#this is all so awfully vague i apologize

[feisaru]

Hello!

I'm so happy to see there is still people out there who loves people from the future!

Tell me, what do you think about the future of the Second Stage Children? Do you think Saru would really takes this vaccine without resistance ? How the adults treat him and Feida now that it's done?

Did Fey still hold some kind of grudge about Saru? His father?

I hope you can understand me, english is my second langage...

Have a good day and thank you for sharing your art I love it!

Hi anon!! I understand what you're saying just fine. Your questions flatter me (esp since it's the first time this is happening to me,,), but quick disclaimer: for whatever reason, I get a little nervous about posting thoughts that are dear to me all texted out online where people might find them. Which is a little funny since I actually write and analyze a lot, but alas. My go-to for expressing my hcs is drawing them out, as that feels less direct but still helps me get it out of my system. I usually talk about my stuff more directly with people I'm close with, as I feel like they get it more. I'll answer those, but much less elaborate than I could heh

Saru and vaxxing, huh... Saru had his fair share of doubts about it. Doubts that were breakdown-worthy, even. People have always just seen him as an SSC, not a person but a monster, so at some point he started to tie his own self-worth to his powers too. The list of insecurities is sheer endless. I don't wanna say anything I will not agree with in hindsight here, so I'll just go with the vaxxing itself went without further complications from his side (spare the semi-canon phobia of needles he has, according to the manga), but that he still had his fair share of head in hands moments beforehand, and that his now-lack of powers is something that is gonna weigh him and his recovery down for another few years.

He'll never forgive El Dorado for how they've treated him and what they've done, how fucked up they are. And neither is the world at large going to forgive him for what he's done. He's going to stay a man with many enemies. Even walking around the city casually will become a pretty dangerous thing, which is why neither him nor Fei are supposed to do it. El Dorado keeps monitoring him in the beginning so he doesn't try anything funny. His "fuck you" approach towards them pretty much stays the same. Even if Toudou wanted to strike a deal with him, he'd want nothing to do with it. He'll never trust anything they do.

I don't think Fei was ever really mad at Saru. If anything, he was disappointed and sad that Saru always kept on doing the same thing and pushed him away. They're working on that post-CS, just like they're working on everything else. About Asurei though?? OHHHHHHH boy there's a LOT unpack there. Fei does not immediately forgive him. He resents him, and it takes another few years until he actually becomes more open towards fixing their father-son relationship. And even then, it never quite becomes perfect, but at least it turns out okay.

Last but not least, thank you a lot, you're very sweet<3 You reminded me I ought to post here. Good day to you too!!

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

CALL MY NAME AND I'LL COME RUNNING ; SATORU GOJO

synopsis; satoru can be irritating, at times. but even if you push him away, he’ll always, always be there for you when you need him.

word count; 8.7k (this was supposed to b a short drabble but i was possessed by the devil halfway through)

contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, reader n toru have a fight, mild swearing (a couple fucks here n there), hurt/comfort, satoru has communication issues but he’s trying his best, depictions of stalking (reader gets followed by a random creep but satoru comes to the rescue dw), uhh implied thoughts of violence? (satoru wants to Maul said dude but doesn’t), literally just me being in love with satoru gojo for 8.7k words straight

a/n; no thoughts head empty only gojo running through the streets like a wild beast looking for u <33 im normal about him yeah.

“you’re so annoying sometimes, you know that?”

satoru smiles. the sentence isn’t one he’s unaccustomed to hearing.

usually, the words are soaked in an undeniable fondness, as they spill from your lips. rich with exasperated love. one that never fails to have the corners of satoru’s lips curling up, a mellow kind of joy blossoming in his chest.

but now, that fondness is nowhere to be found. 

you sound thoroughly exasperated, and a little bit fatigued. more than anything else, there’s a vague irritation behind the tilt of your voice, something almost cold. it makes all the difference in the world. 

and yet, despite that, a certain someone chooses to pay no heed to the bad omen.

“aw, c’mon. you know you love me, baby.”

satoru is grinning. lighthearted, awfully sweet. there’s a certain smugness to it, though, one he couldn’t wash away even if he was aware of it; you wouldn’t do so even if you could. that smugness is a part of him, one that you’d usually find endearing. 

but right now, it only seeks to further your frustration.

it was a stupid fight, truthfully. completely meaningless. satoru had forgotten to pick up after himself for, like, the fourth consecutive time, and so you grew annoyed. not by a lot, but enough that you felt the need to be firm when you reminded him not to make the same mistake over and over again.

but satoru had only grinned, in that self-satisfied fashion of his, and apologized in a way you couldn’t possibly call sincere. then he did what he usually does — promises to work on it. to not do it again. he never follows through, though.

but even that thought wasn’t anywhere near enough to make you truly angry. what really began to irk you was the fact that satoru wasn’t taking you seriously, even in the slightest.

that’s how he always is, when it comes to this kind of thing. and you try to be patient, you do. you try to be understanding. sometimes you even appreciate that he keeps the atmosphere light, but other times, you just can’t help but feel irritated by it.

and the current situation happens to fall into the latter category.

you don’t care if satoru leaves a candy wrapper or two out, every once in a while. of course you don’t. it’s a silly thing to argue about. but would it hurt for him to just listen to you? to try to put himself in your shoes, for once? it’s not about the wrappers, or the undone dishes. it’s about the way he treats you when you complain about it — like it’s no big deal, like it doesn’t matter. even if it obviously does, to you.

so, gradually, the topic of your little argument began to shift, into a conversation about satoru. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to talk about the things that bother you in a serious fashion. about the fact that he so adamantly refuses to take you seriously.

and he just keeps proving your point, with every word that falls from his lips.

at this point, you’re genuinely beginning to feel a little angry. but satoru doesn’t see that as the warning sign it is — he just thinks it’s cute. he’s just been cooing at you, this whole time, despite your numerous attempts to actually explain how much his behavior affects you sometimes. it feels a bit like talking to a wall. satoru keeps on teasing you, even as you try to be firm about your point, and only brushes you off with empty promises to do better and more unneeded comments about how much he wants to hug you when you pout like that.

and you falter, a little. of course you do. you’re weak to satoru. weak to his words, that sweet voice of his, that pretty grin. but that only makes everything worse, because if you let yourself look even a little bit flustered at his comments, he sees that as his cue to continue.

you don’t even know if he’s doing it on purpose, at this point. is he doing it because he knows it’ll annoy you, or does he genuinely not understand that you’re upset? you’d like to think that there’s no malicious intent behind it, but can’t he see how troubled you are? you don’t get it. you don’t get him, and that frustrates you most of all. satoru can be so goddamn convoluted, sometimes.

so you simply can’t help but feel annoyed. angry, even. how long have you been arguing for, at this point? you’re not sure. but you feel the frustration inside of you grow, as the minutes tick by, into something you know will eventually explode.

a sigh falls from your lips, deep and exasperated. a little bit exhausted. “i’m serious, satoru. you’re not even listening.”

“i am!” he protests, stubbornly. childishly. “you just look so cute when you’re all mad. not my fault you’re so distracting.”

satoru smiles, voice sugar sweet, but all you can do is frown. does he really think it’s cute that you’re upset? the thought makes you somewhat sad. but you can’t show that, can’t let that part of you win — you don’t even want to think about the possibility of you crying, because of this. yeah, no way in hell. 

so instead, you channel it into anger. as the blood inside your veins comes to a boiling point, you dig your nails into the skin of your palms, gnawing at your bottom lip and shifting from one foot to another.

”satoru, i’m —” another sigh, sharp and vexed like the blade of a knife. ”i’m trying to have a serious conversation, here. can’t you see that i’m upset?”

satoru takes a moment to look at you, from behind the black glass of his shades.

he can. of course he can see that. you’re frowning, and there’s a crease between your brows, and you keep huffing and sighing every three seconds — you’re obviously, undoubtedly upset. and satoru wants to take you seriously, he does. it’s just that the part of his brain that only ever wants to coddle and tease you keeps persuading him not to.

he’s not lying, either; you do look cute. almost too cute to take seriously, when you’re pouting so sweetly, a little red in the face from all the frustration bubbling inside your chest. you look so small, glaring up at him like an angry puppy. 

satoru can’t help but smile. it’d be impossible not to.

and he will listen to you, will take you seriously. he knows you’re angry, knows you’re upset, and he intends to deal with that properly. but he doesn’t need to do it right now.

just a little more teasing, before he has to stop beating around the bush. satoru dreads it, a little bit, dreads having to genuinely be serious, be open and apologetic. it always feels so strange, so discomforting. 

all that stuff can wait until later. for now, he just wants to see you blush a little more, huff and puff at his limitless affection, that he knows you love deep down. where’s the harm?

(and therein lies the problem. satoru is observant, and typically good at seeing the line that he shouldn’t cross when it comes to you. but there are times when he slips up, times when he doesn’t realize that his words have begun to sting. times when the line becomes blurry, because he knows some part of you enjoys the way he babies you, and sometimes it blinds him to the part of you that doesn’t.)

satoru is smiling. it’s the same as always — big, bright, glazed over with honey-sweet adoration. smug and teasing. it’s such a satoru-like smile that it makes your breath hitch, sometimes, makes your heart race with wonder. but now all it does is annoy you. everything you love about satoru is annoying you, right now. 

in your eyes, that pretty smile of his seems almost taunting. like he’s trying to pick a fight with you, trying to make you even more upset. you don’t want to blow up over something like this, you really really don’t — but for some reason, you feel dangerously close to. it’s not like you at all.

you bore into his eyes with a cold glare, even though you can’t exactly see them with his shades in the way. posture straight and rigid as you try to make yourself look bigger. you must look at least a little bit menacing, like this. right?

“i’m seriously angry with you,” you say, hoping your voice sounds as austere to his ears as it does to yours. “don’t you get that?”

satoru coos, unable to hold the sound back. he doesn’t notice the flicker of hurt in your eyes, only focusing on how the sunset rays frame your figure, kissing your skin with sun-soaked fervor. you look so pretty. and that angry look on your face is too tantalizing not to tease.

“aww,” he croons, inching closer to you. there’s a teasing glint in his eyes that you can’t see, unmistakably fond. “is my little baby that upset?”

you blink. his voice sounds even more sugar-sweet now, obviously exaggerated. there’s amusement there, too — like this is just one big joke to him. you think he must be doing it to belittle you, to embarrass you. speaking to you like you’re some kind of grumpy toddler, and not a grown adult trying to have a serious conversation with their partner. your blood boils, boils, boils.

— and so the cup overflows.

“oh, go fuck yourself.”

it’s almost in a hiss that the words fall from your lips, cold and harsh; they leave the confines of your throat before you have a chance to reconsider them, sudden and sickeningly heavy. crude, too. you’d never be so crass with him under normal circumstances.

but you’re overwhelmed, thoroughly and completely, and satoru is being particularly infuriating. you genuinely feel hurt by the way he’s disregarding your feelings, and that realization stings more than anything. 

so you can’t help but say the words, louder than you meant to, before turning on your heel swiftly and walking out of the room. 

you don’t even have time to register what you’re doing, legs moving on their own before your mind can catch up. brisk and heavy steps carry you to the door, all while you furiously attempt to blink away the tears of frustration that begin to form in your eyes.

it only takes a second for you to grab your jacket — then you’re out.

satoru hears the front door close, echoing off the walls of your apartment. you don’t quite slam it shut, but you close it with more force than usual, and he can’t help but inwardly wince.

a moment passes. 

then, he flops down on the couch, lanky arms and legs dangling uncomfortably off the edges. the groan that slips from his lips is muffled by the soft cushion as he burrows his face into it, while replaying your interaction inside his mind.

satoru can’t help but feel uncomfortable, with this conclusion. a little bit irked. a vague something rests inside his chest, something he doesn’t quite want to admit to feeling. it makes him feel a little bit sick.

(”oh, go fuck yourself.”)

he can’t recall you ever raising your voice at him like that. when it comes to him, you’re usually so patient; soft, understanding, gentle. for you to have snapped in such a way — to have stormed out of the apartment in your anger — he must have pushed you pretty far.

satoru sighs.

he really pissed you off, huh?

(he can never quite seem to get this right, can he?)

it was never his intention to make you genuinely mad. he just lost sight of the line, for a second. that’s all.

and maybe he was also trying to avoid the issue, trying to avoid actually arguing with you. because he hates it. he hates it more than anything. satoru would much rather see you smile and blush than act all serious and sad. 

he just wanted to make you laugh.

was it insensitive? yeah, probably. he just can’t help but fuck this up, it seems. now he’s gone and made you angry — and as much as the sight would usually thrill him, as cute as you look when you’re irritated, a pit of anxiety settles in his gut. everything just feels wrong.

more than anything, satoru feels restless. because, right now, there’s nothing he can do. he can’t chase after you, even if just to apologize — that’d make you even angrier.

he knows he needs to give you space. you were obviously overwhelmed; some fresh air will do you good.

it irks him, though. satoru wants to fix it. he always wants to fix everything, before it even breaks. and even now, all his mind can do is spin in circles, wondering how he could possibly cheer you up.

he’ll just have to apologize, when you get back. and hope you forgive him. maybe he can get you something sweet to munch on, or a bouquet of flowers. would that make everything okay again?

satoru doesn’t know. so he just scratches his head, and tries his damndest not to think of how defeated you looked before leaving.

your steps are heavy, dragging you forward, leading you somewhere you have no knowledge of. it’s chilly out, and the sun is already setting.

everything in the world feels so wrong. like it’s tilted slightly to the left, like the earth stopped spinning around its axis. like everything suddenly lost its saturation. 

you just needed to get away from him, for a while. away from that smug smile, that patronizing tilt of his voice. you couldn’t even stand to be in the same apartment as him. it’s not often you feel that way, not often at all. 

and it only increases your growing frustration. 

you are beginning to calm down, though — you know you are. the crisp evening air and the pleasant mingle of people soothes your muddled senses, smoothing down the crease of your brow and the ache in your chest.

a heavy discomfort, and a growing guilt. that’s all you can feel, as the anger slowly seeps out of you, turning into vapour with every exhale of your breath.

you hate arguing with satoru. you hate it more than anything. the guilt clawing at your chest barely leaves any room for anger — you almost yelled at him. just the thought of doing that to satoru makes you want to cry.

because you love him, at the end of the day, even when he’s being absolutely insufferable. he’s a sweetheart, your sweet boy, always trying to lighten the mood and make you smile. maybe you should have been a bit more understanding; you know satoru’s bad at this stuff, bad with emotions and vulnerability. and deep down, you know he’d never hurt you, not on purpose.

he probably just didn’t realize that you were genuinely upset. it’s a mistake that anyone could make.

but it just makes you feel so frustrated. like he’s not even looking at you. always hiding behind those shades, never opening up. never letting you see him wear anything but a smile. you want him to take it slow, open up to you at his own pace, but that doesn’t make the wait sting any less.

it’s not like you were asking for a lot. first, you simply asked him to pick up after himself. the way you do, the way anyone does. then, you simply asked him to treat you with respect.

a sudden pang of bitterness runs through your chest. sure, you could’ve handled it all better — but he could have, too.

every step you take hits the pavement with an irritated kind of decision. whatever. whatever. for now, you don’t want to think about it — all you want is to walk around and take in the sights, enjoy the peace and quiet.

so that’s exactly what you do.

before you know it, the sun has set, and the moon has risen — shining down and painting the streets in a mesmerizing blue, ephemeral and tranquil. it’s enough to give you some peace of mind, as you lurk around familiar streets, soaking in all the open space. so different from that suffocating apartment, and the man inside it, with that shit-eating grin and those breathtaking eyes.

(he’s called you, a couple times. you haven’t been gone for long — an hour or so, you think, maybe two. some part of you wanted to answer, just to hear his voice through the phone, but the part of you that’s still awfully irritated shut that down immediately. so, stubbornly, you just let it ring.)

the streets are empty, and the sky is dark. the light of all the lampposts illuminate your way, along with the soft flicker of the moon and stars. an endless galaxy stretches out before your eyes, little pale dots of stardust shining like jewels.

an ever-lasting, never-changing sky, that continues on for infinity. limitless. all the space you could possibly want, and then some.

for a moment, you can only look at the glittering stars in wonder, soaking in the feeling of absolute solitude. 

— it doesn’t last, though.

“you alone?”

a sudden voice calls out from behind you. close, discerningly so, enough to make you flinch. you curse yourself for not noticing anything sooner, caught up in looking at the starry sky, in angling your phone to take a picture of it.

hesitantly, you turn your gaze towards the sound — wincing under your breath when you see the man a couple steps away from you. he looks a little crazed, you think, shifting from foot to foot and hunching over. 

oh fuck no.

great, just what you needed. that’s just your luck, isn’t it? your brain can only spin in circles, trying to get your body to react, to run. to do literally anything except just stand there like a deer caught in headlights.

in your nervosity, all you manage is a painfully awkward laugh, as you stutter out a halfhearted response.

“oh — no, i’m just waiting for my boyfriend!” you smile, unconvincingly. your face must be soaked in unease. whatever he wants with you, it can’t be anything good.

at least you said that one word clearly — boyfriend. you can only hope it’s enough to scare him away.

but the man only shifts a little more, emitting a gruff kind of hum, not saying anything else. your spine tingles with apprehension. every cell in your body wants you to leave. he seems a little intoxicated, you think, and the thought only stirs the anxious feeling in your chest further.

god. why does this have to happen to you? why now?

thankfully, you’ve got your phone in hand. as your mind scrambles for solutions, your fingers tap at the screen, urgently scrolling through your contacts. in such a frightened state, your acting must be positively awful, but you make a vague attempt. not like you’re getting any oscars for this, either way.

“sorry — he’s calling me now!” you stammer out, taking a step away from the man. he doesn’t make a move to follow you, so you take your chances and press your phone to your ear, feet carrying you forward with haste.

in your fear, you don’t think twice about calling satoru — but you can’t help but internally wince at the decision, as the anxious patter of your own heart resounds in your ears.

how are you supposed to talk to him, exactly? what are you supposed to say? hey, i know i just told you to go fuck yourself, but will you hear me out? i need your help. 

and you do. you do need his help. all you want is for him to swoop in, to take you in his arms, your knight in shining armor.

satoru’s said it to you, before — that if you need anything, anything at all, you can come to him. that you can always, always lean on him, without exception. 

you know that he likes helping you. likes it when you open up to him, when you put your trust in him. when you aren’t afraid to ask for his help.

so despite everything, you hold your phone to your ear, walking away with brisk steps and praying that he’s not petty enough to ignore your call like you did to his.

back home, satoru is still resting on the couch, tapping his feet and trying to distract himself. 

he’s a little anxious. it’s dark out, and you’re not answering any of his calls. when you’re out of sight, like this, he can’t help but feel a little helpless — worried about everything that could happen to you. but it’s not like he can force you to pick up. 

you’re probably at a friend’s house, or something. telling them all about what an asshole your boyfriend is. as much as the thought stings, satoru hopes it’s true; it’s all he can comfort himself with. anything is fine as long as you aren’t out walking alone, in the cold, in the dark.

entirely caught up in his spiralling thoughts, satoru almost flinches when the phone rings. laying on the table in front of him, just within arm’s reach. it only takes a second for him to react as his gaze flits to the bright screen, and he sees the contact name, the many heart emojis littering it.

with a start, satoru jumps up. his back straightens out, and his hand flies to grab the phone — he’d feel embarrassed at his own eagerness, but right now he just can’t help it. even under ordinary circumstances, he wouldn’t let the phone ring more than twice, always giddy to hear your voice whenever possible. 

this time, however, he does falter slightly.

he takes a split second to simply stare at the phone in his hand, at the affectionate contact name. what is he supposed to say to you, exactly? how is he supposed to act?

satoru doesn’t know, but as if afraid that you’ll change your mind and stop the call, yourself, he opts to simply answer. he’ll just have to figure out what to say on the fly.

(unfortunately, satoru’s instinctual response to anything is either smugness or playfulness.)

“well, well. look who finally decided to pick up.”

you’re the one who called him, not the other way around — but satoru can’t be bothered with small details like that right now. he only hopes you don’t notice the faint nervosity in his voice, the stiffness as he tries to sound unbothered.

you don’t notice anything at all, mind far too muddled, too clouded by fear. all you can do is take a deep breath, desperately trying to grasp control over your wavering voice.

“— satoru?” you call out, voice meek and frail. the man in question notices it immediately, sitting up a little straighter, but before he can say anything you continue. “i’m sorry, i just — are — are you still at home?”

there’s an anxious tilt to your voice, one that’d be impossible for satoru to miss. your words are a little breathy, spoken in a fast tempo, and he feels a sudden dread crawl up his spine.

something is wrong, his senses alert him.

“yeah,” he hums, trying to hide the turmoil in his own voice. “why? is everything okay?”

the line is quiet, for a second. “it’s just —“ an exhale, as you once again attempt to steer your voice in a less nervous direction. “just… some creepy guy tried to talk to me. i told him i was waiting for my boyfriend and now i’m walking away from him but he’s still following me.” another exhale, as you worriedly sneak a glance over your shoulder. ”i just — i don’t know what to —”

“where are you?”

satoru cuts you off, voice eerily serious. his gaze turned cold the moment he heard creepy guy, legs moving him towards the coat rack by the front door as if on autopilot. 

he’s already left the apartment by the time you answer, looking around you meekly.

“i… don’t know,” you sigh. “i’m not far. i walked past that one crêpe stand by the park but then i, like… continued up that street? and now i don’t really know where i’m going.”

you continue, a little exasperated as your gaze flits around the dark street. attempting to recall your steps, a difficult task with how on edge you feel. “i’ll try to look for a sign, or something,” you gulp. “… i’m sorry. i just wanted to get away from him.”

satoru’s voice is comforting, when he speaks, eager to console you. grounding and soft. “hey, it’s okay. i’m heading there now, alright?” he smiles, hoping you’ll hear it in his voice. “i’ll be there before you know it.”

you do hear it, and his words ease a little of the anxiety in your chest, despite your fear. “okay.” 

the line grows quiet, again, and your brows furrow in worry. “can — can i keep talking to you?” you ask, uncertain. a little pitiful. ”please?”

“of course,” satoru answers, instantaneous. he’s already making his way towards the crêpe stand with decision in his steps, mentally scanning the area ahead. despite his own anxiety at the situation, he attempts to sound as secure as he can possibly manage, desperate to soothe the worry in your voice.

“try to relax for me, okay? nobody’s gonna hurt you. not while i’m here.”

his words are absolute, as he consoles you. he sounds so sure of himself, so much that you can’t help but believe in his words. so you nod, emitting a weak hum when you remember he can’t see you.

“can you tell me what you see, baby?”

“uhh…” you look around, blindly, trying to find some sort of meaningful hint around you. “there’s like… some toy shop?” 

satoru only hums. “can you check your location on your phone?” 

you blink. 

of course. why on earth didn’t that cross your mind before? 

“oh — yeah — fuck. i’m sorry. i don’t know why i didn’t —“ you sigh, heavy. “hold on.”

following satoru’s instructions swiftly, your gaze scans over the screen. he waits, patiently, already heading past the park and up ahead. as soon as you succeed in finding the name of the street, you echo it to him.

satoru sighs, a little relieved. “okay,” he hums. “i’m not that far away. i’ll be there soon.” he only hopes his words can soothe your fear, even a little. “is he still following you?”

you glance behind you, and meet the gaze of the stranger. just like you were afraid of, he’s still following you — if anything, he seems to have gotten a little closer. with a jolt, your heartbeat picks up.

“yeah,” you gulp. 

satoru’s chest tightens. he emits a low hum. “just hold on. i’ll hurry.”

focusing only on the tilt of satoru’s voice, you try to calm your breathing. you just want to see him. the thought of doing so is the only thing keeping your trembling ribcage intact, at this point. 

you swallow a shaky breath.

“thanks, toru.”

a sudden pang of ache sprouts in satoru’s chest, like thorny vines curling around his ribcage. his heart hurts. you sound so scared, so very small. 

this is all his fault, he thinks. all of it. he got too careless; none of this would’ve happened if he had only been more considerate. if he had just stopped you from leaving and apologized, or hadn’t upset you in the first place. then he wouldn’t have to hear that scared little voice, wouldn’t have to imagine your body shaking like a leaf in the cold night. so far away from him. 

but satoru can’t beat himself up over it, not yet. there’ll be more than enough time for that later. for now, he needs to get to you — that’s the only thing on his mind.

so he lets his feet carry him forward, running towards your location with bated breath. he’s sure you can hear it, through the phone, even though he tries to contain it.

the sound consoles you, if anything. it reminds you that satoru is there, that he’s on his way. that there’s no need to be scared. 

but you can’t help but freak out, a little, when you hear the man call out from behind you.

“hey!” he slurs, stumbling towards you with unsteady steps. his voice is loud, angry, and it sends your mind reeling into panic mode.

a flinch overtakes your body, before you stumble forward, walking even faster than before. you’re almost running now, breath hitching as you gulp. satoru hears it all — your panic, the echo of the man. his own tempo picks up.

“baby, calm down, okay?” he consoles you, voice concerned and honey-sweet. “just keep walking. i’m almost there.”

“sorry —“ you squeak out, between flurry breaths. breathing uneven, laboured and anxious. but you try your best to calm down. “‘s just scary.”

it almost feels physical, the way it irks him. satoru wants to pull you close, more than anything, but he can’t. and that just makes the calamity inside his chest grow, clawing at his ribcage as if trying to escape, to go to your side. 

(he never, ever wants to hear that kind of fear in your voice again.)

“i know,” he soothes. “you’re doing good, honey. listen — he’s not gonna touch you. i won’t let him. you have nothing to be scared of.”

you nod, even as you exhale a shaky breath. ”i know.” 

and you do. you know there’s a truth, to satoru’s words, one that’s never failed you before.

because satoru is your safe space, at the end of the day — he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and sometimes he’s bad with emotions. but he tries, you know he does. and, more than anything else, you know that he’ll always, always be there when you need him. he’ll always be there to protect you. 

and a part of you is sure that everything will be okay, as long as he’s around.

(it’s easy to forget how trustworthy satoru really is, how much he cares. how dependable he is. and how serious he can get, when he truly needs to be, despite his childishness. it’s moments like these that remind you of that.)

but it’s still scary, at the end of the day. you can’t help but feel uncomfortable, a little lost in the world. because you and satoru just fought, you just told him to go fuck himself, and yet here he is. running to your side, in the middle of the night, because you’re scared and alone and you need him.

the man continues to shout, behind you, muttering curses you can’t quite make out. you look over your shoulder nervously, steps hurried.

and satoru runs like a man possessed, through the moonlit streets, gaze scanning the area like a wild beast. his most visceral instinct is screaming at him, tugging at his flesh and bones, desperate to protect you. to comfort you. to wash all your worries away. 

as he makes a sharp turn, he momentarily stops the movement, halting to look around. he thinks he must look a little crazed, with the moonlight illuminating his eyes, but he couldn’t care less.

especially not when his gaze lands on a certain person, further down the street — small and alone.

your eyes meet his.

with the darkness of the street, it’s hard to make anything out, but the light of the lamppost helps. though even without it, satoru’s sure he’d know it was you, just from the sensation that unfurls in his chest as his gaze lands on your figure. 

an audible sigh of immense relief falls from his lips, and his tense shoulders relax, eyes softening just a tad. he hears a similar noise coming from the phone in his grasp, and he assumes that means you recognize him too. not bothering to end the call, he puts it in his pocket, walking over to you with brisk steps. 

you stumble towards him, yourself, the worried crease between your brows now smoothed away. the closer he gets, the faster you move, until you can see the blue of his eyes. two pocket-sized moons.

satoru swoops you in for a hug before either of you can say anything.

he cradles you close, awfully close, so close you can hear his heavy breathing against your ear. it tickles your neck, along with his soft hair, and you shiver. his fragrance envelops your senses, a blend between fresh laundry, strawberries and some expensive cologne. your favorite scent in the world. 

and suddenly, the world is devoid of danger. nothing can get to you while satoru’s there. all that exists is you, and him, and the soft flicker of the moon.

satoru squeezes you tightly, ensuring himself over and over again that you’re safe. he might be squeezing you a little too tight, but he can’t bring himself to think about that just yet.

finally, that growing calamity inside his chest is satiated. winding down at the feeling of you pressed up against him, the indisputable proof that you’re okay. with you in his arms, satoru feels like everything is alright, again.

the fear inside his chest, so foreign it leaves him shaken to the very core, finally begins to dissipate too. he doesn’t think there’s anything that makes him feel quite as hopeless as the thought of not being there for you when you need him. he never wants to feel that fear again. it’s suffocating. it crushes his lungs.

all he can do is hold you close, his big palm smoothing down your hair, the back of your head, your spine. warm and comforting. keeping you steady against him. he can feel your heartbeat, rapid and anxious, so fast that his heart aches. satoru is eager to soothe you, eager to make it go away.

”i’m here, baby,” he breathes, rubbing his cheek against the side of your head. ”you’re safe now.”

the words are spoken softly, right by your ear, and you exhale a shaky breath. you’re bundling up his clothing with your fists, anchoring yourself to him. after a little while, you let go, opting to wrap your arms around his midriff instead. nuzzling into his broad chest, you try to blink away your tears and contain your sniffles.

you nod against him, and satoru kisses the crown of your head.

and, finally, his gaze strays. it falls farther down the street, until it lands on a certain man — shifting from one foot to another. watching you both in silence.

the calamity inside his chest rouses from its slumber, once more.

satoru makes sure to keep his hands on you, still rubbing your back with one steady palm cradling the back of your head. keeping your face hidden in his chest, safe and secure.

then he raises his head, back straight, full height on display as his eyes meet the stranger’s. he can tell they do, even with the distance, the darkness of the street.

and satoru knows he looks menacing. he knows the light of the lamppost illuminates his figure perfectly, framing his tall stature and broad shoulders. and he knows the moonlight caressing his skin illuminates his face, his cold eyes — blue and uncanny, glowing even brighter than the moon. staring daggers into the man’s soul. if looks could kill, there wouldn’t even be any remains left to find.

the man stiffens, visibly, and satoru delights in it. he doesn’t leave, though, and for a second satoru wonders if he’s really intoxicated enough to come closer — 

but, sure enough, all he does is stagger a little. then he walks away, grumbling under his breath, hands in his pockets.

and satoru isn’t satisfied, with this conclusion. not in the slightest. he wants to run up to the man, wants to hold him up by the throat, wants to tell him off. because he has the nerve to terrorize someone like that, stalk them with intentions he knows can’t be anything but revolting. the nerve to do that to you, of all the people in the world —

satoru doesn’t know if he’s hated anyone quite as much. 

and a part of him wants to make him cower. make him fear for his life, just to make sure he never does anything like this again. leave him with a fear so great it’ll linger for as long as he’s alive.

(and a more animalistic side of satoru, one he doesn’t want to acknowledge, wants to do things that are much, much worse.)

— but you come first. without question, and without exception. he refuses to leave you alone, and refuses to make you look at the man for even a second more. 

so he’ll focus on you, entirely.

he can tell you’re still shaken up, heartbeat pulsating against him, little flutters of life prickling his skin. there’s a desperation in the way you hug his waist, like he could disappear at any moment. like he’ll slip away if you don’t keep him close. the sight tugs at satoru’s heartstrings. 

his first priority is to soothe you, always and forever. so that’s exactly what he does.

satoru smiles. it’s small, in the wake of the situation, but awfully sincere. fingers reaching down to trace over your jaw, he gently urges you to look at him; when you do so, hesitant, he cups your cheek with his palm.

your teary eyes feel like daggers to his heart, an unmistakable proof of his failure. his failure to protect you, to keep you safe and happy. but at the same time, he’s glad, from the bottom of his heart — that you’d let him see you like this. even after everything.

you look very meek, blinking the tears away as you look into his eyes. they’re bright, and comforting. you wonder if he left the shades at home, if he rushed over here so hurriedly that he didn’t think to bring them with him. you’re happy, in any case — the effect they have on you is undeniable. 

you can’t bring yourself to look away, consoled by the flickers of white inside his irises, like fluffy clouds in the blue sky. ever-lasting, never-changing.

satoru tilts his head, smile sweet and understanding. ”that was scary, hm?” 

his voice is tender, somehow so mature. like he’s some older, wiser being, comforting a scared child. it’s so soothing, so very grounding.

squeezing your eyes shut, you can only bring yourself to nod, as you nuzzle back into his chest.

”you’re okay now, honey,” satoru coos, smoothing down your back as you sniffle. an immense softness seeps through his whisper. ”i’ll always be here to protect you.”

there’s a truth to the statement, heavy and pious. like an oath, a pledge, something for you to believe in unquestioningly. you allow yourself to soak in the words, knowing them to be true.

you’re safe, now. there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore. satoru’s here, and he’s hugging you, pressing kisses against your shoulder.

but you just can’t stop crying.

when you speak up, your voice is weak, barely above a whisper. close to breaking apart at the seams. too tired after everything to resist the guilt inside your veins, you sniffle, and part your lips.

”i’m sorry i yelled at you.”

satoru stills.

then, his gaze softens, considerably. he hears himself coo, softly, palm smoothing down the back of your head. 

his sweet angel. apologizing to him, when he’s the one who started this whole mess. when you’re still so shaken up. because he let you leave the house angry, because he made you angry in the first place. because he didn’t see how important the discussion was to you.

(“you’re not even listening.”)

yeah. he wasn’t. he didn’t really want to.

an acute sense of shame. an intense guilt. that’s what he’s been trying to push down, all this time. that’s the unnamed something. 

it’s hard for him. to be as sincere as you, as open with his feelings and emotions. as mature. because even in a situation like this, you can swallow your pride and frustration, and apologize. even when you aren’t in the wrong. you’re always the bigger person, always the one to give in first, because he’s too stubborn to do so himself.

next time, satoru pledges, he won’t let you. next time he’ll be the one to swallow his pride.

because, yes, being vulnerable and admitting that he was in the wrong makes him feel a little like he’s being skewered alive — but you’re important to him. he loves you. and he wants you to know how much he trusts you, how special you truly are. 

if he can show you that, by being a little sincere, a little serious, then any discomfort he feels in the process is a small price to pay.

satoru’s lips meet the crown of your head, as he encircles your smaller frame, arms reaching around your neck to pull you close. he rests his jaw lightly on the top of your head, breathing in your scent. ”you have nothing to apologize for, baby.”

a pause lingers between the words he’s already said and the ones he yearns to say, but can’t seem to pull out from within his throat. it takes effort, to squeeze them out; but every time he replays your own apology in his mind, it gets a little easier. he squeezes you lightly before opening his mouth, as if to give him strenght.

“i’m sorry.”

you blink. 

for once, satoru sounds sincere when he apologizes — almost painfully so. bordering on something you think may be nervosity. you try to look up, to catch a glimpse of his expression, but he keeps you hidden in the crook of his neck.

”i was being immature,” he continues, sighing. you don’t know if you’ve ever heard satoru sound so uncomfortable. ”you know how bad i am with this stuff. but i never want to — you know.” 

he makes a gesture with one of his hands, as if that will say the words for him.

“— i didn’t mean to upset you. honestly.” satoru inhales the cold air, in hopes it’ll make him more honest. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

you listen. intently, not missing a word, not a single tilt of his voice. it all sounds so genuine, almost foreign on his tongue. satoru seems to be trying to find the right words, grumbling a little under his breath. 

he’s cute, like this. kind of awkward, but that only makes him cuter. you nuzzle closer to him, comforted by his very existence.

”… i’ll work on it,” he whispers, at last. “i’ll listen to you. i promise. i really, really will.” 

you think satoru’s voice wavers, just a little, when he says his final piece. 

“so please don’t cry.”

this time, satoru doesn’t stop you when you attempt to lift your gaze, loosening his arms around you and raising his head from where it rests on top of yours. 

your eyes meet. satoru is smiling, weakly. he tilts his head, looking at you with something you could only ever describe as love.

”okay?”

such a lovely smile. so painfully genuine. his eyes are on full display, shining in the dark of the night, like splotches of moonlight. like someone stole the moon down to earth, and carved out little pieces to put in his irises. an ethereal hue.

he’s so gorgeous. hair just a tad messy, tousled from all the running he did to get here. cheeks a little red from the cold. when he smiles, his eyes crinkle. but he looks almost pained. 

(he was so, so worried.)

blinking away the tears clinging to your lashes, you simply stare, entirely mesmerized by the sight. satoru’s thumb goes to wipe at your glassy eyes, smoothing away the drops that threaten to fall. you want to engrave his expression into your memory, so you can never forget it. but it’s just a little too much.

so you hide in his chest, once more. the word that falls from your lips is tiny. “okay.”

satoru smiles, kissing the top of your head with a relieved exhale. bathing in your presence, still reeling from his show of vulnerability. he feels a little like he just cut himself open, let you peek inside his ribcage. the night air stings his skin. 

but you’re so warm, hugging him tightly, breathing and heartbeat finally relaxed. 

(he doesn’t mind it, not if it’s you — having you look inside his chest. if you asked, he’d let you build a shelter there. right between his fourth and fifth ribs.)

now that the words are out of his throat, they don’t burn at all. satoru feels a little silly, for being so scared to say them out loud. he knows you’d never use them against him.

all you do is snuggle closer, as if silently conveying your forgiveness.

you stand there for just a little while longer, wallowing in the tender atmosphere. finally, satoru makes a move to leave, and you begin to walk back home.

“sure you’re okay now, baby?”

you nod, exhaling a flurry breath. it turns into vapour in the cold of the air, drifting up and dissipating in the expanding starry sky. “yeah. thanks for coming so quickly.”

“of course,” satoru only says, choking back a yawn. 

your hands are intertwined, and he’s halfheartedly swinging them back and forth. it soothes your anxiety, and satoru’s protective instincts. you know neither of you will slip away, like this.

you shiver a little, subconsciously inching closer to satoru to protect you from the harsh bite of the midnight breeze. he notices, giving you a glance and a tilt of his head. “you cold?” 

“just a little,” you mutter, smiling weakly as you look up at him. ”i’m fine.”

satoru huffs. did you really think he’d be dissuaded by such a weak retort? there’s no way he’s letting you walk around all cold and shivering. 

so you come to a standstill, as satoru begins to shrug off his coat. he refuses to let go of your hand for even a second, making the process slower than usual — your heart flutters a little, as his fingers curl around yours, delicately. 

when he finally gets it off him, he wastes no time in draping it over your shoulders. it’s big on you, warm and soft, shielding you from the chilly air. satoru can’t help but giggle sheepishly, as he always does at the sight — you look so cute. 

“c’mon. let’s go home,” he grins, ruffling your hair teasingly.

satoru doesn’t feel cold, not in the slightest, as he holds your hand tightly. just your presence is enough to warm his bones to the marrow.

the silence between you is comforting and soothing, as you continue to walk. hand in hand, admiring the starry sky. you’re both too tired to speak — but satoru does so, anyway.

“i meant it, y’know.” satoru sounds sleepy, but earnest. ”i really will work on it.”

he doesn’t look at you when he says it, yawning softly and stretching his free arm. gaze fixed on the morning star. 

“oh.” you pause, squirming a little. sheepish. “thank you. i’m sorry that i — i mean.” a sigh. “i probably overreacted a little.”

satoru shakes his head, waving off your guilt. “nah. you’re right. i never want you to feel like i’m not taking you seriously.”

his gaze meets yours, tentatively. his eyes shine like wedding rings. “you mean a lot to me.”

the sincere words manifest themselves as a heavy pressure to your chest, closing in on your heart as if crushing it. it’s a pleasant sensation, though, overwhelming as it is. you’re a little scared that your knees will buckle if he keeps this up, but even if they do, you wouldn’t want him to stop — satoru’s love is terrifically overwhelming when there’s nothing to hide it, when it’s just love and nothing else.

but you’d never reject it. you’d let it crush you to death with a smile on your face.

all you can do is avert your gaze, afraid that you’ll fall into the blue sea of his eyes if you don’t. heavy thumps of blood resound in your ears as your heart beats, warmth spreading throughout your entire body.

“… you mean a lot to me, too.” you echo, holding his hand just a little tighter. warmth rises to your cheeks. “i just felt really frustrated, i guess. like you were looking down on me. i know you weren’t actually, though.”

satoru chews at the inside of his cheek, almost anxiously. “i know i can be a little much sometimes,” he says, tasting the words on his tongue. “and i appreciate you for putting up with that. i’m sorry i let it go too far. i’ll be more considerate.”

your heart stutters in your chest. you’re not sure what to say — the way he forms his words makes them feel so absolute. and you believe him.

“i’ll be more considerate, too,” you echo, looking down at the pavement. “i shouldn’t have blown up like that.” a pause. you mumble, quietly, a little embarrassed. “i shouldn’t have told you to go fuck yourself.”

satoru breathes out an amused huff, chuckling lightheartedly. his eyes carry a teasing glint when they meet yours. “i probably deserved that. no worries.”

“still,” you pout. satoru giggles. 

“we’ll both work on it, then,” he hums, tilting his head to find your gaze. “right?”

you blink. a small smile breaks out across your face. “right.”

satoru swings your hands back and forth, looking awfully happy with himself. you’re proud of him. really.

“oh —“ he says, breaking the sleepy silence once again. “and i’ll stop leaving wrappers around, too.”

this time, you’re the one who huffs out an amused breath. “thank you,” you grin, looking up at him. he thinks the sight is terribly precious.

a yawn leaves your lips, drowsiness sneaking its way into your bloodstream. you’re not sure if it’s due to the dark, or if you’re just a tad exhausted after all the arguing and panicking.

satoru notices, and gets an idea.

“you tired, baby?” he coos, eyes teasing but soft around the edges. “d’you want a piggyback ride?” 

when you give him a look, sleepy and kind of exasperated, satoru grins. you huff out an amused breath, just a tad embarrassed, but it only spurs him on.

so he crouches down, one knee meeting the pavement, letting your hand slip from his. you blink, tiredly, at the loss of contact. you can’t see his face, but you know he’s wearing that lovesick, smug little grin of his. 

”c’mon. your big, strong boyfriend’ll carry you.”

satoru’s feeling playful, you can tell. that’s usually a bad sign — but you can’t deny that you’re tired. and the prospect of getting carried all the way home is eerily tempting. 

your gaze falls on his back, and his broad shoulders. silently, you walk towards him, and wrap your arms around his neck. satoru holds you up by your thighs, and then stands up, jostling you a little; he does so without a hitch, and you’re reminded of how strong he really is. his grip is secure, and you trust him not to drop you, no matter what. 

you let out a content sigh, basking in the chill of the midnight air as you nuzzle your cheek against his soft hair. satoru chuckles.

”my sleepy lil’ sweetheart,” he coos, voice a tad raspy. ”lucky thing you’ve got me, huh?”

there’s a softness to his voice, despite the teasing tilt obscuring it. you can only huff out a breath, somewhere between a chuckle and a scoff, and cling to him tighter.

satoru will get you home safe. he can be annoying, outright insufferable, and he can be bad with emotions — but you can always, always trust him on that. 

so, with his coat shielding you from the chilly air, and his back warming you up as he carries you back to your apartment, you allow your eyes to flutter shut; enjoying the cozy feeling his presence brings you.

he’ll always be there when you need him.

[paradlselost]

ATONEMENT —

noir x fem!reader x homelander

⎨ 𝐀𝐍 ⎬ based on this ask from a little while ago . sorry it’s taken so long , i got a second job and i’ve been really busy </3 . anyways i’m obsessed with this new layout ; sorry i keep changing it lol . reader is left intentionally vague on whether or not their a supe !

⎨ 𝐂𝐖 ⎬ set sometime in between s3 and s4 , earving lives au . smut : abuse of power , coercion (?) , degrading names used in and out of sex , p in v , oral ( m receiving ) , deep throating , m / r / m pairing , public sex , voyeurism , unprotected sex , cream pie . 2.2k words . NOT BETA READ

His tongue swipes over his front teeth, sucking on them sharply in an attempt to regain some composure. The corners of his mouth twitch back and forth between a pained smile and a deep frown. Hatred brews behind those blue eyes of his, no doubt crafting a punishment in his head.

Poor, stupid doll, it wasn’t your fault now was it? How were you to know the truth of Homelander being Soldier Boys son would send him spiraling? You’re just a girl, after all, naive and stupid. He can see what Earving likes in you, how you look up at him with those innocent eyes.

Corruption flows through his veins like blood, his hand audibly clenching in his glove. Oh, you’ll have to do something pretty sizable to make up for this fuck up, bunny. You’re lucky he didn’t reach in and tear out Noir’s heart, perhaps you would’ve seen the blood pumping to the sound of your voice, or how your name is carved into the organ.

Lucky you, Lucky Earving.

“Look I’m sorry okay? We’re sorry. But don’t you think Vought would kill us if we told anyone?” You still have a smart mouth even when faced with his power, you run your lips like you’re invincible, as if one laser won’t halve you.

“Well he managed to tell you somehow. What? Am I not good enough to have the one thing he knows I want more than anything in the world?” There’s laughter sprinkled into his words, hate-filled and angry. You should tread carefully unless you want to get your pretty self damaged.

Homelander tilts his head to the side like a curious dog, watching as you worry your bottom lip in between your teeth. What answer could you give him? Yes, Earving could’ve told him if he really wanted to; how are you meant to defend your boyfriend's actions?

“You could’ve told me, doll.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what more I can say, you know now and look how it turned out. He didn’t want you.”

“Don’t fucking say that. Keep your goddamn mouth shut.” He advances faster than you expected, gripping your chin to force your mouth closed. The red leather feels hot against your skin, as if he’s burning in rage, seething through every line he speaks.

You can only whimper against his glove, always having hated the nicknames he bestowed on you. Doll, Bunny, Sunshine, a slew of others that he pulled out when he was antagonizing you. Demeaning you. An ant beneath his heel, a weed he hasn’t plucked in his garden quite yet because, despite being a pest, you’re an awfully pretty sight to look at.

So how you got scooped up by someone like Noir is a mystery to him.

“You’re better quiet. ‘Should laser your damn tongue out, won’t be talking much then, huh sweetheart?” He grins, sadistic intent playing on his features as he forces you to shake your head, another whimper escaping through his leathered hand. “Maybe someone should keep it preoccupied, then. I bet you’d look prettier with a cock in your mouth.”

Oh, how his smile only widens when he sees your eyes dilate in fear. Your hands reach up to grab at the leather still covering your mouth; to try and get some words out. Maybe an apology, a pathetic beg, he only shakes his head in response as his other hand grabs the back of your suit, forcing you to walk with him.

“Don’t look so scared, bunny. I won’t do anything to you, dont’cha trust me?” Perhaps his hand over your mouth is a good thing, vile words threaten to fall from your lips - holding nothing but contempt and anger for America’s favorite supe.

At first, you’re not sure exactly where he’s taking you. The halls of Vought Tower are long and winding, and look especially so in the state after Soldier Boys destruction; rebuilding yet empty. Almost liminal. You only manage to get your mind out of shambles as you see the statues of the Seven in front of the door. It’s fleeting, and in a moment you’re pushed onto the cold tile floor of the meeting room.

Noir is beside you in a moment, crouching down to help you back up. He’s gentle as his gloves rake through your hair and gently graze over the little bruise forming on your skin. It’s a complete shift from the red glove that was on you moments ago. Earving makes you feel safe and secure in contrast. He’s your home.

You can hear The Deep suppressing a laugh from his spot at the table, then quickly silencing himself. No doubt getting a look from Homelander. How the mighty have fallen, another empty chair in this ‘team’ as Maeve had disappeared after the big fight. They were falling apart at the seams.

“Go on, put that body to use.”

You blink at the words that cut through the eerie silence of the room, your ears practically ringing trying to pick up on anything they could - so you felt stupid when your brows furrowed in confusion at his command.

“What?”

“You heard me, put your body to use and take Noir’s dick.”

“Huh? Why the fuck would i-“

“Maybe I should just rip his heart out, then. Or are you going to atone?”

Noir is quiet, as always, yet somewhere behind the black mask and balaclava he always wore you could hear his breath catching in his throat. The glove that had been on your face finds its way back, gently taking hold of your chin. It takes a pitiful amount of time for you to realize what he means, that he wants to go along with this. Above everything else, you know self preservation is the most important thing to him.

Again, Homelander could cream his fucking pants at the way you worry your bottom lip between your teeth. His fists clench and unclench at his side, desperate to be the one putting hands on you; running them over your body and tracing every curve and pattern your skin makes. Perhaps he could memorize your fingerprints if he tried hard enough.

“Do these assholes have to be here for it?” The Deep snickers a bit more, his chair moving from side to side as he got a bit more comfortable for the show. A-Train looks a bit mortified, you were never particularly close with Reggie and knew how much of a prick he could be, but every interaction has been at least amicable, so it wasn’t a stretch to say he was a bit uncomfortable being put in this position.

“I’ll leave-…”

“Sit the fuck down, A-Train. No, we’re all going to watch.”

A small yelp at a sudden grasp of your hips, the rough fabric of Noir’s gloves being ingrained in your mind. He’s as gentle as he can be in this situation, it’s not the first time you’ve been put in such an embarrassing position in front of the others. It seemed Homelander had a special hard on for making you the spectacle for the others amusement.

A sigh fell from your lips, partly all too used to this and also smart enough to know he wasn’t playing around. No, he was pissed, and like the man-child he is if he says he’ll tear out Earvings heart, you know it’s not simple empty threats.

It’s nice, regardless. Noir has a way of shutting everything else in the world out - of making it just you and him. His half charred and mangled lips feel nice through the balaclava, pressing gentle kisses against your pulse point as his gloved hands slip down your front.

God, what a whore, leaning back into him like that in front of two powerful supes. And the Deep. Homelander doesn’t bother suppressing his grin as he leans back in his chair. What a good bunny, maybe he’ll have to play this card more. Maybe, in time, that’ll be his hand against your clothed cunt, pressing a digit in and using the leverage of the fabric as friction to make you mewl and squirm.

He could clap his hands together at the sight, like watching an amazing performance. Black gloves travel to grasp at your hips, guiding you forward against the V-shaped table, folding your body over the cool glass. It’s not the first time he’s done this, not the first time the meeting room has been used for this reason; after all, you two have been together for years.

But it is the first time you’ve made eye contact with Homelander while your mute boyfriend rocks his hips forward against yours, grinding into you.

At some point between Earving fumbling to get your suit off and the asshole in the chair re-adjusting himself, the Deep and A-Train were conveniently called away for some reason. It wasn’t organic, part of you knew Homelander somehow told someone to call them, but did you really care? He was kind enough to give you some privacy, you should be grateful, doll.

In some way you are, more so as Noir finally manages to get your clothes out of the way and slots himself behind you. He won’t take off his own suit, you know this, not someplace someone else could see - and someone else is actively seeing, but you won’t complain. Not when the feeling of his cock trailing against your folds is a good excuse to close your eyes and block out the blue ones boring into you.

He offers no prep. It’s not the first time you’ve taken him without it; but it’s rare and still foreign to your body. He knows, being as gentle as possible as he eases himself further and further into you. The stretch makes it feel like the first time all over again, soft tears pricking at your eyes which makes Homelander chuckle more. What a prick.

But you. Oh, you. What a beautiful sight you are to him as he practically blocks out the fact that his only ‘friend’ in the seven happens to be fucking you in front of him. He can imagine it’s him, imagine how sweet you would feel around him. Your breathing picks up, sharp whines and mewls interrupting your panting as the thrusts become deeper.

God, he wants to taunt you. Does that feel good, bunny? Is he reaching that spongy spot? But from the wanton moans that fall from your pretty lips and the way you put your body weight fully onto the table he knows there’s no way he’d get an answer now.

That familiar red glove reaches to grab your hair, at some point the mighty Homelander decided he could no longer sit back and watch, but needed to be a part of your atonement. Eyes fluttering up to watch him fumble single-handedly with his suit, you bite at your bottom lip, stifling moans and whimpers from Noir behind you; threatening to roll your eyes back.

“Can’t let lover boy have all the fun.”

And he doesn’t. Managing to get that part of his suit undone and awkwardly pushing the slit of his red white and blue boxers out of the way, your lips are almost immediately pressed against the tip of his cock. Angry red and weeping, who are you to tell him no? It gets rid of the eye contact, at least; so your lips part to invite him in.

It doesn’t take long for the glass table underneath you to fog up, the sweat accumulating on your body making it easier to rock back and forth with the rhythm of Earving’s thrusts. His black gloves grip your hips harder, almost possessively as he leans down to press his chest against your back, helping to keep you in place. His balaclava is damp from his own sweat and breathing, dog-like panting ringing in your ears.

His hips are stuttering just as Homelander’s head lulls back with the hollowing of your cheeks around him, hands gripping your hair tighter and pushing his cock deeper into your mouth. He loves to make you gag, it seems, hitting the back of your throat as much as he possibly can, using you to milk his leaking cock.

It doesn’t take long, and maybe in some other position you would’ve made a snarky comment about how soon the mighty Homelander came in your mouth, but with your throat coated in white and Noir following not far behind him into your needy cunt, you’re naturally lost for words.

Earving lifts you up and off Homelander, burying his masked face in the crook of your neck and pulling his balaclava up just enough to kiss and mark you like he does after every passionate encounter together. He’s a man of romance, and it feels sweet against your hot skin.

Such a good bunny, so sweet as you lean back against your boyfriend, pretty eyes fluttering closed from exertion. You didn’t get to cum, but you don’t complain, he likes that about you. A good doll should know when to open her mouth and when not to, he just hopes you learned your lesson.

“We’ll have to do it again sometime, yeah sunshine?”

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Can you do more of platonic yandere Stein from soul eater? I think the dynamic you made between him and reader is absolutely hilarious. I can just imagine reader finding out shit from their childhood that was NOT normal at all bc their dad's fucking insane and they just go "welp." with a shrug

Thank you thank you! I loved it a lot too! 🖤🖤🖤

Yandere Father Stein 

Well what can you do 

You already have a lock and key on your chest what worse is there?! 

It might be the tracker he seems to have on you 

Or it might be the vague memory of your birth mother’s surgical demise

Or maybe it’s the way when you fight, he’s somehow perfectly in sync with you

Nothing should surprise you anymore

Only vaguely relating to Maka when you both speak of  your fathers’ stupidity 

“Yeah, he’d just run off to sleaze with whatever woman he could get his hands on. It was so disgusting.”

“My dad is the same. Always sneaking off with whatever poor pet I happened to come across. The absolute creep.”

“...”

“....”

“....Uhm what did he do with the animals?”

“Usually dissected them or experimented with their reflexive muscles.”

“...oh….”

“It's not that bad he let me keep the puppy, y’know after he tweaked it a bit.”

“Right.”

Your friends are all very worried about you 

but what can they do against the greatest meiester of all time

The only one who’s willing to do anything against him is Death’s son

Its a match made of nightmares…..for Stein

This kid is destined to become a being of great power 

And unfortunately, you two always find each other despite Stein’s meddling

“How come I knew you two would be in here?”

“Oh, my Death!? Can’t you leave us alone, for an hour or two geez!”

“Y-y-y-y-your sh-sh-sh-shirt is–”

“Awfully bold of you to touch them in front of me.”

“S-s-s-s-s–s-s-sorry, sir!”

“Don’t apologize, Kid, you don’t have to move your hands at all. Keep them right there!”

Stein himself has said he’s never felt love nor can experience it

And he will say it again and again 

All while nervously turning the screw on his head while he watches you go off with your friends

He doesn’t feel love or compassion

Only madness and insanity 

That’s why he implanted the connected tracker into his body

That’s why he has such a problem with your romantic exploits

That’s why he demands to be the one to wind your crank 

He’s your father

You are his 

And that’s all you both need

[sgiandubh]

Hi!

Fitness Anon here…

On Friday S posted the „Hotel Highball“ video which was obviously recorded in Scotland, not in the US. 

So now „Miss I know it all“ aka Marple rushed to readjust her guessing game and sources about S’s whereabouts. Until the occurrence of this video she claimed he was still in L.A., but now she tells her audience he is back since Thursday… . Because she knows and has proof and facts. Sure? 🤔 It took only a video posted by the „ King of latergrams“ to doubt her own predictions? Is she so easy to unsettle? 

Hopefully right now these are better sources than the ones she claimed to have to indicate what S was up to this weekend and why he couldn’t attend the Con in Birmingham weeks ago. 

But she always keeps it vague so that she can adjust depending on the actual outcome so that it fits into her made-up storyline. 

So, grab your 🍿 and wait what’s up in her  crystal ball next. Perhaps she will also find answers there to the still unresolved question of his IG unfollows and his hair length in order to be able to place the recording of his latest booze video more precisely in time.

Dear, poor (returning) Fitness Anon,

You must have the patience of an angel and put up with me being awfully, rudely late, here. However, and one more time: all of the above, and then some more.

Key quote being: 'But she always keeps it vague so that she can adjust depending on the actual outcome so that it fits into her made-up storyline.'

The beauty of your submission is shining through, here. You sent this to me a week ago (and I do humbly apologize, it's been crazy and yes, life-changing, down here) and yet nothing fundamentally changed, on that page. Same old, same old, not even different. BS presented as factoids, calumny and libel (different things, but they cover it all) towards people that are perceived as personal foes. In my book, to despise someone is to ignore someone, not to actively ill wish on them. Yet the person (a he? a she? doubt is allowed) never got that memo and keeps on victimizing themselves.

At the end of the day, that page reads like an umpteenth season of The Young and The Restless: you can miss I don't know how many episodes, you'll always find your way back to a stalling script.

So, dear Fitness Anon, cue in another round of obsessive talking in circles about S, mendacity on top (Ashley Anon was evidence enough of that and I have to say I was a bit surprised). This, and copying even my mannerisms - hence my complete disdain.

PS: Despina Vandi Anon, you have been waiting for a very long time and I hope you could forgive me for that. This week's audio will be for you. But now, onwards to some cookery. I always found it supremely relaxing for the brain.

[ghostlyeris]

three cheers for sweet revenge

read on ao3

She thinks about him all summer.

She doesn’t want to. If she had her way, Oisín Hakinvar would be nothing more than a ghost to her. But despite her best efforts, Adaine can’t wrangle her thoughts into forgetting him.

Aelwyn’s barreling down the highway, going 90 in a 65. She would be worried if she wasn’t so used to Fig’s driving. At least Aelwyn hasn’t lit the car on fire because “it would look sick”. All she’s trying to do it outpace the Honda Civic in front of them that Aelwyn has declared her nemesis.

“Why are you so miserable?”

Adaine startles, slamming her head against the car window. Aelwyn’s cackle cuts through the air as she settles back down, rubbing her forehead. “Huh?” “You’ve been moping the entire trip.” She doesn’t need to look to hear the eye roll in her voice. “Honestly, I expected you to be more excited about killing mother.”

“I am!” And she means it. Adaine really is looking forward to killing that bitch.

“Then what is–” Aelwyn vaguely waves her hand in Adaine direction. “–this?”

“It’s nothing.” It’s not going to work. She knows before she says it; Aelwyn hunts down emotional vulnerabilities like a bloodhound, tearing through them like tissue paper. But it’s the principal of the matter. Can’t make it too easy on her.

Aelwyn snorts. “Nothing is the reason you’ve been sulking all summer?”

“Sure is.” Adaine slinks down further in her seat. “What else would it be?”

“Well…” Aelwyn starts, and Adaine can already hear the teasing coming. “If I had to hazard a guess, I would say it has something to do with the dragon-born that showed up on Mordred’s steps at the beginning of the summer.”

Busted.

Adaine slouches even further, folding in on herself. She tucks her knees beneath her chin and stares out at the smooth expanse of the highway.

“Seriously, what’s happening there?”

Adaine just groans.

She wishes she could explain. A tight little bundle of neatly packaged thoughts to describe what Oisín had done to her. But that would be too easy.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles into her knees.

“Adaine Abernant, not knowing something? Now that’s a first.”

She whines, low and quiet in the back of her throat. Adaine’s used to being thrown off kilter. Despite anxiety spiraling through every worst-case scenario, she doesn’t react well to surprises, even ones she predicts. But they usually don’t linger with her this long.

“He’s nothing,” she settles on. “No one.”

At least that’s what he should be.

“Awfully lot of thought to be putting into no one.” It is. Too much thought, in fact. “You know, I did hear that little spat the two of you had. It was rather impressive how you turned an apology into a screaming match.”

Adaine chuckles humorlessly. “Worried I’m going to steal your brand?”

“Hardly.” Aelwyn sniffs, slamming on the gas. “No one can out-bitch me. But you were making a solid attempt.”

“He deserves it.”

“I’m sure he does.”

Aelwyn loses focus for a moment as she swerves across three lanes of traffic. A car behind them blares on their horn, and Aelwyn flips them off in response. Despite her moping, Adaine smiles. Her sister is the worst. She loves her so much.

“That Prius is about to discover what a fifth-level spell to the face feels like,” Aelwyn grumbles. “Anyway, do you want me to kill him for you?” Adaine sputters, kneeing herself in the chin as she flails. “What? No, What? Don’t do that!” “Honestly Adaine, you’re impossible to please. Considering the insults you were hurling at him, I thought you would be eager for the opportunity.” She’s got a point. Those insults were particularly viscous. But still…“I don’t want him dead.”

“Don’t you?”

She has to think about it as the question stops her in her tracks. Adaine wants it to be easy; a clear answer either way. She wants to say no, say that she’s moved on from the pain and can live her life without the specter of some boy haunting her mind. She wants to say yes, say that she deserves to make him feel even an iota of the humiliation he inflicted on her before she kills him for good this time.

But it’s never that simple.

“Maybe,” she finally settles on. “I don’t know. He just. He makes it so hard to think.”

Chuckling, Aelwyn cuts off another car. “Crushes often do that. Or so I’ve been told. I’ve never been foolish enough to develop one.”

Foolish. Yeah. That’s the word for it. Adaine’s a fool, developing feelings for such a fucking tool.

(It takes some effort to quiet the part of her mind that whispers about her being the same style of jackass.)

“Yes, you’ve always been the superior one,” she sarcastically replies.

“I certainly am.”

Adaine rolls her eyes before falling back into silence. Aelwyn’s feeling polite enough to let her have the few moments.

“I want to want him dead,” she slowly starts to form the words. “I want to be mad at what he did I want to be mad at the flirting and the magic and the misdirect. I want to be mad because what he did was wrong.” Her voice cracks just a bit. “But I’m not. I’m just mad he did it to me.”

And that’s the crux of it all, wasn’t it? Behind all her intellect and morality that came up with her logical explanations to stay seething, her ego had been bruised. Wounded, even. And months later she still has not recovered.

Aelwyn nods absentmindedly, shifting the gear to pull off a move that is almost certainly illegal. “It’s awful when they’re clever, isn’t it. Hard to appreciate a good plan when it’s being enacted against you.”

Her sister’s perfectly manicured nails tap against the wheel. “So how are you going to humiliate him back?” Adaine blinks. “What?”

“He humiliated you, yes?” Aelwyn draws out the question like she’s speaking to a particularly slow middle-schooler. “And now he’s apologized so you can’t beat him up, but you’re still hurt. So humiliate him back.”

“I don’t want to humiliate him,” Adaine interjects.

Aelwyn raises one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Don’t you?” “…Maybe.”

Aelwyn lets out a long-suffering sigh. “How about this? We’ll spend the rest of this drive brainstorming so I don’t vaporize the Ford Fiat that’s currently begging for it, and if we get back home and you don’t want to do it anymore, that’s also fine I suppose.”

She shoots Adaine a sadistic look. “So? What’s it going to be? Social assassination? Public humiliation? Magical misery? I’m always partial to a good old-fashioned public party failure, but I doubt you have the skills to pull that one off.”

Adaine freezes midway through forming a reply.

She means to tell Aelwyn off. Tell her to quit concocting cruel plans. But her brain’s stuck on something. Something magical.

In between all the anger and the awe as Fabian’s house started to rise, Adaine had looked. Really looked at the spell crafted into all those ping-pong balls. Not just at what it did, but how it did it, how Oisín gad rewritten the language of magic itself to cast the way he needed it to.

Adaine has always been good at languages.

Humiliation, huh? “Yeah. I think I have a few ideas.”

Oisín had stolen her pride. Let’s see how much he likes it when she steals his spell.

[jamneuromain]

Fantasea Friday Week 4

(Is it Week 4 already?)

A/N: Brace yourselves y'all.

Warning: Uhh there's nothing subtle about this so here we go: PISS, Squirt kink. Perv!Ghost

Thinking about thin walls and a bathroom. You drank a venti cup of coffee or coke during the movie and now you were desperate to relieve your bladder as you practically jogged from the cinema to your flat.

You flung the bathroom door open only to find Ghost's back facing you, and a steady stream aiming at the toilet.

Your face instantly went up in flames as your eyes accidentally met his naked ass, his naked back, his naked... body!

"Oh my fucking God! I'm terribly sorry!" You cried out, slamming the door shut.

Ghost huffed out a few low chuckles, finishing up, which was actually, flushing and putting down the toilet seat, because his Mum didn't raise him to be a cunt - and emerging from the bathroom.

You tapped your foot on the ground nervously, eyes refusing to meet his and instead your vision - when he opened the door - was filled with the image of him adjusting his bathing towel that loosely surrounded his waist. And the bulge. That fucking-damn bulge.

"I'm really really sorry but I really have to use the bathroom-" You hastily apologized and dashed into the toilet.

Bladder, emptying. As you let out a shaky exhale.

The bathroom had traces of his previous shower. The runny drain. The awfully rich smell of his either 6 in 1 or 8 in 1 shower gel. The used-up aftershave bottle in the bin.

And the water vapor.

All humid and sticky and masculine.

It reminded you of the sight just now, where you thought you might have had a small peek over the thick -

Perhaps your brain was helpfully piecing the picture together, or altering it, you dared not think further.

Ghost, on the other hand, paused by the bathroom door. He didn't have super hearing but the thin walls didn't do much to block the sound from the inside. The sound of stream hitting the toilet bowl. Your exhale of relief. And the tearing of you snatching the toilet paper.

He vaguely remembered - no, he remembered that you were off to watch a chick flick with your friends. Some romantic movie about the story of a florist and a CEO or some ridiculous shit. Though the glimpse of you was short, he never failed to notice the little details on your face: reddened eyes, pale lips, smeared make-up on your cheek, all pointed to the fact that you cried.

And yet he couldn't help but link the scene from the sound, of you, in the bathroom, with puffy eyes.

Thinking about the way that you could make the same little noises on his tattooed arm, the way you would gush from his fingers, wetting the sheets...

"Simon?" You spoke up hesitantly, after hearing a cough from the otherside of the bathroom door.

Shoot. Busted. Simon - Ghost - Simon cleared his throat again, after choking on his own spit just now, trying his best not to sound like a eavesdropping perv from imagining the filthiest sex with his friend - you.

"Yeah, um, meaning to ask you, I'm heading out in five. Do you need anything else beside this grocery list on the fridge?"

Real smooth, Simon Riley, really smooth.

He cursed himself silently.

[originalgenshinscenarios]

That was a long ask so I'm making this into a separate post! I really love this idea so I hope I did it justice!

Miko being scared that she's not treating her S/O right

Reader here is gender neutral

Cw: mentions of manipulation, possessiveness

She's often awfully aware of her manipulation. Almost like everything is a game to her, especially human emotions she just loves toying with.

Knowing about it, there was one question that invaded her mind. She didn't know the answer but she didn't think she even wanted to know it.

Is your love any different? She's amused whenever she gets a strong reaction form you. She always tries to trick you into spending some extra time together... Well mostly its just excuses and you don't always use them but that's still something.

She always thought that having someone wrapped around her finger was fun... But the idea of you not wanting to spend time with her out of your free will was something that terrified her.

Because eventually opening your eyes and leaving her at that point would just be a matter of time.

She wanted to apologize. She wanted to promise she'll do better... But it'd only speed up the process of you realizing the mistreatment. On the other hand pretending like she's doing nothing wrong would be even worse.

So she tried to ask vaguely "Do I make you happy Y/N?" there was a tint of guilt in her voice, something you've never heard from her before.

"What's this about?" you decide to not go around the topic. It didn't make Miko falter though "Just wondering if I'm treating you right. I do often lie to get what I want after all" her honesty was something that surprised her more than it did you "Does that make me bad? Undeserving of you even?"

"If you're worrying about it, then you aren't a bad person. Bad people don't care about this kind of thing" you bluntly answer "Besides I see through your lies. We've been together for quite some time" adding that made Miko feel like she's the one getting teased for once.

She only chuckled "Of course you do" feeling like she feel for you once again. Perhaps she was wrong, maybe you were the one who had her wrapped around your finger all along?

~Mod Lisa

[aurora-van-vana]

Can I ask some lore about your project? 😗

I was really interested in what it is and what it is eaten with

*goes feral*

Ah yes, of course I can share some details with you about our lovely little project.

First off, (not necessarily lore,) it is heavily in development, and we have a discord server with like 6 amazing people (mostly artists) helping me make the show a reality.

In said show we are planning to discuss various harsh topics and discuss many ongoing issues within life and the child upbringing, adding many colorful and musical themes to go along with such dark themes. Do not mistake this for a depressing show, for it all has a light and beautiful purpose. This is being created to comfort and help children, though an older audience will be expected and cared for; as long as it’s not at the expense of the children, of course. Perhaps a more appropriate version of DHMiS, if you are chronically online.

I have been approached by several people that insist I make it much more like Welcome Home or DHMIS, of which is still being considered.

Mr. Smith is a heavy bit of the lore, both being one of the mains and one of my first characters written. (He did indeed have a love interest being written, but he was scrapped; much to Mr. Smiths dismay.) not all of our characters have been posted about or announced, so keep an eye out for them!

The lore is awfully vague and hidden, due to the fact that I want it to come out with a bang and be a fresh new beginning; the likes of which people haven’t seen. I apologize deeply for my vagueness.

It is eaten with breadcrumbs and a 52 year old polish cheese, but only if it has been blessed by a goat. (but it is not goat cheese.)

I hope you stick around, we have much more coming your way!!!

—Van Vana

[queen-of-elves]

Hello! I've seen you take requests, and I've seen you write Star Wars, so... Can you write something Hux X Admiral of the Resistance! Reader? (or Leia's personal assistant?) (I like the idea of the First Order and the Resistance linking) Where the FO capture her as she is strategically important and she is very cold, caustic and professional. And Hux (already a spy😳) understands that he must help her get out, and something clearly arises between them😏 ... I know this is awfully vague, but if you can... Sorry this is so long and weird💕🙏

The Vice Admiral

A/N: awww I love this 💕 hopefully I did your idea the justice T-T and I do have to apologize for it taking so long- life happened I guess + I often times dont really write when it's summer

A/N2: REQUEST ARE OPEN however I have some wips I would like to get out so they also might take some time

Words: 2650

Warnings: cursing, mentions of torture? inform me if you find some more

It was not in your intentions to get caught but atleast Dameron and others got away with the data you were sent by General Organa to retrieve from one of loyal Resistance informants. It was meant to be something you had already done a million times. Simply land on the planet, locate the informant with the data, retrieve it and go back to the main base. Sometimes it was more simple than others but you were brave and you were smart, plus the great pilot, Poe Dameron, by your side was an upgrade from the scary solo missions you used to receive before moving up ranks in the Resistance.

However, this time, oh Maker, this time it was a shit show. Everything that could get fucked up turned out to be even bigger mess than you could ever imagine. The excellent ship Poe promised? At first glance you thought your disguise was scavengers. Fine, you could deal with a crappy ship in exchange for Poe’s actually excellent piloting skills but the ride was bumpy. However, some asteroid fields couldn’t stop you and Dameron from collecting the needed data for the Resistance. What could stop you though was the ship going kaput on Poe which meant you being late for the exchange, which meant more trouble and more trouble could only mean the First Order being tipped off. Yes, big shit show indeed. By the time you landed and got your asses to the meeting spot the First Order was already ready to arrest you.

***

Maker, if you had a few more seconds you could have already escaped the binds keeping you still but with the door sliding open you had no seconds to spare. The figure strided inside and you immediately recognized him. And you knew you were in trouble, if the one conducting the interrogation was any other lower ranking officer you were sure you could escape one way or another. But with him, you were not entirely sure.

“Vice Admiral Sloane.” His voice was commanding, bouncing off the metal walls it made it even more threatening than you could even imagine, even though it conveyed incorrect information.

The First Order database seemed not to be updated of your promotion, Sloane was indeed one of the candidates for the position just like you but your experience in the strategist division of the New Republic Defense Forces left all other candidates miles behind you in the process of selection.

“Incorrect.” The smug smile on the General’s face quickly faded and was soon painted on your lips. However just as the smile grazed your face it hid away under serious expression. This was a battle of wits and will and YOU would make sure not to lose it.

“Excuse me?!” His voice was higher than before, he was too confused to mask it. You were now winning by a single point.

“Vice Admiral? Of that I can assure you.” But you continued, anchoring the groundwork for your success. Just get him irritated, too much irritated and bothered by not knowing who you are, so he leaves the room. With just a few seconds you were sure you could escape the binds but you had to be alone. 

“Sloane? Unfortunately and definitely not.”

“What?!” He seemed absent for a moment, in the room but devoid of any expression, searching for something in his head. Now you could see it, the cogs in his head turning, his brain using seconds to finish minutes long thought conundrums. 

Armitage Hux, the General of the First Order seemed to be losing in that moment, not just his cool but also the battle. Now was the time to strike, finish him off and secure your escape route as soon as possible. If you would be able to piss him off even more it could give you an opening the moment he leaves the room to check. But it had to be precisely executed, if he were to send someone else for the information you would fail.

“It doesn’t matter. You were at the meeting site for the informant to meet the Resistance.” He was faster, his words spilling out before you could open your mouth dealing the final blow.

“Oh.” Armitage sensed he couldn’t get more out of you in the name of reaction so he continued. Building a case against you in the process.

“We got a tip. An informant on our side decided to tell us there might be a rebel scum strolling around the market.”

Calm down, you can still do it.

“And that’s supposed to be me?” This time you rewarded him with an answer, though it was slightly unwanted.

“Yes.” He was visibly gritting his teeth, his whole face indicating all was not yet lost and you could recover to your plan in just a few words.

And we are right back on the tracks.

“So, the mere assumption that I was there to meet some means I am a rebel scum?”

“Yes.” This time he was fuming, ready to boil over. It wasn’t as visible as you would expect, he was still somewhat collected and especially still cold but his ears were red and the artery on his neck seemed to be bulging in anger.

“I am not much of a stroller, you see… and on top of that I can assure you, you are wasting your, mine and the precious First Order’s time.”

Just get him out of this room. You are fast enough to get out of this stupid electric chair before they can react from the control room.

You were not sure if the pep talk was helping, the minutes of interrogation seemed to stretch and the more time you spent here the harder it was getting out.

There was something strange about his expression you have not noticed before, however now it was more prominent from the closer angle, he was shifting closer and closer to you during the interrogation.

Something flashed in his eyes, understanding of sort. You were not sure what it meant but surely it wasn’t anything good. The cogs in his brain were moving faster again than before. Whatever Hux was brewing inside his clever head, Maker, you didn’t want to know what cruel fate he was planning for you.

“I have a datapad in my office, bring it.” Hux was not talking to you, his gaze was stuck on the darkened window, he was commanding the officer on the other side to basically abandon his post. Great news but also not really.

Minutes go by and Hux seems to not move a bit, or was it seconds? Your anxiety was ranking up, they had nothing on you, Poe escaped before you with the information so you were sure there won't be any footage of your comrade being tortured but what was on the datapad was still a mystery to you.

“I will get you out.” These words pierced the silence, not loud enough to be heard on any microphone. It was more of a whisper, directed right into your ear, his proximity now apparent.

The General would get you out? General Hux would get YOU out? They must have administered some hallucinogens to your system already, this whole situation was too impossible to comprehend.

“We have to be quick though. I need you to headbut me, the cameras in this room are still functioning so we have to give them something.” 

And you do so, your head falls back before you bring great force into the motion. Your head goes slamming into his, red hair mixing with yours in the process until you hurt just like he does. He is no longer close to you, stepping away to proceed the pain he gives you a pained expression. The stage is set once again.

“You rebel scum!” His rich voice booms through the room, filling it and echoing back to you once more. And his figure is in motion again, unlocking your restraints with a slight push of a button, dragging you to your feet before locking your hands in another cuffs. 

It was so swift you couldn’t even proceed a single thought. Was he truly getting you out ? Or was it another scheme to get you to break? But again before you could use your brain Armitage was already pushing you into the hallway. 

The hallway was empty just like the next one and the one that followed and by the fourth turn you realized Armitage was successfully avoiding corridors with officers in them. The further both of you walked the more sure you were he truly was going to set you free. And you were not wrong, one way or another you would get out of here.

With the next turn you could feel the redhead’s steps halting and you soon recognized hurried steps from the end of the hallway. You were sure of it soon, there was someone at the end of the hallway, the outline familiar but too far to distinguish them properly. But the closer they got, the more you recognized him. Your idiotic pilot, someone you could not be happier to see in such a situation.

“I came to save you.” His face was beaming, sweat still clinging to his pretty face but you were glad he was here. He must have been sprinting around in the maze of same looking halls for some time, the sweat clinged to him just like the red in his cheeks.

“Maker, and I thought you were just going to forget about me.” Poe did appreciate the sarcasm for a moment before he noticed you had a little someone with you. The little someone literally being General Hux, his number one enemy, quite literally his nemesis in some sense. You knew of the history between them, Poe taunting the red head too often on missions they crossed paths on. This could end only poorly and you were stuck in between.

Your favorite pilot, only on the occasions he actually properly piloted or came to save your ass like in this moment, was too dumbfounded from this predicament, all he could do was point a finger at your unwelcome guest, which you deemed better than pointing a blaster at him.

“Yeah, I noticed I had a pretty little redheaded shadow, Dameron.” Your eyes shifted to the ship, ready to take off with you if your dear pilot could get his brain back to functioning on time. “Now get us out of here.”

This seemed to pull Poe out of the trance but he still scolded and muttered under his breath what you simply deemed as curses to the redhead behind you. Even Armitage didn’t stand idle, in the meantime he unlocked the cuff with a buzzing sound before it clanked on the metal floor. In the end you could make it out alive, enemies or not if they were not speaking to each other all was fine.

“Let’s go.”

“What?” You could hear that he didn’t move even by a step. Did this man truly believe you would leave him here? You already figured it out, that this scared and at the same time brave man was the one, the one who was sending encrypted data to the Resistance, that he was the spy whose data you were collecting, whom you had contact for so long.

“Let’s go, we have to take off before the alarms go off.” As if telepathy between the two of you worked, maybe by the mysterious force itself or just the universe decided to align the stars for the two of you, he understood too. 

“I am not going with you.” The fear and the uncertainty was too strong for Armitage to withstand. Everything was always so simple to him, the plan was set for him a long time ago by his father and now he had an option to leave it all behind. He knew the First Order would go crumbling down, it was inevitable with how things were now. However, he still hoped everything he was building for himself would stay somehow the same even with his efforts to undermine everything else. 

“They are going to kill you.”

“No, I will-”

“It doesn't matter who you do. We both know the competition in the First Order is too fierce, one mistake and you are not needed anymore.” He knew you were right, even Poe was aware of that, but it didn’t change anything on how he didn’t want to admit it. Not being needed after one small mistake over the amount of achievements he brought to the First Order not just as General but visionary. 

“Letting someone from the Resistance is already bad but losing one of its Vice Admirals? Death sentence.” 

“Yes. I am well aware of this predicament, however-”

“However, you are coming with us. That’s final.”

The words of disagreement were stuck in his throat, on one side he was glad to have an available route out but on the other he couldn’t simply abandon his career. It was his everything, he worked hard to get where he was now and to simply lose it would probably hurt more than a blaster strike to the chest. That was a lie, he was sure of it and it would be foolish of him to not take your offer. Well, it actually sounded more like an order. 

“Fine.”  If he was meant to leave it seemed it was somehow always meant to be with someone like you.

And finally all of you were ready for a take off, Poe was still booting some things in his pilot seat while you were kind enough to not point out the vein popping in his neck. You would have to have a talk with Poe about this whole escapade but now was not the time or a place. Fingers pushing on the familiar controls, switching switches for a quicker take off your mind was a bit busy counting down seconds before you would hear the loud alarm indicating prisoner on the loose.

“Thank you, trully.” His voice made you mind stop for a second before you looked at him. You have not seen such a look on him yet, it was new and refreshing. An honest expression with a grateful small smile tugging on his lips. 

“Don’t mention it but you should get used to people helping each other.” This answer confused him a bit and you enjoyed the sight a lot. But the ship was ready to leave, interrupting the moment. The vibration from the motor buzzed through your whole body while you took the co-pilot place next to Poe. The leather seat reminds you that just a few moments ago you were in a similar one, strapped to a completely metal one and just a few steps from death’s door. Years before it would have scared you but now you took it like bread, like a normal day in the life of the Resistance fighter.

“We are going back to the Resistance.” You turned around, shooting him a quick smirk. “And you are going to help us defeat the First Order.” Your tone was cold now, in a mere seconds turning back to the Vice Admiral you were expected to be and something arose in the redhead. The game continued, this time not about you escaping him but more of a chase of professional matters. 

“Gladly.” His ambitions still flared but if he couldn’t achieve it with the First Order there is no reason not to try it with the Resistance while striking down his enemies and old colleagues. You could understand his ambitions and perfectionism from your own standpoint, hard worker yourself you had similar plans for your future, for your rank. You strived for professionalism just like he always did. It made you two too similar to ignore but at the same time opposite with your ideals clashing. It was still quite comforting, knowing there is someone who could understand your ambitions.

[enigmatist17]

Fox is a baby okay

Sequel to this fic

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

Being on Coruscant was a dream posting for some clones, if you asked around. Being around so many different natborns was an exciting concept, as most hardly interacted with anyone that wasn't a fellow clone, so the city planet seemed like a dream.

The dream dies down awfully quickly when you're subjected to more paperwork than you've ever seen in your entire life daily. Those exotic bodies with their differing hair color, eyes, and body shapes, all lose their luster when clones are either ignored or treated like the lowest droid malfunctioning in an alleyway, or worse.

The Guard was one of the most restricted groups, Fox is coming to realize, making his way around The Negotiator. Everyone here seemed freer, helmets hanging from their belts unless needed for their task, joking and laughing as they work. Most of them don't register the commander, and those who do greet him warmly, albeit nervous to have someone of such high rank on the ship. On Coruscant, Fox and his men were only allowed to interact in their shared barracks, and they hardly did, knowing they were closely monitored by everyone and everything. It was so isolating, and a lot of the time they all wished they could be fighting with a Jedi, instead of drowning in paperwork and dealing with people who viewed them as objects or worse.

The man eventually wanders onto the bridge, and watches as Cody and Obi-Wan crowd around the large pedestal by the door, quietly talking about something.

He knows what they're talking about, and eventually, Cody feels his eyes on him.

"Sleep well?" Fox just joins the two, and the Jedi gives a soft smile.

"We've been speaking with some of your men, and we were going to fetch you actually." The commander shoots a confused look at Cody, but straightens with his arms going behind his back.

"What do you need sir?" Kenobi eyes the stance with a slight frown, but says nothing.

"Oh, I don't need much, just your help in doing something that is most likely treason."

Come again?

"Sir?" Fox blinked, wondering if he had misheard. "Treason?"

"Yes, you heard me." Kenobi gives him a warm smile, which is absurd from the news he just dropped on the Guard leader. "I've been going through some reports and, quite frankly, I apologize."

"To who?" Fox blinked and watched as the Jedi gestures vaguely around the ship.

"To all of you? To everyone? To be honest I'm not sure." Fox does not miss the hand Cody pus on the general's shoulder. "Now that I have the information in front of me, it's obvious who Chanc-Palpatine really is."

"A Sith."

Every clone was taught the basic differences between a Sith and a Jetti, and with Ventress and Dooku, it wasn't hard to get the knowledge as a cruel reminder. How many have fallen to their blades is unknown, but to realize the one Sith no one has seen is just...running the Senate? Pulling a friendly mask over the darkness he oozes? The darkness that has been used against Fox, scarring his mind in a way he was unaware?

"What do you need from me?" Fox straightened, clasping his arms behind his back to hide the fact he was slightly trembling.

"You are the only one who has the best access to Him. I cannot ask you to do anything you're not comfortable with, but we cannot allow him to remain in power." Kenobi frowned, weighing his options. "If you can get us the code to his private chambers, it might be the best way to get to him."

"I can do that." Fox should feel like he should protest, that he's going against the Republic...but he doesn't. Taking a long and slow breath, the trembling seems to stop as he looks out the main window at Courscant stationed to the right of the ship.

It seemed so small from up here.

"I need to go before he starts looking for me." Fox sighed after staring without a word for a few minutes, and the others nod. "I will contact you when I can."

"Any time, day or night, I will answer." Obi-Wan crossed around the table to stand beside the trooper. "I have also placed a small mental sort of shield so that if...there is an incident, he will not find what we have discussed today."

"...thank you, sir."

The shuttle that's offered to Fox gets him back to the planet quick enough, but he pauses after exiting onto the landing platform. He's not landed back near the Senate building, instead having gone down several levels into the planet, where he knows the Senator does not observe. It's weird temporarily shedding his armor, but the civilian clothes that each shuttle has in case clones need to hide in the populace make him feel a little bit more protected, and he's soon lost in the crowd. Fox knows exactly where to go, and knows exactly what to purchase before he returns to his shuttle, and back to the building he now felt nothing but dread at the sight of.

Kenobi isn't going to need his call.

[crepuscularqueens]

Also, tropic morning news? If you wanna share <3

i have grand plans for this one in concept, im just like. stumped trying to weave a plot through it lmfao

its like. black sails but there's magical elements woven into it? silver is some sort of demon or similar creature that flint accidentally summons when trying to resurrect thomas, jack has some sort of unwilling premonition ability, whatever max is its the same as silver she's just incredibly skilled at pretending she's just like anyone else. i just.... wasn’t ever sure whether to include pirate elements, and if not what exactly is going on and why. lmao.

“You can just go back then,” Flint gasped, curling in on himself just a little bit more, “Send the one I asked for or give me back what was taken.”

“Alright,” the man agreed once more with a shrug, “You can send me back if you really wish to, though neither of your desired outcomes will be yours. The one you called for was never able to come to you this way, and what you gave cannot be returned. Or, you can keep me here, and I can help you to achieve what it is you want without all this.”

The man gestured vaguely around the room, then at Flint, grimacing a bit, “Awfully messy, if you ask me.”

“What do you mean, the one I called for was never coming?”

“Just that. It was unanswered, the one you wanted was not responsive. I apologize, I have a tendency to be a bit… opportunistic, so I walked through that open door. I can help you, or you can send me back.”

[takeariskao3]

Hi Hannah! I saw your ask about someone reading TPFY in spite of the dramione endgame and I want you to know that isn't how all of us feel! I am so excited for your sequels and I can't wait to read your take on dramione because I know you won't bash Ron.

Any chance you have a spoiler or snippet you can share with us while we wait? 👀👀👀

LOVE YOU 😘

gahhh!!! this is so !!!!!! thanks for wanting to follow along even after installment 1 is finished and posted. that has me so excited for the follow ups, you have no idea!

i do have a little spoiler to share from the eventual draco/hermione fic <333

The clifftop made for a picturesque party, Draco could at least give the newlyweds that. The indigo sky yawned above, stars twinkling as if they were in on the celebration, while a light sea breeze wafted across the grassy moorland and inebriated the reception just as much as the libations. 

Most of the people in attendance were old school chums of either the bride’s or the groom’s, which made for an eclectic, and borderline frightening, combination of people. Draco had made it his life’s mission to avoid socializing with anyone from his youth, and yet there he was, forced into the undertaking against all his better instincts. 

He decided right then and there that he would never forgive Theo for it.

Leaning against the temporary bartop, Draco sipped his G&T and vaguely wondered how much longer he would have to stay at this infernal wedding.

A cascade of ginger hair floated toward him in her cream and ivory bridesmaid gown, bringing his self imposed isolation and silent suffering to an effective end. 

“Weasel,” he greeted without bothering to glance her way. 

“Oh, darling,” she lamented with a sardonic smile. “I’m afraid I’ve been Potty for years.”

He knew that, of course. It had been hard not to, with how often their names were splashed across headlines, but it felt…telling, somehow, to let on that he’d kept up with the basic knowledge of their lives. So, instead, Draco pulled a grimace. “My sincerest apologies for the misfortune.”

His rudeness didn’t put her off in the slightest, in fact she propped an elbow against the bar and looked like she might stay a while. Finnegan brought her a flute of sparkling wine, along with a grin and some pointless small talk. Then they were alone again; left to view the gathering from the perimeter of the fairy lights. 

Most everyone had taken to the dancefloor, the string quartet leading couples in an unnecessarily upbeat waltz. Potter, the one not currently standing next to Draco, had Lovegood in his arms and was trodding on the bride’s foot nearly every other box step. It was honestly painful to watch. Full of mirth, he wondered if perhaps the woman next to him preferred Draco’s company over her husband’s for that specific reason.

Not three feet away from Potter and Lovegood, Pansy and Longbottom weren’t bothering with the melody at all. Instead, they clung to each other in an obscene embrace that made Draco feel like he was intruding on something indecent. 

Then his gaze snagged on Granger, laughing without restraint as Terry Boot led her in small circles. She looked positively carefree. Nothing of the tight expressions or stunted pleasantries he’d grown used to. 

A pang of something reverberated through his middle. He fundamentally refused to identify it. 

Next to him, Weasley—no, Potter—God, this was getting confusing—Ginny followed his line of sight and the corners of her mouth twitched into an insufferable smirk. 

“You’re awfully quiet,” she inserted after a few short moments.

Downing his ice diluted cocktail, Draco waved to Finnegan for another and didn’t bother with an answer. 

“Harry mentioned you were helping them,” she murmured for his ears only. 

He raised an eyebrow. The last thing he needed was a sodding Gryffindor, let alone a Weasley, to examine his aims and motivations. So, he peered out over the crowd, seemingly unconcerned, and promptly deflected, “What’s it like?”

She glanced up at him with a pinched brow and let the silence ask the question for her. 

He clarified in a nefarious whisper, “To have the savior of the wizarding world collared and leashed?” 

Ginny laughed, and judging by the sparkle in her eyes, it was genuine. 

“I imagine it’s quite heady,” he continued, chasing down the moment when she would inevitably retreat. “To control someone so…distinguished.”

She gave him no such satisfaction. Ginny Potter turned to face him, mirroring his relaxed position, and considering him with an open and curious expression. He almost respected her for it, if it weren’t so inconvenient. 

“How very stereotypical,” she chuckled, “to examine a relationship on the basis of power. Did the conclusion of mutual trust and support really not occur to you?”

Draco scoffed. “It may have, but it’s the second to least probable explanation.”

“And your least probable?”

“That he’s a good shag.”

Something flinty and wicked ignited in her countenance and she grinned at him. 

“No,” Draco heaved dramatically. “Don’t tell me. It will ruin my life.”

She shrugged, taking another sip of champagne. 

The song drifted to an end and the swaying bodies slowed to a stop. Most everyone clapped politely in the interlude, while several others swapped partners or vacated the dancefloor altogether. 

Granger extricated herself from Terry Boot, and was halfway free from the throng, when Lovegood caught her hands and pulled her back. The two girls giggled happily, and Granger allowed herself to be led through a series of steps and twirls. It looked positively laughable. However, Draco couldn’t find a single sneering thought in his own head. 

A slight cough to his left pulled his attention back to the present. 

Fuck’s sake, Ginny had caught him staring. Again. 

Thankfully, Finnegan chose that moment to deliver Draco’s drink and he could ignore her knowing look by relishing the burn of gin at the back of his throat. 

Raising his glass to her in a farce of a toast, he made to escape. “Enjoy your evening, Potty.”

He’d only begun to move away when her low voice followed after him. “Hermione can’t resist a project.”

Draco turned halfway, icy indignation seeping into his bloodstream. Before he could decide on a rather un-witty retort, though, Ginny took a step closer. 

Steely determination hardened her features. “Make sure you’re worthy of it.”

“Or what?” he hissed. The taunt formulated smoothly and without hesitation. “I’ll have to deal with you?”

“Hermione is quite capable of handling you herself,” Ginny tossed him a small, terrifying smile. “But if you betray her, or Harry, I’ll gladly hide the body.”

His nostrils flared at being so brazenly threatened, but he had no doubt of her resolve, or frankly, her abilities. 

Ginny’s expression once again smoothed into passive amusement, and she tapped her glass against his lightly. “Enjoy your evening, Malfoy.”

[blairsanne]

Pretend to Be Nice - 2 - Not a Monster

For the @deanobingo 2023 event!

Prompts: Anders Johnson - Nightmare, Jealousy, In Vino Veritas, "Come with me."

The Almighty Johnsons - Anders & female Reader 5551 words

Summary: You've avoided Anders since your unanswered confession, but when Axl invites you to a party at his place, you force yourself to attend. Anders pretends not to care what you're up to, but can't help but get involved.

CW: Alcohol consumption, drugging, vague mention of hookups. Angsty? Slow burn I guess? (This is a multi-part story.) Series Masterlist here

Weeks passed.

You hadn’t told anyone about your forced confession to Anders, and you assumed - based on the lack of harassment from the others - that he hadn’t either. 

He also hadn’t contacted you at all; a far cry from his usual texts and invites out. You took this to mean he had no desire to be around you and encourage your pathetic infatuation; that he had no interest in you as a partner or a friend.

Mortified after your confession, there was no way you were going to reach out first, and you’d been happy to avoid everyone while you tried to kill the stupid feelings.

That hadn’t gone especially well.

The complete lack of response from Anders felt like it could only be a rejection, and yet it lacked any closure, so you found yourself obsessing over it. You’d replayed the gobsmacked expression of his in your mind so much that you’d started to have dreams about it; dreams where he’d answered you.

Sometimes in the dreams, he’d pulled you into a passionate embrace, confessing that he felt the same. Other times he’d told you not to feel that way; confirmed that there was no intention from him to change how things stood between you.

Naturally, your other godly friends had tried to get you out to the usual gatherings, but you’d been fortunate enough since then to have completely legitimate conflicting plans - between work and mortal-friend commitments - to get you out of them. Nobody had to know you’d sought them out specifically to avoid Anders and his brothers.

No such luck this week, though, so when Axl’s personal invitation to a party at his flat came by text, you were hard-pressed to think of a good reason why you wouldn’t be there. 

You knew you couldn’t avoid the Johnsons forever, and no matter how much ribbing you expected to get from Anders, you told yourself it was better to try to get back to normal as soon as possible.

Maybe if he’s really awful to me I’ll get over him faster.

Still, you didn’t really fancy getting told how ugly you looked, so you spent a little longer perfecting your hair and makeup than usual, donning a skintight dress similar to ones that Anders had praised in the past. 

At least if you were unwanted by him, maybe you could hook up with one of Axl’s little friends to make yourself feel better.

--

Axl lit up when he saw you arrive. It had only been a couple weeks since he’d seen you, but after Anders’s odd comments about you not wanting to go out with them, he had noticed your absence on the club nights and at the usual weekend get-togethers.

He’d personally invited you this time, hoping that a request from Odin might hold more weight. He hoped that if you came, he could get Anders to apologize to you, or at the very least sort out why you were upset with his (admittedly rude) older brother.

“Hey, you made it!”

You couldn’t help but return Axl’s wide grin, letting out a small laugh as he pulled you into a tight hug.

“I did.” “We missed you.” “Missed you too. Just been busy of late. But- here now.”

You had missed them. All of them, Anders included. As soon as you were in Axl’s presence, it was like your goddess spirit woke up, happy to be around her kind.

“Most of the others aren’t here yet, but my schoolmates are.” He gestured down the hall to where you could see Axl-aged dudes chugging cans of beer. “Fancy a drink?”

“Chur.” “Keen.”

You followed Axl toward the kitchen, thinking it was awfully sweet of him to be so happy to see you, and feeling a stone of guilt for avoiding him and the others.

--

Anders arrived fashionably late, refusing to cut short his work dinner for what he knew was going to be a shitty party with young mortals in attendance.

After greeting Axl he made his way toward the kitchen to find some piss.

He spotted you straight away - standing in a corner, batting your lashes at some tall lanky mortal he’d never seen. You looked like sex on legs, and he wanted you to take off your dress for an entirely different reason than that one time at Michele’s.

Still he feigned not to notice, taking a breath as he approached the chilly bin.

Michele, who was standing nearby, however, didn’t fail to catch him looking in your direction. She stepped forward and took a beer right after him.

“Now that all the Johnsons are present, something's sure to go awry,” she greeted him.

“Such a friendly goddess. Can’t imagine why Colin dumped you.”

Michele gaped, amusement joining the offense in her voice. “I dumped him, you prick. As you well know.” “Mm, to bag my older brother who you wanted to make a sacrifice as I recall.”

She shrugged. “Well that was then.” “Go easy on him.” “Where’s the fun in that?”

Anders met Michele’s smirk with a smile of his own. He didn’t really care about them dating so long as nothing bad happened to his brothers as a result.

Michele surveyed the scene, frowning. “We’re really slumming it tonight, eh?”

He held his hands as if weighing two points. “Free piss. Distinct lack of viable bedmates.” “Depends on your standards.”

Michele gestured toward where you were twirling your hair, flirting with some guy who was eating it up. “Speaking as the most attractive person in the room-”

“Second most,” Anders interjected. You being the first.

Michele flipped him the bird without looking. “-he’s just acceptable for a mortal. She can do better.”

Anders put a hand to his chest in mock-defensiveness. “I’ve tried going there, but she turns me down,” he joked. 

It was true that he’d initially tried it on and been rebuffed, but that had been before you’d really become friends with the Johnsons. It hadn’t crossed his mind seriously again until your spontaneous confession the other day, but he’d imagined it several times since. Now he really wasn’t sure where you stood. Why confess only to tell him nothing would come of it?

“Don’t even think about it, Bragi.”

Anders bristled at the way Michele sneered his godly name.

“She deserves heaps better than you.” “What the hell does that mean?” “That while you may brainwash mortals into a night of fun, you’re not capable of keeping a goddess satisfied.” “You have no idea what I’m capable of.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Just remember that we goddesses stick together.”

“Ooh.” He shrugged. “Scary. I think we’re past all that, don’t you?”

Michele shrugged, feigning a lack of concern. “Not that she’d ever go for a pig like you anyway.”

He assumed that Michele’s comments meant you hadn’t told your little goddess friends about your supposed infatuation with him. He almost corrected her, but decided to keep your privacy instead.

“You don’t know that.”

Michele sized Anders up, remembering your comments about not pursuing your feelings, and let out a derisive snicker before walking off. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

Anders turned his attention back to you and the young mortal you were flattering. “Right, just look at my insurmountable competition,” he quipped lightly.

Michele laughed, agreeing that Axl’s friend was hardly a great catch.

Anders watched you silently, telling himself that Michele didn’t know what she was talking about; about whether or not you were into him, and about whether or not he could satisfy you.

I could if I wanted to, he thought defensively.

Did he want to, though? Your rejection had been a blow to his ego, and instinctively he wanted to prove Michele wrong; but did that mean he wanted to pursue you?

He pursed his lips as he watched you place your hand on the mortal’s arm, batting your lashes as you smiled up at him. Nostrils flaring, he looked over the crowd, wondering where his brothers had ended up. If he had to watch you fawn over the loser much longer he thought he might chunder.

Not that he was jealous.

“Oh thank god,” Michele murmured, watching you excuse yourself from the mortal they’d been assessing on your behalf.

She flashed you a grin when you spotted her, and you smiled back, then fought to keep your expression light as you spotted Anders standing near her.

You pretended like it didn’t burn a hole in your stomach as you walked over.

Anders noted your empty beer bottle, and by the time you’d placed it on the counter, he had a fresh one opened that he pressed into your hand.

“Ta,” you managed, throat feeling dry. You couldn’t quite maintain eye contact with him, the double judgment of knowing that both Anders and Michele were aware of your feelings for him making you feel extra scrutinized.

“Have to take care of my favourite goddess.”

Michele snorted, but you felt the heat rising in your cheeks, so you took a swig and turned your attention from Anders to Michele.

“You can do better,” Michele quipped, and you caught that she also meant it about Anders and not just the guy you’d been chatting up.

“Seriously,” Anders piled on. “No offense to Ax’, but his friends are not Auckland’s finest.”

“Well I’m not shopping for a husband, am I?” You tilted your head to rub at your neck as you looked over to the kid in question. “Sometimes it’s just nice to feel wanted,” you commented lightly.

You didn’t see the way Anders’s expression flickered, all three of you immediately distracted by another of the Tech students walking up behind you and Michele.

“Ladies.”

You and Michele both turned to face him in confusion.

Michele gave him an instant lookover, her face quirking into an unimpressed expression.

“Hello,” you offered, trying to be polite.

Anders tilted his head at the guy and loosed his Bragi tones, wincing in second-hand embarrassment. “They’re both way out of your league, mate.”

The stranger gave a dazed nod, then turned to walk off.

You hugged yourself, feeling awkward, while Michele raised her brows and cocked her head at Anders.

“Oh- I’m sorry- Did you want him, Michele?” he asked teasingly. “I didn’t think Mike was the sort to share.”

She flashed him a bemused smile. “He’s not.”

The next thing you knew, she was wrapping her arm around your shoulders. “Come on, you. I haven’t seen you in ages and we have catching up to do.”

“Right…” You glanced at Anders, feeling like maybe that was a rude way to walk away after having a group conversation with him. 

He gave you a quick nod of goodbye, then turned away, giving you the impression that he wasn’t all that bothered by it.

In truth, Anders didn’t want to appear to have been affected by Michele’s insults or whatever was going on with you.

Once Michele had steered you out the back door to the deck, Anders leaned against the kitchen counter and stared into space as he contemplated the situation.

He knew you too well to think that your comment about feeling wanted was in any way a jab at him. It had been too off-the-cuff and honest; almost like you’d forgotten he would hear it, or that he might view it through the context of your weird confession weeks earlier. 

He had been avoiding you, secretly grateful for your absence the last few get-togethers, unsure how you would behave around him. Lovesick mortals were an annoyance, but one Bragi had easily handled many times. A goddess, though; that was more complicated.

Seeing you here had made him realize how much he’d missed being around you. If anything, he was a bit hurt that you were acting almost like that conversation had never happened. You’d seemed so torn up about it, looking at him like you were hurt… and now you were barely looking at him at all.

For all he knew, you’d already moved on. That thought probably should have comforted him, but it was worse, somehow, than someone not having loved him in the first place.

He chugged the rest of his beer, then walked off to find one of his brothers.

If you were going to pretend like nothing had happened, he could too.

--

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, the smell of the backyard fire distracting your mind until Ingrid’s firm grip on your hands grounded you.

You were seated cross-legged before her, sitting on a blanket she’d stolen from the house and wrapped in a second one, Michele standing over you both, refusing to join you in your lowly seats. 

Ingrid let out a long hum, then let go of your hands to start rubbing some crystals together.

“Alright, you can open your eyes,” she advised.

You did so to see her peering at you suspiciously.

She reached out, seemingly plucking at the air around you. “You’ve got so much… buzzing. Your mind must be a nightmare right now.” 

She let out a small laugh, but when you simply pursed your lips, she offered you a pitying expression, holding her hand on her heart. “Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

You shrugged. “No, you’re right. I’m- having a bit of a hard go of it. But- it’s fine. She’ll be right.”

“Well not to worry.” Ingrid put her hand on yours. “We’ll get you sorted.”

Michele kept quiet as she observed, though she had little faith in most of Ingrid’s intuitive fluff despite her status as an oracle. Instead she smiled and sipped at her beer, happy to see you distracted by something other than Anders. She had noticed the way you couldn’t make eye contact with him, quite abnormal given how chummy you usually were with him. She wanted to encourage that distance; give you a chance to move on.

“You just sit there and I’ll see what comes up.”

You watched as Ingrid shuffled a deck of oracle cards that you’d seen her use a handful of other times, wondering if she could actually help you with them.

Unless they can erase memories, I already made an ass of myself…

You wondered what Anders thought of seeing you flirt with the students at the party. It probably seemed pretty pitiful. It occurred to you only then that he might have thought you were doing it to make him jealous, and you felt your stomach turn.

He must think I’m proper pathetic.

Ingrid let out a low hum, an overly serious look on her face as she stared down at the five cards that she’d laid out between you.

“That bad, eh?” you lamented.

“There’s something you don’t see clearly, or… There’s something… you think-” She shut her eyes to try to put words to the overall message being conveyed. “You think it’s one way, but it’s not. You follow the path before you, but later you’ll realize it wasn’t what you thought. It’s all spilled milk and confusion…” She opened her eyes to squint at you. “Or sabotage?”

“Well that’s fucking cheery, Ingrid,” Michele lamented.

“Oh- no! It’s good, though. A warning, that things aren’t as they seem, for better or worse. So be careful.” She reached around you again, carding her fingers through the space around you in an attempt to clear your aura. “There’s something pulling the wool over your eyes.”

You finished off the beer Anders had handed you earlier, then sighed. “I reckon I know what it is.”

“Here.” Ingrid pressed one of her smooth stones into your palm. “Take this to strengthen your intuition and inner wisdom.”

“Ta.” You looked down at the translucent purple stone, touched by Ingrid’s sincerity.

--

Anders walked down the hall after a conversation with Olaf and Ty in Zeb’s bedroom, stopping where it opened to the living space to scan the crowd.

It took him a moment to spot you, holding a nearly empty bottle and chatting up yet another loser friend of Axl’s now in the corner of the kitchen.

You looked munted, your eyelids heavier than usual as you smiled almost-vacantly at the bland mortal before you. Your new friend, on the other hand, was practically fucking you with his eyes, clearly chuffed to have your attention.

Before he could question why he felt the need to interrupt it, Anders walked over and greeted you by name, pointedly ignoring the guy you were trying to talk to.

Your dazed expression morphed into a dumb grin. “Anders! Hi, Anders.” You reached out to grip his forearm, grateful for the extra support to keep you on your feet. Shouldn’t have worn heels, you thought.

Anders snickered at your reaction to him. He spoke to you with amused patronization as he steadied you with both hands. “Yeah, hi again. You having a good time?”

You shut your eyes to nod, the plastered smile not leaving your face as he gently held you in place. “Mhm.”

“Don’t think maybe you’ve had a bit too much to drink?” “I barely had three beer.”

Anders frowned. You weren’t that much of a light-weight. He’d seen you drink several times that amount and not act this out of sorts.

The other guy put his hand on Anders’s shoulder. “Hey, we were talking here-”

“Piss off.” Anders glared up at the younger man, watching as the power of Bragi’s words washed over him. The other man blinked and walked off, leaving you alone in the corner.

Anders tilted his head as he turned his attention back to you. “You partake in something else then?” “No.” “Are you sure? You’re not feeling unwell?”

You tried to consider the question seriously, but as you closed your eyes to concentrate, you felt a pleasant sleepiness fogging your brain.

“I’m a bit tired,” you answered at last. “Yeah?”

“I’ve become an old lady.” You whined and stepped forward to rest your face on his shoulder.

You wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed now, but you didn’t have the wits to get yourself there.

“No, I don’t think that’s the issue.”

Anders held you up, frowning as he mentally eliminated other explanations for your behaviour, eventually convincing himself that all signs pointed to you having been drugged. He looked around for the guy who had been talking to you, but didn’t see him anymore.

He tucked his lower lip under his teeth. You needed to rest. “Maybe we should call it a night, eh?”

You hummed in mild agreement, smiling against his suit jacket as you enjoyed the scent of his cologne and the feeling of his arms supporting you.

Before the two of you could make a break for it, though, Mike approached and tapped Anders’s shoulder.

They shared a tense glance, Mike looking you over and clearly questioning what was going on before deciding not to comment on the fact that you were in an intimate position. None of my business, he decided.

“Family meeting. Axl’s room. Now.”

Anders pursed his lips, nostrils flaring, but nodded. No sense arguing, but he didn’t want to leave you unattended in this state, either.

As Mike walked off, Anders spotted Zeb coming into the kitchen to grab another beer.

“Hey, you.”

Zeb raised a brow, pausing with his fingers on the pull tab of his beer. “Me?”

“Got a job for you.”

Anders stepped over, expression stern despite the compliant attention Zeb was giving him. He pointed at you and slipped his voice into his low, echoing Bragi tones, making Zeb’s head fuzzy.

“You stay with her until I say so. There is nothing more important than making sure nothing bad happens to her tonight. Understood?”

Zeb blinked slowly, but nodded. As the dominating pressure lifted, he eased and turned his attention to you. “Fancy a drink?”

“She’s had enough,” Anders called, already walking toward the hall to join his brothers.

--

It took nearly two hours for the Johnsons to wrap up their crisis, meaning that by the time Anders returned to the flat with Axl, the party had died out. They stepped into the quiet house, and Anders frowned to see most of the lights were out.

“She probably went home,” Axl muttered. Anders had told him he planned to give you a lift home after seeing how munted you’d gotten, but Axl found it hard to believe you were that pissed given how often the three of you went out on the town together. “Or- not.”

They found you asleep under a blanket on the couch, your head in Zeb’s lap as he watched an old kaiju movie.

Zeb flashed Axl an easy smile. “Ah, you’re back.”

Axl rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Bit of a wild night.”

“I await your tale in the morning my lord. For now I’d like to be relieved so I can catch some zeds.”

Anders nodded and stepped over. “Alright, rise and shine.”

It took a bit of coaxing from Zeb before you blinked awake, yawning as your eyes focused enough to take in Anders and Axl standing in the room with you.

“I fell asleep,” you murmured, disoriented.

“Yeah, you did-” Anders grabbed your hands to help pull you off the couch. “Come with me. I’ll get you home.”

You nodded, leaning into him a bit as he started guiding you toward the hallway. “Mm, kay.”

Axl stifled his laugh, amused by how out of it you were, and happy to see you and Anders getting along just fine.

“See ya.” “Night.”

“Bye Axl, bye Zeb,” you managed.

Zeb stood beside Axl and waved as you and Anders left out the front door.

He turned to look up at Axl. “Your brother did that Bragi thing on me again.”

Axl winced. “Sorry…” he croaked.

--

Meanwhile, Anders was struggling to get you to his car - not because you weren’t being compliant, but because you couldn’t seem to keep your eyes open to watch where you were going.

He had to hold you up as you ambled beside him, clinging to his jacket and leaning into him.

“I’m so tired.” “And you can sleep when you’re home. Just- gotta get- to the car.”

You made a happy humming noise. “You’re so nice, Anders.”

“That’s not what you usually say.”

You let out a sleepy laugh.

He propped you against the side of the vehicle to get the door open, and when he moved to help you inside, he froze when you put your hands on his cheeks.

“Everyone thinks you’re rude when you’re being funny, but you’re really a good man.”

He swallowed, unsure how seriously to take a comment like that, given your condition. Your voice and expression were full of genuine affection, and he caught the way your eyes trained down to his lips.

“You’re wonderful,” you continued.

He kept his face neutral, hands off you. “Get in the car, goddess.”

You gave a hum of easy assent, and he stood immobile as you got yourself into the seat and fumbled with the seatbelt.

He shut the door and made his way around the back of the vehicle, wiping his hand over his mouth roughly. What am I supposed to say to that?

--

A while later Anders laid back against his pillow and rubbed his eyes roughly. He blinked up at the ceiling, shoving one arm behind his head, assessing the night’s events.

This wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined when he’d tossed around the idea of taking you to bed. 

He glanced to his right, the sight of you completely passed out a mild solace to the anger he felt in his gut. Someone had drugged you, and he didn’t know who.

Someone connected to Axl, it seemed, which was going to upset his brother, of course. Moreover, a mortal had wronged a goddess, which he knew would piss off Michele, and he had half a mind to tell her if it meant retribution on the fucker. Mike could probably find them right away, if he asked.

Anders wasn’t a fan of date rape in general, but he’d be lying to himself if he couldn’t admit that it happening to his friend was really what was pissing him off. If someone had done the same thing to Dawn, he’d react just as strongly… Right?

Well, that was his working theory, anyway. Despite entertaining the idea of bedding since your last chat, it wasn’t like he thought of you the way he thought of the chicks he usually had fun with.

He saw you as important somehow. Worthy of respect and protection. That meant you were some other category of woman. Dawn was the closest he could match that feeling up with, so that must put you back into the realm of ‘friend’.

But you don’t fuck friends. 

Chicks weren’t usually into that sort of thing, and based on what he knew of you, you were more of the boyfriend sort than the quick root sort most of the time. Maybe if that last guy hadn’t been such a jafa, you wouldn’t have even fallen for Anders, and then none of this would be on the table, and he wouldn’t have to question how he felt about all of it.

He watched you wince and groan in your sleep, wondering what sort of dream you were having.

“Shh, you’re safe as houses,” he murmured, not noticing his own Bragi tones as he reached out. He pulled the covers higher up your body until you were tucked in securely.

Why did you have to tell me?

If you didn’t want him, why say that you loved him? Was it better to know, or not know?

He huffed and rolled over to face away from you, a heavy feeling in his chest he couldn’t name.

---

You woke the next morning, blinking to clear your confusion as you looked around the strange bedroom you found yourself alone in. Sitting up, it seemed vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

Did I hook up with someone…?

Then you registered a familiar scent, and suddenly you remembered when you’d been in the room before.

Months earlier, you’d met up with Anders and Axl at Anders’s flat before a night out, only to have Anders send you into his bedroom to grab something he’d forgotten.

Why am I in Anders’s bed?

You looked yourself over, heart racing, but you were fully clothed in what you’d worn the night before - jewelry and all. 

You slowly got up, adjusting your clothes to look as presentable as they could after being slept in. Something didn’t feel right, though, and you reached into your bra to find a small purple stone had been pressed inside, the memory of Ingrid handing it to you flashing vaguely through your mind.

You put it back in place, then walked cautiously out into the living area, relieved when you saw Anders sitting at his dining table having a coffee.

He looked up attentively. “Ah, you’re up! How you feeling?”

You hugged yourself, stopping beside his kitchen island. “Confused, mostly. Why am I at your flat?”

“You weren’t feeling well at the party. Tried to take you home, but you couldn’t tell me where that was.”

You frowned. You couldn’t remember much after getting to the party. You’d had a few drinks and tried to be friendly to Axl’s friends, but then… “It’s a bit of a blur, to be honest,” you murmured, rubbing your temple.

“I think you might have been drugged.”

You looked up to see Anders with a strange expression on his face. There were hints of anger in his tense features, but his eyes met yours with concern.

Something pulling the wool over my eyes, eh?

“You should eat something, drink some water.”

“Uh- sure. Ta.” You turned and grabbed a glass from his dish rack to fill at the sink. “If I was drugged then..-”

“Nothing happened to you, don’t worry. Zeb was with you, then me. Safe as houses.”

Zeb, right. You had a hazy memory of laying in his lap. You knew him too well to think he’d drug you, so it must have been one of Axl’s other mortal friends that you’d been availing yourself to all night.

“I’ll have to thank him.” “Mm.” “And- Thanks to you, too, Anders. Sorry I’ve been causing you so much trouble lately.” “No trouble.”

“Mm, you say that, but…” You rolled your eyes, thinking it was awfully pathetic to need his help after how awkward everything had gotten. “You really didn’t have to go to all the fuss of putting me up.”

“What was I supposed to do? Leave you with those dickheads at the party? Despite what Mike thinks, I do actually believe in fun being consensual.”

You shrugged. “It just- wasn’t really your problem, that’s all.” “Codswallop.”

You raised a brow.

Anders glared back at you with offense. “I may not be your boyfriend, but if you think I’d just sit back while something happened to you, you’re wrong. I’m not a monster.”

“Sorry.” You looked down.

You’d never thought he was one, but it felt pathetic to be getting his help when you felt the way you did about him and knew he didn’t reciprocate.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that you were still acting a bit strange around him, but it hurt him a bit to think you didn’t want him looking out for you. 

Weren’t you… friends? It occurred to him that he didn’t have many of those. Maybe he’d misjudged it.

“I wasn’t trying to imply…” You took a deep breath and glanced up at him as you put down your glass. “I’m gonna head home.”

He got up and followed you toward the door. “Are you sure you’ll be right? I can give you a lift.”

You gestured dismissively as you stepped into your shoes. “No worries. I don’t live far.”

You caught the way his brows slightly raised. “Oh. Good.”

You hesitated in the doorway, then met his gaze, voice earnest. “Thank you for looking after me.” “Of course.”

You turned to leave, but he put his hand on your forearm.

“Hey-”

When your eyes met his, you read a vulnerability in them that you weren’t used to, his furrowed brow making you worry.

“We’re friends, right?”

You felt the knot in your stomach ease, reassured that he still wanted a connection to you despite your pointless confession.

You offered him a genuine smile, shoulders relaxing. “Always.”

Of course a friend would step in in a situation like this. If he still saw you that way, then maybe you could go back to seeing him that way, too.

He couldn’t help but return your smile as he let go of you, then stood watching you for a beat as you walked down the hall before he shut the door to his flat.

He was relieved at your confirmation - of something he’d never had to put into words before - and hoped it meant that things could eventually go back to normal between you; that you’d stop acting so uncomfortable around him.

He emptied your water glass into the sink and huffed.

The idea that one of Axl’s idiot friends had drugged a goddess still wasn’t sitting well with him, so he grabbed his keys and put on some shoes to go get to the bottom of it.

I’ll figure out which dickhead it was, and then Bragi can have a little chat with him.

--

Anders had spent the morning dealing to the mortal who’d wronged his friend, feeling quite noble about his use of his powers for once.

That afternoon he sat at his desk, staring into space as he ran his thumb over his lower lip.

He couldn’t stop thinking about you. 

The tortuously sexy dress you’d worn to flirt with Axl’s idiot friends. The way your face had lit up to see him while you were drugged. The relief he had felt to see you safe and asleep in his bed. Your saccharine smile when you’d affirmed that you’d always be friends. And the heartbroken, apologetic way you’d told him that you’d fallen for him.

It wasn’t fair, he thought, that you’d put the idea in his head like that. To make him question what it might be like to be really loved by you, when you’d rejected him in the same breath.

How can you want me and not want me at the same time? Am I not good enough?

He held his head in his hands and let out a long sigh.

“Anders, are you alright?”

“The most beautiful goddess in Auckland is in love with me, of course I’m not alright.” “What?” “What?”

Anders looked up in concern, but Dawn gave him a look he couldn’t interpret, tilting her head.

“Someone’s in love with you?” “No.” He shook his head. “Nevermind.” “Are you sure…?”

He scowled. “You know, it’s not a good look to be nosy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine, don’t tell me. I’m sure I don’t want to know anyway.” She tossed the folder she was holding onto his desk. “Here are the reports you asked for.”

“Thank you, Dawn!” He opened the folder and enthusiastically started looking through them, grateful for the distraction.

“Thank god,” he murmured.

--

Part 3 here

--

A/N: Thanks for reading this, if you did! I feel like I haven't been finishing as many WIPs as I'd like, but I'm determined to keep this story to the current outline so hopefully it won't grow like Lofn did (I'm close to the next chapter of that being ready, too, I promise it's in the works!) and you'll get the rest of it shortly. Special thanks to @laurfilijames for putting up with my ramblings about this fic idea since its inception.

Tags: @the-poldarkian @i-did-not-mean-to @the-butterfly-blues @laurfilijames @midearthwritings @feeweeeee @ichoosechoasandbeingqueer @missihart23 @spngingerbread21

As always if you'd like to be added or removed from tagging (for a specific character/fandom/everything) just let me know any time!

[pinkiedevv]

The Butler and the MOD Ch. 3

[Harry Potter/Alfred Pennyworth] ship continues~

First: Ch. 1

Previous: Ch. 2

Word Count: 1,480

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

Harry paid for the tea, sneakily passing over a crisp bill to the cashier before Mr. Pennyworth could suggest otherwise. Though, with the tinge of amusement in the gentleman’s expression, Harry couldn’t help but feel as if he were the one being indulged instead.

They had both ordered Earl Grey, a fact that had Harry's lips lifting in a private smile with how the concept quietly pleased him. 

Mr. Pennyworth had let Harry lead them to his usual table in the more secluded corner of the shop, where the man carefully placed his newly gifted bouquet at his side on the plush seat of the booth. 

Harry sat at the seat across from him, and he was quick to speak so as to not allow an awkward silence invade the companionable air between them.

“I’ve only recently moved to this city,” he began, gesturing around them in way of show, “in… early celebration of my birthday,” he belatedly added, withholding a chuckle. Segueing, he hopefully probed, “May I ask, are you too of Gotham?”

Mr. Pennyworth went to answer, but an attendant arrived with their tea, momentarily pausing their burgeoning conversation. They both thanked the young lady and took their respective cups, which steamed pleasantly with the fragrant scent of Bergamot. After gently blowing against his brew - an action which Harry resolutely did not stare at nor admire in its propriety - and taking a decorous sip, Mr. Pennyworth replied, “The estate in which I live is on the outskirts, in Bristol, though I do find myself in Gotham proper more often than not during errands of mine.” 

Harry nodded amiably, taking note of the name. Bristol. Oddly befitting. Before he could make to speak again, however, Mr. Pennyworth continued with an inquiry of his own.

“My apologies, Mister Potter, if my question is improper, but may I ask which year you have celebrated turning most recently?”

Harry paused with his cup halfway to his lips. Slowly, carefully, he set it back against its saucer, pondering how best to respond. Of course, he had expected the question to come up eventually, though admittedly not so soon - his own fault, of course, with how he’d brought up his birthday all on his own. His instinctual answer would undoubtedly be to lie, as he often had to during his life’s tenure. It was awfully difficult to remain under the radar if he announced his actual age - or anything over thirty-five years old, even, for that matter. However, he did not wish to begin his relationship with Mr. Pennyworth with a falsehood, especially not one so closely tied to his very being. To give himself a moment more to consider what he wished to truly say, Harry teasingly remarked, “Ah, but that would be telling,” with a sly smile curling his lips as he gave a flourish of his hand.

Mr. Pennyworth returned his expression with a flat look of his own, and Harry’s heart would have dropped had he not sussed out the faint twinkle shining in the man’s pale blue eyes. “As much as I would normally respect such a deflection,” the gentleman dryly began, raising a brow at Harry when he grinned back in unrepentant acknowledgment, “I’m afraid I already have grandchildren, and I could not in good conscience give genuine consideration to your offer should your age not be far more than their own.” 

The words staid Harry from any further attempts at humor, and he had to restrain himself from immediately inquiring over the man's grandchildren - at least one of whom sounded to be fully grown - and over the implication of a relationship, whether past or present, that must've led to the existence of said children. Instead, he decided to soothe his gentleman’s worries, albeit vaguely. “I can assure you, Mr. Pennyworth, that it is I, between the two of us, who is the… how would one say… ah, the ‘cradle-robber,'” he grinned wryly, unable to help how he nervously rubbed his palm against the back of his neck. It was, admittedly, a bit more than he’d originally felt comfortable divulging, though he did believe it was the correct course of action. With having gone through with it, though, he couldn’t help but worry how Mr. Pennyworth would now view him. On the premise that the man believed him - which was an undertaking on its own - would he then view Harry as unnatural? Oh, it was undeniably true that Harry was just that, but would Mr. Pennyworth consider him repugnant for it? Would he spurn Harry's request immediately, discarding his bouquet and tea with revulsion stemmed from them having been proffered by something as inhuman as Harry seemingly was? Would Mr. Pennyworth leave without a backward glance, dismissing Harry either in his disbelief or his revolted acceptance of the truth? Would Harry so quickly lose the opportunity for a love he could already feel blooming in his chest to genuinely flourish and blossom?

Lost in his own spiraling thoughts as he was, he did not notice how Mr. Pennyworth’s strict gaze slowly softened, nor how the man released a quiet, almost fond sigh. He only came to when the gentleman coughed politely, and Harry rushed to take a sip of his tea to cover his lapse, cheeks flushing. Mr. Pennyworth kindly looked past his blunder, only to have Harry very nearly spit out his tea at the man’s following words. “It seems that, in light of your sincerity, I feel I must admit to you in turn, Mister Potter… that I happen to have a preference for older men, myself.”

Harry choked, pinching his lips tight and swallowing desperately to prevent his brew from splattering out and all over the tidy little table between them, thumping a fist against his chest in a fruitless attempt to subdue his own spluttering. “Ex-excuse me?” he croaked, staring at his gentleman with wide eyes.

For a fraction of a moment, Mr. Pennyworth’s thin moustache twitched upwards in one corner alongside his lip before he managed to still it, though his eyes still shone tellingly. Oh, Harry thought dazedly, abruptly having to fight the urge to unreservedly laugh with the way his chest swelled with joy as his coughing fit finally subsided. He hadn’t realized his dear gentleman was such a scoundrel.

Helplessly, he could feel himself falling ever further for the handsome, elegant and now witty man he was quickly discovering Mr. Pennyworth to be.

-

To say things went off without a hitch from there may have been too optimistic of a take, but Harry refused to believe it went as anything but.

How could he not, when their tea date - a loose term, of course - had ended with Harry receiving a phone number (which finally gave him reason to purchase a cellular device), a mailing address (something he was positive he would be making liberal use of), and a general (but inarguable!) agreement to a genuine date.

Besides that, there had also been a rather curious question on Mr. Pennyworth’s part before they parted ways. The gentleman had asked, of all things, what had spurred Harry to select the gorgeous blue roses for the bouquet, though he did not inquire the same regarding the more obscure oleanders. 

Not having expected the question, Harry had at first stumbled to explain his reasoning, beginning with his more defined reasons of the rose in general being the flower of romance and the color blue signifying fidelity and loyalty, of which he then hurriedly assured Mr. Pennyworth that he meant to follow through with the utmost sincerity. Somehow, however, he had felt as though his explanation hadn’t been enough, so he had bashfully admitted that the striking blooms had unexpectedly - but undeniably - reminded him of the very object of his affections he had acquired them for: Mr. Pennyworth himself.

Harry could’ve sworn that there had been the faintest tint to his gentleman’s cheeks before the man had quickly turned away with a hurried farewell, but he was quick to brush aside the observation as a willful fantasy. 

Regardless, nothing could have taken the joy away from him of how his day had culminated, and he nearly skipped his way home to his outwardly quaint apartment, feeling as though he were walking on clouds.

Upon entering his magically expanded flat, he hurriedly shut the door behind him and rushed over to his desk, dropping himself into his seat with abandon and gesturing with his hand in such a way that had a thick piece of parchment and an inked quill darting into his grasp. He positively thrummed with anticipation to solidify a date and time for his and Mr. Pennyworth's first genuine date, and he set the nib of his quill against the parchment to begin writing a letter to secure just that.

-----------

;D

[armydreamerr]

exercise in writing for a movie I haven't seen in over a year

"I'm not ready," Freddy panted out, his eyes already clouded with the inevitable. "You can help me, right? You gotta fucking help me!"

Death wasn't a pretty affair. It wasn't like the movies, where a porcelain-skinned woman would breathe out one last sigh, and her rep lips would slowly fade to pink as the life drained from her body. Her body would contort gracefully and someone would shriek and there was beauty, even in the pain it brought. Death wasn't like that, not in real life.

"Shut up!" Larry snarled, a headache clawing at his temples. The metallic smell of blood choked him, and his knuckles were white against the steering wheel. "Yes, I can help you! But for now, will you please shut up and let me focus on the road?"

Freddy made a sound that was awfully close to a choked sob. His heart had stopped pounding, like it did when the bullet first pierced his stomach. It now beat weakly against his chest. He knew that must be a sign. His body was going to stop fighting back soon. A tear rolled down his cheek.

"I'm scared," he whispered, a tremble in his voice. "I'm so fuckin' scared. I don't wanna die."

"You're not gonna die," Larry muttered. Heat pricked behind his eyes, making them water. He sped up. "I promise you, kid. You are not gonna die."

Freddy wanted so badly to believe it. He was starting to feel almost dreamy. His body was going to stop fighting back. Fear coursed through him in dizzying waves, nausea sneaking up from the pit of his stomach. There was so much blood. He didn't want to die. He wasn't ready.

But it seemed there was no escape. There was no fucking escape! He would die if he didn't go to the hospital. If he went to the hospital, everyone was dead. Vaguely, he wondered if Larry was taking him to the hospital. If Larry was sacrificing all their lives to save his. His heart jumped weakly, and guilt surged through him.

"I don't wanna die feelin' guilty," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Larry turned around to check on him and immediately regretted it. There was so much fucking blood; Larry gripped the steering wheel and felt the muscles in his hands straining.

"You're not gonna die," Larry assured him again. But some part of him wished Freddy just would already. Just slip away. It wouldn't be pretty, but at least then Freddy wouldn't be in so much pain. Larry could look death in the face and grin no matter how squeamish he really felt, but he hated to see a friend in pain more than anything.

And then you won't have to take him to the hospital, said a small voice in the back of Larry's mind. He shook his head. Freddy made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat.

"I don't wanna die at all," he managed to get out. "But I especially don't wanna die feeling guilty."

"You got nothing to feel guilty about, kid," Larry said, even though it almost certainly wasn't true. Men in this business, even the ones as young as Freddy, almost always had something to haunt them. But Freddy's eyes were so fresh, so kind. It was like a white lie, to comfort him, assure him he needn't feel guilty. And it wouldn't fucking matter soon enough.

It was more than the fear of dying that kept Freddy from saying it. It was more than the knowledge that Larry wouldn't take him to the hospital if he told the truth, and would probably just let him bleed out in the back of the car. It was more than that.

"I've done wrong in my time," Freddy choked out. "And I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry to me, kid," Larry said. "Be sorry to yourself for wasting your fucking energy on whining!"

It was the coward's way out, to act like it was some general apology. Really, it was to Larry himself. In truth, Freddy didn't give two shits about the others, just as he was sure they didn't give a damn about him either. But Larry...

Well, Larry was the one who made him regret it. Freddy tilted his head back and sobbed silently. He didn't know what he wished for more. The pain was like nothing; he was scared to die before he was ready. But he was also fucking scared to live and see what happened next. It wasn't fair; the job wasn't supposed to get this complicated.