#the cat and the claw part 2

[btasfan]

"You've finally met your match, Batman. Not surprising, it's a woman."

[solxamber]

You Try to Sleep on the Couch after an Argument with: Housewardens

Part 2 with Vice-Housewardens + Ruggie

Riddle Rosehearts

The house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of wood and the rustle of fabric as you flopped onto the couch with all the grace of a cat forcibly denied its favorite sunny spot.

The argument still hung in the air, an unspoken tension that neither you nor Riddle were willing to breach—at least not yet. He wasn’t wrong, not entirely, but he wasn’t right either. The impasse was as thick as the silence between you.

Determined to make a statement, you yanked the blanket off the couch arm and cocooned yourself in it, defiantly turning your back to the door. No way were you crawling back to bed tonight. Your pride wouldn’t let you. Let him stew in his perfectly fluffed, oversized bed.

Meanwhile, in his room, Riddle’s impeccable composure was fraying at the edges. He lay stiff as a board under his duvet, staring at the ceiling like it held the answers to all his mistakes. His pillows seemed unusually hard, the blankets too suffocating, and no matter how he adjusted, something felt... wrong.

It didn’t take him long to figure out the culprit: you weren’t there.

He groaned softly into the darkness. Guilt clawed at his insides, sharp and relentless, each tick of the clock making it harder to bear. He’d handled things poorly—he could admit that, now that the heat of the argument had ebbed. And worse, he couldn’t bear the thought of you being upset, out there on the couch, all because of his stubbornness.

With a heavy sigh and an even heavier heart, he threw off his blanket and shuffled into the living room. His breath caught when he saw you.

There you were, fast asleep, your cheek smushed against the arm of the couch, one arm dangling off the side. The sight was far too adorable for the emotional train wreck he’d become. His guilt doubled.

Riddle knelt by the couch quietly, determined not to wake you. But as he crouched there, the exhaustion hit him—of the argument, the guilt, the restless tossing and turning. Maybe just sitting here would suffice. He wouldn’t disturb you.

A few minutes turned into an hour. Before he knew it, he’d slumped sideways against the couch, head lolling onto his arms, fast asleep in what had to be the most uncomfortable position imaginable.

When you stirred awake, the morning light was peeking through the curtains. Groggily, you rubbed your eyes, the previous night’s anger feeling like a distant shadow. That was when you noticed him—his normally pristine figure curled up on the floor, head resting uncomfortably close to your dangling hand.

Your chest ached at the sight. The idiot. The sweet, guilty idiot.

You reached out, brushing your fingers lightly against his hair. “Riddle,” you whispered. “Hey… wake up.”

He stirred, blinking up at you with sleep-clouded eyes, disoriented but instantly softening when he saw your face. Without a word, he shifted closer, arms wrapping around your middle as he buried his face against your stomach.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, voice thick and quiet.

You freeze but quickly recover, leaning into his embrace. “I wasn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled, voice muffled by your blanket. “I didn’t mean for it to get so out of hand.”

Your throat tightened, and you found yourself carding your fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry too,” you whispered. “Let’s not fight like that again.”

For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, wrapped up in quiet forgiveness. When he finally looked up at you, there was a hesitant, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Will you come back to bed now?” he asked softly.

“Only if you promise to use it too. No more couch-floor accommodations,” you teased, pinching his cheek lightly.

“Deal,” he murmured, and together, you made your way back—closer than before, warmth filling the space where anger once was.

Leona Kingscholar

The argument had been sharp, biting, and the kind of fight where you both refused to back down. Storming out of the bedroom felt dramatic enough to match the vibe, so you grabbed a blanket, stomped to the living room, and threw yourself onto the couch with the weight of your indignation. “Fine,” you muttered into the cushions. “Let him have the stupid bed. I don’t care.”

And at the time, you didn't. You were replaying his snarky remarks and cursing his stubborn attitude. But the couch was lumpy, the blanket too short, and sleep came grudgingly after what felt like hours of stewing.

When you finally woke, disoriented and achy, something felt...off. For starters, you weren’t on the couch anymore. You were in the bed, wrapped snugly in the comforter that still carried Leona’s scent.

Blinking against the sunlight, you sat up, confusion clouding your thoughts. At the foot of the bed was the blanket you’d dragged out last night, now neatly folded like some taunting symbol of Leona’s existence.

And Leona himself? Missing.

You slid out of bed and wandered to the living room, where the answer to your mystery lay sprawled across the couch. The sight of him, however, made your irritation waver.

Leona was far too large for the couch. His long legs hung over the edge at weird angles, and one arm was slung over his face to block the light filtering through the curtains. He looked wildly uncomfortable, but his usual arrogance softened in sleep, his face peaceful and unguarded.

It didn’t take a genius to piece it together. He must have carried you to bed sometime in the night, only to exile himself to the lumpy couch. The guy could be maddeningly stubborn, but this... this unexpected gesture had you torn between wanting to yell at him or simply kissing him awake.

Ultimately, you decided to settle for the middle ground.

Crouching next to the couch, you reached out and brushed the stray strands of hair from his face. Before you could withdraw, one eye cracked open, and a lazy grin spread across his lips.

“Caught ya,” he drawled, voice rough from sleep.

You raised an eyebrow. “You moved me to the bed, didn’t you?”

He huffed, clearly uninterested in owning up to the sentimentality of it. “Couldn’t leave you out there whining in your sleep.”

“I wasn’t whining!” you protested, even though your cheeks were burning.

“Sure you weren’t,” he replied smoothly, grabbing your wrist before you could retreat. With a sharp tug, he pulled you down, practically pinning you against him. “Don’t see the big deal. You’re mine, aren’t ya? ‘Course I’m gonna take care of you.”

The casual way he said it didn’t make it any less sincere.

You sighed, melting into his warmth despite yourself. “I hate how sweet you can be when I’m trying to stay mad at you.”

His smirk widened, and he tucked you closer, burying his face in your hair. “Didn’t mean to piss you off,” he murmured against your temple. “But you’re not leaving this couch till we make up. Deal?”

You rolled your eyes, but your voice softened. “Deal.”

As the tension melted away and his arms tightened around you, the couch didn’t seem quite so lumpy anymore. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad place to be.

Azul Ashengrotto

The argument had been tense, the kind where you both said things you probably shouldn’t have. Frustrated and too stubborn to stay in the same space as Azul, you grabbed a pillow and marched out to the couch. He’d barely tried to stop you, his pride seemingly keeping him rooted in the bedroom.

But pride was a fickle thing, and now you were left trying to fall asleep on the stiff cushions. Every creak of the floorboards made you feel a little guilty, knowing exactly who it was.

You didn’t even need to look; you could feel Azul’s presence lingering in the doorway, his usual composure clearly absent. The sound of shuffling footsteps returned to the bedroom, and you thought maybe he’d finally leave you alone—only to hear those same footsteps inch closer again a minute later.

"Azul, I know you're there," you muttered, cracking an eye open and turning toward the doorway. Sure enough, there he was, peeking out. His glasses caught the faint glow of the hallway light, and he immediately froze like he’d been caught stealing treasure.

“I-I wasn’t...” he started, before trailing off, clearly scrambling for an excuse.

You sighed and sat up, your frustration ebbing in the face of how uncharacteristically sheepish he looked. This was Azul Ashengrotto, the calculating businessman who could sell ice to Yetis—and yet he couldn’t even apologize without peering at you like a child who’d been scolded.

“If you’re just going to lurk there all night, we’re both going to lose sleep,” you said, finally beckoning him over with a wave.

Azul hesitated for a fraction of a second before his composure cracked, and he shuffled toward the couch. “I didn’t mean for things to escalate...” he started, sitting next to you, his head ducked low, voice soft.

You smirked despite yourself. “You’re cute when you’re embarrassed, you know that?”

He bristled, his dignity rallying as he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I am not—”

“You’re very cute,” you interrupted, and the smallest flicker of a pout crossed his lips.

Azul looked away, a hint of color dusting his pale cheeks. “You’re the worst.”

“And you still love me,” you countered, pulling him down beside you. “Truce?”

He glanced at you, the beginnings of a smile tugging at his lips. “Truce.”

Apologies came in murmured exchanges after that, both of you acknowledging where you’d gone wrong. You knew you’d both let pride get in the way—typical for two people as headstrong as yourselves.

Eventually, Azul’s head rested on your shoulder, his warm weight grounding you. You leaned back against the couch, and despite its discomfort, it felt perfect with him there.

“You know,” you whispered, running a hand gently through his hair, “for a guy who’s made half of Twisted Wonderland sign contracts, you really can’t stand your ground for the life of you.”

Azul huffed, turning his face into your shoulder to hide. “Do you want me to apologize again?”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Nope. I think I’ll just enjoy this.”

And with that, the two of you finally let the tension of the argument melt away, falling asleep together on the couch in an imperfect, perfectly “you and Azul” sort of peace.

Kalim Al-Asim

The argument had been uncharacteristically heated—rare for someone as sunny and easygoing as Kalim—but even he had limits, and so did you. When your stubborn streak flared, it ended with you grabbing a blanket and storming off to the couch.

“No, Kalim, I’m fine. You sleep in the bed, I’ll sleep here,” you snapped, cutting off his attempts to follow you. His face fell, but for once, he didn’t argue, retreating to the bedroom with a defeated slump of his shoulders.

You burrowed into the couch cushions, determined to stay mad, but as sleep started to claim you, the anger dulled into annoyance. It didn’t matter. He started it, you thought stubbornly, clutching the blanket tighter.

A soft rustle of fabric woke you, tugging you from the edges of sleep. Blinking groggily, you turned your head to see Kalim crouched beside the couch, carefully tucking another blanket over you. He had his tongue poking out slightly in concentration, his touch so gentle that it was clear he didn’t want to wake you.

“What are you doing?” you mumbled, voice hoarse with sleep.

Kalim flinched, looking at you like a startled puppy caught raiding the kitchen. “Oh, I—uh—I just thought you might be cold, so I…”

He trailed off, clearly expecting you to brush him off again. Instead, you sighed, your irritation melting as you realized just how ridiculous he looked, trying to coddle you even while you were angry at him.

“Come here,” you said, sitting up and pulling the blanket back a bit.

“What? No, I don’t want to—”

“Kalim.”

His protest crumbled immediately, and he slid onto the couch beside you, tucking his legs up awkwardly. You wrapped the blanket over both of you, and after a moment of stunned hesitation, Kalim relaxed into the embrace, resting his head against your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice small and earnest. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

You sighed, tilting your head to rest on his. “I’m sorry too. I overreacted.”

He perked up slightly at that, his usual cheer trying to peek through. “So… does this mean you won’t sleep out here alone again?”

“You’re lucky I’m even letting you under this blanket, Asim,” you teased, though your smile softened the words.

Kalim beamed, his arms wrapping snugly around your middle. “I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me forever!”

You rolled your eyes fondly, leaning back into the cushions. The couch wasn’t exactly built for two people, but the warmth of his presence made it easy to ignore. Slowly, you both drifted to sleep, Kalim murmuring sweet nothings even as his breaths evened out.

Maybe next time, you thought sleepily, you’d just let him win.

The argument left both of you simmering in silence, which for Vil was a rarity. Instead of his usual icy composure, he seemed genuinely rattled. You, however, weren’t in the mood to care. Grabbing a blanket with theatrical flair, you stomped to the couch.

“You can have your perfectly fluffed pillows and skincare routine in peace,” you muttered, tucking yourself in with a spiteful sense of triumph.

Once comfortably cocooned, you scrolled on your phone, trying to drown out the lingering annoyance. That’s when you heard it—sharp, purposeful footsteps marching toward you.

Before you could react, Vil appeared like a vengeful storm god, looking every bit as flawless as a deity would while furious. With a huff that could make kingdoms tremble, he reached for your arm and began dragging you back to the bedroom.

“Vil, what are you—let me go! I’m fine out here!” you protested, but his grip was firm, his annoyance palpable.

Once you were unceremoniously deposited by the bed, he turned to you, pointing at your neatly made side. “You are sleeping there,” he declared.

You folded your arms. “I’m sleeping on the couch. Deal with it.”

He tilted his head, his expression a dangerous blend of frustration and disbelief. “Absolutely not. You’ve ruined my entire evening, and now you expect me to suffer further by sleeping alone?”

“Ruined? Seriously?” you shot back.

“Yes! I require my beauty sleep, and I can’t possibly get it knowing you’re out there, sulking on a couch. It’s impossible to relax without you next to me—so you, are going to have to take responsibility!”

The sheer audacity of his statement left you blinking. It was so dramatic and entirely Vil that you couldn’t help it—you laughed. Not a little chuckle, but a full-bodied, slightly wheezing laugh that made you clutch your sides.

Vil crossed his arms, arching an offended brow. “I fail to see what’s funny.”

“You,” you said between giggles. “This whole ‘it’s your fault I can’t sleep because I love you’ nonsense. You’re ridiculous.”

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he sighed, and once your laughter subsided, he gestured to the bed again, this time more softly. “Please. Don’t make me sleep without you.”

You relented, sliding under the blankets. As you settled in, Vil switched off the lights, the room going still.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly after a moment. His tone was sincere, lacking the sharp edges from earlier.

You shifted closer to him, wrapping an arm around his waist and pulling him gently against you. “I’m sorry too.”

Vil let out a contented hum, nestling into your hold. With your body heat mingling and the earlier tension dissipating, it didn’t take long for both of you to fall asleep—together, as it should be.

The argument had been rough—sharp words, bitter edges, the kind of fight that left your chest heavy. It didn’t matter how much Idia stammered his way through an apology or tried to explain his side; you weren’t ready to hear it yet. So, in an act of frustrated finality, you grabbed a blanket and retreated to the couch, refusing to spare him another glance.

Sleep came in patches, your mind replaying the fight in a loop. At some point, the dull ache in your bladder forced you to stumble toward the bathroom. On your way back, you froze, hearing quiet, panicked murmurs drifting from Idia’s room.

“Ortho, what do I do? I think I really messed up this time,” his voice wavered, thick with worry. “They probably hate me now. Like, actual hate—no respawn, no restart. I mean, who else would put up with me? I’ve completely blown it.”

You sighed, anger ebbing as guilt trickled in. You hadn’t meant to push him that far, and his usual self-deprecating spiral sounded more frayed than usual.

Pushing the door open, you caught the tail end of Ortho’s voice. “Big Brother, you should—oh!” His robotic eyes darted to you, scanning the scene. A moment later, he gave a tiny thumbs-up and practically zoomed out of the room, leaving you and Idia alone.

Idia froze when he noticed you. His shoulders hunched as if he could shrink his already wiry frame. “I-I didn’t mean for you to hear that. Sorry for being pathetic. Again.”

Rolling your eyes fondly, you stepped forward and opened your arms. “Come here, you dramatic dork.”

His eyes widened, hesitation etched into every inch of his posture. When you didn’t move or drop your arms, he finally shuffled over, nervously slipping into your embrace. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him securely, and his entire body seemed to deflate as tension drained out of him.

“I thought you weren’t coming back,” he admitted, voice muffled against your shoulder.

You huffed softly, rubbing his back. “Idia, I wasn’t leaving. Just... needed space to cool off. And honestly, hearing you lose your mind over it made it hard to stay mad.”

“Cool. Cool, cool, cool,” he mumbled, the words tumbling in an embarrassed rush. “Um, does this mean...?”

“It means I still love you,” you interrupted gently.

His grip on you tightened for a moment before he pulled back, pink dusting his cheeks and his hair glowing pink at the ends. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost missed it.

“I’m sorry too,” you replied, kissing his cheek and earning a startled squeak.

Together, you made your way back to bed. As you settled under the blankets, his fingers tangled hesitantly with yours. The argument seemed miles away now, replaced by the steady warmth of simply being with him.

“I’ll try to be better,” he murmured into the quiet.

“You’re already enough, Idia,” you replied, squeezing his hand.

And as you drifted off to sleep, you felt his thumb rubbing gentle circles against your knuckles, grounding both of you in the quiet comfort of reconciliation.

The argument left both of you tense, and you were too mad to deal with Malleus' brooding silence. Grabbing a blanket, you stormed off toward the couch, refusing to even glance at him. "I'm sleeping on the couch," you announced. "Goodnight."

Malleus stood frozen for a moment, processing your declaration, and you could feel his pout even with your back turned. "You do not need to sleep on the couch," he finally said.

"I'm not changing my mind," you shot back, tossing the blanket onto the couch for emphasis.

There was a brief, sulking pause. Then, he went quiet—suspiciously quiet. You peeked over your shoulder just in time to catch him crossing his arms with a look of smug triumph spreading across his face.

“Malleus—”

Before you could finish the thought, a flash of green lightning struck the couch, reducing it to a pile of ash with alarming precision. You stood there, jaw dropping as the faint smell of charred upholstery wafted in the air.

"Well," Malleus said, ever so matter-of-factly, "it seems the couch is… out of commission. A most unfortunate turn of events."

You turned to him, dumbfounded. "Did you seriously just smite your own couch?"

He looked at you expectantly, his lips pressed into an overly calm smile. "The bed is still available," he offered, gesturing toward the bedroom as though that solved everything.

Your anger reignited—if that was even possible after witnessing such sheer audacity. Without a word, you dropped your blanket onto the floor, flopping down dramatically as if making it your personal mission to out-stubborn a dragon fae.

He stared at you in bewilderment, clearly expecting a different outcome. For a long moment, he didn’t move, as though trying to process your act of defiance. Then, with an audible sigh, he finally caved.

“Alright,” he said softly, crouching to your level. His eyes held a rare vulnerability. “I… overreacted. I apologize for upsetting you.”

You bit back a smirk, pretending to be unimpressed even as you felt your resolve softening. "I wasn’t thrilled about it, yeah."

Malleus tilted his head, something of a pout returning to his expression. “Will you come back to bed, then? The floor hardly befits someone so precious to me.”

“Only if you promise not to zap anything else," you teased, finally relenting as you reached out to take his offered hand.

He helped you up gently, his grip firm but careful, as though he feared breaking you. “I cannot promise to never act rashly in defense of my love,” he murmured, leading you back to the room.

Settling into the bed together, you couldn’t resist poking at him one last time. “You really destroyed your own couch just to keep me near you, huh? You know they make couple’s therapy for this, right?”

He chuckled softly, pulling you close. “I would smite an entire castle if it meant you stayed by my side.”

“Noted,” you said, rolling your eyes, though you couldn’t hide the warmth in your chest. As you both drifted off, tangled in the sheets, you couldn’t help but think how absurdly lucky you were to be loved by someone so dramatic—and so utterly devoted.

Masterlist

[hachiane]

things that are not talked about enough in Love and Deepspace

i'm surprised i haven't found something like this for LADS, so decided to document some interesting things I found while playing. i limited myself to Main Story, Kindled Memories, Moments posts, texts, interactions, (or stuff you can proc while playing) and did not include limited time events or the chibi comics.

(i've definitely missed out on many so feel free to reblog and add your own encounters!)

read part 2!

Sylus and Xavier are big eaters

Rafayel gets seasick, despite being a fish

Sylus got lost in a train station once

Rafayel can hear fish scream

Nobody comments when Sylus polishes a gun in public at a cafe

Xavier and MC lived in the same building for 6 months before they find out

Sylus’s heart rate can reach up to 150 bpm, and he wants MC to sync to it

Nobody recognises Xavier while he’s wearing the Lumiere mask

Rafayel scolds a cat

Rafayel then made MC choose between him and said cat

This happens twice

Sylus goes ice fishing, often with little success

Xavier also goes fishing, often with more success

Nobody comments when the boys show up to the cafe in nothing but bath towels

MC has said that the dual-prong claw reminds her of a really big fork

Rafayel makes you choose between him and a cat printed on a badge

Sylus has implied that his muscles and abs are not real

Rafayel synced his phone to MC’s steps tracker at one point

Sylus also does this

Xavier names every bird that visits his house

Rafayel used a piece of bread as an eraser, then ate it afterwards

Sylus sleeps sitting up

MC loses a fight against 12 crabs

Zayne believes in mythical creatures (or, at the very least, unicorns)

Sylus’s nickname “Lil S”

Rafayel paints with the blood of his slain people sometimes

Xavier found a bird egg in one of his flower pots one day, and wants to boil and eat it

Sylus guides a scared duck back home

This happens twice

“I’m pretty sure there’s bad juju in that custard bread.” is a line Rafayel once said

MC accidentally grows garlic instead of daffodils

Zayne mistook a plastic bag for a white cat

Sylus gets his motorbike stolen

Sylus and MC were spotted on a joyride because they were wearing glow-in-the-dark glasses

Xavier’s Hunter Uniform is popular with kids

Xavier takes a photo using a public telephone

Sylus recommends tequila as a dinner option

The account named rafayel_ridable_fish_dinner

Zayne’s nickname at the cafe “Large 100% Sugar Latte To Go”

Sylus expressed an interest in baseball

MC is a true crime watcher

MC gifts Zayne a jar of air, and he recommends her to get a MRI scan

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: Natasha makes a new furry little friend and becomes captivated by its owner along the way.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Warnings: light fluff, light angst

Words: 4270

Natasha shoots upright in her bed, her heart racing and cold sweat clinging to her skin. Her hand instinctively reaches for the knife tucked nearby, gripping it tight as she scans the room, her pulse thundering in her ears.

She’s met with silence. The darkened space of her room at the Compound was empty of any threat. No footsteps, no shadows lurking—just her.

Exhaling shakily, Natasha lowers the blade, pressing her free hand against her eyes, as though she could push away the remnants of the nightmare from her mind.

The memories linger, though. They always do.

A quick glance at the clock tells her it’s 4:00 A.M. Too early for anyone else to be awake. 

But for Natasha, this was normal.

Sighing, she swings her legs out of bed, trying not to dwell on how long it had taken to fall asleep in the first place. 

Three hours of sleep was better than nothing. 

She dresses quickly, pulling on her jogging clothes in automatic, well-practiced movements, intent on escaping the restlessness that always comes with her dreams.

The sky was still dark when she went outside, the first hints of light barely on the horizon, but Natasha set off anyway, her pace swift and determined.

With every stride, the tension in her body begins to ease, her breathing falling into a steady rhythm that mirrored the pounding of her feet against the pavement.

This was her moment of relief—where she could forget, even if just for a while—pushing her body harder, faster, hoping to leave behind the lingering shadows of her past.

After a few miles, Natasha slows to a stop beside a tree, her breath coming in even pants as she stretches out her arms.

The world was still quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves.

Then, faintly, she hears something.

A soft, distressed sound.

She freezes, tilting her head to listen. 

There it is again—a tiny cry coming from somewhere nearby.

From above? 

Her gaze lifts upward, and there, high up in the tree, a little black cat clings precariously to a branch, its claws struggling to maintain a grip on the rough bark. 

Natasha blinks in surprise, but before she can react to the sight, the cat lets out a desperate yowl and slips.  

Moving on instinct, Natasha surges forward and catches the cat just before it hits the ground. She cradles the small creature against her chest securely.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs, her fingers gently checking for any injuries. Its fur is soft and clean—not a stray, then. 

Her suspicion is confirmed when she notices the sleek collar around its neck, the gold tag gleaming faintly in the early light.

Natasha tilts the tag to read the name engraved on it.

“Widow?” 

An amused smirk tugs at her lips at the irony.

At the sound of its name, the cat looks up at her with wide, inquisitive yellow eyes and lets out a tiny, plaintive meow.

Natasha couldn’t help but chuckle softly, sinking down to sit against the tree with the cat still nestled in her arms. 

“What were you doing up there?” she asks, her voice a soft murmur as she scratches behind its ears.

The cat responds with a long, dramatic meow as if offering some elaborate excuse for its predicament.

Natasha smiles softly in amusement before glancing at the tag again, searching for any contact information but finding none.

“Well, you obviously belong to someone,” Natasha muses, lifting the cat to meet its gaze. “They must really trust you to make it back on your own, huh?” 

In response, the cat swats playfully at Natasha’s face, its soft paws barely grazing her skin.

Natasha shakes her head with a smile and tries to set the cat down to let it go on its way, but to her surprise, the cat clings to her, its claws digging into the front of her shirt.

“Hey, easy now,” Natasha grumbles, gently trying to pry the cat off, but it stubbornly clings to her, refusing to let go.

“Really? This is the thanks I get for saving you?” she deadpans, raising an eyebrow at the tiny creature. 

The cat chirps, blinking up at her innocently before nuzzling against her chin. 

“Alright, I surrender,” Natasha sighs, settling back against the tree in resignation, her fingers absentmindedly stroking the cat’s fur.  

The warmth of the tiny creature in Natasha’s arms is unexpectedly comforting. Before she realizes it, her eyelids grow heavy, and exhaustion finally pulls her under.

It’s not until a soft movement against her arms stirs her that Natasha blinks awake, momentarily disoriented. As her vision clears, the first thing she sees is your face, watching her from a nearby bench, chin resting casually on your hand.

“You have my cat,” you say, your tone flat but not unkind.

Natasha blinks again, still shaking off the grogginess from the unexpected nap. She glances down to find Widow still nestled in her arms, staring up at her with wide, expectant eyes.

As she processes your words, Natasha loosens her hold and sits up straighter.

Widow hops onto her lap, stretching languidly and letting out a tiny yawn, completely at ease.

“Your cat was stuck in a tree,” Natasha explains, her voice still rough with sleep. “I caught her when she fell.”

You raise an eyebrow, your gaze flicking to the lazily stretching cat. 

“You do know they land on their feet, right?” 

Natasha opens her mouth to argue but pauses, catching the subtle teasing in your tone. She leans back with a small smirk, deciding to tease you back.

“Widow is kind of a strange name for a cat.”

At her remark, you scoff and cross your arms, leaning back on the bench with a playful glint in your eyes. 

“Wow, so you’re a thief and you’re judgy. Maybe next time I won’t be so nice and let you finish your nap.”

“I didn’t steal your cat,” Natasha retorts, unable to suppress the slight curve of her lips, trying and failing to hide her amusement. “She wouldn’t let go of me. Also, you watched me sleep. Isn’t that a little weird?” 

You shrug with casual ease and respond with a softened tone. 

“You looked like you needed it.”

Your bluntness catches Natasha off guard, leaving her momentarily speechless. She blinks, surprised not only by your remark but by the realization that she hadn’t woken up immediately when you arrived. 

The fact that she was able to rest so peacefully with a practical stranger nearby is something she never would’ve thought possible—but here she is.

As the sun rises higher for the start of the day, its gentle light softens the tension between you. It casts a warm glow over everything, including you, and Natasha finds herself at a loss for words at the sight.

After a moment, you stand, calling Widow to your side. 

The cat stretches one last time before hopping down from Natasha’s lap and trotting over to you with a playful spring in its step.

As you turn to leave, you glance back at Natasha, a faint smile playing on your lips.

“Maybe find a better spot for naps next time,” you say, giving her a backward wave. “Take care, Miss Black Widow.”

Natasha watches you walk away, something unfamiliar stirring in her chest. She exhales, running a hand through her hair as she tries to shake off the lingering sensation.

“Yeah,” she murmurs softly. “You too.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

A few days later, Natasha returns to her room after another one of her early morning runs, her body drenched in exhaustion from both physical exertion and the sleepless nights filled with nightmares. 

She lets out a tired sigh, closing her eyes and shaking her head as if to shake off the haunting memories of the recent dream when a soft scratching sound from her window catches her attention.

Her eyes widen in surprise as she spots the source of the noise. Hurrying over, she opens the window and carefully scoops the black cat perched on the sill into her arms.  

“How did you get all the way up here?” Natasha asks curiously.

Widow meows softly in response, twisting in her arms to bat playfully at a stray strand of hair that had fallen across her face.

Natasha huffs in amusement, leaning her head back to keep the hair out of reach.

Her gaze drops to the collar around Widow’s neck, reminding her of the lack of contact information to reach you. 

A small smile tugs at her lips as she recalls the memory of you accusing her of being a thief. Now, somehow, your cat has found its way to her again, staring up at her with those innocent, wide eyes.

Natasha taps the top of Widow’s nose lightly in mock scolding.

“You’re gonna get me in trouble with your owner again,” she mutters, half-playful, half-exasperated.

Unbothered by Natasha's words, Widow glances around the room with mild curiosity before letting out a pitiful meow, pawing at Natasha with an urgent expression.

Natasha raises an eyebrow, confused. "Am I supposed to know what that means?"

Her meows grow more insistent, her tiny voice taking on a more desperate tone.

“What do you want? Food?” she asks.

The cat immediately quiets at her suggestion, eyes shining with eager anticipation. Natasha chuckles softly, shaking her head.

“All right, let’s see if we can find you something to eat.”

An hour later, Natasha finds herself in the Compound’s kitchen, waiting for the coffee pot to finish brewing as she reflects on the bizarre morning.

Just as the aroma of fresh coffee begins to fill the room, the elevator doors slide open, and Tony Stark comes strolling in, waving his phone at her.

“Someone explain why the emergency communication system I created is sending messages for cat food.”

Before Natasha can respond, Peter Parker swings in through an open window, landing at the kitchen counter with a large bag of cat food under his arm. He pulls off his Spider-Man mask, flashing a wide grin.

“No worries, Mr. Stark! I saw the message and picked some up on my way,” Peter declares proudly, placing the bag triumphantly on the counter.

“Thanks, Peter,” Natasha says, taking the bag and raising an eyebrow at Tony. “At least someone’s reliable around here.” 

“Anytime, Miss Romanoff,” Peter replies, rubbing the back of his neck shyly as he moves toward the sitting area. 

Meanwhile, Tony scoffs at her teasing jab, muttering her words mockingly under his breath as he turns to leave. But he freezes mid-stride, pointing toward the couch.

“Uh, what is that?” 

Natasha follows his gaze and sees he’s referring to where Wanda is sitting on the sofa, using her powers to create a small red ball of energy for Widow, who is happily pouncing at it.

“Her name is Widow,” Natasha explains as she pours the cat food into a bowl.

“You named a cat after yourself?” Tony snorts, shaking his head. “And people say I’m the narcissist.”

“She’s not mine,” Natasha replies, rolling her eyes as she walks past him toward the sitting area.

“So, you stole it,” Tony deadpans.

“Why is that the first thing that comes to your mind?” Natasha huffs, exasperated, as she sets the bowl on the floor.

At the sight, Widow scampers over, letting out a happy meow before digging into the food.

Natasha smiles softly, scratching the cat’s head as it eats, though her thoughts inevitably drift to you, wondering how she will return your cat to you.

Wanda, who’s been watching the scene with an amused grin, chimes in, “Natasha has a crush on the owner. She keeps thinking about her.”

“Oh, this just got interesting,” Tony says, leaning on the back of a chair with an intrigued smirk. “When did that happen?”

Natasha glares at Wanda before answering, “I met her on one of my runs. We talked. That’s it. Also, what have we said about reading people’s minds?”

Wanda raises her hands in mock surrender.

“I’m not, I swear. Your thoughts are just…really loud, and most are about her.”

Tony chuckles at the revelation, thoroughly entertained. He raises an eyebrow at Natasha, grinning.

“Nat, there are better ways to get someone’s attention than stealing their pet. I could give you some tips if you want.”

Natasha huffs, crossing her arms.

“I don’t need your help, Stark.”

Tony, unbothered by her dismissal, smirks.

“Then why haven’t you contacted her about the cat?”

“I don’t have her contact info,” Natasha admits reluctantly. “I didn’t get her number.”

Peter, who had been quietly watching the exchange, suddenly perks up.

“I have an idea!”

He pulls out his phone from his backpack, snaps a picture of Widow, and begins typing. A moment later, he shows the screen to Natasha. 

The post reads: “Cat found at Avengers Compound,” with Widow’s picture attached. 

“What’s this?” Tony asks, peering over Peter’s shoulder.

“It’s the ‘Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man’ app,” Peter explains animatedly. “You told me to focus on local stuff as Spider-Man, so I made this app where people can report crimes or activities happening in New York. This way, Miss Romanoff’s crush will see the post and know where to find her cat.” 

At his last casual remark, Tony bursts into laughter while Wanda hides her smile behind her hand.

“All right, that’s enough,” Natasha says, scooping up Widow and grabbing the food bowl. “Come on, Widow. Let’s get you some peace and quiet.”

With that, she leaves the room, escaping the playful teasing of the others.

Later that afternoon, Natasha returns to the common room and finds Peter frantically overturning the sofas.

“What are you looking for?” she asks, arms crossed.

Startled, Peter jumps, dropping the sofa back to the ground with a loud thud.

“Please don’t tell Mr. Stark,” he pleads.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “What did you lose?”

Peter hesitates, then slumps his shoulders in defeat.

“Mr. Stark gave me a USB with the new suit design, and I was going to show him my modifications, but now I can't find it anywhere.” 

He starts pacing, clearly panicking, as he continues.

“I thought I put it in my backpack, but it’s gone. If I lost it in the city, Mr. Stark will never let me help with modifications again!”

Natasha steps forward, putting a reassuring hand on his shoulder. 

“Hey, calm down. Tony will understand,” she says, nodding toward the window. “Why don’t you go check your place again? I’ll keep an eye out here.” 

Peter takes a deep breath and nods.

“Okay, yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks, Miss Romanoff,” he says before pulling his mask back on and swinging out the window.

Natasha shakes her head with a small smile and resumes her original task—finding Widow, who had somehow slipped out of her room without Natasha noticing.

The little cat was proving to be surprisingly clever and stealthy. It seems you obviously trained her well.

After searching around for a bit, Natasha is about to check with Wanda when a pair of yellow eyes appear from the shadows on one of the black sofas.

Widow stares up at her, completely unbothered.

Chuckling in realization, Natasha sits beside the cat, gently scratching her head.

“You’re pretty good at hiding. I didn’t even realize you were there.”

Widow responds with a bored yawn, stretches her body, and then hops onto Natasha’s lap, curling up contentedly. As her eyes begin to flutter closed, Natasha frowns in realization.

“No, no, you can’t fall asleep on me. I’ve got things to do.”

Widow ignores her, already deep in sleep. When Natasha hears the soft sound of the cat’s snoring, she throws her head back against the sofa in disbelief.

Sighing, Natasha spots a tablet on the nearby table. She carefully reaches for it without disturbing Widow and begins doing some work.

After a moment, the rhythmic purring from the cat brings an unexpected feeling of calm and comfort to her, and before she knows it, Natasha’s eyes start to grow heavy, and she drifts off without realizing it.

She doesn’t know how long she’s been asleep when she wakes up, blinking groggily. As her eyes adjust, she notices a familiar face beside her—you.

For a brief moment, Natasha wonders if she’s still dreaming. Though, she doesn’t usually have dreams this pleasant. 

But then your eyes lift from your phone at her movement, and you raise an eyebrow, amused.

“For a hero, you sure take more naps than I expected.” 

Natasha blinks away the remnants of sleep, sitting up straighter, and tilts her head at you curiously.

“How did you get in here?”

You gesture casually toward the elevator. 

“I came by after seeing the post, and your teammate—Wanda, I believe—she said she recognized me, so she directed me here.”

Resting your arm against the back of the sofa, you lean your head on your hand as your eyes twinkle with amusement.

“I thought I told you to find a better napping spot. This one’s just going to give you neck cramps.”

Natasha’s lips curl into a small smile as she gestures to Widow, still sound asleep on her lap. 

“Wasn’t exactly my choice.”

Your gaze drifts down to the cat, and you sigh knowingly.

“Widow, stop pretending and get off her.”

Natasha frowns in confusion at your words and snaps her gaze to the seemingly asleep creature on her lap.

For a second, the cat doesn’t move, but when you call her name again, a little more sternly, the cat’s eyes snap open.

Widow lets out an indignant meow before hopping off Natasha’s lap and licking her paws casually as if nothing happened.

Natasha shakes her head in disbelief.

“What a little liar.”

Groaning softly, she stretches out her stiff muscles and catches you watching her, your gaze lingering for a second too long.

When you realize she’s noticed, your eyes flicker back to your phone.

Natasha smirks, about to tease you, but then you show her the screen of your phone—the post Peter made about Widow.

“I need you to take this down,” you say, your tone serious.

Natasha furrows her brow but nods.

“Sure, I can do that. But why? It looks like she’s a hit with everyone.”

Your smile turns faint as you stand, the lightness in your expression turning somber.  

“Not all attention is good attention,” you say cryptically. 

Before Natasha can ask what you mean, you grab a pen from the table and reach for her hand. She watches in surprise as you scribble something on her palm. Your touch lingers for a moment, making her feel unexpectedly flustered.

“Here,” you said, finishing. “If Widow finds her way to you again, you’ll know how to reach me. Though, hopefully, you won’t need it too often.” 

Natasha glances at the number on her palm, then back at you with a raised eyebrow. 

“Am I only allowed to use this for cat-related emergencies?” 

 You smirk, though there’s a hint of something more serious in your eyes.

“I’m not sure I’m someone you’d want to get involved with.” 

Natasha holds your gaze, intrigued.

But the tension is broken when Widow hops back onto the sofa, drawing both of your attention. The cat tries to burrow into the cushions, as if searching for something or determined to get comfortable again. 

You sigh, picking her up despite her annoyed yowl. Before leaving, you glance back at Natasha, tilting your head thoughtfully.

“Though… I guess a hello from the Black Widow every now and then wouldn’t be too bad.”

With that, you head to the elevator, disappearing behind its doors.

Natasha looks down at the number on her palm, a small smile playing on her lips. She finds herself hoping that Widow might "accidentally" find her way back to the Compound again soon—if only for another chance to see you.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Natasha didn’t have to wait long for another chance to see you, after all.

Just a few hours after your departure, late at night when the Compound was quiet, Natasha—still unable to sleep—wandered into the common room.

To her surprise, there you were, dressed in dark, stealthy clothes, frozen the moment you noticed her. 

Her instincts kick in immediately, and within seconds, Natasha has her weapon drawn, pointing it directly at you.

Yet, you show no sign of panic. Instead, you raise your hands slowly and tilt your head at her with a calm, almost amused expression. 

“You really shouldn’t be up this late, you know,” you say lightly, as if this was a casual conversation. “Messes with your sleep schedule.” 

Natasha ignores the teasing, her gaze unwavering and her senses on high alert. She didn’t feel any malice from you, but the situation is far too strange to let her guard down. 

“How did you get in undetected?” she asks, her voice low, tinged with suspicion.

With deliberate slowness, you gesture with one hand toward the open window behind you. 

“That was left unlocked. Pretty reckless for the Avengers.”

Natasha’s frown deepens as she glances at the window, already making a mental note to have Peter redo security training. 

“And the alarms?” Natasha asks, her weapon still trained on you.

You shrug casually.

“Let’s just say we have a lot of experience when it comes to not being seen.”

Natasha's eyes narrow at your words. "We?" 

You nod toward her feet, and Natasha briefly glances down.

Widow is there, casually walking through her legs and brushing her fur against Natasha with a soft purr, completely at ease.

When her gaze snaps back to you, you gesture toward her weapon. 

“Mind putting that away? I’m unarmed. You can check if you like.”

Natasha hesitates, her eyes studying you carefully, looking for any hint of deception.

But there is none.

Reluctantly, she holsters her weapon and steps closer, reaching out to pat you down.

You stand still, hands raised, letting her search you for any hidden weapons or gadgets.

“So, what are you?” Natasha asks, her tone sharp. “A spy?”

“Reformed thief, technically,” you reply with a casual shrug. “I don’t do this sort of thing much anymore.” 

You sigh lightly, casting a glance at Widow, who had settled by Natasha’s feet and is now nonchalantly licking her paw. 

“She, however, is still struggling to break her old habits.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, glancing at the cat.

“You’re telling me this cat’s a thief?”

You chuckle softly, catching the disbelief in her voice.

“I’m serious. Check my pocket—it’s the reason I’m here.”

Frowning, Natasha reaches into your jacket pocket, her fingers brushing against something small and metallic. She pulls out a USB drive, her eyes widening slightly in realization when she notices the small Spider-Man logo sticker on the side.

“I didn’t realize Widow had swiped it before we left earlier,” you explain, your tone sheepish. “I came back to return it before there’s any trouble.”

“Is that why you wanted the post deleted?” Natasha asks, her suspicion now tinged with curiosity. “Are you in some kind of trouble?” 

There is a brief pause as you meet her gaze. Your smile turns slightly rueful at the concern in her voice, and for a moment, something unspoken lingers between you.

“Let me worry about that,” you say softly, your tone more serious than before. Then you lift your hands slightly in surrender, a playful glint returning to your eyes. “So, are you going to arrest me, or am I free to go?” 

At that moment, Widow trots over, settling in front of Natasha and meowing softly as if to plead on your behalf. 

Natasha crosses her arms, her lips curling slightly in amusement at the sight, though the concern hasn’t left her eyes. 

“You two sure know how to double-team a person.”

You chuckle, realizing Natasha’s letting you go, and call your cat’s name. Widow immediately jumps into your arms, curling up comfortably. You look back up at Natasha, your expression softening.

“I told you—you wouldn’t want to get involved with someone like me.”

Natasha’s gaze softens in response.

“Your cat seems to think otherwise.”

You smile at that, gently shifting Widow in your arms.

“She’s got good instincts. A good judge of character, too. So, you must be really special if she’s interested in you.” 

For a moment, silence settles between you, broken only by Widow’s soft purring. The tension eases, but something still lingers beneath the surface—an unspoken understanding that there was more to your story, more to you, than you were letting on.

With a small smile, you take Widow’s paw and give Natasha a playful wave.

“You should head to bed soon, Miss Black Widow,�� you tease softly, raising an eyebrow. “We wouldn’t want you napping in random spots again.”

As you move toward the window, Natasha steps closer, her voice lowering.

“You know, I don’t mind the visits from Widow. And the two of you don’t have to sneak in or anything. Just…come by whenever.”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by her offer.

“Are you sure about that?” 

Natasha holds your gaze steadily. “Yeah. I’m sure.” 

You study her for a moment, then smile—a genuine, appreciative smile that softens the usual teasing banter.

“I’ll think about it,” you say with a playful tone.

With a quick nod, you adjust Widow in your arms and slip through the window with practiced ease. Natasha watches you disappear into the night, her mind spinning with questions and curiosity.  

One thing’s certain: this won't be the last time she’d see you and your cat. And to her surprise, she finds herself looking forward to the next time.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

a/n: thank you for reading!

[shaisuki]

thinking about rehabilitating a catboy that had been jumping from home to home due to his aggressive nature. hissing at every human that comes closer to him. ears flattening at the slightest of actions towards him that he instinctively raises his clawed hand to defend himself.

so the group who handles rehabilitation for hybrids had you taking care of him for the mean time. hoping he'll soften up to you and prepare him for society in which you gladly took him.

it wasn't easy for you. adjusting your new life with your cat hybrid. he messes up with your place. scratching every surface he can get and tearing the curtains. biting holes at them and within a month your house was a total mess. hell, he didn't even still warm up to you despite months of living and proving that you won't harm him.

not until he scratched you. his claws digged at your skin and blood was already flowing from how deep it was. he expected you to lash out on him. blame him and worst kick him out back where he belongs but none of it ever came. instead you just left him to tend your wounds.

he waited minutes for you to check up on him and you did. apologizing to him that you invaded his boundaries. assuring him that you're not angry for what he did. just hurt at the scratch which he knew it wasn't. he teared your skin like it was paper.

catboy who feels guilty. it took a week before the wound healed and you're not using any bandages to cover it up anymore. you continued to look after him, feed him. making sure he's comfortable and one day he just comes closer to you.

retracting his claws and grabbing your arm for him to lick where the wounds is. you were startled of course. your once angry catboy coming to you and initiating contact. you warmed at him. happy that he got closer to you and since that things had changed.

asking for scratches and starts making biscuits over your plush body. he swear it's the best feeling ever. he won't tell you about it. you were just so comforting and kind to him.

and he's now your sweetest catboy until his rut came......

part 2

[rowarn]

HYBRID!AU PART 2

part one | part two | part three

(: anyway here's what you've all been begging for. a part 2 but it was getting so long...almost 3k words. and so....there will be a part 3.......but for now i hope this satiates you!!!

cw: hurt/comfort, aftermath of hurt???, self-deprecating thoughts, insecurities, mentions of blood and scratching, mentions of past mistreatment, petnames and headpats tho <3

The next time a human approaches you, you’re unable to stop the growls that escape your throat when you hear the pspsp as he tries to approach you. When you hiss, the man scoffs and stomps away muttering a soft ‘stupid cat’ under his breath. 

No one approached you for a long while after that. The only way you knew how much time had passed was when the restaurants all threw their leftover food from their workdays. Eating out of the trash was always utterly humiliating, especially when you got caught. 

Most people ignored you when they saw you sitting on the sidewalk, getting some sun since it didn’t shine into the little alleyway you hunkered in. Some people would scoff and give you disgusted looks, as if you were a stain on their shoe. 

At this point, you were used to humans acting like you were scum of the Earth. After your experience with Simon, human’s behavior towards you no longer surprises you. Though it hurt, you didn’t understand why you were so unlovable. 

But then one evening, when the sun was just beginning to set and the temperature was steadily dropping, you were huddled up in what little bit of sun-warmth you could get until it became dark. Your arms were wrapped around your body as you shivered, trying to ignore the way your tummy growled from being empty – the store employees had chased you off before you could steal anything from the dumpster. 

A large shadow cast over you and when you looked up, you saw a slender, athletic man. His presence immediately set you on edge and you felt a growl bubbling up in your chest.

“Hey now,” he chided softly, pretty brown eyes crinkled as he squatted in front of you, “None of that, little kitty.”

You scowled up at him. Even crouched down the way he was, he was larger than you.

“Do you have a name?” he asks kindly. 

You pause at that. Soap had given you a name. But did it really count as one if your previous owner hadn’t even agreed to it? Still, it was the only thing you really had left of your former companion. 

You softly mutter the name you’d been given and the man nods before holding out his large hand, “Kyle. Would you like to come home with me?”

That sends off alarm bells in your head and before you know it, your claws are ripping into his hand and you’re scurrying into the alleyway to cower in the corner. 

You hear the man faintly sigh before he stands, knees cracking as he does. You don’t hear anything from him for a few minutes before his heavy boots walk past the alleyway and fade. 

You don’t even understand your own reaction. Of course you wanted a home to call your own. But you don’t think you would be able to handle it if he turned out to be the same as Simon. You wouldn’t be able to get attached to a human only to be abandoned on the streets like you were last night's trash. Perhaps it was just easier to reject all human companionship than risk being heartbroken all over again. You had only recently stopped crying yourself to sleep over the memory of your home. 

You think that will be the last time you see the man, surely he wouldn’t want anything to do with a cat-hybrid who was mean, but just a couple days later, he’s back. He stands beside you, one bandaged hand gripping a shopping bag. You feel a pang of guilt at the sight of his bandaged wound. He slowly places it beside you, staring at you expectantly. 

“This is for you,” he says awkwardly after a second of you staring blankly at him, “It’s some food and water.”

Your stomach growls at the mention of food and as much as you want to peek in the bag, you can’t bring yourself to admit defeat like that. He might think you’re accepting him as your owner if you accept his gift! 

But you’re not! You refuse to end up hurt and sad like you had been with Simon! You would rather just live on the street than go through that hurt all over again. You couldn’t stand to give your trust only to be betrayed and mistreated again.

You only wanted someone to love you but apparently that wasn’t in the deck for you and that was okay, you told yourself. No matter how much it hurts to admit.

The man, Kyle, sighs softly when you simply ignore him, the sound almost melancholy. It makes your heart ache in your chest. He casts you one last glance but you keep your gaze down before he walks away, disappearing out of sight at the end of the street. 

With his piercing gaze off of you, you turn to the bag and begin rooting inside it. 

A couple bottles of water and some hybrid-safe packaged food. Nothing that needed refrigeration but also much better quality and variety than what you had been given by Simon. 

You remember how it felt to watch Soap eat delicious meats and fruits and veggies while you got bland, colorless slop. Sure, it was healthy for hybrids but everyone knew it was disgusting. Clearly Simon didn’t care – he was just feeding you so you didn’t inconvenience him by starving to death in his house. 

And though Soap would sometimes share his food with you, it wasn’t the same.

This food was yours. Kyle had gotten it for you.

You pull out one of the packages, a neatly wrapped sandwich with all the organic ingredients listed in bright colors. It makes your heart ache just a little bit as you take your first bite, all alone on the sidewalk, quietly wishing Soap was there for you to share it with as payment for all the food he had shared with you. 

Kyle makes it a habit to visit you day after day, sometimes bringing food, sometimes just bringing himself. Most of the time, you ignore him but he doesn’t seem deterred in the slightest, only quietly promising to visit you again soon when he bids you goodbye. 

It starts to become lonely when he leaves.

You don’t know when it begins, but you find yourself waiting for him. You sit out in the open, mindlessly combing your tail, where he can see you if he approaches. You find yourself thinking about him and if he’ll bring something for you to snack on – he found these delicious fish flavored chips that you were practically addicted to. Though, you didn’t say anything about your liking of them, he kept bringing them so you think he knows. 

Some days, Kyle’s visits were quick and fleeting and other times he sat there for a while. He had given up trying to talk to you much since you made it a point to ignore him but you were happy that he hadn’t given up yet. 

You know you would have given up by now. But the fact he persists leaves you with a warm, soft feeling in your chest. You’ve never had someone try so hard for you before, Simon certainly never cared to try.

Kyle wasn’t so bad after all, you found yourself deciding. He was quiet but not standoffish. He didn’t try to touch you after you had swiped at him one time when he went to pat your head. He was kind, always complimenting you with ‘pretty kitty’ and ‘sweet kitty’. And best of all, he didn’t ignore your existence like you had grown used to when living with Simon. 

Waiting for Kyle to show up became the most grueling part of your day. Minutes felt like hours and any tall man who passed by had you perking up to see if it was Kyle. The urge to get closer to him grew day by day, you wanted him to pet you, you wanted to talk to him. 

Maybe living with him wouldn’t be so bad after all. Just the thought of a happy life made you purr to yourself. 

You vowed that you would talk to him today, maybe see if you could take him up on that offer he had made that first day you met. 

But he never came. As the sun dips behind the horizon, you find your hopes getting squashed. He always came before dark. 

With a heavy heart, you curled up in the little cardboard box you had been calling your shelter. It was easy to tell yourself that the ache in your heart was because you wanted to see him and not because you were scared he had given up on you.

The next day, the same thing. You waited all day only for him to not show up. Then the next day. And the next. 

A week passed with no sign of him and you tried your best to pretend like it didn’t hurt like hell. 

Maybe he really had gotten sick of waiting for you and decided to find a hybrid who would actually talk to him. You couldn’t blame him, you suppose. But it still made that heavy pain settle in your heart like when you had been thrown out by Simon. 

One morning, you were awoken by a loud voice shouting down the alleyway, “Alright, come on out, cat.”

The sound of the voice had you sitting up, eyes wide as you looked around. At the entrance, a man stood with his hands on his hips, a hefty utility belt around his waist. 

He sighed when he saw you staring blankly at him before he came over, hoisting you up by the arm.

Your growled and hissed, ears pinned back as you fought against his grip. He dragged you out, taking you towards a big black van that had the words ‘hybrid-control’ printed on the side. 

You swiped at the man with your free hand, sharp nails slicing into his skin. He cried out in pain but didn’t relent in his hold.

“Stupid fucking cat,” he snapped, “Fuckin’ hate havin’ to pick shits like you up.”

“Excuse me,” a sudden, frantic voice called out, “What are you doing?”

The man holding you turned to look at Kyle, an annoyed look on his face, “Got a complaint about a stray hybrid livin’ around here. Came to pick it up.”

“Oh that’s not necessary,” Kyle said, reaching out to pull you from the man’s grasp, handling you much softer than the stranger, “This hybrid is mine.”

The man looked like he wanted to argue but glanced down at his bleeding arm and rolled his eyes, “Whatever, man. Your funeral. Just get it off the street.”

When the van drove off, Kyle turned to look at you apologetically, “Sorry, I didn’t want to claim ownership over you like that but–”

“Where were you this week?” you find yourself pouting, crossing your arms over your chest petulantly.

Kyle looks shocked before he smiles kindly, “I was away for work. I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you.”

Your pout only deepens, “It’s not like I missed you or anything…”

“Of course not,” he laughs but you both know he doesn’t believe you, “How about I show you my home, hm? It’s not too far from here.”

You agree without complaint, letting Kyle lead the way down the busy streets until it grows quieter and quieter.

The neighborhood is startlingly familiar as he escorts you to his home. It doesn’t take long for you to realize it’s the same neighborhood Simon and Soap live in. 

You weren’t exactly sure how far their home was but you couldn’t stop yourself from frowning at the memories.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, “Don’t like it? I know it’s a little boring here but it’s near the base so what can you do?”

“It’s not that,” you quickly said, considering telling Kyle what was on your mind but you instead settled for, “I-It’s nothing.”

You were worried if you told him about your previous home, he might think there was something wrong with you. You didn’t want him to think you were undesirable and put you out on the streets all over again. You silently wondered when you became so insecure. 

He hummed and opened the front door for you, “There’s a room at the end of the hall that’s an office right now but it’s all yours once I get it set up with a bed and everything.”

“My own room?” you ask softly, fluffy ears perked up.

“Of course,” he smiles, “This is your home now.”

You feel tears prick your eyes but you quickly look away before Kyle can see them. It felt so nice that he actually considered it your home too and not just his. Simon always made you feel like you were barely welcome and only there because he put up with you until he couldn’t stand you anymore.

“Oh before I forget,” he said, grabbing a box off of the table, “I got you this.”

He showed you the contents, a cute, dainty collar with a metal tag in the shape of a fish with your name engraved on it. 

“Why do you have a collar?” you asked, tilting your chin up so he could fasten it around your neck.

“I had hopes that you would let me take you home one of these days,” he laughed, a boyish, kind sound that made a smile grow on your own face, “I wasn’t going to give up until you were safe and sound with me, love. I knew this was going to be your home one way or another.”

You spend the whole day wandering around the house and exploring, nudging against every surface to spread your scent on it. You hadn’t done that much in Simon’s house, too scared you’d get reprimanded for dirtying up the furniture or something.

But Kyle didn’t care in the slightest. He simply smiled when he saw you nuzzling the pillows. He even trimmed your nails so they weren’t nearly as sharp anymore. 

It was nice living with him.You quickly realized how different your life felt with Kyle than how it felt with Simon.

Kyle was kind and friendly, calling you by your name and petnames and not just ‘hey you’ or ‘cat’. The affection in his tone was palpable and just hearing how sweetly he spoke to you made you purr uncontrollably. 

And he didn’t once raise his voice at you or chase you off the couch when you were napping. He gave you the softest pats on the head and let you snooze on his lap without a single complaint. 

He never forgot to feed you and always gave you the most delicious things he could find. He ate at the table with you and told you all about his day, making an effort to talk to you and learn about the things you liked to do while he was at work. 

You were happy to finally have a home to call your own. But deep down, you missed Soap. You missed his energetic happiness and how affectionate he was with you in a way that only hybrids could be. He was the only true companion you had ever had and he had left his mark on you. You wondered about him every day, especially when you heard the front door open and you half expected him to come running in with a thrilled grin on his face, ready to regale you with tales of outside.

You passed their house one day while on a walk with Kyle, something he took to doing as an activity with you (he didn’t want you to get bored or stagnant just sitting inside all day), trying your best to act like seeing the home you used to call your own didn’t make your heart ache painfully in your chest. 

“There’s a hybrid that lives here, you might like him. His name’s Soap,” Kyle said when he saw you pausing in front of their home, “Owner is Simon Riley. I work with him, kind of a standoffish guy, you should probably steer clear if you run into him. He’s not the most friendly.”

“Yeah…” you found yourself mumbling, barely even registering anything Kyle had said, a frown etched on your lips before you looked at Kyle, “Can we go home?”

“Of course. Let’s get you some food, pretty kitty,” Kyle cooed affectionately, patting your head before leading you back home. 

You casted a glance at the home you used to call your own, you were startled to see Soap standing in the window, eyes wide, brows furrowed, and hurt written all over his face. The sight alone made your own eyes sting. He had never looked at you like that before. He looked so heartbroken.

Kyle cooed softly to get your attention again, leading you down the sidewalk and away from the house. Soap’s figure in the window faded from view and you felt your head spinning.

Soap and Simon’s scent faded the further you got away from it. But once you entered your home with Kyle, your scent and his mixed together in a way that it never did with Simon’s. You couldn’t help but purr, the pain and anxiety in your heart fading.

But still, your mind lingered on the distraught face of the best friend you left behind.

do not modify or repost to third party sites. reblogs appreciated!

[midascrow]

Alastor x Gn!Reader

Favoritism pt.1

part 2

————/////————————//////

Synopsis: the others notice a certain Deer Demons positive behavior regarding one of the staff. (Reader)

a/n: reader is portrayed as pretty meek and quiet. At least upon first meeting people, and I may continue that trait in part 2 or have them open up a bit more.

———————————————/—/——————

“Don’t ya think it’s kinda…I dunno..weird?”

Charlie’s shiny eyes snapped up from the sparkly cards and glue strewn across the living room table. “What’s weird?” Angel hummed, one set of arms crossed thoughtfully as his eyes swept towards the far corner, watching a certain Radio Demon quietly chat with one of the hotels…”staff” members.

“That Smiles, is so sweet on (Y/n) and not the rest of us?” His hand waved around dramatically, watching Charlie’s eyes widen as they spun towards the aforementioned duo, studying them for a moment for any sign of irregular behavior on the deer demons part. Although not much could be considered regular in regards to him

“I’m pretty sure Alastor is just as much of a prick to them as he is to everyone else.” Vaggie huffed from her spot on the couches armchair, a small magazine in hand that she carefully tried to cut apart for the days craft. Scrapbooking, if it wasn’t clear. “…your markers bleeding babe..”

“Oh shoot!”

Angel guffawed, bolting up right and letting his arms flail wildly in disbelief. “No way toots! Don’t you remember when he first brought them ovah? As one of ‘s lil “Helpahs”?” He turned, “Huskers you know what I’m on about don’t ya?”

The grumpy cat deflated with a sigh, setting down a freshly cleaned glass just to pick up another and start again. “That demon, plays with souls and sinners like no other shitlord out there. And that one,” his clawed finger shot out to point dagger straight at you “just so happens to be his favorite. End of story.”

Charlies lips pursed at that, a small shimmer in her expression that made Vaggies brow furrow in stress, watching her lover fall back into her own mind and remember the hotels first ever introduction to you.

—————

“Now my friends, I do have one more favor to cash in on. I expect you all on your best behavior in regards to them..” His red eyes lingered on Angel with a sneer. “I won’t take kindly to any damage done by your hands.” The static that swelled behind his words reached its peak, before muffling once a small figure materialized just beside him.

A clawed hand curled atop your shoulder and if not for the familiar chill, perhaps you would’ve jumped, but the buzz of static and the crackle of a radio was a comforting sound you had grown all too close to.

“Now, this sweet thing is (Y/n), a special little friend of mine who will help you, though- mainly me, keep the hotel on tip top shape- isn’t that right dear?”

Your gaze darted around, and the others watched as you barely made a peep before a gentle smile pulled on your lips and you nodded..strange for someone in the company of the Radio Demon.

“What’s up with them? Can’t talk or what?” Angel mused, almost rudely, winking under your watchful eye that was almost..freakishly intense.

Alastor hummed and buzzed for a moment, gazing down at you in thought. “No No, just a bit shy is all. Always on the quieter side…”

“That won’t be a problem will it?” The static fluxed and swayed around them, shadows scratching at the walls of his underlying threat, that cut through the air.

……..

The princess was admittedly worried by your timid nature. You were almost…paranoid in a sense, looking as if you wanted to melt into the floor at any sign of confrontation, friendly or otherwise.

But…she did notice you seemed oddly at ease around the Overlord. Sticking close, though typically he was the one following you around as you did..whatever it is you were brought over to do.

She was even reminded of one instance, where you had been scuttling around, a stack of fresh dishes held precariously in your clammy hands as you made your way to the kitchen.

Charlie had been too busy at first to notice, she was speaking with Alastor about the future promotion of the hotel, when the loud sound of glass shattering rang through the room.

All heads snapped towards the cause, only to spot you, wide eyed and flat on the floor surrounded by dozens of broken plates and glasses.

Seemed you had tripped on a loose bit of tile.

Now, Husker just had been throughly..scolded by the Hotelier for dropping a bottle just a few hours prior, so the patrons and staff watched with baited breath as the ever encompassing form of the radio demon stalked towards your dejected form.

Vaggie had drawn her spear right as the crash had happened, ready to step in at any moment should she need.

But the others could only watch in surprise as you were gently ushered to your feet with soft dusts off your shoulder, and a little snap of clawed fingers. The mess disappeared in a flash, and your uniform was carefully adjusted by the tall red deer who softly scolded you.

“Now now my dear. You must remember not to overwork yourself. Can’t have you in poor shape now can we?” His words were condescending at best, paired with the gentle pinch of your cheek, but for whatever reason you seemed hardly put off, simply nodding shyly and quickly darting off to continue your next list of….errands, the deers ears swiveled in your direction till you vanished through the corridor.

——/

“Do you think they’re-?”

“Fuckin?”

“I was gonna say dating..” Charlie trailed off uncomfortably, watching tensely as Alastor almost…”playfully” whisked you around the parlor.

“They’re not.” Husks gruff voice cut through, dipped in firm belief that he was right. “That fucker has an angle no matter what, and whatever special treatment they’re receiving is just to follow through with it. That guy can’t even conceptualize caring about someone like that.”

Clearly that incident was still fresh on his mind as he mumbled quietly about how he was cut off from all booze the following week to, help clear his “shaky hands”.

The others grimaced, Vaggie especially as Charlie’s big eyes welled with fat tears. “That’s..that’s so sad!” She wailed, collapsing into her girlfriend’s arms, her reaction subtly mirrored by Sir Pentious who had slithered into the conversation.

“Wh..why are we crying??” He hissed, greated with rolled eyes from the spider and cat, and a dejected sniffle from the princess.

“Al-Alastor’s never been in love!!” She sobbed dramatically, Vaggie cooing in her ear while her hand rubbed her back soothingly.

“Oh..?” The snake perked up, a confused tilt to his head. “But aren’t Alassstor and (Y/n) …?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out! He totally dots on them don’t he Snakes??”

The engineer nodded rapidly, scales shimmering in the dim living room light.

“I told you morons, they’re not and never will-“ Husks aggravation of the topic was clear, the scrubbing of his glass a tad more aggressive.

“But…I jussst ssssssaw them kisssssing the other day…? Up on the terrace?”

…..

“Ex-fucking scuse me?”

[gh0stsp1d3r]

a mini you ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ.

reader can understand + talk to animals <3

MASTERLIST | KOFI | PART 2

When you first found the cat on the side of the road, it was a poor, tangled ball of fur. You noticed him, hearing his quiet pleas for help.

You leaned down, petting him on the head and cooing, asking what his name was. The cat seemed confused as to how you were communicating with him, but a soft smile made him trust you, nuzzling his head further into your hand. The poor thing was starving, you realized when it let out a quiet noise, telling you that he hadn’t eaten in days.

You picked the cat up, walking over to your door and back into your apartment. He was a rather quiet feline, but he seemed to like you. You ran a bath for him, much to his chagrin, and cleaned him up. You fed him whatever you could find that was fit enough for a cat.

he mostly stuck by you the whole time, it was sweet. He didn’t say much, but he seemed curious about you. He was a Siamese, usually called the most aggressive and territorial cats.

It wasn’t until Logan came home that you realized just how territorial this cat was.

He came home, draped in a large denim jacket, cigar hanging on his lips. He shrugged the jacket off, taking the cigar out his mouth and calling out your name.

You came practically running out to him, wrapping your arms around him, eliciting a chuckle from him. He wrapped his arms around you, a woody scent coming off from him. You pulled away, giving him a kiss, his hands going to slither down to your back.

“Missed me, huh?”

“Mhm.” You nodded, murmuring against his lips. He pulled away suddenly upon hearing a low growl, turning around the room, sniffing for what that noise was.

“Oh! I forgot. C’mere, peanut.” You spoke, his eyebrows furrowing when he saw the ball of brown and white fur come out from behind the couch, his ears pinned back and his fur raised up, hissing at logan.

“Peanut, what’s wrong?” You asked the cat, who let out a low growl. You furrowed your eyebrows.

“He said he just doesn’t like you.”

“Where the fuck did you get him from? The side of the road?” Logan sneered.

“Well… yeah.”

“Oh my god.” He sighed out. “He don’t got… fleas or nothing, right?”

You shook your head, “checked him.”

“Well why the fuck doesn’t he like me? I didn’t do shit to him.”

“Why don’t you like him?” You asked the cat, who let out a hiss again, backing up from Logan who scoffed at the cat.

You had to suppress a laugh when you explained. “He… marked his territory on me.” You let out a quiet laugh, covering your mouth.

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Cats… especially Siamese cats, are territorial about a lot of things. Their house, toys, food, and sometimes owners.” You explained to him with a shrug.

“I’m your boyfriend. I live with you. How the hell do I share a house with a cat that wants to murder me?” He spoke, going into the kitchen for a moment before walking back out with a bottle in his hand.

“He’ll get used to you.” You spoke with a small smile, turning to look at the cat who still had his back raised. You bent down, holding your hand out for it, peanut walking over to you, while still glaring at Logan.

Logan also let out a growl of his own at the cat, and you shook your head at the two, amused.

“You know what he reminds me of?” You asked logan quietly.

“What..?” He grumbled out, popping open a beer bottle while still staring at the cat.

“You. He’s like a mini you.”

“He is not a mini me.” He argued. You turned to him, tilting your head to the side, looking at his tufts of hair and you just giggled.

“Mhm. Be nice, peanut.” You pat his head, standing up and leaning into Logan’s ear.

“He’s a mini you.”

He rolled his eyes, lightly shoving his shoulder and you off of him, you smiling and laughing. Him and the cat stared at each other, logan narrowing his eyes.

“Mini me, my ass.” He murmured out.

Days later, you find the both of them, claws out, pointed at each other. And then you find them staring each other down. Then, once he gets warmed up to Logan, he jumps into your bed, nuzzling his way in between the both of you, making logan jump and glance down, just to find the cat.

You ended up renaming him to logan junior.

[lurochar]

The Shadow will Play

'Behave'? What did that mean?

In which Alastor’s shadow "plays" with you and you find out something very interesting about your lover.

Alastor’s Shadow x Reader

18+ MDNI

Part 2

‐-------------------

“Behave.”

It had been his Master's orders and he was trying so hard to abide by them, but you were just making it so difficult for him!

What exactly did ‘behave’ mean? It's not like his Master gave any examples in which he could follow through.

Did ‘behave’ mean not going out and slaughtering a few unlucky Sinners?

Did ‘behave’ mean not pulling a few pranks on the hotel residents and staff?

Or did ‘behave’ mean not getting amorous with his Master's lover?

(Shouldn't he be able to touch? He was a very part of Master after all).

It seemed that his Master had not told you to behave as you were touching him freely, causing him to shudder from your pleasant warmth.

“You're so cute~” You always did love how affectionate Alastor’s shadow was as it rubbed against you like a giant cat. “Is there anything you want to do today? I don't think Alastor will be back until tonight.”

The shadow tilted its head before its grin widened and it let out a series of chirps. It pushed you back on you and Alastor’s bed, cooing as you let out a surprised noise when it clamored over top of you, “W-what are you doing?”

The shadow's tail wagged as it thought back to the times where he was just a voyeur when you and his Master engaged in intimacy and knew he wanted to draw those pretty sounds from you.

“W-woah!” Your eyes widened when the shadow eagerly began to pull down your pants, probably ripping parts in the process with its claws. “Did Alastor put you up to this?”

The shadow paused for the briefest of seconds before chattering, nodding its head as it finally managed to rip your pants off.

“Well, if he’s okay with it…” You muttered, shivering slightly when you felt the shadow's two cold hands on each thigh, spreading them as you flushed at the… odd situation you found yourself in.

But if this is something Alastor wanted, then…

You jumped when your panties were practically torn off you and cool fingers were parting your folds. You shut your eyes, expecting to feel discomfort or even pain since you weren't prepared in the least and not at all wet.

The shadow tittered, using his thumb to rub circles around that nub of flesh like his Master did and as expected, you let out one of those pretty sounds that had his ears twitching.

“That… feels good.” You sighed, feeling a heat in your lower belly begin to ignite. You glanced down curiously, aching a bit when its thumb left your clit, moving so its face was directly at your cunt.

Before it could dig in, it reached up, catching you by surprise as it took hold of your arms and placed your hands on its ears, pointing at them and chirping.

“You want me to pet them while you do that?” You asked and received a nod in return. “If you're anything like Alastor, and I'm sure you will be, I'm not sure I'll be able to,” you got a sound that sounded like a huff, “but I'll try! I will!”

The shadow seemed satisfied with that.

The shadow parted your slippery folds again, keeping them spread and it was quick to bury its long tongue in your dripping hole, causing you to shudder.

Like Alastor, it could elongate his tongue.

You groaned, feeling its tongue lap at every little crevice of your pussy, slurping up your slick like a mindless animal, “H-hah, yeah. Oh, r-right.”

You squeezed its ears as promised.

You almost shattered when you felt a small vibration in your core and you barely heard something – a sound that you never heard the shadow make before and once more, to be sure, you squeezed the shadow's ears.

Again, there was that sound and that oh-so good vibration and with the absolute tongue fucking you were getting, you were gonna cum with that next one.

But that sound – what was it and why was it familiar?

The shadow ears twitched when you squeezed them again, hearing your moans while your legs spasmed around his cold body and he tried the best he could to lap up your slick as your hole clenched around his tongue.

Your noises were so pretty~♡

(He wanted more).

It took a few moments for you to gather your senses as you slowly sat up, seeing the grinning shadow practically make heart eyes at you.

But before that, you needed an answer to a question (and possibly, another answer to another question).

“That noise you made when I touched your ears, was that a deer bleat?” You asked, causing the shadow to nod and you to be taken back for a second.

 ‘I’ve touched them before, and Alastor or his shadow has never made that sound, so maybe it's just a sex thing?’ 

“If I touch Alastor’s ears during sex, would he bleat too?” You asked, thinking back and you always wondered why your lover seemed dead set on you not touching his ears during intimate times, but you had just respected his wishes and never went beyond that.

The shadow nodded.

“That’s so cute~!” You smiled brightly, bringing the shadow in for a hug and it purred, tail wagging, “Thank you for telling me this! How can I repay you?” You almost regretted asking as the shadow immediately pounced on you, ready for more of you.

His Master wouldn't be back until night, after all.

[chateaaa]

☆ What dating the blue lock characters feels like (pt 2)

Dating Sae Itoshi includes matching earrings, having your initial dangling in his dominant leg (so every time he scores he dedicates the goals to you), having you in the back of his phone, being mean to everyone but you, buying you everything you want, giving you his password to all his socials, buying you flowers every week, slow dancing in the rain, watching hello kitty with you, kissing you on the back of your hand <3

Dating Shidou Ryusui includes bear hugs!!, slapping your ass every time he gets a chance, biting you randomly, love hate relationship, "shut up" x "make me", would try to be romantic (it does not work), would always expect you watching his games, looking at you in the crowd if he scores a goal, making boys near you cry because he dosnt want them to steal you away from him

Dating Otoya Eita includes kissing you on the neck, painting each other's nails in the color of black, wearing a pink scrunchie you gave him as a joke he now won't remove it from his arm, giving you his hoodie, acts of service, only wearing this specific perfume when you guys meet, pocky game (he would purposely lose)

Dating Tabito Karasu includes flirting with you in front of your friends, matching lego heart keychain, giving you cute random things and saying "my chick number 7 gave this to me, i don't need it so you can have it" that's a lie, he spended 3 days deciding what to give you, carrying you like a sack around, matching sneakers

Dating Alexis Ness includes worshipping you like a goddess, loving every single part of you, carrying an extra ponytail for you, buying you snacks, being very possessive, always wanting to wear matching clothes, words of affirmation and physical touch!!, telling his teamates about how good and kind you are, literally making you experience any kind of dates ex: beach dates, museum dates, stargazing dates, always wanting to touch any part of your body; arms, cheeks, hands

Dating Hiori Yo includes arcade dates!!, winning you stuff toys in claw machines, gaming dates, photobooth dates, physical touch and quality time!!, cuddling while raining, playing games even if your horrible, the beds in minecraft being side by side, carrying you in literally any game, sending you spotify lyrics that he thinks relates to your relationship with him, watching netflix together during summer vacation

Dating Noel Noa includes waking up during weekends with him serving you breakfast in bed, carrying you around like a teddy, all love language, gifting you extravagant gifts everyday, leaving you colorful sticky notes in the counter everyday with daily reminders such as "don't forget to drink water" or "i'm going home late, you should sleep early today"

Dating Ikki Nikko includes only letting you touch his hair, cafe dates, letting you have his drink if you like it more, gifting you a giant teddy on your birthday, would always update you through chat, sending you spotify playlists, handwritten letters, sending memes to eachother, dreaming about being married and adopting 5 cats

Dating Yukimiya Kenyu includes neck kisses!, ranting about all his problems to you at 3 am while cuddling, taking pictures of you every time you go out, his wallpaper being you (he changes his wallpaper every week), just because flowers, photographer x model, always having your favorite food in his bag

Dating Charles Chevalier includes painting each other's nails with the eye color of each other, him only listening to you, sunshine x grumpy, always asking for headpats, booping your nose, watching disney every night before going to bed, expecting you to feed him every time you go out

idk guys kasasu and otoya feels ooc, I THINK IT'S VERY HARD TO WRITE ABOUT THEM SINCE I FEEL LIKE THEY'RE RED FLAGS AND I REALLY DON'T KNOW ABOUT THEIR PERSONALITY THAT MUCH..... (sorry karasu and otoya fans 😔😔) but anw hope you all still like it ☝🏻🤓

btw PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE SUGGEST ANYTHING TO WRITE IM HAVING WRITERS BLOCK LOL

[some-bunniii]

My Charming Red Savior [3]

・❥ You finally meet Alastor’s friends, only to then find your tea party rudely interrupted by an angry mob.

| Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 |

x: no use of y/n.

~ 7.9k words

warnings: adult themes

“Um…hi?”

The group of demons scooted a few steps closer to you, anxious to get a better look at the unfamiliar face in front of them. Their expressions were mixed, suspicion, excitement, confusion. Their eyes scanned up and down your figure, and you suddenly felt awfully self-conscious.

You leaned back slightly from the onlookers, as much as Alastor’s hold on you would allow. His arm was snaked around your elbow, locking you in place, which was the only comfort in this very strange little world.

The Hazbin Hotel, just like that Imp and Alastor had described to you earlier in the day. The question is, how did you get here, exactly?

These demons didn’t seem unfriendly, or cruel. They just seemed shocked to see you here, most likely the same feelings you’re experiencing right now.

Did Alastor do that? He must have, but how? Through the ring?

And, what about your money, purse, wallet, and keys? Did that asshole run off with them after you vanished? You held back the urge to sigh, what a day.

“Alastor, mind explaining who this is?” The gray, shorter lady in front asked, arms crossed as she regarded you cautiously with a single eye.

Alastor only grinned mischievously, a small chuckle escaping his lips, before turning his gaze towards you. He tugged you forward gently, and your back straightened as you smiled widely.

“Well, isn’t it obvious with that charming smile? She’s my wife!”

Silence. Utter silence, so silent in fact, you swore you could hear gunshots ringing from a few blocks away.

Your eyebrows shot up, heat creeping on your cheeks as you processed his words. You side-eyed him, a question behind your glance.

Is he serious?

The platinum-blonde-haired woman's mouth dropped open, her eyes glimmering. That gray lady only reeled back slightly, eyeing both you and Alastor with even more suspicion.

“Whaaaaaa..?” The pink spider demon quirked an eyebrow, his gaze darting to a much shorter black-and-white feline man, who shot him a confused expression right back. The tiny Cyclops lady only jumped in place giddily, her hands to her mouth in glee.

It wasn’t until you felt a rumbling beside you, did you turn to find Alastor laughing, his shoulders shaking as he put a hand to his mouth.

The even more shocked faces in the crowd faltered, as they watched Alastor collect himself.

“Ah, to see your faces like this is quite amusing.” Alastor chuckled, taking a claw and lifting it to his eye to wipe a false tear.

“Real funny.” The winged cat grumbled, rolling his eyes. The woman in the red suit seemed to deflate, a frown on her lips. She looked like she was genuinely sad by the news. A similar pang hit your heart, before shaking it off. Right, he wasn’t your husband. It was just an act. You knew this, so why did you feel this way?

You heard Alastor clear his throat, before gesturing to you once more. “This darling belle before you is here because.. she is interested in redemption through the hotel!”

Huh? When in the world did that thought ever cross your mind? Your head snapped to him, and you caught the mischievous glint in his eye as the platinum-blonde lady in front of you beamed, the sparkle in her eyes almost blinding you as she bounced on her toes.

“Really?!” She squealed, before crossing the distance between the two of you. She leaned down slightly, meeting your gaze. “Hello! My name is Charlie, and this is my hotel! Although, I’m sure you’ve heard a lot about it already."

Oh, this must be that daughter of the imp. The one that appeared before you before the store you worked at had opened, the one that told you his daughter owned the Hazbin Hotel. She didn’t look like an imp, though. You shook that thought off for a moment as she conversed with you.

“Not really,” you confessed, “I only know about you through Alastor.”

“Well, I’d be pleased to show you around and give you all the information you need to make a decision.” Charlie reached out her hand, a welcoming gesture. You hesitated before your eyes flicked up to Alastor, a thousand questions in your gaze.

But, what about your things? Why were you suddenly thrust into this situation? When were you going to get an explanation of how exactly you got here?

‘Go along with it, we’ll talk later.’ Alastor’s eyes seemed to speak, behind that charming grin. Just like it did the first time you met him. At least, you hoped that was what he was saying. You were going to talk to him no matter what, anyway.

You slipped your arm from his hold and grasped Charlie’s hand, and she tugged you beside her as she walked towards the group of demons. You felt a bit nervous as you approached them, seeing as their eyes had been on you since the moment you landed in their lobby.

“These two are our residents at the hotel! This is Sir. Pentious.” Charlie gestured to the tall snake demon, his hood covered his face slightly as he smiled bashfully.

“It’sssss a pleassure to meet you, my dear!” He said, clasping his hands together, and you smiled warmly in return. Sir. Pentious seemed like a respectful, modest demon. A rare gem. He reminded you of Alastor but with a flare of innocence to him. Or, at least, less murderous.

Charlie turned slightly towards that taller, fuzzy spider dressed rather scantily. “And, this is Angel Dust. He was our first guest when we originally opened!”

“How ya’ doin’, toots?” He winked at you, that golden tooth catching your eye as it shimmered in the warm lighting. He seemed to exude an air of confidence and charm that attracted attention effortlessly. At least, he was the first person to catch your eye when you materialized in front of them. It might just have been the bright pink fuzz, though.

“This is Husk… Niffty… Vaggie…” Charlie continued, introducing you to the rest of the staff. You stood beside her, patiently waiting for it to be over so you could speak to Alastor. Who was standing a ways behind you, no doubt tracing your figure as you slowly met each member. Finally, when you had finished greetings, Charlie turned to you. “I think it’s time we do a little tour of the hotel, get you familiar with everything!”

Your smile faltered for a moment. Right, you weren’t totally done yet. As much as you wanted to learn more about where you just dropped into, you had a very, very long day. Your plush, weighted covers that were sitting patiently back at home were calling to you. Still, Charlie turned towards the opposite side of the room, before glancing behind and beckoning you to follow. You obliged, keeping pace with her as she began to speak.

She guided you through multiple different locations, the kitchen, the lounge, and the bar. Soon, you were walking down a long hallway, rows of doors facing both sides of you. Were all these rooms vacant? Seemed like the hotel wasn’t very popular, though you weren’t surprised.

It wasn't until you entered a large sub-room, with a very lavish mahogany-wood staircase, that you stopped in your tracks and looked at the large frame hanging above you. Splashes of color filled your vision as you gazed at a large painting on the opposite side of the stairs. It depicted a large glistening, blue lake nestled in a sunny clearing around rows and rows of lush trees. At the edges of the lapping waves, fawns danced with small winged children in fields of sunlit flowers. Some held their hands to their mouths, giggling in joy as they frolicked carefree in the afternoon breeze.

You gawked at the painting for a few more moments, your eyes tracing the perfect lines and forms of each figure. The wings of the angels looked like actual feathers, carefully crafted through paint tools by a skilled hand.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Charlie swooned beside you, gazing up at the portrait. You nodded slowly in response, it was a very beautiful painting. Is that what Heaven looked like? If that was the case, you didn't mind giving redemption a try anymore.

“Who made this?”

“One of our staff here, they are our newest addition to the crew! I’d introduce the two of you, but they’re attending an art show tonight. An auction, I think. I’m sure you two would get along great, though!”

Yes, maybe you’d like that. Charlie continued on her path, as you rounded a corner into another hallway, the lights of the lobby off in the distance. You exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. You could finally speak to Alastor about the questions reeling in your head.

When you entered the lobby, the rest of the crew had dispersed. Angel Dust was lounging at the bar, offering Vaggie a drink who declined it curtly. Husker was growling something to Niffty, who was attempting to stab a bug atop the bar counter.

Alastor hadn’t followed you on that tour, instead, you found him leaning comfortably against the side of a wall. He stood there, a microfiber cloth in one hand and his red-tinted monocle in the other. Gingerly, he brushed the cloth across the small surface, wiping it clean of any imperfections.

It wasn’t until his gaze lifted and met yours, that the cloth vanished from his hand, and he adjusted the monocle back on his face. He straightened, resting slightly against his cane as the two of you approached him.

“So, what do you think?” Charlie pivoted to face you, a large smile on her lips. She looked so hopeful, and you did not want to say anything to hurt her feelings. You glanced at Alastor, who stood a little ways behind Charlie. His eyes were unreadable, that small smile of no help. Great, you were on your own with this one.

“Well, I think the hotel is very pretty.” You responded slowly, choosing your words carefully as you spoke.

“What about staying here?” Charlie leaned in slightly closer, bouncing on her toes as she beamed at you.

“Um, about that, It’s a nice offer and all but…” Charlie’s face dropped, her eyes glistening as she visibly deflated before your eyes. You grimaced, before taking a step closer, apologetically waving your hands. “But, I’m just pretty exhausted right now, so I think a good night's sleep will allow me to give you a better answer.”

Charlie perked at that. Even if it wasn't a ‘yes’ it was still better than your full rejection. She nodded, “That works with me!”

“Wonderful!” A voice buzzed behind Charlie before Alastor appeared next to her. He turned to the apple-cheeked woman, before widening his grin. “It seems like our new friend is rather tired, so I will do the honors and show them to their room.”

Wait, room? As in, here at the hotel? That was not your original plan, but, if it meant you were finally able to speak with the red demon, so be it.

Charlie agreed, before waving farewell to you and joining Vaggie on the couch. You turned to face Alastor, and he offered you his arm. You felt like ignoring it for a moment, and just walking beside him. Some kind of payback for suddenly dumping you here and into the arms of strangers.

After a moment, you sighed in defeat and laced your arm with his. He turned you to a second hallway and began to lead you down the winding corridor. After you were out of earshot, Alastor cleared his throat beside you, before turning his head slightly to face you.

“I’m surprised to see you here so soon, my dear. I knew you’d appear eventually, with how easily trouble seems to find you.”

“I’ve been waiting to hear how I even got here in the first place.” You replied sternly, prodding him for an explanation.

“Why, the ring of course!” He spoke, gesturing to your bare finger. “I embedded it with magic that would take you to safety if you were ever to be manhandled again while I am not present.”

You were silent for a moment, contemplating his words. Alastor put some kind of spell on the ring to protect you? Had that been there since he originally placed it on your finger? Now you were beginning to understand the strange words he said back in the tailoring room when he mentioned the ring being a charm for good luck. Heat began to creep on your cheeks, as you realized how offly sweet that was of him.

“Well, then I suppose I must thank you. If it weren’t for you, I may have gotten more than just my money and bag taken.”

“Ah, so that is what it was. Well, you don’t need to worry any longer, my dear. This hotel is safe from any kind of danger.” He patted your hand assuringly as you walked, “Which is why I only offered the idea back there, as I believe it benefits you more than anyone here.”

Alastor did all this because he cared about your well-being? The ring, the teleportation, living here, the killing. All for you. Even, your “relationship” with him was just that. Your mind went back to when he had laughed in the lobby, like the thought of being with you was that big of a joke to tell all his friends. He could have just not said anything! And yet, he acted so gentle and kind to you, even asking for your permission to kill your boss, just for asking you on a date!

Sure, you’ve only met Alastor like, what, twice? So, you weren’t expecting such a serious step in a relationship to be taken so fast, nor anything similar. But, there was no way Alastor had been doing all this out of the kindness of his heart, he’s the Radio Demon.

There had to be a real reason. He hasn’t even communicated his feelings on the matter, does he expect you to read every thought behind his gaze? You frowned, irritation setting on your face.

“I’m surprised you did all this,” you start, taking a slight step away from Alastor as you slip your arm out of his hold, continuing to keep pace with his footsteps, “seeing as you think what I have experienced this past week is so funny.”

Alastor halted in his tracks, and you were jerked slightly as you were pulled back from the hold on his arm. He turned his head to you, his ears flattened slightly as he searched your gaze. He tapped his claws against his cane, fast and erratic as he observed you.

“Are you referring to what I said when I introduced you?” He questioned slowly, That smile creeping a little higher as he tried to keep up the charm. You crossed your arms, attempting a stern stance as you took another step back.

“Yes, I didn’t exactly expect to be the punchline to your dismissive jokes.”

“My intentions were not to make light of recent events, I can assure you,” Alastor cleared his throat, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips, “I simply wanted to gauge their reaction to such a statement, as I’ve spoken before, one must always be prepared for every situation. And, you must stop referring to them as my ‘friends’, I hardly know them.”

You didn’t have time to process his strange words before Alastor reached an arm out towards you, beckoning for you to take his hand. You only hesitated a second before crumbling, your fingers brushing softly against Alastor’s palm as he lifted your hand towards him. With one digit, he traced up your ring finger, before settling just above your knuckle. You hitched your breath, watching as a string of green light wrapped around your finger. It thickened, before a light green cloud of smoke poured from the light. Leaning down, Alastor lightly blew against your finger, and the smoke dispersed. Your eyes widened when that familiar, golden band began to glint against the hallway lights.

“There, now do you see? My words have been nothing but truthful, my doe.”

His fingers stayed on your hand a little longer, brushing softly against your knuckles, before he withdrew. You pulled your hand closer, twisting your finger until you could see it, that little rose-gold A etched onto the ring’s surface. A warm smile crept onto your lips as you inspected it. You kind of missed the feeling of it snuggled against your skin.

“Well, when you put it like that...” you trailed off, and Alastor grinned widely, accepting your response with a grin as he sidled close to you, motioning to the door in front of him. You turned, your eyes landing on the small 7 etched in gold against the wood. Was this your room?

“Am I staying here?” You questioned, turning to Alastor.

“Preferably, and it is a short distance from my room. Should you ever acquire my assistance, of course.”

“Where is your room?”

Alastor turned, one claw pointed directly across the little hallway towards a replica of your door. Okay.. his room was literally ten feet from you, he wasn’t playing when he said it was a “short” distance. Were you complaining, though?

Suddenly, a yawn overcame you, and your hand lifted to shield your gaping mouth as you sighed softly. God, you were awfully exhausted, mentally and physically. Alastor watched you rub your eyes, before he softened, that smile fading just a tad as his eyes glanced at the clock hung on the wall near your door.

“It seems like it has gotten late, I apologize for keeping you from your beauty sleep.” He bowed his head respectfully to you, withdrawing closer into the shadows. “I do hope you’ll consider the offer of staying at the hotel, better than the neighborhoods crawling with thugs back in the city.”

You nodded, smiling at him as your fingers snaked around the door handle. “I will think about it, don’t worry. I did find some interest in Charlie’s words when we went on that tour.”

“Wonderful. I bid you a good night then, my doe.”

You twisted the handle, backing slowly into the shaded room. You sent a small wave, smiling at him as you shut the door. Your surroundings were drenched in darkness, and you placed your forehead against the cool, wooden frame. You sighed, letting your muscles come loose finally in the quiet of your private domain.

Wow, what a day.

You awoke the next morning, dark circles under your eyes as you groaned sleepily from the rays of morning light hitting your face. The plush white covers slid around you, a large pillow in your hold as you pulled it close to your chest. You snuggled your face deeper into it, intent on falling back into blissful dreams.

Except, nothing came. Your brain just kept prodding you to wake, to rise from the warmth of your makeshift nest and greet the day.

‘To greet Alastor!’ It whispered excitedly, and you stirred again.

What time was it? Waking in a room different from yours always throws off your sleep schedule. Turning your head slightly, you eyed the digital clock on the bedside table. It was seven in the morning, you had slept for almost ten hours. Impressive.

Slowly, you rose from the bed, your arms lifting above your head as you took a big stretch. Yawning, you pivoted, your feet landing on the cold, unfamiliar wood floor.

You sat there for a moment, your eyelids lifting slowly as you let yourself wake naturally.

What was your plan today? It seemed like Alastor insisted on you staying at the hotel, as well as Charlie. But, you had a place of your own. One that you rented, but with all your stuff nonetheless.

You still had a job, but seeing as the Hazbin Hotel provided everything of necessity for free, it wouldn’t hurt to lessen your load and start working part-time. Plus, less Alan. Yay!

Maybe, you’d go home later, collect what you needed and come back. You could even see if Alastor would do his little teleportation trick, it wasn’t so bad being pulled around like that if it cut your travel time to only a few seconds.

It seemed like this was your new room too, which wasn’t so bad. There was a bathroom, a balcony, a dining table, and basic furniture. And, Alastor was right across the hall! You were surprised when he had placed you so close to his own living quarters.

Wasn’t your relationship just a farce, like he had joked in the lobby yesterday night? Maybe, he felt you’d feel more comfortable being near someone familiar.

Maybe, he felt more comfortable having you close to him.

These thoughts spun through your head as you got ready for the day. Your face was soaked with water as you reached for a hand towel on the rack next to the bathroom sink, the soft cotton refreshing as you sank your face into it.

Weirdly, there was a small stack of fresh clothes on top of your dresser. Also weirdly, in your size. Who could have put them there? You examined them anyway, finding them not too far off from your normal style before slipping into the garments.

Opening the curtains, you pushed open the balcony doors. That cool breeze brushed against your ears as you inhaled a deep breath. A smile playing on your lips as you let the warmth of a new day hit your cheeks.

It was nice here, actually. The hotel was far enough away from the streets that the smell of garbage and booze didn’t hit your nose as you inhaled the breeze again. You couldn’t hear the loud profanities or honking cars from all the way up here.

It was amazing. Maybe, staying here was going to be pretty good.

You left the fresh air draft into your room, as you walked to the door. Your fingers caressed the handle for only a moment as you hesitated, before you shook yourself and took a deep breath. The door slowly creaked open, squeaking as it inched backward. Your head slowly peaked out of the door, your eyes scanning down the hall, before eventually landing in front of you.

Alastor’s door. The wood was dark, walnut-brown with golden borders that glinted underneath the wall sconces. There was nothing unusual about it, but it was it being his door that made it stand out against all the identical rooms in this hotel.

Should you knock? Ask him for directions back to the lobby? No, that was going to be weird. You didn’t want him to think you were using him or anything. No matter how much of a gentleman he acted.

Instead, you simply slipped through the threshold and quietly shut the door behind you.

Okay… so you definitely remember your room being on the right side of the hall when you came here last night. Which meant the lobby was somewhere left. Nice, at least we’re getting somewhere.

Turning, you begin your trek down the long hallway. Your eyes would occasionally glance at paintings, or your reflection on wall-length mirrors, as you walked. It wasn’t long before you arrived at a larger sub room, with a few pieces of furniture like benches and side tables. There was a TV in one corner, with stacks of newspapers on a coffee table in front of it.

It seemed to be like a small lounge, and you noted that in your head for later. The problem was, the room then split into three separate hallways. Your shoulders dropped, and your lips curved downward at the sight. Why was this place hellbent on meddling with your biggest weakness?

Crossing the room to one corridor, you peeked around the corner. There was nothing familiar you could pick out from it, no distant noises that gave you an inking of a guess. You gulped, how exactly were you supposed to get back to civilization now?

“There you are, my dear!”

You turned, your back hitting the wall as you watched the red demon stroll towards you. He stopped a few steps away, a pleased look on his face at the sight of you.

“Alastor! I was hoping to catch a familiar face out here.”

“Well, aren’t you glad that face was me?” He beamed, extending his arm out for you to take. Without hesitation, you slid your arm into his hold, locking at the elbows.

“Of course! You are the only familiar face here, honestly. I might have forgotten your friends' names during the night.” You smiled apologetically.

“Don’t worry, they are quite colorful characters, these people. I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“They seem to be, although I'm not sure whether they like me yet.”

“Oh, I’m sure they do,” Alastor smiled, patting your hand assuring. “you exude a warmth and charm that it is impossible not to be drawn to.”

Heat crept into your cheeks, and you averted your gaze to the ground.

“Take those silly fellows that can’t seem to stop bothering you, always courting for your affection, my word, just practically begging for your attention!”

Well, that was a more positive light on what you’ve been through this past week.

“If those are the kind of people that want my attention. Then, maybe I don’t want any of it at all.”

Alastor was silent for a moment as the two of you continued walking, you felt his arm in your hold tense slightly. Was he thinking about something?

“Come now, my dear. There are plenty of individuals who would cherish every moment spent in your company, without resorting to such antics.”

You lifted your head and met his gaze, and he only continued to smile at you. His eyes were genuine, as he looked at you. One might even consider them soft. Is that how Alastor felt when the two of you spent time together?

You hadn’t spoken very much to him, at least on personal matters. But, with how the others in the hotel regarded him, it seemed he didn’t do that ever.

Has he ever told them about his mother or her recipes? Trusted them to fix his clothes, to care for him? Alastor seemed to put distance—figuratively and literally—between him and others.

But, with you? Well, calling a strange woman your wife the first time you laid eyes on her is rather bold and personal for such a man.

You felt flustered at the thought that you were the one Alastor chose for such things. You averted your gaze again, a sheepish smile on your lips.

“Thank you, that’s very kind.”

“It’s nothing at all. Why don’t you join me for some coffee? There is a patio right at the front of the hotel, it’s my favorite place to spend my mornings.”

He wanted to spend time with you? Well, you weren’t going to argue with that.

“Of course, I'd love to! You’ll just have to lead the way.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

The two of you walked in silence, as you passed through another long hallway. You could hear faint voices in the distance, growing louder at each step.

Was everyone else in the lobby? Would you have to greet them all again?

You saw the large threshold of the front room, and saw the glimpse of the large stained-glass front doors peeking from the corner. Right as you were about to walk through, Alastor nudged you to the side of the hall, and you turned to find a small set of stairs leading up a level.

You tried to memorize the path in your mind, for next time. The voices from the lobby grew more audible now, and you could hear what sounded like Charlie and Sir. Pentious speaking. A conversation about his path to redemption.

Isn’t that what they expected you to do now? Beg to Heaven to let you through the pearly gates because you repented for your sins? You doubted whether that was even possible.

As you neared the staircase, you turned your head to the lobby before looking back to Alastor. Were they just going to ignore the rest of the residents? You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Are we not going to say hello to your friends?”

“Why bother? They have their routines, we have ours.”

You didn’t say anything to that, instead, just let him glide the two of you up the stairs towards a pair of glass doors. You could see the light-red hues of morning peeking from the drawn shades.

Carefully, Alastor twisted the handle and pulled open the doors, that cool breeze hitting your face as soon as you stepped through the doorway.

“Well, here we are.” He spoke, slowly unlacing his arm from yours.

In front of you, was a small tea table and a single chair staring out at the city. A few flowers decorated along the short, metal railing in porcelain pots. Their colorful blossoms swayed gently in the breeze, as you stepped up to the table.

“Do forgive me, my dear. I seem to have forgotten a seat, I'm not used to company up here.”

With a quick snap of his fingers, a second, identical chair materialized across the table. A small radio emerged from a small pool of green fog as it dispersed on a post at one edge of the railing. It played a soft, jazzy melody as you crossed the small balcony, before positioning yourself in front of the seat to sit.

“Please, allow me.” Alastor appeared beside you, one hand on the chair’s back as he pulled it out from the table.

“Why, aren’t you just a gentleman?” You teased, before lowering yourself onto the small cushion velcroed to the chair’s seat. You felt Alastor push you closer to the table, before he lowered himself slightly to meet your gaze.

“Now, what would you like to drink? Tea, coffee, orange juice? Anything you desire, my dear.” He spoke, smiling as his nails clicked rhythmically against the table.

You told him, and with another snap of his fingers, two pieces of glassware settled upon the table. A pitcher materialized in his hand, before Alastor lowered it to your cup and began pouring the contents.

It swirled around your glass, and you watched it settle as he poured it to the brim. Your eyes trailed his hands as the pitcher melded into a coffee pot, and you watched the dark, steaming liquid land into his glass.

He didn’t add any cream or sugar, and you watched in surprise as he settled into his seat without any modifications to his drink.

“You drink your coffee black?” You asked curiously, an eyebrow quirked as you tilted your head at him.

“Mm, yes. I find that it helps sharpen the senses, and heightens one’s awareness. In a place like this, one must always have control of their surroundings. Don’t you think so?”

You nodded, taking a sip of your drink as you listened. He was right, in a way, about needing to be prepared for anything in Hell. But, why continue to punish yourself by taking away the few good things you could have in such a depressing realm? Maybe, Alastor didn’t think there was any good in Hell.

Watching Alastor lift the coffee to his lips, you noticed the way his entire face softened as the bitter flavor hit his tongue. His smile was so very faint now, almost a firm line, but it seemed.. peaceful. His eyes were slightly lidded, in an expression of contentedness as the breeze tickled at the fur on his ears. The music was peaceful white noise as you sat there, hand underneath your chin, gazing at Alastor as he looked out at the city, a small smile on his lips. Oh, how you so enjoyed his lipped smiles.

It was like that for a few more quiet moments, as the sky continued to lighten until Alastor turned his eyes to you. You squirmed underneath his gaze, realizing you were caught mid-ogle by him. He regarded you curiously for a few moments.

“Find anything of interest in your observation?” Alastor asked slyly, a teasing smile on his lips.

“Your ears are very fluffy” You blurted, before slapping a hand to your mouth. Alastor’s eyes widened slightly at your brazen response.

“Pardon?” He asked after a moment, the static in his tone thicker, hoarser, as the words left his lips. As if he couldn’t comprehend that was what you had landed on. Did no one ever compliment his ears? Correction, did no one ever genuinely compliment him other than to save their skin or to praise his power?

“Your ears, when the wind blows on them they puff out a little from the cold,” you practically whispered through your fingers, “I imagine if someone were to squeeze them, they'd feel so soft too, like squishing a plush teddy bear.”

You buried your face farther into your hands as those words left your lips, heat creeping onto your cheeks. Why were you thinking about touching his head? What happened to not taking too bold of steps? You did not need to overindulge him on what you thought of his ears. Jesus, you were embarrassing.

Peeking through your fingers, you saw Alastor averting his gaze, taking a sudden interest in some flowers near his chair. His ears were flattened slightly, as he adjusted the collar of his suit feverishly. His smile wavered slightly, flickering to a nervous expression. Was Alastor flustered by your comment?

“What an–ahem–unique perspective. My, you are such a charm, my dear, you truly have a way with words. Thank you for the compliment.”

There was silence again, as the tune from the radio seemed to grow slightly louder, drowning out your beating heart. You grabbed your drink, throwing your head back and downing the rest of it in one gulp. If only it was alcohol instead, so you could at least have an excuse for your comments. It was Alastor who spoke up again next, and you were relieved to be changing the topic.

“Tell me, now that you’ve gotten a little more familiar with it, what do you think of the hotel?”

“I think it’s… cute,” you answered softly, your finger circling the lip of your glass as you thought of more to say, “Charlie has a very large dream, and she seems to be the best one suited for the job with the influence she has. But, her residents…? Well, I wonder whether they have it in them to change, especially that–ah, what was his name–guy, Angel Dust? I could see Sir. Pentious being redeemed though. I’m sure he’d do good in Heaven.”

A small chuckle reverberated from Alastor’s throat as he closed his eyes, an amusing smile on his lips. You closed your mouth quickly, leaning back slightly. What was so funny about what you said?

“What?” You questioned, raising an eyebrow again as you crossed your arms.

Alastor cleared his throat, before meeting your eyes again. “Nothing, I just find the concept of a second chance awfully.. silly, you could say.”

“You don’t believe in sinners being able to go to Heaven?”

“Goodness, not at all.”

“But.. you’re helping run the hotel trying to do just that?”

“Well, yes, but it is just simple charity work. I had heard about this place on that noisy little picture box months ago, and how much the demons on the street laughed at it.” Alastor took another large sip of his coffee, adjusting his monocle slightly as he set the cup back down. “That is the problem, my dear. Every sinner in this city has had their chance at going to Heaven, back on earth. They lost it, and now, they’ll only laugh at the concept of such a thing.”

“What was life like for you?”

“Life?” Alastor raised his eyebrows at you, his claws halting mid-tap against the table's surface. His ears swiveled slightly to face you, his gaze curious.

You grimaced, you hadn’t meant to ask that out loud. Should you brush it off? Just because he told you about his mother and his radio show, doesn’t mean he was going to fill you in on his entire past. But, you were so curious! What kind of man did your false husband wake up to be every morning? What did he experience that gave him such pessimistic, ultra-realistic views?

“On Earth,” you clarified, straightening in your seat as you fidgeted with the glass in front of you, “What was it like?”

“Ah, you want to know more about the greatest era in mankind’s history? I’d love to indulge you on such a topic! You know, the first radio station was started in the 1920’s, and of course that only was the beginning of such a wonderful medium. I believe it was called KDKA, I remember exactly where I was standing when the first broadcast hit the radio, I believe it was about th–”

“No, I mean, what did you do on Earth, Alastor?” You interrupted, prodding him for a real answer. You weren’t looking for a history lesson, you wanted to know more about him.

“Me?” He sputtered, caught off guard by your question once more.

“What was your favorite thing to do when you were a child?”

Alastor looked like he wasn’t going to respond, for a moment. His eyes were squinting at you, reading your expression. Did he think you had some kind of ulterior motive? That you were going to take any information and sell it to the highest bidder against him? Your expression was genuine, however, and he only sighed. His brows furrowed in thought, as he recalled distant memories.

“Sometimes, my mother would send me to town for baking ingredients, and every time I'd choose the longest route, which was Frenchmen Street. New Orleans is famous for many things, art, food, but most importantly, music.”

“Music?”

“Indeed! Music is the heartbeat of New Orleans,” Alastor continued, a wistful smile playing on his lips as he delved into memories of his childhood. "I remember those days vividly, wandering that long, vibrant street, soaking in the melodies that filled the air. Jazz, blues, the soulful rhythms that seemed to draw in huge crowds like moths to a flame."

He paused, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "And then there were the nights when the city truly came alive. My mother would take me to smoky jazz clubs, where the air hummed with energy and every note seemed to carry a story. I was captivated by the raw emotion of the musicians, their ability to weave tales with nothing but their instruments and their voices."

A flicker of nostalgia danced in his eyes as he recalled the details, those hidden, buried emotions rising out of him slowly. “I realized then how powerful such mediums truly were, they had the magical ability to perpetuate emotions, feed the crowds, and fuel the thoughts. Music is just another form of art, of course. I’m sure you saw our dear artist’s paintings, and I’m sure they stirred something in you, hm?”

You nodded slowly, leaning forward in your seat, enraptured in his words as they spilled from his tongue. Gosh, his voice was just so nice to listen to. That radio overlay that dripped from his tone was like white noise that tickled your brain with pleasure. You thought his laughs were cute, the way they crackled softly with static.

“I’m sure you would have been happy standing there for hours just to marvel at its beauty. Music can do the same, and when you’re a famous radio host like me,” Alastor gestured to himself, a prideful smirk on his lips, “You need that form of hypnosis to get all the listeners to tune in to the next broadcast, and to keep their interest. Without that power, I wouldn’t be as well known as I am now.”

You were sure he would still be well known for more than his radio broadcasts, with the reputation Alastor had with his… violent tendencies.

“There,” Alastor sighed, like a heavy weight was lifted off of his chest, “are you pleased with my response, my dear?”

“I think I am sated for now.” You responded with a smile, batting your eyelashes as you leaned back into your chair.

“Good, now, I believe it is my turn to ask you a question.” Alastor straightened, his claw clicking softly against the table in sync with the music buzzing in the background. You raised an eyebrow, nodding slowly in anticipation as he leaned slightly across the table.

“Have you decided on whether you are going to reside at the hotel and try redemption?”

You tensed, smiling wider as your mind raced. Sweat beaded on your eyebrow as Alastor looked at you expectantly. What was your decision? Sure, you’d get free room and board, it was no doubt safer than your home, and maybe, just maybe, redemption could actually work. But, was it enough to flip your whole life upset down, over what, a demon man who helped you out a couple of times?

“Alastor, I–”

Your voice was drowned out by a powerful explosion that rocked the patio, the radio fell from the railing and disappeared from sight, as the music faded with it. Your ears rang from the small blast, which had barely missed the wall of the hotel. Alastor’s head snapped to the source of violence, eyes narrowing as the figures of burly demons grew more visible as they approached. There were about four of them, who each held pistols, and a few rolled a grenade between their fingers.

“Angel Dust!! Come out here, you filthy skank!” One snarled from the group, fist raised towards the hotel.

“Ah shit!” You could hear the faint voice of the spider demon coming from the lobby, it sounded frantic as a head poked out from the large entrance doors.

“What did you do?!” You heard Vaggie growl, as another explosion rocked the side of the hotel.

“I sold em’ fake drugs! They thought they were buying coke, but I only gave em’ baking powder!”

“Angel, you idiot!” Vaggie snarled in response.

You shrunk back in your chair, your heart beating erratically and you watched a few more men gather on the hill. What was going to happen? Why did this always happen to you?

Alastor sighed exasperatedly, rising from his seat as he straightened his bowtie. He turned towards you, walking to your place across the table. Your hands were still resting on its surface when Alastor reached down and gently grasped them, before lifting them to your face. He laid your palms against your eyelids, adjusting your fingers to where only darkness greeted your vision.

“Just keep still just like this for now, my dear. I will be back in only a moment!” He replied chipperly, before you felt footsteps fade away from earshot. The silence didn't last very long, before your thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of screaming and strangled gasps. You felt the ground rumbling slightly under your feet, and you only shrunk deeper into your chair.

The screaming wasn't anyone familiar though, instead, it sounded like it was those drug dealers

“Yeah! Kick their ass, Alastor!” Angel Dust cheered from your left, and you perked.

Your fingers splayed slightly, as you picked between the gaps. Your vision was greeted with large, dark green tentacles that snaked in the air. They weaved around small figures who were scrambling across the clearing in a desperate attempt to survive. Some wrapped around the flailing demons, before pitching them far in the distance. Their screams faded as they disappeared from view.

You couldn’t see Alastor, but you assumed he was out of harm's way since the tentacles were doing a good job corralling the thugs. There were a few stragglers that managed to dodge his attacks, though. That became very obvious when a clawed hand reached over the railing, and you screamed as a dark gray, shark-faced man rose into sight.

He growled at you, as he landed with a thump on the old, cracked tile. A large knife was pulled from a sheath around his waist, and he twisted it between his fingers as he stalked up to you. You pressed yourself as deep into your chair as possible, your body frozen in terror.

“₩ⱧɆⱤɆ ĐØ ɎØɄ ₮Ⱨł₦₭ ɎØɄⱤɆ ₲Øł₦₲?” You heard a snarl of static from the ground, before a tentacle wrapped roughly around the shark demon’s body. His face morphed into a look of terror, right before he was flung away from the patio and beat into the ground by the large mass.

The gang of thugs were almost finished, as you finally exhaled a shaky breath. Your heart felt like it was about to burst, and your eyes darted around the area for any danger.

You shot up from the chair, scrambling to the doorway for safety. You stumbled off balance as the ground rumbled underneath your feet once more, your knees hitting the tile.

Growling in pain, you twisted your head to get a look at what had happened. Your eyes darted across them before you saw the small, cylindrical object fly towards you and land against the railing of the patio.

It erupted into a small ball of flame, before it burst into a large cloud of dark gray smoke, shaking the floor beneath you more violently as shrapnel flew. You tried to scramble away, as the large table was thrown to its side, and began to skid across the tiles towards you.

Your body couldn’t react fast enough to dodge the incoming object, instead, all you could do was throw your arms up and curl closer to yourself, screaming. Praying for mercy from the oncoming blow.

Except… nothing happened. The chaos still ensued around you, and the screams of terror and maniacal laughter still rang in your ears. You felt no pain, yet could still feel the breeze whipping against your arms as you held them up defensively. What just happened? You’re not like, double-dead, are you?

Slowly, you lowered your arms, planting them beneath you to help lift yourself from the ground. As you rose to your feet, your eyelids fluttered open.

The table was split in half, lying burnt on both sides of the patio. A slight trail of smoke wafted from their remains, and your eyes traveled across the tiled floor to what had caused the destruction.

Your eyes landed on an unfamiliar figure, their white overcoat swaying slightly in the wind as they regarded you. That platinum-blonde hair glinted in the morning light beneath the rim of his hat, and your eyes rested on those awfully familiar red cheek spots that stuck out from his pale face.

Your mouth dropped open, eyes widening, as the name of this strange man dawned on you. The image of the fallen angel, the most powerful man in the realm, stood before you.

Lucifer, the King of Hell, was leaning against the partially-destroyed railing. His arms crossed as he regarded your slightly battered form curiously.

“Did I miss anything?” The apple-cheeked man teased, sending you a charming grin. His demeanor was calm, and playful, despite the chaotic scene around him.

Would it be taken as disrespectful if you fainted right about now?

man i rlly dug myself into a hole with these titles huh x) i’ll think of something guys don’t worry. but can i just say how much i love throwing the reader into all this chaos, fun fun!

lmk what you think :)

taglist 🏷️

@the-tortured-poet @anonymousewrites @coleisyn @froggybich @chewbrry @watchinthestarz @mechanicalmari @luxmessorem @plapperlapapp @kottenox @cherry-cola-100 @the-shark-named-sharon @rae-pottah @just-trash-yeah-thats-it @corpsebridenightamare @nijiru @ourfinalisation @anuttellaa @nonetheartist @bunnypeew @cryptidghostgirl @hxzbinwrites @lunaramune @enigmatic-blues @thytorturedpoet @vanhelsingsbigtoe @mixplara @blue122 @zardward @loser-bby @sirens-and-moonflowers @diaouranask @luzzbuzz @theredviolets @the-attention-whore @rayanicaraynbow @girl-nahh-two @moonmark98 @asianfrustration13 @fairyv-ice @missam @beezgobuzzbuzz @valentique @dory-98 @mo-0-o @willow404 @laundrybear @karolinda007-blog @nightreverie

(it only lets me mention 50 of you?! im so sorry to the rest of y’all 😭😭 i’ll reblog it with more tags sksksjjsjsj)

[btasfan]

"Lately I'm learning never to underestimate the opposite sex."

[monster-effer]

Your New Hobby Pt. 2 - Sylus x reader

Summary: Sylus makes you an interesting offer after catching you reading a smutty fanfic. Do you accept? Content: MDNI, explicit smut, questionable use of evol, teasing, fingering, oral, reader and Sylus are dating, Toji (JJK) mention (1.6k wc) A/N: This was inspired by a ~sexy~ audio I listened to a while ago 🫣 Part 2 to this requested by @xcalkenf

<<back

It feels like your brain is buffering. You’re lying frozen in bed, clutching your phone tightly in your hand. The mobile game you were playing before has been quickly forgotten. Surely you misheard him.

 “Can you repeat that?”

Sylus looks at you with unabashed amusement written all over his face. Still wrapped in a towel, he leans against the bathroom door awaiting your answer. “You heard me.”

Alarms begin to sound in your mind as your heart rate accelerates. “How much did you see?” you ask warily.

“I’ve seen enough to know that you are a very naughty kitten.” Sylus pauses before continuing. “Tell me, does reading that filth turn you on?”

Feeling like a cat with their hackles raised, you reply “And what if it does? Are you jealous of a fanfic?”

Sylus chuckles lowly, sending a thrilling chill down your spine. “No need to bring out your claws kitten. I wanted to…offer my services to you while you read,” he murmured as he stalks towards the foot of the bed.

“Perhaps it will make your reading experience more enjoyable.”

Your core clenches at his suggestion. This isn’t how you expected this to go. But you really hope you aren’t dreaming right now. Trying to tamp down your excitement, you ask “And why would you do that?”

Sylus’ eyelids are lowered as lust clouds his eyes. “Do I need a reason for wanting to pleasure you?”

Damn, he’s got you there.

You bite your bottom lip as you pretend to contemplate his offer. If the reader in the fanfics you devour was in this situation, would they turn down this proposition?

Absolutely fucking not.

With that settled in your mind, you answer, “I accept your offer.”

“So polite,” Sylus teases as he walks to your side and bends down to give you a forehead kiss.

“Why don’t you go back to laying on your stomach while you read then? I’ll take care of the rest.”

Feeling jittery, you roll over and grab your phone. Since you were jump scared in the middle of the reader getting railed, you scroll back up to the beginning of the chapter to start over.

The scenes leading up to the smut are tension filled. You are easily sucked in by the cat and mouse game the reader and Toji are playing. And there is something about Toji’s confidence (arrogance) that draws you in.

The author writes his character so well. And their ability to inject humor, heartbreak, sexual tension and frustration flawlessly into their story is a treat.

After blazing through multiple paragraphs, you almost forget about Sylus’ offer. But you are reminded when you feel the bed dip as he gets on it. Deciding to focus on the story for the time being, you ignore him for now.

Coincidentally, when the story transitions into the steamy scenes you feel Sylus’ warm hands massage the back of your upper thighs. You let out a pleased sigh as he loosens up the tension that you hold there.

You were already turned on from reading earlier, but now with Sylus’ hands on you, you’re soaking wet.

Slowly, he slides your pajama shorts down your legs, and you lift up your hips so he can take them off. Since you opted not to wear underwear tonight, your bottom half is completely exposed now.

You feel him press soft kisses into the back of each thigh. You can’t help but squirm, distracted from your fanfic once again when he begins to gently knead your ass cheeks.

Before you can attempt to refocus, you feel the familiar sensation of his evol wrap around your body. Your breath hitches in your throat as the black and red tendrils lift your hips up and hold them in place. While your hips are suspended in the air, Sylus slips a pillow beneath your pelvis.

He lowers your hips back down and dissipates his evol, leaving your bottom half propped up comfortably on a plush pillow. The various memories of being in this position flash through your mind as you lay there.

“Is this a comfortable reading position for you?” he asks softly.

“This works,” you say breathily as you try to find the last sentence you read. But it is so difficult because you are on edge awaiting Sylus’ next move. Luckily, you don’t have to wait long.

You aren’t able to read five words before Sylus is spreading your thighs to position himself between them. Once settled, he licks between your slick folds.

Your muscles involuntarily constrict around nothing as you let out a whimper of his name.

You hear Sylus’ muffled encouragement. “Concentrate sweetie,” before he begins to lap up the juices that have accumulated at your slit. You try to do as he says but your body and mind are at war. The sensation from his insistent tongue is wreaking havoc on your ability to comprehend the text on your phone screen.

But somehow, you are able to go on reading.

You let out a delicate mewl as the action picks up in the fanfic and Sylus delves his tongue into your dripping opening. You clench around the wet muscle when you hear him let out a satisfied groan.

The onslaught of pleasure makes your vision swim. Before long, you feel a tightness in your tummy, and you start pushing your hips back towards his face. You are getting close.

You consider abandoning all hope of reading the fanfic when Sylus removes his tongue from your pussy and inserts one of his long fingers in its place. You whine from the stretch to accommodate his long digit. He starts off with a gentle rhythm while he takes in the mess he’s made of you.

“How far along are you in the chapter sweetie?”

You open your mouth to answer him, but high-pitched keen leaves it instead when he sinks a second finger into your sopping hole. Shakily, you wake up your phone to see that you have a quarter of the chapter left to read.

“I am close to the end. Why?” you ask weakly.

“Let’s make a deal. I will continue to pleasure you, but you are not allowed to ‘finish’ until you reach the end of the chapter. How does that sound?”

You whine as you feel your walls grip his fingers. “That’s not fair, I can barely concentrate when you’re doing t-this.”

“On the contrary, I think it sounds very fair. And end for an end,” he says sensually.

“But I-”

“Yes or no kitten,” he interrupts you swiftly.

“Yes.”

After hearing your answer, Sylus removes his fingers from your pussy and has you roll over onto your back. Before you can blink, the black and red mist of his evol is being used to hold up your phone, while he nestles in between your legs.

“Keep reading then,” you hear Sylus whisper before he slides his two fingers back inside of you and languidly circles your clit with his tongue. You let out a cry and your eyes roll to the back of your head from the dual stimulation.

“You expect me to be able to read now?!?” you ask incredulously.

“I’m afraid it’s too late to back out on our deal now sweetie,” Sylus purrs.

You feel tears prick your eyes from the multitudes of pleasure you are experiencing. Your hand shakes slightly as you reach towards your hovering phone to continue reading the smut scene.

As you read, you feel like you are losing your grip on reality. In the fanfic, Toji has made the reader cum three times so far. And while you usually savor the creative ways authors illustrate and depict sex in their stories, reading this right now feels like torture.

Sylus is alternating between sucking your clit into his mouth and rolling his tongue over it. His long fingers are tenderly rubbing against your g-spot. You think you may pass out if you don’t get to cum soon.

You internally rejoice when you notice there are only two paragraphs left in the chapter. But that joy is short lived because your pussy begins to tighten up, foreshadowing your climax.

Sylus is adept at reading body language, and when it comes to you, he is an expert. Once he feels how tense you are around his fingers, he can’t help but groan into your mound and continue to lap at you hungrily.

“Sylus! I’m so close, pleasepleaseplease,” you beg as he toys with your body.

He makes eye contact with you and unlatches himself from your clit. “I love when you get needy like this kitten. Please keep reading for me, you’re doing so well,” he coos at you.

You let out a strangled noise at his praise. With your last functioning brain cell, you speed through the remaining two paragraphs. You elatedly announce that you’re done and chuck your phone across the bed.

You feel the vibration of Sylus’ hum as he picks up the pace and begins drag his tongue side to side over your swollen, sensitive clit. You quiver as you feel your walls convulse from this sudden change.

Desperate for an anchor, you run your fingers through his soft white hair before grabbing ahold of the strands. You can feel your heartbeat in your clit as it pulses against his tongue. When he roughly rubs against your g-spot you are a goner.

You are convinced that your soul is leaving your body because Sylus continues to stimulate you as you quake.

Once you recover from your orgasm your grip on his hair loosens and you relax into the bed sheets. Sylus gently removes his fingers from your opening and licks your juices from lips.

“Let’s make another deal. If you start reading fanfics when I’m home, I’ll do this whenever you like.”

<<back

[crystallinestars]

If They Were Your Pet Cat (Part 2)

Headcanons for what Aventurine, Argenti, and Jing Yuan would be like as your pet cat.

This is a part 2 because I have a part 1 with Genshin characters here.

Part 3 (Gepard, Ratio, Dan Heng, Sampo)

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

Aventurine:

🦚 Is a domestic shorthair.

🦚 You picked him up as a stray off the streets. Aventurine looked so pitiful in his dirty and starved state, that you didn’t have the heart to leave him like that, so you brought him home. Initially, he appeared nervous and quiet during the first few weeks. Once he became accustomed to living with you, you discovered that the little, scrawny feline has a big personality.

🦚 Aventurine loves to be pampered. He always purrs whenever you brush or pet him, give him belly rubs, or chin skritches. He simply adores your attention. When you coo that he’s such a pretty kitty? Aventurine looks as smug as a cat can possibly look and follows you around the house while affectionately rubbing against your legs.

🦚 He’s very loyal to you. Anyone that comes to your house and tries to coax him to come play or get pats, is promptly ignored by the feline. The ability to cuddle and pet him are luxuries he reserves only for you.

🦚 You’d think starving out on the streets would have made Aventurine eager to eat almost anything, but no. The little rascal only eats the most expensive cat food brands and turns his nose up at anything else. Either that, or he will steal your food off your plate when you’re not looking. He’s a spoiled cat.

🦚 Aventurine likes to sleep next to you. It doesn’t matter what you’re doing—he will saunter up and lay down somewhere close to take a nap. It’s also a given that he sleeps cuddled up beside you in bed during bedtime. He simply likes feeling your presence since it makes him feel safe.

🦚 As such, Aventurine hates when you leave him home alone for extended periods. He’s surprisingly clingy and gets lonely easily. If you’re gone for most of the day, he’ll be very upset by the time you get home and might tear up a pillow or the curtains out of spite. If this this pattern continues for a long while, one day you’ll notice that your keys are gone. Aventurine is a smart cat and quickly figures out that when you leave the house, you always bring your keys with you. To make you stay, he’ll hide them in a spot that only he can reach with ease. Good luck getting your keys back…

🦚 That said, getting another cat or pet won’t cure his loneliness. If anything, Aventurine will become possessive and jealous because he hates having to share your attention with another cat. He’s a bit territorial of you. Similarly, he dislikes you coming home smelling like another animal, so expect him to rub against you to overwrite the scent of that other animal.

🦚 Most of all, Aventurine hates it when you get mad at him. He always looks guilty whenever you scold or yell at him, and immediately flops over onto his back to expose his furry belly to you. It’s his attempt to placate you and ask for your forgiveness. He anxiously follows you around the house and rubs his body against your legs until he’s sure you’re not mad at him anymore.

Argenti:

🌹 An Ocicat breed.

🌹 Argenti is the most photogenic cat you’ve ever encountered. He always looks graceful and dignified no matter what he’s doing or what angle you take photos of him from. Every picture comes out looking lovely. Anyone who sees your cat always says that he looks beautiful.

🌹 To keep such a gorgeous appearance, Argenti often grooms himself. He does a very good job of it, too, which is why you barely have to groom him yourself. The most you have to do is give him the occasional bath, brush out shedding fur during shedding season, and clip his claws.

🌹 As gorgeous as he is for a house cat, Argenti is a free spirit who doesn’t like to be cooped up at home for long periods of time. Whenever he wants to go out, he’ll paw at the door or windows to signal for you to open them. You were nervous about letting him out at first but soon learned that his desire for the great outdoors was unstoppable. He would venture outside one way or another, much to your befuddlement. He enjoys exploring the neighborhood but always makes sure to come home before dark. As much as he loves adventuring, he loves being in your loving arms more.

🌹 Argenti has the temperament of an angel. You could do whatever you wanted to him, and he would gracefully take it without complaining or struggling. It makes doing things like taking him to the vet, bathing, and grooming extremely easy. You could even make him wear different outfits, and he won’t mind at all. He might even like wearing some of them.

🌹 Is very friendly. Whenever you have guests over, Argenti greets them at the door and purrs while rubbing against their legs. He also readily engages in play and comes if they call him. He does this with everyone who comes through your door, so he’s pretty well-liked among your social circle. However, he doesn’t sit on your guests’ laps or cuddle with them since he’s too active to be a lap cat. Such privileges are available only to you.

🌹 His overly friendly and affectionate personality extends to more than just people. He can purr for other animals he finds during his little excursions outdoors, or even inanimate objects. You once caught him rubbing up against one of your potted plants…

🌹 If you’re scared of insects, then Argenti is the cat for you. Whenever he hears you shriek because you saw a bug, he runs over to your side and promptly fends off the heinous critter. He easily catches and kills any insects so that you, his owner, don’t have to be scared anymore. You can sic him on anything, and he’ll get rid of it for you.

🌹 Argenti is sensitive to your emotional state. Whenever you’re upset, Argenti brings a toy over to you to try and get you to play with him and take your mind off whatever is bothering you. If that doesn’t cheer you up, then he lays down on your chest and licks at your face with his rough tongue. It’s his way of soothing you. He’ll purr on your chest until you feel better.

Jing Yuan:

🦁 A Maine Coon.

🦁 Is a big and lazy cat. Jing Yuan will chase a toy around the house if you play with him, but he generally prefers to snooze by a window while catching some rays of warm sun. He can more often than not be found napping in some cozy and warm corner of the house. When you’re not home, he’ll also sleep in your bed under the blankets.

🦁 Jing Yuan has a calm temperament. He’s very well-behaved during grooming and handles bathing, drying, and brushing like a champ. He’s chill as a cucumber and doesn’t put up a fight while you do your thing in maintaining his long coat. In fact, he’s so laidback, that you could squeeze and rub him all over and he won’t lash out at you, instead tolerating everything with what you can only describe as a smile.

🦁 As accepting as he is of all your affections, he has boundaries. Jing Yuan is generally not fond of being squeezed and terrorized, especially by people who invade his personal space (like rambunctious children or people who bury their faces in his fur). If one such person is in your home, Jing Yuan will vanish without a trace as soon as he hears their footsteps. He only tolerates such treatment from you because you’re his beloved owner.

🦁 Jing Yuan likes being petted and praised but prefers it if these affections come from you. He especially enjoys being brushed by you, and purrs when you comb through his fur. He can even fall asleep on our lap during brushing since the process relaxes him so much.

🦁 He’s a very intelligent cat. Sometimes you talk to him as if you were talking to a friend or family member, and Jing Yuan would meow back in response at appropriate times during the conversation, as if he were replying to your comments. He also has this intelligent look in his golden eyes, as if he understands everything you’re saying. It can be a bit uncanny at times.

🦁 On top of his ability to respond appropriately to your speech, Jing Yuan also easily senses whenever you’re upset. If you feel down, he will stick to your side or lay on your chest and purr until you feel better. If you cry, he’ll lick your tears away. He remains by your side until you’re all better, and won’t leave you alone for anything.

🦁 Is very curious about everything that you do. When you cook, Jing Yuan sits somewhere in the kitchen and watches you busy yourself with whipping up a meal for yourself. He likes to sniff the ingredients you’re working with, either to identify them or discover a food he hasn’t encountered before. Rest assured that he won’t eat anything without you explicitly offering it to him. However, if you have something yummy like fish or chicken cooking, he expects you to share some of it with him once it comes time to eat. He wants to eat delicious things too, not only cat food.

🦁 Frequently sees you off when you leave the house. Likewise, he patiently waits for you at the door when it’s time for you to come home. He’s a bit like a dog in that way.

[just-aake]

A Feline Connection Part 8

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader

Summary: You attempt to return to your previous way of life, one without Natasha or Widow, while Whitney discovers an unacceptable revelation.

Masterlist Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, light fluff

Words: 4576

Your footsteps are light, barely making a sound as you move through the dimly lit room. The figure lying on the couch is finally resting, her breathing steady, her brilliant green eyes hidden behind closed lids. 

But as you reach her side, you notice the faint pinch of her brows—a small but telling sign of a troubled sleep. 

Gently, you place the curled-up bundle of fur in your arms onto the cushion beside her. 

Widow doesn’t stir much as you settle her near the redhead. 

With a realizing glance at the absence of any comfort on the couch, you go back to your room, retrieving a blanket. 

When you return, you pause for a moment, taking in the person before you. 

Natasha’s face, so often guarded and composed, looks almost softer in rest, though the faint crease in her brow remains. 

Quietly, you unfold the blanket and drape it over her, your movements slow and delicate, as if the sheet might somehow shield her from whatever dreams are troubling her. 

Your hand stills as she shifts slightly, her head turning toward you. For a brief, tense moment, you freeze, holding your breath as you watch her, waiting to see if she’ll wake. 

But her eyes remain closed, her breathing steady. 

A stray strand of red hair falls across her face from the movement, and before you can stop yourself, your fingers lift to brush it back. The touch is featherlight, almost hesitant, as if afraid of breaking the moment. 

Her brow twitches slightly at the contact, her expression scrunching faintly in reaction, though it’s more of a reflex than wakefulness. 

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips at the sight. 

Slowly, you pull your hand away, straightening up, but before you can step back, you feel a gentle tug on your wrist. 

Looking down, you see Widow’s tiny paws wrapped around your hand, her claws pressing lightly into your skin.

Her yellow eyes, now awake, tilt up at you, curious and questioning. She goes to open her mouth as if to make a sound, but you quickly raise a finger to your lips in a silent, shushing motion. 

At your gesture, her small mouth snaps shut, following your request. Widow tilts her head at you before glancing back at Natasha, then back at you. 

Coming to a decision, the little cat shifts on the cushion, her grip on your wrist tightening ever so slightly, as if trying to drag you closer to the resting Avenger. 

A quiet laugh escapes you, more a huff of breath than a sound, and you crouch down to meet Widow at eye level. 

You shake your head at her before nodding pointedly at the redhead and giving the cat a gentle wink. 

Widow seems to understand your silent directions, her claws releasing your hand reluctantly, though she takes a moment to nuzzle against your fingers one last time before padding closer to Natasha. 

She circles on the cushion once, twice, before settling in beside Natasha’s arm. Widow burrows herself carefully under it, her small body fitting perfectly against Natasha’s side. 

Almost unconsciously, Natasha shifts toward the warmth, her arm curling protectively around the little cat as her expression softens, the lines of tension in her face easing at last. 

You straighten slowly, watching the two of them for a moment longer. A faint smile lingers on your face as you take a silent step back, turning toward the door. 

Under Natasha’s protective embrace, Widow’s wide yellow eyes follow you, watching your every move until you slip out of the room.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

The guards stationed outside barely spare you a glance as you enter the mansion’s perimeter, and you offer them none in return.

They know who you are—or more specifically, what you are to their boss—and that knowledge alone is enough to keep most of them from daring to cause you any trouble. 

The air inside the sprawling estate feels suffocatingly familiar, the scent of polished wood and faint traces of Whitney’s preferred perfume triggering memories you’d rather leave buried. 

You move through the halls with automatic precision, the pathways etched into your mind from the years you spent living here. Every turn is automatic, every step calculated, your body remembering the routes even if your heart no longer feels at home. 

Reaching your old room, you pause. Your gaze lingers on the door, your instincts prickling with suspicion. 

Something feels off. 

Your hand slowly reaches for the doorknob, twisting it carefully. The lock clicks open with no resistance, though you know for a fact you had secured it before you left. 

A quiet sigh escapes your lips, laced with frustration. 

“Unbelievable,” you mutter under your breath.

Pushing the door open fully, you step inside, your eyes sweeping across the familiar space.

Everything appears untouched at first glance, but your attention is quickly drawn to the figure sitting at the edge of your bed, her presence commanding despite her relaxed posture.

“You’re back early,” you remark, your voice calm, carefully neutral. 

Half-shadowed by the dim light, Whitney’s lips curve into a small, knowing smirk. She leans back on her hands, her fingers splayed against the silk bedspread, her legs crossed elegantly at the ankles.

“And you’re out late,” she counters smoothly, her tone carrying a disarming casualness.

Tilting her head slightly, the gold mask glints in the exposed night light as she studies you with a look that feels too calculated to be innocent.

“Wanna tell me where you’ve been?”

In the past, her question would have sounded harmless to your ears—a simple inquiry you’d answer without a second thought, trusting her completely. 

But now, the words land differently. 

The casual tone feels deceptive, masking something deeper. It’s not a request; it’s a test, a command cloaked in false sweetness. 

For a moment, you hold her gaze, weighing your response. Her expression doesn’t shift, but the stillness in her posture speaks volumes. 

Whitney doesn’t need to explicitly demand answers. Her presence alone does the job. 

“I went back to my place to grab some things,” you reply plainly, your tone deliberately calm as you turn away from her. 

Moving toward the couch, you shrug off your jacket, letting it slide from your shoulders. 

But as your hand grips the fabric to fold it, something makes you pause.

This isn’t one of your jackets.

A small smile tugs at your lips as your fingers brush over the familiar black leather, realizing you must have grabbed Natasha’s jacket without even noticing.

The faint scent of her still clings to it, grounding you for a fleeting moment. 

“This is your place,” Whitney’s voice comes from behind you, smooth and controlled. “Anything you needed, I could have gotten for you.”

Before you can respond, her arms snake around your waist, her movements deliberate as her chin comes to rest lightly on your shoulder. 

She holds a neatly wrapped box in one hand, extending it up toward you.

Folding Natasha’s jacket carefully, you place it on the couch, out of Whitney’s line of sight, and take the box from her.

Removing the lid, you reveal a sleek new phone nestled inside.

“It’s the latest model,” Whitney remarks, her tone casually proud. 

You huff softly, disbelief flickering across your face as you close the lid. 

Your phone had mysteriously disappeared a few days ago, and you don’t need to guess too hard about who’s responsible.

Placing the box back in her hand, you keep your tone light but firm. 

“Thanks, but I’ll keep looking for mine,” you say evenly. “There’s stuff on there that’s important to me.”

A soft scoff comes from Whitney as she tosses the box dismissively somewhere. 

“You mean pictures and videos of that cat,” she says, her tone mocking.

Your response is immediate, unflinching.

“Like I said—important to me.”

Her grip tightens slightly at your tone, her voice dropping into a whisper as she leans closer, her breath brushing against your neck. 

“I’m trying to help us start over here,” she murmurs, her tone softening in a way that feels practiced. “So that we can be like we were before.” 

The cool touch of her mask grazes your skin, a stark reminder of who she is to the world—and to you now.

It’s impossible to ignore the difference. 

She straightens as you turn in her arms, her hands lingering on you as if reluctant to let go.

Not able to see her whole expression, your hand lifts hesitantly, brushing the edge of the metal mask that conceals half her face. 

“You used to never wear this around me,” you remark, your voice low but steady.

Her reaction is immediate—her head pulls back sharply from your hand, her gray eyes narrowing in warning. 

“That was before you decided to abandon me,” she snaps, her tone colder now, tinged with a bitterness you’ve come to expect.

Your expression shifts to something unreadable, neutral, as you lower your hand to your side. 

“Maybe we’ve just become different people,” you reply softly. 

Whitney’s lips curl into a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.

Slowly, her hands move to the back of the couch, her body leaning forward deliberately, effectively boxing you in. 

“No,” she counters firmly, her tone quiet but laced with steel. Her gaze hardens, cutting through any remaining facade.

“Just you. I haven’t changed.”

She leans closer, her voice dropping into a whisper, each word delivered with precision.

“I used to be your everything. And I still can be.” Her eyes search yours, unrelenting.

“Just let me back in. Only me.”

Her words hang in the air, heavy with implication, as her gaze pierces yours.

“You owe me that much,” she finishes, her voice soft but pointed, the accusation embedded within her tone slicing through your resolve. 

You close your eyes briefly, the guilt rising like a tide within you, threatening to pull you under.

Her words strike deep, tugging at the cracks in your armor where your past with her still lingers. 

Memories of shared moments—of trust, dependence, and betrayal—flood your mind, blurring the lines between who you were then and who you’ve become now.

Releasing a deep breath, you open your eyes to meet hers. Slowly, you lift your arms and wrap them around her, pulling her into a loose embrace. 

The motion feels mechanical, more an attempt to appease than a genuine act of comfort. 

“Okay,” you mumble softly, your voice muffled against her shoulder. 

The word feels heavy in your mouth, weighted with the concessions you’re making and the pieces of yourself you’re once again offering up to keep the peace.

Whitney’s arms tighten around you in response, her grip possessive as she burrows closer.

Her voice is quiet, almost tender as she whispers, “Good girl.”

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

One Year Ago

Whitney sits at the head of the table, her eyes scanning the agreement laid out before her—terms negotiated between two minor rival crime families trying to end their long time feud.

The dim light from the chandelier above casts a soft glow on her polished gold mask, which rests on the table beside an opened bottle of wine.

She leans forward slightly, her slender fingers wrapping around the stem of a wine glass. Raising it to her lips, she takes a measured sip, her movements slow and deliberate as she reclines in her chair. 

The quiet moment of control is interrupted when two hands suddenly appear from behind her chair, moving toward her neck.

Instantly, her eyes narrow, the faintest flicker of paranoia flashing through her mind. Her fingers tighten on the glass, her muscles coiling in preparation for defense.

But then a cool touch of metal brushes against her collarbone, accompanied by a familiar voice.

“A lovely necklace for a beautiful woman,” you murmur, leaning into view with a slight smirk on your lips. 

Whitney’s grip on the glass relaxes, her wariness dissipating as she recognizes you. Her gaze flicks to the side where your face is now close to hers, and she allows herself a faint smile.

After clasping the ends of the necklace, you move to the edge of the table, taking a seat. 

Whitney brushes a strand of black hair behind her shoulder, reaching up to hold the necklace to the light. The jewels catch the glow, casting tiny reflections across the room.

“Nice work,” she remarks, her hand sliding effortlessly to rest atop your leg. Her touch is light, almost casual, though the possessiveness in the gesture is unmistakable.

“The job wasn’t too difficult for you, was it?” 

You roll your eyes playfully, leaning back on your hands.

“Your tip was spot on as usual,” you reply, your tone carrying an easy confidence. “Though, you’d think for something so precious, they’d have stored it in a high-security bank locker or something. Not just a simple safe in their bedroom closet.”

“The rich always think they’re untouchable,” Whitney remarks, her lips quirking into a knowing smile. 

You place your hand over hers, giving it a gentle squeeze before lifting it to your lips. Your kiss is soft, featherlight, and the smirk that follows makes her eyes gleam.

“Are you?” you tease, your tone warm with amusement.

Whitney’s smirk widens, her posture relaxing slightly.

She loves this expression of yours—the one that focuses entirely on her, the affection in your eyes reserved solely for her.

But the moment is short-lived. 

A black blur suddenly darts across the table behind you, landing neatly on your lap.

Widow nuzzles against your side as she settles, her small head tilting up to look at you with an affectionate chirp. 

Whitney’s lips press into a thin line as you release her hand, your attention immediately shifting to the small animal. 

Your fingers move instinctively to scratch behind Widow’s ears, and a soft, fond smile crosses your face—one Whitney had always believed belonged exclusively to her. 

“Well, Widow also made it easy too,” you add, your voice light as you stroke the feline. “She had the little girl and her family completely smitten with her adorable little face. Once she got in the house, she unlocked a window for me to slip inside. In and out, no alarms, no fuss.”

You squish Widow’s face gently, bending down to nuzzle your nose against hers. 

“Isn’t that right, Widow?” 

The cat lets out a happy meow, nuzzling closer to you, and your soft laughter fills the room.

Whitney exhales sharply, turning her head away in frustration.

The growing sense of regret bubbles in her chest—the regret of ever letting that cat into your life, of allowing her to claim a piece of your heart that once belonged entirely to her.

The thought eats at her, fueling the slow burn of jealousy simmering beneath her composed exterior.

Whitney reaches up, her fingers deftly unclasping the necklace, and with an almost dismissive motion, she tosses it onto the table.

The clatter of jewels against wood echoes sharply in the quiet room. 

Pushing her chair back, she stands with deliberate purpose, her movements measured, her posture rigid.

The sound pulls your attention immediately, your laughter fading as your gaze follows her movement.

Your eyes flick to the discarded necklace, then back to her. Tilting your head slightly, your smile dims into an expression of cautious concern.

“Everything okay?” you ask, your voice careful, as if trying to gauge the sudden shift in her mood. 

Whitney straightens further, her figure towering over you, a shadow of elegance and control.

Her sharp gray eyes flick briefly in irritation to Widow, who is contentedly nestled in your lap, before returning to you.  

“I have some people coming for a meeting tomorrow,” Whitney says, her tone vague, deliberately nonchalant. 

You know her too well to miss the subtext.

Your criminal expertise has always lied elsewhere: stealth, cunning, and precision.

The darker side of her world has never been yours, and you’ve never wanted it to be.  

Your head tilts downward slightly, your gaze drifting to the side as you process her words. You don’t press her for more details; experience has taught you better. 

Instead, your hand moves to the golden mask resting on the table, the cold metal a stark reminder of who Whitney is and the role she has in her world.

Wordlessly, you lift the mask and place it into her hand.

There’s no judgment in the gesture, just quiet understanding. When your eyes meet hers again, you offer her a small, faintly resigned smile.

“Okay,” you reply simply. 

Cradling Widow carefully in your arms, you stand and move toward the hallway leading to your room where you’ll likely remain until she concludes her business. 

The following day, Whitney sits at the head of the same table, her posture composed and commanding.

Her golden mask conceals half of her face this time, its gleam catching the dim light. 

Before her, the two crime family heads sit across from each other, their voices raised in a heated argument as they hurl accusations back and forth.

“We put up that necklace as collateral, and now that we’ve repaid our end, you’re saying you won’t give it back!” one of the men shouts, his face red with frustration.

“I’m saying I don’t have it with me at the moment,” the other counters coolly, his tone dripping with indifference.

“I knew we should’ve never trusted you people!” the first man snaps, his fist slamming against the table.

Whitney leans back calmly, her fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of her chair.

Her gray eyes shift to one of her guards, who slips into the room silently and gives her an affirming nod. With a flick of her fingers, she motions for him to proceed.

“Gentlemen,” Whitney interjects smoothly, her voice cutting through their bickering like a blade. “I believe I can give an answer to this little situation of yours.”

At her signal, the guard drags a struggling figure into the room.

The man’s head is covered with a bag, his muffled protests filling the tense air. The guard forces him to his knees, holding him firmly in place.

“Let me go! I’m innocent!” the man pleads, his voice trembling.

Whitney rises gracefully from her chair and approaches the tied-up figure. With a single, fluid motion, she rips the bag from his head, revealing his panicked expression.

“Seeing how the last person to have the necklace was you,” Whitney says, her tone icy, “you can see how hard it is for me to believe that.” 

The man recoils at the sight of her, his fear evident as his wide eyes dart toward the others at the table. His gaze locks onto one of the heads, his desperation palpable.

“You have to believe me!” he pleads. “I didn’t take the necklace! It was secured when I checked yesterday!”

The other family head narrows his eyes at the man, his tone accusatory. 

“So he is one of yours. I knew it. He probably already sold it. That piece was worth millions! How do you expect to pay us back?”

The room erupts into chaos as the two men begin shouting at each other, their accusations flying back and forth. 

Whitney remains silent, a faint smirk tugging at her lips as she watches them unravel. She waits patiently, knowing the exact moment to step in and present herself as the solution to their disputes. 

It’s a calculated move, one that cements her position as the one they can trust—or fear—to lead them through any crisis. 

A faint creak of the door interrupts her focus. Her sharp eyes flick toward the edge of the room just in time to catch a black blur before it is pulled back, disappearing through the crack. 

Her gaze hardens as she briefly glimpses your face through the opening before you vanish from her sight. 

Her smirk fades instantly.

Cursing under her breath, Whitney excuses herself with a clipped, “I’ll be back shortly,” and strides purposefully after you without waiting for a response.

When she reaches the outside of your room, she pauses, removing the mask from her face. Her expression shifts as she pushes the door open. 

The dimly lit space greets her, and her eyes quickly settle on you, sitting on the couch with your back to her. Your shoulders are hunched, your figure curled protectively around something in your arms. 

She doesn’t need to guess what it is.

Your voice breaks the silence, soft and tinged with quiet devastation. 

“Did you know?” you ask, the words trembling slightly. “When you sent me for that necklace, Whitney…did you know this would happen?” 

She doesn’t respond immediately, but her silence is telling, the weight of it hanging in the room like a verdict.

You’ve already pieced together the truth. 

“Don’t hurt that man, Whitney,” you say, your voice firmer now, though it carries a note of pleading. “Not for something I did. Please…just let him go.”

After a brief moment, Whitney finally moves. She steps forward slowly until she’s standing directly behind you. 

Her sharp gray eyes darken as they linger on the little creature in your arms, the one offering you comfort—comfort that before, she was the only one to provide. 

The cat raises her head briefly at her approach, its yellow eyes narrowing at her before turning away dismissively and nuzzling closer in your arms.

A flicker of irritation crosses her face, a crack in her composed demeanor, before she smooths it away, her expression shifting back to something controlled, deliberate.

Her arms snake around your shoulders, wrapping you in a firm embrace. Her chin rests lightly atop your head as she holds you close, her body caging you in. 

“Alright,” she murmurs, her voice soft, almost soothing. 

She feels the tension in your shoulders begins to ease, your body instinctively relaxing into the familiar warmth of her embrace at her apparent acceptance.

Her arms tighten around you subtly, the gesture more possessive than affectionate, as her voice drops to a low whisper against your hair.

“Whatever you say,” she breathes, the words deceptively gentle.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~ 

Present Day

Whitney steps into your room, her gaze immediately falling to your figure leaning against the armrest of the couch, your back turned to her.

The soft light from a nearby lamp casts faint shadows across the room, illuminating your distracted posture.

As she strides further inside, her eyes catch on something on the side table—a piece of old newspaper, its yellowed edges curling slightly and its headline stark in black ink: “Tragedy Strikes: Family Caught in Crossfire During Criminal Shootout.”

Her eyes narrow as they drift to the faded photograph accompanying the article. The image is grainy, but the family’s figures are clear—a man standing beside his wife, their hands protectively on the shoulders of a little girl nestled between them. 

The man’s face tugs faintly at her memory, though it’s blurred by time, his panicked pleas of innocence echoing faintly in her mind.

Her fingers curl around the edges of the paper before crumpling the article in her hand.

She thought she had buried all the traces of this incident. Though she isn’t surprised. She knows you must have hidden pieces of it away, unwilling to let go of the memory–of the guilt.

It’s evidence. Evidence of the first crack in your trust in her, a fracture she’s spent trying to patch and conceal.

Regaining her composure, she moves to stand just beside the couch, her imposing figure looming slightly behind you. 

Her gaze narrows when she notices your hand absently tracing the black leather sleeve of the jacket you’re wearing. Something about the way you touch it makes her stomach twist.  

Her lips press into a thin line, her irritation bubbling beneath her composed exterior. She calls your name, her voice sharp yet measured.

Once.

Then again. 

The second time, you snap out of your thoughts, your posture straightening as you turn to face her.

Your eyes blink a few times before focusing on her, as if dragging yourself back to the present. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, your voice soft, distracted. “What did you say?” 

Whitney studies you intently, her gray eyes sharp as they search your expression. She keeps her features impassive, but her mind is racing.

It’s not the same.

You’re here, by her side again, but the look in your eyes isn’t what it used to be. She knows it too well to see the difference—that far-off gaze, the way your attention seems divided. 

It’s a silent confirmation of what she already suspects. 

That not every piece of your heart belongs to her anymore, maybe even less so now than before.

That’s not acceptable. It never was. 

“I have a job I need your help with,” Whitney says finally, her tone carefully casual, though the edge of control is there. She extends a folded paper toward you. “It’s a request from one of my father’s old clients. They’ve asked us to retrieve something for them.”

You take the sheet from her, unfolding it as your eyes scan the text. Your body tenses as you reach the description of the target, realization dawning instantly.

“But this is—” 

“Another chance,” Whitney cuts you off smoothly. Her hand moves with practiced ease, tilting your chin up to force your gaze to meet hers. The pressure is light, almost tender, but her intention is clear.

Her gray eyes bore into yours, sharp and unyielding, her voice dropping to something quieter but no less insistent.

“This time, we’ll finish the job together,” she says, her words laced with a promise—and a warning. “Like we were supposed to.”

There’s a pause, and then you nod, your voice soft but resigned. 

“Okay.”

Whitney watches you closely for a moment longer, her eyes searching for any hint of defiance, but you remain still.

Satisfied, she releases your chin, her touch lingering just a second longer than necessary before stepping back. 

Before she can fully turn away, your hand catches her wrist, stopping her in place. Your voice drops into a whisper, tentative, almost pleading.

“You’ll keep your promise?”

Whitney hesitates for the briefest moment, her rehearsed reassurances ready to spill out. 

But then her gaze flickers to your bed, and she freezes. 

Nestled among the folds of your sheets is something that sets her teeth on edge—a small cat toy, unmistakably styled after a red-haired figure.

The bright, taunting hair is an unwelcome reminder of her.

The sight stokes her irritation, her fingers tightening slightly into a fist.

“Whitney?” you press again, your voice drawing her attention back to you.

She releases her grip, smoothing the tension from her features with practiced ease. A small smile curls her lips, carefully crafted to appear genuine, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Of course,” she replies, her tone deceptively warm, masking the storm brewing just beneath the surface.

Her mind races, calculating. There’s only one way to ensure your attention—and your heart—returns entirely to her once more.

To make sure there are no more pesky little distractions.

No more rivals.

And this time, she won’t get caught breaking her word to you.

Not again. 

This time, everything will fall perfectly into place.

Because heroes die all the time. 

No one would question one less Avenger in a dangerous world like this.

~~~~~~~ ⧗ ~~~~~~~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10

a/n: Didn’t have time to make a fic for the holiday so I decided to post this instead. Hope you all have a restful and happy Thanksgiving! Again thanks for reading!

If you asked to be tagged and I missed it or if the tag did not work for you, please let me know.

Taglist : @cd-4848, @carifletchersgirl, @skittlebum, @queen-of-chaotic-surprises, @ima-gi--na-tion, @rainix13, @gay4hotmilfs, @imaginexred, @caramelcat123, @2silverchain, @nowthisisliving27, @waltermis, @scarlettbitchx, @self-indulgent-writer, @ashadash0904, @alowint, @littlyamadeus, @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic, @imthenatynat, @transparentflapfarmsludge, @natashasilverfox, @mousetheorist, @btay3115, @samfunko, @wandaromamoff69, @lost-in-the-ice, @ahsatanizgay, @stonemags, @karsonromanoff, @wandanatlov3r, @l1kepeps1cvla, @esposadejoyhuerta, @fxckmiup, @panickedbabygay, @esposadejoyhuerta, @azaleavolkova, @gay4wandanat, @escapereality4music, @caspianalexander007, @henkermen, @xxnaiaxx, @alyssa-bessse, @alianovnasposts, @mrsriovidal, @thelonewriter247

[hiaennyddei]

is the King in Yellow phallic or yonic ? Discuss. [i am sent to the Dreamlands for 20 years]

Design notes under the cut !

John :

his coat has 2 layers. the outside is always the same shape, the inside is a mess of fabric that doesn't make much sense and whose shape changes depending on what he needs.

his outer cloak separates in 4 large ribbons that act more or less as legs. they're very strong but not very agile.

there's a darker ribbon going from his hood down his back that acts roughly like a tail. he uses it for balance (like a cat), mobility (like a snake), or attack (like a scorpion) depending on what he needs

thin ribbons float and wrap around his arms, and some more can come from his inner cloak. they act as precision limbs.

his hands look human-ish, but very bony and with short claws. the skin feels like porcelain.

he usually has 4 hands out, but can remove or add some as needed.

the brooch on his cloak has the same sigil than the one on his book

the teeth in his mouth are ivory-white

some areas of him are always in complete darkness (the inside of his hood, the deep folds of his cloak). you can only ever see the outline of his face.

the cloak is part of his body as much as the arms, possibly more so

the halo/crown melts more the more he strays from godhood. it is always tilted towards Arthur. (it built back up to an extent during his stint in the dark worlds in s3, then started melting again)

the crown's spikes always point straight up, regardless of how tilted the crown is

King in Yellow :

Some common points with John : hooded cloak with sharp tails, yellow, ribbons/tendrils, vertical mouth, crown, jewelry, bony arms, some areas are comletely in darkness, obscured face, glowing eye(s)

Some differences : John's yellow is warmer ; John has fancy embroideries, King is much more uniform ; John's cloak has natural folds, King's looks more geometrical ; John's eye is bright all the way in, King's is dark at the center like a black hole ; John's hands are human-like, King's has two opposable thumbs like owl talons

Generally they have similar building blocks (cloak, yellow theme, ribbons/tendrils...) but John is warmer, has more human traits, and is generally more organic/more natural-looking.

The King's crown has two points broken off (one for John, one for Yellow)

If you stand in front of the king it always looks like light is coming from behind him, so the side you see is always is semi-darkness and the cast shadow is always on you. If you could circle around him, the shadow would follow you like a compass

The hands are more "puppeted" additions than actual body parts

Yellow :

Basically the King in Yellow forced into a situation of weakness and fragile humanity

Shade of yellow is closer to the King's than John's

Coat's cut has the sharpness and geometry of the King's, but it's imperfect and has visible folds

Crown is broken as representation of his weakness, but unlike John's it's forcefully and neatly broken instead of melted

Him having hands is representative of being forced into a human, but they still take inhuman shapes with two opposable thumbs

Makes a point to keep up appearances, hence the jewelry and coat patterns, but doesn't have the King's glory

Has two eyes because he has Arthur's

Has the king's monstruous tendrils, but a lot more disorganized and more fabric-y than shadow. They spill out of the area where his coat's symetry is broken.