as he holds up a ring. 🫠

After years of saying one of my biggest wants was for Richonne to exchange rings (because I really felt it was something those two characters would do), it just feels so rewarding to see that we finally made it here. When I tell you I was elated for them like it was my close family member getting proposed to lol. This joyous scene makes me so happy. 

gif cred: @nat111love

Michonne smiles at Rick, again with so much love in her expression. You can just see that she’s so happy to have her Rick back. All those years without him and now here he is alive, at his finest, and wanting to show her that he’s with her for the rest of his life. 😊

Michonne says, “I could have never imagined this.” And then she smiles and so sweetly says, “But it could only ever have been you.” Once again, PERFECTION. 🙌🏽🥲

gif cred: @nat111love

I'm loving the use of ‘only’ in this scene. Michonne and Rick both know they are the only one for each other. And it’s just so beyond heartwarming to hear Michonne know Rick is it for her. The only man she’d ever want to be her husband.

Pre-ZA, Michonne might have never been able to imagine that her soulmate would take form in Rick Grimes. Even when their paths first joined in season 3 she might have never expected that this man who constantly eyes her down would be the man she calls husband and the father of her children one day. But now there’s no denying that in any world Rick is the one for her. The ultimate soulmates. 🥰

gif cred: @nat111love

And Michonne has known this for so long. She's long been aware that she only ever wanted it to be Rick for her. I think about that beautiful 7.08 scene between Richonne in the cell where Michonne pours her heart out to Rick. There, she let him know he was the only one that she wanted by her side to take on everything in life with. And it's stayed that way for her all these years later. 🥲

I like to think that when Michonne expresses that it could only ever have been Rick who has her heart, she thinks back on their journey and reflects on the way Rick took her in at the prison instead of just taking the formula.

The way he entrusted her with his son time and time again, even very early in their relationship. The way she and Rick bonded over having similarities that most others wouldn’t understand.

The way she saw over and over that Rick will do anything for his family.

And that Rick will do anything for her.

The way Rick is a fighter who never gives up and also a lover who never holds back.

The way he resiliently overcame the battles in his life, both external and internal. The way he genuinely saw and valued both Michonne's heroism and her humanness. And as she’s said before - the way Rick makes her feel loved, respected, and safe like no other.

It could only ever have been this excellent one-of-a-kind man for her. Another scientific fact. 💯

So then, y'all, you already know what's next - Michonne does the most heartfelt thing ever. She smiles, takes Rick's hand, and then gets down on her knees so that they are on the same level. 😭

Then she puts Rick's hand to her heart and so sincerely tells him, “I’m Yours.” 🥹

gif cred: @nat111love

And go ahead and take me out to pasture because my heart has officially ascended from this solid gold scene. 🫠 I love it so much. 😭😭😭

I don't know whether to burst into tears or to happy dance right now, so imma just do both...

First; just the visual of the two on their knees is so perfectly symbolic to Richonne and the way they are equals in every way. They always meet each other where they’re at and match each other's love, energy, and fidelity.

I love that the moment with Rick on his knees gets its time to breathe and just depict the way he reveres her, and then Michonne gets to also show how much she loves and respects him when she joins him on her knees and lets Rick know that just like he’s hers, she’s his.

I adore the reciprocity of Richonne's love and loyalty. They’re so wholly devoted themselves and they finally get to experience someone being wholly devoted back.

And on top of elating me to no end, hearing them both say, “I’m Yours” also just affirmed to me why I think Richonne is such an excellent portrayal of a healthy couple. Because I think a lot of couples tend to have more of a “You’re mine” mentality that can be a bit more possessive and concerned with the other belonging to them.

But Rick and Michonne both put so much more emphasis on an “I’m Yours” mentality, actively being loyal, thoughtful, and dedicated to each other. They don't demand ‘You belong to me’ but rather happily demonstrate ‘I belong to you’ with every loving action and word they express. And that manifests as this equal outpouring of the deepest love. 👌🏽

gif cred: @perryabbott

And my favorite part about Rick and Michonne telling each other ‘I’m yours’ is how much they have already truly lived out those words.

Like this isn’t just flowery talk. Both when they were together in TWD and then when they were apart for over eight years, they genuinely lived out every day of their life like they were fully each others.

I remember that was one of the things I most noted about Michonne in the post-Rick era of TWD, she was still so actively in love with Rick. Like truly no other man could have come along because her love for Rick was still so alive.

I mean even when Ezekiel kissed her, all she wanted to do after was tearfully reminisce on the man she was still in love with and recount the exact amount of years it'd been since Rick last kissed her.

gif cred: @michonnegrimes

Michonne knew Rick Grimes still had her heart and even with all the years that passed and having every reason to think she’d never see him again, she lived life like she was still his.

So when Michonne tells Rick 'I’m yours,' she’s already lived that out and proven it ten times over.

gif cred: @coolpartytimefan

And when taken, Rick fought as hard as he could and put his mind and body through the unimaginable to get back to her and he never once moved on from Michonne, even when he chose to die.

He routinely dreamt of falling in love with her, continuously poured his heart out to her in letters, and commissioned several drawings of her. Then when he decided to 'die' because he refused to live without her, the dead version of him still made every choice out of his everlasting love for Michonne.

So when Rick tells Michonne Grimes, 'Til my last breath, I'm yours,' he’s already more than proven it in every way too.

They now know what it is to be without the other for an extended period and they still conducted themselves like 'I am 100% yours always.' 🥹 The greatest love.

Also, I love that this proposal moment takes place in the middle of the woods. So much of Richonne’s roots were established in settings like this. They’ve had a lot of notable woods moments, especially when traveling with Carl, and so this just feels like them taking it back to where it all started for this milestone moment.

One of the woods moments that comes to mind for me right now is in season 3 when Michonne is aiming her sword at Merle and Rick is constantly staring her down and keeping his attention almost solely on her despite so much commotion going on from everyone.

Imo, Rick stares at Michonne a little too much and a little too long for it to just be written off as casual or merely trying to diffuse the situation.

(Side note: I love that Danai and Andy said this is one of the earliest moments that they knew they had a special chemistry as actors. They really did make a scene surrounded by other characters feel like it was just the two of them. ☺️)

To me, it seriously feels like each time Rick looks at Michonne in this scene (and in many season 3 scenes really) he feels something he’s ‘not supposed to’ feel and sees something he wasn’t expecting to see - because, without being cognizant of it yet, he sees his future. He sees himself. He sees someone his heart wants and desires in this intriguing, intoxicating, and soul-filling way.

And so it’s almost like in those early days Rick kept staring at this captivating woman partly confused because he’s supposed to just look at her and see a suspicious stranger, but instead somewhere deep within him what he really sees is his other half, someone he’s meant for and whose meant for him, someone capable of getting him to get down on one knee in the woods and profess his undying love for one day. 🥲

Like he's trying to look intimidating in this s3 scene with Michonne but then Rick always has this shift in his expression like he’s more genuinely dazed from the fact that looking at Michonne for some reason is like looking in a mirror. Looking at her, little did he know he was seeing his universe all in one person.🥹

And as for Michonne, I adore that she has known for so long that she's with Rick no matter what. From "I'm still with you" pre-canon to "I'm yours" post-canon. It's always him for her. 🥹

Also, I just have to note the way Rick looks at her when Michonne makes her way down to her knees is always so swoon-worthy to me. 😊 It's been such a great journey watching Richonne's stares soften over each season to the point that now they look into each other's eyes so utterly in love.

gif cred: @nat111love

So after Michonne says she's his, they share another ten out of ten kiss and it’s just the perfect way to close out the scene. 👏🏽😭

I love how Michonne is smiling through the first kiss, and the way Rick's holding her, and the fact that of course the passion only continues to ramp up between them as they wrap their arms around each other.

gif cred: @nat111love

I think about how in TOWL ep 3, Rick and Michonne were on their knees in CRM uniforms kissing in the woods but not yet on the same page.

And now they’re back to their more usual attire and on their knees kissing but fully in sync again and ready to both handle the CRM and go home. Mr. & Mrs. Grimes are 100% back. 😌

gif cred: @nat111love

And I love how it's the masterpiece Episode 4 that got Richonne from point A in ep 3, on their knees in the woods unsure of how to escape with much to reconcile, to point B in ep 5, on their knees in the woods, reaffirming 'I’m yours,' and fully on one accord again.

So then, after this solid gold scene, they cut to Father Gabriel waiting on a log but Jadis isn’t going to be showing up this time around. What Father G doesn't know is Jadis was attempting to threaten Richonne and ASZ and so after just a day of aiming to kill them, Rick and Michonne had to go ahead and send her to the underworld same-day delivery. 📦👌🏽

But Rick and Michonne also have very good hearts and so it seems they left a burial site for her, marked with an 'A' stone.

That 'A' has some layers to it because one; it’s like Rick and Michonne are allowing her to die as Anne the Artist rather than Jadis the Snake, with Anne seeming to have been her better and more human persona.

And two; seeing the 'A' to me always feels reminiscent of how Jadis would spray paint As on the holding containers in the trash heap. It was very kind of Richonne to give her a burial and to put an ‘A’ for Anne instead of an “S” for Snake/Serpent/Scam Artist. 

gif cred: @perryabbott

A helicopter flies above the burial site and, even tho we don't get to see Richonne inside, I love we get to at least know that Michonne got to see her man fly a helicopter.

If Michonne and I are really on the same wavelength like I think we are, I know she thought Rick piloting the helicopter was sexy. 😊 Probably sitting in that helicopter and watching him like...

And as their helicopter flies off into the sky, that concludes episode 5, with Richonne and us now soaring into the TOWL finale. 👌🏽

Honestly, on rewatch I do like episode 5 better than I thought. It’s still not as high as 1-4 but the Richonne content is just so great in this ep that I still very much enjoy it. 😌 And that's how you know your ship is an abundance of riches when even the lower-rated ep still has some solid gold scenes and a top 10 all-time scene. 👑

gif cred: @lousolversons

Before I even wrote a single word of this breakdown, I knew this specific scene's revelings would be a long two-parter - because I mean, for longtime Richonne fans this proposal scene is just better than a dream. So I had to do my best to go as all out as I could when gushing over every detail. 😋

I adore that after years of Rick dreaming of having this proposal with Michonne, the two of them finally got to share this moment. And it was as beautiful as can be.

gif cred: @nerd4music

Rick and Michonne both are just so aware that they’ve found a true treasure in finding each other, and I love that this scene so perfectly captured their stunning love and their commitment to belong to each other forever and always.

It was a joy to see Richonne so clearly establish that they are Mr. and Mrs. Grimes, until the end of time. 🥳💍🙌🏽🎉🥂🎊

[biggestsimponhere]

Be safe

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➻ Synopsis: The second challenge of panic you watch your boyfriend dangle 50ft in the air and almost die, this includes your reaction, how he calms you down and also everyone else’s reaction to finding out dodge has a partner (not very much of the latter)

➻ Requests are always welcome!!!

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆｡ﾟ. ───

Panic. It’s a stupid game really, at least, it is to you. You thought watching your boyfriend jump into the lake from the high point was scary but it was nothing compared to this. The Granary. The challenge, walk across the metal beam between the two towers, it sounds simple enough except for the fact that the beam is clearly highly unstable. Drew goes, Shawna goes, Ray goes, Heather goes. Then dodges name gets called, you tense beside him but try not to show any emotions.

He heads up and starts walking like it’s just another day and he’s walking down the sidewalk. A green light just barely visible from where you’re standing shines up towards dodge, he falls, barely hanging onto the beam with one hand. Fifty feet. Fifty feet in the air. You hold back the scream of his name that wants to come out. He looks down then back up before he’s swinging his other arm to grab the beam too. He swings back up onto the beam skilfully. As soon as he’s across he’s down the ladder and walking fast.

You can tell where’s he’s going and you wouldn’t normally stop him but right now you can’t help it. “Dodge” He stops at the sound of your voice, he softens slightly, just barely visible. You walk over to him and wrap your arms around him. A few gasps come from the others but he ignores them all in favour of tightening his arms around you and burying his face in your hair. Sirens sound as police cars roll into the area. Someone shouts and everyone takes off. Dodge pulls you and heather off behind something before he sees natalie twist her ankle.

The three of you run over and help natalie up and into the forest. We run till we can get far enough to let natalie sit down. Dodge checks over her ankle to make sure nothings broken, you can’t help the twist of jealousy in your gut as she looks at him. They joke around for a minute as dodge makes her a makeshift wrap.

Natalie’s eyes drift from dodge to you. “So… i didn’t know you guys were together” You look down slightly embarrassed that you let the secret out.

“Yeah we were uh keeping it under wraps” Dodge answers as he moves from the ground to your side. Then Heather walks back over to tell Natalie that Bishop is on his way to get them.

The two leave soon after and dodge leads you out of the woods and down a side street to his car. He gets in the drivers seat and you slide into the passengers seat. You stare out the window as he starts the car and drives. You don’t say anything, the shock of the whole thing not having left your system.

“Do you want to come to mine or go to yours?” He asks, it’s a simple question but you’re still not sure how to answer. You don’t want to leave him but you also just want to curl up in your bed and cry.

“I-… i want to come home with you” You say quietly. He turns and looks at you as you continue looking out the window. He pulls the car to the side of the road.

“Look at me” He says softly, you turn slightly. He hooks a finger under your chin and turns your face towards him fully. The tear streaks are obvious on your face, he wipes them away softly, touching you like you’re delicate.

“What’s going on?” He asks even though he knows exactly what it is. You frown, he almost died and he’s seriously asking what’s wrong. “You’re really asking me that” He sighs, he knew that was coming. “I’m okay baby” He murmured as he rubbed your cheek softly. You nod, you know he’s okay but that doesn’t stop the ache in your chest.

“Come here” He coaxes you out of your seat. You climb over the compartment in the middle and into his lap. He holds you against his chest. You curl against him. You mutter something under your breath that he can’t quite make out. He hums and asks you to say it louder.

“You almost died” You say quietly as if saying it louder would make it happen. “I didn’t” he leans down and kisses your forehead. You breathe a little easier as you burrow further into his warmth.

“let’s get home baby” he says into your hair, you move out of his lap and he drives to his house. You go straight in passing his mom and sister in the living room and going to his bedroom. You practically collapse on his bed and you can hear him talking to them but you don’t know what he’s saying. He comes in a few minutes after and changes into his pajamas.

“Do you want something comfier to sleep in? Jeans aren’t the best for sleep” He says as he digs through his drawer. You nod and he passes you a tshirt and a pair of his sleep shorts. You change and climb back into bed, he follows. The two of you practically meld together. “I know you’re scared but i can do it” He murmurs into your neck. “I know you can i just- i can’t lose you” You bury yourself in him, almost like you wish you could crawl into him.

He softens at your tone and pulls you closer. “You won’t lose me. I promise” he presses a soft kiss to your hair before the two of you drift off.