#to get used to writing second person and strictly gn

[zara-renata]

Wine time with Sylus | ao3 | other stories in this 'series'

Summary: Sylus invites himself over, helps himself to your first aid kit and your kitchen, manipulates you into tasting wine with him, discusses his latest business venture, and gifts you more than one present before he's good and ready to finally leave.

Notes: Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person pov, no use of y/n

This story contains: fluff, banter, angst, mc with obvious self esteem issues, grief, self-destructive behavior, profanity, alcohol use, criminal activity, allusions to violence, sleepy kissing, biting, inappropriate thoughts regarding kitchen tools, the mental gymnastics mc engages in to avoid acknowledging or recognizing feelings on either side should come with their own warning to be honest, one very thirsty mc whose thoughts are NSFW. This part ends with a misunderstanding that you can bet Sylus will not put up with for long.

In the days following Sylus’s latest little… visit, you’re called out more frequently than usual to counter wanderer attacks. You’re barely home, and the few times you stumble home late into the night, you peel your sweat and sometimes blood-stained hunter’s uniform off right in the entryway, promise yourself you’ll do laundry soon, and drag your aching body to the shower. Then you usually spend what little night you have left lying there with your eyes closed, carefully keeping your mind blank as sleep remains elusive. You have to admit to yourself that the few times Sylus kept you company overnight, you slept like the dead, but you refuse to go so far as admitting that you wouldn’t mind if it were more frequent. If you were to admit it to yourself, which you will not,  you only yearn for it strictly for the sake of your sleep schedule, and absolutely not because you’ve come to crave his warm, comforting bulk against your body.

Tonight is no different, but you’re both looking forward to and dreading the next few days, as Captain Jenna has ordered you to take some time off to rest and recover from the brutal schedule you’ve been keeping for months now, capped off by the recent spate of increased attacks. All of your wheedling to let you keep going, that you’re fine, that the people of Linkon need you, that you need the constant distraction, has proven useless. Apparently the frequency with which you are getting injured remains acceptable, but she is finally at the end of her patience reading your barely coherent, misspelled reports with unfinished sentences that you only manage to submit before Association mandated deadlines by the skin of your teeth.

“Go home, get your head on straight, and come back rested … and literate again, please.” She looks back down at the tablet on her desk, trying to dismiss you, but you stubbornly remain at attention at her desk.

“That’s discrimination, Captain. I can be a perfectly functional hunter without being able to read or write,” you protest, while Xavier winces behind you. “I mean, obviously I can read and write, I’m just a little tired, that’s all. Still able to destroy wanderers!”

Jenna’s already formidable expression begins to darken, but you’re not cowed. You open your mouth to helpfully point out that wanderers don’t care about how well you can spell, when you feel Xavier’s gentle hand on your arm. “Come on, why don’t we go together to get some snacks on the way home? I think they’ve started re-issuing that wasabi flavored chocolate bar we tried at the beginning of the year,” he says softly, and Jenna shoots him an appreciative look before proceeding to ignore you both.

You glumly follow Xavier out into the early evening. Rush hour is over, but the sidewalks are still bustling with life. You weave through the mass of humanity, resisting the urge to drop-kick anyone who cuts you off or brushes against you accidentally. I am a role model for the Hunter’s Association, even when I’m off the clock, I am not allowed to arrest someone for bumping into me…. I am not allowed to arrest someone for…

Xavier tries to distract you from your obvious frustration by describing the plot of the latest manga series he’s reading that he thinks you’ll like as you two make your way  home. You listen absently, feeling slightly calmed by his soothing voice, despite its graphic descriptions of violence in the manga that you are pretty sure you’re going to really like.

“Are there any hot guys in it?” you ask as the mass of people begins to thin the closer you get to your building.

“Hot… guys?” he blinks in confusion, his impossibly blue eyes flashing in the streetlamps that have just turned on.

“Yeah. Like that other one we read, Help, I, a lowly office worker, went to sleep and woke up as the Queen’s assassin in the book I fell asleep reading. The main guy in that was super hot.”

“Well, it is by the same mangaka, so you’d probably like the way they draw the main character in this one too,” he says uncertainly, but with a strange expression on his face, like he suddenly doesn’t want you to read it with him anymore.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try. Have you finished the first volume yet? Can I borrow it?”

You’ve reached your building, the trees surrounding the courtyard rustling in the soft end-of-summer breeze.

“…Great,” he says after a brief hesitation. He holds open one of the entrance's doors for you to enter the your building’s foyer. Your boots and his echo on the polished floor as you make your way into the lift. “I’ll be finished by tomorrow. How about we go the bookstore and afterwards you can come over and read since we have the day off? You can start volume one, and I’ll start volume 2. Does that sound good? We can make fancy ramen,” he says, his normally sleepy energy spiking with the idea of adding a boiled egg and some frozen vegetables to the normally plain ramen the two of you consume more often than not while on the go. Xavier’s idea of fancy has always been adorable to you.

The idea of not just sitting in your apartment alone on the first day of your forced leave is a welcome one, and you agree that he can come find you when he’s woken up, so that you don’t risk waking him up. He likes this plan, because obviously, you’re hardly sleeping at all, and he sleeps longer than you ever would have imagined possible for humans until you met him. As the elevator approaches your floor and the doors slide open, you’re about to step out when Xavier’s soft voice behind you has you turning to look back at his pretty face.

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs, eyes searching yours. “I know you feel like you’ve lost everything right now, and that the pain seems unbearable.”

You quickly turn your head—you were not expecting this sneak attack of sympathy and kindness from him. You nod jerkily, trying not to let his warmth sink into you, or else you might start crying.

“It sounds cliché, but with time, even this pain will fade. And you have so much time ahead of you. I can promise you that. One day you’ll wake up, and it will be slightly less unbearable. That doesn’t mean you forget about what you’ve lost. But you can think of it without… without feeling like you’re destroyed again, every time.” He’s looking at you, but you also have the feeling that he’s looking at something else, from a great distance. Knowing how secretive he is, it’s unlikely you’ll ever know what it is he’s seeing.

You nod again, and whatever he sees in you profile seems to satisfy him as he offers you a soft ‘Goodnight,’ and you scurry from the lift to your front door. You tuck away his words, and push them down deep. You know they’re well intended. But you can’t handle crying right now. Not yet. Not yet. So you focus on possible plans for the days stretching ahead of you.

There is a part of you that’s looking forward to possibly being able to rest, it’s true. But the stretch of empty days, without work and battle and the social interaction of colleagues, had been filling you with anxiety before your plans with Xavier were made. But even after tomorrow, you’ll try to make the best of it. You can… try to remember what hobbies you had, before your life blew up. Maybe you can take up a new hobby! Within the span of a few days. Yeah, you can teach yourself to crochet,or make stained glass art, in a day, right? Online videos are super helpful. Maybe you’ll even deep clean your apartment, and go grocery shopping, properly, for the first time in weeks. You’ll buy vegetables that have to be prepped instead of the hottest insta-ramen you can find and slurping packets of applesauce while telling yourself that it counts as fiber, right? You can cook, and bake! You just haven’t in… a really long time. Maybe you’ll bake an entire cake, and then eat the entire cake. Yeah. You have plans, you think to yourself, pressing your fingerprint to the scanner under your flat’s door handle and pushing the door open when it beeps.

As soon as the door closes with a soft whump, you carefully hang up your blades and pistol holsters on your wall-mounted weapon rack, and then you’re furiously undoing the laces on your knee high leather boots, hopping from one foot to the other as you try to kick them off without actually having to sit down and pull them off. You yank off your socks, then shimmy out of your pants, which you also kick off unceremoniously. You’re going to be positive about this little holiday! You’re so close to being comfortable and staying that way for days. You almost rip your buttons in your haste to remove your shirt, and just as you’ve gotten the last one undone, you finally notice the dark, looming figure in the shadows at the end of your foyer.

You’re in your fucking underpants, barefoot, and your weapons are out of reach due to your current strangulation by your own shirt sleeves.

Heart racing, you throw yourself backward against the door, prepared to make a strategic retreat and escape into the building’s hallway to buy yourself some time to free yourself from your shirt, no matter the cost to your pride at being caught out in your underwear, when familiar scarlet-ink tendrils of energy gently wrap themselves around your waist and softly lift you in the air. You find yourself kicking and squirming like a kitten picked up by the scruff of its neck.

“The fuck, Sylus?” you choke out.

“Why are you still struggling, when you can clearly see that it’s me? Cease, you’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Why are you using your evol on me without my consent?” you retort, wriggling some more for good measure simply because he told you to stop.

“To prevent you from giving your neighbors the show of their lives without even charging admission,” he responds languidly, eyes the color of sunlight filtering through a glass of wine drifting from your probably red, sweaty face down your barely clothed body.

“Oh, they don’t get a free show, but you do?” you sneer, continuing to struggle to no effect.

“Look at yourself,” Sylus commands, and turns his head as if bored. You note absently that he’s wearing a ruby stud earring in his ear... the one that matches the earring in your own ear. So you never bothered to take it out. That doesn’t mean anything—you’re just lazy. You refuse to think about it anymore deeply than that, and then notice that Sylus not only looks bored, but also looks almost… offended? You do as he asks, and see that his evol is wrapping itself around your body in such a way that its bright-dark tendrils are covering all of your exposed, sensitive areas like a fluid robe.

“Oh,” is all you can think to say.

“Oh, indeed.” He continues to look away from you, aggressively bored, but his evol gently lowers you enough so that your bare feet rest on the ground, and then it loosens, but remains swirling around you.

“Then I’ll… just go get dressed.” You begin making your past him, but stop when you see him nonchalantly hold up a large, elegant shopping bag. It’s black, with some brand name you don’t recognize written in flowy silver script. “What is this?” You look from the bag to his face. He deigns to look at you again. Your eyes drift to his other ear, and you see that where it is pierced is empty.

“Wardrobe options,” is all he says, jerking you out of trying to puzzle out this opaque maniac’s intentions. You take the bag from him and quickly walk to your bathroom. No way you’re going to put on new clothes while feeling filthy from a long day and night of annihilating wanderers. His evol dissipates the moment your bathroom door shuts behind you.

It’s becoming a pattern. Thinking the worst of him, only to be proven wrong. But you don’t know how to overcome the cognitive dissonance of Sylus from your first meeting, and this Sylus who seems intent on taking care of you better than you take care of yourself.

You rinse off as quickly as you can in the shower, towel yourself dry, and take a peek in the bag that he gave you. The first thing you see is a black…? You lift it out of the bag, and it unfolds into a very large sweater. It’s thick, the fabric obviously of high quality. You touch it gently, running your hands along a sleeve—is it cashmere? It’s unbelievably soft. It’s probably a nightmare to wash. On impulse, you lift it to your nose, and take a deep breath.

Your suspicion is confirmed. It smells like him. This isn’t a brand new piece of clothing. This is one of Sylus’s own sweaters that he has worn before. The scent of his clean skin, the sharp tang of gunmetal, the bright burst of citrus, probably from some ridiculously expensive shampoo or body wash. The mix sends a thrill through your entire body: after only a few encounters, you already have bone-deep associations with the way Sylus smells. Fear and adrenaline, yes, but also anticipation—and bizarrely, safety. Instead of feeling terrified, you feel the way you would before riding a roller coaster. Yes, you’ll be screaming and holding on for dear life the whole ride, but you are also inexplicably convinced that in the end, you’ll have your feet firmly planted on the ground, safe again. A part of you whispers that it’s safer to avoid the roller coaster altogether—bolts come loose, wheels pull free from the track, tragic accidents happen all the time. But standing here in your humid bathroom, bone-weary from the day behind you, sniffing Sylus’s unwashed sweater makes you feel more alive than you’ve felt in a very long time.

You pull his sweater over your head, and you’re basically swimming it, it’s so big. The collar is big enough that it threatens to fall off one shoulder. But it’s so soft. And cozy. You hug yourself, and peek into the bag again. There are a few more sweaters, each dark with varying degrees of dramatic flair. This is part of Sylus’s wardrobe, after all. But there are also little sleep shorts, like the ones you were wearing the last time he invaded your home. You pick up a pair—no way would they fit on his big ass. You try, so, so, so very hard not to picture his thick cake stuffed into these tiny shorts.

You fail.

Your brain short circuits for a few seconds.

When it comes back online, you lift out a pair, and the fabric glides silkily along your skin. You’re pretty sure these are silk. They’re black, because of course, but they also have little red … happy pomegranates? Dotted along the hems. They’re adorable. You pull them on over your own bare ass and the sweater-shorts combo is probably the softest thing you’ve ever had on your body. The sweater swallows the shorts and makes it look like you’re wandering around without bottoms on.

You look at yourself in the mirror, silently telling yourself that you shouldn’t get on this particular ride. You don’t know where the track leads, and it scares you. What if it ends over a cliff, and the last thing you ever see is Sylus’s triumphant, cruel face looking down at you as you fall? There are other, less risky rides, certainly ones without wanted posters, right? Right? On second thought, you don’t even have to go the amusement park at all. You’re just fine with trying to get some fucking sleep, with continuing to hone your combat skills, with just trying to be a good person despite really liking knives and being an enthusiastic hunter.

But maybe you can just. Be friends with the roller coaster? Like, you don’t have to ride him. IT. THE ROLLER COASTER. YOU DO NOT HAVE TO RIDE THE ROLLER COASTER. You can just, watch it from a safe distance. You might indulge in little fantasies about what it’s like to ride… the roller coaster. And honestly, fantasies are almost always a hell of a lot better than the reality ever turns out to be. Not to mention! Sylus has never directly expressed any desire to ride … your roller coaster. Sure, he shows up unannounced and cares for you in ways that no one ever has, and he touches you a lot for someone who has no physical interest in you, but physical isn’t necessarily sexual, right? Maybe it’s an evol thing, and the way he touches you has to do with why you both find yourself inexplicably connected for periods of time. Like charging a battery. The point is! There will be no tickets to either ride, thank you, you aren’t open for business and he definitely does not have the proper safety inspection certificates in order, so. No.

You nod firmly to yourself in the mirror. This should be fine. You can be friends with Sylus. You don’t have to let him drag you over a cliff. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him—he seems to be pretty competent at a lot of things that might be useful for certain aspects of your job. Like intimidating people. And exploding people with a thought and twitch of his fingers. And convincing them to do things they don’t want to do by sheer force of obnoxiousness.

Having sufficiently deluded yourself into believing that your plan of action has a chance of success, you slip out of the bathroom and find Sylus in the kitchen, next to a pretty wine glass that you certainly do not recall owning on the kitchen island.

He’s slicing strawberries with a very sharp knife that you do recall owning, because you do spend quite a lot of time sharpening the set it belongs to. They’re not kitchen knives, per se; you actually have them for work and they are really nice to throw. You already had so many knives before you moved into this place that you didn’t see the necessity of spending more money on probably inferior kitchen knives. But the large, really nice butcher block-style cutting board that he’s chopping the fruit on is not yours. And neither are the delicately arranged variety of cheeses, thinly sliced meat, and savory tarts set in puff pastry that fill up most of the cutting board. And lastly, you do not recall purchasing two bottles of what look like red wine sitting next to the wine glass, nor cleaning your kitchen so thoroughly that Zayne could probably perform surgery in here without worrying about risk of infection.

Despite your presence standing at the island before him now, he continues to serenely slice the ever-growing pile of fruit.

“Sylus?”

“Have a seat,” he says, not looking up.

“Oh, why thank you for offering such hospitality to me, in my own home,” you mutter, pulling out one of the wooden bar stools at the kitchen island. You’re about to sit down when you realize that the repetitive chop of the knife has stopped, and you look up to find Sylus frozen with the knife mid-slice in a fat strawberry. His eyes drift from your neck and exposed shoulder, down the soft expanse of sweater, to your bare legs, and then back again. You’re suddenly self-conscious—he’s the one who gave you these clothes. And now he’s staring at you like a wanderer is about to burst out of your chest.

“Did I misunderstand the assignment or something?” you ask, plopping down on the bar stool in the hopes of breaking him out of whatever weird trance he’s apparently glitching in. He swallows, flicks a final look at your shoulder, and then goes back to slicing.

“I’m simply shocked that you actually did as you were told, for once,” he responds, seemingly unruffled again. “You should also put one of the sweaters in your go bag as a backup in the event that your uniform gets destroyed, again, which it does at an alarming rate these days. The Association’s overheads for keeping you clothed must be in the stratosphere.”

“Mm, yes I’m sure you’re very concerned about the costs of doing business for the Association.” You rest your head in your hand, propped up by your elbow on the counter. The two of you sit in companionable silence for a while, with only the snick of the knife filling the space between you. The lights underneath your cabinets are on, emitting a soft warm glow from below, but you notice that he hasn’t put on the harsher, brighter overhead lights. The city’s skyline blinks serenely like an endless fleet of starships in the dark expanse of space through your windows, and a cool breeze wafts in from time to time.

Finally, Sylus is done, and he carefully rinses the knife in the sink and sets it on the counter. He turns back to you.

“No interrogation regarding why I’m here this time?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest. He’s wearing a light sweater in a deep grey, of a style quite similar to the one you’re now wearing. He looks domestic, and delicious, and you tell yourself sternly that he is friend shaped, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster, you will not ride the Sylus roller coaster—

You have to say something. “Oh, are you missing my very effective questioning techniques? Sadly, I left my handcuffs at the office,” you lift your shoulders in a what can you do? gesture, and his eyes follow your bare shoulder again.

“Handcuffs aren’t the only means of restraint available to a truly resourceful hunter,” he says, shaking his head as if disappointed.  “Your lack of imagination is boring.”

“Okay, Sylus. But only because you’re basically begging for it: why are you here?”  You lift a puff pastry and brandish it at him like a knife. “Answer honestly, or you’ll really get it this time!” You take a big, aggressive bite as if to illustrate what he’s got coming to him in case of his non-compliance, and then moan because what the fuck, this is so good, is it goat cheese and honey? And suddenly you’re devouring it, licking your fingers clean when you’re done because you can’t get enough.

“This definitely counts as an enhanced interrogation technique.” His voice is low, and has a rough quality to it that normally isn’t there. You glance up from slobbering all over your fingers and find that he’s staring at you in what is probably disgust.

“Ha, yes, and I’ll keep subjecting you to it until you tell me what you’re doing in my home, again. And how did you even get in? I never got you a key.” You finish licking yourself like an animal and reach for a strawberry. If he’s going to play chef in your kitchen, who are you to refuse to enjoy the literal fruits of his labor? You just live here and pay the damn rent.

He holds up the index finger of his right hand, which is sporting a band-aid that you recognize as one of the same kind you have in your first-aid kit. They’re super cute, with a design of sad little cartoon mushrooms. “I was at my accountant’s, which happens to be in this neighborhood, and I got a paper cut while signing some documents.”

You pause before biting into the berry. “You… came to my flat. With extra clothing, wine, wine glasses, and various appetizers, in order to get a band-aid for your paper cut. Is this a correct summary of events?” You decide you’re not going to wait for him to answer, and take a big bite of the strawberry, feeling some juice drip down your chin. You catch it with your index finger, and then suck the juice off after you’re done chewing.

There is a long pause, and you look up to find him staring intently at your finger. You widen your eyes and wave your hand in the universal gesture of hurry the fuck up, get on with it already? He closes his eyes for a moment and breathes deeply. Apparently you’re so horrifying to witness eating that he needs to seek some zen before he can answer. It’s not your fault that he brought you half of his wardrobe and wine glasses but didn’t think to bring any napkins. “Yes, that is a correct summary of events,” is all he offers.

You look at him.

He looks back at you, occasionally flicking his gaze down to your mouth and back to your eyes. You consider baring your teeth at him just in case he wants an eyeful of the strawberry undoubtedly stuck in them, but refrain because you’re polite.

“Okay. Do you care to explain the motivation behind these events?” you ask slowly, thinking that maybe you will brandish a real knife at him to hurry up this so-called interrogation so you can straight up devour the rest of this charcuterie board that this wanted criminal has inexplicably prepared in your kitchen.

Fortunately, you don’t have to go for the knife, because he begins to speak. “There was a wine merchant that looked rather appealing on the way to your place. Since you revealed a deplorable lack of discernment when it comes to selecting a good bottle of wine the last time you hosted me, I thought I’d do my civic duty for the week and educate the less fortunate on how to choose, and enjoy, a decent bottle of wine.”

“I see.” You nod slowly. “That’s very civic-minded of you. You’re truly a model citizen. And the food?”

“It’s not wise to have a wine tasting without something to eat. Otherwise, you might find yourself making questionable decisions. We wouldn’t want that, would we, sweetie?” he seems to have recovered from his nausea at watching you wolf down food, because he says this with a playful lift of a silver eyebrow.

“Because letting a man whose baggage includes a wanted poster into my home whenever he wants could hardly be considered a good decision, and I made that one while sober,” you sigh. “I see your point.”

“Exactly. Just imagine what kind of trouble you could get into after a bottle of wine on an empty stomach?” He tilts his head to the side, and runs a middle finger slowly over his brow.

You shudder, because his big hands. You can’t pursue this line of thought.

“And the clothes?”

“Now you won’t need to borrow your partner’s clothes in case of an emergency. And I’ll have something to wear at my safe house in case you decide to assault me with beverages again.”

“That was one time. And if you don’t show up, then there’s no chance you’ll be assaulted. Therefore, no need for a change of clothes. And, pardon me, but your safe house? I think you meant, my flat. But what you’re telling me is that the whole reason you were coming to my flat in the first place was to put a band-aid on your boo-boo.”

He lowers his hand and begins running his thumb along his lower lip. “Even a small cut can turn life-threatening if not treated properly. And I wouldn’t want a scar, now would I? It’s not much of a safe house if I can’t make use of it when in danger of lasting bodily harm.”

“Mmm yes, what with your evol that renders scarring impossible for you, we wouldn’t want your paper cut to cause you lasting bodily harm. And you couldn’t acquire a band-aid at a pharmacy, perhaps like at the one next to the wine merchant I’m pretty sure you’re referring to?” You refuse to look at his big thumb pressing into his thick, soft-looking lower lip. You stare up at the ceiling, and consider cataloguing wanderers in your head to stem the sudden urge to vault over the island counter separating him from you and pulling that damn thumb into your own mouth.

“They didn’t have a box containing such cute little designs. I never knew I wanted anthropomorphized fungus to decorate a bandage intended to protect an open wound until I saw your own box.”

It takes you a second to remember what the hell the two of your were discussing when you realize he’s talking about your adorable little mushroom band-aids.

“A wine snob, and a band-aid snob.”

“I prefer the term cultured, but yes, I’ve told you before. Life is too short to waste on the inferior. Your sad little champignons surpass all others.”

He’s done it again. He has hardly even moved this entire time, and has managed to exhaust you to the point of blissful indifference. He shows up unannounced, rifles through your first aid kit, decides what you’re going to wear both this evening and in the future when you need a spare change of clothes, and has prepared an hors d’oeuvre spread worthy of at least a mid-ranged restaurant for you to eat while offering you a wine tasting? Fine. “Okay,” you say, reaching for another one of those puff pastries.

He watches you steadily for a few moments, as if trying to sense a trap. “That’s it?”

You shrug. “Sure. I told you that you could use my house if you needed it. I’ve just learned my lesson: next time I’ll be very careful in drafting the conditions of any deal we make, since your interpretation of certain terms appears to vary wildly from any reasonable person’s.”

“I think I’m quite reasonable,” he examines his nails. “I come bearing gifts, and this is how you show your gratitude? By insinuating that I'm unreasonable?”

Another thought occurs to you. “How did you even get in, Sylus?”

“Ah,” he says, squinting and looking out the window, as if contemplating a very deep philosophical question. “While you were sleeping last time… I took the liberty of adding my fingerprint to your door’s fingerprint scanner.”

What. The. Fuck. “What. The. Fuck.”

“Again, it’s not much of a safe house if I can’t access it without your presence. I didn’t think you’d mind. It’s not like I can’t just use my evol to teleport into your place anyway, but I thought you’d appreciate me coming through the front door. Fewer feathers. You didn’t seem to like cleaning those up the last time I teleported out of your place.”

You just stare at him. How would he even know that you cursed him, loudly, as you were mopping up the mess of blood and feathers he generously left in your entryway after being shot? And then it comes to you. Mephisto. Of course. You pinch the bridge of your nose, and visualize violently shaking that bird until his circuits are rewired.

Sylus continues, ignoring your mounting rage. “Come to think of it, we should probably upgrade your locks, kitten. It was laughably easy to override the system and add my print as authorized for entry.”

Forget riding the Sylus coaster—you think that maybe he isn’t even friend shaped after all. He might just have slid right back to enemy shaped. Frenemy shaped? Where does a frenemy lie on the spectrum of “fuck his brains out” to “polite, but distant acquaintances?” But then you remember that it’s not a linear spectrum, and fucking his brains out is not mutually exclusively to being mortal enemies. You’ve read enough enemies-to-lovers romances to know that perfectly well, so even if he is enemy shaped… you shudder. Why are you like this? You redirect your self-disgust and deflect, like a true emotionally well-adjusted adult:

“Why can’t you be normal? Like, do you do anything like a normal person?”

“Why would I pretend to be normal when I’m so obviously extraordinary?” he scoffs, looking at you like you’re the unhinged one in this little situationship.

 “Sylus.”

“Yes, my heart’s delight?”

You stare at him, and he gazes back at you, leaning leisurely back against your counter, arms folded and long fingers slowly tapping out a rhythm on one bulky bicep. You know that if you remove his authorization on your locks that he will just teleport himself right into your place, and you’ll be endlessly cleaning up feathers. And you also really don’t want your neighbors to wonder who the hell the creep is loitering around your door at all hours of the night and then start asking questions if he actually honors your request not to simply appear in your place on a whim. You did previously offer him a key. Which he declined. Apparently because he was already planning this. You run your hand along the back of your neck in an effort to relieve some tension. “You can’t just let yourself into my place anytime you want. There need to be rules.”

“Fair enough. Provided that they’re not moronic, I can follow your rules.”

“And who decides whether they’re moronic or not?” you ask, knowing the answer.

He just smiles at you, radiating satisfaction.

“Okay. Rule number one—” you begin, only to be interrupted as he lifts a finger.

“I’ll follow your rules, if you promise to taste the wine I brought with me tonight.”

Even though you had already resigned yourself to whatever he had in store for you tonight, you can’t help arguing at this little added condition. “No, the deal is, you can use my flat, with your fingerprint, when you need it, if you follow the rules,” you huff.

He starts shaking his head. “I’m afraid not, kitten. You should have set rules at the beginning of our deal. You can’t just impose new conditions halfway through. A deal’s a deal. I suggest keeping that in mind the next time you have to deal with anyone else less… generous, than myself,” he intones, as if you’re a somewhat lacking student in need of instruction.

“So you’ll follow the rules if I promise to… taste wine tonight?” you ask, hoping that you can catch him out on a technicality and beat him at his own game. He considers for a moment, but must see something in your expression, because his eyes narrow and his smile widens to reveal his sharp canines.

“I’ll follow your reasonable, and not moronic, rules if you promise to taste the wine I brought tonight, with me,” he says.

You need to work on your poker face. You need to get Sylus to teach you how to improve it. Ugh.

“Fine.” If this means more food can happen soon, and honestly, yeah, a glass of wine, you’ll accept anything at this point.

He straightens from the counter and claps his hands once, looking more eager than you think you’ve ever seen him. “Excellent, let’s begin.”

“You didn’t even wait to hear what the rules are,” you protest, watching him fish out a wine corkscrew from his trouser pocket. It looks heavy, with a handsome wooden handle, and the stainless steel flashes under the soft lights.

“Send them in a text, I’ll redline them and return them to you, you can counter, and so on and so forth until we have an agreement. Like any proper contract negotiation. For now, it’s wine time.”

And with that, he sets to work opening the wine, humming a little tune so off-key that you have no idea what melody it’s supposed to be. It occurs to you that you’ve never used a corkscrew as a weapon, but as Sylus uses the small blade to slice through the foil covering the neck of the bottle, and then unfolds the lethal-looking twisted screw and begins expertly driving it into the cork, you realize that it could come in really handy in a fight. And there’s something else that’s really appealing to you—the combination of the contained savagery of the corkscrew, the assured movements of Sylus’s hands, the penetration of the cork—you feel a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the sweater you’re wearing.

“See something you like, kitten?” Sylus’s smoky voice drifts into your thoughts, and you look up, realizing you’ve been unabashedly staring at his beautiful hands, again, and the corkscrew, with undivided focus for the past few moments, and he has noticed.

You clear your throat, and then gesture weakly at the corkscrew. “That’s uh, a very nice looking wine opener.” You nod to emphasize your very normal approval of this very normal household item, because you are not thinking any thoughts about Sylus’s huge hands or screwing or penetration. None.

“Good eye. I’m rather fond of this model. I’ll have one delivered to you,” he says as he firmly pulls the cork from the bottle with a soft pop. He sets it on the counter, and picks up the other bottle.

“Oh, that’s not necessary. I’m sure it didn’t escape your notice that the kind of wine I drink tends to come with a screw cap instead of a cork,” you decline, shaking your head. You can buy your own damn self a corkscrew for tucking into your pocket if you ever find yourself at a wine bar that doesn’t allow patrons to be armed, but you anticipate needing some kind of weapon.

“Refuse me all you want,” he murmurs, and you feel like there’s an implied part of that sentence that he’s just not saying out loud. But then he’s repeating the opening process with the second bottle, and you suddenly find the night view outside your window immensely fascinating, because whatever is continuing to happen in front of you is just. Boring. Utterly sleep-inducing. You can’t look or else you might just pass out from the tedium of it before you even get to taste the wine. And a deal’s a deal, as Sylus is fond of repeating ad nauseum.

After hearing the soft pop of the other bottle, you sigh and turn back to find Sylus holding the wine glass and pouring the first bottle’s wine along the inside of the glass until it reaches the widest part of the bowl. For the first time, you notice that there’s only one glass on the counter. But before you can comment, Sylus begins to lecture.

“Now, if this were an ideal tasting, I’d have brought a decanter to let the wine breathe properly for an appropriate period of time before pouring. We'd also be using a container for spitting each mouthful out in between tastes, to avoid the intoxication and poor decisions I mentioned earlier and interfering with our judge of taste. But since we only have two bottles to try, and it’s just you and me here, I took the gamble that you wouldn’t mind if we were a little less formal.”  

You wait to see if he has any other fun facts to share, but he’s looking at you to confirm that indeed, you can live with not waiting even longer to taste this wine that better have gold leaf flakes in it or something to justify this amount of ceremony and can also live with not… spitting out said wonder wine after tasting it.

But you recognize that Sylus appears to be truly passionate about this, and he’s looking at you so earnestly—you do not have the heart to meet his sincerity with sarcasm, when he's so sweetly trying to teach you something new.

“Your gamble paid off. I don’t mind at all,”  you say, meaning it. He perks up and gives you one of his almost smiles, with just the corners of his generous mouth lifted. He then proceeds to explain, in great detail, what type of wine this is, where the grapes for it are grown, its signature characteristics, what year it was bottled, and how it was received by the international wine community. It’s all actually quite interesting, except once again, right now you’re at the end of a long day, you’ve run the gauntlet of interacting with this unpredictable force of nature walking around in the body of an extremely attractive man, and you feel like you should be taking notes to actually retain any of this information.

After he seems to have informed you to his satisfaction and is looking at you expectantly, you nod. “That is… very fascinating. So how do we go about actually tasting it?” You might be an uncultured heathen, but even before Sylus’s lecture, you knew there are rules when it comes to tasting wine. You just always had other things you needed to learn first, like the weakest spots on a wanderer or human body. Or the best method of sharpening knives for the sharpest edge. Or how to clean guns to prevent jamming. How to affix a scope on a sniper rifle and measure the effect of wind speed and direction on a bullet’s trajectory. Or whether you should use baking soda or baking powder as leavener when baking certain kinds of cake. You have priorities. But tonight, it seems, is the night for you to learn about wine.

Before he answers, he moves around the kitchen island to where you’re still seated on the bar stool and leans down, gently spinning your stool so that you’re facing him instead of the counter. He then pushes the one next to you closer and seats himself. Even sitting, you have to look up into his face. You suddenly realize that the way he has positioned the stools puts him so close to you that his long legs don’t have anywhere to go—he just spreads them so that one is stretched out on one side of you, and the other is between your own, his knee incredibly close to your lap. If you shift forward even a little, you could grind on him.

Why is he doing this to you? What does he want? But then it occurs to you that Sylus has never seemed to either recognize or respect boundaries like a normal person—maybe this is just how he interacts with his friends. Constant, small touches, no sense of personal space. You wonder if he and the twins huddle together on the couch, sharing a blanket, while watching something on television.

So maybe you’re the freak, imagining riding this poor guy’s meaty thigh when he’s only just trying to share his appreciation of a sophisticated beverage with you. You close your eyes. It doesn’t matter whether he’s playing this little game on purpose or not. You refuse to let him see how much his proximity is affecting you, because then he wins. You don’t know what he wins exactly, but you will beat him before you let him have it. You try to think about his big hand choking you, but instead of having the intended effect of reminding you why you should never even consider buying tickets to the safety hazard now wedged between your thighs, it has … unforeseen consequences instead. What has this man done to you?!

You open your eyes, reach across the counter and grab a handful of carefully cut pieces of cheese, and then promptly stuff them all into your mouth at once. When in crisis, cheese is always a good solution. Except for maybe the blue cheese you accidentally mixed in with the Manchego or whatever-the-fancy-fuck he brought with him. Aaaand now you’re going to smell like blue cheese for the rest of the night.

You stare at him defiantly as you chew with puffed cheeks, and brace yourself for whatever is coming next. He side eyes you, face impassive.

You’re expecting some biting comment, but “Well, that’s one way to make sure you’ve eaten enough to absorb the alcohol,” is all he says. He slowly slides the glass with two fingers along the base across the counter until it’s sitting between the two of you. “Whenever you manage to finish inhaling all that dairy, we’ll be sure that we’ve given the wine enough time to breathe.” He pauses. “It occurs to me now that while I was preparing the food, I didn’t think to ask if you’re lactose intolerant.”

You deliberately chew as slowly as you can, making him wait as a punishment for making you feel things that you should not be feeling. When you’ve swallowed, you shake your head. “Fortunately, not one of my many flaws.”

“It’s not a flaw.” He shrugs. “How can anything you can’t control about your body be a flaw? And Luke and Kieran are lactose intolerant, so I always have lactase enzyme tablets on me to avoid… unwanted consequences when they decide to have a cheese tasting contest.”

You cock your head. “A what now?”

 He rubs his middle finger between his eyebrows. “Yeah, they can’t help themselves from making a competition out of every single human activity, so on the nights the chef prepares a cheese board with dinner, they try to outmatch each other regarding who can identify the most flavors of cheeses without cheating by asking the chef or querying Mephisto or searching online. Or asking me, because I’m undefeated.”

You stare at him, and think if there’s ever any universe in which you voluntarily return to the base where Sylus kept you captive for days and touched you like he owned you, hand violently clasped in his, where you were terrified for your life, exhausted and confused… and if you ever have a friendly enough relationship with the chaos twins, you’re going to practice your ass off so that if you’re ever invited to such a competition, you can wipe the floor with them. Their cheese-off sounds fun.

Your train of thought is derailed as it registers how smug the last thing he said was. “You’re undefeated,” you repeat, giving him a chance to redeem himself. “At identifying cheeses by taste.”

“And smell, yes. So I’m not allowed to play anymore. My palate is too refined, and they know they don’t stand a chance.”

Oh, you’re definitely going to start sampling cheese every week. You cannot let this smugness stand.

“Ah yes, his royal snobness and his impeachable palate,” you roll your eyes. “Now, will his grace the Duke of Gouda please get on with the wine instruction?” You would give him a little mock bow, but that would put your face right in his formidable cleavage and you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from motorboating his unfairly huge pecs. Ugh.

He snorts. “Finally, you’re showing me some long-overdue respect.”

You nod gravely, thankful that the aether core in his eye is not currently delving the depths of your depravity. It’s time to focus. On wine.

“So why do you have to let wine breathe before drinking it?” you ask, because you’re focused.

He looks pleased that you’re interested enough to ask a question. “Much like people, it’s good to expose a greater surface area of the wine to fresh air for a while—it allows undesirable scents and flavors to dissipate, so that it tastes better when you do take a sip than if you drink it straight after opening.”

“Well aren’t you wise, philosophizing about wine and people,” you smile. You find yourself being surprised again and again tonight—at his presence, his bearing gifts, his surprisingly sweet attempt to teach you something, his kind takes on lactose intolerance and what people need to be healthy.

“Did you think I only consist of feathers and spite?” He lifts the wine glass by the stem with one hand, and your hand in his other. He gently wraps your fingers around his own.

“Let’s not forget hubris and violence.” You watch as he gently swirls the wine in the glass held between you. His hand is so warm compared to your own.

“If that’s all, then you still have a lot to learn about me,” he murmurs, but he doesn’t seem offended. Almost as if he’s simply determined. To do what, you’re not sure. “I’d tell you that you should always hold a wine glass by the stem so that the heat from your hand doesn’t affect the temperature of the wine through the glass itself. But your hands are so cold—I don’t think that would be a problem for you. But if you want people to think you’re a connoisseur, you should anyway if you’re ever on an undercover mission. Now, before you take a sip, inhale the scent we’ve just released by swirling the wine.”

You do as you’re told, and lean over, hovering just over the edge of the glass and taking a deep breath. The scent of the wine, warm and deep, fills your senses.

You look up at him and smile again. “It smells really good.”

“Of course,” he lifts the bottom of the glass with his free hand so that you can straighten, and guides your other hand to support the glass while slipping his own from around the stem and allowing you to hold it by yourself. Your hand immediately feels cold again. He leans one elbow on the counter, “I chose it for you. I’m not going to let you drink plonk.”

“Plonk?” What a cute word.

“Shit wine.”

“Mmm, not allowing me to drink shit wine, you’re truly a knight in shining armor.”

“I don’t need armor, kitten. Now that you’ve established that the wine hasn’t gone off by smelling it, you can take a sip.”

You’re about to lift the glass to your lips, when he reaches up and runs his fingertips along your wrist to stop you. “As you do, don’t swallow immediately. Roll the wine with your tongue in your mouth, and try to really think about what flavors you can taste: can you detect the oak from the barrels, earth, tannin, fruit or spices? Is it sweet or dry?”

You nod, mouth suddenly dry. But you follow his instructions and take a slow sip, rolling the rich liquid around in your mouth, and then slowly swallow. A familiar warmth spreads from your stomach, radiating out through your body. His blood bright eyes follow the movement of your lips, your throat. “I taste… fruit.” You pause, trying to appear very serious about finding the perfect description of flavor. You take another sip, close your eyes. “Yes, very fruity notes. Grapes, in particular.”

You open your eyes to find him scowling at you.

“Aren’t you the comedian?” he growls. “I’m going to revoke your wine privileges if you don’t take this seriously. How are you going to feel confident if you ever need this knowledge on a mission? Or on a date?”

You just laugh at him and try to turn a little on the stool, lifting your arm to keep the glass out of his reach, but his knee between your legs prevents you from moving, and he easily leans forward, fingers drifting up the length of your arm to then wrap around your own hand on the stem. He carefully pulls it back between the two of you. Your hand feels warm again. Safely wrapped in his.

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned my needing to know how to pass as a wine snob on a mission. What kind of missions do you think I’m regularly going on?” You gently lift the glass again, pulling his hand with you, and take another sip. It really does taste so good. You can’t tell if it’s wildly different than the wine you normally get, but you know it doesn’t taste like it’ll leave you with a headache in the morning.

He shrugs. “If we didn’t have to bring the place down when we were at the auction, people would have been watching you at the dinner banquet. What would you have done if people started to notice that you were clutching the wine and swigging it like a drunken toddler and started to suspect that your behavior wasn't matching your cover identity?”

You gasp. “Excuse me, you don’t know how I normally drink my wine!” Who does this bastard think he is? And here you were, thinking he was sweet, sincerely trying to share one of his interests with you. “I don’t need you patronizing me regarding how I’d manage at a formal event or on a date! I’ve been on plenty of dates where I was able to drink wine without driving off my partner.” You try to pull away from him, and the wine sloshes dangerously with your movement.

“Sit still,” he commands, holding your hand tight with his and placing one large palm on your bare thigh. You immediately freeze. “I watched you gulp wine from a mug the last time I was here,” he retorts.

“So you think that just because I don’t care what you think, I can’t read the room and act according to the demands of the situation?” The indignation coursing through you is amplified by the wine spreading through you.

“Then is it fair to say that you didn’t feel the need for any pretense between us last time because you’re so comfortable with me, and not because you’re as civilized as a cactus?” he asks, running his thumb gently back and forth along your inner thigh.

Your brain is being scrambled by his thumb, how close he is to you, his clavicle exposed by the V of his sweater’s neckline, the scent of his warm, clean skin, the wine going to your head after a long exhausting day.

“I’m saying I don’t feel the need to impress you in my own home when you show up uninvited and demand beverages and band aids,” you finally manage. You’re warm. Too warm. “And what’s wrong with being a cactus?”

“Did I say there was something wrong with it? Cacti can survive the harshest conditions on earth and still produce the most beautiful flowers. And they hurt when they stab you.” He smiles like the thought pleases him immensely.

You can’t process this. He says shit like this so easily—he can’t possibly mean it in the way you are trying so hard to deny that you want him to mean it. You refuse to be lured in, only to see the cruel lines of his face when he realizes you have pathetic feelings for him. The man who could as easily rip your spine from your ribcage as offer you a glass of wine, if you lose your usefulness to him. A usefulness you still don’t know the nature of.

You’re suddenly viciously aware of how close he is to you, how he is watching your face with an intensity that makes you feel like the use of his aether core is unnecessary: you’re afraid that he can see everything you’re feeling, and you hate it. You need space. “What are we even doing, Sylus?”

His eyes drift from your eyes to your mouth, and you try very hard to steel your expression, to conceal how utterly raw and exposed he’s making you feel. You can’t tell if you’re successful, when he finally lifts his hand from your thigh and runs the back of his knuckles with such softness along your cheek that it makes you ache. You resist the urge to turn your face and nuzzle his palm.

“We’re tasting wine, sweetheart.” He leans back, pulling the glass of wine you’re still holding with him. He inhales deeply, and then takes a sip, eyes glittering over the rim, watching you. “It is a good vintage. But it’s not the only one I brought.” He guides your joined hands to set the glass on the counter, and then gets up, rounding the counter to rummage in a bag on the floor on the other side. When he stands up, he’s holding another wine glass.

You do a double take. “You brought two glasses?”

He looks from you to the glass in his hand, then back to the glass still on the counter, and then lifts his eyebrows. “Is this a trick question?”

“Why haven’t we been drinking about of separate glasses then?” you demand.

He shrugs. “That glass is for that bottle,” he nods to the glass sitting next to you. “This glass is for this bottle.” He gestures at the other, untasted bottle sitting on the counter. “No need to rinse our glasses in between tastes.”

You want to laugh, and cry. You’re so fucking done with thinking for tonight.

“Okay, Sylus. Whatever you say,” you sigh.

“Oh, I quite like the sound of that,” he smiles, one canine peeking over his lip. “Then you’re going to enjoy the sorbet I brought for us as a palate cleanser.”

He proceeds to go to your freezer, scoop out some of the aforementioned sorbet that has apparently been in there all evening into a bowl, and takes the stool next to you again. This time, he situates one long leg on either side of you, caging you in. He takes a spoonful and offers it to you. “This will help rinse your palate so that you can taste the next bottle without any lingering effects of the other.”

You look from his seemingly guileless face to the spoonful of sorbet. Yup, you’re really done thinking for tonight. You lean forward and open your lips. He slips the lemon sorbet into your mouth. His eyes remain on your lips as he pulls the spoon away, dips it back into the sorbet, and brings it to his own mouth.

After he continues to trade spoonfuls with you until the sorbet is gone, he pours the second glass of wine, and you both take turns sipping it in companionable silence.

“Now tell me. Which one is your favorite?” he asks after you’ve finished the second glass, and return to the first to finish it as well.

“I like them both,” you shrug. “Sorry for not having a more sophisticated answer.” You’re feeling drowsy and loose. He can walk off a tall building for all you care if he doesn’t like your answer.

“They’re both excellent wines. Each one is suited for multiple situations or meal combinations. They’re versatile, just like you are. And I don’t require any particular answer, except your honest one. I think you already know that you don’t need to put on an act for me, ever.”

You rest your elbow on the counter, mirroring his position, and rest your head in your hand. “Why would I pretend with you, if you can just force the truth out of me?”

“I will never do that to you.”

You look away. “You’ve already done it to me once before. What else is there to hide, when you’ve seen the ugliest parts of me?”

“I will not do it again. Not unless you ask me to,” he says so solemnly that you’re tempted to be a fool and believe him. “And is that what you think? That what I saw was ugly?”

You sit up, take the glass from him and knock back the rest of the wine in one gulp. You can't do this right now. You can't think about the the violent hunger, the savage thirst, that his eye brought from the depths of your soul when he forced his way into your deepest, darkest desires the night you met. The extent of how much you wanted to kill him, and make it hurt, when you thought he had killed Caleb and your grandmother. How you still feel that hunger and rage, with every wanderer you kill, every time you hope some dealer in modified protocores resists arrest so you can put them down, with prejudice.

“I’m tired, Sylus. Thank you for the lesson. Now I can successfully fool rich assholes at upscale dens of corruption and unsuspecting dates into believing that I’m a sophisticated connoisseur of overpriced beverages, and swindle them all. And I’ll never horrify you again by swigging wine out of a mug like a drunken toddler. You should invoice the Association for your services. In the meantime, I’m going to try to get some sleep.”

“I see. You’re still on guard, and defensive, when you're drunk too. How fascinating.” He narrows his eyes, not seeming to get the hint that you want him to leave now.

“I’m not drunk. I’m maybe tipsy, and I’m fucking tired. I’m going to bed.”

“All right,” he says easily. He stands and begins tidying up the counter.

“All right,” you repeat, feeling a little dizzy, a little empty. “You know where the door is.”

“As you say,” he says serenely, pulling out food storage containers you also didn’t realize you own and packing the food away.

“Thanks again,” you say, because you are polite, dammit. You make your way into the bathroom and begin getting ready for bed. When you emerge, your flat is dark. The kitchen looks pristine in the streetlight drifting in through the windows. You stare for a moment longer, wondering if maybe he’s finally given up on whatever his agenda with you is after your little emotional display tonight, and he’ll stop coming by now. You’re fine with that. Maybe this is what you’ve needed to do all along. Get drunk and sloppy. Guarded, defensive, he called you. What an asshole.

You pad into the bedroom, yawning, pulling up your phone to look at it as you walk. Maybe you should try listening to audiobooks to try to help with the insomnia. Like, boring ones with deep, sexy voiced narrators who can bore you to sleep like Sylus did the other night. You crawl onto the bed, and then—

“The fuck, Sylus?”

He’s sitting in the middle of your bed, sweater off and replaced by… nothing. Just the expanse of his big, creamy chest. And he’s wearing a pair of silky looking loose, black pyjama pants. An impossibly soft looking line of silver hair drifts from his tight navel, disappearing under his waistband. His gold-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, like last time, and he’s scrolling through something on his tablet. He glances up at you, but then goes back to his… spreadsheets?

“Haven’t we already been through that little routine tonight?” he asks, and yawns. “I’m getting déjà vu.”

“What. Are. You. Doing?” you seethe.

“Going over the financials from the meeting with my accountant today.”

“Why?” You just sit there on your knees, on your bed, gaping at him like an idiot.

“To ensure that my next acquisition is suited to purpose.”

“What?”

His gaze flicks to you, and he pushes the glasses further up his nose. “Well, I made a promise that I wouldn’t change a thing about my latest business venture, so now I need to ensure that the next chain of businesses I acquire can serve one of the functions I had intended for the arcades.”

“What function is that?” you ask, curious now, despite yourself.

“Well, one of two primary functions,” he amends, tapping his temple thoughtfully with a finger.

“Okay,” you say slowly, inviting him to continue.

“Money laundering.”

You shake your head. “Come again?”

“Oh, I’ll be happy to. Thank you for the invitation. I wasn’t sure I’d ever receive one again, what with your heavily implied dismissal earlier.”

“Sylus!”

“Yes, my most precious gem?”

“What do you mean you intended to use the arcades for money laundering?” You want to cry even thinking about it.

“To be fair, after you asked me so sweetly not to change a thing, I immediately agreed. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“But that’s why you wanted to buy them?” How many times can a heart hurt in one night?

“I said that was one of the two primary reasons I wanted those arcades,” he says, reaching out with one hand and softly stroking your knee.

You look down, watching his calloused fingers drifting so sweetly across your skin. How can this man be so cruel and so gentle at the same time?

“What was the other reason, then?”

“Guess.”

“I’m done playing games with you tonight, Sylus.”

“When was I playing a game tonight?”

“Fine, don’t tell me. Just promise again that you won’t change anything about my favorite arcade.”

He sets the tablet on his lap, and reaches over to grasp your hand. He links your pinkie with his, and lifts it to his lips. “I already promised. And I promise again.” He seals the promise with a brush of his lips, and then rests both of your hands on the bed between you.

You don’t know why, and you will probably never know why, but you believe him right now. It’s clear that no matter what you do, he will not be leaving tonight without great violence on your part, and once again, you’re just too tired to fight him anymore. He reads your body like a damn book, because he silently hands you the glass of water that was sitting next to him on the nightstand. "Even if you're not drunk, but only maybe just a little tipsy," he says, doing an awful imitation of your voice. "You should still drink some water so you don't feel terrible in the morning."

Perhaps because of your easy compliance with his reasonable advice by simply taking the water and drinking it, he seems to deem it safe to pull you into his side. You go down, resting your head on his thick shoulder, and let your gaze wander over his tablet.

“So what are you thinking of buying this time?” you ask, yawning.

 He shifts, lifting your head so that he can wrap his arm around you, repositioning you so that you’re tucked a little closer under his chin, cheek resting against his chest. “A chain of casinos.”

“Casinos?” you laugh softly. “That’s on brand, I guess.”

“Mmhmm.” He runs his fingertips absently along your arm, from wrist to elbow and back again. “Lots of money changing hands. Ideal for functioning as a washing machine for the dirty proceeds from the weapons business, which comes out clean in the pockets of lucky winners.”

“You make your living profiting off the worst in people, you know that?” you ask sleepily, the numbers on the screen blurring.

“They’ll continue being terrible, with or without my involvement. I don’t make them take the bet, or pull the trigger. And if I don't, someone else will put the chip or gun in their hands. Might as well be me collecting the paycheck.”

“Maybe, through the power of friendship, I can change your mind,” you murmur. You don’t think you’ll need that audiobook to fall asleep tonight.

“Friendship, huh?” Sylus asks, but when he looks down at you, he sees that you’ve already fallen asleep. He traces the long sweep of your eyelashes across your cheeks with his eyes, feels your measured, calm breath drifting across his skin. He gently touches one finger to the ruby earring you haven’t taken out yet. The thrill of satisfaction he felt when you answered the door still wearing it would sustain him for weeks. He is absolutely certain that it won’t be the power of friendship that’s going to change him.

He pulls you a little closer into his chest, snorts when he feels you begin to drool onto his pec, and continues scrolling through his tablet.

That night, you dream. You’re walking through your childhood home—but not your childhood home from before your memories, because you will never know what that home looked like. This one, the home from your earliest memories, with its wood panelling on the walls, old-fashioned lace curtains in the windows that you can’t see out of, because it’s pitch black beyond the glass. Hallways lengthening at the same pace as you can walk down them, boots echoing on the polished hardwood floor. You walk and walk, and you can never reach the end. Doors that won’t open, but you know Caleb might be behind them, because in your dream logic, his bedroom is behind every door you pass. You turn the handles, but they remain locked. Sometimes you think you can hear the sound of someone biting into an apple, crisp flesh giving way to sharp teeth, but the door won’t open no matter how hard you throw yourself against it. You hear your grandmother speaking, just around every corner, but you can’t understand what she’s saying. You follow the sound, and every time you think that she’s just around the next turn in the hall, the corridor stretches in front of you again, empty.

You have been in this empty house for years now, and you’re afraid that you’ll never be able to get out. But you’re more afraid that once you get out, you’ll never hear them making these particular sounds again, this slim proof of their existence echoing through the empty hallways.

Slowly, you wake up, and in that endless moment caught between your dream and reality, it’s just peaceful and black—you are coming from somewhere so far away toward something you know will hurt, and you’re not ready to feel that yet. But then a feeling of suffocation is overwhelming you, and you open your eyes to realize you’re literally being smothered by a very big, very warm body.

The relief you feel, the gratitude, that Sylus is still here, that you aren’t waking up alone, again, from the nightmare in your sleep to the reality that the nightmare is real, and you’ll never be able to see your family again, is more overwhelming than your current need for oxygen. Sylus is still here, and the yawning emptiness you were carrying with you for what felt like years during that long dream dissipates in the warmth of his body against yours. You can’t help yourself. Your throw your arm that isn’t being crushed by him over his torso and hug him tightly to you, giving in to the urge to nuzzle his chest and just listen to his steady heartbeat.

You lie like that for awhile, blissfully listening to his soft breathing, when suddenly you realize that pressed so close to him, you can feel every contour of his body, from your chest against his abdomen, his muscular, silk-covered thigh wedged between your legs, and his apparently very, very big dick pressing into your hip.

You freeze, feeling like the creep you have accused him several times of being. He’s just sleeping, and you’ve plastered yourself against him like a vacuum sealed burrito. You have absolutely no business being utterly thrilled that this part of him matches the rest of him in terms of size and intimidation. You will not be taking this joy stick for a test drive. You can get out of this. You’re a very good hunter, and you can evade detection and make a tactical retreat when necessary. And it’s very necessary right now, because you do not want him to wake up and find you attached to him like a love-sick leech.

Slowly, sooo slowly, you slide your arm from where it is slung over his waist, and begin to incrementally scooch backwards, his leg slipping from between both of yours, freezing when he seems to shift a little, and then continuing the slow slide away when he settles again.

You’ve managed to extricate all of your limbs from him, except the one that is currently numb and squashed underneath him. You slowly roll onto your back and contemplate how you’re going to get it out from under him without waking him, when suddenly his arm flops over your waist. You jerk in surprise, eyes flying to his face, but his are still closed. His hand slides from your waist to your hip, and then snakes around to take a big handful of your ass. He makes a little happy noise and then pulls your body into his again. In the process, he has managed to jam his thigh back between your legs. You stare at his face, trying desperately to see if he’s starting to wake yet—how did you even end up in this situation? Then he pulls you even closer, causing his thigh to press deliciously against you. You suppress a whine, because it has been so long since someone has touched you liked this. But of course the person who is touching you is a maniac and is doing so while still asleep. You reach up and pat his cheek to wake him up, simultaneously trying to to pull away from him, but tightens his arms around you again, dipping his head to your shoulder still exposed by his too-big sweater.  You freeze in shock as he inhales deeply and hums, and soft kisses trail from your neck down, and before you can push him away he bites into the meat of your shoulder. The pain, pressure, and warmth of his mouth on your skin have you trying to arch away and into him—you do whine this time, loudly, because it hurts but you want.

Suddenly, his whole body seems to tense. The pressure on your shoulder eases, and he sighs, his breath cool drifting along your over-heated skin.

“Good morning.”

You open your eyes, realizing you’d been squeezing them shut through the last few moments, and meet his sleepy gaze.

"Were you awake?” you demand, terrified of the answer. Because if he was, then what the hell was he thinking, pretending to be asleep? And if he wasn't, was he just dreaming? Was it you in his dream, or was he dreaming of someone else? You don't want to know. You have to know.

“Your rather loud response to my love bite woke me up, I think,” he smiles softly. "I didn't realize that I was... dreaming until then."

“So you didn’t mean to—” you start to pull away.

He tightens his arm around your waist. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Sylus, let go. I’m sorry for not waking you fast enough. I was just—I was just shocked. I know you wouldn’t have done that otherwise.” You struggle, but his arm is a steel bar holding you in place.

“You’re right, I wouldn’t have,” he agrees, and you feel whatever fragile, tender root that had been growing in the cracks of your broken heart wither, the dry husk drifting away in an autumn breeze. Replacing that faint feeling of hope, you're livid that you do not share the same teleportation ability that Xavier and Sylus have. If you could, you'd teleport in a poof of glittering light or melodramatic feathers. To anywhere else but here.

You nod, and nod, and nod, because he’s not letting you move but you have to do something or else he’ll see it right on your stupid, open face, and you’d rather he slit your throat than see the pain his rejection is inflicting on you. You had lied to him earlier, about not having anything to hide, about always being honest with him. You've been lying to yourself, and to him, ever since you met him.

“What I mean—” he’s looking at you intently, and you want to cover his eyes with your hands, because as always they’re seeing too much, but suddenly, the doorbell rings through your flat.

You both turn your heads to look at the bedroom door at the same time.

Oh. Fuck.

Xavier.

Sylus turns to look back at you, so close that his nose brushes yours. “Expecting company, kitten?”

“It’s Xavier. Shit.” You try to roll away, and this time he lets you. You grab your phone off the nightstand and see that Xavier has already texted you a few times to see if you’re ready to head to the bookstore yet. The texts grow increasingly concerned the longer you don’t respond. The doorbell rings again. “You have to go. Now.”

You turn to Sylus, who is now lying leisurely on his side, head propped up in his hand, silky silver hair cascading across his forehead, occupying the bed like an imperialist force annexing a weaker neighbor’s territory, with no intention of leaving.

“And what are you going to do?” he asks, eyes drifting from your face, to your shoulder, down to your bare legs.

“I need to answer the door and tell Xavier that I’m running late.”

“Late for what?”

“Sylus, I don’t have time for this. You can’t be here. Xavier helped me get into the N109 zone, he spends a lot of time there—he’s smart enough that if he finds out what you look like, he might eventually be able to figure out who you are. You can’t be here,” you repeat, starting to panic. Sylus may not have any feelings for you beyond friendship or a predator toying with its food, but you still don’t want him to get caught because of you.

“You’re not working today. What plans do you have with him?” he asks, completely ignoring your distress.

“We’re going to the bookstore. We were going to spend our first day free just reading manga and eating junk food,” you rush out impatiently.

Sylus just looks at you for a few beats, the picture of lazy boredom on a weekend morning.

“Okay? Are you satisfied? Can you please leave now?” This is good. You can avoid the inevitable, It was a mistake, thought you were someone else, was dreaming about a giant amorous anthropomorphized ruby, you’re not exactly my type, because my type is someone who has their shit together, can identify what fucking region a certain grape was grown in and its exact soil acidity based on the year of the vintage, my type is someone else, anyone else—you reach down and hit yourself hard in the side of your thigh with a fist to get your head on straight, and start heading to your closet, intent on throwing on a robe or longer shorts so that you don't answer the door looking like you're not wearing any pants.

Sylus's irritated voice follows you. “Satisfied? No, I'm not feeling satisfied. But I would advise against answering the door wearing that.”

You jerk to a halt. “Excuse me?” You turn to find him scowling at you.

He waves a dismissive finger at the sweater and silk shirts you’re still wearing. “I think you should change before you answer the door.”

“I look that bad, huh? Thanks for the advice. You need to be gone when I get back.” You turn, hating everything and everyone, and make your way to the front door.

You throw it open, just as Xavier is lifting his hand to ring your bell again. His sky blue eyes, usually so calm and sleepy, widen when he takes in the dumpster fire that you are today.

“Hi, yeah, sorry. I overslept,” you rush out, hoping you can skip this part and go straight to the moving on with your day and your entire life part. “I just need like, fifteen minutes, and then I’ll be ready.”

“Did you get in a fight with a wanderer last night after we go home?” he asks, hand lifting again, this time toward you, as if he wants to touch you, but then thinks better of it and drops it back to his side. He’s wearing the white hoodie that Sylus stole from him. What even is your life right now?

“What? No, I just had some wine and was really tired.” He’s staring at you, brow furrowed now, and it takes a minute to realize that he’s staring at the sweater hanging off your shoulder. You suddenly get a really, really bad feeling. “Why?”

He lifts his hand again, and points, but in a kind of timid way, like a little kid who knows that it’s rude to point but can’t help himself anyway so just points a little so that his mom won’t get mad at him. “It looks like a wanderer bit you.”

You lift your own hand and touch your shoulder, and feel the too-warm skin there, the ache spreading deep into the muscle.

“Oooh, yeah. Yes.” You decide that you need to take acting classes. That is what you will do as your new hobby, on your few days off. You’re going to win the best actor award if it kills you, because if it doesn’t kill you, the embarrassment will kill you instead. And you’d rather die convincing everyone that everything is normal and you’re fine, and not from the embarrassment of the fact that your not-boyfriend, not-fuck-buddy, not-interested-at-all, probably not even your friend anymore Sylus accidentally bit you while fucking asleep and left evidence of it for all the world to see. “I did respond to a really minor alert in the neighborhood last night. It was only one wanderer. Hiding in a trash can of all places,” you laugh, not at all sounding unhinged. Convincing. “Bit me pretty good, but it really was nothing, I had completely forgotten about it. So, still on for the bookstore?” you ask, chipper, eager, well-adjusted!

Xavier stares at your shoulder for a few seconds longer, and then just nods. “Yeah, just text me when you’re ready.”

Bless him. You’ve almost put him back to sleep with your absolutely stellar performance. “Okay, great! See you soon.” You back into your flat again and let the door shut with a heavy click.

Xavier stands outside your door for several moments after you’ve scurried back inside. He thinks about how sharp his light blade is. He thinks about how he’s going to use it on whatever motherfucker thinks that he has the right to mark Xavier’s partner like an animal. And then he yawns, and meanders back to his own flat to wait for your text because he has all the time in the world, and the patience to match it. Xavier is your partner, and he’s not going anywhere, anytime soon. If he murders whatever asshole was in your flat last night right now, that might interfere with your bookstore plans with him.

You stand on the other side of the door for a moment, just trying to collect yourself. You lean against the cool surface, look up at your ceiling. Breathe in the smell of shoe leather, oiled metal. Absently you lift your hand to your shoulder. Why didn’t Sylus warn you before you went to open the door? He even admitted that he wouldn’t have … done that to you if he hadn’t been asleep. Why would he just… and then it hits you. He did tell you to change clothes before you answered the door. The asshole just didn’t tell you why. But he would know by now that you’d actually do the opposite of whatever he says, because he’s not the boss of you. He played you like one of his fucking records.

But why the fuck would he want Xavier to see what happened between the two of you? Does he enjoy your humiliation that much?

You have no idea if you’ll ever have the chance to figure him out, especially if he got the hint that you don’t want to see him anytime soon. You shake your head. Even though you should be exhausted after staying up so late and ending up on the human embodiment of a roller coaster with its wheels coming off despite all of your promises to yourself last night, you feel well-rested. You will survive this. You can survive anything.

You head back to your bedroom to confirm that Sylus is actually gone, because last night proved that whether he actually listens when you tell him to leave depends entirely on his own whims. As you enter, the late morning sunlight spills into the room. He really left. The room is empty. The books and various weapons on your nightstands have been stacked neatly and lined up just so. The clothes that had been left haphazardly hanging off your chest of drawer handles or strewn over the floor are nowhere to be seen. It would be the tidiest your bedroom has been in weeks, if not for the fact that your entire bed is covered in a thick layer of black feathers.

“This bitch,” you breathe.

It’s going to take at least two full size trash bags to clean this mess up.

You decide then and there that Sylus doesn’t have a choice about whether he’s going to see you again. You’re going to bag up these feathers and then tar and feather him with them the next time you see his gorgeous, petty fucking face.

[emo-trash101]

HELLO HELLO ONYX,DEARIE!!

I'm baaaack!~

(me,coming to your blog when I have an Idea because I want to feed you: )

The platonic asker,yours truly,has come once more to request a new platonic headcanon!

May I please have platonic! any character you'd like (Maybe Alastor,Vox and Lucifer,but you may change that as always! All characters are welcome.) With Child!Gn!Reader that randomly goes out (maybe teleports? Idk,just a random idea) and brings back random sinners (mostly poor and homeless) at the hotel/the character's work and goes "They wanted to work for/with you!!" with that little sweet and innocent voice of theirs? They're really naive and talks to everyone really kindly,a bit like my first ask! They're just a sweet sunshine kid that wants to help those in need! It's not their fault there are bad people that may use them,they just want to help!!

Anyways,I think that's good for me!!

Here's another reminder to take care of yourself! Eat,drink and sleep well,honey!

Enjoy writing this new prompt <33

Stay proud,

-Nina <33

I MISSEDD YOUUUU!!! And that prompt is giving me flashbacks to when I brought a feral raccoon into my house when I was a little kid lmao. But I love this!

Alastor, Vox, and Lucifer x Sweet Child! reader

THIS IS STRICTLY PLATONIC AND SHOULD ONLY BE TAKEN AS SUCH

Pronouns: Second person, gender neutral

Tw: Kidnapping? (Can a child kidnap someone?), pedos, general hazbin hotel

Alastor -

- I would say this man would be disappointed but in all honesty, he probably taught you how to steal people by accident.

- It would most likely take place after Charlie goes on one of her rants about how she needs more people at the hotel, and you being the cute little child you are, waddle away to go find some.

- I feel like he wouldn't particularly notice you missing until you show back up, random ass sinner in tow.

- Obviously you get lectured by everyone for stealing a person off the street and bringing him to where you live.

- cause...y'know...pedophiles happen to be in hell.

- But after you pull out the cute little eyes and the "I just wanted to help" everyone kinda gives up.

- Alastor does make you release him back outside like a butterfly you grabbed (omg that is something I never thought I would write)

Vox -

- As I've mentioned before, this man kinda lowkey sucks.

- Like Alastor, probably accidentally taught you how to steal someone, but he probably did it on purpose or some shit.

- You'd most likely see him murder fire another one of his workers and decide that he needs an immediate replacement.

- So you take your two little feet and waddle down the streets of hell asking anyone and everyone if they want to work for Vox.

- Obviously everyone wants to work for the Vees, so you end up bringing like a hoard of people to the office and kinda just, bring them in.

- As I've mentioned, this man would not notice you being gone like, ever, so when you magically show tf up with like 70 people all in tow, he is partially impressed and partially confused.

- He asks you why you brought so many people and you just look up at him with your cute little baby doll eyes and go "I thought you needed someone to replace mr. dead guy".

- He honestly kinda appreciates it and gives you a little pat on the head as he kills kicks out everyone you brought.

Lucifer -

- This man pays copious amounts of attention to you so the fact you were able to waddle away to go collect people off the street is honestly astounding.

- He was like, super art blocked and could not come up with another idea for a duck, and it was starting to piss both of you off.

- So you do your little thing and walk off by yourself to collect another person to help come up with some sweet succulent duck ideas.

- Well turn out, creepy people exist in hell (surprise surprises).

- So a creepy ass guy follows you to the palace and when you get back Lucifer panics.

- He was worried you died or something and was about to go find you when you show up with a rando behind you.

- Lucifer politely scolds you for running off like that, but before you could introduce him to the guy you found to help, the guy left.

- So you give up and instead devote a lot of your time to making a new rubber duck

- Lucifer ends up making a duck that can track where you are incase you go wandering off again.

This was so funny to write, I hope y'all enjoyed reading it!

[locketsvault]

「 AYATO WITH INVESTIGATOR S/O 」

pairing: ayato kirishima x gender neutral reader

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, first person, no pronouns/afab gender used, fluff

warnings: canon angst, discrimination mentioned, fluff, sfw “nudity”, back massage with no shirt on, kissing, strictly sfw I promise

request: Hii, can i request some fluff with Ayato (tokyo ghoul) with (an investigator) gn reader? (original request found here.)

word count: 835

a/n: this was honestly quite a hard topic to write about, trying to balance a character who’s angsty, usually mows down investigators happily, with an investigator partner and make it fluffy. I hope it’s to your liking, I did my best to make it fluffy!

You two are a match made in… I can’t say Heaven, that’s a stretch. But you’re definitely a match. How it came to be? That’s a little secret. Some rumors say that you rescued him from being executed, while others say he saved you from being eaten by another ghoul. No matter how though, it was hard to deny you two were a wonderful match.

It was like looking at the black cat and golden retriever trope. It didn’t matter if you were a black cat too, being an investigator made you seem much more lively than a certain emo.

Sadly you two had to keep your relationship a secret from everyone around you, of course with the treat of death on both sides. But after the events of :re you were able to see each other without that threat lingering over your head. And it only made you two closer. You were finally able to move in together, just the two of you in your small apartment near his sisters coffee shop. It was home.

“You’re late.” Ayato stated the second you walked through a door, a false look of annoyance gracing his features.

“Paperwork,” you whined as you took off your coat and shoes. “He’s the worse boss ever, I swear. He makes me write the dumbest reports up, and he always tells me to do it right before I come home.”

“Then quit.” His tone was dead serious, you knew it, and you shot him a light hearted glare for it.

You knew you couldn’t though, you worked so hard to get where you were. He knew how important your job was to you. And he appreciated an open minded investigator among all the well… close minded humans. But he still sometimes wished you quit, for your safety. He also feared having to fight you or accidentally killing you without realizing it was you. That wasn’t fair though, he knew your scent by heart.

You dragged your body to the couch and collapsed onto him with a soft groan. His fake annoyance disappeared, instead replaced with a look of amusement. He can feel your body tense against his, and one touch down your back answered to him exactly why.

“… you were dualing again weren’t you.”

“Yes, but, I didn’t expect to today so I didn’t properly stretch.” You answered as you gave him a guilty smile.

This time he actually gave you a look of annoyance. “Sit up.” He commanded, quiet but affirmative.

“Noooo, I just laid down.” You whined, burying your face into his neck.

All you needed right now was him, to be in his arms, and all the pain would go away. However, that did not work. He huffed and made you both sit up before turning you so your back was facing him. A few sputter and whines later, your shirt was removed and thrown haphazardly on the ground.

“I can practically feel how tense your body is as if it’s my own. No fighting me on this.” The words “let me take care of you” left unspoken but was clearly there.

And how could you say no? So with a faux pout you stayed still as he grabbed some muscle relaxer and started to work it into your soft skin. You couldn’t help but release a hard sigh at the feeling. Your job could be so physical demanding and it wasn’t always easy to take care of your body. Your eyes closed as you took in his touch and warmth. You always cherished soft moments like this with him. He had changed so much since you first met, he had changed for you. You needed this, and you needed some unwinding with him.

“Thank you…” you whispered, breaking the soft silence between you.

You could feel his touch hesitate a bit, still not used to hearing such words in a genuine way. You could hear the almost silent huff and could practically feel the smile he was trying to keep in.

“All done, feel better?” He asked, wiping off his hands before getting up.

You rolled your shoulders and moved around a little. You couldn’t deny, you were feeling much better now. He came back and handed you one of his own shirts, much to your pleasure. You happily put it on and wiggled out of your work pants.

“Thank you my love.” You reached out, pulling him down for a soft kiss.

“You already said that,” he mumbled against your lips before picking you up, “come on, time for bed.”

“Man, my night was just getting started.” You grumbled, rolling your head back.

He rolled his eyes and laid you down, turning off the lights before laying down with you. He pulled you close and caressed your cheek, before kissing you again. It was gentle, more gentle than you were used to from him. He must been feeling extra domestic. You weren’t going to point it out though, it was cute and you loved it.

main hub ✦ masterlist ✦ to do list

[silveryclear]

LIMBO

Friend belongs to @stnaf-vn

NSFW MDNI all content regarding STNAF and this blog is strictly 18+

Pairings: Friend X GN! Reader

CW: Suggestive themes | Grinding | Dirty dancing | Obsessive behavior

Summary: You and Friend go to a gay club and dance real dirty together

A/N: This song has been stuck in my head for months and I can’t listen to it without imagining Friend dancing and singing the chorus to SH, and this was the end result. Enjoy my self indulgent writing. Happy Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈

I know you want some more

Bend over baby, touch your toes

Wanna see you drop it low, limbo

The way she look over her shoulder drive me loco

You didn’t know what the fuck you were expecting when you finally agreed to come to the club with Friend, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

There was Friend, in his pink crop top and short glittery pink skirt, grinding his crotch against your clothed ass while he held onto your waist.

How did the two of you end up like this again?

“We should totally go to this new gay club that opened recently, it’ll be fun!” Friend says with a look of excitement on his face.

You, however, are not as excited. “I don’t know… I’m not the type of person that goes to clubs a lot, y’know? It’s just not my scene.” You say, unsurely.

He smiles softly at you and grabs your hands in his. “That’s okay. How about this, we can go have a few drinks, dance a little bit, and as soon as you get uncomfortable, we turn back. How does that sound?”

You ponder over it for a few seconds. “Do you promise not to leave my side?”

Friend smirks mischievously. “Oh, sweetheart…” He purrs in a low voice. “There’s no way in Hell I’m letting you out of my sight~” He winks. Before you could even attempt to ask what he meant by that, you were being gently pushed into your room to get ready.

An hour later you come out of your room with the best club outfit you could conjure form your closet, only to be upstaged by your smoking hot friend who’s sitting on your couch, casually scrolling through his phone as if he didn’t just make you ruin your underwea-

“Sweetheart! You look amazing!” Friend exclaims while his eyes run over your body with a wide grin, making you blush in embarrassment.

“Look who’s talking…” You chuckle, slightly bashful.

Friend raises his eyebrow and smirks arrogantly. “Oh yeah~?” He approaches you slowly, his eyes trained on your fidgeting form. “You think I look good, baby~?” He says in that flirty, teasing tone he always uses when he wants to get a reaction out of you.

And you can’t help but give him exactly the reaction he was expecting as your eyes widen and you start blushing profusely. “S-Shut up! Anyways! Aren’t we going to the club? Let’s leave already!” You don’t give your best friend any time to respond as you march right through the door.

Friend grins and chuckles in amusement as he watches you leave. For a moment, his intense gaze focuses on the way your hips swing slightly as you walk away flustered, and he can’t help the way his cheeks flare up and mouth waters at the sight. He manages to break free from his trance before following right behind you with renewed purpose, anxious to get to the club and use this as an excuse to be as close to you as possible.

The club is in full swing by the time you guys arrive. The place is dark with a very colorful theme as neon lights drowned the room in an array of colors. Music is blaring through the speakers as a crowd gathered on the dance floor, sweaty bodies swaying and grinding against each other to the rhythm. You blush as you realize you had been staring and ask Friend to take you to the bar for a drink. You’re definitely way too sober for this at the moment.

After the first few drinks, you finally feel some of your anxiety slowly begin to fade as you welcome the warm haze and feeling of lightness that the alcohol brings.

“Okay! So, first impressions of the place?” Friend asks you as he sips on his cocktail.

“It’s a little bit much for my tastes, but I like it! It’s actually really nice, and I’m having fun!” You yell over the music, leaning closely towards Friend. You take a quick whiff of his scent as you do and your mind begins to wander off to the same place as it did when you first saw Friend’s outfit.

Friend grins and blushes slightly at the closeness, placing his hand on your waist to keep you close. Your heartbeat picks up. “I’m glad! I knew you’d like it!” He looks over to the dance floor and leans closer to you. “Do you wanna dance~?” He asks into your ear, his warm breath making your shiver.

You snap out of your daze and chuckle. “I’m drunk, but not that drunk!”

“There’s an easy solution for that, sweetheart~” Friend winks before turning towards the bar and asking the bartender for something. Soon, Friend stands before you with a large grin on his face as he holds a shot glass in each hand. “Do you dare~?” He wiggles his eyebrows, teasing you.

You laugh at his goofy behavior and take the shot from his hand. “I dare~” You wink at him.

Friend’s face brightens and he links the arm he’s holding his shot with, with yours. “Ready?”

“Ready!” You exclaim as you both down your shots with your arms linked, hissing as it burns your throat slightly. “Man, I can never get used to that.”

Friend laughs as he grabs your hand and pulls you to the dance floor with him. You tense up as the atmosphere begins to feel rather suffocating with other people’s sweaty bodies bumping into yours and the music blaring loudly from the speakers. Friend notices your discomfort and grabs your hands and pulls you close to him, shielding you from the other dancers.

“Are you alright? Do you want to leave?” Friend says soothingly in your ear as he rubs your back.

You blush slightly at his concern and shake your head, leaning towards his ear. “No, it’s okay. I guess the shot hasn’t kicked in yet.”

Friend chuckles and smiles at you. “Then let’s get you warmed up, shall we~?” He winks before grabbing your hips, a safe distance between the two of you. You can’t help the warmth that grows on your cheeks as he does. Thankfully, it’s just dark enough for it to go unnoticed. “Is this okay?” He asks, making sure you are comfortable with it.

You nod your head and place your hands on his shoulders, not knowing where else to put them. Friend chuckles and looks at you affectionately. “Just follow my lead, yeah?”

Friend begins by moving his hips to the rhythm of the music and gestures for you to do the same. You tense up at first, moving almost robotically, hyperaware of your surrounding. “Just focus on me…” Friend’s smooth voice breaks you from your thoughts. “Don’t look at anyone else, just look at me.” You blush and nod as you let Friend take the lead. His hands on your hips guide you into moving your hips slowly, just enough to get you comfortable with moving them. Soon enough, you’re swaying to the rhythm, giggling as you begin to feel yourself get lost in the music. Friend grins widely as he sees you start to enjoy yourself. He lets go of your hips and watches in awe as you let yourself go completely.

Feeling the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins, you begin to dance like never before. It’s as if your body is on autopilot. It knows where you should place your hands, traveling up your hips, waist and sides as your hips loosen even further. It knows when the beat is perfect to shake your ass to, and when to drop it down low and pick it up slowly, sensually. And it knows when someone grabs you from behind to join you.

Friend had barely danced himself when he became enthralled by your display. Eyes glued on your ethereal body, he felt himself grow hard at the way your body moved perfectly to the rhythm. There is something so raw and enticing about watching the person you’ve been obsessed with for most of your life, who rarely relaxes, just cut loose completely. Friend felt that he was gazing at a new side of you, one that is vulnerable and so unapologetically you that he couldn’t bring himself to tear away from you. With this realization, his possessiveness grew, and he knew that if he could be absolutely mesmerized by you, then so could others. Other people were already staring and looking to approach you. Before any of them had a chance, he takes a hold of your hips and pulls into him, letting out a growl and glaring menacingly.

Absolutely consumed by the music, you barely reacted when you felt familiar hands grab your waist from behind, thumbs rubbing circles on your exposed skin. He growls lowly, pressing his front against your back as if to exert his claim over you to the rest of the gawkers. He leans his head forward, his voice low and sexually charged as he whispers in your ear, “Is this okay~?”

You can only answer with a nod as all words had died in your throat as soon as he grabbed your waist. Your body pressed against his toned, strong one left you breathless as you become hyper aware of your best friend. Had Friend always been this strong? The way he held onto you only spurred your body further as you take the initiative and move your body against his. You blush once you heard him chuckle in amusement as he began to move against you.. You gasped, holding onto his bare thighs as he slowly ground his hips against your ass. His skirt and your bottoms skimpy enough to feel the outline of his half hard cock brushing against your cheeks over them.

Oh fuck. You were in trouble. With the last thread of self control snapping from the arousing sensation of his dick grinding on your ass, you grabbed onto the nape of his neck as you ground your ass back onto him.

I know you want some more

Bend over baby, touch your toes

Wanna see you drop it low, limbo

The way she look over her shoulder drive me loco

Friend let out a low groan behind you and whispered seductively in your ear. “That’s it, baby… Just focus on me…” You couldn’t help the shiver that coursed through your body as you recall the words he had whispered soothingly before are now being uttered in such a lustful way that they changed meanings completely. You let out an involuntary moan.

Friend grins widely, your sounds and movements only feeding into his obsession for you. “You like that, sweetheart~?” He chuckles darkly. “Follow my lead~”

As soon as he said that, you were bent forward as one of his hands held onto your shoulder and the other one gripped your hip tightly. The new position had you feeling flustered and exposed, but all worries were washed away as soon as Friend’s hips ground against your clothed sex. You bit your lip and moved your hips in sync with Friend’s, the sexually charged atmosphere only fueling your bodies into becoming more daring.

Friend was already going crazy with the way your body desperately grinds against his, as well as your eagerness to follow and please him. He was already thinking about taking you home, let the drive over sober you up before finishing what you both started. But when you look over shoulder, lips parted and panting heavily, and half lidded eyes filled with lust trained on him as you kept moving… he almost came right there.

He growled and pulled you back against him, turning you to face him, his lustful gaze hiding something more primal in the depths. “Is there something you’ve been meaning to tell me, sweetheart~?” He says in your ear, holding you tightly against him as if you have no other choice but to answer.

With liquid courage still coursing through your veins you blurt out, “I like you.”

This surprises Friend as he didn’t expect you to admit it so easily, but he doesn’t complain and instead, leans closer as he holds your chin. “I like you too~” He places a soft kiss on your lips and pull back, grinning at your flustered expression. “I really want us to finish this dance… alone~” He purrs and whisperers in your ear. “Can we~?”

Your frantic nods aren’t enough to express just how much you want this to happen, how much you’ve been craving your best friend since this afternoon.

You didn’t know what the fuck you were expecting when you finally agreed to come to the club with Friend, but it sure as hell wasn’t this~

[delphi-dreamin]

Sooooo...

Would anyone be interested if I started taking requests for OM headcanons and maybe drabbles/ficlets? For now I could only really write for the brothers for now, but I'm working on getting more comfortable with the dateables and Luke.

So yeah...Let me know?

[versadies]

love at first punch (scaramouche x gn!reader)

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ YOU HAVE RECEIVED A LETTER, LET'S SEE WHAT'S INSIDE! ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

SALUTATIONS. love at first punch

ADDRESSED. scaramouche, father!zhongli (w/ gn!reader)

CONTENT. spyxfamily au, telepathic!reader, violence (mild), bullying, father!zhongli (platonic), spoilers to inazuma archon quest act 3, not proof-read

STAMP. in which you enroll in a school as a telepathic and do your best to help your father in completing his mission: to befriend the fearsome raiden shogun's second son! inspired by spyxfamily

PENPALS. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @kazu-topia @chiruru @aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @coleluuviida @034ven @dear-dairiess @luv3rxcha @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @nejibot @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat

POST-SCRIPT. had a thought about what if scaramouche is damian and reader is anya as soon as i finished writing a scaramouche fic so i decided to write another fic bcuz why not 💀💀💀

NAVIGATION

You want nothing more but to get out of this insane school and watch your favorite show in your home.

But curse your father for having to drag you into this school for some goddamn mission of his! 

“If you want to help your father, you must befriend someone whose mother is a powerful figure, his name is Scaramouche.” Zhongli, your father, told you strictly when the both of you are on your way to your new school. “That’s one of your goals for this school, so don’t make him become your enemy, alright? Don’t forget to study hard as well.”

You let out a sigh, wiping the sweat off your forehead when you remembered his words to you. “I think I’m gonna fail in both.” You mumbled with a sigh.

“Fail in what?” 

You flinched when you heard your schoolmate, Ayato, speak up with a curious look on his face as the two of you walk down the hallway to go to your first class. “Are you alright? You look quite unwell.” In all honesty, you didn’t really mean to befriend Ayato since you thought he was the one your father’s looking for, but after reading Zhongli’s thoughts, you concluded that you got the wrong person.

Thankfully, your mistake didn’t go for naught. 

“Smart move, ( Name )!” Zhongli thought as his eyes brightened at the sight of you interacting with the blue-haired man. “You have befriended the son of one of the most powerful companies in this country, let’s hope you can keep making more friends!” 

You nodded reassuringly in response to Ayato’s question.  “I’m alright, don’t worry about me. I just.. Miss my home since I’m used to being homeschooled.” 

Before Ayato could respond, someone bumps into his shoulder while walking. “Then go home if you want it so bad, loser.” 

When your eyes catch a glimpse of the stranger, your heart drops.

Oh god why did your father’s target’s kid have to be an asshole!

“...I’m sorry?” You asked, letting out a fake laugh as the stranger stops his tracks. “I can’t help but wonder when did I ask for your opinion.” 

The student, Scaramouche, turns around, followed by his two friends who were following him. “Do you know who I am?”

You sweatdropped when you realized how this situation would go. Sorry dad, I’m about to fail your first goal!

You then decided to calm down and looked at his indigo eyes,

And force out a smile.

“Remember ( Name ),” Zhongli said as you take a break from your self-defense training. “You should know that a smile is the strongest weapon, for it stops a fight before it could happen. So if you ever encounter a situation where it’ll end up with a fight, smile at your opponent and hope for the best.”

You watched as Scaramouche and even Ayato felt taken back from your sudden change of expression, but it didn’t stop you from continuing to smile. If only you knew that in others’ perspective, you looked like you were planning to do something mischievous or sinister.

“...What the hell are you smiling about?” Scaramouche asked. He would be lying if he said he didn’t feel offended by your reaction. He was used to other students cowering in fear when he mentions his distant mother, so seeing you smiling in response made him feel… pathetic!

“Why should I tell you?” You responded, internally relieved that he didn’t see your palms sweating nervously. You don’t know how you can go home knowing that you made Scaramouche see you as his enemy.

Before he could respond, you immediately turned around. “Come on, Ayato. Let’s go to our classes before we get late” You spoke, acting as if nothing happened at all. 

Ayato didn’t know what to say. He was quite impressed that you’ve treated Scaramouche that way, especially since you knew who he is. 

However, your hopes of being free from your situation have paused when you felt someone throwing a paper on your head, causing you to touch your head and look behind you, only to see Scaramouche and his friends watching you mischievously. 

“You’ve got some nerve, loser.” He spoke with a huff. “You just made yourself my very own victim, I won’t let you get away with this!”

“Yeah! Scaramouche will bully you so bad, you’ll leave the school crying!”

“And there’s nothing you can do!” 

Your eyes narrow in response. Is this the perfect time for me to defend, dad? You thought, trying to remember what your father told you during your training. 

However, your rational self has flown out of the window the moment Scaramouche spoke the next words. 

“By the end of the day, you’ll come home crying to your father. Maybe then you’ll learn not to mess with someone like me, at least I have a mother unlike yo–”

For one moment, Scaramouche was standing still taunting you, 

But the next thing you know, he was suddenly flown across the hallway.

“Oh my god, boss!”

“Scaramouche, are you alright?!”

“What happened?!” 

Your eyes widen in realization when you realize what you just did, glancing down at your clenched fist and at Scaramouche's fallen state. Oh crap what have I done?! You thought in panic.

“I take back what I thought about you, ( Name ),” Ayato spoke up, his eyes sparkling at the incident that had occured. “You’re definitely more amusing than I thought you’d be.”

That comment doesn’t even help the situation at all. You thought, dreading for the worse when you heard heavy footsteps coming from behind you. 

“( Name )!” A teacher yelled, fuming at the sight of the incident in front of him. “Come to my office now, I’ll call your father right this instant about what you’ve done!” 

You immediately looked down at your feet, your palms sweating even more when you heard that Zhongli will be coming to your school. 

You’re doomed..!

-

As Raiden Shogun’s second son, it was no surprise that Scaramouche never once experienced someone being vile towards him.

He was used to people groveling beneath him and singing praises into his ears in hopes of getting to his good side and potentially be close to his mother, which in his opinion is a pointless way to do it since the woman never even paid attention to him much. 

But you…

You’re the first person who gave him the experience of getting punched for the first time, the audacity!

Ever since the incident, he has been glaring at you whenever you’re in the same room as him, thoughts of insults towards you are running in his mind.  Just who do you think you are?! What made you think you could get away with punching him just because his moth–

His thoughts are cut off when he hears you laugh from something Ayato told you.

…This is strange, he thought, confused with this sudden feeling in his chest. Is he sick?

He continues to stare at you in an unexplainable look on his face as his harsh thoughts fade away. It wasn’t until you slowly glanced at his direction when he instantly looked away, his cheeks turning red. 

What on earth was that?!

Focus, Scaramouche. He thought with a huff, not noticing the way you flinched from hearing his thoughts. You can get your revenge later. 

Unfortunately, revenge never came. 

During lunch time, he finds himself sitting across from you, who’s standing in front of him and his friends with a guilty look on your face. With his irritated face, everyone thought he was irritated at the sight of you trying to apologize to him, but in reality, he’s simply irritated that he can’t find any words to speak to you. 

“I…” You mumbled, looking down at the ground hesitantly as you hear many unpleasant thoughts from people around you. 

Are they even trying? They don’t even look like they regret it. 

Who are they to punch someone like Scaramouche? The nerve! 

I bet they think they could be better than him. 

How did they even get to this school? Their father isn’t even that important like the rest of our parents. 

You close your eyes shut, bowing towards Scaramouche. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to punch you. I just wanted to be your friend.” You explained as calmly as possible. The last thing you need right now is them pointing out how nervous you were. 

He crosses his arms with a huff, trying not to show you the conflicted look on his face with the help of his facade. “And do you think I’m willing to accept that meaningless apology and be friends with you?”

You looked away from his eyes, still feeling ashamed that you’ve disappointed your father on the first day.

Unfortunately, Scaramouche’s usual facade drops immediately when he sees the way your shoulders slumped and act like a kicked puppy.

“...I see…” You mumbled, sighing deeply before turning around–

“Wa.. Wait!” He stops you, causing you to look at him in confusion. “...Since you had a reason to punch me then… I guess I deserved it,” He spoke, ignoring the way his friends’ eyes popped out in shock from his words. No way! Scaramouche let you go without any revenge?! What did you tell him?

Nothing, absolutely nothing. You simply made the second son of the Raiden Shogun feel conflicted with his feelings after one strong punch.

“Therefore, I… don’t consider you as my enemy.” 

He watches as your eyes brighten in response, your shoulders instantly relax as you bow gratefully. “Thank you, Scaramouche. I’ll try not to punch you again next time!” 

Just like that, you bowed and ran off towards where Ayato is, leaving Scaramouche all alone with his friends in confusion.

“Aw man, I thought this was gonna get interesting.” One of his friends spoke honestly, hoping that the situation would end with a fight again.

Despite his friends’ disappointment in Scaramouche letting you go so easily, the student could honestly care less of what they think. Not when he was distracted by something else. 

Why is my heart beating so fast?

[1-800-c0sm1c]

꒰crossteaming !꒱

genshin characters as your streamer bf/gf !

character x gn!reader

includes albedo, childe, kaeya, xiao, and hu tao!

warnings : none.

a/n : these ended up being longer than i expected, so im splitting up the post a bit <3 hope you enjoy :D

ALBEDO - THE MINECRAFT YOUTUBER

albedo gives me wilbur soot vibes, minus the height.

if anyone in genshin were to join a minecraft smp just to reenact hamilton and be a jason dean kinnie, itd be albedo and im absolutely right about this.

teaches klee how to play too, his most popular stream was when they beat the ender dragon together :)

he also seems like the type to strictly use minecraft education edition, which is also totally valid because some of the recipes in there are literally so cool ???

pulls a dantdm and has his own minecraft lab and everything, doing all his silly little experiments!

“surcose, we need to sell drugs out of a van RIGHT NOW.”

when chat found out you and albedo were dating, there were two reactions.

one side was really happy for you both, the other was albedos parasocial fangirls who immediately put you on a hitlist.

seriously, if you had a dollar for everytime you were @ed in tweets about writing your name in a death note, youd have enough money to pay for every single persons therapy appointments.

youre always there to cheer him on when hes in mcc, his own little personal cheerleader :)

you show up at his office and just.. stand in front of the door, staring at him through the window. it sounds weird yes, but the shocked expression on his face is worth the wait for him to notice.

CHILDE - THE GRAND THEFT AUTO ONLINE ROLEPLAYER

“no chat i have not gone red. im just startled, thats all.”

childe is the type of fella to participate in the most wacky roleplays on gta online, and i am sticking by this headcannon.

hes done everything from a drug empire to owning his own country, nothing is off limits.

surprisingly hes a really good actor? when youre watching his streams you dont get the cringey second hand embarrassment, its just fun entertainment :D

it took his chat wayyy to long to realize how fine he is, although to be fair he did have mostly men watching him. (not like thats an excuse or anything.)

i feel hes definitely been nominated for a streamy before! whether or not you think he deserves to win is up to you though LMAO

“only a small percentage of my viewers are actually subscribed-”

childe leaked your relationship by accident once by having a tab open of your instagram while he was streaming.

when chat confronted him, he kind of just… ended stream. (real smooth.)

fans went to your instagram afterwards and saw pictures of you two together and started posting them to twitter, and childe ended up on trending because of it.

you felt indifferent to the whole thing, but childe was panicking. he didnt want to let his viewers into that part of his life just yet, but he was, scientifically speaking, caught lacking.

you dont appear on streams much, and childe still avoids allegations about your relationship entirely. its not that he doesnt want to show you off, he does! he just doesnt like having less differentiation between his online persona and his private life.

“whos instagram are you stalking…? thats gonna be all from me chat goodnight!”

KAEYA - THE VALORANT STREAMER

kaeya doesnt play valorant because hes good at it, but because its fun to mess with the fanbase.

you know THOSE vtubers who are.. weirdly sexual? kaeya is like that but he does it in a satirical way. 

likes messing with the homophobes too, but everyone still debates on what his sexuality is (kind of like jschlatt.)

definitely is problematic on twitter on purpose just to get people to talk about him, hes a little bit of an attention whore but we love him anyways <3

has never apologized for anything hes said or done EVER, and doesnt plan on it either.

“what do you mean i got canceled on twitter AGAIN? its only been 3 days!”

chat didnt believe him when he said he was in a relationship. so be dragged your ass into his room to show them.

it didnt work though, they thought you were a paid actor for the next 2 months LMAO

it got to a point where kaeya was doing literally anything on stream to convince chat, and finally you had enough.

you told him to take a break from streaming, he was way too obsessed with trying to prove something that doest matter to anybody but the two of you.

something finally clicked in his head, and after that you dont appear on camera as much anymore. for the most part people believe that you two are together, but hell still get donations joking around that they dont think youre a couple, simply because its funny.

“thank you for 200 bits! ….i am retracting my thank you.”

XIAO - THE LEAGUE OF LEGENDS PLAYER

i dont have any reason for this connection, other than it feels right.

if xiao werent a league player i would suggest smite, he just seems like hed be more into team games like that rather than overwatch or valorant.

just because hes my favorite doesnt mean im letting him off easily, league players get no rights <3 and xiao is no exception.

unironically listens to k/da as well, knows all the choreography but will literally never admit to it.

everyone in his chat has channel points stacked up to tell him to hydrate, he tends to forget when he gets really into the match.

“stream more by k/da for clear skin. no i will NOT be giving you a demo, i dont want a dmca.”

youre xiaos number one bully, and chat is always there to back you up.

when i played lol i was an ahri main, so stick with me here, its about to get real self indulgent.

youre a cosplayer, and one of your favorite ways to mess with your boyfriend is to dress up as his favorite characters. (peak s/o behavior right there.)

chat teased him heavily for his reaction, you could hear my chemical romance being blasted from the bedroom that night.

something about the cosplayer x gamer trope is just sooo <3

“you have no respect for league of legends players.” (duh - an ex league player)

HU TAO - THE DEAD BY DAYLIGHT PLAYER

when hu tao first heard about dbd i imagine she thought it would be an easy way to gain new clients, now she sticks around because its fun to terrorize people as killer, and be an absolute menace as survivor.

i think shed be a nurse main, but one of those that are insanely good at playing nurse. she wins the game in no time because her teleports are perfect. 

i can only imagine how many people have rage quit because of her.

along with dead by daylight, i see her just overall being a horror game player. lots of five nights at freddys, resident evil, etc.

shes never gotten scared on camera before, chat has tried but shes always one step ahead.

“i lied, i dont actually like sex. put your clothes back on i need to explain to you the entirety of the five nights at freddys timeline.”

hu taos favorite pastime is scaring you, she stays on top of the newest horror content specifically because of that. (oh, and its also kind of her brand. but she puts you first <3)

shed sacrifice herself in a heartbeat if youre playing dead by daylight together. she always says if at least you survive its good enough of a victory for her too.

she also has gone on record to say yall are playing the security breach dlc the day it drops. run while you still have the chance.

youve tried to convince her to tweet at shayne and ryan about being on an episode of ghost files but everytime she just suggests to play phasmophobia instead. like cmon girl those are two different things.

even thought shes trying to scare you on purpose, you know shes always got your back if something happens.

“ha look at your face! …okay okay im sorry! come here, youre fine, ive got you.”

[stitcheswashere13]

can i get hcs for Ghostface(danny if possible), Billy Lenz, and Brahms with an s/o who has really bad memory problems like they'll forget something in five seconds, or won't remember something they should no matter how hard they try

Of course! I relate to this a bit too much lol.

Slashers in this: Ghostface (Danny, Stu and Billy Loomis), Brahms, Billy lenz, Tiffany valentine.

Gn reader

Warnings ⚠️: Billy lenz being well- himself. pure fluff!

SOME SLASHERS × A BAD MEMORY S/O

GHOSTFACE

Danny-

He would be your reminder, everything you mention to him he writes down on a peice of paper. "What did I come in here for-???" "You where getting yourself a bowl of serial."

Danny doesn't really mind, it only takes him about 5 seconds to remind you about things, although he does think it's funny how he can tell you the same thing 5 times and you still forget.

If you need sticky notes or a planner this man will grab them from the store for you.

Stu-

If I'm being honest stu forgets everything too. You both will walk into the kitchen, open up the fridge and wonder why the hell your in the fridge.

Because of both of yall being forgetful, you two use the sticky note method, whenever yall have a thought about doing something you write it on a sticky note and stick it to the other person. It's a fun little game, and Stu loves it.

Billy hates finding sticky notes, so you and stu may have an extra reminder strictly because of sticky notes lol.

Billy Loomis-

Billy doesn't get how you can be so forgetful, but he still sometimes tries to remind you to write down things on your arm. If you run out of room on your arm or have sensitive skin, he will let you write things on his arm. Billy doesn't like sticky notes, no one knows why the man finds them utterly repulsive but he just does.

Other times Billy just likes to confuse you more, you come into the living room forgetting what you are going to do and you ask Billy. "You were going to tell me why the grass was purple yesterday." Billy just likes to bother you he finds it funny.

Billy lenz-

Do not leave your pack of sticky notes un-watched. He will stick them all over himself or he will draw a penis in the corner of all of them.

Billy is normally around you most of the time, so he knows what you were looking for/going to due. When Billy plans to climb up in the attic he will write down everything he told you and you told he and slaps it on the fridge.

Billy will dig up in the attic to see if he can find you an old year long planner/calendar. When he finds it he will wrap it up, (probably in an old porn magazine) and give it to you as soon as you wake up.

Brahms-

Brahms understands this due to a few people in his family having alzheimer's, so he knows what to do to help you out.

Brahms has the best memory surprisingly, this man remembers every single detail. So he has no trouble reminding you, and if he cant remind you (maybe because he wants to just chill in the wall or maybe he is in the walls because he's mad at you, etc.) He will remind Malcolm to, Malcolm has a decent memory so that works out.

He got you a planner with a schedule in it, (yes it has stickers) he already wrote in the schedule, and he makes you carry it around as a just in case you need to write down a important date.

This man loves sticky notes, mainly dark green sticky notes. If you give this man a pack of dark green sticky notes and ask him to write you a to-do / reminder list for everyday of the week, he will spend an hour making them perfect.

Tiffany Valentine-

she has glen around and glen loves to make people proud of him, so he loves to remind you about things for Tiffany when she's out.

Tiffany is just so sweet, she is has a very good memory so its no problem for her to remember things for you, she has a lot of patience, out of all of the slashers she's the one you least have to worry about getting madat you for forgetting something.

You guys have a calender on your fridge that is stuck on the fridge with bat stickers. She likes sticky notes, she does keep them up high so chucky doesn't write something rude on them.

End note-

hello my lovely people first well- real post since I was gone, if you're wondering where I went check out my last post! Request are closed for now, but if you want to send yours in you can, I just wont get to them everyday. Thank you all for the support, I hope you enjoyed, have a lovely day!

[raidenshogunmommy]

I got an ask for a continuation of this fic. I'M SO SORRY I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THE ASK AND I DID NOT CHECK THE ID BUT I REALLY HOPE YOU LIKE IT.

Ok. But I'll be honest I don't wanna elaborate and ruin the prompt especially for Miko. But the amount requests like damn-

So. I'll write a continuation for Scara!! ( btw I have another ask for pt 2 of the fic I might answer that by adding more characters cuz I really love the prompt hehe)

And pls dni if you are not comfortable with the themes involved

Pt 2 here

Warnings: angst, no comfort, s€lf h@rm, major death (reader), gore, written before sumeru release or leaks hence, completely based on my imagination. (pls lemme know if I forgot something)

Genre: angst duh lol

Characters: Scaramouche×gn!reader

Tags: one-shot, continuation fic

He finds himself digging the knife that was meant to kill you into the the skin of his own arm after making sure you were out of sight. He couldn't finish his job in the end, after all he put you and himslelf through.

Back at fatui headquarters, he reports back to the Tsaritsa. No one has questioned him about the stitches on his arm or anything regarding his mission. Except of course the one who gave him the mission.

Scaramouche knows better than to lie to the Tsaritsa. So, he ends up confessing that he failed to complete his job. And also that he had fallen in love despite the strictly specific instructions to not. Also apologizes for having claimed he was incapable of regular emotions such as those before taking on the task.

He gets dismissed and gets asked to wait for her excellency's decision regarding his future as a fatui harbinger for failing a task that could've led them alot closer to their goal altogether.

During the unendurable wait, he also faces the unbearable heartache of knowing that all he ever did to the one he loved was use them, give them a fake relationship and fake happiness and hurt them. How could he live with himself knowing that? Even though he didn't have a choice in his forever continued existence, which he knew he didn't and never would, he really really just wanted to make himself hurt more than he hurt you.

He stares at his arm for a long moment. And it hits him. Even if he is unable to die, he can still feel pain.

Reaching for the nearest blade, he begins to recount and regret—

"Harbingers." The Tsaritsa calls out, as all eleven of them assemble in front of her in a flash and bow down in perfect coordination.

She holds her chin up as she proposes this new task which as she puts it is top secret and of the utmost important.

"This assignment is associated with the rumoured archon's child in Sumeru. Remember, this is an undercover mission, thereby forbidding you to ever reveal your identity as a fatui harbinger at any given point in the duration this year long mission." Making sure to accentuate her point regarding the seriousness, with just the surface level details, she takes a quick glace at the assembled group before continuing. "Be warned. The ploy is to extract any and all information about the whereabouts on the dendro gnosis and of course if at all possible given your status or position acquiring the gnosis itself, and then eliminating the informant." She pressed on the last part.

The tension in the throne room rose significantly, as looks were exchanged. But nobody expected the Tsaritsa to say what she said next.

"For this particular informant to become trustworthy— and let me be clear about this, you are required to use romance to soften them up. For this reason, only a person who can forgo of their own emotion can be the candidate for the job." With that in mind the duration of the mission starts to sound a lot more intimidating. The Tsaritsa patiently waits for them to process it.

In the matter of a few seconds, two rising figures are seen. She raises her brows in curiosity, she certainly didn't expect volunteers.

The figures that rose to the challenge were none other than Signora and Scaramouche, while the rest remain in their respectful stance.

Scaramouche boldly steps forward with a smug expression on his face. As Signora watches this she suddenly decides back down.

—Oh how he wished she hadn't. Because it ended up with him here. On the verge draining all the blood from his arm.

After a few hours of waiting in agony he heard footsteps as he hurriedly covered his arm and hid the blade.

"...T-the Ts-sarits-s-sa will see-e y-you n-ow." The quite anxious agent said through the door.

"I'll be there in a minute." Scaramouche replied trying his best to hide the tremble in his voice.

Walking back to the throne room after cleaning up his arm and hiding the wounds. As he nears it he begins to have this growing feeling of dread in his chest. He tries to reassure himself that its all in his head.

But when he finally reaches the throne his eyes immediately fall onto the corpse at the feet of her excellency's throne. There was no mistake.

He started in utter horror as his face pales and he feels a shiver go down his spine as he realises that the Tsaritsa is out of her seat. Behind him he feels a finger trace the length between his shoulders as her voice whispers in his ear "why don't you step forward and look at your now finished job." Her voice is like steel. She steps back as he moves forward at her command.

He drops down, his legs unable to support him any longer.

It was almost as if his heart stopped as he stares into your lifeless eyes.

"With...this out of the way, guess what? You can keep your position as a harbinger. Congratulations." The smugness in her tone was not even attempted to be hidden.

PLS FORGIVE ME FOR THE LATE REPLY AND AGAIN FOR ACCIDENTALLY DELETING THE ASK.

[thelonelyme]

♡ʏᴀɴᴅᴇʀᴇ ʜᴀɪᴋʏᴜᴜ!! x ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ [ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs]♡

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𝐀𝐧𝐢𝐦𝐞: ハ イ キ ュ ー !! [Haiykyu !!]

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐨 / 𝐢: Shoyo Hinata, Tobio Kageyama, Tetsurō Kuroo, Toru Oikawa, Kenma Kozume.

𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭: Types of yanderes

WARNINGS: GN READER, disturbing themes, unhealthy relationships, slightly suggestive themes, aging characters, mentions of murder, homicides, mentions of drugs, blood, yandere content.

-Shoyo Hinata-

• I see Hinata as a very delusional type, in fact I would say that Shoyo likes to think that he and his loved one are in a normal relationship, even if it is incredibly far from the truth. As you know, Hinata's life revolves completely around one thing: volleyball, and it is very likely that he fell in love with you because you were a very recurring figure in his training or in his matches, or because you always encouraged him to give his best, or even his coach after Kiyoko and the others in the third year have left.

• He would absolutely adore you, practically adore you as if you were some kind of deity. Also, due to the fact that he literally adores the street you walk on, Shoyo would definitely have a little shrine in a small hidden shelf in his closet dedicated to just you.

• It would contain all the objects that would vaguely remind him of you or your wonderful personality: poems written by him never delivered where he expressed his eternal love for you, a small notebook where he writes all your information, crumpled sheets used by you, handkerchiefs always used by you during a small cold recovered from the gym basket, and finally, most precious object of all, a sweater that you thought had been lost, and obviously an incredible amount of photos strictly yours.

• He probably would have noticed this crush of his in your second year and Hinata's, realizing how sweet you were, as sweet as chocolate, as you gave him an electric shock along his spine every time he saw you.

• But chocolate, as you know, if faced with heat, it will melt in a pool of liquid and Hinata knows that you are also creating addiction to everyone else on the team, understanding this because she has seen several times that Kageyama cannot even look at you in the eyes without blushing; therefore, he concluded that he must fill the role of your savior and protector, protecting you from anything that could take away your happiness, which is also his happiness.

• Obviously, being completely lost in his delusions and fantasies of him, he never realized that the only reason your smile faded was because of him alone, but it's just a minor detail that doesn't matter too much ;)

• Overall he is a very obsessive type, and reflects his insecurities a lot (mainly about his height) about you, he doesn't intend to manipulate you sentimentally and emotionally, but he would definitely make you feel guilty without shame if you don't do something his way, or something that may, in his vision, threaten you. I also think of Shoyo as someone who gets extremely jealous very easily and this would be the time when he would be most vulnerable to you.

• Having the facade of him that makes him look extremely innocent, and when you hurt his feelings even in the slightest, Shoyo will not hesitate to shed so much tears that even the extremely grumpy Tsukishima will feel bad for him.

• Hinata is a very clingy individual: if you were to even look in the direction of another guy, he would feel extremely betrayed and make you cry after training, making you ashamed as much as he can.

➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳

-Tobio Kageyama-

• Kageyama huh?

• Honestly understanding what kind of Yandere would be a bit complicated, but not difficult; in fact I think he is a controlling, obsessive, a little delirious type.

• Kageyama initially appears as the usual arrogant and perfectionist guy who only cares about victory, completely ignoring the opinions of his teammates, so he may not have been very nice to you at first.

• But he likes you very much, you can be sure about that. He likes you so much that he's obsessed with checking out all sorts of things you're doing, who you're texting with, what or who you're giggling at your phone screen, who you are with instead of him; he makes him feel like he is your personal and devoted protector.

• At first, he most likely wouldn't have cared about you or what you used to do, but when he began to notice the little things that made you shine in the monotonous (and, according to him, stupid) mass of students , it began to interest you.

• As mentioned before, he may have been nice to you or not, but nothing changes the fact that he has always been very cold, almost never interacting with you; he just doesn't know how to control his personal frustration, that's why he expresses his thoughts and feelings the wrong way, and that's why he avoids talking to you often.

• Furthermore, he would try, at least initially, to repress everything and tell himself, by convincing himself, that those feelings simply do not exist.

• But in the end he won't be able to keep it all in and he will snap.

• Normally in Kageyama he would not have been influenced much by the opinions of others, but with you it is very different, in fact this is a bit of the beginning of how he started to control you: to avoid him giving you a wrong opinion of him by talking to people wrong, and this also leads him to stare incessantly with a blank stare at anyone who is too close to you.

• After that, you can only ask yourself why no one approaches you.

• Tobio would like to find out what makes you so special for him, becoming more confused and obsessive as a result, and this leads him to try to make friends with you; little by little he would try to manipulate you, making you believe that he is the only person who willingly and genuinely wants to spend time with you, unlike those stupid little friends of yours who only look for you when they want something.

• Kageyama also has a slight delusional streak: at the beginning of your "relationship" he might have thought you were spending time with him because you would love him.

• At the end of everything, when you will no longer have anyone but Tobio, and after all your friends and family have abandoned you, it is precisely the moment in which you realize and realize your mistake, but it will already be too late .

• You are now his.

➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳

- Tetsurō Kuroo-

• Good luck with him, my dear.

• Really, if you've managed to get his attention, and what's more, his "love", you won't have the slightest chance of running away from him. And honestly he is one of the worst yandere you can deal with, he won't have any kind of afterthought or guilt.

• This guy is one of the smartest around in his academy than he is, in short, he is the captain of one of the strongest volleyball teams in all of Tokyo, and on top of that he is a master in chemistry and study. To get to that level he not only needs a pretty face, but also a brain.

• Analyzing his feelings or at least trying to understand what he is going through would be almost completely useless, since he manages to keep his "mask" for a very long time, almost never revealing the anger and the killing instinct that rises along the spine dorsal when you laugh with your friend, completely unaware of a wild Kuroo close enough to the range necessary to listen to your conversations without arousing too much suspicion.

• Before he gets close to you, he has to know your whole daily routine, he has to know everything you do 24/7 and all the details and little things about you; therefore, most likely, before he had approached you, he would have already known a lot about you and would have already haunted you for quite some time, which sees his obsessiveness towards you grow and become stronger before.

• Kuroo has a detailed and well schematized plan of how everything should unfold: in fact, his plan is to indiscretely spoil and contaminate your reputation with other people so much that your only cornerstone would be him and him alone.

• Later, by hiding everything he has done, Kuroo will act as your hero and start manipulating you with his cunning ways.

• And when at first I started by saying that with Kuroo behind you it would be impossible to escape, I mean it for real; despite that quite deceptive appearance, in reality every second a thousand gears rotate in his brain, and this causes him to think about every possible way for you to escape from your relationship for now one-sided, therefore he would have already foreseen your every hypothetical move not only thanks to his intellect, but also thanks to those months, if not years, of stalking that allowed him to always be one step ahead of you, understanding what you would do on certain occasions.

• For example, are you a hothead? Surely you would try to find a way out after having kidnapped you, you would offend him in every possible way and you would make it more difficult for him to take care of you: simple, a tranquilizer, some sleeping pill and a little discipline and solved problems. Ah, and he would definitely use your weaknesses against you.

• Are you an animal lover? Well, he would need to bring a small stray puppy or kitten and threaten to kill it in as many ways as possible. Self-esteem or physical problems? Simple, first he would help you in all possible ways, then suddenly, he would leave you alone and you will come back to him yourself, only to start all over again.

• In the beginning he would not completely take away your freedom, rather he would prefer to creep into your mind, sowing seeds of doubt that you are not wanted in society, so as to be totally dependent on him; maybe at first it wouldn't seem to be effective for Tetsurō, but that would slowly make you change your mind about him (a key part of his plan).

• Suddenly, staying indoors playing video games or having hilarious movie nights with him in his grandparents' room could not be any worse than the wary and sometimes disgusted looks you received from right and left to the outside world, beyond the barrier that Kuroo unknowingly made you wear.

➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳

-Toru Oikawa-

• Like Kuroo, Oikawa is smart, strategic, obsessive and definitely has a super detailed and nearly flawless plan that gives you literally zero chance of escaping him. And like him, the first appearance Toru makes is not that of the real person he is.

• In fact, despite his womanizing nature and his childlike side, Oikawa is very intelligent and very easily finds the main weaknesses and not in his opponents: therefore he very often deals with the recordings coming from your bedroom to understand from your more behaviors. intimate your weaknesses and how to behave when once he will have you in his arms.

• He is known to have a horrible personality among both opponents and his teammates, mainly due to his smug and superficial attitude, which you have often heard from your peers who have also warned you of his incessant flirting.

• It is said that he is doing all of this because he is in love with you (and you certainly with him) and one of the many keys to being the best partner for you is learning all about you, and Oikawa takes this very seriously; and having already had a girlfriend with whom he has done everything wrong, he absolutely does not want you to leave him too.

• Oikawa is much more manipulative comparing him to Kuroo, and is quite delusional, even though he is still aware that his actions are morally wrong; just... he doesn't care at all.

• Also he's very protective with an obsessive streak, he's so overprotective not because he cares about you (and to say he really cares about you, would be an understatement), but it's more like he wants you under his control, it's him who will decide everything for you, who you will interact with, who you will have lunch with, when you leave the classroom, always being by his side; not like with volleyball, where he couldn't control a sprained ankle.

• He likes to mark you, brand you like him, kissing your neck and leaving a purplish/reddish patch where you can't hide it, or wearing a miserable collar with his initials, loves to show the world that you are his after all;

•Oikawa doesn't need you to tell him you love him, because in his mind, you two are already having some sort of love affair even though you don't know each other, and you're pretending to hate him because you're too shy..

• Awe, don't worry angel, we'll be soon at your new home!

•And you won't be that shy when he'll pound you, 'till you can't leave his side ;)

• But the most important thing is your complete obedience and devotion to him and to not. leave. his. side.

• At first, Toru will try to charm you, and if you fall for it it would be much better; and in case you are not subject to his flirtation and advances, Oikawa will use everything in his power to make you fall in love with him, such as, for example, using the pressure of his hardcore fans, using his reputation and blackmailing you, turn the world upside down so that all unwanted attention all goes to you and spread not very nice rumors until there is no way for you to live other than to submit to his wishes.

• And don't even think about asking for help from your family or people who have ever been in contact with Oikawa, because it would all be useless as he would have already duped and fascinated them with his good looks and charisma.

➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳➳

-Kenma Kozume-

• Kenma would be an intelligent, obsessive type yandere and a stalker (although he likes to call it more like "a-visit-to-your-window-without-you-knowing-to-be-sure-that- you-be-safe ").

• However, I believe that Kozume, in order to become obsessed with someone, needs to talk to them. Maybe you worked with him on a school project, or maybe you're his friend, maybe you were someone that he used to play video games with. He just needs to get to know you a little bit before he really becomes a yandere to you.

• He would be a great stalker, honestly; when he is not forced to practice or is not busy playing video games, he would simply be observing himself, you would never notice it as it would leave everything intact, without arousing any suspicion, let alone making you suspect that there was ever someone who had you observed in secret.

• I think Kenma would not really understand that his obsessive feelings towards you are love until, probably Kuroo, would make fun of him saying he has a crush on you, and until then he would have been very confused about his feelings that concern you. Then he would start trying to understand more of his rather confused feelings about him.

• Now, Kenma wouldn't be an idiot, let alone as delusional as Shoyo, and he would be very aware that his obsessive feelings for you are wrong; he would know perfectly well that stalking you is creepy; he knows that he probably should ask for help perhaps from a therapist or a psychologist.

• But he doesn't want to. He doesn't care.

• Is loving you that bad?

• Yes?

• Oh, my dear, you made a big mistake.

• Smile at the window (:

• You remind him of a sleepy kitten while you rest, and this is so cute <3

• he surely put a bug (a very small camera) in your room.

• Honestly he doesn't know exactly why he did it, but I think he likes to know, and especially to see what you do 24/7.

• In fact, when he wouldn't be home, he'd just have to turn on the phone select and connect to the hidden camera and boom, that's it. So, while you are sleeping or listening to music or even changing, Kenma looks at you through his phone screen, and maybe his hand would slip in his tight pants to release all the stress of loving you.

• Kenma, even though he doesn't show it at all, is very jealous: most of this comes from insecurity that you might find someone better than him. Thoughts of you with someone else constantly haunt his mind, causing him more and more to check what you are doing through the camera; and above all, this would be the decisive push he needs to kidnap you.

• Kenma wouldn't really get close to you unless you get close to him first. He'd be too shy to even think about really getting close to you.

• He wouldn't be above threatening any "competition": he wouldn't hurt them physically, but Kenma is smart and knows how to fool someone's mind.

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Well hello my friends! It's been a long time since my first post, and now I'm ready to continue to write!

Have a nice day/night <3

[honey-dewey]

Accidentally In Love

Pairing: Ezra/GN! Deaf Reader

Word Count: 3,506

Warnings: canon-typical violence and language.

Permanent Taglist: @phoenixhalliwell @star-wars-hell​

The prompt for this week’s Writer Wednesday was given, as always, by the lovely @autumnleaves1991-blog​, and the masterlists are created by @clydesducktape.

Prospecting was, on the surface, a very simple job. Anyone could do it, no matter their skill level or disability. At least, that’s what you were always told. 

Growing up deaf hadn’t been easy. Many places turned you down for work due to it to the point where you’d had to fall back on prospecting in the hopes of making some money to support yourself. It wasn’t a bad job by any means. You stuck strictly to easier jobs, ones with little risk, and enjoyed it. Your work kept you traveling, and you loved seeing all the different kinds of planets the galaxy had to offer. 

Of course, long jobs were the bane of your existence for that very reason. You hated being stuck in one place for too long, unable to fully take in the sights and sounds. 

But long jobs paid well, and you needed it. 

Sighing, you looked around for your podmate. You’d be sharing transport, housing, and work with whoever this Ezra person was. You hoped he wasn’t a complete jackass, like your last work partner had been. 

The bustle of the docking site was lost on you as you tried to find the man who matched the grainy picture in front of you. It wasn’t easy, but standing directly outside your pod seemed to help. After ten long minutes, a man approached you, matching the photo and description on your paperwork. He held his hand out to you, his mouth moving, but no sound reached your ears. 

You ignored his outstretched hand, instead using your dominant hand to point to yourself and then you curled your fingers into a D shape, pressing your curled fingers to your ear and then the corner of your mouth. ‘I’m deaf.’

Ezra’s face shifted, mild shock filling his features before he smiled, waving his hands in an ‘I don’t care’ gesture. He clumsily moved his hands, shakily making letters that spelled out ‘I’m Ezra.’

‘Hello Ezra,’ you signed. ‘I’m (F/N).’

A bright red light signaled that you’d need to get into your pod, and Ezra pointed to the pod. You nodded, and you and Ezra boarded the pod. 

It took a second, but before you knew it, you and Ezra were heading out, Ezra gesturing to ship parts and buttons, and you instinctively did your job, piloting the ship to the crystalline planet surface of Ziciturn. The job would last two standard months, which you decided could’ve been worse. At least Ezra didn’t seem like a massive asshole. 

Ezra began to speak to you, but you just stared at him, eyebrows raised and waiting, until he remembered, and he sheepishly grabbed a wayward pen, scribbling on the back of his hand. 

Orbit for twenty minutes. We’ll start the landing sequence then.

You nodded, signing ‘Okay’ before twisting around to grab a book out of your travel bag. Twenty minutes was just enough time to finish this chapter. 

Halfway through the chapter, you noticed Ezra was staring. You looked up expectantly. ‘What?’

Ezra jumped, as if he didn’t expect you to respond to his rather bothersome staring. He fumbled with his hands for a second before spelling out ‘Book. It’s good.’

You sighed, pulling a whiteboard and markers out of your bag. You passed them to Ezra, and he smiled gratefully, writing Thank you, in decidedly nice script. 

‘You’re welcome,’ you signed, going back to your book. 

A few seconds later, Ezra nudged you with the corner of the whiteboard. You looked up, ready to silently scold Ezra for interrupting you again, but then you noticed the message he’d written out. 

Can you teach me to sign? I want to talk to you.

You sighed, setting your book down and checking your watch. Eight minutes until landing. ‘I can try,’ you spelled out before signing the sentence again, this time properly. Ezra lit up, setting down the whiteboard and turning his attention to you. Your heart began to beat faster as his enthusiasm. No one had ever been this eager to learn to talk to you, and you didn’t know how to describe the feeling budding in your chest. 

Over the course of the next eight minutes, you helped Ezra build his foundation of finger spelling. He was a very fast learner, and you managed to teach him some very basic words so he could at least begin to understand when you gave him directions. 

Those small signs were put to good use when you began to land. Ezra, using a strange mix of finger spelling and actual sign, told you to man the coordinates and descent speed, and you shot back at him that he had to watch your fuel use and hull heat. You were sure the ship was yelling at you, the roar of descent creating a hollow pulsing in your chest and a firmly painful ache in your bones. You had to imagine it was worse for Ezra, because you were certain each of those flashing buttons on the control panel were screaming at him. But all you heard was a crushing silence as the ship began to descend to the surface of the planet below you. 

Finally, the jolt of a successful landing hit you, throwing you forward and nearly choking you on your safety belt. Ezra rubbed his throat as he unbuckled, standing to check all the systems. ‘We’re good,’ he signed. You nodded, following him out of the ship. The two suns in the sky made the ground glitter, blinding you for a brief moment before you slipped your sun goggles on, the darkened lenses helping you see properly.  Ezra donned an identical pair, pointing up to the sky. You nodded your agreement. 

‘Bright,’ you signed. ‘Very bright.’

‘Bright,’ Ezra copied, and you spelled it out for him. He nodded his understanding, looking at the map he’d been issued. He pointed, and you began your trek with a sigh. 

Thankfully, the pod you’d be staying in wasn’t that far away. You reached it first, tugging open the door and ducking quickly inside. Ezra followed, shutting the door behind him. The pod was small, but was still equipped with everything you’d need. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. It would work for the job. 

Ezra moved to examine the bedrooms. They were identical, just big enough to accommodate the sleep pod and the dresser unit. He gestured to himself, and then the door on the left. You nodded, taking the room on the right. You set your bag down, unloading it. Your book went in your pod, along with your communicator pad and a red marker. Ezra still had your board. 

Your communicator blinked twice. Incoming call. You picked it up, watching the text scroll across the screen. Ezra wanted to leave in half an hour to start prospecting. You shot back a confirmation before setting your communicator down, intent on exploring your temporary home. 

Thankfully, that wasn’t hard. The pod was tiny, and within ten minutes, you had seen all there was to see. Settling on your open pod, you began to read. The book was good, one you’d read before, but you read it as if it were all new again. 

A flash caught your attention. Ezra was standing in your bedroom doorway, blinking his flashlight at you. ‘Go,’ he signed. You stood, stretching and grabbing your boots. Time to do your job. 

As you walked to the prospecting site, you read up on the mineral you and Ezra were being told to harvest. Seraron, a beautiful and fragile orange-red gemstone. You sighed, scrolling down the information sheet. Ezra turned, hearing your sigh. ‘Fun?’

You rolled your eyes. ‘I’d rather be harvesting aurelac,’ you signed to yourself. 

Ezra’s face turned upwards as he chuckled, despite most definitely not understanding what you said. He said something, although you couldn’t hear him, you were almost certain his remark was just as sarcastic as yours. 

The dig site came into view soon after that, and you set your bag down, looking around. It was a small cavern, glimmering stones sticking out at every angle. Ezra tapped your shoulder, pointing to a small deposit of seraron. You nodded. 

It took some work, and both of your sets of hands, but you got the seraron out of the cavern and onto your transport wagon. Ezra sighed, the rise of his chest giving away his emotions. ‘More?’ He asked, and you looked around. The cavern’s entrance didn’t have any more obvious seraron deposits. Shaking your head, you grabbed the wagon’s handle, gesturing in the direction of the pod. Time to go home. 

On the trek home, you taught Ezra more sign, trying to stick to important ones that would pertain to your job, but you tossed in some fun ones here and there too. By the time you reached your pod, Ezra was happily translating about half of your simple sentences. 

‘Ration bricks for dinner?’ You asked, setting the deposit down in the transport tube and watching it leave, headed for the command center. ‘Unless you want to cook.’

Ezra shrugged off the top half of his uniform, revealing scars that littered his arms. ‘I can cook,’ he signed as he tied the arms of his uniform around his waist. ‘I don’t care.’

You nodded, heading to your room to change. Your uniform one-piece was tossed into the dresser, replaced by a long and loose blue sleep shirt and a worn out pair of black pants. Ezra’s heavy footsteps vibrated through the floor, and you could feel him wandering the kitchen, making dinner. You half wanted to go out and sit at the table, where you could see him, but that might not be wise. He was nice to you, but you had learned the hard way that niceness didn’t last when it came to dealing with a disabled prospecting partner. 

Fortunately, the decision was made for you. Your communicator pad blinked, and you scooped it up. A message from Ezra, asking if you knew how to cook. You sent him back a yes and exited your room to help him in the kitchen. 

Immediately, the smell hit you. Something smoky and rich and good. You looked around, seeing Ezra in the kitchen, nodding his head back and forth as he stirred a pot. He must’ve heard your footsteps, because he turned, smiling upon seeing you. He pointed to two cutting boards, both with food on them. 

‘I’m cutting?’ You asked, already grabbing a knife. 

Ezra nodded, gesturing to the first board, which had a meat substitute, and signing ‘small.’ The second board, which had a bunch of green chives, he told you, in messy finger spelling, to dice. You gave him a comforting thumbs up before pulling the meat board toward you and beginning to slice the strips of meat substitute. It was nice, repetitive work, and you finished quickly and easily, sliding both boards towards Ezra, who thanked you and dumped the sliced meat substitute into a hot pan. It began to bubble, the smoky smell adding to the air. 

Ezra noticed you watching him cook. He smiled, gesturing you closer. ‘Watch?’

You nodded, scooting closer and watching over Ezra’s shoulder. He was good at cooking, easily multi-tasking between the meat and the pasta, and within minutes, he was asking you for plates. You got them, watching Ezra put two servings on the plates and then slide them back to you. You set both plates on the table, watching Ezra grab utensils. He smiled, passing you your fork and sitting across from you. You laughed slightly, gently kicking Ezra under the table. ‘Long legs,’ you spelled. ‘Small table.’

Ezra laughed, comfortably tangling his legs with yours. You two ate in silence, savoring the flavor of the meal. Every so often, you’d stop to talk to Ezra, learn more about him. By the meal’s end, you learned he liked to read, and he was a self-proclaimed poet. 

“I like poetry,’ you admitted, putting the last bite of food you had left into your mouth. ‘It’s beautiful.’

‘Beautiful?’ Ezra responded, his brows furrowing in confusion. You quickly spelled the word out for him, and he nodded his understanding. ‘Beautiful.’ 

That night was spent at the table, learning sign over cups of spiced tea. By the time Ezra was insisting you had to go to bed, you and him had spent three standard hours learning to communicate. It had been fun, helping Ezra form words without speaking. You and him shared many good stories and ever more laughs as the suns set. 

‘Bed,’ Ezra signed, gently nudging you up. You yawned, shoving back against him and smiling. 

‘Good night,’ you signed sleepily, catching Ezra’s attention with a wave. 

He grinned lazily at you, causing your heart to beat ever so slightly faster. ‘Good night.’ 

Over the course of the next two months, you and Ezra grew as close as friends could be. It was easy. You two just seemed to click together, slight language barrier be damned. Every day was filled with work, an easy rhythm falling between you two. Nights were a very different story. At night, Ezra would teach you to cook, and you’d watch eagerly as he crafted meals from what little food you had left. Then, over dinner, you’d share stories, dissolving into fits of giggles by the end. After dinner was usually when you’d teach Ezra sign, but after a while, he began to get it, and your post meal hours were occupied by card games or more stories. 

On the morning of your final day together, you woke to Ezra already in your doorway, smiling happily at your half-awake state. ‘Good morning sunshine,’ he signed, still using the silly nickname he’d given you a month back. ‘One last day.’ 

You yawned, waving at him to go so you could get ready. He obliged, and five minutes later, you were trudging out of your room, exhausted, but ready to go. Ezra followed your command as you sleepily gathered your stuff and headed out onto the planet’s surface for one last job. 

Your morning quickly bled into your afternoon, the wagon half full of whatever seraron you could find. Ezra looked at the wagon, sighing. ‘Home?’

You nodded. ‘One more card game before we leave,’ you insisted, already beginning to haul the wagon. ‘Please.’

Of course, when you got back, you didn’t have time for one card game. You were instructed, by a droid who annoyingly knew no sign, to pack and leave immediately. Ezra relayed the message, and you pouted your way through packing, dragging your bag into the kitchen to wait for Ezra. He came out of his room a minute later, his bag already slung across his shoulders. ‘Ready?’

‘No,’ you signed dejectedly. ‘Let’s go.’

The trip off world was very similar to the trip onto the planet. You and Ezra worked in tandem to reach the docking bay an hour out. In that hour, you got to play your card game, kicking Ezra’s ass, although you suspected he let you win just to lift your spirits. 

When you landed and exited the pod, Ezra insisted on grabbing your bag for you, passing you the worn duffel and pulling you in for a tight hug. You smiled, trying not to cry as you pulled away and began to sign. ‘I’ll see you again?’

‘Definitely,’ Ezra promised. ‘I have a job to do on some faraway moon, but it’s only a month. I’ll message you when I’m back, okay?’

With that, you and Ezra parted ways, both feeling a horrible tearing in your chests. You headed to your small apartment, every step heavier and heavier until you were collapsing onto your bed, your bag half opened in your futile attempt to unpack. 

As you lay on your bed, wallowing in your own misery, you saw something peeking out of your bag. A piece of paper. You stood, tugging it out and reading the paper. It was a poem, torn from a book, the words small and slightly smudged, but still legible. Your fingers ran over the title and author, typed in miniscule print at the top of the page. The Special One by Clairel Estevez. As you read, tears began to flow, gently falling to stain the page’s bottom edge. It was only when you noticed ink bleeding through that you actually flipped the paper over, a sob bubbling over at the words written in Ezra’s handwriting. 

‘P.S. I never told you, but I was falling in love.’

You held the note close to your heart, bound and determined to tell Ezra everything on the day he returned. 

Except he didn’t. A month went by, and then two, and still no sign of Ezra. No calls, no messages. You waited, every day with bated breath, wondering if today was the day, but it never was. A year passed, and you had finally saved up enough money for a hearing implant. Eighteen months, and you had your surgery. Two years, you were hearing and speaking after weeks of physical therapy. Two and a half years, you finally read the poem aloud to yourself, wondering what it would sound like if the love of your life was here to read it to you. 

Three years passed, and you had finally given up. Accepted he died on a job gone wrong. It was hard, but you kept going, kept moving, until one night, you received a call. 

It was two in the morning, and you blindly stumbled to your phone, which was ringing loudly. “What?” you growled, rubbing your eyes and trying to determine what was so important that someone had to call you in the middle of the night. 

The smooth voice of a call droid answered you. “There’s a man here who wishes for you to come to the Miurus emergency medical center. He says it’s very urgent.” 

You yawned. “Does this man have a name?” 

There were some hushed murmurs, and then the droid returned. “Ezra.” 

Your heart dropped to your feet. “Tell him I’ll be right there,” you said sharply, tugging off your sleep clothes in favor of a pale blue tunic and grey pants. You shoved your shoes on in a hurry, rushing out the door and hailing a cab to the medical center. It was barely a five minute drive, but you kept willing it to be faster. It couldn’t be him. It couldn’t. Your Ezra was long dead. But this call, this tiny flicker of hope, it lit a fire in your chest. 

You all but ran into the medical center, looking wildly around. No sign of Ezra. You approached the front desk droid. “Hello? I received a call from Ezra,” you said, and the droid chirped. 

“Room 206, down this hall,” he said, and you nodded your thanks before rushing off. 

Door 206 was on the right, and you stood in front of it for a good minute, working up the courage to push the door open. The knob was cool under your fingers, and you gently twisted it, opening the door and gasping immediately. 

Ezra was lying on an exam table, staring at the ceiling. He looked horrible, all pale and skinny, but that wasn’t what worried you. What worried you was the mess of bandages beneath his hospital-issued tunic. The blank space where his right arm had once been. 

He looked up, almost instantly jumping to his feet and pulling you in for a tight hug. You hugged him back, the warmth under your hand solid and real. Ezra was home. 

‘I’m sorry,’ Ezra signed messily, his left hand shaky and unsteady. 

You shook your head, taking his hands. “It’s okay,” you promised. “It’s okay, my love.” 

Ezra’s eyes widened, and you smiled. “Implants,” you explained. “Our seraron job paid me enough to afford the surgery.” 

“Oh,” Ezra breathed. “Congratulations sunshine.” 

Your breath hitched. Ezra’s voice was smooth as silk, washing over you like warm water, the slightest twinge of an accent hurtling your body to a place of unknown pleasure. “Thank you,” you said softly. “I got your letter.” 

“You did?” Ezra said, sitting down on the bed, you following him. “Did you like it?” 

“It’s hung up in my bedroom,” you admitted. “I cried over that letter more than once.” 

Ezra smiled, pulling you close with his good arm. “So I assume my feelings are entirely reciprocated?” 

You grinned, leaning into Ezra’s chest and humming softly. “You assume correct,” you said. 

After a few seconds, Ezra nudged you gently. “Y’know,” he said. “I don’t exactly have a home here. I’m not allowed to leave the planet for a while, until I recover.” 

“I have a spare room,” you said. “Or a spare side of my own bed.” 

Ezra chuckled. “I think I’ll take you up on that offer, sunshine.” 

Closing your eyes, you snuggled closer to Ezra’s chest, content at last with the man who you’d fallen in love with. “I think that’s a great idea.”

[emo-trash101]

Hello hello my darling!! (/P)

How are you,good? I hope you are!

I was scrolling through for some hazbin-writing blogs and saw that you were,but didn't have any works yet!

"preposterous!" I told myself! "Such a charming blog without any writing? Allow me!"

And here I am! Nina or Weewoo,you may call me!

Now that my big flamboyant intro is done (i do this all the time for my fun,don't mind it-),May you indulge me in some nice platonic headcanons? (If you do those! If not,a single oneshot would be swell!!)

You see,the self-proclaimed platonic asker is thirsty for some platonic!

Anyways,you're probably getting bored,so allow me!

May I please have a platonic! Vox/Husk/Alastor/Lucifer/ anyone you wish to write for (I honestly don't mind anyone,just pick peoplef from Hazbin you feel you want to write for! You can put as many as you want!) with a gn!child!reader (my favorite/p) that's really sweet (even a bit of a pushover) but has a really bad argument with their parent (the characters) for x reason (maybe because the child is too kind?) and runs away for some air,but later,as the characters were looking for them because they're worried or we're forced to (ahem,Vox and Alastor,AHEM) the character finds them all injured and crying somewhere because it's hell and there are bad people there? How would the characters react? Would they do something?

I think that's all for me!

I hope you enjoy writing this dearie! Don't forget to drink,eat and have rest!

Stay proud darling!

-Nina <33

Omg, I really hope you end up enjoying this! I actually really like this idea, and I live for platonic relationships. Also! Feel free to request whenever, I really need something to do with my life 😭

Vox, Husk, Alastor and Lucifer x Child! Reader

THIS IS STRICTLY PLATONIC AND SHOULD ONLY BE TAKEN AS SUCH

Pronouns: Second person, gender neutral

Tw: Arguing, Vox and Alastor (Yes they are warnings), general Hazbin Hotel-ness

Vox -

- In all honesty, I'm so sorry you ended up with this man 😭

- But (as many of us know) he is not a nice person, if anything he's more so the opposite. He would probably take away your toys just to see you cry.

- However, he is very good at faking it, which makes him a very confusing person to be around.

- The argument most likely starts because you end up being too sweet and it ends up pissing him off. He'd probably try to be passive aggressive or ignore it until it makes him so mad he just yells.

- He seems like the kind of guy to be like "Well thats how I was raised." And just see nothing wrong with it. But after seeing you be so upset after the argument, a small part of his almost nonexistent humanity feels bad.

- Considering how busy he is, he probably wouldn't notice you were missing for a good while. Even after he does, he doesn't go after you himself, he sends one of his workers to get you.

- Once he does find you injured, he's undoubtedly mad. Not exactly because he cares too much for your wellbeing, but because he considers you a pet of some sort, and people should know better than to hurt his pet.

- Doesn't really learn much from the experience, however does avoid bringing up the topic of you being too kind simply because another argument like that could provide similar outcomes

- In all, probably the worst of them all generally. (Can you tell who my least favorite is?)

Husk -

- Honestly, he's not that bad of a caretaker, and it's primarily because he has strong morals and tries to teach you that as well.

- However, because of that, he views your kindness as a kind of weakness that needs to be fixed. Which is almost exactly what he tries to do.

- He attempts several times to make you "stronger" and less kind to protect you. He obviously has good intentions but goes the wrong way about it.

- This obviously results in an argument where he refuses to admit that he was incorrect which leads you to try and chill yourself out by going on a walk. He would probably be too heated to even really care about you walking out. That is until later.

- After you eventually don't come back for awhile he does become anxious, but he knows that he taught you to take care of yourself and that you'll be fine.

- Once you do come back he feels hella guilty, nit only for letting you walk away, but arguing with you in general. He resorts to trying to help clean your wounds and provide you with the best comfort he can (which honestly is not a lot but it's the thought that counts)

- He does let up on you having to be less nice, it does get brought up ever so often, but after a few minutes he just lets it go.

Alastor -

- This man is a little special brained, as in he is extremely apathetic to the point where he doesn't comprehend you being kind aside from it being for ulterior motives.

- Which honestly makes sense if you think about how he acts, so it's not like it's a baseless accusation. But after he's taken you under his wing and is trying to teach you he feels almost undermined by you constantly being kind.

- This obviously turns into an argument (more like you being defensive and him just accusing), and you eventually give up and go on a walk.

- He considers this an admission of guilt and doesn't go after you or anything and just lets you do your own thing until you apologize to him.

- When you do eventually show back up to the hotel, he does tend to your wounds, but he approaches you with condescension until you eventually apologize purely out of exhaustion.

- He doesn't really feel any guilt towards it, and will definitely ice you out until you stop being so "manipulative".

Lucifer -

- Now Lucifer himself is at least a people pleaser, so he understands the feeling and actions that you do take.

- However, having seen his daughter take similar strides that he had in the sense of caring for others, he ends up worrying about you being used for others benefit, especially in a place like hell.

- This kinda causes him to try and course correct aggressively, deciding that if he were to act more cold it would rub off on you and work (surprise surprise, it didn't).

- It just turns into you getting upset and while trying to have a serious conversation about the issues (or as serious a discussion that a child can have), he tries to keep up the cold facade.

- This just upsets you more and you end up going on a walk to clear your mind, and that makes him feel terrible.

- He contemplates running after you but decides that it's for the best, it could even help you with being so kind.

- Well that whole thought process changes once you don't come back for too long. He almost turns the entirety of hell upside down just to find you.

- He finds you just as your assaulters are leaving, and let's just say they don't leave in one singular piece.

- After that the guilt almost eats him alive. He feels terrible for not only letting this happen to you, but that he also caused this whole mess. He takes you back to your home and helps clean your wounds (He 100% uses hello kitty bandages).

- He tries reaching out to other people to try and find better ways to teach you more about boundaries and everything just to keep you safe, and takes almost all the advice to heart.

This took less time than I anticipated, but I feel like it turned out good nonetheless. I hope you enjoyed it and have an astounding day!

[yejiroh]

"I know."

A/n: This was entirely written for my own self-indulgement. At 2:00 a.m.

Warnings: Suicide, angst, self-neglect, hallucinations, drug and general substance abuse, depression, death of a loved one and refusing to cope, abusive relationships.

Yuji x gn!reader.

•••

"Love is bittersweet when who you want doesn't, or rather, no longer exists.

"It's ironic, how you refuse to interact with those around you, how you hide away, staring at a screen for hours at a time, ignoring the people you actually know and giving up everything for those you don't. And then wish to be a part of a different world, where things could be a million times worse.

"You wish you could give it all up, just for that person, yeah?"

"I gu-"

"Don't answer that."

Therapy was supposed to work. Supposed to help him get at least a little better.

But this was suffocation at its finest.

Crisp clothes that smelled like those fabric softeners you used to love so much, hair washed with your favorite shampoo, nails painted your favorite color-

"Are you trying to make them live through you, Yuji?"

His eyes snapped up, the strong smell of cleaner and the doctor's gaze strictly boring into his own tired eyes.

"Are you trying to make them live through you, Yuji?" They repeated.

"I'm...I'm not sure what you're talking about."

"Are you sure? Mx L/n isn't here dea-"

"Please don't address me like that. Only Y/n can call me stuff other then my name."

If only thunder boomed. But it was a perfect day outside.

"Yuji, Y/n isn't here, remember? They're dead."

"Are you stupid? What kind of doctor tells lies? They're just late to this appointment. Y/n is always late, but they always come, you idiot."

"Yuji, do you know what kind of doctor I am?"

•••

"You should really stop taking all those pills. It's bad for your kidneys."

"I know."

"So why do you take them?"

"They calm me down."

"You should go see a doctor, Y/n."

"No thanks, Yuji. I know what I'm doing. "

•••

"You're...a therapist?"

"Yes, but do you know what kind?"

"You were Y/n's?"

"Yes, Yuji. And now I'm yours. But do you know what my job is?"

The room became quiet, only the soft ticks from the seconds-hand on the clock could be heard. It continued on for some time before the doctor set aside their notepad, observing Yuji.

Everything he wore was Y/n's. The way he did his hair was like Y/n's. The way he sat was how Y/n sat.

"Yuji, where is Y/n?"

"They're right here?"

"No Yuji. Where is Y/n?"

"They're here. Why do you keep asking the same questions? It's confusing. Stop it."

•••

Their lips tastes like the cheap alcohol in the cabinets and like cigarettes from the gas station.

But still, they were their lips.

And Yujj loved them.

Y/n smiled, taking another sip from the bottle before kissing Yuji again.

"This is home?"

"Yep! This is home."

"And...it's ours?"

"You betcha baby! All ours. We can do whatever the hell we want now."

"Oh...well we better take care of it then."

"Whatever."

•••

Leaning forward, the doctor grabbed some cards from the coffee table.

"Would you like to play a game with me, Yuji?"

"What kind?"

"Speed. Do you know it?"

"No?"

"It's easy. A deck of 52, since we take out the jokers. You know the order of the cards, yes?"

"Yes."

"Great. Now, I'll give you three stacks of 5 randomly shuffled cards, and give myself the same. We'll have two stacks of 10 right here, and flip one from each of those 10 onto the table. Your job, is to beat me. When a card is down, you can only place another card on top if its one above OR below. If neither of us can, we grab another two. Only 5 cards can be in your hand at a time. Kapeesh?"

"Yeah."

Swiftly shuffling the cards, the doctor laid them out, and the game started.

•••

"Y/n, that's not how you play."

"Then tell me how, Yuji. Since YOU know everything."

"I didn't say that Y/n. Can you please stop?"

" 'Can you please stop?' You know how much of a baby you sound like? Learn to just deal with everything. Fucking ruining the mood babe."

"Okay Y/n."

"Thank you baby. I appreciate it."

"I know."

•••

Yuji grabbed a stack, quickly placing a jack on a queen, and a 10 on the jack.

"Good job, Yuji. Thanks Y/n."

The doctor stopped playing, watching Yuji talk to himself as he laughed before placing more cards down, eventually winning.

"Did you see that?"

"I did, you did great."

"Thanks, doc."

"Yuji?"

"Hm?"

He looked up, startled to see the doctor crying.

"What's wrong?"

"How long will you continue to lie to yourself, honey? Y/n passed away a year ago. You're starting to forget things, and it's scaring me-"

"I know."

"Yuji, they left you. They won't come back. Look in the mirror. Do you see Y/n? No, cause they're gone. It's heartbreaking to see you come here every week and play this charade with yourself. You need to move on."

"I know."

"You keep saying that, but continue on. If you know, then do something!"

The doctor's please fell on deaf ears as Yuji snapped up, kicking the chair over, angry.

"I said I know. WHY does everyone feel the need to tell me to move on? Just go away! I know Y/n was horrible, but you guys didn't know them. You didn't know they just wanted someone to talk to. No, all you know is that you put them on those drugs, that you know you showed them how to forget. So no. I won't stop. Y/n isn't gone. You can write me down as crazy; I don't care. I don't care anymore. "

"Yuji sit down. Right now."

"No."

"Yuji-"

"Go ahead and call security. Put me on the same shit you out Y/n on. It sure did help. Fuck you."

"SIT DOWN. THEY'RE GONE CAUSE THEY DIDN'T LOVE YOU. THEY'RE GONE BECAUSE YOU PUSHED THEM TO THE EDGE YUJI. NOT BECAUSE OF THE MEDICATION. NOT BECAUSE OF US.

"You told them to stop. You didn't want to be with someone who required so much maintenance, so you made them stop. What, antidepressants are worse then drinking away your problems? They're gone cause you told them to go.

"Now sit down and talk with me. Let's sort this out."

"...I know."

[narukamei]

Warmth.

Pairing: Albedo x gn!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Drabble

Tags: None, just a bit of cheesiness!

Word Count: 795

Summary: Albedo keeps you warm and with him.

a/n: just a warm-up piece to get me back into writing!

The warmth, a thing you never knew you craved. Truly, something you took for granted. Your feeble attempts to warm up have been rather unsuccessful, only keeping you from going numb. Dragonspine had lived up to its reputation, chilling and unforgiving. If it wasn’t for the focused blond in front of you, you surely would’ve froze by now. Of course, he did his best to dote on you in his own way, sporadically asking if you needed anything and checking on you here and there. He was aware that you were not accustomed to the eternal winter, and the last thing he’d want is for you to fall ill because he requested your company.

Before you had met, Albedo carried out all of his experiments strictly alone, only with exceptions for his assistant Sucrose and the occasional lesson for his apprentice. Anyone who disturbed his solitude could be subjected to a.. less pleasant side of him. That was until Good Hunter hired a new delivery person. Seldom would he actually eat, due to his rather small appetite and inability to pry himself from work, but every once in a while he’d indulge. You had stumbled into his laboratory, insulated food in hand. You were a little shy, but to be fair you weren’t confident you were at the right place.

He’d never admit this to anyone, but you were an adorable sight. The exchange was quite short, but warmed his heart nonetheless. The more he ordered, the longer you stayed until you were there daily. You went from a curious visitor to his best company, helping him with his fascinating experiments and artistic endeavors. My muse, he’d call you. Working without your presence affected him greatly, so he’d selfishly call for you again and again. But despite his fulfilled wishes, he’d feel guilty when he saw your flushed face and felt your icy skin. He wanted you here, but he needed you warm.

Your form was curled in on a small bed he rarely slept on, and coincidentally only got when you started coming around. Sometimes you’d wake up in the dead of night, dazed consciousness taking in his sleeping figure next to you, arm protectively over your waist. The cot was against the stone wall, which he would accidentally cage you against. He felt more at ease, like you were safer this way. How you wished he was next to you now, trapping in your shared body heat. Albedo wasn’t against physical touch, he welcomed it at times, but he was completely new to this. He’s spent much of his life with alchemy as his sole purpose and focus, and his work often took him away from you. Although you found his stern and focused expressions adorable, you didn’t want to disturb him. So, whenever he’d check on you, you’d lie and say you were okay despite your visible shivers.

“[Y/N],” he called, “How are you feeling?”

His voice startled you a little, and your sheepish tone was rather concerning to him. Normally, he doesn’t even look up from the task at hand, just listening to your voice. Your answer stirred him though, and he realized how long it had been since he looked at you. You were visibly freezing, how did he not notice?

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You look rather cold. Do you need anything?”

His slender body approached you, extending a hand to feel your exposed arm. Eyes suddenly filled with confusion, you were the opposite of fine.

“Your temperature is below average, and you’re shaking.”, he sat down next to you, pulling you into his warm figure. “Would you like to come sit with me instead? I have some theories that could use a second opinion.”

You eagerly nodded, not leaving his side as he escorted you to the alchemy table. His work always piqued your interest, watching him work was your favorite pastime. The little shimmer is his eyes whenever success met him, how his eyebrows would furrow in concentration. The little miracles he created never ceased to amaze you. The table was much warmer, littered with boiling test tubes and a small fire beneath them. A light chuckle left your esteemed partner, you were so adorable.

“Would you like my coat, love?”

The innocent nickname made you blush, “No, it’s alright ‘Bedo. I’ll be fine.”

He sighed, “Well, you said that before too, didn’t you?”

Before you could protest, his coat was already being placed on your shoulders and his work absorbed him once again. Albedo began to explain the details of his experiment, mixing liquids together into beautiful colors. A sweet aroma filled the small space. The warmth you’d been craving had finally come to greet you, with the help of the loveliest alchemist.

[slashmebois]

You make me breathless

“Hello! How are you? I hope you are very well ;) If you don't mind, could you write about Bo's reaction to an asthmatic reader? being fucking soft on him and freaking out when he tries too hard? How to mount your thigh? I suffer from asthma attacks, you know, it's hell when everyone treats me like a baby, but deep down I enjoy it, thanks in advance and see you!”

 Thank you so much for your request @ !! I hope this fits what you wanted! I kept this GN up until thigh riding, so if y’all aren’t the owners of a va-gi-na you may wanna stop reading at that point.

I’ve not written NSFW before so sorry if it’s a lil cringe haha.

Disclaimer: My only experience of asthma is a close family member who has pretty severe symptoms. If any of the information I put in is incorrect, please drop me a message and I’ll do my best to educate myself and edit the post! I used information from Asthma UK to inform my writing.

Okay first, some background.

When you first arrived in Ambrose and Bo was chasing you, he thought it was hilarious when your asthma started to act up (he’s an asshole, I’m sorry). But he did feel a little teensy bit guilty about that later…

Leading on from that, if anyone does anything that triggers your asthma, well Bo is gonna be pissed.

Both Lester and Vincent have been kicked in the ass for doing so. Vincent is just so quiet that he scared the heck out of you by accident, and Lester bought that cleaning product that sets you off because he wasn’t listening properly.

Boy really thought you needed CPR the first time you had a big attack (he just wanted an excuse to kiss you okay). He’s since learned to keep an eye on where your inhaler and Volumatic spacer are so he can grab them quick.

If you have a preventer inhaler, he tries to remind you to take it.

He’s also a little overprotective (see bullet point two) and panics a little because he doesn’t really understand that sometimes the cause won’t be obvious. He has literally run around holding up things to you and asking if that is what was causing it.

It can feel like he’s babying you since he drops whatever is happening if you get the slightest bit breathless.

But also he drops whatever he’s doing, which is kind of sweet.

Initially he got pretty proud when your symptoms triggered whilst you were getting it on. Once you’d recovered and explained it to him, he realised that whilst he loved the idea of you finding it hard to breathe around him, that maybe, just maybe it wasn’t actually a good thing.

 Tonight, was the night. You were determined. Tonight, was the night you would make Bo realise you are an independent and goddamn sexy adult who can take care of themselves.

He had been babying you all week. The pollen count in Ambrose currently was astronomical and setting off your asthma big time. You had been trying to get down and dirty, but every time you had felt your airways tightening and Bo had scrambled for your inhaler, before holding you and kissing your head. And he always refused sex after. You were pretty sure he thought that’s what was causing it at this point.

You dressed yourself in your tightest, most revealing clothes, adding a garter underneath for good luck. You felt sexy and powerful. You just hoped Vincent wasn’t chilling in the kitchen to see this. It had happened before and yes; it was embarrassing for everyone involved. Striding down the stairs you glance over to the kitchen table. Okay, phew. The coast is clear.

You’re thankful as you step into the street, that the air in Ambrose is always warm- come summer or winter. You hear the music coming from the garage before you see Bo come into view. He’s singing along, focused on the car engine in front of him. You lean against the garage door, watching him with that warm fuzzy feeling of love. You’re so thankful you found him.

He turns and jumps a little, before eyeing you up and down slowly- a devilish grin working its way onto his face.

“Well that is a nice view” he whistles, his eyes locking with yours, “what’s the occasion?”

“No occasion…just wanted to look nice for myself” you spin on the spot, giving him the full view.

“For yourself huh?”, he makes his way over to you, laying his hands on your hips and leaning in close to hum in your ear, “and could little old Bo get any of that, or are we strictly keeping this to ourselves?” he punctuates it, by pulling you close enough to feel his erection against your back.

You gasp audibly, “I guess I could share a little. Sharing is caring and all that”

His laughs rumbles, And he starts walking you towards the basement, gripping and grasping at you as he does.

By the time you reach the basement, you’re already moaning and can feel the growing arousal between your thighs. He manages to jostle the door open and picks you up, wrapping your legs round him to carry you over to the chair.

Bo, leans back and just studies you before going to town on your neck, nipping and sucking and groaning, “how the fuck did I get so lucky baby”.

You’re a mess before he’s even touched you down there, and struggling to form words, “Bo…uhh…oh my-YES”

His hands paw at your chest, kneading the flesh before moving south to cup you.

“Someone’s excited” he grins, but you can hear he’s nearly as breathless as you.

His fingers start to move down there and it’s little bits of electric. You’re panting and grabbing at his back,

“please please please”

He pulls his hand away and you groan in dismay. The sensation is quickly replaced, you squeak as he rips your bottoms off and kneels before you, putting his mouth on you and sucking hard.

You can feel yourself quickly approaching climax, but then it happens. Your throat tightens and you gasp inward, your breath not quite reaching your lungs.

Bo is immediately off you, “where’s your inhaler, where is it baby?”, he looks so worried, fuck. This is so unfair. You point over to your discarded bag and he rustles through it to find your saving grace. He tosses you the inhaler, and picks you up as you use your inhaler, placing you down in his lap.

You take breaths in, letting the medication sooth your airways until you can breathe again. All the time, Bo is muttering reassurances and sweeping you hair back from your face to kiss your eyelids.

“It’s okay baby, you’re all right. Don’t worry. We’ll get you to bed”

You can feel the angry tears threatening to spring from your eyes, “I don’t want to go to bed Bo. I am not a baby! I’m a fully grown adult and I want to fuck. Jesus!”

He stills, a little stunned, “You think I treat you like a baby?”, his tone is dark.

“Well…I…I just feel stupid.”

“Oh no, no, no. That’s fine. I can treat you different if you like”

Before you can respond he has you over his lap and his hand is coming down on your backside. You yelp in surprise, “B…Bo”

---GN ends, reader is person with vagina from here on out---

“Ah-ah, call me daddy babygirl”

You feel a shiver of delight pass through you, “yes daddy”, the groan that emits from Bo is unworldly.

He spanks you again, and you moan, squirming you legs together beneath him, “please daddy”

“Please, what?”

“Uhhhn, please touch me”

“Come sit on daddy’s knee”

You lift yourself, desperate to please him so he’d please you. You start to sit sideways across his knees, but he stops you and pulls you toward him so that you have a leg on either side of one of his knees.

Confused you start to question “what in the heck are you doing?” but before you can finish the sentence, he grinds his knee up into your core and ohhh…oh fuck, that feels good. Your legs clamp tightly around his leg, and you start to press down, “mmm. Please. Please daddy, that feels so good”.

He grinds his knee again and grabs your hips, pulling you down onto his thigh more. You don’t need more encouragement, you start moving your hips with him, mewling out his name and expletives. You leave a trail of your wetness along his leg, and fuck if that isn’t hot.

“Tell daddy how good it feels pet. Mm, you like that don’t you?”

“Daaaddy, it feels-mmmf-it feels so good.”

“Whose doing that to you?”

“Y…you are Bo. Oh my god. Oh my god. pleeeease”

Your face is flushed and your hair sticks to your forehead as you feel the mounting tightness in your stomach pooling down.

“Yeah I am baby. You gonna cum for me? Gonna make you cum just using my thigh huh?”

You try to respond but your orgasm tears through you, and you just wail in a mix of pleasure and slight pain. Your breath is short, but for a different reason this time. You’re still for a spell, trying to catch it again, and trying to decide if you’re still on this plane of existence. You realise that the whole time Bo is just staring at you, a big smile on his face.

“What?” you laugh.

“Nothing, just think I’ll have to stop treating you so precious huh? Kinda liked this side of you”

You pout, “I don’t mind you treating me a little like a baby. But only a little.”

He barks out a laugh, “Alright, alright. We’ll compromise. You can be my spoilt baby during the day”, he leans in close to your ear, his thighs movement against your slit making you jump, “but at night I’m treating you like this. You get an asthma attack, fine we’ll sort it. But I might have to punish you for making me worry”

You bite your lip, feeling a second wave of arousal hit you. Fuck, at this rate you’d be cumming a second time real soon. He catches the look in your eye, “Guess I better get to work on you again”

[love-and-monsters]

Emery the Incubus

Hope you’re all in the mood for a short, but sweet piece about two musicians. Also, my finals are coming up in the next two weeks, so I’m going to take a break from writing until it’s all over. I just need a little bit of extra time for school.

M Incubus X GN Reader, 2,793 words

You sat onstage. Your fingers trembled as they worked over the strings, your bow drawing out the notes in long, mournful chords. The song was not complicated, but it was your own, and that bit of nerves makes everything more difficult. When your fingers shake, it is hard to keep them on the right strings. The hand holding the bow was slightly numb and you hoped that you weren’t going to drop it onstage.

The song came to a crescendo, then down to a close. You took a deep breath, stood, and dipped your head in a bow.

Applause filtered up from the audience. You straightened back up, hoping that no one could see your knees shaking from a distance. You couldn’t make out anyone’s faces in the audience, couldn’t tell if they were politely disinterested or genuinely enthusiastic. With another deep breath, you straightened and walked offstage.

Your professor was waiting in the wings and he nodded at you as you moved backstage. “All right. Persimmon, you’re up. Head to the front of the stage. Can we get one of the stagehands to clear everything off?”

Slowly, you made your way all the way backstage, into the little room for performers, and sat down. Your knees refused to stop shaking.

There was only one other person in the backstage room. He did not help your nervousness. He was an incubus- you thought. You were pretty sure. Technically, he could be a tiefling. Both had large, curling horns, thin, often spine-tipped, tails, and larger-than-average canine teeth. Teiflings, though, often had red, blue, or purple skin, while the man in the room with you had deep tan skin. It didn’t mean he couldn’t be a tiefling, though- sometimes they had human-colored skin. What made you suspect that he was an incubus, though, was exactly how pretty he was.

There was something strong and sharp in his features, with an elegant profile and a perpetually thoughtful, half-lidded expression on his face. He was muscular and strong-looking, with long legs and his shiny, black hair was slightly curly and always tied off with a ribbon. It wasn’t just you that thought so. You had seen at last half the students in any class you had with him alternating between staring and desperately trying to look like they weren’t staring. An incubus couldn’t attract people who weren’t attracted to his gender, but anyone who was attracted to men, regardless of whether or not he was strictly their taste, would find themselves drawn to him.

Given exactly how much everyone seemed to fall over him seconds after meeting, you thought that incubus was a good guess for his species.

He fiddled with his bow, plucking a few strings on the violin he held under his chin. His musical skills were fine, if a little bit middling, but he also didn’t need great skill. He was only aiming for a minor in music, his major being taken up by biology.

“How did it go?” You jumped, slightly startled. He rarely spoke, even in class, and his voice tended to be rather quiet.

“It went fine,” you said and felt pleased that you hadn’t tripped over your own tongue. “Are you up next?”

He plucked a few more strings before retuning. “In two.” It was the single longest conversation you’d ever had with him, which wasn’t hard considering that the only competition was an exchange of apologies after you’d run into each other. He drew his bow across the strings, producing a low chord.

“You’re sharp.” The words came from your mouth before you even thought about them. It was practically a reflex. He looked at you. His eyes were a startling shade of purple, and the shock of realizing that prevented a hasty apology for your intrusion.

He stared at you for a moment, then looked back at his violin and twisted a peg. He drew his bow over the strings again, and looked at you in askance.

“Yeah, that’s better,” you said.

“How did you know that?” he asked.

“I have perfect pitch. And a cello and a violin aren’t that different.”

“Ah,” he said. He sank down into a chair and rested his violin on his lap. “I should have guessed.” He rested his hands over his violin, fiddling with his fingers. “I heard your performance.”

You nodded. “And?”

“It was good,” he said. “It was… beautiful.” He picked up his violin, examined it for a moment, placed it back in his lap. “You wrote it?”

“Two of the pieces are my own. The other three are just classical pieces I thought fit the theme.”

“They were all very good,” he said. You shrugged.

“I missed a note in my second piece.” You had also failed to crescendo the preferred amount in one of your own songs and the other had a bit of complicated playing at the end that you hadn’t been entirely been happy with, but hadn’t had the time to keep going over.

“Only one note?” He barked out an anxious laugh. “I’ll be lucky if I miss less than half of them.”

“I’ve heard you play before. You aren’t bad.” There were occasional class performances, and he’d managed to be perfectly adequate every time. He’d never managed anything overly tricky, but he’d also never bombed any pieces.

Persimmon left the stage. The incubus watched her as she passed and as the next performer took the stage. He played with his violin bow, tapping it lightly against his leg.

“I wish I was as good as you are,” he said. You glanced at him. He was staring at the ground, a tight smile on his face. “Then maybe I wouldn’t be so nervous to go onstage.”

“I still get stage fright. I thought I was going to drop my bow when I played tonight,” you told him. He looked faintly surprised.

“Really? But your playing is so beautiful…” He trailed off.

“It never feels good enough. And no matter how many times I practice, I could still miss a note or forget a section. And if I miss one note, I am much more likely to miss more. I am always nervous before I go onstage.”

His expression shifted. “You’d never know. You always look so calm.”

“Practice,” you said. “If it helps, you could probably get away with a charming enough smile. Looks are half the battle when you’re onstage.”

He laughed softly, though he still looked anxious. “Maybe. But I don’t think a nice smile is going to help the audience overlook it if I forget half the song.”

“Emery.” Your professor leaned through the doorway. “You’re on in two minutes.”

“Oh.” He stood up, tail twisting and flicking nervously around his legs. “I’ll... see you.”

He stepped through the doorway. After a moment of considering, you stood up and followed him.

There was a secluded spot in the wings where you could watch the stage. Already, a small group of people had gathered to look. You couldn’t quite see the stage from behind them, but you could hear everything. You closed your eyes and focused on the playing.

The first song was low and mournful, some kind of slow, sad song you didn’t recognize. It was technically well done, but you could almost hear the nervousness in his playing. The beat was just slightly too fast and you could tell his hands were shaking a little on the strings.

The next song was jauntier, more of a dancing tune. He seemed to be less nervous and the crowd took up a rousing clap along with the beat. One or two notes were slightly sour, but they were hard to pick up under the obvious joy of the crowd.

The third and final piece was back to the slower, more solemn theme of the original. It swelled and crested like a wave and made something stir in your chest. There were a few missed notes again, but the emotion of the piece got through. He’d obviously spent time practicing, and his heart was in the music. You decided he’d had no reason to be so nervous. It wasn’t the best playing, but it was certainly good.

Thunderous applause sounded as he exited the stage. You moved back into the back room and started putting your cello away.

Emery entered the room and promptly collapsed into a chair.

“There’s a flower in your hair,” you told him. He reached up distractedly and plucked it free.

“Someone threw a bouquet out of the audience,” he said, twirling the pink flower in his hair. “They’re cleaning the stage off.”

“It sounds like you have an admirer,” you said. He snorted.

“I have many admirers,” he said. Then he winced. “That sounds conceited. I don’t mean to be-”

“Because you’re an incubus,” you said, taking a chance and hoping you were getting his species right.

“Mm,” he said. “I have a myriad of people who would love to be around me because of what I am.” He sounded thoroughly bitter.

“There are worse things,” you said. Emery pulled a face, then sighed.

“I know. I must sound like a whiner.” He leaned back. “It’s gotten me quite far, you know. Or… it did?” He tilted his head, looking thoughtful. “I was an actor, briefly. And a model.”

“In anything I would know?” you asked. He snorted.

“Only if you watch a lot of commercials. Or read fashion magazines for children. I only did it until late high school, but I stopped when I decided to go to college.” He shrugged. “I’m glad I did it, though, if only because it lessened my need to take out student loans.”

“You didn’t like it?” you speculated.

“I was pretty neutral on it, actually. It wasn’t fun, but the money was good. There’s a big demand for incubi in modeling, even if I’m only three-quarters-”

“Really?” you said. He smiled toothily.

“Full incubi and succubi can turn it off,” he said. “Or, at the very least, target it. Shapeshift. I can’t.” He shrugged. “I just have an aura of… attraction. And, of course, the horns and the tail.”

“And the eyes,” you said. He looked at you, startled, then laughed.

“Those aren’t natural, actually. It was a spell they used on me in my modeling days. It went a little wrong- they set the duration for four years, rather than four hours.”

Your mouth opened. “How junior was the spellcaster?”

“It wasn’t her specialty. She was just there to supply makeup and contacts, but she asked me if I would prefer a more magical solution. I’m afraid I can have an allergic reaction to the colored ones, so I agreed. After about four hours, she realized her mistake, went over the spell again. She wasn’t competent enough to undo it, and I’ll admit I like it this way.” He slipped his violin into its case and buckled it closed. “Might even ask for a redo when it’s worn off.”

“I think it suits you,” you said. He nodded.

“I thought about changing my appearance recently,” he said. “But it doesn’t work.”

“You can’t change it?”

“Oh, I can. But my intention was to… dampen my aura? Stop the attraction, I suppose. It gets frustrating. People always look at me, always try to win my attention, I suppose. I can’t ever be… unnoticed.”

“Is that why you gave up acting?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Well, that and the fact that I wasn’t terribly good at it. Why do you think I never moved beyond commercials?” You laughed and he continued, bolstered. “I don’t particularly want to be famous. I considered music, but you had a point, earlier. Onstage, people do care about the music, but also about the looks. Doing this professionally would just be another way to get eyes on me. Or praise I don’t deserve.” He frowned at the ground. “My applause was just as loud as yours.”

“That’s a strange thing to be upset about,” you said.

“Because they were clapping for me, not my playing. If they had been, your applause should have drowned out mine several times over.”

“Thank you,” you said, “but I’m sure you’re exaggerating.”

“It’s true. Your playing is impeccable.”

“We’ve already been over the fact that it was not,” you said.

“I’ve heard you play several times before. Maybe there was a wrong note, but it was wonderfully soulful.” He laughed. “I am convinced that when I hear you play, I can hear your heart.”

There was silence in the room, except for the distant sounds of the concert still going on. He ducked his head. “I’m sorry. I’m usually not that poetic. Um. This is embarrassing.”

“Actually, I think it’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me about my playing,” you said. He looked relieved.

“I… am not that good at playing,” he said. “And I certainly can’t write anything.”

“Coming from you, that’s quite a compliment.” He smiled, looking quite pleased. There was a glimmer of something in his eyes, but it was gone when his lids flickered closed for a moment.

“If you aren’t aiming to be a musician, then what does interest you?” you asked.

“I want to work with animals,” he said. “They’re not affected, you see. I have to work to earn their favor.” He smiled. “It took me three months to earn Baphomet’s affection. Oh, that’s my cat. Grouchy old thing.”

“You have a cat?” you said. “Don’t you live in the dorms?”

There was a moment of shame, the a spark of mischief entered his eyes. He lifted a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell. Please?”

“I promise I won’t,” you said, “as long as you promise to let me see him.”

His brows rose. “Are you trying to get me to take you back to my room?”

It was your turn to dissolve into stammering. He waved his hand to dismiss your worries. “I’m teasing. I’m sure Baphomet would be pleased to meet you. After a fashion, anyway.” He looked at you a moment, seemed to be gathering his courage for something. “Would you mind- and you certainly don’t have to if you don’t want to- but I was wondering…”

His courage failed. His tail flicked rapidly and he seemed to be struggling to speak. “I can’t answer until you’ve actually asked something,” you reminded him. That got a tight smile and he tried to speak again.

“Your music. I was wondering if I could hear some more of it?” He worried his lip and you wondered how his sharp teeth didn’t break the skin. “I know it might be personal, but I… It was beautiful and I’d like to hear it again.”

“I think I can arrange that,” you said. “But not all my pieces are as polished as those, so you might not be as pleased by them.”

“I’m sure I’ll be pleased with whatever you want to play,” he said. He shifted his legs, tail stilling with obvious effort. “And would you be willing to help me learn how to play better?”

“There are better people to teach you,” you said. He sighed and gave you a look under his lashes.

“Maybe I would prefer to spend time with you,” he said. You opened your mouth.

“Are you-” The words were stuttering. “You’re asking me out?”

“I’m trying to,” he said. “I haven’t been clear enough, have I? I’m not used to being the one doing the asking, I’m afraid. It’s a bit of a novelty, actually.” He gave a sort of half-shrug. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’ve had an attraction for a while now, actually. From, uh. The first time I heard you play, actually.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “But I’m usually very cautious about asking people out. I know that some people thing incubi just use people for sex. And others… aren’t shy about doing it the other way around. So, I was waiting to make sure that you liked me back. For me, not for anything else. But you corrected me earlier. And you haven’t fallen over yourself with me either. So.” He coughed. “All this is a very long way of saying that I would like to go out with you. And I’m hoping you feel the same?”

He was just as handsome as before. But the only part of him you really noticed were his unnatural eyes. They were bright with affection.