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

[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.”

[gregmarriage]

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

[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.

[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

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @lureslutes, @cruzerforce4256, @narcise63, @potterhead-whovian-117, @margieee194, @zenix108, @vimenorie, @lunavixia, @potterhead-whovian-117, @alithurism, @matchalyne, @minteaspoon, @dontknowhowtousethis, @valacz29, @rainalovesouya, @vimenorie, @lunavixia, @lablog5, @htshbtcp, @purposefulwhale, @leylnnn, @ixchelhernandez4, @minteaspoon, @mx-unreality, @ntcc2605, @lapislasulat, @lunavixia, @thxmiss, @sumariii. Re-blog or Comment if you want to get added into the Tag section for Lout of Count's Family updates. Back to Lout Of Count's Family Master-List

Master-List

[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

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

➻ 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.

[geesenoises]

DnD: dungeons and draco

for @quail-in-red. this is just further proof that if anybody shows even the slightest interest in one of my dumb jokes, i crumble and perform like a silly jester at once. based on this post i made last year and rediscovered today about hp wizards playing DnD.

Dean didn’t give a lot of details when he invited Harry to his weekly dungeons and dragons game, but the last person Harry expected to see at the table was Draco Malfoy.

“We started a game together when we were, er,” Dean trailed off.

“When we were prisoners in Draco's house!” Luna finished for him brightly.

Malfoy didn’t say anything, just met Harry’s eyes stolidly and then went to fuss with the small pile of papers and cards in front of him.

Harry shared a look with Ron, who was already sitting between Dean and Hermione, and then sighed inwardly and took the last remaining seat between Seamus and Luna. He pulled out the premade character sheet Dean had owled him last week. It was wrinkled from having nearly been lost in a pile of post and then hastily shoved in Harry’s pocket before flooing to Dean’s flat. 

Harry looked around the table. Malfoy’s stack of papers was bigger than anyone else’s, even Hermione’s. And why did he have so many cards? There was a little wooden tray in front of him too. The dice in the tray looked iridescent, catching and reflecting the light. Trust Malfoy to have expensive poncy accessories. Why was he even here? Did he even like DnD? He’d grown up around magic his whole life; what did he need to pretend for?

“And so let’s go around and introduce our characters,” Dean finished. Harry had missed his whole introduction. “Since Draco and Luna have played before, we’ll start with them.”

Malfoy straightened up a little, carefully picking up his character sheet even though it seemed like he was so familiar with it, he didn’t need to reference it. “I’m Mike, a level three call center operator. I’m twenty-three years old, originally from Essex and just moved to London. I played football in uni, but am feeling less fit now that I have a job where I sit all day.”

Luna went next and spoke in a surprisingly deep voice. “My name is Archie, and I’m a level six IT consultant. I’m forty-six years old, originally from Norwich, but I moved to London for uni and never left. I’ve been married to my wife, Evelyn, for twenty years and we have two children and a cocker spaniel named Rosa.”

Harry stared down at the character sheet in front of him. He hadn’t looked at it before grabbing it in his rush to get here on time. It told him he was meant to be playing Grace, a 29 year old paramedic who’d grown up in London and recently broken up with her fiance after finding out he had cheated on her. She had a cat named Pomegranate. Harry didn’t know much about tabletop games, but there had been a group of kids that Dudley’s gang would sometimes target instead of Harry who had played. And what he’d overhead from their games didn’t sound anything like this.

“Hang on, these are just normal people; we’re all humans with muggle jobs. I thought we were playing dungeons and dragons, you know, with magic involved.”

Malfoy glared at him. “Weren’t you paying attention, Potter? Dean just explained the premise of our campaign.”

Harry didn’t want to admit to Malfoy he’d been too busy wondering what his dice were made of. He looked away from Malfoy to Dean. “Er, sorry. I was… distracted.”

Dean sighed but looked more resigned than irritated at having to explain again. “When I started the game with Draco and Luna, they got confused by the magic system because actual magic doesn’t work the way it does in DnD, so I made up a slightly different game we could play. We’re a group of Londoners in a recreational dodgeball league.”

“And honestly, Harry, it doesn’t feel right pretending to be of magical creature heritage for a game,” Hermione added. “Think of what kind of hurtful stereotypes we could fall into.”

“Okay…” Harry said slowly. It still felt strange, but now that he thought about it, he supposed he didn’t need to spend his Thursday evenings pretending to be part of a group camping out and hunting evil. Once per lifetime was enough without having to do it recreationally in the realm of imagination.

Harry smoothed out his character sheet again and introduced the group to Grace.

not sure if there will be more, but we're all shipping mike/grace right?

[forthewomenonly]

Sub Tara Carpenter Drabble pt 1

Warnings: NSFW, smut, GAYS, Tara Carpenter x reader, Tara Carpenter x fem reader (implied, no pronouns used), g!p Tara, sub Tara, blowjob a/n: The subby Tara drabbles commence! This is for the anon who requested Tara begging for a blowjob after seeing R in a revealing outfit. 

Coming back from a night out with your friends you feel sore and sleepy. The alcohol working it’s way through your system making you dizzy. You remove your high-heels from your sore feet the second you enter your shared living space. “Tara baby i’m home.” you yell out. After she doesn’t respond you figure she must be asleep, and make your way to your room trying to find her. When you open the door you see Tara half asleep with a book in her hands. Immediately noticing your presence her eyes brighten and she offers you a wide smile. This look however, instantly changes into one you know all too well, as she takes in your revealing outfit. “Hi baby, let my just change out of my dress and then i’ll join you in bed.” You say, tucking a strand of Tara’s hair behind her ear. She reaches out to you frantically as you begin to pull away. “Keep the dress on!” Tara pleads loudly. “Please.” She says lowering the volume of her voice and attempting albeit unsuccessfully, to remain subtle. You stay silent, quirking an eyebrow as you notice the obvious bulge straining in her pants. “Excited to see me?” you say teasingly, sitting down next to her still clad in your skimpy outfit. Tara nods her head desperately, a deep blush settling across her nose and cheeks. Fumbling with the knotted drawstring of her sweatpants, she lets out an impatient growl.   Finally watching Tara shuck off her pants, she fishes her hard dick out through the hole of her boxers. You remain unmoving, blinking slowly as you watch your desperate girlfriend shift closer to you on the bed. “Y/n please.” “Please what honey, I don’t know what you want” you say tilting you head to the side in faux confusion. “Touch me. Can you touch me please? Y/n I need you so bad.” She whines out staring up at you with her big brown eyes. “Needy baby, just let mommy take care of you.” you coo brushing your thumbs against the apples of her cheeks. Tara nods rapidly in compliance straightening her posture, watching you get off of the bed and onto your knees. Kissing at her inner thighs and slowly licking up her length, Tara shifts her hips further into your face, trying to push herself into your eagerly awaiting mouth. “M-mommy, please don’t tease.” she cries out, brain far too clouded with arousal to care about the pathetic inflection of her voice. You take her in your mouth, focusing on the harshly reddened head of her cock. Hollowing out your cheeks you take more of her into your mouth until your nose brushes the fabric of her boxers. You breathe through your nose and bob your head listening for her noises of approval. Tara’s hands tangle and find purchase in your hair, as she bucks her hips, forcing you to take her deeper down your throat. Moaning and whimpering loudly, you’re aware that Tara’s on the verge of her orgasm. “God you’re such a slut Tar, begging for me to suck your cock all because you couldn’t handle seeing mommy in a pretty dress.” Bringing your mouth back to her pulsing dick, you lick and suck at her tip, moaning at the taste of the precum collecting there. Tara’s thrusting into your mouth with wild abandon, grinding herself into your tongue. “Can I cum? Please mommy I need to cum.” she whines out, humping your face with broken whimpers. You tap her thigh nodding your head against her, signifying your approval, and it takes mere seconds before Tara’s cumming straight down your throat. You pull yourself off of her, letting a mixture of Tara’s cum and your saliva to fall down your chin and onto the dress that your lover is seemingly so fond of. “I uh l-like the new dress babe.” Tara squeaks out, catching her breath, chest heaving. You laugh loudly at her evident statement. “I figured.” You say, getting off your knees and standing on your feet. “So can we fuck?...”

[dilemmaontwolegs]

Playboy || PG10 {4}

Pairing: Pierre Gasly x fem!reader Summary: New revelations come when you take the fight to Leo. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, illegal activities, mentions of past violence and reader injuries WC: 2.6k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four

As night descended, the street rats and hoodlums found their way out of their holes and congregated in the designated meeting spot east of Monaco. It wasn’t such a surprise to see the meet was far busier than normal but it wasn’t going to be a normal night, not when you had called out the Street King and challenged him. 

“You sure about this, Beautiful?” Pierre asked as you pulled up into the parking lot.

“A bit late to ask that, isn’t it?” you joked as you sent a reassuring smile and placed your hand over his where it rested on your thigh. A familiar car was already there and you parked next to the Pista. “What’s Pretty Boy doing here?”

This time it was Pierre’s turn to smile as he waved to his friends who gathered around the Ferrari. “Did you really think we would let you come alone?”

You turned off the car and tossed the keys to the Aston Martin Vantage back to Pierre as Arthur opened your door. Most of the guys you had met at the track had come along but the rest were busy enjoying the ladies dancing behind a Subaru that had an insane sound system installed. 

“Your PR team is probably shitting themselves,” you teased as Charles kissed your cheeks. 

“You just worry about yourself, Trouble. It’s not exactly a warm welcome.”

You looked around the carpark and met the harsh glares from the men and women that stood with the Street Kings. They were people you once called family and promised to have your back, but now they looked ready to stab you in it. 

Only one was brave enough to cross the car park and you met her halfway. “You shouldn’t have come, T. Just go home before you do something that you can’t take back.”

“I don’t think you can give advice on what not to do, Kat.” you snickered. “Did you even wait for my side of the bed to go cold before you climbed in it?”

Kat looked at her toes that peeked out of her heels. “He was a mess when you left. I was just trying to help.”

“I didn’t leave, I was thrown out. Can you understand what that felt like? I lost the only family I had left.”

Warm arms enveloped your waist and Pierre’s chin came to rest on your shoulder as he kissed your cheek. The possessive move made your stomach do a little flip and you didn’t hate the feeling. 

Kat eyed him up like a tasty treat and she even licked her lips. “Looks to me like you’re doing alright for yourself.”

“Better than alright.” You tipped your head to the side as he traced his lips down your neck and you felt Leo’s eyes find you in the crowd. “Showtime, Cupcake.”

“Cupcake?” Pierre chuckled, his arms tightening protectively around you as he noticed Leo stalking his way over.

“I think it’s an improvement, or would you rather be Playboy?”

“You can call me whatever you like,” he whispered in your ear. “As long as you call me yours.”

You couldn’t stop the stupid giggle that surprised even you, and Leo frowned at the sound as he draped an arm over Kay’s shoulders. “I thought I told you not to come around here anymore.”

You used Pierre as a shield, convincing yourself that you weren’t affected by Leo’s presence when you were wrapped in his arms. Leo had broken you when he cast you out and it left an inferno of rage burning inside of you. But with Pierre you felt something new, softer, safer. 

Using the courage that came upon you, you met his eyes and held the stare, unflinching. “What can I say, Leo? I’m stubborn. Plus, Devante invited me here when he ran like a little bitch from our tête-à-tête at Dog’s Head. So I’m here, and now we can race.”

Leo laughed, looking around the crowd that had gathered as they felt the tension rise. “You came here to race but you have no car, babygirl.”

“I have a car, it’s right there.” You pointed to the Nissan GTR that Devante was leaning against. “Everyone here knows I won it.”

“A cute little edited video doesn’t mean shit.”

A chorus of boos came from the crowd but it was loudest behind you and you couldn’t help smiling at the support.

“Seems like it means something to them. How about this? D keeps his car, but I’ll race you for yours instead. Right here, for everyone to witness. Wouldn’t that be a change…”

“Deal,” he smirked, “but you still don’t have a car, babygirl.”

“She can use mine.”

“Not this again,” you groaned as Pierre placed the key to his Aston Martin in your hand. “Insurance isn’t going to cover this.”

His laugh warmed the shell of your ear as he whispered, “I guess this guarantees me two more dates then.”

“Pretty sure what you did last night already got you there, Tiger,” you whispered back.

“Enough,” Leo snapped. “I’ll take your car, Gasly, but I’ll let you keep the bitch.”

You turned and planted your hands against his chest as you felt him take a step forward. Electricity seemed to spark between you as you saw the same fiery spirit you had inside you. It was fucking attractive and you were struggling not to run your hands down his body.

“Let him go, QT, let’s see what you man’s got,” Leo taunted. 

“We’ll see how cocky you are when she whips your ass,” Pierre spat as Charles joined you in distancing the two men.

You scanned the crowd before facing Leo  with determination on your face. “Let’s just settle this on the streets, yeah? That’s what everyone came here to see.”

—

The two cars parked up at the starting line could not have been more different. Leo always loved American muscle cars and while you could appreciate the strength of the beasts there was nothing quite like a sleek European supercar. His bulky ‘69 Camaro looked a sickly yellow next to the newest Vantage, its dark blue paint making it almost invisible on the moonless night.

The worst thing about the American car was that it left his driver's seat right next to yours. 

“She’s a pretty thing, isn’t she?” Leo smirked as he reached through the open window and stroked your cheek “A shame the rest of her is so fucked up, and the nightmares, every single night, it’s fucking inconvenient.” You felt Pierre’s eyes on you as Leo continued his psychological war games. “No, daddy. Leave him alone. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Shut the fuck up,” you snapped as you changed the car to sport mode and adjusted the balance of the wheels. 

“Daddy, wake up, please, daddy.”

“Stop, please, that’s so not cool,” Kat grumbled from the other passenger seat. 

You put the window up as a scantily clad young woman stepped out onto the start line. 

“What was that about?” Pierre asked as he watched you grip the steering wheel tighter.

Your heart rate began to slow as you felt your mind slip into the quiet place you went to with every race. It was as if the noise in your head could switch off when you put your foot to the floor and all your worries would disappear for a short while. “The same question you asked me last night, how I got my scars.”

The young woman pointed to you, and you revved your engine in response. Leo did the same.

“You didn’t have any nightmares last night did you?”

She lifted one hand into the air, then the other. 

“No,” you murmured as you realised your sleep had been undisturbed in his arms. “I didn’t.”

“Can you tell me about the scars?”

You glanced at Pierre, the corner of your vision catching the moment the race started and Leo shot off the starting line. “Soon. I have a race to win.”

You drove in a trance, the terrain outside passing in a blur and all you could focus on was the road ahead. Leo may have had the head start but his car was heavier, not even the difference in horsepower could make up for the weight the Camaro carried. 

“My father ran into some money trouble a while back, the banks wouldn’t loan him any more so he made a deal with some bad men.”

Pierre listened intently as you navigated the winding Côté d’Azur backroads like it was a quiet Sunday outing. Leo’s taillights were almost brushing the front bumper as you played with him. It was payback for toying with you. 

“One day they came to the shop and he couldn’t pay them.”

You took a steadying breath before pulling out behind Leo and taking him on the outside of the corner. The tires were screaming at you for the abuse you were putting them through but the traction held through the force of the turn and then you were ahead.

“You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” you replied honestly. You may not have known him long but you felt like you knew him enough that you wouldn’t be judged. “I tried to stop them from hurting him but I…I didn’t stand a chance. I was set to inherit the shop so I guess they thought if they killed us both it would be theirs.”

“But they didn’t kill you.”

“Like I said, I’m stubborn,” you tried to laugh but it fell flat as you rubbed the psychological itch where the long healed scars sat on your waist. “Turns out you can survive without one kidney, a pancreas or a spleen.”

“Fucking hell, Beautiful,” Pierre choked out as he reached across the car to wipe away the tear you hadn’t notice escape. “You are unbelievably strong.”

You pulled your head away as you felt undeserving of the words. “I couldn’t save my dad. Or the shop.”

You were almost at the crest of the mountain and then you would be rocketing it back down the otherside before coming full circle back to the car park. There was nothing left to say but it was enough that Pierre rested his hand on your thigh, drawing small relaxing circles with his thumb as Leo’s lights chased the back of the car.

“Out of curiousity, why are you going so slow?” Few people would call 110 mph on a winding road slow, but everything was probably slow after the speeds he drove in a formula one car. 

“I wanted him to think he had a chance.” You sent him a lopsided grin as you started to accelerate. “Before I took it away.”

The crowd parted for you as you skidded across the finish with a burnout that promised a new set of tires would be needed, but you made no move to get out as you waited. You wanted to see his face as he drove towards you, you wanted to see the moment of defeat when he crossed the finish line. 

You weren’t even exhilarated by the win. It was too easy, but you knew it was going to be. You had built his car and knew every limitation it had, you also knew it would never be serviced to your standard since you were excommunicated. 

“I thought I would enjoy this more,” you admitted as you saw Leo’s face warp in anger. 

“How do you feel?”

“Bored,” you said with a shrug as your door was opened. The bubble you found yourself in with Pierre popped and you suddenly heard the crowd chanting. Queen, QT, Trouble. The nicknames were deafening and Leo’s scream was swallowed by it as you watched him kick his car door. “It’s like an episode of toddlers in tiaras. Please tell me you have at least one ex who makes you question your life choices.”

He smirked as he kissed your knuckles. “One that had a tantrum much worse than this, I promise.”

You stepped out of the car and met Pierre at the front of the car, falling into the space between his legs like a puzzle that fit perfectly. “Thank you,” you whispered as his arms came around your body, his hand snaking up under your shirt to brush over the scars. “I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“I thought you were bored,” he teased.

“Oh, I am,” you giggled before sobering up. “But I still had to do it, just to know.” 

“You’re welcome, Beautiful.”

Something flashed in front of you and you turned your head at the last second but the pain never came. Pierre’s lightning reflexes had caught the set of keys Leo had launched at your face, his fingers tightening around them as he rose to his full height.

“The fuck,” Pierre growled.

“It’s okay, babe,” you said as you unfurled his fist and took the keys. “He’s just showing everyone what a sore loser he is.”

“Babe, hmm, getting better. I’ll work you up to My Love one day.”

You opened your mouth to respond but you didn’t have a witty remark ready and something else caught your attention in front of you.

“Kat, baby, where are you going?” Leo growled as he grabbed her wrist to keep her from leaving his side.

She scoffed as she pulled her hand from his grasp. “You’re not King anymore, why would I stay with you?” 

“Okay, maybe it’s not so boring here, lover boy.” 

Pierre’s chest bumped your back with his quiet laugh. “I didn’t think I would meet someone as interested in drama as I am.” 

“You met your match.”

“I know.”

You turned and kissed his soft, pink lips before stepping out of his warm embrace. “Hey Leo. Catch.”

He caught the set of keys you tossed back and stared at them dumbly. “What game are you playing now?” 

“No game,” you assured him with your hands up in peace. “I didn’t come here for your car. Or yours,” you said to Devante.

“Then why did you come at all?”

You shrugged because you really didn’t know anymore. Whatever justice you were chasing seemed to evaporate and the win was a hollow one. “Just to prove I was the best, but you already knew that when I beat you months ago.”

There were whispers among the crowds as the rumours were proved true and you walked back to the Vantage that was surrounded by Pierre and his friends who had welcomed you into their group. They were so different from the family you made with the Street Kings, but different was good. You didn’t need any more playboys or street racers, you were moving on to better things.

“Keep your car, Leo, keep your title. I have everything I need right here.” You took your place back in front of Pierre, never behind or hidden by a man again. You didn’t need protecting, you needed supporting - and he understood that. Turning in his arms, you draped yours around his neck and grinned up at him. “Wanna go for a drive?”

His hands slipped down lower over your hips and he dipped his head to yours, kissing you in confirmation. “I can be your passenger princess.”

“I was actually thinking you could drive me,” you suggested, his eyebrows raising at the idea you had hated. “Turns out I just wanted the choice.”

His smile grew and he took the keys back, nodding his head to Ilies, Charles and the others waiting. “You guys up for a cruise?”

“Careful, you’re gonna have your own little street gang soon, Tripod,” you teased as they happily agreed and separated towards their sports cars.

Charles stumbled at the nickname and turned around with a grimace on his face. “Seriously!”

Pierre grinned as he threw his arm over your shoulders proudly and you resist sending the Ferrari driver a wink. “Told you, Pretty Boy, you’re too innocent, but we’ll change that.”

“Still gonna be Trouble I see.”

“Trouble by nature, trouble by name.”

[thissortofsorcery]

A little more Witch!Steve and Werewolf!Billy pspspspspspspsps

It’s juicer this time

—

"Billy? What the hell happened?!"

Steve has said these words before, in a variety of tones and levels of exasperation, but now they ring out to the open sky with a sharp note of desperation.

Billy's bleeding in his backyard.

Steve kneels down beside him where he's slumped over one of the lounge chairs, arms akimbo and on his side. There's a faint whistling sound when he breathes. Steve hasn't really been trained in healing past the basics, nothing like his mom was, so he doesn't know exactly how bad it is. He just knows it's bad.

"Billy?" Steve says, voice trembling to match the hand hovering over Billy's head. Billy doesn’t answer, hasn’t answered this whole time, and Steve is starting to panic. “Billy, come on!”

Billy starts awake when Steve’s hand lands on his shoulder, flinching away and immediately groaning in pain. But he relaxes when his eyes settle on Steve, bruised and swollen as they are.

“Hey, pretty boy,” Billy slurs, making an attempt at a smirk. It comes out more of a grimace.

“Billy, what the fuck,” Steve says. He can’t see where Billy is injured in the position he’s in, but even his denim jacket is stained a horrible, dark red. “Let me see.”

Steve tries to move Billy onto his back, touching him gently; perhaps more gently than he’s ever touched anything, even Nancy. Still, a thin moan of pain escapes from Billy’s throat, and Steve bits his lip so he doesn’t start yelling his head off. He needs to keep cool right now, or he won’t be any help to Billy.

He has the awful urge to vomit when he sees Billy’s front; what’s left of his white t shirt is soaked through with blood, and it’s in ribbons. So is his abdomen.

“How did this happen? Talk to me, man,” Steve pleads, touching Billy’s chest with a careful hand. It’s the oddest thing, though, barely any blood stains his fingers when he shifts, as if the blood is almost dry. Like the wounds aren’t fresh.

Steve’s never seen Billy with wounds older than, like, fifteen minutes. He heals fast, even for a wolf.

“You should see the other guy,” Billy mumbles. It sounds like bullshit.

“Billy, why aren’t you healing?” Steve asks. “I’ve seen you heal a broken leg in two minutes, man, what the fuck.”

“I’m fine,” Billy grunts. Then he tries to push himself up, like he’s going to try to leave.

“Stop doing that, dickhead, you’re gonna make it worse!” Steve snaps, trying to keep Billy still. They stare each other down for what feels like eternity until Billy huffs and lies back down. “You’re obviously not fine.”

“I’m gonna heal eventually,” Billy insists.

“Before you bleed out? Or can you heal from that too?!” Steve says, voice ringing sharply in the open yard. “Tell me what happened so I can help you! Are you poisoned? Why aren’t you healing?”

“It was just a fight,” Billy says, but he doesn’t have the energy to make it sound like the truth.

“Yeah, with a fucking dinosaur apparently,” Steve grumbles, while trying to push Billy’s clothes away to get a better look.

He looks awful. He looks like he should be dead. For a moment, Steve feels hopeless; he doesn’t know enough about healing to fix this, not if there’s anything in Billy’s system that’s keeping his own advanced healing from kicking in. Steve feels terrified, and young, desperately wishing his mom was here. She’d know what to do. But she’s out of town.

Steve can’t leave Billy like this. He’s gonna have to do something.

“Okay, I can do this,” Steve mutters under his breath, taking a deep breath.

—

Then something happens, I haven’t thought about a magic system yet ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ don’t kill me

[sky-scribbles]

Shepard holds a funeral for her clone.

The paperwork is almost harder than the ceremony. Turns out it’s tricky to register the death of someone whose birth - creation? Decanting-from-vat? - was never recorded to begin with. Then there’s some kind of question about whether the clone needs to be retroactively registered as a Council space citizen to have her death put on the official record, and if so, whether she counts as a member of the Systems Alliance or as an ‘undocumented alien’. Which is pretty fucking ironic, considering how utterly she’d have loathed having the word alien attached to her.

And once Shepard’s ground her teeth through a dozen calls and bludgeoned through the first layer of formwork - a death certificate still needs a name.

‘I have to put something,’ she says. She’s aware that her voice is ragged, and that Kaidan is watching her as he brews her fourth coffee of the evening with concern heavy on his face. She must look barely alive, up near midnight in a kitchen that was Anderson’s and still feels nothing like hers, hair falling forward, eyes shadowed grey. Datapads and empty mugs strewn around her. Fine. She’s felt barely alive ever since she woke up in a Cerberus lab.

‘You could choose one for her,’ Kaidan says gently. A lot of people speak to her gently, these days.

‘She’d hate that. A name makes you individual. She didn’t want to be an individual; she wanted to be me.’

The cofee machine whirrs softly, sounding louder than it is in the open space of the apartment. It still doesn’t feel right, all this space for one person. Someone could drown in this much space.

‘She didn’t want to be you, though. Not really.’ Kaidan pours out the coffee, his eyes only leaving her face for a moment. ‘What she wanted was to be the symbol. The face on the vids.’

He carries the mug over and sets it down beside her hand. Shepard grips it tight. The unfinished form blinks up at her from the datapad screen, and she looks away.

‘I’m not asking this because I don’t support you doing it, or to judge you for it, or anything,’ Kaidan says, after a moment. ‘I just want to understand. Can you tell me why this is so important to you? I mean - I get that you were trying to save her, and she... she let go. But...’

He hesitates, and in his silence Shepard hears, she tried to kill you. She tried to take you away from me, and everyone who cares about you, for a second time - because she was jealous.

Shepard sips her coffee. It hasn’t had time to cool down, and her lips smart. She ignores it. She thinks.

‘What you said about... being the symbol,’ she says at last. ‘I get why she wanted it, or thought she did. I understand feeling that Commander Shepard is someone bigger than you are.’

Kaidan breathes out slowly, and takes a seat beside her.

‘I get feeling that you’re so small, so nothing, next to everyone’s idea of what Commander Shepard is. And when I fall short -’ She sees him prepare to protest, and cuts across him. ‘I do, I do all the time - I feel like it’d be easier if I were the symbol. Not...’ She waves a hand, indicating all the sleep-starved mess of her. ‘This. I don’t even know when what would Shepard do and what will I do stopped feeling like the same question.’

She lets her hand fall back onto the table. Kaidan takes it and holds it tight.

‘And I think of her, the clone, waking up in some Cerberus med bay. Confused. And Brooks - Brooks was there, feeding her things to believe, manipulating her, turning her into the symbol she wanted. And I get it.’ Shepard bites her burned lip. ‘Because I woke up in a Cerberus lab. And I was scared. And they used me, and I let them.’

What she does not add is, and sometimes I don’t feel any more real than her. I don’t have any way to prove that I’m the woman who died in the wreckage of her broken ship. They wiped away that woman’s scars. There could be all kinds of tech in my head, feeding me a lie, telling me I’m real.

She swallows. Her throat feels raw. ‘And now the clone’s dead, and no one cares. We’re planning a fucking party. If I don’t push for a funeral, she’ll just go unregistered and undocumented and everyone will keep joking about how crazy this whole mess has been, how I fell through a fish tank and a mad clone tried to steal my life, and it’d be like she never existed at all. I don’t have to fill in these forms. I could take the easy road and let her be a ghost. But I can’t do that, Kaidan. I can’t.’

He looks at her, his eyes steady and patient and full of worry. Then he slips an arm over her shoulder and pulls her in, and Shepard leans into him, needing the surety of his touch, his warmth. Anything that tells her she’s something more than a force piloting a set of N7 armour.

Kaidan presses a slow kiss to the top of her head. He holds her until she stops feeling ready to howl. Then he sits with her and helps her fill in the forms, helps her choose a name for the clone, one that fits. When morning comes, he calls C-Sec and stays on the line until they agree to release the body to the Normandy, into the custody of the only person who could be considered the dead woman’s relative. 

He doesn’t ask Shepard any more questions as to why she needs this done.

In the end, they bury her in space, as Shepard would a crewmate. And no one has stories to tell of what she meant to them. They have nothing to say about the achievements of her angry little life. But they wear their dress blues, and speak softly, and they turn the lights down low.

Shepard doesn’t know if this is what her clone would have wanted. Maybe she never learned to want anything for herself at all. It doesn’t matter. A funeral doesn’t help her clone; it helps her.

They lift the casket into the airlock. EDI opens the outer door. And the casket leaps away into space in a blur of silver-grey, like the body within is hungry for the stars.