#The reason for your being deciding you aren’t good enough and casting you aside like nothing | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing xi.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 2, 396

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

a/n:

hi everyone !!! here we are with the weekly update hehe, and it's a brief chapter but it does direct it up to the next one, and that'll be far more ... happening ... if you catch my drift 🤣

anyways, apologies for the silence again - uni has been absolutely kicking my butt and I'm lowkey on the verge of burnout but we'll pull through !!!

hope you enjoy the chapter 🥺❤️

Jungkook sits across from Jennie when it happens.

“What the—?”

“We need to talk.” Jimin glares, hand already grabbing him by the collar when he tugs Jungkook out of his seat. He doesn’t bother to send Jennie a look of acknowledgment, though he doubts she’s at any fault. He was only there for one thing and the subject of his disdain only looks perplexed and confused.

“Can we do this later?” Jungkook huffs, gesturing between his body and Jennie’s. She’s blinking at the interaction, then picks up her purse to shoot the two boys a half-hearted smile.

“I think I know what you needed to say,” She smiles. Then she looks over to Jimin who’s still glaring down at the younger boy, “Good luck.”

Her wish only makes Jungkook gulp, but he can more or less guess what Jimin is dragging him by collar about.

When he manages to ruffle his clothes back into position and sees the angry slope of Jimin’s back, he takes a deep breath. Jimin was by no means a terrifying person on average, in fact, he was quite debatably one of the most pleasant people anyone could know.

But Jimin was loyal and he stuck by the people he cared about with all his heart. He’d fight and he’d defend them till the end of time, and you were no different. Especially since the two of you grew up with each other, Jimin seeing you grow from an inquisitive toddler to the intelligent woman you were today—Jimin would die to protect you.

So when Jimin shuffles through his backpack to hand Jungkook a pack of ice, he can only stare at the cold object in the palm of his hands.

“What is this—?”

“You’ll need it.” Jimin deadpans, then he’s rolling up his sleeves.

“I thought we were talking?” Jungkook asks with a raised brow.

“We are,” Jimin retorts, eyes unblinking when he stares the younger boy down with a heavy-lidded gaze, “After I beat your ass for fucking _____ over.”

Jungkook opens his mouth, ready to defend but Jimin’s resolute glare only makes him cower in submission. He knew he fucked up, and he knew that there was no way he could get a word in even to meekly apologise because when Jimin had his mind set on something, he wouldn’t stop until that goal was achieved.

And it seems that Jimin’s goal was to give Jungkook a physical reminder on why he shouldn’t fuck with the things or people he loved.

“Let me take off my jacket,” Jungkook mutters, defeated.

After multiple shoves against the wall and a generous swing to his cheek, Jungkook is begrudgingly holding the ice-pack against his bruising face.

Jimin doesn’t look apologetic when the two of them sit side-by-side on the sidewalk, or even when Jungkook’s lip busted open. He knew Jungkook could take it, he was twice his size. Even more so, Jungkook knew Jimin had every reason to act the way he did.

“Thanks for the ice pack, by the way,” Jungkook says sarcastically, wincing when he moves his mouth a little too much.

Jimin doesn’t gratify him with a response, instead levels a stare so menacing that it could send anyone running. But Jungkook’s done a bit too much of that recently; so he stays, braces himself for the words that were to leave Jimin’s lips.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Jungkook sighs, scrunching his face before tossing the ice pack aside. He supposed that it was nearly useless, nearly melting into a puddle that drips down his arm uncomfortably.

“I don’t know,” Jungkook confesses softly.

“You’ve got a set of nerves on you if you thought it was ever okay to say the shit you did to her, let alone a human being.” Jimin frowns, pulling Jungkook but his collar so that he’d look at him.

Jimin’s face is permanently etched into a scowl, but Jungkook already knows he’s fucked up. The constant reminder of you turning to different directions whenever you’d spot him was enough to hurt more than a punch to the face.

“I know.” Jungkook whispers, fiddling with his thumbs.

“Do you, Jungkook?” Jimin spits, glaring down at the boy who remains helpless under his grasp, “I told you to not fuck with her and you deliberately went against what I said.” His reminder is vicious and quiet, a hiss in the wind that blows.

Jungkook hears it loud and clear, “I know,” He exasperates, still as frustrated with himself as he was with the entire situation, “I know.” He repeats, more defeatedly.

Jimin shoves Jungkook back by releasing his grip around the collar that he nearly stumbles. But Jungkook catches himself just barely when Jimin rises to his feet, looking down at his younger friend like he was a piece of gum stuck on the sole of his shoes.

“Why?” Jimin asks after a beat of silence.

Jungkook purses his lips. He knows why, but he still can’t bring himself to say it. Not when he knows he’s fucked up and Jimin is rightfully furious. He knows Taehyung knows at this point too, there was nothing that Jimin knew that Taehyung didn’t. It was just that Jimin was the more confrontational one where Taehyung was passively aggressive with his anger.

“I …” Jungkook trails off weakly, standing up to reach Jimin’s height but despite his friend being taller, his presence was already intimidating enough.

“You doing that shit with her was one thing, because if it was consensual I’d go on my merry way,” Jimin sneers, poking a firm finger into Jungkook’s chest, “But you had to go and poke at her insecurities to hurt her. On purpose. That’s where you fucked up. Royally.”

Jungkook blinks, intently listening and observing the way Jimin’s chest rises and falls with every breath he heaves.

“It’s taking everything in me not to smear your reputation on campus for the shit you did,” Jimin’s eyes flutters shut and his voice is threatening. Jungkook’s eyes widen, but he still remains quiet, “But against my better conscience, you’re my friend. And I’m so fucking disappointed in you.” Jimin croaks like he’s conflicted.

And for the first time ever since the conversation started, Jungkook feels bad for Jimin; specifically. He knew that it was difficult to defend your friend while berating another, and he hated himself for putting him into a difficult position. It was an internal dispute that Jimin and Taehyung would have to face between holding Jungkook accountable and leaving him to dust.

There was history, between the four of you. But there was unseen history between Jimin and Jungkook that you and Taehyung hadn’t seen, and Jungkook’s always regarded Jimin as an older brother, honorific aside.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook whispers.

Jimin looks up, glaring at the apology like he’s sworn at him.

“I can’t believe you.” He sneers, barring his teeth intimidatingly while Jungkook swallows.

“I’m sorry.” Jungkook looks down at his feet, and for a moment he feels like a child being scolded but he knew that children would never say anything as vicious as he did, unless they were a product of their environments.

Jungkook still can’t justify his words, or why he said them. But a deep part of his recognises that it was his insecurities peeking through and him weaponising a weapon powerful enough to shoot himself dead.

“This isn't my apology to accept,” Jimin says sternly, “But even if it was—I could never forget what you said to her, Jungkook.”

Jungkook nods, eyes still cast downwards.

“What does this …” he trails off, finally looking up to see Jimin carding a hand through his hair in exasperation and a pinched expression marring his face, “Where does this leave us?’

Jimin knows Jungkook’s asking about the state of their friendship together.

But the anger is blinding and overwhelming, so instead; he tosses his backpack over his shoulder before turning on his heel, head looking back ever so slightly to level Jungkook with a final gaze intense enough to speak for itself.

“Here,” Jimin declares, gesturing to the abandoned ice pack, the bruised cheek and knuckles, “Until you decide to get your shit together, I need time away from you. If not, I’m going to do something that ____ would hate and I don’t want to hurt her any more than you already have.”

The words are sharp, targeted and venomous. But Jungkook recognises he deserves it. He also doesn’t bother fighting back when Jimin finally leaves, leaving Jungkook to bask in his own, clouded thoughts.

“Why are your knuckles bruised?” Is the first thing you ask Jimin when you see him storming towards you and Taehyung in the library.

Taehyung is aware while you blissfully aren’t.

“None of your business,” Jimin shoots back, but then he’s tugging you out of your seat to hug you.

Your eyes widen, “Jimin?”

When he pulls away, his eyes soften.

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

Taehyung nods and your head is spinning in confusion when you stare between the two boys with furrowed brows.

“Tell you what?”

“Jungkook.” Taehyung answers, eyes boring a hole into your skull.

At the mention of his name, you freeze in Jimin’s grasp as you stare at the both of them with wide eyes.

“How did you know—?”

Jimin frowns, releasing you so that you’re all able to take a seat in a specific corner of the library. You dryly note to yourself that you realise that every one of your conflicting moments of confrontation occurred in this place. Maybe it was about time for a change of scenery.

“Yena,” Taehyung tells you, and you scowl—nearly cussing her out in your mind but you know that your anger wasn’t warranted.

Especially when Jimin reaches out to grab your hand when he notices you looking down at your lap.

“How do you think it felt for us when we had to find out from someone else that you’ve been going through a hard time?” He asks softly, looking at you so gently that your lip nearly trembles.

For the longest time, Jimin and Taehyung were like older brothers that doted on you as much as they could. They took care of you and made sure that you knew your worth ever since the three of you were children. And for that, you could never be more thankful for their presence.

So you understand their hurt, and it makes you feel guiltier when you see Taehyung quietly patting your head although his eyes carry a sadness that only came from a friend withholding information from you.

“I …” You croak.

“You didn’t need to tell us why,” Taehyung reassures gently, “Just wanted to be here for you. For whatever reason, it may be.”

You stare down at your lap even harder and blink away the tears that only came with guilt.

“I’m sorry.” You say so meekly that it comes out as a squeak.

“Please don’t apologise. We just want to be here for you,” Jimin says sadly, squeezing your hand tighter even if you weren’t going to look at him. He doesn’t push you to do so.

“I didn’t want to make things complicated.” You confess softly, fiddling with the thumb on your free hand.

Taehyung scowls, “_____, you know that whatever it is, Jimin and I will try our best to remain as objective as possible but Jungkook said things to you that we're absolutely not okay and as both of your friends, we have a responsibility to hold him accountable.”

You purse your lips, nearly pouting. It’s as if Jimin reads your mind, where a million thoughts run through it, he pulls you closer so that he can properly hug you. Even if the position is a little weird and Taehyung has to bend his arm at a weird angle to be able to hug you too, you feel comforted.

“Don’t be mad at him.” You whisper softly into the material of Taehyung’s shirt.

Jimin snorts, “I release my anger in a healthy manner.”

Your eyes glance down at his knuckle suspiciously but he tugs it away when he notices your wandering eyes.

Taehyung sighs, caressing your hair softly. “We have every right to be angry with him, _____. What he did and said was unacceptable.” He informs you firmly.

You pull away slightly from their hold to furrow your eyebrows, “I know but—”

“You do know,” Jimin says softly, “And we know that you don’t like other people fighting your battles for you so we’ll step out of it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t personally be disappointed in what Jungkook did. He’s our friend too and if he did that to anyone else, we’d still be mad. We’re just extra mad because it’s you and we’re your best friends.”

You dip your head, letting out a sigh of acknowledgement.

“Just … let me talk to him.” You say, and Taehyung raises a brow at the shift in your tone, “This is something I need to do for myself. I appreciate you guys, I really do. But I don’t want things to be weird because of what we did.”

You can tell Jimin is about to argue with you, but Taehyung shoots him a look that shuts him up immediately.

“If that’s what you want.” Taehyung smiles gently at you.

Jimin clenches his jaw, clearly the more displeased one between the two. But he swallows it by clenching his fist and patting your head, shooting you a concerned stare mask in a slight glare.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

You nod, “Very.”

Jimin nibbles on his lips as if deep in thought before pulling away completely, leaning into his chair.

“If you insist,” He sighs, “But Jungkook did get what he deserved.”

You shrug, “I mean I don’t think avoiding him was the worst thing to do, but I guess you’re right.”

Jimin blinks.

Then Taehyung and he are sharing a look familiar enough for you to know only comes out when they did something wrong or were caught causing trouble.

You raise a brow, “Am I missing something?”

Jimin shoots you a reassuring smile and you miss the shift of Taehyung’s eyes to the fist that wraps around your shoulder.

“Nothing at all.”

You [21:09]: hi jungkook

You [21:24]: can we talk? my door's open if you're free.

#bts fic #bts imagine #bts fics #bts imagines #bts smut #bts x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook angst #bts fluff #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook x oc #jeon jungkook #jungkook series

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wannabe-fic-writer · 3 years

Text

Moment In Time

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Reader

Summary: Just when you've gotten out, you’re given a reason to come back.

Warnings: Nothing for now unless I missed something.

Chapter 1

* * * * * * *

Music plays in your ears as the surrounding area blurs past you. Taking yet another lap around the overly large fountain, you feel the smallest drop of sweat trickle down the side of your head.

Running for two and a half hours seems to finally be yielding results.

You slow down some and a quiet, sarcastic, chuckle falls from your lips when another group of joggers passes by. They’d gotten here an hour ago and they were practically dripping sweat.

With a shake of your head you finish the lap in a matter of minutes, stopping afterwards and taking your headphones out. You take a few deep breaths as you look around.

The New York sky is as blue as it always is this time of year. People stroll by about a yard from where you stand, the streets and sidewalks bustling as usual, a few other runners on the same trail you just took.

A contented sigh leaves your lips.

For the first time in years, a calm peace washes over you. It’d taken you years to come to the decision to stop working, followed by a few months to mentally settle into your “retirement” as you’d been told it was.

The world doesn’t exactly need you anymore, earth’s mightiest heroes are doing all the saving and protecting now. Some of them you trust with your life while others you haven’t even met. All in all, you believe they’ve been getting the job done fairly well. Which made your retirement all the more easy.

If not working feels like this, you take another deep breath, you could get used to it.

Adjusting your headphones back into your ears, you barely jog three feet into your next lap when your phone rings. Fishing it out of your pocket, you sigh at the name displayed at the top and answer.

“Agent Y/Ln,” Fury’s voice floats into your ears,“ I need a favor.”

Just like that, you get the feeling you aren’t going to have the chance to get used to retirement.

* * * * * * *

Another uniformed guard walks by, his eyes glancing over at the two people in the cell, before he continues his leisure stroll down the hall.

The brunette archer runs his tongue across his bottom lip, eyes narrowing just barely before yet another pebble flicks across the cell and bounces off the wall right beside the ear of an already agitated ex-assassin.

“Barton, I swear to god if another rock comes within a foot of my face I will kill you before these morons even have the chance to consider it.” Natasha seethes, jaw clenching in frustration.

Clint snorts to hold in a laugh, raising his hands in surrender.“ My bad.”

Sighing heavily for the millionth time today, Natasha leans her head back against the cement wall, fingers gingerly running over the uncomfortable matching cement floor.

“You sure you don’t wanna play finger football with me?” He asks, flicking a triangular piece of paper towards his friend.

“Clint what the h-” she glares from him to the paper then back,“ where did you even get that?”

Letting his amused smile show, he answers,“ my pocket,” with a casual shrug,“ never know when you’re gonna get captured by psychotic evil German scientists.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the red head holds in every noise of frustration and foul word in her arsenal. She already can’t believe she allowed herself to get captured, Clint’s incessantly childish behavior is only adding to her bad mood.

A mere eight hours ago she’d been on a very easy mission with her team. Infiltration and intel gathering was a form of work she was overly familiar with, having done it before and during her time with SHIELD and the Avengers.

But with a new recruit on the team, and this having been his first infiltration mission, figuratively communicative wires got crossed.

A simple “payload secure” came across as something different in Sam’s ears, what he heard she can’t even try to guess, but it led to him coming her way with a shit load of guards. Disgruntled sounds of fighting drew Clint to their location but even then the amount of enemies was overwhelming.

Distress calls were cut short and staticy through the short communication devices they had. So, being the only one with a clear and easy route out of the chaos, Sam was given the task to get out while he could and to send back up.

The seconds after he left, Natasha and Clint were taken, blinded, stripped of their weapons and comms, and brought to this cell.

While they were aware of the rescue coming for them, they still looked for a way out but found none. Especially not with the rotation of guards that patrolled by every half hour. Like clockwork, another was headed their way.

The whistling of an all too American song rang through the halls, slipping into the cell and grabbing the attention of both agents.

Clint’s eyebrows pinch together when the guard stops in front of the cell, then turns to face them. His calculating gaze trails over their body while an equally observant Natasha looks as well.

She stares at the guard, a stone cold expression masking her face as she commits your appearance to memory. Your eyes, hair, the build of your body currently clad in the same blue uniform as the other guards. Something was different though.

While the guards came off as exactly what they are, lackeys for whoever is running this show, you are much bigger. The look on your face isn’t as submissive and blank as the others.

Clint scoffs, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, eyes scanning over you,“ what’re you? A new hire?” He asks sarcastically, deciding to speak as he knows Natasha won’t say a word.“ Send you in to intimidate us?”

A silent moment passes.

“Buddy, you think I’m the bad guy?” You tilt your head with a raised eyebrow. A little chuckle leaves your lips at the confused expression he pulls and the one Natasha tries to hide.

Taking a step closer to the cage, you slip your arms between the cast iron bars and lace your fingers together.“ I’m here to save your asses. Since you went and got yourselves captured.”

For the first time Natasha speaks, a velvety soft voice flowing from the cement box into your ears,“ who sent you?”

Her green eyes look into yours and that, coupled with her voice, intrigues you even more. Seeing as you are more than aware of who Black Widow is. But you know now isn’t the time to fall into a gay panic over a gorgeous woman.

“Fury.” You answer,“ it’s not often Nick calls in a favor so I had to come. Now, let’s say we get out of here yeah?” They both watch as you grab hold of the bars, pulling one good time, arms flexing as you easily break the lock and send the door sliding open and slamming into the wall.

Clint and Natasha share a look as you step inside, walking over to Clint and breaking his chains first, then going to do the same to Natasha.

You raise an eyebrow at her expression after breaking the first chain,“ listen red, you don’t have to trust me.” She stands up and looks down at you, until you rise up and look down at her.“ But you do need to trust Fury. Got any complaints, take it up with him after you’re not surrounded by a bunch of lunatics with guns.”

With that she watches you exit the cell, looking left and right, then waving them forward as you go left down the corridor.

The two agents follow you as you silently incapacitate every guard in your path, sharing a look for the third time today.

As you’re taking down your tenth guard, Clint looks from you to Natasha.“ Are we really supposed to believe they’re on our side? Cause,” he takes a deep breath and releases it.

“They’re trusted by Fury.” Natasha looks at her friend,“ and that’s all I need to know for now.”

Stopping in front of a door, you peek through the glass, then take a step back. You square your shoulders and adjust the cap on your head, smiling dazzlingly at the two.

“Do me a favor, wait around that corner,” you point to the opposite side of them where a dark empty pocket sits in the hallway,“ and try not to get captured again.” You wink and step into the room without another word.

They stare at the door you disappeared into, long enough to hear you speak.

“Wo sind die Gefangenen in Zelle 4 hingegangen?”

Natasha understood your words perfectly fine but Clint was a little lost. The short silence followed your continued shout of,“ Finde sie! Jetzt! Eile!”

Eyes wide Natasha grabs Clint’s hand and pulls them into the dark just before a slew of guards pour out of the room and down the same way you’d all just come from.

Clint and Natasha barely have a chance to blink before the door beside them opens. Sunlight streams through the door, followed by you coming out of the room.

“Figured you might want these back,” you say as you stop in front of them and hold their confiscated weapons out to them.

Clint is quick to sling his quiver around his shoulders, extending his bow and hugging it, a quiet ‘I missed you’ muttered under his breath toward the inanimate object.

A snort of a laugh leaves your lips before Natasha takes her batons from you and holsters them at her sides.

Taking your cap off, you toss it aside and smooth your hand through your hair.“ Cover was blown about thirty seconds ago so,” you nod to the outside,“ let’s get to that fancy jet you’ve got a few miles out before the fireworks start.”

Flashing another confident smirk, you slip out the door. The two agents follow closely behind you. All three of you work almost flawlessly in taking down the guards in your path to the jet.

It comes into view and you stop to let them run ahead of you, turning to look at the building as it seemingly spontaneously combusts in three specific locations.

Satisfied with your work, you nod and turn around. Almost all eyes are on you as you jog up the ramp into the jet. A silent crunch is heard before you toss crumpled plastic and wires out of your hand.

“Can’t have them tracing that back to us.” You say, stepping fully into the jet and looking around as the door closes behind you.

Stern blue eyes stare into yours, an almost upset march carrying him to stand in front of you.“ If there’s anyone alive.” He says angrily.“ Did you stop to think how many people you may have just killed?”

Your eyebrow quirks up at his tone of voice. Trailing your eyes down his body you mentally purse your lips and nod. Admittedly you could see why Peggy was so smitten. Assuming he didn’t take this type of attitude with her.

However you can’t say you’re taken with the Captain America. His already condescending attitude wasn’t something you liked and while you know it’s a possibility he’s just this way cause you don’t know each other, it’s also possible he’s just an ass. Either way he isn’t why you’re here.

“Captain,” you nod,“ always thought our first meeting would be more pleasant than this. But aye, they say you’re never supposed to meet your idols right.” You shrug and step around him, making to head to the front of the jet.

Only his hand grips your arm and he spins you around with a glare now on his flawless looking face.

Glancing down at the offending hand on your arm, you figure he’s nonverbally demanding an explanation so you give it.“ There were charges at both entrances and the security room. I made sure to send everyone away from those areas before I blew it up. There may be some minor injuries, if that. But next time I’ll just leave and give them every opportunity to come after us, Captain.” You tell him, gripping his hand in yours and prying it from your arm.

His glare turns to a slight look of surprise. While his grip hadn’t been enough to hurt an ordinary human, yours was equal to, if not potentially stronger, than his true strength. Enough force to have broken anyone else’s hand in multiple places.

“Who are you?” He asks, maintaining his attitude.

Not one for dealing with that, you mumble your name to him and go to the front of the jet.

Your blank face morphs into a smile at the sight of the man in the pilot's seat.“ Never was one to give up control huh?” You ask teasingly as you drop your hand on his shoulder.

His gaze lands on you with a quick snap of his head towards you. The smirk on your face and the fact that it was actually you, made him snicker.

Making quick work of throwing the jet on autopilot, he moved his chair back and stood up to pull you into a hug, to the shock and surprise of every member of his team.

“Good to see you T.” You pat his back before pulling away.

A smile tugs on his lips and he nods.“ Ditto. This doesn’t count by the way.” He points a finger at you as you clap your hand on his shoulder.

“It definitely counts. A save is a save. Might not have been you exactly but-”

Waving you off he mumbles,“ yeah yeah.” Then looks at his teammates, his arm wrapping around your shoulders despite the height difference.“ I take it you met the team.” He says to which you nod.

“Can’t say they’re all that fond of me.” You chuckle softly, eyes scanning over the still agitated Captain America, a man in a modified flight suit, and the two people you just saved.“ Are they always so annoyed when they get their asses saved or is it me?”

Tony shrugs,“ Capsicle always been a little icy.” He jokes and you laugh, shaking your head and pushing him away from you.“ Nat is- well she’s Nat. I think she’s starting to warm up to me but that’s taken quite a bit of time hasn’t it Romanoff?”

His gaze directs to the redhead and you follow it. Your eyebrow raises at the mocking smile she gives Tony followed by her asking,“ who exactly is Y/n and how do you know each other?”

Both you and Tony glance at each other and you take the liberty of answering her question. Speaking to her directly gives you the chance to truly look into her green eyes, which you must admit you find very beautiful.

A range of emotions flicker over everyone’s faces as you dip your toe into your long complicated past. You simplify your back story, only telling them that you met Tony his family, that you’re a super soldier, created after Steve went into the ice, and that you’ve been a part of SHIELD for a while.

There were many questions thrown your way and you heavily debated with yourself whether or not you wanted to tell them everything. You didn’t think it’d hurt to be a little mysterious. But there’s also the thought that you won’t be seeing these people much anyway so does it truly matter if they know who you are.

Whatever decision you’d come to ceased to matter as the jet landed. The door opened and your eyes raised to read the words written across the top of the building.

“Avengers?” You mumble, glancing at your long time friend/brother. He makes that face, that “what’re you gonna do” nonchalant face Tony always makes. With a shake of your head, you follow him inside, but instead of going with him towards the hallway, you b-line for the elevators.

Tony’s voice calls out to you, effectively grabbing the attention of his teammates,“ not joinin us Y/nn?”

You look back over towards him, your eyes landing on Natasha’s green ones first then on Tony. Smiling a little you shake your head,“ debriefing isn’t for retirees, Stark.”

Natasha frowns at your words and Tony shakes his head with a breathy chuckle.

All of you turn away from each other, them heading to the meeting room and you facing the elevator as the doors slide open.

“Agent, glad you could stick around for the debrief.” Fury says, making you frown and shake your head.

“No no,” you raise a finger, essentially telling him to hold up.“ I’m not an agent. Retired, remember.”

He stops walking to look back at you. Tilting his head, he raises his eyebrow,“ that was until today. I believe you did some work, seeing as Natasha and Clint are back.”

A heavy sigh leaves your lips and you drop your head, groaning lowly,“ Nick please. You know-”

“That you’re on your way to the meeting room. Glad to hear it.” Leaving no more room to talk, he turns and walks away, breezing past the few Avengers who’d stayed behind to watch the interaction.

Grumbling under your breath, you follow after the man. Tony slaps his hand onto your shoulder, a small amused smirk on his lips as he guides you to the meeting room.

With a, in your opinion, justified glare directed at Fury, you plop down into a chair. The man snorts at the huff you let out, averting his eyes to everyone else who comes in.

To your surprise and silent pleasure, Natasha ends up occupying the chair on your other side. When her eyes land on you, you give a small smile and wiggle your fingers in a short wave.

Her eyes narrow at you and you wink. She just barely lifts a brow at the way your face morphs from one of amusement to a no nonsense expression.

You straighten up in your seat, fingers lacing together and resting on the table as your gaze focuses on Fury.

Natasha finds it a bit of a struggle to take her eyes off of you. Since the second she saw you back in Berlin she hasn’t been able to get a clear read on you.

“Romanoff, can I have your attention?” Fury tilts his head and looks directly into Natasha’s eyes.“ Or is that too much to ask?” His tone takes a sassy turn and the redhead rolls her eyes, focusing on him.

The debriefing goes exactly how everyone is used to it going. They go over the original objective of the mission, then everyone gives a run down of what happened: the part they played, how they contributed to the objective, and in this case how things went south.

“Y/Ln,” Fury says, making Natasha’s gaze snap over to you. Had you been looking at her, you would’ve seen the surprise flicker through those green orbs.

“Director,” you nod in reply before going into detail about your infiltration into the German base and the extraction of Natasha and Clint.

All while you talk, Natasha looks at you. You, Agent Y/n Y/Ln. She can’t believe she didn’t connect the dots. Fury sent you in. You’d told her your name. She should’ve seen it. Everyone at SHIELD knows who you are. A lot of people outside of SHIELD know about you as well.

Your explanation of who you were in the quinjet wasn’t even the tip of the iceberg. She didn’t think this often of someone but: you are a legend.

“- things considered,” Natasha regains focus on the conversation, looking away from you to Fury as you speak,“ the mission could’ve gone off flawlessly.”

The man crosses his arms and shifts his weight,“ and what would you say the problem is Agent?”

“Underestimation sir. Or maybe misinformation.” Your response is a bit of a shock to everyone. You take their silence as an opportunity to further explain. You thought it was simple.

The mission was to grab intel from a science lab. As to be expected, the scientists and information there would be guarded. The underestimation or misinformation came in how heavily guarded the place was. Whatever surveillance or recon they had done wasn’t enough. So when they went in to collect they were overwhelmed or caught off guard which resulted in Natasha’s and Clint’s capture.

Everyone takes your words in stride, majority of them processing it and storing it for a time in which they’ll need to use it.

Shortly after that the debriefing ends with a few, what you know is meant to be taken as, encouraging words from Fury. Everyone stands after he’s left, starting to file out.

Once again as you make to leave, Tony stops you. He slaps your arm and you know he’d used as much force as he could behind the action.

Used to this from him, you sigh and shake your head, a small amused smirk on your lips as you look at him.“ What is it now Tony?”

He smiles at you,“ why don’t you hang out for a bit. Haven’t seen the tower yet.” You raise your eyebrow at him, gaze flicking to the redhead that walks past behind him, her eyes on you for a second before she looks away. Smile turning into a smirk he adds,“ you might just find a reason to stick around.”

* * * * * * *

Taglist: @owloftheshadows @natasha-danvers @yumusak-yastik

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natalia romanoff #natalia romanoff x you #black widow #black widow x reader #moment in time #reader insert

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jeontaeil-archived · 3 years

Text

a night full of surprises //

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

pairing: hyunjae x fem!reader

genre: smut, fem receiving, handjob, unprotected sex

words: 2.06k

warnings: 18+ content, read at your own discretion

summary: you reluctantly allow hyunjae to take you on a date. but what you don't expect is to end up having a very good time.

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

you were going on a date with hyunjae and it was making you extremely nervous. the only reason you had even agreed to it in the first place was because he'd been pestering you nonstop, asking you out at the most inappropriate occasions. you thought that giving him what he wanted would mean that he'd lay off you for a while. at least then your friends and parents wouldn't cast looks of disapproval on you.

it wasn't like you'd attracted hyunjae on purpose. you had no idea why he was going after a girl like you in the first place. you were quiet and studious, completely different from the type of girls he seemed interested in. but for some reason, hyunjae just couldn't set his sights away from you. maybe if he got a taste of how boring you were, he'd realise you weren't worth it.

hyunjae pulled up at your door, honking loudly so as to alert the entire neighbourhood that he was taking you out tonight. leaving the house, you put on the most genuine smile you could muster and got into his car. his eyes raked over your outfit, a simple skirt and blouse, smirking to himself slyly. though you may disagree, you had certainly dressed to impress.

he drove off, taking you to god knows where. you didn't bother asking, knowing that you'd most likely have no idea where the destination was even located. hyunjae didn't seem like the type who'd take you to a restaurant for a fancy dinner or something cute and cliche like that. honestly, you wouldn't be surprised if he landed you at some rave.

things were quiet between you two. no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't find the courage to speak first. you also had no idea what to say to him other than the obvious. luckily for you, he caught you glancing at him and smiled, deciding to spark up a conversation.

"so, what did you do today?" his question was normal. this caught you off guard. he was always so chaotic and excited. it was a surprise seeing him be so casual. you sighed and shrugged. "nothing much. i did some homework and then i spent most of the day wondering what i should wear," you answered. the last part wasn't true but he wouldn't know that so it didn't matter.

"well i think your outfit looks nice," he complimented, sounding sweet. you couldn't help but smile. "thank you."

hyunjae smiled back, keeping his eyes on the road. "aren't you curious to know where we're headed to?"

you shook your head. "no, not really. i can tell i've probably never been there anyway so what's the point?"

he seemed surprised by your words. it felt like your roles had reversed. hyunjae never recalled a time when you were so confident and outspoken. he liked seeing this side of you.

the only reason you were acting the way you were was because you felt comfortable. which was a bit odd considering the fact that you'd been dreading having to converse with him. hyunjae was really leading you to believe that your time with him would actually be worthwhile. you hoped the night would continue like this.

eventually, hyunjae made a turn onto a narrow off-road. it was a bumpy ride. he apologized and shared that the destination was just around the corner. soon enough, he pulled up into a small grove. hyunjae turned off the car and clapped his hands together.

"this is it," he revealed. you took in your surroundings, raising a brow in confusion. "you brought me to the middle of nowhere?"

he nodded, smiling expectantly. "i figured we could just talk and get to know each other better." you glanced at him, completely baffled. "really? i thought you lured me out here to fuck me." hyunjae snickered to himself and shrugged. "i mean if you're down then we could do that too." rolling your eyes, you shook your head and leaned back in the seat. "this isn't too bad. i like it."

just like that, hours passed. the sun had finally lowered beyond the horizon and the air had gotten a bit cooler. you had no clue how, but you were leaned over your seat, lips locked in a calm but heated kiss with hyunjae.

after you'd run out of topics of conversation, all you did was stare at each other with small smiles on your lips. it seemed there was nothing else to do except follow your instincts. his lips were soft, and his touch was gentle. every now and then he'd rub his thumb over your knee, making your skin tingle. hyunjae soon pulled away from you, a giddy smile on his face as he stared at your lips.

"do you wanna keep going?" he asked you, looking fairly expectant. you bit your lip and nodded. hyunjae gestured to the back seat with a smirk. you clambered into it while he simply entered through the door.

his lips were back on yours in a matter of seconds. this time he pushed you down on the seat, hovering over you. placing your hands on his chest, you let him lead the kiss. hyunjae's curious hands trailed over your thighs, coming dangerously close to your panties until his fingers eventually hooked into the thin material. he tugged them slightly, pulling away from you to ask if he could take them off. nodding quickly, you watched him peel them down your legs and toss them into the front seat. hyunjae spread your legs, eyes sparkling at the sight of your glistening core.

"fuck, your pussy's so pretty," he mumbled, licking his lips eagerly. smiling shyly, you tried to shut your legs again. "don't stare," you whined, not having the courage to look at his face. hyunjae giggled and toyed with your clit, just amazed at how cute and innocent you were.

"tell me y/n. have you ever been fucked in the back of a car?" he continued playing with your clit. you squirmed about, trying to process his questions. after a while you covered your face and whimpered. "only once, but it was really uncomfortable."

hyunjae hummed and caressed your thigh with his other hand. "that's a shame. i promise i'll make it worth it."

while he rubbed your clit with his thumb, he pushed your blouse up to your neck, tugging your bra down so that your breasts popped free. his fingers tweaked at your nipples, making you yelp softly.

"does this feel good," he asked, continuing to touch you? you nodded, still avoiding eye contact with him. "well do you want more?"

you did want more. but you were too embarrassed to admit it. somewhere hyunjae realised this and he chuckled to himself. "there's no need to be so shy. i promise i won't bite baby."

your heart skipped a beat that the nickname. you peeked at him from between your fingers, feeling bashful under his intense stare. he just couldn't get enough of you. he pried your hands away from your face and made you look at him. you could tell he was really enjoying the view.

your throat felt dry all of a sudden. it was like you couldn't speak, even if you wanted to. hyunjae seemed patient. he was still fully clothed and that made you feel singled out. so you presented your first request.

"i feel weird being the only naked one," you spoke, still feeling a bit awkward. hyunjae raised his brows, understanding what you meant. he smirked and tugged his shirt off. this was the only time you actually stared at him without shying away. you always knew he worked out but you never realised how effective it was until this moment.

hyunjae laughed at your reaction. "what else do you want?"

you hesitated, looking at him unsurely. "i don't wanna lay here doing nothing." you were too bashful to actually admit what you wanted to do.

hyunjae unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. he took your hand and brought it to his member. "you could help me out with this," he said, guiding your hand over himself. eventually, he let you do it yourself. once again, his eyes raked over your body as you very timidly stroked his cock. you felt so flustered that the only place you could look was at your hands. hyunjae didn't mind at all. he was too enticed by the sight of having you splayed out underneath him, touching him so lightly.

he squeezed the inside of your thigh and continued playing with your tits as you made him harden up completely within your grasp. he soon pulled out a condom from his back pocket and was about to rip it open before you stopped him.

"don't use that. i'm sure you've got a nice pull out game."

hyunjae swore he was gonna marry you. he couldn't believe you were actually asking him to just fuck you raw, that too when it was your first time hooking up with him. he tossed the condom aside gladly and pushed his tip into you.

your eyes squeezed shut immediately. he was definitely bigger than anyone you'd ever slept with before. it wasn't an easy fit but after a few tries, he finally managed to stretch you out just enough. still, hyunjae pulled out of you and made you watch him enter you once again.

"look how good you take it," he praised, pushing his cock back into you oh so slowly. you wouldn't lie, the sight was a lot to take in, quite literally as well. he bottomed out, holding onto the headrests above you.

he started bucking his hips into you, groaning at how awfully tight you were. everything he did had you squeezing your eyes shut so it came as no surprise to him that you weren't watching yourself getting fucked.

though loud, your moans were soft to the ears. your hands rested aimlessly at your side. hyunjae took your hand in his and simply held it as he fucked you. his thumb came to your clit, unable to resist touching you somewhere.

"oh hyunjae," you cried out, throwing your head back in ecstasy. he held your thigh with his other hand, still continuing to caress your velvety skin.

hyunjae soon pulled out of you and flipped you around, making you get on your hands and knees. he rubbed his cock at your slick folds before pushing back into you. it was hard to remain steady in the cramped space. you put your hands on the window and let one of your legs touch the floor of the car. hyunjae pulled your hips back on his cock, groaning in satisfaction. fucking you felt so numbing. he wouldn't say you were easy to please, but you were. the longer he fucked you the more it felt like he was wrapped up in this blanket of unyielding pleasure and he loved it.

"god, can you go faster please?" you were starting to feel your orgasm approaching. hyunjae silently accepted your request and began pounding into you quickly. your hands gave way, chest falling to the seat. hyunjae grunted, now able to fuck you harder and deeper. his fingers clawed at your ass, needing to dig into something. you moaned hazily, feeling a little dizzy now that you could tell your orgasm was about to hit.

hyunjae snapped his hips up into you before sending you straight to your climax. he continued fucking you, this time faster as he too was nearing his own high. crying in delight, you let out a string of curses. hyunjae snapped his hips into you yet again, sharp thrusts pushing him to his high. he was quick to pull out of you and empty his seed onto your ass. you wished you could have witnessed the scene.

he pulled your skirt back down and paused to tidy himself up. you did the same, returning to your original state.

"i never thought you'd be down to fuck on the first date. you seem like the type who likes to take things slow," he admitted. you smiled and shook your head. "i mean, usually that's how things would be. but with you, i just couldn't resist."

hyunjae smirked. "you must like me more than you let on."

your eyes widened slightly. "yeah, maybe i do."

･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･⋆ ･･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆

#hyunjae smut #the boyz smut #hyunjae imagines #hyunjae scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz scenarios #kpop smut #ficscafe #kpop-script #kpopscape

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sabraeal · 2 years

Text

All That Remains, Chapter 10: The Flower Garden of the Woman Who Could Conjure [Part 7]

[Read on AO3]

Obiyuki Trope Madness 2022, Semifinal #2: I Will Find You

There is romance in the escape, is there not? Fear as well-- so much, enough to choke even you, though you are not the one running. To fly is to risk being caught, to chance a worse fate, to hold your heart in your hands and watch it crushed beneath the heady weight of your hopes.

A risk it may be, but for the greatest reward: freedom. You watch our girl run; you cheer for her to go faster, farther, to break free of the magic of this garden. The grass is greener on the other side, the water sweeter, the universe far more kind.

But that is but another illusion, a story we will tell ourselves again and again and never grow tired. We must believe it: there is a light at the end of the tunnel, an end to our suffering, a better place beyond this one.

Because without it, we will never leave.

Anger nips at Shirayuki’s heels, driving her feet faster and faster, until the portraits begin to blur. Not a hundred pairs of Wisteria blue reaching back into history, but a single gaze, heavy as a hand on her neck. Her slippers stumble beneath it, tumbling her to a stop.

A portrait glares down at her; a king who sits on his throne as if it were made of swords, his face half in shadow from the weight of his brow. Not one of the shining sun kings Clarines is known for, nor even a forefather of Izana’s frigid reputation. No, his is a brutal face, craggy as a mountainside, like the ones painted of the Northern lords of old.

Kain Wisteria, the plaque reads, Regnant. And the dates after it--

You read it, huh? It’s horrifying that he can smile over it, even now. That her Zen, a boy who shines as bright as the sun, can find joy in his own suffering. Because suffer he did; it’s all right here, in Garak’s too-familiar chick scratch. You should know, that’s all over and done with.

She does, she does; it sits stark in back and white, impersonal on the page. No hint of how this was done to a child, how he must have screamed and cried and called for someone, anyone to help him. Did you know about it?

Sure. He shrugs, so easy, like he didn’t court death on purpose. Like he didn’t look it in the eye and live, over and over. It’s about me, isn’t it?

That’s not what she wants to ask, what words are tearing at her throat to fly free. Why? she wants to say, she wants to scream. Why would you do this to yourself?

People do strange thing for fear, Garak tells her, later. Unprompted, a simple aside as she partitions out doses, taking an envelop in her own long fingers and holding it open for Shirayuki to fill. And they do even more unforgivable things for love--

Shirayuki’s hand reaches out, reaches up, stretching toward an unfamiliar brow, towards a king no courtier will speak of. Careful, Eisetsu had murmured once, his hand gentle on her back as she stepped into the carriage. Even the sun has to cast shade.

“Is that who you are?” she murmurs to the man she will never know. “Zen’s shadow?”

“Shirayuki!”

Her feet scuttle back, shuffling beneath her, prepared to break into a run. But there’s no need, not when the man who rounds the corner is nearly as tall as the knight’s armor in it. “Mitsuhide.”

“Please,” he pants, breath heaving as he approaches. “Wait a-- oh. You aren’t running.”

You’re not Zen. It’s on the tip of her tongue, but she cannot decide whether it is an observation or an accusation. “Is there a reason I should be?”

“N-no!” He flushes, not just from exertion. “I’m not going to bring you back. Not if you don’t want to.”

His tone makes it clear he’s hopeful she will. That he believes there is a reason good enough to explain away what’s been done. “I don’t.”

“I know that you--” he flounders beneath her steady gaze-- “you must be...hurt? That Zen didn’t tell you his reasons for stopping the search. But you have to see that--”

Her hand flies up between them, his excuses stuttering to a stop. “It’s not about his reasons.”

Mitsuhide blinks, a hound confused at an empty bowl. “It’s not?”

“No.” Her breath broadens the set of her shoulders; small she might be, but right now a lance could glance her shoulder, like they did at tourneys of old, and she wouldn’t sway an inch. “No reason is good enough for him to have abandoned Obi. I’m disappointed. That this is what he decided...and that all of you let him, like Obi...like he never mattered to you.”

He stumbles a whole step back, hand clutched to his chest as if she took her hand to him rather than her words. There’s a storm brewing on his brow as he rights himself, as foreign as a tornado tearing through hilltops. An expression that hardly belongs on a face so friendly as his.

“Of course Obi matters.” His hands fist at his side, cracking as he forces his fingers straight. “But I respect him as a fellow knight, and my...my friend. If he said--”

“Did he say?” Desperation turns her voice into a stranger. “Did he tell you he meant to go? That you couldn’t come after him, because he chose to...to...”

Mitsuhide is made of mercy; it’s no surprise he gives it to her, even now. “No,” he murmurs, so soft. “He didn’t. But I know how it feels to watch the person that you...”

His lips press together; even with the secret unleashed, running rampant through all their minds, he won’t give Obi up further. It’s frustrating to see so much loyalty, and yet have it be so misplaced.

“But would you have left her?” Shirayuki takes a step toward him, her fingers knotted down to the bone. “If Kiki had married Hisame, would you have left?”

His reply is faster than thought. “Never.”

“Never?”

“I have my duty.” His shoulders tense, torn by even the ghosts of what could have been. “But if she had married him, I could never have-- oh.”

Terrible realization dawns in his dark eyes, old shadows ushered out at the same time new ones roll in. “I never could have left, because I would have wanted to be there for her. Even if I couldn’t have her. That’s why I...”

Mitsuhide’s hands are broad, callused; the kind that seem strong even in repose. One of them rises now, wrapping around the horror his own mouth has unleashed. Right here, in the steady lamplight of Wistal’s halls, a man so big has never seemed so small.

“You see it now, don’t you?” She’s steely and soft all at once, a bludgeon wrapped in silk. “Why I can’t believe he wanted to go?”

“No.” It’s muffled by his hand, but the way slight way he stakes his head. “No...”

Her hand comes, resting gently on his arm, as warm and safe as it has ever been.

“I won’t stay mad forever, Mitsuhide, I know that. But I...” She licks her lips, letting the motion ground her. “But I don’t think I can stay here either. Not when he needs me.”

A story makes an escape trim and lean: an adventure with a clear end, a decision with a clear reason, a question with an easy answer. It is obvious, inevitable from the first doubt. It is unrelenting, a race from the the first step to the last. There is no room for guessing or for second thoughts, only the ceaseless beat of words upon the page, the rising crescendo of strings, tense and finite.

But flight is never a whim of the moment, a convenient suitcase at the door. No, the decision in itself is a journey, one full of stumbles, of pitfalls. Of dollars beneath a mattress, of a pack hidden in the depths of the closet. It is nights filled with tossing and turning, of wondering what comes next-- or more terrible, what comes after.

Jump, we say, knowing that there are pages more to go, that we can but skim to better times. Run, for there are miles to go before your tale is finished. Hope, because for you, happiness is only a finger’s width away.

That is what stories steal from these leave-takings: the unknowing.

Her clothes are cloying in the confines of her chambers.

The lace at her neck chafes, chewing angry marks onto her throat. Love bites, Obi laugh once, peeling the offending fabric from her skin, only you could get them the un-fun way, Miss.

Her fingers sneak between flesh and fabric, holding it away, giving herself room to breathe, to think. She can see her skirts pacing in the mirror, a susurration of silken whispers as she walks. Mitsuhide had let her go, but she imagines him just outside her door, wondering what secrets they would whisper to him--

She stills. In the silvered glass, a stranger looks out at her. Who is she, this woman in taffeta and lace? This woman who wears pearls as clasps and sees it as simple, as plain? Whose skin is only spotted by the imperceptible faults of silver.

It shouldn’t be her. She is not satin shoes and mother-of-pearl buttons, nor carnelian combs and perfect politesse. No, she is made of loam, a tall stalk waving in the wind; a tincture titrated in a lab, the soft burble of a beaker at boil, a seed wrapped in stone and left to shine.

You lack the practical knowledge of what you are asking. Her hand fists in the fabric, wrinkles tickling her palm. The title of princess is not just decoration.

And yet she had nearly become one, trying to be the woman expected of her. All it had taken was simple shift from implicit to explicit. Not a promise itself, but a promise of a promise.

Sacrifice should be expected of a lady, Mihoko creaked at her once, opinion as final as a slammed door. And a princess must be prepared to give all.

Haki had rolled her eyes, had given a subtle sigh when Her Ladyship’s back had been turned, but-- but--

It’s Mihoko who spoke rightly in the end. She had given up everything for this chance-- the pharmacy, the gardens, her life’s work; everything that had given her joy or purpose. And in the end, she had lost herself, lost even--

Her fingers clench again, but this time they tug, they tear, until eyes pop from their hooks, until taffeta and lace fall to the floor and all that is left is Shirayuki. Trembling, perhaps, but whole.

She will not lose one more thing. Not this time.

No flight begins from a stand still. Even the smallest sparrow creates their own lift from nothing, filling themselves with terrible potential before they take to the skies, free and safe. Quick to the eye, but to the body itself-- a cost, like any other.

Obi never taught her the trick of traveling between balconies.

Trying to steal my job already, Miss? he laughed, his smile crinkling his eyes, the way it did when she’d truly surprised him. It’ll only make it harder if I have to worry about you scurrying about the castle where folks can’t see.

But what if I need to see you? It was an innocent question, a worry she’d chewed over in the hours since Tanbarun. A concern that had only grown more pressing when Eisetsu had sent him off after the ball, all on his own, right into the arms of Bergatt.

It’s only now that she understands the rictus of his grin, the humor frozen in the corners of his mouth. But, Miss, he hummed, so warm it set her cheeks to burning, it’s my job to come to you.

Her boot slips on the rail, it’s tread worn thin through a dozen gardens, a hundred roads. It would take a single step to make it to Obi’s balcony, to avoid the potential princess being seen sneaking into the abandoned chambers of her half-tamed knight. It would take a more careless one for more than her hopes to be dashed on the ground below.

What if you can’t. She only ever saw his worse wounds after they healed, that scar from Sereg puffy and pink but speaking of careful-- and long term-- attention. What if--

Don’t worry, he said so easily, as if she could ever stop. I’ll always be at your side. What did I say? Wherever you go, I’ll follow.

“Liar.” The word sobs out on a breath, all her tears already shed. Still, she rubs at her eyes, knuckles coming away wet. “Liar.”

It’s not Obi’s skill she uses to traverse the gulf between, but her own; the ones she honed as a child climbing down the decorative trellis beneath her window, or shimmying up the forest’s trees. She stares down at the toes of her boots as they settle beneath her, straight like a knife buried in a block, and thinks of the blind faith she once had in herself, the trust she had that her small body would sling her between the wooden posts that crossed the reservoir. And when she takes her step--

She lands, right on Obi’s balcony.

So it is with little girls. They must prepare themselves, must take their small hops, their small flaps, must fill themselves with the terrible to fuel their flight. A kite needs a running start to ride the winds, and little girls--

Ah, well, there are two ways for them. Some only need a push.

Obi never taught her how to pick a lock either; at least, not with the ease he had. Obi could stroll up to a keyhole and convince it to open with the barest twist of his wrist, or cajole a set of french doors to swing wide with only a barest insinuation, but for Shirayuki-- even if she got to her knees, even if she used every pin in her hair, not a single tumbler would move.

A good thing, then, that the handle warms beneath her palm, turning with the gentlest twist.

Shirayuki stares, bone stark against polished brass. It’s open. Obi had left the door to his own personal chambers unlocked. Her stomach gives a sick lurch, a free fall towards her toes, just like it had at the tower. Only now, as she crosses the threshold, there is no one left to jump in after her.

Stale air chokes her; there’s no scent to it, nothing left to molder, but still it smells...undisturbed. Stifling almost; an attic in the dog days of summer, though with none of the heat. No, it’s cool in here, not even the dust the slightest bit scattered and it’s-- it’s--

It’s exactly as Obi left it. Bed made with the crispness of the castle’s staff, untouched. After all, it’s not as if he’d slept in it that night. Not when she’d told him--

Her eyes close, hand blindly gripping for his chair. There’s no point in thinking of that now. That his pens are still in their haphazard scatter across his desk, that his papers are all left so neatly, held down by a book he’d surely never used for anything but its weight-- no guards had been in here. For all of Zen’s assurances, he hadn’t even stretched himself this much.

Anger seethes in her veins, just beneath the thin cover of her skin, but she takes a breath, letting it cool. That’s why she’s here, after all. If this had all been done, if Zen had done as he promised-- well, perhaps more than this would be different. But instead she is on the precipice-- no, at the edge of a tower, wondering if she should jump.

After all, Zen’s knife was not the only message Obi left. Ryuu had his seed as well. Broken promises both, his failures in physical form. But for her--

Nothing. No apology, no acknowledgement. Only silence. Perhaps, after all these years, she deserved it.

But she doubts Obi would agree.

Shirayuki crouches, the parquet hard beneath her knees. The carpet by his bedside lays flat, not a single tassel out of place, but she knows better. Obi thought he was so clever, but she’d been an only child in an old house, a girl filled to the brim with stories of secret passages and hidey-holes. If he thinks a carpet kept her from knowing about his cache from the kitchen, or the bag he kept packed with them-- well, she saw no reason to tell him.

The board prises loose beneath the barest application of a finger to it’s edge, or it least it did to one that knew the trick of it. She sets it aside, heart in her throat, but--

But there’s nothing there. He took everything.

And other little girls...they must fall.

Tears sting her eyes as her finger brush the empty boards below, only dust rising to meet them. No, he didn’t take everything.

Her breath catches in her throat, the same way her fingers catch in a fist. He kept it.

Blood trickles down a breast; it soaks into cloth with each ragged gasp. That is where stories leave us between their lines: alone and bleeding, the sword beside us. When next it find us, all this will be far behind us, merely backstory for what happens after.

But that is not the important part is it? No, that would be the terrible breaths between. The moment in which one stares at the edge coated in their own life’s blood and wonder, shall I turn my back on it, or shall I put it back in?

A hand reaches out, trembling. What would it be like to choose neither? To instead take this weakness and wield it.

Fingers grip, pale against the hilt. Suffer not a weapon left in the enemy’s grasp.

The spathe flutters from her ankle as the little girl runs, hard stones pounding beneath the soles of her feet. Her gaze is fixed at the gate, and no matter how the path warps, or how the garden grows, she keeps running, one step after another. Endless, like swimming a river upstream, fighting a current she cannot see or feel until--

Until reality snaps back to sensibility, the gate but an arm’s reach away. What had from a distance looked solid, wrought of iron and impossible to break, is now a sad thing, rusted and hung crooked on its hinges. Fastened shut it may be, but when she raised a hand to its lock, it flakes away, staining her palms.

And older woman might wonder at that, might dwell on what it says that one is marred by their circumstance even in leaving them, but--

But our girl is too young for such things. When the gate swings open, she flees, the wide world opening around her.

It is so easy for children to take such chances.

No, it is easy for us to tell them to. Stick a toe in that pond, child, the water is only cold when you first get in. You’ll get used to it in time. It will be warm once it is familiar.

Eat that, it’s good for you. You have never seen it before, never tasted such a thing on your tongue, but trust will make it sweet. Watch me, child, let me go before you. Delicious. A flavor you will anticipate for days to come, all you need is to take your first bite.

Run, we say, there is something better waiting for you on the other side. All a little girl need to do is reach out, to grab it. There will be someone on the other side, waiting to catch her.

It would be practical to wait. No, it would be prudent to play princess for another day longer, maybe even two or three. Enough for suspicions to ease, for everyone to believe Shirayuki would keep on as she had. To convince themselves that when she had said, I won’t give up, it had been yet another promise she meant to break, an oath she had no intention to see through.

But no second thoughts, no cunning plans slow her hands. For she knows that with each moment she lingers, each hour she pretends to be content with her life within these shining walls is another that brings it closer to being truth. Her anger spurs her now, but should she let it cool, should she let the words of those she well-loves sing in her ears--

Well, she already turned her back on him once. To test herself again, to rely on her better judgement when it failed her so spectacularly-- unnecessary.

The last of her clothes packed-- the ones that would survival travel, the ones she came with only months ago, the only ones to her name-- she reaches blindly for the top drawer. There’s no reason for it; she knows that there’s nothing there, not for outside the palace, but still--

Her hands brush over a wooden box. Precious stones cut against her fingers, and even without opening it, she pictures the treasure inside. Mother of pearl, carved jade, gold and silver pieces wrought as thin as wire; a small fortune.

The edges dig into the flesh of her knuckles. Perhaps she is not quite done with this place after all.

The little girl has read all the tales: it is foolish to look back. But still, still-- she cannot shake the eyes on her back, nor the niggling idea that she has forgotten something most important, most precious.

She looks back once.

The consort is at dinner.

The moon is high in the sky, but Haki will be at her seat for hours more, conversing with those nobles that jockey to jostle royal elbows. At Tanbarun’s court, Raj’s father had barely stayed a few minutes past desert-- but there were few who were as diligent as Clarine’s king and queen. They wouldn’t leave until every dish was cleared and every concern aired, and when they returned--

Ah, well, Shirayuki had learned well enough that Haki did not always make it all the way back to her rooms. And with no consort to protect, there is only one drowsing guard on duty, one who is far more concerned about staying upright than the girl in the white coat scurrying past. He waves her on with a snort, only saying, “Leave it on the table.”

Her smile freezes on her lips. “I’ll only take a moment.”

A promise that is easy to keep; there’s no paper-wrapped parcel on the table now, but it is easy-- too easy-- to place her own there. The mother of pearl shines in the moonlight.

“Thank you,” she tells the empty room, an easier audience than for whom the message is meant, “but I won’t be needing these anymore.”

Her touch lingers, tracing the shimmering petals. They look nearly liquid in the moonlight, small glistening ponds carved out of the earth around them. “I think maybe...I never did.”

There is nothing behind her, nothing but a garden overgrown and gate rusting a pieces. A broken illusion, made all the sadder for the seeming.

In front of her is a hill, not steep but treacherous at night, the sort filled with little hidey holes to turn a girl’s ankle. At least, if she wasn’t careful. This little girl might not have shown much of that lately, but now, now-- it’s different.

And yet, as she picks her way down the hillside, she cannot shake that feeling. That sense of something missing, that sense of something watching.

She looks back twice.

An arm bars her path when she takes the turn to the royal offices, but it’s a familiar smile that greets her. Kai’s eyes dance as he tells her, “He’s not there, my lady.”

“Ah...” A part of her is relieved; to explain this to Zen in person would take more anger than her body could hold, and she cannot waver, not again. But yet, an equal one is disappointed, still hoping that perhaps this was all just a misunderstanding, that only a few minutes’ honest conversation could set this all to right--

But the dagger had been sheathed so casually at his hip, as if it had never left. If she had not seen it, if she had allowed her eyes to glossy over it familiar shape--

Ah, it is not so simple as that. Nothing between them ever will be again. But hope is, as ever, the hardest thing to smother, even a flame as small as this. “He isn’t?”

Kai shakes his head, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “Sir Mitsuhide had him out of there not an hour past. Said that maybe a few hours sleep might set him all to rights.”

It’s an effort to suppress the urge to go to him, to hold his hands in hers and work through all this together. She clenches them inside, hiding them in the pockets of her skirt. “Is that so?”

“He musta gotten into it with Lady Kiki,” he tells her, as if all this were some joke, just one of their usual disagreements, destined to be solved by morning. “When I came on duty she flew out of there like the floor was made of coals, muttering all sorts of things, if you can believe it.”

She can’t, not with the way Kiki stood so silent, so still, just hours ago. How when she needed her most-- when Obi needed her most, she--

Shirayuki teeth clack into a smile. “You don’t say?”

Kai looks down at her, guileless, and asks, “Are you going to go see if you can catch him, my lady, or--?”

“No, no, I just...” Her fingers clench, knuckles knocking into cool metal. They unfurl, wrapping around rounded edge, each tick and tock matching the steady beat of her own heart. They had been that way too, once; in sync. “I just wanted to leave something here for him. For tomorrow.”

There’s not a hint of suspicion as he steps aside, waving her through. “Go right on ahead then, my lady. I’m sure it’ll make his day.”

She thumbs the crown, feeling it twist ever so slightly between her touch. “I certainly hope it will make him think of me.”

The door swings open easily beneath her hand, leading to the dark office beyond. By the time it shuts, she is trembling.

“Please, understand,” she whispers as she pulls out the drawer, arrowhead still in its glass case. The watch settles in beside it as if it were always made to be there, two betrayals framed side by side. “That’s all I want. For you all to understand.”

Scree scrabbles beneath her feet, and the little girl realizes: they are bare. Her precious red shoes are inside still, tucked beneath her bed. It’s too late to turn back, too late to have second thoughts or second chances, but--

She looks back a third time.

In Lilias, the pharmacy never closes. Just like the guard, pharmacists were expect to take the odd night shift, fielding the mortal and mundane in equal measure. But here in Wistal, its doors shut soon after the evening bell, herbalists roused from their own beds should there be a need in the early hours.

And yet still, light limns Ryuu’s door, the lamp burning bright from inside. A mind that never sleeps, Shidan had said once, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth as Obi lifted Lilias’ smallest scholar, but the body must.

She half expects to find him beneath his desk, curled up as he had years ago, only the flutter of a curtain to betray him. But he’s too big for that now; taller than even Obi when he forgets to slouch. And so when she walks in, those pale eyes find her, blue as the Wisteria colors. A thought he’d hate, if he could hear her think it.

“Shirayuki,” he says, almost as if he can’t believe she’s there. “Why...?”

There’s nothing in her pockets for him; the hairpin he picked for is her lost now, taken from it’s place. But that-- that hardly matters. It’s not a promise she’s here to break, after all. Not when she already crushed so many in her carelessness.

“I’m leaving,” she tells him, and suddenly, it’s real. “I’m leaving.”

His mouth falls open, gaze scrabbling over the cut of her dress-- yes, for once, her dress; one with pockets and raised hems and fabric meant to be dirtied. “But...why...?”

“Obi left.” The words sting her lips as they leave them. “But I’m going after him. I wanted to-- to--”

Say goodbye.

“I’ll come with you.” There’s no hesitation, his eyes flickering over jars and books and samples. “Just give me an hour, no two, and I can--”

“No.” She shakes her head, tearing from the effort. “You have to stay here.”

“But--”

“You’re the Head Pharmacist now.” By the sudden slump of his shoulders, he hardly needs the reminder. “The people here need you.”

“So does Obi,” he insists, though it’s weaker, less sure. “So do you.”

“We do.” It’s easy to close the space between them, to wrap his too-large hands with her smaller ones, casting shadows over his papers. “I do. But that’s why you have to stay. There always has to be someone to come home to, doesn’t there?”

His eyes widen, and oh, he’s never looked more like a child than this moment. “You’ll come back?”

“When I find him,” she promises, though she can’t imagine it. There’s too many ifs between then and now, too many maybes, but this time, this time-- she means to keep her word. “When I find him, I’ll come back.”

We are not children, you and I. We know that we do not live stories; that life is more than crescendo to climax, from falling action to denouement. That when a door opens, there is no easy answer on the other side, no better life ready-made for a girl to slip into, like her favorite pair of red shoes.

No, there is nothing there that we do not make for ourselves, that is not the blood of our body and the sweat off our back and the tears from our own sorrow. What lays on the other side is the chance but to make it, our hands bleeding from the hard work of carving our own destiny.

But it is better than having stayed.

Obi never taught her to run away.

Not that Shirayuki ever needed help with that anyway. She knows full well the art of leaving everything behind, of abandoning all her worldly possessions with hardly more than a glance over her shoulder and regret knotted deep in her heart. To do it again is hard, harder than she ever imagined it could be, but-- at least this time, she doesn’t have a prince hot on her heels.

Yet. Hard to say how long that’ll last, though.

This time too, she has resources. Last time she wore out the soles of her boots walking, but this time, this time-- a horse nickers in its stall.

“C’mon, girl,” she whispers, brushing a quick hand over a silver flank. “Just stand still.”

Shirayuki isn’t fluid in horse, but she’s pretty sure it rolls its eyes. It certainly shies away from her, favoring her with a dubious snort.

She hefts up the saddle, staggering under its weight. “I just have to get this one you! So if you don’t move--”

“All these years with Obi,” an amused voice drawls from behind her. “And he’s never taught you how to steal a horse.”

Shirayuki spins on her heel, and across the straw, she meets Kiki’s amused gaze.

When the little girl slows to catch her breath, it’s the snowdrop that catches her eye, lingering out of season. An impossibility with the way the air cools around her, but still, still-- magic makes all things possible. And she is not too far from the sorceress and her guardian.

She approaches, wary. They are unobtrusive; in the garden they had been lost beneath the brighter, louder blooms, but they grew even still, undaunted by the crowd around them. Snowdrops are known to be hardy, these ones already firmly entrenched in the soil, though they can’t have been growing long. Stalwart, even with their fragile beauty.

The little girl has always liked them. In her village, to find one before the snow melt was a sign of luck, a blessing born from cold misfortune. Every year, it would be her that found the first bloom, hidden beneath her window or tucked against the stoop. The luckiest girl in the whole world, her neighbors would laugh.

At least they did, until she lost her boy.

“Ah...” Shirayuki shuffles back, putting more space between them. At least, until the wall rises to meet her back, and ah yes, she’s only trapped instead. “Obi doesn’t really like horses.”

Kiki sighs, detaching from the shadows with a roll of her eyes. She’s dressed in black, the way she never is, hands gloved and sword strapped to her side.

Her strong hands lift, taking the saddle from her, dropping it back to the rail. “Kiki--”

Slowly, purposefully, Kiki plucks up a brush, skimming it over the mare’s back.

“You have to clean them first,” she says, stern. “And then you can worry about the tack.”

She’s not sure why the first thing she thinks to say is, “But I did.”

Kiki snorts. “You didn’t. I was watching you.”

There’s not much to say to that. Or rather there’s too much to say, too much between them to start, unless she means to be here all night.

“I can do it,” she says finally, holding out her hand for the brush.

“No.” Kiki doesn’t even bother to look as she moves, motions swift, efficient, and yet strangely gentle. “I know what I’m doing.”

Do you mean to bring me back? the little girl asks, barely more than a whisper. I will not let you.

I do not, the snowdrop sighs, I will not.

The little girl crouches, heart in her throat. Then do you know where my boy is? My precious one?

“Um...” Shirayuki casts about for something to say, for something to do besides watch Kiki calmly, methodically tack a horse. “What are you doing?”

She hesitates, arching a brow. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

“You...” Her mouth is dry, hope choking her harder than her anger ever did. “You can’t stop me from leaving.”

The snowdrop does not shy, does not wilt, but she does sway, the wind moving her in its grasp.

I do not, the snowdrop tells her, I am but one flower, and out of season. Even if I called to all my brothers, all my sisters, they would be sleeping beneath the earth.

Then why, the girl sobs, tears welling when they should be well spent, why have you come?

“I know.” Kiki’s face is placid, a lake the moment before the stone lands. “I don’t mean to try.”

“Oh.” She shuffles, boots scuffing against the wooden floor. “I...good.”

“There’s no point.” Kiki makes short work of the saddle, poking the mare’s belly as she says, “I’m coming with you.”

I may be only one flower, the snow drops says, confident for such a small thing. But if you put me behind your ear, then we could go together.

I do not understand. She does, she does, but oh there is nothing more terrifying than hope.

If you but put me behind your ear, the snow drop says, shyly now, then you would not have to go out in this world alone.

Shirayuki stares. “What...?”

“A princess can’t be without her knight, can she? I may not be the one you’re used to--” her smile curls ruefully in the dark--“ but I promise, I’m far more competent.”

“But...” Her mouth works, trying to form a thought. Why is the only one that comes to mind, and even she is not innocent enough to believe Kiki would answer it. “I...”

Thank you, would be the polite response, the one that would have sprung from her first, before anything else. But even now she sees Kiki as she was in Zen’s office, silent and stoic, turning away when she sought support.

“I’ve always found,” she says, voice trembling, “that Obi has his advantages.”

Kiki’s smile breaks away into a grin. “Well, there’s no accounting for taste.”

The little girl plucks the snowdrop from its roots, weaving her stem into her hair. Petals tickle the shell of her ear, and for the first time she smiles. Will this not hurt you, to be taken from your ground?

Worry not, the little flower tell her. For just as sorceresses, little girls have magic all their own.

The girl nods, careful not to jostle her flower. Her grandmother had told her the same, long long ago, and she saw no cause to doubt it now. With hands on her hips, she stands tall, even as her toes curl with cold. The summer is gone and faded for the land; the colors now come from the trees, littering their leaves on the land.

Oh, how I have wasted my time, the little girl sighs with despair. It is autumn. I have no more time to rest.

Kiki boosts her up into the saddle, silver shying beneath her weight. “You understand, don’t you?” she murmurs into the flank of this horse. “What all this might cost when it’s over?”

Shirayuki blinks down, and for the first time, she notices the thick wool of Kiki’s jacket. The night presses in, cold against her cheeks. The last time she saw Obi, even muslin had felt stifling.

“Whatever it is,” she replies, barely able to lift her voice above a whisper, “losing Obi would be worse.”

Kiki stills, her hand pressed against the mare. “That’s not what I was asking,” she says slowly, carefully, “but I suppose that’s an answer in and of itself.”

“You still mean to come with me?”

Her hand moves, placing itself with a comforting heft just above her knee. In the dark, Kiki’s eyes shine, just as hard as the sapphires on Haki’s coronet. “I owe you that much.”

She steps away, a breath shuddering out of her. “And him too.”

For that is the truth of it, is it not? We must make our own destinies, carving them from our bodies like the most bloodiest births, but when we do--

Ah, when we learn to stand up for ourselves, that is when others learn to stand beside us too.

#obiyukimadness22 #obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #trope: i will find you #All That Remains #snow queen au #my fic #ans #'it'll only be 4K' i said #'it'll be one of the short chapters'#and here we are 6K later #And finally. FINALLY. we are done with this part #and onto The Prince and the Princess #ONLY ABOUT FIVE CHAPTERS AFTER I THOUGHT WE WOULD BE

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seriouslysnape · 3 years

Text

One of Those Days

Draco Malfoy x Hufflepuff! Reader

Warnings: Language.

Request: hi!!! I’d love to see one where it’s Draco x a female Hufflepuff reader who had a rough day of classes and just wants comfort so lots of tooth rotting fluff pls thank u🥺love your writing! @thatsassyhufflepuff

Word Count: 2,871

“Today was terrible.”

Academics at Hogwarts aren’t exactly meant to be a walk in the park. It takes lots of repeated practice and skill to master the materials taught to young students. Every wizard and witch is unique in that they each have a subject that speaks to them and is easiest to them. For someone like Neville Longbottom, the ins and outs of Herbology always seemed to suit him best. The famous Harry Potter always had a knack for Defense Against the Dark Arts. For Hermione Granger....well, everything seemed to come easy to her.

But even someone as academically gifted as Hermione had days where classes were just impossible to bear.

Your day had already gotten off on the wrong foot when you woke up almost fifteen minutes late for your first class because your alarm clock didn’t go off for some mysterious reason. You always set your alarm for the same exact time every single day (even on weekends) and of course it decided not to go off on a day where you had Advanced Potions first period.

You had stayed the night with Draco in his single prefect room, so it was even worse that you still had to make a mad dash to the Hufflepuff tower to get ready for the day. Draco had been abruptly stirred from his peaceful sleep when you leapt out of bed to grab your stuff, and he whined out when he suddenly didn’t have his favorite girl to snuggle with.

Despite his pleas and begs, you declined him cuddles and rushed out of his room before you totally missed Potions all together.

At least if it had been Herbology or Transfiguration, you could’ve convinced Professor Sprout or McGonagall to let it slide considering you were almost never late or missed a class.

Trying to plead your innocence to Professor Snape was a whole different matter.

“Ah, Miss [L/N],” Snape’s voice bellowed out when you came rushing into the Potions classroom, barely even dressed; “I’m very pleased that you found time to allow Potions into your schedule.”

Usually the other students in the class might snicker at someone else being called out by the Potions master, but based on how no one dared to even glance at you, you got the notion that you weren’t the only one having a rough morning. You snagged your usual seat, setting your bag down and unpacking your materials as quickly as possible to make up for lost time.

“I’m sorry, Professor. I just overslept.” You muttered, sitting awkwardly at your desk.

Snape let out a hum of disapproval, looking your disheveled frame over. He turned his attention back to the class as a whole.

“As I was saying: since none of you successfully completed the homework reading, I see no choice but to assign a quiz.” He announced.

Your head shot up from its lowered position, your jaw falling open slightly.

Your class of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws erupted into scattered groans and complaints, knowing good and well that they were about to botch this quiz. Snape was a man of his word, producing a ridiculously hard quiz and putting it forth in front of everyone. The quiz was insanely difficult and the questions were so specific that you weren’t even sure if you would have been able to do well even if you HAD read the reading.

You answered the best you could and at least made an attempt to give some kind of answer for each question. That couldn’t be said for everyone in class, however. You were pretty sure you spotted Padma Patil turning in a blank quiz. The rest of the class period was dull and hazy, everyone depressed knowing that they had just tanked a critical grade.

While you were the last one into the classroom, you made it a point to be the first one out. While Potions had put a damper on the start to your day, you were hopeful that the rest of the day would be smooth sailing.

You couldn’t have been any more wrong.

You had Charms with Flitwick next, and even though you were right on time, you just couldn’t seem to do well. You couldn’t produce a single spell correctly, and if you did produce a spell, it was completely the wrong one. By the end of class, you had accidentally casted a Colovaria charm on Cedric Diggory, turning him a deep shade of purple. While the purple adorned his black and yellow robes nicely, purple was definitely not his color.

Professor Flitwick was able to return Cedric back to his normal skin shade, but you were far humiliated at that point. Cedric, being the gentleman that he was, brushed it off as if you hadn’t just almost permanently stained his complexion. Cedric (aside from Draco) was your best friend, and so he wouldn’t mind being the color of a grape at the hands of you.

“Bad day for you too, huh?” Cedric asked as you exited Charms, checking the back of his hand once more to make sure he didn’t change colors again.

“Yeah. I just can’t seem to get it together today.” You admitted, rubbing your temples in hopes of relieving your oncoming headache.

Cedric nodded as he walked with you to your next class.

“You’re not the only one. I heard that Luna accidentally changed Lavender into a caterpillar in Transfiguration. Not a pretty sight apparently.” Cedric told you.

You shuddered at the thought. You could only imagine what choice words Lavender had to say when she was back in human form. While you were relieved that you weren’t the only one having a whirlwind of a day, it didn’t make things any easier.

In Herbology, you dropped and shattered one of Professor Sprout’s favorite plant pots, and while she assured you it was fine, you were sure that you saw her almost shed a tear over the lost pottery. You apologized profusely, but nothing really seemed to make her feel better.

DADA was your final class of the day, and it wasn’t exactly a winner either. While nothing exactly went wrong, you did receive your latest essay grade and it was less than a passing grade. You weren’t the only one who failed it, because you noticed several papers marked with a huge red “F” at the top. Your spirit had been broken for the day along with many others, and you were thanking whoever was listening that you had the weekend to recover.

Dinner was unusually quiet at all the House tables. Everyone seemingly kept their heads down and voices low as everyone ate a decent meal. You sat at the very end of the table with your head in your hand as you picked around at what was on your plate. You didn’t have much of an appetite after the day you had. Your mood was rather sour and damper, and you wanted nothing more than to go back to your dorm and crawl into bed to sleep off this horrible school day.

But it was a Friday, and you almost always stayed with Draco in his room on weekends. If nothing else, you could hopefully get a little loving from your Slytherin boyfriend.

You dragged yourself to his room, silently praying that nothing else went wrong between your commute from The Great Hall to his dorm. You felt like you had a dark cloud hovering and following you around, which was not normal behavior at all. Draco wasn’t back yet, but you let yourself in and made yourself at home, knowing he’d be back soon. You snorted at how he didn’t even bother to make his bed before leaving, his sheets all akimbo and thrown around the bed.

You slid your Hufflepuff robes off of your shoulders as well as changed out of the rest of your clothes until you were down to your panties and the tank top you had on underneath. Draco’s bed was calling your name, and honest you were sure you could’ve been asleep before he even had the chance to get back.

You slid under his covers, bringing your knees to your chest as you cocooned yourself with his array of sheets and blankets. His room was perfectly quiet, which was all you wanted in that moment. The day’s events kept playing over and over in your head as you laid there, wishing you didn’t feel so crummy.

Draco entered his room, cursing the door for making such a horrid squeak when he opened it.

“Darling, I had the best day today. You’re never going to- [Y/N]?” Draco called, realizing you weren’t in sight.

He immediately chuckled when he noticed the trail of clothing leading to his bed. If he hadn’t been paying attention, he easily could’ve missed the way the ball of bed sheets were moving each time you took a breath and exhaled. You grumbled to yourself at his jubilant entrance. Of course Draco had a great day when everyone else had a bad one.

He slipped his shoes off and closed the door behind him, approaching the bed carefully. You were completely under the covers, shielding yourself from the unpredictable outside world.

“[Y/N], are you alive in there?” The blonde-headed boy joked, peeling back the covers so he could see you.

His amusement faded when he saw the pure look of discouragement and the tinge of sadness in your eyes. His heart sank at the sound of your meek voice.

“Hi.” You whimpered.

Your energy was totally off, and Draco could sense it. Normally you would attack him with kisses when he entered, ready to ask him all about his day. Now he could see the slight watery glaze in your eyes, and it was breaking his heart.

“Hey, beautiful...what’s the matter?” He asked, his brows narrowing in confusion.

Your voice quivered as you spoke, but you refused to let the tears spill. One bad day shouldn’t have been enough to break you. After all, the day was basically over already and you had tomorrow to start fresh.

“Today was terrible.” You stated simply, not even knowing how else to describe it.

“You had a bad day too? Everyone seems to have gotten their ass kicked today,” Draco replied, walking around the front of the bed to his small closet; “What happened with you, love?”

Your eyes didn’t even follow him as he changed out of his school clothes and into something more comfortable. He could tell that you had really taken a hit today.

“Well, you know I was late this morning. I still have no idea how my alarm didn’t go off,” You explained; “Snape dropped a pop quiz on my class, I almost made Cedric look like a troll for the rest of his life, I broke Professor Sprout’s favorite pot, I failed my Defense essay....” You rattled off, continuing to explain in detail how horrible your day had been.

Draco listened to every word, understanding how all of that could definitely put a strain on yourself. Truth be told, Draco had secretly turned your alarm off the night before, hoping you’d sleep through first period and be with him longer. He didn’t dare tell you though, because he felt horrible that it put such a bad start on your day.

He slid into his bed, but didn’t try to pull you towards him. You needed a little space for the time being. You did, however, turn your head so you could see him. He could see the tiredness and displeasure in your expression, and he just wanted to make it better.

“My sweet girl is never supposed to have a day like that.” He said with a charming grin.

Your down and out demeanor caused you to be much more aggravated than usual, and you took his comment completely the wrong way. You snapped at him with a tone full of annoyance.

“Oh, what? Just because I’m a fucking Hufflepuff I can’t have a bad day?” You said snarkily, turning your head back around.

His smile faded and worry filled his voice. He hadn’t meant to offend you, and he surely didn’t want to make you more upset.

“I didn’t mean it like that, love. I just meant that you never deserve such a rough day,” He corrected himself; “But everyone has them.”

You sighed heavily and nodded. You didn’t mean to bark at him like that. You were just in a bad mood.

“I know. I’m sorry.” You apologized sincerely.

He rested his hand on your back, staring at the back of your head. He shook it off like it was no big deal. It seemed that everyone was being too forgiving towards you today.

“It’s alright. Don’t worry about it.” He smiled, even though you couldn’t see it.

His fingertips danced along your back, feeling at the tense muscles there. You had grown silent now, and he was honestly not sure what to say. His comforting skills had greatly improved over the years you had been together, but he still came up short sometimes. All he knew to do was to shower you with love and make sure that you knew that he was there for you.

He carefully left kisses on the back of your neck, moving his hand to run across the exposed skin of your arm. He always kept it cold in his room, and he could feel the chill on your body. He leaned over and spoke lowly in your ear, mentally noting that if anyone saw him like this right now that they’d think they were dreaming.

“I think someone needs cuddles from her boyfriend.” He suggested, knowing that was an offer that you’d never refuse.

Your heart did a little jolt in response. You turned over, letting Draco pull you flush into his warm body. Your head nuzzled into his neck and his arms draped around you.

“There’s my pretty girl.” He said, kissing your temple.

Your cheeks grew hot at his kind words, but you suddenly remembered what he had been talking about when he first entered.

“Tell me about your day.” You requested, running your finger along his collarbone.

He shrugged. He had been stoked to tell you about how great his day was, but he didn’t want to make you feel worse by telling you all the good things that happened to him.

“Ah, it wasn’t much of anything. Just some Quidditch and grades stuff.” He said casually.

You shook your head.

“No, come on, D. You were excited to tell me. I want to hear it.” You said honestly.

Maybe hearing about someone else’s good fortune would help. Honestly, Draco could tell addresses he had memorized and you’d be entertained. Draco opened his legs a little so you could place one of yours between them. He smirked at how you couldn’t possibly get any closer.

“I had Quidditch practice this morning after you left. It went really well and I think that we’re going to beat the brakes off of Gryffindor next weekend.” He praised.

You scoffed at that. Of course that was considered important in Draco’s mind. He went on as you began to leave kisses along his jawline.

“Then I had Transfiguration and McGongall said I had a great technique. That woman hates me and she gave me a compliment! I don’t know who spiked her morning pumpkin juice.” Draco chortled.

You knew all too well that McGonagall had it out for Draco. As a matter of fact, most professors weren’t too fond of Draco...minus Snape. Draco was cold most of the time. He didn’t allow himself to be vulnerable in front of anyone. He didn’t share his secrets with anyone other than you and he very rarely ever let out the emotions he kept bottled up. On the outside, he was a sneaky and mean guy with no sympathy for others.

But you didn’t see him that way.

He had been nothing but wonderful to you in your time together. He held a real soft spot in his heart for you, and you were the only one that got to see the way he really was. A strong, loving guy with nothing but hope for humanity deep within himself. You knew him backwards and forwards, and the Draco Malfoy that he worked so hard to maintain wasn’t really him. One day he’d bare his realness to the world.

But for now, you were fine with having him to yourself.

“That’s great, love. I’m glad you had a good day.” You responded, with a soft grin.

You still weren’t feeling like yourself, and Draco’s only hope was that he could hold you until you felt better. Your kisses had moved to his neck, sucking lightly on the spot that you knew he liked. He hummed out happily.

“If we get to stay like this for the rest of the night, then today will be the best day yet.” He proclaimed.

“How about we stay here all weekend?” You whispered into his ear.

He moved his head to catch your lips in a searing kiss, beginning to melt away all the stress from your no good day.

“Even better.”

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x hufflepuff!reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy blurb #draco malfoy oneshot #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy fluff #seriouslysnape

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angeli-marco-writes · 3 years

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Tom Felton - Baby on the Brain

A/N - First request! I hope this is what you wanted, I really like this idea. I don’t know Tom, nor do I claim to, and the other characters are fictional figments. To celebrate 100 followers, I'm uploading this early. Thank you!

Warnings - overloads of fluff, mentions of baby sick, mild language, slight angst, hints to a breeding kink whoops, lightly implied smut.

Summary - Visiting Tom’s brother and his new baby should be a walk in the park, really, but some unwitting truths come to ahead that you can’t refute. You’ve always wanted a family, but does Tom? (Request for Tom Felton: you guys meet his brother's new baby and then decide to have your own.)

Tom’s bruised knuckles rap thrice against the oak wood of his brother's front door, squeezing your smaller, trembling hand in his, running his fingers over the band of the ring in pride of place. Taking a deep breath in sync with yours, he turns his twinkling blue eyes towards you, lending you a twitch of a reassuring smile.

“Why are you so nervous? It’s only my brother,” he says, his voice gruff following the cigarette he smoked in the car.

“It’s the baby I wanna see,” you breathe, “less nervous, more jittery.”

“Maybe you should’ve gone for tea this morning instead of a double shot coffee.”

You nudge his ribs with your elbow, and then his overly sensitive hip bone with yours, coaxing a gentle chuckle from his lips, “Maybe I wouldn’t have needed it if you hadn’t kept me up so late.”

The devilish, shit-eating grin creeping onto his lips tells you that he feels no remorse, but then again, you’d take tiredness and a night like that over anything. His fingers twine tighter around yours as footsteps begin to shuffle behind the door, followed by an ear-piercing, blood-curdling screech, absolutely unholy.

“See he’s having fun with the kid, then?” you begin to whisper, but your words trail off as Tom’s very exhausted looking brother appears in the doorway, feeding bottle in hand, burping rag over his shoulder, deep purple bags beneath his eyes.

“Alright mate?” Tom greets, stepping one loafer-clad foot over the threshold, offering his brother a man hug.

“Tired, yeah. How you doing, man?” he responds warmly, patting Tom’s back.

“I’m good, I’m good, Jon.” Tom says, though you can feel him almost imperceptibly tense beside you.

Turning ever so slightly, all eyes are cast on you. Naturally, you offer Tom’s brother your warmest smile, teeth and all, sympathy welling both in your eyes and your heart. Kids must be tough if he looks like this with a three-week old.

“And who’s this?” Jonathan asks, sweetly, inquisitive more than anything, though he does look at you a bit peculiarly, scrutinising you, perhaps your outfit, the mom jeans you paired with a cropped cardigan perhaps not his style.

“This is my fiancée, Y/N.” Tom says, his words holding an inflection or pride perhaps, but whatever it is, it sends a pang of excitement shooting down your spine, a smirk creeping its way onto your lips, one you have to bite back, “I’m sorry I haven’t bought her over before, but you know what it’s like.”

“Yeah, course. Nice to meet you.”

“And you! Where’s the baby?”

Tom chuckles softly, and he curls his arm around your body, hip to hip. “She loves kids.”

Jonathan stands aside, a welcoming hand to beckon you into his home, the laminate floors covered in baby commodities, pastel blankets strewn everywhere, but other than, surprisingly clean considering Tom mentioned his brother was a hoarder and was always the most untidy of the bunch all throughout their youth. Considering how bad Tom is and how often you’re stuck cleaning away his dirty dishes and putting his laundry on, you were expecting far worse, but maybe Tom was the worst of them all along.

He tickles between your ribs as you wander through the halls, greeted in the back room by a tiny blonde headed baby, cradled in two arms of a just as exhausted looking lady donning a kind smile, stars dancing in her eyes as she stares down at her temporarily placated child. Tufts of blonde hair pair with enamoured hazel eyes to compliment the soft yellow of their clothes and the rosiness of their chubby cheeks. The hair, the nose, the tiny dimples; this baby looks just like Tom - and all his brothers - did when they were little dots themselves. The same little treasures. You, however, were an unattractive baby compared to this ball of sunshine.

“This is Ainsley.” Tom’s sister in law says lazily, her words falling off as she gapes in adoration at the gurgling blob of joy in her embrace. “And I’m Zara.”

“I’m Y/N.” you smile widely.

Should he not know better, Tom would quite possibly think you’re going to either collapse of hyperventilate, judging by the flush of your cheeks, your elevated pulse, heart beating out of your chest, the tiny, delightful, desperate whimpering noises from the back of your throat, elicited from a single glance into the babies eyes.

Said baby begins to make some indistinguishable noises and flails its arms around faintly, feebly, in your general direction. You’d be lying if your heart didn’t do a somersault in your chest.

“M- may I hold Ainsley?” you stammer out, extending your covered arms in a similar cradle to that of Ainsley’s mother.

“God, you’d be doing me a right favour,” she retorts, her accent broad, Geordie.

She shuffles softly down the pale green sofa, so perfectly complimenting the oak floors, to make a room for you that you take gratefully, and position yourself astutely against the back of the sofa. Before retrieving the baby, though, Tom grasps for a muslin cloth and affectionately drapes it over you, affectionate in the manner that he does it with such care, grazing his thumbs over your collarbones as he goes, ever so gently, barely even a touch, but enough to let you know he’s there. He holds your gaze for a moment, his lips twitching into a smile. This alone sends butterflies to your stomach and sets a sheen of fog about your head, taking you even more by surprise when the baby is laid in your arms, writhing and smiling and blinking so sweetly.

“Hiya darling,” you coo, “aren’t you just the most precious thing.”

“Gender neutral name and clothing...” Tom interjects, sidling up on the arm of the sofa beside you, “may I ask their sex and the pronouns you’re using?”

“Male, but we’re trying to be as gender neutral as possible so they can grow up not feeling pressured.”

You can’t wipe the beam from your face, or prevent the small ‘awwh!’ from escaping under your breath, curling the cloth slightly around the child, “That’s a wonderful attitude. Tommy, would you fetch my bag from the car, please?”

In a second, he’s bouncing up, his hand thrust deep in his chinos to fish for the car key. “You asked me to grab it before we got out as well, sorry sweetheart. Back in a minute.” With a nod to his brother, he’s racing out the door, his footsteps thundering through the house. Your attention, however, remains glued to the baby.

“Would you like me to set them down for tummy time afterwards, or is he going back to sleep?” You ponder aloud, eyes glued to the wry tufts of hair so soft and silky between your fingers.

“If he falls asleep in your arms, that’s fab. We’re just livin’ minute by minute.”

You release a small laugh, “Fair enough.”

Jon sits beside you tentatively, between yourself and his wife, his arm wrapping around her as she leans her body weight against him, her hair--held in a bun before, now just kind of flopping into her eyeline--tickling her shoulder and causing him to wince a little.

“How do you know so much about babies?”

The sigh you don’t mean to release is wistful at best, plain pining at worst--and probably most obvious. “I’ve always wanted them, kids, but Tommy’s the first guy I’ve settled down with, but despite being engaged, we’re still taking things slowly.”-- You shrug, as best as you can with the baby in hold, and cock your head to the side to peer down better at every tiny freckle on Ainsley’s skin.--“I love him to bits, but he wants to wait, and I’m still young, a good chunk younger than he is.”

“If it helps,” he starts, “I’ve never seen Tom as in love with someone as he is you. He’s besotted. You say the word, he’ll do it.”

“I know. I just don’t want to make him do anything unless he’s 100% sure.”

“And that’s what makes you his perfect girl.”

Your heart swells. There’s a beat, a pause of silence, filled only with the zapping of the car outside, no more than a couple of seconds before Jon’s wife speaks again.

“Enough of that. Show us the ring!”

If they’re all this excitable at something as simple as your engagement ring, perhaps you’ll fit in with his family better than you anticipated. ** Certainly, if their amiable gasps are anything to go by as you display your hand to them, your ring finger held out, supporting Ainsley’s head in the crook of your elbow as they gawk at the diamond glistening in the sunlight streaming in from their floor-to-ceiling patio doors. You have to admit it’s a pretty damn beautiful ring, the one you always dreamed of. An oval cut 0.5ct diamond held in place by a delicate split-shank 18ct gold band. It glows ethereally in whatever light there is, but most spectacularly in Tom’s eyes.

“It’s the most gorgeous ring,” she gushes, “apart from mine.”

A smile creeps its way in. You’re not entirely sure what the hell you’ve done right in your life to deserve this incredible, expensive ring, or even Tom for that reason. This is the life you’ve always dreamed of, the one that Tom’s brother has, and if you’re even half as happy as they are after being married for 5 years then you’ll consider your life to be a great success. You always wanted the quiet family life in the suburbs, with a lovely house and a nice garden and a couple of kids, working a part time job that pays well and allows you time for your children and your husband… then you fell in love with him. Loving Tom, though, that’s the true gift in your life, and you’d take him over that life any day. He’s the best, truly.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive, since Tom comes puffing into the room, his heavy footsteps coming to a halt in the doorway as he hands over your abnormally large handbag.

“Here,” he gasps, but turns his gaze upon your hand, witnessing their marvelling at the rock he put there, “it is a pretty boss ring, isn’t it? Worth every penny.”

He bends down to ghost a kiss over your lips, his slightly long dark-blonde hair tickling your cheeks, smiling warmly down at you before deciding to sidle up next to you in the small gap between you and the arm of the sofa. However, half way down, his hip bones are digging in, and he winces up like he’s just been shocked. You know how sensitive his hip bones are, a fat you use against him incredibly often for all the best reasons, but today, he’s been so good, and you shan’t make him sit uncomfortably.

Keeping your hold on Ainsley--who’s almost asleep already, quieter than he was before with only faint gurgles escaping, their eyes droopy--steady, you begin to stand, and shuffle yourself up a bit, allowing Tom to take your previous seat, before placing yourself back down with as little ‘umph’ as you can manage, hooking your thigh over tom’s in the process. He knows what to do, it’s always been your calling card at home or at a party: as soon as you sling your leg over his, he pulls you into his lap eerie time, and today is no different. Well, perhaps it is, as he furrows his dark eyebrows inquisitively, gazing adoringly at you and the child in your arms, waiting for your nod okay before he hitches his arms around your waist and tugs you, as gently as he possibly can with his delicate grip, into his lap, giving you both ample space.

“Babe,” you whisper, “can you fetch the gift out of my bag?”

He’s instantly ferreting around until he finds the presents you neatly wrapped in polka dot paper, and hands them to Jonathan. Eagerly, they're unwrapped, and it seems that your many arguments over what to get Tom’s niece or nephew were worth it, considering the fact their eyes begin to brim with tears.

A soft grey elephant plush, holding a yellow heart, embellished with ‘Ainsley Felton, love Uncle Tom’, and a Peter Rabbit china crockery set for when they’re older.

“Thank you,” Zara exclaims, the way only a mother can, in gracious relief, “they’re adorable, so perfect.”

And before you know it, both you and Tom are being embraced wholeheartedly, as though you’re already their family. It’s been a life since anyone besides Tom hugged you, but this, this is nice.

“Well, lunch?”

Said lunch is a tumultuous affair, with a delivery pizza being ordered from the local dominoes, but with Ainsley so comfortable and calm in your arms, it was an elected decision not to move him, and instead, Tom fed you your pizza. It isn’t the first time, his love language seems to be feeding you things, but normally it's strawberries or chocolate truffles. Never before have you covered an entire medium pizza being fed to you while trying to avoid dropping any toppings or tomato sauce onto a peaceful baby, but that is just an indicator for the rest of the afternoon, Tom’s hands or eyes never once leaving you.

Completely accidentally, Jonathan and his wife drift off to sleep. You smile sadly at the sight, unable to blame them, they must be knackered, the problem simply lies in the fact that Ainsley begins to stir just as they drift off.

“See if there’s any milk in the fridge, please, I think they’re using formula.” you hiss to Tom, standing up cautiously.

Aghast, he grapples for words, “I-I’m sorry, what?!”

“Forget it,” you sigh, “take the baby and change him, please.”

“Change him?!” Again, that same tone of staggered surprise. “I don’t know how!”

“You have four nieces and nephews already, yes you do. He’s going to start screaming in a minute and wake your very tired, very groggy brother. Change the baby.”

When your eyes begin to thin, nostrils flaring, eyebrows raising, he knows not to mess with you, so he swallows thickly, his throat bobbing up and down, and scoops a crying Ainsley from your arms. As he treads upstairs, you find your way back into the kitchen, and find on the counter the bottles done with their sterilisation. This is okay, this is great, you know how to do this, and years of babysitting taught you exactly how to do this. It’s almost like that scene from Outnumbered, assembling the bottle with your eyes closed, muscle memory taking over from your brain. When your eyes flutter open, you almost let out a little squeal at your achievement. If only you could learn this all over again, have this life with a little child of your own, with Tom being as good a dad as he’s acting right now. When you handed him the baby, though, you couldn’t help but notice the fear that flashed over his face, paling him a shade, his pupils dilating to erase the blue. You wish he wasn’t so scared…

A few minutes later, with the kettle boiled and the formula made, you appear in the front room where Tom is swaddling Ainsley, holding the bean against his beating heart, making only the very slightest movements to entertain them.

“Give him a bit of tummy time while the milk cools, do you want to feed him?” you offer, stepping over the threshold .

“N-no,” he exhales slowly, “I think you’d best do that. Can I just put them down?”

“I’ll grab the mat from the corner”--you spied it as you walked in, a colourful crinkle mat rolled up and tucked away from view against the cream walls, behind the flat-screen on its grand stand--“and then yeah.”

Even as he puts Ainsley down, stomach first, onto the playmat, he looks petrified. Taking a seat on the floor to watch over them, you tug on Tom’s tan trouser leg. Indecisiveness gnaws at him, tugging him away from you, but he concedes to your widened puppy eyes, and tumbles onto the shag pile rug next to you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders like its second nature.

“You okay?” you whisper.

“Yeah, course. You?”

“Yeah.”

You let your head fall to his arm, a blissful smile creeping its way onto your lips when Ainsley looks you dead in the eye, hazel orbs twinkling, full of hope.

“I love you.”

“I know,” he hums, “I love you too.”

“Then why are you being so… prickly with me today?”

He shifts away from you the most miniscule amount, “I’m not.”

“We’ve been together for years, Tom. I know when you’re bloody lying.” you lower your voice for the final words, “now tell me why you’re being such a pouty puss.”

You mimic his frown, knowing full well that he hates it when you do so. He hates seeing you sad, even if it's just pretend, so makes a swooping move to kiss the frown away.

“Would you leave me if I said I didn’t want kids?” his voice breaks on the final word, little more than a whisper, but his next move is so animated that it almost startles you with the bottle in hand. “I mean, you know I want them. I love kids, I want us to have a family, but…”

“Nothing would ever make me leave you, Tom. You couldn’t do anything that’d cause me to fall out of love with you.”

The pain in your statement sends a shock through you, singing your heart, poisoning your mind, sending a sour bile running up your throat. No matter how many daggers shoot at your heart, it remains to be true. You’d do anything for him. If, tomorrow, he turned around and said he wanted the two of you to stay together but never marry and never have children, you wouldn’t back down without a fight, but you’d accept it. Despite all your lifelong hopes, nothing trumps Tom.

“I’m gonna feed Ainsley now.”

Picking the baby up from the rug, you put a bib around his neck, and throw another cloth around you, taking a seat in the corner chair to feed him.

“I’m going to the bathroom.” he says, and walks out, shoulders slumped.

You watch him wistfully as he leaves the room, and even when he returns--refusing to look at you--your gaze is still trained on his every move, slumping into the shag pile rug to watch the TV on a low volume. You can feel his eyes on you, that burning pair of eyes that follow you everywhere, your every movement, his ears honed, trained to your every shift and whisper. The second you turn upon him though, he’s looking away.

“I’ll put Ainsley down now,” you announce after burping him, “we need to leave soon if we want to make it home before dark.”

He doesn’t even bat an eye as you sashay past him, Ainsley’s cries muffled by a dummy, but the second he hears your footsteps heading back downstairs, his own begin to thunder, pounding against the stairs to meet you halfway.

“Wait,” he whispers, “come on, sit down, talk to me. I love you.”

A sigh heaves your chest, “I love you too. Talk about what?”

“You’re being arsey with me.”

“Because you said you don’t want kids!”

“Well I didn’t mean it, I’m just”--he pinches the bridge of his nose, and ushers you up on the stairs, your calves hitting the carpet--“there’s a lot to think about. We just met the kid, and I saw how your face lit up when you held him.”

“You know I want kids, Tom.”

“I know, but can we not talk about kids for a second? I want to talk about you. You’re my fiancée, I want to make you my wife. I’m just scared.”

“What of? You have nothing to be scared of. I’ll be here no matter what.”

“That’s why I’m scared!” he exasperates, flailing his arms about, “I don’t want you to senselessly follow me and love me if I can’t give you what you want. I’m scared of fucking this up, fucking you up. I’m scared of this going wrong, with children or marriage or saying something wrong, because I can’t lose you.”

“Tom,” you murmur.

Your hand flies up to cup his jaw, grazing your thumb over the stubble growing there, the faintest shadow.

“I love you. I- I need you. Y/N, sweetheart, please. I just wanna stay how we are, just stay this way for a bit, slow down because the world is moving too fast, and I’m gonna fall, but I can’t drag you down with me.” he croaks, cradling your neck with trembling, callused hands. “Can we stay how we are? Just us? Just you and me?”

“Babe you aren’t gonna lose me. Everything else off the table, we’ve got this, we’ve got us. We can stop the world and get off if that's what you want. Nothing is immediate, everything can wait.” you promise, your eyes boring into his.

All at once, his lips come crashing down onto yours, swallowing any inhibitions with his lavishing tongue, his hot breath slanting and fanning over your lips, leaving innocent adoration in their wake. Until a piercing scream resounds.

“Except maybe that.”

You duck from his grip skilfully, and slip into Ainsley’s room, two fingers reaching out to tickle their stomach, causing the scream to hiccup in their throat momentarily. Then, as if wondering what to do next, he just stares up at you imploringly, questioningly.

“Come on Ainsley, I just set you down to sleep. Be good and let mummy and daddy sleep too, okay?” you coo, tucking his blanket back up to his neck, slipping his cuddly toy closer, “go back to sleep.”

This child is already one with an attitude, you can tell that by the vehemence with which he yells out. You don’t even have to think twice before you’re stooping into the cot, swathing him in blankets, and lifting him to your bosom, where his screams fall to mere gurgles.

“Do you think he’s sleeping in the bed with them?” you ask Tom, keeping your voice at a steady whisper even with the slight bounces you’re offering the baby, “because I think that causes parental problems above all else because they’re being kicked in the back all night. Still, decreases the risk of SIDS. Why do they have a cot up if they are? He can’t sleep without contact…”

You don’t even realise you’re thinking aloud until Tom presses his thumbs into your shoulders, buckling your whole body. It’s the instant tension reliever, truly, and your shoulders do seem tighter today, perhaps from all the baby wrangling.

“Lets just sit, shall we?”

You do, taking up refuge in the front room once again, with an extra blanket of his, as well as a supply of cuddly toys, rattles, and dummies. Tom watches you with fascination for the rest of the afternoon, everything you do drawing his full attention; enticing, entrapping. His heart swells at the sight of you bouncing Ainsley around to make him laugh, cooing and giggling with him to coax a smile back after a wail that you hushed down, holding him so closely as he sleeps. He’s finally seeing it, after all these years, you, in your true home habitat, caring for a child, so kindly, so motherly, so naturally. Everything you do instantly seems to set the infant at ease. He knows it should be him, Ainsley is his nephew, but… you’re just better.

In fact, before he even realises it, he’s craving what he doesn’t have. Not that he can’t have it -- you’ve been together for a long time, you’ve discussed a future with children more times than he can count, and of course he wants it. Tom, he’s always wanted to be a dad, to read his kids books and sing them lullabies and show them what daddy did for work… but it's always been a pipe dream. Your wishes of a family have never come to fruition, and all because of his selfish fears.

The world can’t stop turning just because he’s getting cold feet and wants to climb off for a minute to catch his breath. That’s not how life works. If you want something, you’ve gotta grab it by the balls, because the opportunity will be gone before you know it. And with Tom? He won’t lose you because he won’t take a chance to make you happy and give you what you want. If anything, seeing the crestfallen look that settles between your brows when you actually have to give Ainsley back to their parents just further instils and confirms the idea in his head. There’s his future, in his mind's eye, as clear as day. This is what he needs to do, but better still, this is what he wants.

The drive back to your home is spent in relative silence, and a pensive one at that. You know like instinct that Tom is replaying your final conversation with Jonathan and his wife the same way you are. After all, the simple words did put a dampener on your reconciliation. Your hand is on the gearstick the whole way, though, your fingers entwined with his, the simple contact enough for you. You were right at lunch: all day it's been his hands or his eyes on you: you like it when it's both simultaneously, the way it was when you said your goodbyes.

Tom’s hands settled on your hips, his chin atop your head, and you just fell into his enveloping warmth, smiling lazily at the couple you rescued for the afternoon.

“Thanks so much, we owe you one.” Jonathan said, giving Tom another one of those manly hugs as you stand in the dusk-darkened wooden porch.

“Really,” Zara chimed in, her feet shuffling on the tiled floor as she held her husband's hand, “you’re welcome to have him any time. That is, of course, if you don’t have a little one of your own by the time you’ve recovered from that blighter.”

You forced a dry chuckle at her words, an awkward sound, but you seemed to recover well enough, “Well Ainsley’s been a pleasure, and I’m glad we could give you some respite. Take care.”

“And you. Drive safe.”

“We will,” Tom said, offering them a smile, flashing his keys, keeping his grip on you resolute, “thanks for having us.”

Their words still loom over you like a dark cloud. It was a throwaway comment, one they’d have thought nothing of, and most people, and even you on a good day, but you’d had that… spat earlier on that changed everything. Dredging it up would just put an even further dampener on your mood, though, and with a drive home in the semi-darkness already hanging over you like a massive impending storm cloud of fear, that’s definitely not ideal.

“Nice baby, Ainsley,” Tom mentions, turning his indicator on to pull off the dual carriageway.

“Yeah, and he’s cute.”

“Nice eyes.”

And a couple more comments like those are the only conversation you share as the journey goes by, but soon enough, you’re on the home stretch, and your street rolls into view. With your head comfortably rolled back against the headrest, your eyes shut from a tiring day of exertion and childminding , you don’t notice Tom stepping out the car and unravelling his grip from you. Only does it become apparent when he opens your door and unclips your seat belt, kissing your lips tenderly, the chapped skin arising you from whatever zoned out, thoughtful state you were in before.

“Come on, let's get you inside sweetheart.” he murmurs, taking your hands in his as he helps you out the car, His chivalry never fails to astound you--he even carries your bag.

“Thanks darlin’.”

You follow him inside, kicking off your shoes routinely, shrugging off your coat to hang on the peg with your name etched above it. What happens next, though, is what shocks you the most: this isn’t part of your normal ‘returning home’ routine, not if you’ve had a day as tiring as this one. You’re neither complaining nor disappointed, though. How can you be when Tom’s lips latch onto your pulse point and he has you writhing in seconds, only his arm around the small of your back there to support you.

In one fell swoop, he has you spun around and pinned to the wall, his figure with lust-blown eyes hovering above you, every line in his face so loving, even the subtle part of his lips. They only do that when he’s so desperate to kiss you he can barely breathe, when he’s so eager to confess his love again and again that all other words are inconsequential. This is your Tom.

“Let’s try for a baby.” he says, completely resolutely, no trace of hesitation anywhere in his perfectly, delectably gruff tone. “I want one, I want us, and I don’t wanna wait to build a family with you.”

You can feel tears begin to form in the corners of your shock-widened eyes. This… this is- What changed his mind? Just hours ago, he was hell bent against the idea, but now? His cheeks are glowing at the mere prospect. Courtesy and patience be damned, that is if you can get the words out with how choked up you are…

“Really? Y-you mean it?”

His faint smile widens into a full blown grin, one that confirms everything for you. This is it, this is the Tom you agreed to marry, the happy Tom, the smiley Tom, the one who can barely contain his excitement even as he nods, a stray lock of dark blonde hair falling into his eyes as he does so.

Reasonably, you can’t be expected to hold back, and when his hair gets long enough that it falls into his eyeline? That’s your main weakness, so who can blame you when you catapult yourself up onto him, your legs joining around his wait, your arms settling around his neck. He holds you right back, catches you like he was already waiting, and pins you against the wall again. Perhaps the serotonin is too much as you both grin into a searing kiss, the every press of his lips against yours holding more passion than you can fathom a cohesive thought about. He’s… incredible.

And besides, with this enthusiasm, his kiss alone leaving you gasping and clutching onto his hair for some kind of grounding, perhaps it’ll be the first time lucky…

#tf #draco malfoy #dracotok #tom felton #tom felton x y/n #tom felton imagine #british toms #felton #tom felton fluff #tom felton angst #draco imagine #draco malfoy imagine #draco x reader #tom x reader #tom felton x reader #dad tom

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onenerdtwonagas · 2 years

Text

Gotham AU 2: Good Business

Uriah idly tapped the tip of his pen against the desk, watching the percentage on the screen fluctuate. Ninety percent to go, eighty-nine, eighty-eight, eighty-seven… He exhaled through his nose and cast his gaze aside to the tank nearest him, where a ball python was staring back steadily, head barely peeking over its bundled-up body. She was a very tolerant animal, all things considered, but he could tell that she wasn’t thrilled about the morning’s bloodwork routine. At least she hadn’t tried nipping him that time, unlike previous check-ins.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” he scolded dryly. “I don’t decide when the samples get taken, I just do the dirty work.”

The snake’s tongue flickered out. His lips curled up in an amused smirk.

“Yeah, yeah—“ He poked out his own tongue. “—to you, too.”

The phone on the wall rang, and Uriah paced away from the computer to answer.

“Diagnostics center, Doctor Hoffman speaking.”

“Oh, there you are! I thought you’d be done by now.”

“Hello to you, too, Dea,” Uriah quipped. “Sorry, still waiting on one final patient’s results to wrap-up.”

“Don’t tell me—“

“Pepita,” they said at the same time. Uriah looked back at the snake as the lab’s secretary chuckled.

“Yeah, we’re talking about you,” he teased. Sure, she probably couldn’t understand him, but it just felt right to talk to the snakes he was working with, regardless. They weren’t objects, after all; treating them like a fixture in the room felt rude.

“So,” Uriah sighed, redirecting the conversation, “what was it you needed, Dea?”

“Right, right! Well, you have somebody looking for you.”

“As in another employee? Somebody from the board?”

“No, one of our donors.”

“You’re being awful cryptic,” Uriah muttered. “I didn’t have any appointments today. Did they give a reason for their visit? Because if it’s about making some sort of contribution, they’re better off scheduling a talk with the board of directors.”

“Nah, I think he’s here to see you, specifically. Hold on—“ He could hear her asking someone, but not their reply. “—Yep! Asked for you by name and everything!”

“Huh… Well, alright then. Seems this computer is lagging today, anyway. Tell them I’ll be about ten minutes, okay Dea? Gotta put Pepita back, first.”

He exchanged a sign-off before hanging up and looking to the snake with his hands on his hips. Pepita sunk her head a little lower into the ball she’d tangled herself into. Uriah tutted and put on a fresh pair of gloves to handle her.

“Okay, Pepi, don’t make this hard on me. I’ve got company, apparently. You’ll be back in your comfy tank soon enough.”

——

A few minutes and a thorough hand-washing session later, Uriah arrived at the main office floor hub and glanced around, still massaging a trace of sanitizer into his hands—just for good measure. He didn’t see anyone standing out right away. A few scientists and interns milled about, but nobody he didn’t recognize. Uriah strode to the desk where Dea was signing off on a package delivery, finishing her name with a feminine flourish before offering the mailman a flirtatious smile.

“Dea! You said somebody was here, right? Did they leave?”

“No, I told them where to find your office so they could wait there. Don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the waiting room seats aren’t exactly the comfiest.”

He frowned.

“You just let somebody into my office?”

“Relax, I just told him the room number.”

“Dea.”

“…And that you tend to leave your door unlocked,” she admitted. Uriah shook his head. “What?! I was being hospitable!”

“They were shmoozing you, weren’t they?”

“Oh, can it and see for yourself, Doctor,” the receptionist quipped. Nevertheless, she seemed far too happy with herself.

“You’re a right flirt, Dea!” he called over his shoulder, adjusting his lab coat and ignoring whatever teasing comeback was slung his way. Uriah fidgeted with the cuffs as he rounded the corner down the hall he was appointed to, reaching his open office door and tapping his knuckles against it to alert whoever had been waiting.

“I’m sorry you had to wait. I was in the diagnostics wing waiting on some results. What can I do for—“

He froze as he finally lifted his gaze upwards, feet stuck partway across the threshold. Leaning against the window frame was a tall, muscular, well-dressed man, whose long copper hair framed his strong jaw and fell down broad shoulders. Brown eyes sparkled with mirth and a smile spread on his face. A dam in his brain broke, memories bursting out and flooding his mind, memories he still hadn’t yet to fully comprehend or explain. And an entire slew of intimate ones, on top of it all.

“Hello again, Doc!”

“YOU!”

Uriah gawked, then suddenly remembered himself, and quickly glanced up and down the hall before ducking into his office, shutting the door abruptly, and flinging the blinds to the interior window shut. Mr. Kenneth Huggins chuckled.

“Nice to see you, too.”

“What—in—the—world—are—you—doing—here?!” Uriah hissed out, in measured beats, gesturing at the man in pure shock.

“Paying a visit to a friend, of course.”

“You can’t just waltz into my office! I work here!”

“Miss Deadra didn’t seem to mind,” Kenneth said with a smirk. “Lovely lady, that one. Very helpful and accommodating.”

Uriah groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d have to have a serious talk with her about that, once the matter at hand was solved.

“Of course she was…”

He turned and began shrugging off his coat to hang it on one of the pegs on the wall, and paused when he saw Kenneth’s crisp woolen coat hung up already. A skeptical glance was cast back at the man, who merely lifted an eyebrow.

“…Make yourself at home, why don’t you,” Uriah mumbled, tossing up his own coat and brushing past Kenneth to get to his desk chair. He placed both hands on his temples and rubbed slowly, sinking back against his chair with a long, drawn-out exhale. How was he supposed to process everything happening? Everything that had already happened? There was so much to unpack and his brain was still reeling in recollection of sensual touches and colors of an unnaturally soothing nature…

“Here.”

His thoughts were broken up by a soft tap on his desk. Uriah opened his eyes and blinked, glancing from the paper cup before him to Kenneth’s face.

“…What is this?”

“A peace offering, if you will,” he said amiably, easing into a chair opposite of him. When Uriah continued to stair at him, he elaborated, “Green tea with ginseng and honey. I assumed seeing me would surprise you, at the very least. Thought this would calm you down.”

A weak huff of dry laughter fluttered out of Uriah’s chest. But, whether he thought it wise or not, he found himself reaching for the drink anyway, giving it a slow swirl in his hand.

“Thanks,” he said, at length. Kenneth merely nodded. Silence filled the gap between them for what felt like hours. Uriah didn’t know what to say, and Kenneth didn’t press him, so he bought time to think by taking a few quiet sips. He didn’t admit it, but it was good tea. No sense wasting it. But silence wasn’t going to get either of them anywhere, and Uriah would have to find something to say, eventually. He opened his mouth to try, then closed it, opened it again, and took another long drink.

“…What are you doing here?” he asked again, at a loss for where else to begin.

“Seeing you.”

“For what reason?” Uriah pressed.

“Because I wanted to.”

Kenneth’s smile didn’t diminish even as Uriah frowned at him.

“What? I like looking at you. It’s a good view.”

“Ken—“ He inhaled to calm himself. “Mr. Huggins, I work here. It’s inappropriate.”

“We could go elsewhere, if you’d prefer.”

“That’s not the point,” Uriah huffed. “I don’t—I don’t even know why you’re here. I’m not even sure what happened the last time I saw you!”

“Oh?” Kenneth cocked his head, observing. “What do you think happened last time?”

“You…” He swore under his breath. What he thought was the truth felt insane to think, let alone say out loud. Uriah felt his cheeks burn and he lowered his gaze, staring stubbornly at the cup of tea in his hands.

“I…? Go on, I won’t laugh.”

“You… Y-You, um…grew a tail,” Uriah stammered sheepishly, “a-and uh…d-did something…to me…with you—y-your eyes…”

Rather than tease or mock, Kenneth nodded.

“That’s one way of putting it, yes,” he said calmly, kindly.

“W-We…oh God, we slept together.”

“That, too.”

Uriah sank even further into his chair, hiding his face in one hand and steadying the tea in the other. He refused to make eye contact, choosing instead to let his gaze fall on a random niche of his office: an unsuspecting space between his desk and the wall, focusing on it in hopes of lessening how horribly hot his face felt.

“Th-That was real…”

“It was.”

“Ohhhhh God almighty, what did I do?” Uriah slurred into his palm, setting the tea properly on his desk and leaning heavily into his hand. He uttered several more muffled curses, unable to see the fond grin forming on Kenneth’s face as he began to ease up out of his chair.

“Did you mind it?”

“N-No…?”

“Enjoy it, perhaps?”

“…”

“Be honest now, Doctor.”

“Yeah…”

Kenneth had quietly shifted around to stand behind Uriah’s chair, watching from behind before reaching his hands down slowly to rest them on the man’s shoulders.

“What else?”

“U-Um… I-I mean, I don’t get it, what happened, but…”

“But…?” Kenneth’s hands gently squeezed, sensing the knots in Uriah’s slender frame. The poor thing had his nerves all twisted and tensed.

“I…I liked it, a lot,” Uriah admitted, hand dropping from his face. He didn’t pay much mind to the pleasant touch on his shoulders, at first. Had his neck been sore like that all day? Hmm…

“That’s a relief. I was worried I’d spooked you off,” Kenneth chuckled. “You hadn’t responded to my calls or messages.”

“Thought I was hallucinating for a while. I mean, a tail? Who’d believe that?”

“Yes, who indeed?”

Uriah leaned into Kenneth’s touch.

“You did still pay me, though, for uh…checking your snake. Paid well, too.”

Kenneth hummed in confirmation. He grinned as he bent down closer to Uriah’s ear.

“Which brings me to the reason for my visit. Suppose I have an offer for you, Uriah?”

“Mm?”

“One with multiple benefits,” Kenneth hissed, his voice a low whisper. “You do a little something for me, I do something for you, perhapsss?”

“Ye—wait, hold on, hold it! Time out!” Uriah sat up suddenly, blushing again, spinning his chair to face Kenneth properly. The latter held up his hands and grinned like the Cheshire Cat himself.

“You—You stop that,” Uriah faltered, pointing an accusing finger.

“I’m being serious, darling. I think I have a proposition you’ll like.”

“The last time you ‘had a proposition’, you nearly scared the hell out of me,” Uriah countered.

“But you didn’t say anything to anyone, now, did you?”

“I—no?”

“Which makes me trust you. Like you. Two things working quite well in your favor, Doc.”

Uriah forced himself to remain still as Kenneth bent down and braced his hands on the arms of his chair, their faces hovering close. He could smell the warm, welcoming scent of Kenneth’s cologne, like a small tempting embrace of its own. Swallowing thickly and summoning his nerve, Uriah held eye contact with the inhuman businessman before him, silently queuing him to continue.

“Atlas does need someone to check him from time to time, but so do the reptiles my company houses. And you’re so very fond of Atlas already.”

“There are a lot of talented herpetologist and veterinarians in this city. Why me, specifically?”

“Because you have enthusiasm. It’s not work for you. I hadn’t even promised pay before you agreed to have a look at my boy, and judging by your record, I’d say you thoroughly love what you do.”

“My record?”

“I may have done some background checks,” Kenneth said casually, shrugging. Uriah scoffed and crossed his arms.

“But—“ Kenneth redirected. “—I can also trust your confidentiality, both for my business and my more…personal matters. And I do like my privacy quite a bit.”

“Uh-huh. And this all leads to me doing…what, exactly?”

“Stay on here, at the institute, of course, but I’d like to have you as one of my privately contracted herpetologists. Make sure my pet and the animals at my company are well with routine visits, report back to me with any issues, and be paid handsomely.”

“How handsomely?” Uriah asked dryly. He expected some piddly amount, certain no one outside the field would know exactly what to pay, but when Kenneth leaned close and whispered the number into his ear, Uriah nearly choked on the air in his lungs. He stared back at the man in shock, his eyes wide and face blank compared to Kenneth’s cool demeanor and charismatic smile.

“That’s…wow.”

“Mhmm. And, perhaps, if you’re partial to it, a few additional benefits could be thrown in.”

“B-Benefits?”

“Some nice dinners, a few plus one slots on some gala invitations, the occasional evening rendezvous… I’m very open to negotiations,” Kenneth purred.

“You… Y-You’re serious? About a-all of that?”

“You’d be held to nothing you don’t agree to, of course, but as for the rest, I don’t think you’d mind being held to that,” he teased, winking.

Uriah inhaled slowly. The entire encounter hadn’t been what he’d expected at all. He had half-believed his meeting Mr. Huggins in the first place had been a fever dream. Seeing him in his office also felt unreal. But the offer he was being given, scandalous as it felt, was tempting him to forego his reservations. What were the pros and cons?

Cons, obviously, he’d be working a bit more—but he did very much love what he did, so was that even a con? Either way, he’d be giving up some free time. Maybe a bit more wear and tear on his car, but not by much.

The pros, however… The pay was more than fair, he’d get to spend more time actively handling snakes—something that was limited with the lab work and number-crunching research he had to do. And then there was the fact he’d be seeing more of Kenneth. Uriah couldn’t help his attraction to him; he was charming, enticing, and handsome. Odd eye colors and snake parts included. Even when he was effectively being blocked into his seat by him, Uriah couldn’t help but get a small thrill out of it.

“What do you say, Doc?” Kenneth asked, voice like velvet. “Have we got a deal?”

“…I’m interested,” Uriah conceded. For a moment, he thought Kenneth was going to lean in and kiss him. He braced for it—

“Excellent!”

Uriah blinked as Kenneth straightened suddenly, beaming. He floundered for his wits as he watched the man stride confidently around the desk, reaching for the door.

“I’ll let you know when I have a contract for the business parts all drawn up. Shouldn’t take too long; my clerks are speedy with the keys!”

“I—wh—H-Hey,” Uriah stammered, pushing himself out of his chair to follow him. “You’re just leaving? Now?!”

“I’m a busy man. Places to be, people to bargain with, money to make, you get the drift,” Kenneth rattled off. “But we’ll talk soon, okay, sweetheart?”

“Can you just—“

“Oops, almost forgot my coat!”

Uriah paced up to him, flabbergasted.

“You really are something else, you—“

“Ah, one last thing,” he cut him off, turning abruptly as he slung his coat over one shoulder. Uriah flinched, caught off guard before Kenneth’s free hand rose up and tilted his jaw. Heat flooded to his face yet again as their lips pressed together. He relaxed as Kenneth brushed his fingertips up along the side of his face and back into his hair. They parted slowly, Kenneth’s expression warm.

“Don’t forget to finish that tea,” he reminded Uriah gently. “You seem like you could use it.”

“O-Oh, uh…y-yeah. Okay.”

“Good boy.”

Kenneth gave him one last affectionate touch before swaggering out the door. Uriah shook off his surprise and nearly tripped into the doorframe, sticking his head out to shout after him.

“Hey! Warn me next time you’re gonna show up!”

“Ta, darling!” Kenneth laughed over his shoulder, raising a hand in a casual salute of farewell. Uriah felt his mouth twist into a flustered line, made worse by the few curious glances thrown his way. Uriah snuck back into his office, shutting the door once again and huffing. Eventually, he looked back to the half-full cup of tea on his desk and reached for it, pausing when he noticed the message scribbled into the side in black marker:

‘Here’s to good business! XOXO - Kenny.’

“That teasing sonofa—I’m gonna smack him next time,” Uriah muttered, pointedly facing the message away from him before taking a drink.

((A second lit piece from the Gotham AU that @ask-nagakenny had for Kenny, and I couldn’t help but run with <3))

#onenerdtwonagas #uriah #freckle muffin #Kenny #snuggle snoot #ask nagakenny #friends oc’s #lit #lit post #gotham au

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mazuwii · 3 years

Text

Eren Jaeger SFW Alphabet

Authors note: I hope this is feeding you guys because I am dragging this motivation by its hair😤

I was going to do Bertholdt next but I got a request for Miche so either of them will come out next😄

If you guys can’t comment (I’ve no idea how to turn replies on) Then I’m Lunology on wattpad, just comment on my aot scenarios book and I’ll post here! <3

—A (Affection, how affectionate is he?)

•Not the most lovey-dovey person in the entire cast, Eren is really shy when it comes to conveying his feelings for you. But when you both are alone, and he's comfortable with you he can hug you, or pinch your cheeks as a way of saying "You're so cute I could squish you into nothing."

•He has a very aggressive way of showing affection, like biting your cheek, kissing places with his hands clamping shut on them, it's difficult to get him to let go.

—B (Bestfriend, what would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

•Being best friends with Eren is a wild ride. You'd think he adopted you as a best friend being the loud, boisterous extrovert that he is yet you're the one always getting him out of trouble.

•He's loud, fun, spontaneous but incredibly annoying. My guy will SPAM you with useless TikTok videos, his entire fyp on your messages.

•But he's very funny too, he crops your faces on animated videos and it lowkey looks so shit that it's funny.

•As your best friend, Eren will fight anyone who even thinks about threatening you (lmao he can't fight) so you're just stuck with scolding him and disinfecting his bleeding lip💀

—C (Cuddling. Does he like to cuddle? How would he cuddle?)

•If he gets a random wave of gratitude he'd just randomly burst into your room and hug you, it would be sooo random. You're just playing a game and this guy hugs you but as a joke, he walks around the room while hugging you so the chair you're on walts around everywhere with him. Once you understand what this weirdo is doing you just burst out laughing with him because you both look dumb.

•Like the dude is just staring into space when he remembers that one time you slapped a teacher for him, or almost got yourself in trouble to give him something and he just goes: ƈ ͡ (ुŏ̥̥̥̥ ‸ ŏ̥̥̥̥) ु COME HERE Y/NNNNNN!!

•Eren is a pretty fun boyfriend, wouldn't just stick to a cuddle session, it would be more like... playing a game on the console with you sprawled out on his lap.

—D (Domestic. Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

•While Eren wants to tie a knot when it comes to you and him, having children never ever crosses his mind. It's just fun fun fun until you're twenty-eight and you're asking when he wants to have a mini Jaegar. He just looks a bit taken back because it isn't an easy job...

•And when it comes to cooking and cleaning, he's actually somewhat good at cleaning, never missing a spot with his aggressive wiping. However... I don't see him as a cooker if you get me💀 probably burnt his finger while boiling water and never tries again.

•If we're talking about domestic then yeah maybe, maybe he does have a nice husband in him. Not one that pretends there's a spider on you when you wake up... or nOt one that hogs the pillows.

—E (Ending, If he had to break up with his partner, how would he do it?)

•He felt as if he wasn't giving you enough and that other men could satisfy you. Eren would be too scared to face you when he breaks the news so he would leave a note and completely disappear from your life.

—F (Fiancé. How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

•Eren doesn't really put labels on things, at least, he says that... the guy calls you wifey even though you aren't married. Sure he may think about it for a few minutes but quickly shuts himself down since he's extremely shy when it comes to chatting about the two of you

•Eventually when he goes to all his friends' weddings, he gets jealous and decides he should put a ring on it LMAO, you can expect him to be incredibly flustered and even play it off with a 'cool' when you say yes. It's best you hug him so that you don't see how red his face turns.

•I'm just sayin' he's going all out for your wedding, it's so funny, he's so extra... why are their ten limousines? Men shooting guns upwards the moment you both kiss?! A fucking food fight-

—G (Gentle. How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

•If we're talking about physically, he is not gentle and he doesn't even try to be. He sometimes accidentally hurts you but never misses a second to kiss the spot and over-apologise. But Eren would never think about hurting you on purpose unless it was a life or death situation.

•Emotionally, he's fragile and would love reassurance. Emotionally, towards you, he doesn't be careful, always giving you jump scares, purposely pranking you

—H (Hugs, do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

•For you, he loves aggressive hugs where it's breaking your bones and he just lifts you off the floor and violently shakes you around like he can't get enough of you.

•He loves loves loves loves LOVES hugs when you two are alone and treating you like your a happy huge dog, ruffling every single part of your body for no reason at all and rubbing you with a relaxing force...?

•Again, Eren is very shy so you'd have to start hugging him first for him to get used to it and eventually, he'll be the one knocking into your body for a bear hug

—I (I love you. How fast do they say the L-word?)

•Eren says I love you through the number of shits he gives (Not literally)... If he cares about you he worries a lot and checks up on you almost all the time so

•It would probably be at a time where he did something so risky and you got so scared that the moment you caught onto him you cried it out, he'd apologetically say it back and hug you, with meaning of course.

—J (How Jealous do they get? What do they do when they're jealous?)

•Coming from someone who tries her hardest to make this accurate, I can say Eren gets jealous to the m a x

•At first he thinks to himself that you'd tell whoever it is flirting with you to fuck off but his pride shatters when he realises you didn't say anything and it doesn't sound like you will

•My guy either walks out in dismay and gets petty with you afterwards or he walks up to you and tells you the both of you have to go home before shooting a dirty look at the flirty dude or straight up telling him to piss off

•That may result in a physical fight 💀 that guy needs anger management classes...

—K (Kisses, what are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

•For Eren, I can say that he doesn't make out often but when he does he'll probably leave your lips bruised, he has an obsession with biting your lip at the wrong time💀 he's too rough on most occasions, it isn't fun... calm down Jaegar.

•Eren loves kissing your cheek, except he bites it and leaves a slobber of saliva on it. He thinks it's cute as fuck, he won't stop.

•As for where he likes being kissed... he likes feeling delicate and loved so he really enjoys it when you sweep his rapunzel ass hair aside and kiss the temple of his forehead

—M (Mornings, how are mornings spent with him)

•The blanket is probably completely off of him and his leg is resting on your hip. He's an animal so the guy wakes up at like...6am without an alarm- it isn't even a training day! It's a day off! And he still wakes up at that early time.

•A few morning exercises for an hour before he attempts to wake you up... violently.

•Listen! Eren likes making breakfast with you, it doesn't feel the same without you- it's defintely not because he has no idea how to work the gas and oven🌚

•He's very funny and social when he isn't hungry so mornings are pretty fun with him, cracking a few jokes while getting you dirty with pancake mix (he said he can't control where flour goes, this is why you don't get him to cook)

•And then after that, it's time to shower... idk you decide if you'll go in with him¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Just sayin' his skin is very red afterwards, my guy uses cold water but scrubs so hard with the lufa-)

—N (Night, how are nights spent with him?)

•Like I said, Eren is like a dog, he spends his days using his full energy and he makes sure to use it all up so by 22:00 he should be knocked out.

•Eren isn't too bothered on cooking so you both probably just watch something before bed while eating take out

•afterwards it's a... really boiling hot shower, brush your teeth, have a conversation in bed for a while until you're both falling asleep at the sound of your voices.

•"Hah... loser... I can...- I can see you falling asleep *Jaegar yawn* first..." even though he's the one with the heavy, falling eyelids.

—O (Open, when would he start revealing things about himself? Did he say everything all at once? Or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

•Eren is very hesitant when it comes to being emotional, he thinks it isn't very masculine so you have to remove the toxic part away and reassure him millions of times that just because he cried, it doesn't make him girly.

•It would be an accident, he'd be trying to go stargazinh with you, you were resting on his arm and he was rambling and the subject suddenly got onto him. Without realising, he spilled everything right then and there... somehow without crying.

•The least you could do was hold on his hand and squeeze it gently... I doubt he's paying attention, he's probably scowling in memory.

•It's best you reassure him that nothing is his fault, nothing could have prevented what happened

—P (Patience, how easily angered are they?)

•He is very impatient to say the least, a control freak.

•When things don't go his way, he shouts, punches walls, scrunches up his hair but the moment there are tears in his eyes, everyone needs to leave the room

•oh ho ho HOOO you don't want to Eren to cry from anger, he turns into the silent kid with a glock in his bag... leave him for an hour and you'll come back to a fully destroyed room👁👄👁

—Q (Quizzes, how much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

•He remembers dumb small details, your favourite flowers, why you don't like public bathrooms, the reason you won't stop annoying his half brother 💀 (You wanna know Zeke's wiping technique... who doesn't?!)

•However he can't for the life of him, remember your doctors appointment or to pick up your medicine... he's halfway home and goes "Fuck-"

—R (Remember, what is his favourite moment in your relationship?)

•He and you go out on a lot of dates, but they're always wacky and messy. One of his favourites was when you both attacked Armin at the beach with water guns and then both Armin and Mikasa were both searching for you to get revenge

•You two hid behind a palm tree, giggling lowly with each other, aiming to attack your two oblivious friends but little did you both know, they heard your low confident remarks and lunged from behind the tree with two full buckets of freezing sea water dumped on you.

•He always remembers that day when he drifts off into a daydream and it always makes him smile

—S (Security, how protective are they? How would they protect you?)

•Trust me when I say... Eren would kill for you...

•So in conclusion, he is very protective and would not hesitate to take far measures to protect you. He's pretty much your ride or die

•While he doesn't show his protectiveness, he acts on it... if that makes sense? Listen, he's very protective but he's sneaky about it! I don't know how to describe it

—T (Try. How much effort would he put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

•Despite how immature he seems, Eren completes all tasks in his day. And he makes sure of it

•When it comes to dates, it's very random... more spontanous but it's always something like. "Oh by the way, we're going to a waterpark this Sunday." Orrr "Babe! Get ready, we're going to eat out with Armin and his girlfriend!"

•You have an hour and a half to get ready so I would call your relationship active 😭 not even sexually active just active.

•Eren can be thoughtful but you have to shove your interests in his face for him to know what you want. Cartoon posters? He catches you watching a lot of gravity falls, steven universe, AWOG, etc... and then anytime he sees stuff to do with that in shops, he gets it for you on the way.

—U (Ugly, what are some bad habits of his?)

•Like I said earlier, Eren has some... mild anger issues🌚

•Nothing can calm him down, unless you have Ackerman strength I doubt you can stop him. He has no idea how to deal with his emotions so it just bubbles up and then he sees an object and thinks 💡 this can take my shit load of anger

•The walls probably have a lot dents yk and calming him down is very difficult but to be thoughtful, you tried getting him a few things to help him deal with his stress properly

—V (Vanity, how concerned is he with his looks)

•Couldn't really give two shits about his appearance, my guy grew rapunzel ass hair and just tied it up because I doubt he's bothered to take care of it

•Sure he wouldn't mind you washing it for him and applying conditioner, in fact, he loves it.

•Eren doesn't care about his appearance and just throws on a hoodie and sweatpants most of the time. You have to choose the shit he wears when you go out on fancy occassions 💀

—W (Whole, would they feel incomplete without you?)

•Again, to Eren, you're his world and he'd do anything to make sure that world is safe and healthy so without you, who would he feel the need to protect?

•Okay MAYBE he doesn't like worrying but he just does so I guess that would be a good thing if you broke up but it isn't as worth it💀

•But ever since you've been his sunshine cheerleader, he can't imagine a morning without your whining ass voice, or fighting with you to the bathroom in the morning, jumping on your back out of nowhere

•You're everywhere in his head, of course he couldn't feel whole without you

—X (Xtra, a random headcannon for him)

•Anytime Eren loses at something(it could be a hobby or a game) he'd stop doing it. Just dropping the entire thing.

•Unless he feels competitive, that always fires him up to do better... so in a way, Jean motivates him to do things. Those two actually care for each other but they hate each other (not literally) they're like siblings!

•Sorry, am I making sense?💀

—Y (Yuck, what are some things they wouldn't like, either in general or in person?)

•First of all, my mans fucking hates chocolate, put it near him and he'll kick it or throw it against the nearest wall.

•Like Eren was such a good boi when he was little, eating everything his momma put on his plate, even the brussel sprouts he fucking despised.

•But chocolate is his last straw. Chocolate and peanut butter. It gets stuck to the roof of his mouth and he panics like a drama queen, fanning his face like a princess and washing his mouth with his heart POUNDING against his chest

—Zzz (What are some sleeping habits of his?)

•He sleeps pretty normally, when he turns he lets out a soft satisfied groan, which I'd say is ordinary

•As for his sleeping weight, I'd say he's a heavy sleeper, you'd need to shake him to wake him up, slap his face or something because when that sleep is BUSSIN he won't be WAKIN (bad joke sorry)

•And he's gaping. Shut his mouth please.

•His hands may accidentily fall on some places on your body, he places them everywhere. Like on your nose, on your belly

Authors note:

Have you guys noticed that I don't add the letter L🌚? *shocked noises*

Jaaaa that's because I don't wanna write about kids so forgive me lmao

I'M SO GLAD THIS IS FINISHED! I WANT TO ADD EVERY CHARACTER COS I FEEL SO BAAAAAD FOR NOT DOING A LOT OF YOUR REQUESTS!

Deadass my brain just went bye bye when it came to writing and I recharge by reading actual original work by published authors, it helps me get back on track

Bertholdt/Miche is next!

#Eren #eren fluff #eren sfw #eren yaeger aot #eren yaeger #eren jaeger #Ereh!#erehhhh #mikasa moment #eren x reader

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tenthgrove · 3 years

Note

This request is a pass for you to post some yandere SorLato headcanons! :D have fun

I Love My Followers

Sorbet and Gelato x Reader (GN), Yandere, SFW

CWs: Threat of physical abuse, normal yandere stuff

So, we've already established how you found yourself as Sorbet and Gelato's darling and a few other snapshots of your life settling in with them. But here, we're going to go through precisely what happens between your abduction and finally making peace with your obsessive new husbands.

Partially to gage your resolve to escape, and partially for their own enjoyment, Sorbet and Gelato left you conscious for the entirety of your abduction. Once you're safely in your new home, however, they let you have the mercy of being drugged unconscious, letting you sleep peacefully until the morning, when they'll be better ready to explain to you the predicament you're in.

For the first couple months of your stay, you'll be sleeping in the basement. Callous as that sounds, they spared no expense in making the place as nice for you as possible, painting the walls in your favourite colour and furnishing it with a comfortable mattress, complete with enough blankets and pillows to bury a man with. You'll sleep well down here.

There's also a television to entertain yourself with (though they'll take away the remote if you've been bad) and a curtain to block your view of the rest of the room if needs be. At they end of the day they're still career assassins and the basement may become needed for... other purposes. They don't want you to have to watch anything that might needlessly traumatise you further.

You wake up in the morning no doubt in a great panic. Chained to the wall by your wrist, you're helpless to do anything until one of them finds you, which probably won't be long as Gelato has been awake all night with excitement. Once he and Sorbet are both present they reiterate the events of your kidnapping unless your trauma blanked it out (they aren't deceptive yanderes, they are very keen to be open with you about your situation). They also promise repetitively not to kill you.

Once you've had a couple hours to calm down a little and have had some food put in your system, they come to give you a more in depth explanation of what their motives are in taking you. They explain their love for you and the many reasons why pursuing you the normal way would never have worked out, and promise that as long as you are good for them, they're going to treat you very well. This is elaborated upon in your next, and final rundown of your situation.

At the end of your first day, once you are fully lucid enough to think, Sorbet comes down once more carrying a heavy bag of tools. He talks you through what they're going to do if you break the big rules they've set down for you, namely the ones about running away or attacking them. He holds the tools- switchblades, buzzsaws and pliers, against your trembling skin, to really hit home how much you do not want them to have to hurt you that way. Once he's done with his demonstration, Sorbet gives you a little kiss on the forehead, repeating that he's sure he won't ever need to do any of that to you, right?

Your first couple of weeks are very restricted, only allowed to leave the basement for a bathroom visit every few hours or so and a nightly bath. You're allowed to watch TV barring any bad behaviour (if you're good, Sorbet may even install a few channels from your home country to give some comfort) but it's likely you'll spend much of the time sleeping to escape from your fears. Gelato bothers you for affection whenever he gets a free minute, while Sorbet keeps his distance, preferring to let you come to terms with your new surroundings alone and see for yourself they have no nefarious intentions.

Something you learn early on is that the pair regard you already as their spouse. While you're under no obligation to treat them as such, they fawn over you insistently as their sweet little wife/husband/spouse. After all, they call themselves married, and treating you as any less would just be unequal. Look! They even bought you a ring, to match the pair they bought for each other all those years ago. If you take it off they won't make you put it back on as long as you don't throw it away, but seeing it cast aside on your night-stand their eyes seem... hurt.

In spite of your predicament you're certainly quite spoiled. Gelato badgers you constantly to know your tastes in food so he can make it for you, and pretty much anything you ask of Sorbet is granted as long as it isn't more freedom- that can only be earned. Little by little, you earn more time out of the basement, starting with just a few supervised minutes a day and stretching into hours.

Still, this laxness may renew your desire to leave. You know what the punishments are, god, you don't think you'll ever forget, but if you could just sneak out while Gelato isn't looking surely you can make it out in time? Unfortunately for you, leaping out of the window you find yourself in a woodlands wilderness. Getting out of here will not be easy.

You trek through the trees, certain that surely these woods must have an end, and surely your captors wouldn't be able to find you if you yourself are having this much trouble with navigation. A pity you're up against individuals trained in manhunting. You don't stand a chance.

As you cry in terror, the pair dragging you kicking and screaming back to their house, they give each other a look. They know what each other means. There's no way they could bring themselves to hurt you. After chaining you back up again they decree they've decided to let you off this once, but not to try something like this again. Instead of torture, you are sentenced to a few days left in the dark with less trips to the bathroom and verbal attention. Hardly a pleasant time, but a huge relief compared to what you were expecting.

As the next week dawns and your sins are forgiven, you find yourself shying away less from their affections. Maybe it's just gratitude, maybe you're desperate to get back in their good books and earn back all the privileges you had before. Maybe Stockholm Syndrome really is setting in. After a while of this, Sorbet and Gelato announce they've come to a decision- since you're beginning to love their embrace so much, maybe it is time to start letting you sleep between their arms at night.

#yandere cw #sorbet and gelato #sorbet and gelato x reader

66 notes · View notes

stillness-in-green · 3 years

Text

MVA In Memoriam (4/5)

The Comprehensive Account of the Butchering of My Villain Academia

(Introduction and Part One, Episode 108: My Villain Academia) (Part Two, Episode 109: Revival Party) (Part Three, Episode 110: Sad Man's Parade)

Part Four, Episode 111: Origin: Shimura Tenko

Chapter 233 – Bright Future

• Twice clearly having arranged a Skeptic puppet to where its arm can be used as a pillow for Toga’s neck. A cute little character detail while also being kind of disturbing? Very on-brand for the League! A not-immediately-plot-crucial visual of a member of the League demonstrating obvious care for another member? The guillotine awaits!

• A little explanation about how clones’ physicality and memories work relative to the last time Twice saw the people the clones are based on. This is a very useful little nod of explanation to something that remained unclear from the dialogue of Mr. Clone-press last chapter. Twice’s quirk is pretty arcane in its ins and outs, frankly, and the clearer those details are, the fewer plot holes you’re leaving for later.

• The scene of Skeptic being right on the verge of confronting Twice. Skeptic has, oh, about five moments where he’s obviously a big tense neurotic who’s unpleasant to be around if things aren’t going his way, and the anime deleted or downplayed all but two of them. As ever, it’s obscenely damaging to the characterization of the MLA cast, who we have little enough time with as it is. Further, it was a particularly weird choice to make with Skeptic, who is as of this writing the only major MLA character who’ll emerge still free and active from the War Arc. Why shaft the characterization of the one of new characters who’s going to be getting the most attention out of any of them in the next arc, with yet more scenes yet to come after?[1]

• A full page’s-worth of Spinner’s rationalizations on targeting Trumpet and ordering the Twice doubles to do the same. This lays out the details on why targeting Trumpet stands to relieve some of the load on Shigaraki. It isn’t because Trumpet’s quirk makes the crowds more dangerous, though that is true. Spinner targets Trumpet because he’s seen enough to know that attacking the MLA’s leaders gets them crazy riled up; he knows that if he makes himself a threat to Trumpet, then all Trumpet’s followers’ attention will shift focus to Spinner, leaving Shigaraki with less to deal with. Spinner also knows that that is ludicrously dangerous to him personally, given his weak quirk, but he actively makes that choice anyway, because that’s how much he’s devoted himself to Shigaraki without (yet) quite articulating the nature and reasons for that devotion. Targeting Trumpet without any of that reasoning made for a perfectly sound tactical decision, but it missed the regard Spinner shows the unnamed mobs of the MLA, and it really missed the probable savage beatdown and even possible death that Spinner consciously chooses to risk for Shigaraki’s sake. Of course, a chunk of what the episode deleted is flashbacks to scenes the anime also cut, so they couldn’t figure into Anime!Spinner’s reasoning. This does not excuse yet more cuts to Spinner’s arc and characterization; it only adds to how badly the anime maimed him. Also, on a less salty but still confused note, deleting all the Twice clones from the beginning of the scene and just having Spinner running along a wall past mobs of people instead of laboriously fighting his way through the street to the van was really dumb. Why did all those MLA people just stand there and let him run by? Where did all the Twice clones that just helped save Spinner from a huge flurry of long-distance attacks disappear to? Come on.

• Trumpet’s thought that using Sevens Loud will draw every bit of strength from their warriors, but that it’s necessary. Setting aside that it looks far less necessary when there hasn’t been a crowd of Twice clones fighting Trumpet’s people this whole time, just Spinner by his lonesome, we still lost quite a bit to this cut. Firstly, a nuance on the trade-off Incite gives—that its stat-boost is temporary, and that it’s borrowing from the future to pay for the present, a stock that is limited and a bill that will come due when the effect wears off. Secondly, it’s another demonstration that the MLA leaders aren’t just thoughtlessly wasting their followers’ lives; they’re very consciously doing cost/benefit analysis on how much danger their people are in versus what stands to be gained by the potential exertion or outright deaths those people will suffer. It’s cold reasoning, yes, but that’s how the Liberation Army operates: not for the personal gain or lackadaisical ease of the people on top—Trumpet would just have been in the tower speaking through city-wide loudspeakers, if that were the case—but for the advancement of the group’s ideals. It also just grants Trumpet some interiority, but of course the anime can’t have that.

• The note in Trumpet’s meta-ability explanation that the more his voice causes the air to vibrate, the stronger Incite’s effect. This is—good god, it is literally the entire design mentality behind Sevens Loud! Sevens Loud purpose isn't to make his voice louder so more people can hear him (which I would think is the most logical assumption an anime-only person would make as to why he puts it on); it’s to make himself louder because being louder enhances the boost. It’s about the quality of the effect, not the quantity of targets. This is why Trumpet has the thought about how using Sevens Loud will drain the strength reserves of his people. There’d be no correlation there if Sevens Loud were only about boosting his range.

• When Spinner got porcupined in the anime, they did a close-up on his face, possibly to avoid the gore of showing the spines piercing through his forearm. That’s fine, but they also emphasized the reaction by having him lose his grip on the huge fuck-off knife he had clutched in his teeth. In the manga, sure, he yells in pain, but he doesn’t lose the knife. Indeed, he gets the guy off him by slashing at him with it—a shot the anime dropped. So Spinner doesn’t even get to keep displays of his pain tolerance, a trait he doubtless improved during those six weeks against Machia. Why does the anime hate Spinner so much, you guys? Why did it go out of its way to make him look lamer, when Dabi and Toga were out there getting anime-original flourishes to make them look cooler?

• Spinner’s thoughts, “When I get inspired to act, I don’t know what the heck I’m doing! I’m just a loser jumping on a bandwagon. Or at least that’s what it looks like.” A humorous bit of self-awareness from Spinner here. The anime got at the self-awareness. The humor, as we’ll see, not so much.

• Spinner’s thoughts, “Look at me. Look at me!! With all that prejudice in your eyes!” Hah hah, laughed BNHA the anime nervously, what prejudice are you talking about, Spinner? No idea what you could possibly be referring to there! This one’s particularly annoying because, while one might think that the anime was just dodging the heteromorphobia angle it eradicated all references to back at the beginning of the arc, the prejudice line isn’t even about heteromorphobia, not really. See, the Japanese line there literally translates to, “With those colored glasses!”—to see with colored glasses being a Japanese idiom for seeing something from a biased viewpoint. So aside from being a wordplay jab at Trumpet’s choice in eyewear, it’s also about Trumpet’s expressed view that Spinner, having been a shut-in with a weak quirk who decided to take his resentment out on the world, can’t possibly amount to anything much. So, what, did the people in charge of making those cuts think Trumpet was right? Why even keep the line where he disparages Spinner if you’re not going to let Spinner call it what it is? He’s not calling out fantasy racism there, anime! He’s calling out the bias against weak quirks that even the good guys in this world sometimes partake in! Possibly it’s because non-villains in the world[2] sometimes use reasoning that leads logically to quirk supremacism that the anime got gunshy with it, or it was more reluctance to give the villains—and the Too-Real Iguchi Shuuichi especially—moral ground for accusations against their society that get too close to real life. Whatever the motivation, it’s a bullshit cut.

• Shigaraki calling RD “Detnerat,” presumably because he neither knows RD’s real name nor cares to dignify him by using his code name. The anime, again, made neither the connection nor Shigaraki’s recognition explicit, so it lost the specificity and pettiness of that little snub.

• A little exchange between Giran and a Twice clone as they flee. It doesn’t give you much you wouldn’t assume just from seeing them flee, but it always feels more immediate and empathetic when the characters talk and you can see their expressions, instead of just a quick shot of them from behind as they run away in complete silence. Heck, running away in complete silence is actively out of character for Twice!

• Because the anime has some kind of aversion/restriction on showing hand-related violence, it radically changed how Shigaraki lost his fingers,[3] resulting in the loss of several important shots. To the best of my parsing, in the manga, when Re-Destro makes that first big jump to avoid Shigaraki’s decay wave, he comes back down specifically aiming for Shigaraki’s outstretched left hand, spread wide and flat on the ground. Shigaraki tries to evade (you can see the blur of his left arm in the panel where RD lands), but either RD does manage to clip the hand or he simply hits the ground with so much force that the sheer explosive burst of rock shreds Shigaraki’s hand and part of his coat sleeve. Being so much larger, RD then simply snags Shigaraki by the wrist before he can get out of range. It’s very fast, a burst of speed and violence, and very different (read: cooler) from Shigaraki flipping end over end in slow motion in a way that seemed to imply visually that he was thrown well out of RD’s grabbing range. As to the shots we lost? I counted three. First, Hana’s hand crumpling amidst all the flying debris. Second, that big dramatic panel of Shigaraki’s maimed hand ribboning blood into the air as the narration box finally drops Re-Destro’s identity and code name. Third, the shot of him catching Shigaraki, almost delicately, between one thumb and forefinger and delivering the, “Was it this hand that committed such evil acts?” line—a clear threat to what of that hand Shigaraki has remaining—as we find out what his meta-ability is. This is all hugely dramatic in the manga, because, of course, readers always assumed Shigaraki needed all five fingers to activate his quirk, and here Re-Destro nigh-effortlessly robs him of fully half his capacity to use it. It’s a shocking turn-around and instantly ups RD’s threat level by allowing him to permanently maim Shigaraki in a way that no one, hero or villain, has done before or since. Robbing Re-Destro of the immediacy of that seemingly devastating blow—inflicted within moments of meeting the real Shigaraki—did immeasurable damage to his credibility as an arc boss. The shot in the manga is also just arresting visually, with RD finally getting to properly loom over Shigaraki. Most of the shots up to this point have been framed such that, while RD is obviously bigger, he and Shigaraki have still been moving and fighting in a pretty level way. This is the first place where the viewer is situated so squarely behind Shigaraki that they can really feel how massive RD is in comparison. It’s certainly a more impressive visual than this mess—thanks, anime; thanks, whatever broadcasting standards forced overworked and uninspired animators to undertake a redraw of RD’s quirk reveal panel when every other member of the MLA brass had theirs carried over directly from the manga.

• A chapter-ending cliffhanger of Slidin’ Go helping direct traffic on the outskirts of Deika and the warning rumble as Gigantomachia approaches. Aside from being a nice little tension boost—Will Gigantomachia roll up just in time to see Re-Destro making a mess of Shigaraki? Who will he target? Will Shigaraki ever be able to win him over if he sees a scene like that?—it’s good foreshadowing for what the news reports will eventually be saying. Remember, the claim is that a bunch of villains lured Deika’s heroes away and then attacked the city while it was defenseless; that’s why we never see any of the MLA’s heroes involved with the fight once it starts. And now, here, we find out where they’ve been the whole time: making sure no outsiders get in who might be able to undermine that narrative.

Framing Shifts

• Once again had an MLA member using their Detnerat item say its name out loud, when it’s clear in the manga that they’re just thinking the names internally. Once again, it was kind of silly.

• When Spinner flashes back to watching Stain on TV and being inspired, the manga uses a shot of Stain’s face, snarling and defiant. The anime used—a shot of Stain from behind, only visible from the shoulders to the knees, hunched so that his lower back and ass were towards the camera. Bones… What exactly were you implying lit Spinner’s fire there? Or did you just not have the time or budget to go pull Stain’s reference sheets for drawing his face?

• A tone issue, but a major one: Spinner should be grinning, face alight with accusatory challenge, as he hurls his accusations of the MLA/Trumpet being the same bandwagon-jumping nobodies that he is. This is the moment in the manga where we see Spinner truly throw his hesitations and his doubts to the wind and embrace Shigaraki’s nihilistic fervor and the beauty, value and profundity of emptiness. So what if I’m empty? So what if he wants emptiness? Who cares about other peoples’ ideals if their ideals leave no room for me? It’s not a heroic triumph, but it’s a triumph all the same, and losing Spinner’s smile made the moment far too bitter.

• Meanwhile, in exactly the opposite problem, Shigaraki by this point is not smiling. In fact, he’s barely on his feet, swaying violently in place with accompanying sound effects. While his words are openly mocking, he seems to wholly lack the energy to back them up with his usual verve. The anime didn’t have him smiling, admittedly, but the whole time the ‘camera’ wasn’t directly on his face, his voice actor was reading the lines with an uneven, chuckling cadence that suggested Shigaraki was seconds away from breaking into howls of laughter. He was also, of course, impossibly clean, at a point at which his manga counterpart is muddy, bloody and tattered from the horrifically extended combat he’s been living for six weeks. It’s stuff like this that made it so impossible to take the Army or even Machia as much of a threat in the anime, when, other than the red cords on his hands being broken, Shigaraki looked absolutely no different than usual.

Additions

• Gave Spinner a tiny bit of new animation when he got mobbed by people hopped up on Incite. It was nice, but if they were going to give him a flourish, I’d rather it have come when he swipes Porcupine Dude off him with a combat knife. Or, you know, just kept the bit of him telling the Twices to attack and his reasoning on why.

• Cut inside briefly to show a ballerina girl dancing through a darkened apartment right before she sliced a neat circle out of the wall. I love it, A+, exactly the kind of expansion on the action of the manga I wanted to see. My only complaint is that her manga self looked more like Pearl from Steven Universe.[4] XD

• A quick new shot of RD when Shigaraki was hounding him about his feelings. His teeth were visibly gritted, the corners of his mouth pulled down. It stands out because there’s only one shot of RD there in the manga, and in it, he’s smiling, close-mouthed and calm. The anime copied said shot, smile and all, then cut away, and when it cut back, Re-Destro had a totally different expression on his face. Baffling. Anime!RD having a dour scowl everywhere manga!RD is smiling in a tight, controlled way was all over the fight scene, and it detracted from the sense of RD’s menace every time.

Chapter 234 – Destruction Sense

• The illustration(s) accompanying Re-Destro’s, “Let’s not judge people by their quirks,” line. The pictures are cute, but the real loss there was the note informing us that they’re excerpts from a children’s book published by Shoowaysha—Curious’s outfit—called Quirks and Us. That’s a very concrete illustration of the kinds of things the MLA is getting up to in the world, and an equally concrete thing an anime-only viewer lost. Of course, that viewer never even found out Curious was in publishing, so it wouldn’t have meant anything on that front, but there is one other thing I think is notable: the way that book implies that the only people explicitly pushing a “don’t judge other people by their quirks” message are the radical Liberationists. See, the rest of the story touches on the virtues of a nonjudgmental attitude here and there, but actually finding people willing to say it out loud is—unprecedented, I think. Deku comes across situations where he could say something like that multiple times and he never, ever does—not to Shouto, nor to Shinsou, nor to Eri, nor to the giant fox lady. And that’s not even touching on Shouji’s mask, or the discrimination Spinner faced, or the CRC “losing support” without being declared illegal. I think the manga itself is against judging people by their quirks, but it’s interesting that it doesn’t make its characters into mouthpieces to say as much. This is because its characters are thoroughly enmeshed in a society that very much does judge people by their quirks, regardless of whether or not it will say that doing so is bad or rude or prejudiced. Re-Destro and the MLA aren’t immune, of course—Re-Destro himself says that quirks are linked to personality—but they adhere to a different set of values than the larger society does. While Hero Society talks about quirks in terms of being heroic and/or useful versus villainous and/or useless, the MLA spectrums instead emphasize how capable a person’s quirk is of helping them exert their will and how ambitious the quirk’s bearer is in that exertion. That is, their ethics are less about morality and utility-to-society than they are about aspiration and utility-to-self.[5] Both worldviews have their pros and cons, but that, I think, is what the children’s book is getting at when it says not to “judge”—don’t assign an arbitrary moral value to a quirk; judge a person by their actions. And isn’t it interesting, that the only explicit verbal statement of that value comes from the leader of a radical cult descended from a famous insurrectionist quoting a children’s book published by a member of selfsame radical cult? The value is not ever stated by a member of the heroic cast, so are we to assume that the heroes don't actually believe it? Do people profess to believe it but everyone knows it’s only for courtesy’s sake, with only the MLA willing to breach that wall of “things we don’t talk about in polite society” to actually talk about it in anything other than platitudes? Obviously, you lose this entire line of discussion when the "don't judge people by their quirks" value is just never mentioned at all.

• The phrase, “In that case,” from RD’s, “You will never measure up to me.” It establishes continuity to what RD was saying before. He’s not taking breaks from talking while Shigaraki has flashbacks; the two are happening concurrently.

• RD’s, “Cracking apart…?” reaction to his Decayed fingertip, and the dripping blood from the injury. I’m not hugely fussed about the former, but I like the latter as indicative of what Re-Destro’s Stress powers actually do. That is to say, he isn’t covering himself in a thick shell of Stress power or something; his Stress powers make him physically larger, infusing his body and swelling his size. That’s why he bleeds when Shigaraki touches his fingertip. Admittedly, the size distinction was more obvious in the anime, where the audience watched RD’s shoulders inflate like balloons last episode, compared to the manga, where you don’t get in-between animation. Still, given that RD still has that wound even when he goes back down to normal size, and is still wearing bandages for his speech a week later,[6] it’d be nice to mark the severity of the wound with a bit of blood. Oddly, the anime did keep the wound for the crater scene, visible red slices opened in the flesh along the length of his finger, very obviously the sort of injury that would have bled upon being first sustained. Maybe RD ran afoul of whatever the studio mandate is on when Decay has a dust effect and when it leaves gore? (More of that later.)

• Shigaraki’s, “Mother!” for the first panel we see of her. It’s obvious enough who she probably is, but odd that we got a whole bunch of narration for Hana, and likewise an acknowledgment of his grandparents, but not even a single word for Nao.

• Very significantly drops the grandfather’s, “Eating yummy things helps make the sadness go away.” Grandpa’s not just randomly handing Tenko his favorite snack in that memory—he’s trying to treat some kind of grief or wrong without actually addressing the wrong, opting to just put a flavorful band-aid on it. That could be fine if it were something outside Grandpa’s control, but we’ve already gotten some early hints from Hana’s phrasing that things are not okay in the household, and thus the grandfather’s attempt to bribe Tenko with sweets is just as ominous a sign of what’s to come as the grandmother’s attempt to guilt him into not crying lest he make her cry too.

• A little shot of Shigaraki stirring in the rubble when RD answers the phone. It’s a nice demonstration of their size difference, especially comparing both of them to Machia, who we just saw tearing through buildings like the kaiju his theme music declares him to be.

Framing Shifts

• When Shigaraki narrates that Hana always took him by the hand when he got weepy, she actually does take his hand in the manga, her fingers wrapped around his, his clasped over hers. It emphasizes that this is what he can’t do anymore, simply hold hands with people, the innocence lost aspect, and it suggests the closeness he once had with his sister. In the anime, she reached out a hand but wound up taking him by the wrist instead, his hand splayed open beneath hers. This suggested, albeit very implicitly, that maybe that innocence was something he never had from the beginning; it also suggested less reciprocity in his relationship with Hana. Even though Tomura said in narration that their hands were joined, what we saw was that Hana just pulled him where she wanted him and he didn’t fight her on it, not that he held her hand in return. Alternatively, the anime could have been drawing a parallel to how her hand would eventually be gripping his wrist in a much different context (a more necrotic one, for starters) later in life, though if that's what they were going for, they could have stood to tweak the dialogue so it actually matched the onscreen action. (Credit to @robotlesbianjavert and @aysall respectively for these two theories!)

• Shigaraki still having his fingers when Re-Destro squeezed his hand made RD look like a real moron. I assume the intention was that he assumed he’d done enough damage—broken bones, torn ligaments, etc—to prevent Shigaraki from being able to move his hand in more than spastic twitches, but like, if all it takes is a hard enough spasmodic clench to dust you, you are playing much riskier games than the MLA is generally portrayed as favoring. (Not that the anime kept many of the scenes that demonstrated all the planning and prep that the MLA did as groundwork for their attack, as I have complained about at length.) In the same sequence, Anime!RD turned and bodily hurled Shigaraki away from him, while Manga!RD threw him a similar distance with nothing more than a flick of a finger. Anime, why you gotta make Re-Destro look so lame all the time?

Additions

• Just one episode prior, the anime managed to turn in an entirely reasonable assemblage of swiping and dodging between Shigaraki and Re-Destro while RD was rambling on about the Mother of Quirks. What the hell was the excuse for this episode’s ridiculous shot of Shigaraki literally running circles—big, broad circles—around RD multiple times in the time it took RD to finish one (1) thought? For heaven’s sake, if you don’t have the budget for flashy, just use slow motion or more flashback animation or something. I know there’s more leeway for long thoughts in manga, where the reader understands that thoughts are moving far faster than action, and that it can be hard to bridge that gap for anime, where motion is motion but voice acting still has to rattle its way to the end of a sentence. I understand that measures have to be taken to account for that. Still, I promise, something that just looks a bit padded is much preferable to something that looks outright dumb.

• I admit to having found huge Stress monster RD pulling out a teeeeeny-tiny cellphone very funny—even more so the distinct cracking sound it made when Skeptic reported in bad news and RD’s fingers tightened infinitesimally—but the manga suggests fairly strongly that RD’s just answering on some kind of earpiece or micro-receiver, the same kind of thing Ujiko hands out and that Skeptic is associated with on multiple occasions. It’d be nice if RD could have kept more of the jokes he actually makes, the ones that stem from his native good humor, rather than the anime making up new ones based entirely in the contrast of Re-Destro and the viewer’s expectations of Re-Destro.

Chapter 235 – Shimura Tenko: Origin

• The man at the door, whom Nao is apologizing to at the beginning of the Tenko flashback and the apparent reason Tenko got busted for playing hero. I don’t love the way deleting this obscured that Tenko, in some fashion, troubled someone to lead to Kotarou dragging him down the hall (the anime also dropped Kotarou’s subsequent line, “Causing trouble?!” that’s supposed to supplement his, “Playing hero again?”), but it’s not like the manga doesn’t imply that the same thing would happen for any hero-based rules infraction, regardless of whether it troubled strangers or not. No, the much, much funnier thing to me is how it just fuckin’ torpedoed the most obvious thing people point to when they posit that All For One gave Tenko Decay, kicking off the entire tragedy: the man at the door with the conspicuously shadowed face and the even more conspicuously AFO-like suit and dress shirt with the top button unfastened. Listen, I hate that theory and what it would do to the narrative of Shigaraki Tomura/Shimura Tenko as Hero Society’s long-overdue reckoning, the villain they can’t put down and the victim they can’t silence, so watching the anime summarily cut out the scene that really kicked the theory into overdrive was very validating! Conversely, I still can't deny that it's a plausible theory, so if it does turn out to be true, that means the anime shot itself in the foot on the most obvious bit of foreshadowing this side of AFO addressing Tenko by name when he finds him in the alley. The schadenfreude of that would also be very funny. Really, unlike every other cut this season, I regard this one as win-win for my personal experience with the anime. Incidentally, I was very prepared to complain about the anime dropping all the changes of clothes the Shimura family goes through over the course of the flashback—I regard the timelapse as one of the major points against the AFO Gave Tenko Decay theory, since it’s never taken a quirk bestowed by AFO multiple days, maybe even multiple weeks, to kick in before—but it turns out I’m a lot less bothered about them not taking the time to change the side characters’ clothes when the anime also deletes the dude at the door who is the only reason I care about clarity re: how much time the flashback covers! But just for the record, while they had more outfits than I was expecting them to, the family did go through fewer changes of clothes in the anime than in the manga.

• The full echo of the line about kids being sneaky and simple in favor of Narrator!Shigaraki just letting out this exhausted, rueful, “Ahhh, kids are…” I actually rather like it. It’s a clear reference back to the earlier line without having to restate the whole thing, and Uchiyama Kouki’s delivery is really excellent.

• Kotaro’s first slap of Tenko, the only one directly portrayed on-panel, and Mon-chan’s barking in response. On the one hand, I think there’s an argument to be made for the scene flowing a bit better like this—why wouldn’t Grandpa try to stop him from going for that second slap; why wouldn’t Nao pass Hana off to Grandma and do something instead of just standing there yelling for the entire scene? It makes a bit more sense if they’re hesitant to intervene because Kotarou has “only” grabbed at Tenko’s collar and they don’t yet know how that it’s going to escalate to naked physical violence in a way that it never has before. On the other hand, that first slap is so visceral and shocking. Nowhere else in the manga is domestic violence portrayed more sharply and directly, in greater detail or more cruelly generous panel space than in this moment. It’s in the difference in size between Kotarou and Tenko, the force behind the hit that’s enough to knock Tenko clear off his feet, the pages upon pages of gut-churning lead-up to this moment and what we know will be following soon after. Also too, it makes the family’s failure to help Tenko much worse that no one else acts when Kotarou pulls back for a second hit. The first one, you could almost excuse because no one saw it coming; the second throws those justifications out the window and spits on them afterward. Two hits are important—not only for what they tell Tenko in the moment about his family's inaction, but because two hits speak in ways one hit doesn't to how wildly uneven the power balance is in the house, that Nao and her parents could witness something like that and not only fail to intercede, but then take who knows how long to work up the courage to confront Kotarou afterwards. I understand very well the fear of showing this in a family TV timeslot—the violence is so much more real than any big fantasy beat-‘em-up could ever be—but it’s the kind of thing that really drives home what Tenko needed to be saved from even back then, a social issue that heroes as they currently exist were in no position to address. Far from demonstrating that heroes aren't at fault for what happened to Tenko, though, what this scene truly does is vividly illustrate the flaws in All Might's social contract, in which his power and smile seem to promise that he can save absolutely everyone, only to leave children like Tenko out in the cold with no explanation as to why. It's brutal because it has to be, and the anime shying away from depicting Kotarou's physical abuse undercut that.

Framing Shifts

• There was a bizarre, nonsensical change to the scene at the beginning of the chapter where RD is figuring out how Shigaraki survived/got back up after taking a Burden attack head-on. The manga’s explanation is that Shigaraki didn’t actually take a full force hit because he was Decaying it even as it was blowing him back. This is somewhat silly, given that even a reduced-strength Burden is still strong enough to put him through multiple buildings. It is, however, less silly than the anime’s take, in which Shigaraki touched Re-Destro rather than the corporealized Stress of Burden. How Re-Destro survived a full-fingered touch from Shigaraki’s completely uninjured right hand[7] went totally unexplained; the problem was then compounded by Re-Destro delivering manga-accurate lines about Burden not being an evadable attack despite “evasion” having nothing to do with Shigaraki’s actions. Anime!Shigaraki didn’t dodge the Burden attack any more than Manga!Shigaraki did; unlike Manga!Shigaraki, however, Anime!Shigaraki also did nothing to reduce the impact of the attack. So not only was how Shigaraki survived the Burden attack not explained, the change to the material also opened up the plot hole of how Re-Destro survived a direct touch attack that Shigaraki in the manga never lands.

• There was also an extremely weird decision made to give Tenko dark, gray-blue eyes, obviously reminiscent of Nana’s, and suggest that they became red at the same time as his hair was changing to white. But in the manga, other than the size, there’s no difference between young Tenko’s eyes and how Shigaraki’s eyes have always been drawn—an unshaded iris with a visible pupil and a relatively thick line delineating the iris from the white of the sclera. Tenko’s eyes never matched those of anyone else in his family, least of all his dark-eyed grandmother. His hair changed color because of a trauma response,[8] but his eyes were always red.

• Relocated Shigaraki’s first, “Little kids…are sneakier than you’d expect. And simpler,” to underscore Hana showing him Nana’s picture in the study, squarely centering the line on her. And like, yes, that line does get its bitter echo later when Hana panics in the face of her father’s fury and throws the blame onto Tenko—but that line isn’t just about her; it’s also about what Tenko wanted to hear from the other adults in his life. It didn’t matter that his father didn’t approve; if he could get at least one adult to say he could be a hero, to take his side, then he could feel vindicated. It’s a child’s sneaky, simple reasoning: if an adult’s words are absolute, you just have to get one (1) adult to agree with you. It’s asking Dad if you can do something you don’t think Mom will agree to, and then going to Mom with Dad’s permission held defensively in-hand. Laying the line over Hana obscures that it’s as much about Tenko’s craving for external validation as it is Hana’s (entirely understandable) deceitful streak.

• After half a season full of internal monologue being voiced aloud even when it made little sense to do so, the anime decided to render clearly talk-bubbled dialogue—Tenko’s chatting at Mon about how he feels like he could take on the world—as internal monologue instead. Who talks to their animals in their heads when they could be talking at them directly like pet owners the world over?

Additions

• Added a few extra stills of Kotarou rebuking Tenko and dragging him around. I don’t think they’re inaccurate to the situation, though I wonder if it really needed to be underlined two more times than the manga did. Maybe they were trying to make up in advance for deleting the first slap?

• Added a few new stills of Nana and child!Kotarou. They hurt my soul and I love them without reservation.

Chapter 236 – Shimura Tenko: Origin, Part 2

• Hana’s second apology. What needs to get across was communicated with her first apology, but I do think the second one adds some naturalism to the dialogue. It feels very normal for a child feeling extremely guilty to apologize multiple times, like the more times they say it, the more true/convincing it will become.

• A bit of Tenko’s internal monologue—thinking Hana’s name, and Mon’s, and that he can’t talk. The anime slipped some attempts at verbalizing “Mon” into the dialogue, and it was painfully obvious just from listening to him gag and choke that he was too horror-struck to get words out, in ways that would be a little harder to convey on the page. Also, he thinks again that he can’t talk just as Hana runs away, so it gets across regardless. No real complaints here.

• Some thoughts about how he’s itchy, which, given what his itch represents (or at least what he thinks it does), they probably should have kept for continuity’s sake.

• Tenko’s last, “Hana-chan!” just as he grabs for her. I can imagine it having just that little bit more desperate impact, especially given Sekine Arisa’s great delivery of the first “Hana-chan!” but his delivery of the first one was great—weeks later, I can still remember it clearly—so it’s not a snip I’m inclined to doomsay about.

• Hana’s verbalization as the Decay hits her. Given that they kept Mon-chan’s last whimper, it’s kind of inconsistent not to keep this. It’s grueling, sure, but no more so than the rest of the horror show shortly to follow.

• An echo of Nao’s defense of Kotarou’s anti-hero stance. Frankly, I think anime already over-indulges in echoing dialogue we’ve heard not ten minutes prior, so I don’t mind losing this—in the manga, the moments would have fallen in different chapters, so it makes more sense to squeeze in the little reminder, but that wasn’t necessary for the anime, in which the original moment and the callback happened barely more than five minutes apart. It was obvious what the mental image was meant to draw attention to, since Tomura was narrating about exactly what his grievance was, and the image was followed by the two equivalent moments with the grandparents. (Admittedly, it hurt that correlation a bit that Grandpa’s line about the ohagi being intended to make the sadness go away got cut, but the sentiment was pretty clear from the man’s expression of nervy, abashed guilt regardless.)

• The line of Decay that splits Nao’s eye, one of the more vividly horrific little grace notes in the chapter. It undercut the grotesquerie just the tiniest bit, but the scene’s grotesque as-is, so I can understand that slight edit for TV standards. The discrepancy between Decay-to-dust and Decay-to-gore, discussed below in Framing Shifts, was much more damaging.

• A shot of Kotarou just after he hits Tenko with the tree pruning shears in which he looks, briefly, incredibly distraught, like he’s just realized what a monster he’s become. The anime didn’t make the slightest of attempts to keep that spasm of horror, grief, and regret, and thus lost that last moment of sympathy for a man deeply traumatized by a heroic character’s actions. It’s my only complaint about Anime!Kotarou, who I was otherwise far more pleased with than I was afraid might be the case, but it’s a complaint I must register nonetheless.

• A bit of inarticulate yelling before Tenko screams, “You... Die!!” It helps get across Tenko’s rage overflowing, to have that wordless garble before he can actually wrap words around it. He was still having trouble talking, too, so it makes sense that his first vocalization would just be a long, incomprehensible screech. That said, with the music there to supplement the mood in a way the manga would lack, I don’t think the anime’s rendition of the scene suffered overmuch from its absence.

Framing Shifts

• The anime, of course, has always gone the dust route for Decay because Decay is a little too gruesome for family hour TV, and anyway, when Tomura gets as fast with Decay as he is in Deika, he really is just insta-dusting people, such that not even blood remains. But he wasn’t that fast or that thorough as a child, hence why it’s all so much gorier—and it needs to be, because it’s hard to imagine Hana freaking out like she does if all she sees is a pile of dust instead of, well, dog gobbets. (Also, if his family had gone the dust route, it would have been very hard to convince the audience that Tomura’s hands are his family hands and not fakes provided to AFO by Ujiko.) This obviously put the anime in a difficult spot, but apparently the decision they settled on was—to not decide? Everyone we saw in the active process of decaying decayed into dust as usual, but then once they were done decaying, once that transition from person to ruin was complete, there were all these heaps of gore everywhere. It was a very strange and distracting inconsistency that hurt the scene much more than any of the nearly invisible cuts, and I hope the blu-rays will change it.

• Added Grandpa catching Grandma as she staggered at the sight of things in the yard. Since his body language in the manga (the only non-Decayed shot of him in the sequence) has him leaned more forward, like he’s still halfway through running towards the kids, I thought this was a nice little touch on why he stopped, for reasons other than just the obvious.

---

Episode 111 was about half of a really strong episode. Most of my complaints about the Shimura Family flashback are very minor, and most of the ones that are less minor are still easy to overlook when the rest of the presentation was so strong. Unfortunately, the non-flashback half of the episode had as many problems as ever, and those aren't over yet.

Come back next time for Part Five, Episode 112: Origin: Shigaraki Tomura. Assuming my complaining about the finalized gutting of Spinner's arc doesn't get too out of hand—which it may; if so, I'll tack on one final part to wrap things up—I'll also be running down a quick overview of the Paranormal Liberation Front scenes in the Endeavor Agency arc and some various odds & ends.

FOOTNOTES

[1] Yes, I know the Skeptic Confronts Twice scene goes nowhere, but maybe, instead of deleting it, they could have patched it up by showing Skeptic turning away from the confrontation when the tower went down? You know, actually made an effort to improve on the material?

[2] Bakugou, of course, but also Inko, Kotarou, and, very prominently, even All Might. Deku circa MVA has an entire arc lying in wait for him about how much he’s internalized All Might’s paternalism re: having the strongest quirk.

[3] Indeed, as of the scene in the crater, he still hadn’t lost them at all! He had his prosthetic by the time of the speech, so I guess we’re meant to assume that Ujiko or some MLA doctor declared them past saving and amputated them. I hope I don’t need to tell you how unbelievably lame it is to have a shounen manga character sustain a permanent injury like that off-panel.

[4] It’s the pointy nose.

[5] That, at least, is the best way I’ve found to reconcile all the related-but-distinct values professed by the various members of the MLA brass, from Re-Destro’s focus on liberation and purpose, what exactly Trumpet chooses to cite when he’s talking about Spinner not “amounting” to anything much, Geten’s open extolling of quirk supremacy, and so on.

[6] In the first big double-page spread. Oddly, no bandaging is visible in the other panel that has a good shot of that hand, possibly because Horikoshi was more focused on drawing RD’s empty pant leg. The anime kept the obvious wound during the crater scene, but not the bandages during the speech.

[7] I assume, anyway, that Re-Destro only survives Shigaraki’s first touch because it’s a weaker Decay, coming as it does from only from two fingers rather than five.

[8] The fabled Marie Antoinette Syndrome. Never been scientifically documented as such (hair can whiten because of extreme stress, but not overnight) but it endures in fiction because it’s pleasingly dramatic. Trauma-based eye-color changes, not so much.

#my villain academia #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha #bnha meta #my writing #stillness has salt

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manyfictionsmusings · 3 years

Text

Pull Me Like A Ripcord

Summary:

This story takes place immediately after the events of X-Men Apocalypse, where Peter decides against going back to Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters, despite seeking his father’s attention prior. This fic will just be growing and “mutating” as I write but promising lots of Dad/son angst, hurt/comfort etc.

Chapter 1: AfterEffects

As naïve as it was, Peter had hoped Erik would somehow realize he was his son, now that idea seemed cold and stupid. Why would Erik magically know who he was? He wasn’t Charles, a mind reader, and this wasn’t a fantasy kingdom where the orphan got his father in the end of the story.

Peter pulled his legs up to his chest, or at least he would have if he could have moved his shattered knee, the pain, coupled with the emotional turmoil of the long day sent him easily to tears. He wasn’t used to losing, he wasn’t used to being physically injured. The finale of the Egyptian battle had seen the x-men triumph, but Peter himself had lost…lost another chance to connect with Erik, if only he’d been able to get the better of the Immortal it might have impressed his father enough to take note of him, but instead if it hadn’t been for Raven’s distractions, the Beast’s strength and his own father’s shift in loyalties, he would have been just another victim in the note book of Apocalypse.

Peter drew a shaky breath, trying to force the events to wash over him, normally things didn’t bother him, but the last few months he’d changed, the others here at the school, or what was left of the school…he didn’t want to call them family but that’s what they felt like to him. It scared him and it was too much to hope for, he’d been disappointed to many times to open up like that. Which was why he’d told Beast to take him to a regular hospital in Cairo and he’d make his own way home once he was healed.

Beast had had his reservations about it, leaving the scrawny, pale kid who’d been with them since he’d saved literally everyone at Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters seemed a shitty way to repay him, but he’d finally consented to it, only after Peter had gotten angry and started yelling.

He felt lonely now, in the hospital bed, with an oxygen tube in his nose and his injured leg casted and hoisted by a sling, a thousand miles from anyone he knew, but the pain was reminding him of his failures as one of the x-men and the isolation served to remind him why he didn’t bother with people, especially his father.

They always left. Or were never there to begin with.

He deserved this.

“You don’t deserve any of this, Peter.”

Peter jolted, startled for only a second by the gentle voice, there was only one person it could be, to know what precisely he was thinking. He hurriedly wiped tears off his face before Charles came any closer.

“I told Beast I was fine. I don’t want anyone wasting any more time on me.”

“Beast didn’t tell your secret, but I was worried about you, Peter. You think I was going to just leave Egypt without you? I wouldn’t leave here without any of you.” Charles stepped closer, softly he took his hand and squeezed gently. “You all mean so much to me. I owe you my life, Peter.”

He removed his hand and crossed his arms. “I didn’t do anything, if…if Erik hadn’t stepped in, we all would have been killed-including you.”

Charles glanced towards the monitors attached to the young man, before his eyes roamed across the physical state of Peter, in contemplation. “It was a group effort; it took all of us.” He finally spoke after a moment of hesitation. “I know you seek his attention and yet you’re afraid of it…Lehnsherr is coming back with us to New York, he’s going to help me rebuild the institution.”

Peter glanced up, his eyes reflecting a youthful hope the professor hadn’t seen for some time. “I thought he left.”

Charles shook his head. “It’s a way to…perhaps earn his attention, little by little anyway. What do you think? Will you return with me?”

Peter grimaced. “I’m not in great shape professor, encase you haven’t noticed. I might swing in when I’m up and around.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “I know all your pains, I’m sorry. I put your life in such horrific danger-”

“I came along on the mission of my own free will, no one forced me,” Peter interrupted.

Charles gripped his shoulder suddenly with an assertive intention. “Let me oversee your recovery, Maximoff, please, it’s the least I can do. I won’t leave here until you agree to be transferred to a hospital in New York, preferably close to Salem Center. You don’t have to be bothered by anyone from the school. But knowing you aren’t in Egypt would put my mind at ease.”

Peter sighed, he was feeling it again, the warm sensation that made him relaxed and somehow extremely uncomfortable at the same time. Family was something he would never be able to hold on to. He was going to mess it up, he knew that. He could already feel the threads slipping between pale, desperate, grasping fingers. But in the meantime, Charles cared about him enough to hunt him down in one of many Cairo hospitals, and he’d checked in under an alias. The professor cared enough to come back, or had he never left in the first place? His caring nature was beyond consolation to Peter’s broken, cold body, so comforting in fact he felt tears welling up again!

He sniffled and hurriedly wiped his brow before their return, nodding. “I’ll come with you.”

Professor Xavier had kept his word, medically and financially he’d arranged for everything to be taken care of, transporting Peter from Cairo to New York. He’d also arranged for him to have his own private room in Sheeran Hospital—a private hospital in upstate New York, forty-five miles from the current disaster of Xavier’s school for gifted youngsters.

Over the next two weeks physically Peter’s injuries slowly healed but mentally he felt wrecked beyond compare. He started having reoccurring nightmares that he couldn’t run; his ability had been fractured when the monstrosity had snapped his leg like a twig under his boot. In the dream he was trying to run away from someone, his first thought was that it was Apocalypse but a couple nights later he realized it was just a shadowy figure, one he could never outrun. Each time he fell, immobilized as pain shot through his leg, the sound of his own bones crunching reverberated in his ears, just as it had that day.

The nurses had unfortunately taken note of his mood, though Peter hadn’t put much effort into hiding his grim attitude, he’d slipped in a snarky remark about getting some extra drugs for an overdose. The nurse didn’t find his dark humor amusing and Charles suspiciously showed up the very next day.

He didn’t say much at first, just sat near Peter’s bed, looking out the enormous rectangle window that looked west, on a glowing sunset. “You have a good view though,” he finally spoke.

Peter pursed his lips. “I do appreciate your hospitality Professor, but I’m fine, you don’t have to check in on me. Just... really bored here you know, I don’t think I’ve ever stayed in one place this long…it’s wearing on me, I feel weird being at this speed.”

Charles turned his chair to face him, hands in his pockets, yet concern on his features. “Must be very uncomfortable to be forced to slow down. How’s physical therapy going?”

Peter avoided the older man’s gaze for some reason and snorted. “I mean it’s slow, I’m not the patience type or a patient for that matter…”

Charles nodded. “But the sooner you’re hobbling around, the sooner I can get you out of here.”

“And take me where?” Maximoff snipped with his signature deep-set frown.

Charles chuckled, “You’d be surprised what several telekinetic mutants can accomplish when it comes to construction. The east wing is already rebuilt, for now we’re using it for sleeping quarters. It’s a little crowded but…”

“…Anything is better than the smell of hospital?” Peter finished, trying to keep his mind in constant motion—moving from thought to thought. He didn’t know how much the professor knew about what he was thinking but Xavier had already noted his inward conception about seeking Erik’s attention in Egypt, so his guess was he was an open book, but Peter’s thoughts could be about as fast as his movement when we wanted them to be. “Well sounds like I need to hit therapy harder, if you’re actually going to get me out of here.”

As much as Peter didn’t intend to be shambling around a cramped wing in the school, Charles’ visit served to kick him in the butt about getting out of Sheeran soon, regardless of where he went afterward. And if he was being honest, he had never planned to go back to the school, though he also wasn’t ready to face his reasoning for not returning there.

No one was going to miss him, well not the one person that mattered, because he couldn’t even see Peter for who he was. A new plan had quickly formulated—get his leg in good enough shape to slip off before Charles came back for him and circumvent the entire situation altogether.

The nightmares continued to plague him, as day after day he added a little weight to the tender broken leg, between tears and a lump that had formed on his lip from how many times he had bit it to deal with the pain, he started making it all the way through the routes the therapist had set up for him. Once he realized he could make it to the end of the routine he had to mentally stop himself from trying out his true speed. He continually checked himself, forced himself to be normal, move slowly. He embraced the pain wholly, promising himself a whole box of Lemonheads when he got out of here.

A week and two days after Charles’ visit, Peter decided he was going. He’d woke up from his worst nightmare by far, clutching his throat, covered in sweat, his heart was beating hard enough his chest ached. His leg was throbbing with shadow pain from Apocalypse breaking it, only in this dream he hadn’t been saved before the giant mutant had slit his throat and tossed him aside like trash. His father hadn’t even noticed or cared.

Peter swallowed painfully, still tracing his fingers across the smooth, blanched flesh of his neck as he slipped out of bed. His x-men costume had been lost somewhere in the shuffle, or maybe the professor had taken it, either way Charles had been kind enough to replace it with his current pajamas and a change of clothing. Not the usual silver tinted clothing but considering he still wasn’t up to his Quicksilver speed, it seemed fitting to pull on the dark blue jeans and faded orange hoodie. Peter sighed in comfort at the velvety worn state of both items as they contacted his skin, though he tried to ignore how billowy the clothes were on him, he’d lost a significant amount of weight since Egypt—which the nurses had been lecturing him over—but what could you expect when there was only hospital food and no snacks to be seen.

Next Peter attempted to calm his silvery hair, by brushing his fingers through it repeatedly, which only seemed to make it worse. Between the wild shock of hair and the dark rimmed eyes, his reflection looked ghostly, coupled with the dim hospital lighting.

Peter exhaled calmly before grabbing the only items that had made it back with him from Egypt, his googles and his earphones, he stuck one of the foreign crutches under each armpit and silently slipped out of Sheeran Hospital…

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like-rain-or-confetti · 3 years

Text

Request: Rescued (Demetri Volturi x Reader)

You let out a scream, but the collision never came. You watched in horror as Demetri Volturi of all people had a tight grip on the newborn vampire and with impossible speed, he and Felix ripped the vampire apart.

The two Volturi guards slowly turned to you. Felix and Demetri looked at each other briefly before Demetri approached. You inhaled sharply, trembling in fear as you anticipated that you were next. He crouched down to your level. "You're safe."

He'd never actually spoken to you before. He'd only ever stare at you when in his presence.

After the battle with the Newborn army, you were more than ready for bed. You had just came back into your room after brushing your teeth, taking off your hoodie before gasping in fright.

There, sitting on the bottom of your bed, was Demetri Volturi. He was quiet at first, seemingly in thought before breaking the silence. "You feel it too." Demetri said simply. You knew almost immediately that he was talking about the pull. The longing you had to be around him. "You feel it?" You asked quietly. Demetri slowly nodded with a grim expression. "I want to understand this but I can't with everyone surrounding us." "You and the others...killed that girl." You began quietly, listening to your voice of reason. "She lived longer than she should have." Demetri answered. "Am I supposed to believe that I won't meet the same fate?" You asked. Demetri sighed. "I'm not here to the play this game with you. I'm not here as a Volturi guard and I know for a fact that you are not as loyal to the Cullen's as you'd have us believe. You and I have to be seen a certain way, play a role and this bond doesn't care for that. So I suggest we figure it out together and cast those roles aside." Demetri swallowed, his voice lowering again. "So do you want to continue roleplaying or come to bed?" You were alarmed by the question, that was exceptionally forward, especially considering the little time you had known each other. You stammered. "As in-?" "Was that not what you were about to do? Go to bed?" You exhaled. "So you're not asking to..." You trailed off. After a moment, Demetri seemed to catch on, a slight smirk growing on his face. "There will be plenty of time for that in the future, love." The smirk vanished. "I just want to be near you, try to understand this." After a moment, you agreed.

One thing was clear, Demetri wasn't entirely good at being open with humans. Then again, you didn't imagine he had much time for humans unless flirting. It was clear, Demetri didn't want to do that with you. He wanted to get to know you and this was the way he decided to do it.

You moved passed him, climbing into your bed. After a moment of watching you. He followed suit. You felt the bed dip as you moved to give him room. The two of you were silent. You felt his arm graze your back and you immediately turned to face him. Like clockwork, you both moved closer to each other and you curled into him. You expected it to feel awkward, cuddling into a stranger, a dangerous one at that. However it wasn't. In fact it felt like you had been waiting for that moment. "Did you know?" You asked quietly. "In Italy? Did you know?" "I had my suspicions." He responded quietly. "I have so many questions. I want to know more about you." You admitted. "I know." Demetri replied. "As do I. However, there will be time for that. Next time. The next time we get peace like this, I'll answer your questions."

As time passed, you were almost inseparable. Whilst your bond only grew stronger, so did the challenges. Such as when Bella fell pregnant. Things weren't supposed to go this way. You were at a loss of what to do. You couldn't tell your father what was happening to his daughter. Reality sank in that one day you'd have to look your father in the eyes and tell him Bella had died knowing full well that she was still around. You hated the situation but it only got worse.

Whilst that was going on, Irina discovered Renesmee and thought her to be an immortal child. She fled before anyone could explain. Seeing there was a law against immortal children, she ran to the Volturi. You hadn't breathed a word to Demetri about any of it. You never got the chance to. The silence on his end was terrifying. Weeks going by with no contact. Soon enough, you wanted to distract yourself. Usually Alice would be a great help in this but she and Jasper had gone, leaving only a note.

As you were heading back home, your eyes connected with a familiar blonde's red ones. Demetri gestured for you to come with him before he led you through the trees. "Were you ever going to tell me? What they did?" "Demetri, it wasn't-" "Were you?" "I-" "Were you ever going to tell me about that child!? I highly doubt you didn't know about it." Demetri pressed. "I did but she was wrong!" You blurted out. "The child isn't immortal!" Demetri immediately sighed in frustration. "Is that what they're telling you? At least it will save you- that works." "They aren't telling me anything, I've seen it!" "You don't understand how serious this is. Children can't keep secrets!" Demetri said louder. You paused, biting your lip swallowing back the lump in your throat. "What works?" You asked quietly. Demetri looked at you, void of emotion whilst your emotions began to build. You continued. "After all this time, you didn't say a word to me. I've been here terrified and you didn't send as much as a letter or a call. I was frightened I would be dead, that you would be in trouble that my sister and her family would be in trouble- this whole time!" The more you told him, the closer you got to him, fighting back tears. Demetri grasped your elbows. "I couldn't because when I was angry and when I wasn't angry, I've been talking to Aro, Caius and Marcus. To make sure that at least you'd be safe in all of this. I convinced them you couldn't have possibly have understood, have known enough to ever piece it together. The only reason it worked was because you're my mate! If you were anyone else...you wouldn't get the chance." Demetri took a breath to calm himself. "If you would have told me, this would have been much more simple." Your lip quivered. "I-I try to keep up, I do but..." You shook your head. "I don't know enough about your kind to ever understand." "I know." Demetri said quietly. "That's what's going to save you, my love. I'm sorry, I am so sorry that you're in this position but I'm going to fix it. I just need you to trust me and I need you to be honest. Never ever out yourself in this situation again." Demetri pulled you closer to him, searching your eyes. "I know I went silent for some time and I'm sorry I left you worrying but it's alright now. I'm fixing it." Demetri cracked a small lighthearted smile. "Didn't you miss me?" Your mouth twisted, his attempt at cheering you up failing. However he continued to prod. "(Y/N), didn't you miss me?" His lips brushed against your own. "Even a little?" "Of course, I missed you." You breathed. You pulled back before he could kiss you and he tilted his head in confusion. Your eyes darted at every angle ad though making sure you were alone. "Are you reluctant to kiss me because you feel it's betraying them?" Demetri asked. You looked alarmed. That's exactly how you felt. "No-I-uh..." You stuttered, mind going blank with no excuses at all. "This is interesting." Demetri hummed, looking less than pleased. "It's really plaguing your mind isn't it? You don't know what to do. Be with me and you're betraying your sister or join your sister and betray me. You have no clue what to do." Your eyes fell to the forest floor, almost ashamed you could he read so easily. "Listen, if we're fine-" "Kiss me." Demetri interrupted. Your eyes darted up to his, wide in surprise. "Kiss me." Demetri repeated, moving closer to you. "We are completely alone. No one is watching and no one can hear us. It's only you and I here.Everything that has happened, everything that will happen- forget it. Just as I said, back when we first spoke. Take away our roles and it doesn't matter to us. So even for just the next five minutes, let's just forget everything. Be my (Y/N). No catch, no consequences, just us here and now. Kiss me, (Y/N)."

In an instant, you closed the gap, capturing his lips with your own. Demetri cradled your face as he kissed you back with just as much force. You broke the kiss, leaning your forehead against his. "If I do as you ask." You whispered. "If I trust you, completely give in to you and let you deal with this. Promise me, I won't regret it." Demetri kissed you again. "I'm going to fix this it'll be easier if you trust me. It's all I ask."

When the day arrived that the Volturi would come, it was bittersweet. To see Demetri again always tugged in your heart strings but under these circumstances, you couldn't be sure that was important. Aro and Carlisle were the first to speak and to your surprise. Aro got straight to business, starting with you. "Firstly, I'd say we should get the first issue dealt with." Aro said, his eyes falling on you. "(Y/N)...why dont you come with us?" Your eyes widened in surprise and after a moment of silence, Demetri stepped forward. "(Y/N)!" He called softly. "Come." He held out a hand. The pleading look he sent you made you aware that this was it.

This is what he meant. You realised that this was him fixing it. Carlisle's words rang in your mind. The Volturi often spared those they deemed innocent. All of those people ended up being in the guard. Due to their remarkable gifts. You didn't have one but what you did have, was the heart of his prized tracker and one of the higher guards. If he wanted to keep Demetri loyal to the Volturi, He'd have to bring you. Your heart beat faster in your chest realising you'd be the next. Although Demetri's words were the last thing you remembered. Him asking you to trust him and you did, you wanted to. You felt terrible as you moved forward. Bella sent you a pleading look and you didn't dare look at her. If you thought about it, or even cast a glance to her, you'd feel the guilt. Demetri was quick to take your hand and pull you tightly into his side. His arm pressing you against him. You realised he was taking a protective stance, ready for any attack.

When Renesmee and the Cullen's were proven innocent, only Irina taking the fall, did you realise what would happen. You looked to Demetri. "I can't go back, can I?" You said quietly. Demetri shook his head slightly with a slightly apologetic gaze. "I'm sorry. It was the only way." You felt tears build up and Demetri pulled you into him tighter. "Please stay with me. I can't lose you." You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I know. I know. It's okay." It wasn't. Your human life was cut short. You could never see your family ever again. Your sister would never want to see you again. Slowly, you turned your head to look at her. She met your gaze and to your surprise she nodded with a soft gaze. You couldn't believe it. Bella was encouraging you to go. She said nothing but you knew what she would say. She'd reassure you it was okay. You could go. Bella recognised how much you gave for her happiness with Edward and now it was time to repay the favour. Demetri also caught sight of this before lifting you into his arms. He couldn't help but smile as he began to walk away with many other guards, taking off with you in a blur.

#request #twilight #volturi #the volturi #reader #demetri volturi #oneshot #one shot

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 4 years

Text

(Un)Wanted Part 1

Read on Ao3

(Un)Wanted Masterlist

A child that sees demons in every dark corner is not a child that is wanted.

A child that cries and freezes and mumbles of terrible things is not a child that is wanted.

A child that jumps and startles and hisses is not a child that is wanted.

Unwanted things are purged from the Earth.

So Virgil runs.

In other words: Virgil is an outcast, ostracized and shunned for how he was born, forced to flee an angry mob only to stumble right into a fae garden.

Pairings: LAMP, DLAMP, DLAMPR, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Warnings: Implied/Referenced torture, child abuse, and self-harm, nothing super explicit. Sympathetic Deceit and Remus. Panic attacks, anxiety attacks.

Word Count: 11,250

He’s running. He’s running, he doesn’t know what from anymore, all he knows is that they’re chasing him, they’re after him, he has to run—

He tears through the cold forest. It doesn’t matter that he can’t see where he’s going anymore, it doesn’t matter that the branches reach out and tear at his clothes, at his legs, at his arms. The cuts sting in the cold wind as he runs. His feet slap against the ground, too ungainly to dodge the smaller roots but just quick enough to swerve around the bigger ones. He glances over his shoulder. Can’t see them. Can’t see anything. Run. Run. Run.

The trees get thicker. The branches no longer whip past his shoulders, they stick. He has to dodge. He has to swerve. He has to hold his arms up in front of him to block the ones he can’t. His arms sting, rending through the thin tunic easily. His lungs ache. His brain races.

Demon.

Evil.

Bad.

Cursed.

The branches disappear and he almost pitches forward, throwing his arms out to catch his balance a few moments later. The second his arms aren’t in front of his face anymore, he winces. Why the fuck is there a massive clearing right here? It’s so goddamn bright, he has to blink at least three times before he can—

Oh.

Oh, no.

No, no, no, no, this is bad, this is really bad—

It’s a fae garden.

It’s golden. It’s enchanting. No plants grow that artistically. The colors are just this side of too vibrant, bathed in the gleam coming from he has no idea where. he can hear it faintly in the back of his mind, calling softly, luring him, beckoning him deeper into the garden.

No. No, no no, he has to leave, he has to run away, maybe if he runs a different way he can escape both of them but he has to leave now before something catches him and—

“Oh, and what do we have here?”

Shit.

His eyes widen and he whirls around to see a figure leaning up against a tree with far too much grace, all long limbs and coiled power. He pushes off the tree and saunters closer, the golden lights gleaming and scattering off the scales on one side of his face.

Where the fuck did he come from? He glances around. Are there more? There have to be. Where are they?

“See something interesting, pretty thing?”

His gaze snaps back to the—when the fuck did he get so close—fae in front of him, his eyes raking over anything and everything to make sure he’s not looking at his face. He doesn’t exactly remember the etiquette when it comes to fae but eye contact is the actual worst.

The fae is dressed like he’s stepped out of some time capsule, black bowler, a black cloak wrapped elegantly around his shoulders, a black suit underneath. Golden clasps hold it together over a shock of yellow. And…how many—six arms?

He backs away. The fae keeps coming. Too late he realizes he’s walked further into the fae’s trap, now he can’t get out of the garden. Not without going past the fae.

A hand, gloved in that rich yellow, comes up, a single finger tilting his chin up to—fuck why is he so close?

Close enough that he can feel breath on his face. Close enough that he can see each individual scale, placed delicately next to each other. Close enough that he can see one side of the fae’s mouth curving up the side of his face like a snake. Or maybe that’s just the smirk.

“As flattered as I am by your staring,” the fae purrs and fuck, that voice, “my eyes are up here, pretty one.”

He’s never been very good at responding to flirting in a normal way, mainly because most pick-up lines are terrible puns and he will either be too absorbed in the pun-off or the implications of said pun. And, um, he doesn’t…really get flirted with a lot.

But this?

He’s in way over his head and he knows it’s not just the flirting, it’s not just the teasing smile, it’s not just the low voice, it’s not just the finger that’s just this side of too light under his chin, he knows it’s fae, but he can’t do anything about it. And if he says the wrong thing—

The predator in front of him smells blood and pounces.

“Didn’t they teach you manners,” the snake chides, tapping his nose with the tip of his finger, and he's caught between the audacity of it and how effortlessly he makes him feel tiny, “about how it’s rude to stare? Though I suppose I can’t blame you, not entirely, now can I?”

The snake’s eyes go wide, the smirk growing fiendish as his insides turn to mush. He locks his knees quickly. He won’t collapse. He won’t. Even if that one finger under his chin is the only thing holding him up. Also what the fuck is he supposed to do with his arms?

“My, my,” comes that frustrating purr, “are all mortals this warm?”

The finger slides along his jaw, the touch leaving an electrifying tingle in its wake. He’s frozen, staring at the snake’s mismatched eyes as the gloved hand comes up to stroke a thumb across his flushed cheek, touch burning and soft.

“Or, oh, and now this could be very interesting,” and the snake leans closer, his mouth right up against his ear, “I haven't made you flustered, have I, my dear?”

The ’s’ in ‘flustered’ comes out as a hiss, and fuck that shouldn’t make him turn to jelly but it does. A low chuckle rumbles through the air as the snake pulls back, grinning like the cat that got the—or the snake that—fuck, his brain’s too offline to come up with any metaphors that would work. Simile. Fuck.

The snake’s hand comes up under his chin again, the fabric of his gloves making the drag decadent as he lifts his gaze back to his and he can’t help the whine that comes out of his throat.

The snake’s grin widens.

“Oh, I didn’t enjoy that at all,” he purrs, “let’s see if I can make you do that again.”

No, no—

The snake’s fingers hook and trace three little lines up the underside of his chin and he can’t help it. This time he doesn’t just whine, he tilts his chin back further, much to the snake’s delight.

“Lovely.”

He doesn’t even have to touch him this time. He whimpers.

“Is that all it takes, sweetie? Just one word?” The snake’s thumb runs along the curve of his jaw again. “Aren’t you precious~”

The words sink into him like honey, sweet and sticky, trapping him in his touches, in his voice. The snake hisses contentedly, tilting his chin back and forth. He can’t look away.

“Precious indeed,” he repeats, the hiss becoming more pronounced, “if not a little…flushed.”

He burns warmer, the snake’s smile growing, full of sly mischief and sharp fangs.

“You look distressed, kitten—“ prey— “are you…nervous?”

Goddamnit, he’s not gonna collapse into a puddle. He’s not. Every single ounce of his willpower goes into making sure he stays upright.

I don’t! Know! What to do! With! My hands!

“Oh dear,” the snake purrs again, not sounding at all sorry, “have I rendered you speechless?”

Yes.

“You’re the one that stumbled into my garden, lost little lamb,” the snake hums, “how was I supposed to know you would be so easily disarmed?”

He tilts his head, mismatched eyes shining. “It seems awfully rude to stumble in unannounced and then not explain the reason for the intrusion, does it not?”

The smoky haze the snake’s words had cast on his mind tightens, the quiet whispering lure of the garden sharpening into a call. The snake’s touch is still light but his voice has an unmistakable edge to it. The snake’s fingers are a blade perched delicately against his neck. He doesn’t know how to keep it from cutting his throat.

The snake chuckles. “You’re too easy, my little mouse. I’m only teasing.”

That doesn’t make it any easier!

“Are you too tongue-tied to speak, darling?” The snake smiles, the human side of his face softening just the smallest bit. he might be imagining it. He’s probably imagining it. “That’s alright, I have…other ways of figuring out what you want.”

Wait, what? No, no thank you. Don’t like that. Huh-uh. Nope.

“Just…look here,” the snake murmurs, cupping his chin properly for the first time, the amount of contact making his head spin.

He’s still trying desperately to keep his legs from collapsing and he knows if he even tries to move he will fall into a puddle at the snake’s feet. But that leaves him frozen, helpless in the snake's gaze.

“That’s it…just look right at me.” The snake’s eyes gleam as he gestures to his face. “Yes…enjoy, sweetie.”

Stop it, he wants to plead, let me go. he can’t.

“Now, then, let’s see what brought you here…”

He gasps. The snake’s words reach into his head and pull forward memories, emotions, angry words called out in fits of rage. Fear. Angry clattering of swords and torches swung so close the tips of his hair is singed. Knives, daggers, blood—lifting something from the inside of a chest and carrying it over to—

He gasps. Years of neglect, abuse, being scorned and turned aside, cursed for the scars littering his body, mocked and shamed for them. Years of whispers behind his back, forced smiles, fake faces. Years of always having to look over his shoulder, think twelve steps ahead, always have a backup plan.

He gasps. Tendrils curling into his jaw, wiring it shut, pressing his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Tendrils winding around his arms, his legs, his fingers. Holding a knife. Rewriting his memory.

He sees himself. His true self. Standing with a pair of battered gauntlets encasing his wrists, his hands covered in blood. More blood splattered across his face, across the three long scratches that threaten to take out his eye. More scars twisting across his stomach, black pooling out from where they refuse to close. A blue glow, sickeningly artificial, emerging from his mouth, from his eyes, winding around him, tying him up. It hurts.

He blinks.

His eyes sting, he’s crying, when did he start crying? Is he crying? He blinks again, watching the snake’s face swim back into view. The shameless flirty smirk is gone, replaced with a softer look. Another moment and something covers his eyes. He can’t help the frightened keen when his world is thrown into darkness. Is the snake gonna take him somewhere? Kill him? Something worse than death? What’s happening?

“Shh,” the snake murmurs, no longer dripping with allure, “hush now, darling.”

He shuts his eyes reflexively, the sudden loss of his vision sending him stumbling. Can he grab? Yes? No?

A hand catches his arm. Another his other arm. Another pressed to the space between the shoulder blades. Another curled possessively around his hips. The hand over his eyes stays firmly in place, gentling a little as the other hands press him against the snake, holding him up. His legs won’t work properly, pulled as he is at an awkward angle.

“It’s dark because you’re trying too hard,” the snake murmurs, the quote rolling off his tongue, “lightly, child, lightly. Learn to do everything lightly.”

The snake adjusts his grip, pulling him closer.

“Yes, feel lightly even though you’re feeling deeply. Just lightly let things happen and lightly cope with them.” Another hand—that’s right, there’s six—cradles the back of his head. “Lightly, lightly—it’s the best advice ever given me.”

The darkness doesn’t hurt. Doesn’t press. Just lays over his eyes.

“So throw away your baggage and go forward. There are quicksands all about you, sucking at your feet, trying to suck you down into fear and self-pity and despair. That’s why you must walk so lightly.”

The snake leans closer, his lips almost brushing the shell of his ear.

“Lightly, my darling.”

He shudders as the air wafts over him. The word ‘lightly’ has been said so much it doesn’t sound like a word anymore.

“So you can speak,” laughs the snake—shit did he say that out loud?— “and oh, what a wonderful voice you have.”

Really? Back to flirting already?

“Oh, come now,” he chuckles, “is it really so simple? Alright, alright, I won’t fluster you too badly.”

Or you could not fluster me at all we could make that work too.

“But you are right,” comes the voice, still right next to his ear, “about saying a word too often before it stops sounding like a word. You mortals tend to do that with yourselves quite a lot, don’t you?”

The snake must be able to feel his brow furrow. He continues. “You tend to look at something for so long that you start to create flaws out of nothing. You see cracks where there are no cracks, imperfections when you know perfection is a standard you will not reach.”

Is…is the snake trying to…comfort him?

“You do that with yourselves,” the snake murmurs, the hand at the back of his head cupping it gently, “and you must look away.”

Do what now?

“Look away,” the snake repeats, “look away and give yourself time to breathe, sweetie. The words are still words, you just have to give them time to rest. You are not as flawed as you think you are. You simply must look away for a moment. And don’t forget to breathe.”

The hand on the back of his head moves, the others leaning him back a little so it can come around and pat his chest.

“Breathe,” says the snake.

He breathes.

“Good.”

So he…isn’t going to kill him? Has he not violated some guest rite that allows the snake to exact some fae revenge? Are mortals not too small and too petty to warrant this amount of…effort?

The flirting…the flirting he kind of gets. He knows he’s shit at receiving compliments, okay, and he knows the way he responded to that flirting was…entertaining. Probably. Yeah, it definitely was.

That doesn’t explain this.

“I can hear you thinking,” the snake hums, “I can hear your little mind whirring away in there.”

Shit.

“Why don’t you just relax,” he purrs, drawing the word out in a way that has to be deliberate, “and stay right here?”

And do what? I’m still standing here your six arms with your teeth basically at my throat and you seem to really enjoy making me not able to speak or do anything.

He tries. He tries to take another deep breath and let himself relax into the snake’s arms. It’s not easy.

“That’s it, good.” The hand on his chest gives him another little pat. “Well, now I could call you any number of things, my darling, now couldn’t I? But I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

He hums for a moment, he can almost feel his gaze through the gloved hand still over his eyes.

“May I have your name?”

Nope. I know that one.

He swallows, his throat dry. his lips are dry too. he licks them quickly and clears his throat. “You may call me V.”

The snake doesn’t seem too bothered by it. In fact, it’s quite the opposite.

“Clever boy. Very well, V, why don’t you just take another breath.”

V breathes.

“Have you caught something new for us?”

V’s breath catches. Fuck.

Another one?

Judging by the approaching footsteps from behind him, yep. He still doesn’t know what the fuck to do with his hands.

“What fun,” the voice from behind him says, getting closer, “though from the looks of it…I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“No, of course not,” the snake drawls, “nothing of the sort. It’s not like I purposefully knew you were meant to be keeping watch today and sent you somewhere else.”

They have a schedule? How many of them are there?

“Well, good!”

The snake huffs and the other one chuckles.

“So…” The voice stops just behind him and judging from how high up it is, he’s even taller than the snake. “What have we here?”

Don’t fall over, whatever you do, don’t fall.

“Don’t be greedy,” the second one chides, another pair of hands resting on his shoulders and wow those are warm, “let me see what you’ve caught.”

No, no, please, let me stay here, I can deal with the snake—

No such luck. The snake releases his grip except for the hand over his eyes.

“There we go…”

The warm hands turn V around slowly, one hand walking its fingers playfully over his shoulders as they do, across his collarbones, over the hollow of his neck, to the other shoulder. It’s just light enough to tickle, sending pleasant shivers down his spine.

“We’ve talked about this,” the voice keeps scolding playfully, “keeping things all to yourself…oh. Oh, look at this!”

V knows his face is red, he can feel it. Then those warm fingers flutter up to touch just under his chin and tilt and shit he doesn’t want to do this again.

“Why are you covering his eyes? You’re not usually the type to…avoid attention.”

“It’s not for me.”

“You, doing something that’s not for yourself? Well, now I have to see. Move your hand.”

No, please don’t.

“Keep them closed,” the snake murmurs in his ear before his hand lifts. Even with his eyes closed, the light hurts and he squeezes them tighter.

“Oh, how could you?” Hands cup his cheeks. “It is a crime to cover up this absolutely adorable face. Just look at you, pretty thing.”

Judging by the quiet chuckle from behind him and the delighted silence, they’re amused by his reaction which is definitely not to go even brighter and not to squirm a little against the hold.

“Well, well, well, isn’t today a lucky day?” Two fingers tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear, the soft touch drawing the blush right up to the tips.

If his eyes weren’t closed already, they sure as hell would be now. Unlike the snake, this fae didn’t seem to be content to restrict the touch to just a finger or the soft brush of a thumb. No, the new hand trails over his face, lingering in spots that make him twitch, where he’s sensitive. his mouth. Just under his bottom lip. The bridge of his nose, right between his eyes. Tracing a lazy path around his jawline, right under his chin. his face burns, each stroke setting his skin alight, until they blur together and he has no idea what’s actually touching him and what’s nothing more than a phantom sensation.

And because his eyes are closed, he still can't see anything. So he has no idea where they're going to touch next and he's in a horrible loop of being startled and making noise and then remembering he really doesn't want to move and getting frustrated with himself for moving and making more noise.

“Oh, I could stand here for ages,” the voice coos, “just coaxing more of those pretty sounds out of you.”

“He has a pretty voice, doesn’t he?”

Not you too!

“I think he likes your voice,” the fae in front of him chuckles.

“I think so too.”

“Which one does he like more?”

No, no, let’s not test and find out, he’s barely staying on his feet as it is, he can feel the snake behind him and sure he could probably grab the fae in front of him too but he’s so close to being a puddle already, please—

“I must say I was surprised to see you being so hands-on with him,” the voice muses, “especially because you know how…fragile little mortals can be, hmm?”

“Mm.”

“Shouldn’t fragile things be treated gently?” The warm hand is back under his chin, cupping it in a firm hold, one of his fingers stroking just the smallest amount.

“What if I were to talk like this? In a nice, sweet, gentle voice? Hmm? Would you like that, cutie pie?”

No, no no no, that voice…despite how tightly V tries to stay, tries to clench every muscle he has in defiance, that sweet, soft voice wriggles its way under his skin and he melts.

“Aww, yeah,” the voice teases, “yeah, you do, hmm? Nice…and gentle…good…”

He can’t help it, he whines. He can’t remember the last time he was praised, and he knows it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s just the fae toying with him, but it works and he hates his traitorous body for responding to it.

“I think you like this~” the voice coos, “I think you like the gentle voice, don’t you? Sweet voice…just like you, little honeybee.”

He…he’s leaning closer, there’s breath fanning over his face, over his neck.

“Can’t you just give in to me,” he coos, “can’t you just give in, little cutie pie?”

V’s lips part. His head tilts. Wait, no—

“That’s right, little honeybee,” and he’s so close, his mouth is so close, so close, “give in…”

“Enough.”

Thank you.

The fae in front of him laughs and drops his hand away. V stifles a sigh of relief, trying frantically to clear his head from whatever the fuck is happening.

“Don’t be jealous,” the voice says, “it doesn’t look good on you.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Come now, you’re practically green around the gills over there.”

“I haven’t gone yet.”

“You had enough time before I showed up.”

“And you didn’t see it.” The snake shifts. “You got him to whine, that’s all.”

“Oh, I got several more than that, didn’t I?” A finger taps his nose and he squeaks, startled. “See?”

“Oh please.”

“Like you can do better?”

No, no no, stop please, I would like to get off this ride.

A rustle. Then little puffs of air over his ear.

“Darling,” the snake purrs, and fuck, he’s already keening.

The snake chuckles darkly. “That really is all it takes, isn’t it, little mouse? Just…one word?”

He’s too close. He’s too close and that voice like crushed velvet in his ears and he can hear his fucking smirk and oh god—

“Squee for me, little mouse,” he purrs, “squee.”

V squees. God fucking damnit he squees. He covers his face as the snake chuckles in his ear, trying to ignore how much it makes him want to squirm away.

“Thank you, my dear,” he purrs, a soft rustle signifying him standing back up. V doesn’t need to look to see he’s got a smug, satisfied expression on his face.

“Don’t hide,” the voice in front of him laughs, “why don’t you let us see that pretty face?”

He’s gonna faint. He’s gonna fucking keel over right here because he can’t deal with this. He knew he should’ve fucking bolted the second he realized it was a fae garden. He knew he shouldn’t have let them chase him this way. He—

“We didn’t break him, did we?”

“He’s quite flustered, but no, I don’t believe so.”

“Come on, cutie. Let us see.”

“Lower your hands, little mouse, come now…”

He fights down another whine and forces his hands away. The warm hands stipple playfully over his cheeks and fuck, he can’t help relaxing into it, making the voice chuckle again.

“Too much?”

He nods, furiously squeezing his eyes shut.

“You’re the stunnable type, hmm? That’s alright. Someone could have told me.”

“What, me? How could I have possibly known?”

“Don’t act like you weren’t enjoying playing with him.”

“Never.”

“I thought we were taught not to play with our food?”

Right. How the fuck did I forget that these are fae and the snake has literally been calling me ‘little mouse?’ What the fuck are they gonna do to me, can I run? No, no way, you’re not supposed to run from a predator, not like this, now there’s two of them, fuck, fuck—

“Why is he still here,” the voice muses, still tracing his cheeks, “not that I’m complaining about the chance to play with this lovely little thing, but you’re not the type to share your food.”

V’s…he’s kinda wondering the same thing.

The snake doesn’t respond. A gloved hand covers his fist. Something worms its way into his palm and forces his hand open. Gloved fingers lace through his. He presses his hand against a broad chest, hard. Holds it there.

The chest stutters. Tenses. Then sighs, letting all the breath out in a rush.

“Oh…oh, sweetheart…”

The snake lets his hand go and he’s caught up in a powerful hug, enough to take his breath away. After the teasing, the feather-light barely-there touches, this…this—

Warm warm warm warm! Solid alive real warm warm tight help trap? Hug? Hug? Warm warm warm too much too much not enough on fire burning don’t let go oh god please—

“I should’ve known,” the snake murmurs, “that a prince never could resist a damsel in distress.”

“You had all of your arms wrapped around him when I showed up,” the prince shoots back, “don’t act so superior.”

It’s too much. It’s too much and it’s not enough and he needs it to go on forever and he needs it to stop. His breath is coming in great whooping gasps and he doesn’t know what to do.

The prince releases him, shushing him softly when he whines, already bereft of the warmth. “Don’t fret, sweetheart, I won’t hurt you.” He doesn't go far, wrapping him in a slightly looser embrace that still burns.

Something happens. Something happens and it’s too overwhelming for him to figure out what it is at first but then it stays and it keeps happening and is—is he—

The prince chuckles as he pulls away, his thumb stroking over the spot on his forehead. “Never had a fae kiss before, hmm?”

“It’s completely fair that you got to kiss him first,” comes the hiss from behind him, “it’s not like I’m the one that found him.”

“Well maybe you should have done it before I showed up,” the prince says. “May I have your name, cutie pie?”

Still no.

“You may call me V.”

The prince laughs, unbothered. Then more darkness. V jerks back on reflex, startled by the contact. Honestly, every single time one of them touches him—

“You look tired,” the prince says kindly, “rest your eyes for a little. Just keep them closed for me.”

“Wow.”

“Oh, please. I trust your judgment. And if he’s that easily overwhelmed…then yes, let’s have you keep your eyes closed for now, hmm?”

“Are you tormenting mortals without me?”

How many of them are there?

He hears the prince huff and the arm around his back tightens. “Yeesh. Should’ve known you’d would show up.”

“You know better,” the new fae says, “you’re supposed to tell me before you give someone else nightmares.”

“If you would pay attention for two seconds—“

“Oh what, like you can talk.”

“Wow, guys, it’s so cool how you never listen to anything he says.”

“Why are you here?”

“What did you do to the mortal?”

“Oh, shut up—“

“Don’t tell me to shut up!”

“Why the fuck is it bleeding then?”

Oh fuck one of the new voices can double itself up and that is a bad noise and it’s too loud, there’s too many people, he doesn’t know where he is, the prince has left, he can’t hear the snake anymore, he can’t hear anything over the voices, so many voices, too many, they’re shouting now, it’s loud, it’s so loud, it hurts, he just wanted to run away why is he here now he should have run he should have run he just wants to go—

Something’s touching him. Something’s touching him. Something’s prying his hands away from his ears—when did they get there?—with inhuman strength and he wants to go—

It stops. There’s silence.

For a moment’s he’s terrified that he blacked out, or fainted, or something but then he feels smooth hands covering his ears.

“Shh,” says a low voice, lower than the snake’s, calmer, “hush now. You’re alright.”

Is he, though?

“Breathe, little one,” the voice soothes, “I know it’s loud. The others can get a little…rowdy sometimes. Just breathe. Focus on my voice.”

He tries, tries to feel the rest of him. His head aches and he brings his hands up on instinct only to freeze.

“It’s okay,” the voice says, “you can touch. You won’t hurt me and I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

The hands stroke over the crown of his head as he covers them with his own. They’re smooth, slightly cooler to the touch than he expected.

“I heard your pain when it was pushed through the connection,” the voice says softly, “and I can feel it now. The noise doesn’t help, does it?”

He shakes his head, trying to lean as much into the touch as he can. It—it’s so hard right now and he knows this isn’t going to be free, nothing ever is with the fae, but he can’t help it, so much has just happened and he’s helplessly confused and he has no idea what’s happening and he just wants to be safe.

“I understand,” the voice continues, “shh, now you must listen. You are alright. You are here, standing in a garden. I am holding you. You will not be harmed.”

He wants to believe it, he does. And he knows that’s how the fae trap people and he doesn’t want to be hurt anymore, but oh god, he wants to believe it so bad.

“Can you not feel the flowers under you? Can you not smell them? Even with your eyes closed, can you not see the light?”

He can. He can, but…

“It’s okay,” the voice murmurs, “it’s okay.”

The cool touch burns. It still burns, even though these hands aren’t as warm as the prince’s, nor are they as rough as the snake’s gloves. Why does it burn? It—it’s not trying to hurt him, is it?

“I’m just blocking out the extra sensory input,” the voice says, “I’m not hurting you. Though…I must say, you are the first touch-starved mortal I’ve seen in a while.”

T-touch-starved? He’s touch-starved? Is that why everything burns?

“Shh,” the voice soothes, “it’s okay. This isn’t a bad thing. Well, not in context right now. It is true that mortals, especially humans, rely heavily on physical contact. It is crucial to their health and development, particularly in infancy.”

V nods, still clutching at the smooth hands over his ears. Why does this have to be so hard?

The hands hold him firmly, then something touches his forehead. It’s warm and slightly chapped and—

Is…is this one kissing him too?

“It’s okay,” the voice murmurs after he kisses him, resting his own forehead against V’s, “everything is okay.”

For the first time since god he has no idea when, he breathes easy, something finally releasing in his chest. V hangs on to the hands over his ears, letting the low voice wash over him. It’s like something’s reaching into his brain again, like the way the snake did, sorting through everything and tucking it out of the way and it…oh god it feels so clear.

“Do you believe me now,” it asks after a while, “about where you are?”

He swallows, his voice refusing to come out as anything other than a whisper. “I’m trying.”

“Why don’t you open your eyes, then,” the voice suggests kindly, “and see for yourself?”

“The others…”

“Have stopped yelling, if that’s what’s worrying you,” the voice says.

Not what he meant, but that’s good, right?

“Here,” the voice murmurs, moving his hands a little bit away from his ears, “see?”

The ambient sounds of the garden. No yelling.

“Nice and quiet. I would hope,” the voice continues, raising a little, “that they would realize why that would not have been ideal.”

“Be gentle, Specs,” the prince barks.

“I am not hurting him,” the voice assures, “although this next part might.”

And in an instant, V’s head fills again.

Danger danger run run hurt it’s going to hurt they’re going to hurt me, oh god, I knew I should’ve run, no, no, no more please, not anymore, red fire knives sharp things burning.

“Hey, hey, it’s quite alright…” Something touches his forehead—another kiss?—and suddenly he can breathe again. “That was not my intention.”

Specs, he guesses, doesn’t try and move again, letting him move his head around a bit to hear where he is.

“Better?” V nods. “Good. You’re doing very well. May I touch your arms, please?”

The first time one of them has asked before touching him. He nods, warily lifting his arms.

“Are these just from branches,” Specs asks, trailing a finger lightly over the—right, the cuts on his arms, “or did someone do these?”

Nope. Nope. Bad things. So many bad things, no no no no—

He shakes his head. “Just branches.”

“Mm.” The light gets brighter behind his lids and he winces. “It’ll be over in a second, have patience.”

His arms tingle, his skin itching as it gets warm, warmer, warmer, wait…

Is Specs healing him?

“It’s a good thing you didn’t try and take a dagger to the branches,” Specs says, “that could’ve been…bad for you.”

“Better to be hacked at by a few branches than for their poisonous fumes to be unleashed upon you as soon as you slice open their limbs,” the other new voice says, the nightmare voice, right behind him, making him jump, “providing a slow, painful demise…as you choke on your own breath…”

Specs sighs. “Yes, that is accurate. I am almost finished, one moment…there.”

Curious, V runs his fingers over his arms and…yeah. The cuts are all gone. he opens his mouth to say thank-you when—

Wait. Hang on. he’s not supposed to do that.

“…that’s better,” he chooses instead.

“Good.” There’s a moment of silence. “Are your eyes alright?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just…you haven’t opened them. And you, uh, the prince had them covered when we appeared up.”

“They didn’t blind you, did they?”

“No.”

He really doesn’t want to say the wrong thing right now. He turns his head, trying to figure out where the others are.

“They’re just talking,” Specs says, “they won’t shout.”

“What happened to you,” the other one—how fucking many of them are there, he’s gonna fucking faint at this rate—asks, “there was such exquisite pain in you when Snakey pushed it across…and you’re so tense…you need to loosen up.”

No. No more flirting. Please, no more.

It’s not flirting, not really, but it makes his brain freeze all the same.

There are hands, warm hands, as warm as the prince’s, under his shirt, on his back, stroking his bare skin and it’s warm, it’s warm, it’s so so so warm and it feels so good but it burns but it’s too much he can’t think, he can’t hear, he can’t breathe—

“V?”

There’s a hand on his face.

“V.”

The hand leaves his face. He whimpers.

“Stop it, Duke, he can’t think with you doing that.”

“But—!”

“Just for a second.”

The hands are gone. His brain wakes up and he can’t help the soft desperate sound he makes. Wow, maybe he really is touch-starved. Specs shushes him.

“I know, I know, V,” he soothes, “I just need to talk to you for a second. Can you do that for me?”

These have gotta be the fucking weirdest fae I’ve ever heard of.

He nods.

“Good. Can you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“What?”

“How did you find this place,” Specs asks, his voice still tender and soft,“how did you get here?”

“I was…” he swallows. “I was…running. They were chasing me.”

“Why were they chasing you?”

“Did they hurt you?” the duke growls behind him and he cringes.

He’s heard tales of fae anger before, and he expected it when he stumbled into the garden. He expected the fiery temper of an outraged fae. He expected stone-cold mutterings. He expected pretty words and sweetly soured threats as he was cursed for all eternity.

This rage, this dark, hateful fury makes all of those sound like a child’s tantrum.

“Wow,” he distantly hears the prince laugh, “that didn’t take long.”

“W-what’s happening?”

“I believe the Duke has gone, as you mortals call it, feral,” Specs says, pulling him forward gently by his elbows, “only happens when he gets into a state of extreme protectiveness. It would be advisable for you to keep your eyes closed, otherwise it is likely looking at him in his current state would blind you/”

Feral. Blind. Protective.

I’m so confused right now I’m not even sure what parts I’m supposed to be confused about and that’s confusing me.

How…how did this happen? Why is this happening? he just—he was just trying to escape. And then he stumbled into a fae garden and now—

Now there’s at least…fuck, what is that now, one, two, three…at least four different fae here, two of them have kissed him, and one of them just went feral because of…why, exactly?

Fuck, what kind of shit is he going to owe them after this?

The fae doesn’t do anything for free. Ever. Nothing comes without a demand for payment and they’ve…god, all of them have comforted him in some regard, he’s pretty sure kisses count for something, and one of them just healed him.

Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

Voices. They’re talking. They seem to be trying to calm down the duke. Specs…that’s right, Specs has got hold of him.

He’s…he’s warm too. They’re all warm. Is…is that because they’re fae or…because he’s touch-starved?

Wow, you know, the more he says it, the more sense it makes.

Something wraps around his waist and yanks him backward, away from Specs. His back collides with something solid and he can’t help the frightened squeak. The grip shifts.

Oh. It’s a pair of arms. Is…is it the duke?

“That,” he hears Specs murmur in front of him, “was adorable.”

“Told you.”

The chest behind him rumbles and he can hear something wet, like…like slime or something coming from behind him. He thrums with energy, almost making his teeth chatter. The duke clings to him like he’s going to disappear, or like a child would cling to a stuffed animal if a parent threatened to take it away. Trying frantically to calm his breathing, he keeps his eyes shut tight and tries to pat the iron grip around his waist…reassure it, if he can, ground them both. The arms relax, just the smallest bit, the hands—warm warm warm warm so warm—starting to move. It’s like they’re trying to map out his body as they pull him against him, comforting themselves by saying ‘it’s still here, right here’ through touch.

His tunic got rucked up when he was pulled back and the hands are so warm. One of them slips underneath and lands on his stomach and he tenses reflexively. The duke rubs softly. Warm. It’s warm. It’s so warm. The duke rumbles contentedly when he relaxes into his hold.

“Yeah, I don’t think he’s gonna let go of him now.”

“It is highly unlikely.”

“And you said it would be difficult.”

“Ensuring the duke does not kill a mortal and keeping one are two different things.”

Hold on wait what now.

“Oh come on, you know the hardest one to convince is him.”

“That’s such a flattering description.”

“Like it’s not true!”

Ugh, noise.

Wait. What’s that?

He jerks his head around only to wince when more light—honestly, he’s so not convinced they’re not actually trying to blind him, he hasn’t been able to open his eyes since the snake covered them—shines right at him.

“There you all are! I’m surprised you didn’t call me sooner!”

“How many of you are there?” he mutters finally, only for the duke to chuckle.

“About time you got here,” the prince grumbles somewhere to his right, “I’m surprised you didn’t show up with Worry and Wart.”

“Speaking of which,” the newest voice says and he can practically see the disapproving expression, “what have we said about trying to claim mortals?”

The duke tightens his grip on him and growls. “Mine.”

“Now, kiddo, you know better than that.”

Okay, Dad has entered the chat.

The duke grumbles but lets him go. The sudden disappearance of the thing he’d been leaning against makes him stagger. Rude.

“Easy there, kiddo,” the new voice says, catching him, “don’t want you to fall and hurt yourself. What’s happened to your eyes?”

“Nothing.”

“Well, then, why don’t you open them, kiddo?”

Because three of you specifically told me not to.

“It’s alright,” Specs says from…somewhere, “you will not be blinded if you look now.”

“He gets a little…overexcited now and then,” the new voice says, “but it’s okay, kiddo. Come on, open up.”

He’s still a little worried about the prince and the snake but not enough to outweigh the worry about what actively refusing could cause. Plus, this one kind of seems like a leader, so…

He opens his eyes and immediately shuts them again, wincing and looking down.

“Oh, are you hurt? Did something go wrong?”

“It’s bright,” he defends, and honestly, it was bright to begin with. Now that he’s had his eyes closed for god knows how long, it’s unbearable.

“I can fix that.”

Well, the prince must do something because it dims. It gets to the point where he doesn’t have to screw up his eyes anymore and he blinks.

The garden still glows, but it’s nowhere near as noticeable. he registers the flowers first, still bright and perky. his gaze travels up a pastel blue cloak to a pair of black glasses. Oh.

He looks…ordinary. Kind of. He looks just like a human except there’s something just off-center. It’s like…a human but slightly to the left. Yeah? We get it. It’s like the human half of the snake’s face.

Actually…do they all have the same face?

He looks around. Specs, he’s guessing, is the one in the dark blue suit, also wearing glasses. The prince has to be the one in the bright white, the crimson sash across his chest and the pieces of gold gleaming. Next to him stands the snake. He also waves.

Behind him must be the duke, then. He, well, he really kind of looks like the prince. Except he’s in black and green. And has a mustache. And like…four tentacles. Okay. Sure. At this point, why the heck not.

Also, they’re all…really pretty. Like…really pretty.

So pretty that just the thought of those flirty comments said by those faces are enough to make him blush to the tips of his ears.

Why are they all so pretty? This isn’t fair.

His attention is drawn back when the one holding him beams. “There you go! I knew you could do it. Can I have your name, kiddo?”

Third time ain’t gonna be the charm.

“You may call me V.”

He throws back his head and laughs. “Alright, alright, that’s fair. Then you may call me Pat.”

…sure.

“Have you met everyone else?”

We’re putting ‘met’ in big scare quotes, right.

He shakes his head hesitantly. Pat pouts, looking around.

“You didn’t introduce yourselves?”

“L,” says Specs.

The prince and the duke glance at each other. “Yeah, that’s not really gonna work for us.”

“What? No, it can!”

“You may call me the Prince.”

“Ugh. Fine. I’m the Duke.”

Nailed it.

Pat looks expectantly at the snake. The snake just smiles.

“He likes being secretive,” Pat stage-whispers, “don’t take it personally.”

“Eh,” the prince says, “he’ll come around.”

“Oh no,” Pat says quickly, “not you too.”

“As a matter of fact,” L says, “I’m afraid it’s just you that has not…joined in.”

Pat looks around to see the duke nodding fiercely. “Now, kiddos, you know the rules. We can’t just take every mortal we find, we have to help them find their way back home. Especially if they’ve done nothing wrong!”

So…so I haven’t done anything wrong? Does that mean I don’t owe them anything? Does that mean I…I can leave?

But where would I go?

He doesn’t want to go back. He doesn’t want to have to run again, away from the swords and the arrows and the hurt, away from all the people that would love nothing more than to put his head on a spike or watch him get pecked apart by birds. They…they hate him, hate everything that he is.

And for as much as they’ve all been, the fae, they’ve…

None of them has hurt him.

It’s been so long since someone touched him without the intent to hurt.

Hell, one of them did go feral at the thought of someone else trying to hurt him.

Would…would it be so bad to stay here?

“Oh, come on, you’re the heart! You felt that,” the duke exclaims, “you know we can’t just—”

“It’s not our job to interfere!”

“On the contrary. We have indeed ‘interfered,’ as you put it on multiple occasions of a similar kind.” L gestures to him. “This one should be treated similarly.”

“Ha, see?” The prince smacks L’s shoulder. “Even L agrees.”

“That doesn’t happen very often,” L mutters.

“I, for one, think it’s a splendid idea!”

“See, Duke does too! And you know how rare it is that we agree on something!”

“The rules are there for a reason, kiddos,” Pat scolds, “and why are they there?”

The prince groans. “‘To preserve the balance between their realm and ours and to make sure the two don’t collide,’” he repeats reluctantly.

“Exactly!” Pat looks back at him, resting his hands on his shoulders. “This has been a lot for you, hasn’t it, kiddo?”

Boy howdy, that’s one hell of an understatement.

He nods. Pat smiles patiently.

“You’ve been through so much, haven’t you,” he murmurs, taking a strand of his hair and twisting it around his finger, “brave little kiddo…it still hurts, doesn’t it?”

“…yes.”

“You know what mortals are like, Pat,” the prince mutters, “they’re bad enough with their own kind, and they aren’t evolved enough to know how to deal with difference. You know how wrong that can go.”

“Do you have someplace to go, kiddo?”

Does he?

Would anywhere ever be far enough away?

Would he even get there?

The prince sees his hesitation and seizes it. “No, he doesn’t, does he? Why can’t we just keep him? Don’t act like you don’t want to!”

“We are not keeping him!”

They’re…they’re fighting. Over him. Over…over whether or not they can keep him. Not whether they want to but…whether they can.

Oh. Oh, wow.

The prince opens his mouth to respond but—

Footsteps. He can hear them. Through the trees. He jerks his head around in the direction of the sound. His eyes go wide. No. No, no. Did they find him? How did they find him?

“Are you sure that little bitch went this way?”

“I can’t see a damn thing!”

“Why the fuck didn’t you lock the restraints properly, then this wouldn’t’ve happened!”

“It’s not like he needs his arms to run!”

“Then why didn’t you just cut off his leg and call it a day?”

“Ah! Damn branches, what the hell—“

“Where the fuck did he get off to?”

“Told you that monster wasn’t human!”

“He cursed us, I bet you. He’s probably laughing at us right now.”

“With any luck, some animal found him and did the job for us.”

“Hey, what’s that?”

“What?”

“Over there, see the light?”

No, no, no, no, no no no not again—

He turns and tries to run but runs into Pat, who grabs him tightly. He whimpers, tries to pull away but Pat holds him fast. He looks up at Pat’s face to plead, to—

—oh.

Pat’s gaze is fixed over his shoulder, his face unreadable. He doesn’t move as the mob gets closer and closer.

“Hey, hey, stop!”

“The fuck are you on about?”

“Don’t you know a fuckin’ fae garden when you see one? I ain’t going in there!”

“Think he ran through here?”

“Fae probably caught him. Wonder what the hell those bastards did to him.”

Pat quirks an eyebrow.

“Tore him apart, at least I fuckin’ hope so.”

“Let’s go back. I ain’t running through there and if we’re lucky the fae got rid of him.”

“Maybe we should thank them.”

Loud guffaws trail off into the distance. he breathes a sigh of relief. They’re gone. They’re gone, they’re gone.

Pat still hasn’t let him go. He looks up anxiously at Pat’s face to see him clench his jaw. he has to fight the urge to shrink under Pat’s gaze when he looks down.

"Did they hurt you?"

His words are frozen in his throat. The garden is silent.

"Just nod or shake your head, did they hurt you?"

When Pat sees him nod, sees how scared he is, something softens. One hand comes up to twist the strand of his hair again.

“Change of plans,” he says quietly, “may we keep you, kiddo?”

…h-he can stay? They…they want him?

The prince whoops as he nods, the duke rushing forward to hug him enthusiastically from behind. Pat giggles, reaching forward to crush both him and the duke in a hug.

“Nobody’s gonna touch you again, kiddo,” he murmurs, pressing a—wow, is this, like, a thing? ‘Cause he just kissed his forehead too. Then he frowns and runs a thumb over the spot he kissed.

“Seems I’m the last one, hmm?” At his confused look, Pat smiles, holding his hand out. A pastel blue glow appears in his hand.

“We all have different colors,” he explains, “as you can…probably guess from looking at us.”

V nods, still confused as to where this is going.

“When one of us makes a claim, it leaves a trace in that color. And you, kiddo,” he says, tapping his nose, “are a rainbow.”

A…a claim?

“Even though we didn’t discuss it beforehand…”

“Pish posh,” the prince says, “he’s staying now. Which means—oh! Oh, we have to get ready!”

“Oh shit.”

“How did we miss that?”

“We gotta go!”

The duke lets him go with one more squeeze and a smacking kiss on the forehead—okay this must be a thing—grabbing the prince by the arm as they rush toward the other end of the garden. L follows a little more sedately. Pat squeezes his shoulders.

“Give us a few minutes, kiddo, then step through the portal.”

He blinks, still a little taken aback by the sudden whirlwind of energy that just swept through the garden. Pat seems to notice and softens.

“This is a lot, I’m sure,” he says quietly, “and it’s okay if you need to take your time, kiddo. But you’re under our protection now. You can come when you’re ready, okay?”

He nods dumbly. Pat smiles and draws away. As he nears the others, there’s a bright flash of light. So bright he throws his arms up to shield his face. Then it’s gone. When he looks, there’s just a shimmering doorway.

“They’re so dramatic, aren’t they?”

He turns.

Right, the snake didn’t go with them. He comes closer, holding out one hand.

“Oh, come now,” he laughs when V hesitates, “we have just established we’re keeping you. There’s nothing for you to worry about if you take my hand.”

He’s got a point, but V would be lying if he said the snake still didn’t make him incredibly nervous. Part of it’s just common sense, part of it is the fact that, out of all of them, he still has absolutely no idea what he wants.

Part of it is the fact that he looks like that and sounds like that and seems to really enjoy flustering the hell out of him.

“There we go,” the snake murmurs when he says to hell with it and takes his hand, using it to pull him close, “would you believe me if I said I didn’t intend for this to happen?”

“'Believe me if I said.’ Hmmm. Yeah no.”

The snake laughs. Like, properly laughs. Throws his head back and has to put a hand to his torso and everything. Oh, oh wow. Of course, it makes him even more attractive. Bastard.

When he stops, he waves his hand. “Alright, let me rephrase: having the rest of them immediately agree to keep you was not at the forefront of my mind when you first fell into the garden.”

“Wh-why did that happen?”

The shake in his voice seems to sober him. The snake laces their fingers together and presses his palm against his chest, as he did with the prince’s. “We are all connected,” he says softly, “at a base level. We can communicate through it if necessary, almost like the telepathy mortals believe in.”

“So…”

“When I held your hand against the prince, I pushed.” He pushes his hand a little firmer against his chest, close enough for him to feel the powerful heartbeat beneath. “When the rest of them felt your pain…well. I wasn’t lying when I said they never could resist a damsel in distress.

“I do wish you hadn’t kept that sharp tongue to yourself for so long,” he muses, “it almost makes me wish I hadn’t flustered you so badly to begin with.”

A touch of gloved fingers under his chin and oh god, not this again. “Well,” the snake purrs, his eyes gleaming, “almost.”

V’s able to look at him for all of three seconds before he has to look away, blushing panic mounting.

“Is it truly so easy, little mouse?” the snake laughs, “must I simply look at you in a certain way and you’ll fluster?”

“Enough,” he mutters, squeezing his eyes shut.

“You can open your eyes now, darling,” the snake says, still chuckling slightly, “you needn’t worry.”

“Eye contact is the actual worst and you will not convince me otherwise,” he mutters.

He gives him a gentle smile and taps the underside of his chin. “Then I suppose me asking you to keep them closed was a good thing, hmm?”

There…there’s something else bothering him. V opens his mouth to ask but…it’s kind of an invasive question. And he really doesn’t want to piss him off. Especially not now.

“It’s going to be an awfully tiring existence if you can’t work up the courage to ask anything, little mouse,” comes the gentle encouragement.

“Wh…why did the prince say you were the hardest to convince?”

“Did you happen to catch when the duke called Pat the ‘heart?’” When he nods, he smiles. “Clever boy. It’s an apt description. Each one of us has a…different function. I am the Gatekeeper.”

Gatekeeper.

“It is my job to ensure the barrier between our two races is held,” the snake continues, “to be cautious…about any sort of interaction. As you might have been able to guess, the others are…much more receptive to humans than perhaps they should be. The rules are in place for a reason, and I am the one who helped put them there. This is not the first time they have tried to keep a mortal. And the prince is right, I am the hardest to convince. I have never let them keep a mortal before, not like this, despite whatever claims the others may have made, despite how they try and use those claims to influence me.”

The snake pulls him closer still, the hand holding his stroking it gently. “But I found you first. And my claim is the strongest.”

Oh.

“…you wanted to keep me,” he breathes.

The snake softens for perhaps the first time since he laid his hand over his eyes.

“Why do you look so scared?”

Really? Are you absolutely fucking serious?

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmurs, still cupping his hand against his chest, “none of us are.”

“Yes, and I’m sure that one sentence is supposed to counteract the rest of the incredibly overwhelming things I’ve had to deal with today. How incredibly irrational of me to believe otherwise.”

“There’s that wonderfully sharp tongue again.” He tilts his head. “Perhaps that was the wrong word…you look unsure.”

V huffs. “Because there’s nothing about this to be unsure of.”

V knows tearing himself away from him probably comes off as rude. V knows turning his back is probably a bad idea. V knows burying his hands in his hair is going to hurt.

V does it anyway.

“V—“

“Why do you want to keep me,” he blurts out before the snake can finish. Ge whirls around to see the snake freeze, reaching for him. “Why?”

The snake frowns. “Does it matter?”

“Of course it fucking matters, I don’t know what you want and I can’t—if I don’t know what you want then I can’t do anything and nothing the fae ever does is for free and I don’t know what you want and I—I don’t know how this happened and I just wanted to run away—“

Oh god, oh god, he’s yelling, fuck fuck fuck he fucked up—

Why is he on the ground? When did that happen?

Right. Huddle. Small. Hedgehog. Scary things. Be as small as you can because scary things, why are scary things?

Fae. Right, he’s yelling at a fae.

Oh, fuck he’s yelling at a fae.

Small. Just be small. Hide. Just hide and be small.

It’s cold. It’s so cold.

Then it isn’t.

“Shh…shh…there, there, don’t be so afraid, I’m not here to be cruel to you, shh…shh…”

“W-wha—“

“Shh…breathe first,” the snake murmurs, his hand hovering over his shoulder, “I’m not going to touch you until you can breathe properly. Nice and slow, come now…”

The dark clouds keep rolling, thicker and thicker, building and building until they crash so loudly in his ears. V presses his fists to his ears, hearing voices doubling, tripling, yelling, screaming, they hate you they hate you you’re pathetic you’re cursed they hate you—

“I’m right here, I won’t let anything hurt you…”

Lighthing flashes and the voices howl. V whimpers, curling in on himself.

“You’re overwhelmed, little mouse, I know…just breathe and then we can figure everything out…”

Something…something’s covering him. There’s something covering him. He opens his mouth to ask wha—

“Shh-shh-shh, don’t try to speak just yet, you’re still shaking.”

The snake…the snake is covering him. The clouds lighten and he…he can breathe again.

It’s…it’s raining? Is that why his face feels wet?

“…oh, oh you’re crying, my darling…shh…is it too much?”

It hurts. He’s so cold. He’s so cold, the snake is so warm.

“As I’m sure L would tell you, crying is the mortal response to any situation that’s overwhelming. It’s just you trying to cope with everything, let it out, sweetie, it’s okay…”

V’s brain comes back online as the snake reaches out to tenderly wipe his cheeks, catching his tears as they fall. He’s looking at his hand, brow furrowed, leaving V to stare helplessly at his face. It’s so much easier without eye contact, so much easier.

The snake holds him firmly, crouched as they are on the ground. It…it feels…safe?

He catches V’s gaze and tilts his head. He…he can’t look away but he’s not…the snake’s not doing whatever it was he was doing before. He just looks…soft.

“What is it, darling?”

“What,” he croaks, “do you want?”

“You are small,” he says, “broken, hated…lost, abandoned, persecuted.”

He wipes away another tear.

“And you are kind. Hopelessly and relentlessly kind.” He lightly pats his chest. “When I looked to see what you wanted, when you stumbled into the garden, I saw pain. I saw heartbreak. And you…you didn’t want vengeance, no, you just wanted it to stop.”

He shifts his weight, still holding him firm.

“You are lost in darkness and you are so afraid, my darling…so afraid,” he whispers, “you want to be safe, don’t you?”

he nods.

“Is it so hard to believe that I want you safe? So hard to believe—” he catches another tear on his thumb— “that you are wanted?”

“What use is a broken mortal?”

“Why must a wanted thing have a use?”

“What fae makes a useless trade?”

“What mortal doesn’t accept a free gift?”

“What fae gives something for free?”

“What hurt caused this suspicion?”

V’s mouth clamps shut. The snake stares at him, unblinking, unyielding.

“If I weren’t fae,” he says finally, “would you still be this afraid?”

“…yes.”

The snake inhales sharply. his eyes widen when he sees a rising tide of terrible fury, there for just a second, just a second, before the snake breathes out and it disappears.

And that, that split-second of rage, is enough. Enough to reach deep into the anxious mess of his brain and start to say maybe, just maybe, he might actually be safe. If…if the wrath of the fae is between him and the rest of the world, then…then maybe he’s safe.

“Perhaps the Duke had the right idea,” the snake murmurs.

“Going feral?”

“Mm.” He cups V’s face in his hands, pushing his fury away and replacing it with that same soft patience from before. “What is it that is making you so afraid?”

“I…I don’t know you. I’ve never interacted with any of…your kind before, ever. You—when I first showed up, you—“ he swallows— “you seemed to really enjoy making me as uncomfortable as you could. Then there were so many of you and I was freaking out one moment and being calmed the next and now you’re doing something for me and I’ve given you nothing and you’re—“

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, not saying that out loud.

“I’m…what?”

V shakes his head, pressing his lips together firmly. Fuck, his face is burning again.

“Come on,” the snake coaxes, letting him break his grip and look away, “what were you going to say?”

“…pretty.”

The snake tilts his chin back up, not saying anything about his eyes being shut again. “A little louder?”

“Pretty.”

He braces for the teasing, the flirting, but it doesn’t come.

“Look at me, V.”

“Is that strictly necessary?”

The snake chuckles. “I must insist.” He smiles kindly when he looks at him. “There…I did say I wouldn’t fluster you too badly.”

“You said that before you and the prince did…that thing.”

“Ah, yes, I did, didn’t I?” The snake cups his chin carefully. “I admit, when you came in I wanted to play with you. Toy with you until you told me what you wanted and then…well, send you on your way. But then…then I cast upon you and I couldn’t.

“I made that claim, this claim, because the garden responded to you. Most mortals can’t stay in the garden for long without being sucked under completely or driven insane. You melded with the magic in the air and it bound itself to you. And when I looked, I saw it. It’s one of the reasons I pushed you into the prince, into the others. They felt it too, I’m sure of it.”

The snake lifts his hand, faint golden sparks floating around his glove.

“Unlike the others, as Gatekeeper, I am tied most directly to the garden. That’s why I’m the hardest to convince. The garden wants you, V. I want you.”

He leans closer. “Don’t you see?”

V sees. He brings his hand closer and he starts to glow. As Pat said, he’s got little bits of color shining off of him. Red, deep blue, and light blue glow from his head, fading into a rich green the lower he looks. And the whole thing is bathed in a rich, deep gold.

“And for the record?” The snake leans forward, kissing his cheek, burning soft. “You’re pretty too.”

Shit.

“Oh, come on,” the snake laughs, “I wasn’t even trying that time.”

“I’m just really bad at receiving compliments, okay?”

“You are adorable.”

“Hey!”

“You are, sweetie, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, just accept it.” He chucks him lightly under the chin. “I imagine not many people have complimented you, have they?”

“No.”

“Well, I would prepare yourself. The others certainly will, as you may have guessed.”

Right, he’s staying here. With them. They’re…they’re going to look after him. They’re going to keep him.

He’s safe.

He looks up to see the snake looking fondly at him.

“If I compliment your smile, will that make you stop?”

“Probably.”

“Then I won’t.”

He swallows. This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea. “…thank you.”

“Oh, I’ll compliment you on other things.”

“No…thank you.”

His grin widens. “You’re welcome, V.”

Well, I’ve broken the glass, I might as well push the button.

He licks his lips. “Virgil.”

The snake tilts his head, his brow furrowed. “What?”

Staring at him, determined to keep eye contact, he steels himself. “Virgil.”

The snake looks confused a moment longer before realization dawns and a smirk crawls over his face. But it’s not the shameless flirty one, nor is it dangerous and full of fury. It’s…it’s the smirk you’d make if you were a little unsure about what was happening.

“Careful, darling,” he murmurs, “don’t you know how dangerous it is to give your name to a fae?”

“You’re already keeping me,” he says, “aren’t you?”

The smirk turns into a warm smile. “Yes. Yes, we are, Virgil.”

Oh, oh yep. Yep, that was definitely a bad idea because him saying his name in that voice…

Judging by the change in his eyes, he’s realized it too.

“And here you are,” he purrs, adjusting his grip, “all wrapped up in my arms.”

He whines. “What happened to not flustering me too badly?”

“I can’t help it, Virgil, you’re simply too easy, my darling,” the snake chuckles, “but I’ll stop. Just for now. Wouldn’t do to have you getting too overwhelmed, now, would it?”

“After all,” he says, gentling his tone and pulling him into a proper cuddle, “we’ve got all of eternity, don’t we?”

He’s warm. He’s so warm. There are hands on his head, around his back, around his waist, he smells of spice and pine. There’s a mouth next to his ear.

“J.”

“Hmm?”

He tilts his head up to look at him. “J.”

Oh.

“…thank you, J.”

“You’re welcome, Virgil.”

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