You Know What? Fuck You. *transmascs All Your Oscar Isaac Characters*

You know what? Fuck you. *transmascs all your Oscar Isaac characters*

Nathan still gets really bad cramps even though he’s well into his transition and HRT.

Also, even though the moon boys got top surgery ages ago and the scar is long gone, Steven still gets a bit of chest dysphoria and that’s why most of his clothes tend to be loose.

And Anselm has destroyed every record that he was AFAB and replaced them with the new records that record him as AMAB because he has the money and influence to do that and because he felt like it. He has also shot several transphobes personally both because they said something or simply because he was bored.

Meanwhile Poe needs to be told to take a binding break all the time because he either forgets to or he’s being stubborn and refuses to do so.

thank you fen!!

Mi Luz - Miguel x reader fluff fic

Content warnings - diabetes-inducing fluff, no smut, kissing, emotional constipation

Summary: Miguel has been struggling with stress, and a soft little somebody can't seem to leave his head. Pining, crush, cute cute cute big man

slow burn for two seconds cause I have no self control

Reader is afab, no y/n, described with having large eyes but that's it

love you sweet thing, enjoy ☆

songs:

Saphir - pomme

Kayla - steven sanchez

Easy on my eyes - stephen sanchez

hugging you - Tom Rosenhal

Don't you worry - Oh Wonder

☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆☆ ☆ ☆

It was hard to be the king of everything. That's somewhat what he thought of himself, sitting at the top of his tall but lonely throne, scrutinizing his subjects. Miguel didn't choose this life, it chose him. So the bitterness that came with the weight of the world sat thick in his mouth, twisting his lips into a snarl and his brow into a scowl. No surprise that the Spiders around him didn't meet his eye unless to cower in fear.

It didn't bother him. He liked being alone, enjoyed the quiet of his lair - except when his pesky assistant ruined his brooding with her obnoxiously loud voice-

"aw Migs, I thought we were besties..." her pixelated pout hung in front of his eyes.

never shoulda taken you out of the drafts, he muttered, but there was no venom behind the words.

Miguel wasn't a recluse, he was just...busy. Too busy to chat, to 'hang out,' as his younger employees begged. He had shit to do, people to save. Friendship didn't fit in his schedule. So he stalked through the halls as little as possible, shouldering past cliques and couples holding hands. He didn't need that shit, their glowing auras of joy making his sensitive eyes burn.

Okay, so maybe it bothered him a little bit. Not a lot. Just a smidge. An itsy bitsy amount, if you'll pardon the pun. Hardly worthwhile. Nothing to write home about. Just something that churned in the back of his mind every waking moment of his day came up once in a while.

The irony didn't escape him, how aura sensitivity seemed to be bestowed on the least sensitive man out there. The radiating emotion and color bouncing off of everyone that passed gave him a headache. Miguel had no spidey sense to speak of, no superhuman reflexes, but the minute someone's mood changed, his ears were pricking. Not that he cared.

He didn't care that his chest ached when the sour green of fear laced the aura of his visitors. It was like a switch; he'd walk into the room, and the once shining gold and pastel hues would darken to a nervous blue, thrumming with panic. Some could pass it off, putting on a brave smile for him, but he could see. Miguel could see every shift in hue that betrayed just how little HQ liked him.

But it didn't bother him. He was king of the world.

☆ ☆ ☆

Miguel's fangs dug into his lower gums as he ground his teeth through the debrief. It had been a shitshow, a group of rookies too unfamiliar with the terrain to do anything other than Fuck It Up had failed. Four of them, Spider-girl 2045, Huntsman, and the twins, Recluse and Widow. All young and stupid.

Currently, all four were talking over each other, halos flashing like disco balls as they bickered over who had the right story.

"I friggin told you, Wid, that's not the right street, it was definitely 45th-"

"Oh, suck my webshooter, that wasn't even the right universe-"

"Would somebody please figure it the fuck out before I send you all back to the void!"

A meek silence followed his rage. Miguel was heaving, red eyes glaring down at the comedy of errors beneath him. The kids stared at him with wide, fearful eyes. Shame and embarrassment swirled around them in a sludgy grey haze.

Shit. He did it again, he was trying to be better but they were so fucking annoying and it was loud and his head hurt-

"Go home," he seethed quietly, "figure it out, and come back when your heads are out of your asses."

Not waiting for another scathing word, the Spiders scattered.

With a bone rattling sigh, Miguel collapsed onto his desk frustratedly. Why was he like this? His temper was so blasted short, no matter how hard he tried to reign it in. Peter had a toddler for chrissakes and hardly ever raised his voice.

LYLA hovered over his shoulder, a knowing look on her face. He nudged his face further into his desk, ignoring her.

"Go 'way," he muttered, teeth scraping the plasticene surface. As always, she ignored him.

"You need help, Miguel. I mean it, hey don't-" her voice went stern as he reached to disable her.

"I don't wanna hear this again," he growled, fumbling for the controls.

"Well, I'm sure these kids don't wanna be screamed at again either, and your feelings are not more important than theirs."

His carmine eyes simmered with rage as he halted. She was right, of course she was right but god why did it hurt-

Shame licked his ribs and he ducked his chin.

LYLA took the opportunity.

"With the new universes we just discovered, there'll be a whole batch of new recruits. Is this really how you wanna run this? Christ, Migs, it's almost better to be independent than deal with you." at his huff, she crossed her arms. Prancing to the front of his chair, she tapped his nose.

"You can fix it, if you really want to. But who cares if they're saving the world when the world they live in has people like you?"

She blinked out of existence, as a shameful blush reddened his cheeks.

Fuck.

☆ ☆ ☆

Twenty new spiders would be arriving today at noon on the dot. Miguel could already feel the migraine coming on as he discussed logistics with Jess and Peter. Training, tours, watches, all the work was piling in his mind.

"Miguel?"

Jess' sharp tone brought him out of his reverie. She looked expectant, a stack of files outstretched. "Did you hear what I just said?"

His blank stare triggered an eye roll. "These Spiders need Multiverse tracking, so you'll take them to the Center at 2:30, yeah?"

Miguel acquiesced gruffly and snatched the files, Meeting adjourned, he waited for his office to be clear again.

Peter hung back, aura churning with conflict.

Oh boy, here we go.

"Hey big guy....up for a chat?" Peter's eyes were bright but wary, and Miguel shot him a weary look.

"I don't have time to chat, Parker, we've been over this," he bit out.

"It's important."

"I don't care, write me an email-"

"Huntsman is AWOL."

Miguel blinked, fiery words fizzling on his tongue. Impossible. He'd just seen him an hour ago, how could that be? Sighing impatiently, he began searching for the small boy on his wall of screens.

"Miguel."

"What."

"You scared him pretty bad, dude. I know you don't like to here this, and I'll try to keep the hippy-dippy to a minimum, but dude." Miguel struggled to make eye contact, hating the rare sincerity of Peter's tone.

"I mean..." Peter faltered, gesturing to the door. "Voidspace is no joke. Especially some of those kids, where they've come from...you gotta fix your stuff. That's not cool. Jess and I have been-"

You gotta be fucking kidding me.

"Don't look at me like that."

Miguel seethed out his nose, hands clenching and unclenching around his tablet. god, if only other people saw feelings the way he did, maybe they'd leave him alone.

"I," he spat, "am aware that my temper is...volatile. But-"

"No buts," Jess said from behind him. He whirled, suddenly feeling caged in. "How you talked to the recruits today was unacceptable. Don't act like you're above consequence," She said in response to his growl. "That behavior is appalling. We can find someone else to do this, you know."

His anger dissipated. She wouldn't.

"You wouldn't."

"If it meant helping the success of the next generation, I would."

Miguel, for once in a long time, felt the sting of tears in his throat. Sensing the shift, Peter gave him an awkward shoulder pat and retreated.

"We care about you man," he said gently, "but you gotta work this out."

With that, the door slammed shut, and Miguel was alone.

Again.

☆ ☆ ☆

He thumbed the corner of his sweatshirt, damp from his workout. Peter's conversation rattled around his brain. He didn't think he'd been that harsh. He never meant-

He never meant to hurt anyone.

But it was inevitable, wasn't it? No matter how hard he tried, someone always got hurt. His tongue was too sharp, his claws too fast.

Her form, small, clutched in his arms, deteriorating into pixels as she sobbed-

No.

He wasn't doing this again. Miguel stared at himself until he was sure the mirror would crack. They deserved better. He deserved better. It was cowardly, the way he hid from emotion.

Was that what it was?

Was he afraid? Afraid to reach out for it to snap back in his face? It seemed so childish, like there should be something more than the fear of other people keeping him at bay. Gabi was gone. There was no changing that. He knew that in his head, but his heart?

The roiling stew of his emotions made his chest tight. He couldn't do this, not right now.

Maybe tomorrow.

☆ ☆ ☆

It was late. Or early, depending on how you looked at it. Miguel was steadily working, a slight burn in his red-rimmed eyes the only indication that he was tired. Adrenaline buzzed through his veins, keeping his back rigid and muscles taut.

Another anomaly, another fight, another file. click-click-click went his keyboard, rhythmic in the the empty office.

Almost empty, that is.

Out of the corner of his eye, a soft shine radiated from the doorway. Biting back a sigh, he leveled his tired glare with the figure, mentally preparing himself for one of Peter's scoldings. But as the figure drew closer, he realized he didn't recognize the shimmery white aura or the person attached to it.

"Miguel O'Hara?"

A soft, lilting voice carried from the base of his tower. Miguel blinked, not recognizing the voice either.

"Yes?" He responded gruffly, wracking his brain for who the fuck could be visiting him at this time of night -

"Um...Can...Can you roll down? O-or something? I'm sorry, I just can't really see..." the sweet voice faltered and he rolled his eyes.

Maybe, if they'd waited till a reasonable hour to visit him, his chair would be in a more reasonable position. But nooo.....Regardless, he began the slow descent from his perch. As he grew closer to the ground, the pearlescent light grew more in focus. Miguel came to the conclusion that he definitely did not know you.

Your expression was patient and soft, standing with your hands folded and dressed in a comfortable sweater. You must be new; most seasoned Spiders wore suits out of convenience. A file was grasped loosely in front of you.

"I'm supposed to be working in the office next door, and it seems I wasn't given a keycard?" Your owlish gaze turned hopeful, and he was taken aback by your gentle gaze.

Miguel had never seen someone with such large eyes. Round and long-lashed, they exuded warmth and an innocence that reminded him of her

No.

Stop it.

"Uh, yeah, hang on a second," He fumbled for his watch and pushed past you, not waiting for you to follow. His mind was reeling, trying to recall if he was supposed to know who you were. Jess had mentioned an assistant, but he figured it would be someone less....soft. More experienced, that is. Besides, he didn't trust you. No way was he just shoving the fate of the universe in your hands, even though your eyes were nice and you didn't cower when he spoke-

Stop. It.

He exhaled loudly, trying to expel the thoughts with it. You stood next to him, ever patient. Your halo, he found, was still that shimmering white. It was a soft light, not glaring and oppressive like the colors of his teammates. It soothed his headache rather than aggravated it.

Realizing he was staring dumbly at the locked door, he sighed again and slid the keycard across the pad.

Error.

Miguel blinked. He had the master card, it applied to every door, what the hell? Trying again, he felt impatience coiling in his chest. What....

Peter. Peter had borrowed his card to let Mayday out of a lab she'd snuck into. He promised he'd return it by today, but knowing him....Today was not the day.

"I can't fucking believe this," Miguel muttered venomously, "he takes the most valuable piece of tech I have and fucking forgets to return it, that irresponsible piece of...shouldn't even be a father, gotta be kidding-"

"Miguel?"

He froze, having forgotten you were there. Shame tinged his cheeks. He'd done it again, fuck, he wasn't trying-

"If it's too much trouble, I can just get my card tomorrow." Your voice was calm and soothing.

He gawked.

You were still glowing with a soft white light, tinged only now by a slight pink hue. Sympathy. No fear, no ugly red anger or terror at his temper. your eyes. you looked him in the eye. you smiled at him. you wanted to help-

His throat, too closed up with confusion and pity and ugh that he merely grunted and ducked back into his office, leaving your soft gaze behind.

☆ ☆ ☆

God, it drove him crazy. Your patience. Your light. He could feel you from yards away, your little glow that was always warm, always kind. Your card arrived safely, and there wasn't another mishap between you two. Dove, you'd been nicknamed, for the way you flitted between jobs like a small bird.

Every day, you'd pitter-patter into his office on soft feet and explain the schedule to him, then go through the mission briefs with a gentle tone that didn't falter, even if he grouched about the conferences overriding his lunch break.

He didn't think he'd need an assistant. He could do it himself, had been forever. But you...helped. Your organization was impeccable, finding reason and structure where his brain only saw chaos. Miguel was terrible with time management, but you'd give him a gentle reminder that it was time for a break, or that the work was done and his brooding could be saved for tomorrow.

Go home, Miguel, you whispered kindly, tucking a bag of dessert into his large palms. I'll see you tomorrow.

Well, he'd see you sooner. He liked to think about you. It didn't feel like daydreaming, because you worked together and therefore thinking about you was thinking about work, technically. It puzzled him, how your patience never wavered. You'd heard the stories, comforted victims of his wrath. But your light only burned brighter with him, never dampened in contempt.

He noticed it first, at a work party. Miguel hated these functions, found them boring and tedious. Chatting about mundane things while nursing cheap wine and a migraine? He'd pass.

Except, when you arrived. Dressed in a soft purple sweater and a long skirt god he loved your sweaters, how warm and docile your eyes hidden shyly beneath your hair. He itched to walk over, but nerves rooted him to the spot. You were tucked against a wall, clearly uncomfortable, and as your gaze scanned the busy room...

you landed on him. and,

you glowed. radiantly, your nervous blue haze shimmered with a soft golden happiness, and you waved with a smile. Miguel swallowed thickly.

You were happy to see him. He, who never gave you more than two word sentences, who snapped and bickered and bit like a hissing cat, made your halo glow so bright it warmed his cheeks.

Nobody had ever felt that way about him. And it was so fucking stupid, the giddiness that made him dizzy. Decency was all it was. You were just being nice. And here he was, a blushing melting mess because you were happy to see him.

He looked forward to you even more after that. Slowly, he tried his best to bite his tongue, to keep the irritation from spewing. Instead, he tried fanning the flames with small talk, stumbling through conversation like a lovesick teenager. He could tell you were surprised, but you welcomed the change. You would sit at the edge of his desk and talk about random occurrences, silly mundane things that still made his cheeks ache from smiling. How the slowly brightening halo of light around you made him adore you more, even if you had to sheepishly apologize when it got too bright.

don't be sorry, mi luz, he wanted to whisper, i love to see you shine.

Then, inevitably, you would pad back to your office and your light would be gone. Miguel would pout at the loss, missing the gentle glow that made his chest ache.

So he decided to do something about it.

You were revising a plan against the latest anomaly, in sector AB-7. His tablet was clutched to you, and you were curled against his chair. The warmth emanating from your aura made him melt with adoration, eyes growing heavy-

"Migs?"

He hummed, still gazing. you'd picked up the nickname from his AI, and he wanted to curl up in your lap every time you said it.

"You look tired, I'll let you rest." You placed the tablet back on his desk and patted his shoulder god do it again please before turning-

"No?"

He murmured it, not quite pleading. You stopped, tilting your head in confusion. "you...can stay. There's room down there, if you still wanna work."

You didn't say anything, and he felt the words rush out. "It just- it just seems strange that you'd be working in a different office when you spend so much time here anyway, but don't worry about it, it's fine-"

"Migs," you said, so gentle it made his toes curl. "I'd love that."

And hence began the worst mistake of his productive career. Because now, you'd made a home in the corner of his space, and your softness was always there, so inviting for him to gaze at. He'd lost hours of working just staring.

He learned about you, learned what made you tick. How you weren't cleared to fight, which is why you could afford do dress so comfortable. Fine by him, he'd blow a fuse if something happened to you. As long as he could keep you tucked in his little haven, safe for him to admire, he didn't give a fuck.

Jess would raise her eyebrows at your constant presence, but his heart rate was lower and he smiled, she'd never been more terrified and shocked.

he was doing better.

Miguel soon found himself focusing all of his spare attention on you. Buying you sweaters, letting you watch your favorites movies on his widescreen, doing anything to make your light glow a little brighter.

This was....different. he hadn't had this, not for a long while. it made him nervous, a little undercurrent of shyness beneath his desire to make you smile. You were never as forward with him, kind as ever but at a distance. He would take what he could get, though. As long as your light kept shining, he'd bask in its warmth.

☆ ☆ ☆

God, what a meeting. He'd zoned out halfway through, so astronomically exhausted that he could barely keep his eyes open. His thoughts were consumed with the idea of taking a nap on the old sofa you'd shoved into his office. you'd be right next to him, reading and playing with his hair, oh god if only the clock would move faster- Miguel almost lept out of his chair when the meeting concluded.

His feet quickened back towards his office, feeling your light trickle under the door. close close there she is almost-

Oh. uh oh. uh oh uh oh.

He stood frozen, staring at his desk. You had made yourself comfortable in his chair, napping with your chin tucked and hair mussed and he felt his chest grow tight god what is happening to him good christ-

Miguel swallowed roughly and peered down at your closed eyes. Your aura was a soft pink, content and sweet. He wanted to hold you so badly. God, that's what he'd been needing. tuck you up in one of your devilishly soft sweaters and keep his little light all to himself.

It wasn't lust, his desire for touch. that felt carnal, too vile for you. He would never defile you like that, wanting only to watch you shimmer and preen with happiness. Little light, mi luz, so soft...

His eyes were shining with adoration as he looked at you. He didn't know how long it had been, and he didn't care. But after a moment, he realized sleeping on his straight-backed chair would hurt your back. he needed to move you. hold you on his lap, he was softer and warmer and god help him-

Taking a breath, Miguel slid his forearms under your curled form and lifted slowly, careful not to jostle you. Whatever love demon was inside keened with joy, and he wanted to weep. As he gently maneuvered you towards your comfortable armchair, he caught a shift in your body. Freezing again, he waited for you to finish squirming, finally settling with your head tucked in his neck.

And oh, mi luz

You were glowing warmer now, the faint blush shimmering gold against your hair. Miguel's lips quivered and he began to rock gently. His hands shook with care. He could feel the tranquility rolling off of you in heavy waves, making his eyes heavy and his heart full. You felt safe with him. Soft snuffling breaths against his collar and hands clutched loosely at his nape.

He was going to die. His chest burned with the need to shout, to scream with excitement. Finally finally, little soft light, all his to hold-

Miguel might have been squeezing too tight in his joy, because your brow pinched and you mewled in discomfort. He immediately hushed you, coaxing you back into golden sleep, stroking your cheek and brushing his lips over your cheek.

"Sleep, mi luz, I have you. I have you," he cooed, nudging his nose into your jaw. You sighed contentedly and murmured a good night as he gently laid with you in the armchair. He buried his face in your hair, shivering with the warmth that enveloped him.

☆ ☆ ☆

Wherever this was, he never wanted to leave. Miguel felt syrupy and languid, wrapped in a cocoon of something that felt divinely warm and safe and

"M..Migs?"

a rustle, and the lovely bundle in his arms blinked blearily at him. his locestruck eyes shone down at his little love, and he smiled gently.

"Hi, dovey," he murmured, rubbing your back, "sleep well?"

You nodded sleepily and scooted up, seated fully against his chest. your aura pulsed sluggishly, as is overrun with emotion. Miguel was too busy sweetly nosing your cheek to notice the hues dancing around your head. still half-asleep, you purred happily, dozing gently against his warm neck. Miguel kept up, suckling gently behind your ear and across your lips and everywhere he could reach without waking you. He could do this for hours.

the warmth was beginning to singe his hair though, and he hissed gently

"mi luz," he whispered lovingly, "dovey, bebita, my love," trying as gently as possible to rouse you. You whined at the wake up, doe eyes drowsy and unfocused.

"your halo, mi sol," he whispered, pecking your cheek, "getting a little warm is all." you blushed, quickly dampening the shining haze of love you had blanketed over the both of you. Miguel grunted and laid his head back again. You followed suit, curling against him as close as possible.

'love you,' your lips murmured into his skin.

'mi luz,' he said reverently, and his soft mouth soothed you back to sleep.

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that's all folks! might do some lil drabbles off of this but idk yet. hope you enjoyed, requests are open, ilysm xox

Summary: Spoopy Vampire falls for Basil Stitt (~2.4k)

Contents: 18+, gn!vampire!reader, blood, over pants hj

-----

Basil Stitt was the perfect meal.

Healthy enough. No romantic attachments. Only talked to his family a few times a week. Most importantly, he never left his apartment.

You weren’t above taking advantage of a lonely soul. You’d been a vampire since the early 1900s, and couldn’t remember what guilt even felt like.

You’d been watching Basil for a week or so from the building across from his. Noticed he was home at all hours of the day and night.

It had been awhile since you’d had a long-term meal. It was nice, once every quarter century or so, to have more than a one night stand with a human.

Basil was cute. Part of his face was damaged and one of his eyes was a little milky. You could fix that, though, if he wanted. And if he agreed to be yours.

But honestly, you preferred him this way. His scars made him human. Most vampires looked down on that kind of thing, but there was something about Basil. Like a sad puppy you wanted to scratch behind the ears.

He ate cold pizza straight from the fridge. He head-banged alone for an hour at 3 a.m., then cried until sunrise. Fell asleep with a pile of jelly beans on his chest, right there on the floor of his living room, a knife stuck in the cushion of the couch next to him.

He was perfect.

You watch Basil wake up, disoriented, then head toward the bathroom for his morning shower.

You slip out of the apartment you’d been staying in, one you’d charmed the occupant into loaning you (along with their neck), and out into the cold, gray morning.

You smell Basil’s shower gel as soon as you get off the elevator. He uses so much you can smell it through the window on the nights you’d watched him sleep. You can’t wait to lick the scent off of his skin.

You pick up the bakery box from the mat in front of his door. He gets donuts delivered on Sundays. You have to knock for almost five minutes before he answers. You hear his heartbeat racing. Poor baby, you can smell his pang of fear.

He opens the door with a paper bag on his head. He’s adorable.

Even through the two eye holes he’s cut in the front, you can see his dark, beautiful eyes. When they make direct contact with yours, you let the warm, false, charm of your immortality wash over him.

“Take off the bag, Basil. You don’t need it ever again,” you coo.

He rips it of with one hand, eyes wide.

“Oh,” you say with a smile, “you’re just perfect.”

He half smiles, his eyes dazed. “Thanks. But I’m not. I’m a monster.”

You raise an eyebrow at his choice of words. You let the charm fade, interested to see how he reacts.

Basil blinks, looking unsure all of a sudden. “Um. Who are you?” He asks, his hands fidgeting with the open door.

You inhale deeply. His scent is amazing. Sweet and clean. You can almost smell his loneliness. Even though you haven’t been human in more than 100 years, it touches you.

More than mouth-watering. You feel a stirring where you heart used to be.

“I saw you got a bakery delivery from the place down the street,” you say. “I just moved in down the hallway and was hoping you’d take pity on me. Invite me in for breakfast.”

Basil swallows. His hand comes up briefly, almost touching his scars. He turns his face so you can’t see them.

You lift the box of donuts. “I think these are still warm,” you say with a small smile.

Basil chews his lip. You smell sweat start to form at the back of his neck. Precious man child.

He takes a breath, as if to make himself brave. “I always make a big pot of coffee in the morning. I have juice, though, if you don’t drink caffeine. Come on in.”

Bingo.

You lay your hand on his chest briefly as you pass him to enter his apartment. Your hands itch to tidy things. This mess won’t do at all. Basil deserves better.

You stand in the middle of his hallway, so he has to make contact to pass you.

He lays his hand on your bare arm. His eyes go wide.

“Wow, I guess it’s cold this morning,” he says. “Your skin’s like ice.”

He rushes to the kitchen to pour you a warm drink.

“A gentleman,” you say, following him. “I haven’t met one of those in a long time.”

He shakes his head, embarrassed. “I’m not really. I broke up with my girlfriend over the phone a few months ago. I’m…”

His words trail off as you stand close to him in the kitchen.

You’re trying hard not to charm him. His real reactions are so cute, so genuine. You wish... well, doesn’t matter. Despite what books say, vampires can’t charm people into falling in love with them.

The thought startles you. Love. 

Is that what you want?

Basil hands you a mug, interrupting your thoughts.

“We can sit down in the living room,” he says.

He scoots by you and quickly clears the couch free of pillows and an empty bottle of wine. He flips the cushion that has a huge slit cut into it, filling spilling out. You’d watched him take a kitchen knife to it.

His outbursts are less these days, but still happen once in awhile.

You sit, setting the bakery box on his coffee table. He’s careful to hide the left side of his face from you. Always positioning himself just so, looking at you sideways. He’s so nervous his heart sounds like a bird’s.

You have no idea what scarred him.

Although, if the yellow post-its are any indicator, it was probably lightning.

You hadn’t seen it from your vantage point, but one of his walls is almost covered in lightning-bolt drawings and words.

“Are you an artist?” You ask, looking at the wall.

Basil half-laughs, sips his coffee. “No. Just another office drone. I work from home. I can’t leave my apartment. Obviously.”

Your gaze turns back to him. “Why do you say, ‘obviously’?”

Basil’s mouth turns down at the corners. “My face.”

His shoulders slump. You set aside the mug. It’s cold already from your hands sapping out the heat.

You move closer to him on the couch.

“I think you’re perfect,” you say.

“You’re perfect,” Basil says. “Confident. Gorgeous. I wouldn’t have had a chance with someone like you, even if I were normal. And now…”

You touch his hair with your hand, letting your fingers play with his dark curls, brush through. His eyes flutter closed. You feel him melt into the affection.

“Can I smell you? I know it’s weird, but I’d like to get to know you. Scent bonds beings in a way that nothing else can,” you say.

The question comes out of you without thought. It’s not a calculated move. You feel like you’re on a first date.

Basil’s eyes open. He nods.

You lean toward him, your face gently in the crook of his neck. The tip of your nose caresses his skin as you inhale. Basil’s so sweet your body is singing for him already.

You lean away before you lose control.

Basil turns his head, looking at you face-forward. He’s still nervous, but you’re unbelievably proud that he’s already showing himself to you. He probably sees the tinge of bloodlust in your eyes, but he doesn’t back away.

Maybe he feels it too. Something between you two that’s more than prey being drawn into a predator’s den to be torn apart.

You lick your lips. Basil’s gaze drops to watch, then flitters away.

“You want a donut?” He asks.

“Honestly, I don’t really eat.”

Basil’s brows furrow. “But I thought, I mean, you said you wanted breakfast. Not that I’m calling you a liar. Shit. Sorry. The only people I talk to are on conference calls at work.”

He looks down at his lap.

“It was a pretense. I wanted to meet you,” you say.

The tops of Basil’s cheekbones color pink from the compliment. You can’t help yourself. You reach out and touch his beautiful, warm skin with your fingers.

“I don’t mean to say I’m a stalker,” you smile reassuringly. “You’re interesting. Attractive.”

“Me?” Basil says. His voice gets high-pitched with disbelief.

You nod. “I have a sixth sense about humans. Compatibility and whatnot. I think you and I could be tremendously good together.”

You drop your hand when Basil doesn’t reply. It’s been many, many years since you’ve bothered to ask a human what they might like. Since you’ve tried to woo one without any special powers.

“I’ve lost my touch,” you say with an awkward smile. “I won’t force you. I’m sure your instincts are telling you to run by now. I’ll save you the trouble. Tell me to leave and I won’t bother you again.”

“My instincts are telling me to ask you to stay,” Basil says. He looks out the window. “Then again, they also told me I could fly and I should jump off my balcony right after my accident.”

You gasp quietly.

“It was okay. I fell into a dumpster.” He clears his throat. “It was gross, but I lived. Haven’t left my apartment since. But I think, sometimes, I knew you were watching me.”

“Your survival instinct. Like a gazelle on the savanna, your body knew I was there.”

Basil blinks. His big, brown eyes are clear when he looks at you again. He seems more sure of himself.

“I’m not perfect either. So, whoever you are, or whatever,” he corrects himself, “I think you’re interesting too.”

He smiles, the scars on his face making one side slightly tighter. As if he feels it, his smile fades slightly. He’s beautiful, nonetheless. You hope you can show him how beautiful.

“I’m a vampire,” you say quietly, trying to say it gently, hoping he doesn’t run screaming.

His body tenses. Apparently, his fight or flight is broken because Basil is still for a full ten seconds. Your thirst tugs at its leash, sensing an easy meal. But after so long, you’ve learned to control it.

“It’s daytime,” he says after awhile.

“It’s cloudy,” you answer. “Not comfortable outside for me, but I don’t burst into flames.”

“I invited you in,” he says to himself.

“You did.”

“But you don’t want to kill me?” He asks. He looks more confused than concerned.

“No,” you say emphatically, “I won’t to harm a hair on your precious head, Basil.”

He bites his lip uncertainly.

You reach out and tug him gently until his head lays in your lap. He looks up at your face, seemingly hypnotized by you, even though you’re not using any kind of charm on him.

You smile down at him serenely, twirling his hair around your fingers with one hand, the other brushing over the pulse beating in his neck.

“It would make me so happy if you would be mine,” you say.

His eyes flicker away, then back to yours. “Yours?”

“You have no idea how perfect you are, especially to someone like me,” you say, running your nails under the collar of his shirt. “Like you were made for me.”

You feel the blood rush up his neck, warming his face.

“Sweet Basil,” you say, leaning down.

You kiss him, leading with your tongue, before you let your fangs out. You want him to get used to the feeling. Basil barely notices, kissing you with wild abandon.

“You, you can,” he whispers, out of breath from the making out. He swallows. “… you know.”

You feel tenderness bloom inside of you. “Oh, Basil, my darling boy. I would be honored.”

He smiles, shifting to sit up slightly. “It won’t, like, turn me into a vampire or anything, right?”

“No, that’s a very different process,” you reassure him. “I won’t take too much, especially this first time. It’s very intense.”

He’s nervous, bless him, but determined. “I don’t think anything’ll hurt more than when I got hit by lightning.”

“It won’t hurt. Not after a few seconds. It’s intense in other ways. Sexually.”

Basil’s dark eyes pop wide. “I can handle it,” he says, mostly bravado.

“If you’re sure,” you say, bending your head.

You scrap your fangs along his neck. They’re sharp enough to leave a pink trail behind them, just a scrape along his skin.

He shivers.

You cradle him in your lap, your hand going higher on his leg.

“Is this okay?” You ask.

“Yeah, definitely.” He nods so hard his curly hair bobs down over his forehead.

You brush it back before getting back to it. You lay a hand over his already hard cock. Just enough pressure to draw a tempting whine from him.

His hips raise to meet your touch. You bite him. Fangs so sharp they slide into his neck like a hot needle through butter.

Basil tenses, flinches, but moans when your hand finds the head of his cock, teasing him over his pants.

You suck at the puncture wounds, a mouthful of heaven. He comes immediately, shuddering, a wet mess in his pants that you feel soak through right away. You moan at his neck, drinking and drowning yourself in the scent of him. The taste of his blood, warm and welcoming.

You shudder as you pull away. You kiss the wounds, suck gently again because you can’t help it. He tastes like candy. Sweet and addictive.

He looks dazed, but happy, looking up at you from your lap. Good boy that he is, he’s already half hard again.

“Will you stay?” He asks you. “I- I’ll be yours.”

You smile, a bloody tear at the corner of one eye. “Basil, dear, I believe I’m becoming very attached to you. Please know, you’re more than a pet to me.” You stroke his scarred face. “I will protect you with my life. And you will give me your life blood in return. Promise me.”

His face is soft and vulnerable. His milky eye closes slightly as he stares up at you with wonder. “I promise.”

You gently tilt his head. “Let me drink from you again, my Basil. And let us never be without each other again.”

:: Next Fic: My Girlfriend is a Ghost (Anselm) ::

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this is so cute! also i think you have thw wrong header bc it says 'rydal keeps asking you out' on it ❤️

Ask The Question

Outcome 3 x GN!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 3: Drinking Game

Summary: Rydal keeps asking you out.

A/N: Opps, this is basically fluff. Thank you @thexsanctuaryx for saving my butt and beta-ing again!

Warnings: fluff, teasing, drinking, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 649

You take a shot, the whiskey burns your throat. You can’t remember if it’s your fourth or fifth, your tolerance having been consistently burned down during the course of the evening. 

There’s a pleasant buzz at the back of your head.

He chuckles, his dark eyes twinkling. “I can’t believe you didn’t want to answer that one.” 

It’s the first time you’ve seen him so relaxed, without every single muscle tensed, posed and ready to strike.

You pull a face, “I have my reasons.”

“Which are?” Amusement dances in his expression.

You pause then shake your head. “Nope.” 

“That’s unfair.” 

“Is not.” 

He shifts a little closer to you on the floor, pressing his arm against yours, “Is too.”

Outside the wind is howling, the night dark and cold. 

The light from the fire plays across his skin dreamily. 

“I took my shot.” You gesture to yourself. “I’m playing by the rules.”

He tuts playfully, “How is, ‘Are you interested in anyone right now?’ so difficult to answer?”

“You can’t trick me, mister. I’m still not gonna tell you, besides it’s your turn.” 

“Fine.” He gives you an eyebrow raise and then pretends to think. “Truth.”

You pout at him for a second and then grin wickedly. “Are you interested in anyone right now?” 

He snorts.

“See?” You gloat. “Not so chatty now are you?” 

“Yes.” 

“What?” 

“The answer’s yes.” He gives you a smug smile. “Your turn.”

“What?” You splutter. “Who?” 

“It’s your turn.” 

“Hey-”

“Rules are rules,” he nudges your shoulder again, “and it’s your turn.”

You sigh dramatically. “Alright…” You know he’s going to ask something similar again, and again if you say truth until you’re too tipsy not to answer honestly. You swallow. 

Part of you wishes he wasn’t so beautiful, wasn’t so charming. That you weren’t hopelessly head over heels in love with him. 

But he obviously had someone he had eyes on. You tried not to let the disappointment that was tearing at your insides show. 

“Dare.” You finally say. 

“A kiss.” He speaks so softly you think you must have misheard.

“Sorry?” Your voice comes out quieter than you intended, breathless.

“A kiss,” he repeats, leaning closer until he can brush his nose against yours. 

“I…” You don’t know what to do, what to say, your mind racing and also unhelpfully blank. 

He reaches up slowly and lightly touches your cheek in a silky sweet contact. Your skin buzzes, practically hums where his fingers brush against you. 

“A kiss.” He says a third time, barely moving his lips this time as he tilts his head to the side and closes the gap. 

He kisses you softly, gentle and sweet like he doesn’t want to break you, but he groans when your lips move against his. His touch on your cheek grows firmer, his fingers slide down to cradle the back of your neck as he flicks his tongue along your bottom lip. 

This can’t be real, can’t be happening. You’d had too much to drink and passed out on the stupidly plush carpet. 

He hums against you, his kisses growing bolder, more demanding as he licks into your mouth, teasing your tongue with his own. He tastes like the whiskey and that stupid lemon you’d dared him to eat six rounds ago. 

His lips are softer than you expected, but as skilled and firm as you’d daydreamed of.

When he finally pulls back he keeps his eyes closed, a soft lovesick smile on his face. 

You swallow nervously, all words empty from your mind.  

“You can ask me that truth now.” He says softly, his hand still on your neck, tracing soft circles along your skin that makes you shiver deliciously and ache with want. 

“I…who are you interested in?” You finally stammer out, getting lost in his dark eyes. 

He kisses you again, lightly and whispers against your lips. “You, dummy.”

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current fan creation landscape is kinda like if you went to a party with a homemade cake and everyone takes a slice and silently thumbs up at you with no attempt to start a conversation except for occasionally some guy sits in the corner with a tape recorder critiquing the cake as though he was a restaurant critic and another guy is handing the cake to an uber driver like "yeah i need you to find a restaurant that makes cake like this so i can have more of it" and the only person that's talked to you in 30 minutes is a very sweet little guy who was like "hey i liked your cake" and then ran away apologizing for bothering you the moment you said thank you.

People turning against Chappell Roan for not accepting harassment & stalking of her and her family, saying Hozier is acting embarrassing for defending his girlfriend THAT Y'ALL WEREN'T EVEN SUPPOSED TO KNOW ABOUT after she got harassed online, calling Pedro Pascal names for.. apparently not greeting fans loudly in his own private time?

Y'all have GOT to get a grip on real life if you think celebs establishing boundaries is working against you. You do not know these people, you will not sleep with these people and they do not owe you anything!!!!!!