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mad-hunts · 9 months ago

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while jervis spoke, barton looked into the crevices of his nails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world all of a sudden. he had to admit that the man beside him had a point. though as the other described to him what he'd done to marty in detail, reminding him of the horror, he didn't feel anything. and barton was hopelessly unable to place himself in jervis's shoes to even feel an scintilla of the remorse seeping into his words now; so, whenever he was done, barton only said this, ❝ touché. i didn't exactly grant him the mercy of a quick, or a painless death, did i? i wonder what the forensic examiners are going to make of it. do you think they're going to focus more on how you killed your guy, or how i killed mine? ❞

and now he was talking about the murder with an almost amused undertone to his voice. so much for being shocked by the revelation that jervis had synesthesia, i suppose. barton looked at the other where he sat with a raised eyebrow as if he didn't understand why he was agonizing over their death's as much as he was. which was sort of true, though he could feel cognitive empathy towards jervis over what he had to experience in that van. the same dead-eyed look that sometimes took over barton's eyes seemed to be in effect once more while he scoffed lightly, ❝ you are incredibly pissy when you're feeling guilty, you know that? just imagine the guard you killed was someone you hate. then, you won't feel half as bad about it. trust me. and i think i got it the first time you explained it to me, smartass. ❞

barton was slipping between acting more like his ' normal ' persona and like the dollmaker now, it seemed, as his newfound small amount of respect for jervis dwindled away for a moment. perhaps it was because his head was starting to feel 'fuzzy' again? barton didn't know, but he was able to tolerate the pain he felt when taking a breath from his ribs before. though now it was searing. letting out a frustrated noise underneath his breath, barton rested his head halfway down his arm while he checked something. he pressed down on specific ribs while he spoke to jervis, ❝ oh, please. only an idiot would regard you as weak because you have synesthesia. it just makes you more unpredictable. ❞

before long, he'd found what he thought he would and that was a specific tender spot on one rib that made him swear unintelligibly in french. ❝ non, non. pourquoi est-ce que ça doit m'arriver, * ❞ barton stated just barely above a whisper to himself while the other started to talk about his experience in arkham and about gotham itself. ❝ uhh, yeah. i obviously do believe in hell, because i'm living through it right now. i'm about 90% sure i've got a popped rib. but whatever you say. if you weren't trying to do it, then i believe you. and ravi likes me because i was introduced to him by my late fiancée. as for matilda, it's — much more complicated than that. she's my daughter. ❞ that word, along with fiancée, was said with a surprising amount of tenderness. barton looked down at his curry with a bittersweet smile on his face.

❝ when she was born, it was like nothing else mattered. i would do most anything for her, ❞ barton sounded like he meant every word too. then, ravi was coming out with jervis's soup and as he placed it down in front of him, he laughed as he held one hand behind his back, ❝ sorry for the wait, jervis. the chefs were running around like chickens with their heads cut off after i asked if they could make something new and special for someone here. not naming names, but ahh... what the hell. it's you, ❞ ravi placed a glass of falooda, which was an ice cream dessert, in front of barton and his demeanor seemed to change completely.

barton was positively beaming now at ravi. ❝ and they've got one cooking for you too, jervis. i'll bring it out when it's ready, ❞ ravi winked at jervis before leaving, and barton clasped his hands together in front of himself. he closed his eyes in contentment like a cat then and tilted his head, all while sighing dreamily, ❝ oh, i change my mind. i'm not going through hell anymore. ❞

[ translation: no, no. why does this have to happen to me? ]

"And when, pray tell, would've been a good moment for me to bring it up? Both occasions we've met, things have been rather tense, wouldn't you say so? Hmmm.... Should I have said something as you were working, or as I was feeling like the veins in my own eyes were bursting as Marty developed petechiae and eventually lost control of his bladder while you were crushing his trachea? Or when I picked the lock to regain my property, and was dispatching the driver... how'd you put it, 'turning him into a pincushion'?" Guilt filled his mouth, sour as curdling milk.

Jervis' finger grazed idly along his own throat as Barton coughed and sputtered on the vodka. As he felt his own windpipe spasm, his eyes flickered pointedly towards his messenger bag; left hand drawing back to his coat, ostensibly adjusting it from where it was draped over the back of his chair, when he was really clandestinely checking that Alice's rabbit remained tucked away in the pocket. "You're absolutely right, what a foolish oversight it was of me not to disclose it."

He sighed, shifted his weight. "The same reason you so adamantly refuse anyone's pity. Because I've made my peace with it. And to have other people make generalizations or false equivalences -- whether out of genuine naivete, or ignorance, or deliberate crassness -- or to view me as some sort of freak? 'A fragile little teacup'? Well... that's a bitter pill I've long grown accustomed to. And how can you expect me to judge you for your actions today, when I know full well what horrors reside in Arkham's bowels? I didn't first get acquainted with the place after becoming... this. Deep sleep therapy. ECT. Stretches of time where I was shuffled between the white room and the isolation tank, most recently. That's all that I can concretely remember, but I'm sure there were other things..."

Jervis let the question hang in the air, not expecting or particularly interested in receiving an answer. Instead, he removed his glasses; flicked one of their metal legs back and forth between his thumb and forefinger. An improvised metronome, timing his breathing; something else to focus on, though with the cannabis, the motion seemed a hair slower than what it actually was. Tick. Tack. Tick.

"There's something about this city... If there's a hell -- if you believe in that sort of thing, anyway -- we're both pretty much already there. But even the worst person has their virtues, so regardless of my dislike of you, I'm not claiming to know everything about your background or your experiences, nor am I meaning to speculate; merely describing what I've already seen from you... and for whatever reason, Ravi does genuinely seem to like you, as did the girl I heard at your workshop, else you wouldn't keep company... Matilda, wasn't it?"

An innocent gleam of curiosity shone in Jervis' eyes, then, though he hoped he could disguise whatever vulnerability he may be unconsciously displaying as a trick of the light or a side effect of the weed. Curiosity, and a touch of sadness. She didn't sound much younger than Alice.

But that train of thought was soon cut off, as the doors swung open, and Ravi's silhouette entered Jervis' periphery. Ahh, it seemed the soup was ready. And just in time; he was famished.

#divingdownthehole #tw: mentions of murder.#tw: horror.#tw: injury.#omggg really?? you are TOO darn sweet for your own good c'mere 🫂🥹 thank you so much for saying so!!#i love hearing your thoughts too!!! but AHH for a moment there before i saw the ' j ' i waas about to say... i agree LMAO he lies sooo much #and sometimes he doesn't even realize it? like it's THAT embedded into his personality. but yeah he has experienced some uhh...#mistreatment and/or ab*se at arkham unfortunately. but i meannn even if it was just a bit exaggerated i still think it's interesting #because it would mean that their psyches are even more different than i originally thought. but of course yeah i understand if you don't-#know everything there is to know about it and that's TOTALLY fine as well!! bc the only thing you can do in regards to your characters is-#the best you can y'know? and i certainly don't think i'm an expert on ASPD or anything so that's completely understandable. but ooh ok ok #that is REALLY fascinating to think about tbh. like i can't even explain why but i suppose i could use your wording of it here...#something about that seems sort of childlike but not in a bad way or anything. and ahh okay i mean i suppose i could see where you're comin #from with it things being harder to predict and harder to solve. but i got you i got you #so it effects him in more ways than you'd think basically? GAHHH that is honestly so interesting to think about but i do feel bad that he's #so dissatisfied with the world ofc. but it makes sense to seek out an outlet where you are able to release your emotions more especially-#if you particularly have trouble with looking at things as possibly being somewhere in the middle of 'right' and 'wrong.' but i see #well i'm not saying that barton has his own fair share of unhealthy coping methods but that's EXACTLY what i'm saying so i can't judge him-#for turning to that at all. especially when barton's methods are uhh... well forgetting traumatic events bc he can't mentally cope with the #like that is about as unhealthy as it gets sooo yeah (': but i got you. so it helps him to feel connected with it since it also allows him #to process his emotions in turn? interestinggg but AHH you're good you're good haha you weren't rambling at all imo!!#it is honestly such a pleasure to hear your analysis on things and thoughts so always feel free to share them with me if you want to (:#but thank you thank you!! i'm glad you think so and yesss i might've sort of started them at the end there BAHAHA #its sooo freaking funny that all it takes is some free icecream to make him practically have hearts in his eyes like... dude 💀 i know it's-#not hurting anyone BUT this guy really went from casually talking out loud about whether the forensics people are going to be wondering-#about his kill more than jervis's to being angry to being sort of sad and then finally acting like he'd been swept off his feet by someone-#all in the same interaction. man's is WILDINGGG LMAO

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alpaca-clouds · 1 year ago

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Schrödinger's Disability

"Stop using your autism/adhd as an excuse!" I cannot tell you how often I got to hear that. Because here is the thing: Most people do not perceive either of those two diagnosises as "real". Even if they know they are real. Even medical professionals do not quite... understand it. Even those working with neurodivergent people.

Of course, if someone is the kinda autistic person who has also some sort of mental impairment, people perceive it as a disability - but if it does not come along with that kinda stuff, a lot of people treat it, as if we make an active choice to do or not to do something.

I told this story yesterday: When I was a kid, the following thing would always happen. When we would have art class, some of my pencils would drop from the table. Most likely because of dyspraxia. Now, when that happened I was simply not able to stop what I was doing. Because my brain cannot handle "stopping one thing to do another thing even for just a moment" very well. And it could handle it even worse when I was a kid. But also, I do not have object permanence. So, if an object does not exist within my field of vision, I just... forget about it. So, I often would just forget to pick the pencil back up. And teachers would be: "Oh, this boy is too lazy to pick up his own things." Which was not at all what was happening.

Another thing that happened to me too often is a very typical autism thing: Someone tells me something. But they do not tell me this in plain words, but rather imply it. So... I very much just not understood it. So, for example, I got told on a Discord Server by one user: "I have muted this channel." Which I understood as: "They muted this channel (maybe because it is very active)". What they said was, though: "I do not wanna see this channel, stop tagging me in this."

And mind you, this happens at work and university, too. A good example is the good old question of: "When are you done with this?" Which I usually understand as: "When are you done with this?" But what they mean to say is: "Hurry up, I need this now."

Last semester I had this happen at university even. Basically I misunderstood the final assignment, because it was not spelled out. Thankfully the professor was less of an asshole about it, than most people. I explained it to him, he understood, still got a good grade. But that tends to be more the exception than the rule.

As I said, this is a thing that even medical professionals do not really get. Even therapists do again and again fail to just communicate with autistic people clearly. They do not think about us usually being unable to understand implied meanings. We only understand the literal meaning for a lot of stuff.

And again: This is especially harsh with people like me, who superficially seem to function well in society. Heck, I have been told by professionals that I could not have ADHD or autism, because I archived a master's degree at university. Because they cannot comprehend that both ADHD and autism are a spectrum. It is not something you "either have, or have not" but it is a wide spectrum of symptoms that are differently strong in different people.

In Germany this also shows harshly when it comes to disability benefits. Because autism on its own rarely ever qualifies for disability benefits at all. Mental disabilities that might be linked to autism do. But autism on its own? No. Same goes with ADHD. And this... is kinda silly, right? Because we have studies upon studies that people with autism and ADHD often cannot work fulltime - at least not permanently. And we also know that generally neurodivergent people are more likely to be fired for a plenthora of reasons. So, yeah, we should kinda be treated like disabled, right?

And the worst part? In the parts where you get legally discriminated because of disabilities? Yeah, we still get that. We cannot immigrate into all other contries. Like, I cannot immigrate into New Zealand, for example, even though I would like too, because New Zealand discriminates against people with autism when it comes to immigration.

So... yeah. No, this sucks.

Nobody would tell a blind person overlooking a visual sign: "Stop using your blindness as an excuse". But with autistic people? It is the norm.

#autism #adhd #audhd #actually audhd #disability #disability rights #neurodiversity #neurodivergent

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ssa-atlas-alvez · 6 months ago

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Got a little bit of an angst prompt but...

After witnessing something go wrong on a mission, Hotch has Reader do a mental wellness check. At first, Reader says he's fine and all that, but the team still convinces him to do it. It goes well, he answers questions (he's honest about his answers. For example, he's not afraid to die because it's just a new chapter to a book). He ends up talking about "these weird anxiety attack things. Like they're sudden and I know what triggers them but I don't know what they are."

In short, the wellness check turns out to reveal that Reader has c-ptsd panic attacks triggered by mostly loud noises, yelling, abandonment. This makes reader break into tears when he's told this because he feels like he finally understands what is "wrong" with him. This surprises the team because no one expects the sunshine guy to have anything related to ptsd

(Maybe a little cuddle party on the plane between reader, Derek, and Spencer? Can be romo or bromo)

Hiya, sorry it's taken yonks for me to write this

Warnings: panic attack, dissociation, blood, gun, mentions of death, hints (obvious hints) to child abuse.

You felt her blood splatter on your face, as your eyes snapped shut with the familiar bang of a gun. You hear the victim fall to the floor but you had squeezed your eyes shut at the sound. Another shot goes off and you force your eyes open as you see the unsub drop to the floor.

You're silent on the way back, blood on your face forgotten as you follow the team back to the SUVs. When you're back, you follow the team up to the bullpen when You jump when a hand is placed on your shoulder, your head snapped up. You looked up, seeing Morgan. It's the look on his face that reminds you that you're covered in blood.

"(Y/N)-"

"I'm fine. I just- I need to wash my face." You said, disregarding anything Morgan had to say, making a beeline to the toilets. Naturally, he followed.

"Talk to me, what's going on in that head of yours?"

"Nothing." You say, giving him a lopsided smile, face now blood-free and dripping wet. You grab a couple of paper towels, drying your face off. "Everything's fine, don't worry."

The team gave you a few days of peace (minus the worried looks). And by a few days, it was two, so a couple of days, really. They led you in with a false sense of security - a cup of coffee. You should have known they had an ulterior motive.

"Guys, I'm fine, really." You sigh, giving them a small smile.

"Just do it anyway," JJ says. "Even if you are fine, there's no harm in it."

"Do it for us," Garcia bats her eyelashes at you and you immediately cave. God damnit, how is she so persuasive?

And so, a few days later, you were sat in a psychologist's office. It was quite a nice office, actually. And they let you sit on the couch (that's how you know you must have looked like an anxious mess).

"Yeah, I'm fine." You say, giving a small nod. "The only thing is sometimes I get these weird anxiety things?"

"What do you mean?" She leans forward slightly.

"Like they're just these sudden bouts of anxiety," You give a small shrug.

"Can you describe it for me?"

"Er, yeah, sure. It's just like I'm trapped in my head. Like I just shutdown. I don't really know how to explain it," You give a small, nervous laugh. "It's just like I'm stuck in my head and I can't form a thought but my mind is racing, and I feel like I can't breathe."

She nods in understanding, "And how do you feel when that happens?"

"Scared."

"Why?"

"Because its like I'm trapped. And it's just this sinking feeling," You said, swallowing slightly. "And- and it's like I can speak, but I can't. Like the words get built up in my throat and I know what I want to say, I just, can't bring myself to speak."

"And... what can spark these off?"

"Um, I'm not really sure? Like if someone takes a certain tone, I guess? I don't know, it just makes me feel like a little kid and it makes me panic,"

She nods for a moment, jotting that down.

The appointment passes fairly quickly and you find yourself opening up to her as each minute ticks by. When the hour's up, she puts her notebook and pen down gently.

"I think it would be beneficial if we met weekly." She says, with a small smile. "Just to help you work through this anxiety, give you some coping mechanisms."

"Oh God, this isn't one of those things where you say to have a cup of tea or something, is it?"

She gives a laugh, "No, no, nothing like that."

"Good. I might have walked out otherwise." You give her a small smile, letting her know you were only half joking.

When the appointment was over, she let you have a few minutes alone in the room to gather yourself. It took you a few moments, you even tried out the square breathing technique she taught you. You straightened yourself out before standing up and leaving the room.

You go straight to your desk, keeping your head slightly ducked. You just really didn't fancy the socialising right now. You absolutely loved your team, but you'd rather just let yourself try to destress before the questions began.

"Are you alright?" Hotch asks, eyebrows furrowed as he approached you. He had waited a few minutes before he approached.

"Ye-" The word falls flat on your tongue and instead you just pause, trying to find the word. Why couldn't you find the word?

Hotch, sensing this, steers you gently into the unattended office to the right.

"I don't know." Is all you manage. "I don't think so." Hotch watches in concern as you blink. "No. No, I don't think so. Probably not. I don't think I am."

Hotch watches you for a moment before quietly sitting next to you. "Can you tell me what's going on?" You bite the inside of your cheeks before you gently shake your head. "No? Okay, that's okay. Did you want me to just sit here with you?"

You give a gentle nod, trying desperately to focus on breathing. It takes a while for you to calm down, but eventually, your heart starts to slow to a regular pace.

"You want to talk about it?" You shake your head and Hotch gives you an understanding look. "Okay, if you change your mind, I'm here."

"Thank you."

No one brings it up again. Until one morning on a case, you're on edge already, tossing and turning all night but unsure as to why you couldn't sleep. You're at the latest crime scene, it's the third body that's turned up since you've been there and the team are running on very little sleep.

A car door slams and it feels like it jolts through your body, matched with the yelling you can hear, you just freeze, breath catching in the back of your throat. Your father's voice echoes through your mind as he and your mother scream back and forth, the door slamming and the yelling becoming slightly more distant.

"(Y/N)?" Your eyes flick up to Morgan.

"You okay?"

"Yeah." You answer quietly, giving him your very best attempt at a reassuring smile. You turn your attention back in front of you, watching a father grab his son's wrist, tugging him back. You know it's nothing, you had just watched the boy go to step out into the road. It's just a worried father stopping his son from getting hurt, but the skin on your wrist burns nonetheless. Your lungs are quick to follow.

Morgan's in front of you, trying to guide your breathing. It's rugged and you feel like you're dying. Your heart feels like it's beating out of your chest, hands trembling. And yet, despite all of these feelings in your body, you've checked out. You no longer feel real, none of this feels real.

You can't feel your calves. Are you supposed to feel your calves? Can you normally feel your calves? What about your back? And your forearms, you can't feel your forearms. That's weird right? Surely you could normally feel your forearms.

"Hey, hey, talk to me." Morgan says gently.

"I can't feel my forearms. Or my calves." You say, you swallow slightly, "I'm supposed to feel them, right?"

"Okay, let's sit you down, okay?" Morgan gently guides you to a bench and you sit. "It sounds like you're dissociating, so we're just going to take a seat for a minute, alright?"

"Okay."

The case was solved not long after that, and you all piled back onto the jet. You had dibsed the couch and halfway through, Morgan approached you.

"Scoot over."

"Why?"

"So I can tie my shoelaces- why do you think?" He gave you a grin, sitting down next to you. "Come here."

You looked around, everyone else was asleep. You gave a small, mental shrug before leaning against the taller man.

"Thanks for earlier." You smiled. "Sorry I freaked out a bit."

"You don't have to thank me. And you didn't freak out."

"I did freak out." You corrected, "I was panicking because I couldn't feel my calves."

"Okay, yeah, maybe you freaked out a little." He chuckled quietly, "But you don't have to apologise for that."

#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #criminal minds fanfiction #derek morgan #spencer reid #emily prentiss #david rossi #x male reader #male reader #bau x male reader #bau x reader #x reader #reader

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 10 months ago

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taking what's not yours - f. castle & m. murdock

a/n: ALRIGHT ITS FINALLY DONE uhhh sorry this has no smut i was just goofing and wanted to write something cute with our two favorites and you guys seemed to really want this one so! i have no regrets actually! im gonna go take a nap now warnings: polyamorous relationships, frank has nightmares, reader is autistic, reader has an oral fixation/biting problem, nosebleeds/blood, crying, cursing, lots of cute nicknames, talks of death, some sexual comments, lots of kissing and fluff word count: 3.2k comments and feedback are always appreciated <3 summary: a week in the life of a relationship with frank castle and matt murdock, your two favorite vigilantes. pairing: frank castle x autistic!gn!reader x matt murdock now playing: taking what's not yours - tv girl "you know where to find me/and i know where to look"

Soft country music from before country music as a genre went modern and became what it is today plays from the radio Frank insists on keeping on while he cooks dinner. His flannel is tight around his chest and the sleeves are rolled up as he brings a spoon to his mouth, tasting the sauce he’s been preparing for the past few hours. He adds more pepper.

The door opens from across the apartment, and all he hears is, “Frank! Tell Matt to stop being mean to me!” You and Matt make your way through the apartment after taking off your shoes and coats, Matt loosening his tie as he follows you into the kitchen. Frank turns when you step into the kitchen, immediately moving over to him and finding your place in the crook of his arm.

“Red bein’ mean to you, honey?” Frank asks as he kisses the top of your head, grinning at Matt as he huffs, standing with his hands on his hips.

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter if it’s handsome if he’s so mean, does it?” You ask.

“No, it doesn’t,” He grins, and you stick your tongue out to Matt playfully, and he mimics you before going over to Frank and pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

“Hi.” The lawyer hums, happy to be back home with his two favorite people.

“Hi.” Frank grins, unsure of how serious you are about Matt being mean to him. “What’s going on, why are you being mean?” Matt raises an eyebrow at you, unhappy with your running to Frank.

“Can’t just run to daddy to fix your problems, pup.” He accuses, and you scoff. His words are playful, but your face is red at the call out.

“You know what, Murdock—”

“Hey! Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” Frank cuts in, and Matt tilts his head in your direction, and you quietly plead for Matt not to tell on you, and--

“They bit me.” Frank sighs at his words.

“I was being affectionate!” You immediately go into defense mode, ducking out of Frank’s arm, trying to casually walk off from the pair towards the fridge, only for Matt to grab your arm, pulling you between the two men, your back against Frank’s chest, face to face with Matt.

“You cannot bite people, pup.” Matt says, and you frown.

“I like biting people—”

“That’s a problem!” Frank’s words attempt to be serious, but they’re coated by a soft laugh as his hands, rough from a long day of working blue collar, rub up and down your arms.

“See? You’re getting Frank to agree with me, do you know how hard that is to do?” Matt hums, and you tilt your head.

“What? You love Frank, it’s actually kind of gross—”

“It is gross isn’t it?” Matt asks teasingly, leaning up to kiss Frank again. You roll your eyes at the fact that you’re being reprimanded by your boyfriends, sandwiched between them, forced to deal with the consequences of your actions. “But I’m being serious, okay?”

“Matty,” Your head leans back against Frank’s chest, “I don’t bite anyone who isn’t you or Frank..”

Alright, let’s level with each other—Frank and Matt are well aware of the fact that you’re neurodivergent. You get overstimulated with loud, crowded situations very easily, you struggle to understand jokes a lot, and you once told them that in middle school, you became so hyper fixated on waffles to the point where you ate them for breakfast and lunch most days, practically begging your mom to let you have it for dinner most nights (She let you have them once a month) and then, after fourteenth months, you stopped. You have not been able to eat a waffle since.

The point is the two men you’re sandwiched between are no strangers to your neurodivergence. They know it’s stimulating in the best way to chew or suck on something, your oral fixation coming back with a vengeance after you tried to repress it for so long. You chew on everything. You chew on the strands of your hoodies, you chew on your sleeves, you chew on ice, gum, you chew on your boyfriends, and you chew on your cheeks to the point where you draw blood, which always gets Matt to scold you, because he can smell the coppery blood from his place across the room, and immediately tells Frank.

Matt Murdock is a little tattletale.

“We’ll figure it out, okay?” Frank hums, resting his chin on your shoulder. “We’ll get you something to chew on—”

“What, like a chew toy? That’s embarrassing,” you groan, and Matt just laughs a bit, leaning in to oppress a kiss to the shoulder that Frank is not leaning on.

“Then stop biting, pup.”

You pause, contemplating the options you have. Fix your biting issue or have Matt and Frank fix it for you. Honestly, you don’t think you have the neurotypical willpower to fix this problem, so you go,

“Okay, fine. You guys have my permission to do what you want to fix it.” You huff. Frank presses a kiss to your cheek while Matt presses a kiss to the other. You feel the smirks against your skin, and you realize what’s happening before you can run, “Wait, no, I swear to god—” Matt picks up your legs with ease as Frank secures his arms around your torso, the pair beginning to carry you to the couch. You groan as they throw you onto the leather couch, landing with a huff. “You’re both awful.”

Matt leans down and bites your shoulder.

“Doesn’t feel good, does it?”

“Jokes on you, Daredevil, I’m into that—” You feel Frank sink his teeth into your arm.

“Wrong answer.” Matt responds for him.

Later that night, after dinner, you’re laying against Matt, your legs resting in Frank’s lap. You’re listening to music, and the environment is very relaxed, none of you are particularly on edge. Matt’s fingers are resting in your mouth. You relax like this a lot, just sucking his fingers gently. You’re absentmindedly just sucking on his fingers when you bite down on them—It’s not an accident, and Matt would call you out on it if you lied.

So when you bite down, not entirely consciously, he huffs, “With the biting, baby, come on,” he softly condemns, and remembering your deal, Frank gets up with a sigh, patting your leg before he got up and headed to the kitchen. You’re confused for a second before Matt’s nose twitches with recognition, so he grabs your shoulder and pulls you close, his hand finding your cheeks and squeezing your mouth so that it’s in an ‘o’ shape.

Frank approaches you with a spoon and a jar of peanut butter, and your eyebrows are furrowed in confusion, and the rest of your features are squished by Matt’s hands. Frank scoops a big wad of peanut butter onto the spoon before sticking it in your mouth. You’re confused, as Matt’s hand leaves your face, as you begin munching on the peanut butter.

You take a while to eat the peanut butter, quietly enjoying the taste while enjoying how long you’re keeping yourself busy, since it’s taking a long time to work down the peanut butter due to how sticky it is in the roof of your mouth. When you’re done licking and enjoying the taste of the peanut butter, you look to Frank.

“What was that for?”

“Well, it kept you busy from biting, didn’t it?” He grinned. Your face is flushed as you hand him the spoon.

“Can I have some more?”

Frank chuckles and kisses you quick.

“Sure, honey.”

A few nights later, Frank sits on the couch of the apartment, the windows open wide as he listens to the howling wind outside. He’s waiting. Waiting for what, he doesn’t know. His skin is still hot, trying to relax after waking up from a nightmare. It’s always the same. Maria and his children, always dying in his arms. Always sitting at the kitchen table, always with you and Matt, always dead.

The chill that comes in from the window is enough to make him feel alive through as he quietly waits for Matt to get back. He’s in an old tee shirt and sweatpants, flicking his lighter on and off in the quiet as he tries to focus on something that isn’t the idea of the pair of you dead, dead like his wife, dead like his kids, dead dead dead—

“Frank? What are you doing up?” Matt’s soft voice echoes through the apartment, and his head tilts softly. He goes over to the couch, still in his full Daredevil suit. Frank stands up and goes over to him by the window, pulling off his cowl just to look at his face. His hand lands gently on Matt’s face, his thumb rubbing gently on the scars that surround Matt’s eyes.

“Couldn’t sleep.” Matt catches the lie and does not call him out.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” Frank’s jaw hardens, and even though Matt cannot see, he avoids his gaze. And in a moment of pure vulnerability, he wraps his arms around Matt, holding him close. Matt’s hand gently runs up and down his spine, trying to comfort him. After a few moments of quiet, he asks, “Do you want me to wake them up?” You were always better at making people feel better than Matt was—Especially Frank.

“Nah.. No point..” He says quietly. After a few more minutes of quiet, he feels another pair of arms wrap around him from behind, your chest against his back. You press soft kisses onto the back of his shoulders.

“Too late.” Matt hums. You’re wearing an old tee shirt of Frank’s, a pair of boxers you bought for yourself and a pair of Matt’s fuzzy socks. You stay there for a little while, sleepily hugging Frank, comforting him. Your eyes grow heavy, and slowly, you fall asleep against him, just for a moment. Then, Frank picks you up, and you wake up again, tired.

“What? What’s going on?” You ask him, and he just smiles down to you.

“We’re gonna go to bed while Red showers, and he’ll be right back.” He tells you, gently placing you on the bed. You yawn as Frank crawls into bed, and you find yourself on top of him, your legs tangled with his. You listen to Matt shower and fall asleep waiting for him to come join you.

He comes back out with his hair wet, in just his sweatpants. He tucks himself into bed, his arms around Frank, as you sprawl out on top of them, desperately needing to be close to both. Frank is nowhere near tired. Matt knows that, and just gently kisses his hair and the back of his neck.

“You need sleep.”

“You ain’t the boss of me, red.” He grumbles, and you hush them harshly, causing them to both laugh a little bit. Matt slowly falls asleep, trying to stay awake to comfort Frank, but he’s spent his entire night beating the shit out of goons and criminals, so he’s absolutely spent. Frank tilts his head and presses another kiss to his lips. “Go to bed, I’ll be okay.” Matt wants to protest but he just buries his face in the crook of his neck.

Frank’s hands gently trail your torso a bit. His hands are rough and sort of cold, but they just explore your back as he attempts to find sleep. It’s a fruitless venture, but he doesn’t mind. He’s okay with just listening to the pair of you breathing.

“Are you two wearing my flannels?” Frank has about seven flannels, and he has four in the wash and one that has a tear waiting to be fixed, so he’s looking for his spare two when he finds you painting Matt’s nails on the floor of the apartment. You’re painting Matt’s nails a nice shade of dark red, with little hearts in a lighter pink.

That had taken a lot of convincing, really, but once you had agreed not to bite him all day, he reluctantly agrees to let you paint his nails, desperately wanting to be good at something and be focused on one thing for more than twenty minutes.

Periodically, Matt’s foot will tap against your back, reminding you to adjust your posture as you work on your masterpiece. He just got done with a big court case, so he tells you he’ll maintain your artwork for at least a few days. But yeah, you two are most definitely wearing Frank’s last two flannels.

“They’re comfy,” You defend, focusing on your work. Matt’s foot taps against your tailbone to remind you to straighten your back.

Really, Frank doesn’t mind. But he enjoys fucking with the two of you, so he just smirks and sits behind the pair of you. ‘

“But they’re my clothes—”

“Well, you should have thought about that before you left them out, Frank.” Matt smirks, knowing exactly what he’s up to.

“Besides, look how good Matt looks in your clothes!” You hum, leaning over to nudge him gently, a grin on your face. You finish up Matt’s nails, capping up the nail polish as Matt begins gently blowing in his nails to get them to dry faster. Then, you wipe your nose, thinking it’s running, and when you pull away, you see a swipe of blood on Frank’s warm flannel. Oh, fuck.

With his slightly wet nails, Matt’s movements are not nearly as quick as he would have liked as he smells the blood before the gushing really starts, ripping off a paper towel and quickly holding it under your nose, and you take it from him to hold it there as he stands up, going to get something softer like a tissue or toilet paper to pack your nose—

You hold the paper towel to your nose, and guilt already starts to eat at you, as hot tears fill your eyes and then you feel silly because you think Frank might think you’re overreacting, but you just find his hands on your shoulders as he says,

“Hey, hey, why are we crying?” And you feel even sillier.

“I ruined your flannel.”

Frank had been covered in blood more times than he could count, as has Matt—their bodies are riddled with scars, head to toe, bullet and stab wounds echoing over the rough skin of both men, mostly faded now, but Frank is no stranger to blood—It doesn’t even bother him anymore, and Matt can’t see anyways, so what does he care about the sight of blood?

But you, who cannot kill the bugs that find their ways into your apartment, who gasps and covers their mouth when you accidentally curse in church (Matt always laughs, the dick), who orders the same lunch every day and has been unable to drink anything that wasn’t ice water, are horrified at a swipe of blood on a stolen flannel.

“Oh, no, honey, you didn’t ruin anything,” He shakes his head, and gently tugs at the flannel that hangs on your arms, “Come on, let me get this off,” The Punisher’s voice is gentle, a type of gentle reserved just for you, one that the countless skeletons in his closet, all with a bullet in their skulls, do not know and could not possibly perceive. You allow him to slip the flannel off, as Matt comes back with a rolled-up tissue, before sitting in front of you, kneeling as if he’s at mass—

“Lean your head forward for me,” he asks, his hand on the side of your head, and you do, taking the paper towel away, just for Matt to gently push that bundled up piece of tissue into your nose, to get it to stop bleeding.

Your boys, they are experts at getting things to stop bleeding.

At least Matt’s nails look really nice.

Frank throws the flannel in the wash, along with the rest of your laundry, and you find yourself sandwiched between them, the perfect amount of squeezing happening on either side of you, the same affect a weighted blanket would have on you. Your hot tears roll still, quietly betraying you, as the pads of Frank’s rough fingers come up to wipe them away, and Matt’s thumb finds it’s place sitting between your lips.

You sit like this for a while—Frank pressed up against you, Matt in his flannel and you, gushing blood from your nose, packed tight with tissues, and Matt’s thumb as your favorite stim toy.

A few days later, you’re just decompressing from work—Your bones ache, and you’re waiting for Matt to get home, wanting to satisfy that oral fixation, as if it’s the worst craving you’ve ever had. Sensing your restlessness, Frank puts a small package in front of you. You raise your eyebrow, and look at him, skeptical.

“Is it a bomb?” He scoffs and chuckles a bit.

“Open the damn package.” His voice is laced with the smirk that sits on his face, not mad, not upset, not at all judging. Your fingers peel back the packaging, and when you’re done unwrapping, you’re left with a soft necklace, and a blue, rubber moon. You look to him curiously. “It’s uh,” he leans down so his forearms are keeping him up against the counter. “You chew on it. You’re not gonna stop bitin’ or sucking on stuff, so, you might as well bite something that isn’t human.” He tells you.

In truth, Frank had spent all damn day scrolling on your laptop, looking for the perfect fix to your problem, and grew frustrated when he realized that all the stim toys were marketed towards young boys who had the privilege of getting a diagnosis young (living with and loving two people with disabilities, as well as having horrible PTSD, has radicalized Frank Castle).

You grin when you hear his explanation, getting up and going to him, resting your hands on his shoulders before leaning up and kissing him softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Honey.”

From across the apartment, you hear the door open, and a voice calls out,

“Are you guys cheating on me? You know I can hear you across the apartment, right?” Matt’s voice calls out, and you laugh, as Frank just smiles.

“Yes, I can, Red,” He says back, before leaning in to kiss you again.

Your eyes are heavy with sleep as you spot Matt, laying across the couch, looking like a god damn renaissance painting. He’s so hot. You find yourself walking over to him, dropping your new necklace on the coffee table, as you climb on top of him, finding yourself literally acting like a blanket, burying your face in his neck as his hand comes up to, like usual, let you gently suck on his fingers.

Frank rolls his eyes when he sees the pair of you cuddling, and just shakes his head when he sees the stim toy abandoned on the table. He takes out his phone and takes a picture of the pair of you, Matt just in his briefs, and you in your entire pajama ensemble.

The apartment is full of a gentle silence, as Frank watches the pair of you sleep, quietly thankful that he kept living.

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zorlok-if · 15 days ago

Text

One more sneak peek today because you all deserve it (and I have a busy week at work coming up lol so I probably won't be able to post much).

This leads to a page with 35 possible thoughts of cool things that randomize each time you load it and rotate through as you select them, you get to pick six:

If you selected "Mary and Terry get what's coming for them":

Image 1:

"Imagine what it means to be cool and I can look inside your mind again."

There's a flash of panic, a flush of adrenaline. "No!" Tommy cries.

"Why not?"

"Why not?!" His voice cracks. "Because I don't want to go through that again!" Tommy gestures emphatically at his chest. "I don't want to be hurt."

"I understand that, but as long as you let me in, it won't hurt. You won't feel anything at all." Tommy's eyebrows raise. "Look," the demon exhales heavily. "What you experienced only happened because you rejected my presence."

"But, even if what you're saying is true, how am I supposed to not do that? I don't know how to just let people enter my brain."

"Fortunately, it's rather simple. Imagine yourself opening up your mind and welcoming someone in. That's all it takes. I promise, Tommy." Its tone shifts and its volume drops to a near whisper. "Open your mind to me and you won't get hurt. You have my word."

Tommy's instincts beg him to say no but, for whatever reason, he trusts this being. "Okay." With a deep breath, he forces his muscles to relax, to drop the knotted tension they've been carrying since he first entered this house.

Just picture a door. The front door of his house immediately pops into his head. Tommy reaches out, swings it open, and steps to the side. It feels oddly cold. Like he's let in a draft. "I'm ready."

"Great." Suddenly he feels like he's being watched. If Tommy wasn't paying attention to it—expecting its arrival—there's no way he'd notice the alien presence. The demon speaks directly into his mind. "Now think of what it means to be cool."

Image 2:

Hmm... what is cool?

Mary and Terry getting what's coming to them

Leaving a conversation by putting on a pair of sunglasses

The feeling of finally beating a really hard video game level

Levi's keyblade collection

Guys who wear eyeliner

Image 3:

The presence vanishes from Tommy's mind. His eyes flutter open, blinking rapidly as his vision readjusts to the intense light from the portal.

"Interesting." The demon leans back. "Who are Mary and Terry?" It asks. "You had very strong feelings around those two."

Tommy winces. He feels a book hitting the back of his head. Hears jeers echoing down the long linoleum corridors. Sees Jin make guilty eye contact, then jog off to catch up with Mary. "They're a couple of... jerks." Tommy spits out. "Really awful people."

"Hmm." The demon growls, but it sounds almost delighted. "You want them to get what's coming for them. That's what you thought."

"Yeah." Tommy admits.

"Am I what's coming for them?" There's hunger in the demon's voice. So much so that it sends shivers racing down Tommy's spine.

He hesitates. What does he want? He wants them to pay—they have to pay. But what would that look like? Does he just want them to apologize? ...or does he want them to suffer?

"Maybe you are," Tommy whispers without thinking. "Er, I—I don't know! I'm not sure." That's too big a question for tonight.

#full text under the cut!#sneak peek #tommy #mary and terry #the demon

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luffyvace · 1 year ago

Note

Hey there brook! I hope u having a nice day! Can I ask for a luffy x heroic fem reader headcanon? by heroic I mean that she completely dedicated her life to help and save ppl and that her purpose in life, she's strong and seems cold but when u get to know her she has empathy more than anyone else, I feel like this is the perfect character that luffy would fall in love with, pure kindness hiding behind a tough facade, she doesn't even like being called a hero, yet she is willing to do anything for those in need, slaves, poor villages, she goes against anything unjust without any fear, cause thats her purpose in life (sorry if that was too long 💀)

Hi anon <33 (it makes me so happy that someone finally addressed me as that💗)

today was a very chill day 😊 thank you! How’s yours?

Reader sounds so genuine with such a good background for a op character!!

(Don’t worry it’s not too long—I love to read:3)

Ngl luffy subconsciously sees a little bit of himself in you!!

like your hearts are so similar—gold!

of course he doesn’t directly think that way- but he feels the connection!

which is through helping!

you two never turn your backs on those who have never wronged you

its not even about if they’re on your side or not, as long as they haven’t wrong you? and they need help?

the both of you are on it 🤜🤛👍

you wanting to save others becomes admirable to more than just him, to all of the straw hats—chopper and usopp especially!

I’m gonna go ahead and say it here and now you remind both Jinbe and luffy of whitebeard and fishman island type thing

LIKE THAT’S HOW IT IS!!

Y/n is just her tbh 🤷‍♀️

and if the ops don’t like that? 🤨

🤜💥

how you like that? >:)

your strength may or may not be hereditary but either way if you don’t continue training or working out your gonna loose that strength eventually

which shows just how hard you train everyday!!

bro works harder than zoro 🗿

and we all know he don’t sleep on workin out

so y/n is a gorilla the og

its no wonder you be cookin the ops like breakfast👩‍🍳👍

this is literally turning into a rant about me being (name)’s biggest fan ok let’s move on

luffy saw you cold exterior and was like

😍😍��🥰😘💍💋💋💋

LOLOLOL no but fr he looked straight past that

he always does- he ignored law’s and zoro’s why wouldn’t he with you-

and once he sees your true kindness???

Locked in like a booty hole 🔗

(ANYWAY I HAD TO🧍‍♀️)

yeah he pretty much busts right through that

he pretty much instantly demands you already are is nakama after that

Your empathy is what really swoops him off his feet tho

like luffy has a good sense of empathy so much so he can hear the voice of all things

and you probably can too! It’s highly likely!

(y/n could have her own anime at this point 🤷‍♀️😚)

But seriously the way he can just feel the way you long for others when they’re in pain just gets him right at the heartstrings you know?! 🥺❤️‍🩹

you comfort them so assuredly and keep your promise to win every time !!

luffy would admire himself more than he would know if he realized how alike the two of you are

tbh you probably admire luffy!!

like it’s a mutual thing, where you pretty much don’t see your own coolness you only see the other’s

so you admire each other unaware that your the same 😂💗

he absolutely adores and admires that empathetic part of you thoo!

he loves how your kind and tough

he wholeheartedly believes the strong should protect the weak, cuz that’s what a man does.

especially with nakama.

so he definitely understands your need to protect those who can’t do it for themselves

there are many times he can recall where he had to rely on others

so he loves that your the one who does that for people

and you don’t do it for the money or fame!

you don’t even view yourself as the hero and savior that bystanders see you as!

that’s so cool to him!

you background/past might’ve caused it! Like maybe you had no superhero! So you decided to become one!

he kinda looks up to you in a way 🤩

as someone who has also helped slaves and the poor he completely understands where you come from in your kindness

and it’s even cooler that you charge head on into battle for others without a second thought

that’s just how tough you are ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

not an ounce of fear in your eyes as you walk up to someone 20x the size of you to simply get back the bread they stole from a poor little child

LIKE HOW COOL IS THAT?! 💥💥

your a super hero!! Dundun duh-duuuuuun!!

🦸‍♀️‼️🤩

you have a goal just like him!! He wants to be the king of pirates and you wanna help others!

With the type of pirate he is?, those things go hand in hand 🤝

”STRAW HAT LUFFY AND PIRATE HERO (NAME) IS HERE!! RUN AWAY!!��

says the pirates who know they’ve done wrong doing!! 😎

also excuse (name)’s lame pirate alias i couldn’t think of one 😊💖

(Name) is so cool 😎 I admire her 💓

hope you enjoyed your hcs anon!! *super heroes away🦸‍♀️🚀*

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crownofgildedlilies · 1 month ago

Text

ORBIT - 1, the phone call

wc: 2.9k

[full series] - [next]

It’s raining when you first move back to Japan.

Maybe it’s an omen. It’s definitely an echo of all the melancholy of your previous, forgotten, abandoned, life. You didn’t think everything would go so horribly wrong when you chose to study abroad for your final year at Jujutsu High, but part of you is glad you got the hell out of dodge before everything fell apart.

A bigger part of you is wracked with guilt for even thinking that.

It’s raining when you first move back to Japan, and it’s still drizzling three days later when you’re coaxed out to some bar you’d never even heard of in all your time living in Tokyo. And maybe it was the guilt that seemed to always ache so heavily in your bones that made you agree to a night out you didn't want, but you’d let yourself think you only showed up with the promise of free booze and gossip.

Of course, Shoko had neglected to mention that the free booze came at the price of leering stares from the middle aged men that frequented the establishment, but you had assumed as much. Free booze, so long as you let them think they had a chance if they bought your drink.

And you were just broke enough to not mind it.

You don’t really know what to say when you first see her, leaning back against the bar’s brick walls, close enough to the entrance that each time someone wanders into the dive she’s blasted with the sound and heat from inside. And she’s tucked underneath the awning to hide from the rain, a lit cigarette on its last life resting between her fingers. In the months you’ve been apart, you’d almost forgotten how tall she was—or how smug.

“Look who decided to show her face,” Shoko teases, and you know she couldn’t possibly understand the weight of the guilt you’re crushed under by those careless words. She doesn’t mean anything by her comment, but it means something to you.

Look who skipped town when everyone fell apart, you heard her say. Shoving your pessimistic thoughts into the cramped corner of your mind you stored all the stuff you didn’t want to think too closely about, you purse your lips and find shelter under the awning beside her, crushing into her arms for a hug that meant too much. The sound of pattering rain was soothing, but the smoke of her cigarette was clogging your nostrils, and the buzzing in your chest was hard to ignore.

“Someone miss me that badly?” You fire back, tilting your head just as teasingly to the side. At first, the words felt awkward on your tongue. Forced. Shoko was the first person from your old life you’d seen since you’d moved back, save for a handful of clipped phone calls with Principal Yaga about picking up a few missions from the school.

It’s only been days since you slipped back into the worn shoes of your old life, and already people are calling in favors. So is the life of a jujutsu sorcerer, you suppose. Your life never really belongs to you.

“Oh, speaking of someone who missed you,” Shoko perks up like she had just remembered something, then drops her spent cigarette to the ground and ashes it with the toe of her boot. You want to chastise her about the effects of littering, but you know she’ll pick it up before you head inside the bar, and you’re too confused by the way she pulls out her phone and aims it at you, like she’s taking a picture. And she’s snickering when she explains herself, a smug grin back on her lips. “Smile for Gojo!”

It’s decidedly not forced or awkward when you extend both middle fingers and roll your eyes for the camera.

The sound of the shutter is briefly heard over the rain and the din of noise trickling out from the bar, and you know you can drop your pose.

“Cute, like usual.” Shoko is still laughing to herself as she types a quick message before hitting send, and you know you’ll be hearing from him before the night is over.

Satoru Gojo.

You have a lot of mixed feelings about Gojo. Undoubtedly, he was arrogant. And, yeah okay, maybe he earned the right to be a little overconfident in his abilities, but it didn’t stop with just jujutsu with him. No, he had to be the best at everything, and it frustrated you beyond belief that despite how desperately he needed an ego check, he really was the best of the best.

Not to mention, you’d heard rumors about girls in the younger years at school titling him the most handsome man in all of Japan. Back then, you wanted to grab them by the shoulders and shake some sense into them. You knew they would never listen.

“I’m sick of waiting out here, c’mon.” Shoko nods her head in the direction of the entrance as she ducks down to pick up her spent cigarette, and though you know you’ll regret whatever you’re about to encounter in the packed bar, you follow her inside anyway. It would probably be better than standing in the rain with your thoughts spiralling like the water pooling in the gutter.

As soon as you cross through the threshold, you’re hit with a wall of sweat and cheap alcohol. If Shoko is good for anything, it’s knowing the places that will get you drunk and do it fast. And you’re okay with it, because you can’t ignore the elephant in the room much longer.

The elephant in the room, sitting on your chest, crushing your very soul with the weight of the emotions it held.

It’s not long before someone is buying your drink, and you entertain him just long enough for him to buy you a second. It’s when he’s suggesting a third and a change of venue that you feign confusion and mention that you don’t think your—nonexistent—boyfriend would appreciate it very much that he finally leaves, a few expletives rolling off his tongue in your direction and sounding his departure. In another light, you would have cursed him out right back, but he bought you your promised free booze and you’re just dizzy enough not to care.

You and Shoko giggle at the dramatic exit of your patron for the evening, but when the laughter wears off, you’re reminded of the elephant.

“Gojo…” You start and then let your voice fade out, expression pinched in confusion as you try to piece together the rest of your sentence. You know what you want to say, but admitting you don’t know the answer is like a knife to the chest. As the only ones in your year at Jujutsu High, it was always, always, you, Shoko, Gojo, and Geto. But now? Now you haven’t spoken to anyone in months and Geto is— “How’s Gojo doing?”

The question is as stupid as it is lame. It causes you to frown, mostly at yourself, fractionally at the topic of conversation. How could Satoru Gojo be doing anything other than just… surviving? Even just knowing the pieces of what happened that you managed to scratch together an ocean away made you sick to your stomach. What could Gojo possibly be feeling after having lived it?

“I think… as good as he can, you know?” Shoko takes a sip of the liquor she’d gotten some poor hopeful to buy for her. She’s not done with her sentence, and you’re glad for it, because you haven’t figured out how to respond yet. You don’t know, but admitting that seems too close to the truth of how you feel. “It was always those two together. I still can’t believe it turned as bad as it did.”

Satoru Gojo. And Suguru Geto.

Shoko was right. It had always been the two of them together, no matter what. They were two halves of the same crazy coin, and though you rolled your eyes and called them annoying, they were your friends. You and Shoko. Gojo and Geto. More often than not, you formed a quartet of crazy that gave Principal Yaga a run for his money.

And then you left for a year on a promise to return after studying with a sorcerer that had a similar cursed technique, and now everything is shit.

The weight of the elephant has been lifted, but you still feel like you’re being crushed. It’s guilt, you know, but you have a feeling the tide of the conversation has turned, whether by nature or by Shoko’s force, so you leave it lodged firmly in the center of your chest. It’s hard to breathe around the clog, but the pain serves as a reminder that you’re not yet lost to the world.

It’s harsh. You think you might deserve it.

You swallow the rest of your second drink in one go, head going light, and swivel on the stool you’re perched on to find someone else to pay for your method of self destruction of the evening.

You think you deserve that, too.

It’s still goddamn raining the next afternoon when you’re shifting through the unpacked boxes in your apartment.

A mixture of your own procrastination and Yaga already having you run errands for the school has led to the natural consequence of nothing being where it belonged. You have one pair of shoes, because the rest are packed in a box you haven’t looked through, and you really need to either do your laundry or find where the rest of your socks ended up.

You have the window open so you can hear the splatter of rain on the sidewalk below as you work. You’d play music, but you can’t remember which box has your radio, and there’s something soothing about putting in the roots of your new life to the sounds of nature.

You’re halfway through folding your sweaters and tucking them into their new home—a shabby, short wooden dresser you’d bought with the place—when the shrill ring of your phone echoes through the apartment. You’re not exactly sure where it is, having ditched the device after a particularly boring phone call with Principal Yaga about paperwork you had mishandled earlier that morning.

Considering you had only been back in Japan for a handful of days, you’re pretty sure Yaga should be grateful you did any paperwork, at all.

But now your phone is ringing, and you’re regretting your decision to take half of everything out of the boxes and spread it all on the floor to be organized in the most chaotic way possible. (Maybe you left your radio when you stayed abroad? You hadn’t seen it in the mess of your belongings.) You’re navigating a maze towards the couch, where you see your phone somehow already wedged into the cushions of a piece of furniture you hadn’t even sat on yet.

You have about three seconds to look at the caller ID before it’s sent to voicemail, but it’s long enough for you to panic at the name you see displayed on the screen.

Satoru Gojo.

You’re answering the call before it goes to voicemail despite not wanting to, because it would be worse having to call him back. And even though you’ve told him many times that the world does not orbit around him, you can’t help but feel that though the world may not, somehow your life keeps orbiting back to him.

And oh how you have tried to rid yourself of him.

“Gojo?” It comes out like a question. You hadn’t meant for it to. You wanted to sound distant, cool. Normal. Like you weren’t freaking out at the prospect of what he had to say. It was probably something entirely Satoru Gojo-like—maybe about the photo Shoko sent him of you so sweetly gesturing or that he wanted you to try something new his favorite bakery had added to their menu. Things he had called you about before.

The thought makes you sick, but maybe he wanted to talk about what happened with Geto, too. You haven’t said a word to him since you left Japan, save for the few times Shoko put your phone calls on speaker so he could bother you from afar. And you want to know what happened with Suguru, how it all fell apart so horribly that your most level-headed friend turned from sorcerer to curse user, but the idea of actually having the conversation makes your throat close up.

You have three seconds to panic about all of this, and you manage to fit it all in before he speaks.

When his voice echoes through the line, you remember that you never should be surprised when it comes to Satoru Gojo.

“I have two kids.”

You don’t know what to make of his words, so your thumb presses the end call button and you stare at the dark screen of your phone in puzzlement. After a year abroad, after everything he went through with Suguru, that was the first thing he had to say to you?

Huffing, you contemplate calling Shoko and telling her off for leaving out such a massive development. Since when did Gojo have—

Your phone is ringing again in your palm in only seconds. It’s not the least bit surprising when you see Gojo’s name displayed once more, but you are a little confused by your own actions.

Against all odds, you answer his call.

“Did you not hear me?” Gojo asks, voice light and airy and like nothing had gone so completely wrong the past several months. You’ve known him long enough to know he’s just faking being okay, deflecting with a joke and oh god do you hope him having two children is a joke.

“I wish I didn’t hear you,” The retort comes easily, like no time at all had passed since the last time you’d bickered back and forth with Gojo. Flirting, Suguru had once called it, and you and Gojo had both immediately pretended to retch.

You would sell your left arm for the chance to make more memories like that again.

“Listen, I can’t talk long. I was supposed to meet Yaga fifteen minutes ago.” Gojo trails ahead, like he hadn’t been the one to call you. Twice. Rolling your eyes, you want to tell him to look at the picture Shoko sent just so he would know the exact expression on your face. “But remember the bounty hunter that killed the Star Plasma Vessel that Suguru and I were told to protect?”

The catalyst for everything that went down.

Shoko had given you a run down of everything that had happened that led to where everyone currently stood. You, shivering in your shitty apartment. Shoko, drunk at some dive. Geto, running a cult, last you’d heard. And Gojo… well, you were still trying to figure out where Gojo stood.

“Yeah,” You remember bits and pieces about the bounty hunter. A professional, a pain in the ass. And you know Gojo well enough to realize that he wouldn’t bring up such a wretched memory without purpose. You shiver again, and the arm that isn’t holding the phone to your ear wraps around yourself. You're not cold, but your body is desperate to do something while it waits for Gojo to explain himself, though your apartment is unnavigable and you don’t trust yourself not to trip.

“Well, I have his kids.” You make a noise as if you’re being choked, and you hear Gojo kiss his teeth in contemplation through the line. “Legally. I guess I’m their guardian now?”

You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and alleviate the headache you already feel forming after only a few short minutes on the phone with him.

“You guess.” You repeat, though you heard him the first time. For a moment, you contemplate the success rate of arguing with him that he should definitely know more than an estimate whether or not he had custody of a hitman’s kids, but then you remember who you’re talking to.

Satoru goddamn Gojo.

“Can you just meet me tomorrow so I can explain?” He asks with a huff, almost whiny, though you can hear in his tone that he already knows you’ll agree. He’s known you just as long as you’ve known him, and the cocky bastard does have the blessing of the Six Eyes. “I’ll text you the address of a park near my house.”

You’re sighing by the end of his plea, and you don’t care if he can hear you. You’re too young to be so weary, but if Gojo really does suddenly have custody over two children from one hell of a family lineage, he’ll need all the help he could get.

“Fine,” Your reply is as enthusiastic as you can muster, which is to say not very much at all. And it’s not because you don’t love kids, because you do, but you’ve long since lost count of all the insane situations you’d found yourself in at the hands of Satoru Gojo.

“Great!” He perks up, and you can only just imagine the grin on his face after getting his way. It makes you roll your eyes again. He promises to send you the address and hangs up soon after. You toss a few empty cardboard boxes onto the scattered mess of your apartment floor and flop down onto your couch. You’re pretty sure there’s a spring poking through at your back, but you figure you deserve the discomfort.

You think about finally seeing Gojo again and suddenly it’s hard to breathe.

taglist status: open

#satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jjk satoru #satoru gojo #gojo #jjk gojo #gojo satoru #satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader

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pearlessance · 7 months ago

Text

Dig Two Graves - Idle Threats [vii]

Series Summary — Joel has watch duty with Jackson’s twenty-year old, smart-mouthed brat and gets more than he bargained for.

Chapter Summary — Joel relives the worst moment of his life and finally reads your journal.

Pairing — Joel Miller/Reader

Warnings — Explicit sexual content MDNI (no smut in this part, but in almost every other in the series), brat taming, age gap, mean!Joel, religious imagery and symbolism, catholic guilt, angst, canon typical violence, joel and reader fight the rat king, reader has an added backstory to progress the plot

SERIES MASTERLIST

[cross posted to AO3]

There’s a certain sort of amazement in your horror. Joel watches you take everything in—watches you sift through trashed rooms, taking what hasn’t already been picked over. Scalpels, expired vitamins, and gauze all wind up in your pockets or your backpack.

You only encounter two clickers on the main floor, and they likely wandered in through the bomb-sized hole that’s been blown through the side of the hospital.

He thought you were quick with the bow of yours, but it’s nothing compared to how lethal you are with that sawback knife. Before you even make it to the second floor, there’s blood splattered on your cheek and a murderous glint in your eye. When you take down the second clicker and turn to see him with his rifle raised, you draw a new, crystal clear rule. “We don’t use bullets unless we absolutely have to. We don’t use guns unless we have to. The less noise we make here the better.”

“‘Course,” he says.

But you narrow your eyes at him, unrelenting. “I’m serious, Joel. I’ll tell you when I need help. If you fire that thing every infected in this place will be on us in a second.”

He almost hears the echo of his own voice in your words. It makes him smile. There’s a sign hanging above the stairwell. Joel nods to it and says, “You got that list of stuff you need for Maria? Can probably find most of it in the labor and delivery wing. Third floor.”

You nod in agreement and find the scrap of paper you’ve kept safely stored these last few days. It’s crinkled but still legible, the smeared ink list covering both front and back. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

There are spores on the third floor. Joel helps you secure your mask, tightening it maybe a little too tightly, and can’t help but smile to himself as you look up at him through the clear glass over your eyes. You look so innocent, so sweet—and he might die today and so he says, “You’re so beautiful, baby. You know that?”

You shove his shoulder playfully and scoff at his compliments, but your cheeks turn a shade of crimson he’s never seen before and he knows it’s gotten to you. “Shut up.”

The two of you slink through the halls on the third floor, and at this point, Joel feels like you’ve gotten too lucky on this trip. There haven't been any bad moments, any close calls. And you find a quarter of your list in just one room behind the nurse's station that Joel has to break into with brute force. But it works, and he tries not to think about how everything on the list for Maria had been easily accessible.

He’s still bitter about this whole trip, in truth. Joel’s glad to have this time with you, glad to have gotten to know the most hidden parts of you. It’s all made him understand you better, made him see who you really are beneath the bratty facade you wear.

You’re different out here. And not just because of the inherent danger that comes with being outside the walls. You’re different with Joel. And he knows it’s likely because your rigid exterior has kept everyone else in Jackson from getting too close to you. Everyone except Maria.

Joel wonders if she knows how lucky she is, how fortunate someone like you has decided to love Jackson as much as its creator. Because if it were him, if it were Ellie in your position, Joel would never let her lift another finger for Maria even if she begged on her knees. You’re worth more than this. Your life matters beyond what you can provide.

And he vows to remind Maria of it the moment the two of you return. He promises to put an end to this parasitic relationship formed between the two of you.

“Hey,” you say. “Look.” You pull something from a drawer behind the nurse's station. It’s an old folded paper, yellowed around its edges.

It’s a map of the hospital. Joel stands beside you, so close he can feel the heat of your body through the sleeve of his flannel. He scans the map briefly, taps his middle and index finger against the lowest level labeled operations. “That’s where we can find the rest,” he says.

“How do you know?”

He doesn’t. Not for certain. “Operating rooms,” he explains. “They were always stocked with supplies, oxygen tanks, stuff like that. There was a cart full of things for anesthesia. Could be someplace else but it’s likely there. Maybe secured in some closet or somethin’ down there.”

You nod slowly in contemplation. He watches your profile, savoring the sight, watches you gnaw on your bottom lip. He can tell you’re nervous. He is, too.

Joel presses a kiss against your hairline. “We’re gonna make it back home,” he says. But he can’t promise it, even though he wants to.

Something is weighing on you. Your eyes are far away, misty. He wants to prod for answers but knows better. “Yeah. We will. Let’s go.”

The north stairwell past the third flood is blocked by rubble and debris, likely caused by the explosion from the bombings.

You end up doubling back, winding through the hallways down to the lobby and to the opposite side of the hospital. The south side of the building is in better shape but must have been where the quarantine rooms for Casper began because the infected are everywhere. A dozen clickers roam the halls, some hidden between solid steel doors or plastic sheets to section off makeshift rooms.

Thankfully, the task of eradication proves relatively easy. Until the last three, anyway.

Joel’s crouched low, knife in hand, stalking slowly behind a clicker with fresh blood on its mangy shirt when a test tube shatters beneath his boot.

The infected turns its head and lets out an ear piercing screech, gathering the attention of the other three clickers left. They descend upon him, and Joel is readying himself to jam his knife through the head of whichever one’s closest—but then he hears your voice.

“Hey! Hey, over here!”

And all three of them change course. You’re like a magnet drawing in death. Joel feels everything slow in an instant.

It’s like he’s right back in that capitol building, leaving Tess behind as if she meant nothing. And Joel had never told her otherwise because he’d been too afraid of caring and losing. But then came you, who obliterated all of his defenses and wriggled your way into his worm-eaten heart anyway.

And yet somehow Joel ends up in the same predicament.

He abandons his knife altogether in favor of his rifle. He looks through the scope, aims, and the shot echoes off the hospital walls.

You’ve got your knife in the neck of one clicker but it still thrashes in your grip. You just missed the spinal cord—the first time he’s seen you miss any of your strikes.

It’s too close for him to shoot without potentially hitting you in the process.

The other isn’t, though, and Joel looses another bullet that pierces true.

He slings his rifle back over his shoulder and he’s only two yards away from you when you stumble backward, losing your balance, the clicker’s strength overpowering yours.

You’ve got both hands holding its mouth just out of range of your face, knife still stuck in its neck, and Joel’s ears begin to ring.

He doesn’t remember reaching you. He doesn’t remember ripping the clicker off of you and onto the floor. He doesn’t remember shoving the heel of his boot through its softened, decayed skull.

All Joel can recall is the sound of your fearful scream in his ears.

But when he comes back and the color red bleeds from the edges of his vision, the evidence is there. The infected brain matter has splashed across the white tile and his boot is covered in blood and gore.

Your chest is heaving when he turns to look at you. You’re still sitting on the floor, arms stretched out behind you as you try and fail to catch your breath.

His voice is calm, and steady as he asks, “You wanna tell me what the hell that was?”

“Me? What about you, Joel? I said no fucking guns!”

He doesn’t know what to expect when you speak. But it certainly isn’t that. “I wouldn’t have had to use it if you didn’t try to get yourself killed,” he says, biting anger in his voice. Residual fear from the clicker, he tells himself.

But it feels like a lie even in his own head. His fury has nothing to do with the clicker and everything to do with your brush with death, Joel knows.

“I told you if I needed help I would say so! I had it!”

Joel leans down and plucks your bloody knife from the dead clicker’s neck and hands it to you. “Did you? Cause it didn’t look like it from here.”

You push yourself to your feet furiously. “Yes, I did! And I don’t need you making decisions like that on a whim! It’s too goddamn dangerous out here. What happened to my run, my fucking rules? Hm? What about that?”

He’s never seen you this angry before. Even with Maria, you’d been more lax. It doesn’t bother him, though—because he’s just as furious. “A whim?” He scoffs. “You wanna talk about rash decisions? Alright—what about that stunt you pulled that got you into this mess in the first place? Yelling’ and hollerin’ like some banshee in the middle of a bunch of clickers and for what?”

“What was I supposed to do, Joel? Let them swarm you, kill you? Are you delusional? I—!”

He closes the space between you and takes your arm between his fingers, squeezing tight enough to bruise. Whatever you’d meant to say, whatever insult you’d had full intentions of hurling at him, lodges itself and stays stuck in your throat. “Don’t you ever do somethin’ like that again, you hear me?”

“What am I doing, then? Protecting you? Oh, sorry! I guess that’s my bad!” You raise your bloody hands in mock surrender. “Next time I should let them tear you apart, is that it?”

“Next time you don’t put yourself between me and a threat,” he says firmly. “I don’t care if it’s a clicker or the barrel of a gun. Your life fucking matters.”

You flinch as if he’d struck you in the face. It takes you a minute to come back from it, to gather yourself enough to respond. But the moment a crease forms between your brows Joel can sense a coming argument, and he cuts it down before giving you a chance to breathe life into it.

“It matters,” he says again. “It might not to you, but it does to Ellie, to Tommy, to everyone in that town.” He doesn’t say Maria’s name, but he knows you mean something to her just as well. His voice cracks as he admits, “You matter to me.”

You search his face frantically, trying to find a lie when there isn’t one. He watches tears well that refuse to fall, watches your throat bob as you swallow down that fight in you. Your silence speaks volumes to him.

Still, it’s not enough to settle the fear that’s curdled in his gut. “Promise me,” he says. “Promise me you’ll never do something stupid like that again.”

It takes a moment, but then you relent. “Okay. Okay, I promise.”

Joel releases his hold on your arm, and as his panic begins to subside, it’s replaced with urgency. He wants to get out of here, to make it back to Jackson. He wants to move all of your things into his two story colonial, wants to see you writing in that journal of yours on the porch while he sits beside you and strums his guitar. He wants to see you wearing nothing but his tshirt, padding barefoot into the kitchen while the moonlight streams in through the window. He wants to see you laughing with Ellie over a strawberry scone, wants the subtle sound of your breathing to lull him to sleep in the comfort of his bed.

He wants to live.

As if you’d read his mind, you say, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with, I’m ready to go home.”

The south side of the hospital, while in better shape than the north, was still affected by the bombings. The descent proves treacherous, and more than once Joel has to hand you his rifle while he lowers himself down a steep drop in the rubble. When it’s your turn to climb down, he takes his rifle in addition to your bow and quiver, and stretches his arms out to ensure your safe drop.

It must look much more daunting for you, he thinks. You move slowly, carefully, wiggling the heels of your boots between the unwavering stones.

“I’ve got you,” he promises, and gives a low grunt when you push yourself off the rubble slope and stumble into his waiting arms.

Once you’re on the lowest level of the hospital, you’re able to navigate through the building from the crumbled but still legible directories posted on the wall.

Your feet are silent as you round every corner carefully, an arrow knocked the whole time. Joel trails behind you, rifle poised against his shoulder, finger a hair's breadth away from the trigger.

The two of you clear the hallway that consists of only two runners—and it raises a bit of a red flag when you realize they’ve been infected fairly recently. You slaughter them both with your knife silently and send him a weary look over your shoulder. Joel knows, even though neither of you speak, that you’re thinking the same thing he is.

What killed them?

But you discover nothing remaining in the hall. And the first operating room you investigate proves fruitful. Joel clicks on the flashlight tied to the strap of his backpack and closes the door behind him. “There,” he whispers, pointing to the cart behind the operating table. “An anesthesia cart.”

Unease creeps up his spine because this trip has been made easy. Too easy. But the cart has everything you need, and he’s not in a place to question the hand of God. Not anymore.

You place your bag on the floor between your feet and begin rifling through the cart’s contents. Joel watches you place viles, needles, surgical tubes, and a container of some sort of compressed gas all into your bag. Twice you have to readjust its contents to fit more into it. And when you’re finished, he switches you and lets you fill his just as full.

It doesn’t take long until everything on your list has been crossed off twice. You’re placing one last glass vile into his bag, trying to wiggle it into the pocket on the side. But you fail, and the vile slips through your fingers, shattering on the concrete floor.

That’s the first time he hears it.

A feral, angry sort of screech—deafening in the hospital’s silence.

Joel’s eyes find yours, and he wonders if the terror on your face is reflected on his, too.

It’s a foreign sound. Not runners or clickers or bloaters—and Joel has absolutely no interest in making a new discovery. He tightens his hand around his rifle and nods towards the door.

But the two of you don’t make it more than three feet before the wall standing between you and safety erupts into pieces, revealing the most monstrous thing Joel has seen in all his life.

It’s a massive, fleshy creature, and before the dust even settles he can see not one or two faces but four—bodies all held together by overgrown masses of cordyceps.

Joel can feel the icy fingers of death wrapping around his neck. He has only his rifle and your sure-fired arrows, both of which don’t have nearly enough ammunition for his liking. He knows, sure as rain, that he’s not getting out of this alive.

But that doesn’t mean you have to die here.

“Stay behind me,” he orders. “I’m going to clear a path—distract it, you go around and get out that door.”

He knows you’ll fight him on it but Joel doesn’t give you the chance. He aims for one of the heads and pulls the trigger.

The creature wails and thrashes and charges forward blindly, teeth gnashing in the air.

Joel fires again, but it barely registers. The first bullet seems to have made it somehow more lethal, movements harsh and angry.

He realizes you’ve completely ignored his direction and instead have saddled up to his side, bow in hand with an arrow knocked. “You’ll have to shoot me, Joel,” you say over the clamor, and it makes his stomach turn. And then again, “If you want me to leave this place without you, you’re gonna have to shoot me.”

You’re not bluffing, he realizes when you loose your arrow and it buries itself deep within the creature’s mangled form. He needs you safe, he needs you out of here, far away from this place. Joel turns his rifle towards you, heart hammering behind his ribcage. He tries not to think about the way your eyes widen as he turns and aims for your thigh.

But before he can pull the trigger the monstrous things charges towards the both of you. Joel surges to the left, pushing you out of harm's way and narrowly missing the onslaught himself.

In a second you're back on your feet with another arrow whizzing through the air, piercing true. In that moment you remind him a little of Tess, and the thought crosses his mind that she would have adored you but he can’t linger in it long. Joel raises his gun and empties his magazine into the mass of infected.

He reloads and empties another. The creature slows but doesn’t stop and Joel begins to panic at the rapidly dwindling amount of ammunition. His heart is beating so fast that he worries it might burst. His palms are perspiring, sliding against the cold metal of his gun.

“Joel!” Your voice cuts through the fog in his brain. “You think you can distract it for a minute?”

“I got it,” he says. He kicks the hospital bed in the center of the room and the mass of infected turns its gruesome head. He fires again and again and again, aiming for the several heads stuck between clumps of cordyceps.

He can’t see you but he can hear you fumbling with things on the anesthesia cart, can hear the soft click of a lighter through the cacophony. And then your sweet voice.

“Hey, asshole!” An arrowhead drenched in blue flame flies through the air, landing true right in the creature’s center.

It lets out a wail of agony, stumbles, and then charges towards you.

Joel sees you falter, watches you become a deer in the headlights in real time. It reminds him so much of the look on Sarah’s face when she witnessed Joel’s first kill in their front room when Jimmy Cooper broke through the glass door; frightened, terrified. His chest pulls tight.

He empties another round into its head, distracting it just long enough for you to come back to reality, to knock another arrow, light it, and release.

It takes every last one of your fiery arrows and all but six of Joel’s bullets before the creature falls to the floor in a mass of blood and flesh and fungus.

He slings his rifle over his shoulder and tries to catch his breath, tries to accept the impossible reality before him.

You’re alive. Alive, and safe, and he is too. It’s the first time in a long time Joel has felt this happy, this elated. His eyes connect with yours and you’re covered in blood splatter and grime but he thinks you’ve never looked so beautiful as the moment that pretty smile stretches wide across your face.

You laugh, and he does, too. The sound fills the space with warmth and light and love. Joel swims in it, basks in it, savors the moment because it’s the best thing to happen to him in years.

But then a clicker peels itself from the mass of decay on the floor and it’s on you in a second.

Your laughter turns to blood-curdling screams, bow clattering to the floor and you tumble right along with it.

Joel runs to you, shoving any fallen debris that stands in his way. He angles himself just right, Aims. Shoots.

The clicker falls limp over you. Your screams stop. Joel thinks his heart does, too.

You don’t move. Even when he finally manages to get to you and shove the clicker away, your eyes are misty, far away.

Your chest rises and falls with each ragged breath, which is a relief, but you don’t look at him. He places both hands on either side of your face, eyes burning with unshed tears. “You’re okay,” he says, more for himself than for you. “You’re okay, baby, you’re okay.”

He begins to wonder if he was too late. Maybe you’ve been scratched or bitten or—

That’s when he sees it. The blood covering your shirt, pooled in the center of your belly. And all he can think is not again.

Please, God, if you’re listening, don’t do this to me again.

It’s all too familiar.

And suddenly Joel Miller isn’t in a hospital at all. He’s back in Austin, in the middle of that field, so goddamn close to the highway, so close to freedom. And that blinding light is being shined in his eyes again but this time it’s not his daughter dying in his arms, it’s you.

He must have missed. Must have shot right through the clicker. This is his fault.

Joel peels the wet cotton of your shirt up and doesn’t see any injuries. No scratches, bite marks or bullet wounds. But there’s so much blood it covers his hands now.

“Sarah,” you choke out.

He freezes, trembling fingers still intertwined in the hem of your blood-soaked shirt.

It doesn’t feel real. You don’t feel real. Joel’s grip on reality is swaying. He must have heard you wrong, right? He must have.

But then you speak again, voice stronger this time. “My sister’s name was Sarah.”

He says nothing. What can he say, anyway?

Your eyes are still clouded when you finally look up at him. “Maria doesn’t talk about her. I…I want to, I should. I don’t want to forget her name.” The confession is broken in your mouth, breathless. “Please, Joel. Don’t let me forget her. Don’t let me forget—“

“I won’t,” he says. He swears he’ll circle back, swears to let you talk about this later. Promises it to himself, in fact. But right now he needs to get you to safety, needs to get you far from here.

He helps pull you to your feet and doesn’t look away from you for more than two seconds while he searches for both abandoned backpacks full of supplies.

Joel carries them both and then wraps a tight arm around your shoulders, half carrying you. The ascent back up to the street takes longer, but he manages. And when you come upon two runners just outside the hospital, Joel wastes them easily even with extra weight on his back.

It’s not the weight or the runners or the two mile distance between the hospital and the house where you’d stashed your horses and supplies that bother him though. It’s your complete and total silence that does.

He doesn’t want to make things worse for you. Doesn’t want to get involved if you’re not ready to share. But he can tell something’s weighing heavily on your shoulders and the urge within him to fix it chafes him raw.

By the time you make it half a mile from the hospital, it begins to rain. It’s a spring rain but still cold enough to make you shiver. Joel gives you his canvas coat, but it doesn’t have a hood. And you’re leaving a murky blood trail with every step you take. He thinks about clearing a house somewhere closer but knows even being away from the horses this long is a risk for thievery.

So, he forces himself to power through it, to watch you suffer silently while he can do nothing. Even though exhaustion is heavy in your bones, on your face, in your heart. And when you do finally arrive back at the house, the ends of your hair are plastered to your neck and the majority of the blood on your clothes has vanished.

He orders you to sit with the horses as he rummages through the bedrooms in search of something warm and dry. Joel returns with a pair of black jeans, an oversized sweater, and two towels to dry you off. “Stand up,” he says.

And you obey wordlessly, which breaks his heart because he wants to hear some bratty remark, some unhinged comment. But you give him nothing but compliance.

He strips you of your clothes, uses one towel to dry your skin and the other to ring as much rainwater from your hair as possible. He works slowly, gently. And then he maneuvers your limbs of his own accord, running two fingers over every inch of your bare skin.

Your voice is broken and you sound so tired as you ask, “What are you doing?”

“Checking for bites,” he explains softly. “Maybe scratches.” He can feel your gaze on the side of his face, but Joel doesn’t stop until he’s satisfied with his inspection. He dresses you in the clothes he found. The jeans are a little tight and the ivory sweater has a moth-eaten hole in the sleeve, but your shivering lessens.

He knows it’s risky, but he breaks apart the crumbling oak dining chair and tosses the wood into the fireplace. He’s already striking a match and trying to light it before you catch onto what he’s doing.

“No fire,” you tell him, a frantic tone slipping into your voice. It’s the first emotion you’ve shown since the hospital. “Joel, what if someone—?”

“Then I’ll deal with it,” he says, leaving no room for argument. You’re cold, and he has the tools to fix it. What kind of man would he be if he chose not to?

The fire catches, illuminating the dark room in orange and yellow hues. He doesn’t want to leave you but he does for only long enough to feed the horses, bring them fresh water, and find dry clothes for himself. While sifting through one of the dressers he discovers more than just jeans and a black tshirt, though.

When he returns to the main room, you’ve moved to sit in front of the fireplace, hands held out in front of the flames.

He moves the rickety old coffee table towards you and sits on the other side of it. “Look what I found,” he says, holding up the set of fifty-two playing cards. They’re no longer shiny and white, weathered and yellowed now with age. But they’ll still serve their purpose. Joel begins to shuffle the deck as he asks, “Is there anything you know how to play?”

You take your hands reluctantly away from the fire and tuck them beneath your legs instead. “Rummy,” you answer quietly. “Maria taught me.”

Joel nods and begins to deal out ten cards to the both of you. He can feel your stare, heavy and weighted, but doesn’t meet it until he’s lifted his cards to observe them.

He’s got shit for luck. Always has. “Went out to a casino once with Tommy,” he says, smiling fondly at the memory. “Promised myself I’d only spend a hundred bucks but ended up spending double and left with less than fifty cents that night.”

You start a discard pile. Joel picks up your eight of hearts. “I’m okay,” you say. “You don’t need to do…whatever it is you’re trying to do.”

A crease forms between his brows. “And what’s that, exactly?”

“Distracting me,” you tell him, drawing from the stack of cards. “Trying to make me feel better. I’m just saying you don’t have to. I’d tell you if I needed to talk.”

He doesn’t believe it for a second. Because you might have a foul mouth and a habit of thievery but you’re also the most selfless person he’s ever met. You didn’t tell Maria you didn’t want to go on that run for her pregnancy craving, you didn’t tell him you needed him with a clicker trying to tear you apart, you didn’t ask for a fire or dry clothes while you shivered in the dark. Joel Miller doesn’t think you’d say a goddamn word even if you were drowning. “Would you?”

You don’t answer. You discard a three of clubs instead.

Joel discards and draws. He inhales deeply and lets out a slow breath. “You don’t have to do things alone anymore,” he says. “Supply runs, life riskin,’ grief…whatever it is, I’m with you.”

“Even back in Jackson?” There’s disbelief in your tone as you draw a new card. “People are gonna talk, Joel. You said it yourself.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah, yeah I did.” He discards his ace of spades. “Turns out, I care less about them and more about you.”

You don’t say anything. Joel wishes so badly that you would give him just an inch of an idea as to what’s going on inside your head. You pick up his discard and get rid of the two of clubs.

“That alright with you?”

“I don’t care about what the people of Jackson think or say about me. I already told you that.”

“I’m not askin’ about them I’m askin’ about you,” he says. Joel wonders how long you’ve been forced to put all your wants and needs aside for them. Long enough that it’s become a habit, even here when it’s just the two of you.

“What about me?” There’s genuine confusion on your face, which only further proves his point. You discard a nine of hearts.

He picks it up. “I’m old,” he says, discarding his four of clubs. “Got a good fifteen years left in me, twenty if I’m lucky. You gotta whole lot more than that. An’ I don’t live on the exciting side of things much anymore. That really what you want?”

You roll your eyes and Joel feels warmth bloom in his chest at the sight. It’s something.

“You could die tomorrow and so could I,” you say. “You know that as well as I do. Something as trivial as age doesn’t matter. Maybe it used to, but things are different now.”

He nods contemplatively and draws another card. “That’s true enough.”

“And you won’t ever hear me complaining about monotony,” you say, a little quieter. “Never had much stability. Doesn’t seem like a bad thing to me.”

It’s not meant to provoke sympathy but he feels it anyway. Joel wants to provide that for you more than anything. But he doesn't want to be the kind of man that keeps things from you. He learned his lesson the hard way with Ellie. “My, uh…my daughter. Her name was Sarah, too.” Joel lays his cards down on the table, displaying a perfect ace through king run of hearts.

You don’t even register the fact that he’s won the game. Your cards tremble in your fingers. He knows you won’t speak, so he decides to instead.

“I think I’ve known for…for quite some time. Just didn’t want to admit it to myself s’all. But the minute you looked at me and said her name?” He shakes his head in disbelief. “When I realized we shared this loss, you and I…that we were…connected somehow—I knew there’d never been another option. No goin’ back. It’s when I knew it without a doubt.”

You lay your hand down this time, a perfect run of spades.

A tie.

“Knew what?”

“That I love you.” It surprises him how easy it feels to say it, how naturally it flows from the tongue.

You tense up, muscles going rigid at his words. He watches the orange flames reflect and flicker in your eyes, watches you hesitate to speak.

He doesn’t expect you to say it back. Doesn’t matter to him whether or not you ever do, in truth. Because he doesn’t love you for what you can provide, he just loves who you are. He just loves you.

You make a sudden decision and stand to your feet, crossing the room to rummage through your backpack. It takes you a minute, but you finally pull the battered leather journal from the bottom and then you return to your spot. “Goodnight, Joel,” you say, tossing the journal into his lap and lying on your side in front of the fire. “You’ve got the first watch.”

He spends it learning everything about you. The entries are vague, details omitted. But it fills in the gaps left behind by what he already knows. He gets a glimpse of who your Sarah was, and in those entries, he sees bits and pieces of you within her. He sees your distrust of Maria spiral into acceptance and then into attachment, sees your view of Tommy’s arrival and your apprehension to trust him, too.

He learns that ultimately it was a day you spent on patrol together that his little brother won your faith. Tommy told you all about his sibling he would kill and die for, a conversation that must have struck you deep enough to decide to protect Tommy the same way you protect the whole of Jackson.

One of the older entries shocks him. The first interaction you ever had with Ellie, it seems, was the night after they returned to Jackson when he followed her back to the hospital in Salt Lake City. Joel remembers very vividly how awful he felt back then. And Ellie, it seems, was much the same.

In the entry, you say you find her sitting beneath the willow tree across the street from your home. You find her crying, alone, and so frustrated and confused that she’s barely making sense. You bring her inside, and she confesses all to you. Ellie tells you about the hospital, about how she both loves and hates Joel at that moment. She tells you about her friend Riley, about Marlene and Tess and Sam and Henry. She tells you she’s immune.

And in the next sentence, you make a confession in ink that you would do no differently than Joel had. You say that you would damn everyone else if it meant the safety of this crying girl at your kitchen table, and Joel’s eyes begin to sting the longer he reads.

You document a run that happened seven years ago in which you made your first human kill at fourteen. You reference it in several other entries as The Dying. It takes Joel until halfway through the journal before he realizes you formulate several things in this dramatic metaphorical way.

Discovering Jackson is The Finding, you call your bow The Cursor and sometimes refer to Maria as The Director. Your sister’s death is referred to simply as The End.

With less than a quarter of the journal left to read, he finds an entry dated the day before he was assigned to watch duty with you. You refer to yourself as The Wraith, comparing yourself to the dead, to a ghost. You express your longing to be a sibling again, despite that fact never changing even after enduring such a heavy loss.

And then the next entry, dated the day after your shift in the watchtower, is an almost blank page. In the center, there’s a hand-drawn moth, the only thing within the journal’s entirety drawn in color. Below it, a single word is written.

Joel.

[part six] [part eight]

taglist; @heartbrokenlilbitch-nef

[let me know if you'd like to be added!]

#ao3 fanfic #joel miller #joel miller x reader #idle threats #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel tlou #pearlessance #ellie williams #joel the last of us #tlou #joel miller fic #angst

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hyperfixationstati0n · 1 year ago

Text

Just the Beginning

An: This deadass came to me in a dream. That's all I just needed to say that.

Pairing: Spencer x BAU!gn!reader

Content warnings: Its slow burn if you read it slow enough, literally just all fluff as usual

Word count: 1725

Summary: You and Spencer both have feelings for each other, but you're both avoiding it. One rainy day at the BAU changes all of that.

It was late. Later than usual. So late, that it was just you and Spencer left in the bullpen. You had both finished work hours ago, but you secretly wouldn’t admit it to the other so you could keep talking. At the moment, it was just comfortable silence. Which it usually was. Your desks are situated across from each other, Spencer fidgeting with a piece of paper and you clicking your pen rhythmically.

You had only been at the BAU for a few months, and in those few months, you managed to break Spencer Reid out of his shell. He actually seemed calm around you, which shocked even him. He had become secluded and didn’t always take well to new people. But he liked you. These days, he never seems to get any peace. Except when he was around you.

But he would never admit that.

As for you, you couldn’t help but feel drawn to him the moment you sat across from him. Sure, at first he was quiet and rarely acknowledged you outside of when you were working on a case, but there was just something about him that caused you to want to strike up a conversation. Every day. It started out as a simple ‘Hello’ every morning, but eventually developed into small talk, which eventually developed into full-blown conversations. He opened up to you about his issues, he came to you when he was anxious. He felt safe around you, and you felt safe around him. The only times you ever felt truly at peace were around him.

But you would never admit that.

So that’s what led to the two of you being alone in the bullpen long after everyone had left. You were both in search of some peace. It was an unspoken understanding between the two of you. You were both staring out one of the windows, rain panging against it and creating a relaxing beat for the two of you. It seemed like forever before one of you spoke, and it happened to be Spencer.

“It’s really pouring out there,” Spencer says in a soft voice, almost speaking more to himself than to you. But you nod in agreement.

“Yeah…it is.” You whisper, tapping your pen against your desk. “I actually like the rain.” The last comment was almost an afterthought. You always felt like you didn’t have to think before you spoke around him. You could just speak freely and be yourself.

He turns his head towards you, and you can tell he’s smiling even though you’re still looking out at the falling rain.

“Yeah…I know what you mean. It's relaxing to hear it from the inside.” For once he doesn’t have a statistic or a fact to go along with it. Just softly speaking his mind. That's one of the things you loved about him.

You nod and smile a little. You hear his foot tapping on the floor, a telltale sign he had something on his mind. Before you could even ask what was wrong, he starts speaking. His voice was even softer than before, almost like he was scared someone else would hear, even though it was just the two of you.

“You…make me feel normal. I never really feel normal.” He pauses and looks up at you. “Do you know what I mean?”

You smile softly and finally turn your head to look at him. “Yeah. I know what you mean.”

A few more minutes of silence. Your pen clicking. His foot tapping. The rain against the window. It was a melody of noises that somehow was relaxing. Yet you couldn't help but feel the pit in your stomach growing. It was like butterflies but worse. You knew the feeling but tried to play it off.

You couldn’t be falling for him…right?

When you look over at him staring out the window and your heart immediately starts beating a little faster, you know it's time to go. You couldn’t be around him anymore because you might admit something you’d regret. You slowly start to pack up your things and only acknowledge it when he notices and looks at you, with what you can only describe as the biggest doe eyes you'd ever seen.

“I should head home…” You say softly, gripping the strap of your bag. He looks a little disappointed at the suddenness but also understands.

“Do you want me to walk you to your car?” He asks, beginning to stand. It was part of the routine you both had. But tonight…you couldn’t. You needed to be away from him. You didn’t want to hurt him. Or worse, you didn’t want to lose him. You slowly shake your head, trying to hide the obvious anxiousness on your face.

“I’m ok…you don’t have to go out there and get all wet.”

He looks sadder this time but nods. You both say goodbye, and you rush out the door. You don’t stop rushing until you're in your car, having just narrowly avoided getting soaked. But you don’t start your car. You just sit there gripping the steering wheel, almost willing the car to start driving home by itself.

Why did you have to like him so much? Why did he have to be so kind and amazing and perfect?

You lay your forehead against the steering wheel, just trying to get your mind in order enough to stop freaking out and get the hell home. Yet, as much as you rushed to get away from him, all you wanted to do was walk back into that building and sit next to him. At the end of the day, he was still your best friend, and you just wanted to talk to him without having the overwhelming feeling of butterflies in your stomach.

You were just about to start your car when you heard someone calling your name. You look around, confused when your eyes meet a very wet Spencer walking toward your car. You immediately grab your jacket and hold it over your head, although it doesn’t do much to protect you from the torrential downpour falling down on both of you. You start to walk over to him, shivering in the cold as your blouse gets doused in rain.

“Spencer, what the hell are you doing out here? Are you ok?” You yell to him, walking until you’re only a foot apart.

“I saw your car still here after a few minutes…and I need to talk to you.” He looks nervous. Really nervous. His whole body seemed to be shaking-although you were sure that was mostly due to the weather.

“What is it?” You’re mostly concerned. What could be so important was that he ran out to catch you before you left, getting drenched in the process.

He pauses. For a long time. You almost ask again, to see if he had heard you, but he looks straight into your eyes. That shuts you up really fast. He seems to be struggling with what he wants to say. But his eyes were glued to you like you were the most important thing in the world, so he had your attention.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” He blurts out. Your jaw drops. There was no way he had just said that. Your heart is racing, the butterflies that caused you to leave now back tenfold. Your brain short-circuited trying to form a response. You had to speak fast, you were worried he would disappear in front of you if you didn’t confirm your feelings.

“Are you serious?” You had to confirm what you just heard. He looks back at you, nodding quickly.

“I probably seem insane, coming out here in all this rain. I know it could’ve waited until tomorrow or I could’ve called you. But I couldn’t. As soon as you left I knew I had to tell you. I just…I couldn’t wait for another second. And when I saw your car was still here…” He trails off mid-ramble. “Yes. I’m serious.”

You take that all in. It was a lot. But it was also exactly what you wanted to hear.

“Spencer…I feel the same way.” Your voice is soft, almost overpowered by the rain. You completely give up on your jacket, dropping it to your side to get closer to him. He looked overjoyed and relieved.

“Can I please kiss you?” He says, the smile evident in his voice. He carefully places his hands on your face, swiping away the rain.

You nod, and he crashes your lips together in a mind-melting kiss. It was slow, romantic, everything you had ever imagined.

It was also very wet. But that part didn’t exactly matter to either of you.

You both break away, the chill of the air not as bad now that your bodies were pressed together. He looks into your eyes as if you were the only person in the world. And maybe to him, at that moment, you were. The moment doesn’t last as long as you both would’ve liked, the sudden realization that you were standing in the middle of the BAU parking lot, completely soaked taking over instead.

“Get in the car!” You yell with a laugh. You both run into your car, dripping water all over the seats. You’d hate yourself for that later. Right now, it was just you and him, in the dryness of your car. It hits you all that just happened, and you look at him.

“Did we just-?”

“Yeah…I think so.” He says with a smile, running a hand through his hair, slicking it back in a way that makes your heart flutter at the sight.

“What do we do now?” You ask softly, your mind spinning yet again but now with a completely another set of problems-the biggest one being that you were both cold and wet and in your car. As usual, he reads your mind.

“Why don’t we start with getting dry…we’re probably ruining your car seats.”

You nod, smiling. You couldn’t stop smiling. You finally start your car, the heat blasting on and providing the both of you with some much-needed warmth. You look into his eyes, and there seems to be a new unspoken understanding between the two of you. This was just the beginning, and it would get a lot better from here.

#criminal minds #x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #fanfic #criminal minds fanfic

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msp9 · 8 months ago

Text

THIS IS MY LIKES AND DISLIKES OF CHAOS THEORY ⚠️Spoilers below cut⚠️

When i first finished this season, I too like some people, was skeptical about it. I get why some people say its bad, I just thought it was very different from cc. At points the characters didin't feel like themsleves, the way some of them were written and the designs gave me a real hard time to get used to them. Also i felt as if it was just too much to process at times so i rewatched it and my final answer is that its a good show the pacing is incredeble, the plot, the suspence and character development. i just had a hard time getting used to everything new? Ig. I'm still doubting whether its a 10 but sure thing is that it was a very good first season its a easy 9/10. So here are the thinks i liked abt it:

-THE WAY THEY POTRAYED EVERYONES TRAUMA/STRUGGLES , Sammy having anxiety, Yaz overcoming her ptsd, and KENJI. MY BOY. That must have been the best breakdown i've seen in animated series. Whoever wrote that scene. Wow. It was the best thing in the whole show honestly. His vision gtting blurry, having truble breathing. The panick. Wow. I CANNOT SAY THIS LOUD ENOUGH.

-Ben and Sammy duo? Hello? Im srry to say but you might just be better than Yaz and Ben duo. Idk i really loved them.

- "Benjamin."

- Showing Yaz is doing better. Despite her ongoing struggles, she has clearly grown and matured the last 6 years, and the way she calmed Sammy in the sinking van? Ig all those therapy sessions and college paid off. That scene is a clear illustration of the progress she has made. I mean sammy did say "i can tell shes still struggling" but there wasnt really a clear scene of her getting stuck in place as she used to. So my guess is that it was just Sammys anxiety and the fact that they didint talk much. Bc then Sammy was surprised how she kept herselve together. So yeah

-YASAMMY. NOTHING MORE TO ADD.

-UM SAMMYS CHARACTER?? HELLO? GLOW UP, CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, i loved her sm. She moved up to my top 3.

And her anxiety? It was so well shown too

-the fight between Sammy and Yaz felt so natural and not at all forced. They both had valid points and in the end they did understand each other and were on the same page.

-Ben being Ben in almost every episode

- Yasmina's "boo."

-Brooklynns design?? Majestic to say the least.

- ingore what i said ealrier abt the acting out of character. They do remind themsleves they just grew

Well, all except Ben...

-Kenjis new voice actor, he did a real good job, as much as it doesn't sound like him, he really captured some emotional scenes very well.

- The robot lady. THEY REALLY SAID TAKE A WOMAN AND MAKE HER CREEPY ASF. I was genunanly creeped out. And the detail that at the ranch if u listen closesly u can hear the whistle. Hell nah that was scary.

-Benrius Ben and Darius friendship, okay actually u can't tell me u didint feel it too, the tention between ben and Darius cmon we all know what u are Ben stop making up girlfriends in Europe

-Brooklynn turning bad, or from what we are told worked for bad people ig. Personally as much as it shocked me, im sure theres a good reason as to why and i cant wait to hear more abt in season 2.

-I can now undertand what everyone meant in reviews saying "its more mature" not only in the more death and dinos but it woyud be kind of confusing for a younger audience to undertsand some stuff in this show.

-I really liked Daniels kon death, maybe it wasn't necesarry but im all in for that dark death scene.

-Lastly the comment Sammy makes when Ben asks how bumpy got pregnant, and the yazs smirk. Gurl i was suprised they added that but i loved it

Now, the things that i didint like and why:

- First of all, Darius being in love with brooklynn. I mean i get it but i also dont get it. In my opinion, there shouldn't have been a different reason as to why Darius was the most effected by her death. They were close and she died. Its okay to be really effected by someones death and not bc u liked them, and i also do believe that the reason for him not showing up the night she "died" should have been smth more serious. Then again i get it bc now he felt a lot more guilt bc it was for a not so important reason he didint show up and thats why he didint tell anyone. Well axtually it isnt that bad, but i just felt it was forced for the plot. This again could be bc i started to like kenlynn and now they turned the tables completly but sure.

-Brooklynns voice actor. I just couldn't connect her to brooklynn? She sounded a lot different, not a major bad thing it was just hard to get used to.

-Ben having a gf, or supposedly having one, u telling me this man has a gf:

I thought it funny but yk that man is a homosexual

- and lastly, Brooklynn being alive. This might sound bad but it made sense for her to die. And i was kinda lamed out that she wasnt dead. (Pls ironically enough, just weeks ago i begged for her to be alive.) But like the way everyone suffered bc of her death, going throught the 5 stages of grief, and the way the show was played. It just would have been better if she died, all those flashbacks, the emotional moments, i mean its not gonna be the same when i rewatch it bc i know shes alive. Anyways enough abt this.

Actually i have nothing more to add to my "bad stuff" list but i might come up with smth later. Bc i will be rewatchibg it obviously. Ig lastly i just wanted more episodes how dare they cutting the season of right there.

#jwct #jurassic world chaos theory #yasmina fadoula #jwct spoilers #msp9 yapping

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thatdeadaquarius · 2 years ago

Note

"Oh my gosh do you sound like a sim to them??"

Me trying to place myself in their shoes:

"Why the fuck do I sound like a villager in Animal Crossing-- ARE THEY HEARING ANIMALESE WHEN I SPEAK?!"

(A.k.a I saw the previous ask and thought wait a minute. Two different worlds. Languages so similar but so different....... We're basically speaking animalese in another game/world lmfao)

(Bonus: Creator!Reader knows this and takes full advantage as their payback. Traveller magically understands and speaks back causing further pyschic confusion. Pretty sure soke brains have been melted among linguistic students in Sumeru)

-Vine Boom

VINE BOOM MY BELOVED IM SO LATE TO ATTEND TO YOU!! :'(

It has been a minute and yet, you remain my love!! Thank you for your patience, have a little scenario as my thanks for that and submitting the cool idea <3

Me @ you: ♥ ( ॢᵕ n ᵕ (꒡ᵋ ꒡ღ) mwah! /p

this gif is just really cute thats why its here.

also i have very little to add so its short but only bc im ✨uncreative✨ atm and ur ask alone is funny enough lmao, so once again, a scenario bc vine booms just a genius all on their own ✨️

◇

😭so you mean 😭 as revenge 😭 for this awful deed 😭 done to your speech 😭 you just start EMBRACING IT 😭😭😭PLEAASEEE-

PLEASE the traveler understands it!! 💀

Also if anyone reads this im so sorry ive flooded the sagau tag with language shenanigans LMAO

◇

Ever since you realized that the entirety of Teyvat sounds like Sims to you, (and the subsequent awful reckoning that you sound the same to them 😭)

You have finally mentally recovered enough courage, and desperately shoved any embarrassment deep into your soul, to try and think of what to do about it

♤

You quickly found that people had 3 types of reactions to your speech,

1. They try to understand the nonsense like you trying to understand their Simlish, it really doesnt work, you wish you could tell them to give up and just gesture at you instead:

(ALHAITHAM he keeps trying then giving up then trying again lol, Diluc, ZHONGLI, Sara, Albedo, Candace, Dehya she thinks she’s gonna get it THIS time she swears-, Eula, Gorou, GANYU she feels bad lmao, Jean, AYAKA, keqing, kuki, Nahida, ningguang, AETHER, Thoma, xinyan, XIAO)

◇

2. They act like you when you hear animal crossing characters speak 💀 you can see the “omg so cute” sparkle in their eyes:

(KAZUHA, kokomi, barbara, KAEYA, ZHONGLI again lol he tries to hide it but you can see the tiny smile everytime you walk over and start ranting at him bc ur bored, Faruzan, GOROU, AYATO, YAE MIKO, keqing, LISA, mika, mona, KLEE literally loves you and you can tell shes always trying to get you to say something lol, Ei (archon), Rosaria she always SMIRKS and ur just- 😳, CHILDE the little shit giggles at ur misery, LUMINE AND AETHER U CANT TRUST EITHER OF THEM- , THOMA, SCARAMOUCHE BUT HE’D NEVER ADMIT IT BUT HE ALWAYS IS OBVIOUSLY TRYING TO HIDE A TINY SMILE AND GOES A LITTLE PINK-!! SAME FOR XIAO LMAO)

◇

3. You know that tiktok audio thats like Isabella from Animal Crossing singing, and then someone’s like “uh-huh! YEAH! OKAY!!” yeah like that, but to you LMAO

(ITTO, Bennett, KAVEH, heizou, VENTI, Nilou she like nods after everything you say and makes sure you’re treated well in every conversation aw, qiqi, KLEE, Raiden (puppet) + Ei (archon), SHENHE no explanation needed, CYNO too, LUMINE, YELAN, yoimiya, yunjin)

♧

Alright i got tired sorry not everybody’s there lol^

So no matter the reaction, they all are a little bummed nobody can get you,

…but then of. Fucking. Course.

LUMINE/AETHER as ALWAYS get SPECIAL TREATMENT

(there’s not a single person throughout all the nations, the archons, the allogenes, doesnt matter, who hasn’t felt a LITTLE pang of envy for this- bc as cute as you sound, goddamit they USED to understand you when you weren’t physically here, before you overcame the Universal Barrier AKA the computer screen lol)

AND THEY GET TO UNDERSTAND YOU.

The Sumeru linguistics department is grinding their teeth, Alhaitham straight up glares every time they translate for you lmao, Zhongli’s eye twitches at least once everytime they do so, Kazuha is literally trying to bribe them with cool places he’s seen that the traveler hasn’t so they’ll share the secret of how to understand you, Ningguang gets 10x chillier when they’re helping convos w/ you, Ei looks like she’s fucking pouting-

☆

Aether is just like 🤨?? For what?? I’m helping???

So confused he never gets what’s going on lol

✨

Lumine, on the other hand, is FULLY aware and smirks every time she’s so smug about it LMAO

^ the embodiment of the cat surrounded by knives meme ^

☆

Ahhhh my exhibition is April 6th u guys!

May I finally rest in peace when that day comes 🪦

Cant wait to graduate and just have a regular job and not academia + deadlines 😭😫

Hope you guys have had a nice week or two!

Look out for more posts after the 6th :>

Safe Travels,

💀♒️

♡the beloveds♡

@karmawonders / @0rah-s / @randomnatics / @glxssynarvi / @nexylaza / @genshin-impacts-me / @wholesomey-artist

Short one but hope its fun my beloved!! :)

#so cursed #take ur revenge yes vine boom the way u think #everytime i think a little too hard abt ur anon name i giggle bc its from the blunt lang au lmao #my askers big brains>>> anything i post #genshin impact #genshin sagau #sagau #my asks #genshin imagines #gender neutral reader #genshin isekai #genshin sagau ideas #genshin god reader #genshin impact sagau #genshin x reader #genshin reader insert #god i never remember all the tags i need to put dammit

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heli-writes · 1 year ago

Text

Seven summers, part 1.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!reader

Summary: Every summer, Draco and y/n meet. First, by pure coincidence, then intentionally. Unbeknown to Draco, y/n's a muggle who has no clue he's a wizard. With the rise of the dark lord, how long can this go well?

Part 1, Part 2

Series Masterlist

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

First summer

I can't wait for summer to be over, y/n thinks. Y/n just turned eleven and after the summer, she starts at a new school. Her family just moved into the area and she can't wait to get to know kids her age. Today, her parents took her to London to get some school supplies. Her mother dragged her to Waterstones to get her school books but y/n managed to get away and to wander into the fantasy section. She loves nothing more than fantastic stories about fairies and evil witches.

She's engrossed in a book about an elven princess when she suddenly hears: “Pah, stupid smugglers!“. She looks up and sees a blond boy her age who holds a fantasy book in his hands. Maybe he goes to my new school, she thinks. Being desperate to finally find a friend, she says: “Yeah, you're right. They're so stupid.“ Y/n has no idea what a muggle is but hopes the boy doesn't notice. The boy turns around and looks her up and down. “Are you going to school at Hogwarts then?“, he asks. Y/n tries her best to hide her disappointment. Of course, it was too good to be true. “No, unfortunately not.“, she says. “Durmstrang then? My father wanted to send me there.“, he continues. “No, my parents are sending me to-“, she starts. “Ilvermorny School. You're American, right? I notice your accent.“, the boy interrupts her. Y/n is taken aback. She thought she practiced her English accent really well. She doesn't want the other kids to make fun of her accent. “Is it that obvious?“, y/n blurts out. The boy laughs. “Yeah, you sound like there's a potato stuck in the back of your throat.“, he says. Y/n feels her ears burning up. “I'm Draco Malfoy. And you?“, the boy asks. “I'm y/n l/n. Nice to meet you.“, she answers. Y/n is glad that the conversation goes in a different direction. “You wanna get out of this muggle shop?“, Draco asks. Y/n thinks about it for a second. Her mom is still somewhere in the school section. Whatever, she thinks, I can call her on my phone late. “Sure.“, y/n says, “You wanna get some ice cream? There's a truck down the road.“ Draco agrees and the two of them exit the bookshop.

“So, what kind of flavour do you like?“, y/n asks Draco. “Chocolate.“ he immediately says. Y/n orders for both of them and hands Draco both cones so she can pay. “It's 3 pounds and 60 pence.“, the vendor tells her. Y/n starts digging in her purse and puts some coins in her hand. Being used to American dollars, she has to turn around every coin to see its value. It takes quite a while to count the money together and she gets embarrassed by the line that forms behind her. “Don't worry“, Draco tells her, “The muggle money confuses me too.“ Draco's cryptic use of the word 'muggle' confuses her, but she decides it's probably a British word that she doesn't understand yet. Like hoover or flat. “So, what are you?“, Draco asks. Y/n takes a

lick from her ice cream. “What do you mean?“, she asks. “Your blood. Pure or mixed?“, he asks. Y/n thinks it's a weird question. Does he want to know if both of her parents are American or if one of her parents is British? I guess it's somehow a valid question, y/n thinks, what other reason does an American have to be in Britain? “Oh, I'm a pure blood. My parents are only here for work. They work at the embassy, you know.“, she tells him. Draco nods as if he expected such an answer. “I see.“, he says. “When does school start for you?“, y/n asks him. “First of September.“, he tells her. “Same for me.“, she says. Suddenly she gets really shy. “Do you... Like... Would you like to hang out before school starts?“, she asks him. Draco looks a bit taken aback as if he didn't expect someone to want to hang out with him.

Before he can answer, a loud and somewhat shrill voice yells: “Dracooo! What are you doing? Let's go!“. A woman with black hair and a blond streak waves from across the street. “That's my mother. I got to go. See you around, l/n.“, he tells her and turns to leave. He seems eager to not answer y/n's question. “Wait! What about hanging out?“, y/n yells after him. Draco turns around for a second. “I'll send you an owl.“, he quickly says before taking off. Y/n looks after him dumbfounded. An owl?, she thinks. Is that an app the Europeans use that we don't? Like whatsapp? She thinks about it all the way back to the bookstore where her mother scolds her for leaving without telling her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Second summer

Y/n's early. Way too early. Usually, she's always late and only catches her train to school by the second. But today she's early because her dad has a work thing and dropped her off at King's Cross early. Having a couple hours to kill, y/n wanders aimlessly through the train station. There's so much to see. One of y/n's favorite hobbies is people-watching. Some may call it being noisy but y/n doesn't care about that. Currently, her focus is on an old, fat guy who is picking his nose. I wonder what he's going to do with it, she thinks. He puts it into his mouth. Ewwww, she thinks and quickly turns around running head-first into someone.

"Watch out where you're going, you filthy muggle!", someone says in a disgusted voice. A voice that sounds all too familiar to y/n. "Draco?", she says in disbelief. "Oh, it's you.", Draco answers while straightening his jacket. Y/n takes a good look at him. He has grown a good few inches taller. But not yet taller than me, she thinks proudly. Other than that, he pretty much still looks the same. His blond hair is still glued to his forehead and he works that same disinterested facial expression as the last time he saw him. "I thought you wanted to send me an owl.", she points out reproachfully. Suddenly, Draco looks embarrassed. "Yeah... my parents didn't want me to send a stranger letters.", he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "I guess I understand that.", y/n replies. After all, she hadn't told her parents about meeting him last year. "So, how's life? The new school?", she asks him. Draco scoffs. "School could be better. The place really is going down. My father already wrote the ministry about it.", he says dismissively. "I see. What about friends? Did you get to know some people?", she continues to ask. "I guess. At least they're loyal.", he replies. Y/n nods excitedly. "That's so important. I became friends with this girl, Becky, at the beginning of the school year but later, she made fun of my backpack behind my back. Obviously, we're not friends anymore.", y/n chats happily. Draco shifts uncomfortably on his feet. He's not sure what he's supposed to answer to this chit-chatty nonsense. "Well, did you get revenge on her?", he asks. An evil grin spreads over y/n's face. "Well, what do you think? Of course, I did! I collected a bunch of bugs and put them into her shoes during P.E. Never heard a person scream so loudly.", y/n chuckles. That puts a grin on Draco's face. "Good. Don't let others take advantage of you.", he tells her. Y/n nods. "What is taking you to the station today?", she asks and points towards his suitcase, "Are you going on a trip?" "No," he answers, "School starts today." Y/n is a bit confused. "Why are you taking a suitcase then?", she asks. Draco looks at her as if she's asked what color the sky is. "Hogwart's a boarding school.", he points out as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Oh, that's cool. Must be fun, having a sleepover with your friends every night.", y/n replies cheerily. "Right...", Draco says. "Draco, where on earth were you? Didn't I tell you to stick around?", a man says behind y/n. He's tall, blond and carries a strange-looking cane. That must be his dad, y/n thinks. "I'm sorry father. I just ran into y/n, the American girl from last summer.", Draco says and y/n thinks he suddenly looks a few inches smaller. His father scoffs and musters y/n from head to toe. Suddenly she's glad she's not wearing her school uniform yet but one of the new dresses her mom got her during her summer holiday in Italy. "Ah, so you're the American. What does your father do for work again?", Draco's father asks her. "Oh, he's working at the embassy.", she answers uncomfortably. "I see.", Draco's father answers. "Actually, would it be okay if Draco and I write each other letters from time to time? It'd be nice to know how things are at other schools.", she quickly asks him. The man ponders on the question for the moment. "I guess it'd be good to know how things are at Ilvermorny since we are considering transferring Draco.", he eventually answers. Y/n gives Draco a booming smile and he gives her an oppressed smile.

"Father, we still have some time. Would it be alright if y/n and I go to that muggle café around the corner?", Draco asks his father. "Why would you want to do that? Why don't you take her to a proper place? Like the Leaky Cauldron?", his father answers appalled. "It's just closer to the station. That way we don't miss the train.", Draco quickly adds. His father sighs and waves him off. "Fine, fine. I have business to attend to. Just see that you are in front of the platform in time.", he says. Y/n quickly says her goodbyes and quickly follows Draco to the 'muggle café' which turns out to be a Costa. They order some tea and make themselves comfortable on the couches close to the window. "So, tell me about Ilvermorny.", Draco demands once they sat down. Right, Ilvermorny, y/n thinks, the school I don't go to. "You see, actually I don't...", she tries to explain when Draco suddenly spots someone outside the window. "Potter! Look at that who's arriving with that blood-traitor family. Unbelievable! How low can one person sink?", he exclaims indignantly. Y/n quickly looks out of the window and sees the back of a raven-haired boy alongside a family of redheads. "Who's that?", she asks him. "Oh, just Harry Potter. My archnemesis.", Draco replies in a bored tone. "You have an archnemesis?", y/n gasps, "How did that happen?". "Well, y/n, you see wealthy and powerful people like me always end up having enemies.", he boasts. Y/n thinks about Becky who keeps spreading rumors about her after the whole bug situation. "I guess Becky's my archnemesis then.", she says, "You should try putting bugs into his shoes." Draco scoffs. "Unfortunately, we're not in the same house, so I don't really get an opportunity to do that.", he tells her. When she asks about the houses, he explains the system to her and y/n decides that it's the same thing as being in a different homeroom.

After finishing their teas, Draco and y/n part ways at platform 9. Draco tells her that he needs to catch the train at platform 9 3/4, which y/n doesn't really understand. She doesn't worry too much about it since a lot of things that Draco says don't make sense to her and a lot more things he says are kind of rubbish in her opinion. Considering he was technically her first friend when she moved to England, she lets it slide. They wish each other a successful school year and Draco promises to send her an owl as soon as he sets up his room at Hogwarts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dearest y/n,

Life at Hogwarts is annoying as always. The food's still terrible and the education less than adequate, at least according to my father.

However, good news are that I've achieved to become the seeker for my house team. Finally, I can show that Harry Potter what it really means to play this game.

I hope things at Ilvermorny are well for you.

See you soon, Draco Malfoy

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Draco said he'd send an owl, y/n did not think he'd literally send an owl. It probably should've concerned her when the feathered fellow landed on her windowsill with a bright red envelope in its beak addressed to Ms. Y/n L/N. But when you're 12 years old and an owl brings you a letter, you'd think it's super cool and something straight out of your favorite book. Y/n's mother probably would have lost it at the sight of the bird sitting on y/n's desk.

Y/n immediately wrote him a letter back and gave it to the own alongside a piece of her peanut butter jelly sandwich that was meant to be eaten during lunch break. Over the year, sending letters back and forth became a regular thing for the two. Y/n often didn't understand what Draco was talking about (A seeker? Like in hide and seek?) and filled the gaps with her imagination. Draco often didn't understand what y/n was talking about and shrugged it off with the excuse that y/n's American (Angry Bird? That must be a magical beast native in America!).

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Third summer

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Draco,

My mom's taking me to London next Friday. She visits a friend from the office. I've asked to tag along so that I can do some shopping in London.

Are you in London that day by any chance? Maybe we can have some ice cream again.

Hopefully see you soon, Y/n

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Y/n, are you listening?", y/n's mom pulls out her headphone out of y/n's ear. "Seriously, you kids and your technology!", she sighs, "I've told you to get some school supplies while you're out with your friend, did you get that?" Y/n rolls her eyes at that. "But mom! I'm out to have fun with my friends, not to go school shopping.", she whines. "C'mon, y/n, you're going to hang out at some shops anyway. Might as well get something useful.", y/n's mom says and shoves a few pound bills into y/n's hand. Y/n shoves the money into her bag and hops out of the car. "I pick you up, here, at 5 o'clock, y/n. You'd better be here. I'm not gonna go looking for you.", y/n's mother says sternly. "Yes, Mom.", y/n says obediently while rolling her eyes again on the inside. Then, she takes off to meet Draco at Trafalgar Square.

When she spots the blond-haired boy, she starts waving both hands above her head. "DRACOOO! I'M HERE!", she yells and grins widely. When Draco notices her, he walks towards her. "Why are you being so loud? Seriously, the muggles are already noticing us!", he hisses while grabbing her arms and pulling them down. Y/n gives him a mischievous smile. "Let them watch. What are they gonna do about it?", she says. Draco lets go of her hand and scoffs. "I guess you're right.", he says, "Let's go, though. Can't stand to be around them for too long." "Alright," y/n says, "Where do you want to go?". "Diagon Alley, of course.", Draco points out as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Y/n, not wanting to look stupid in front of her friend, says: "Oh, of course! Lead the way!".

The two make their way to the entrance of Diagon Alley. When they stop in front of a brick wall, y/n thinks for a moment that Draco got them lost. But when the bricks start to move and an entry to a hidden street is revealed, y/n's jaw is on the floor. Draco doesn't seem to notice this and grabs her arm without looking at her. "C'mon, before a muggle sees us!", he says and pulls her into the alleyway by her arm. When the brick wall rearranges itself behind her, y/n has to swallow and a pit starts to grow in her stomach. "I want to go to Sugarplum's first.", Draco tells her while pulling her through the alley by her wrist. Y/n barely can keep up with him, mostly because her head is turning in all directions at once. There's a person in a pointy head and there's a broom sweeping the floor by itself. There's a small man with pointy ears and there's a small cage with little dragons in it. Y/n's head feels like it's about to explode when Draco stops in front of a bright pink shop door. Y/n is still questioning her sanity and everything that's real as Draco pulls her into the shop.

"What kind of candy do you like?", Draco asks her while letting his eyes run over the shelves of different candy jars. Y/n releases a breath that she didn't notice she was holding. Finally, a sentence that makes sense to her. "Chocolate.", she tells him. "Then you should get these chocolate frogs. Do you know them? Do you have them in America, too?", Draco asks. Y/n looks at the packaging he put into her hands. "No, sorry, we don't have that in America.", she tells him. She's pretty sure also the British kids in her school wouldn't know what this type of candy is. Y/n slowly starts to realize that the misunderstandings Draco and her tend to have, do not have something to do with culture and more to do with... well what? Y/N's still not sure what this place is or what is going on this street. The only thing she knows is that everything in this street is absolutely normal for Draco, while for y/n, it's something totally out of a movie. Draco starts to fill a paper bag with different types of candy that he takes out of glass jars. "So, uhm, Hogwarts, eh?", y/n tries to cover up her insecurity. "Ugh, yes!", Draco sighs dramatically. "I swear, you wouldn't believe what happened this year!", he tells her. Y/n relaxes a bit and is glad that Draco is utterly oblivious to the y/n's shock. "Why? What happened?", she asks him. "The so-called chamber of secrets was opened and a bunch of people got turned into stone!", he boasts as if that was a good thing. Y/n swallows. Just what kind of school does Draco go to? "Uhm... and did they die?", she asks him carefully. "No.", Draco says unbothered. "But Potter got to play the hero again. My dad told me to stay on the low which is what I did. However, if I investigated the whole thing, the whole issue would've been solved way earlier.", he tells her. Y/n has to snicker at Draco's arrogance. "What you don't believe me?", Draco grins at her. Y/n raises her hands in defense. "I would never, I'm convinced you're the greatest guy at your school! Certainly greater than the boys at my school.", she tells him truthfully. During the last part, she has to think of Connor O'Sullivan who tried to impress the girls in her class by snorting a line of sherbet powder which resulted in a visit at the school nurse's office and a school-wide ban of sherbet powder. Draco puffs his chest at that and tells her: "I know! I'm gonna be one of the greatest wizards ever!". At that, things fall into place for y/n. A wizard! Of course! The owl, the broom, the guy in the pointy hat. Things make a lot more sense now, y/n thinks to herself. At the same time, she comes to the realization that Draco must think she's a wizard, or witch, too. An American witch, at least. Suddenly, y/n feels really bad. I need to tell him, she thinks.

While y/n is deep in her own thoughts, Draco pays for the candy and leads her back outside. "So, Draco... Thanks for showing me this place. I've never seen anything like it...", she starts, trying to ease Draco into the conversation about how she's not a witch. "Ha!", Draco laughs, "You've never been to Diagon Alley? Your parents must suck if they only ever showed you the muggle side of...". Draco stops midsentence and warily stares at a girl their age and her parents on the other side of the street. "Muggles!", he swears under his breath. "What?", y/n asks him. He blatantly points towards the family. "They're muggles. That's Hermione Granger. She's in my grade level. Her parents aren't witches.", he tells her. "Oh.", y/n just says and immediately feels great sympathy for the couple that looks around quite awkwardly. "I don't understand why they even let people like that in here and into Hogwarts. They should be banned!", Draco continues his rant. "What do you mean?", y/n asks stupidly. "Well, clearly muggles like the Grangers shouldn't wander this street. They don't belong here. And Hermione Granger shouldn't be allowed to attend Hogwarts. After all, her magic doesn't come from witches.", Draco explains. Y/n crooks her head. "She's got magic. Doesn't that make her a witch?", she asks him. "Well... technically, but she's still a muggle-born!", Draco defends himself. "You keep saying muggle as if it's a bad thing. It's not their fault that they don't have magic.", y/n argues. She notices how she gets offended and angry by Draco, now that she knows that the word "muggle" includes her too. "Well, you're right, it's not their fault they're muggles. However, being muggles, they're still oblivious to magic and the real world. We wizards could wipe them off the face of the earth if we wanted to.", he talks back. Y/n thinks about this for a second. "So what you're saying is the following: muggles are born without magic, which isn't their fault, but they're still inferior to wizards and that's why they should be grateful that you let them live?", she points out. "Yes.", Draco says and crosses his arms in front of his chest. "That's bullshit.", y/n concludes. "How so? Didn't think you're such a great muggle defender.", Draco provokes her. "Well, all people are different. Some people are stronger or smarter or prettier than other people. For every weakness you have, I have a strength, and the other way around. Together, we can do anything.", she tells him. "Aha.", Draco deadpans, "And what do muggles bring to the table when it comes to 'together we can do anything'?".

Y/n thinks about that for a second and lets her gaze wander through the scene of Diagon Alley. Everything looks like it comes straight out of the Middle Ages, she thinks. "Technology.", she suddenly blurts. Draco rolls his eyes at that. "No, seriously. For example, you send me an owl to communicate with me. Your owl takes several days to send messages back and forth. If you were a muggle, you could just send me a message on your smartphone. Your message would reach me within seconds.", y/n explains. Draco stays quiet for a while. Seems like I've got you, she smirks to herself. "Well, I still think muggles suck.", Draco tells her. Now he's just being petty, she thinks. "Well, I think you suck, too." y/n tells him equally petty. Draco turns around and looks are her offendedly. "What? Why? What did I do?", he asks her. "You are being a prick, Draco. You judge people based on something they can't do anything about. It's as if I would judge you because of your hair color.", she tells him. Draco gives her another offended side look. "What's wrong with my hair color?", he asks her. "It's the same color as your face.", y/n snaps at him, "It makes you look like a ghost." Suddenly, Draco's face has a different color than his hair, namely red. "A ghost? I don't look like a ghost. Ghosts are transparent, you know! Or have you never seen a ghost?", he takes a swing at her. Jesus, are ghosts real, too?, y/n asks herself but quickly answers: "Of course I have! But you still look weird like that! More dead than alive!" Draco huffs and tries to answer: "Well and you look like... like...!" Desperately, he tries to find a fitting insult to y/n's appearance but he doesn't come up with anything. Probably because he actually finds y/n very pretty. Y/n has to laugh heartedly at Draco's dumb face. She slaps his arm. "I guess I'm too gorgeous to be insulted by a ghost.", she giggles and the tight atmosphere around them loosens up a bit. Draco secretly agrees with her and is glad that the argument is over. "Let's just not talk about muggles anymore.", he proposes and y/n agrees. She decides to keep her being a muggle a secret for a while longer.

The two of them continue their stroll through Diagon Alley and y/n takes her time admiring all the magical things around her. The street gets fuller and fuller, too. Soon so many people push themselves through the small space that y/n is worried, she'll lose Draco in the masses of people. She quickly latches onto his hand. Draco grips her hand firmly and leads her through the alley. Y/n is so distracted by everything that's around her, that she doesn't notice how the tips of Draco's ears turned a bright red ever since they started to hold hands. Eventually, they turn around and come to a stop in front of a tavern which has a big sign over its door which reads "Leaky Cauldron". "Let's have a butterbeer before heading back.", Draco tells her. Y/n agrees and they go inside.

Y/n is immediately in love with the place. It's cozy and spooky at the same time. The couple sits to rest at a table close to the bar and they order their drinks. Y/n observes the people in the tavern. Some people look exactly like y/n would imagine a witch or wizard to look like, others look like people you'd meet in the normal world as well. Y/n takes a closer look at Draco and ponders whether or not he looks like a wizard. The ghost aspect clearly gives him supernatural plus point, she decides. "Why are you staring at me?", Draco asks her uncomfortably. "I just decided you do look very wizardly.", she tells him. Draco sits up a bit, clearly content with that. "Well, I am a wizard.", he tells her. Y/n nods. "True, but that guy over there does not look like a wizard.", she tells him and points to a boy their age which sits a few tables behind Draco. Draco turns around and then lets out a loud laugh. So loud, that the boy and his friends turn around to them. "Shhh!", y/n tells him and grabs his arm. Draco turns back to her with a clearly amused expression on his face. "That's Harry Potter.", he tells her. "Your archnemesis?", y/n asks dumbfoundedly and Draco nods. Y/n takes a closer look at the so-called Harry Potter. Not only he doesn't look like a wizard, but he also looks like he's never seen a barber shop from the inside. "So, what do you think?", Draco asks her. Y/n supports her head with her hand and stirs her yellowy drink. "I thought he'd look more intimidating.", she tells him truthfully. Draco snickers. "Yeah, he looks like a pathetic worm, doesn't he?", he says proudly. Y/n doesn't agree with his choice of words but lowkey agrees with him. "Why do you even bother with him?", she asks him. Draco shrugs. "He's annoying and thinks he's better than me.", he tells her. Y/n doesn't think that Harry Potter looks arrogant. She thinks he looks like an average, maybe even below average, boy their age. She doesn't like his round glasses. They make him look silly, like a grandpa, she thinks. "I wouldn't worry so much about him. You said you're in different classes, didn't you?", she asks Draco. Draco nods. "Yes, which means we're constantly competing against each other. For the house cup, you know?", he tells her. Y/n doesn't know. "We don't have that at my school. We barely have anything to do with the other classes in our grade. We only see them during the break at the schoolyard. That's it.", y/n replies. "Geez, you're lucky.", Draco tells her, "Even my dad constantly wants to know what that Potter guy is doing, and beware he's better at something than I am." Y/n finds it weird that Draco's father, a grown-ass man, is so interested in a minor's life that is not his own child. Yet then again, y/n also thought Draco's father was weird the second she saw him. "You shouldn't have to compare yourself to that guy.", y/n says softly, "Remember how we all have different strengths? You're definitely better than that guy in some things, I bet." Draco's face lits up. "Potions!", he tells her. "I'm really good at Potions but he sucks. To be fair, our professor also hates him. He still sucks, though." Y/n nods in agreement. The two of them continue to chat a bit and Draco tells her all about Harry Potter and his gang of three. Y/n should feel strange that she gets to know so much about people she's never met. Then again, she does love some juicy gossip.

Eventually, y/n takes a look at her watch and notices that it's already half past four. "Oh, no! It's already so late! I need to get back! My mom will be furious if I'm not punctual.", she says as she jumps up and scrambles together her things. Quickly the couple gets up and hurries through the wall that rearranges itself. Draco walks with her to the agreed pick-up point with y/n's mother. Luckily, her mother hasn't arrived yet. "I guess that's it then.", Draco says and puts his hands into his pockets. "I guess so." she replies. There's an awkward silence between them. "Hey Draco?", she asks, "Are you still mad about the conversation earlier?". Draco shakes his head. "No, it's okay. Muggles are a controversial topic. It's okay if you think differently than I do.", he tells her. Y/n sighs in relief. "That's great. I really would have hated it if we stopped being friends over this." Draco chuckles in relief, too. "Yeah, that'd be stupid.", he agrees. Y/n clutches her hands behind her back. "You know, Draco, I'm really gonna miss you this school year. It's always funny with you", she tells him. There's a faint blush on his cheeks. "Yeah, uh... I'm gonna miss you, too. You're silly. Most of my friends are too stern and serious.", he replies. Y/n chuckles and then opens her arms. Draco awkwardly steps into her arms and she gives him a bear hug. He shyly hugs her back. "You promise to write me?", y/n whispers into his ear. Suddenly, there's a lump in Draco's throat. Only now he realizes that he's never been so close to a girl before. "Y-yes. I'll write you.", he says hoarsly. Y/n gives him one last squeeze and then steps back. "Meet again next summer?", she asks. Draco gives her a loopsided grin. "Meet again next summer.", he agrees.

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