18+ | digital artist & amateur translator, writer
🇷🇺(native)/🇺🇸/🇻🇳/🇮🇩/🇯🇵
DNI: minors, proshippers
please credit me when using my art!
https://hipolink.me/regisvinex
my second blog about my sona/oc Regina: @syrinx-regina-winnex
hello! I'm regisvinex, you can call me Regi (any pronouns). I'm demirose (demiromantic + demisexual) and a LaVeyan (atheistic) satanist („ᵕᴗᵕ„)
I'm a digital artist, an amateur writer and translator (currently focusing on VNs). I love linguistics and I'm a polyglot—Russian is my native language, but I'm also fluent in English (around C1, I believe), plus learning Vietnamese, Indonesian, and Japanese.
I'm REALLY heavily multifandom; currently my main fandom is Creepypasta, but I can also write something else occasionally.
moots are appreciated ^_^
I often tend to get freaky around people I adore, so just tell me if I crossed the line and I'll stop :D
requests are open! will do them when I have time to
What I Write For
current requests: 15
going from oldest to newest!
♡ my sweet anons: 🪷🗡️, 🐈🫧, 🔪💌,
sorry, but I won't write anything related to non/dub-con, underage/p3do, z0o, n3cro and other immoral philias, drugs, alcohol (heavy/addiction), prostitution, or "friends with benefits". (I mean purposefully—I really dislike these themes, and I'm not comfortable writing them 🥹)
additionally, I won't write smut for canonically asexual characters (e.g., Jason) :) gotta respect my ace fellas, sorry!
‼️from now on, I strictly separate canon MH from the fanon (crp) version in my writings. if the names Masky and Hoodie aren't stated, then it's the canon interpretation
Oneshots
Calling Dr. Love [Doctor x fem!reader] (TFC)
Shelter from the Storm [Ben Drowned x fem!reader]
A Little Less Conversation [sub!Jeff the Killer x afab!reader]
HIIII I just wanted to ask before doing it but are you taking request at the moment??? also I really like your OC (honestly one of my favorite ones I've seen in most fandoms)
BYE BYEEE AND THANK YOUU
hiii, yes I do!! I currently have 10+ requests I need to work on, my bad, but you can still send yours :D
oh em gee i remember i read one of your fics a few weeks ago, actually i read all of them but thats not the point, ive literally have been thinking about it ever since, like seriously ur writing is amazing and i love it so much
thank you so much!!! I'm really glad to hear that 🥹🥹
Hiiii🥺🥺🥺🍎🍎 could u maybe do da Creepypasta headcannon with a human reader that keeps doing parkour and literally bounces off of walls (idk id thought it’d be funny)
Low Down Dirty
the creeps (+ MH duo) with a parkour practitioner reader (no Jason and Kate)
AO3 link
cw: none, sfw, gn!reader
note: hii!! this was pretty fun to write :DD
Jeff the Killer
He thinks it's a great way to show off and uses it as an excuse to drag you to rooftops with him. He just sits on the ledge, dangling his legs, watching you flip and jump around like it's his own personal extreme sports channel.
The adrenaline from your stunts genuinely turns him on. He's an adrenaline junkie himself, so seeing you chase that same high makes him feel a sick kind of kinship with you.
He gives you nicknames based on it. "Monkey," "Bunny," or "Squirrel."
When he's in a particularly good mood, he'll actually try to learn from you. It's the only time he'll shut up and listen, watching your technique. He wants to be good at everything, and he's weirdly jealous that this is a thing you can do that he can't.
If you casually vault over furniture instead of walking around it, he'll just watch you and go, "You ever gonna move like a normal person, or is this it?"
Jeff definitely tries to copy you once. It goes badly. He eats the floor and immediately blames the surface, the angle, literally anything but himself.
Sometimes he'll grab your arm just to throw you off balance a little, not enough to hurt you, just to see if you recover. It's his version of messing around.
If you get hurt doing something reckless, he gets quiet instead of teasing. Not soft exactly, but more like, "Was that worth it?" while checking the injury.
Eyeless Jack
He absolutely clocks every single injury you get. Doesn't matter if it's a tiny scrape or a twisted ankle—he'll grab your wrist, turn it over, examine it, and just go, "You're gonna feel that in three hours." And he's always right.
He gets weirdly analytical about it. He'll watch you do a run, then sit you down afterward and be like, "Your foot placement on that second vault was inefficient. Try rotating your shoulder more."
He's the one who quietly patches you up after you push yourself too hard. Just sitting you down, cleaning whatever you messed up, and maybe muttering something dry like, "You're lucky that wasn't a ligament." He never comments on how much you're wincing, so you know he really cares.
When you land something genuinely ridiculous, he'll acknowledge it with the barest nod and a quiet, "Not bad," which is an equivalent of someone else screaming in excitement. He means it way more than he lets on.
He knows you get restless if you sit still too long. So on days he wants you close, he'll find subtle ways to ground you—a hand on your knee, a tug on your sleeve, a low "Stay here" that's more request than command. He won't stop you from moving, but he'll make sure you know he noticed you're trying to bolt.
He doesn't try to copy you. Not even once. He already knows it's not his style, and he's fine with that.
Ben Drowned
If there's a camera anywhere, he's absolutely recording your parkour attempts and replaying the cleanest (and worst) moments just to mess with you.
If you're bouncing around while he's trying to focus on a game, he'll just reach out and grab your ankle without looking away from the screen. Doesn't even break concentration. Just yanks you down onto the couch next to him. "Sit."
He finds it hilarious when you use your parkour to mess with him. Like, you'll grab his controller and be on the other side of the room before he even registers it. He'll just sit there for a second, then say, "You shouldn't have done that." And then he's chasing you.
If you mess up and hit something, he's laughing first, asking if you're okay second.
He uses your mobility as an excuse to get you to do stuff for him. "Hey, grab that off the top shelf." He's lazy and he knows it.
He's secretly a little bit jealous. He'll never admit it, but sometimes you catch him watching you a little too intently, like he's trying to figure out how you do it. He won't try it himself though—he knows better.
If you're in the middle of conversation and suddenly climb onto something instead of sitting normally, he just adjusts like it's normal and keeps talking.
Ticci Toby
He thinks it's the coolest thing he's ever seen, period. The first time he witnessed you scale a wall and flip off it, his eye went wide and he just blurted out, "Holy shit- do that again!"
He immediately tries to copy you. Badly. His tics make coordination a nightmare, so he'll attempt a vault and suddenly jerk, face-planting into a wall. He'll pop back up with a bloody nose and a huge grin.
He gets pretty competitive about it, but in a playful way. He'll challenge you to races across abandoned buildings or through the woods, and even though he loses every single time, he never stops asking. He loves the adrenaline rush of trying to keep up with you.
He gets overly protective when you're doing it near risky stuff, like broken glass or sharp debris. He'll hover nearby, hands out like he's ready to catch you even though you've never fallen. "Dude, careful, there's a nail there. I swear to god, if you impale yourself-"
He absolutely brags about you to other proxies. He'll be sitting around with someone and just randomly go, "My partner can run up a wall, you know. Can you run up a wall? No. Thought not." He's insufferably proud.
He doesn't fully get how you calculate your movements, but he trusts that you know what you’re doing... most of the time.
Laughing Jack
He'll catch you sometimes. Not to save you from falling—you weren't falling—but just because he wants to hold you upside down for a moment, tilting his head at that unnatural angle, staring at you with a frozen grin. "Hello, little bouncy thing."
He starts leaving little "prizes" for you on high ledges or tricky spots he knows you'll have to parkour to reach. A wrapped candy, a tiny toy, a note with a smiley face. He treats it like you're a squirrel he's training to find nuts. He watches from afar to see your reaction.
He has zero self-preservation and tries to follow you onto rooftops or narrow ledges despite being clumsy and top-heavy. He's almost fallen off multiple times, and each time he just cackles like it's the funniest thing that's ever happened. You have to physically drag him back.
He loves when you land right next to him after a big jump. He'll reach out and ruffle your hair aggressively, or hook a long arm around your waist and pull you into his side.
He gets annoyed if you're too focused on your moves to pay attention to him. He'll appear right in front of your face, forcing you to abort your landing, and go, "I was talking to you, toots. Rude." Even if he actually wasn't.
He draws parallels between your movement and his own—the way you break physics, the way you're not quite right in your motion. It makes him feel less alone, in a weird way. He won't say it, but sometimes he'll watch you and his expression goes soft and unreadable.
Candy Pop
He doesn't try to copy you—he's above that. Instead, he makes it a game. He'll materialize out of nowhere, right in your path, just to see if you can dodge him. If you crash into him, he'll catch you and laugh this horrible, tinkling laugh right in your ear. "Oops. Distracted?"
He finds it hilarious when you use your mobility to avoid his affection. You'll vault over a couch to escape a hug, and he'll just stand there, head tilted. "Running from me? That's not very nice." And then he's everywhere—appearing in every doorway, every corner, cutting off every exit until you have nowhere left to go.
If you climb up somewhere higher than him, he'll look up and smirk like, "You think being above me gives you an advantage or something?"
He calls you his "little bouncing ball" and refuses to drop the nickname. He'll say it in the middle of serious situations too, which completely ruins the tension.
The bells in his hair jingle constantly now because he's always fidgeting, trying to copy your movements. He's surprisingly bad at it for someone who's basically a supernatural entity. He'll trip, stumble, and then pretend it was on purpose.
Tim Wright
His first reaction to seeing you vault off a crumbling wall is a long, exhausted blink and a muttered "You're gonna break your neck," but he doesn't actually try to stop you because he knows that's pointless.
He doesn't find it funny at first—more like mildly concerning. You jumping off walls reads as "potential injury" in his head before anything else.
Over time, he gets used to it, but he still prefers when you don't do it in tight or unfamiliar spaces. "Can you not do that here?" comes up a lot.
Sometimes he'll just shake his head quietly when you do something unnecessary, like vaulting over something you could've just walked around.
That said, if someone else makes a comment about you being reckless, he'll cut in with something like, "They know what they're doing," in a tone that ends the conversation there.
If you ever use his shoulders as a launchpad to reach something higher, he just stands there rigid and lets out a heavy sigh, but he'll subtly adjust his stance so you get a better angle without being asked.
Tim absolutely refuses to try it himself; his body's been through hell, and he'll tell you that flat-out, but there's a flicker of something almost like envy when he sees you land a clean jump.
If you land near him suddenly, he'll flinch slightly, then immediately look irritated at himself for reacting.
Brian Thomas
His first reaction to seeing you scale a wall is this disbelieving blink, followed by a quiet "...Okay, that's cool." He's not even trying to be smooth about it—he's just genuinely impressed.
He's the type to casually mention your parkour in conversations like it's normal, and then act confused when people look horrified.
Tries to learn a few basic moves just so he can keep up with you, but his form is terrible and he knows it. He'll nail one simple vault and then spend the rest of the day flexing about it like he just won an Olympic medal.
If you're practicing and wipe out, he's there instantly, but his version of comfort is helping you up and going, "That was a solid fail, though really committed to the bit." Then he checks if you're actually hurt while still joking.
When you're both just walking somewhere and you randomly bounce off a wall for no reason, he doesn't even react anymore—just keeps talking like that's a completely normal thing people do.
He keeps a mental note of which spots you like to practice at and will occasionally leave little things there—a water bottle, an energy bar, a folded-up note that says "don't die" in his handwriting.
Clockwork
The first time she sees you parkour, she just stares. After a solid ten seconds of watching you bounce off a wall, she finally goes, "...Huh" and walks away. That's a high praise from her.
But she's into it almost right away, in a very sharp, observant way—watching how you move, where you hesitate, what you rely on.
She'd watch you practice with this unreadable expression, arms crossed, leaning against a doorway. You'd think she's judging you—and she kind of is—but she's also mentally cataloging your movements in case she ever needs to use them.
She doesn't try to copy you fully, but she might test bits of it—just enough to understand how it works.
Occasionally drops the most backhanded compliments without realizing it. "That was... efficient. For a human." Then she walks off like she just paid you the highest compliment possible.
Keeps a weird mental schedule of your parkour sessions. If you're late to practice or skip a day, she'll ask, "You injured or just lazy?" in that same monotone, but there's actual concern buried under all that dryness.
If you ever wipe out badly, she's surprisingly quick to act, calmly helping you up and checking if anything's broken. Then she goes, "You're an idiot" and walks away, but she stays close for the rest of the day.
Jane the Killer
She's genuinely confused by the fact that you do this for fun. Not to chase someone, not to escape, not to hunt. Just... because. The concept breaks her brain a little.
You've caught her watching you more than once. She claims she's "keeping an eye out." But you know she's just entertained and won't admit it.
She nearly hates when you do it in crowded public spaces. "We're supposed to be low-profile, and you just did THAT." But she's also fighting a smile because it was pretty cool.
The first time she actually laughs is when you try to show off and accidentally kick something, which promptly falls on your head. "That's what you get," she says, holding back a laugh while helping you.
She rarely says "be careful" directly because she knows you won't listen. Instead she just says "Don't die. I don't feel like explaining that to anyone." That's her version of I love you.
She also doesn't baby you about it, but she does get quietly irritated if you take unnecessary risks, especially when you bounce off something that could've just... been walked around.
You've definitely startled her at least once by dropping down behind her out of nowhere; she doesn't jump, but you get a sharp look and a "Don't do that again."
Nina the Killer
She thinks it's the coolest thing ever. The first time she sees you run up a wall she's already hyping you up like "WAIT do that again- no, actually, go higher."
Definitely starts watching parkour videos obsessively and trying to learn moves on her own. She's not graceful about it, but she's determined to be able to keep up with you.
Will also 100% try to copy your own moves and, again, fail in increasingly dramatic ways; refuses to admit defeat even after eating concrete the third time.
Calls you "freak" affectionately every time you do something physics-defying while watching you ricochet down a hallway.
She has zero concept of "dangerous activities", so she loves when you grab her hand and pull her along over obstacles.
She'll sit somewhere and watch you practice like it's entertainment, swinging her legs and tossing commentary that's half teasing, half impressed.
If you get hurt, she flips instantly—goes from joking to "Why would you do that", patching you up while still muttering about how unnecessary it was.
She's the type to casually ask, "So like... if I jumped off that, would you catch me?" and doesn't wait for an answer before doing something reckless.
Syrinx
She doesn't react much the first time she sees you bounce off a wall, just raises an eyebrow like "that’s new," and then goes back to whatever she was doing.
Her teasing is very low-energy but constant. "Are you half-cat too or is this a hobby?" said completely deadpan while you're literally doing something borderline dangerous.
If you land near her out of nowhere, she won't flinch, just shifts slightly so you don't crash into her, like she already accounted for it.
She pretends your whole thing is mildly ridiculous, but if someone else mocks you, she'll shut it down in a way that's way sharper than her usual tone.
She'll also casually mock you for it, especially if you do it for no reason. "You know walking exists, right?" (she absolutely keeps watching though).
She's not physically impressive herself, so she doesn't try to copy you, but she's observant. She'll point out a better route, like "If you use that railing instead, you'll save a step." She's scouted the area without telling you.
She lowkey positions herself in places where you have to do something parkour-ish to get to her, just to see what you'll do.
Homicidal Liu
The first time you do it in front of him, he just stares for a second like he's recalculating everything he knows about you, then goes, "...You've been able to do that this whole time?"
He's not loud about it, but he clearly doesn't like how risky it is. Not controlling, just quietly concerned every single time you launch yourself at a wall.
He definitely tries to talk you out of attempting stupidly high jumps. "That's like twelve feet. Twelve." But he knows you won't listen, so he just positions himself underneath in case you fall.
You can also occasionally notice Liu muttering under his breath when you're doing something. Little things like "please don't die please don't die." If you ask what he said, he'll lie and say "nothing" while looking a little stressed.
You'll catch him watching sometimes, especially when you're moving fast—he studies your patterns like he's memorizing how to predict where you'll land.
If you get hurt, even something small, his mood shifts immediately. He's more careful with you than he is with himself, and it shows.
If someone else treats your abilities like a joke or tries to push you into doing something reckless for entertainment, he shuts it down fast and without hesitation.
Though Sully finds you hilarious. He'll randomly say stuff like "Do the one where you almost eat shit again," and Liu will look genuinely embarrassed after.
my mind has been blank for a while but i’m feeling fluffy this week cuz my period’s gone lol
maybe the creeps with a supeeerr cuddly and lovey dovey s/o? like she pampers them with kisses, head scratches that kind of stuff hehehehe
-🐈🫧
Love Me Tender
the creeps (+ MH duo) with a cuddly s/o
AO3 link
cw: none, sfw, gn!reader
note: I'm back!!1 I don't really have anything to say tbh
Jeff the Killer
Jeff's hand freezes mid-strop the second your lips brush the ragged edge of his scarred mouth, and for a long, suspended moment he just stares blankly at the wall. That hollow, thousand-yard look settling over his face. His fingers tighten around the knife handle, but there's no real threat in it—just the muscle memory of someone who's always bracing for something worse.
"Babe," he says, voice flat and almost bored, "I'm literally holding a weapon."
You hum in response, nails dragging lightly behind his ear, and he flinches. Just barely, but enough for you to feel it, before the knife clatters into the sink and his hand shoots out to grab your wrist, yanking you flush against his chest with more force than necessary. His head drops to your shoulder, heavy and warm, and the tension in his grip softens into something almost tender, like he's mad at himself for wanting this.
You press a kiss to the crown of his head, and the sound that rumbles out of him is something between a growl and a purr—the noise of a feral thing reluctantly tamed.
Eyeless Jack
Jack doesn't even pause when you climb into his lap, just angles his scalpel away from you. "You're going to get blood on yourself," he says, the words coming out flat, but there's no real bite behind them, just the acknowledgment of an inevitable outcome.
You kiss his cheek anyway, then his jaw, then the hollow space where his eyes should be, and he goes utterly rigid—not in alarm, but in that stillness of someone whose entire nervous system has short-circuited and is desperately trying to reboot. When you scratch the nape of his neck, he exhales so slowly it's almost a sigh, his shoulders dropping a full inch as some of that guarded tension bleeds out of him.
"Are you done?" he manages, voice strained, but he's already resumed his work one-handed, the other arm wrapped securely around your waist like he's not ready to let you go just yet. You answer with another kiss to his temple, and he says nothing, just holds you closer.
Ben Drowned
Ben's entire body goes slack the moment your fingers find their way through his messy blonde hair, and before you know it, he's sprawled across your lap like a boneless ragdoll, his controller abandoned on the floor and his head tipped back against your thigh. "Bro," he croaks, voice cracking in a way that would be embarrassing if he had any dignity left to preserve, "you can't just- that's cheating, you're literally cheating right now. I'm trying to focus."
You scratch behind his ear and his leg kicks out involuntarily. "Focus on what?" you ask, glancing at the screen where his character is getting absolutely demolished. "You're losing to a tutorial bot."
He groans and twists to bury his face in your stomach, his voice coming out muffled. "I hate that you're right. I hate that your hands are magic. I hate-" You cut him off with a kiss to his forehead, and he shuts up instantly, his ears burning a vivid red. "Okay, you know what? Never stop."
Ticci Toby
Toby's whole body jolts when you wrap your arms around him from behind, but it's not the sharp kind of twitch—more like a moment of hesitation where his brain catches up to the fact that it's you, and then he's leaning back into your chest with a quiet sigh, his hatchets slipping from his grip to clatter softly against the ground.
You press a kiss to the jagged scar on his cheek, and he makes this weird, breathy humming noise that he'd deny to his grave, tilting his head just enough to give you better access without even seeming to realize he's doing it. When you scratch through his choppy brown hair, his eyelids grow heavy and his breathing evens out into something slow and steady, like he's finally letting himself exist in a moment that doesn't demand his constant vigilance.
"Don't tell anyone I'm doing this," he mumbles against your shoulder, his voice gone all soft. "I have a reputation." You kiss his temple in response, and he doesn't move for the next ten minutes, just lets you card your fingers through his hair and murmur gentle nonsense into his ear, his grip on your arm steady.
Laughing Jack
Jack's striped arm curls around you before you've even fully committed to the embrace, his movements almost predatory in their precision, like he's been anticipating this exact moment since you walked into the room. "Ooh, someone's feeling generous today," he croons, his voice lilting, and then he tilts his head at an angle that's almost impossible, pressing his cheek against your lips as you shower him with kisses.
You scratch through the chaotic mess of his hair, and he actually coos—a sound so unexpectedly soft and pleased that it makes you pause for half a second before he leans into your palm like an oversized cat seeking attention. "There, there," you murmur, and he lets out a real laugh this time, not the manic cackle, his hand coming up to cover yours and hold it in place.
"Careful now," he whispers, his grin stretching wide enough to show teeth, but his eyes are soft, almost vulnerable. "I might get used to this, and then where would we be?" He pulls you closer, and you feel his chuckle rumble through his chest, a sound that's more affection than amusement.
Jason the Toymaker
Jason remains perfectly still as you press a trail of kisses from his knuckles up to his shoulder, his eyes tracking your every movement with that unnerving attention that makes you feel like you're being studied. He doesn't blink, doesn't shift, just lets you work your way up his arm with a patience that borders on unsettling, until you reach the curve of his neck and scratch lightly behind his ear.
His breath catches—just a tiny hitch, almost inaudible, but you feel it in the way his fingers twitch against your side, the way his composure cracks for just a fraction of a second before he schools his features back into that unreadable mask. His hand comes up to cover yours, holding it there against his jaw, and his voice is lower than usual.
"I don't usually allow this," he murmurs, his thumb tracing a slow, deliberate circle on your wrist, his gaze softening just enough to reveal the warmth beneath the careful facade. "But I'll make an exception for you." He turns his head just enough to brush his lips against your palm, a gesture so tender it makes your chest ache.
Candy Pop
Candy lets out a dramatic gasp the second your lips make contact with his cheek, one hand flying to his chest like he's been mortally wounded, his eyes glittering with exaggerated shock. "Oh my god," he breathes, voice pitched high with barely contained glee, "you're actually going to kill me. This is it. This is how I die."
You laugh and pull him closer, scratching through his hair, and he practically vibrates against you, his fingers twisting in the fabric of your shirt like he's afraid you'll vanish. "You're so soft," you murmur against his temple, and he lets out a high-pitched whine—almost genuine, not performative—and buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath warm and uneven against your skin.
"Don't say that," he mumbles, his voice muffled and slightly wet, "you're gonna make me cry. I'll literally cry right now." You kiss his forehead anyway, and sure enough, a few overly dramatic sniffles escape him, but he's smiling against your shoulder.
Tim Wright
Tim goes still the moment your lips brush his temple, but it's not the rigid freeze of someone bracing for impact—just a quiet, almost imperceptible pause, a hesitation that speaks to years of not being touched gently. He doesn't pull away, though, doesn't flinch or make an excuse to leave, just stands there with his hands at his sides and lets you work your way down his jaw, your fingers threading through the short hair at the nape of his neck.
"You don't have to do this," he says quietly, his voice rough and uncertain, but there's no resistance in his body, no tension in his shoulders as you scratch lightly at his scalp and feel him lean into your touch. His hand finds your hip, his grip gentle but firm, and when you trail your lips across his cheekbone, his breath hitches in a way that makes your heart clench.
"You're gonna spoil me," he mutters, and there's a tiny, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You kiss that smile, and he lets you, his eyes fluttering shut as he pulls you closer, his forehead resting against yours.
Brian Thomas
Brian watches you approach with that lazy, half-lidded smirk that always makes you suspect he's already plotted out the next three moves in whatever game he's playing, his posture deceptively relaxed as you crawl into his lap. He doesn't move to help you or stop you, just lets you settle against him.
"Comfortable?" he asks, his voice a low tease that rumbles through his chest, and you can feel the smirk in his words even before you look at him. You kiss the corner of his mouth, and he tilts his head just enough to make you miss, his lips brushing your jaw instead in a cheeky evasion that makes you huff a laugh against his skin.
"You're doing this on purpose," you murmur, scratching through his hair, and his smirk softens into something warmer, his eyes fluttering shut for just a moment as he leans into your palm. "Maybe," he admits, his hand finally settling on your lower back, fingers splaying warm and steady against your spine. "But you're not stopping, are you?" He pulls you closer, his lips pressing a genuine kiss to your shoulder, and you feel the smile that lingers there.
Clockwork
Natalie arches a single eyebrow when you tug her down onto the couch beside you. She doesn't resist, though, just settles against the cushions with a long-suffering sigh that's more performance than genuine irritation, her arms crossing over her chest in a gesture that's meant to look defensive but ends up looking almost protective.
"You're doing that thing again," she says flatly, but there's no real edge to her voice, just the familiar expression of someone who's used to keeping people at arm's length. You kiss her cheek, and she doesn't blink, doesn't react, just stares straight ahead with that unreadable look of hers.
"I'm doing exactly one thing," you reply, scratching lightly through her hair, and for a second her jaw tightens, her fingers curling into the fabric of her sleeves like she's about to shove your hand away. But then her shoulders drop, just barely, and she leans into your touch reluctantly, like she's fighting every instinct that tells her to pull back.
"Five minutes," she mutters, her eyes slipping shut almost against her will. "Then I'm going back to work." Twenty minutes later, she's still there, her head resting heavy against your shoulder, her breathing slow and even, and you don't have the heart to remind her that her five minutes are long up.
Jane the Killer
Jane doesn't move when you press yourself against her side, just keeps her eyes fixed on some middle distance, her arms crossed tight over her chest like she's bracing against something she won't name. She's waiting for you to get bored, to wander off, to realize that she's not worth the effort—but you don't, and she doesn't know what to do with that.
You kiss her cheek, slow and deliberate, and her eye twitches, a tiny crack in that composure that she'd never admit to. When you scratch through her dark hair, your nails grazing her scalp with gentle pressure, she inhales sharply through her nose, her breath catching in a way that betrays more than she'd like to show.
"You're annoyingly persistent," she says, her voice flat but softer around the edges, and her head tilts almost imperceptibly into your palm, a tiny surrender she'll pretend didn't happen. You hum and kiss her again, at the corner of her mouth this time, and she finally turns to look at you, her expression unreadable but her eyes holding something fragile.
Then her hand comes up, her fingers brushing your jaw with a gentleness that's almost shocking, and she pulls you in for a proper kiss—firm, brief, and gone before you can fully savor it. "Don't get used to it," she mutters, but her hand stays tangled in your shirt, her thumb tracing a slow, absent circle against your collarbone, and she doesn't let go.
Nina the Killer
Nina launches herself at you the second you step through the door, a whirlwind of tangled limbs and restless energy that nearly sends you both stumbling into the wall, her excitement so palpable it's almost physical as she peppers your face with a flurry of rapid kisses—your cheeks, your nose, your chin, every inch of skin she can reach without letting go of you. "Finally!" she squeals, her voice pitched high with a joy that's entirely unguarded, "I've been waiting forever. Do you have any idea how boring it is without you? I almost stabbed someone out of boredom. Like, almost."
You laugh and scratch through her dark ponytail, and she melts against you instantly. A low, pleased hum vibrating through her chest as she presses her face into the curve of your neck like she's trying to absorb all your warmth at once. Her fingers curl into your shirt, gripping almost desperately, and her voice drops to something softer, almost shy, when she mumbles, "You're so warm. Stay like this forever."
She means every word, and when you kiss her forehead, she shivers against you, her arms tightening like she's never going to let go—and honestly, you're not sure you'd want her to.
Syrinx
Regina's hand pauses as she reaches for the glass of water when you slide onto her lap, her fingers hovering in the air for a beat before she sets the glass down with a quiet clink. "Bold move," she says, her voice low and even, her free hand settling on your hip with a casual ease that suggests she's not opposed to this turn of events at all. "I was about to take a sip."
You kiss the corner of her mouth, and she doesn't pull back. Just lets you linger there for a moment, her thumb tracing a slow, absent circle through the fabric of your shirt while her gaze softens into something almost fond. When you scratch through her hair, your nails dragging lightly along her scalp, her eyelids grow heavy and a soft, almost inaudible hum escapes her—a sound so quiet and private that you might have missed it if you weren't paying close attention.
"You're impossible," you murmur, and she huffs a quiet laugh, the corners of her mouth curving into a small, genuine smile that she doesn't bother to hide. "Takes one to know one," she replies, tilting her head into your palm like she's settling into a comfortable spot, her hand warm against your back. "Don't stop. I'm comfortable."
Homicidal Liu
Liu's hand hovers awkwardly in the air when you first curl into his side, like he's not entirely sure what to do with it or where it's supposed to go. But then you press a kiss to his jaw, slow and deliberate, and that uncertainty melts into something quieter, something that looks almost like surrender as his arm finally drops around your shoulders and pulls you in.
You scratch through his hair, and he lets out a breath he didn't realize he was holding, his head tipping back just enough to give you better access. There's a faint tremor in his hand where it rests on your waist, but he doesn't pull away or crack a joke to break the moment, just lets himself exist in the warmth of your touch like it's the first time someone's bothered to be careful with him.
When you lean up to kiss the corner of his mouth, his eyes flutter shut, and his voice comes out rougher than he probably intended when he mutters, "You're gonna make me soft."
He doesn't sound like he minds.
Kate the Chaser
Kate's always in motion—even when she's still, there's that restless energy humming under her skin, fingers twitching. But the moment you catch her wrist and pull her close, something in her settles, just slightly, like a storm winding down to a quiet drizzle.
You press a kiss to her cheek, then another to the corner of her mouth, and she lets out a surprised little huff that almost sounds like a laugh, her hand coming up to grip your shirt with enough force to wrinkle the fabric. When you scratch through her hair, her eyes go wide for just a second before they flutter shut, and she leans into you like she's been waiting for this all day.
"You're gonna spoil me," she murmurs, voice muffled against your shoulder, but there's no complaint in it—just a quiet, almost shy wonder, like she's not quite sure what to do with being treated gently. Her arms wrap around your waist, and she doesn't let go even when you shift to kiss her forehead, just presses her face into your neck and breathes deep.
