#limbus company x reader

[pvlvsdog]

How would Sinners react to a proposition of skinny dipping? You don't have to write all of them ofc :3

Ohhh, you are going to be the end of me /pos /nm the way I had to ponder this for so long. I’m dying

Unedited! Slight nsfw themes (mentions of nudity) ahead!

Hmm, I think Don is all for it as a fun adventure. Like, oh cool you want to swim in a lake together, this will be so fun, you can find something to jump into the water from or splash each other. If she’d be excited for having sone fun in the lake with someone, it’d be you. Those are her thoughts for exactly ten seconds before it hits her that skinny dipping also includes both parties being naked, preferably away from everyone else and pretty intimate. Her eyes get a bit wide as she’s hit with that realization but she’s Don, of course she won’t back down. Might blurt out something like ‚naked?’ Just as that thought enters her mind, not that she minds. She just doesn’t have a filter. And is very eager to do the activity with you still. Still, her openness doesn’t mean she’ll be normal about it. I could see her making quite a ruckus about sneaking off with you (not even to show off and let others know, she’s just like that plus you gave her a lot of positive emotions to process) so your little skinny dipping session will be anything but a secret. Bonus is that for a good while after you ask, you could swear her cheeks turned a semi-permanent shade of pink. The shoes stay on of course. Even when you question her about it, she’ll respond like you’re the one being silly for expecting anything else

Again with sinners being anything but normal, we have Sinclair. He’s another one who will ask the same question of „…Naked?” But in his case it’s not prefixed with excitement and joy. Not that he wouldn’t want to do it. He just didn’t expect you to propose that and even if you did, he’s still a bit surprised that you proposed that to him. He just simply… wasn’t expecting this. And with the insight I have from reading his book, I would guess that the whole concept would bring him more stress than joy. First of all, he doesn’t like himself all that much, so the perspective of stripping in front of somebody he likes… is anxiety inducing. Besides, despite keeping it all well hidden and marinating in his brain, his mind - more often than not - leads him uh. Places. He starts thinking about things he… really feels bad for thinking in relation to his favourite coworker. About your body and the connotations of your proposition. Lewd possibilities cross his mind and with each one he feels more and more awful. This is much worse than the ambiguously wet dreams plaguing his mind (as they do in the book), since at this point he at least doesn’t realise who the motherly figure in them is. But he knows you. And he feels like he shouldn’t be thinking about you in that way. You’d find that disgusting, find him disgusting. You probably already do. And he wouldn’t blame you for that. In the past (again, in the book), it took one lewd comment about a local shopkeeper from his schoolmates to get him flustered to the point he gave up on coming to the store. And he’s not much better now. A huge part of him, one that dislikes both the inside and outside of his own self, is screaming at him to decline. But there is something in the way you look at him so kindly, waiting for his response, that pushes him to ignore his innate instinct to run. You swear you could see cogs turning in his head and steam rising (sorry, that metaphor was uh, not purposefully crafted) as he mulled everything over to finally agree. But not before asking if you’re sure. I mean… you did ask. But he’s so stressed, he would rather make sure that you mean what you’re saying. The last thing he’d want is to make a fool of himself in front of you. You reassure him that your proposition still stands and you meant it. However, when push comes to shove he probably would still, albeit apologetically, ask if he could maybe stay in his shirt and boxers. Especially after seeing you strip. With a lot of encouragement you could maybe get him to give that up, but it would take a lot and he would be… rather guarded. Either way, as time in the lake goes on, he would relax a tiny bit and it would be fun. Mostly staying emerged in water though. Give him time. And uh. Don’t look down when you two get out of the water. We all know what is happening there as his eyes nearly drill holes in your figure, but I think he would actually die permanently if you acknowledged his hhh. Reaction

Rodya is much more chill with it. She gets excited right away and praises you for the good idea. When you tell her that it would be just the two of you and that she was the first person you thought of when the idea popped into your head, she grins. Well obviously she was, who’s more fun on this bus than her~ despite the self assured words and tone, there is a bit of pride as she says it. She proposes to make it a little adventure, to sneak out and make it a fun secret between the two of you. Definitely not because she’s a bit salty that you were the one to come up with the idea. I mean she likes you, she “should” come with something special to add here to impress you. Though it’s a bit reassuring that you thought that she was the best person to share this moment with. She makes the whole event ten times better, coming up with a way to sneak off unnoticed. Even if you are concerned about Vergilius finding out, she waves you off. She’s been in deeper shit than this, no need to worry. She has a way with words, as she claims. As you two strip, she teases you a bit and shamelessly takes off her clothes, fighting against herself not to show just how much she’s seeking out your starstruck gaze. Again, she tells you to relax as she watches you strip, letting slip a comment or two that are bound to rattle your brain for the next week. But for now you two enter the water. She yelps a bit and complains that it’s colder than she’d like. Overplaying the act a little bit, though you can definitely tell she’s cold. If you’re taking the temperature worse, she’d comment on it, saying how it’s crawl who the ‘cultured’ folk is. ‘Lowly ones are too used to freezing colds, it’s very easy to see~’ she says about ‘commoners’ in a playful but matter-of-factly tone. You could easily imagine Heathcliff contemplating drowning her on the spot on a bad day if he was present. But there’s no one around. Only you and her. And despite her poorly masked insecurities, this little activity you share is sure making her feel special

I firmly believe that asking Outis to skinny dip would leave you more flustered than her. Maybe she’d be surprised at first. Taken aback. You could see something in her demeanour shift as she lets out some semi-flustered explanation that it could be amateurish considering your “service” to the company. But she has a soft spot for you. So, after asking Dante (yes, she has to ask them, it’s the ‘professional way to conduct such procedures’) she informs you at what time she’ll be waiting for you. The initial surprise has worn off and from then on, oh, you’re cooked. She’d strip in a very matter of factly fashion and when she stands in front of you in all her glory, it’s hard not to blush. At the slightest hesitance she informs you that this is nothing to be embarrassed about. Her tone both confident and a little… affectionate? You could swear there was a glint of warmth in her eyes when she said it. Genuine warmth shining through her collected exterior. Times at war are (you don’t dare to correct that with a ‘were’) tough and back in her day she had seen contless soldiers in such situations. This is nothing to be ashamed about. Didn’t you request this bonding time between the two of you? It’s a good way to bring you two closer. She proclaims so with confidence, but as her words hit her, she adverts her eyes and adds that it’s good for teamwork. So what are you waiting for? It’s hard to disagree or prolong the ordeal, so soon enough both of you get into the water. She sways effortlessly along with the current and for once you can see her expression soften a little as she goes along with your attempts at small talk. Sure, that civil, personal part of her is a little rusty, but it glimmers though the cracks as she recounts some little facts and situations from the passing days. It’s hard to let her guard down. But as she watches you, submerged in the water beside her, she feels like it’s not impossible to feel something else than a calculated need for survival

As you ask Ryoshu to indulge you in your request, she takes her cigarette out of her mouth and quirks her eyebrow at you. ‚What For?’ She questions you with amusement. No matter your reasoning, she ponders for a second, snickering a little. It’s… sort of cute you want to involve her in your plans like that. Especially since it’s a bit of a bold ask, all things considered. Finally, a smirk plays on her lips as her eyes travel up and down your figure and she replies. ‚Alright, Why Not’. She’s not bothered by the whole concept, though your daring request is for sure positively interesting to her, as I said. You two set the time (well, you do, she’s chill to go along with anything really) and she tells you to lead the way. She’s not too bothered to just walk out even if you want to go during company time. She’s curious to see where it’ll go. Only when you two did yourselves of your uniforms does she change her demeanour a bit. She’s a woman of the arts after all. And there’s nothing shameful in her gaze as it drags across your body, noting every curve and scar. She definitely has eyes of an artist. And in that moment, you feel like the finest muse she had ever had (which… could be concerning considering the type of art she dabbles in, but this time her thoughts are definitely going different places than gore. For the most part). She’s fun to spend time in the water with. Witty and attentive, she gazes at the scenery around, though each time her eyes end up on you again. Albeit she’s an enigmatic woman, it’s very clear that this experience made you two somewhat closer

The real issue when asking Faust to go skinny dipping with you is to get a straightforward answer from her. Or just any answer that would tell you what she’s thinking. But it’s Faust we’re talking about. So, when you ask her if she’d be down to go skinny dipping with you after Dante officially ends the work day (you know she wouldn’t agree if this wasn’t the case) she tells you that ‘all employees are permitted to use the next twelve hours as they please, to rest, use the restroom or destress’. She says it as if she was stating the obvious. Well, she is, in a sense, but it doesn’t mean she’s making herself clear in this context. She’s doing anything but that. After you press her a bit and explains, that her response was, indeed, a “yes”. Although a very faint smile is tugging on her lips, as she asks you about the time and for the briefest of times you could swear that her (usually very distant) gaze settled on you. Still avoiding the eyes, but as it falls below your face, you wonder if it’s about something different than her habit of avoiding looking at faces this time. With how enigmatic she is, she isn’t giving you much to go off on in terms of decoding her thoughts. Even when she shows up at the time you two agreed on (seems like she appeared just as the clock struck the exact minute, but after getting to know her, that doesn’t surprise you at all). Gracefully, her hands work their way around zippers and buttons until the last item of clothing slides off of her body, only to be folded and set aside for later. Her soft, pale skin seems radiant and she waits for you to rid yourself on the uniform as well before emerging herself in water beside you. When you look at her, her eyes barely leave the surface, tracing the lines of the ripples her movement makes against the current. However, each time you look away, you can almost feel the burning gaze that settles on your figure and takes it all in

A gentle, happy smile settles on Hong Lu’s lips as you present him with the idea. How curious! Is this some sort of a ritual or a pastime poor people have? He would love to do it, he never had the chance to~. First being hungry and now taking clothes off and getting into dirty water for fun, this job is giving him so many new experiences! He asks what the purpose is. Of being naked and swimming in some (probably at least slightly contaminated) water. You didn’t suspect he knew about the horrid state of things outside of his bubble, such as water being bad/polluted, but his state of surprise seems to be contagious when you find yourself wondering about the degree to which his ignorance is a choice. As your expression clearly changes at his words, he gives you a lazy, quizzical smile. His questions need to be answered and I, dear reader, wish you good luck because you will need all of it to explain to him why you want to be in the water - alone and without clothes - with him specifically. After he seems satisfied (though you’re sure the last one or two questions were asked in an effort to fluster you), he tells you to get him when you’re ready to depart and head towards the destination of your ‘curious activity’. Once there, he gently pulls off his clothes with a bit of excitement, clearly looking forward to taking part in your plan. Before you get a chance to lead him into the murky liquid, he happily shows you his folded stack of clothes. They look… a bit unconventional in the way he had put them, but he acts with such glee that it’s hard to stay indifferent to his achievement. He tells you that he had other people handle such things before, but since that’s a thing of the past, he had learned to do it on his own. He’s very happy to share this new skill with you. It’s after that, that you two finally go thought with your plan fully. Shivering a bit, he asks if the water will be heated up. It’s up to you if you want to inform him that it’s not how natural bodies of water work or spare him such information and assure him that the longer you two stay emerged, the warmer he’ll feel (omitting that it won’t be due to any manmade mechanisms). All in all, even something you wouldn’t personally call “and exceptional experience” is like a brand new adventure with Hong Lu by your side. His musing and eager inquiries never let you drift off or grow bored. And if you’re unsure about how stimulating a chat with him can be, I assure you that his body will provide a whole array of visual stimuli as well, all on display for your eyes to explore

Next 3 couldn’t have been written without the help of my friend (you, dear anon haha^^) and I hope I didn’t disappoint~

If you were hoping for a distinct reaction from Heathcliff, you are in luck because it is indeed, definitely strong. When you ask him if he would like to skinny dip with you (either because you like the idea and want company or have just heard of the concept and want to try it out, having picked him as the best suited companion) he looks a bit… taken aback. Sure, he can be loud and most definitely wouldn’t categorise him as shy, but he’s also not blind to the implications of you offering to strip in front of him like it’s some casual activity (it’s not to him, definitely). There’s a lot of things left over from his past and even now, it clearly shows in his approach to intimacy. Not only was he ‘undesirable’ before, he had grown to expect to not have his desires met easily and without fighting for each instance of genuine affection (such as his… favourite coworker offering to be so intimate). In his head it’s still more easy to accept being The Other, the one who pleases those he cares about, someone who constantly tries to earn each instance of affection. Despite his… quite innate state of emotional constipation, he is fond of you and by extension- thinks quite highly of you. For someone who had it so reinforced from an early age that he is below the good and pure people (well, especially one person), it makes sense for you to just be your lovely self instead of initiating anything on you own, directing your attention and intimacy towards him so blatantly. Besides that he uh… well, he is all bark no bite in a sense that he didn’t have a lot of instances where he could get experience. At best he had something like this happen once or twice when he was much younger. Both the way he is and the lingering idea in the back of his head of ‘saving himself’ prevented him from familiarising himself with more. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if the question came from someone else. But you get him worked up on daily over much less than skinny dipping. Heck, even when you look at him a bit too intensely during a bickering session he looses track for a moment each time without fail. But he wouldn’t be Heathcliff if he unpacked all of that. So instead your question will get a very annoyed ‚what for’. I mean. Your intentions aren’t that clear to him, like I said, he feels more natural when he’s chasing an idea, than when his desires become something writhing reach, something he doesn’t have to work for. Whatever you tell him to explain your request, it won’t be completely understandable to him because of that. But in the end a strange pull he feels on the inside (again, he’s not unpacking that) pushes him to grumble out something that is almost in agreement to your question. In turn he spends the remaining time being filled with way more tension that what would be considered reasonable. He’s not snappy, but something about the way he holds himself is very different. So much so, that Rodya calls it out at one point. Only then does he let his full annoyance out and while a few sinners muse on what could have set him off like that again, you’re left to wonder if you were the reason for his strange behaviour. He’s stuck between snapping at your coworkers and spacing out. His mind going back to the plans you two made. Each time, he finds that his gaze landed on you again and lets out a frustrated huff. As you two finally depart on your off time, he walks right by your side. His eyebrows knitted together and his eyes looking somewhere off to the side. On the inside he is torn. A part of him wishes to rush towards the body of water and the other part tells him to run back to the bus. In the end he simply walks shoulder in w shoulder with you. Saying nothing until you two arrive at the place. Something stops him from undressing and compels him to instead aim his gaze at you for the first time since you guys departed. It’s then that he finds himself stuck, watching you slip out of your uniform, fabric sliding off of your form 1/2

Hungrily he notes each soft curve and sharp edge that makes up your form, his eyes taking in all the ways in which light and shadow engulf your body, creating a sight he realises now, he yearned so hard to see until now. No beauty mark, no hair, no scar escape his sight. When you turn to him, you could swear that his pronounced chest is rising up and down way pre intensely than it has any business doing so. Heath doesn’t know what to do with himself for a moment. Seeing you so bare, so purposefully there - it makes all the repressed urges inside him turn into a devouring fire that leaves his body sweating and muscles tense. It somehow feels both wrong and cathartic to have someone be here with him so wholly, with such intent. This is not like fleeting glances and meek brushing of the skin that he was told over and over he was undeserving of. This here doesn’t feel wrong or undeserved. Whatever you meant by your invitation here, he can feel that you meant it. He can’t think of what he did to deserve to be chosen out of all the coworkers you two are close to. In all fairness this is so unusual because he is sure that he did not do anything. He didn’t have to dress up nicely, speak differently, act more “civilised” (we… won’t unpack that here hhh). No amount of favours and flowers caused you to trust him enough to bare yourself like that. Somehow, you just did on your own accord. Undressing takes him a second, all those notions racing in his head, having a hard time getting through over his much more thirsty thoughts as he is battling a hard time of his own. The mere fact that his is not sporting a full on erection is more of a miracle than whatever Dante does to bring him back from the dead after battles. Finally you two are naked and if he wasn’t as worked up over you, he’d get an ego boost from the way you looked at him as well. As strong as his self restraint is, even the cold water can’t keep his member flaccid once you two get into the water and he looks at the way droplets explore your body, dripping down each time you emerge from under the surface. They shine and shimmer on your soft skin before falling down and it’s safe to say he’s getting more worked up with each second. It’s even more evident when you try to hold a conversation. Although you will have to deal with his frustrated demeanour and lack of focus, he still makes it worth a while and there’s nothing to regret once your little adventure comes to an end 2/2

As soon as the question exits your mouth, Ishmael cocks her head at you. It that really what you want to do? She also asks you ‘what for?’ Though she’s certainly not as worked up about it as Heathcliff was. There’s no doubt that she has experience with bodies of water and she is the first person to inform you that bathing without any clothes is about the least practical thing you can do. Of course, jumping in with your full attire on wouldn’t work well either, but a minimal amount of clothing is actually very beneficial. She’s not judging you, but don’t expect her not to question what kind of ‘fun’ there is in skinny dipping. So it’s a whole thing and people like to partake in it? Doesn’t make much sense from a practical standpoint, but as you explain to her why it’s actually the whole point to take your clothes off when you two do it, a little smile tugs on her lips. Perhaps she does find your methods of seeking alone time… unique, but she’s not oblivious to the fact that this is you initiating an intimate moment with her. The length to which you’re going to convince her of the vital part of being naked during skinny dipping makes it hard for her not to point it out. She asks you one or two final questions that are solely spoken to fluster you a bit, but ultimately she’s open to try this out. It’s Ish that insists on setting the time and follows through to a minute, waiting to be lead by you towards your set destination. As you undress, she checks out the body of water, humming to herself and giving you updates on her finds. When she’s satisfied that no harm could be caused by your little activity, she turns to face you. Though she acts very casual, her cheeks and ears come close to matching her hair as she eyes you up and down. After a brief pause she begins to take her own clothes off. The sudden change of temperatures leaves you shivering as you two go deeper in, but Ishmael acts unphased. She notes that she did warn you that your fun adventure could turn unpleasant and lead to you catching a cold. With a small sign, she swims closely to you. Body heat transfers underwater just as easily as it does on the surface. Thus, she proposes that you two entangle your bodies closely to keep you from suffering the cruel coolness of the liquid you were so eager to submerge yourself into. Her strong arms wrap themselves around your frame and your chests press together. Though decently athletic, she’s soft and definitely warm. She holds you until it’s time to get out, making sure you don’t freeze. At least that’s the reason she gives you ;3

Right from the start, though calm and unassuming in his demeanour, Yi Sang would be pretty receptive to your idea. All nervousness you might have felt disappear as soon as he responds to your question. He might be a little quiet but it doesn’t mean he’s prudish or judgy, quite the opposite actually. So all he does is nod in agreement and ask what would be the most convenient time for you two to depart. After that, if you are vigilant enough, you might feel his eyes on you a decent amount of times. At one point you can even hear Rodya question why he’s ’smiling to himself like that’ though his answer it too quiet to decipher (and probably a bit too ambiguous to get a proper read on him). In the end he approaches you as your working hours come to an end, asking you if you’re ready to go. He’s so casual about it that it’s hard not to feel at ease, even though his veiled eagerness is definitely a bit flustering. On the way there he engages in pleasant musings with you, listening to your thoughts about the latest happenings or life in general and gladly sharing his own. He’s a bit more relaxed now, whether it’s because he’s off the clock and away from the crowded bus or because he’s speaking with you. He grows a bit more flustered when he sees you take your clothes off and avoids eye contact more than usual when he sees you looking at his naked form, but still manages not to make things too awkward. All in all it’s not a bad time and despite being somewhat a distant person, he is definitely staying pretty close to you physically, sneaking glances each time you gaze at the water you two are submerged in

With Meursault I can’t imagine a scenario that wouldn’t be a bit silly and surreal because that man really just considers private affections and urges to be not a part of his work contract and thus fails to see the purpose in carrying them out. I firmy believe even getting morning wood is a conscious choice to him. It’s not in his contract, thus he refuses to succumb to it. However, he does value your input. Whether it’s affection or ‘simple appreciation for your efficiency in the workplace’ he is willing to hear you out. It doesn’t mean you won’t have to explain and validate skinny dipping as a pastime, both in excruciating length and detail. You might have to get Dante involved, asking them to please issue an official statement allowing you to depart in purpose of decreasing stress and thus increasing productivity. Yes, it has to be phrased like that. If you get your dear (and confused) manager to comply, Meursault won’t argue. It’s not that he doesn’t want to go. But his wants are not relevant. He is an employee first, after all. It shows in the way he completely disregards any of his personal feelings on the matter. Just hums quietly and agrees. If he is flustered or nervous, it doesn’t show. The best sign you will get from him is that he seems pretty receptive, all factors considered. Another sign that he might be a bit more interested than he is lettting on is that, after your work hours end, he heads towards you with such purpose that one could assume that Vergilius himself had ordered him to. With little to no shame he says ‘the work day ended. We can go through with your plan to go skinny dipping now’. It’s said in front of everyone and you can be sure that at least a few of your fellow coworkers will have a blast bringing it up and teasing you for the next week or two. But it is a worry you will have to mull over later as, just like Meursault said, it is time for you two to leave and head towards your destination. As you lead him towards the water he stays silent and promptly begins taking his clothes off when you two stop. Even in such an intimate action he is very stoic and graceful, leaving his uniform folded by the shore and offering to fold yours as well. Without any shame in his naked, exposed self, he submerges himself. If he is cold, there’s no indication of that. It is after hours though and if you are attentive enough you will see his eyes trailing across your figure. He is yet another sinner that, if you find yourself shivering, will offer to transfer some of his warmth by standing and holding you closely. The action seems almost formal, but it’s doubtful he would propose such thing if it wasn’t you. Silence with him is comfortable. In case you initiate a conversation though, he will respond, carrying the talk effortlessly and casually. Or well, as much as his usual uptight demeanour allowed him to

There is no other way to describe the state you put Dante in other than ‘sheer panic’. For a split second they even start to wonder if they should be getting into the water at all, given their mechanical head. Only to realise that this is no different than the showers they take and will not jeopardise their life or ability to bring sinners back. If it was physically possible, you would definitely see more than one droplet of sweat rolling down their face as they look around and fiddle with their fingers. Suddenly it feels like their limbs had grown too long and their body is all wrong. They shift under your gaze, making a few surprised sounds. If you were hoping to make your poor manager a flustered mess, you sure got it. Finally they ask <is that even allowed?>. And I mean. They are the manager, so it’s not like you’re the one to tell them. They get flustered at that realisation even more. Muttering something that almost could be considered a coherent confirmation they look mortified with their own decision making skills. I mean. They are used to being mocked and used by the sinners, disregarded as a weakling by most (and that doesn’t even cover the way they get treated by those who can’t hear their speech). So it’s surprising that out of everyone you could invite, you felt the most comfortable undressing in front of them. Sure, you make a point to treat them well on the daily, but they always assumed you didn’t think very highly of them, that it was pure courtesy. The more they think about your proposition, the more anxious they get. They like you. A lot. But your question could mean that you are more fond of them than they initially assumed. And they like you so so much. Oftentimes your interactions make their day, making them feel better even after the worst of days. But they always thought it was one sided (why wouldn’t it be? You’re so lovely and they are, as of now, not even the bare minimum. Just some incompetent ‘resurrection machine’ with no memories of the past and ‘questionable humanity’). If this is some sign that you’re sending, if you really like them, they would feel bad for giving into their selfish urges. You deserve someone stronger. Someone more capable. They get so worked up over that, that when you two finally get to it and it’s time to undress they are hit with a new wave of anxiety. Once again their whole body feels so inadequate and out of place. As you stand there naked they can’t help but shrink into themselves the more your beauty hits them. They don’t even remember what is considered attractive. They know their head is definitely a turn off but as they stand with their arms folded tightly like a shield, they start to wonder if any part of them is even remotely appealing by common beauty standards. You have to snap them out of their half horny-half self deprecating gaze and lead them towards the water by their hand, making their stomach fill with butterflies. It certainly takes a while for them to relax, though they do their best to respond every time you say something. All whilst desperately reminding themselves that you aren’t able to see where their eyes are looking 0///0

Gregor is no less caught by surprise and the half grumble-half squeak he makes is definite proof. Your surprising question is definitely at least a bit dreadful. Unlike in the the scenario above, Greg is more so concerned with the physical aspect of things. He treads carefully, trying to gage if you’re not making fun of him, mocking his appearance like so many have done before. Of course, up to this point you were nothing but kind, but after being let down and made to feel lesser by everyone, there is a (rather large) part of him that wonders if you’re not about to join the rest in reminding him just how much of a lowly gross looking pest he is. His suspicion is not very subtle, so you would easily catch on. I mean, after having witnessed so many times just how awfully people spoke to him/about him, you wouldn’t struggle to, at least partially, understand the source of his approach. All you can do is be kind and hope he can read your true intent (since he won’t verbalise his exact fear, he doesn’t like to bring up his modifications if he doesn’t have to). Surprisingly, it somewhat works because he reluctantly agrees to at least try. If he changes his mind, he can just stay on the shore. That kind of setup does make things a bit better for him. If push comes to shove he figures he can just opt out, you’re not putting much pressure on him. Still, he sighs deeply and sighs, muttering something about how he ‘should be smarter at his age’. Please, that man is acting as if he’s on his deathbed whilst being 35, someone talk some sense into him…. Well, either way he follows through in his promise and goes with you at your agreed time. When someone comments on you two ‘sneaking off’ it does nothing to make the situation any more loaded. The closer you two get to the body of water, the more visibly stressed he is. Instead of engaging in his usual small talk, he stays silent as he often does when he gets reminded of his painful past. If the walk was any longer you could safely assume that he would go through his whole pack of cigarettes, if not two. He sort of catches himself spacing out by the end and tries to act like everything’s fine (I mean, in the improbable - in his eyes - scenario that you just genuinely like him, it is a pretty bad look for him to be so silent and gloomy), but there is something heavy in the air. As you reach the shore, he stands to the side. Piece by piece your uniform uncovers your naked body. Only when you’re fully undressed does he start to contemplate yet another issue that could put him in a horrific predicament. While a decent chunk of other sinners, in they were in his place, would be most worried about getting a very obvious boner, he is too preoccupied with just now beginning to stress over the sudden upsurge of strong emotion making his body transform or act on its own. And there is a definite upsurge of emotions when he lets his gaze settle on your figure. He almost doesn’t hear you when you ask if he wants to join you. He’s somewhere between flustered and worried, looking anywhere but at you whilst telling you all the ways this could go bad. Hurting you. Scaring you. Making you repulsed. That last one he doesn’t say out loud but it weights on him nonetheless. Eventually you could maybe convince him. Pressure doesn’t work but letting him know that he has a choice and you are simply glad he accompanied you is going to go a long way. Something something being denied autonomy his whole life. Or something. Aaanyways. That might just get him to join you in the water, after having taken off his clothes as well. He… doesn’t like his looks in general. As a friend of mine put it - he figures the arm at least takes the attention away from everything else. Ouch. But undressing in front of you is a huge step! Kind of has a what are we????? Ringing in his head and making his face red but he won’t say that hhhh. Only when you two go in deeper (he’s very actively trying to submerge himself in the water, though he wishes he was a bit more secure if only to have you above the surface) does he chuckle nervously

2/2 and informs you that he cannot swim. At all. You're happy to learn more about him as always but also that kind of information would be handy to know beforehand. He still doesn't trust his modifications not to act up if your naked body were to get any closer to him, so you two stay a reasonable distance away but refrain from getting ant deeper. As he relaxes a tiny bit, you get to experience his uninterrupted yapping and forget about the earlier worries for a bit. His subtle cynicism shines through his goodnatured jokes and comments and for the first tine in a while he gets to relax a bit. It might take him long to let his guard down fully but it's hard not to smile seeing him at least a bit less beaten down. All i can guarantee is that he will absolutely go over this adventure again and again in his head and for days to come will get flustered in the most random moments. But out of all the outcomes, it's not so bad to have that effect on him, is it? ;3

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

cuddling Ishmael from limbus company

I went way off course on this one. Also, I added Don Quixote, Rodya, and Ryoshu as well.

Either way, your wish is my command!

Ishmael’s love is like the ocean.

One moment, it is calm with gentle waves and good winds.

The next, the wind is blowing you to and fro, the sea froths and foams in passionate, loving madness as waves like skyscrapers attempt to swallow you whole.

You are the only one permitted to see this part of her in its entirety.

The part of her that festers under her skin, begging to be let out onto those she loves.

The part of her that is held back by her fear and rage.

The part of her that you let loose, if ever so slightly.

The part of her that wants her to crush you in her arms as she holds your hand.

The part of her that wants to kiss your lips raw whenever she looks into your eyes.

The part of her that wants to have you with her for all of time.

The part of her that, when you saw all of her, held her close despite that, took control of her and shook her too her very foundations.

That is Ishmael's love.

That is the love only you are privy to.

Don Quixote’s love is like lightning.

It is burning, it is viscous, it is quick, it is loud, it is wild, and it is most definitely Don’s.

To say the girl sweeps you off your feet is an understatement.

She will take you in her arms and promise you the world, promising to show you the most incredible of sights as it is the bare minimum of what you deserve in her eyes.

The conviction in her eyes, the force of her words, and the gentleness of her promises makes it impossible for you not to believe her.

Don Quixote’s words and actions, no matter how grand or mad, always have endless passion and love in them.

And so, rain or shine, day or night, alone or in public, Don Quixote will show you her love whenever she so wishes.

Rodion’s love is oppressive, greedy, and all consuming.

Like a starved animal biting down on prey, she will hold you in her clutches and won’t let you go until she wishes.

Rodya knows that if you want something desperately, you take it.

However, the concept of giving something invaluable and fragile like her heart…

It’s something she is terrified of.

Yet, she still tries to give her love to you as best as she can.

It is not subtle, it is not gentle, it is not measured.

And yet, it perfectly encapsulates everything she feels for you.

Her love is massive, impossible, kind, passionate, and filled with more emotion than she can stand.

And it is all for you.

It is something she gives to you without desire of reciprocation.

She only hopes that you know just how great her love for you is.

Ryoshu is not someone who shows love in any way that could ever be considered traditional.

However, even she is not immune to the cold.

So, on the nights when the temperature runs ever so slightly chilly, she will wrap her arm around you with an abbreviated mutter and nothing else.

As the two of you lay there, she will absentmindedly run her finger across the small of your back like it was a brush (or knife) and you were her canvas.

Simple nonsensical doodles, complicated designs, sketches of half formed thoughts and memories.

If you were anyone else, she may have entertained the thought of cutting you open at this moment.

Unfortunately for her artistic side, you had wormed your way into her heart like a caterpillar eating through an apple.

For better or worse, you were a part of her now.

For better or worse, she was a part of you now as well.

Ryoshu was in turmoil over this fact.

And yet, for some reason she felt a small flame of hope in her chest when she thought of you.

Could it be caused by sentimentality? Connection? Love?

Ryoshu did not know.

That did not bother as much as she thought it should.

[ruinaimagines]

hc of Yi Sang and his exact opposite s/o please? The one who will cling to him whenever possible, giving him lots of attention and all? Tyy

I’ve crawled out of the grave. Good evening. 

Yi Sang w/ Opposite S/O Headcanons:

Yi Sang, after the decline of the League of Nine Litterateurs has fallen into a deep depression after the absence of genuine companionship. Things became muddied and bitter between people, and the sight of people he once regarded as friends bickering took a toll on the heart.

Of course after his canto he found a reason to continue on, and no doubt the company of the sinners has helped rebuild a circle of people he can enjoy time with. But you know who he would really enjoy time with? You.

Even before the two of you were together I believe he would harbor a fondness to you the moment you began to inquire about his thoughts in earnest. Sure, you were far more talkative than him, and it wasn’t exclusively he who you spoke to, but you lacked a certain level of remoteness that many in the city held.

He isn’t the person to typically initiate conversation or activities unprompted, and this is especially the case pre-canto. He’s in a pit of social destitution, held back by the lingering nostalgia of what once was, and what is left now. You can tell he’s in a moment of deep introspection by how he stares off into nowhere. 

You’d likely have to take the initiation with conversation which seems to be not a problem. Though he does have an air of melancholy, and he feels that he is lacking of a wholeness and enrichment, initiating conversation with him would be pleasant.

He is a very good listener and will divulge interest if you reciprocate it. Even if at the time he may make little comments regarding what you’re saying, he does commit it to memory at times when depressive it mentally straining and exhausting to speak.

Not to say he doesn’t enjoy responding as well, and once you decide to stick around, you will hear a lot more of what he has to share. Yi Sang thinks. A lot. He is always thinking about something, somewhere, at some place and time, usually with some kind of philosophical undertone. He has the thought and vibrant prose of a poet, and it’s not lost in speech.

Although the sinners have grown accustomed to his speaking mannerisms how much of it is genuine understanding of what he’s saying and simply nodding their heads along is.. Arguable.

He doesn’t do it intentionally, but sometimes all he’s met with are blank stares and vague gestures. That’s where you’re lucky to come in! Having spent much time at his side, and with an affinity for all his peculiar charms and poetry, you can help things be much more digestible.

Think as in how Sinclair translates for Ryoshu. It’s almost a miracle you’re at his side because more often than not people will stare blankly to you to parse it more understandably. 

I do think Yi Sang is a bashful type with someone who is not afraid to give him attention. Not in an overtly nervous way, but in a body language way. Tucked shoulders and a slightly dipped head with a small smile he just can’t seem to get rid of. 

You don’t really have shame when it comes to adhering to his side. Quite the heavy contrast to what he’s been used to. How he seems to tense up and try to carry on a conversation with whoever he is talking to. It might come across as him being averse to touch but ohhh he is not. Don’t you fret.

He savors it and always pines for it, he’s just not used to it. The idea of a connection so casual and absentminded as to hold onto one another is lovely to him, it’s just getting into the process of oh. Oh wait I can do that now.

He is a lot more relaxed, leaning into the touch and resting his own head upon your shoulder when you sit besides one another,

I do think he would look at someone he admires, such as you, with almost glassy eyes. You know when you’re in the city and it’s just been rainfall, and you can see the blurry reflection of all the street lamps and lights? That. Don’t know how else to describe it but that.

Yi Sang has had a rough time sharing his discoveries only for them to be taken and turned into something he never purposed them for. He has been exploited a lot for his proficiency. Even so, if he had the opportunity to make something for you he would take it. Maybe it’s not the city’s new singularity, but he crafts with an idealistic intent. And he hopes –yearns for– you to understand what he made the same way he does.

Rather than speaking up on things that may bother him, such as the resting unease after a particularly foul fight on the bus, he often stews on them. Realistically the sinners will be back and at it again but sometimes it just hits a little too close to home; a dryness to the tongue and a heavy heart.

And so, in search of comfort and stability, he may wander to your side. Leaning ever so slightly to your side which is a silent communication and outreach for contact. You are a sort of grounding force, and if he can hear your happy chatter and unbothered expression he knows that it will all be alright.

I wouldn’t say he trails you, but he’s lingering around. He wishes for human connection, those shared moments in the presence of others far more than he could anything materialistic. 

He sees you as a beacon of life if that makes sense?? Your vibrancy, your attentiveness, it lingers on his mind. You are such an enriched person, an endless pool, an endless wealth of what it means to live. He loves you in the very epitome of the word. In the way where it curls and it encompasses and it’s beautiful. No moment is wasted in your presence.

You often help him draw lines and boundaries that prevent him from falling into the same patterns of people using him. He is an empathetic person, and in such it’s difficult to hate those who wrong him truly. If he understands why they do then often, even if he is aware of what harm might circle back to him, he can not necessarily blame them– or at times perhaps he can but he acknowledges the reason behind what they do. 

With all this, it becomes easy to let things happen and accept it as such. But if you are the opposite to him, I strongly doubt you will just let this be. Though he deeply cares with a silent veneration, you love louder.

So be there to help him be more than just stepping stones, and he will deeply appreciate it. He is more than a tool, but himself; it is he who you are there for, and who you desire to remain with. 

Give him the grace he would afford others because he is worthy of it.

[inkbitten]

i like your writing i wanna see how you do some of the other sinners…so maybe yi sang, faust, and ryoshu with a reader who has a lot of weird creative/philosophical ideas but no one wants to listen to or understand their nonsense ramblings

A CREATIVE OR PHILOSOPHICAL READER.

( WAHHH THANK YOU FOR LIKING MY WRITING SOBS,, also. some of these may or not be inspired by my friends' portrayals. )

YI SANG.

he enjoys your rambles, especially the drunken ones that come after you two have enjoyed a few bottles of soju.

“ do you think a trash can knows it's a trash can? ” you ask, and he bursts into inebriated guffaws.

“ i'm serious! ” you whine. among the other abnormalities and beasts you've encountered, your drunken mind believes that a sentient trash can is not out of the realm of possibilities.

“ i don't.. haha. “ he clears his throat, taking a moment to think. well, if a pair of shoes can possess someone.. “ perhaaps so. how do you buh—leef.. belieevee it would occur? ”

yi sang adores the way your eyes light up, features almost aglow each time he inquires further. he doesn't drink anymore, wanting to be able to recall your rambles come morning.

FAUST.

faust is one of the more attentive ones when you ramble to her. most of your ideas and concepts involve her magnum opus, mephistoles.

“ hey, don't you think it'd be cool if the bus had a UV light option on the headlights? ”

“ ..faust believes this could prove fruitful. ” comes her always——calm response.

if the headlights had such a feature, perhaps they could unveil things to aid in procuring more boughs.

“ can i help? ”

“ no. ” her voice becomes firmer than usual, but softens once more. “ ..however, you may watch. ”

RYŌSHU.

your creative rambles seem to usually involve art, and art history. she listens with a lit cigarette between her lips as you go on a tangent, arms waving around for emphasis. you're usually a little more reserved, so she always likes how animated you become. like watching a doll come to life.

she has several sketches of the poses you make as you speak to her—— arms extended at the side with palms facing up, fingers curled at your side as you resist the urge to move. ..she hates when you're still as you ramble. where is the passion she loves to see?

eventually, it is not you seeking her out, but the other way around.

“ S.P.T.M, “ she says one day in the bus's kitchen, aiming to get you to ramble once more.

” ..? ” oh. speak to me. “ uh, sure. ” you awkwardly reply, unused to the usually self—kept ryōshu coming up to you first. “ can i rant about calarts again? ”

“ mmn. “

[fairestwriting]

Yi Sang (and maybe Meursault as a treat) General Dating Headcanons Please And Thank You 💞

UMMM twsties dont leave me i will make content for you too soon. i just think that ummm... teehee... umm i think theyre neat:)

Yi Sang

If we are being honest. Anyone would expect him to be at least a little awkward as a boyfriend. And he is obviously. But it's not as bad as one might imagine.

He's mostly just very private but also... soft. It's not that hard to tell when he likes someone if you pay attention. He's always a little more talkative and expressive, and even though he looks permanently tired you swear you can see him perk up just a little...

Type of guy who calls you "my love/beloved", in general puts his whole vocabulary into it when he's getting lovey-dovey. Rambles about the beauty of getting ice cream at the park and says something about how the cold and sweetness of it soothes his body from the searing heat but not as much as your presence soothes his soul. Stops for a bit because he can't handle the weather that well.

He is shy with physical affection though. Even in private. Mostly because it's been a long time. Gets nervous about handholding because his are too cold and blushes and gets startled by surprise touching... he does relax into it quickly though.

This much is just canon but, this man does not know what a self-care is. He showers and eats enough to not pass out and that's about it. Besure to tuck your Yi Sangs in at a reasonable time, because he will just stay up otherwise.

Meursault

auagahhh my wife my beautiful bara wife

Guy who asks you out by staring you down with his unchanging murder glare and saying "I am attracted to you romantically and would like to be your partner. How do you feel about this matter."

Gives absolutely no indication that you two are dating in public. Not because he hates having people know but because That Is Just Meursault. He's also completely unnopposed to you making it public knowledge, though, and actually kind of basks on PDA like a cat napping on sunbeam. You know the murder glare softens up just a tiniest bit...

Opposite of Yi Sang in the physical to verbal affection scale. He likes having you two close to each other in general. Sits close to you and holds your hand, puts an arm around your waist or over your shoulders. If he wants a kiss he will stare until you notice and ask for it. He waits very patiently until you answer.

He is very warm... very cozy to cuddle and sleep with. Meursault chest pillow is real. Nobody will ever take that away from me. And he pets your head or holds you if you ask.

Despite his whole "only doing things when asked" thing if he notices you're not eating well or you're overworked he always offers to help. Texts you at night to remind you to sleep at a reasonable time. It's something like "if you get an insufficient amount of sleep you will not be able to perform well at work tomorrow". But the true Meursault lover knows what it really means.

if you wanna support my work, you can buy me a ko-fi or commission me!

[binah-beloved]

Decay Amidst the Seafoam

Queequeg x Reader Mermaid AU Pronouns: Gender Neutral Warnings: Description of injuries

~ * ~

There’s froth on the waves today. That’s good. It means you can see the water’s color, a deep blue rather than fog and gray flecks. It’s temperamental, the ocean. Always, even on the brightest of days and the clearest of nights, it rages just beneath the surface. You’ve learned to love it in a way, nurture rather than fight its unrelenting anger like so many of your crewmates. It’s more peaceful that way. More grateful, the both of you. No matter where you went or what you did, you were always drawn back to the sea in the end, the waves tugging at your feet and thoughts. So you board a ship headed for the end of the world, in pursuit of the whales and stingrays and jellyfish. Where it’s going isn’t important. You’re happiest with the breeze in your hair and the smell of salt in the air. There’s nowhere better than here, despite the distance and lonesome days.

Fishing is commonplace. Nets and hooks and harpoons to catch and kill even the strongest beasts. Although those creatures are rarely seen- the traps fill mostly with ordinary fish and crabs to be sold at various docks and shores. Occasionally a fish will be too small, those are the ones you like the most. The tiny, writhing things you cup in your hands and slip back into the ocean, to grow and live and thrive. They wriggle once they hit the water, splashing over your fingers and disappearing through the murky waves, and you smile, waving goodbye. Goodbye, goodbye, farewell. Live happy and free. The sound of yelling and shouts reaches your ears, a morning with the sun high in the sky. For a moment you barely spare a glance, busily knotting ropes together, but the commotion increases and heightens and jabs at your senses until you clap your hands down and rise to your feet, blocking out the noise with your palms. A coworker rushes and tugs on your arm, yanking you in the direction of the horrid din. It’s loud and awful and you hate it, but there’s a crowd surrounding one of the nets whispering about how they don’t want to deal with it, make you deal with it.

You’re pushed forward and come face-to-face with a very trapped, livid sea monster. A mermaid- maybe, that would be the right term. You’re not sure. Siren, perhaps? Whatever the word, the poor creature thrashes and struggles, her long tail tangled and jerking in the tight grip of the net. She growls viciously at you and everyone, a low, threateningly guttural sound, but there’s blood on her face and valleys of crushed scales where the ropes wrap around her and you can’t help but approach, holding your hands up where she can see them. A spark of fear flashes through her eyes, all brown and gold and narrow, but she bares her teeth and hisses deeper, ragged fins flaring in sharp lines. You sigh, turning and shooing the rest of the crew away with a quick motion. They stare in disbelief, more worried about their potential catch, and you give them a steely look that sends them scampering and trickling away until it’s just you. Just you and an angry, scared mercreature.

Perhaps your captain wasn’t lying when she called you an excellent candidate for successor. The sea beast shuffles away from you when you look back, pressed against the rail of the ship. Her chest rises and falls, too quickly, and slowly you kneel and sit on the deck, hands upturned. She’s taller when you’re sitting. Overall, too, her long tail curled in coils of dark green scales. You don’t mention the tattoos and scars littering her body, the claws that lash out and graze your skin; fixing your gaze with hers, you sit a little ways away and speak quietly. “I’m not going to hurt you. I need to get close to help, alright?”

It does little to curve the fear in her eyes, but her talons curl into her webbed hands and she sits, silently, watching your every move. You try not to stare. Really, you try. You focus on the ropes and net, the stains of blood against algae and beige. But your gaze still contains a hint of awe as you gingerly unwind her fins, meticulous around the crushed scales until you finally pull and toss the net to the side. A soft, relieved sound escapes her, a combination of a sigh and a whimper, and for a moment longer the mermaid observes you with a piercing stare, almost curious as her breaths slow and steady. Then she shakes out her dark braids and bows her head slightly to you, leaping over the side and back into the sea without a word. Droplets of water hit your face, and you blink and sit in shock with the world quiet all around you apart from the distant cries of the gulls.

The sun begins to set in fiery orange and pink. It’s replaced by deep twilight and stars, and the ship sails onward. Goodbye, goodbye, farewell. I hope I see you again. The next night is met with cold winds and clouds, all the rabble packed away in the cabins while you tidy up outside. The ropes are rough and twined. You’re used to it. There are constellations of calluses on your palms and a few on your arms. They’re like tiny treasures, gemstones that don’t sparkle but rather help you grip your tools, the harpoons and knives and hammers and screwdrivers around the ship. The boat rocks, once, and you continue neatly wrapping the ropes you braided together. You hear a splash somewhere from behind, then a thud. It’s not quiet, louder than when an unfortunate bird accidentally flies directly into the mast. A pair of familiar brown-gold eyes meet your own and you automatically stumble back from a cold jolt of surprise.

The merbeast’s ears flick when you fall into a sit, pointed and webbed with a dark green tinge, just like her scales, her long tail draped messily over the railing. All you can do is sit, mouth slightly open, as she slowly shifts and inches towards you, tilting her head. Her tail slithers almost like a snake, the fins torn, riddled with holes and approaching you cautiously from across the deck until she’s only a foot or so away. She’s still taller. Looming over you, gaze sharp and keenly aware. You don’t dare move- there are two outcomes, one ending in her fear and the other ending in your blood being spilled. Neither sound appealing. So instead you simply stare at each other, even though your wrists are beginning to burn from how your hands are bent against the deck. The creature’s ears twitch once more, and light as a feather her tail fin brushes against one of your legs before withdrawing again.

You blink. She blinks. Slowly you raise a hand and give her a cautious wave, and she mimics the gesture, fingers much stronger than your own. You can’t help how your lips curve into a small, genuine smile, and the mermaid’s dark eyes glint with something curious and satisfied. She returns the next evening. And the next. And the next, the wounds from that dreaded net healing day by day. Always at night, and always when everyone else has gone off to bed, with the same splash and thump. For a bit you think she might be scoping out you as a potential meal, but she only sits by you and watches intently. Whatever you do, whether it’s work or rope weaving or something calm like reading, she stares and observes. She doesn’t directly touch you- not for a while, apart from light grazes from her tail and hair, merely drawing ever so slightly closer with each visit. Sometimes you’ll idly talk to her and she listens in silence. You ask her lighthearted questions, and she tips her head with no response. It’s alright. Her presence alone is oddly comfortable, and gradually her stiff posture relaxes until her braids often drift over your skin.

You ask her what her name is, every day, and she says nothing until a week and one night have passed. “Queequeg.” Her voice is quiet and deep and initially you think you imagined it. But she repeats the word firmly and follows it by very gently nudging her head against your shoulder. “Queequeg.” That evening her tail curls lightly around you, and you see her smile, and it’s small and warm and safe.

Queequeg seems to have deemed you the same, habitually wrapping herself more and more around your body each day until she’s practically snuggling with you, entirely unashamed. She still doesn’t talk much, preferring to hear your voice instead, but when she does it’s soft and careful, like her mouth isn’t used to the words. You’re allowed to touch her as well, running your fingers over her scales and webbed hands and ears, the ropes knotted around her arms and wrists, and when you reach her cheek Queequeg’s eyes close and she nuzzles into your palm with a subtle purr. And she does the same to you, cupping your face in her claws and bumping her forehead against yours, pressing the tip of your noses together.

Her eyes shine with some sort of tender delight, and you can’t help but smile back. Her favorite resting place is your lap, her head pressing to your legs as you idly fiddle with her long braids. She did them herself, she tells you with a hint of pride, even the gold cuffs, and you hum as she lightly bites and nibbles your fingers, leaving faint indents behind. “You’re silly,” you mumble to her, rubbing a thumb beneath her eyes. Silly and sweet and gentle for such a ferocious, intimidating creature. She simply bares her sharp teeth at you without a hint of malice, the stars coming out up above.

Queequeg loves the sunset and the stars. They make fiery colors and silver in her hair and eyes, across her glinting scales. She watches the sky, and you watch her with all your attention. You do your best to recount any stories of constellations you’ve heard to her, even if you’ve forgotten. There are stories from her, too, whispered in halting sentences as she grips her arms, digging at the tattoos she despises. The scars speckled across her dark skin become clearer, more vivid, but she clasps your hands in hers and meets your eyes with a firm stare. “Listen. I tell you. Trust you.” You suck in a breath, only able to nod, and she brings your hands up and holds them to her forehead, then her lips.

She calls you hers on that chilly evening, ears lowering in a rare show of nervousness. But you just lean up and kiss her forehead, Queequeg’s breath catching as she cuddles insistently closer to you. The ship doesn’t feel so lonesome anymore, not with a constant friend beneath the waves. Your crewmates wonder and ask how you went from quiet and withdrawn to happy overnight. Still quiet, but happy. And you just shrug with a laugh, that you don’t really know, and they clap you on the shoulders and laugh along with you. They don’t have to know. They’ve all forgotten the peculiar sea monster in the net, by now. You and Queequeg are each other’s special secret.

One day you encounter a whale and it sends everyone into a tizzy. It rips the sky and sea apart, the lightning illuminating the pouring, drenching rain as you and your coworkers scramble to right the ship and not be swallowed by foam and saltwater. It’s loud, so horribly loud, and you wish Queequeg was here to hold you tightly against her chest and block out the noise. Your captain hollers for you to get away, the madness gleaming in her eyes sending a strike of fear into your bones where it sits and settles to corrode. The moment the ship flees from the whale, the storm tapers off into a steady drizzle, a few stains of blood across the deck yet no one worse for wear as gray clouds blanket overhead. That night, Queequeg is nowhere to be found.

You fret, unable to stop yourself. You’ve always worried, been a worrier, and Queequeg is yours. She’s yours, and you’re hers. You spend hours pacing the deck, snapping your head towards the water at any noise only to be met with disappointment, unable to sleep. She doesn’t reappear the next night. Or the ones after that. Your crewmates observe your lethargy and dampened mood with concern, always giving you something to do or work on. In a way, you’re grateful. It distracts you from the hollow, nauseating pit in your stomach. Perhaps they know that, too. Days pass into weeks, into months. Still, no Queequeg. Maybe, you think while choking back tears, she left and forgot about you. Maybe she realized you’re too different. In your loneliest moments, you unearth your last shred of hope and dream otherwise. Goodbye, goodbye, farewell. I miss you.

The wind bats your face, crisp and fresh and smelling like the sea you’ve always loved as your shoes hit the deck, a length of rope in your hands. It’s practice, you say to the others. A special knot you learned from someone. You never tell them who, exactly, but they agree it’s the sturdiest knot that’s been tied. The rope you carry is new, just braided, and the waves splash as you absentmindedly study the new calluses on your skin. Something tackles you, sending your body flying and colliding hard against the wood. You groan in pain, head spinning. An equally distressed growl reaches your ears.

That something is on top of your prone body, draped across and covering almost every inch. It’s long with dark scales, but covered in a horrid white membrane, spreading like veins. Your captain calls it Pallidification. It comes from that whale and eats away at the body and mind, slowly, until you devolve into nothing but a hungry, empty thing. But it’s a familiar face; familiar eyes, familiar ropes now practically fused to the body, familiar braids even though they’re stuck together by pale muck.

Queequeg stares down at you, breathing heavily. Her eyes are wide, pupils dilating and claws holding your shoulders in a vice grip before she abruptly pulls you even closer and holds you tight. A pitiful whine slips from her mouth and cracks your heart in two, her voice garbled and incoherent except for one word. Your name. Which she repeats over and over, holding your cheeks and crying. You, you, you- it’s all she says, pressing close and ignoring your stunned and terrified coworkers. Queequeg coughs, violently, the pallid membrane having engulfed her throat, and buries her face into your shoulder, trembling. All you can do is hug her back, running a hand over her spine, trying not to sob yourself. She shudders under your delicate touch, desperately digging her claws into your clothes with broken croons and gasps; small, quiet, heart wrenching noises.

One brave crewmate takes a step closer, and Queequeg’s fins flare as she whips around and snarls at him. They all back away with a whisper, a few running off to find the captain, but Queequeg’s attention has returned to you and you alone, nudging your hand pleadingly with tears tracking down her features. They’re blurred and warped from the Pallidification, the tattoos she so hated and the scars you spent hours tracing over vanishing as the white tissue consumes her, slowly. She still leans into your palm when you caress her face, gripping you with unspoken words.

Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.

The rest of the crew disperses to search for the captain, to capture this strange pallid creature. It’ll lead them toward the whale, the whale they’ve begun pursuing ever since the captain laid eyes upon it. Then the voyage will be over. Everything will end. So they leave you with the monster behind on the deck- it acts oddly docile when it’s focused on only you- to knock against the captain’s door, smelling the smoke from her pipe. It, it, it. They call her an it. Your arms tighten as you frown.

Queequeg slumps in your arms, twining her tail around your leg. The dark green scales you love are coated in white, chewing away at her from the inside out. She used to put her chin atop your head. Now she bumps under your jaw, curling into a tight coil and trying to cling to you, trying to become smaller and disappear because it hurts, everything hurts and she couldn’t get to you and when she finally opened her eyes again you were gone. Now she barely remembers anything other than the pallid, the pallid and the pain and you, you, always you. You alone kept her marginally sane. Don’t leave. Please, don’t leave, don’t make her leave. She nuzzles against your collarbone with an exhausted sigh, fiddling with your hand until she carefully laces your fingers with her webbed ones.

She needs to go, now, or the captain will arrive with her chains and mad grin. But she refuses to. Not without you. Never without you, not again. Queequeg glances between you and the ocean, tugging on your arm. She lets out another pleading noise, hollow and echoing like whalesong. You- she’s only safe with you. It’s not safe for you here, not anymore. Those people were looking at you, like you were something to be dealt with. It’s not safe.

You hesitate again, and Queequeg’s eyes soften at the splinters of fear in your expression. Her hand cups the back of your head, pallid claws settled gently on your hair as she guides you towards her and tenderly presses her lips against yours. A purr hum through her chest when she pulls away, the sound unsteady and weaker than the last time you heard it. But it’s there and her hand is on your cheek and Queequeg leans in to bump her forehead against yours, one of her braids coming free of the pale membrane.

“Mine.” You’re hers, and she’s yours. A peculiar, loving pair. By the time the crew returns with the captain in tow, nothing remains but a few veins of white infection and the crashing turbulence of foamy sea waves. Goodbye, goodbye. Farewell. 

[starrydesiderium]

not sure if you do yandere requests? but since you've got them open, could i request yandere LCB and/or tingtang hong lu headcanons/scenario(s)? (feel free to choose between those) thank you!

Yandere LCB Hong Lu x reader \\ HCs

Hong Lu spent his entire life faking emotions. He has no idea what to do with real ones, especially one as powerful as love. You occupy his every thought to the point of suffocating.

He's not afraid to use every bit of money and influence to his advantage, whether to charm you or threaten you. It's not cheating if it's his game you're playing and he makes the rules.

Hong Lu wants to see every side to you, even the most ugly ones. Given his teasing nature, he's not above poking and prodding at your limits, seeing what sorts of reactions he can provoke from you.

Has considered murdering other sinners for acting a bit too friendly with you, but tries to cover up his violent tendencies with naïve and clueless act.

Hong Lu always seems so laid-back, so easy-going but is secretly such a control freak. He has to know every aspect of your schedule down to what time you woke up to what kind of water you're currently drinking. He just wants to take care of you, okay?~

He is extremely clingy with you, following you everywhere you go and making sure he's not more than three feet away from you. You better get used to getting locked in Hong Lu's embrace out of the blue or his silky hair tickling the back of your neck as he hovers over your frame with the most innocent smile you've ever seen.

[schizoidcel]

Button said to shoot you , so i will do it *bang , bang , bang*

what do you think about headcanons with Lui association Ishmael x Sarcastic but smart Reader ?

## LIU!ISHMAEL x READER ★

🤍 ﹒ DUMBLINGS . .

－ notes ̽ ۪⠀i think yes

︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

I imagine Ishmael having beef with any kind of snarky person

And if they're smart too? uff .

Needless to say she would definitely not be fond of you when you two first meet, or the days after that (maybe months) (maybe y

Anyway.

I feel like Liu Ishmael specifically does like/use sarcasm but not to the point that it's someones whole personality in a way

As in 24/7, because she thinks it's insufficient for work when sarcastic comments are used all the time

I could imagine teasing her because of her loner lifestyle in the story

Sarcastic smart reader would definitley be on Ishmaels ass all the time, relationship established or not

Pre-established relationship would be tons of back and forth.

Problem is reader sees it as teasing (atleast on their side) but Ishmael genuinely wants to punch their guts and turn it into tommorows beef noodles

Ishmael is a smart person herself, but everytime reader corrects her on something (especially because they're being so painfully irritable about it) she wants to punt them.

If they're on the same branch it's #over

Rodion would see your relationship as some kinda old marriage trope, make comments about it etc and Ishmael hates her for it

but what she hates more is how lowkey true it is

Rodion hops in on the teasing just for fun when reader and Ishmael have their 'lovers quarrel' and Ishmael ALWAYS goes "STAY OUT OF THIS?!"

One is enough. She dosen't want to deal with two idiots.

Reader would join her sometimes when she has lunch and she hates to admit it but she tolerates their company (the toleration starts on day 4)

To the point where she'd miss them at times when they're not together

She still prefers to be alone, as she dosen't make an effort to get on a table with others even after her and reader share some lunch periods together. But everytime reader is in the room, she'd prefer to be with them instead of being alone

She thought of them as just a familar first, and tried to not get too close (keyword tried) as that could backfire quickly, especially in the City

But she realized her feelings rather early .

And as embarassed as she was, she didn't want to deny them

I could imagine Ishmael confessing first and reader being caught off guard for the first time .

Ishmael didn't have any intention of making them flustered, but she definitely wouldn't let go of it after

Now she has something to be an asshole about to YOU

i wrote this while i was having horrible cramps but they dissapeared after i finished thank you for afab power ishmael.

ૢ་༘࿐ thank you for reading ! Ⳋ᧙

[withlove-xixi]

— SLIGHT OF HAND: cowboy!gregor x m!reader

ᥫ cw: pet names ᥫ wc: 2618 ★ WRITTEN AS PART OF THE PJM GOTCHA FOR GAZA (@PJMaction on twitter) cross posted on ao3

— THE MAGIC TOUCH, THE MAGIC WORDS. BLINK AND YOU'LL MISS IT.

[♡]: it was quick; a thrill of adrenaline that shakes your spirits wide awake, a rush that floods your senses and leaves you blind, craving more. gregor knew what he was doing, he was well aware of the effect he had on people. you, my dear, were no exemption; you were the rush he had been dying to chase.

CHATTER, CLINK, RUSTLE, CHATTER, the typical noise from the bar; grown from a chaotic haze familiar to a familiar warm buzz in your ear. In your time working there, you had come around to love the noise, even found a sense of peace in it; a stillness within the complete and utter disruption around you. It would've been strange for most people, who might've come up to you where you stand working at the bar to complain (just as many have before), but to you, it would be your own slice of serenity, a piece of home. The chattering, the clinking, the rustling, and the yelling.

Right, the yelling.

That, you could live without. The drunken arguments from one man, the slurred and tasteless comeback of another. Really, your patrons didn't fight much, you thanked God they didn't, but alas, they were only human, just men. There were nights, though scarce between your regulars and far more common whenever a new face would pass by, that a fight would break out, some alcohol-clouded crude argument that would inevitably lead to punches being thrown and guns being drawn. Those nights were the worst. All the broken glass, all the threatening to kill, all the yelling. God! You could really, really live without the yelling. Especially now as one of your regulars (who happened to typically be involved whenever a fight would break out) violently grabs onto the collar of another patron (one who typically kept quiet and calm). The people around their booth were doing their best to calm down both parties, gingerly trying to pry them away from each other with the gentle pleas and the sweet promise of more booze, though it was obviously, very much, ineffective. You sigh, hanging your head a bit lower as you place down the glasses you had been wiping dry. If things got more physical— which you sensed would happen sooner than you liked —you were definitely going to be expected to intervene.

Now, you weren't the strongest guy, though definitely able to keep yourself out of trouble when needed, and you weren't the most intimidating one either, however (more so, unfortunately, for you, at least) you were one of the two men that worked at the bar, the rest of your coworkers being girls. And as much as you hated trying to stop fights (and ultimately physically having to drag or kick them out when they had absolutely refused to stop fighting), you hated even more the idea of having your coworkers do it instead. They were all such sweet girls, they didn't deserve to go through all that trouble because you didn't like doing it.

You picture in your head how things would go, already feeling the potential accidental punches that would be thrown at you just because you were doing your job and stopping the two from ripping each other apart. You sigh again, as you walk out from behind the bar, rubbing your nape dejectedly, earning looks of sympathy from your coworkers. You smile at them, small and gentle, as if to say that there wasn't anything to do to help it. Whatever happens, happens.

You saunter over to the commotion, allowing your feet to drag across the beer stained wooden floor. The yelling got louder the closer you got, the more it did the more dread you felt bubbling in the deepest pits of your gut. You kept your head low, involuntarily for the most part, focusing your eyes on the floor, the feet, anything to keep your mind off of your impending doom. Bracing yourself in case they would turn their aggression towards you, you muster up your courage, mentally preparing yourself for what's to come.

As your feet land at the edge of the booth, you notice the shift in the mood; the stillness. Chatter, clink, rustle, chatter— no, yelling. What?

Your gaze trails upwards, puzzled and curious, and lands on a scene that makes you draw a quick and quiet gasp. At the table, the second customer, the quieter one who wouldn’t typically pick fights, backed up further into the booth, hands up in surrender and he tried to play things coolly; adjacent to him, pulled up to his tip toes, was the first customer, his collar bunched up in the big hands of a handsome stranger.

Dumbfounded, you stand there stupidly for a second before shaking things off. The stranger— now that you’ve looked at him a bit longer, you realize he isn’t actually a stranger, but in fact, one of your usual patrons. He was one of the quieter ones who sat alone in some tucked away corner of the bar —glanced at you from the shadow of his hat, a big dark red thing that sat comfortably on his head and framed his messy brown hair around his face. He had the other patron caged between his body and the end of the table, causing the poor man to bend backwards at an uncomfortable angle as the hatted man leaned forward. A smirk graced his handsome features, for a moment directed at you, before he turned his attention to the man in front of him.

He shook his head in mock disappointment. “You folk should know better than to give pretty boy over ‘ere any more trouble he wants.” He said, voice deep, thick, velvety. You swore he was intentionally making it deeper than usual. He nods his head in your direction when he says “pretty boy”, and you aren’t quite sure whether you should blush or be worried.

The other man raised his hands in surrender, his face ridden in panic. You notice just now the shining glint of metal discreetly pressing against the man’s rib, hidden by the tattered cloak of the cowboy in front of you. Instantly, you recognize what it is and take an instinctive step forward, causing both men to turn towards you.

You muster up your courage, feeling your heart hammer against your rib cage and the blood slowly drain from your face. “Put… Put that thing down.” You say, as calmly and sternly as you can, trying your best not to let your voice falter.

The man in the hat looked at you with furrowed brows, opening his mouth to speak before he glanced down at his other arm. He let out a small huff that seemed as if he was amused. He stood straighter, still keeping the other patron’s collar firmly in his hand as he twirls his gun around and slots it in the holster on his side.

“My ‘pologies, darlin’.” He said, playfully, which ticked you off considering how worried he just had you a few minutes ago. His eyes flicked towards you for a second, causing him to smile slightly at your expression. “Wasn’t g’nna use the nasty thing, don’t worry. Just to scare the fella, is all.” 

Somehow you weren’t entirely reassured, but you let out a small sigh of relief regardless. The other patron seemed somewhat relieved as well, surely the poor guy was regretting picking fights now. He glanced between you and the man pinning him against the table, a silent plea for you to intervene further.

“Could you let him go too?” Your voice hard, but polite. Guy had a gun after all, you couldn’t go around scolding him haphazardly, though a small part of you felt like he meant it when he said he wouldn’t use it.

He glanced at you for a bit, as if taking your request into consideration or sizing you up (you hoped it was the first), then let out a small exhale, deciding he was amused by your words. He shrugged lightly, slowly loosening his grip and letting the fabric slip out of his grasp.

“Better behave, boy,” what seemed like a warning, felt more like a command as the other patron nodded profusely and carefully scurried away from the man. He adjusted his hat with a small amused smile. His mouth opened to speak as he turned to you, but he was quickly met with your irritated expression. He definitely didn’t expect you to have such a sour look on your face, it was obvious how his smile immediately dropped and how his eyebrows raised, wrinkling his forehead.

You point your index finger at him. “What the hell was that!” You chided, brows furrowed, nose wrinkled. 

He looked nervous, a drastic juxtaposition to confident demeanor earlier. “I was just… Was just tryin’ ta’ stop ‘em, dar—”

“It doesn’t matter! A fight’s a fight regardless of your intention…”

“Samsa. G-Gregor Samsa...”

“Mister Samsa—”

“Could… Could call me Greg—”

“Mister Samsa.”

As you scolded him, the more he lost his footing, his confidence. You watched as Gregor Samsa tried to discreetly hide his face under the shadow of his hat, scruff lined cheeks tinted a very light shade of pink. Gregor Samsa, who had just carried himself with such a suave aura, who had without a second thought had threatened to shoot a man, reverted into a sopping wet kitten, pouting and trying desperately to explain himself as you continued to rat him off. It was almost impressive, this sudden switch in demeanor; how a dog could bark but couldn’t bite. It was like he was a different person really, you might’ve dwelled on it a bit more— wondered which side was how he truly was —if you weren’t busy chiding the poor man, who very much looked like he was going to shrivel up like a raisin.

At this point, the audience that had been eyeing the booth had died down, finding you scolding some poor cowboy infinitely less interesting than a potential fist fight. Most people had gone back to their previous musings, drinking and laughing as if nothing had happened at all. Gregor seemed to notice, the quiet air only adding to his awkwardness.

He pouts at you, looking pathetic as ever. “Just wanted to help…” He mutters quietly.

You sighed, defeated. Part of you began to feel a bit bad for the guy too, plus he looked really sorry at the moment. You held back your tongue despite wanting to say a few things more and ultimately just shook your head and made your way back to your post behind the counter, mind already returning to all the glasses you had to dry and also to do a quick inventory check in the stock room.

Gregor followed behind you, like a little puppy to his owner. “H-hey, hang on!” He called, trailing a couple of steps behind you as you continued to walk back to the bar, ignoring him as his footsteps grew louder.

As soon as you were stationed back at the counter, Gregor appeared in front of you, hastily seating himself on a bar stool and nearly slipping as he did. His hands extend in front of him in some sort of pleading manner.

“L-Lemme make it up to ya’, darlin’!” His voice faltering, but you could tell he was slowly regaining his previous confidence. 

You quirked an eyebrow at him before returning to your work, picking up the glasses you had washed earlier and gently running a cloth to dry them.

“I mean it, sugar!” He said with a nervous smile.

You hum in response, setting a newly dried glass on the space beside you before you pick up the next to give it the same treatment. “You’re quite insistent, Mr. Samsa.” You said with the slightest hint of amusement. He seemed to have picked up on it, his shoulders relaxing slightly and his hands finally settling against the hard wood of the counter.

His smile gains its confidence, growing a bit wider as he watches you work. “Just want yer attention.” Gregor shrugged as if it were no big deal (though with the sorry state you had him in earlier, you doubted he was as nonchalant about it as he presented himself to be).

Another hum from you as you allow your thoughts on the guy to process. You’d have to admit, your shift could’ve gone worse. Having an attractive man follow you around as you worked was better than how most of your nights went (and, to be completely fair, he did stop that fight from getting any worse, as much as you disliked how he did it). With your attention still focused on your work, you could feel his gaze on you, watching you like a cat about to pounce, like a puppy waiting for your praise. It was like he was tunnel visioning into you the way his brown eyes followed your every movement, how they seemed to study your hands, your face, your hair. Honestly, it shocked you a bit how enamored he seemed with you. On a typical night, he’d only come up to you and order his typical drink and sit in silence at the counter or on some dark corner of the bar. Tonight was so different; like he had been stalking you, studying you, and tonight he was finally ready to pounce.

After a good while of silence, you finally speak again. “And how exactly do you expect to make it up to me, Mr. Samsa?” You asked, keeping your voice as nonchalant as possible despite the bubbling excitement that caused your heartbeat to accelerate.

Gregor perked up at your response, sitting a bit straighter. His lips twitch slightly before forming a content smile on his face. “How’s dinner sound? Someplace fancy ‘n stuff?” He’s testing the waters, walking himself on thin ice.

You glance sideways at him, momentarily pausing what you’re doing, cheeks growing the absolute lightest shade of pink as his proposition sinks in (plus with how your mind quickly replays the way he called you those silly pet names). You shake the thought away just as quickly as it came, turning back to your work and setting the newly dried glass on the side before you put your attention to Gregor. Your arms settle a few inches away from his as you lean closer to him, using your arms to support your weight.

“You’re asking me out,” you said matter of factly; a statement, not a question.

“Been wantin’ to for a while.” Gregor replied, leaning towards you. His smirk grows as he moves. “Been interested in ya’ for a while too, sugar.”

Your face grew warm, making him smile a bit wider. His hand moves from its place on the table, reaching over to gently graze your chin, index finger comfortable curled against your skin, gingerly coaxing you a bit closer. Now your face is really, really warm.

“What d’ya say, darlin’?” He asked, voice thick and rich like caramel. You were certain now more than ever that he was intentionally making it deeper than usual.

You swallow your spit, eyebrows cinching together on instinct as you directly into his eyes. Your heart hammers against your chest as you feel adrenaline shoot through your veins, it makes you feel like you’re hypersensitive to your environment; your skin where it meets his tingles. His warmth seeps into your flesh and it sends a rush straight through your heart. You felt like you were burning.

Gregor feels the same, the same adrenaline courses through his veins as he stares deeply into your eyes, patiently waiting for your answer as his finger lightly caresses your warm skin. He feels the same rush in your veins, the same urge to sink your teeth into more. He’s aware of your effect on him and his effect on you. Brown eyes studied as your lips quivered, as your skin heated like it was burning; like he had set you on fire, like he was the flame.

[cramathonn]

Masterpost

Status: CLOSED!

Hello, dear stranger on Tumblr. You may call me Cramathonn or Cram. I am just a silly guy who wants to write about his favorite characters casually, accepting requests every now and again. I prefer to be referred to with he/they/it pronouns, eventually the neos bomb/bombself.

Instead of sharing the fandoms of which I will most likely write/yap about, I will share the characters in specific, for I find it easier and less stressful for myself. That way, I won't feel obligated to write for charactes I'm not that interested in.

I will write for gender neutral and male readers only. However, when requesting nsfw scenarios, please do specify if the reader is afab or amab, solely for clarification and to make my writing experience easier. If not specified, I shall try my utmost to make it as generalized as possible.

However, if you desire to see some of my art, please go back to the main blog, @cram-cram ! I have recently wiped its history so uhhh yeah. An archive blog is tagged on the intro post if you wanna see my old stuff tho!

Without further ado, back to this blog and the info about what I write:

Green means go

★Fluff, angst and NSFW are all game

★Gore is on the table (be aware for my gore writing is VERY explicit)

★In NSFW content, majority of kinks are ok, the ones I won't do will be specified later

★Platonic and romantic scenarios

★Poly relationships!

★Monster x human

★Heavy subjects such as abuse and mental health (all with their due care and respect)

Red means stop

† Dubcon and noncon are a no go

† Watersports and age regression are a red in NSFW (if more surface, they will be added here)

† Very big age gaps! No thank you!

† Incest (not even stepcest)

† Character x character (more of a "don't feel like it" type of thing)

As for writing styles, you might get a drabble, a headcanon or a one shot. It all depends on my mood and how packed that week/day is for me. Please be aware that I am a college student and have a job, so I will be very very slow with publishing stuff.

Sensitive subjects will be properly tagged, so please pay attention as to not trigger yourself.

Now, finally, the list of characters I am currently obsessed with and desperately want to write about/read about. The sources to which they belong to will be in parentheses.

The menu

Billy Kid (ZZZ)

Anton Ivanov (ZZZ)

Grace Howard (ZZZ)

Alexandrina Sebastiane (ZZZ)

Seth Lowell (ZZZ)

Qingyi (ZZZ)

Piper (ZZZ)

Pompey (ZZZ)

Lighter (ZZZ)

Soukaku (ZZZ) [PLATONIC ONLY]

Wise (ZZZ)

Kafka Hibino (KN8)

Reno Ichikawa (KN8)

Iharu Furuhashi (KN8)

Meursault (Limbus Company)

Heathcliff (Limbus Company)

Gregor (Limbus Company)

Rodion (Limbus Company)

Welt Yang (HSR)

Kafka (HSR)

Kuro Kiryu (ES)

Rinne Amagi (ES)

Scar (WuWa)

Yuanwu (WuWa)

Yinlin (WuWa)

Xiangli Yao (WuWa)

These are the characters for now. This list will be constantly updated, with additions and removals always being a possibility, so please do keep an eye out! If you want to check if I write for a character, don't be afraid to ask! I tend to be rather forgetful, so ask away.

If you simply want my take on a headcanon you have about one of the aforementioned characters, please do send them! I love debating about headcanons and sharing my thoughts (I am a yapper at heart)

There will be no masterlist! However, the posts will be tagged by fandom, characters and writing style. So, if you came looking for specifics, clicking on my profile and using the desired tag should filter everything properly!

As to differ random yaps from requests, here are the following tags you should look for:

#yappingdemon → for headcanon debates and just me being absolutely deranged/insane about something (mainly a character or game)

#storytellerdemon → for actual writing, be it headcanons, scenarios, drabbles or oneshots

This masterpost will be tagged as both yappingdemon and storytellerdemon, to mark the beginning of both categories in the blog.

Thank you for your attention and for considering requesting from this blog in the first place! Yapping request shall always be open, however request status will be updated both here and in random posts, so please do keep an eye out.

I wish you a pleasant timezone

- Anxious Demon

[momo-hearts]

Can I ask for some gregor x reader fluff. I wanna make that man happy :(

Gregor Samsa | 'Bug Man'

{ HC'S, Not specific}

- gregor, a used-to-be military soldier at the smoke war. This may be a little hard to see but I like to see him having some sort of survivors guilt knowing he have a clone to do the dirty works for him. (If I'm not mistaken.)

- having a relationship with him is... Difficult I might say, this man been through war and does have PTSD. Not the one who likes mentioning his parents, he is fine with you meeting your parents but make sure to not ask about his in exchange.

- he likes movie dates, he specifically like classical and old fashioned movies. His fine with others ones but prefers not to watch them, he thinks Oppenheimer is good.

- he l9ves it when you two are alone together with no other people bothering them, making it more romantical and peaceful.

- doesn't mind when you touch his insect arm, rather he seem to appreciate you for not being creeped out by it.

- he seems to be the type of guy that willing to do, to wear, or to go anywhere without question.

- uderdress or perfectly dress? That depends on his mood but he does have a mix of two.

[pvlvsdog]

How experienced are they and would you finish

Nsfw themes!

Dante has no idea if they are experienced or not so they are pretty much ruled a virgin until further notice. They didn't forget everything but they still manage to stress over getting something wrong. They’re clumsy and stressed out the first few times, but receptive to feedback. Just kind of too frantic to really follow through on it fully. If you're really into them, finishing is not out of the question, they are trying really hard. But the situation is really hard to navigate for them. They do care about you finishing more than getting to a climax themselves. Something about being constantly conditioned to be seen as a mere tool does that to a person

I firmly believe Ishmael has the knowledge surpassing all humanity when it comes to that area. Being on the sea does that to a person. So she knows exactly what to do and though she might judge you a bit (or at least tease you), she will go along with your fantasies and needs. There is not a thing that she wouldn't at least consider. And so you will have no problem finishing

I'm sorry but Heathcliff, to me, has not had sex. Ever. He’s not very experienced to put it lightly and im low-key bordering on making a claim here that you would probably have to put it in for him. He’s far to repressed/sexually frustrated and inexperienced not to miss the hole (either hole, really). But! He is certainly… eager. And wants to please you. To treat you good. Might be a leftover from his past, the same thing that I mentioned in the skinny dipping headcanons. So, while it would be clumsy sex for sure, he would do his best to make you orgasm. Make sure to praise him when you do, it'll make him very proud

Well, I would assume that Meursault fucked? I think he has decent experience and enough of deeply buried desires to be decent in bed. No problems with making you finish either

Rodya is a bit tricky because despite being experienced and knowing what to do with herself, your orgasm really depends on who you are to her. In sexual encounters she prioritizes herself. Learned that from an early age. If she won't take care of her needs, nobody will. So she might as well lead sex in such a way that satisfies her. If you're a drunken one night stand or she's not ready to consider you as a permanent part of her life, sex life included, she will do everything to finish herself. You're just along for the ride. Nothing personal, its not like she would do anything to prevent you from reaching the climax. But before a certain level of commitment, she wouldn't see it as a priority

Don also has a solid amount of experience. She does her best so that both of you finish, since she thinks that's just fair. And way more fun for her to be honest

With Ryoshu it’s 50/50 because I think she definitely had sexual encounters before. She’s a bit rusty though, since she hasn't had sex in a bit. You finishing is more so about what you're into because, just as she is with the act of killing, this too is art for her. She doesn't do quickies, doesn't do fast, desperate spikes of desire. The act of sleeping together is an experience she wants to live through fully and thus, there's a lot she will do before letting you come

Hong Lu is a mystery to me. I mean… he definitely isn't a virgin but im not sure how many sexual encounters that man had had. It could go anywhere between 3 and 300 and it wouldn't be any more surprising to me. But I think his willingness to try out your suggestions and openness to go with the flow would definitely make it easier for you to come. Like, if the current position isn't doing it for you, he’ll switch no problem, searching for a way to also give you pleasure. Sure, it’s a new concept for him. To not be the sole center of things. But he goes with the flow easily. It’s just a fun switch up for him to take a more active role

Outis fucked. And definitely made love too, but that was before the war took its toll on her. She's more familiar with quickies these days. If she actually puts you somewhere high in the hierarchy, she’ll do her best to please you. But if you're just ‘the best thing there was’ don't expect her to try hard. If you don't come she might actually act disappointed in you honestly. Are you really going to make her do all the work? She did her part, it’s on you if you didn't orgasm

With Faust it’s a bit unclear because I can't really see her seeking out sex too often but also like… she is a woman of science, she definitely tried in the very least. So she isn't totally inexperienced but making advances on someone to sleep with them is not an initiative she often takes, I think. Her actual skills might be a bit lacking but again, she has knowledge, so she’s definitely got a rough idea as to what she’s supposed to do to make you finish. I do see her as a more passive party in general, though

I might be a bit rough at writing Yi Sang. In my head, he definitely has had some sex, more than most would assume. But it’s not a very recent thing for him either. Not a very distant memory but there was a little break he had since the last time he had sex. Don't think about what I could be implying too hard (especially since I'm not sure how that would work physically). His skills are pretty good and the ability to just go along with things definitely helps. So in the end you have a pretty good chance at finishing. He’s not the best on the bus, but the probability is pretty high

Oh, it’s a bit tricky with Greg. If he were just an average soldier, he would have a much more extensive list of experiences. But as the “poster boy” it’s less likely that he got to have some undetected casual sex on the side. I mean, historically speaking, it’s not uncommon for those that have to partake in wars to blow off steam in such way. He wasn't an average soldier though so it hindered such possibility for him. And to sleep with a civilian after he got out… well he probably tried. Maybe succeeded once or twice. But even that is up for debate. He’s way too repulsed by his own body and even more scared of that same body acting up. So he’s very nervous and clumsy, restraining himself for a very long time. He feels like he has to “make it up to you” (and by ‘it’ I mean having sex with him, he see that as a charity case kind of situation) so he will do his best to make you finish. He lacks a lot of stamina and experience though. Feels awful if he doesn't make you come and does wonder if a part of it is because of his physique. Especially since it's not that hard to make him finish so he doesn't like when he doesn't manage to return the favour

Now I firmly believe Sinclair is a virgin. I think he and Heathcliff could be in competition for the place of the least experienced. And given Heath’s past, Sinclair would win, I recon. There are two possible routes sex with him could take. Most likely is a nervous, shirt-on encounter born out of pure hornyness that often overcomes him. There is a possibility that his anger issues aid him and he takes more initiative (while making things definitely more rough). In both cases he’s going to be clumsy, sexually frustrated and very fast to finish. You on the other hand… have less of a chance to do the same. Post nut clarity hits him hard and he will grow silent and distant, withdrawing whilst letting his insecurity flood his brain with double the force

[obsessedwithlimbus]

“Was he a beast if music could move him so?”

You were familiar with many of the other sinners. You had to be, as one of the sinners under the management of the clock headed Dante. You had died next to them, had been revived next to them, and had relied on all of them to have your back during violent confrontations that the group you were associated with were bound to get into. 

You were more familiar with Gregor than the others though, and that all started with a song... 

I love the bug man so much I can’t believe it- Reader is younger than Gregor, but the exact age difference isn’t apparent. The title comes from Kafka’s ‘The Metamorphosis’ bc I am a slut for classic literature. Enjoy <3

Masterlist

You dragged your tired body to the bus, your footsteps more sluggish and slower than the other sinners. Your could feel your hands shake from what you assumed was the aftereffect of the identity that had been overlaid above your original one. 

You could feel Dante’s worried ticking sound directed at you. He probably felt bad for making you use your E.G.O. numerous times during the battle, as yours was the one most fitting for the foes you had been facing. 

“Manager, you could have gone a little easy on them,” Gregor said, from right next to you. You turned your face to see that the man had slowed to be more in step. 

<I wanted to- But we really had no other choice->

“You’re correct, Executive Manager!” Outis’ voice cut through the slightly subdued air surrounding the group. Her eyes were rather sharp as she took in your slightly pathetic form. “In a battle, you should be ready and capable to give everything you have. The manager can’t be considerate of you after-”

“Come on, Outis- Nobody needs to hear a breakdown of the battle right now.” Rodya, your saviour in this situation drawled out as she winked at you. “The battle’s done and over with, we won, and they currently aren’t complaining. Greg’s just getting protective.” 

“I am not, Rodya-”

The taller woman just cut him of with a knowing hum in response before engaging in a conversation with Sinclair, who seemed about as well off as you were. 

“That woman, I swear-” Gregor mumbled before digging into the pocket of his trousers to pull out a box of cigarettes. Expertly, he pulled out a single stick from the box and placed it between his lips before shoving the box back into his pocket. He gave you a half smile when he caught you staring. “Do you want one too?” 

“I’m good, Gregor. But thanks.” You said tiredly, one of your hands reaching up to rub your eyes. “You need a light?” 

“Yeah, if you have one.” 

You had gained the habit of carrying a lighter with you ever since you noticed that Gregor and Ryōshū were both chainsmokers who ran out of lighter fluid often. Unlike most of your coworkers, you found yourself to be actually fond of most of them. 

You dug around for the lighter and pulled it out, flicking it so that a flicker of a flame lit up, brightening the space around you. Gregor leaned his face towards you and you watched as the tip of the cigarette burned orange. 

“M.T.” You startled slightly at the short words you could decipher as ‘Me too’ brushed at your ear. “B.M.D.H.T.L.” 

‘Bug man, don’t hog the light.’

Gregor scrunched his expression as he took a deep inhale of his cigarette. 

“Don’t call me that.” 

Ryōshū only laughed at the man’s disgruntled tone as she beckoned for you to light her cigarette as well. You did so without argument. When she left, satisfied that she could finally breathe in the smoke, you shuffled closer to Gregor. 

“Will you come to my room tonight?” you asked him quietly as you saw the familiar metal of Mephistopheles come into view. 

“Mm. Yeah.” 

You watched Ishmael and Heathcliff get into another bickering fight, and you couldn’t help but wonder where the two of them got the energy to fight even after all that happened in the battles before. Don Quixote was bouncing on her heels, and you could feel yourself tire even more just from watching her. 

“I hope Vergilius doesn’t tear into us too much.” You leaned against Gregor’s shoulder, sighing softly at the warmth emitting from him. “I mean, I at least hope he’ll wait until tomorrow.” 

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s going to happen.” The man nudged you, making you look towards the bus- only to see the Red Gaze leaning against the metal vehicle with a less than pleased look on his face. “Come on.” He increased the speed of his pace to catch up to the rest of the group, and you followed quick on his heels. “Let’s get this over with.” 

~♥~

You could identify the exact moment your relationship with Gregor took a turn to become something more than the relationships you had with the other sinners. 

It had been a couple of weeks after Dante joined the group as the Executive Manager, and subsequently a couple of weeks after you all had experienced the absolute Hell that was dying and being pulled out of the hot, fleshy space you’d been thrown into after dying. 

The group had still been less oiled during those weeks, with no one really knowing how to fight with the others, and with Dante trying to strategise but fumbling with certain orders. 

The day had ended with a victory, but it was a victory you had just barely achieved. And when you were given the clear to go back to your room, you had immediately put on some music, using the contraption that had magically appeared in the room. 

You had known the song playing, and had subconsciously hummed along to the melody as you got ready for sleep. And that had been the moment Gregor knocked onto your door to ask about the music. 

Since then, the man would pop by your room after especially harrowing days, and you’d let the music playing contraption do its thing to play music. Sometimes, the songs that played were familiar to you. Sometimes, they weren’t. In the cases they weren’t, Gregor was the one to know the tune. 

After a while, Gregor had awkwardly invited you into his room all the whilst rambling about how it doesn’t sit right to him that you were inviting him to your private space when you’d never been in his- And you had spent the night there, snoozing on the floor as you listened to Gregor’s nice voice. 

And well, after those nights spent with one another, and the numerous death experiences and fights you had alongside one another, it was only a matter of time until something else blossomed between the two of you. Vergilius should have expected that something like this would happen when there are fourteen odd people around each other at all times-

A distinct, familiar knocking sound pulled you out of your musings, and you walked over to the door to open it, revealing a rather ruffled looking Gregor, his dark brown hair tied up in a manner that was significantly looser, and his clothes that were more comfortable than the standard uniform that had been issued by the company for all the sinners. 

“Hey.” You said, grinning at him. He smiled back, the smile softer and less forced than the ones you were familiar with when with the others. “Come in. I don’t know what song the machine’s playing, so I assume you’d know it.”

You stepped back, allowing Gregor to step into your room, the door clicking shut behind him. 

The man took his usual seat in your room, his back against the bed as he sat on the floor. You took your own usual seat on your bed, your legs dangling right next to him. 

“Huh. That’s weird.” Gregor said, and you could hear his insectoid arm tapping at the floor in what you assumed was a subconscious movement. “I don’t know this song either.” 

“It’s something new for both of us, then.” You reached over to untie his hair completely and fiddled around with the rather rough locks of hair. “Or maybe one of us does know the song but we just don’t remember it?” 

He tilted his head back slightly, allowing you to mess with his hair a bit more. 

“Maybe. It might be me, then.” 

Gregor didn’t elaborate, so you assumed it had something to do with his time in the G corp. You had picked up on how distant and icily cynical he became whenever G corp was mentioned. 

“Or it might be from my identity’s memories.” You mused, letting the music wash over you. “I did stay with the identity overlaid upon me for a while. And it did take a while for the aftereffects of my E.G.O. usage to die down for my room to be habitable.” 

“You could have come over to my room.”

“I could have.” You agreed. “But it completely slipped my mind that I could do that. I was a little bit out of it at the time.” 

“Mm. Yeah, I get that.” A slight lull in the conversation ensued for a little bit until Gregor spoke once more. “Should I leave? For you to sleep, I mean. At your young age, you should sleep so you can grow taller.”

You laughed at the man’s wry tone. 

“And at yours, you should sleep early to maintain your energy level for tomorrow.” 

The song playing in the background picked up the pace and you could clearly tell that this was some sort of dance song- maybe a waltz or a tango. 

You tentatively slipped down from your bed to stand up, looking down at the still sitting Gregor who looked up at you, glasses glinting under the light, and expression so clearly confused. 

You offered him a hand and a smile. 

“Dance with me?” 

The man’s eyes widened almost comically at your question and you could see his eyes flicker to his insectoid arm before he met your gaze full on with a slightly strained smile. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

“Please, Gregor?” 

The man sighed and grabbed your hand with his human one, pushing himself into a standing position with the harder carapace of his insectoid one. 

You intertwined your fingers through his, his lightly scarred, rough fingers sliding into yours awkwardly. It was rather endearing how awkward Gregor was with physical affection, even when the two of you were completely alone. 

You swayed slightly with the music.

The light blush dusting at his cheeks when you placed a hand on that waist of his made your heart skip a beat. You squeezed at the flesh there before retracting your hand, instead moving it to gently grasp at the insectoid one you knew he disliked with a passion. 

“You’ll hurt yourself.” Gregor pulled the sharp appendage away from you. “Besides, you should be used to this by now. You don’t have to touch it to know that it’s real.” 

“I’ll be careful. And I’m not touching it to know that it’s real.” You reached your hand to hover above the arm. “It’s your arm. And I like touching you.” 

Gregor’s eyes studied you for a bit in a manner that was sharp and cold, like whenever G corp was mentioned. But they soon softened and he nodded. 

You reached to brush your palm against the hard carapace with care to not cut yourself, and gently held onto it, letting the music guide your movements, and your movements guide Gregor’s. 

It was less of a dance, and more of an awkward swaying, but you were having fun after a harrowing and draining day. 

You leaned towards Gregor, your lips brushing against his momentarily, hearing his breath catching in a slight choke- You smiled deviously and pressed your lips firmly against his, the smoky taste of cigarettes and apples invading your taste buds. His slight stubble was rough against your face.

Your hand left his insectoid arm and instead held his waist, pulling him closer to you- until his body was flush against yours. 

Your feet moved and his followed. And soon enough, you were hovering above a flushed Gregor whom you had unknowingly pushed onto your bed. The man had manoeuvred his insectoid arm so that it was no where near your softer flesh, but the fingers of his other hand were still intertwined with yours. 

You reached to pluck his glasses off of his face and placed it on some hard surface away from the bed. 

“You’re taking years off of my life,” he said, tone exasperated but voice breathless. 

You could see pieces of carapace protruding from his neck and cheek, and you recalled how Dante muttered to thin air about Gregor’s tendencies to portray more insectile characteristics when he feels an upsurge of emotion- both positive and negative.

You didn’t respond, and just responded by pressing another kiss onto his lips, feeling the pieces of carapace scratching lightly against your face. 

“Dante will bring you back, don’t worry.” You straddled him properly as you squeezed at your interlinked fingers. “And I do think that this is a better way to go compared to being brutally maimed by some abnormality.” 

[ruinaimagines]

OMG I THOUGHT THIS ACC WAS DEAD GLAD TO SEE U BACK THO!!!!!

anywho could u write some outis x reader hcs pls

Project Moon is a chronic ailment to my brain so I am always here, lingering. I will be back. Can’t promise when I’ll be back but it will be eventually.

Outis x Reader Headcanons:

This is a woman who has been through a lot, done a lot too. Not all things she may see as warranting forgiveness. She is saddled with a personal sense of responsibility to see things to the end even if it takes sacrifice. 

But she is loyal, deeply so, fiercely so. And should she place trust in you then so too will she abide by your will. She has an undeniable sense of faith for those who she believes even if some of their suggestions or ideas.. Are not the ones she would find herself making.

Outis is used with working in high-caliber strictly professional settings where everything is meticulously planned out. This makes for her sociability to be a bit difficult with those she considers inept.

She aims to impress and this no doubt extends to you. High-strung in public everything must be perfect, whatever outings you have she has organized and outlined them so you can’t even fathom a moment of concern.

She wants everything to be up to par for you which often means that people aren’t free from her scrutiny. While this might work well in a work setting, it can extend outside and to times when it’s not necessary. 

What she does comes from the genuine hope of making things more enjoyable for you but it can be a bit much. It can end up making things more stressful when she is so focused on managing the menial things and holding others to absurd standards –not even for herself, but for you.

However she will listen when you tell her to stand down. Once again it isn’t malicious just misguided. 

There is an incredibly homely and domestic quality to her that comes more naturally when it is just you two. A refuge where after the long day’s work, after all is said and done, she can return to the hearth that you offer.

You’ll find that her cooking is better than what you can find at restaurants anyway. We know from the Hell’s Chicken event that she prepares food from the heart, and there is nothing as cozy as a homecooked meal. It allows her to be more relaxed and whatnot when away from the buzz of people.

Not to say that her confrontational nature is always a bad thing. If people are treating you rudely, or you are off-put or uncomfortable by something there is not a universe where she’d sit by idly. 

If you are adverse to conflict yourself it can be incredibly difficult to speak up and let people down easily. This is not even a thought that crosses her mind. Someone is heckling you? Damn right it might lead to conflict, but there is no justification in her mind for you to be treated poorly like this. People are often dissuaded or give up once they see how undeterred she is.

She doesn’t experience anxiety when she is stepping in for you because she sees it as a reasonable action. That said, you might be a bit anxious and fear escalation. If you communicate this to her, even if she doesn’t fully understand why, she will tone it down a notch.

That doesn’t mean she will do nothing, but you can rest knowing that perhaps with a derisive comment towards them sprinkled in here or there that she will acquiesce and leave with you. 

I do believe that there is little that you could do that would stop making her love you. It is unconditional because she has done many awful things, and yet you love her still. She doesn’t believe herself to be entirely worthy of the love you give, but she will vow to return it. 

I do not think Outis would be overly affectionate in the traditional sense when it comes to in public or in front of those she knows. It’s not a case of being embarrassed by it, but more of an act of safety. A woman with a history like hers means one who has been in many situations where loved ones can be held at a point of ransom. Wouldn’t be surprised if she had quite a few enemies.

The sinners would probably think you were more of a superior than her partner, funny enough. But seeing how much more relaxed you are with her, and even physically affectionate it sort of clues them in.

Might become a point of teasing for some of the more devious sinners, but they would quickly learn not to. It’s one thing to face a lecture on their inadequacy from her, it’s entirely another to bring up her personal life. There’s a sense of immediate wrongdoing and foreboding that most would rather not experience again.

There is an unmistakable tenderness in her regard to you. Every action she does is another pledge to you. For as much as she would do for you, she greatly enjoys acts of service in return. Take her coat off her shoulders, brew her some tea, maybe even draw a relaxing bath, do what work you can for her so that she doesn’t have to worry.

Outis’ time spent with you is one she can unwind in, a seldom opportunity otherwise. To say she would be appreciative when you try to support this is an understatement. 

I’m sorry I just thought about her coming home with flowers for you and a tear came to my eye. I can see it. After trudging through the day and poor weather at last she returns with a bouquet. It’s nothing super extravagant, perhaps an assortment of hydrangea or whatever your favorite flower is.

Speaking of which, on her journey, I can see her returning to you with keepsakes that remind her of you. Most of these are picked up when she’s trailing behind the others and are stored safely in her room until she sees you next.

You can not tell me this woman doesn’t have a little locket with your picture in it. She’s viewing that thing periodically and it helps remind her why she is doing what she is doing.

Anything you give her that she can smuggle onto Mephistopheles or herself she will hold tight. Not the superstitious type, but finds your gifts to bring some kind of prosperity even if it’s logically because of a shift of mindframe.

I can’t help but think her hands would be very nice to hold, they are worn and weathered, but she has a firm grip, a grounding one. 

Overall a very devoted person though her actions might be more prominent than words. You help defuse what irritation she might have from the day and instead sink into a sense of security, and she commits to giving you that same security.

[inkbitten]

gregor and meursault helping out a low-stamina reader who’s drained and tired from a long day of work perchance… (get well soon! thought i’d leave something ahead of time for you later when you are doing better)

GREGOR AND MEURSAULT WITH A READER WHO'S DRAINED.

GREGOR has always been one of your kinder coworkers. perhaps it's the ex—soldier in him, but he understands how draining a job where you must bare witness to constant blood and gore can change you in the long run.

he implores you to accompany him when you're tired and burned out. he lends you an ear as you vent about the job; how vergilius constantly withholds information, how don quixote gets you in trouble in the pursuit of justice, how you never really even wanted to join limbus company to begin with.

you finish up your rant with teary eyes, and gregor extends a hand to gently brush a droplet away when it threatens to fall down your cheek.

“ aah, that was a lot, wasn't it? ” he asks, hand moving to firmly grasp your shoulder to offer further comforts. ” come on, let's have a cup of cocoa. the warmth'll get you back to yourself. ”

MEURSAULT notices the way your eyelids droop, how your shoulders begin to slouch. his eyebrows crease with worriments. is it alright for him to wish to comfort you? he isn't entirely accustomed to acting by his own wishes.

his comforts are brief. he gently brushes against you in passing like a cat, offering one soft glance over his shoulder as he walks by. another day, he cooks you breakfast. it's a hearty meal—— eggs, sausage, bacon.. by the end of it, you feel refreshed and renewed.

” that was so good! ” you merrily compliment, much to meursault's joy.

“ i'm glad, ” he calmly replies, posture perked as he clears the table of your dishes. “ ..the next time you need me, i will also be here. ”

[cosmichorrorsarestillnicerthanme]

New Additons

Lobotomy Corporation

Library Of Ruina

Limbus Company