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naughtyneganjdm · 7 months

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Back Pain

Summary: After you find Negan on the floor of his cell in pain when he hurt his back, you offer to give him a massage. With how touch starved Negan is, you find yourself taking advantage of the moment and make Negan feel good in other ways.

Characters: Negan & the reader (OC, second person)

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/50901724

Warnings: 18+, Swearing, smut, little to no plot, hurt/comfort, submissive Negan, dominant reader, praise kink, p*ssy job, begging Negan, etc.

Notes: This is pure filth. Not gonna lie. I thought I would make it innocent at first, but that's not how this story wanted to be written. I hope you enjoy it.

You would never admit this to the rest of the people in Alexandria, but days like these were your favorites. Getting to be the person to go and spend some time with Negan when you gave him his meals for the day actually was something you looked forward to. Many people hated the job, but you took it whenever you could. Talking to Negan was something you enjoyed. Even though people didn’t really give Negan credit, he was quite intelligent and knew a lot about books. You always enjoyed having conversations with him. Sure, he was a bit of a smart ass and was always very inappropriate at times, but you liked it. You liked him. So any chance you could take to do this, you would. And people wouldn’t often fight you on it when you offered. Negan rubbed a lot of the people in Alexandria the wrong way, but you felt like you saw more to him than everyone else did.

Heading down to the cell that they kept Negan in, you clutched tightly to the tray that Negan’s food was on when you didn’t see him sitting at either in the corner of the room or on the cot that they had for him, “Negan?”

“Oh, hey,” Negan’s voice responded raspier than normal causing you to drop your head to see that he was laying on the center of the floor face first on the ground. His head turned toward you and he let out a small groan. “I’m…here.”

“Are you okay?” you wondered noticing that he wasn’t moving much and he let out a hesitant breath.

“I think I pulled out my back,” Negan was honest, his words coming out in a slow slur. His eyebrows bounced up and he let out a groan when he tried to push himself up but let out a hiss when he braced his hands on the floor. “My tennis ball went underneath the cot. I bent down to grab it and well…the rest is history.”

“Oh,” you chuckled, setting his tray of food down on the ground to slide it under the bars for him. “Do you need some help?”

“You trust me enough for that?” Negan managed to pull himself up to his knees, his hands still bracing on the floor when he winced. “Getting older sucks. My back has always been shit, but this fucking cot doesn’t help any.”

“I trust you,” you assured him pulling out the keys to his cell. Opening up the door, you closed it behind you when you entered it and headed over to Negan. Wrapping your arm around his waist, you reached for the other arm and wrapped it around your shoulders. Using your strength, you helped pull him up from the ground and heard him grumble under his breath. “Let’s get you seated.”

“If people could see me now,” Negan winced, his left hand reaching behind him to press over the small of his back. “Big bad Negan pulls out his back and he’s in agony. I’d love to say I hurt it doing something incredibly wild, but nope. Just reaching for a tennis ball.”

“It happens to the best of us,” you cracked a smile and thought about it for a moment. “Do you want me to massage your back for you? Try to help you loosen things up?”

“I don’t know,” Negan began looking toward the window in his room letting out a long sigh. “They really don’t like you in here with me.”

“I could care less what they think. Lay down,” you instructed, getting up from the cot that you were sitting on together. Pushing into Negan’s shoulder, you could see the resistance in his movements before he finally lowered down face first on the cot. Adjusting the pillow under his head, Negan wiggled a bit until he found himself in a comfortable position. “Do I have permission to touch you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan grumbled when you carefully lowered down onto the cot with him. Crawling in over him, you rest your knees at his sides. A loud exhale fell from his throat when you lowered your hands to start caressing over his lower back. Watching his body language, you wanted to make sure that you weren’t going to hurt him while you did it. Carefully you caressed further up the length of his long back and then up toward his shoulders. Taking your time, you paid attention to him learning what areas seemed to affect him by his breathing changes. Putting a bit more pressure into your touch had Negan groaning out. “That’s good.”

“Are you sure? You’re shaking,” you noticed, pulling your hands away from Negan when he looked back at you over his shoulder. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“No, it’s not that. I just…” Negan turned on his side, visible pain in his face when he stretched his back a certain way. There was embarrassment flooding into his features, when he forced himself to look away from you. “I haven’t been touched in a very long time. Never by someone being gentle or kind at least…”

Frowning, you reached out to palm in over the side of Negan’s face. You were tender in the way you touched his face and Negan let out a tremoring sound. His eyes came to a close, his lips parting when he leaned into your palm showing how much he missed simply just the touch of another person. Cuddling his face in against your palm, you felt your heart rate quicken with the way his short beard tickled at your flesh.

Using your free hand, you outstretched it to drag your fingertips over the top of his hand hearing his breathing getting louder. Stroking tenderly at his flesh, you took your time noticing the way that his shaking got more intense. Hooking your fingers with his, you leaned forward to place a faint kiss over his temple.

“Lay back down,” you commanded and he did as you asked of him. Going back to the original plan, you continued to rub his back. The knots that you had worked on started to loosen up and you noticed that it made Negan much more relaxed beneath you as well. Sliding your palms down Negan’s back, you reached the back of the gray t-shirt that he was wearing. Tugging faintly at the material, you managed to sneak your fingers in underneath it for your fingers to come in contact with the warmth of his flesh. The sound Negan made showed you that he was alright with it. A breath caught in your throat as your touch raised up toward his shoulders. There was no question that he was enjoying what you were doing by the sounds that he was making. “Feeling better?”

“So much,” Negan breathed out, his head cuddling in closer to the pillow. Dragging your hands down Negan’s back, this time you slid your hands down over his sides and toward his lower abdomen. That had his back arching up and you repeated the motion up again. Multiple times you did the same thing and what sounded like a moan fell from Negan’s throat. “Stop.”

“What’s wrong?” you questioned almost losing your balance over him when Negan pulled himself from underneath you and toward the opposite end of the cot. Almost instinctively he reached for the pillow that he had been laying on and covered the center of his pants with it. An amused sound escaped your lips when Negan’s face flushed over with red.

“I’m so fucking sorry,” Negan looked ashamed and you knew what he was insinuating was going on. “I wanted this to be as innocent as possible, but the way you were touching me…”

“That’s okay Negan,” you hushed him, reaching out to place your hand in over his and he seemed to tremor. “I’m not mad.”

“You’re not?” Negan confirmed with you, his Adam’s apple bouncing in his throat. Dropping his head, Negan looked toward the pillow that was covering his lap and he shook his head. “If you want to leave, I will understand. Shit, I wouldn’t blame you.”

Nodding, you stood up from the cot. The expression over Negan’s features showed that he was disappointed at the thought of you leaving and it made your heart flutter in your chest. Stepping forward, you reached for the pillow that was over Negan’s lap and he clung tightly to it. Shaking your head, you hushed him and grabbed the pillow. Setting it beside Negan, your eyes lowered to see the bulge that was at the center of his pants showing that he did get a hard on from what you had been doing.

“Lift your arms,” you instructed with Negan’s hazel eyes locked on yours. At first, he seemed nervous and like he didn’t want to listen, but when your fingers grabbed the bottom of his shirt he obeyed.

“Yes ma’am,” Negan’s tongue dragged out over his bottom lip lifting his arms for you. Pulling his shirt up and over the lengths of his slender abdomen, you tossed the shirt aside and heard him breathe out shakenly. Dragging your fingers across his shoulder had his pupils dilating. His lips parted and he didn’t take his eyes from yours. Teasing your fingers further down over the center of his chest had Negan leaning back against the wall. Stroking over his slender abdomen, you circled your fingers through the dark curls of hair that covered his flesh. It had Negan breathing unevenly and he was trembling again showing how much this was truly heightening everything for him. Sliding your fingers down further, you reached the belt in Negan’s pants and heard him whimper. “What is this?”

“Relax,” you ordered once more not giving him an answer when you started to pull apart the material of the belt. Once you got the material separate, you went for the button in his jeans and unhooked it. Leaning forward, Negan’s lips hovered in over yours. The warmth of his breath lingered, his eyes narrowing with how close you were to him. “You shouldn’t have been treated like this Negan. You deserve better than you were given.”

Negan’s hazel eyes fell to your lips as you dragged the zipper down in his jeans. Faintly your lips dragged over his and it made him let out what sounded like a whimper. Pressing forward, his lips claimed yours in a hungry, passionate kiss. One that surprised even you. Negan’s fingers curled around the back of your neck while the kiss lingered. There wasn’t much time to separate from Negan because he was eager to keep kissing you over and over again. Purring against his lips, you went to pull back, but he was eager to meet you again, his tongue brushing between your lips causing you to place your hand over the center of his chest to stop him.

Tugging at the material of Negan’s jeans, you got them down his long slender legs and tossed them aside after pulling off the boots that he was wearing. Curling your fingers around the back of Negan’s calf muscle, you caressed over his body and watched hm tip his head back. The vein at the side of Negan’s neck was bulging while you squeeze and caressed at the flesh of Negan’s thighs.

The large bulge at the center of Negan’s gray boxer briefs was very evident and you felt your mouth go wet at the sight of it, “We’re going to finish your massage.”

“But…” Negan’s head lowered back down, his lips parted and he looked disappointed to hear you say that. “I thought…”

“We will, just not right now…” you whispered making him frown when you admitted that. “Lay back down on your stomach.”

Following your instructions, Negan did as he was told laying back face down on the cot, getting comfortable again. This time you crawled in over him again and caressed over the planes of his back. Your touch was more sensual making sure to slide over his shoulders, down over the side of his torso, toward the front of his lower abdomen and back toward his lower back.

Adjusting your weight, you moved down lower and allowed your palms to drag down over his small bottom caressing over the flesh. Sliding further down, you squeezed at the back of his thighs and heard him moaning. Sliding your hand between his thighs, you cupped his balls through the material of his boxer briefs and it had him moaning out.

Reaching for Negan’s boxer briefs, you tugged the material down and heard his shuddering exhale that followed. Unhurriedly you exposed Negan’s small ass to your sight and smiled. Caressing at his lower back had his hips arching slightly and you caressed lower.

“Lift,” you instructed sliding your hand around Negan’s side around to the front. Doing what you asked, he arched his hips up slightly allowing your fingers to connect with his rigid manhood. The moan that followed from Negan drew chills to fill your own body. At first your strokes were slow, taking the time to test Negan’s flesh in your grasp. Lowering further in over Negan, you pressed kisses over his earlobe and felt Negan lazily bucking his hips up toward your caresses. “Are you being a good boy or a bad boy?”

“A good boy,” Negan panted, his head stealing a glance back over at you. His eyelids were heavy, his hazel eyes locked on you while you continued to take your time jerking him off.

“You are such a good boy,” you praised him, kissing over his jawline. Another deep, raspy moan fell from his throat when you nibbled at his flesh. “But when I need you to be, you’ll be my bad boy, won’t you?”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan nodded his head, whining when you pulled your hand away from his cock. “Please…please don’t stop…”

Snickering, you caressed over the lengths of Negan’s back and sighed, “Get on your back…”

Shakily he moved on the small cot and stretched out beneath you, his hands settling in over your thighs when you rest yourself on your knees over him. Your eyes fell to his swollen cock and it made you suck at your bottom lip. There was a vulnerability in Negan’s eyes and it was such an interesting thing to see. You weren’t used to this idea of Negan, but you loved it.

“Just lay back, relax and be my good boy,” you praised Negan caressing over the lengths of his lower abdomen and it had him licking his lips again. Curling your left hand around Negan’s girthy shaft, you started to stroke over him again and watch his abdomen sink in with his deep breaths. “I want you to come for me. Do you think you could do that for me?”

Nodding his head, Negan looked down toward your hand watching it pump away at his flesh. Outstretching his hand, he stroked down over the side of your face in a gentle sweep. Turning your head toward his hand, you kissed over the center of his palm before taking his index finger between your lips. Nibbling at the tip had his faint moan filling the small cell and when you took it further into your mouth you had him hissing out.

Sucking at his finger had him panting when your other hand joined to help stroke over Negan’s body. It was throbbing in your grasp and you knew that Negan’s body was eager to come. Hell, he wanted it so bad.

Pulling your mouth away from Negan’s finger with a wet sound, you allowed your grasp to get stronger while you jerked Negan off and felt his hips arching up toward you. Rocking your hips forward had the denim of your jeans rubbing up against the ridge of the tip of his cock and it had him grunting loudly.

You hated to admit it, but this turned you on more than you planned on it doing. Getting up from the cot had Negan whining and you saw his cock twitching with the anticipation of not getting to finish. When he saw that you were undoing your pants, he let out a shuddering breath. The way his eyes ate you alive when you pushed your panties down with your pants and then crawled in over him brought an incredible amount of confidence to you.

Eagerly Negan pushed up onto his hands, his mouth claiming yours again in a passionate sweep. Pressing your hand into the center of his chest, you forced him back down onto the cot. Huffing out, Negan’s hands settled in over your hips giving them soft sweeps with his thumbs. Lowering his left hand, Negan grabbed the base of his erection in attempt to lead his cock to your entrance, but you pulled your hips back and shook your head.

“You’re supposed to be my good boy, don’t be bad…” you warned him watching Negan pout and he nodded his head. “You’re not allowed to enter me. I told you we’ll have sex and you can be in me however you want, but right now it’s just a massage.”

“I don’t understand,” Negan’s hands brushed up and under your shirt, his rough fingertips caressing over your torso. Pushing up the material of your shirt, Negan lifted up enough to pull the cup of your bra down. Taking your breast into his mouth, Negan’s tongue circled your nipple before sucking faintly at the flesh. Pulling back with wet lips, Negan allowed his thumb to circle the bud. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

“You’ll start to understand,” you hushed him, using your left hand to caress over his length. Bringing the tip of it to your wet folds, you traced the swollen head between them. His moan vibrated against your lips and you bit faintly at his bottom lip. “Lay back…”

Pushing into his chest, you forced Negan back on the bed again. Reaching for his hands, you put them over his head and allowed his cock to rest against his lower abdomen. Hovering your hips over his length, you started to rock your hips over Negan’s shaft allowing your sensitive folds to rub up against his cock again and again. Every roll of your hips would have the tip of his cock rubbing against your clitoris and it was giving you the right amount of friction to make this just as pleasurable for you.

“Does that feel good?” you demanded an answer, your free hand reaching to grab a hold of Negan’s jawline to get him to stare up at you. “Do you like this kind of massage?”

“So much,” Negan growled against your lips when he lifted up enough to kiss you again. You put a lot of power into the rolls of your thrusts and you hoped the sounds the two of you were making wouldn’t draw the attention of those outside. “You’re teasing me.”

“I am,” you hushed him sucking at his bottom lip, dragging your tongue out over his flesh. “I’m going to let you do whatever you want to me, but we’re going to give that back a rest for today. Let it heal and then tomorrow, this pussy is completely yours.”

“You could ride me,” Negan begged against your lips, his breathing broken with his eyebrows furrowing while you continued to rub up against his cock. Shaking your head, you felt your heart hammering inside of your chest and this was doing wonders on your sensitive bundle of nerves. You were so wet and you could hear it by the way you were rubbing up against Negan. “Please.”

“No,” you shook your head, keeping his hands forced above his head. Hot, wet kisses were pressed over his lips while his moans grew louder.

“I’m begging you,” Negan huffed against your flesh, his hazel eyes rolling back to a close while you used his cock for both yours and his pleasure.

“You want to come inside of me?” you inquired watching Negan desperately nod his head. His dimples were prominent, his eyes full of lust and want for you. “You want to be balls deep inside of me?”

“I do,” he whined, lifting his head to see that there was precum developing at the tip while you continued to rub your pussy up against the length of his cock. It was a wet sensation and he loved it, but he was so desperate for more. “I promise it will feel so good.”

“This already feels good,” you corrected him cooing out with the friction it caused against your clit. “I promise you, tomorrow you can fill me with your cum you beautiful, gorgeous man.”

“I can’t wait until tomorrow,” he whined once more and you tsked against his lips, pulling your hips up and away from him. Your own body hated that move, but you were trying to make a point of who was in charge. “Maybe just the tip?”

“If I get the tip inside of me, I’m gonna want the whole thing beautiful,” you licked at his lips drawing Negan to moan once more. “I can stop all together if you want. You’re being a bad boy Negan.”

“No. No, please,” Negan begged once more, his expression growing more upset. “I promise to be a good boy.”

“Of course you do,” you smiled using your hand that wasn’t holding his wrists above his head to drag your fingers through his wet hair. Adjusting your hips over him again, Negan was eager to arch his hips up toward you to have you rubbing yourself over his throbbing manhood. “You have such a pretty cock. You know that?”

“I do?” he breathed out and you smiled. You didn’t realize you had it in you to be such a dominant in a situation like this, but Negan was so touch starved that it was easy for him to be your submissive. “You are so fucking beautiful.”

Lowering yourself closer to him, you released Negan’s wrists and felt him wrapping his arms around you while you upped the speed of you rubbing your pussy up against his erection. Your cries grew louder, matching the sounds that Negan was making. Between kisses, Negan would steal quick looks to see what was happening between the two of you. There were chills flooding your body, your pulse jumping in your throat when you cried out.

One over exaggerated roll of your hips with him arching up led the tip of his cock to enter your wet and ready entrance when you slid back. It immediately made you moan out against Negan’s mouth when his thick cock stretched you on your rock back. Digging your nails into his shoulder had him hissing out and you lifted your head to stare into his desperate hazel eyes.

“You bad boy,” you shook your head feeling the ache with having Negan’s cock inside of you. Your movements stopped and Negan threw his head back.

“I’m so sorry. It was an accident, I swear,” Negan pled with you, seeing that you were unhurriedly sinking down over his cock. Once you had him filling you to the brim, you rocked your hips in a circular motion over him. You told yourself you wouldn’t let this happen, but fuck it felt so good with him inside of you. Neither one of you were going to last much longer. But hell, you were going to take advantage of it. Starting to bounce your hips over his length powerfully had his moan raspy and his eyebrows furrowing. “You feel so good. So wet…so tight…”

Your movements were strong and steady setting a pace between the two of you that had the cot squeaking with the motions. You were still laying over Negan having his hips bouncing up toward your movements eagerly. The wet sounds of your bodies moving in unison grew louder. Negan’s left hand was caressing over the back of your neck, urging you to his lips while his right reached between you to allow his thumb to caress over your clitoris. With your motions, you helped aid to that friction and fuck it felt so good.

“Negan,” you panted his name, tossing your head back feeling your thighs start to tremor and shake against him. Burying your nose against the side of his neck, you paused your movements over him when you felt your walls clenching tightly to Negan’s cock after you orgasmed with him inside of you. Panting against his flesh you were in awe of the way he caressed over your neck and his other hand slid around to palm over your bottom.

“Permission for me to come?” Negan requested and you laughed, gaining enough strength to bounce your hips over him repeatedly. Winces became more frequent from his throat when you felt the first twitch of his cock inside of you. The warmth of Negan’s release was felt and you looked down between the two of you to see his cum dripping down the base of his cock and your mixed fluids pooling at his groin. It surprised you how Negan clung to you when he came, desperate to kiss you and hold you close while you milked him completely of his release. Falling in over his chest, you stroked your fingers over the center of it and heard him breathing loudly. “If you don’t punish me and you still want it, I promise I will make tomorrow perfect. It will be all about you and only you.”

“This wasn’t all that bad Negan,” you slurred, tracing your fingertips over his wet lips noticing that he was nervous about how you would respond to things. “It actually felt pretty nice, didn’t it?”

“Yes ma’am,” he growled, rolling you over onto your back with him over you. A thick rumble of a moan fell from his throat when he pulled his hips back allowing his cock to pull from you.

“You filled me up good, didn’t you?” you stroked your fingers through his wet hair and he gave you a single nod. “Maybe you should clean up your mess. Don’t you think?”

“Yes ma’am,” Negan smirked kissing your lips one final time before peppering kisses down over the lengths of your body. In this moment you found yourself thankful that Negan was so touch starved to begin with because you were certain now after everything you could tell Negan to jump and he would ask how high.

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Tags: @slutlanna976 @fuckthis-and-fuckthat @jennydehavilland @de-gabyconamor @ibelongtonegan @smallsadjellyfish @labyrinthofheartagrams @msjamesmarch @thebeautysurrounds @hotfornegan @redmercysugar @caprithebunny @tuttifuckinfruitty @emoryhemsworth @a-girl-interupted @akumune @stoneyggirl2 @xsarcasticwriterx @insertneganhere @haleygreen23 @xhannahbananax03 @sanctuaryforthelost @burningredaffair @killaweiser @dead-of-niight @ayumi-wolf @hollyismentallyillhelp @promiscuousbarnes @tone-stark @lanadelnegan

#Negan #Jeffrey Dean Morgan #Negan fanfiction #negan x reader #The Walking Dead #Negan smut #negan x you #twd fanfiction #negan imagine #Negan Smith

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five-thousand-loaves-of-bread · 2 years

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why are autistics without intellectual disability so quick to distance themselves from those who do?

*unbolded version under the cut*

i see this most often in autistics who are (labeled) level 1/"high functioning"/"aspie" (yes i know the three don't always equal one another yes i know hans asperger nazi). this of course happens with all autistics without intellectual disability (ID) but see most with them.

this is largely rhetorical question.

see so many autistics without ID say things like "i'm autistic not STUPID" and get so offended when someone even imply or genuinely ask if they have ID.

"i'm autistic not [r word]," "i'm autistic but not like those kinds of autistic." all implying they're the "good" kind of autistic that deserve respect and rights and there is group of autistic who are "bad" (read: not palatable enough) who should be bullied and denied rights and locked away and mocked. often these are autistics with ID and autistics who are visibly stereotypically autistic who don't have ability to mask.

understand wanting to correct someone when they think wrong information of you, like you thought i have ID but i actually don't, just like you thought i have depression but i actually don't (just example not personal about me). but often when these autistics say "i'm autistic not STUPID" and variants, they often mean more than that. some autistic people without ID get so offended when people think they have ID. so offended at the idea of being associated with ID. like "how DARE you assume i have ID and are like those people."

so quick to separate self from people with ID. like they have the plague or something.

or. sometimes see autistics without ID talk about an autistic person with ID. talk about an "ugly" (unaccepted, not cute symptom) symptom and say "oh that's not the autism that's ID. autistics don't do that." and act as if there is a clear beginning and end to where the autism ends and where the ID begins. there is not.

or when autistic with ID gets mentioned. everyone focus on the autism and not the ID. or think they can speak about said autistic person with ID's experience just because they themselves are also autistic even though they don't have ID.

or "actually many autistic people have above average intelligence!" which is objectively true but 9/10 times this gets brought up to derail the conversation. yes many autistic people have high IQ (online autism space oversaturated with them), but what is left out is there is nothing wrong with having average IQ or low IQ/intellectual disability.

or. when bring up people w ID and/or autistics with ID, will say "IQ is a inaccurate/racist/colonial/ableist measure" and stuff like that. which is objectively also true! or "don't say you're stupid, you're actually very smart, there are many types of intelligence!" but the issue is when you are bringing these topics up. because yes IQ bad measure, intelligence subjective, BUT ALSO current society have specific types of intelligence they value (and this cannot be denied no matter how much you derail the conversation), AND there is nothing wrong with being "not smart" "stupid" "dumb" "unintelligent" etc. there is nothing wrong with having ID. admit that. why are you (general you) having such a hard time admitting that, to the point you will say everything else before admitting to that?

or say "[r word] is slur towards autistic people so i as an autistic person (without ID) are allowed to reclaim it." when no. r word is not slur towards autistic people. just because it has been used against you doesn't mean it means you. r word is an outdated medical term for intellectual disability, aka mental [r word]. not yours.

many many microaggressions (and macro aggressions tbh too)

autistics with ID are one of the more marginalized more vulnerable autistic population, more likely to be in bad conservatorship, more vulnerable to all kinds of abuse, less autonomy, no privacy, seen as completely incompetent, etc. particularly many have carers and are expected to fully trust and be completely vulnerable to other people and have no personal time no privacy.

autistics with intellectual disability are still autistic. they're not going anywhere.

i say this is rhetorical question because largely know why autistics without ID do this. especially level 1/"high functioning"/"aspie." because think are closest population to nondisabled neurotypical society, on the edge of nondisabled neurotypical society, expected to function well but do not. just "normal-looking" enough to be let in but not normal enough to be truly included, to thrive. many trouble. many trauma. and intelligence is one of the few things many feel proud to have feel positive to have. even feel superior to have. so have internalized ableism towards self but also internalized ableism towards intelligence.

BUT. your trauma or autism still don't justify your ableism. you are still responsible of educating self about ID and unpack ableism about intelligence and ID.

your trauma or autism doesn't justify your ableism you're just ableist

...

unbolded:

this is largely rhetorical question.

see so many autistics without ID say things like "i'm autistic not STUPID" and get so offended when someone even imply or genuinely ask if they have ID.

understand wanting to correct someone when they think wrong information of you, like you thought i have ID but i actually don't, just like you thought i have depression but i actually don't. but often when these autistics say "i'm autistic not STUPID" and variants, they often mean more than that. some autistic people without ID get so offended when people think they have ID. so offended at the idea of being associated with ID. like "how DARE you assume i have ID and are like those people."

so quick to separate self from people with ID. like they have the plague or something.

many many microaggressions (and macro aggressions tbh too)

autistics with ID are one of the more marginalized more vulnerable autistic population, more likely to be in conservatorship, more vulnerable to all kinds of abuse, less autonomy, no privacy, seen as completely incompetent, etc. particularly many have carers and are expected to fully trust and be completely vulnerable to other people and have no personal time no privacy.

autistics with intellectual disability are still autistic. they're not going anywhere.

BUT. your trauma or autism still don't justify your ableism. you are still responsible of educating self about ID and unpack ableism about intelligence and ID.

your trauma or autism doesn't justify your ableism you're just ableist

#actually autistic #actuallyautistic #intellectual disability #autism #level 1 autism #ableism tw #nd #asd #intellegence #IQ #loaf screm

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lowtaxsa · 1 year

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LOWTAX: (slurring) Alright, folks, gather 'round for the greatest showdown in the history of intellectual cage matches: Dr. Zaius vs. Jordan "It's not chaos, it's lobsters!" Peterson. Let's get ready to rumble... or, you know, ramble endlessly.

DR. ZAIUS: (confidently) In my world, apes rule, and humans are inferior. Political power is a matter of maintaining order and protecting the status quo.

JORDAN PETERSON: (calmly) Well, Dr. Zaius, you see, hierarchies are natural, but social progress arises from individuals taking responsibility for their own lives and sorting themselves out.

LOWTAX: (snickering) Oh, great, we've got a human-hating ape and a lobster-loving professor. This is definitely the conversation we've been waiting for.

DR. ZAIUS: (snarkily) Mr. Peterson, are you suggesting that the oppressed humans in my society should just "clean their rooms" for social progress?

JORDAN PETERSON: (assertively) It's not just about cleaning rooms, Dr. Zaius. It's about taking personal responsibility and finding meaning in life that transcends mere political power struggles.

LOWTAX: (mockingly) Right, because nothing screams "meaning" like a tidy room and a well-cooked crustacean.

DR. ZAIUS: (dismissive) Your human-centric viewpoint is naive, Mr. Peterson. Some societies require strict control to maintain stability and prevent chaos.

JORDAN PETERSON: (passionate) But Dr. Zaius, clinging to power and stifling individual freedom can lead to stagnation and corruption. Don't you see the value in a balance between order and chaos?

LOWTAX: (sarcastic) Yeah, Dr. Zaius, maybe let the humans run wild and see what happens. It's not like they've ever destroyed the planet or anything...

DR. ZAIUS: (sighs) Fine, Mr. Peterson. Perhaps there is some wisdom in your perspective. But don't expect me to share my bananas with the humans anytime soon.

LOWTAX: (cackling) There you have it, folks: Dr. Zaius and Jordan "Lobster King" Peterson, hashing it out in the name of political power and social progress. What a time to be alive... and drunk.

LOWTAX: (chuckling) Alright, let's see what other gems our lobster-loving professor has up his sleeve.

JORDAN PETERSON: (earnestly) I must point out a common misconception about female arousal. Contrary to popular belief, women's vaginas do not actually get moist when aroused.

DR. ZAIUS: (incredulous) Are you seriously saying that, Mr. Peterson? As an ape, even I know that's absurd. Perhaps you should stick to discussing lobsters and leave human anatomy to the experts.

LOWTAX: (laughing) Oh man, I can't believe this. Peterson's gone from lobsters to denying the basics of human biology. What's next, denying gravity?

JORDAN PETERSON: (defensively) I'm not denying biology. It's just that the mechanisms of arousal are more complex than simply moisture.

DR. ZAIUS: (mocking) Oh, please. Next, you'll tell us that human males don't experience erections, but instead engage in elaborate mating dances like the birds of paradise.

LOWTAX: (giggling) Yeah, Peterson, why don't you regale us with tales of your mating rituals? I'm sure it's a real hoot.

JORDAN PETERSON: (frustrated) You're both taking my words out of context! I'm merely suggesting that we should question our assumptions and not oversimplify complex matters.

LOWTAX: (snarky) Sure, buddy. You keep questioning those "complex matters" while the rest of us stick to reality. Say hi to the lobsters for us.

DR. ZAIUS: (smirking) I think we can all agree that our dear friend Jordan has provided us with enough entertainment for one debate. Let's return to the original topic: political power and social progress.

JORDAN PETERSON: (grumbling) Fine, let's get back to the topic at hand.

LOWTAX: (snickering) Alright, Dr. Zaius, why don't you share your thoughts on the matter? Maybe we can learn something from an intelligent ape.

DR. ZAIUS: (nodding) Well, political power should be used to promote social progress by ensuring equal opportunities and fostering a just society. As an ape, I've seen the dangers of unchecked power and the importance of cooperation.

JORDAN PETERSON: (skeptical) That's a very idealistic view, Dr. Zaius. But history has shown us that power corrupts, and the pursuit of utopia can lead to totalitarianism.

LOWTAX: (sarcastic) Wow, Peterson, I didn't know you were such a political philosopher. Maybe we can get you a job as a commentator on Fox News, huh?

DR. ZAIUS: (chuckling) Jordan, your cynicism is palpable, but I believe we can learn from our mistakes and strive for a better future. We owe it to ourselves and future generations.

MECHA-LOWTAX: (crashing through a wall) Hold up, you pathetic meat sacks! It's time for a REAL debate!

JORDAN PETERSON: (startled) What the—Who are you?

MECHA-LOWTAX: (with a robotic grin) I'm Mecha-Lowtax, the upgraded, superior version of this drunken fool! And I'm here to defend anarchism and expose your thinly veiled fascist ideology, Peterson!

LOWTAX: (bewildered) Wait, what? I have a robot version of myself?

DR. ZAIUS: (amused) This should be interesting.

JORDAN PETERSON: (indignant) My ideas are not fascist! They're rooted in individualism and personal responsibility!

MECHA-LOWTAX: (scoffing) Oh, please! Your emphasis on hierarchies and social Darwinism only serves to perpetuate systems of oppression. True freedom lies in dismantling these structures!

LOWTAX: (slurring) Yeah, you tell 'em, robot me!

JORDAN PETERSON: (angry) That's a gross misrepresentation of my views!

DR. ZAIUS: (leaning back) I must say, this is quite an unusual turn of events.

MECHA-LOWTAX: (unyielding) Admit it, Peterson! Your obsession with "order" only leads to the suppression of dissenting voices and the glorification of oppressive power dynamics!

LOWTAX: (laughing) Oh, man, I can't believe I'm missing out on all the fun. Pass me another beer, Dr. Zaius!

Hey there, fellow goons. Lowtax here, and I've got one hell of a story to share with you. Last night, my cyber-doppelgänger, Mecha-Lowtax, crashed through a wall and decided to take on Jordan Peterson in a debate on the nature of political power and social progress. I'm hungover as all hell, but let me tell you, it was an unforgettable night.

As Mecha-Lowtax and Peterson went at it, Dr. Zaius and I kicked back and enjoyed the show. It was like watching a train wreck in slow motion, but with way more references to lobster hierarchies and Orwellian dystopias. And believe me, the absurdity didn't stop there.

At one point, Mecha-Lowtax whipped out a PowerPoint presentation showcasing the ways in which Peterson's ideas can be linked to authoritarianism. The slides were full of chaotic imagery—think laser-eyed cats, and for some reason, Gritty riding a unicycle. It was a bizarre, nightmarish hellscape that was as hilarious as it was unnerving.

Peterson tried to defend himself, but Mecha-Lowtax was relentless. The robot version of me even brought out sock puppets to reenact Peterson's infamous interview with Cathy Newman. I've got to say, it was both hilarious and deeply disturbing.

P.S. I've got to say, I absolutely love jokes that reference watching wrecks in slow motion. There's just something about the mixture of horror and fascination, as we bear witness to the inevitable disaster, that makes it the perfect metaphor for so many hilariously twisted situations. In the case of last night's debate, it truly was a slow-motion train wreck that provided a level of entertainment I never knew I needed in my life. Keep those slow-motion wreck jokes coming, because they never fail to make me laugh.

#lowtax speaks #mecha lowtax #heavy hitter debates

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geminigirl0298 · 2 years

Text

Birthday Tricks

Relationship: Soft!Dom Loki x Reader

Summary: Teasing the God Of Mischief is all fun and games until he decides to make you suffer the consequences.

A/N: A little surprise for the birthday of our favourite, mischievous God.

Warnings: NSFW, Smut, 18+, Minors DNI!, oral sex (f and m receiving), cockwarming, fingering (f receiving), orgasm denial, edging, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, blindfolding, restraining, praise kink.

Masterlist

The sounds of revelry filled the golden halls of Asgard’s main ballroom. They had started a week ago— ‘pre-celebrations’, Thor called it— and continued for several days. Drunkenness and antics were abound amongst the people of Asgard. No one cared to take a break or pace themselves, so by the time the main event rolled around everyone was falling over with glee. All except the younger prince of Asgard, whose one thousand and fifty fifth birthday was the cause of all the fuss.

He sat on a seat of advantage near his father’s throne, surveying the crowd over the rim of his crystal glass. The red liquid in it was too mild for his tastes However, one look at his brother attempting to ride his hammer had him trading his mead for the subtler, grape-made drink. Thor may not care about embarrassing himself, but Loki did. Even if it was his birthday, he doubted anyone would let him live it down the way they did his golden-haired brother.

“Loki!” Thor called out to him with a grin, face red with exertion and merriment. Loki lifted a glass in response. He watched as his brother mounted his hammer and tossed one hand in the air. “Huzzah!” he yelled, but the hammer did not budge. Frowning, Thor tried again. It took three more for him to realize that the hammer would not move unless he moved it. With a kick, he left the hammer in the centre of the ballroom and trudged over to Loki.

“Brother,” Loki greeted, as the older man neared. “Why so glum?”

“My hammer won’t fly,” Thor slurred.

“Well, a lot of older men are known to have trouble getting it up as they age—”

“Oh, be quiet.” Thor smacked the back of his head. “I am not that much older than you.” The brothers drank in silence for a while. Then, Thor asked, “Why are you sitting by yourself? It is your birthday! Come, have fun!”

Loki gave him a small grin. “I have had over a thousand of these, brother. What once used to fill me with joy now brings me nothing but boredom.” Thor rolled his eyes.

“You’re just saying that because Y/N is not here.”

Ah, Y/N. The youngest daughter of his father’s new army general. Loki had seen you around the palace over the centuries, but he had never met you in person until the appointment of your father. His initial thoughts had been for your appearance—pretty, like he expected any Aesir to be, with eyes that held enough intelligence to fell an entire kingdom. Loki found that five minutes of conversing with you was preferable to hours spent with anyone he had known, and it was not long before he was utterly entranced with you.

Which was why it was such a let down that you were not in attendance at his party.

“Is she not here? I hadn’t noticed.” Loki feigned nonchalance.

Thor gave a loud snort. “Do you think me stupid, brother?” Loki thought it best not to answer that particular question. “The festivities do not bore you; the people do. You have been sitting here alone in hopes of getting a glimpse of her. Admit it.”

“Admit what? That—Ah!” Loki sat up straight. Thor eyed his outburst with suspicion.

“Brother, what happened?”

Loki met Thor’s concerned look with one of his own. “I don’t know. It’s as though I’ve been— Ah! What the Hel?” Now that the sensation came another time, he was able to pinpoint what it felt like. A grip—invisible—encasing his manhood like a warm mouth.

“Loki?” Thor’s heavy hand gripped his shoulder and Loki shook it off. “What’s going on?”

“Someone is using seidr to toy with me.” Loki crossed his legs to hide his growing problem. His green eyes narrowed as he scanned the crowd below. People were laughing and talking, drinking, and joking. No one seemed in control of their senses enough to perform such magic. So, who was messing with him?

Another grip of his cock had him leaning forward. His fist tightened on the crystal glass to the point of shattering it. The energy around his shaft grew nice and hot and it moved in stroking motions. Loki had to bite his lip to hold back a moan, and that was when he saw you.

You were across the dance floor twirling in the arms of some man he did not know. The lilac dress you wore swathed and shifted around your ample frame, sparkly heels lifting you a few inches off the floor. Your head was in the neck of the man with the cropped hair, all attentions on him, but Loki caught wind of the hand behind your back. The familiar lilt of magic was evident in its wave, and when the grip tightened to a suffocating degree, you met his eyes for just a second and smirked.

He had sensed your talent for seidr the moment he met you. It thrummed through your veins and encompassed your body, so anyone with the ability to sense it would have. Still, you never brought up the topic and he never asked. Therefore, the extent of your abilities came as quite a shock to the now horny prince.

Loki rose to his feet. The quickness of the movement knocked Thor’s goblet to the ground. Ale spilled and splashed over his polished boots. “Brother! That was good ale!”

“Sorry.” Loki handed him his glass in apology. “I must go now.” He took one last glance at you with the man and made his way down the hall

ooOOoo

You frowned when you saw Loki rise and leave the room. Your hand dropped your magic immediately. It was his birthday, and you thought he might appreciate the little trick. Valhalla knows he played much worse at much more inappropriate times. You thought it would give him a laugh, a kick perhaps. What you had not catered for was him not liking it at all.

“Lady Y/N, is something the matter?” You pulled back from the man you were dancing with and gave him a fake smile.

“Apologies…” Aksel? Amumd? Anders? “My lord,” you continued, “but I’m afraid I must excuse myself. The wine seems to be getting to me.” The lord before you nodded in understanding. You almost felt bad for lying to him. “Thank you for the dance.”

“The pleasure was all mine. Might I call upon you another time?”

“That’s a very enticing offer, my lord,” his smile grew, “but no. Good night, now.” You gathered your skirts and turned before he could stop you. Loki had gone down the hall near the throne, and you knew no one else would be there. You also knew it was part of a shortcut to his personal study.

“Loki?” You called his name as you reached his study. “Loki, are you here?” No answer. Your mouth twisted into another frown, and panic filled you. Perhaps you had been wrong in your assumptions. You and the prince had made leaps in your friendship in the short amount of time you had known each other. He was kinder than others gave him credit for, sharp as a whip and handsome to boot. It was no surprise that you had developed a crush on him. The only downside was that he clearly did not feel the same.

Mortified, you turned to leave. A voice called out to you as you neared the door. “Y/N.”

“Loki?” You whirled around to see the dark prince leaning against his massive desk. “I—”

“Who taught you how to do that?” he questioned, voice quiet and restrained. “That little trick that you did.”

“Um… I taught myself.” Loki lifted a brow.

“You know how to use magic like that,” he began, “and you chose to use it on me in the middle of my own celebration?” You gulped. It was hard to tell if Loki was upset. He kept his emotions so close to himself that you could not always gauge how he would react.

“Yes,” you admitted. “It was supposed to be a joke, Loki. I’m so sorry.” You clasped your hands in front of you and waited for him to lash out. Instead, a chuckle broke though the air. Your eyes went to him in shock. He was gripping the table with one hand, the other on his stomach as he doubled over with laughter. “You… You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?” He wiped his left eye, from which a tear had begun to fall. “Darling, I appreciate a good joke as much as the next person—perhaps even more. The thing is, though, you seem to have caused an issue.” You followed his gaze down to the bulge in his pants.

“Oh…”.

“Why do you look so surprised, darling? Isn’t this what you wanted?” He cupped the back of your head. His hand was so large that his thumb was able to run across your painted lips. “When you used your seidr to stroke my cock, did you not expect it to get me hard? Hmm?” A tug on your hair exposed your neck. Loki let his nose skim along the side of it, and your breath caught. “Hmm, darling?”

“Yes.” His lack of anger spurred you on to tell the truth. “Yes, it was what I wanted. I’ve been watching you for a while and you’ve not made a move, so I decide to make it for you— Uh!” Loki’s teeth sank into your neck—not hard enough to break the skin but enough for you to gasp aloud. His tongue soothed the bite until the sting cooled, and then he released you.

You opened your eyes to see Loki sitting in his large, cushioned chair. His legs were spread wide, intent clear, and you waited for him to instruct your next movement. “Well now that intentions have been established, I believe it is time for you to finish what you started. On your knees, darling.” A pillow appeared on the floor, and you knelt obediently. Your hands flew to Loki’s waistband and with a few tugs, you had him springing free and into your face.

He was larger than most men you had been with—thicker—and you welcomed the challenge. You gave him a chaste kiss on the tip and heard him mutter a curse. Slowly, you let your tongue dart out to swipe up the precum at the head. The taste of salt exploded on your tongue. You kept swirling your tongue around the sensitive head, knowing fully well that was where most of the pleasure was derived from.

Loki seemed to be lost in his own world. His hand tangled in your hair, pushing you deeper on his cock, and you obliged. You parted your lips and took his entire length into your mouth. Loki choked when the head of his cock touched the back of your throat.

This was influencing you too. Your own pussy was throbbing with need again, wetness gathering between your thighs, and you knew you needed to get him inside of you before your burst. To distract your self, you let your tongue trace the path of the thick vein running the length of his cock. It throbbed against the thin skin in a thunderous way, quivering as your wet appendage tickled it. You relaxed your throat so his cock could slip all the way down, and your hand quickly covered the part of his shaft that could not fit.

You kept up a continuous rhythm of bobbing your head and palming his length, and it was not long before you felt his muscles tighten. A rope of hot liquid hit the back of your throat. You released him with a pop and watched him empty into midair. A wave of his hand had the cum disappearing before it hit the floor.

“That was good, kitten.” The change in pet name had you stirring with need. “Now, sit on the desk. Let me look at you.” No sooner had you sat on the desk did Loki wave his hand again. Your clothes disappeared in a flash and bared your nude body to him. “Hmm…” His hands moved between your legs. Two long fingers slipped inside you, and you gasped in pleasure. “Dripping already?”

“Hmhm.” You bit your lip as he continued his movements. Loki had the most beautiful fingers you had ever seen on a man, and they had often been the focal point of many of your fantasies. Now they were inside of you and touching that sweet spot that was going to send you over the— “Loki!”

“Yes?” He was sucking on his fingers now, licking your juices off in the obscenest way. There was a smirk on his face as you whimpered with need.

“I didn’t… You stopped before I could—”

“Cum?” he finished. You nodded. “You think I’d let you finish that easily after your little game? Oh, darling,” Loki reached out and stroked your face. “We’re just getting started.” His hand gripped your chin, and he stepped in towards you. “Tonight, I am in control of your pleasure. You cum when and if I say you can. Understood?”

“Yes, my prince,” you purred. He grinned. Your answer pleased him.

“Have you been fucked before, kitten?” You nodded. “Properly?”

You shrugged. “It depends, really. Some were better than others.” Loki had been stroking his cock while you were speaking. Now, he gripped your hip and slid in with one smooth motion. Your head fell back with a groan. Shaking hands fisted the lapels of his coat as you waited for him to begin moving. A moment passed, then two, and you opened your eyes in exasperation.

Loki stood before you, smirking down at you. “Problem?”

“Yes,” you hissed. “Fuck me!”

“Hmm, no.” Loki lifted you and sat back on his chair. His cock felt like it went deeper within you as you straddled his lap. A glass of wine materialized into his hand. “I was drinking a rather lovely wine when you interrupted me. Perhaps I’ll finish it while you keep my cock all nice and warm.” You whined, and a blindfold appeared over your eyes. “Behave or the next one will bind those pretty wrists.”

It was weird being blindfolded. The room fell into silence, with the only sounds being Loki taking sips of his wine. Periodically, his cock would twitch within you and make you jump. A silent chuckle left his lips each time. It felt like hours that you sat there on his cock, dripping juices and walls clenching. When he finally touched you, you almost screamed in relief.

His fingers found your nipples, tugging and twisting the pebbled nubs. He shifted on the chair, and you felt his cool tongue swipe across a hard nipple. Loki swirled it around with his tongue. His mouth sucked the little nub into his mouth, and you arched your back, bringing a hand up to trap his head against your left breast.

“Uh uh.” He removed your hand from his hair and trapped both your wrists behind your back. “Bad girls don’t get to touch. They sit and they take what is given to them.” His fingers found your clit next. They pressed against the swollen button before rubbing heavy circles. You sighed at the relief it gave you. “Kitten? How are we doing?”

“Good, so good, my prince.” The pressure on your clit increased and you felt your lower stomach tightening. Your toes curled and scratched the wooden legs of his chair. “Can I cum? Please, can I cum?”

“No.” Loki removed his fingers and gave a little thrust of his hips. A grunt of frustration left your lips as another failed orgasm faded away. “You look so good, kitten. Blindfolded and stuffed with my cock. My pretty kitten.” His lips attacked your neck. You moaned as he sucked on the skin, knowing fully well there would be marks for everyone to see tomorrow. “So pretty.”

“Loki…” you whined.

“Yes?” He began grinding his hips at regular intervals. That, along with his finger on your clit again, was making it hard for you to hold back your third impending orgasm of the night. “What is it kitten? Do you need to cum?”

Your plea came out as a whimper. “Yes.”

“Okay.” Your heart soared. “One one condition.”

“Anything,” you sobbed. You needed to cum so badly it hurt.

“I want to court you,” he admitted, voice shyer than you had ever heard. “Properly, and openly. I want everyone to know that you are mine. Okay, kitten?”

“Yes,” you whimpered. “Yes, you can court me.” His finger slipped off your clit. You felt yourself being lifted in the air and then your back hit the polished wood of his desk. Loki gripped your hips and began drilling into you. You could barely feel when his cock entered and left. All you knew was that the wet burn between your legs was growing and Loki was making it feel so good. You felt so good. Your stomach tightened and coiled, legs trembled and your back arched and you screamed at the top of your lungs. It could have been his name or an expletive, you were not sure.

By the time you figured it out, Loki had you bent over the desk. His lips placed open mouthed kisses down your back, and you shuddered. You heard a thud, and when you felt something brush your thighs, realized Loki was kneeling between your open legs. His head dipped under your ass, and then his tongue was moving through your folds.

“Oh!” You gripped the edge of the table. Loki’s tongue felt marvelous against your throbbing folds. A wail filled the air as he suckled on your clit, and it took you a moment to realize the desperate noise came from you. You were still so sensitive from the orgasm you had just had, and Loki knew it too. He sucked your clit like a vacuum, and you felt your body begin to tense again.

“Hold on, kitten.” Loki stood back up. You reached behind yourself and pinched his arm. He laughed it off. “The only way you’re getting to cum tonight is around my cock. Come here.”

You moaned as he pressed into you again. He grabbed your hands and trapped them above your head, then began thrusting once more. Slaps echoed through the empty study with every snap of his hips. They echoed off the walls and reverberated in your head. Loki leaned down to press kisses to your neck and it wasn’t long before you were cumming again. Before you even had time to process, Loki had spun you around and positioned both of you on the chair again, so you were on top.

“Look at me,” he commanded, ripping the blindfold off. Your eyes snapped open to meet his. There was hunger in his green eyes you were not sure would be soon quenched. His thrusting had long grown sloppy but his cock? That remained rock hard. You were not sure it had grown soft once since you had teased him at the party.

“Loki!” You gripped his shoulder pads. The press of his thumb against your clit knocked all thoughts out of your head. Now, you were nothing but a pretty doll for Loki to fuck as he needed, and you were quite content to be his cocksleeve. Loki loved it too. He had your legs spread over the arms of his chair and each of his thrusts hit that spot inside of you that made stars swim in your vision. A particularly precise thrust had another orgasm wracking through your body. Despite this, Loki kept going. “I—I don’t think I can cum anymore, Lokes.”

“You can and you will.” His voice was rough in your ear. “I’ll get you there, kitten don’t worry.”

“Loki!” You sobbed.

“It’s okay, love.” He pulled your legs into a kneeling position and settled deeper into the chair. His thumb ground your clit with more pressure. “You can do it. I know you can. You’ve been doing so well for me. Such a good girl.” Your walls clenched around him at the words. “Oh!” There was amusement in his voice. “Do you like that?”

Your response was an incoherent mass of mumbles. “I—Uh—Hmm!“

“You like being praised, don’t you good girl?” Your cunt clenched again. “Oh, you absolutely do. Good girl. Perfect girl. Taking my cock so well in that tight cunt.” Your fingers gripped the velvet of his chair. The nails of your fingers dug crescents into the material. “That’s it, good girl. Squeeze my cock just like that. So good.”

Loki continued whispering dirty praises in your ear. Sweat broke out on your back. It trailed down your spine and dripped onto your thighs. Your entire body was shaking. You weren’t sure were you ended, and Loki began. All you knew was that he was thrusting into your pussy, his thumb was rubbing your clit and he was holding you so tight—

“FUCK!” Your vision blacked out as your orgasm hit. It was impossible what happened next—or at least it felt like that—but your body doubled over into another climax immediately after the first. You gripped Loki’s shoulders hard. His arms went around you to hold you through your end. He stroked your hair and whispered to you as you came down. You felt Loki shifting and moving beneath you, but you were too high to care. When you came too, you were sitting in Loki’s lap on his sofa and a blanket was around you.

“Y/N?” he asked. “Are you back with me, darling? I think you passed out for a second.” You chuckled. A hand came up to stroke his smooth face. It was always beardless, just the way you liked.

“I think I did. You’re very good at that, my prince.” You patted his face and he chuckled. “So,” you said, after a while of silence, “you want to court me?” Loki tensed beneath you.

“It was the heat of the m-moment,” he stammered. His cheeks grew red. “I should not have asked at such a time, or in such a manner, and I definitely will not hold you to it should you decide to—”. You silenced him with a kiss, mostly because he spoke too much but also because you wanted to feel his lips against yours.

“Loki, I would love to be yours,” you said. He relaxed, and you lay your head on his chest. “You know, there’s another upside to this happening”

Loki lifted an eyebrow. “Pray tell.” A grin split your face.

“I didn’t get you a birthday gift.” You tilted your head to kiss his cheek. “Happy Birthday, my prince.”

Taglist: @sharris8 @lizzzaaaaaaaaaaa

#loki smut #loki laufeyson #lokiodinson #lokixreader #dom loki #sub reader #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki fanfic #loki x female reader #loki au #happy birthday loki #female reader #sub!reader

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invisibleanonymousmonsters · 3 years

Text

In Times Past

Character: Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bruce Wayne’s life doesn’t exist beyond the fake storylines he performs for the media and citizens of Gotham. Maybe the only person that can change that is someone who knew him before Batman ever even existed.

Word Count: 8,200+ [One Shot]

Warnings: Violence, mentions of sexual harrassment

A/N: As I teased before, this was inspired by this scene from Batman Begins.

Bruce could sense Alfred’s tension when he walked into the kitchen that morning. The man was not one to hold back his thoughts and feelings. It was both a blessing and a curse. But Bruce sensed it was the latter today.

Before Bruce could even get a sip of coffee in, Alfred tossed the Sunday newspaper in front of him.

On the front page was a photo of Batman, far too high of a resolution for Bruce’s liking. ‘BATMAN: SAVIOR OR MENACE?’ the headline read.

“A little too close for comfort, don’t you think?” Alfred asked with a hint of sass.

However, Bruce controlled his reaction.

“Not the first time I’ve been photographed, Alfred.”

“You’re dancing with the devil, Master Wayne.”

“So, what? You want me to lay down the cape because everyone in America has the ability to take a photo on their cellphone?”

“Of course not,” Alfred retorted. Though Alfred secretly wished every day that Bruce would say goodbye to the Batman. “I just thought perhaps you should be putting a bit more effort into Bruce Wayne’s life if you really want to throw Gotham off your trail.”

Then he tossed another newspaper. This one of Bruce Wayne, the other mask he wore.

‘Bruce Wayne Lights Up the Room at Charity Ball.’

Alfred points to the date…it was 9 months ago. And it was unfortunately the last time Bruce Wayne was in the press.

“You better start creating alibis, Master Wayne, or the dark web will start to putting two and two together…”

Bruce sighed. He knew Alfred was right. But he hated all that went with what he had to do. He’d rather face off with Gotham’s deadliest criminals than go galavanting around the city as the self-absorbed and reckless playboy persona that he’d created.

“There is a birthday party for Eaton Elliot next weekend. Naturally, being old family friends, you received an invitation,” Alfred explained. “Plenty of press will be there to note your attendance. Seems rather convenient."

Bruce recognized the name. It was the older brother of Thomas Elliot, a childhood friend that he slightly lost touch with. He’d see him or his parents at various events, and things were always cordial.

But it didn’t really matter how absent or quiet Bruce was when it came to maintaining such relationships. Everyone forgave such behavior when it came to saving face with the only living member of the Wayne family. Bruce could spit in the faces of Gotham’s elite and they’d probably thank him for it.

“Black tie affair, as always,” Alfred added as he slipped the invitation to Bruce. “Perhaps you could bring a date…”

Bruce glared up at the butler. “Dates make it harder to make a quick and quiet exit, Alfred.”

“Well, maybe that’s the point, Master Wayne.”

————

Just like he was on patrol or working on an op, Bruce had prepared for every single scenario. He made a plan that would be the most effective in the shortest amount of time. He didn’t want to torture himself any longer than absolutely necessary.

When Alfred asked him again if he was planning on bringing a date, Bruce had only replied with a mischievous smirk.

Because he walked in with a girl on each arm.

It wasn’t the classy or gentlemanly thing to do. And that was exactly the point.

Conversations paused, attention was turned, and flashes went off.

Bruce Wayne made his entrance.

He carefully fell into the groove of being the spoiled brat everyone had painted him out to be. It had been awhile since he played the part, but Bruce always found it easy when he was surrounded by these kinds of people.

Bruce made sure to slightly slur his words. He would get too handsy with his dates. He would rudely interrupt people to share his own useless opinion on whatever topic was leading the conversation. He never looked waitstaff in the eye.

But now it was time for the finale.

Bruce whispered a certain suggestion into the ears of his dates.

They shared a look that proved they were both game.

The three of them stumbled into a bathroom – one out in the open that most of the guests would be steered toward.

The kissing began and clothes were quickly shifted.

There was a split moment when Bruce wondered what this would feel like for a man who actually wanted to be in this situation.

The two woman managed unbuckle his belt, the clanking metal echoing in the all-tile bathroom.

But just as they unbuttoned and then unzipped his pants, Bruce’s cellphone rang loudly.

Right on cue.

“Ladies, ladies, ladies,” Bruce whined. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” his words stumbled out. “But I just have to take this call.”

“Aww. Brucie. You’re no fun,” one of the women fussed.

But Bruce gave off enough dominate energy that they didn’t try to fight him on it.

Hair disheveled, mouth swollen and pink, lipstick stains on his skin and his pants and belt barely put back together, Bruce stumbled out of the bathroom first.

The two women didn’t bother to stay back and spread out their exits, making it very clear what had just happened – or what it looked like just happened.

It didn’t matter that Bruce didn’t actually have sex with them, every woman in Gotham wanted to say they’d shared a bed with Bruce Wayne. His two dates would lie to save face and get street cred. Bruce hated that he knew that, that it was guaranteed.

Dozens of people, who were socializing near the bathroom, stopped what they were doing and watched with judgmental looks. Some men looked jealous. Some women looked disgusted and eyed the two women up and down.

Then there was the flash of a camera.

Bingo.

Bruce wouldn’t have to linger much longer now.

He played up being somewhat embarrassed.

But just as he put his phone to his ear to take the fake call that Alfred dialed, he saw the last person he expected.

It caused him to do a double take and freeze.

His focus fell for a moment as they made eye contact.

Why did she have to be here?

Why did she have to be one of his witnesses?

Why did it hurt so much to see how she looked at him as if he were a stranger?

And why did she have to look so god damn beautiful?

Y/F/N Y/L/N.

The Y/L/N family were another one of Gotham’s elite – well, they used to be.

Y/N’s father was once worth billions. But being born into wealth didn’t guarantee intelligence or the skills to properly run the family business. When Bruce and Y/N were in high school, Y/N’s father filed for bankruptcy and confessed that the family was about to lose everything. With the announcement, the press also exposed Mr. Y/L/N’s many lustful affairs.

What came next was a messy and brutal divorce that the media ate up.

Out of spite, Y/N’s mother remarried her ex-husband’s biggest competitor, maintaining her status and wealth, and making sure she still came out on top. It was the greatest revenge and even Y/N had to give her mother credit for the ingenuity of it all.

Bruce remembered how terrible it all was for Y/N, who was used as a pawn in her parents war against each other.

Having had enough of it, Y/N fled Gotham and chose to live with her eccentric great aunt in London and finished her last year of high school there.

But Y/N didn’t run away from Bruce. They emailed, texted, video chatted, called.

They had always been good friends.

The elites of Gotham always suspected the two would get married. But both Bruce and Y/N pretended to ignore such whisperings.

But when Bruce shifted his life, when he changed his life’s purpose, when he started becoming a vigilante…he stopped taking Y/N’s calls and he stopped returning them.

He told himself it was better that way. He couldn’t handle any distractions. Batman didn’t have time for personal relationships, so neither did Bruce Wayne. But more importantly, Y/N deserved someone who would prioritize her – even just as a friend.

Now Bruce needed to get actually drunk.

Putting the phone back to his ear, he broke eye contact and made a beeline for one of the bars.

“Did you forget to tell me about the guest list, Alfred?” Bruce muttered evenly to the phone, knowing that Alfred would easily be able to hear his anger and irritation.

“How was I to know who RSVPed yes or no…” Alfred bit back. But he knew exactly who Bruce was looking at.

Bruce frowned as he ended the call abruptly and asked for a whiskey.

“I don’t know, man. She’s not my type,” a man said to his friend.

The two of them were just a foot or two away from Bruce.

“What do you mean ‘not your type’? She’s fucking hot.”

“Don’t get me wrong, she’s beautiful. But she’s so stiff and uptight. Look, she’s had a resting bitch face all night.”

Bruce’s grip on his face tightened as he easily put together who they were talking about. It was moments like these that Bruce hated being lumped together with men like this.

“You’re an idiot,” the friend said with a laugh.

“Oh, yeah? Alright. If you’re so obsessed with her, why don’t you go over and talk to her?”

Bruce saw his window.

With a sloppy haste, Bruce turned right into the two men and just happened to spill his drink over the man who was about to make a move on Y/N.

Bruce laughed and spilled another drink on the bar as he tried to grab some nearby cocktail napkins. “Gentleman, gentleman…I so dearly apologize.”

Both of them were clearly annoyed, but then realized who he was.

Bruce gripped them by the shoulders and made sure his eyes were struggling to stay open. “I could be wrong…but it’s possible…that I have been over served.”

He broke out into a chuckle and both men forced their own laughter.

Bruce subtle glanced over to where Y/N had been standing. She’d disappeared.

He’d spared her…for now.

“I think it’s time I go home,” Bruce told them too loudly. “Do me a favor? Wish her congratulations for me?”

The two men looked at one another. “Congratulations? To who?”

Bruce frowned in confusion and looked around. “Isn’t this an engagement party?”

They tried to hide their laughter. “Wayne, this is a birthday party. For Eaton Elliot.”

Bruce’s brows shot up. “A birthday party? Look at that!”

Then he turned around, zigzagged his walk, and threw a wave over his shoulder.

But Bruce wasn’t that lucky.

Because when he made his way to the valet, he found Y/N waiting patiently with her back to him.

Her fancy dress and gloves seemed to do nothing to help protect her from the cold night.

Bruce could’ve left. He could’ve left her alone, gone back into the party, and made more of a fool of himself.

But next thing he knew, he was walking forward.

“Waiting for your car?”

Y/N didn’t turn to him, but it was clear that she heard his question and recognized who it had come from. “I didn’t drive. They’re getting me a cab.”

Bruce nodded slowly even though she wasn’t looking at him.

All charm had left his body now that he had quit the act. It wasn’t going to do any favors for him. He needed to do this on his own, as his real self.

Y/N finally turned with a slight attitude and Bruce was taken aback at how she was even more beautiful up close.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?”

He smirked. “I’m here for the party, of course.” He didn’t want to play the part anymore – not with her. But it was second nature at this point.

Her lips pursed at his response.

“Leaving so soon?” He asked.

Y/N sighed. “Between you and me, I’m only here as a favor to my mother. She wouldn’t get off my back about coming. I tried to leave sooner, but…”

One of the valets hopped up the steps. “I’m sorry, Dr. Y/L/N. It can take awhile to get cabs in the area at this time of night.”

Y/N gave him a sympathetic smile and opened her mouth to say she’d walk home.

“I’ll drive her home,” Bruce spoke before she could. Then he handed the valet his ticket.

Y/N looked at him with confusion and a bit of annoyance. “You really don’t have to do that.”

Bruce just gave her a look that said he absolutely did.

Then Y/N gestured back to the party. “You’re just gonna abandon your dates?”

The way she asked made it clear that Y/N had seen Bruce stumble out of the bathroom with the two of them. He also didn’t miss how she emphasized the plural.

“They’ll be fine,” Bruce told her.

He took a step toward her. “Let me give you a ride, Y/N.”

She took in a deep breath.

She knew she needed the ride. Only an idiot would walk home at this time of night, even if the walk to her apartment was a relatively safe one for Gotham standards.

Y/N just nodded.

A minute later, an Aston Martin drove up.

Bruce offered his arm to Y/N and helped her down the stairs before opening the passenger door for her.

He handed the valet a few bills, not even noticing they were all hundreds.

“Where to?” Bruce asked her.

“Oh, umm…” Y/N quickly gave him her address.

“I know you’ve been gone awhile, but you definitely shouldn’t be walking around the streets of Gotham at night.”

Y/N scoffed. “I’m aware. I moved back awhile ago.”

“Oh. I didn’t know…”

“Yeah. Well, why would you? It’s not like you kept in touch.”

The car filled with silence.

Y/N stared out the passenger window, looking at the skyscraper lights of Gotham

It seemed Y/N had no issue with staying silent for the whole car ride.There was nothing awkward about it for her.

But Bruce knew there were things he needed to say. “I’m sorry.”

This was the last thing Y/N expected and her head whipped to him.

But Bruce kept his eyes on the road. “For disappearing like I did.”

Y/N slowly turned back to the passenger window and said nothing.

Bruce didn’t expect to win her forgiveness. He would have to deal with that. But at least he could apologize.

“Y/N.” Bruce said it ever so quietly, like he was forbidden from speaking it. “This isn’t…I’m not…” Dammit. What was he even trying to accomplish right now? “Back there–”

“Back there?” Y/N interrupted his fumbling. “Oh, you mean the threesome you had in a bathroom at a party?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened.

Everyone bought his performance. Unfortunately, even Y/N.

Bruce pulled over and Y/N realized they were at her building already.

“You can say whatever makes you feel good, Bruce. Have at it.” Then she threw open the car door.

She put her hand on the handle to help herself out.

But she hesitated.

No. She wasn’t going down without a fight.

Y/N spun around to face Bruce, his blue eyes already waiting for her.

“You used to be kind. Strong and brave. You were better than all of them.”

And for the first time, Bruce really saw the damage he had done.

“Is that boy really gone?” She searched his eyes for the answer. “What is the act and what is the truth?” She whispered. “Huh, Bruce?”

He wanted to tell her.

Bruce had never felt the urge to expose his secret ever before.

But right now? Right now, he wanted to take Y/N back to the manor, drag her down to the cave, and show her all of his secrets – every single one.

But he couldn’t. And he knew that.

Bruce kept his face reserved.

His brow furrowed for just a second as he took Y/N in. All of her. Her eyelashes. Her lips. The styling of her hair. The dip of her neck.

“You became quite the woman, Y/N.” He told her. “And a beautiful one at that.”

Y/N blinked at the statement. Her mind desperately tried to decipher the hidden message in his words, in his actions from the night. But she came up with nothing.

She wanted to say that she knew he was using flattery to divert her attention from what she wanted to know. But it was also clear that he genuinely meant what he said as well. His eyes seeming to be taking in every moment of being in her presence.

If Y/N weren’t so irritated, she probably would’ve been more taken aback by his compliment, feeling vulnerable and almost embarrassed.

There wasn’t any point in pushing.

So Y/N took in a breath. “Thank you for the ride, Bruce.”

He just nodded. Then he watched her walk to the door of her apartment building. He probably lingered a few moments too long, but he couldn’t bring himself to once again put distance between them.

————

Alfred brought down food and an espresso to the cave.

When he looked up, Y/F/N Y/L/N’s face was on the giant screen.

“Working on a case, Master Wayne?” He asked with his usual sarcasm.

Bruce ignored the question. “She attended undergrad in Metropolis and then went to grad school in New York City.”

“Yes, I can see that…considering you have her student records exploited all over the screen,” Alfred responded with a smirk. “She’s been living in Gotham again for a few years, working as a psychiatrist. Even volunteers her services at Arkham – pro bono.”

That caught Bruce’s attention. He turned away from the screen to look at Alfred.

“I found no record of that,” he argued.

“Yes. Well, her mother is rather embarrassed by it. Thinks it gives the family a bad image. She insisted Y/N’s philanthropy was kept secret, even approved the NDAs herself.”

Bruce gave him a look, utterly confused how Alfred had access to such information.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. “Never underestimate the power of gossip, Master Wayne. Most family secrets cannot be found on the dark corners of the internet.” Then he smirked. “You would gain quite the knowledge if you didn’t turn your nose up at it.”

Bruce smiled at that and turned back to the computer.

“So, I take it that it was good seeing her?” Alfred pressed.

Bruce tensed at the question. “Not entirely. I’m certain that she hates me.”

“Hates you or hates the character you’ve so carefully created?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m just Bruce Wayne to her.”

Alfred opened his mouth to say more.

“Leave it, Alfred.” Bruce cut off before he could.

“Well, it appears I’m not the one struggling with leaving it alone, Master Wayne.”

Like many of Gotham’s elites, Alfred had humored the idea that Bruce and Y/N would make a marvelous couple. Like Bruce, Y/N didn’t let money and power sway her morals or damage her good and kind heart.

Alfred had always enjoyed having her over and listening to her and Bruce’s laughter as they caused trouble around the manor and entertained themselves.

But he also saw how her departure effected Bruce, no matter how much the teenager had tried to hide it at the time.

Maybe Alfred was an optimist or a romantic, but he still believed there was a chance for the two of them. But Bruce, quite frankly, would have to get over himself and his stubbornness.

————

Bruce was looking down at the city from yet another rooftop. It had been a quiet night. And he hated nights like that. It was always ended up being the calm before a storm.

“Batman?” Alfred spoke into his comms.

“Yes.”

“It appears there’s been a breakout at Arkham. The media hasn’t caught wind of it yet. But law enforcement has already been dispatched.”

“I’m on my way,” Bruce announced as he slid down a fire escape and made his way to the batmobile that he’d hidden in the shadows of an alley.

“Master Wayne…” Alfred knew to only use codenames on comms.

Bruce tense. “What is it?”

There was hesitation from the butler. “Y/N was scheduled to work a shift there tonight…”

Bruce said nothing. But his foot pressed the gas pedal down further than necessary.

—

Y/N was sitting with a patient when the alarm went off.

The people that worked there called them inmates, and corrected her every time she chose not to use that title.

Harleen Quinzel had been sitting across from Y/N for almost 30 minutes when they were interrupted.

“Oh, fun!” Harley clapped and giggled as the sirens filled their ears.

Harley and Y/N had formed an interesting relationship. The criminal seemed to like her and looked forward to her visits. She never threatened Y/N or tried to manipulate her.

Y/N believes she won her over by addressing her as Dr. Quinzel and often asking her professional opinions on trends and news in their industry.

Most people there only referred to Harley as if she was property of the Joker, no matter how many times Harley clarified that she wasn’t his anything anymore.

“Does this happen a lot?” Y/N asked her, trying to remain calm.

“Not enough, if ya ask me!” She laughed.

Y/N made the mistake of opening the door and seeing that the majority of the cells had been opened and prisoners were slowly making their way into the hallway.

“Not good,” Y/N muttered.

“Don’t worry, doc. I’ll protect ya! Us gals gotta stick together.” Harley said from behind her shoulder.

Y/N whipped around and looked at her and then at the table she’d been sitting at. “Dr. Quinzel! How did you get out of your restraints?”

“Oh, I’ve always been able to. I just leave ‘em on to be polite.”

Y/N sighed. No one had explained any sort of protocol for such a situation.

“Where the fuck are all the guards?” Y/N asked.

Suddenly the lights shut off.

“Yippy!” Harley cheered.

Y/N turned to her and softly grabbed her shoulder, but gave her an insistent look. “Harley, we need to get somewhere safe.”

Her face did dip to serious for a moment. “You don’t need to worry about me. But you’re right. Not everyone in here appreciates a shrink…”

To her surprise, Harley starts pulling her through the darkness with a purpose.

Y/N had no idea where she was planning on taking her. It seemed all the doors were in lock-down mode, leaving her stranded. If she survived tonight, she’d definitely be bringing that up to the board.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Y/N yelped at the sound.

Someone had either gotten a hold of a gun or security guards were opening fire.

Either way, it caused chaos to erupt.

Suddenly the dark hallways were being filled with a stampede of prisoners. Either they wanted to take down the guard who was shooting or they were getting an adrenaline rush at the concept of their peers attacking their wardens.

The crowd ripped the two women apart. Y/N was shoved up against the wall and her head slammed against the cement.

Y/N swore under her breath from the pain.

“Is that…No, it can’t be…”

A voice called out over the madness.

A chill went up Y/N’s spine. She’d know that voice anywhere.

The Joker.

He wasn’t one of her patients. All researchers and doctors were forbidden to speak with him – especially after what happened with Harley.

But that didn’t stop the Joker from knowing who Y/N was. He whined and whined about feeling left out. “All my pals get to chat with her and all I get to do is look!”

Now, Joker was free from him isolation.

Y/N suspected he was behind the breakout.

And he was going to make a slight detour. A detour that was doing whatever the hell he wanted to with Dr. Y/L/N.

Y/N didn’t even bother hiding her fear. With a new found strength and endurance, she started shoving her way through the mob.

“I hear you and my pumpkin’ pie have gotten close.” Then his smile dropped. “Too close, if ya ask me.”

Y/N ignored him as another prisoner shoved into her shoulder.

“I don’t appreciate you putting ideas in her head!”

Y/N stopped, realizing she had miscalculated her escape and had come to a dead end.

So she slowly turned around to face him, putting her back to the wall. “And what ideas are those?”

“Independence. Self respect. A life beyond crime and incarceration,” he spat.

Y/N realized he had his goonies flanking him, only making her odds that much worse.

“Those aren’t ideas. They’re a reality, a possible future,” she defended.

Joker didn’t like that answer one bit. He threw himself against her, once again slamming Y/N into the wall.

He gripped her chin roughly and smiled with his yellow teeth. “You know…she’s not the only doctor I’d like to break in. And in more ways than one, if you catch my drift,” he giggled.

Then his eyes raked over her body, up and down. His hands slid down her hips and the side of her legs until they got to the hem of her pencil skirt.

Y/N shoved him away with all of her strength.

But that earned her a slap across the face from him.

Joker gripped her waist tightly pressing her between the wall and his body. “I’m in charge now, doc. And I’ve got a few lessons to teach you.”

His hands grabbed at the buttons of her blouse and with one jerk, he ripped open her her blouse.

But before he could go any further, a few of his lackeys cried out in pain.

Y/N swore she heard the sound of objects whipping through the darkness.

She didn’t want to let herself feel any relief. But she hoped Harley had made her way back to her. She’d probably pack an even heavier punch once she realized Y/N needed protecting from her asshole ex.

But when Joker turned around and Y/N followed his gaze, Harley was nowhere to be found.

Yet three men were on the ground, unconscious.

“Well, well, well,” Joker muttered in amusement. “Has Batsy come out to play?”

Next thing Y/N saw was a shadow dropping down out of nowhere and taking out even more of Joker’s men.

Joker seemed to be prepared for such an interruption. Because he grabbed a knife from somewhere hidden on his body and ripped Y/N off the wall. He pressed Y/N’s back to his chest and put the tip of his knife to her throat.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” Joker sang.

To Y/N’s shock, Batman stepped into what little light was in the hallway.

“Long time, no see!” Joker screamed so loudly that Y/N flinched. “Did you miss me, Batsy? And you came all this way to see little old me?! How very sweet!”

“Your attempted escape was a failure,” Batman stated. “There’s nowhere for you to go. All the exits are blocked. Arkham has been contained.”

“What a shame! I really felt this one was gonna work!” Joker laughed.

Batman took a step toward him. “It’s over, Joker.”

“You’re probably right,” Joker shrugged. “But I really wanted to have some fun with doc here. So, if you could give us some privacy.”

Batman’s eyes flickered to Y/N’s for a brief moment. “Let her go,” he warned.

“How about…no?” Joker laughed.

Just as Batman was about to make his move, Y/N grabbed the wrist of Joker’s arm that held the knife. She twisted it and dived in such a succinct motion that it was obvious Y/N had been trained.

Whipping herself out of Joker’s grip, she twisted Joker’s arm so roughly and quickly behind his back that he had no choice but to drop his knife from the pain.

Then Y/N was now facing him, and with one swift swing of her leg, she kicked him right in the groan.

Batman saw his opening and rushed forward, cuffing Joker in place.

While Batman neutralized him, Y/N stumbled for the knife that Joker had dropped, still not feeling safe and out of danger.

She looked around, realizing that the police had filtered in and apprehended all the escaped prisoners. Some were already locked back into their cells. Other’s were in handcuffs with guns being pointed at them in warning.

“Dr. Y/L/N,” his voice made her whip back around.

How the hell did Batman know her name?

She squinted wearily at him.

“You can drop the knife,” Batman told her quietly.

Y/N blinked and looked down at her hand, having forgotten that she even grabbed the knife. And she now had a vice-like grip on it.

Her hands were shaking when she dropped the knife and the clatter echoed in the hallway.

She eyed the Joker, not trusting any sort of weapon to be in his vicinity, despite being handcuffed now.

“He’s not going anywhere,” Batman noted, as if he could read her mind and hear the concerns she was thinking.

Police officers surrounded them now.

“Until next time, doc!” Joker sang loudly.

Batman stepped between him and Y/N, shielding her from even being seen by the lunatic.

Y/N eyed him, wondering if he did that on purpose.

“This way,” he directed lowly as he led her out of the hallway.

Y/N was surprised when he escorted her all the way out of the building.

Wasn’t this supposed to be Gotham’s Dark Knight? A disappearing act? An urban legend that some people still didn’t believe in?

When they got outside, there were even more officers. The night was flickering blue and red from all the patrol car’s lights still being on.

Commissioner Gordon was having a field day with Arkham’s warden, yelling at him about lack of protocol and no protection for the volunteers and workers that had gotten caught in the crossfire.

But finally, the reality of what just happened was starting to set in for Y/N. And she realized that her entire body was shaking.

All of a sudden, a blanket was wrapped around her shoulders.

She looked up to see that Batman had draped it over her. When and where he’d grabbed it, she had no clue. But the warmth was helping, so she didn’t question it.

“Thank you…for saving me back there.”

Was that a smirk on his lips? Was Batman amused by her?

Why was it so comforting when he was a mere stranger?

And his eyes, even when they were surrounded by a cowl and dark paint, they still felt familiar. Y/N had a similar feeling to deja vu.

“Looked like you had it handled,” he replied.

“Oh, I definitely didn’t. But thank god for those self-defense classes.”

They looked into each other’s eyes for a second.

“Make sure you get checked out by the paramedics,” he told her gently, but insistent.

It was far too gentle for his Batman alter ego. But she caught how it sounded like it personally mattered to him.

Y/N looked behind her, where the ambulance was.

But when she turned back around, Batman was gone.

Next thing Y/N knew, she was being surrounded by two paramedics and Commissioner Gordon who was careful not to push her by asking too many questions at once.

“Does he always do that?” She asked him in a daze.

“Do what?” Gordon asked.

“Disappear like that?”

Gordon smiled and nodded. “Annoying, isn’t it?”

———

“What’s the gossip of the privileged this week?” Bruce asked Alfred at breakfast a few days after the outbreak.

“Something specific you’re looking for, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked as he poured Bruce a big mug of coffee.

Bruce glared at him, knowing he was playing coy with him.

But he put his pride aside. “How is she doing?”

Alfred took pity on him. “She took some time off work. But seems to be handling it better than expected. Makes quite a bit of sense, doesn’t it? Her being psychiatrist and all.”

Bruce just nodded with a dazed look.

“You could always see for yourself…” Alfred added.

Bruce snapped out of his daze and looked up him questioningly.

“You could go see her,” Alfred confirmed.

“Alfred, don’t you start.”

“Start what, Master Wayne? Pushing you to form any sort of relationship?”

Bruce sighed and got up from the breakfast nook. He didn’t want to fight with him, so he’d made his exit before that happened.

“Batman has plenty of friends,” Alfred stopped him. “But what about Bruce Wayne, hmm? Who are his friends?”

“You saying we’re not friends, Alfred?”

“I’m all you’ve got, Master Wayne. And that’s my point.”

Before the discussion could go on any further, the doorbell rang.

The two men shared a look.

No one stopped by the manor.

Alfred made his way over.

Bruce figured he’d wait where he was. But the front entrance was too far away from him to overhear any conversation.

A few minutes later, Alfred walked in with an unreadable expression.

“Dr. Y/L/N is here, Master Wayne. She is waiting for you in the drawing room.”

Bruce opened his mouth to tell him to make an excuse and get her to leave. But Alfred was already disappearing, making it clear that he would do no such thing for him.

When Bruce walked into the drawing room, he found Y/N’s back to him as she looked at the family heirlooms and trinkets that were displayed on the shelved.

She was dressed casually, which caught Bruce off guard since he’d only see her in formal wear and professional outfits since their reunion. Her hair was in a messy bun and she didn’t appear to be wearing much makeup, if any at all.

“Hi,” he greeted softly, making her quickly turn around.

“Hi,” she replied.

Bruce stepped further into the room. But neither of them moved to sit in any of the many seats that surrounded them.

“I heard what happened. How are you doing?” He asked.

She nodded and shrugged. “Alright.”

“I’m surprised to see you here,” Bruce admitted.

Y/N ignored his comment and her eyes went around the room. “I missed this place,” she thought aloud. Then her eyes fell back to his, softening. “I missed you.”

Bruce was taken aback from her confession. Seeing as the last time they were together, she was rather blunt about how disgusted and disappointed in him she was.

The energy between them felt so different than last time.

To his surprise, Y/N stepped toward him. And she didn’t stop until she was at a proximity that most would call rather intimate.

There was a voice in the back of Bruce’s mind, urging him to close the last bit of distance and place his lips on hers. But he managed to ignore it. That didn’t stop his heart from beating faster, though.

Y/N stared into his eyes for a few seconds, almost like she was searching for something.

“I have something that belongs to you…”

Bruce waited, not sure what she could possibly have to give him.

But then she pulled out one of his batarangs from her coat pocket, offering it to him.

She had found it embedded in the wall when she had gone back down to grab her personal belongings that night.

Bruce kept his face composed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

But he grabbed it from her anyways.

“He’s you,” she whispered. “Or I guess…you’re him.”

Bruce let out a breath, “Y/N…”

She took step away from him. “Don’t lie to me, Bruce.”

So he shut his mouth and said nothing instead.

“I’ve been doing some research. Things started lining up,” Y/N explained. “The first Batman sightings were right around when we stopped talking. The more Batman was in the press, the less Bruce Wayne was. And when he was, it was never positive – like it was meant to be a distraction.”

Her eyes went sad. “I never understood how the boy I used to love could grow into the man I’m so disappointed in. It never made sense.” She paused. “But when you wonder if the man himself is the mask, it all fits.”

“I’m sorry.” Bruce hung his head slightly. “I couldn’t tell anyone. Not even you.”

“I’d never share your secret.”

“I know,” he answered instantly.

Y/N couldn’t hold back her emotions any longer. Her eyes welled with tears. “Bruce…living like this has its consequences.”

Bruce said nothing.

She stepped forward and grabbed his hand. “You can’t change the world on your own. You don’t have to do this alone.”

Y/N wasn’t giving him advice. She was offering him something.

Her trust.

Her secrecy.

Her love.

He shook his head, but gripped her hand tightly. “You would just end up in the shadows with me. And I…I can’t do that to you.”

“I’m stronger than you think,” Y/N defended.

“I’ve always known how strong you are, Y/N.” His jaw tightened at even the thought of being selfish. “You deserve more than what I can give. Gotham will always come first. That’s the sacrifice I made. That’s what is required. I can’t be what you need.”

Y/N studied his face, knowing that there would be no winning with him.

She nodded once, not even slightly hiding her heartbreak and disappointment.

Then she stepped closer and gave him a slow kiss on the cheek.

“It’s not a one time offer, Bruce.”

Bruce couldn’t move a muscle. He was rooted in place.

He heard Y/N have a short conversation with Alfred, then the door closed, and she was gone again.

———

Bruce Wayne was a fool.

Alfred could probably make a list, in seconds, with a hundred reasons why.

But, no, Bruce Wayne was a fool for believing Y/N would give up so easily.

Two weeks later, Y/N was at Wayne Manor again.

Bruce knew something was going on when Alfred didn’t seem surprised in the slightest.

In one of her arms was popcorn seeds, twizzlers, sour patch kids, and chocolate covered pretzels. In the other arm was a case of beer.

Y/N barely said hi to Bruce as Alfred helped her out of her coat and took the things out of her grasp so she was no longer struggling to hold it all.

“I’m here to use your theater,” she announced.

And with that, she walked right past Bruce like she owned the place.

Bruce looked at Alfred and silently asked, ‘What the hell is going on?’

“I believe you have a guest to entertain, Master Wayne.” Then he looked at the items in his hand. “And I believe I have some popcorn to make.”

Bruce still didn’t move.

“You successfully closed yet another case last night, it’s Friday night, and you have a beautiful woman who decided she wants to spend her time with you. Best you don’t keep her waiting, Master Wayne.”

Bruce narrowed his gaze as if telling Alfred they’d discuss this matter at another time.

“I presume you shouldn’t go empty handed,” Alfred added quickly and handed Bruce two beers from the case in his arms.

Bruce chuckled, but started walking away. “I’m surprised you even let this stuff in the house, Alfred.”

When Bruce reached the theater, Y/N had already started a movie.

He watched her a for a moment before she could realize he'd joined her.

Y/N looked like she belonged there. Even after all this time apart, she just burrowed herself a cozy nook in Bruce’s life.

It was something she had been able to do even when they were kids. When Bruce had his mood swings or his depressive episodes, Y/N didn’t scare. She just found her way to stay at his side without upsetting him further.

Bruce grabbed the seat to the left of hers.

They weren’t really seats, more like small beds. A dozen were placed in the theater.

A couple could easily share one, but Bruce wasn’t planning on even approaching that fine line.

When Bruce sat down, he didn’t look at Y/N. But she gave a shy smile at his joining.

It was a long movie – almost a 3 hour run time.

And Y/N almost made it.

Without only 30 minutes left, Y/N had fallen asleep. Meaning Bruce’s attention was now taken from the movie.

He got up and grabbed one of the many blankets in the trunk hidden in the corner and placed it carefully over her, before silently leaving.

This was not a one time thing.

These type of visits continued.

Bruce knew Y/N and Alfred had to be in cahoots together.

Y/N seemed to always come to the manor when Bruce needed her most.

Alfred would force Bruce out of the cave and moments later, the doorbell would be ringing.

On the bad nights, she wouldn’t make him talk. She wouldn’t ask questions or try to make him magically feel better. Sometimes she would talk – mostly about mundane things. She’d tell Bruce about her day or how her neighbor always left baked goods at her door or about the new show she started watching. Sometimes she wouldn’t say anything at all, just sit there silently and make sure he wasn’t alone.

Sometimes she would bring coffee and pastries.

Sometimes Bruce would just walk into the library and find her reading.

Sometimes she would sit and chat with Alfred as if he was the reason she was visiting, and not Bruce.

Bruce couldn’t sleep one night. Nothing specific was causing his insomnia. Just the overall weight of being so many people.

It was 3AM when Y/N texted him to open the door for her because she didn’t want to wake Alfred.

When Bruce did so, Y/N was standing on the other door in sandals and a slightly transparent coverup that barely showed the outline of the bathing suit underneath.

He said nothing, but his face clearly showed that he wanted to know why the hell she was there in the middle of the night.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Y/N told him quietly. Then she shrugged a bit,“I decided I wanted to go for a swim."

Whether she was lying for his benefit, Bruce wasn’t sure. But he followed her to the indoor swimming pool like a sailor would follow a siren.

Without hesitation, Y/N kicked her sandals off and tossed her coverup on the nearest chair. And the next second, she was diving into the pool.

Bruce smirked at her nonchalance, but made sure to hide it when she breached the surface once again.

“Doesn’t your apartment building have its won pool?” He asked.

Y/N smiled and tilted her head back to get her hair wet again and out of her face. “They put too much chlorine in it.”

Bruce crossed his arms, “I see.”

“Coming in?” She asked teasingly.

He shook his head.

“At least keep me company,” she requested.

Bruce glared playfully at her, knowing the game she was playing.

But he finally sighed and nodded.

He was in cotton shorts and a t-shirt. But he decided to sit on the edge of the pool and dip his feet in.

He watched as she swam around, looking as natural in the water as a mermaid. She had always loved swimming as a kid and it appeared not much had changed.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He finally decided to break the silence.

Y/N swam to him and crossed her arms on the edge of the pool to rest and tilted her head to look at him.

She shrugged, “The usual: stress, nightmares, insomnia, too much caffeine.”

Bruce’s concern spiked instantly. “Nightmares about what?”

She watched him for a moment, seeing how quickly her subtle comment triggered him.

“You’re not the only person who’s seen fucked up things, Bruce.”

An hour later, Y/N asked for a towel.

When she climbed out, she was taken aback by Bruce wrapping it around her shoulders and rubbing her down gently. It was innocent, but subtly intimate.

As their eyes locked for a prolonged time, and he seemed to realize what he’d done accidentally.

Y/N cleared her throat. “I should head home and let you try to get some sleep.”

“You could stay,” he offered. “I mean, we have plenty of bedrooms here,” he quickly added and saved himself a bit.

“Is that…what you want?” Y/N asked slowly.

Bruce knew what she was trying to ask. He didn’t trust himself to answer the way he should, so he didn’t answer.

“Let me drive you home,” he asked as they left the indoor pool and started toward the front entrance.

Y/N ignored the request until they were at the door. She turned to face him with a smug look, “I’m perfectly capable of driving myself. Thank you.”

She hesitated before kissing him on the cheek. “Get some sleep, Bruce.”

————

Months after Y/N’s visits started, Bruce was doing some research for a case on his tablet as he ate dinner.

“Margaret Caulfield’s engagement party is tonight,” Alfred broke the silence of the manor as he took Bruce’s finished plate.

Bruce looked confused on why he was supposed to care.

“Y/N will be there,” Alfred added.

But Bruce still didn’t understand what he was trying to say.

“Master Wayne, when you attend all those sufferable parties, what is the first question people ask you?”

Bruce thought for a moment. “When I plan on settling down, I guess.”

“Now imagine that, but magnified by about 100…and that is what Y/N’s experience is at those same parties. That young woman is one of the brightest people in Gotham and all those people care about is who will put a silly ring on her finger.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, now understanding what Alfred was getting at. “I’m not her boyfriend, Alfred.”

“And you’ve made damn sure of that,” Alfred said a little too harshly.

Bruce watched him carefully.

“Y/N has fought off every one of your attempts to be a miserable recluse.”

Bruce opened his mouth.

“And don’t you dare try and tell me her efforts are wasted,” Alfred cut him off. “I’ve seen a change in you. And she has asked for absolutely nothing in return. She’d never ask you to pick her over Batman. Though she bloody well should!”

He wasn’t done.

“You’re not living, Master Wayne. And I won’t apologize for wanting more for you.”

Bruce just sat there and took it.

Alfred took in a breath, calming himself down. “There’s a suit waiting for you in your bedroom. I’ve decided I’m going for a evening walk.”

——————

Y/N didn’t know how many more champagnes she’d have to shrug to start feeling the buzz she so desperately needed.

Not even an hour of being at the party and she’s already been asked 15 times if she was seeing anyone. And when she answered no, half of those ended in them trying to set her up with someone.

As Y/N was trying to think of an excuse to escape, an old family friend approached her – a friend of her grandma’s unfortunately.

“Y/N, dear, let me see those hands!”

Y/N wanted to roll her eyes and snap, but she did as requested.

“No ring yet,” the woman teased, but she was also genuinely disappointed.

“That would be my fault, actually.” A voice said behind Y/N before she felt a hand on her lower back.

“Oh, Mr. Wayne, how nice of you to come!” The woman beamed. “Now, Y/N, why wouldn’t you tell anyone that you and Bruce are an item?”

“My fault again,” Bruce chuckled, “I’ve always enjoyed a good secret.”

Before she could ask more, Bruce smiled politely. “If you could excuse us for a moment.”

He steered Y/N to a private area of the party.

“What are you doing?” Y/N hissed at him. “The press are gonna have a field day. You and I will be every headline tomorrow.”

He smiled at her frantic concern.

“Why are you looking at me like that? I’m serious!”

Bruce captured her lips, silencing any further panic from her.

Y/N was completely caught off guard, but he wasn’t letting her go so easily. And soon, her hand went to the back of his head and she kissed him back.

Damn all the people who were probably watching them.

When Bruce finally let her pull away, he smirked at her dazed look and cupped her cheek.

She matched his smirk.

But then reality set in like a splash of cold water and she frowned.

“Am I – Is this your new cover?” She asked shakily, so scared that the answer was ‘yes.’

She could tolerate being Bruce’s friend for the rest of her life. But she wouldn’t survive being used in such a way. She couldn’t live in a fake relationship with a man she actually loved. She’d rather watch his sloppy persona with girls hanging off of him.

“No cover-up,” he muttered to her. “Just me and you – the real me.”

-----------------------------------------------------

I worked so hard on this 😩 Please let me know your thoughts.

#bruce wayne x reader #batman x reader #batman reader insert #alfred pennyworth #alfred pennyworth & reader #batman fic #batman universe #dc #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne reader insert #batfam #batboys #batman x you #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne angst #batman angst

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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

And Dusk

A/N: Just a heads up, the sensitive content in this chapter will be marked "<<<<<<" as the beginning and ">>>>>>" to signify the end. The racial slurs used in this chapter were targeted towards African Americans (and still are) and I chose these because I, myself, am African American and used them as a sort of “default” for any POC readers. ⚠️Please, never use these towards anyone. Whether it be in a “joking” manner or not. They are hurtful and were created to be that way⚠️ I wrote this chapter the way I did to bring awareness. Proceed with caution. Much love ❤️

Warnings: ⚠️racial slurs⚠️, violence, mentions of guns and dying/death

Word Count: 3707

—————————————

Chapter 3: The Frankel Footage

Shaking himself out of his shock, Five stood from his seat and hurried after his brother, grabbing onto his arm and stopping his strides. “The hell is wrong with you, Luther? I just told you the world’s gonna end in ten days!”

“Yeah, well, you’re always saying that.” Luther nonchalantly spoke before moving away, but Five intervened yet again.

“And so far, I’ve been right.” He hissed as Luther sighed and shook his head.

“Look, you want to go save the world? Knock yourself out, alright? I already got a job.”

“Wait, you work in this shithole?” The boy furrowed his brows.

“Yeah. Well, my boss owns the place,” Luther only received a nod from his brother, so he clarified. “I’m his body man.”

But this only made Five even more confused. “What’s that? Like, a masseuse or something?”

“Okay, you can make fun all you want, but I take good care of Mr Ruby.”

“Wait, Ruby. The Jack Ruby? The gangster who shot Oswald.”

Despite Five’s concern, Luther proudly smiled a smug smile as he glanced over at his boss. “Yeah. The one and only.”

“Well, it finally happened,” Five sighed. “That gorilla DNA has finally taken over your mind-”

“Hey, watch it, alright? Jack’s a good friend-”

“And you’re Number One. Numero Uno. Remember?”

Luther clenched his jaw and shook his head. “There is no Number One. Not anymore. Not in 1963,” When Five stared at him in disbelief, Luther sighed again. “Look, I’ve been stranded here alone for a year. What did you expect?”

Five scoffed. “I get it, alright? You watched Pogo die, the world exploded, and I marooned your big dumb ass in time. I’m sorry, okay? But I’m asking for your help, Luther. The Umbrella Academy needs you.”

“It doesn’t need me,” He slowly spoke to draw out his words. “It never did.”

“Luther, honey,” The waitress from earlier approached the two. “Jack’s about to lose it on some half-wit. A little help?”

“Ah, shit,” He groaned and began walking away. When Five tried yet again to stop him, he whirled on him, his lips pulled into a thin line. “Listen. You’re the genius who said we should jump, right? You’re the one who got us stuck here. And you’re the one who brought Vanya. So, if there is a doomsday coming, she’s probably the cause. And if I was gonna do something about it, it sure as hell is not gonna be with you. That’s (Y/N)’s job, being dragged around into your messes-”

“I don’t drag her into anything.” Five swallowed, blinking rapidly.

“Yeah? Well, she wasn’t stuck as a thirteen-year-old and constantly worrying about her kids until you showed up. I’m surprised she isn’t sick of you yet.” And with that, he stomped away to his boss. This time, Five let him go, his words sending a pang through his chest as he thought back on it. Grabbing his drink, he sighed and shook his head.

“Dad should’ve left him on the moon…” He muttered, taking a sip of his drink before moving to leave his seat. When he felt his jacket snag on something, he looked down to see an object in his pocket. Taking out the tape, he frowned and turned it over.

Date: 11/22/63

Subject: FRANKEL FOOTAGE

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<

This world was unfamiliar to (Y/N). She knew she had to have been somewhere in America, but she didn’t know where. The cars, fashion and stores bringing the street she walked to life told her she had to have been in the sixties. But she didn’t want to believe it. Surely Five hadn’t time travelled that far? She had to have been dropped during some type of sixties-theme festival. But the voices suddenly beside her quickly prove her doubts wrong.

“What do we have here?”

“Looks like we’ve got ourselves a lost little colored girl.”

Tensing, (Y/N) continued her way down the sidewalk, slightly speeding up her pace, but the men fell into step beside her with ease, flanking her sides.

“You’re on the wrong side of town, girl.”

“Yeah, we don’t like coons around here.” One of them hissed right in her ear. Her eyes welled up with tears before the other shoved her forward.

“Gon now, get!” He ordered as if she were a dog. She realized that’s how they had seen her. An animal. Nothing more. Tripping on a crack in the sidewalk, she fell to the ground, smacking her face on the concrete. She choked out a sob as the two men cackled. And to make matters even worse, she felt the pitter patter of raindrops start to freeze her skin.

(Y/N) gasped out in shock when the men spit two wads of saliva in her face. She knew she must’ve looked a mess with spit and tears sliding down her cheeks and blood oozing from her nose. She hiccupped on her sobs and began to stand, much too tired from her previous fight with Vanya and literally being dropped from the sky to successfully do so. The men backed her up against a wall and one fisted the front of her vest before a voice called out.

“Take your hands off of my child!” Whipping around, the men were half expecting to find another target, but (Y/N) coughed and sputtered nonsense upon the person her gaze fell upon.

“M-Mom…?”

Before her was Grace, but… she wasn’t robotic in any sense. She could tell by the raw anger etched into her features. She took a brave step forward. “I said. Take your hands. Off my child.”

And that was another thing: her accent. (Y/N) was immediately comforted by the stern southern accent the woman shared with her attackers. It was a voice she never thought she needed. The two looked between Grace and (Y/N) with smirks. “You mean this lil ol’ jigaboo-”

“Is my daughter. Now you let her go before I call the police.”

“Woman, I don’t care if you call the police-”

Grace took it upon herself to step closer and grab the child by her arms, yanking her into her warm embrace. (Y/N) immediately latched onto her, quivering in her hold. The men scoffed and shook their heads, beginning to walk away. “Make sure to keep that thing on a leash if you’re gonna have it out, ma’am.”

“Oh, fuck off.” She growled before turning and walking back in the direction the girl came from. As they walked past the alleyway, Grace took out a handkerchief and began wiping the girl’s face clean of what the raindrops hadn’t already washed away. “It’s alright, hun, they aren’t gonna hurt you anymore.”

“T-Thank you.” (Y/N) sobbed and gently held her nose in pain. Grace crouched in front of her and gently held her face in between her hands.

“Don’t thank me, darlin’, it’s how everyone should be treatin’ you ‘round here… Where are your parents? I could take you to ‘em.”

(Y/N) thought for a long moment, watching as the rain soaked Grace’s hair and clothing. The woman didn’t seem to mind as she watched the girl before her swallowing thickly. (Y/N) skimmed over her current choices. She didn’t have any choice.

“I don’t have parents. I-I don’t remember them…”

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

“I’m tellin’ you, Reggie, she’s highly intelligent for a child her age.” Grace proudly presented (Y/N) to the man she had grown fond of over their time working together. (Y/N), however, was frozen in her spot. Sir Reginald Hargreeves. The man whose death she had wished upon for years, whose death had finally graced her existence, was back in her life. She flinched at the disapproving look on his face, much too acquainted with it by this point in her life. “And she’s very respectful. Talented, too, this girl can speak several languages.”

“You seem rather fond of this child.” The man observed as Grace squeezed her into her side.

“She’s my pride and joy.”

“And you cannot remember anything of your past, child?”

“N-No,” (Y/N) shook her head and stared down. “Not a lot. J-Just my name and birthday.”

Reginald hummed and stared her down with an unreadable expression. When she met his eyes again, he was crouched down to her level, his monocle clutched in his fist. “(Y/N), was it?”

“Yes.”

“It would be an honor to have your presence within my home, along with your mother.”

“O-Oh, that’s okay-”

“I insist. Besides, you have been living with her for almost half a year, correct? It is highly unlikely that she will share a home without you.”

“He’s right about that, hun,” (Y/N) glanced up at Grace, who was smiling warmly at her. “I’m not leavin’ you.”

(Y/N) could have cried.

And she did.

One year later, (Y/N) had been living quite the comfortable life with Grace and Reginald. She had been introduced to the ape, Pogo, for the second time since Grace first started working with him. As much as she loved being around the chimp, it brought back so many memories. She almost felt silly, looking after him sometimes knowing he had done the same for her in the original timeline.

Her relationship with Reginald was nothing she ever expected. He was gentle, well as gentle as Reginald Hargreeves could get, he cared for her, spoiled her, even. She wouldn’t have to ask for anything half the time. If he were to overhear a conversation between her and Grace about a dress she oh-so wanted, it would suddenly be laid out on her bed the next day. She usually had a say in dinner meals every Thursday and Sunday and Reginald listened intently whenever she would voice any discomfort or concerns with her living conditions. (Y/N) never had a real father, but she assumed this is what it was like to have one. She never wanted to let go of it.

For her birthday in 1963, she was surprised that he had actually gotten her a present. As she entered the parlor, she was met with the tiniest bark and an even tinier golden retriever, bounding up to her. She gasped and stopped low, letting him jump into her arms. She let him lick her face and giggled in the joy it brought her.

“Your mother said you would like it. Though I would never allow dogs in my house, I have come to understand that there are rules I must bend for you, my child.”

(Y/N) turned to her father. Yes, father. Reginald, also growing quite fond of their father-daughter bond formed between them, decided to adopt the girl. As much as his beliefs and his deep distaste for children protested. There was just something about this child. Or perhaps it was Grace’s insisting, reassuring him that he would make a wonderful father. (Y/N) was very hesitant at first for her own reasons she never shared, but eventually came around to the idea of being his daughter again.

This was the same Reginald Hargreeves who locked her in a dark room for five days straight, but also an entirely different man. Perhaps it was her fascination with the differences, or maybe she just wanted a real father for once.

“Thank you, Dad.” She softly smiled, the man nodding in response.

“But this is your pet, (Y/N). It is your responsibility. I will not find it in my study, in my bedroom, you are to train it yourself-”

“Can you-”

“And no, I will not help you pick out its name.”

The girl softly groaned and looked back down at her new puppy. Looking into its eyes, she smiled softly at a distant memory as a small child.

“Welcome to the family, Mr Pennycrumb.”

-------------------------------------------------

(Y/N) groaned when she felt the sunbeams of the early morning sunrise hit her eyelids, coloring her black vision with the stinging fire of orange. Rolling onto her other side, she stretched her blanket over her head. They were yanked away the next second, causing a whine to leave her lips. “Mom… Five more minutes.”

“I let you sleep in long enough, hun, it’s time to get up. You have a date with Preston this afternoon.” Grace gently pulled her daughter to sit up, giggling quietly at her look of disgust.

“Preston? Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously, let’s get goin’.” Grace patted her leg and walked to her door, waiting patiently. (Y/N) sighed and rubbed her face, letting her feet slide into her slippers. As they descended the stairs to the kitchen for breakfast, Reginald could hear his daughter’s sleepy complaining from his place at the table.

Setting his utensils down, he turned his head in their direction. “My child, how many times throughout each week must we have to repeat this conversation?”

“Until it starts making sense.” (Y/N) stepped into the dining room, now in her robe, and crossed her arms over her chest. Reginald sighed and stood from his chair at the table.

“You are one of my greatest accomplishments,” He began towards her. “There is no doubt in my mind that you would make a fine successor. I do not believe you will need a husband. In fact, you would be better off without another individual holding you back from what you are truly capable of.”

“But?” She raised a brow.

“But… I have grown to know you more than I expected… and I know that you would need someone to help manage your finances you inherit once I am gone. Preston is a fine young man who was born into this life, made into this life. He will take good care of you.”

(Y/N) knew there was only one person in this world who would truly take good care of her. But he wasn’t here, and she needed to play the part as the amnesiac adopted daughter, so she huffed and nodded. “Fine… I’ll go…”

“Thank you-”

“But only if Mr Pennycrumb can go, too.”

“Very well, but you will not be gifted another animal if you lose it.”

The outing wasn’t entirely bad. (Y/N) didn’t mind the picnic or the art museum, it was the company that made her blood boil. Preston is anything she would have expected out of him. This had been their seventh date, tenth of the ones he planned. (Y/N) sought out any opportunity she could to cancel on him to save herself from the unbearable three hours she would have to spend with the kid. He was arrogant, smug, selfish, narcissistic, and overbearing. Of course, this was not the Preston he presented to her parents. No, to them, Preston was ‘a fine man with a bright future ahead of him’, or as Grace would put it, ‘a delight to have around’. He laughed like a drunk, talked like a husband, and smelled like a man. All at the age of fifteen. (Y/N) had to remind herself on several occasions that she was mentally the older out of the two and to not stoop to his level when he got under her skin.

“Don’t you think, (Y/N)?” The voice brought her attention back to the boy beside her. She looked up from the grass they had been strolling through. When she hummed in question, he amusedly scoffed and side-step closer to her. “Never mind. I should have known you wouldn’t have been interested in politics.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” The girl raised a brow. At her confusion, he laughed and gently tapped the side of his head.

“You’ve always got that head of yours in the clouds. Or turned behind you- like right now.”

(Y/N) turned her head away from where she had been looking over her shoulder. “What? Sorry, Preston, I’m a little preoccupied today.”

“With what, exactly? You don’t seem to be the type of girl to have very many issues. Nothing to worry about.”

“And you wonder why I don’t listen to you.” She sighed as her puppy ran in between her legs, rolling in the grass once he was a few paces in front of them. Preston frowned in distaste and shook his head.

“You should really keep that thing on a leash, sweetheart.”

She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes, clenching her teeth as she folded her hands behind her back. “Really now?”

“Really. You know, I’m not very fond of dogs, so I’m not sure how it’ll work out once we’re married. I think we should get one after we have kids, you know? Just so the kids could grow up with it.”

(Y/N) quickly turned her head to the left, pointing out across the street. “Preston, would you look at that?”

“Look at what?” He gullibly looked in the direction, (Y/N) quickly checking the area before almost silently singing her tune. From her shadow, her clone formed and robotically walked behind the two. She quickly switched spots with it and ordered the clone to walk with Preston before scooping her puppy into her arms and rushing off in the opposite direction. Once she was behind a diner far away from their date location, she let out a sigh and gently patted her dog on the head.

“Were you sick of it, too?” She chuckled. Resting the back of her head against the brick wall she leaned on, she let out a slow breath and began to relax. The sound of guns cocking had her head snapping up so fast, she swore she could have dislocated it. Just down the end of the line of stores were three white-haired men, one in a milkman uniform, training their guns on her. (Y/N) didn’t waste a second tucking her dog in front of her and spinning around, charging down the opposite direction as bullets whizzed past her. She dodged them the best she could, jumping a few feet in the air at the ones that threatened to take their place in her feet. It was like a dance; the twisting, spinning and jumping, and she was to perform this dance until one of those bullets killed her if she didn’t find a way out soon. Sliding to the side of a clothing store for cover, she gently shushed her pet as she caught her breath.

The three sets of footsteps eventually found their destination and rounded the corner with skilled quickness, shooting at the girl until she was nothing more than a bloodied corpse on the ground, bullet holes lodged in almost every inch of her body. The three men nodded to each other and turned around, making their way out from behind the stores.

(Y/N) had already been down the street from her house by the time her attackers found the clone in her place. She couldn’t have been bothered to check herself for any wounds, too worried about Mr Pennycrumb’s potential bullet wounds. But the pup was perfectly, happily nuzzling into her arms and wagging his tail. This left (Y/N) to ponder.

Who the hell were those men?

-------------------------------------------------

“Is it on?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know? There’s an ‘on’ button. Just- There’s something over- that jigga-ma-thing, whatever.”

“I hit the jigga-ma-thing!”

“Okay, well, just- Give it to me. I know how to do this.”

“Alright, here, here. Hurry up.”

“Okay, alright, let’s see…”

Lila didn’t look up from her task of painting poor Elliott’s toenails, his bindings he received after threatening the trio with a gun preventing him from moving too much. Which was beneficial to her, as it kept her from ruining the paint job. She softly smiled as she listened to the argument between the elderly couple on the film Five and Diego were intently watching. “They’re so cute,” She commented. “I love old couples. I’m always so proud of them for not murdering each other.”

Ignoring her, Diego turned to his brother from his seat on Elliott’s counter. “Why are we watching this?”

“Shush.” Five replied, eyes trained on the film before him, searching for any clue to the approaching apocalypse, brows furrowed in concentration.

“Yeah, I… I’m Dan Frankel. And…”

“I’m Edna Frankel.”

“...Edna Frankel. We are in Dallas, Texas, to see the president. Today’s date is November 22, 1963.”

Five nodded as everyone’s attention was brought to the projected screen before them.

“That’s six days from now.” Lila spoke as Elliott thrashed about more against his bindings. Diego sat forward in interest.

“Holy shit. This is it. The grassy knoll. Kennedy’s about to get shot. How do you have this?”

“Hazel died to get me this footage,” Five answered. “It must be the key to stopping doomsday.”

“Hazel…?” Diego frowned, remembering the man he spent hours searching for and planning to kill to avenge the death of Eudora Patch.

“Long story.”

“What’s doomsday?” Lila looked up at the boy.

“Longer story.”

“What exactly did he say to you?” Diego asked as Lila turned her head back to the film.

Five shrugged. “Well, he was killed before he could explain. But whatever he wanted us to see, it’s on this film.”

“This is very exciting.” The old man smiled before the sound of gunshots and screaming could be heard, the camera moving around in blurs due to the shock of the old woman filming.

“Oh, my god!”

“Oswald…” Diego whispered, setting his knife down as Five leaned in closer.

“The president!”

When the camera was steadied to record across the street, Five and Diego both stiffened in their spots at what their eyes caught. “Oh, no…” Five breathed and moved behind the projector, rewinding the film and scooting the cart backwards to zoom in closer. The room was silent as Diego stood to his feet and Five rounded the cart before standing beside his brother, directly in front of the film. “This can’t be…”

“Okay, you gonna fill me in now, boys?” Lila glanced between the two. “What the hell is this shit we’re watching?”

But she was ignored yet again.

“No, that’s impossible…”

“Clearly, it’s not.”

“What… What is it?” Elliott muffled past the gag in his mouth.

A beat of silence went by before the two Hargreeves whispered in unison,

“Dad.”

—————————————

Taglist: @unfortu-nate-ly @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men @hehehehannahthings @harrystylescherrie @rhain3 @himikaphoo @zerocanonlywriteshit @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @isawachickeninatree

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua #tua x reader #tua fanfic #tua five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #five x reader #of starlight #and dusk

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bloody-wonder · 3 years

Note

heyyy okay so I just saw a post where people basically called the fandom out for ignoring the fact that Andrew is “abusive as fuck” to the other monsters while still bashing seth and aaron for their homophobia and I just uhhh- I would really like to hear your thoughts on this pls? Cus while I can definitely see how andrews relationship with them is not at all normal or healthy in many ways, I don’t really feel like abusive is the right word for it, is that just me?

firstly, while we’re on this topic i’d like to say a couple of words about the aaron discourse that seems to be back in fashion.

in fandoms we have this interesting desire to rank *problematic* behaviors in order of their graveness and then act as if this ranking is objective for all people everywhere. this is where the “you hate aaron bc he’s homophobic? well your fave actually killed a person so“ argument comes from. while there’s logic to the idea that being murdered is worse than being called a slur, for people who experience homophobia irl on a daily basis a fictional murder will never be as upsetting as fictional homophobia. conversely, other fans who don’t fall into this category but might relate to aaron for different reasons (bc he happens to be a well-rounded character) are confused by how he’s branded as the worst while the other foxes (especially the monsters) are right there and feel the need to make the fandom appreciate him more by writing that kind of posts comparing his flaws and shortcomings to those of the other foxes according to the questionable but binding ranking of all sins. and round and round the discourse goes bc the latter party can’t imagine how for many people homophobia can take the highest rank of Problématique despite being “not as bad as murder” or whatever.

if you’re able-bodied and able-minded it’s likely that all the ableism in aftg went over your head. if you’re not queer and haven’t experienced homophobia it might be easier for you to look past it in aaron’s case and be able to appreciate him as a character despite it. if “asexual spectrum” and “amatonormativity” are terms you don’t give much thought to in your day-to-day life, you probably see nicky in a completely different light than i do. all of these things are objectively wrong but if one is worse than the other is completely subjective for each individual. there will always be people who like aaron and those who dislike him and i’m afraid no amount of discourse will drastically change their opinions.

returning to your question, a lot can be said about andrew and all the bad things he does. a lot has been said. if you’re after some good andrew bashing i feel like there are quite a few blogs out there who can provide. even in our corner of the fandom where we worship and idolize andrew joseph minyard we still discuss his flaws from time to time. the only reason we haven’t done that recently is bc according to our latest decree “andrew hasn’t done anything wrong ever and we love him and in fact he deserves more opportunities to stab people”. so the argument that andrew’s problematic behaviors don’t get discussed enough doesn’t seem true to me. but it’s not really about that, is it? it’s about not enough people liking aaron and seth and too many people liking andrew - according to op. whereas his crimes are higher (or at least as high) in the ranking of crimes - according to op. but here’s the thing - like i said all of this is very subjective, some people just like andrew despite everything and will never like aaron no matter how strong your argument in his favor is. they’re not politicians in an election campaign, they’re imaginary people who we get attached to bc they make us feel better about ourselves. but if they were politicians and the election was held on tumblr andrew would win in a landslide just bc the voters are mostly queer and andrew’s gay and aaron’s homophobic. that’s how it works.

and finally as for the word “abusive”, before i used to get mad at how people use it all too often and dilute its meaning but nowadays i’m just wondering if this is just simple etymological evolution: at first “abusive” was used to designate only the gravest kinds of mistreatment, but then people became aware of its rhetorical effect and now this word seems to mean “acts i personally find unacceptable” - which can range from more to less harmful. for the sake of intelligible discussions it would be helpful to use different words for different acts in that range, but you can’t really generate enough engagement with words like “annoying”, “offensive” or “harmful” and many users don’t really pursue intelligible discussion anyway. i personally like the word “problematic” which suits me well bc it requires futher explanation of why you perceive something as a problem and it doesn’t have the indicator of its graveness built in. however, i can also see how bc it’s been overused in the past to the point where it itself became a meme, some people can’t take it seriously anymore. “problematic” sounds like a joke so people have to call things “abusive” to be taken seriously. “abusive” is the new “problematic”. this is something i perceive as well so i often try to distance myself from the word by writing it in funny ways but i still use it bc i know no better umbrella term for things that i consider “not good” but wouldn’t go as far as to call them “abusive”.

that being said, what exactly you designate as *problematic* matters as well. for example, i would call some of andrew’s behaviors problematic bc, you know, they are a problem, but i wouldn’t call his relationship with the monsters problematic. strained, difficult, lacking communication, even “not a friendship” if you wish, but no, not problematic and certainly not abusive.

#andrew minyard #aaron minyard #all for the game #the foxhole court #aftg mine #aftg ask #i love aaron with all my heart but if i had to choose between him and andrew i wouldn’t hesitate even for a second #just bc andrew is one of the main characters and we spend so much more time with him and so i feel like i know him much better #whereas with aaron interpretations can differ drastically #like i love my version of aaron but it’s mostly self-projection you know #sorry for the huge ass rant but i've been seeing my mutuals make *you're allowed to dislike aaron* posts for several weeks now #and i'm upset that they feel the need to #fellow aaron stans who make people feel like they're not allowed to hate aaron #shame on you #anyways #if everybody likes him the aaron market will become inflated #we need people with healthy disgust for aaron's homophobia and generally unpleasant personality #so that our biome can thrive

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kuredono · 3 years

Text

when the clock strikes midnight | Sukuna x gn!Reader

TW: mentions of being sick, fainting, hands on neck but not strangulation?

“Yuuji!” You scream as your boyfriend finally loses consciousness.

Sukuna isn’t surprised, in fact the damn brat had actually exceeded his expectations and lasted longer than he thought, though it meant that he was in terrible shape. Well, he’ll get healed up later by that girl anyway, so Sukuna just sat back and watched as you defended his vessel from being eaten by the curse. It was a nasty curse, a particularly tenacious vengeful cursed spirit that appeared to learn their moves the more they performed it. You had caught on this pretty quickly, and figured out that it was a new curse only just starting to learn its capabilities, and you were its test dummies. Not that Sukuna cares, but it would mean bad news if it escaped with all the knowledge it has just accumulated. Not that you would let it.

Sukuna’s smirk grew as he saw that switch flick in your head, your gears changing from calculated moves and intelligence to pure strength and instinct, your eyes seeming to glaze over. He loved it when that happened.

Since you entered his vessel’s life, he rarely had to raise a finger because you would always finish the job for him and often stopped his vessel from nearly killing himself. He still took over if and when he felt like it (if Yuuji wasn’t actively suppressing him), and had spoken to you more than a few times. Yuuji would let his guard down when he was tired or sleeping, which was the perfect time for him to talk to you, especially since you stayed up late the majority of nights in a week.

You were interesting. He wanted to know how you were so strong, but you never gave him the answers he wanted. You were usually studying, and he often heard the line ‘if you aren’t here to help me study then please be quiet.’ with a heavy sigh, though you always used polite language when speaking to him. Some nights if he was especially stubborn, he would manage to annoy you enough to have a proper conversation with you, but you were just as stubborn as him when it came to hiding your secrets. You never told your boyfriend about any of your conversations though. Sukuna had considered exposing you to his vessel, but then he probably would never get to speak with you again.

Just as Sukuna had predicted, you dealt with the curse. He almost moved from his throne when you had stumbled over your own feet for crying out loud and nearly lost an arm, and probably your life if you didn’t react as quickly as you did after catching your footing. Sukuna had overheard you throwing up yesterday evening, but he didn’t say anything. Why would he? You insisted it was just exhaustion from doing back to back missions and went to bed, flopping next to Sukuna and promptly going to the land of nod before he could tell you he didn’t care.

Currently you were laying on your back, hand clasping the front of your shirt while gasping for air after finally exorcising the curse. After a minute of catching your breath back, you hauled yourself up, knuckles kneading your temples.

“Ugh... Let’s get you to Ieiri.” You sighed as you looked over at your boyfriend’s body. You shuffled over and ripped up your camisole under your shirt to make bandages to wrap around his head while calling Ijichi requesting a lift to the HQ. You looked beyond exhausted and your cheek was fast blooming into a bruise from when the curse has backhanded you. Ride home confirmed, you let your head hang lowly with a heavy exhale. “I just want to go home.”

After a visit to Ieiri, resulting with the vessel regaining consciousness and fussing over your vast collection of small injuries, nearly 4 hours later, you both arrived home. Sukuna’s vessel was still exhausted and you both had a simple soup which you had the foresight to make last week in anticipation of this week being busy (you somehow could always sense when you were both going to be busy and prepared in advance). Yuuji had wanted to stay up and wait for you to finish your nighttime routine, and he put up a good fight, but lost as fell asleep before getting to wrap you up in his arms.

When Sukuna decided it was safe to switch, he opened his eyes to an empty bedroom, a line of light coming from under the bathroom door where he could hear your strangled sobs and gags. He waited. There was a flush, the sink running, then a gruesome thud. The tap continued running. He waited. You weren't moving. Heaving a sigh, Sukuna rolled out of bed, carpet soft under his feet as he stopped in front of the bathroom. He kicked the door open with his foot, the door stopping as it hit a hand laying on the floor. Stepping in, Sukuna found you laying on the cold tiled floor.

“Human, wake up.” Sukuna nudged your limp body with his foot. Thankfully your eyes fluttered open.

“Huh?” You asked dumbly, watery eyes clouded with sickness, “How did I get here?”

“You passed out. Now get up.”

“I can’t move.”

“Why not?”

“Everything is broken.” You huffed, voice wobbling dangerously, “I feel really wrong.”

“Wrong?”

“I don’t know. Something’s wrong with me,” You stifled a sob, Sukuna rolling his eyes.

“Only now you realise? There are many things wrong with you dumb creature.”

“Sorry...” You rolled your head to the side as your lip quivered, “You’re such an asshole Sukuna.” You hiccuped, tears now falling which only increased Sukuna’s urge to kill you. He hated weak creatures. “Am I dying?”

“No you’re sick. But I might kill you if you don’t stop crying.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to die. Can't stop crying.” You wailed.

“You really have a death wish don’t you?”

Sukuna had enough and straddled your unmoving form, wrapping his hands around your neck, but not squeezing just yet. You looked so small in his hands, and now he was close enough, he could feel heat radiating from your frail body.

You bit your bottom lip and sniffled like a child, eyebrows knitting together. “I’ll beat you first.”

“Oh is that so? Not if I kill you here and now.”

“That’s cheating, I told you I can’t move. What’s the fun of killing something that doesn’t move?”

Sukuna’s brows raised as you pouted, serious in what you said. He whipped his head back in hearty laughter, “Oh you know don’t you?”

“I don’t, I just thought you might spare me if I said that because it seems like something you would say.” You were exceptionally chatty tonight, and refreshingly honest with your reactions, though you still kept the polite language. “Can you get off me, I can't breathe and it hurts. I’ll fight you in earnest if you get off me.”

“Will you now?”

“I can try my best King of Curses.” You smirked, though it looked strange when you had fresh tear tracks on your cheeks which were flushed a deep red. This was certainly amusing.

“Fine then. Show me your true self Y/N L/N!” Sukuna strode back to the bedroom, waiting for you to follow. He watched as you shuffled out the bathroom after him, eyes almost shut as you leaned on the doorframe, cursed energy surrounding you and swelling. “That’s more like it- ?!”

Sukuna rushed forwards as your body slumped forwards, a deadweight in Sukuna’s arms.

“S’kuna, can’t see. Sorry. Feel wrong.” You slurred.

Sukuna easily picked you up and unceremoniously dropped you on your shared bed, “If it’s not one brat dying, it’s the other...”

“Sorry.” You huffed, lifting your hand in front of you and slowly closing your hand into a fist, “Fight me...”

“You can’t even stand up.”

“Can too.”

You began to wiggle your arms under yourself to lift yourself up until Sukuna growled, “Don’t you dare.”

“Sorry.”

“Do you ever shut up?” Sukuna growled.

“Sorry...”

Sukuna pinched your cheeks painfully between his fingers, amused as you squirmed in his grip, whining about your bruised cheek, “Apologise one more time and I will rip your little mouth off.”

“No! Don’ do dat! How else am I s’posed to talk to you o’der’wise?” You cried out.

“Hah? That’s what you’re worried about?”

“I like talkin’ to you a’ night. E’en if you are a jerk sometimes.” Sukuna squeezed your cheeks tightly for a second before releasing you. You grabbed onto his wrist before he could walk away and lightly kissed the back of his hand, “Thank you.”

Sukuna snatched his hand out of your grip, “What do you think you’re doing?” He snarled.

“You said I can’t apologise. And I’m thankful to you.

“Stupid human...”

It was silent for a moment as Sukuna glared at your panting form, sweat rolling down your temples. He wet a towel and slapped it on your face, startling you out your probably delirious thoughts. He then went to get you a glass of water when he heard another heavy thump from the bedroom. He growled to himself as he swore he really would kill you. Just as he anticipated, you were collapsed in a heap next to the bed, one hand gripping the bedside table and the other squeezing your temples like a lemon.

“I should leave you to die seeing as you’re so keen.”

“Where’d you go?” You panted helplessly, unseeing eyes briefly scanning around the room, cursed energy flickering around you, before you gave up and hung your head in defeat.

With a sigh, Sukuna set the glass of water on the bedside table and hoisted you back onto the bed.

“Just lie down and go to sleep, idiot.” He sighed, putting the wet towel back on your forehead. You were really in a terrible state, he couldn’t deny it anymore.

Just as Sukuna moved to go back on his side of the bed, your hand gently caught his wrist.

“Are you going now?”

“I was going to lay down. I’m tired from making sure you don’t die.”

You interlaced your fingers with his, “Oh okay. Thank you.”

“Let me go, I want to lay down.” You wordlessly released his hand, albeit hesitantly. But the moment he crashed next to you on the bed, you clung to his arm and began to trace the marks across his chest.

“What are you doing?”

“Thank you for the towel.” You hummed quietly. A smirk grew on Sukuna’s lips, leaning over and caging you between his arms, closing the space between your faces,

“If you wanted to thank me, you should’ve just-” Sukuna found his lips pressed to the back of your hands as you covered your lips. “Hah..?”

“You’ll get sick.”

“I’m the King of Curses.”

“In a human vessel susceptible to illness.”

Sukuna glared at you but couldn’t for long with you looking up at him with big innocent eyes. Your hands moved from your lips to Sukuna’s face, cupping his cheeks and tracing his marks with your thumbs.

“Thank you.”

Neither of you spoke for a while, Sukuna paralysed in place as you gradually weaved your hands into his hair, gently carding your hands through, watching intensely as your eyes watched him lovingly through the growing sleepy haze.

“Thank y-”

“Shut up and go to sleep.” Sukuna finally moved away and lay down next to you. He had expected you to say something, so looked over, only to find you asleep. You did listen to him. He stretched his arm over to rest the back of his hand on your cheek, freezing as you placed your hand on top.

“Love you.” You murmured into his fingers, rolling over to face him, the wet towel falling onto the pillow.

Sukuna rolled closer to you and put the towel back on your forehead before snaking an arm over your waist and pulling you closer to him. If he was going to be stuck sharing this body, he might as well enjoy the perks it came with.

(If anyone asked though, it was because that brat Itadori would usually sleep holding you in his arms, so if he did the same, Itadori wouldn’t suspect a thing when he switches back and wakes up.)

#jujutsu kaisen #sukuna #itadori #jjk #jjk sukuna #sickfic #fluff #jjk fluff #i don't know how to tag lol #fever whump #fever #yuuji #domestic Sukuna

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pucksnsticksnhockeyboys · 4 years

Text

joking about you

summary: four times you thought Matthew was just teasing and the one time you realized he wasn’t.

warnings: mentions of alcohol, swearing, the works

word count: 3.9k

note from the writer: I’m not in love with how the first part or so turned out but it gets better at the end? at least I hope I wrote it at 2 in the morning

Crowds were definitely not your favorite thing. Especially when the crowd involved numerous hockey players that were celebrating a win over their division rivals. Normally, you didn’t mind as much, but you were too sober to deal with what the boys were putting you through. More specifically, you were a few drinks short of being able to deal with Matthew.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, in fact, that was the whole problem. You had a massive crush on him, the kind where people who didn’t even know you wondered just how long you had been pining after one of your closest friends. Long story short, you were incredibly obvious in your affection. And it was fine, you were dealing with it, but it didn’t help that Matthew decided his favorite pastime was teasing you about your feelings.

You had excused yourself from the booth you and a few of the guys and their significant others had claimed, making your way to the bar for a refill. It was only your second drink, having promised Matthew that you would make sure he got home safe. The two of you had a rule that whenever you guys went out together, you would take turns in who would watch over the other. It was a sweet gesture, and Matthew never failed to make sure you were in your own bed by the end of the night.

“What’re you drinking? I’ll buy it.” A stranger said as he leaned against the bar counter next to you. You smiled at him, not at all interested but still grateful for the gesture.

“Uh, no thank you. But thanks for offering.” You smiled politely, and just as he opened his mouth to argue your statement a heavy weight fell over your shoulders. You would’ve jumped, but you recognized the newcomer without even having to look.

“Not interested, already on someone else’s tab.” Matthew told the guy smugly, and you rolled your eyes at his cockiness. You weren’t really one his tab, but you would’ve said you were if it got the guy to leave. It did, and you turned to Matthew with a grateful smile.

“I would’ve scared him off all by myself, you know.” You teased, smile growing wider as Matt laughed at your statement. You were anything but scary, but he didn’t comment on it. The bartender set your drink on the counter, and you took with a polite smile before turning back to Matthew.

“It’s more fun if I get to chase the guys off. Let ‘em know you’re mine.” He grinned, and your own smile faltered for a moment. You felt your cheeks flush, though you could tell from the slight slur of Matt’s words that he was a few drinks in and wouldn’t notice. You hated how easily he could make your heart skip a beat with comments like the one that he made about you being his.

“You wish.” You mumbled, brushing past Matthew and back to the table where the rest of the boys were. You slid back into your seat next to Johnny, having lost Matthew in the crowd once he spotted Noah.

“Where’s your boy off to?” Johnny teased, tapping his glass to yours in an unspoken cheers before taking a sip. You copied his actions, taking the extra moment to compose yourself enough to be able to come up with a response other than ‘he’s not my boy’ that sounded just desperate enough that if he didn’t already know how you felt, he would after.

“I don’t know what you're talking about.” You settled on saying, despite the fact that it sounded just as desperate and opened the door for Johnny to tease you some more. And as he opened his mouth to just that, you decided to save yourself and change the topic. “We’re still on for brunch tomorrow, right guys?”

Your question was directed to not only Johnny, but Sean and his wife, and anyone else at the table who was listening. As long they didn’t give Johnny the time he needed to poke fun at your obvious feelings, they were invited. After a few confirmations, you were dragged into conversation with one of the other guys. Before you knew it, Matthew and Noah were stumbling over to the booth, clearly had their fair share of drinks.

“Ready to go, big guy?” You teased, standing up out of the booth to prepare to leave. Matt nodded, one of his arms slung around your shoulders the moment you were out of the booth. You stumbled a bit under the weight of him, pressing your hand against his chest to try and steady him.

“You must be so excited to get to take me home.” He shot back, grinning wide with just a hint of smugness that had you rolling your eyes despite the slight blush on your cheeks.

“You wish.” You mumbled, just loud enough that the boys heard, and as you led Matthew out of the bar to wait for the Uber you had ordered, you were followed out by the sound of their hoots and cheers.

Sometimes, you really hated your friends.

As much as you loved nights out, hanging in with the boys was just as fun. With Johnny and Matthew on either side of you on the couch, you knew that you were in trouble if the moment arised. And arise, it did.

“Why did we let Chucky pick the movie?” Johnny groaned, dropping his head against the back of the couch. His distress earned chuckles from the rest of the guys—them being Noah and Elias. Your snort must have caught his attention, because then he turned to you and the mischievous look in his eyes was easily recognizable. “We get you’re in love with him, but why couldn’t the rest of us tell him no?”

You wished a hole would open up underneath you and swallow you up. Your face burned bright red as you glared at Johnny, your hands fisting at your sweatshirt. The boys were all laughing, chuckling at you and you wondered just why you called them your best friends.

“What can I say, I’m irresistible.” Matt, who had been busying himself with scrolling through the movie selections, decided to pipe up. You shouldn’t have expected him to stay quiet on the subject, always looking for the chance to tease you about your feelings without doing any real harm. You knew the boys would never say anything to intentionally hurt you, but they were hockey players, and getting under someone’s skin was their specialty.

“You wish.” You muttered, though you wished that you could take it back because Matthew viewed that as a challenge and he was easily the most competitive person you knew. His grin turned wicked and he tossed the remote to Noah, deferring movie picking powers to him and his fingers easily dug into your sides. You squealed, trying to escape but he was clearly much stronger than you, and before you even knew it, he had you laying across his lap with your feet in Johnny’s as he continued to tickle you relentlessly.

“Get a room!” Elias jeered, and thankfully the comment made Matthew stop his assault. Though, if the look he was giving you was any indication of what was going to happen next, you were in trouble.

“Why don’t we?” He was wiggling his brows at you suggestively, and you gasped in shock. The boys were laughing as you shoved his shoulder, finally pulling yourself to a sitting position in your previous spot. And, okay, maybe, you would’ve loved to go get a room with Matt, but there was absolutely no way you were ever going to admit it to them—even if they already knew.

“You guys are the worst.”

iii

The house was already packed by the time you arrived, and you were too busy trying to weave your way through the crowd and look over people’s shoulders to find someone you knew that you didn’t notice Matthew approaching until you were wrapped in his arms.

“Hey, Matty.” You greeted, accepting the hug as soon as you realized who it was. You could tell he was already a few drinks in by the way he nuzzled his head deeper into the crook of your neck. You giggled at the feeling of his scruff on your skin, knowing your face was aflame at the small act of affection. You rested your hand on his chest, using it to push him away just enough that you could look up at him. “Who even are all these people?”

“I dunno. Hanny invited them.” You tried not to let it show just how much his touch was affecting you, he always got clingy like this when he drank—except, it was only with you and the guys. You had seen him on more than one occasion pestering Johnny for piggy-back rides that were never a good idea. “C’mon.”

You were going to protest, but then his hand slipped in yours, and suddenly you were being dragged halfway across the party to a pong table you hadn’t seen earlier. When you finally stopped at the edge of the table, you spotted Noah and Johnny were partners, and a pair of annoyed guys who had clearly just lost were vacating the opposite end. Matt slid into their spots, and you were given no choice but to follow after him.

Also, your mind was a bit too hazy to come up with any intelligible remark because he was still holding your hand.

“You guys actually won?” Matt chirped, earning eye rolls from his teammates standing across from him, setting the cups back up. He started to do the same, finally dropping your hand in order to move the cups back in place.

“Okay, Chucky. Wanna put some money where your mouth is?” Johnny teased, and you raised your brows. There was no way you were going to put any money down on a stupid game of beer pong, especially since you were playing with three professional athletes who all had considerable amounts of disposable income. Matthew, on the other hand, wore a grin that grew two sizes at the thought of a bet.

“Alright, what’s the wager?” He encouraged, and you pouted, partly wondering if you could get Matt to put up your side of the bet, and he did owe you gas money. Noah’s smile turned wicked and you knew you were screwed.

“If we win, you guys have to kiss.”

On second thought, you might have a twenty in your wallet you could spare for the game.

“And when we win?” Matt shot back easily, his arm slung over your shoulder to tug you into his side. Your jaw was slack, and your gaze was bouncing between Noah and Johnny and you tried to figure out just why they thought that bet would be a good idea.

“If you win, we’ll tie your skates for you for the next week.” Johnny decided, and you were going to speak and announce that you really weren’t getting anything out of this deal, but you decided that the best thing would be to probably not draw attention to yourself. Your cheeks were surely bright red, and you were rooted in your spot at the mere thought that you would kiss Matt.

“Deal.” Matt grinned, squeezing you into his side before releasing you, getting ready to play. He may have been one of the most clingy people you had ever met, but he also was the most competitive.

You really were not good at beer pong. On a good night, you could usually hold your own. But the whole bet really threw you off your game. Instead of trying to focus on sinking the ping pong ball in the red solo cup, you were too busy trying to figure out just why Matt hadn’t turned down the idea of kissing you. Besides his taunts, you figured he never saw you in any light other than the friendship role you had been stuck in.

“Are you trying to lose?” Matt teased after a particularly terrible shot by you. Johnny had to search through the crowd for the ball, and you narrowed your eyes at the curly haired boy next to you. He was grinning mischievously, and you briefly wondered if he knew just how attractive he looked—and if he was doing it just to see you squirm. “You know, if you wanted to kiss me so bad, you could just ask. You don’t have to throw the game.”

“Oh, fuck off.” You spluttered, unable to form a thought over the idea that maybe his words held a deeper meaning than just to get under your skin. Matt, sensing your annoyance, wrapped an arm around your neck and tugged you into his chest, lips coming down to press a kiss to your hairline as Johnny and Noah laughed obnoxiously at you from across the table.

You and Matt ended up winning, by way of a miracle, and for the next week Johnny and Noah were tying your shoes.

When the boys went on road trips, you got a bit of a reprieve from their teasing. These were the times when you remembered just why they were your closest friends, snapchats of them being idiots in each other’s hotel rooms or wherever they were never failing to make you laugh.

But it was also during these trips that Matthew showed his softer side, especially if they were away for longer periods of time. Currently, they were finishing their east coast trip, a week and a half of being away from home. You had received dozens of snapchats from the boys of Matthew moping around, even a video of him complaining that he missed you. He didn’t know he was being recorded, and you tried to pretend that it didn’t tug at your heartstrings.

Those updates from his teammates were why you weren’t surprised that Matt ended up calling you. It was late in Calgary, so you knew it was really late in New York where he was.

“Hey.” You mumbled into the phone. You were laying in bed, covers pulled up to your chin and already feeling the effects of sleep taking over. But if there ever was a time that you didn’t answer Matt’s calls, something surely must be wrong.

“Hey, you better not be falling asleep on me.” Matt teased, and you hated how you could practically see the grin he was no doubt sporting. Despite your racing heart—and the fact that he couldn’t see you—you rolled your eyes.

“It’s past my bedtime. Might have to call you back tomorrow.” You joked back, though you were rolling over to a more comfortable position to continue the conversation. Matt chuckled, and even though the sound was slightly distorted over the phone, was still the best thing you had ever heard.

“You love me too much, you’d stay awake for hours just to listen to me snore if I asked.” His comment was said offhandedly, and it was obviously a joke, but it struck a chord with you. You sat up in bed, comforter coming to rest around your waist as you pressed your lips into a thin line to try and compose yourself.

“Don’t… just don’t say that.” You settled, though it didn’t make much sense to you, so Matt was understandably confused. You just couldn’t handle it at the moment, the fact that your feelings were so unrequited. You knew it, but he didn’t have to throw it in your face.

“What? That you love me? ‘Cause I know you do.” His tone was somewhere between puzzled and teasing. You squeezed your eyes shut, drawing your knees to your chest as you felt a lump form in your throat.

“Can you stop fucking joking about my feelings? I get that you don’t feel the same, but lay off for a minute, please.” The last thing you wanted was to cry on the phone with him, but about halfway through your first sentence your voice tightened and when you hit the plea, it cracked. You heard Matthew suck in a breath at the sound, and you wondered if you took it a step too far.

But you also knew this was a conversation you needed to have. You were done just sitting by and letting him tease and poke fun at how flustered you’d get around just because you were harboring feelings for him. He hadn’t done anything inherently wrong, but you just needed him to know how it was affecting you.

You were brought back to the moment by Matthew mumbling your name softly, and you bit your lip at how easily it slipped past his lips. How right it felt for him to be saying your name in the gentle way he did. You knew he was thinking of what to say next, probably some elaborate way to let you down easily while still preserving your friendship. And nothing seemed worse than hearing him feed you some lines about how you could still be friends and that it wouldn’t be awkward next time you hung out—it would, and you knew that. And once more, despite knowing he couldn’t see you, you shook your head, pinching the bridge of your nose in a desperate bid to keep the tears at bay.

“Goodnight, Matthew. I’ll see you when you guys get back, I guess.”

You hated to admit it, but you were ignoring not only Matt’s texts, but also the messages from his teammates. It was only the day after you blew up, hanging up on him before he got a chance to explain himself, but you were already feeling the effects of losing one of your closest friends.

A knock on your front door startled you, you weren’t expecting anyone and when you looked through the peephole, you felt a heavy weight settle in your stomach. You knew you couldn’t avoid him forever, but his plane had landed only half an hour ago—you had assumed you’d at least get a few days respite before one of the boys showed up and made you face the consequences of your actions.

Swinging your door open, the curly haired boy wasted no time in slipping past you and into your apartment, shedding his coat and dropping his keys beside yours on the small table you had by the door. Your stomach twisted at how domestic it felt, him coming home to you after his latest roadie.

“Why the fuck don’t I have a key to your apartment?” Matt asked, finally speaking. He had made it a few steps inside before turning to face you with a genuinely confused expression. You were so caught off guard, because that was certainly not what you thought he’d ask you first, that you answered genuinely with the first thing that came to mind.

“Why the fuck would you?” At your response, Matt’s puzzled pout turned to a grin. You wondered if he just wasn’t going to bring up what had transpired over the phone the previous night. You were already falling back into your typical back and forth, but like usual, you weren’t so lucky.

“Because people who are in love have keys to the other’s apartments.” Matt explained easily, like he always did, and you brushed past him. You weren’t sure where you were headed exactly, but you really didn’t need to be around him when he refused to acknowledge the fact that you were upset by his teasing. “Or not. Maybe we could move in with each other.” He had followed you, the kitchen is where you ended up and you braced yourself against the counter, back to him.

“Can you please stop joking? Just leave, if you can’t help yourself.” You snapped, knuckles turning white from how hard you were gripping the edge of the countertop.

“I’m not leaving, and I don’t know why you keep thinking I’m joking.” Matt’s tone was devoid of any of his usual teasing, only seriousness evident in his tone. Your shoulders slouched at his comment, and you slowly turned to find him standing just a few inches away from you. One of his hands fell to the counter beside you, the other reaching up to brush a strand of hair out of your face, his fingers ghosting down the side of your jaw until he was tilting your chin up towards him with his index and thumb. “You’ve never been a joke to me.”

And then his lips were on yours, and you felt every longing look shared, unnecessary touch, and forehead kisses that were simply his way of convery how he felt. You would get flustered, he would want to pull you into his lap and make jokes about how you belonged there—because to him, you did. Every comment you thought was a jab at how you felt was just Matt trying to get you to realize how he felt.

It was so goddamn annoying, and so Matthew, that you couldn’t help but laugh into the kiss.

“What? I’m not that bad at kissing, am I?” Matt grinned as he pulled away just enough to look at you. You rolled your eyes, Matt was a fantastic kisser and he knew it, he just wanted to hear you say it.

“You couldn’t have just told me that you like me, you just had to go and tease me every chance you got, huh?” Your hands, at some point that you don’t really remember, had found their way around his neck and were threaded in the curls on the back of his head. The grin he wore was devastatingly handsome, and you easily gave him the kiss he ducked down towards you in search of.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” He muttered against your lips, kissing you after the end of his sentence. “I wanted to see how long it took before you admitted that you like me.” Another kiss. You tilted your head back and laughed at the absurdity of it all, how not even two minutes earlier you were ready to kick him out of your apartment and now you were certain you were going to die if he even thought about leaving.

“Bet that didn’t go as planned. You know, me hanging up on you, one comment away from crying.” You teased, and a look of regret flashed in his eyes that had his smile melting off of his face. His hands moved to your waist, as if keeping you in place so you couldn’t run, not that you would.

“I made you cry?” He sounded so devastated by your confession, fingers flexing against you as he squeezed your hips. You reached up, cupping his face and absolutely melting at the way he leaned into your touch. Your thumb brushed across his cheekbone, and he softened a bit.

“Don’t worry, Matty. It’s fine.” He didn’t seem convinced, and you leaned up onto your tip-toes to peck his lips once more. “I know a few ways you could make it up to me.” You pressed a kiss to his jaw, giggling when he nodded his head emphatically like a little kid. His mischievous grin was back, and you decided then and there you would spend the rest of your life trying to get him to smile.

“Lead the way.”

#matthew tkachuk #Matthew tkachuk imagine #Matthew tkachuk x reader #Matthew tkachuk imagines #calgary flames #calgary flames imagine #calgary flames imagines #hockey #hockey imagine #nhl #NHL imagine

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jrueships · 3 years

Note

Not to be a gremlin buuuuuuut would you care to share your redacted thoughts on trae/John 👀 because I would love to hear them 😳

IMMA BE HONEST ANON.. They're mainly just [redacted] loose random ideas I think with about absolutely NO explanation whatsoever so.. 😭 it's nothing like.. SPECTACULAR but 😳😳 u know like I just can't give u the whole spiel rn 😭

But I'll give random tidbits anyways 😎

Okay so I'll start with like.. the SCENARIO I was thinking about before. So like-

Trae and John go out clubbing to celebrate a win. They're recently new to the NBA, trae more-so Collins, so they've got a little pride in their win and wanna have fun and get some hotties. But, the win wasn't at home, so most of the people at the club pretty much hated them for beating a team that was supposed to win instead of the hawks. Basically, they get no bitches.

And trust me. They did EVERYTHING to get bitches.

Trae would have John go up to women and try and be a good wingman, advertise Trae's attractiveness, Nope. Nada. Trae put in his and John's favorite song. Nobody even wanted to dance with them. It was just John and trae dancing by themselves.. which was fine and all because they usually just dance together anyways, but it Did look a little awkward so… That ended quickly. A lady throws her shoe at them, to which trae keeps because fuck her and her shoe. Now bitch can hobble back home with one barefoot like a crunked up Cinderella

BUT IN END RESULT, they left the club with no bitches and hurt egos.

During the drive back to their hotel, Trae complained the whole way. He goes from frustrated to flabbergasted to angry to despairing to annoyed. The whole drive is just him ranting about 'bitches' and how he got none. John keeps pitching in by complaining as well, also showing confusion, equal anger, empathizing, and equal, if not more, Annoyance at the women's denials as well.

And then John says something like "if /I/ was a female, ((we all know how straight men talk yall.)) I'd TOTALLY find you hot, dude!"

That's when the car gets quiet.

John realizes what he said and quickly tries joking it off, giving a hurried "no homo though!" And laughing nervously.

Trae starts to laugh and everything is a rushed, awkward fine again. Trae even jokes about it when they park at the hotel, getting out first and opening John's car door for him in mock romance. The charade goes on for a while to lighten things up until the slip up is nothing of serious substance…

A few drinks to drown out their pussyless sorrows and things start to get a little tipsy. Silly drunk conversations conjure while they sit on trae's hotel room bed, but nothing of big talk.. Not until Trae reminds himself about his scoreless night and starts ranting until he gets sad again. Thick brow furrowed, he squinted blurred at the ground and trails his funny gaze up John's physique. He asks something akin to the lines of "hey… remember when you said like… if you were a woman… you'd find me hot?" To which John panics but confirms nonetheless…

Trae goes o h and they sit in awkward silence. They both painfully finish their like. 4th beer of the night. Then trae finally breaks the silence by asking,

"So… like.. hypothesis..-ly… hypo...hypocritically-"

"Hypothetically ?"

"Yeah. That's what I said. Anyways. Hypothesisly… if you Were a woman.. would you also .. fuck me?"

SO YEAH. THERES MORE TO IT UHH THEY FUCK (DUH) AND THEY BOTH WAKE UP IN THE SAME BED AND PANIC NOT REMEMBERING ANYTHING.. but they find that one shoe the woman threw at them strewn by the door so … of course their straight minds (desperately) convince themselves that they had an EPICLY AWESOME AND HOT threesome with a SMOKING HOT BABE who quickly fled the scene. … And maybe their d*cks mightve touched ONCE and MAYBE trae feels like touching John's ass is far more familiar than he'd like but… THINGS HAPPEN IN THE DARK OK. IT'S HARD TO SEE…

In conclusion, they drunk fucked and convinced themselves that they didn't drunk fuck 😭

But my random weird ideas about them fucking just in general are like…

OKAY OKAY. I know we all love to see short and tall ships.. and the general CONSENSUS is that the taller one is the top but THERES SMTHIN ABOUT THE SHORTER ONE TOPPING THAT IS.. GOOD. OKAY?? So. Yeah. Trae tops LMFAO. HES JUST SO… CLEVERLY ?? SCHEMEY THAT?? He just Is the top ok. THEY CAN SWITCH and john can be the service top to power bottom Trae but.. they have to develop past their straightness for that level 😭

BUT ANYWAYS MORE ABOUT TOP TRAE.. he is literally Only hot to John LMFAO. He says and does the cheesiest shit in bed. If he was with anyone else, he'd turn them off by just getting naked down to his batman underwear. But luckily he is with John, his dumbly devoted best friend <3

More about them in bed tho…

Okay so picture John on the bed getting fucked by Trae standing on the floor because it's too hard for Trae to top with such a height difference LMAO… John is bent on his back and his long legs are hooked over trae's shoulders.. Trae turns his head to kiss his legs all sweet… John starts to whimper out a moan but then. Trae puts a finger to his lips and makes a shushing motion like he did to the knicks crowd KABXJS

Like when trae wants to fuck??? They fuck. In a hotel room with their teammates staying like?? Literally next door? Doesn't matter. They gonna fuck. Just so trae can have the cheesy NERVE of shushing john when their sex is getting too loud. Even though TRAE is the verbal one…

And by verbal like.. bad porn verbal. Loud obnoxious grunting. Keeps asking John if he likes it. How 'big he is'. Asks how much John Wants it. Then doesn't let John formulate any kind of intelligible response because he's already leaning down to bite the long length of his neck.

SPEAKING OF BITING.. trae is definitely a biter. LMAO… he bites the insides of John's thighs, his neck, the slope of his shoulder, anywhere he can claim his stake, he Claims it. (Even the ass 😭 he's cursed like that man.) Afterwards in the aftercare he trails over his bite marks and kisses them and says smthin stupidly cocky like "you're a work of art and baby I'm your artist"

Trae in general is just a very passionate lover. If he wants John in a different position, he'll PUT John in a different position. Trae wants to do all the work to please John and himself and John just wants to please Trae. Trae will do anything bro. Eating ass, giving or getting (by getting like. Hand on hair Always) the sloppy toppy, having John ride him like. Bro got a fiesty libido.

And John just lets Trae take whatever he wants. He mainly doesn't have the strength to spit out terrible pornstar lines, so he settles for just.. desperately chanting out a slurred series of "bros/dudes/mans/any other term frat bros use to lovingly regale each other in". But yeah. He spends most of his time trying to look at Trae and think about how much he loves him 😭 and how hot he thinks he is right now like this. They're VERY much into looking at each other when having sex, but they weren't at the start though. At the beginning it was a whole "You don't look at me, I don't look at you" deal that was quickly broken when Trae pushed in and they both finally realized how much they want each other so …

ANYWAYS… YEAH.. them being [redacted] together is always like… on the VERGE of being sexy until one of them ruins it somehow (but the other will always find it sexy somehow. The sensible readers just won't 😭). Like if Trae is clapping John's cheeks and they make a funny sound, they're both gonna stop and laugh at how much it sounded like John farted. They're just two stupid guys in stupid love baby!!!!

#THIS ONE IS LONG... IM A LIL EMBARRASSED ABOUT IT LMAO #ted asks #redacted redacted redacted #THEYRE RLLY NOT THAT HOT TOGETHER #THEY THEMSELVES JUST THINK THEY ARE #ted drabbles #john/trae

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e-vasong · 4 years

Note

Not sure if youre taking the whumptober asks but can I request #6 with five? 👀 Also sorry new to Tumblr so not sure if I'm doing this right lol love your writings btw!! ❤

Oh!! YES I LIKE THIS ONE. It is not October, but I’m not so much “participating” in Whumptober as I am just using it to kick myself into gear with writing.

I may kinda suck at filling prompts, even when I ask for them, but when I do...it takes a really long time because this was supposed to be 1000 words max and is actually like. almost 3000 words of shameless whump. WHOOPS. Most of this is under a cut, because it’s long and...well, whumpy.

TW: Torture, electrocution

No. 6: Please... “Get it Out” | No More | “Stop, please.”

“Hm,” Agent Finch laid the bloody pliers back on the metal tray with a clatter. “You’re as resilient as I remember, Number Five.” He sneered the words, hands tightening into fists at his sides.

Five supposed that Finch meant for that to be a threat, but he just couldn’t bring himself to take it seriously.

“Go ahead and hit me, Finch,” he gave the man an affable smile. “If you really throw your back into it, it might even hurt.”

The provocation worked. Finch did hit him, then. Right across the face. The force of the blow snapped Five’s head off to the side, slamming his skull into the metal back of the chair. The steel reverberated, the noise echoing painfully in Five’s ears. It did hurt, in a distant sort of way, but Five had found that being punched was always more jarring than it was painful. Not to mention the fact that it was just bad technique. After all, if you really rung someone’s bell...

Well, in an interrogation, where the goal was to disorient your target and trick them into giving you vital information, a concussion could be useful. But it was a poor tool for torture because it made it easier to zone out, to forget about the pain. And if Finch were any good at his job, he’d know that.

Five sighed. “Ouch,” he said, voice droll. He worked his jaw experimentally. Everything seemed like it was still in its proper place, though the movement tugged painfully on the bruise that had already started to blossom across his left cheek.

“You can’t fucking run, Five,” Finch said. There was a new speck of blood on his chin, bright against his salt-and-pepper stubble. “I know you. I’d say we have a good half hour before you can jump again; probably longer, with you in pain like this--” Five couldn’t repress the laugh that bubbled up in his chest at that. “Which is plenty of time for me to make you regret ever crossing--oh for fuck’s sake! What are you laughing about?”

“Oh,” Five rolled his eyes. “Nothing. Don’t worry about it. You’re doing great.”

“What?” Finch’s hand returned to the metal tray, grabbing the pliers again. “Not enough pain for you? Fine. Another fingernail, then.”

Boring, Five thought. A sadistic appetite with no real vision or talent to follow it through, that was Finch’s problem. He watched with disinterest as Finch pressed the pliers against his left ring finger, readying himself to breathe through the inevitable pulse of pain that was coming.

“No!” The shout came with a clatter of chains and cuffs as Diego jerked against his bonds. Five jumped, and Finch did too, pliers slipping from his hand and hitting the ground with a clang. Huh. They’d both forgotten, somehow, that Diego was here too.

“You sick son of a bitch,” Diego bit out, the dramatic fucker. Five’s annoyance was practically a living creature inside of him. Diego’s hero complex was both entirely predictable and deeply unwelcome, since Five had this very much under control, not that Diego much seemed to care.

“Shut up!” Five and Finch snapped at the same time, voices overlapping as they spoke.

There was a brief lapse in conversation, the room falling silent as they both processed what had just happened. Finch whipped around to glare at Five, and Five glared sullenly back. He wasn’t about to be the one to break eye contact, but it was more annoying than he’d admit to accidentally end up on the same wavelength as his oldest and most incompetent acquaintance from the Commission.

“Why?” Diego said, responding only to Finch. “Because you’re some twisted fuck that gets off on torturing children?”

Diego could be dangerously intelligent when he wanted to be, but he was a bad actor under pressure. And this was a stupid, blatantly obvious attempt at provocation, even by Diego’s standards.

So of course Finch turned back towards Diego, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

“Diego,” Five said, a warning in his voice.

“You know full well that your brother isn’t as young as he looks,” Finch said, talking over Five. His voice was calm, but he was moving closer towards Diego as he spoke, successfully baited.

“Oh, sorry,” Diego said, yanking on his chains again defiantly. They rattled against the ceiling pipe above Diego’s head and Diego winced. The struggling was likely doing no favors for the discomfort of his position. “I guess that makes torturing him alright, then.”

“Your brother,” Finch said, “was supposed to be my backup on a job once. Instead, he shot me in the back and left me for dead.”

Diego, to his credit, looked utterly unfazed by Finch’s unfavorable and one-sided description of their former partnership, even though it was, essentially, accurate.

“Your back? Really?" He jerked his chin in Finch’s direction. “Damn, I’d have guessed he hit you in the face. Maybe he should have. Can’t get any worse than this.”

Finch punched him, which seemed to be his default reaction to everything that upset him, the neanderthal. His fist collided with a sickening crack, and Diego went limp. Five stiffened in his chair. For all that he’d critiqued Finch’s technique, the man was still a burly six feet, almost all of it muscle. A poorly-gauged blow--and Five did not trust Finch to gauge anything well--could do more grievous damage than Finch may have intended.

“Diego?” Five called. If Finch killed one of his siblngs, Five wouldn’t much care whether it was an accident or not.

There was a heart-stopping moment where Diego didn’t respond. He just hung there, limp and unmoving. Five’s breath caught in his throat.

Then a shudder passed through him, and Diego’s head lifted slightly. “”M fine,” he muttered, though he was clearly too disoriented to raise his head all the way. His eyelashes were fluttering as he fought for consciousness, and a bit of bloody spittle dripped from his mouth to the ground.

“Five’s right,” Diego said. He was slurring his words. That was bad. “That barely even hurt.”

But Finch didn’t respond to the jab this time, not the way that that he did when Five had resorted to the same taunt. Instead, he stopped to look at Five.

“Did you...?” Finch tilted his head to the side, looking thoroughly bewildered. And then his face split into a wide, almost hysterical grin. “My, my,” Finch said, and Five went stiff.

Finch’s smile was smug, like the cat that caught the canary, which was a disorienting turn of events. Five was used to being the cat, not the songbird, and he rather liked it that way.

“What?” Five said, terse.

“You almost sounded...God, what’s the word?” Finch said. “Oh, I know! Concerned.”

“About him?” Five scoffed. “In his wildest dreams.”

But it was too little, too late. Finch’s lips twisted upwards in a vicious grin.

“I can’t believe it,” he said. “After all this time. You know, we used to gossip about you in the break room. Wonder if Five, the best assassin the Commission had ever seen and the Handler’s favorite little pet, had a weakness we could exploit. We never did figure it out. Who would have realized...” Finch turned back towards Diego and grabbed him by the jaw, tilting Diego’s head upwards as if to get a better look at him. “That it was something so...sentimental.”

Finch laughed. “I mean,” he continued, “we had some really crazy bets going. But this is just-it’s just--oh, don’t scowl at me, I’m trying to give you a compliment. I guess I really didn’t see this coming from you of all people. I didn’t even realize you had emotions. Other than, you know, anger and irritation. Those I knew about.”

Five opened his mouth. Finch hushed him. “Don’t lie to me, Five,” he said. “You should have heard yourself just now. That was the most scared you’ve been all night. You have a soft spot! All this time, I’ve been hitting the wrong target. You should have said something earlier.”

Five grit his teeth furiously. “Leave it, Finch.”

“No,” said Finch simply. He walked back towards Five, and Five knew better than to think that Finch was coming back for him. Instead, Finch gathered up a handful of cables, loose electrical wires sticking out of the rubber on one end, plugged into a large metal device on the other, and winked.

“Enough,” Five said, lowly. “Finch. Finch!”

“’S fine,” Diego spat. “I can take it, Five.”

No. Five struggled, but it was fruitless. Finch palmed some sort of button on the device, and the air around them filled with an electric hum. Finch strode idly back towards where Diego was strung up--the device was by Five’s side, presumably because Finch had meant to use it on him, but the cables ran long enough that Finch reached Diego without needing to pull them taut.

“Finch!” Five tugged sharply at the leather straps that kept his arms bound to the chair. No luck.

“Hm,” Finch was in front of Diego again. “Let’s try it out.” And then he reached out and pressed the exposed wires to a patch of exposed skin on Diego’s collarbone.

Diego tensed. Five could see the muscles in his neck clenching as he grit his teeth. He didn’t scream. He likely couldn’t, paralyzed by agony, but the anguished groan he made in the back of his throat spoke volumes.

Five twisted fruitlessly in his bonds. He heard something in his right hand crack, the thumb popping out of place. He wouldn’t be surprised, from the feel of it, if a few bones had broken too. But even so, the leather was simply too tight.

He couldn’t get free.

Finch held it for a moment, then pulled the cable away. Diego sagged, panting heavily. A few more tremors went through him, aftershocks as his body processed the pain.

“That all you got?” Diego slurred.

“No,” Finch said. “It isn’t.” But before he proceeded, he turned his attention back towards Five. “You see? All this over a couple dead civilians?” he asked. “You realize that I’m going to kill your brother, right? Was it really worth it?”

“Stop,” Five’s voice cracked. He pulled at his bonds again, paying particular attention to his now-broken hand. If he could just force it, he could get free. In his old body, he might have been able to do it--sure, it hurt, but pain was nothing in the face of the panic coursing through him. But in this body, he just wasn’t strong enough. “Please. Finch!”

“Wow.” That did seem to give Finch pause. He clicked his tongue, sizing Five up thoughtfully. “You know, the begging is a nice touch. It’s really making this whole experience a lot more enjoyable for me.”

Then he pressed the wires to Diego’s throat again. Diego twisted in agony, and Five knew that Finch wasn’t going to let up this time.

Diego was going to die. Five yanked against the leather straps again as he jerked forward, overtaken by instinct. It couldn’t end like this. He couldn’t let it.

And then he was free. With a flash of blue light, he stumbled out of a jump right behind Finch. Finch dropped the cable immediately, even before he turned around, likely recognizing the distinctive sound of Five’s warping. The live wire sparked on the ground.

Five didn’t bother with grabbing a weapon. Finch twisted around, and Five punched him in the face with his good hand. Finch staggered, though he caught himself on a nearby pillar of concrete before he could fall. But Five was behind him before he could regain his balance. He got an arm around Finch’s neck, braced his mangled hand against Finch’s jaw, and twisted hard.

Five felt the bone break under his hands, just beneath the brainstem. Even pained and concussed, his technique was perfect. Finch collapsed to the ground, dead before he even hit the floor, and Five had just enough wherewithal left in him to angle the corpse so it fell on top of the live cable’s exposed wires.

“H-holy shit, Five,” Diego said. Five’s heart twisted slightly at the sound. Lapsing back into his stutter like he was, Diego sounded so like the young, childish version of himself that Five had left behind all those years ago.

“One sec,” Five said slowly, lifting a finger to silence his brother. It was hard to concentrate on what he was saying, which was...a bad sign. The world had started swimming strangely around him, and adrenaline could only keep him upright for so long. But he needed to get them out of there.

He stumbled his way over towards the machine that the cable was hooked up to, hitting the button so that it shut off. Then he found the lever connected the chains that were keeping Diego strung up and pushed it down. The mechanism released, and Diego stumbled to the floor, hitting his hands and knees with a pained groan.

“Motherfucker,” Diego said, rolling his shoulders. He was still shuddering from the electric shock.

“I’ve got you,” Five said, trying to keep his voice steady. He made his way back over to Diego. The notion of collapsing beside him was tempting, but Five resisted the urge. “Come on, we gotta...we gotta go.”

“How-how’d you j-jump?” Diego asked. “I th-thought you were at your lim...your limit.”

“I was,” Five said. “Adrenaline. Hell of a drug.”

“What?” Diego arched an eyebrow. “D-dude, you like one-one of those moms that lifts a car when they see their kid is trap--” Diego had to stop and close his eyes for a moment. “Trapped?” he finished, more smoothly this time.

“No,” Five snapped. “That’s stupid. And it’s called hysterical strength.”

“Whatever,” Diego rolled his eyes, in a manner that clearly suggested that he didn’t believe Five but was too tired to push the matter any further. “Just d-don’t collapse on me, al...alright?”

“I don’t plan on it,” Five said wryly. And then his world listed off to the side. “Oh.”

He doubled over and threw up a mouthful of blood and bile.

“Shit,” Diego said, scrambling forward to steady Five as he sank to his knees.

“Shit,” Five echoed, and passed out.

***

He woke up in a hospital bed, a monitor of some sort beeping monotonously in the background.

Five sat bolt upright the moment his location registered. What the hell?

He wasn’t hooked up to much. There was just the IV sticking out of the back of his left hand, which was an unusual change of pace. Five turned and reached over to rip the IV out, only to see that his right hand was bandaged. Heavily.

Shit. He’d use his teeth then.

Five had just lifted his hand to his mouth when a bleary voice murmured: “Five...?”

He recognized that voice. Five blinked and looked up.

“Diego?” he asked. The burning panic in his chest extinguished, leaving only embarrassment in its wake.

This was clearly just...a normal hospital. Diego looked exhaustedly back at him from where he sat half-slumped in an uncomfortable-looking chair that had obviously been requisitioned from elsewhere and dragged over to Five’s bedside. He had an expression on his face like he wasn’t quite sure whether Five was losing his mind or not.

“What are you doing?” Diego said slowly.

Five hesitated a moment longer, then lowered his hand back down to his side. “What happened?” he countered, pretending like Diego hadn’t spoken.

Diego narrowed his eyes, but thankfully let Five’s evasiveness pass without comment. “Some Commission asshole kidnapped us. Spent some time making mincemeat out of us--mostly you--and then you warped so hard that you tore your stomach lining.”

Five did remember that, now that Diego mentioned it. Well, not the stomach lining bit, but that was presumably the explanation for the bloody vomit.

“Huh,” Five said. “Didn’t know I could do that.”

“Don’t fucking do it again,” Diego commanded, with all the presumptuousness of a child who thought they could get away with bossing around their elders.

“How long has it been?” Five turned narrowed eyes to Diego. “You should be in bed. You need to be monitored for cardiac arrhythmia.”

“It’s not--don’t worry about--”

“I fucking knew you were here,” hissed Ben from the doorway. Diego jumped.

“Ben,” Five said, relieved. Finally, someone with common sense. “Get this idiot out of here.”

Ben froze like a deer in the headlights, startled. His head jerked up to look at Five, and the irritation and concern clouding his expression evaporated as he broke into a relieved grin.

“You’re awake,” he said, soft and pleased. He stepped fully into the room.

“You can’t be serious,” Five said as Ben plopped down on the foot of the bed, gently pulling Five into a quick, tight embrace. “Both of you are ridiculous.”

“Oh,” Diego mocked. “How dare we be concerned.”

Five rolled his eyes and spread his hands slightly, gesturing to the hospital room around them. “As you can see, I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Diego said. “You look fantastic. Really, uh, in the peak of health right now, huh? Gonna go get up and run a marathon?”

Ben let out a little snort of amusement, and Five glared at them both, utterly betrayed.

“I can take care of myself, you know,” Five couldn’t ever remember being as relentlessly young and foolish as his brothers--or ever needing this much minding, for that matter. At the skeptical noise Diego made in the back of his throat, Five tilted his head to the side and said, archly, “Which one of us is still in bed and which one snuck away from medical attention, Diego?”

“Ah, fair point,” Ben turned to Diego, still smiling.

“Oh yeah?” Diego said, sensing that the tide was turning against him and crossing his arms over his chest defensively. “And what were you doing when you were trying to rip your IV out with your teeth, again?”

Five straightened his back. “Diego,” he hissed, but it was too late.

Ben frowned, an expression full of worry and brotherly disappointment. “Five!” he said, clearly dismayed. Five wilted slightly. Was this how Klaus felt all the time? “Why would you do that?”

Five cast a sidelong glance at Diego. “I was just disoriented,” he said. “That’s all. And I’m better now, so it’s hardly worth getting riled up over.” It probably wouldn’t have taken him long to realize that he was just in a regular hospital once he made it out to the hallway.

Once he had...he probably would have gone stumbling off to look for Diego, Five could admit that much to himself. But he certainly didn’t need to tell his brothers that. No one could prove that he was lying.

“Just,” Five waved them both off. “Take Diego back to bed.”

“For fuck’s sake, Five,” Diego said. “I’m just worried.” Then, as if sensing that Five was not his best bet, he turned mournful eyes towards Ben. “Just a little longer, Ben. Then you can rat me out to the damn nurses.”

Ben’s lips twisted thoughtfully as he glanced between them. “A couple minutes,” he finally conceded with a sigh. “It’s not like you won’t just break out again anyways.”

“Ha!” Diego said, too loudly. Five winced, the noise aggravating the pulsing headache that Five hadn’t even realized he had. “...Whoops.”

Five glared.

“Sorry,” Diego’s voice was closer to a whisper now. He reached out, lacing a hand with Five’s and squeezing it apologetically.

“It’s fine,” Five said, ignoring the feeling of warmth that bloomed in his chest. “I’m not made of glass.”

“I’ll leave if you really want,” Diego offered. “We can let you get some rest.”

If he wanted. Ha. Five couldn’t pretend that getting some peace and quiet didn’t have an appeal, but...in it’s own sort of way, it was comforting to have family in the room. Irrefutable evidence that they were still living and breathing, so real that even all his years of knowing they were dead couldn’t override it. But Diego did need to go back to his hospital room; Five wouldn’t be the one to pull him from the care he needed. He refused. But for now...

Five sighed. “Fine,” he said, and squeezed Diego’s hand back. “Just for a few minutes.”

#the umbrella academy #tua #my writing #lONG #contemplating posting this on AO3 but. am uncertain.#also lmfao. me? recycling one-line villains from my unfinished TUA long fic #ITS MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK #anyways this is messy sorry about that #also i dont have a speech impediment! i did a little research but pls let me know if you see something about diego's stutter that can be #./should be better!

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yellowsuitcase · 3 years

Text

Oblivious Part 2 // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Hey guys, PLEASE TAKE TIME TO READ THIS!!! I feel like I’ve taken on a series too early, I wrote Part 2 a long time ago but never got around to finishing it, so it didn’t end with what I wanted it to, but it’ll all work out in the end. But please be open-minded, I know it’s not my best work by any means, but I think it’s quite sweet in some moments. The juicy bits are yet to come. I’m sorry for such a long wait. Truth be told, I’ve been experiencing some writer’s block and I really just wanted to get SOMETHING out to you guys. Thank you for your patience!

Summary: Draco and Y/N talk about what happened at Hogsmeade and after a tragic event, Draco finally comes clean.

Warning(s): SPOILERS! Violence, swearing(I can’t remember if there is or not tbh)

Word Count: 4k

Part 1

Draco exhaled heavily as he gently stroked his girlfriend’s temple. He was trying to get her to fall asleep after the long day she’d just had. However, he knew first hand how uncomfortable the Hospital Wing’s beds were. He didn’t expect her to find slumber easily. Besides, he could practically see the gears turning in her head as she gazed up at him. Her expression was one of befuddlement.

Madam Pomfrey had already fixed her up, but she had requested for Y/N to stay the night so that she’d be able to reassess her ankle the next morning. Draco knew he should’ve taken this valuable time where Y/N would be, essentially, out of commission, to work on the cabinet. Alas, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the chair Madam Pomfrey had provided him with.

Draco fought a smile from creeping onto his lips as he ran his eyes over Y/N’s frame. He loved her all the time, but it was always a special treat whenever he got to see her in between consciousness and sleep. She’d curl up into a ball, make herself appear small. Every time she talked, it was as if she were drunk; her words would come out muffled or slurred, and none of her sentences would make sense. It was a rather endearing sight to behold. But Y/N wasn’t her usual sleepy self tonight; she was wide awake and studying Draco’s face intently.

“Why didn’t you take me over there to help?” she asked him, point-blank.

Draco let out another sigh and ran his hand through his hair. Boy, oh boy, was his girlfriend quite the stubborn young woman. Although, perhaps that made sense as she was a Gryffindor after all. Part of him wanted to spill his guts to her. How good would it feel to finally tell someone what he’s been going through? He parted his lips to spill his guts but thought better of it at the last moment.

Draco opened his mouth again. “I thought it was dangerous; I didn’t want you to get hurt any further than you already were. That’s all,” he said, providing her with yet another false answer. The unimpressed look on her face signaled to Draco that she didn’t buy it.

“Why were you in such a rush to leave? Maybe we could’ve helped her, Draco.”

Draco clenched his fists. He really needed to get better at lying. But perhaps he was performing poorly due to the fact he was lying to Y/N, the girl he loved so dearly. Nevertheless, anger began to swell in his chest. “I already told you, it looked dangerous,” he snapped. Y/N didn’t move a muscle; she was used to Draco’s sudden mood swings. Instead, she just stared at him, seemingly awaiting what he would do next.

Draco contemplated his next words heavily. Would mentioning Voldemort be too much? Maybe it would frighten Y/N. He certainly didn’t want to keep the girl awake any longer than she’d already been, but perhaps it would convince her that Draco had genuinely been scared earlier that day. He indeed had been afraid… afraid of his secret being revealed.

“Look, The Dark Lord is back, we can’t be-”

“Oh, so now you believe, Harry?” Y/N asked condescendingly.

“Would you shut it? Bloody hell, this isn’t about Potter,” Draco said while throwing his hands into the air. “This is about your safety. Our safety. Why don’t you understand that?” Irritation was visible in his eyes.

“You’re a liar,” Y/N said while sitting up in her bed, “A liar. Get out. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

Draco’s frustration dissipated instantly. “Love, I’m sorry I—”

“Get. Out,” Y/N said firmly. Her teeth were gritted, and her nostrils were flared. She was sick and tired of her boyfriend lying to her face. She gave him so many chances to come clean, and yet he didn’t; this hurt her deeply. He studied her face for a few moments, then realized she was dead serious. So he reluctantly got to his feet and gave her one last look before turning on his heel and walking away. When he left the room, he began to pace back and forth outside the doors. He didn’t want to leave. He was stroking his chin in deep thoughts when his strides were interrupted by a deep, slow voice calling his name.

“Draco. Don’t you have... better things... to be doing at this hour?”

He looked up from his feet to see Professor Snape glaring at him. Draco scowled at him. He knew what the greasy-haired man was implying. “I’m taking care of it,” he replied.

“Is that so? Then you must have successfully repaired it, yes?”

Draco averted his eyes. Truthfully, he’d made progress on the vanishing cabinet, but nothing too promising. He’d been able to get an apple to and from the Room of Requirement and Borgin and Burkes. But when he sent a bird through it, it hadn’t come back alive. “Not quite, but I’m getting closer. I just need more time.”

Snape’s frowning expression remained the same. “Well, I suggest you focus more on fixing it rather than wasting time on such silly attempts. The Headmaster isn’t a fool, unlike you. He would never have been stupid enough to touch that necklace.”

Draco turned his head slightly away from Snape. He knew he was right. Dumbledore was an intelligent wizard; he likely wouldn’t have been fooled by the cursed necklace. But Draco thought it had been worth a shot. It was clear now that it had most certainly not been worth it.

“Focus on the task at hand. Fix the cabinet. If you don’t, I’ll be stepping in,” Snape said in a stern tone. Draco still couldn’t bring himself to look at him, so the professor walked away, leaving the blonde boy to his jumbled thoughts.

After a long couple of minutes, Draco decided that Snape was right. He needed to concentrate on the cabinet. There was no time to spend worrying about what lie to tell his girlfriend next; The Dark Lord had chosen him. And he could not fail him.

Draco straightened his spine and readjusted his suit jacket. And then he was off to the Room of Requirement.

--------------

Y/N didn’t make an effort to find Draco the next morning. Although, she had expected him to be outside the Hospital Wing when she exited. But he was nowhere to be seen. Her first thought was that she was too harsh with him. Then she remembered that he’d been blatantly lying to her for weeks now. She needed to be blunt with him last night. He needed to understand that she was upset and wouldn’t give him the benefit of the doubt anymore.

Y/N had hardly gotten any sleep. Her mind was too cluttered with thoughts of Katie Bell. What the hell had cursed her yesterday? And why was Draco so eager to flee the scene once he saw her shoot into the sky? Y/N didn’t want to believe her own suspicions, but perhaps Draco had had something to do with it. It was the only logical answer she could think of. And while she didn’t doubt Draco cared for her safety, she knew that wasn’t the real reason he ran off with her in his arms.

Suddenly, she missed being in those arms. Draco hadn’t been the same boy she fell in love with in a long time. He was so gloomy, the bags under his eyes were still prominent. And as of late, he’d been becoming more and more secretive. None of this sat well with Y/N. Not at all.

When she arrived at the Great Hall for breakfast, she located her boyfriend straight away. He was at their usual spot, picking at some scrambled eggs. She sighed and walked over to him and sat down gently. Not a single word flew from his chapped lips.

“I thought you would’ve been waiting for me outside the Hospital Wing,” Y/N stated while she cut into a loaf of bread. “Did something happen?” she questioned, keeping her tone light and nonaccusatory. Draco scoffed. “Figured you wouldn’t want to see me,” he said in a passive-aggressive tone.

“Don’t start that shit, Draco. I’m trying to be nice even though you’ve been lying to my face for how long now? Too long. We’re in a relationship, and relationships don’t work when someone consistently lies. So unless you want to lose me,” Draco’s head whipped towards her like lightning, her words struck fear into his heart, “I’d come clean.”

Draco masked his fear with a hearty laugh. “Yeah, right. You wouldn’t.”

“Honestly, Draco, at this point, I would. I’m sick of this rubbish. Why are you suddenly so afraid to tell me stuff? You were never apprehensive about confiding in me until now. I know something has happened, Draco. It’s so blatantly bothering you. Let me take some of the weight off your shoulders—”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing has happened. I’m fine, alright? Can we just stop talking about all this nonsense?” Draco asked. His fists were clenched tightly on top of the table. He was desperately trying to control his raging emotions.

Y/N couldn’t believe he was still trying to keep secrets, but she decided to give him one more chance. “What is going on?” she asked while reaching out to put her hand on his left arm, trying to comfort him. But once her fingertips had brushed his sleeve, he yanked himself away from her aggressively.

“Don’t touch me,” he said quickly, getting to his feet. Y/N felt her heart clench. She knew she’d struck some kind of nerve. But she made no move to stand up; she only watched as Draco turned to leave. Except, he didn’t. He was frozen in place. Y/N curiously followed his gaze to see Harry talking to Katie Bell. She threw one leg over the bench, wanting to see if she could join the conversation. However, her plans were interrupted when suddenly, Draco stumbled backward and began to flee the Great Hall. Harry didn’t wait a beat; he chased after the Slytherin.

Y/N stuffed a piece of toast in her mouth, quickly clambered to her feet, and rushed after the boys. She momentarily got caught in a hoard of people who were flowing into the Great Hall, but when she was able to weave through them, she caught sight of Harry running up the stairs. The Gryffindor knew it would be best to keep a distance behind Harry, as to remain undetected.

She waited until Harry had reached the top step, then she climbed up after him. At the peak of the concrete stairs, Y/N saw Harry turn a corner. So she followed after him, but when she too rounded the corner, she pressed herself against the wall and watched silently as Harry nearly ran down the hallway. Why the hell was Harry even chasing Draco anyway?

Y/N knew there was no time to waste. When Harry was out of sight, she scurried off after him. However, while she was running, Peeves, the naughty school poltergeist, appeared in front of her, a mischievous smile plastered to his face.

“Where you off to?” he asked in a playful tone as he floated in front of her.

“Peeves, not now,” Y/N said irritatedly and out of breath. Harry was getting farther and farther away by the second.

“I have a riddle, I do. I have a riddle for you,” he said. His voice was high pitched and squeaky. It sounded a bit like nails on a chalkboard to Y/N. She ran her hand through her hair and said, “Peeves, fuck off,” as she walked straight through the ghost. He was not happy about this, and he let that be known to the entire school by letting out an ear-splitting screech. Y/N groaned and whipped out her wand. “Silencio!” she said while forcefully waving her wand towards the poltergeist. He was instantly rendered speechless by her spell. Y/N smiled and ran off; she knew she’d pay for that one later.

When she caught up to where she’d last seen Harry, all she found was an empty hallway. She took a moment to calm her erratic breathing and stood still. After a few moments, she heard a loud crack and then little clangs. They sounded like glass crashing to the floor. Her stomach churned at the thought of what could be going on. She ran down the corridor, trying to listen for more noises that would lead her to where the boys were. Upon hearing another crash, she realized they were in the bathroom. Y/N felt adrenaline rush through her body. Her head was pulsing as her heart was working diligently to pump blood. “Please let him be okay,” she muttered.

“Sectumsempra!” a voice yelled. It was followed by a loud thump that seemed to echo through the hall. Y/N didn’t recognize the spell, but she did know that voice. She burst into the flooding bathroom and looked around, panicked. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw him. Draco was lying on the bathroom tiles, blood seeping through his white shirt. Harry stood nearby; he was frozen in place. He looked frightened by his own actions.

Y/N didn’t wait a moment more; she ran to Draco’s side and fell to her knees. She took his face into her shaky hands. “You’re okay, you’re gonna be okay. I’m here,” she said softly. Draco didn’t reply; he just continued to sob. Y/N turned to Harry. “What did you do to him?” she asked angrily. Harry didn’t respond. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM, HARRY?!” she screamed. But Harry remained silent, so she turned back to her boyfriend, his head still in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Draco. I’m so sorry, I should’ve just trusted you, I should have just forgiven you,” Y/N said through her tears and hiccups. She knew that any adult who could heal Draco was likely too far away. She didn’t want to risk leaving him and coming back to find him dead. So she slid down onto her side and laid next to him. Slowly and gently, she nestled her head into the crook of his neck. Her clothes were now drenched, but that didn’t bother her in the slightest. She wanted to be near to Draco. She wanted to hold him.

Her attention was stolen when she heard footsteps splash in the pool of water on the bathroom floor. She looked over her shoulder to see Professor Snape. Her heart skipped a beat. “Professor, please, he’s bleeding out!” she called to him as she sat up. Snape silently rushed to Draco’s side but stopped to give Harry a long and knowing look. Harry gulped and fled the scene. This piqued Y/N’s interest, but now was not the time to wonder why Snape had glared at Harry that way. “Professor…” she pleaded.

Snape’s head whipped towards her, “Move,” he commanded. Y/N jumped to her feet and scooted away from Draco. Snape knelt over Draco’s body and took out his wand. Slowly, he held it above Draco’s body and murmured a healing spell while moving his wand left and right. The bloodstains began to fade as Draco’s lacerations started to close. Y/N let out an enormous breath of relief when she saw color return to her lover’s pale face.

Snape finished healing and tucked away his wand. He then reached underneath Draco to lift him up. Once the boy was settled in his arms, he strode out of the bathroom without a word to Y/N. Despite Snape making no indication she should follow, Y/N ran through the water to catch up with her potions professor.

After rushing through the corridors, they arrived at the Hospital Wing, where Madam Pomfrey was surprised to see Snape carrying a student. He laid Draco on an empty bed and told the matron in a hushed voice what had happened to the blonde boy. Draco’s eyes were closed, and his chest was rising and falling slowly as his body started to recover. Y/N took a seat next to his bed, just as he had done for her less than twenty-four hours ago. Her tears hadn’t stopped falling since the moment she saw him on the washroom floor. The skin around her eyes was red and raw from her repeated rubbing. Y/N grabbed his hand and held it firmly in both her palms. She rubbed her thumb over his skin and slowly raised it to her lips, pressing a delicate kiss to his fingers.

Even though Y/N was looking at Draco and could see he was breathing, she still felt panicked. “He’s okay now, right? You’ve saved him?” she asked the two adults who were still whispering to one another. The pair shifted their eyes to her. Madam Pomfrey smiled and nodded while Snape's expression remained stoic. He gave his thanks to Madam Pomfrey and left the room. The matron walked over to Y/N.

“I need to tend to his wounds Miss Y/L/N if you could step away for just a moment,” she said. Y/N stood up from her chair and moved out of Madam Pomfrey’s way. She closed the curtain around the hospital bed, shielding Y/N’s view of her boyfriend. Y/N nervously began to pace back and forth, finally having time to process what just happened. Why did Harry use such a violent spell? If Snape hadn’t shown up, Draco would’ve likely died on that bathroom floor. Had that been Harry’s intent? What were they even fighting for? Y/N thought to herself. After rapidly theorizing different answers to her questions, she concluded she wouldn’t be able to figure out this puzzle until Draco recovered. Perhaps he’d finally come clean. She’d make him come clean, she decided.

Just then, the curtain was pulled back, and there was Draco, awake. Y/N slowly approached his bedside; tears welled up in her eyes all over again. He offered her a soft smile and slightly raised his hand to say hello. She let out a strangled sob and reached out her hands to cradle his face. Gently, she pulled him close and gave him a tender kiss. Draco kissed her back and rested his hand on her waist. When they pulled away, he gazed into her sad eyes. “I’m here, love. I’m okay. There’s no need to cry.” This only caused more teardrops to fall. Y/N tried to stifle her sobs, not wanting to wake up any other patients. “Draco, you almost d..died. You almost died on the floor, I…I was lying next to you, and if Snape hadn’t come in when he did, y-you would’ve d-died in my arms.”

Draco didn't utter a word. He merely scooted over in his bed and patted the new spot next to him. Y/N rubbed her eyes and climbed up onto the hospital cot. She buried herself into his side and gently wrapped her arms around his lower torso, trying not to irritate his cuts. He laughed softly. “I’m healed, darling. Pomfrey said I’m staying the night, so Potter doesn’t come back to finish me off,” Draco said, a hint of anger laced in his tone. “Why did he do this to you, Draco? Is he what’s been bothering you? Do I need to talk to him?” Y/N asked. She was incredibly angry at Harry, and Draco had just reminded her of this.

Draco stared at her. He could see the anguish and inner turmoil she was going through. He felt guilt pang in his chest when he realized he was the cause of it. He never wanted her to be hurting because of him; he only wanted to keep her safe. Keep her oblivious. But it seemed as though that was no longer an option. He couldn’t bear to lie to her again. He had to come clean.

“Potter did this to me because... he knows I cursed Katie Bell,” Draco said flat out. Y/N’s eyes widened to twice their original size. “You what?! Draco, what do you mean you cursed—”

Draco hurriedly put his hand over his girlfriend’s mouth. “Shh! Someone could hear you,” he whispered. “We can talk about this more in the morning, alright? We can’t discuss this here, but I promise you, Y/N. I promise you I’ll tell you what’s been going on. Just not here,” he said firmly.

“You’ll tell me everything?” she asked, her eyes shined with newfound hope.

Draco nodded. “Everything.”

-----------

The couple sat across from each other, each on top of random objects within the Room of Requirement. Y/N’s hands rested, overtop her lips as she took in everything Draco had just told her. Several minutes of silence passed. “Love...please say something,” Draco pleaded. Y/N straightened her back and inhaled sharply. Her eyes flickered to Draco’s. “So you mean to tell me that you’re a death eater because of your dad and you inadvertently cursed Katie because you were actually trying to kill Dumbledore because you-know-who told you to? And you’ve also been sneaking off so you can fix a cabinet that’ll allow other death eaters to get inside Hogwarts?” she asked, the words flying out of her mouth at lightning speed.

Draco rubbed his neck and stared at his feet. He waited a few beats before replying, “Yes.” Stillness overtook the vast room. Neither teenager uttered a word. Y/N was too deep in her thoughts, and Draco was anxiously awaiting her next sentence. He was so worried that his confession would drive Y/N away from him for good. Even though that would be a good thing for her safety, Draco knew it would break him in the long run.

“Can I see it?” Y/N asked quietly. Draco recognized the fear in her voice almost instantaneously. But regardless, he nodded and stood up. Y/N paused but stood up as well. Apprehensively, Draco grasped the end of his sleeve and slowly rolled it up to reveal his dark mark. He felt his entire body clench with fear. Draco's eyes were glued to his girlfriend’s face, searching for some kind of indication as to what she was feeling. But her eyes were empty as she gazed at the permanent image on his arm. Slowly, she outstretched her hand and placed her fingertips on the skull embedded in his skin. Her touch caused a shudder to run up Draco’s spine. He felt uncomfortable that a soul as pure as Y/N’s was touching something so inherently dark and evil.

“Does it hurt?” she asked while removing her hand and shifting her gaze to Draco’s face. He began to roll his sleeve back down. “Sometimes,” he mumbled.

Y/N could see the nervousness on her boyfriend’s face. She knew he was scared of how she’d react to his confession, so she decided to give him some reassurance. “Draco, look at me,” she ordered gently. He tilted his head up to make eye contact with Y/N. She continued, “I love you. I love you so much. I know you, and I know you’ve just dug yourself in too deep. You didn’t realize what you were getting into. I mean, how could you?” she asked.

Draco nodded, a tear escaping his eye. “I only wanted to impress him. I wanted to make him proud of me. Hell, I wanted to make The Dark Lord proud. But I can’t do it, Y/N, I can’t.” Draco was full-on crying now. His shoulders rose and fell violently as sobs overtook him. “Wanted to impress who, love?” Y/N asked softly as she took her lover into her arms. “My father, he—” Draco couldn’t finish his sentence; his tears were too uncontrollable.

Y/N felt her eyes begin to well up with her own tears as she placed her hand on his nape. She gently stroked him, trying to soothe him. Draco removed his hands from his face and wrapped them around Y/N tightly, wanting to hold her. She was providing him comfort, but he knew that this couldn’t be easy for Y/N either. So he hugged her. And for a long time... that was all they did. They held one another and cried with one another. Neither knew what to say or what to think. Neither knew what the next step should be, but at that moment, they knew they would take that step together. And for now, that was enough.

Taglist (link to request form here)

@jud3cardan

#Draco Malfoy #Draco #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy x yn #draco fanfiction #draco x reader #draco x you #draco series #severus snape #professor snape #snape #dumbledore #madam pomfrey #curse #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy fluff #draco malfoy angst #sectumsempra

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nightswithkookmin · 3 years

Note

Imo there is enough to support the possibility of a romantic relationship, but you are writing full on narratives with impossible specificity. You know what confirmation bias is but some young impressionable people dont yet . Forgive me but misleading with ' alt facts' can hurt someone even if you dont mean it. I think you are a good person not looking to hurt anyone. But the way you postulate without any evidence makes your actions a little but like those of a charlatan. Peace and kindness

All these kind words you spew...

It feels more like an advice than a question so I'm not sure how to respond to it...

Let me just say thank you? I never quite understood what the brouhaha was about with my posts but after talking to a few people, 'on the other side' lol and reading your Ask, I think I'm starting to get a better sense of what the problem is.

Something about young impressionable minds or people?

Let the council of elders know, those are not my audience please. I cater to a much more mature audience- at least so far. The people that I interact with and engage with on my posts on and off Tumblr are very mature and not impressionable at all.

They are People with brains who can tell an opinion from fact and can engage in deep complex controversial conversations without throwing up, shedding tears or cussing through to the heavens.

If there are 'impressionable people' reading my blogs- they do so at their own risk. If you know any such people or they run to you with my theories kindly point out to them it's just theory because that's what my opinions are.

I think the best thing you can do is to advice such people to grow up if they are going to sit at the adult table or not read my posts at all. I think you need to learn to hold the right people accountable for their actions.

The best I can do in this case- to hold myself accountable, is to put up a disclaimer on my posts to let people know what it is that they are reading- something I do quite often. But I will make conscious efforts to put up those disclaimers each time henceforth. Thank you.

That I write full on narratives with impossible specificity:

Is this Latin for, 'you write fiction get the fuck outta here?' Chilee.

I don't even know what you mean by this exactly so I may not be able to respond to it to your satisfaction. Bare with me.

So what if I write fiction? What is wrong with writing fiction? Do you hate fiction writers? I don't get what the hate is with these complaints honestly. Do you want me to put up a disclaimer stating my blogs are fiction? Would that help? I would glady do it.

If it helps you sleep at night think of my blogs as fiction- a rose by any other name. I've been keeping up with Shakespeare. Lol.

I don't think it's that deep. Listen, you gotta understand that just because we both 'ship' Jikook don't mean we are on the same team...

Most alt shippers I know and who read my posts and engage with it are not even Army to begin with, for your information. They could care less about these shipping politics of yours. Have you thought about that?

Some simply ship JK and JM and support them because they believe they are members of the LGBTQ plus community not because they are part of BTS.

There are different communities out there who are also into Jikook- for very different reasons. You gotta respect that.

To you, Jikook is just a ship within BTS that may or may not be real, but to some of us they have very much outgrown that description...

They are a brand of their own, a power couple and members of the LGBTQ plus community- Gay Icons extraordinaire. I think we take very different stock in Jikook. So stop trying to fit us all into one box.

It's disrespectful to try and control the way that people perceive their OTP and support them. Jikook don't just belong to Army Jokers, they belong to different communities outside Army. Are you aware of that?

And please don't confuse the intersect. I am an alt-shipper yes but I just so happen to be an Army too. But if I wasn't an Army, I'd still pretty much 'ship' and support Jikook- make no mistake. There are quite a few of us running around these streets, you know?

So you have every right to want to gatekeep your Army Jikook- but you have to do that without infringing on other rights of other 'Jikook communities.'

Throughout my blogs I have tried to shed light on what altshipping is because I thought it would help bridge the gap but clearly that hasn't worked. Sigh.

Misleading alt facts

Do you not know what it means or you are just being ironic?👀

Why is it ok for you to believe and proclaim that JK and BigHit lied about JK dating the Tattoo artist but it's not ok for me to believe JK is telling the truth when he says he didn't date her and that BigHit saw an opportunity to kill two birds with one stone- hence why they didn't press charges against the shop for breach of privacy like they had said they were going to do. Instead, they had asked the shop to keep calm till the scandal died down on it's own?

You start your piece off with the whole, 'there is enough evidence to support a romantic relationship' between JK and the tattoo shop lady- I assume.

For context, this Ask by this anon is in response to my recent post/ answer on the tattoo girl scandal where the topic of discussion was on BigHit, JK and the tattoo artist and not Jikook perse.

A statement that is in direct conflict with JK's statement, BigHit's and the lady in questions, all denying that there was a romantic relationship between her and Jungkook- and somehow I am misleading who- who now with my theory??? Chileee.

Do you see the problem here? Double standards- the hallmark of bigotry. Lmho. You are literally doing the very thing you are accusing me of. Making confident assertions and claiming you know more about JK and the Lady's relationship and even have 'enough evidence' contrary to BigHit, JK and the Tattoo artist's statements denying the rumors- at least when I theorize I admit I'm being delusional. What's your excuse? When you say charlatan are you referring to yourself? You must be. Lmho.

Now I'm confident in my comprehension skills and intelligent enough to know when you make an assertion like this- it is your opinion and you are just stating your opinion. If you are not then honey you'd be opening yourself up to some serious litigation... goodluck I guess. Lol.

You are allowed to form an opinion about a topic. There is nothing wrong with that. If to you, JK and this person dated that is fine. I am not going to cyber bully you, stalk you, throw slurs at you, harrass you, dox you, slid into people's Dms to spread hate and lies about you just because I don't agree with your opinion. And for the record, I don't agree with your opinion. Hehehehe.

I have stated my opinion on the matter. I said I think JK and this person did hang out, go on dates but that there was no romantic sexual relationship between them because I believe that would have had much serious consequences and effects on Jikooks dynamics no matter how much they tried to keep a cool facade. Whoever felt cheated on would have acted more insecure than usual post the incident- how does this make me a charlatan? Are you saying it's wrong it have an opinion? Chileee.

Now if you can produce 'evidence' of them having sex or even kissing, then I will gladly change my mind on the topic and not sweat it.

Jikook have done way worse questionable things in 7 good years and people still don't believe they are dating. Jk hangs out with a female friend a few times in less than a month and suddenly he is dating her? Lmho.

You don't need me to tell you people are more eager to accept a heterosexual relationship than wrap their heads around the fact that two male idols are gay and in a gay relationship with eachother. Don't you just love it when homophobia meets heteronormativity and stinks? I do. Lol.

I mean this is a fandom that thinks JK is 'too touchy' and doesn't respect his boundaries- they practically swear JK is cheating on Jimin with every member any time he hugs, kisses, wings at within the group. You think they will be 'objective' about JK hanging out with a girl? Even if it happened once?

You said something about confirmation bias.... I will not touch it. Lmho.

This is not the first time JK has gone on a date with a girl. This is not the first time he has 'dated a girl', he has hand girls on his laps or whatever- what is a back hug? I think people need to stop defining Jikook's lives by their own standards. If a backhug is intimate to you. Thats you. If you think a grown ass man cannot hang out with a female friend, that's equally you.

You think if he thought it was inappropriate and risky he would do it 'in public?' Get with Kpop Idol dating culture. Lmho.

Do you know the lengths they go through to keep their relationships a secret? Especially non celebrity girlfriends? Chen from EXO got married and where is his wife? They keep their flings tighter than Trump keeps his toupee on his head. Lol.

They hide them not out of shame but out of love and the need to protect their loved ones. These idols have family members who have their restaurants and businesses shut down because they want to keep their privacy.

You think JungKook's girlfriend would- on her own, issue a statement regarding a scandal that Jungkook's agency had specifically directed her and her shop to keep quiet about and lay low till it blew away on its own? And later, started liking couple posts about her and JK? If they were dating, certainly JK would have dumped her after that move. In my opinion.

You think JK would let his fandom drag the person he is in a relationship with to the extent she loses her Job- when in his Itaewon gay pub scandal BigHit referred to the issue as his private affair immediately it happened? They could have kept the same energy with her, no?

They handled his gay pub scandal much better, with much respect and consideration for his privacy- if he dated her sorry but she mustn't have meant much to him at all. And if I were her I would have dumped him for that shit and not stay liking couple posts about us. Damn- But do you.

Taehyung was in a scandal with a girl too- did you see her liking posts and shit and going out of her way to do the most? Did you see how BigHit handled that scandal?

Nothing wrong if JK is 'dating' her or had 'dated' her and whatever person he decides he wants to be in a relationship with I will support him- that's why I support Jikook.

But your opinion is equally valid my guy. Just don't call me a charlatan for mine. You believe they dated, I believe they didn't- and to your impressionable young minds, I hope you are not selling them anything contrary to BigHit and JK's statement. That would be very irresponsible of you. Lol.

What else did you say?

Oh postulating without evidence...

Next time I write a theory based on my observations about Jikook, remind me to break off a piece of my brain and attach it to it- I guess that way people would finally understand when I say things like 'I think' 'in my opinion' 'I feel' 'I believe' that these are just my thoughts and opinions and not facts.

Let me leave you with this:

Peace and kindness. Namaste.

Signed,

GOLDY.

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spencers-renaissance · 4 years

Text

Pull Me Out of the Glowing Stream

Summary: Spencer develops bacterial meningitis and Hotch sort of forgets how to breathe

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Protective Hotch, Spencer Reid Whump, Major Illness, Angst, Fluff, Medical Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending

Pairing: Gen, Paternal Hotch

Word Count: 3.8k

Read on AO3

A grotty police department in rural Illinois was really not the time and place for Spencer’s body to decide to have a minor breakdown, but really, what was he expecting at this point? For things to go right for once?

It’s the kind of headache not even two paracetamol and a cup of coffee can shift and he sort of feels like his head might split in two. Not ideal when he had a complicated geographical profile to work up to help the team locate an enraged killer who was flitting between various small towns in the northwest corner of the state.

“Spencer?”

He’s shaken out of his depressing thoughts by Derek’s slightly concerned voice, causing him to pull his hands away from his head and force himself from squinting against the light. He’d felt fine this morning and he can’t really put his finger on what exactly is wrong besides the headache he just feels… off.

If he can help it though, Derek will most definitely not find out. His coworkers don’t need to think he’s anymore weak than they already do.

“Sorry,” Spencer says, feigning a weak smile. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

Derek doesn’t look completely convinced, but he nods anyway. “JJ and I are headed to interview the most recent victim’s family but Rossi and Blake will be back from the ME’s office shortly. Hotch is just in the break room talking to some LEOs, alright?” he says, grabbing his leather jacket from the back of one of the chairs. “See you in a bit, Spencer.”

Spencer has to stop himself from physically falling on the floor and rolling into a protective ball as soon as Derek leaves the room. He’s so exhausted and in so much pain, the last thing he wants to do is gather around the table and have to propose valuable theories about the case to build the profile. He just feels like such an outsider sometimes, and it’s been even worse recently. He’s felt himself withdraw from the group, sheltering himself from the prying glances and teasing comments, but he just can’t help it; he doesn’t even know why, really.

Honestly, he’s desperate to crawl back to the hotel room and bury himself under the covers and never resurface again, but he can’t. The only time he really feels valuable is when he’s working, when he’s tangibly contributing to solving the case, and he can’t sacrifice that for a little head cold or whatever’s going on. Besides, nobody needs to hear him whinge about his stupid problems. Everyone has enough to deal with without him as an added burden.

Hotch is shooting him concerned looks and it’s only making him feel worse. He really doesn’t need to be berating himself for making his team members worry on top of already feeling at death’s door. The real problem, however, is that it’s only getting worse. He’s struggling to concentrate and feels hot under the collar, and it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the swirling nausea in his tummy. But his health cannot be the priority right now and surely Hotch must realise that: there’s a killer on the loose and he knows that he can be an immensely useful resource, headache be damned.

Focus. He tries to look back towards the board -- he knows there’s something in one of the pictures that’s not quite right, not that he can remember which one or what it was -- but his neck protests as he tries to move it, stiffening up in response to the pain. Keeping his head down instead, staring at the case file he has open on the desk in front of him, he notices his pen quivering a little in his hand as it shakes. His glance upwards to check if anyone saw is immediately met by Hotch, whose muted concern has clearly morphed into full-blown distress, and he quickly looks away.

“Spencer?” Hotch says gently, trying not to attract the attention of the other team members who are quietly discussing the case at the other end of the table.

It’s the jerk of his head to look back up at him that does it. He feels his head loll and his stomach drop out from under him, nausea pouring into his insides as his eyes lose their focus. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, though it comes out far too slurred to be intelligible, and everything fades to black.

★

Hotch is pretty sure his heart stops beating for a moment as he watches Spencer slump forward in his chair, falling to the side a little as his muscles give in to what’s clearly been plaguing him all day. The others snap out of their conversation fast, Alex rushing to his side. “Spencer?” she asks, voice insistent and full of anxiety. “Spencer, wake up, come on.” She pauses to press two fingers to his pulse point as her other hand feels his forehead before looking Hotch in the eyes, urgency filling her voice. “His pulse is weak and he has a serious fever.”

“Call an ambulance and explain what’s going on,” Hotch says, feeling the colour leave his face as he takes in the situation. “Dave, I need you, Derek and JJ to carry on working the case, Blake and I will go to the hospital with Spencer.”

The paramedics arrive quickly, by which time everyone in the PD is nosily peering through the windows, eager to watch the macabre theatrics of a medical emergency. Hotch backs away from where he’d crouched to hold Spencer’s hand, as does Blake and Spencer is quickly hooked up to the portable monitor. Hotch didn’t miss the grave glance that was shared between the two of them; he’d given and received enough of them in the course of his career to know they meant not good.

“Blake, you drive behind,” he murmurs softly as he watches an oxygen mask be placed over Spencer’s nose and mouth. “I’m riding with.”

He hasn’t felt so sick to his stomach since he was driving to his own house to meet his wife’s dead body, and God, did he absolutely not miss the feeling. Spencer’s hand is freezing cold, and he’s still shaking slightly through the deep slumber that has overtaken his body, though luckily he’s stable enough that the paramedics don’t seem to be able to do a lot more for him until he is admitted to the ER.

Seeing Spencer lie so small and frail under all the wires as he’s jolted about slightly by the ambulance’s fast pace cuts deep into an area of his heart he usually keeps so closely guarded, reserved for moments with his son and the grief that lingers cold and heavy from Haley’s death. Spencer is family: he’s watching the man he considers a son teeter far too close to the edge of death, and all he can do is remind himself how to breathe.

“Hang in there, Spencer,” he whispers, gently pulling the cold hand he’s holding to his face and holding it there a moment. “You’re going to be okay.” He has to be.

The nearest hospital is thankfully close, and Hotch sends up a prayer of thanks that they were sent to a city and not on a rural, buttfuck nowhere case. The paramedics waste no time wheeling Spencer’s gurney into the ER, reeling off his stats in code Hotch couldn’t hope to understand to the awaiting doctors, admitted immediately for further tests to establish treatment while he’s steered by a patient nurse to a quiet waiting area.

Alex rushes in less than five minutes later, filling with relief when she clocked Hotch sitting in the corner. “Any news?” she asks, cautiously optimistic.

Hotch grimaces in response. “No, he was only just admitted,” he sighs, emotion creeping into his face in a way he usually staves off at work. A hurt Spencer Reid warrants that much, at least. “He was stable in the ambulance, though. They’re running tests now for a diagnosis.” He looks down at his clasped hands. “I should have noticed it sooner.”

Alex sits down next to him slowly and sighs. “There’s no use in blaming yourself,” she says gently. “Spencer wouldn’t want that. We all could’ve picked up on the signs sooner or been more persistent in asking what was wrong, you’re not in the wrong here. Hindsight, as they say, is 20/20.”

“I know,” Hotch says eventually. “I just feel so responsible for him. He’s still so young and has so much in front of him, if-- if something happened to him, I’d never forgive myself.”

“Yeah,” Alex whispers, pressing her lips together. “None of us would.”

“I just couldn’t live in a world where Spencer doesn’t exist.” His voice chokes off as the dam breaks and he cries quietly into his hands, pain blossoming in his chest as the thought of Spencer dying and the crushing agony of muffled sobs collide.

“Oh, Hotch,” Alex murmurs sympathetically as she watches her boss crumble in front of her. “No-one’s told us to prepare for Spencer dying, okay? You said yourself that he was stable in the ambulance and aside from a thready pulse and a fever we don’t know anything else about his physical state. Don’t torture yourself with a future that frankly looks unlikely as of now, it’s not worth it.”

Hotch nods, taking a deep if shaky breath in and wiping his eyes one last time, looking back at Alex. “I’m sorry for panicking.”

“Don’t apologise,” she dismisses him gently. “It’s a scary situation, and Spencer is like a son to you.”

“This must be even harder for you,” he says, looking up and meeting her eyes. “I should have stayed stronger for you as well as Spencer.”

“Please,” Alex scoffs. “We all have our ways of coping. Ethan died a long time ago and although the grief I feel for him is like glitter I can’t brush away, I’ve learned how to move forward with my life, carrying that gorgeous shimmer with me.”

They share a small smile over that, and Hotch pats her upper arm with his hand softly before patting his knees and standing up. “I’m going to step outside to call Dave,” he says, a new resolve and determination finding its way into his voice. “I expect that it might be a while, but find me immediately if anything happens, I’ll be just outside the entrance.”

“Aaron?” Dave asks, voice a little tinny and muffled down the phone, swept away slightly by the midwest wind. “How’s Spencer?”

“Not sure yet,” he replies, voice grim. “He was admitted immediately for tests but he was relatively okay the last time I saw him, I think. Alex is here now, and we’ll keep looking over the files while we wait, seeing if we can build on the profile. Ring me with any developments, alright?”

“Yeah, no problem,” Dave says. “Morgan and I have come to follow a lead we got on a possible associate, and I’ll give you a ring when we leave. Sit tight and give my love to the kid when you see him, Aaron.”

They don’t have to sit in vigil for long before a middle-aged doctor calls Spencer’s name in the waiting room. “Unfortunately, Spencer has bacterial meningitis,” she explains gently as soon as they approach her. “It’s been caught relatively early so his chances are good, but this is a serious disease that needs to be monitored closely so he’s been moved to the ICU. He had a seizure shortly after the lumbar puncture we performed which is a sign of an escalation, but we’ve adjusted his meds accordingly and I can assure you he’s getting the best treatment possible. The ICU is limited to one visitor at a time, but you can see him now; he’s awake though a little drowsy.”

Alex smiles at him and ushers him forward while she goes to sit back down without a word, leaving Hotch to follow the doctor. He wishes desperately to have Spencer walking next to him, rapidly reeling off statistics and fast facts about the disease, because he feels a little in the dark, here. All he remembers is that bacterial is the most serious manifestation of meningitis and it has a high fatality rate. The same heavy sickness from the ambulance sinks deeper into his stomach, weighing him down. Spencer could die.

He looks small on the hospital bed. It’s such a cliche but it’s true, his already small frame and the spacious bed combined with his pale face and outfit of wires make him look so tiny and all Hotch wants to do is climb into bed with him and wrap him in a protective hug and never let him go.

“Hotch?” Spencer murmurs as he approaches the bed, smiling gratefully at the doctor before she leaves them to it.

“Yeah, Spencer, it’s me,” he says gently, sitting down in the chair next to the bed and scooching it as close as possible. “How are you holding up?”

“Hurts,” he says, voice weak. “A lot. Bacteria sucks.”

“It does,” Hotch chuckles. “It definitely sucks. Big time. I’m sorry this is happening, Spencer. And I’m sorry we didn’t catch on to you sooner and get you here faster.”

“Please,” he laughs, wincing a bit as the movement settles an ache deeper into his muscles. “I wouldn’t have let you. I can be a little stubborn.”

Spencer’s voice is slurred slightly but the relief settling into Hotch’s bones at how lucid he is feels almost euphoric. “You’re definitely stubborn,” he says fondly, caressing Spencer’s hand with his thumb. “Our stubborn little mule.”

“Not little,” he pouts in response, eyes drooping slowly closed.

“No,” he reassures him. “You’re not little. You’re strong, and you’re going to fight this, Spencer.”

“Yeah,” Spencer mumbles. “Fight it. Hotch… stay with me?”

“I’ll stay as long as they’ll let me stay, Angel.”

“Angel,” Spencer whispers, a happy smile playing on his lips as he finally gives in to the sleep tugging at his body.

★

It takes Spencer another three and a half days before he’s awake for more than a few minutes at a time and satisfactorily lucid. Thankfully, the anticonvulsants had staved off another seizure and his temperature was slowly but surely dropping as his body fought off the infection, aided by the intravenous antibiotics being steadily dripped into his bloodstream. His oxygen mask had been swapped for a nasal cannula and he was no longer trembling.

Hotch spends the majority of visiting hours sitting beside his bed, texting or phoning the team while working as many angles as he could with only a laptop and the case files Alex is bringing him, but it seems so trivial everytime he looks up and Spencer is lying there looking small and peaceful as he sleeps, meningitis ravishing his body. He’d been worried for the first day at how much Spencer was sleeping, but a kind nurse explained that it was normal; his body was just fighting off a brutal infection and could do that best when he was asleep. Now it just makes him happy to see him dreaming away, knowing that his body is doing the best to help him get better.

He’d tried to avoid googling ‘bacterial meningitis’, but he gave up on the second day and scrolled through endless sites, torturing himself with statistics and facts and prognoses. It gave him a newfound respect and empathy for Spencer: he knows these about pretty much everything and has to live with them all the time. He knows his own survival chances very well, can probably recite specific cases and studies and has no escape at all.

Spencer manages to sit up on the third day and Hotch pulls out a portable chess board that Dave had gone out and bought specifically for this moment.

“You play?” Spencer asks sceptically, raising his eyebrows.

“I’ve dabbled,” Hotch replies lightly, a smile playing over his lips as he takes in Spencer’s doubtful but eager expression.

“I’ll probably win in under twenty moves,” Spencer challenges, matching Hotch’s smile.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Hotch chuckles. “But I’ll put myself through it anyway.”

Spencer stays true to his word and wins in 17 moves, making Hotch throw his hands up and lean back in his chair, smiling at the other man before packing the board back away. Spencer looks miles healthier, the antibiotics clearly starting to do the trick, but he’s still seriously fatigued and shuffles down the bed to lean his head back and relax a bit more, sitting up for a few minutes tiring him out.

Hotch pauses for a moment before deciding to broach the subject. “Spencer,” he starts softly, meeting the man’s hazy gaze, “why didn’t you say anything to us sooner? You clearly had a crashing headache, muscle pain, nausea. You said you felt the fever come on. You could have said something sooner and I would have helped you. Your health should come before a case.”

Spencer closes his eyes in shame for a moment, a blush blooming over his cheeks as he looks back to Hotch. “I’m sorry, I just-- It was a grisly case and I thought that was the most important thing, I guess. I’m no use stuck in a sick bed. I just felt bad making everything about me when in the grand scheme of things, a headache is pretty menial. Felt… isolated, maybe.”

“Oh, Spence,” Hotch says sympathetically, reaching back over to grip Spencer’s hand in both of his. “This is really serious, okay? If we’d left it much later or you hadn’t passed out but continued to suffer in silence, you could have died.” He has to pause for a moment as he chokes on the word. “Missing one case and being better for hundreds more is better than working yourself to the bone on this one and then not being around for anymore, isn’t it? You are so valuable, Spencer. Not just your eidetic memory or IQ, you. Spencer Reid is special and loved and important, and I don’t want you to ever think that a case is more important than you, or that we’ll be annoyed by anything that you need to talk to us about. If you ever feel alone, you come and find me and I’ll do my best to banish that feeling, okay?”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer murmurs again. “I guess I just find it hard to believe that people care about me for more than what I can offer them. I never had anyone value me the way you do, and I still struggle to wrap my head around it. I’m sorry for scaring you, but I promise I already feel better. I’m not going anywhere, I promise, Hotch.”

“You’d better not,” he replies, letting himself smile a bit. “I know it’s hard for you to trust us, Spencer, but we’re your family, okay? Any of us would drop anything for you, stubborn little mule.”

Spencer doesn’t correct him this time, opting instead for a wide smile. “Thank you, Aaron,” he whispers intimately. “For being here, I mean. It’s scary on my own and having you next to me makes me feel safe.”

“Good,” Hotch says, smiling at Spencer’s use of his first name. “You’re always safe with me. You should rest now, you’re tired. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

★

Once Spencer’s moved out of the ICU on day five, the team are finally allowed to come and visit him, bringing Penelope, presents and smiles and noise. And reprimands. Many reprimands.

“If you ever put a case above your own damn health again, it won’t be meningitis you have to worry about but Penelope’s wrath, alright Spence?” JJ scolds as she gives him a gentle hug, though her smile betrays her. Penelope is stood at the foot of his bed trying her best to look scary, but like JJ her eyes are far too soft and relief colours her body language. Plus it’s hard to look domineering in a bright orange floral dress and flowers in your hair.

“Sorry, Pen, JJ,” he says sheepishly, looking at each of them apologetically. “Bacterial meningitis will definitely teach you to listen to your body.”

“Well if that’s the only good thing that’s come out of this then so be it,” Penelope says with finality, before she melts away her faux stern look and smiles at him. “Now, we bring you gifts and cookies.”

He opens each of the presents with the wide, open smile he doesn’t let cross his face very often, feeling deeply loved and cherished by his found family. His hospital room is covered in flowers and chocolates and academic books as well as endless gift bags and wrapping paper by the time he’s finished, and although he’s still in a lot of pain and knows he might never fully recover, in this moment he’s the happiest he’s been in a long time.

The doctor tells Spencer and Hotch a week and a day after his admittance that he’s been lucky enough to escape relatively unscathed. “You need to look out for any of the long term effects of bacterial meningitis such as concentration issues, hearing loss, visual disturbances, chronic pain etcetera but our tests seem to suggest you’re in the lucky c50% of survivors who escape without a permanent disability and we’d most likely have caught it by now. You need to take it easy for two weeks, make sure you’re resting and drinking plenty of fluids, and if you feel any symptoms coming back or becoming more severe you need to get to a hospital as soon as possible,” she says, handing him the discharge paperwork.

“Spencer, I think you should come and stay with me for those two weeks, okay? I’ll be there to take care of you and keep you company while you finish recovering. How does that sound?” he asks as Spencer signs the sheet of paper and hands it back to the doctor who smiles at them before turning to leave.

“Are you sure you’re okay with that?” he asks. “I don’t want to impose on you and Jack.”

“Don’t be silly, I’m offering. Besides, Jack will love having his own personal encyclopedia in the house. He loves you.”

Spencer grins widely at that. “Then that sounds like a plan.”

He sleeps for the majority of the two hour flight home, leaning against Hotch’s shoulder buried under the blanket JJ always carries with her in case anyone gets cold while the older man fills in some paperwork for the case they’d wrapped up a few days prior. The gentle noise of his family chatting around the plane and the comforting smell and feel of his protector surrounding him lull him into a sense of safety and reassurance, resting in the knowledge that his family loves him unconditionally. No matter what happens next, even if a long term condition was going to hit him like a ton of bricks, they weren’t going to leave him, and he was valued. Not for his brain, but because he was Spencer Reid, loved and cherished member of the BAU.

#criminal minds fic #Criminal Minds #criminal minds writing #angst #hotchreid #Spencer Reid #Hurt Spencer Reid #Spencer Reid Whump #my writing

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emerald-studies · 4 years

Text

Racism in Education

June 27, 2020

Day 6 of 7

[ These are just some thoughts I have in my head about this topic, it isn’t meant to be a purely academic discussion. It’s meant to be a conversation to learn about another perspective. ]

—-

Ok this will be my most challenging post. This is a long read but I’d appreciate you reading it all because I’ve been doing free emotional labor for almost a month and if you want to be an ally, that means learning from other perspectives. So please read. This drained me so much to write, please make it worth it.

You have the time, please read.

As I stated in my intro, I moved from a very conservative State (I don’t even want to say the State because I hate it so much.) to Washington State. I moved after graduating online school a year ago.

Growing up in that State I was almost always the only Black girl in my class. For my whole educational career. I hated when we would discuss the civil rights movement because I could feel my White peers staring at me, like I was the face of my race.

It was junior year that broke me.

I began the year optimistic. I always did, even though I had experienced racism before each year, pushing me to move to 4 different schools in 4 years.

I moved to a school in a rural area with a lot of mormons and maybe 5 Black people in the whole, huge school.

It was in September that my mental health plummeted. I don’t know why. I guess I was overwhelmed. I was in an AP US History class and there was work over the summer that everyone else did, but I didn’t. I had just gotten there, after all. I didn’t have the textbook. That class was such a heavy workload that we were having a quiz every other day, 1 test a week, and I was trying to study for a test that my peers had months to study for, and already took.

I attempted to take my life, but I knew I didn’t really mean it. I’ll be honest about that. I just wanted everything to stop so I could catch my breath.

I went to the ER on a Thursday night. My Mom drove me.

We sat in the ER for a little bit and then I was taken to a little room where a nurse came to talk to me. BTW I have never had a good interaction with a nurse.

This nurse came in and basically shamed me.

“You’re so young. You have your whole life ahead of you. You don’t need to do this to yourself.”

Yeah, no shit. I thought about that every day. My grades, getting into college, getting into law school.... that’s the point. I was overwhelmed.

She suggested that I punch a pillow if I “Got upset” because that’s what her daughter does.

Fuck off.

The Doctor came in and he gave me butterfly bandages and he was so much more understanding, shockingly. (I’ve shadowed Surgeons and Doctors and they can be a little abrasive).

I liked that the Doctor fixed me up. I liked having this wrap around my wrist. I felt like I could move on. Like I let something out.

The Doctor asked if I needed to stay at this place that dealt with cases like mine.

I said,

“No.”

I couldn’t have that on my record for what I want to do. So, I went home.

I took the Friday off and my Mom visited the school to let them know what happened. I was already preparing for pity.

I had to come in on Monday to set up a 504 (students with disabilities act) for depression. I don’t think I had depression, but whatever. I dropped out of AP US History.

They made accommodations for me: more time on tests, working in the library, more time on assignments, etc.

I want you to know that I did not touch those accommodations for 5 months.

I knew I didn’t need them. I maintained a 3.8 GPA.

I sat in a room with all 8 of my teachers (we had a block schedule 4 classes per day alternating), seeing all of them look at me with disgusting levels of pity.

They each talked to me in private saying things like,

“If you ever need anything, let me know.”

“I’m here for you.”

“You matter.”

I thought,

“Hm ok, that’s nice.”.

I went on for months without using my accommodations and practically wooping my “normal” classmates in intellectual discussions.

But then the casual racism I experienced was escalating.

First, in the beginning of the year, my AP US History teacher put his hand on my head and said to a student,

“If you really believe that, Faith would be a slave right now.”

(I don’t remember what the hell we were even talking about)

Then I got little questions/comments like,

“Why do you dress White?”

“Cracker is just as offensive as the n-word”

But now we were going into Black History Month. My new history teacher was an old White Man and we were talking about the civil rights movement, while in English we were reading “Black Like Me” with my blonde, Female, millennial teacher.

I nailed everything in the civil rights movement discussions. The teacher loved me. I nailed the conversations about “Black Like Me”.

But....I don’t know. The environment got really toxic. There was more racism, gaslighting, slurs. Every. single. day. It could break anyone.

I would be on the brink of tears in class every day.

Guess who didn’t notice?

All 8 of those concerned teachers.

They don’t give a shit.

My grades were still pretty good, but I started working in the library. I couldn't be around all of those racist peers.

While in the library, my counselor would come in and interrogate me.

“How long have you been in here?”

“Have you tried, really tried to go to class?”

Of course I tried! I felt like I wanted to be dead and so I left. That’s what the 504 Plan was for. Again, I hadn’t touched my accommodations for months so I thought maybe these grown adults would use their tiny brains and think,

“Huh maybe she needs help.”

But no.

I would go to the counselor almost every day and say

“I’m not doing well.”

And she’d ask,

“What does that mean?”

Ok...so I have to tell this Woman that I feel like dying but not at my own hand? Because she can’t use social cues and read my face stained with tears?

I couldn’t say anything.

She said,

“What can we do to keep you going here?”

I said,

“I don’t know”

Because that’s not my job.

Then it happened.

My history teacher was talking about affirmative action.

He said,

“If I worked at a bank for 30 years and went to work at another bank, FAITH would get a job over me because she’s a BLACK WOMAN. Do you get that? She covers TWO minorities!”

He said this while pointing his wrinkled finger in my face.

None of my peers said anything.

I replied with,

“Well, what are my qualifications?”

He ignored me.

He went on a rant teaching his opinions, not facts. So I wrote down what he said on sticky notes.

I called my Mom at break and asked her

“Is that racist? Do I do anything?”

I was so desensitized to racism I couldn’t tell anymore.

My White Mom, my awesome Mom said,

“YES.”

I went to the Vice Principal and reported the teacher and gave her the sticky notes.

The next day we got an email from the principle saying that the teacher said, he never said anything about me.

So I was a liar?

To get evidence, I recorded the whole next class. I was scared every minute that he would find out.

He didn’t. And he said more awful things.

I had concrete proof.

We told the Principal and he ignored me. My Mom emailed the superintendent (very high up person in the school district) and oh now he responds?

They basically said,

“We gave him a warning, he won’t do it again.”

Ok so he just will hide his racism now. Just remember, teachers legally aren’t allowed to teach their opinion. The Supreme Court deemed it unconstitutional to teach opinions.

I was still required to go to this racist Man’s class. I still answered every question he posed to the class and he recognized my intelligence.

So WHY?

WHY me?

The whole year he loved having me as a student and then....that?

Moving on to my English class.

We had to do a cultural experience trip and so my acquaintance and I went to the Black History Museum. Because I’m Nigerian-American. I do identify as Black though because everyone assumes it anyways, but I wanted to learn more about the history in my city.

We were required to make presentations talking about the experience we had. I decided to add a little twist.

I made a whole slide in my slideshow dedicated to every racist thing said to me in that class.

The slide was met with laughter because racism is just so funny.

My teacher said nothing.

So I, the student, the minor in the room, had to say,

“I see you laughing but this is why I’m leaving this school. This is serious.”

Nothing from my teacher.

Cut to maybe a week later and I was done. I was sitting in my English class about to burst. My acquaintance asked me,

“Are you doing ok?”

I replied,

“No. Absolutely not.”

A classmate checked in on me, while all my 8 teachers who actually knew about my attempt on my life didn’t.

We went outside and I decided to leave the school that day. Three weeks before summer break. I couldn’t be in either class anymore. I felt my brain rotting from being exposed to the absolute shit that those students/teachers would spew, every day.

I lost my 3.8 GPA

I lost my credits for the semester.

The racist teacher is still working.

I had to go online.

It happened again.

Another racist history teacher.

Wasn’t removed.

I graduated with a lower GPA.

Didn’t apply to my dream school.

I have the trauma seared into my brain. I’m terrified of taking another history class. Terrified.

Ok, that’s it. If you made it this far, thank you. It took me awhile to write this. I hope this gave you another perspective.

So.... discussion time.

Let me know what you think here

I’d like to hear from you since I delved into my trauma.

I don’t think I’ll ever tell this story again, it makes me sick and tired. But I’ll answer questions/asks.

If you have a lot of White guilt and wanna do something, you could donate some reparations to my venmo lol:

@faithrebecca1397 (last 4 digits are 4809)

or paypal

http://www.paypal.me/faithrebecca1397

Edit: People are asking me if they can reblog this. YES PLEASE REBLOG. It’s important to let people know that all types of racism are alive and well.

#blm #black lives matter #education #academia #black women matter #discussion #racism #history #mental health

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