#x null

[nativesnaper]

All my faves in one drawing?? (except for scag sorry girl)

Close-ups below:

[just-null]

pet..... pet au....? you have.... a pet au for the clones....?

PLEASEEEE SHARE SOME THOUGHTS AB IT😭😭😭😭❤️ I was reading a pet au Hantengu fic way back when and the person never got past chapter 3 and it's been rotting my mind. I love love love pet aus when the dynamics are just right and not weirdly predatory with the pet characters and I love your little ideas for stuff🤗🤗 Share if you feel like it, I'll be eagerly awaiting.

(Also please don't exclude Zoha in this endeavor I love that little man)

The Hantengus!! A lot of cat boys..

Context behind a lot of the language in my pet au!

[Cw! Angst(?), referenced sedation, obsessed catboys.. yandere behavior]

Upon meeting them, they're veryyy excited and sweet on you, to the point where they seem TOO familiar. As if meeting a long distant lover.. With their overly friendly greetings, all the warnings and caution from staff seem like an exaggeration, if not a complete lie.

Records show that they're not even related despite sharing eerily similar features, and having only met not too long ago. You'd never guess by how they're so perfectly coordinated. Using said coordination, they simultaneously surround you.

Constant brushes, crowding, wanting your hands on them so bad, they take whatever you're holding. It's not uncommon that they begin purring just because you're around. They quickly flip from being sweet to eager entitled of your time if allowed.

To say they're overwhelming is an understatement, but the staff practically beg you to help with the bunch.

The boys aren't complaining! They're extremely pushy and insist on staying at your place instead of the hybrid shelter, maybe a few times a week? Please!? Regardless, if you say no, you might find them in your home—and a patched up broken window—when you've been gone a while.

Ah— if you hear knocking at your door, just don't tell anyone that they're here, yeah..? Y'know what? How about you just forget about answering it at all!

Sekido is tolerant when you're around. All the fire left his body, leaving small smoldering embers. His flare ups are only a real issue if there's someone unfamiliar around or giving you a hard time. Otherwise, he's pretty content with lazing about or helping with any work you have. He likes being of use to you. He gets irritated, stressed, when you lift a finger, a habit you can tell he's used to, and swats at you for any bad habits you have. Though that goes out the window if your hand's on him. It's a wonder if he's more of a dog than a cat until he starts scratching. He's just really tired.. Karaku is mischievous but doesn't cause trouble. At least, not like he used to, not as long as he has his daily dose of you. It's like he did a complete switch, the staff say, smiling randomly and rambling in an airy tone about how this is heaven on earth! How could anyone feel down around you? It must be those charms of yours. Staying indoors is okay, but he constantly nudges you to go out with him, or entirely dragging you out. Show him around places you like to frequent so you two can experience it together, maybe have some souvenirs? Wouldn't that be fun? On the days you decline, you can find him staring at the little trinkets from past dates with fondness. Urogi always has so much he wants to tell you. He can honestly talk and pace for days without stopping if it'll keep your attention. If it doesn't, he WILL cry. His mind is faster than his mouth, and stories end up garbled and hard to follow.. Sometimes, they aren't about this life, and when referring to you, it's like he's remembering a version of you.. It always ends the same. His expression gets bleak then snaps back to blissful. A content smile replacing the strained one he wore prior as he embraces you, taking a moment to feel your weight against his. Aizetsu sits in corners and watches you through cracks in the door. You can find him somewhere in your room or general area.. looking at you.. his pupils so dilated that you barely see the blue ring at the edge. He can stand still for hours until you get up or reach for something. He's already got it for you. He's combative with Sekido for that service role. Unlike his "brother," Aizetsu's movements are measured, rushed. Like something will be taken away if he doesn't act fast, so he one ups everyone and reads you before you even ask for something. Zohakuten is annoying but doesn't try to give you a hard time. He's the most demanding, always extending his arms for you to come over and hug him. At first, you can feel the tension he holds all over his body, digging his claws into your side, then like goo, he melts. It's a double edged sword since letting go makes him twice as irritated as before. He'll brat occasionally, pushing something off a counter or banging on the windows, yelling at the stranger on the other side to get lost. No one is the victim of this more than the other four. Whereas Zohakuten would start a fight with anyone else, he just annoys the other four.

The weariness hangs heavier in their eyes than the usual hybrids, but they dont like talking about it in detail. As you could guess, prior to this overwhelming clinginess, there were rivers of agonizing desperation.

———

In this life, the boys didn't have the liberty to grow up together like usual. They were born of different parents scattered throughout the region. This wasn't the first time it happened, but they hated when it did, especially Hantengu.

Each second Hantengu's away from his boys is agony. He spent so long waiting for them to be reborn just so that they're so far away!? All he can think of are the possible ways he might die and restart the damn cycle without even having the chance to see you. He's been alive for a while now, but he's too terrified to go far on his own, so he's barely made any progress!

What if something happens and he doesn't even get to meet you? now THAT would be a fate worse than the cycle.. His caretakers are stumped on what to do with him. Any attempt at calming him down were met with opposition.

The boys are as you expect. They kept acting out in hostility and showed no sign of calming down the longer they're apart. Being moved from shelter to shelter didn't help, neither did getting handled like feral animals even if, in a way, they were.

Only the thought of you kept them going, so did the knowledge that if they found you, there's a high chance they'd find each other. You always seemed to fix everything just by being there, didn't you? So they kept hopping from shelter to shelter, some familiar, some new.

Hantengu was the first to end up in the hybrid shelter near you, then the others trickled in. It would've been decades since they've last seen each other, and based on how they're fairing, no one had it easy.

Sekido was a stray trying to stay out of shelters altogether. He did his best to keep his features hidden, both gathering info about you and the others. He made good progress, pretending to be a potential housing candidate, but he'd always get hostile with people eventually, exposing himself and having the authorities called to force him into a shelter. Each time, it felt like prison because of all the restrictions and drugs.. Like hell if this was gonna stop him. Once his limbs stop feeling like jelly, he's going to find a way out of this damn place!! Again!! In his wait, at least he can pass the time by thinking about his favorite memories of you. Karaku was mostly alright, but transferred often because his very presence made the behaviors of those around him worse. He always used the "I didn't throw the first punch" excuse, but never mentioned his constant goading and spreading seeds of doubt about forgiveness that led to agitation amongst his peers. Not only towards other hybrids but staff as well. Call it sadism or nihilism, but Karaku's favorite pass time was making everyone believe that these rehabilitation shelters were nothing but a waste. The dull, empty eyes staring back at them proved it. In reality, Karaku took pleasure in the fragility of other hybrids. It took the edge off of his own anguish. Urogi always talked about you no matter where he ended up, usually causing a wave of eye rolls. But there's always that one hybrid who doesn't know how to keep their thoughts to themselves. Thus starting Urogi's rampage, watching the red streaks of other hybrids drip down their wounds, spitting at them for daring to talk bad about you. Then came the forced transfers. He loved it, honestly. His mind floated, feeling like he was a bird again, flying to you.. then the plummet when the drugs wore off that he didn't enjoy as much. With a renewed sense of determination and a strong longing for his wings, he began yapping again. Aizetsu, like Sekido, hid his features, calm enough to stay hidden. He kept to himself, mindlessly walking anywhere and everywhere with the tiniest grain of hope that he might find you there. No terrain, weather, or event would stop him from trudging through miles of land, following his intuition to where he thinks you could be. He'd be so focused on you that he'd go days without water or food, feet covered in blisters from the endless dragging across the ground before everything went dark. Waking up in a shelter always reminded him how disappointing his body was for collapsing on him. Hm.. he'll stay and recover for now, once he feels ready, he'll take some food and go again. Zohakuten raised hell, frequently ending up in confined spaces. Because he was young, he had more restrictions to ensure his safety. That only made escaping a huge hassle.. He hated being treated like a foolish boy when he's been through horrors worse than adult scissors! The confinement and restrictions ended up being for everyone else's safety after staff realized how common Zohakuten destroyed and mangled anyone in his vicinity. A familiar prick on his skin came after his small bruised hands demolished the common area, then the heaviness of his limbs settled in. Loud thumps came from the deepest part of the shelter as he banged on the walls to be released once the drugs wore off.

Their status as "lost souls" is no secret when they began tormenting anyone who tried to house them and the employees. It seems they've met the other lost and guiding souls in the shelter before with how they interact. For better and worse, at least the guiding souls temper their mischief.

They try forming a plan on how to find you next if this shelter doesn't show any results. It'd be faster to get transferred now that they're grouped up. And like the heavens opened up, they quickly realized that won't be necessary anymore once they catch a glimpse of the light they yearned for these three recent lifetimes, you. It's you.. You!

Any and all complaints are cut short when they make a habit out of gathering near the front glass of the shelter, waiting for you to walk in or pass by. Their demeanor shift is so sudden the caretakers worry they might've accidentally dropped some pills into their food. It's not like that, unless your presence counts as a drug!

[glossoholicc]

I had a lot of thoughts about these two a few days ago and I need to draw some out or I would die.

[ed-died688]

HI!!!! PEEKABOO I MADE ART AGAIN

YYEAH!!!!! 🎉🎉🎉🎉‼️🎉🗣‼️🗣‼️📢💥💥💥💥

[2eyeeee]

*dumps art here* here's some null doodles and uhhh my crackship (null and lampert pls hear me out on my crackship pls I love them both) okay bye.

[cece693]

hi, i was wondering if you’re still doing Enoch O’Connor fics?

If so, i’d love a Enoch x reader where the reader is Enoch’s s/o(idc about gender) from a different loop and nobody believes that Enoch has a s/o until they come visit

thank you!!!! if you don’t wanna do that than just any Enoch x reader will work

I couldn't help myself and added Olive's crush on Enoch and how she becomes sad to discover her actually has a partner. However, it's not so sad as she just wants to see the boy she cares about happy (even if not with her.) Hope you like it!

BELIEVE IT TILL I SEE IT

pairing: enoch o'connor x male reader tags: enoch has a beau, nobody believes him, olive holds a crush on enoch, unrequited feelings, happy ending

Olive lives in a state of perpetual drift—literally and otherwise. Usually she loves the weightlessness, the way her lead-soled shoes click-drag across the floorboards of Miss Peregrine’s kitchen while she daydreams up in the rafters. But today her thoughts are heavier than metal.

Down at the table, Enoch picks morosely at his toast. Dark fringe, darker scowl. The gloom suits him, Olive thinks; she’s spent untold mornings memorizing the angle of his jaw, rehearsing conversations in which he realizes she’s the only one who sees past his bluster to the tender bits beneath. Except he won’t look at her. All of Olive's attempts have landed nowhere, because Enoch announced to everyone (with all the romance of a funeral bell) “I’m dating someone from another loop.”

Right.

Someone none of them had ever met. Someone who, suspiciously, wrote no letters.

Hugh had mocked him, Emma had rolled her eyes, and Bronwyn had laughed so hard tea shot from her nose. Olive also laughed—too brightly, too quickly—because the alternative was letting them see her heart crack like a clay doll under Enoch’s fist.

She floats a little higher now, chin on the ceiling beam, and coaxes her voice into casual cheer. “Morning, Enoch.”

He mutters something that might be “Mornin’.” Might equally be a curse. The look he flicks upward isn’t cruel, precisely, but it is distant, as if she’s become part of the wallpaper.

And that hurts more than any sharp word.

The whitewashed dining room hums with silverware and small talk while wan November light folds itself onto the long table. Miss Peregrine’s roasted partridge perfumes the air; thyme steam halos every dish. Olive hangs just below the ceiling cornice, pretending to inspect a cobweb so she won’t have to watch Enoch brood five chairs away—yet she can’t stop counting the place settings.

One extra plate. One extra cup. One napkin folded with such crisp precision it might cut skin.

He’s coming, Enoch had said. He'll be here by supper.

Olive’s pulse has been clanging ever since.

Enoch sits rigid beside the empty chair, knuckles white around the stem of a water glass he hasn’t lifted. From above, Olive sees how he mutters silent rehearsals to himself—little jaw-twitch giveaways that anyone else would miss. She used to think that meant he was scheming some dark amusement; now she understands it’s what he does when he’s frightened.

And Enoch O’Connor is very much afraid.

The grandfather clock in the foyer strikes six, stalls, and coughs on its own chime. A chill draught flicks every candle flame side-ways. Conversation stills; even Millard’s invisible napkin freezes mid-dab.

Then the front door swings open.

A boy steps across the threshold, exhaling winter. Frost crystals bead on his great coat, melt, and vanish. He’s handsome in a lived-in, windblown way—eyes lit like struck matches the instant they lock on Enoch.

Everything else—the hush, the incredulous gasps—slips out of focus for Olive because Enoch is smiling. Not his usual thin victory-curve, but something shy and aching, like a candle held inside cupped palms.

He bridges the space in three strides, tangles his fingers in the newcomer’s coat lapels, and kisses him full on the mouth. Gasps ricochet off the foyer walls. Olive’s own breath deserts her. She rises six inches before the weight of her surprise hauls her back down with a clank.

Enoch draws away just far enough to rasp, “Thought the rails would swallow you.” His voice is unsteady, but his hand doesn’t leave the boy’s jaw.

The newcomer’s grin is pure sunrise. “Nearly, but you forget I know someone who raises the dead. A delay in schedule is child’s play.”

Enoch’s answering smile is so bright Olive almost shields her eyes. He ushers you to the seat beside his, never releasing your hand, and only remembers the rest of the household when you clear your throat and nod toward the silent audience.

“Everyone,” he mutters, cheeks flaming, “this is…him.”

You give your name with a small bow. “Apologies for arriving late. Miss Kovar insisted I carry her compliments—also half a bakery’s worth of kolache.” You set the parcel on the sideboard with a grin. “Apparently love travels best when sugared.”

A current of tentative laughter prickles the tension. Chairs scrape; conversation stutters back to life. All normal noises—except Enoch O’Connor, resident storm cloud, is glowing.

He tries not to be. Even as he courts his best glower, the corners of his mouth keep betraying him, hitching upward every time your shoulder bumps his. You’ve barely been seated two minutes and already his body forgets its default angles: elbows drift in, knees angle toward you, the whole sharp-boned frame turning instinctively into your warmth as if drafted by invisible strings.

“Stop crowdin’ me,” he mutters, yet makes no effort to shift. Instead his hand hooks over the back of your chair, thumb stroking the worn wood exactly where your spine touches it.

Olive watches from across the roast, astonished. This is the boy who once referred to hugs as “unsanitary sentiment.” Now he’s practically nesting around you like a raven shielding a stolen jewel.

You spear a partridge morsel, hold it to his lips with a smirk. “Eat, misery-guts. You’ve missed at least three meals stalking train platforms.”

Enoch narrows his eyes—then takes the bite straight from your fork, cheeks tinting the pink of sunset brick. “Weren’t stalking. Timetables were inaccurate.”

“A tragedy,” you sigh theatrically. “Shall I write the rail office a threatening letter in dead-ferret ink?”

A bark of laughter bursts out of him—unfiltered, bright, so un-Enoch the entire table jolts. Hugh’s bees peek from his collar in confusion; Millard’s napkin slips from invisible fingers.

“Shut up,” Enoch says, but the reprimand washes out on another laugh. His eyes—usually dull peat-brown—shine glass-green in the lamplight, pupils wide as if dinner has been spiked with wonder.

You lounge back, smug. “There it is. An actual giggle. Mark the calendar, everyone.”

Bronwyn grins. “Noted. Six-oh-eight post meridiem: Enoch O’Connor proves he has lungs for something other than sighs.”

Enoch tries for menace, fails, and ends up nudging his knee against yours beneath the table. The press lingers—half plea, half confirmation that you’re truly here. When your hand drifts to his thigh he exhales, shoulders losing another ounce of tension, until he’s leaning so far in Miss Peregrine clears her throat.

“Mr O’Connor,” she says, eyebrow arched like a parent catching children under mistletoe, “perhaps you’d allow our guest at least one hand free for eating?”

Enoch rumbles, but unthreads his fingers—only to lace them again a heartbeat later on the other side of your chair, hidden from the ymbryne’s polite line of sight. It’s unconscious, needy—as though the years apart snapped some internal hinge and now every second of skin-to-skin repairs it.

Olive’s cheeks burn; her chest feels helium-thin and molten all at once. Emma squeezes her wrist in silent apology, but that only makes the tears threaten harder.

So this is why Enoch never looked at her the way she looked at him. Not because he was heartless, or oblivious, or delighting in cruelty. Because his heart had already wandered into another loop and built a nest there. “It’s all right, Olive,” she whispers to herself. “You wanted him happy, didn’t you?”

And she realises—surprised by her own honesty—that she means it.

[stellyeddlyn]

Random sketches that I never posted here, and that's okay, you never have to be aesthetic

Did you know I ship Unpleasant with Scag and Lampert with Jeremy??? No??? Well, now you know.

[thebekashow]

"Walk together"..

[zwelcii]

millard: today's officially one year since i've had surgery.

hugh: wooo congrats king!! 🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️🏳️‍⚧️

millard: surgery on my shoulder??? from when i got shot???

hugh: wooo congrats king!! 🇺🇲🇺🇲🇺🇲

[nickwheaters]

scribbled this together in like half an hour happy pride month

[zed-sabre]

i wasn't sure if i was gonna do more of these, but let's say i suddenly felt an emotion again

[just-null]

i love the more well known characters and all but im pushin them all aside to focus on those in the back. i love background characters so fucking much. ino..... ino come back..

[oro-junestar]

chat i'm feeling so joyous and splendid i can't believe null is just fucking evil now ok wow,, also here's a crumb for skaterlight nation

[supremefloof]

tbhx pokemon au pt 3- Wreck

Wreck, Nice's villainous nemesis, is known for wreaking destruction alongside his ferocious Tyranitar. It's advised that citizens invest in reliable real estate as long as he's around!

back to our regularly scheduled programming! Wreck's pokemon depicted here are Mega Tyranitar and Type:Null.

as usual, explanations and yap below

"Due to the colossal power poured into it, this Pokémon's back split right open. Its destructive instincts are the only thing keeping it moving. The effects of Mega Evolution make it more ferocious than ever. It’s unclear whether it can even hear its Trainer’s orders." - Mega Tyranitar, USUM pokedex

about the artwork: I changed type:null's helmet color because it was just clashing too much. it's a helmet anyways it doesn't have to be orange. maybe some type:null have different color helmets

I just traced MT because i got tired and wanted to post about this sooner

I was chatting abt this with @cedarwrought! Wreck is very emotionally devastating partially because of his willingness to adapt himself around Nice.

Taking this a step further to the pokemon AU, Wreck would even be willing to trade a pokémon evolved from friendship with its trainer to Nice - Silvally. After evolving, Silvally doesn't really match Wreck's villain image anymore and is more suited for Nice, becoming more sleek and bright. It's probably Miss J's idea.

from discord: "coparenting [silvally] until nice stops answering his calls, and then wreck is left without his bf AND his pokemon partner. the upside to this is that silvally gets to save wreck in episode 2 since Lin Ling has to have Nice's mons"

Lin Ling thinks that Silvally was Nice's trusted partner pokémon when in reality it was Wreck's all along. Silvally helps win against Wreck because he's being a danger to everyone including himself, and then immediately ditches L0 to go save Wreck from falling to his death as soon as it's over. (so wreck lives in this au. except im pretty sure he's still alive in canon!! I believe!!)

meta reasoning for why Nice has Silvally, quoted from my discord dms: "silvally is implied to be a human created shot at imitating arceus which is why its ability is "RKS system" to change types like arceus's plates." so, it's an imitation of a perfect being!

meanwhile Type:Null is just generally angsty and very edgy which suits Wreck. it's a human created weapon, considered a failed version until it's revealed that a strong bond with someone was the missing ingredient to complete it into Type:Full - Silvally.

Tyranitar is the only rock-dark type and the mega form really matches Wreck I think! I like the idea that in episode 2 when he crashes out he also mega evolves Tyranitar. Although Silvally is technically a Legendary, Miss J thinks there's no way L0 is gonna win that fight with a pokémon that he's only known for two months.

Wreck's Tyranitar knows Focus Blast because it's high power and looks really impressive but is very easy to dodge (on purpose). it becomes a little LESS on purpose though when he's fighting Lin Ling which makes it dangerous since it's super effective against Silvally.

previous | next

[cannibal-alien]

Yoooo could I request some queerplatonic hcs of a mad scientist!Reader x Null from Regretevator?

Some specifics if allowed- Reader is eccentric and has issues when it comes to talking to people

꒰ ��� ꒱ null x mad scientist!reader

i literally love null so much thankg you. Thank u for this 🤍 null fans UNITE 👽

null could sit and listen to you rant about your wild ideas for hours,, and it was actually a regular occurrence! he’d silently analyze you & every word you said, finding you utterly fascinating, and even intelligent. he genuinely admires your work. sure, you might be a littleee unhinged, but damn do you know how to build a doomsday device! not to mention all the other strange, unholy specimens null had the privilege of witnessing.

it enjoyed talking things over during card games, finding you an incredibly amusing and entertaining partner. as a scientist, your quick thinking made you a pretty strong opponent, and it liked that. but sometimes you’d sink too deep into your rampant thoughts and start rambling off track, to which null would call you out on it, trying to reel you back in and calm you down.

null had maybe asked for your assistance once or twice with building a few things, and of course, you said yes immediately. with its own unique power to create basically whatever it wanted, the two of you made a pretty decent team. that is, if null didn’t refuse on keeping you away from working with mr. the last thing your sanity needed was that kind of trouble.

it truly did admire your sheer passion & dedication. and honestly, it thought you were above most people, but could you really blame it? really?

null could be a bit pushy about getting you to speak in front of others, never quite understanding why you’d be so hesitant. you were brilliant, absolutely brilliant, and it completely baffles him. maaaybe you’re just being humble? if people tend to be put off by you and that’s what causes the social gap, null is your #1 defender. a white knight if you will, ready to back you up without any hesitation. who CARES if you’re being too loud? a genius is talking, so sit down and listen!

divider by @/strangergraphics ^.^

[cece693]

HELLOUUUUU I LOVE LOVE THE NEW FICSS may i request an enoch x male reader where he gets really jealous so he locks? the reader in a room? 😭 if not , enoch taking care of sick reader 🙏🏻🙏🏻

Hello, so I really have been leaning toward this fandom for sometime, but didn't know what to write about, so I thank you for these ideas. Couldn't decide between the two, so I'll write both.

Locked Inside

tags: jealous enoch, he's literally a cat, you can't change my mind, reader was written with a male in mind but it can literally also be gender neutral

You don’t think much of it when Enoch’s eyes narrow at you across the sitting room. He’s been that way all day—drawn into himself, fidgeting with the small homunculus he created just that morning, and wearing the most obvious pout. At first, you suspect he’s just having another one of those days where irritability is his default mode. But after dinner, he guides you by the hand upstairs.

You’re so used to letting him lead you that you don’t notice, at first, where exactly he’s taking you. Only after he closes his bedroom door and you hear the lock click do you spin around, confusion written all over your face. “Enoch?” you say, placing a hand gently on the doorknob. “Is there a reason the door’s locked?”

He looks at you—dark eyes flickering with swirling emotions. “I didn’t want you leaving.”

The small, powerless click of the lock feels more like Enoch’s own heart snapping into place than anything threatening. You’ve seen him moody and sarcastic, but this? This is different. He’s shifting from foot to foot like he’s not sure if he wants to come closer or retreat entirely. It reminds you of a cat that can’t decide if it wants to be in your lap or stalk off with its tail in the air.

Your eyebrows lift in mild concern. “Not that I’m complaining about alone time, but what’s going on?”

He glares at the space between you both. “I saw you laughing with Hugh earlier,” he says softly. “And you gave him that new scarf to try on. You were talking so happily…then you went with Emma and Claire to pick flowers. You just—You haven’t spent any time with me all day.”

The jealousy in his voice is heartbreakingly obvious. You can’t help but smile a little, despite the pinch of guilt in your chest. “That doesn’t mean I like them more than you,” you say gently.

Enoch scoffs, arms crossed tightly over his chest. “Well, you might as well,” he mutters. “I can’t compete with them. They’re…they’re nicer. Or at least more—well—charismatic than I am.” He looks away, swallowing. “Why would you bother with me when they’re so much easier to be around?”

Softening, you cross the few steps that separate you, then slowly ease your arms around his waist. He stiffens for only a second before he gives in, letting out a breath he’s been holding. He nuzzles his forehead near your collarbone, almost as if he’s trying to hide.

“Enoch.” You lift one hand to brush his hair back from his forehead. He’s tense in your arms, shoulders wound tight. “I don’t want easier, or nicer, or more charismatic. I want you.” You feel him release a slight tremor of relief when you say that. “I enjoy being around the others, sure, but you have something that no one else does. You see things differently, and you don’t pretend to be someone you’re not. You’re my Enoch.”

He shifts again—pushing his face against your shoulder. It’s almost catlike, the way he leans and subtly demands your touch. “You’re sure?” he asks, voice half-muffled. “You’re not just saying that?”

You tilt his chin up, making him meet your eyes. “I’m absolutely sure.” You watch as the tension in his features slowly uncoils. “As for locking the door…” you tease gently, “I guess I can forgive you this time, but maybe next time, you can just ask to spend time with me without barricading me in a room.”

His cheeks flush pink. “I just…didn’t want to risk you saying no.” He tries to sound nonchalant, but he’s clearly embarrassed. You only smile.

“Enoch, if you want me, all you have to do is tell me,” you say. “I promise, I’ll want to spend time with you—no question.” Enoch slowly cracks a small, genuine smile. The sight feels like a warm beam of sunlight in the dusty gloom of his usual expressions. He tugs you to his bed, encouraging you to sit, and then promptly curls up beside you, leaning his head on your shoulder as if you’re his personal pillow.

You run a reassuring hand up and down his arm, content and comfortable as he snuggles closer. All at once, the locked door doesn’t feel confining—it feels safe, a private cocoon for the two of you. You can’t stop the soft laugh that leaves your lips when he hooks a leg over yours to keep you in place, making his possessiveness known. You only pull him closer, pressing your cheek gently against his hair.

Personal Nurse

tags: enoch cares, enoch becomes nurse, grumpy to others but melts around you, pre-relationship, gender neutral

Somewhere in the timeless hush of Miss Peregrine’s loop, the air feels heavier, more oppressive than usual. You notice it first when you wake with a dull ache in your bones, head throbbing and throat tight. Being peculiar never guaranteed perfect health, and the cold that grips you is proof enough. By afternoon, you’re reduced to a shivery bundle under covers in your assigned bedroom, nose runny and eyelids drooping with fatigue.

You’re dimly aware of the others bustling outside your door—Millard’s telltale footprints, Emma’s quiet knocks to ask if you need anything, Bronwyn’s booming concern. But after an hour or so, their voices fade, and a different presence appears.

“Oi, you awake?” Enoch’s soft voice, laced with uncertainty, drifts across the room. You push aside your swirling thoughts and look up. He’s standing near your door, balancing a cup of tea and a small bowl of soup on a tray. It’s a comical sight—Enoch, usually snarky and uninterested, meticulously carrying sustenance. He wrinkles his nose as if the whole act embarrasses him. Without meeting your eyes, he sets the tray on your nightstand, pulling a chair closer.

You blink in surprise. “Enoch? Did…did Miss Peregrine send you?”

“No,” he mumbles, crossing his arms but not quite managing his usual scowl. “I just… Millard said you were coughing up a lung. I figured I’d see if you needed something. Don’t look at me like that.”

A chuckle rattles in your chest, turning into a small cough. You cover your mouth quickly and watch Enoch’s eyes widen with momentary concern. “Here,” he says, ignoring your amusement, “drink the tea. Get some liquid in you so you don’t keel over.”

As you take the teacup, your hand brushes his. He flinches—startled by the heat of your skin—and sets his palm against your forehead with unexpected gentleness. “You’re burning up,” he murmurs, brow furrowed. “Idiot. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Didn’t realize it was this bad,” you admit, voice scratchy and weak. “I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Enoch tries to scowl, but it flickers at the edges and melts into something softer. “Don’t apologize. Just get better,” he mutters. Then he straightens with renewed resolve. “Anyway, Miss P said I should check your fever. So.” He presses a cool, damp cloth to your forehead. “I’m just—uh—helping.”

You can’t hide your fond smile as he fusses over you. His movements are gentle, minutely precise, yet laced with his brand of awkward care. You sip the tea, feeling warmth spread through your aching chest, and Enoch continues to hover, eventually picking at the fabric of your blanket like a fidgety cat. By mid-afternoon, word spreads. Hugh and Fiona stand by the open door, peeking in with wide eyes as Enoch shuffles a blanket around your shoulders.

“Aww,” Hugh can’t help but tease, “look at Nurse Enoch go.”

You see Enoch stiffen instantly. His posture changes from gentle caretaker to defensive cynic in a heartbeat. “Shut it,” Enoch snaps, turning his glare on the onlookers. “I’m just doing what needs to be done. Now get out if you're just going to stare.” A bit flustered, Fiona quickly ushers Hugh away, casting you an apologetic smile. The moment they leave, Enoch’s shoulders lose some of their tension, and he gently tucks the blanket around you again.

“Don’t mind them,” you offer, voice hoarse but understanding. “They’re just surprised. You’re normally…well, not exactly Florence Nightingale.”

He huffs, lips pursed. “I don’t do this for anyone else.” The admission is so quiet you barely catch it. “Besides, you’re the one with a fever. If it were me, you’d—”

“I’d do the same,” you finish confidently, smiling up at him.

A flicker of relief lights his eyes. He lingers beside your bed, unsure what to do with his hands now that he’s been ‘caught’ being tender. Finally, with a dismissive sigh, he grabs the chair and pulls it close. “You should sleep,” Enoch says, voice just above a whisper.

“I’m not that tired anymore, actually,” you protest, but another wave of exhaustion weighs on you. You slump back into the pillow, eyelids fluttering. Enoch runs a hesitant hand across your forehead, checking the damp cloth, and you catch a glimpse of genuine concern in his eyes. Despite his usual grumbling exterior, his touch is cool and mindful, lulling you into a comforting haze.

“I’ll wake you if anything changes,” he says, and you know he’s talking about your fever. Slowly, you nod, letting your eyes drift closed. You sense him fiddling with something at your bedside. Then, you feel the gentle ghost of movement as he tugs the covers more snugly around your shoulders and settles in the chair. Through the haze of half-sleep, you feel strangely safe.

When you wake a few hours later, the early afternoon light has softened in the windows. Enoch is still there, arms crossed, dozing lightly. The tray on your nightstand has a fresh pitcher of water, and a half-folded note from Miss Peregrine reads something about rest and medication. Unable to hide a grin, you reach out and lightly tap Enoch’s arm. He startles awake with a snort. “You alright?” he blurts, voice thick with sleep.

You nod, your own voice a little steadier. “Feeling a bit better, actually.” A slight pause. “Thank you.”

His cheeks tint with the barest hint of pink. “You’d do the same,” he repeats quietly, eyes avoiding yours in that shy, defensive Enoch way. He stands up, briskly adjusting the damp cloth on your forehead. Then he stands by the door, not quite leaving yet. “Do you need anything else?” he mumbles, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

“Just you,” you say, your smile warm. “I mean—your company, I mean.”

He catches the meaning, and for a second, a tiny smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. He exhales, stepping back inside. “Fine. I suppose I can keep watch a bit longer,” he says, like it’s a big inconvenience. Yet he makes no move to leave your side—pulling up the chair, leaning forward with elbows on knees, eyes resting on you. For all his scowling and snapping remarks, he can’t quite keep the softer concern out of his gaze. And you can’t help but feel grateful that, for at least a moment, Enoch has let himself be your personal nurse. Even if he might deny it later.