#subtleties and expressions and there's just so much to say! Even from their first meeting their interactions are an exellent meal

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Sonine Prime ... Part 2

Hi, everyone and welcome back to Sonine Prime! The part of the show when I come out and talk about Sonine (and a bit of Sontails) in Sonic Prime!

I unfortunately had to end part 1 a bit prematurely due to tumblr's video limit, so we didn't get very far into it. Right now we're about halfway into Sonic Prime Season 1 Episode 1, and (as promised) we're going to start part 2 tackling the scene that begins with Sonic and Nine's first meeting, and ends with them recounting Tails' and Nine's backstories.

So, without further ado, let's begin

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<< Part 1 | Part 3 >>

(Essay/thoughts/analysis under the cut)

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As I said in part 1, there is a lot going on here, and a lot to tackle.

We'll start with Sonic's side.

Now, it's important to mention that at this time, Sonic just believes Nine to be Tails who lost his memories/doesn't remember him. So most of this scene is Sonic calling Nine "Tails" and trying to appeal to him by talking about old times. While this will initially tell us more about how he feels about Tails than it does Nine (once again interesting that Tails specifically gets this focus as the best bud, a focus on "making things okay again" that is only later matched by Sonic's treatment of Thorn when he also believes that Amy is deep down inside her, because he initially believes them both to be a friend who has just forgot Sonic and themselves. Tails and Amy parallels in relation to Sonic: IIII), this is the basis upon which Sonic will build his relationship with Nine on, even though he will later consider Nine as a separate different person in relation to Tails.

Now, this scene is meant to call back to the flashback scene from earlier. Sonic punches in the code to Tails' lab and hopes it still works ("Tails you crafty fox"???🧐), and just as with Tails in the flashback, Sonic turns Nine's chair to make him face him.

"Tails, it's me!"

From Sonic's pov here, he can’t understand why Nine is fighting him or really what's happening. "Tails" was the nickname that Tails' bullies used when they were picking on him, but after meeting Sonic he was able to reclaim that nickname for himself. So to Sonic, he can’t understand why saying this name continues to make Nine angry and insist that his name is something else, just as he's put off that "Tails" would attack him and act like he doesn't know him.

He also spends a good chuck of the fight looking very hurt

"Tails, stop! We're buds, amigos...best friends!"

...

"Snap out of it, we go way back!"

...

"All my best memories of Green Hill have you in 'em. And you're not punching me!"

...

"Don't you wanna go home? Blue skies? Sunny beaches? Palm trees?"

And after spending most of the fight defending himself and dodging in favor of trying to appeal to who he thinks is Tails, trying to summon up memories of them being best friends, Sonic throws himself into the path of the other train to save Nine from getting hit.

"I've been trying to tell you that we are friends."

"Fabricated stories won't keep me from beating you back, intruder."

"Stop, just. Stop... We're friends—best friends. This has to ring a bell?"

Sonic just can't wrap his head around it—a world in which his best friend doesn't remember him, calls their times together "fabricated stories", fights him no matter how he tries to explain that they’re friends. None of this makes sense to him, and so he tries to explain how they met, because surely then "Tails" will remember him, right?

"From the moment we first met..." (interesting choice of words, considering what often follows this is the impression the character saying it got from the other or how they have always felt about the other)

But "Tails" only expresses surprise in how much Sonic knows, despite the fact that Nine has never met him before now, and explains a different, much darker version of Tails' backstory

One that doesn't include Sonic.

And again Sonic is having his hard time wrapping his head around this. That "Tails" is here, and yet doesn't "remember" him. That this "Tails" seems to have a similar backstory, but never met him. "Tails...but not. Here, but...gone?"

But he doesn't get too long to examine this before Nine asks "So, what else did we do?"

And this pretty much immediately perks Sonic up after he gets a look at Nine's face, like he really is curious what he could be missing.

And then of course that face comes back

And...it makes Sonic so visually happy and excited to talk about the Tornado, mention how they've gone on so many adventures and busted Eggman so many times...

"Look. We've had our share of ups and downs, but when we stick together? We never lose. And when all's said and done, there's no better reward than sharing a chili dog with your best pal. And that's just the tip of the iceberg! We've got a lifetime of adventures and memories together."

Even though Sonic doesn't yet consider Nine his own person, this entire scene is incredibly telling as to who Tails is to him (best friend, partner, amigo, forever companion), and sets up a basis for his relationship to Nine.

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Now for Nine's side. For him, the bulk of the fight is him being aggressive and reacting due to his trauma. "Tails" was the name he was called as he was bullied and assaulted for years, and a name he came to associate with said traumatic experiences. The name he claimed for himself, symbolic of how he saved himself with his own power, is "Nine". Thus, when this strange hedgehog intrudes in his lab, interrupts his work, and calls him "Tails", boy does that set him off.

"Who sent you?!"

He's afraid and angry. Who else could this stranger be but one of those bullies or someone else to just call him a freak, intruding in his space.

And then the strange hedgehog calls them best friends? Continues to call him "Tails" despite Nine's clear aversion, and yet is trying to appeal to him emotionally?

But then the hedgehog puts himself in danger to save him. And that's really strange.

Because no one has friends here, right? Why would anyone save him? No one cares about anyone else, no one would just save someone at the expense of their own life, this hedgehog acts like he knows him and yet doesn't seem to know anything about him.

"Fabricated stories won't keep me from beating you back, intruder."

That's what it has to be, right? Maybe it's connected to why the hedgehog broke into his base. He saved him only because he needed him, right?

But the hedgehog makes it clear he never wanted a fight, the two rest on safe ground in the scareport. And then he tells another story to appeal to him.

The story of a two tailed fox who was picked on for being different, who was saved by Sonic, the very hedgehog before him.

And although that story is not quite right, the resemblance surprises Nine, catching his interest. Even if his past didn't happen that way, how could Sonic get those details (him being himself, getting picked on by jerks for having an extra Tail) right without Nine having never met him before? The way Nine reacts even implies his story is highly personal, and one he'd never told anyone.

And perhaps he feels a bit jealous, then.

Because this "Tails" that Sonic keeps talking about? He had someone there for him, someone who protected him when he was being bullied and picked on. But Nine? He took a beating for years. No one showed up to protect him, much less save him. He learned that he was alone, learned that these selfless people who would protect the weak don't exist, and so he finally saved himself.

Is that the kind of person Sonic is—the kind of person who would save a victim who's hurting, someone he'd never met, even if it doesn't benefit him? Just like how Sonic had saved him from being hit by that train?

"You weren't there"

And so what if Nine lets himself pretend for a moment that what Sonic is saying is true? What does it feel like to be Sonic's best friend, that person he'd stuck his neck out for and saved back then, someone who goes on adventures and kicks butt with him, who shares a meal with him, someone with whom they're both happy?

The way he begins to smile as Sonic talks about his times with Tails.

"But when we stick together, we never lose"

The way he frowns (touch adverse as he is) when Sonic puts a hand on his shoulder, but relaxes into it and gives this stranger a smile, and the way he perks up with the cutest, even bigger smile when Sonic pokes his heart.

"And when all's said and done? There's no better reward than sharing a chili dog with your best pal"

And then...Nine frowns again when Sonic says "best pal".

Because no matter how great that idea of home sounds, to Nine, none of that happened. None of this is really about him, no matter what Sonic says.

But, this is the beginning of the end for Nine. In just five in show minutes, he goes from trying to get answers out of Sonic, killing him, beating him back, to becoming interested in his "fabricated stories" and willing to help him with his little problem. He invites him into his lab this time and helps distribute the energy coming from him evenly on his body, even though he complains: "The only thing I hate more than people in my space is whiners."

Or the entire next scene. Sonic calls him amazing for his creation of the extra metal tails (which doesn't end up hitting Nine as intented), corrects himself after calling Nine "Tails" on accident, and then Sonic just speeds off, only for Nine to say "No– Wait, you dope! It's not safe!" and run after him.

While this is during an early period of the show where you can easily argue that Nine only cares about what he could use Sonic for and his current interest in the energy he exhibits, it still says a lot that he actually begins to show care in another person's wellbeing. And it also tells us a lot about Sonic that he'd transitioned from calling him "Tails" to "Nine" so quickly, even if he has to correct himself.

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Now, as we move on to Nine and Sonic's capture by the Chaos Council, this brief scene of them outside before their capture also shows us once more just how quickly Sonic is jumping to "normalcy", starting with getting "Tails" back as his adventuring buddy. Although he wasn't incredibly concerned before, he brushes off Nine's concerns about the Chaos Council, instead acting like everything will be fine ("Wanna run up the walls?"). And we can see that Sonic still believes Nine is just Tails, absent his memories of Sonic and their friends.

"When you get your memory back, you'll remember that 'low profile' isn't my thing"

Nine: I told you to keep a low profile!

Sonic: No you didn't.

Nine: Yes I did.

Sonic: You didn't.

Nine: Yes I did.

Sonic: Nooo, you didn't.

Nine: Are you sure we were "best friends".

Ahjsjsj well. Nine says that, but he'll come to realize that he likes Sonic even when he finds him frustrating or annoying (just like Tails and, frankly, his other friends do😂). He already has been helping Sonic out and allowing him to be in his space, even if he doesn't understand Sonic.

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And as I have hit the tumblr post picture limit, that's it for part 2! For part 3, we'll be beginning with Sonic and Nine's confinement in The Chaos Council's base, and perhaps I'll finally get to move on to Episode 2😂

[rose-tinted-kalopsia]

letting out a slow breath bc ur girl has finished both myths within like the span of a week, and we all know this post was inevitable. bc is she going to overanalyze? yes. is she going to overthink every little line on the basis of picking apart a character's mind? yes!

(bear with me and my xavier thoughts for a sec guys ✋)

i'll be less lore-heavy and more introspection-heavy, but as lighthearted as lumiere's myth story seems on the surface, i can't be the only one who got all sad about it, right? 😭 xavier girlies you get me, right? 😭 it's not light light, right? 😭

like i knew from the start that xavier's complicated feelings about lumiere were going to be rooted deeply, but this? 😭 the way you can tell it goes WAY back? 😭

because. it does. it goes all the fucking way back.

because what do we know about xavier? his subtleties. in general, he has that calm, reserved, collected trope... it's more on the easygoing safe, like a safe presence, almost aloof in nature. but it's almost as if so much more hides underneath that; like it's not totally 100% inherently him, like it's not entirely natural, like the part of him that's like this is maybe somewhat a façade that he's been putting up for so long, so it's just ended up... becoming part of him, by force of habit.

like let's look at the other end of that calm, collected trope: zayne. why do we feel like it's naturally part of his personality to be that way? he's calm, he's collected, maybe a little cold—but he's confident. it's as if it's been established somehow that, yes, he is like this, and he knows that he is. he doesn't hold back with it, there are rarely moments he acts out of this persona in some surprising manner only to awkwardly slip back into it—at least, you'd have to think hard about it to find one.

like,, he's soft and sweet with mc? it comes along naturally; we say, yeah. that feels like something he'd do. he's caring and concerned for mc's wellbeing? again, natural; we say, of course. his profession allows him to put in that extra care and concern.

but it isn't always like that with xavier, is it? why is it that xavier surprises us? why is it so common for him to suddenly act a little different from what we know, and have it be so jarring to not even to just us, but to mc as well?

there are so many subtleties to the way he seems to try to express himself, but always finds himself short of doing it in the way he wants to. the push and pull with mc? the soft moments, only to step back and be distant? then the sudden forwardness in contrast? the jealousy? the devs even go so far as to put so much attention into giving him these microexpressions, that like—it always feels like they have so much meaning to them. his basic animations? the way his eyes would widen or soften, the slight tilt of his head, the little smile that grows, even the way he'd shake his head and look to the side? and his card animations? the eyebrow raise? the little frowns? the narrowing of eyes? the very slightest movements of his lips into a pout or a smile? hell, even the hesitation in his voice sometimes, or the tiniest inflections, they all seem to say so much.

it's just,,, it's those little things. microexpressions. involuntary emotional leakage. they last for a fragment of a second, but they're there. they're always there. and with xavier, they seem to always convey so much more than whatever words he can muster. like something's desperately trying to peek through this persona he's built for himself, that he's getting there, but he isn't quite there yet.

then, why is that?

several factors.

family, for one. his role, for one.

because at his core, he's always been the prince of philos. but he's also always distanced himself from that title, his family, at the same time.

and how does mc recognize xavier to be, the first time they meet?

trapped.

—"they say he doesn't live on campus because his family background is complicated, and many people have seen him surrounded by bodyguards."

—"they aren't clad in all black as one would expect, and they keep a respectable distance away from xavier. still, these people exude an air of oppression. xavier, with his bag, is at the center of their group. it seems he's used to being stared at. the only difference is that rather than being his usual expressionless self, he appears slightly upset."

—"'you appeared to be upset, so i thought you wanted to be free.'"

—"'i wish xavier is free to do what he wants.'"

he wants to strip away the one thing he has associated with himself enough to be his identity, because it's an identity he didn't choose. he wants nothing to do with it, nothing to do with the responsibilities his family pushes onto him if he can help it. it's been that way from the start—he doesn't want attention for it, doesn't want to make a big deal out of it, would rather not be associated with it at all.

and the first time he meets mc, it's a testament to how much freedom being with her gives him. she saves him from that oppression. he's allowed to be a little more himself; a little less tense, a little more aloof, a little more joke-y, maybe even a little teasing, just—someone who can smile, and laugh, and speak—genuinely—without finding the need to hold back in some way.

it even carries over to every timeline he meets her in.

but duty is the enemy of freedom.

and what is expected of a prince?

is it not to be calm, and rational, and composed? is it not to be gentle, and kind? patient, caring? just, but to be able to prioritize his people—his potential future subjects—over just the one person he loves?

there's another line from his anecdote that stands out: "it's not that i like it. it's the only thing i've been good at since i was a child."

maybe he's fallen into practice enough with these habits, and these mannerisms, for some of these things to become part of him—again, by force of habit. but these are still qualities of an identity he never asked for. it's identity foreclosure: these identities, habits, skills; they were given. granted. forced upon him to learn. he's expected to be the heir to the throne, and he doesn't have much of a say in the matter... so it just. grows on him, despite his resignations about it. he has no choice but to allow his identity to be centered on this very role, these very expectations.

so much so that even escaping such a role, even abandoning philos as a whole, doesn't allow him to escape the identity he's built around it.

another factor? everything that's happened in the time before our current timeline.

because what does he maintain? a leadership position; captain of the backtrackers. a profession relating to combat; evol police, then a deepspace hunter. lumiere.

and he's retained certain things, too, like his more quiet nature, and the calmness that we've seen from him throughout...

and that's exactly the thing.

he's gone through so many identities. lived so many lives, for all the years that he has been living.

yet certain things remain constant;

and still, certain things threaten to break through from that shell that he can't quite let free so easily.

it's shocking, the first time we see him angry: the shining light card. it's shocking, the first time we see him more forward with his advances: kind words, tender nights. maybe, even a little shocking the first time we see him so easily jealous over jeremiah, even moreso over his own persona.

and again, we go back to that hesitation—the fact that he can't seem to express himself properly. because it's either he's incredibly awkward about it, or he just falls short of conveying what he wants to.

he has trouble being honest about his feelings, for example—difficulties in telling mc he loves her, difficulties in being direct to the point with her. he'd dodge her questions, be vague about things... he could never tell mc, as lightseeker, that the star tassle was from her in her past llife.

and:

the uncertainty in his actions speaks volumes, because he's sure of what he wants, but he can't seem to understand how to convey it properly.

it's like he's just so used to being princely, that he can't let go of it even if he isn't a prince anymore. he wants to. but he hides so much beneath that exterior still, and it's mc who's able to help him tear down those walls—mc who's able to make him want to try harder to. it's mc who's able to bring out those lighthearted moments in some of his cards, who helps bring light to the goofier side of him that he doesn't seem to be able to show to anyone else. it's mc who gives him his freedom.

and, i think—xavier's jealousy is just deeply rooted into all of that.

with jeremiah, and with other men, because he's not able to be as direct with his feelings as he wants to be, when other people can easily do that. because she is his freedom.

"to reach for freedom is to give it up."

that he's said this says so much about how he views things—because perhaps, he's given up part of his freedom for her... only for her to become his freedom.

he gave up his freedom just to find solace in her, when he's never made the move to express that clearly to her—and as much as he struggles to be more forward in his advances, he's scared that someone else will do it before him. so he'd reach for her, and fear losing her because of doing that, with the fear of losing her if he doesn't, and it's just this... whole cycle that he's so unsure of. he doesn't know what he should do.

and then add to that the essence of who lumiere is.

because who is he? what do we know of him?

he's "handsome" and "gentle". he's saved mc, twice, and become a fixation for her because of that.

it's silly at first glance, for there to be any issue in this—xavier is lumiere. they are inherently the same person.

but lumiere is a reflection of the person xavier is trying to leave in the past.

perhaps out of all the personas and identities we've known xavier to have assumed on earth, lumiere is the closest to prince xavier. in his aura, actions, mannerisms, speech, everything.

it's too close to it.

and it's not who xavier is now.

it's not who he wants to be.

—"lumiere... it's a name that only represents a moment in time."

—"lumiere is a person who should disappear."

in all the time he's spent with mc, he's been learning to be more himself and less of the mask he's been conditioned to assume from a young age—only for her to fall back into fawning over this lumiere persona that isn't inherently him, isn't who he's trying to be.

he's less jealous of himself, and more of actis with the hesitation of—does she not love me if i slip off that mask? does she prefer me when i'm like that? is it always going to be prince xavier; is it always going to be lumiere?

he'd feel the freedom he finds in her slipping away.

he doesn't want that.

he wants a normal life with her, without all these obligations, all these responsibilities, all this stress,,,

and lumiere won't grant that to him.

he wants to leave it behind.

but that's the thing, because there's also something he doesn't quite understand about it.

because by now, he's had so many identities. he's fragmented, maybe; unsure of himself, a little lacking in the confidence of which part of him mc will truly love, especially after all this time. and maybe he's aware of that or maybe he's not, but—

even the most conflicting parts of us are still us. and the more we attempt to be who or what we are not, the more we remain the same.

the only way he'll move forward from all of this is to accept the fact that even "prince xavier", even "lumiere", are part of him—maybe parts of him he doesn't want, but that still contribute to him as a whole. and it's something xavier needs to realize for himself, something that no one has been able to help him with all this time. something he's been conditioned not to believe. something that hopefully, mc is able to help him through, as an integral part of the very minimal support system he has at all.

just,,, :( living all these lives, chasing after ghosts, for so damn long... it truly fucks with your brain :( and lumiere's event just??? i feel like it sheds so much light on that when you read between the lines and like god. i have OVERTHUNK THE FUCKKK out of this lmao 😭✋

but there's so much more to xavier that meets the eye, and i think that's why i love him so much :(

[blindmagdalena]

I’m in dire need of angst. How do you think he would react to someone who didn’t have a close relationship with their parents? I’m just imagining an awkward Christmas dinner, their family totally sucking up to Homelander. But also not-so-subtlety making passive agressive/snarky comments towards the reader.

It was definitely his idea to go to Christmas dinner in the first place. You've been dreading it. He insisted, though. You don't want to deny him this when he doesn't even have a family, and he's clearly so excited by the prospect of it.

And to be fair, it started off well enough. Your family was so excited to meet Homelander. They couldn't believe this was really happening!

It didn't last long, though. Your dad just had to make an offhanded remark about how you sure were "dating up."

That was the beginning of the end.

Through the night, Homelander grows gradually less boisterous. He's talking less, listening more. You're uncomfortable, dejected, but ultimately you knew it would end up this way. You just wish he would have listened to you.

By the time dinner rolls around, the tension in the air is palpable. Homelander has stopped preening under the praises of your family. You want nothing more than to eat and leave.

The final straw is when your mother sneaks in a snipe about how you "Really could have dressed up for the occasion."

"Well, Sheryl," Homelander begins, his tone immediately catching the attention of the entire table. "You could have tasted the mashed potatoes before you salted them into an inedible sodium fuckfest, but hey, I guess that's beyond your scope of competence."

The silence is deafening.

He isn't done. "God, y'know. You people. You had one job. All you had to do was be good. Nice. Shovel some food into your face and not be total fucking pricks at every available moment, but y'couldn't even manage that. Y'had to air out eeevery single little nitpick and grievance that sprang into your circus peanut brains."

You're stunned, jaw hanging. Your mother's expression mirrors yours. With a noise of indignation, your father begins to stand.

"Sit the fuck down, Henry," Homelander snaps with a flare of crimson to his gaze that puts a shiver down your spine. It works. Your father sits, and the light fades away. "Now that's the smartest thing you've done all night. Didn't think you had it in you."

Homelander pushes his mostly full plate away and sighs, picking up the napkin from his lap to fold. "I was the one who asked to come here, y'know. Practically begged. Thought Christmas might just be a grand ol' time. Do you know how often I'm wrong? I'll give you a hint: it's not often. But you..." He wags his finger between them, smiling more maliciously than you've ever seen him. "You folks really got me tonight."

He stands up. Your heart is pounding in pure anxious adrenaline. For a moment you have a terrible vision of him leaving you here, furious with them and you that this wasn't the experience he had been hoping for.

His hand in your face snaps you out of your thoughts. You look up sharply, and see him looking down at you, that wicked expression suddenly much softer. Kind, even with that anger still simmering under the surface. You close your mouth and take his hand, swallowing.

"Lucky for me I already got my Christmas wish, hmm?" He says, offering you a little wink. "You are... perfect," he says, leaning in to press a tender little kiss to your forehead, emphasizing it with a pointed mmmwuah. "No idea how you escaped all that unscathed," he says, nodding his head in your parents' direction. "So, how about you and I blow this popsicle stand and go find a whooole lotta mistletoe to stand under?"

You exhale a breathless little laugh, tears prickling hotly at your eyes, overwhelmed by how thoroughly he came to your defense. "I'd really, really like that."

Glancing over, Homelander offers your parents one last tight, venomous little smile. "Merry Christmas, you miserable fucks."

Which is exactly how he signs every single Christmas card he maliciously sends your parents each year from that day forward.

[moonmaiden1996]

His New Muse Part 1

I am beyond devastated that Kaos got cancelled, but the story and character where so good I will not stop writing.

Orpheus plan is set in motion

Orpheus had long believed that his heart could never be whole again. The pieces of it lay scattered, remnants of the love he had lost, the life he could never return to. Riddy had been everything—his muse, his obsession, the centre of his world. But that was a long time ago, in another life. After she slipped away, he wandered through life like a ghost, empty and disconnected, searching for something to fill the void.

Then he saw you.

It happened in the most ordinary of moments. You were walking through a crowded street, your attention focused elsewhere, oblivious to the world around you. Yet in that brief second, time seemed to slow, and Orpheus saw you—truly saw you. It wasn’t just your beauty that struck him, though that certainly caught his eye. It was something more, something that stirred deep within him, something that awakened a part of him he thought had died.

It was your smile, a fleeting expression that hinted at some private joy. The way your hair moved in the breeze, catching the light, or perhaps it was the graceful way you carried yourself, exuding quiet confidence. He couldn’t quite place it, but in that instant, Orpheus knew: you were different. You were special. You were what he had been searching for.

And from that moment on, you became his world.

Orpheus wasn’t impulsive this time. No, he had learnt from his past, from the mistakes he made with Riddy. He had clung to her too tightly, suffocated her with his overwhelming need for her to be his everything. But not with you. This time, he would be patient. He would approach carefully, deliberately. He would make you want him as much as he wanted you.

That was where the obsession started. It began as something subtle—harmless, even. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. In the quiet hours of the night, his mind wandered back to your face, the way your lips curved when you smiled, the warmth in your eyes. He found himself imagining your voice, the sound of your laughter, wondering what it would be like to hear you say his name.

And so, he watched. He found himself in places he knew you’d be, always on the edges of your life, never too close, but never far enough to lose sight of you. At first, it was enough just to observe—to see the way you moved through the world, to learn your habits, your routines. It was like studying a piece of music, learning its intricacies, its subtleties. You became his composition, and he was determined to perfect every note.

The first time he spoke to you was at the café you often visited to read. Orpheus had positioned himself nearby, pretending to be engrossed in his own book, though in reality, he was waiting for the right moment. When he finally approached, his voice was soft, his smile disarming.

“Mind if I sit here?” he asked, gesturing to the seat across from you.

You glanced up, your eyes meeting his for the first time. The moment was electric. There was a flicker of something in your gaze—curiosity, perhaps—but you didn’t linger on him for long. You nodded politely, offering a brief smile before returning to your book.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough for him. Enough to plant the first seed.

Orpheus knew how to play this game. He wouldn’t overwhelm you, not at first. He would be charming, mysterious, just enough to pique your interest. He would weave himself into your life slowly, like a song that you couldn’t quite get out of your head. He would make sure that you thought about him, wondered about him, until he became impossible to ignore.

Weeks passed, and each encounter brought you closer. Orpheus was careful to keep the balance—never too eager, but always there, a steady presence that you began to rely on. You found yourself looking forward to seeing him, his easy smile, the way his voice wrapped around your name when he greeted you.

There was something about him that made you feel at ease, like you could let your guard down. He listened intently when you spoke, his attention never wavering, making you feel as if you were the only person in the room. And yet, there was an intensity in his gaze, a heat that simmered just beneath the surface. You could feel it, even if you didn’t fully understand it.

For Orpheus, this was all part of the plan. He was in control, guiding you down the path he had carefully laid out. Every conversation, every laugh, every shared moment—it was all part of the symphony he was composing. And soon, you would be unable to resist its pull.

But the obsession grew. No matter how much time he spent with you, it was never enough. He craved you—your presence, your touch, your voice. He found himself thinking about you constantly, replaying every interaction in his mind, analysing every word you said, every glance you gave him. He wanted more. He needed more.

He started to fantasise, imagining what it would be like to hold you, to kiss you, to claim you as his. The thought consumed him. It wasn’t just about desire; it was deeper than that. You were his new beginning, his second chance. The more time he spent with you, the more convinced he became that you were meant to be his. He had to have you—all of you.

One evening, after another long conversation over coffee, Orpheus walked you home. The air was crisp, and the streetlights cast a soft glow around you as you chatted about nothing in particular. But beneath the casual conversation, there was an undercurrent of tension, something unspoken but palpable.

When you reached your door, there was a moment of hesitation. You turned to him, offering a warm smile, but Orpheus saw something else in your eyes—something deeper. He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he confessed, his gaze locking onto yours. His words were smooth, but there was an edge to them, a rawness that sent a shiver down your spine. “You’re all I can think about.”

Your heart raced at the intensity of his gaze, the vulnerability in his voice. You felt drawn to him, like a moth to a flame. Without thinking, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, tentative kiss.

But once you kissed him, something inside Orpheus snapped. The restraint he had been holding onto so carefully shattered, and he deepened the kiss with a hunger that took your breath away. His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer, as if he couldn’t bear to be apart from you for another second.

When you finally pulled away, both of you breathless, Orpheus rested his forehead against yours, his eyes half-closed. “You have no idea what you’ve done to me,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

You felt a thrill of excitement, but there was something else there too—a flicker of uncertainty, a sense that this connection was more intense than you had anticipated.

For Orpheus, the kiss was only the beginning. Now that he had tasted you, now that he had felt the warmth of your lips against his, there was no turning back. His obsession had taken root, and it was growing stronger every day. He would have you—all of you. He would make sure that you needed him as much as he needed you, that you couldn’t imagine your life without him.

And he would do it carefully, methodically, just as he had planned from the beginning.

But you, blissfully unaware of the depth of Orpheus’s fixation, couldn’t see the darker undertones beneath his affection. In your eyes, he was simply a man who had fallen for you—perhaps a little more quickly than you expected, but wasn’t that part of the romance? You thought of his intensity as passion, his closeness as care. Every glance he cast your way, every lingering touch, only made you feel more desired.

You didn’t notice the way his eyes would follow your every move, how he seemed to know exactly where you’d be without asking. When he showed up at your favourite spots unannounced, you thought it was fate. When he remembered details about your life that you barely mentioned, you assumed it was simply attentiveness. You didn’t realise that each of these moments had been carefully curated by him—an orchestration you were unknowingly playing a part in.

To you, Orpheus was a man in love. But to him, you were the melody he needed to possess, and he would stop at nothing to ensure that you were his, and his alone.

The idea of love, for you, was still innocent—a fairytale. But Orpheus knew that this story wasn’t quite as simple. This was a love story, yes, but one that you hadn’t fully grasped yet.

First Chapter- Please let me know what you think. The next chapter will be a lot more....graphic and intimate.

Please leave and like, comment or request

[hazbinhazbinhazbinreblog]

Radio Guard Alastor emerges from the cloud of dust. His expression is slack, unsmiling, and utterly blank except for the rage in his eyes.

First of all amazing entrance by Radio Guard Al applause all around

Second he's fighting just to avenge his Vox just bc Canon said something to make him cry

Radio Guard Alastor visibly hesitates, obviously conflicted at the thought of attacking another Vox who isn't Canon.

He cares! He cares but he's too stubborn to admit it verbally!

It's all in vain.

Radio Guard Alastor shrugs off every attack like it's nothing.

This part cements how strong Radio Guard is compared to all the others and what exactly he's capable of

Canon Alastor meets him in the middle with one last desperate attempt to hold him off.

Canon Alastor protecting his man we love to see it

Radio Guard stares up at him, before his mouth curves into a smile. He laughs amusedly, “I'll be borrowing these, thanks.”

Ngl this line awakened something to me

“Wait!” Radio Guard Vox rushes in between the two. “Alastor, wait! Please!”

Radio Guard Vox is probably the only one who can reason with his Alastor out of all of them there even if Alastor is still pissed at him

It's weirdly wholesome but also breaks my heart

“He hurt you. I can't let that slide.”

Radio Guard Alastor focusing on the fact that his Vox was hurt by someone

Canon Alastor takes that moment to step in. Despite the bruises decorating his neck and the blood dripping down his limbs, he remains his chipper self. “If I may? I'd like to be the one to deal with my Vox.”

"my Vox" you're not that subtle Al

He chuckles and lifts their interlaced hands so they're in view. Vox feels his heartbeat quicken. “You're mine.”

The fact that the last words of the fic are "you're mine" and it's Canon Alastor saying them to Canon Vox just hits you right in the gut

They're also holding hands when Alastor says that! 😭

I forgot to link the minific by ⚔️ anon it was originally in response to at first (its fixed now) but essentially Canon Vox told Radio Guard Vox that he was missing out by being with an old relic instead of Valentino and from reading it RadioGuard seems to have some heavy trauma off that based on his reaction

The whole fic I'm just so emotionally devastated by the whole thing there's always so many subtleties and so much nuance to their relationships I am On The Fucking Floor

[panda-noosh]

 ask me about commissions!

---

 it isn’t very difficult to notice that Draco has a crush on you.

   the Malfoy boy has never been very good at the act of subtlety, unlike yourself. years of practice has worked in your favour, practice Draco couldn’t even fathom with how prominent his family name is amongst the wizarding world. Draco was born with expectations set upon him; he wouldn’t know how to hide his feelings if he tried.

    you never minded. in fact, Draco was never on your radar in the first place. you can admit he is attractive in a purely conventional way. it’s the attitude that has always been his biggest downfall, something that pushed you away from making even the smallest of conversation with him.

   the situation you had with Draco Malfoy was. . . fine. it was easy. he fancied you, everyone knew about it, and you ignored the obvious - that was good enough.

    until you were assigned to kill him. 

    the assignment comes in the form of a letter, as the assignments always do. your mother stands over your shoulder as you read, ready lest you need help to decipher the complicated, forever-changing code used by the higher-up’s to ensure no bypassed letters can be understood from anyone on the outside. it takes you a while to read what is said, and even after you have reached the end of the page, you have to reread it to make sure you’ve got it all correct. the name Malfoy appears at least a dozen times, barely coded, and yet you struggle to wrap your head around it.

   your mother tilts forward so she is in your eyeline. “what’s the matter? who’s Draco?”

    your mouth is dry. you debate just getting up and leaving, discarding the letter for good. instead, you meet your mums eyes and say, “nobody. just another assignment.”

   your mother nods, a grin on her face. you only started receiving proper assignments a few months ago, a gift for finally graduating in your lessons. you are the best in your class when it comes to wand work, though you can’t deny the majority of that training came from Hogwarts, not the academy. it was Hogwarts that taught you how to hold a wand, how to cast a spell. it was Hogwarts that taught you what dark magic actually is - a coincidence, considering they were always so afraid of it.

    that night, you lay in darkness. your mattress feels most uncomfortable, disappointing considering tonight is the last night you will be sleeping in it until the holidays. outside, birds chirp, and the familiar light of your nocturnal neighbours bedroom glows dimly in the distance. tomorrow, you will be on the Hogwarts Express. tomorrow, you will no doubt have to face Draco as he tromps around the place with his usual self-righteous little grin, hands tucked in his pockets, his perfectly pressed blazer tight against his chiselled - and getting more chiselled by the day - body. 

    tomorrow, you will have to talk to the boy you will eventually have to kill.

   ----

    people whispered about the Malfoy’s all the time, but your first time actually meeting one wasn’t as extravagent as everyone said it would be.

    when you got your acceptance letter from Hogwarts, the first thing your mother told you was to look out for the Malfoy’s. she didn’t know the young boys name, just that Narcissa and Lucius were sending their only son to Hogwarts - it would be his first year, just as it was yours.

   you never paid your mothers warnings much attention, considering she seemed to have a problem with every wizarding family that wasn’t part of the Academy. you kept the warning tucked into the back of your head anyway, just in case it actually meant something.

    Hogwarts was as magnificent as you always believed it would be. great towers loomed overhead, surrounded by a herd of unicorns soaring high in the sky. bright blue sparks - not unlike fireworks - lit up the darkness of the evening, and the sound of heavy footsteps rang out, entering the front entrance; you knew without confirmation that the footsteps belonged to your brand new peers, people you would most likely see everyday. the thought scared you more than anything else Hogwarts might bring, and you felt a little shameful for the fear. you spent your days training for murder, and yet it is the thought of these children that terrified you. your mother wouldn’t approve. your father would take the whip to your back.

    the first years were led up to the castle by boat, a rather unpleasant experience considering one of your crew mates was horrifically seasick on the way over. Hagrid moaned and groaned the entire way across the river about how he would have to clean up the mess, and though you found the giant quite amusing in hindsight, you would have appreciated a bit of silence to help get you through the moment.

   nonetheless, you arrived at Hogwarts in one piece, and were seated at your table before the Sorting began; your mother and father had told you all about this particular ceremony, and to you, it all sounded a bit weird. splitting kids up into different houses just seemed. . . pointless, an extra step in an already complicated, busy schedule. all you wanted to do was curl up in bed, but instead you were forced to walk on stage in front of everyone and place a ridiculous, insulting, hideous hat on your head that screamed out “SLYTHERIN!” to a group of people you didn’t even know. apparently, that one word was enough for plenty of people to judge you on, as multiple tables erupted into groans and boos of distaste. 

   one table, however, erupted into cheers and welcomed you with open arms. you knew immediately you wouldn’t want to be seated anywhere else.

   it was at this sorting ceremony you first laid eyes on Draco Malfoy. 

    he approached the stage, the hat was placed on his head, and the house Slytherin was announced almost instantly. nobody seemed surprised - the other ignorant tables didn’t even make a noise, instead just rolled their eyes and clapped lazily. 

   “no surprise there!” a Slytherin exclaimed, clapping the blonde haired, scrawny git on the back as he took a seat.

   right next to you.

   you were still too uncomfortable in your new surroundings to move away from him, though that was the instant reaction you had. the way he held himself with such confidence sent a shiver down your spine, made you feel immediately self-conscious about your own slouched, nervous figure. he controlled the table as soon as he sat down, despite having been in the building only an hour at most. he laughed and smiled with everyone around him, and after ten minutes of this, you thought for sure he must be ignoring you. that was a good thing in your eyes - you weren’t sure what you would even begin to say to someone like him, someone who oozed greatness, someone who clearly knew their spot in other people’s lives - even complete strangers.

   but then he spotted you, and his eyes widened like he hadn’t even noticed you were sitting right beside him. you met his eyes, and for a second you had the urge to just look away and stay huddled in your own bubble. however, you found you couldn’t quite do that, and suddenly you were staring right into the blue eyes of Draco Malfoy, waiting for him to say something, anything to break the awkwardness.

    he simply went red and looked away.

   you raised a brow, glancing at the boy to Draco’s left in the hopes he could offer an answer. the boy, however, simply glanced at Draco and burst out laughing, before ducking his head down for some teasing whispers in Draco’s ear.

   you huffed, turning away. fine. you weren’t going to let some weirdo like Draco Malfoy ruin your first day - you were here to learn, and that was exactly what you were going to do. just because you and Draco were in the same house didn’t mean you had to pay him even the slightest bit of attention.

   you would probably be better off that way.

   ----

      draco is the first to greet you when you walk in the doors. your final year at Hogwarts if all goes to plan. you will be nice to him for one last year, and then you will rip the bandaid off.

   “good morning,” you say, sitting next to him in the common room. he looks up from a magazine, and you are instantly swept away by his messy hair, pale skin, dark bags under his eyes. 

   “good morning,” he replies. “when did you get here?”

   “about two minutes ago. when did you get here, or am i correct in assuming you never left?”

   draco rolls his eyes, looking back to his magazine. the reaction is an odd one, considering draco is usually so keen on talking to you whenever he gets the chance. you will admit, however, he looks exhausted, probably too exhausted to deal with your bullshit.

   you lean back in the plush leather seat and raise a brow. “everything okay? how was your summer?”

   “fine,” he says, a little too quickly to be believable. “mother and father were on business for most of it, so i had the house all to myself.”

   “oh. that must have been fun for you. invite anyone special over?”

   draco scoffs in response.

   you bite your lip, looking away. you feel bad for the fellow, you must admit, but you can’t say that, because you’re in a similar situation. the mere idea of inviting friends over to your house is laughable, considering they will be greeted by nothing more than murder tools and a family of sadistic killers.

   “how do you feel about being back?” you ask, because you want to see him perk up a little bit. 

   “fine,” he replies. “nothing has changed. things are still going to be as shitty as they were every other year.”

   “they will be with that attitude.”

   “when have you ever cared about my attitude?”

   “all the time, actually. i’ve always wanted you to be less of a dick.”

   draco stares at you before that slow grin starts spreading across his face. you smile back, savouring the sound of the casual chuckle freshly awakened from him. it hurts a little bit to see him like this, knowing what you know, planning what you’re planning. it feels almost more criminal to be making your victim laugh than it does actually murdering them.

    you look away, teeth very nearly ripping through the skin of your lip. 

    “oh, y/n, it is nice to see you again. how was your summer?”

    “same old, same old. did nothing, and now i’m back at school.” a lie, of course, and almost everyone in your year knows it. every year, you are asked how your summer was, and you always reply with that exact thing. people have stopped questioning the fresh bruises and scars littering your body every time you come back. people have stopped trying to dig into your personal life.

    people have also stopped wanting to be your friend because of all these mysteries, which is why you have found yourself gravitating towards the very boy you should be staying away from. a few years ago, you never would have found yourself sitting beside him in the common room, laughing over a shared joke. 

    you chat with him for a little bit longer, learning about the wellness of his family. he tries chipping away at the wellness of your family, but you refuse to go into anymore detail than just, “they’re fine,” and draco doesn’t push. he just keeps the conversation rolling, and you can’t help but notice how he never takes his eyes off you, not once, like he’s afraid of missing some vital give away in your facial expression. no one else’s stare can warm you up quite like draco’s. it weirds you out. 

   you talk until the bell for first class rings out. the goodbye is awkward, as it always is with draco, because you never quite know how he wants to leave the situation; it would be easy enough for you to just get up and leave, but draco always insists on having some kind of parting words, some kind of goodbye that just leaves you feeling warm and confused. today, he even tries leaning in for a hug, and maybe if he wasn’t on your hit-list at the moment, you would have accepted. after five years of mild friendship, you thought perhaps it might be time to share a hug.

   but things change.

   you pull away, smile and say goodbye before turning on your heel and walking away. your stomach feels sickly, your heart racing in your chest for a reason you don’t quite understand; you’ve never been scared of a hit before. you’ve been trained for this since you were little, was raised around assassins and apprentices and masters who all taught you that fear and hesitation are the two things that would get you killed. you thought you had banished those two emotions long ago.

    so how has draco malfoy managed to unlock them again?

   ----

     it wasn’t until two weeks into your first school year that Draco decided to talk to you.

   at that point, he had already made a pretty big reputation for himself. he was now known as the guy nobody bar Slytherins really wanted to be around; he was big-headed, a snitch, and basically relied on his father for everything. that was what the whispers all said, and from what little attention you spared for him, you could see them to be true.

    overall, however, you stuck to yourself. after about a week, you gave up on making friends, content sitting in classes on your own. it was easier that way, a life lesson your mother taught you from a very young age. the more people you befriend, the more chances you give to be betrayed, and betrayal is the most dangerous thing of all, yet the easiest thing to fall upon.

    it was a tuesday evening. the slytherin’s had just returned to the common room after their evening dinner, consisting of turkey, ham, beef, vegetables, potatoes - basically anything a person could ever ask for. your stomach was bursting at the seams, yet you insisted on sitting yourself down in the common room to get some work done. it was crowded enough, but you didn’t mind that. you found it easy to block out unwanted background noise.

   until the background noise was no longer in the background.

    out of nowhere, draco appeared by your side. there was no warning, no explanation - just one minute he wasn’t there, and the next he was, leaning over the arm of the chair to catch a glimpse of what you were working on. you glanced over, raised a brow, said nothing. you didn’t even really know what to say - if draco was here to antagonise you, you would happily tell him just to piss off. 

    it took him a minute to notice you were staring right at him. when he did, he narrowed his eyes and said, “what?”

    “sit somewhere else, draco. i’m busy.”

   a brief flicker of shock crossed his face, and you were surprised to feel nothing but guilt. only the tiniest bit, but it was still there. he looked kind of like a kicked puppy.

    “sorry,” you mumbled. “what do you want?”

   “you still sound angry,” he replied, flopping back in the oversized arm chair. “i just wanted to see what you were working on. we’re in the same house, y/n. it makes me uncomfortable that we haven’t spoken to each other yet. become acquaintences.”

   you winced at the mere idea. “i’m okay on my own, thank you.”

    “oh. a lone wolf, is it? very quirky.”

   “shut up. maybe this is why i don’t want to talk to you, ever.”

   another look of hurt crossed his face, but you looked away before it could affect you this time. 

    “whatever,” he grumbled. “i was just trying to be nice, and you’ve insisted on being a brat in return. that says more about you than it does about me.”

   “it does, you’re right.”

   draco waited for the apology at the end of that sentence, but it never came. you just went back to your work, because in truth, you didn’t much care whether or not draco malfoy thought you were a good person. at that moment in time, you just wanted him to leave, so you could stop forcing this god awful, hostile conversation.

    he stayed right where he was seated, albeit in silence. his foot tapped annoyingly at the floor, and he kept his arms crossed the entire time, examining every movement of his peers in the common room before him. every now and then he would suck on his teeth, purely just to make noise, like his overwhelming presence alone wasn’t enough to make you unbearably aware of him. 

    “you know,” he said after a few minutes of this infuriating silence. “you never properly introduced yourself.”

   “you know who i am.”

   “only from professors saying your name in class; that doesn’t count as an official introduction.”

    you rolled your eyes, finally turning to look at him. he tilted his head, keeping eye contact, and for some reason, the room became very, very warm, sweat-level warm, like his gaze was somehow moulded by fire and ice at the same time.

    “will you leave me alone if i introduce myself?”

   “i want a proper introduction. i’ll accept nothing less than a few trivial facts about yourself, alongside your name.”

    you stared. “you’re joking.”

  he shrugged as if to say what can you do?

   you gritted your teeth, took a deep, calming breath and said, “my name is y/n l/n. i’m from north london-”

   “pure bred?”

   you scowled. “yes.”

   he waved his hand. “continue.”

   “you’re annoying me now. what difference does my fucking blood status make?”

    “i never said it made a difference. i was just curious.”

   you knew the malfoy reputation, of course, so his lie wasn’t taken lightly. you shook your head, slammed your textbook closed and said, “if you won’t leave, then i will.”

   you stood. to your surprise, draco yelped and reached for your hand, but you were quick to pull your wand from your pocket before his grip could get too tight. you span, dropping your book and all the papers that went with it, in favour of pushing your wand right into draco’s face.

   “don’t you dare.”

   he raised his hands in surrender, panting, face beetroot red. you had very clearly scared him, but you didn’t care; he tried grabbing you. growing up, that gesture always led to hostility. it always made your defences fly up.

   “leave me alone, malfoy,” you growled. “i want nothing to do with you.”

   you didn’t give him a chance to reply before gathering up your books and stalking off, leaving behind the shocked faces of the slytherin’s. 

-----

    “any news?”

   it’s your mothers eagerness that unsettles you. her face, floating so carelessly in the hearth, is more smile than it is anything else. the glint in her eye is one you have seen countless times, and yet you still fail to understand why it is there in the first place. this isn’t a simple conversation you are having - she is asking for updates on whether or not a wizard has been murdered, a wizard your age.

   you find yourself struggling to reply this time around. of course draco is not dead yet - you’ve had classes to focus on, have had no time whatsoever to come up with a plan of action. you know this isn’t the news she wants to hear.

    “y/n?” she says. “are you there?”

   “yes,” you reply. “mum, look, this job might be a little out of my hands. maybe you should get someone else to do it.” your chest aches at the mere suggestion, that draco’s lifeline could possibly be out of your hands now. 

    your mother recoils like you’ve slapped her. “pardon?”

   “i mean, it’s just not logical for me to be the one to do it. he’s in my year, mum, and everyone is already creeped out by me. if the heir to the malfoy name suddenly shows up dead, the first person on the roster will be me purely by association.”

   “association with who?”

   you bite your lip and shrug, even though you both know the answer - association with her. association with them. 

   “this is what you signed up for, y/n,” your mother continues, voice lower, like she suddenly cares if someone hears her. “don’t tell me you’re abandoning us now.”

   a lump lodges in your throat. you hate when she puts it like that, like you getting away from the life she wants you to live is a form of abandonment. your mother has done everything for you, and you won’t do this one simple thing for her, this one simple thing you always promised you would do, the one simple thing she has ever asked of you-

   “i’ll see what i can do.”

   her smile appears again. “excellent. i love to hear it. you’ll keep me updated, won’t you? your father and i have some jobs of our own to complete over the next few days, but we always make time for you. you know that.”

   “i do, mum. thank you.”

   “no, thank you. i love you sweetheart.”

   “love you too.”

   smoke engulfs the floating head, and then the common room is silent. you fall back against the sofa, catching your head in your hands. for the first time in a long, long time, you feel the tears starting to burn the backs of your eyes, threatening to push to the surface. so desperately you want to scream and cry, maybe punch a fist through the wall, but before you can do such a thing, the door to the boys dormitory slowly opens.

   you look up, catching malfoy’s eye. he’s wearing his pyjamas, hair a mess, mouth set in a firm, confused line. you wonder how he knew you were out here, how he knew just the right moment to make an appearance.

   he sees you sitting on the floor, your back against the sofa, and his eyebrows raise. he doesn’t say anything - in all honesty, draco never really needs to say anything. communication is key, but sometimes the silence is better. sometimes the silence is needed.

   he approaches, bare feet padding on the wooden floor. he squats down next to you, and without a word, you fall into his outstretched arms. his chin plonks on the top of your head, feet slipping out so the two of you are nestled on the common room floor, the world melting away around you. you can’t believe this is the situation you have found yourself in, that this is the life you have so adamantly hidden from him, and now it’s catching up. you can’t believe your own failure at the task of trying to keep draco safe.

    he’s a malfoy after all. he wasn’t born to stay safe. he was born to cause havok, to be in the spotlight, to be the target. it doesn’t matter how much time and effort you put into ensuring his safety - it’s not possible for a guy like him. it just sucks that you’re the one assigned to put him into danger.

    the silence stretches for as long as it takes you to realise the tears aren’t coming. they are just nestled in the back of your head, teasing you - one day you’ll be able to find a healthy release, but crying into your partners arms clearly isn’t one of them.

   you peel your head away from his chest and look up. he meets your eyes, tilts his head and hums as if to say you gonna tell me what’s wrong?

   “family problems,” you reply, even though the lie feels treasonous, like you should be burned at the stake for it. “my mum. . .”

   “aaaaah. i’m guessing she isn’t happy about something?”

   you close your eyes. “when is she ever?”

   draco pulls you a little closer, nestling his chin on your head again. you wrap your arms around his middle, letting his warmth engulf you, a single moment of vulnerability. “you should let me talk to her one day. i’m good at getting through to people.”

   “my mum is a different breed, draco. no one gets through to her.”

   “you don’t know if you don’t try.”

   “but i do know because i was raised by the woman. trust me, any tactic you want to use to get through to her, i’ve used a thousand times over.”

   draco’s chest rises and falls in a huff beneath your cheek. you chuckle, nuzzling into his neck. 

   “i appreciate the effort, though,” you say. “just don’t worry about it. everything will be fine.”

   draco nods, but his lack of verbal response tells you he doesn’t believe a word you’re saying, and you suppose you can’t really blame him. he understands the wall you put up around the topic of your family, as he has the same one. sometimes its difficult talking about your loved ones in a negative light, so when you have nothing good to say, it’s better saying nothing at all.

-----

   “i got into the slytherin quidditch team.”

   you looked up from the jumbled mess of papers on your desk, and there he stood in all his glory. of course it was draco, the very guy who had tried tirelessly to gain your attention after losing it back in first year.

   in truth, you were no longer mad at him, you just weren’t particularly fond of him as a person. you could see the manipulation from his parents dribbling down into him, and you couldn’t quite blame him for his ignorance when he was raised in a household that taught him nothing else. nonetheless, you decided - for your own benefit - that you would let draco live his life, and you would live your life. the two did not need to intercept at any point.

   except draco didn’t like that.

   you never told him the plan, but you didn’t make it subtle that that was exactly what you wanted. you left the room when he entered it. you always asked to change partners when professors would put you with him. you didn’t sit around and fawn over his every waking moment like some of the other people in your year.

    despite all this, he still insisted on trying to talk to you. he sat down at the very table you were working at, placed his chin upon his palm and said, with more vigour this time, “i got into the slytherin quidditch team.”

   you bit your lip in an attempt to stop your scowl. “good for you. i’m studying.”

   “there’s going to be a party in the common room after tea. are you going to be there?”

   “no. i’m going to be here, studying.”

   “you sound like hermione granger.”

   “why is that an insult?”

   you met his eyes, challenging him to say the very thing he knew would set you off again, the very thing that put irreparable damage to your relationship in the first place. his cheeks grew red, and he looked away.

     a moment of blissful silence dragged on until draco grew tired of his lack of attention and said, “i would like it if you came.”

   “i’m sure you would, but parties aren’t really my thing.”

   “you sneak out of the dorms every night; what do you mean parties aren’t your thing?”

   your face grew hot, and you refused to look up. “i don’t sneak out to parties, that’s for sure.”

   “then what?” 

  “none of your business, malfoy.” you slammed your textbook shut and stood. “now, if you don’t mind-”

   draco grabbed your hand and dragged you back to your seat. the action startled you, not just with how abrupt it was, but with the feeling of shock it sent through your body. his fingers were soft, pads touching your pulse which jumped at the contact. 

    you pulled your hand away. “what?”

   “why do you make this so difficult?”

    “make what difficult?”

   “this!” he gestured vaguely to the air between you, like that would somehow explain anything. you merely raised a brow, asking him to elaborate. “you and i, y/n. can’t you see i want to be your friend?”

    you could see it alright. you could see it crystal clear, and it taunted you every day. 

    “this isn’t primary school, draco,” you mumbled. “this is hogwarts. this is our future. i’m not here to be buddy-buddy with people.”

   “you’re more cynical than me.”

   you have no idea.

   draco sighed, letting your hand drop. it was only your fingers touching the table again that made you realise he had kept hold of you the entire time, was probably messing with your fingers so absentmindedly as he spoke. 

    “you’re right, you know,” he continued. “this isn’t primary school. which is why i think it would only be very adult of you to come to the celebrations tonight, and to drop whatever grudge you have against me once and for all.”

   you blinked. oh, that little shit.

   he knew just what strings to pull. he always did, and you should have thought of that before you started this back and forth, and that was the truth of it - you had started this by making it your life’s work to avoid draco malfoy. if you had just replied to his random “hello’s” in the corridor, or congratulated him on his new Seeker status, things would be so much easier. 

   but you were stubborn, and scared, and you didn’t want to deal with the bother that came with a malfoy.

    he tilted his head at your silence, a tiny, infuriating grin spreading across his face. “is that contemplation i’m seeing?”

   you closed your eyes, gripping your pen a little tighter. “draco-”

   but he was already standing, hands tucked into the pockets of his emerald green robe. “i’ll save you a glass of punch, shall i?”

 ----

   today has to be the day.

  your mother said so. the calendar says so. everything in the air is saying so.

   you’ve held it off for as long as possible. even this morning, you couldn’t bring yourself to just get the job done; you waited, convincing yourself the job would go smoother if it was dark outside. in reality, it won’t make a difference; you’re sneaky enough to not get caught even in broad daylight, and it would probably be easier just to get it over with as soon as possible, but you just weren’t ready.

  but now that isn’t an excuse you can use, because the day is coming to an end, and people back home are waiting for the verdict. you sit in the courtyard, waiting patiently for draco to make his appearance. it’s been a tradition for the two of you to meet every wednesday night, just before curfew. it gives privacy where the slytherin common room doesn’t.

   you can’t think of anywhere else to do this.

   your heart hammers. around you, the trees whisper, and the mythical beings hidden in the grass chirp and jump around without a care in the world; you wonder what that must be like, to be so calm and carefree when everything around you is so big and threatening. 

    a twig snaps, making you jump. you spin just as draco appears, dishevelled from some late night quidditch with his friends. his tie is askew, knotted too much, hair a mess upon his head. the sight doesn’t make this any easier.

   you force a smile on your face. draco smiles back, settling onto the bench beside you. his hand immediately grabs your own, a reflex that breaks your heart, yet you don’t pull away. call it selfish, but you want to feel his hand in yours just one last time. you know you don’t deserve it, but it’s the only thing keeping you from unravelling entirely.

    “how are you?” he asks, just as he always does. 

   “i’m fine,” you reply, just as you always do.

   draco tilts his head back, gazing into the dark winter sky. his eyes slip closed, throat bobbing. his cheeks are tinted red, a sure sign of exhaustion from the hours he spent on the pitch. there’s a thin sheen of sweat along his neck, and it takes every ounce of willpower you have not to reach out and run your finger along the column of his throat.

    “tired?” you ask.

   “mm,” he hums, before letting his cheek fall to his shoulder. he gives you a tired little smile, a dimple appearing on his chin. “still made it here though, didn’t i?”

   “you always do.”

   “i’m just so perfect.”

   you chuckle lightly, even as the noise feels like shards of glass piercing your windpipe. how can you do this? how can you sit here and make the last noise this man hears be the laugh of his killer?

    he leans forward and pecks your lips. he smells like too much deodorant. as always, his grip tightens just a fraction when you kiss him back, like he can’t quite believe it.

   even after all this time.

    “i was talking to my mother today,” he says. “she wants you to come over for christmas this year. just for a day or two. she doesn’t expect you to spend the entire holiday with us. i told her how close you are to your family.”

   “oh?” you tilt your head. “why? have you been talking about me, draco?”

   “every chance i get,” he replies. “i need to let my father know i’ve actually done something right before he gives up on me.”

   your heart flutters. you want to rip it from your chest, stomp on it, spit on it, go back in time and erase everything you ever did leading up to falling in love with draco. 

    this isn’t fair. it isn’t easy. it isn’t a job buffered by years of experience. this is torture. 

   this is impossible.

    you don’t realise you’ve fallen silent until draco squeezes your hand and leans forward, an attempt to catch your eye. “y/n?”

   you cup his cheek, though you don’t know why. his eyes widen at the sudden contact, but he doesn’t move away. he merely raises a brow. 

   “are you okay?”

   you swallow thickly. you need to do it now. you have him vulnerable, his head literally in the palm of your hand. you could so easily just. . . twist. just snap his neck right here and now, and then flee. your bags are already packed, because you really were prepared to do this, you really were prepared to just get it over with and leave once and for all.

   but then he tilts his head and presses a kiss to your palm, and every pretence you had that this job was possible is shattered in an instant.

    your voice cracks when you say, “oh draco,” before breaking into tears.

   draco, startled, immediately bundles you into his arms. your head lands on his chest, and suddenly you are engulfed in his embrace, engulfed by the smell of him, the comfort of him, the warmth of him. you wonder how you ever thought you could go without this. you grip onto him for dear life. you refuse to let him go.

    “hey, hey, hey,” he whispers into the top of your head. “what’s wrong, y/n? what’s going on?”

    you squeeze your eyes closed, bundling your hands in his shift. “draco, i’m so sorry. this is so messed up.”

   “what is? i don’t understand.” he pulls away, holding you by the shoulders. “you’re scaring me.”

   and you can see in his eyes that you are, that he doesn’t know what to do. 

    you inhale shakily. “you know i love you, right?”

   he blinks. “y-yes?” 

   “i’ve got myself into a bad situation,” you confess. “i’ve been in a bad situation for. . . a long time. a long, long time, and i don’t know if i can get out of it.”

   draco pauses. “what’s the situation?” he stands up suddenly, fists clenched. “what can i do?”

   you grab his hand and pull him back down. “nothing. there’s nothing you can do. this is all down to me.”

   “y/n, anything to do with you has to do with me. we agreed on that back in third year.”

   third year. goodness, your love for him has been so strong for so long.

   “i need to handle this on my own,” you say. you cut off his protest by nuzzling your head in his neck. “please.”

    he hesitates, but only for a moment before he wraps his arms around you, burying his slim fingers into your hair. he holds you like that for what feels like hours, though it couldn’t have possibly been such a long time. the night gets darker and darker until eventually, the two of you have no choice but to break apart and head back to the castle, a silence heavier than the earth itself settled between you.

   ----

   the first time you ever thought about kissing draco was a random tuesday night at hogwarts. as per usual, you were to be found in the library, head tucked into books as you pushed away the thoughts of your mother’s daily phone call, and other worries that had nothing to do with the exams you were going to be taking in a few weeks time. 

   it was difficult for you to ignore the real world, replacing everything with your studies. with your mother constantly breathing over your shoulder, sending letters upon letters of which she expected the snappiest of replies, you were hardly ever given the gift of free time. this meant you had very little time to focus on what was important. night time in the library was really the only time you had to yourself.

    except this particular, random tuesday.

   the library door opened, the creak making your shoulders tense. you looked up at the clock first, surprised to find it had already hit two am, and even more surprised that someone was coming into the library. someone else was actually awake.

   it shouldn’t have surprised you so much to see draco malfoy strolling through the great double doors, a smug little smile on his face, a girl by his side. the girl was someone you didn’t recognise, but that wasn’t saying an awful lot considering it was basically your reputation now not to know anyone. you kept your head down, interacting with as little people as possible. 

    the girl looked giddy to say the least, a smile on her face illuminating a mouth full of braces. she wore a pair of glasses and her robe was perfectly pressed. her pretty brown curls were pulled into a side ponytail that looked more like an unkempt hedge than a head of hair.

    draco let the doors close and then he turned to her. just her. he didn’t even take a moment to look around, because if he did, he would have seen you sat in the corner, bundled away with your books, about to witness the worst scene you could possibly imagine. part of you was tempted to call out and stop them, but you were frozen, frozen just from looking at him as he stood there all casual and suave, like this was something he did every night. the weird thing was, however, that you knew draco pretty well; despite your best efforts, you had gotten to know more and more about the malfoy boy, and you knew for a fact this wasn’t something he just did. he was probably so nervous, probably sweating buckets beneath the collar of his school robes.

   it almost made you laugh.

   but then he cupped her face with those long, slender fingers, and his mouth touched hers, and suddenly you didn’t want to laugh any more. suddenly, you were overcome with this sharp, painful sting of surprise, followed shortly by pure disbelief. 

   because draco was supposed to wait.

   he was supposed to wait for you to be ready. he was supposed to wait for you to realize your own feelings. he was supposed to wait until you had your own life sorted out, till your own head was clear and you could just. . . be his.

    it was this kiss that had your head spiralling in confusion, because you never before realized it was a kiss you had wanted from him for a long, long time. all those lessons spent staring at his perfect lips, that feeling of jealousy burning in your stomach - it was all adding up to one thing, something you really did not want to confront if you could help it.

    but the girl arched into his touch, and her hands were on his waist, and his hands were on her face, and god, you wondered what that felt like. you wondered what he tasted like. you wondered how good it must feel to have his warmth mingling with your own-

    the spell book tipped from your fingers.

   it landed on the floor with a crash that shook the shelves around you. the girl squealed, jumping out of draco’s grip so fast she very nearly fell over a foot stool behind her. draco span, furious, but the moment his eyes met yours, his jaw fell and all tough-guy demeanour fell away. you could only stare back, eyes wide, heart hammering so loudly in your chest that you were certain you wouldn’t be able to hear a word he might say through the blood thumping in your ears. 

    but then he said, “y/n?” and you heard him loud and clear. so loud and clear, in fact, that you snapped out of your reverie and stood up. you began gathering your belongings up like someone possessed, stuffing pencils into pockets they didn’t fit into, carrying more spell books beneath your arm than you had the strength too. multiple of them slipped from the crook of your elbow, but you just left them laying on the floor, too ashamed and embarrassed and confused to look back at the trail.

   draco tried grabbing your wrist as you stormed past him, but you dodged his hand and carried on. you needed to get to bed anyway. that’s what you told yourself, that you were just going to bed, that your sudden decision to leave the library had nothing whatsoever to do with draco and his new play-thing.

    you heard him calling your name for a few seconds longer before turning the corner and disappearing into the slytherin common room. you didn’t make it to the stairs before you let the books tumble from your arms, you following shortly after. you buried your head in your knees and breathed as best you could, adding yet another problem to the list of problems you would soon ignore.

   ---

    draco found you the next day, despite your best efforts.

    people had been telling you all day that he was asking about you. apparently he sounded very distressed, very guilty, hadn’t slept the night before. you just ignored them.

   but draco was still in the same house as you, and that meant it wasn’t an overly difficult task for him to find you. he appeared just as you sat down in the dining hall for dinner, your tray nearly empty due to your lack of appetite. he sat down without permission, started talking without permission, and all you could focus on was the memory of him locking lips with that random girl.

   “y/n.”

   that’s how he started the conversation, because that’s how draco started every conversation with you. 

    “draco.”

   “you’ve been avoiding me.”

   “i’m always avoiding you. in case you haven’t picked up on it yet, i don’t like talking to you. ever.”

   cruel words, but draco had probably heard much worse, so he didn’t even bat an eye. “what you saw last night. . . that wasn’t. . . that was a mistake. i wasn’t thinking straight.”

   “i don’t know what you mean.”

   “y/n, please.” 

   you inhaled slowly, fists clenching upon the table. the anger came from your mother, a temper so short, so dangerous. “draco, i really don’t care. you can do whatever you want with whoever you want; it’s got nothing to do with me.”

   for some reason, there was an unspoken knowledge that that wasn’t the truth, and yet neither of you were brave enough to admit it. not then, not sitting in that dining room with so many people around you, and so many questions, and that memory. . .

   “i would like it if you. . . told me how it made you feel,” he said suddenly.

    your eyes shot to his, shocked. the fact that he could even ask if it did make you feel something was a step out of the very fine line the two of you had drawn for each other. “i don’t. . . i don’t have an answer to that.”

   he exhaled shakily. “okay. okay. that’s alright.”

   “how did it make you feel?”

   he raised a brow. “how did what make me feel?”

   “seeing me sitting there.”

    his throat bobbed. he looked away. the noise in the dining room seemed to disappear, leaving only you and draco in a bubble of your own world. 

    and then, “it made me feel like the biggest idiot alive.”

---  

   he is. he’s the biggest idiot alive, and you love him with all your heart.

   it was a downhill spiral from there. another few weeks of suppressed feelings, pretending to hate each other, getting flustered when eye contact was made. but then he kissed you one lonely night under the fairy lights hanging outside Hagrid’s hut, and suddenly it was like the years of pent-up emotion didn’t even happen. suddenly, draco was all you had ever known.

   and years later, you’re here, ordered to murder him.

    you wait on your mother’s daily call with hands clasped in your lap. you’re certain draco should be asleep by now. he had a long day of quidditch practice, and he was absolutely shattered the last time you saw him. he gave you a simple kiss on the cheek, told you he loved you, and went to bed. and now you sit in the common room, trying to figure out how you’re going to tell your mother that he is still alive, and that you love him.

    the fireplace erupts at midnight exactly, just as it always does. your mother’s head appears in the flames, dishevelled and angry-looking, as per usual. she takes one look at you, all clean and calm, and her face drops even further.

   “the job hasn’t been done.”

   she knows because you’re not freaking out the way you usually do after one of these jobs. she knows because you’re just sat on the common room floor, staring at her, waiting for her to just. . . do whatever she needs to do, be that screaming in your face, disowning you, reaching through the flames and wrapping her hands around your throat.

   she leans forward. “y/n. answer me.”

    “it hasn’t been done. you’re right.”

   her nostrils flare. the flames flicker blue, yellow, orange. “what do you mean?” 

   “i mean i couldn’t do it. i can’t do it.”

    “you were ordered to do it.”

   and that’s always what it comes down to. you were ordered. the force you were raised by has given you strict instructions, and you’re dead if you don’t follow them. disowned by the very people who claimed to love you, the very people who tried so desperately to make you into the person they want you to be. the people who are willing to kill if you veer on a different path.

    “tell me why i have to kill draco,” you say.

   your mother raises a brow. “it was the order given by the higher-up’s.”

   “and that’s a good enough reason to do it?”

   “of course it is. they wouldn’t give an order without a reason.”

   “well, if they have their reason, why don’t they come down and do it?”

   your mother pauses, clearly threw for a loop at your sudden disobedience. once upon a time, you would have been terrified to speak up like this, but things are different now. you’re older, wiser, in love with the very boy you were meant to avoid.

   “where is this coming from?” she asks. “you’ve never had an issue with this before.”

    you nearly laugh. that very sentence alone shows just how little your mother really knows about you, just how little attention she has paid to her own child over the years. the truth is, you have had an issue with this before. your entire life, you have envied the people who can wake up in the morning without a guilty conscience, the people who don’t have blood on their hands. you wake up every morning and wonder where on earth it went wrong, why you couldn’t find the strength to break free of the way you were raised.

    but now you are. you’re determined to get out of it, to walk up to draco after this meeting and tell him you love him in front of everyone, to spend the rest of your life with him if he so desires.

    your mouth becomes dry, cotton-balls tucked into your cheeks. you can’t believe you’re about to announce this, can’t believe you’re about to look your mother in the eye and say these very words, but it has to be done. you know it has to be done, that it’s been overdue for a long, long time.

   you inhale deeply and say, “i-”

   “what will happen if y/n doesn’t go through with the order?”

   you nearly break your neck with the speed of which you turn. behind you, the door is open, and standing there with his knuckles white and his mouth set into a thin, stern line, is draco malfoy.

    you stand, nearly stumbling over your own two feet in the process. “draco-”

   he raises a silencing hand. “i’m taking to your mother, y/n. give us a second.”

   “still alive and well, i see,” your mother drawls. “when will the malfoy line finally give up?”

    “angry that there’s too many of us to control?”

   “stop,” you bark. “this is ridiculous.” 

   “there’s nothing ridiculous about the way of things, y/n,” your mother replies. when you look over your shoulder, you’re not surprised to see she has her eyes set firmly on draco. “the malfoy line has done nothing but tarnish the good nature of the wizarding world; that is why they have been on our radar for so long. that is why you must end this boys life.”

    draco’s eyebrows rise. “so that’s what this is about? you’re going to kill me?”

   “i will be doing no such thing.”

  your breath hitches, dread settling in the pit of your stomach. “mother-”

   “y/n was sent to do the job on our behalf.”

   for just a second, draco’s expression slackens to something detrimental, something absolutely heartbreaking. it’s reflex when you lurch forward and grab his arm, as if stopping him from toppling over from the news. you expect him to pull away, to push you to the side and storm off in either fear of betrayal, but he stays rooted to the spot. his arm stiffens beneath your grip, but he doesn’t pull away. 

    he swipes his tongue across his lower lip. “assassins?”

   “that’s not-” you begin, but you can’t even finish your sentence because what you were going to say is far too close to a lie, and that’s the last thing you want to do right now. 

    draco looks at you. “assassins, y/n?”

   “a close enough phrase,” your mother cuts in. “although we tend not to use it very much; it makes us sound very. . . bad.”

    “draco,” you whisper. “please. i need to explain.”

    “then explain,” he says.

    you open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. there really is nothing to say, no explanation you can give that will make this any better. you can’t imagine being in his situation, learning the person you love has been plotting to kill you this entire time, and that’s really what the situation is. there is no sugar coating it, no making it sound better than it is. there is no excuse.

    “i love you,” you croak out instead. 

   draco’s eyes flutter closed, and it’s to your absolute surprise that he slips his hand into your own and gives your fingers a squeeze. “i love you too.”

   “what is this?”

   you had nearly forgotten your mother was there, so lost in the moment with draco. you spin, keeping his hand firm in your own. your mother is there, eyes alight with anger, her jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed. you’ve seen this look of anger on her face so many times before, but this time it isn’t as scary. somehow, with draco’s hand in your own, the look is almost empowering, a chance for you to show off a strength you never knew you had in the first place.

    “what is this, y/n?” she demands. “let go of him this instant!”

    “this is what i wanted to tell you,” you say. “this is the reason i couldn’t go through with the orders. i’ve done so many things against my will for the sake of the family, but this. . . i can’t do this. i can’t take another trauma in my life.”

   “killing off the malfoys will not be a trauma.”

   “killing the man i love will be a trauma.”

   a choking noise slips past your mothers lips. “this is ridiculous. this is. . . this is. . . how did this happen? how did you fall so far?” 

    draco’s grip tightens. you squeeze his hand back, silently urging him to keep his mouth shut. whether he likes it or not, this is your battle to fight. 

    “it’s been a long time coming,” you say. “i’ve never wanted to be part of your sick lifestyle. i’ve never enjoyed any of it. being at hogwarts has been my only break from a life i woke up dreading. draco has been my break, and now that i know what this freedom feels like, i’m not willing to give it up. not for anyone.”

   “we raised you!”

   “you raised me wrong,” you bark, anger flaring up so fast you nearly stumble with the weight of it. “you raised me to hate everything. i followed orders, i did everything i could to make you happy so i wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath, and i’m tired of it. i can live a life i’m happy with. i can be with someone i love.”

    it is only at this moment do you question whether or not your mother actually understands the concept of love. she has your father, but the two of them never had what you and malfoy have - you know that for certain. your mother has only ever tolerated you, only ever enjoys talking to you when you’re giving her updates on the jobs you were assigned. she has only ever shown true passion for her own monstrous actions.

    and even though, deep down, you knew she was a heartless woman, the realisation still makes you want to cry. 

    but then draco is squeezing your hand again, reminding you he is there, and he has always been there, through thick and thin, even when you were being the worst person for him. he stuck it out, waited for you, and now you are here doing the thing you never thought you would be able to do.

    “i’m not coming back to the house.”

    your mother laughs. she laughs, the noise alone enough to make your skin crawl. “like hell you aren’t! we are your family!”

    “you’ve never been family,” you growl. 

    “and where are you going to go?” your mother demands. “the malfoy family won’t have you - you’re nothing but scum to them, just like every other wizarding family on the earth. you’ll be out on the streets!”

    “that’s better than the alternative.”

    “you sound so unbelievably ungrateful, you know. we have given you everything. all we asked for in return was a little obedience-”

   “you made me into a murderer!”

   draco inhales sharply, but he has the decency not to speak up just yet. 

    “we made you into the person you were meant to be,” your mother growls. “we made you into the best person you could be, and this is how you repay us.”

    you shake your head, stifling the urge to scream. “you don’t get it. you never will, so i’m not even going to bother trying to explain it to you.”

   “oh yes. giving up. i expected nothing less.”

    you close your eyes. the comfort of draco’s presence is slowly easing away, overshadowed by the insults your mother is sending your way. you don’t want to let her get to you - this moment is for strength, for you to prove yourself, but the words hurt nonetheless, especially coming from a woman you have tried so hard to impress your entire life. those habits are hard to break. that mindset will be hard to wriggle free from.

    “you’ve always been the weakest of us,” your mother continues, her voice a mere snarl by now. “from day one, we knew we had our work cut out for us. here i was, thinking maybe you would be able to handle a job a bit more difficult, but you’ve proved me wrong. you’re nothing but a snivelling little traitor, y/n, and i hope you know this isn’t the last time you will see me. we are not done.”

     the fire flickers out before you can reply. you open your eyes, stare at the empty hearth for just a moment before draco is pulling you into a hug so tight your oxygen is nearly cut off. you don’t mind, though. in fact, you bury your head deeper into his chest, letting the tears spill from your cheeks.

   “i’m so sorry,” you sob. “i’m so sorry i didn’t tell you. i didn’t know how. i didn’t even know where to start-”

   “it makes sense.”

   you freeze, though you don’t have the strength to pull away just yet, to release the comfort his arms bring you. “what do you mean?”

   “the way you are,” he replies. “keeping to yourself all the time, the random outbursts, the way you zone out. y/n, you’ve seen things no one could possibly even begin to fathom.” 

   “i’ve seen myself do those things,” you correct. “i can’t cry about the blood on my hands; that’s not fair on the victims.”

   draco shivers. “merlins beard, y/n. . .”

    you squeeze your eyes closed even tighter, remembering the faces of all those you have been tasked to murder, remembering the ways you did it, how you would sob and scream and punch things afterwards, like that could somehow bring forgiveness. your conscience will never be clean. you know that for a fact, but that doesn’t mean you should stop trying to heal. 

    draco might be the first step in that healing process.

   ----

    “it’s a pleasure to have you here, y/n,” narcissa malfoy says, pulling your chair out for you. “draco has told us so much about you.”

   you smile, awkwardly flattening the front of your shirt in an attempt to look semi-decent in the company of two of the most well-dressed people you have ever met. it feels a little pointless, but you give it a go anyway. 

   draco is beside you, grinning from ear to ear. the table is filled to bursting with different meats and vegetables and pastries. an endless chocolate fountain sits bold and appealing on the far side of the room, sticks of marshmallows hovering about it, waiting eagerly for consumption.

    “now, first things first, let’s get the big question out of the way,” narcissa continues, taking a seat beside her husband. “what spell did you use to make my draco such a sweetheart?”

    you laugh. draco’s smile doesn’t falter, though that famous eye roll of his doesn’t go amiss.

    “they’ve done no such thing,” he says. “i’m just nice to them.”

   “and what makes y/n so special?” narcissa teases. “i’ve never seen you be nice to anyone else.”

   draco scowls. you giggle, reaching for his hand beneath the table. to your surprise, he lifts your conjoined fingers and places them on the table for everyone to see, even stroking his ringed thumb across your knuckles. you don’t miss the sly smiles narcissa and her husband share at the sight, but you also don’t pull away; it’s quite pleasant being able to love draco in front of other people. it makes a big change from the hiding you were doing before.

    the chatter continues all throughout dinner, never once starting to bore or dip. draco and his mother tease each other with the love only a mother and son can have, and you tell draco’s parents all about yourself - well, as much as they’re allowed to know. all throughout the meal, draco stares at the side of your face, the tiniest smile playing on his lips. it makes your heart feel warm, a deep pit in your belly you only ever feel when draco is looking at you. you’re so used to him playing the part of the big bad bully. it’s such a nice change of pace to see him actually smiling for once.

    once dinner is finished, narcissa grants you and draco permission to head up to his room. she tells you she will get someone to bring your bags up later on, and you thank her with a kiss on the cheek before following draco up the grand staircase and into his room.

   the walls are painted black with a silver strip cutting through the middle. his double bed sits in the centre, two bedside tables adorning either side. his window is slightly open, the black out curtains swaying gently in the breeze. a few pictures of you are framed upon his wall, mixed in amongst pictures of famous quidditch players you wouldn’t be able to name with a gun to your head. 

   draco takes a seat on the end of his bed and drags you between his knees. you place your hands on his shoulders, gaze down into those beautiful blue eyes of his and say, “thank you.”

   “for what?” he asks.

   “for letting me stay here. you didn’t have to. you deserve a break.”

   draco rolls his eyes, tipping his forehead onto your stomach where he nuzzles your jacket affectionately. “you really need to stop with all the self-deprecating comments, you know. they get exhausting when they’re coming from someone perfect.”

   you scoff, but don’t correct him; there’s no point. you could point out every single one of your flaws in perfect detail, and draco would still insist there was nothing wrong with you, nothing at all, an angel sent from heaven. 

   you trail your fingers through his hair until his breathing evens out, a trick you learned a while ago; draco has a bad habit of always holding his breath, always ready for the worst of situations to occur. it’s only when he’s with you, and when your hands are in his hair, and when he knows you are there, never to leave, does he actually seem to relax.

   it’s the same for you, which is why you take this moment and hold it close. you close your eyes, pressing your cheek to the top of his head. outside, the breeze is cool. and you listen to the peacocks chittering without a care in the world.

   you realize, quite abruptly, that this is exactly how life is supposed to be.

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi, Charity! I have an EFJ friend who I believe is a 621 (still unsure about her core, but most of the times I lean towards 6 since she’s very reactive and quick to express negative emotions).

This would probably make her a 6, yes. 6 EFJs do not image-manage in the way 2s do, which is to cultivate how you see them 24/7 by identifying what is valuable in them (how generous, loving, supportive, sweet, optimistic, and selfless they are). 2/EFJs are positive types who usually self-censor negativity because of an idea in their mind of how they 'should' be optimistic and cheerful, so as not to burden other people with their negative feelings.

She always mentions how much she enjoys when people remember things she cares about and when people simply worry about her, even if it’s in a small way. Since she’s 24/7 focused on people, she’s the friend who will remember details about others, so I guess it’d be natural for her to expect the same attention in return. It doesn’t happen often, though.

That's sad, and unfortunately, the plight many nice EFJs suffer from -- their lives are totally about other people and their feelings, but they are often neglected in return. Especially when dominant social types (and a lot of them are), relationships, closeness, intimacy, being paid attention to, responded to, thought of, is everything.

A couple of days ago, a few family members of hers went out for lunch and didn’t invite her. She said that they were discussing where they’d go at the living room while she was working (she’s a designer, so she works from home most of the time and has a pretty flexible schedule) and they left without asking if she’d like to go with them or not.

Wow.

How incredibly rude of them, to discuss where to eat IN HER HOUSE and not invite her out of common courtesy. o.O

I asked her why she didn’t ask them if she could join, to which she responded “Well, they’re aware that I like eating out! They could’ve invited me if they wanted my company, but they didn’t, so why would I invite myself?”

It's also rude from a "social" perspective to invite yourself anywhere, and that may have been on her mind or in the back of it. EFJs are very attuned to what's "done" and what's not, especially someone who is triple super-ego and highly aware of appropriateness.

It’s not the first time I see her acting like this, constantly she wants people to “guess” her needs as well as she does with others, otherwise, she gets upset (she won’t say it right away, but it’s always written all over her face — and if you ask her what happened, she’ll quickly say what’s going on). Could a 6 with a 2 fix behave like this? Or is it something only a 2 core would feel? Thanks for the insights <3

A 6 could be like this, yes. Even if you are a 6 core, 2 fixes are still drowning in super-ego -- I SHOULD... not be selfish, not assert my needs, not have any needs, only give generously without expectation of return... etc, never mind that a 2 fix also keeps score and secretly wants love, affection, closeness, intimacy, and gratitude in return. All 2s and 2 fixers must learn to admit they have relationship needs and to learn to 'take up space' by asking for those needs to be met, but because they always are thinking about what everyone else needs, anticipating that, and meeting it ahead of time, they forget that other types are not as attuned to them as they would be.

TBH, a 2 core probably would have addressed this with them -- either from a 1 wing stance of "that was incredibly rude and you hurt my feelings" way or done so as a 2w3 with more subtlety but still an assertive tendency to get the attention the 2 wants. (I mean, since when does Molly Weasley hold her tongue?) It's more 6ish to allow other people to run off without you and just accept it, or say they had a good reason, or try to be "rational" instead of admitting to how hurt you felt by it.

[kate2kat]

Hey there

Not quite/almost a question: I didn’t want to clog up your comments on ao3, but I did want to respond to your last there. I am pretty much obsessed (still) with those initial three or four scenes in 2007 of Bill and Frank, and how the dynamic between them develops - particularly as there is very limited dialogue.

Re: specific point, I had also wondered about the“dramatic” behaviour Frank exhibits, and I consider it is a marker he’s putting down for Bill, to see if he picks up on it. Considering the amount of work and attention that has clearly gone into the acting choices in this show, the way Frank drops his hands - and is that a slight hip-jut? - is pretty telling. (I’m not suggesting Frank’s exaggerating it, just - as you say - not hiding it. Which ofc raises all manner of other issues for the character, in terms of trust.)

That that is Frank’s intention is, I think, more obvious at the dining table, in that single expression he has, which Bill can’t see, after the “no, you do”, and Bill has turned away in confusion.

Sorry - that turned out to be even less of a question than I anticipated. (And by all means, feel free to ignore this complete non sequitur. I honestly shan’t be offended)

I could think about these two and talk about them for a long long time, I assure you!, so thanks for continuing the conversation.

I love the subtlety of both their acting in these first scenes together as they signal and feel each other out. It’s so powerful, from a narrative point of view, that they are both middle aged by the time they meet in 2007. They would both have been adolescents in far less open times, times when gay people had to signal to each other carefully, and sometimes heightened flamboyance was part of that (it was when I was young). Bill is, I think, wholly unexperienced at interacting with other gay men. I think Frank clocked that, but he's gently flirting, nevertheless. Both signalling to Bill who he is, but also letting Bill know: I see you, I see that you and I are alike in this one crucial way at least. And think how powerful that would have been for Bill! Before the world ended, I picture him wistfully looking at gay culture in distant places, in magazines and porn, perhaps, and feeling that it was something he wanted to try out, but certain he would never fit in or be welcomed, for reasons to do with other aspects of his personality and world view. Imagine the jolt of (dimly perhaps) realising that Frank is flirting with him! I wonder how much of the way he sang the song was him consciously signalling back: you have seen me, I see you, I won’t reject you.

And god yes, how trusting Frank was, to signal himself to Bill while Bill was still pointing a weapon! I think he was very very tired, not just in the moment, but from the preceding four years of struggle and sadness. We never learn who he may have lost, but he’s not a loner like Bill, he’s ready to risk quite a bit for connection. Maybe even to risk it all, had he been wrong about Bill?

And finally (though clearly I have not done thinking about them), I think for Bill at least, he had a far far better life than he ever would have had, had the world not fallen apart. He got to live a long time with a man he loved, who loved him, without the judgement and stress he would have felt (and probably imposed on himself) in the world as it was before. He was proved right! He was prepared! He gained a purpose! And he had a long, happy relationship. (I’ll just have a little weep now).

This is a conversation sparked by my The Last of Us fic A long time lonely

[ridearockox]

Moontwistle Drabble Thingie I

Keith kept trying John's patience on their lengthy train ride home, a hand lingering on top of his for a little too long, quick glances followed by playful winks. Keith squeezed his shoulder a little too tightly on the way to the bathroom. And back from it as well, taking his seat across from John.

With a chuckle, Keith nudged John's hand with his fingers, purposely pushing his foot to meet John's under the small table between them.

"What's wrong? Too much of a prude to play along?" Keith teased, licking his lips as he slid his hand under John's. He knew John wasn't one for flirting in the open, but in that quiet train they could probably do it subtlety enough that no one would notice.

John looked down at Keith's hand snaking its way under his and he grabbed on to it gently. Keith jumped a little in surprise at the gesture, but his expression softened as soon as John squeezed his hand a little firmer. 

"Those look so pretty on you," John spoke, the tips of his fingers poking the rings on Keith's hand. "But they must be a little uncomfortable after all this travelling." John slid his hand under Keith's, fingers grabbing on to one of his rings.

Keith watched John pull the onyx adorned ring from his finger in a slow, but fluid motion, yet he stopped halfway through.

"Unless you wanna keep them on all the way home." John pushed the ring back in its place gently, and Keith felt a funny shiver down his spine. "What do you say? You want to keep them on, or off?" John asked, moving the ring slowly up and down Keith's finger.

"I-I want them off." Keith managed to sputter out, followed by a sigh.

John laughed. "Weren't you just flirting with me? I'm only flirting back. Isn't that what you wanted?" John pulled off the first ring in a deliberately slow motion, stopping to rub against Keith's knuckles.

"Yes, but," Keith's eyes darted around the car before resting on his hand again. "Why do you always gotta be so intense?"

"But I haven't even begun being intense." John said while he pulled on Keith's second ring, a smile on his lips as he looked up at his face, their eyes meeting.

Keith took a second to speak, and his eyes widened as his lips opened. "Here?" 

Another quiet laugh came from John. "You don't want to?" He watched Keith's cheeks flush, but his eyes sparked with renewed interest, the excitement clear in them.

"I thought you didn't like flirting in public." Keith said, the corner of his lips curling into a half smile. 

"And I don't." John's expression remained neutral, yet the ghost of a smile showed on his lips when he felt the tip of Keith's shoe run up his leg. He responded in tandem by slipping one of his feet out of its shoe and sliding it all the way up Keith's leg, resting between his legs and pushing against his crotch.

Keith gasped then bit his bottom lip, gaze dropping to John's hand still in his as he pulled and pushed on the last ring he had on. John slid it up and down his finger, and he swallowed dry, ears burning red.

Under the sole of his foot, John could feel Keith's soft cock twitch and harden. Keith's lips parted to let out a sigh, and his hips pushed against his foot eagerly. John watched him grip the edge of the table between them, inhaling sharply through his teeth.

"Shit, John…" Keith muttered under his breath, squirming in his seat. Even through layers of fabric, the sole of John's foot burned against his crotch, pushing and teasing. Toes rubbed against his length, which throbbed almost painfully inside his pants. He bit down on his lip again, humping John's foot between muffled whimpers which echoed faintly inside the quiet, empty car.

John felt his own cock harden at the sight of Keith slowly coming undone, his expression as soft as ever. Yet the wicked glimmer in his eyes couldn't be denied as he pushed his foot harder against Keith's straining erection, causing him to moan through trembling lips.

But wasn't that Keith's end goal with all his teasing and flirting? John was just giving him what he wanted.

If that was too much for him, he should have thought twice.

[adleryoung]

"Here you go," you say, as you hand the Guest Narrator a reheated mug of seasonal beverage. "One warm and most definitely vegan drink."

"Please, drink deeply. It was made with you in mind. You deserve something special."

"You're doing such a good job."

Thanks, man. Mmmm, this is like totes delish. Do I detect a note of nutmeg? Clove? Bitter almond? Why are you all staring at me like that? If you're thirsty, I'll wait while you get a drink too. No? Okay, then. Now that I'm mondo refreshed, like fo' shizzle and whatnot, let's continue with the story.

Next, Adler says:

. . .

"Since Rebecca has already told you every conceivable thing about me," I grumbled, "you probably know that I'm trying to start a loose organization of followers. You can think of it as a cult, but let me make it clear that you should worship Fuma, not me."

"My Lord," Rebecca asked meekly. "Did I do something wrong?"

I let out a weary sigh. Seeing the crestfallen expression on the rabbit femme's face troubled me more than it should. I suddenly realized that after spending so much time time convincing Rebecca of the virtues of seelieness, I couldn't be seen chiding my first official follower in front of her friends for being too honest. I needed to try a different approach.

"Technically no, you did nothing wrong," I admitted. "But technical and elfly are rarely ever the same! Subtlety and intuition are important! However, there's no way you could have known that. Let's just call this a learning experience and add it to the next lesson. I need to remember that not everyone is a mind-reader."

"Ooooh!" the vixen squealed. "Are we really going to learn how to read minds?"

I gritted my teeth and tried to remain calm. Rebecca told all of these lowfolk that I was a benevolent and infinitely patient entity. Now I was obligated to play the part, and that meant not getting so easily frustrated. I would have to exude confidence and control while maintaining an even-tempered composure. I tried to imagine how I would conduct this meeting if Vernier was one of the witches.

"Save your questions til the end," I said, calmly raising my finger for emphasis. "Now then, to continue: This so-called 'cult' is in its beginning stages, and that presents all of you with a unique opportunity. You could earn the prestige of becoming my first, original group of apostles, going out into the world and spreading tales of my deeds and doing good works in my name."

"Like the Blessed Baby Bunny?" Mother Didelphis coughed. "We came here to get away from that, dearie."

"I give out better prizes," I bluffed, based on the little that Rebecca had told me of their absurd lowfolk religion. "My most dedicated followers can earn fabulous rewards, and you don't have to wait til the afterlife to get them. I am offering wealth, beauty, long life, ancient knowledge, wish fulfillment (within reason), and magick, (REAL magick!) as well as a greater purpose in life. I don't yet know any of you as well as I know Rebecca, but I can see that like her, you are all outcasts and outsiders in society. You wanted to pursue witchcraft as a means of getting revenge against that society for one reason or another. But think about all the stories of wicked witches; how do they usually end? It never goes well for the witch. That's the consequence of being Unseelie, or as you call it, evil. In my service, you will have the opportunity to take all that negative energy and turn it into something positive. Instead of being hated for your differences, you will be celebrated, perhaps even loved for them! Doesn't that sound grand?"

. . .

Man, it must be a lot later than I thought. Despite the thrilling action of the story, I'm getting so drowsy I can hardly keep my eyes open. I think I -

The guest narrator suddenly slumps unconscious in his chair.

"Quickly!" you exclaim. "Get him into the pook-proof sack!"

"Are we sure this is Adler?" another of your shameless conspirators asks. "He passed out awfully fast. Maybe just check under his hood to be sure."

"No time. It has to be Adler. Who else could it be? Let's get him to the meeting place. If we hurry we can just make the deadline."

And so the craven, ungrateful, backstabbing listeners carry their load out into the night.

[tehloserprince]

This! I never quite understood that because the way it was filmed and written made it clear that so much more was happening behind the scenes. We're just seeing three meetings that show the change/progress in the relationship between Gabriel and Beelzebub.

First Meeting: happened not too long after Armageddon. We're even given a visual clue from Gabriel because his outfit is more similar to what he was wearing when he met Beelzebub on the airbase in Tadfield. It's short, but there's obviously a few brief sparks between them: the gentle teasing ("well, you lost"), Beelzebub trying not to smile at Gabriel's "Arma-bloody-geddon" moment, and the shared understanding over being the respective Commanders-in-Chief of Heaven and Hell. It ends with Gabriel saying it's a pity they'll never speak again, but ...

Second Meeting: ... obviously, they do. They meet and speak enough to build more of a rapport between the First and Second meetings. At the beginning of the Second Meeting, Gabriel immediately proposes the idea of "no Armageddon." He would have no reason to do that unless there had been other meetings that deepened their initial connection and made him realize that hey, a victory for Heaven would mean NO Beelzebub, and that would kind of suck because he enjoys their company. Beelzebub must feel similarly, as they're open to the idea and agree to it almost immediately. Instead of rushing off after the agreement is confirmed, Gabriel sits there and Beelzebub seems to get a bit flustered by his gaze. They discuss the music playing on the jukebox, and Beelzebub is so much more patient with Gabriel's lack of knowledge than they would have been with anyone else. There are multiple layers to "then ... I also like it." At the end of the meeting, Beelzebub very pointedly states that there's "no NEED for them to ever meet again," smiling slightly as they wait for Gabriel's response ("none whatsoever"). The wording there is important because ...

Third Meeting: ... yes, there is no "need" for them to ever meet again. From here on out, they're meeting solely because they WANT to be in each other's company. I get the feeling that the Third Meeting was more like their "first date." When Aziraphale is talking to the owner of The Resurrectionist, he mentions that the jukebox miracle occurred "last year." So we can assume that Gabriel and Beelzebub had been "dating" for about a year prior to his "disappearance." A year is a long time for them to develop feelings and intimacy. Not necessarily talking about sex there either, because folks can imagine whatever they want to in that respect. I just mean intimacy in the sense of knowing and feeling comfortable with each other. The way they hold hands and have their arms around each other in the S2 finale indicates that they'd gotten pretty cozy and developed some form of intimacy.

I love this pairing. I'd totally read an entire novel about them. Given that @neil-gaiman had six episodes to work with, I think the pace, visual cues, and specific events that we (the audience) get to see are supposed to give us a general idea of the pacing while allowing us to fill in the blanks. I believe that four years had passed between S1 and S2, so that would have been a lot to elaborate on within the time constraints of the season.

And can I just add that the visual cues were so well done? Not just the acting from Shelley Conn and Jon Hamm, who really bring a lot of the little subtleties to life with their facial expressions and mannerisms, but the way the two of them were gradually seen to be sitting closer until they were seated right next to each other; the way they switched sides during each of the meetings we got to see, as opposed to Aziraphale and Crowley having dominant "sides" that we tend to see them on; etc. I could write an essay on why I think this was filmed and written really well, so I'll have to stop myself now.

It's fun to have things officially confirmed and expanded upon, but audience participation is important with any type of media. I know some folks were excited to have that confirmation of Elspeth and Wee Morag too, but again, I'd thought it was fairly evident from the way it was written and portrayed on the screen.

I see so many people being like "How come Gabriel and Beelzebub figured it out only after three outings together! That makes no sense!" As if the three meetings we saw were the ONLY meetings they EVER had between season 1 and when Gabriel lost his memories??? Those were the most important meetings but there's nothing telling us those were the only times they met up??? If anything it's implied they had quite a few conversations over Armageddon before they both agreed they should call it off.

[oxeye-daisyy]

the first time ren and martyn talk, it goes something like this.

one of the hermits that martyn doesn't know stumbles into pearl's attic (others probably consider this "where martyn lives", but martyn can only think of it as pearl's) in the dead of night. he has a shulker box and sign in hand. martyn should be asleep, but isn't. (he doesn't sleep well). instead, he just sits up in bed and meets the guy's eyes.

the guy's expression looks distinctly like a prey animal's. martyn can only assume his own expression mirrors this. "um. hello," martyn says, voice low. a habit he's not fond of, but hasn't quite broken yet.

"heya, the name's ren!" the guy -- ren says. from his initial reaction he clearly hadn't been prepared for an actual conversation, but martyn probably wouldn't be able to tell from the confidence in his voice.

"martyn. that guy they found in the ancient city outside the world border. you've probably heard of me."

"maybe a few rumors! you're grian and pearl's friend from another world, right?" mostly pearl, only, really. grian either sent or left him to die, so...

"um, something like that. why are you here?"

ren falters for a moment, a split second of barely visible why am i here? before he continues on with that same sureness from before. "well, rumors have it you got invited to stay, and, i haven't actually heard if you're going to--"

"that'd be 'cause i haven't said so either way," martyn interjects. that would be because martyn's pretty sure that he'll politely decline, and he's procrastinating upsetting pearl until the last possible second. not that ren needs to know this. for some reason, ren seems like he might also be disappointed, and for some other reason, martyn's not sure he wants to disappoint him.

"but, i figure, wanted to give you an official hermitcraft welcome in case you end up deciding to! just some things to help you get started, 'cause you probably don't have much by way of your own." ren beams. oh, yeah, he'd for sure be disappointed.

"riiight. which is, of course, why you've broken into... my? pearl's? attic at... uh, who knows when at night."

ren shakes the communicator on his wrist, which activates in a flash of light. "nearly three, so, who knows when in the morning!"

"is this some kind of hazing thing? it's a really mild hazing thing if it is."

"no, not at all! i just came in now 'cause, i mean, y'know, subtlety is key with this sort of situation!" ren has, presumably, never met the concept of subtlety in his life.

"right. uh. carry on?"

* * *

maybe an hour later, after another failed attempt to get something resembling peaceful sleep, martyn gives up, gets out of bed, and inspects the shulker box ren left behind for him.

"just some things to help you get started, 'cause you probably don't have much by way of your own."

martyn does technically have some things. they're concentrated in one chest in one of his "safe zones" in the city: a jukebox, several music discs, including one he'd crafted from fragments of a disc himself, a diamond hoe with what he can only assume to be mending glyphs on the handle, ancient seeds (somehow still plant-able) from the last residents, a few handfuls of luminescent berries (bitter and sour, seems like something that should be poisonous but isn't), and... well, at one point, he'd had a little bit of iron armor which had thoroughly broken after the warden got its claws on him. it's probably better, though, for him to not have to go back down there and get that stuff. ren's done him a bigger favor than he probably even realizes.

martyn opens the shulker and nearly passes out. it just can't possibly be the right shulker. ren's accidentally left his own backup gear behind or something. martyn doesn't really know what'd be considered a reasonable amount of gifts for a late-to-join member on this world, but it can't be this.

a full set of diamond armor, plus elytra, plus the whole lineup of diamond tools, (including not one, but two diamond pickaxes), all fully enchanted. well-enchanted, too, as far as martyn can tell. a ridiculous and excessive number of pumpkin pies. a ridiculous and excessive number of firework rockets. there are also several dark metal ingots, which martyn ultimately can't identify and sets aside.

there's a map, too, underneath the ingots. martyn's forced to genuinely consider that this may have been an intended act of ridiculous generosity. it's annotated, structures and areas labeled with their owners, names on it ranging from the completely familiar (grian and pearl) to vaguely recognizable (xisuma, ren) to a vast number of ones he's not even heard referenced.

this is the first time martyn actually considers the thought of staying after he recovers more. before, he'd figured that it would really only be pearl that would actually want him here, and the countless other members on the world would just be waiting for things to get back to normal, just holding out for a good opportunity to forget about everything. but ren's seemingly already dove headfirst into "a friend of my friend is also my friend" territory with martyn. it proves to him that maybe, just maybe, it might be worth it to take xisuma's offer to stay.

it might be the world that evolution should have been.

[glorified-red]

Could I request hcs for subtle ways the boys express their protectiveness?

Thank you for the request my love! I got to play a fun little game of ‘Eenie Meenie Miney Mo’ for which request to do.

Protective BatBoys

word count: 1600~

warnings: insinuation of someone getting hit by a car, mentions of attackers

I was quite tempted to write Bruce headcanons to this but I must hold back ><

Dick Grayson

Ah, Dick Grayson, the King of small romantic protective gestures

Every time, without fail, Dick will wait until he watches you get inside your house safely before driving/walking away

Its a really cute tick of his because he covers it up with a goodbye kiss and goofy waves that leave you giggling even after you close your house door

But its so he knows where you are, and he can see for himself that you made it safely inside because the second he turns away too soon, you may get locked out, or someone can crawl out from the bushes and nab you

Paranoid, he knows

He constantly wraps you up in things, when you two go swimming he’ll patter up from behind you and place a towel around your shoulders, patting you dry along the way

Very insignificant gesture but he doesn't want you to catch a cold in the A/C or Gotham wind

He’ll do the same with his jackets, maybe even plop his hat on your head when it's gets to the snowy seasons 1. Because its adorable seeing the hat fall into your eyes and 2. Because it'll warm your head up

Scarves too, he’ll even go on a tangent about how cold it is outside while he wraps you in it

Dick will always offer to drive you places, even if you insist on driving yourself to meet up with him or walking there, Dick will still offer because it means he’ll be present if you get into a wreck, sucks but then he can help with first aid

If you decline his offer though, he’ll politely ask for you to take Titus or Ace with you whenever you walk somewhere, they’re trained and he trusts them to keep you company/safe when he can't 

Jason Todd

Jason’s protectiveness comes from a place of knowing how cruel the world actually is

He can't stand the idea of anything happening to you

If he has to, he will use his reputation of Red Hood as a way to keep you safe, putting a man at gun point and sneering out, “They’re off. Limits.”

He’d bust a whole trafficking ring if it meant ending a person who touched you or hurt you in any way

But Jason’s protectiveness doesn't stop while he's wearing the helmet

Even when you two are sleeping, Jasons unconsciously protecting you, no matter how you two cuddle, Jason always positions himself as closest to the bedroom door

Whether his back is to the door or he’s facing it, Jason needs the comfort of knowing any person coming into the room would have to get through him before even reaching you

He also envelopes you, he's a big guy so its pretty easy for him to wrap you up in his arms as an extra layer of protection from the outside world

Jason doesn't really like the idea of training you past basic combat or gun skills, hell, he doesn't like involving you in the family business if he doesn't have to

So he inserts himself into any situation you may need protection in

Which is exactly why he starts going to the gym with you as a work out buddy

Jason makes it sound like he just wants to spend time with you or help you achieve your goals faster since he knows how the body works from his Robin days

But deep down you both know his true intentions: he wants to keep an eye on you

The gym is crawling with creeps that have the guts to ogle at you or get too touchy, but having Jason’s 6 foot beefcake of an ass standing beside you the entire time is like an instant creep repellent

Plus, he gets to spot you and make sure you don't get injured from bad technique or from pushing yourself too hard

He’ll even encourage you with innuendos the entire time, but at the end of the day, he’ll gladly walk you home

Tim Drake

Tim is the most subtle about his inner protectiveness, a subtle King if you will

Most times when he gets protective, you never even notice

When you two cuddle in your house, it takes him a very long time to actively fall asleep because he doesn't trust your home security system if you even have one so he forces himself to stay awake just incase anything happens

But don't worry, he’ll eventually get to updating the security in your house

He does get these protective eyes whenever something is off when he's around you, they narrow a bit and latch onto whatever is off, glaring holes into the offending object until its all clear

Its quite terrifying to witness and very hard to miss when Tim is staring dead at the man speaking to you from across the room at a Gala, sipping his drink in the corner

If he feels the need, he will walk up and control the situation, whether it mean inserting himself into the convo or simply being present for it, he’ll do it

The thing with Tim though, is when he's protective, he’s almost always touching you in some way

His fingers playing idly with the ends of your hair as he speaks to a random person who walked up to you, clinging to your shirt/sleeves when he’s analyzing a situation and doesn't want you to go forward just yet, or even as simple as holding your hand as he leads you home

Tim also keeps small snacks/waters on hand at all times to protect you from Gotham heat and pesky hunger, very much like a mother hen because he also carries a first aid kit everywhere

He follows you whenever you walk alone around Gotham at night, he’s already on patrol so he might as well make sure you make it home safe, if anything happens he won't think twice about intervening as RR

If your going out somewhere alone he always always always asks you to call him until you make it to your destination, he doesn't care if he's working on something or in the middle of a board meeting, he has an assistant for a reason who can give him notes

Its become a normal thing for you to send him your Uber tracking link so he can watch it, if you don't send it he won't hesitate to hack into your account just to find it

Damian Wayne

Damian? Wayne? Being subtle?

Its usually pretty obvious when Damian gets protective over you

He’s the type who won't hesitate to pull out a knife out of god knows where and threaten whatever is responsible for you being uncomfortable

This leads to very interesting encounters of you having to hold him back because ‘oh no a random guy bumped into you and didn't apologize’ and suddenly Damian is missing 

He’s also incredibly blunt, saying things like “Cover your drink” at galas or handing you one of those hand held tasers before you go out and saying “Go for the neck”

Will insist on training you himself, whether its hand-to-hand combat or with a sword, Damian wants to keep track of your progress himself so he can make sure all your weaknesses are trained

Its also because he doesn't want his grimy brothers near you, so its protective on all counts

But subtlety? Theres a few you can notice after being with him for awhile

He’s very careful when going out around Gotham with you, Damian knows he can fend for himself so he will gladly take the brunt of any possible situation

This leads to him always walking on whichever side of you thats closest to the road, so on the off chance a car derails, he’ll get hit first

Always making sure to match your pace when you two walk together, he doesn't want you getting too far ahead of him because he'd have to run to get to you, too far behind and he might not notice you getting taken silently, he wants you right in arms reach at all times

He has a permanent scowl and narrowed eyes but when he's protective, they get even more prominent

Bonus

All the BatBoys do the same exact thing out of instinct when it comes to protecting you

None of them will hesitate to step in between you and any attacker, pulling you behind them so they are in the line of fire now

Its a subtle action that each of them do, albeit with some differences

Damian will push the attacker back as far as he can from you, putting plenty of distance between the two of them and you, so if anything breaks out, you can run away easily

Dick will hold his arms out, fully covering you but keeping his hands in the fray so if the attacker tries attacking you from any angle, Dick is ready to protect

Tim will grip onto you somehow, keeping his hand right on your bicep or forearm so he can still hold you, he doesn't know if there can be a hidden attacker from behind that will pry you away from him, so touching you is his way of making sure he doesn't lose track of you

Jason will slip in front of you and cross his arms, its a sign of nonchalance but obvious dominance, showcasing that he doesn't need his hands to be intimidating to the attacker, he’ll glare and challenge them so all attention is on him now and not you

Taglist ♡

@anothertimdrakestan

@bungunz

@red-hood-redemption​

[neonlights92]

GRACE: Chapter I

Kim Namjoon lost himself when he lost his hand.  Things have not been the same for him since.  When Taehyung tells him it’s time for him to marry - he isn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of someone else having a front row seat to his struggle with himself.

That’s where you come in.  You’re a nurse, as well as a member of Bangtan, and Taehyung is never more sure about a match than he is with you and Namjoon.  Feeling like you’ve been chosen to help Namjoon on his journey back to finding who he is, you feel completely out of depth.

It’s only when you start to see the man underneath that you start to fall in love with Kim Namjoon.  And maybe after all, you might be his saving grace.

WARNINGS: Language, eventual sex and some violence

A/N:Namjoonie’s story! ENJOOOOY :D 

“Kim Taehyung wants to see you, Y/N.”

Your mother’s words dropped between the two of you, like lead.  Her eyes avoided your own - and you knew exactly what she actually meant.

Kim Taehyung has found you a husband.

Your chest tightened and you gripped the handle of your coffee mug for dear life.

Your eyes traveled over to your father, his face kind but stern.  This wasn’t up for debate.

“Okay.”  The word was quiet, “Do I - do you…” 

You took a deep breath and collected yourself.

“Who is he?”

The question hung in the air uncomfortably.

Your parents exchanged a look - the same look they’d exchanged your entire life when decisions were made for you and they were afraid you wouldn’t like it.

“I think we should let Taehyung tell you that.”  Your father’s voice was steady, “As Capo, it is his right.”

As capo.

You didn’t know Kim Taehyung very well at all.  Though the two of you were of a similar age - had grown up together in Bangtan - he had always been groomed for Capo.  You on the other hand, had been groomed like most other women in the mob: to believe that your most important duty in life was to carry on your family line.

You knew it was outdated.  And you hated it, though you’d never complain.

Life had taught you that complaints got you nowhere - and so you’d learnt to keep your head down and get on with it.

But that didn’t mean you’d never wanted more.  That you’d craved freedom and independence like no other.

And when your parents had allowed you to study nursing at university you really had thought maybe things were changing.  Until you’d realised that it had been a direct order from Taehyung’s father himself - the Capo at the time.

Bangtan needed their own nurse.  Someone who could take care of things quietly and efficiently.

Someone who could help those who were badly injured find some degree of normality.

And that’s what you did.

Still.  You loved your job - mob mandated or not.

“Okay.”  You whispered, feeling something like dread wash over you.

“His wife has invited you to dinner at theirs,” Your mother finally moved her gaze to connect with your own, “This evening.  Eight pm.”

You nodded, on autopilot.

This was what you’d done all your life, wasn’t it?

You listened to orders.  You never asked questions.  You never challenged Bangtan.

And if the Capo himself wanted to see you, then you knew it could only mean one thing.

He’d found you a husband.  And tonight, you would meet him too.

//

You stood outside Kim Taehyung’s mansion -- because that’s what it was, a mansion -- nervously fingering the hem of your blouse.

This was it.

You’d waited twenty-five years for this moment - the moment someone else decided who you would marry.

You’d always known it would be like this.  Your father was too powerful - he held too many cards too close to his chest - and Bangtan could never let someone like him choose his own daughter’s marriage.

He’d told you since you were a young girl to expect this.  An arranged betrothal.

And when you were little you thought it was sort of romantic.  Like some fairytale - a princess locked away in a tower and a knight who was destined to save her.

Except now you were older and it wasn’t all that romantic anymore.

It was stifling.

You knew your father had come to this agreement with Taehyung himself.  You hated that you lived in such a misogynistic world, but it was the way things had always been.

After a long moment and a deep, calming breath, you lifted your hand and knocked, once.

There was a beat and then the portal swung open.

And Kim Taehyung’s wife was smiling widely at you.  You forced your own lips up into a smile.

“Hi!  Y/N, was it?”

You curtsied a little feeling foolish straight after, “Yeah.  Hello Mrs Kim.”

“Ugh Mrs Kim is Taehyung’s mom,” She laughed, “You can call me ___.”

Her eyes were kind as she opened the door further and gestured you inside.

“Come in, please.  Dinner is almost ready and the boys are too.”

The boys.

Your heart skipped a beat.  For a moment you wondered if perhaps your father had somehow secured a marriage to the last available member of the Special Seven, Kim Namjoon.

But you shook your head.

Your father was important, of course… But surely not that important. 

Besides, from what you’d heard through the grapevine - since the accident that had caused Namjoon to lose most of his hand - he had pretty much become a hermit. The rumour mill was rife, of course, with people’s theories of what would become of Bangtan’s most eligible bachelor.

Could it be that Kim Taehyung wanted you to take up that mantle?

“I hope you like pasta,” ___ interrupted your thoughts and you looked up as stopped in front of a large dining room, “We hardly ever use this room anymore, but Taehyung thought it was appropriate for tonight.”

Your eyes widened at the opulence of the room you were stood in.  The chandelier that hung in the middle of the ceiling dripped with what you could only guess were the most expensive diamonds money could buy.  The long, mahogany table was ornate and rich - a dark colour that spoke of wealth and taste.

“It’s a little much,” ___ spoke up again and you turned to see her rolling her eyes, “But it was like this when we moved in.  Taehyung’s dad had a lot of money and apparently not a lot of subtlety.”

She laughed at the comment and you giggled too - relaxing a little as the tension eased from your shoulders slightly.  It seemed you’d found something of an ally in Taehyung’s wife and you were thankful for that, at least.

“I know we don’t really know each other,” She started carefully, a perfectly plucked brow pulling up slightly, “But I like to think of myself as a confidant of sorts… Especially when it comes to matters of the heart.”

You raised your own brow, “Matters of the heart?”

She bit her bottom lip and you noticed the pity in her eyes.

As she opened her mouth to answer you, somebody cleared their throat to your left and your head snapped round, finding yourself looking up into the formidable gaze of Kim Taehyung.

He was alone, you noticed immediately, and you tried to keep your expression neutral.

This was the game of Bangtan.  A game you’d grown up in.

A game you knew well.

“Taehyung,” You greeted, nodding gently, “Thank you for inviting me.  It is an honour.”

His handsome face was cold - barely responsive as he nodded back to you, “Y/N.  Welcome to our home.”

Our home.

The words warmed you.

It had been clear for a while now that Kim Taehyung’s only weakness was his wife.  He would burn the entire world down for her - and you’d been told of this time and time again.

They had started off as an arranged marriage - almost six years ago now - when Taehyung’s father and his wife’s father had worked so closely with one another they had promised their children’s hand in marriage in an act of loyalty.

But things had changed in the years since.

It was well established that Kim Taehyung loved only one thing more than he loved Bangtan - and that was his wife.

You tried to focus on that - on the fact that loveless marriages could turn into something else - as ___ nudged her husband playfully.

��Don’t be so formal,” She teased and you couldn’t believe you were witnessing this exchange, “Y/N is a friend.”

Taehyung actually rolled his eyes playfully and smiled down at his wife, “I’m still Capo, darling.”

She laughed as well and your chest tightened.  You wanted that.

The obvious love they had for one another - the way they seemed to be so comfortable with each other it was like they had found their home.

“Well dinner’s almost ready Taehyung so go and get cleaned up.” ____ said, slipping an arm through yours and leading you towards the ridiculous mahogany table, “Come sit over here, Y/N.”

You noticed for the first time that the table was set for four people.

Your heart pounded against your chest.

“Who is it?”

The question slipped out of you before you even had a chance to think it through.  ____ froze. She was slipping into the seat beside you when her eyes turned to your own.

“What?”

“The fourth person,” You whispered, darting your eyes behind you to make sure Taehyung wasn’t within earshot distance, “My future husband.  Who is it?”

____ looked genuinely distraught for a moment.

You clicked your tongue.

“I’m a member of the South Korea mafia, ____, I know how this shit works.”  You noticed your words were a little sharp and you tried to soften them with a weak smile, “Just tell me who it is.  Please.”

____ seemed torn.  Her eyes roved your face carefully and she sighed. 

“He’s a good guy.”  She told you carefully, “Really.   I’m not just saying that.”

Your heart dropped.  The look in her eyes - the trepidation….

“It’s Kim Namjoon, isn’t it?”

A throat cleared itself loudly from behind you.  You snapped your head to the side and watched as the man himself sauntered towards the two of you.

“You rang?”  The sarcasm dripped from his tone as he stuck out his prosthetic hand for you to shake.  You supposed he was expecting you to be disgusted - maybe to rebuke him - but you were made of stronger stuff than that.

You forced yourself to smile, “Hello Namjoon.  I’m Y/N.”

He narrowed his eyes as you shook his prosthetic.

“I know who you are,” He raised a dark brow, “The future Mrs Kim Namjoon.”

The words were like heavy bricks - weighing down on your shoulders.

You knew next to nothing about this man.  Despite what ____ had said about him being a good man all you saw was bitterness and anger in his eyes.

“You’re the nurse, aren’t you?” 

You nodded carefully and tried to calm your pulse. 

“Well now we know why Taehyung chose you for me.  The cripple.”

____ cleared her throat and stood up abruptly.  Her eyes were dark and angry and she shook her head at Namjoon.

“No.  You don’t get to do that to her.  Not when she had nothing to do with any of this.”  Her bottom lip trembled slightly, “Apologise.” Namjoon’s face was a perfect mask of nonchalance.  His eyes flicked between you and ____ and he shrugged.

“What for?”

____ squared her shoulders, “You know exactly what for, Kim Namjoon.”

“I think that’s enough now,” Taehyung entered the room sharply, standing between his wife and friend.  His gaze fell on you after a moment, “I see the two of you have met.”

You nodded wordlessly, wondering just what in the hell was going on.

Namjoon was seething apparently, as he sulked to the left of his friend, arms crossed and eyes dangerously black.   

“Was he not as welcoming as he’d promised he’d be?”

“This is ridiculous V, we both know that.  You’ve chosen her because she’s a nurse and because of this,” He stuck his fake hand in the air and you refused to look away.

Nobody else in the room reacted for a moment.

Taehyung took a deep, calming breath.

“That was part of it, yes.”  He said evenly, “Y/N is a trained nurse and therefore she can help you move forward with this.  But she’s also a good match.  Right age, right height… Her parents are wealthy and important like yours.  It is a good union.  I have told you this plenty of times Namjoon.”

“I will not marry her because of pity,” Namjoon spat the word out, “I’m not some fucking charity case-” 

“I don’t pity you.” The words flew out of you and when three sets of eyes turned to fall on you, you wondered if it was the right choice.  You chose to focus on Namjoon.

“What?”

“I don’t pity you,” You told him honestly, gesturing to his prosthetic, “What happened is awful, obviously.  And I may never know the full extent of it.  But I don’t pity you.  You are a man with an obstacle in life.  There are many men with obstacles in life.  That doesn’t make you worthy of  pity.”

Namjoon’s eyes searched your face for something - what you weren’t sure - and she sighed heavily.  He seemed so tired.  You noticed the bags under his eyes, the lines in his forehead.  He was young - just a little older than you - and yet it seemed he’d aged so much recently.

“So you want to marry me?  You want to marry a man who’s had to learn how to live - how to do normal every day things like eat with a knife and fork - all over again?”

You shrugged, “I want to do what’s best for Bangtan.  If Taehyung says that’s a marriage between the two of us, then so be it.”

A long moment passed between the two of you.

Namjoon seemed to be sizing you up, and you took the opportunity to do the same.

He wasn’t ugly.  Far from it.  Kim Namjoon was tall and handsome - and from what you’d  heard through the grapevine - he was also smart and kind.

People spoke about him of course - he was a member of the Special Seven - and what they said was normally very positive.

He wasn’t like other Bangtan men.

He was grounded.  He was softer.  A man who used brains instead of braun.

You had to admit, those traits were attractive to you.

Eventually, he spoke.

“Alright then.”  He nodded and gave you a strange look - somewhere between admiration and confusion, “I suppose that says it all.”

Namjoon turned to Taehyung and nodded.

“We’ll get married at the earliest convenience.” _____ gasped from behind you but you barely registered the sound.

It had all been well and good in theory… But now what?

Kim Namjoon stuck his hand out to yours - his real hand made of flesh and bones - and smiled sardonically.

“Welcome to the family, Mrs Kim Namjoon.” You smiled back.  Mrs Kim Namjoon.

You could do this.

//

Planning a wedding was easy when you weren’t trusted to do a single thing.

Kim Namjoon’s family had promised to take care of everything - and as a family higher up in the Bangtan hierarchy than your own - there had been no argument to be made.

This was the way things worked in your world, and you’d learned long ago just to accept it. 

You barely saw your husband in the ensuing months.  He dropped by once to meet your parents and officially ask for your hand in marriage, and once more since then to update you on the wedding arrangements.

But apart from that he was like a ghost - you even forgot sometimes that you were supposed to be marrying him. 

You rarely thought about the fact that by the end of this year you would be Mrs Kim Namjoon and despite the relatively long engagement - six months was a long time in the world of Bangtan - you were happy you had the time to get used to the idea of marriage.

It wasn’t until one evening when Kim Namjoon came calling for you that the reality of the situation truly sunk in.

You were leaving work - it had been a particularly difficult day so far, and absolutely nothing seemed to be going smoothly.  In fact everything today had felt like it was seconds away from falling apart and you felt like you too, were going to break down.

And as you made your way across the parking lot you found Kim Namjoon, leaning against your car.  How he knew which one was yours was beyond you - but you smiled at him questioningly when you were within earshot.

“Hi.” He smiled almost sheepishly, “Hi.”

“What are you doing here?”

He crossed his arms and squinted one eye shut as he stewed in your question for just a moment.  Then he sighed heavily.

“I’ve been an asshole.”

“Huh?” You raised a brow. 

Namjoon groaned and clicked his tongue, “Are you gonna make this difficult for me?”

“What? No!” You shook your head and shrugged, “I just don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The night I agreed to marry you I was a jerk.  And we’ve barely seen each other twice since we got engaged two months ago.”  He ran a hand through his hair, “I promised myself I wouldn’t be like that.  So I’m sorry.”

You cocked your head to the side, shocked at the show of vulnerability.  Namjoon was a Bangtan man - he should be cold and unforgiving - he should push away intimacy and hate the thought of opening himself up to anyone.

And yet here he was, apologising to you for something you’d assumed was just the way things were done when a marriage was arranged.

“Okay.”  You nodded slowly, “I forgive you.”

He smiled softly and you found yourself thinking he really did look handsome like that.

“I’d like us to be friends at least,” He shrugged, “If nothing else.”

You smiled back, “Friends sounds good to me.”

“Good.  Great.  Thank you,” He gestured to your car, “So can you give me a ride home?” You gave him a questioning look, “How did you get here?”

“My driver dropped me off,” He lifted his prosthetic hand, “I can’t really drive anymore.” 

There was a moment of almost awkward silence, but you refused to let something Namjoon couldn’t control, ruin the atmosphere.  He’d apologised to you - he was making something of an effort - and you owed it to him to do your part.

“I can help you with that,” You told him, pointing at his hand, “Getting used to it.  How long have you had it on for?”

“Half a year,” He looked away from you, “It’s still so uncomfortable.”

You took another step towards him and his eyes connected with yours.  

“I don’t care.”  You told him firmly, “I don’t care about the prosthetic.  I swear.  And I’m sorry it’s uncomfortable.  I’m sorry it happened to you.  But I’ll help you.  I will.  I promise.”

Namjoon’s eyes softened at your words and you were taken back by the way he was suddenly looking at you.

God.  He really was so handsome.

“Okay.”  He whispered, eyes darting across your face, “Yeah.  Thank you.  That would mean a lot.” The moment was suspended for another moment more, and you wondered if you might do something crazy like try and kiss him - before Namjoon cleared his throat and the spell was broken.

Jesus.

What was going on with you?

Your pulse was racing as you fumbled around your handbag for your keys and you told yourself the nerves were only because of the day you’d had.  It had nothing to do with the handsome man standing in front of you.

“You’re going to have to give me directions to your house,” You told Namjoon as the car unlocked and you both climbed in, “I’ve never had the privilege of visiting.” He snorted a laugh, “It’s a two minute drive from Taehyung’s.  If you drive that way I can guide you.”

“Sounds good.”

You buckled yourself in and tried to ignore the way your cheeks were flushing at the idea of you and Namjoon being in such a small space together, focusing instead on the feel of the steering wheel under your fingers, and trying as much as you could not to stare at him through the reflection of the mirrors.

That would be weird.

Weirder than you were suddenly being.

“How was work?” He asked you once you pulled the car out onto the main road. 

You groaned, “Awful.  Today was a bad one.  We have them sometimes but it really lowers your self esteem.  Some of my patients seemed like they couldn’t stand my face.”

Namjoon whistled lowly. 

“I can imagine that wouldn’t be a very comforting atmosphere to be in.”

“No, not very,” You shrugged and shot him a look, “But that’s the nature of my job.  Nurses are treated worse than doctors even though sometimes it feels like we do triple the work.”

Namjoon chuckled and you raised a brow, “What?”

“It’s  just…” Out of the corner of your eye you saw him shake his head, “It’s like that with us sometimes.  In Bangtan I mean.  Taehyung is treated with so much respect and reverence - and he deserves it.  Of course he does.  But the rest of us… We work our asses off.  And we barely get any recognition for it.”  He pulled a face, “So I guess I’m trying to say I know how you’re feeling.  Kind of.”

You let this information settle with you.

It made sense of course.

Bangtan was the biggest food chain of them all.  The Capo demanded respect.

And in the little interaction you’d had with him, you saw how intimidating Kim Taehyung could be.  Still.  You imagined that had to be annoying.

“Doesn’t it piss you off?” He scoffed, “Of course it does.  But that’s just Bangtan.  That’s the job.  We don’t do it for recognition anyway.  We do it because we love Bangtan.”

You smiled at that.

It was exactly how you felt about your job.

“Yeah.  I understand what you mean.  As much as it sucks that I don’t always get the praise I feel I deserve… I don’t do it for that.  I do it to help people.”

There was a heavy moment between you both.  Namjoon seemed to be taking in what you’ve said and you found yourself thinking that if it’s this easy to talk to him you might catch yourself falling for your own husband.

“That’s a lovely way to put it,” You felt rather than saw his smile, “My house is just on this curb.”

You slowed the car down and turned to your fiance, surprised when you saw him already smiling at you.

“Thank you.  For this.”  His eyes were gentle and shimmering almost and you once again had to force yourself not to flush, “It’s been…. Nice.” You grinned back, “Alright.  Don’t be a stranger.”

He laughed at that and shook his head.

“I won’t.” He gave you a warm look, “Goodbye Y/N.  I’ll call you soon.”

You nodded, “Okay.  Bye Namjoon.”

He smiled at you once more before climbing out of the car and waving goodbye at you. 

And as you drove away all you could think of was this:

Kim Namjoon might very well be the best thing that could have ever happened to you.

//

[akaashisupremacy]

Ambition

Summary: As you fall deeper in love with him, where do you fit into among Atsumu’s ambitions? 

Atsumu x reader  || HQ Masterlist

genre: angst to fluff (wc: 1k)

“So are you two together or what?” Osamu Miya squints at you expectantly with his hands on his waist.

He is much like his brother. They both have little subtlety.

After a reunion in Onigiri Miya, everybody except the twins finally leave. You’re left alone with Osamu, who is cleaning up the tables and Atsumu who is in the loo.  

Osamu’s been seeing the two of you around enough that his curiosity is piqued. You look left and right, making sure Atsumu isn’t eavesdropping anywhere nearby.

“Ahhmm, don’t think so. To be honest, I’m not sure this is going to last once he heads back to Osaka.” you shrug.

You try to do it as casually as you can. You don’t want to look affected by your decision.

“Oh, really now?” Osamu tries not to give away his surprise, but from the slight raise of his brows you can tell that isn’t what he expected.

Atsumu comes out of the bathroom just as the awkward silence settles between the two of you.

“Did I miss anything?” he asks.

You and Osamu shake your heads in unison. This is a conversation to be had between you and Atsumu only.

Atsumu’s eyes flicker back and forth in suspicion.

“Let’s get you home. I’ll walk you to the intersection.” he nods.

————————————————————————————————

Atsumu is disconcerted by what he witnessed between you and Samu. He thought you and he are at a point where you can be honest with each other. Apparently not.

As your feet crunched beneath Hyogo’s pavement, he subtly turns to you.

Atsumu is one for intense romantic relationships. He is not shy about his passion. He doesn’t shy away from physical intimacy in the early stages. He is unafraid to argue and air his opinions. He likes getting in what sprints of time he can get with his partners.

And so he finds it disconcerting that despite being un-immune to his charms, you’ve been keeping him at arm’s length where he is unable to relish in the usual emotional intensity he expects out of his relationships.

“You don’t have to walk me home. I can go alone.” you insist.

“I want to.” he quickly follows you and grabs his coat. In the corner of his eye, Osamu nods as if to wish him good luck.

You remembered earlier this evening when the alcohol was really setting in, you exchanged a series of long glances at Atsumu. Your cheeks were both flushed, eyes hazy with lust and intoxication. You couldn’t help looking at him and he at you.

You looked at him through your lashes, tracing your eyes over the bridge of his nose and the curve of his cheeks. And nothing thrilled you more than when you caught him looking at you the same way, except maybe when he would smirk or wink at you from where he was.

Even though you were seated apart, these gestures obliterated the distance.

It’s not that you haven’t been attracted to him before. But something about his impassioned ways tempered by time and a tinge of melancholy adds a layer of charm to the Atsumu you know.

“When I get back to Osaka—“ he begins. Before this year, Atsumu’s never been to your side of town. Now he knows your address like the back of his hand.

“I don’t think you’ll hear much from me.” you interrupt.

The crisp in the air turns to chill.

“Hai? Excuse me?” he swivels his entire body towards you, hands buried deep in his pockets. “Aren’t you moving there?”

“I think we should stop, whatever this is.” you try to replicate the shrug you gave to Osamu.

Your impending move to Osaka was the catalyst of your increasingly frequent meetings with Atsumu this past few months. At first it was strictly business. You asked about the logistics and the house-hunting.

Soon after, Osaka was just an excuse. Whenever Atsumu came back to Kobe, you hung out because you wanted to.

You were surprised at how much you liked spending time with Atsumu. He has an irresistible zest for life and sport that was contagious. Although he’s not as frank as he used to be, you appreciated his candor and his single-handed determination not to give a shit for those who didn’t like him.

However the more time you spent with him, the more evident it is that his life revolved around his work.

Atsumu blinks hard and furrows his brow, “Was I…reading some signs…wrong?”

You hate it that he’s standing so close enough that you can feel some warmth from his body. It’s difficult not to fantasise what his skin is like on yours once you’re both alone in an apartment.

When you gaze up to his eyes, they are wide, confused and hurt.

“I-I know you were offered to play in a league abroad…” you organize your feelings, “and I…don’t want to move to Osaka just so our goodbyes can be difficult. I don’t want to have to compete with volleyball.”

“Oh that,” he murmurs swiftly, “I’m turning it down.”

Your head whiplashes, “WHAT?!”

Atsumu is one to be defined almost exclusively by his ambition and drive for volleyball. It’s such a huge part of his identity.

“I’ve made up my mind that I’m not going to play for a foreign league. I’m going to spend the rest of my professional career here in Japan.” he says steadfastly. It’s his turn to shrug.

He looks so calm. You can tell he’s made this decision for a while now.

“I’m not injured,” he reads into your expression, “I like my life right now and I’ve hit the point that I want to maintain my work-life balance. If those offers came when I was younger, I’d totally grab it. Burn myself to the ground to improve my game and everything. But that’s just not me anymore. I want to settle down in Japan.”

“Is that bad? That I’m not the ambitious, blazing athlete you thought I’d be?” he smiles. There’s a tinge of sadness as if he’s expecting inevitable disappointment.

“No, I respect that. It’s just that…” You’re not sure what to say.

“I’m closer to my family, to you and I don’t want to be ashamed that I admit that.” he continues, ”My drive has gotten me to where I am today. That doesn’t mean I need to keep this up for the rest of my life.”

He looks wistfully at the sky. You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen him so serene.

You both stop walking. You’ve arrived at the intersection. His gaze returns to you.

“So can I invite you to my game next month? Tickets will be on me.” he smiles.

He reaches out to hold your hand. Your fingers instinctively interlace with his.

“Of course, I’d love to see you play again.”

You lean in to plant a kiss on his cheek. Instead his hands cup your face and kisses your lips. Although his lips are warm and soft, the easy contentment in his eyes is replaced by longing.

When you began spending time with Atsumu, you wondered why you hadn’t been more attracted to him when you were both in Inarizaki. But now it doesn’t matter.

You feel lucky to fall for him at this stage in his life. Where his life isn’t centered completely around his career anymore. Where his ambition is to build a life with you.

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

Read more Atsumu here (one shot) or here (mini series). 

Taglist: @itstheee-ha-chan @kaizumi @holaaaf @glxar

Comment or message to be added to the taglist! :D

[seasonofthewicth]

Rowaelin Month - Day 3

prompt: a secret relationship

extras: multiple povs

cw: one very brief mention of nsfw topics

word count: 3k

--

Fenrys knows his friends think of him as the joker of the group, and yeah he is hilarious, but there’s more to him than that. He can read the room, can pick up on the subtleties of whichever of his friends might need one of his jokes more than others on any given day. It’s a skill that makes him observant, watchful of people, and he notices things.

He’s not sure if Rowan and Aelin think they’re being subtle, and he’s not sure which of his other friends have picked up on the same things he has, but he’s pretty sure Aelin and Rowan are sleeping together.

He’s not completely sure, he doesn’t have any concrete evidence and they still act normally in the group, but he knows what he saw on the night of Elide’s birthday. He and Rowan have lived together for years and Aelin has crashed at theirs any number of times before but, until that night, she’d never emerged from Rowan’s bedroom the morning after wearing one of his t-shirts.

The material had completely drowned her. The short sleeves had hung to her elbows and the hem had been well down her thighs. She’d seemed somewhat… sneaky as she’d crept into their kitchen in search of coffee.

He knows not to read too much into things, friends share clothes all the time. He’s lost many hoodies to the collective wardrobe owned by their group of friends and he’s still pissed at Lorcan who he knows still has his The Cadre t-shirt from the gig they had attended a few years ago.

What Fenrys also knows is that friends don’t stand at the kitchen counter, holding the neckline of their friend’s shirt to their nose and grinning like an idiot.

He needs to speak to Aedion.

Elide has been friends with Aelin for years and that is more than long enough to know she’s almost always guaranteed to be late to their coffee dates. She’s not bothered, it gives her a few extra minutes to sip away at her own coffee reading her book with the general hum of the coffee shop lulling her into a comfortable rest.

It’s not long before her friend breezes into the coffee shop, the bell above the door ringing and signalling her entrance. It’s very Aelin, her entrance. The wind sweeps in fluffing her golden waves and her steps are full of purpose as she strides towards Elide.

“Sorry I’m late.” Aelin all but throws herself into the seat opposite Elide, smiling a bright smile for the relatively early morning they’re sharing.

“Don’t worry about it,” Elide says, finishing off her final swig of her first coffee. “Want me to go and get our drinks?”

“No, Ellie,” Aelin says, waving her hand. “First one’s on me. I was late, I’ll make it up to you.”

Aelin squeezes her hand before breezing back out of her seat.

She’s back only a couple of minutes later, finally relaxing into the large armchair she occupies. “So, what’s new with you?”

“Nothing much,” Elide shrugs. “Work is tough but nothing I didn’t expect.”

“I’m sure you’re smashing it,” Aelin says with a grin, then places her hand against her chest. “My little Elide, registered nurse taking the world by storm.”

Elide smiles, it feels good to hear those words, after all the sleepless nights and sweat and tears she’s finally where she wants to be.

Aelin continues, “You’re not pushing yourself too hard are you?”

“No,” she says and it’s the truth. “And even if I was, Lorcan is being wonderful.”

Aelin fake gags and Elide shoots her a mostly joking glare. “I find that hard to believe.”

“He is,” she says, thinking of the bath he had drawn her the night before and the massage he’d given her when she complained of her feet aching.

Aelin shifts in her seat as she nods along and the neck of her t-shirt slips down to reveal the ghost of a hickey on her friend’s collarbone. Elide raises an eyebrow.

Aelin looks down before grinning wickedly.

“Anything new with you?”

Aelin’s answer is interrupted by the arrival of their coffees in the hands of a handsome waiter.

“A large mocha,” he says and Elide raises a hand, “and a large cappuccino with cinnamon.”

Aelin raises her own hand. The waiter sets their drinks down, his eyes lingering on Aelin for a minute before he slowly backs away.

“Enjoy,” he says, his eyes still locked on Aelin. “Let me know if you need anything.”

He turns with a wink and Elide raises her other brow at her friend.

“Are you going to get his number?”

Aelin shakes her head. “Not today.”

Elide hums a response before leaning forward in her seat. “Why? You’d usually be all over someone like him, he’s exactly your type. Tall, muscular without being jacked, his curly brown hair, cheeky smile…”

She trails off when Aelin cracks a smile. “I guess I’m just not feeling it today.”

Elide wants to ask why again, she honestly might go over and get the guy’s number for her friend, when Aelin changes the subject rapidly.

“Are you going to Rowan and Fenrys’ later?”

Elide doesn’t process the change of topic until a little later on, once a couple more pieces have slotted into place. Eventually she’s pretty sure she’s worked out why Aelin didn’t want the cute coffee guy’s number.

She needs to speak to Lorcan.

Lorcan Salvaterre doesn’t like Aelin Galathynius.

He tolerates her at best for the sake of the rest of their friends but that said, he still probably wouldn’t want to see her hurt.

When Lysandra puts the message in the group chat-At the hospital with Aelin, dw they think it’s just a sprain-he reads it, absently thinks how he probably hopes she’s okay, and moves on with his day. He’s on his way to meet Rowan at the bar and if anything, Galathynius would want them to raise a toast in her honour.

What Lorcan doesn’t expect is the restless jittering of his best friend’s leg beneath the table, sloshing precious droplets of beer onto the table that his friend doesn’t even seem to notice.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asks as he slides onto his seat opposite the silver haired man.

“Nothing,” Rowan says quickly but his leg keeps up the restless pace.

Lorcan signals to the bartender for his own beer and turns back to Rowan. “Dude, chill out. There’s clearly something up with you and I’m not having you spill my pint.”

Rowan finally notices the state of their table and stills his leg. “Sorry,” Rowan says, using some of the beer mats scattered across their table to mop up the spill.

Now Lorcan really is confused. Usually Whitethorn would cuss him out over apologising. He doesn’t really know what to say.

His phone buzzes in his pocket and he ignores it as Rowan lurches for his own phone. He reads whatever’s on the screen then scowls and locks it again, placing it face up on the table. His knee begins bouncing again.

“You’re being weird,” Lorcan announces.

“Fuck off,” Rowan says and there’s the Whitethorn he knows and loves.

Lorcan opens his mouth to speak again but his phone buzzes and Rowan again lurches for his own. He chews at his lip as he reads whatever’s on the screen and so Lorcan bothers to dig his own phone out of his pocket.

It’s the group chat. He has a couple of unread messages, just Aedion and Elide expressing their concern for Galathynius as expected, nothing exciting. He locks his phone and places it on the table in front of him, watching Rowan for his next move. He’s definitely being weird and Lorcan has no fucking clue why.

His phone buzzes again and the screen lights up with the latest message. It’s Galathynius, he can tell from the stupid crown profile picture she has.

I’m alive, her message reads, just a sprain but I’m gutted bc I wanted a cast so you all could sign it.

Rowan is on his own phone when Lorcan looks back up, he’s tapping away but Lorcan doesn’t see any messages from him in the group chat. His knee has stilled under the table and Lorcan swears there’s something that looks like relief on his face. Relief? As if there was ever any danger of Galathynius not being fine.

Wait.

“Why the fuck are you so worried about Galathynius?”

Rowan’s eyes narrow and he carefully tucks his phone back into his pocket.

“I’m not,” he says but it sounds somewhat like a question and Lorcan isn’t convinced.

Until he decides he doesn’t give a shit enough to ask any more questions, Whitethorn seems back to normal and if Galathynius being fine is the reason for it he can think about it later.

And probably speak to Fenrys.

Aedion is drunk.

Like truly and utterly wasted.

So far a good night.

The rest of the group are somewhere dispersed around the bar but he’s happy here, tucked up in their booth, resting his head against the cushioned velvet while the room spins around him. He’s pretty sure Aelin is still in the booth with him and it might be Rowan with her but he’s too lazy to open his eyes to check.

He can hear the pounding base of a song he doesn’t recognise and he could fall asleep right here, somehow lulled to sleep by the beat and the volume of alcohol he’s consumed.

He doesn’t mean to listen to Aelin and Rowan’s conversation, even though he’s pretty sure it’s not intruding if they know he’s sat right there, but pieces of their conversation spike his attention.

“You don’t want me to stay at yours tonight?” he hears Aelin ask and Aedion is intrigued.

Lysandra is out tonight so Aelin has a safe ride home with her roommate and no need to crash at Rowan and Fenrys’ apartment.

“It’s not that I don’t want you to.” Rowan’s voice is low and hard to hear over the music. “But Fenrys is out with us and if I say I want to leave he’ll join me, then you know he’d ask questions.”

Aedion from tomorrow is screaming at him to pay attention to this conversation and so he keeps his eyes closed to try and listen in. He’s almost holding his breath to try and hear their voices over the noise of the bar.

They’re quiet for a moment and he’s so tempted to crack his eyes open.

“I know,” he finally hears Rowan say. “I’m sorry, Fireheart. We will.”

Hearing the term of endearment drop off Rowan’s lips is too much, it’s weird, he didn’t realise the two of them were close enough for Rowan to know about the nickname his cousin has. He risks opening one of his eyes to just a thin slit.

He’s not ready for what he sees.

Aelin is tucked under Rowan’s arm, resting her cheek on his chest. Rowan’s chin rests on the top of his cousin’s head before he softly presses his lips to her hair.

Aedion has many questions. He immediately closes his eye. He’s drunk, he can’t trust his eyes.

He hears rustling and then definitely his name from his cousin but it doesn’t sound like she’s talking to him.

Then, “Aedion.” Rowan’s voice has him blinking his eyes open and lifting his head from the booth.

They’re separated now, sitting with a couple of inches between them on the seat. Maybe he didn’t see them cuddled up a minute ago, he’s not sure.

“Drink this.” Rowan is holding out a glass of water, his tone leaving no room for protests.

“Hey,” he hears how slurred his voice is and catches Aelin’s laughter. “Thanks bro.”

Aelin puts her face in her hands. Rowan doesn’t crack, just waves the glass of water in front of him. He reaches out to grab it but he can see more than one of his hand reaching for the glass.

“Gods,” Aelin says, looking at Rowan. “Maybe you should take him home.”

“I will,” Rowan agrees quickly, looking at her softly and Aedion has about a million more questions. “I’ll get him to drink this first.”

Aelin nods and he finally manages to take a hold of the water and downs it in about a minute. Rowan slides out of the booth and holds a hand out to Aedion. He lets his friend tug him up and begins his stumble to the exit.

He feels Rowan pause behind him and catches the words, “meet you at yours afterwards.”

He manages to spin and see Aelin smiling as she leaves the booth too. He doesn’t bother to think about it, he probably won’t remember tomorrow.

He’ll ask Lysandra.

Aelin’s hand is clammy where she holds Rowan’s.

It’s the only sign of the nerves she feels, this conversation has been brewing for a while, and regardless of their friends’ reactions she’s happy with Rowan. Honestly, it’s only been about a month in total since that one night for Elide’s birthday that changed everything, but she thinks she might be falling for him.

She can’t believe she thought he was a dick when they first met. Well, she supposes he is a dick. One of the first things he ever said to her was that she was a spoiled brat but, in his defense, she’d just called him a stuck up bastard.

Now though she loves the thrill of his quick mind. Loves the way he can tease and taunt her until she’s trembling beneath him and about a second away from begging. She loves the soft kisses he presses to her hair when he knows she’s had a bad day, she loves when he comes back from work with a slice of chocolate hazelnut cake under his arm because he knows it will make her smile.

What she doesn’t love is keeping this a secret from all of their best friends. It started out as embarrassment, after they slept together on Elide’s birthday she didn’t know what it was, didn’t know if they’d just fucked everything up, didn’t know if their friendships were about to implode.

But then it happened again, and again and again, until it’s four am and she’s pressing her lips to his one last time so she can sneak out without Fenrys noticing and be home before Lysandra wakes up.

The sneaking around was hot at first. His hand over her mouth holding in her whimpers as he fucked her on the couch he shares with Fenrys, when he slid the pillow between her bedframe and the wall when Lysandra had texted asking if she could hear that weird banging noise, all the times they had cut it a little too close. But now, it’s exhausting.

She wants to be able to hold Rowan’s hand and kiss him without the wariness pooling in her stomach and she knows he feels the same.

“Guys,” she says loudly to the room filled with their friends. Rowan squeezes her hand where they’re hidden beneath a couch pillow. “We have something to tell you all.”

Five pairs of eves pivot to her and she swallows.

“Rowan and I are… dating,” she says slowly, as though she’s unsure of how the words will go down.

There’s a beat of silence before their friends erupt.

“I knew it!”

“I fucking told you they were.”

“Pay up you bastard.”

Lorcan scowls, pulling out his wallet and Aelin blinks. She did not expect this.

“Wait.” Lorcan holds up a hand. “Before I hand over any cash we need details. Dating or in a relationship? How long have you been dating? Who asked who? Who started this? Most importantly; when?”

She looks to Rowan who’s green eyes reflect her own bewilderment.

“Um,” he starts unsurely, “we’re in a relationship.” He punctuates this with another squeeze of her hand and she grins. The feeling of his fingers linked through her own spreads warmth up her arm before settling in her chest. “It started a few weeks ago.”

Her friends are all leaning forwards, still waiting.

“When exactly?” Lysandra asks. “Like what was the date?”

“Well, the first time was the night of Elide’s birthday.”

Fenrys launches himself out of his seat. “I fucking told all of you.” He holds his right hand out starkly in front of him. “Pay up all of you, I was right.”

There are complaints and grumbled protests but Fenrys ends up with a handful of twenties and Elide a couple of notes herself.

“Wait,” Aelin says, brushing a hand across her forehead as if this will somehow clear it up. “You guys bet on us?”

That seems to still the commotion coming from the other side of the room.

It’s Aedion who speaks. “Yeah,” he says in a way that sounds like duh. “You didn’t think you were subtle did you?”

“Kind of,” Rowan says eventually, leaning forwards to brace his elbows on his knees. “We weren’t obvious. And none of you ever seemed to let on.”

“Bro, are you serious?” Aedion laughs as Elide and Lysandra snicker.

“You seriously thought we never knew?” Lysandra sounds as baffled as Aelin feels. “All those texts I sent when I knew he was over? All the mysterious unnamed hook-ups on nights you and Rowan both disappeared together? All the times you’d think you were subtle but your lipstick would be on his neck? We have been waiting for this.”

She’s laughing and Aelin feels a bubble of laughter in her own throat. She can’t believe it. It had seemed to reach a point of obviousness but none of them had ever commented.

“I can’t believe you all knew,” she cries burying her face in her hands as Rowan slings an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in close. “Why did none of you say anything?”

“It was against the rules of the bet,” Fenrys says seriously and Rowan uses his other arm to dig his bicep, his laughter rumbling in his chest beneath her.

She smiles into the fabric of his shirt as the group erupts again, bickering over who knew first and who knew the most. Aelin doesn’t care, it’s gone better than she could have imagined and she has Rowan and her friends and she loves them.

A secret relationship no longer. It feels good.