#goooood i KNOW v is an asshole but he is ALSO the most romantic asshole on earth

[slasherscream]

if you're still taking V requests could I have a lil black!reader and V with reader getting some comfort while they're depressed :']

it really buttered my egg-roll to write this

v x black!reader ft. // soft comfort

He notices everything about you. 

It is such a luxury to have another living, breathing person in the shadow gallery and he doesn’t take it for granted.

He observes you constantly, consciously and unconsciously. How will this interact with Y/N? Would Y/N enjoy this? They’re wrinkling their nose again what could be the matter? 

You are a fixture in his life now. A constant, when for so long the only constant he has kept has been his rage, his vengeance, his mission. 

To neglect you in any way would be a crime.

So yes he notices from the very start when you begin to wilt like a flower without sunlight. You try to hide it but there’s no hiding how the gallery begins to lack the usual lightness you bring to it. 

You were so taken by his home the moment he’d spirited you away. Enchanted with its treasures and beauty. And he knows it is beautiful. Full of beautiful and rare things - but when you first took everything in         smiling from ear to ear? It became merely a reflection of your own loveliness and vibrancy.

It dulls as your happiness does. 

From the jukebox plays a crooning old school tune that you listen listlessly to from your spot on the couch. It’s one of your favorites but the energy is wrong. You aren’t engaged by it. Eyes closed, mouth turned down into a frown, and each breath you take seeming utterly forced. An effort just to breathe and an effort just to be living.

V takes all of this in and decides it would be ….inappropriate for him to allow this to continue on. He would be beside himself if you mistook him trying to respect your space and boundaries for not taking note of your suffering. For not caring.

He tries to make noise as he approaches you. The last thing he wants to do is startle you and you’ve taken to asking him if he walks on air because he is, in fact - always managing to startle you. At the sounds of footsteps you open your eyes and glance his way.

Your expression shifts only slightly but the fact that you look even slightly less miserable just upon seeing him is …..well it’s- 

“You’re back.” You say, sounding tired.

“I’m back.” V echoes as he moves to sit beside you. 

You shift as if to be further out of his way, legs curling up to be closer to the rest of your body. He can feel the warm imprint you left on the cushion, probably from hours of remaining still and unmoving.

His hands flutter uselessly for a moment before he settles them on his lap. He’d wanted to ….touch you, that he knows (he thinks of it, of settling his hands over your legs. Of using his hands to pull your legs - gently - back over his own, where he could simply… touch you and then he must imagine a world where you would enjoy being touched by him as much as he would enjoy touching you) . But that is not ….the point of what V wants to do. That is just an instinct that grows in him with each passing day. One that must be ignored as best he can. 

“Might I pose a question?” He says, eyes focused solely upon you from beneath the safety of his mask. It is the only reason he ever feels so comfortable looking at you so bravely, so openly. 

“Of course.”

“Are you - are you unhappy here?” He is momentarily startled by how quickly you spring into a sitting position. He is warmed by the force with which you deny his question and a tension leaves his shoulders that he hadn’t known was there. That’s troubling but staunchly ignored (like so many of his feelings regarding you).

“Why do you think that?” You ask, still frowning. 

Silence settles in the room, aside from the songs still playing from the jukebox. All the ones you’d selected sounding ….melancholy without the usual accompaniment of your dancing and enthusiastic singing.  

“Ah.” You say, laughing in a way that’s distinctly unhappy. “It’s nothing you did - it’s nothing at all really it’s just - I’ve always had … low moments like this where I just can’t seem to be happy." 

More silence until, "Is there anything I can do to lift your spirits?" 

You are about to shake your head, touched by his concern but unwilling to allow your misery to spread. You know this is just something that you’ll have to let pass. But then you think (the music is still playing - just the right kind for dancing. For holding someone close. Lovingly. It’s been so long since you’ve been held.) -

"You’ve thought of something.” V leans forward, focused on the way he’d seen an idea drift over your face before you’d shaken your head and tried to rid yourself of it. “Please - seeing you so unhappy is nearly unbearable. If there’s something I can do - anything I can do, I’ll do it." 

The statement lingers in the air with such a passion you have to look away from his mask. You feel watched in a way that makes your skin burn. 

"You could….Would you dance with me?” Your eyes focus firmly onto some bit of priceless, stolen memorabilia in the farthest corner of the room. 

“That would make you happy?” You manage to nod and then try not to tense when you feel, more than see, him get up from the couch. You’re half afraid he’ll leave you alone. A quiet mockery of your request. But that’s just the dark part of your mind talking to you.

V would never do anything so cruel and furthermore, his heart feels like it’s trying to escape from his chest even as he steps before you and bows in a way that’s both over dramatic and entirely charming. “May I have this dance?" 

You can’t help the small laugh as you slide your hand into his waiting one. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse races (he can. His hand so much bigger than yours, his fingers brush across and wrap around your wrist and it only makes his own pulse race ever faster–) "You may.”

He guides you smoothly to the center of the room and a new song starts up as if waiting for his cue. The voice of a crooning Ella Fitzgerald begins to sing the classic and now illegal version of “Someone to Watch Over Me”. You both relax and stiffen at the familiar tune. It feels a little too on the nose.

He could spend the rest of his life watching over you, he thinks.What would it be like? To be loved like that- you wonder.

There is a distance between the two of you that is uncomfortable and one of you must take the plunge to eliminate it. You are the one to do so. Already so miserable and tired you thoughtlessly seek out the rest of the comfort you think you’ll find in his company. There’s a moment where he stops breathing when you step more fully into his space, the circle of his arms. Now you can feel the human warmth of him from underneath his costume. He can feel yours as well and after a stuttered breath his arms wrap more firmly around you. He begins to move you in smooth and soothing circles. 

You continue to surprise him by resting your head on his shoulder. He knows he’s imagining the tickle of your curls against his neck and underside of his chin, his clothing is too thick for that - but it’s the nicest thing his imagination has ever conjured, the phantom feeling of your hair that has always looked so soft. 

He glances at the hand still tucked into his own, gloved one and tries not to think about how your brown skin might look against his own (it’s a terrifying thought just as much as it is a ….one that fills him with-) 

Slowly he tucks you closer, a hand settling at your waist that he tries not to make feel …proprietary, even though it does ignite something fiercely possessive in him. You make a noise that sounds heavy with contentment and he thinks some of the gallery’s light is starting to return.