she/her | 24 | autistic | special interests in Coat Guy rn. idk hes just so scrunkly Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/coat-girl/818157980726034432/no-im-not-a-human-masterlist?source=share
(really wanna write smutty headcanons as well, lmk if anyone's curious and i might post👀)
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• He goes by Eugene if you don't speak russian, but his real name is Evgeny. He will melt completely if you try to say his name with your accent, and might actually pass away if you call him Zhenya (the russian diminutive form of his name)
• He does have a slight russian accent when speaking english, but he is almost completely fluent. His accent comes out more when he's stressed or emotional.
• Reads (and writes!) a lot of poetry, both in russian and english. His handwriting is neat, slightly leaning, and quite pretty. He used to be self conscious about it, thinking people would judge him if they ever found out he wrote stuff like that, so he keeps his poems to himself. Will only show them to you after a lot of trust, or maybe sooner if you are also artistic and show your own work to him :))
• He's very creative actually! He doesn't think he is, but thats depression and self loathing talking. His poems are deep and introspective, and he used to visually express himself more alternatively as well - hence the gauges. He probably wants/has wanted a tattoo, but never found anything that inspired him enough
• I think hes into some alternative rock music, but is generally open minded to most music. He appreciates the artist's work regardless, looking up to people who can be so brave and show their music to the word. He really values lyricism, but a good melody gets easily stuck in his brain. He thinks drums are really cool but would never try to play them for lack of confidence. He plays some guitar and bass though, he always keeps a pick in one of his many jacket pockets
• Will sometimes hum to himself without noticing (and when he's not just a shivering mess). His voice isn't particularly high, but not the lowest either. It sounds lower when he's embarrassed or mumbling. There's a certain tonality in his voice that's unique to him, there's a smoothness to it when he feels more comfortable.
• Used to smoke a lot, but it ironically lessened as a form of self punishment. He thinks he doesnt deserve the relief of a cigarette, so he smokes less often now. Still occasionally though. If you go for a cigarette break he will follow you just to stay close, and when asked he will hesitantly but gladly take one and join you. He's not used to the offer.
You had always struggled with big emotions, even before the cataclysm hit. You'd often get overwhelmed over seemingly small things, and your chest would feel tight at a minor inconvenience. This had, as expected, not translated too well as you navigate through the catastrophe that hit the entire world like a storm.
You hadn't lived in this small russian town for very long at all, having only purchased the cheap, abandoned home a couple of months before the storm took over here too. You barely even spoke the language, making interactions with people awkward and stiff at times as you asked each and every one if they happened to speak english. Your since deceased neighbour spoke with a heavy accent, but was clear about his worry for your safety regardless. You had taken his daughter under your wing for a bit, before some FEMA asshole took her while speaking muffled russian at you, refusing to elaborate. You were devastated, heartbroken to have failed your neighbor and only friend's wish to take care of her. The days after that passed in a daze, and you barely spoke to the people you let in, too absorbed in your grief.
There were currently two other people in your house.
The first was another foreigner, who had told you he was from Georgia, being mercifully fluent in english. He arrived with his lips wired shut, and a panic-filled face. The next day you saw him, his wires were removed (thank god, you had no idea how to deal with that) - though his mouth was still wounded. You liked his company, getting along surprisingly well with him.
The second guest was a widowed woman, currently residing in your bathroom. She had come with her late husband on her back, looking for shelter and a place to bury him. You helped her find a place in your yard for him to lay, and she seemed grateful to you, albeit still quiet-natured. She spoke english to you with a light accent, and her words were slow and precise. You liked her.
You also used to house a nervous girl who said she was a cashier. You had grown attached to her, feeling sympathy for her dark story, but the sympathy quickly turned sour when you found out she was a visitor. She had killed the tall man from the bar, who you had also grown fond of. The loud sound of your shotgun and her head splitting open sometimes still rings in your ears, reminding you of the horrible reality you're currently living through. Just thinking about it made you nauseous to your core, and could leave you upset for days. You weren't sure how much more of this your sensitive heart could take.
You were going through the motions as usual, waking up at night to see who would knock on your door. That freaky, pale visitor had since promised to leave you alone, as you had consistently had people in your house, but you knew better than to take his word for it.
The sound of another knock woke you up from your spinning thoughts, your body having been on autopilot since waking up for the second time today. You had better go check the door. You really didn't want to; you were fairly confident that the two people currently residing in your home were human, but you felt the need to be courteous enough to at least answer the door.
Your sock-clad feet shuffle over to the front door, making the old floorboards creak on the way.
You peek through the rusted old peephole on your front door, and see an androgynous looking man with shoulder length black hair and a big winter coat standing nervously outside, shifting his weight from one foot to another.
“Hello? Sorry, do you speak english?”
You still felt weird asking that question, despite the words having left your lips numerous times by now. You don't know what reply to expect, but you see the man jump a little at your words before going back to shivering - as if the scorching sun from only a few hours back didn't affect him at all. You thought it was strange, but waited patiently for him to compose himself before he replied.
“O-oh! Uhm.. H-hello.
The heat doesn't b-bother me. I'm just looking for a quiet place to rest.
Might I find some p-peace in your home?”
His english was surprisingly fluent, but had that slavic russian sound in his long vowels and sharper consonants. His voice was lower than you'd expected, sounding almost soft through his chattering teeth and shivering tone. His voice was really nice, you thought, allowing yourself to find the beauty in things despite the circumstances. You've always tried to see the beauty in people, admiring things others might find strange. Maybe that's why you felt weirdly sympathetic for this freezing stranger on your doorstep, even if his cold nature made no sense for the current climate.
You turn your focus back to said stranger.
“You're cold? Huh… The heat doesn't bother you?”
You can't help but ask the obvious question, not wanting to risk the safety of your current guests in case he was dangerous.
“I'm always c-cold.
Others b-b-burn in the sun. I wrap myself in layers and still feel on the verge of fr-freezing.
I'm afraid to take any layers off.
What if it just gets worse? And there's no d-death to ease the suffering?”
You can't help but feel pity for the poor man. His words are almost poetic in their depressive nature. You can relate to that - depression has been a long time friend of yours now, always ruminating in the back of your mind lately. It has worsened a bit after the cataclysm, but you try to stay positive. Maybe you're strong, or maybe you're just naive. Maybe both.
“I'm sorry you feel that way, that doesn't sound nice at all. Please, come in.”
You open the door for him, getting a proper look at his figure.
He is taller than he looked through the peephole, although he's so hunched over it's a little hard to tell exactly how much. You have to look up at him a little to meet his eyes, even when he's curling in on himself. He seems almost surprised to see you, despite your invitation. His dark eyes scan over you for a second, before looking down in embarrassment. You suppose he was a bit shy as well.
“Th-thank you.
Ceiling is a b-bit low. But it's fine.”
You see him glance up at the admittedly slightly low ceiling with caution, fidgeting with his hands at his own remark. Maybe he's claustrophobic? You think about where to put him as you guide him through your hallway.
His shivers are louder now that you're next to him, and you consider your options for him.
“I think the living room is the most spacious, and there's some blankets there you can use as well if you'd like? Here, come this way.”
You smile warmly at him as you show him to your living room, trying not to dwell on his flustered expression at your genuine hospitality. It's almost like he didn't expect you to take his worries into consideration at all, like he's used to being ignored and overlooked. You refuse to be the kind of person who does that. Human or not, he seems harmless and you'd be damned if you weren't going to at least try to help him in the little ways you can.
“The blankets are over here. They're not much, but feel free to use any of them as you like. Oh, and please let me know if I can do anything for you. I will be in my bedroom, but don't be afraid to knock!”
He sits carefully down on the couch, peeking over at your pile of blankets as he sits perfectly still.
“Th-thank you…”
His words are meek, his voice quieter than before. You take his gratitude to heart, and let out a content huff before wishing him goodnight and closing the door.
What an odd person, you think to yourself.
At least he's cute.
Wait.
What do you mean by that?
Well, sure, he has a handsome face under that scarf he's hiding behind, but you find many faces attractive - that doesn't necessarily make him special.
And yeah, you do find his demeanor endearing, but you barely know the guy!
You sigh at yourself and your brain's tendency to get too easily attached. That has ended badly before, you solemnly remind yourself.
Looks like nobody else is coming tonight. The streets have gotten quieter the longer this nightmare goes on. You walk towards your bedroom, plopping yourself unceremoniously onto your soft bed after closing the door behind you. It's way too hot here. You're wearing a basic loose t-shirt and some pajama shorts, and you're still sweating from the residual heat of the sun. You need a cold shower tomorrow, you decide. Right now, all you do is throw your heavy duvet to the ground beside you and try to get into a comfortable sleeping position.
Your brain wanders as you slowly drift asleep.
Thoughts of the cold stranger you let in spins in your thoughts. You better talk to him as well tomorrow, to learn a bit more about him.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: No I'm not a Human (Video Game)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Coat Guy (No I'm not a Human)/Reader
Characters: Coat Guy (No I'm not a Human), Wireface (No I'm not a Human), Widow (No I'm not a Human)
Additional Tags: Reader Is Not Protagonist (No I'm not a Human), Coat Guy is Named Yevgeny (No I'm not a Human), Named Coat Guy (No I'm not a Human), Coat Guy's Stomach Hole (No I'm not a Human), Coat Guy Needs a Hug (No I'm not a Human), Submissive Coat Guy (No I'm not a Human), Eventual Smut, Strangers to Lovers
Summary:
You've always been a sensitive soul. After the cataclysm, you let in a curious stranger with a big winter coat and a cute face. Will you learn to know each other, despite his big secret?
I really love the way you draw ninah characters ! Especially the coat guy lol he is so adorable in your style 🥲 I hope to see more of your art in the future !
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