You can also just insert your favorite loud ass song into this.
The Author (Matt) x GN!Reader, TW: none
Words: 323
Matt is not a morning person by any means. He does not wish to be woken up when there is daylight out, but the universe disagrees on how humans work. On yet another morning where he’s dead asleep and you can’t get him out of bed, you decide to get a bit creative on this particular morning to see if this will motivate him to wake up even a little bit earlier so you can spend some time with him. As much as you don’t want to force an unnatural sleep schedule on him, you would like to perhaps be awake at the same time as your boyfriend.
He is all cuddled up in the mound that is your bed, arms buried in the pillows with the blankets hiding his larger frame. There’s his baseball bat next to the bed, leaning against his night stand. You do have to keep in mind the weapon available, as you don’t really want to startle him so bad that he gives you a concussion at best. So you decide to connect your phone to a bluetooth speaker, and walk out of the room. After scrolling through your music playlists, you decide to land on Judas by Lady Gaga, and turn your volume all the way up. From the other side of the house, you hit play and cover your ears.
Even with your ears covered, you still feel the vibrations of the music and the sounds of loud crashing. His footsteps thunder through the house, and you hide quietly while slowly turning the volume down. He yanks the door open to reveal you inside the closet you chose to hide within.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Matt looks out of breath from the running, and looms over you, cornering you in the closet.
“...hi?”
He pulls you out by your shirt and you’re sure you’re either going to be mercilessly kissed and/or tickled for that. Worth it though.
There is literally not a better person for this prompt.
Author (Matt) x GN!Reader, TW: mentions of cults and murder
Words: 310
“No, no, baby. Stop moving. Muses don’t move, they just sit there and look pretty.”
You’re ninety-nine percent sure that Matt is lying out of his ass, but you still can’t help but blush a little bit as he commands you to sit still and look pretty. He’s been furiously scribbling away at his transcript, occasionally looking up when he looks particularly frustrated and seems to soften back to his normal self once he lays eyes on you. Seeing the way your presence changes something in him, you’re not even touching the man.
A few times as he’s done this with you, he’s managed to write a decent chunk of his mystery novel. He swears you’re his muse, despite the fact you’re not sure you’re offering him all that much more than just emotional support and a good-looking face to look at. Mayhaps a once- over to check for typos. It’s not as if you have the same level of experience at him, but you hopefully at least know the English language good enough to catch him using the incorrect homophone or whatnot.
But this time, he asks for your opinion on a plot point.
“Now, should I make the protagonist go after the cult or the murder clan first?”
“First? Oohhh, I’d need some more information to make a proper decision.”
He goes into further details, arguing for both sides of the coin. Seems like both groups were awful to the protagonist, but you urge him to go for the cult. Matt stands up, making Measured strides towards you as you close your book around your thumb to keep your spot.
“Can I help you?”
“You can stop being pretty for a second and kiss me.”
He crouches down to your level, slightly squeezing your face as he pulls you into a kiss.
Wouldn't you too like a man that'll punch a bush for you?
Author (Alric) x GN!Reader, TW: none
Words: 491
“Babeeeee… why are we standing on the side of the road in front of a prickly bush.”
“Because I’m not paying grocery store prices for blackberries.”
“And the prickly bush is supposed to help with the overbearing capitalism pressing down on us because…?”
“...it’s a blackberry bush, Alric.”
“OH.”
You cover your eyes, sighing exasperatedly as you shake your head at him. Alric just shrugs sheepishly, smiling at you.
“How was I supposed to know! The most green I saw growing up was the money in dad’s duffle bags and the dandelions that fought their way into the cracks in the sidewalk.”
“That’s incredibly depressing and I’m not sure if you’ve ever been told that before.”
“...nope!”
“We’ll talk about this at home…”
You reach out to the bushes, pushing the long thorny vines out of the way to reach the bigger berries. Alric carefully watches you, mimicking your behavior. He’s wary of the thorns, navigating the vines carefully to not get scratched. While you watch him, you prick your finger, pulling your hand quickly away and dropping the berry you had into your grasp.
“FUCK-”
“What!? Huh!? I’ll avenge you!”
You have to stop him from punching the bush, holding his fist as your nurse your finger.
“Don’t punch the pokey thing! Be smart about this please!”
“But it hurt you!”
“And I’ll be fine, Al. Just pick the berries.”
He grumps at you as you shake your hand, going for easier pickings instead. You’re quick to fill up the basket, and you notice Alric sneaking quite a few into his mouth instead of the basket.
“The more you put in your mouth, the less we have for a pie.”
“I’m okay with that. I wanna eat them now.”
“Just don’t eat too many that you make yourself sick, now. Maybe we’ll make a crisp instead, it’ll be a bit easier and keep the berries mostly intact.”
“Why would you make blackberries crispy?”
“Good gods, I need to get you to eat more home cooked food.”
“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea to me. I’ll barbecue, and you can do everything else!”
“Oh, you really think I’m not going to make you learn as I teach you everything?”
“Private cooking lessons? Hot.”
He laughs as you sigh at him, dumping the berries he stashed in his jacket pockets into the basket. You’re more amazed than anything that he was able to fit that many without them disintegrating and staining his clothes. He looks down at his hands, squinting at his stained fingers.
“I look like I strangled a jelly doughnut…”
“There’s worse things in life than looking like you strangled a pastry.”
“I suppose, it’s better than other things. Or people.”
He grins at you like a mischievous child, proudly showing you his stained hands.
“I’m making you wash your hands before you touch me again. I’m not letting you get more blackberry juices on me.”
You’re walking home alone, not the wisest decision but it’s done out of necessity. You were feeling unsafe as you were out with people, something just felt off. So without a word to anyone else, you left. Your hand grips tightly around your key ring, slotted between your fingers in an effort to make you able to do more damage. If needed, and you pray that you don’t need to.
A puddle splashes behind you and you pull out your phone, using it as a mirror. Shit, someone is following you. A larger car starts driving slower on the street coming in the opposite direction, and you realize how fucked you are. You recognize the guy behind you from the restaurant, and dread sets in. Do you have anything else to defend yourself with?
You pass an alleyway and another man steps out, and you think you’re done for. He pushes you behind him as he lets out a growl, lunging at your stalker with a barbed wire coated bat. The man is barely able to scream before his head explodes into gore, and the car speeds off.
Your defender turns around, coated in blood with glowing golden eyes.
“Are you alright?”
“I, I guess? Thank you?”
You watch in horror as he slings his bat over his shoulder, tearing off the man’s arm and sinking his teeth into it like it’s a turkey leg. It takes you a moment to realize he’s not eating the man, but drinking his blood. When he drops the arm, you catch a glimpse of his fangs as he licks his lips clean.
“Would you like me to walk you home? It’d make me feel better knowing you got home safe. Not like I can come in anyways unless you invite me.”
Somehow, that does make you feel better, although you’re trying not to look at the mutilated corpse that lays on the sidewalk at your defender’s feet.
“Sure, that’d help me a lot.”
“Lead the way! I’m Alric, by the way.”
He shines a smile at you, avoiding shaking your hand so as to not get blood on you. The two of you talk, and you’re shocked at how jovial he is. Usually vampires are depicted as dark and broody, but he seems to be rather humorous and sassy. He lights up as he gets you to laugh, trying to keep your mind off him murdering a guy and how unsafe people can feel at night.
The two of you get back to your place, and he walks you to your door. Once your door is unlocked, he turns to go, but stops when you call to him.
“Would you like to take a shower? Get the blood off you?”
Alric freezes, not expecting you to say that.
“Are you sure? You do know the rules, right?”
“It’s the least I can do, and I enjoyed your company. And if you’re still hungry, I have some steaks in the fridge.”
“As long as they’re the meat steaks, I’m down.”
He laughs as you hold the door open for him, thanking you profusely. You let him wash his clothes too, lending him a robe while they dry. He stops in his tracks as he catches you trying to clean off his bat, mid-towel drying his hair.
“You don’t need to do that.”
“I wanted to. It’s alright.”
He squints at you, looking at the table and seeing a steak on a plate and a glass of red wine.
“I didn’t know if you drank water, but I figured you’d want something to drink.”
Alric just stands there, staring at you.
“Why are you being nice to me?”
“You potentially saved my life, and I think that you should repay good deeds.”
“And the vampire thing doesn’t bother you?”
“Should it?”
You make him pause, holding the towel around his neck.
“It usually does…”
“Well, it’s almost daylight and I don’t want you getting burned. So if you need a couch to crash on or some other kind of sleeping arrangement, I can make something work.”
“Oh, I can just sleep upside down as a bat. Here, look.”
He poofs into a bat, hanging off of your arm as he pulls a laugh from you. He poofs back, grinning big.
Okay I'm not gonna lie this came out so fucking cute that I'm over here looking at this man when I'm usually not an Author simp.
Author (Alric) x GN!Reader, TW: fire, casual drinking
Words: 652
Alric piles up the large pieces of wood on the sand as you sit on one of the logs he dragged over for you. He seems rather invested into the process of making the pyre, getting real into collecting the sticks around the campsite.
“Living out your childhood aspirations of building a giant fire? Or are you pleasing your inner child by collecting sticks that look weird?”
“Babe, I carry a bat with me everywhere. If you really think I didn’t collect sticks as a kid, you got a rock for a brain.”
You laugh, holding onto his bat so it doesn’t roll into the pile. Whenever he steps near you, he ruffles your hair or kisses the top of your head. Once the pyre is up to his standards, he stands back like a proud midwestern dad after mowing his lawn.
“Can you hand me a beer?”
“Sure, but I would’ve thought you’d want one after the fire’s lit?”
“Oh it’s not for me.”
He pops the bottle cap off the beer and pours it onto the wood, watching it sink into the wood before pulling out his lighter. It takes a couple flicks before he gets a flame, and sets it to the beer soaked kindling and watches it spark to life.
“And one last thing you need, is a fire stick.”
Alric leans down, picking up a long branch that’s even taller than him. He takes his pocket knife, peeling back the bark at one end and charring it in the fire as the alcohol burns away.
“You just really like sticks, don’t you.”
“What gave you that idea, babe?”
He grins, laughing as you throw sand at him. You get out another beer for him, setting out some things to roast on the fire on the top of the cooler.
“Well, great Master of Sticks, can you find us a couple of good roasting ones?”
“Nah, we ain’t doing that the analogue way. I don’t want fucking sand in my hotdog if I can help it. I brought the nice ones.”
Out of his pack he pulls out a couple of extending metal roasting sticks, passing one to you as he sits next to you on the log. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close as the two of you watch the fire.
“I’m glad we got to do this. Big ol’ fire, love of my life under my arm, and a beer in my hand. Nothing better than this.”
“How about we get a fire pit from the hardware store, just so we don’t have to drive every time you wanna be a pyromaniac?”
“But I like our drives out here!”
Alric laughs, but you can tell he’s touched by the offer. He rubs your arm, taking a swig of his beer.
“I’m down for making our little fire nights a regular thing as long as you are. Although I guess you wouldn’t have offered it if you didn’t want to…”
“There’s a different kind of special that comes with doing things out on a trip, versus at home, but they’re both special if they’re with you.”
He blushes, not expecting sweet words.
“C’mon babe, you’re not making it easy to stay sexy and mysterious over here…”
“Maybe I like it when my cocky ass boyfriend goes all soft for me, and only me.”
You kiss his cheek and he genuinely smiles at you, stealing a marshmallow from around you and putting it between his teeth. He raises an eyebrow at you, leveling his mouth with yours.
“You fucking goober…”
You laugh as you bite the marshmallow, taking half and letting yourself get dragged into a kiss. He’s short and sweet with it, enjoying how the light dances in your eyes in a way that makes him not want to look away.
Angel!Host x GN!Reader x Demon!Author, TW: religion
Words: 873
Having guardians on your shoulders is a tale that they tell small children, as a way to help them understand their thought process sprouting in their subconscious, teaching them morals by personifying it. What the old wives won’t tell you, is that angels and demons once sat on the shoulders of people, and that they usually keep themselves hidden after the great witch hunts blaming demons and devils for possessions when in reality it was greed for power and the insecurity of men that led to those witch hunts.
Now they’re hidden, don’t come out unless it’s absolutely necessary, and usually make their assignments forget they exist. Because in the end, they both want you alive for as long as possible so you can make more decisions that lean one way or another. Some angels and demons get along with each other, some fall in love, others fight with each other constantly.
You happened to have twin brothers who constantly acted like they were teenagers competing to take the same person to the dance. Charming to you, with snide comments to each other. It became a balance, and you frankly didn’t mind the company.
“The Host would like to know if they’re going anywhere later, and if they’d like for him to come along.”
“As if you two are going anywhere without me, blinds.”
“While he appreciates his brother’s offer, The Host is perfectly capable of watching over their assignment on his own. Seeing as he was the one saving them from the hole in the ground in the first place.”
“Only after I pointed it out! You can’t see, right?”
“The Author is indeed correct, but The Host sees through the divine connection he has with his go-”
“BORING! Imagine giving up personal autonomy just to get a “holier-than-thou” attitude.”
“The Host is going to pretend The Author is not there.”
“Oh! Just gonna ignore me again! Gonna narrate my mouth shut or something? Huh??”
You laughed to yourself as they argued with each other in your living room as you ate your dinner at the dining room table, watching the giants as they stand facing each other. Author gets up in Host’s face, who stands stoic with his arms crossed in Author’s direction. Author’s devil tail points and flicks as he yells at Host, whose halo glows brighter as you see him get progressively more annoyed.
“You can both come with me. We can go to a bookstore or something. Maybe a record shop?”
“Finally! Something to do!”
Author’s demeanor changes immediately, hopping around as he shrinks, landing on your shoulder. Host sighs, shrinking down and floating over to your opposite shoulder.
“The Author acts as if he is stuck here without personal autonomy that he was happily bragging about before.”
“And leave you to bring them to the bright side? Nah, I’ll pass. Sorry, feathers, I’m not making it that easy for you.”
“That was not the angle that The Host was trying to get at, but The Author has a point that he will acknowledge.”
“Thanks, finally!”
“Will you two cut it out! I’ll put you both in a jar and poke holes in the top if you don’t knock it off!”
They both glare at each other, as much as Host can glare through his bandages, and stop arguing. Author flops down, pouting on your shoulder with his arms crossed.
“Fine…”
“Thank you. I’ll let you each pick out a record if it keeps you occupied.”
That seemed to improve both of their moods, and they both nodded to you. You exit your apartment, walking down the stairs and down the sidewalk. The bell above the door jingles as you push the door open, shopkeep nodding to you and gesturing to the crates upon crates of records that cover the tables. Flipping through the nearest one, your guardians hop off your shoulders and travel to different sections.
It’s quiet as the player in the corner goes through a classic rock record you don’t recognize. You pull out a few that you recognize and like, taking them to the counter where Author and Host meet you.
“Duke Ellington, Hostie? Really? I thought you had better taste than that.”
“The Host promises he has better taste than The Author.”
“AC/DC is good! Damn you!”
“The Host will pass on the damnation, as that is The Author’s job.”
Host lets out a chuckle, which Author matches with a snicker. You pay for the records, and Author insists on carrying them back to your apartment. You tried to insist that you are perfectly capable of carrying them yourself. Your request was denied, guided to the door by Host.
Walking back you were frankly distracted in conversation with the two of them, talking about your individual tastes in music. A slip of your foot sends you flying to land face first on the pavement, until you feel a firm grip on both of your hands. They gently tug you back upright, as each of the men squeeze your hand tight. The rest of the walk is quiet, blush crossing all of your faces, but none of you wanting to let go.
That’s one way for them to keep you safe, at least.
More paranormal egos! I was admittedly writing late at night, when this idea struck me. I'm pretty happy with how it turned out, so I hope you all enjoy this idea!
Angel!Host & Demon!Author, GN!Reader, TW: death mention, religion
Words: 949
It was a fairly normal day walking to work one day, not really paying attention to where you were going, just kind of on autopilot. The same people that you walked past every other day, all dressed in suits and fancy dresses. Corporate drones that cycle through the same nine to five, going home to their families, just for it to repeat all over again.
You look down at your phone to look at your socials when you feel a strong arm stop you in your tracks, held against your chest. You look up and see a very large man, blindfolded with a halo above his head, in an all white suit. An angel wing pin sits on his lapel, with a name tag that reads “Host”. Your eyes go wide as you take a step back, noticing you nearly fell into a hole for construction.
“Apologies, but he could not let his assignment fall down the hole. He is sorry for any inconvenience that may have been caused.”
“They’re alive, I think you’re fine, blinds.”
A second man walks up to your other side. His suit is red, horns sprouted out of his head, and a devil tail pin on his lapel. His name tag reads “Author”. You are now just about sandwiched between them as the giant men lead you away from what would’ve been your doom.
“The Host does not find it necessary to insult others as a greeting, unlike his devilish counterpart.”
“Devilish, huh? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me, Hostie!”
“While the nickname is an improvement, The Host would appreciate The Author just use his title, as The Host respects The Author’s.”
“In fairness, you don’t exactly have a choice. And plus, I think it fits you, Hostie.”
The Host sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as you stand there, stunned, watching this exchange. Other people on the street seem to take no notice of you or the clear angel and demon standing in front of you, so you wonder if they can even see you at all.
“The Host assures their assignment that they are not being seen right now, and will also not be late for work due to this interruption in their schedule.”
“I mean, Hostie, they’ve already seen us, aren’t we supposed to go to the big man upstairs or something now?”
“The Host’s manager is already made aware of the situation. While this is not ideal for either religious beings involved, the assignment is secured.”
“You keep fucking saying “assignment” as if they’re not right in front of you, hearing you fucking spewing this.”
“The Host would like to remind The Author that he is blind.”
“I know that, I also know you have unparalleled spatial awareness. Your narration fucking thing tells you everything!”
“His narrations are simply his level of faith that he has in his gods, blindly following as a way of devotion.”
“Yeah, fuck that. No fucking thanks.”
You watch them, amused, seeing them act almost like brothers. Something tells you that through the similar features that they share, they might actually be. You continue your way to work, them following you, continuing to argue. At some point, as you pause at the bus stop, they shrink down and move to your shoulders. Author leans against your neck with one hand as he’s perched on your left shoulder as Host holds his head in his hands on your right.
You move throughout your day, them bickering and giving you advice throughout your day. Your boss called you in, giving you a promotion that you had been hoping for. Small snickers from your shoulders makes you believe that there may be a little bit of divine intervention happening in your office building. You pull yourself into the bathroom for a bit of privacy, looking at the two of them through the mirror as you refresh your face with some water.
“So you two are my guardian angel, and guardian demon, I presume?”
“In the flesh!”
“The Host can confirm his assignment’s query.”
“And no one else can see you?”
“Nope! Not unless we want them to.”
They both grow to their normal size, wings and devil tail shrinking down to their lapel pins again. You walk out of the bathroom, admittedly a bit nervous since you don’t know if others can see them again. You move your stuff into your new office with their help, relaxing a bit as it’s further away from everyone else, a new view of the city below you from the large window.
“So, aren’t you supposed to make me like, forget that you exist and then just pop up again when I almost die again, like earlier?”
“The Host and The Author talked about it before revealing themselves to their assignment, and decided that this may be both more interesting and amusing to both of them, seeing as there isn’t much harm in their assignment seeing them, and the two of them have nothing better to do.”
“So you’re bored, fantastic. Just, I don’t know, fuck things up for me? Please?”
The angel and demon stand in front of you, arms crossed as they sit in the armchairs on the opposite side of your desk, mirroring each other as they cross their legs.
“Fine, but you better actually listen to us when we actually say things. While our methods of keeping you safe may be, different, to say the least, we’re still both here to keep you safe.”
You nod, rolling your eyes as they begin arguing again, truly like brothers. Who knew the angel and devil on your shoulder would be so chatty?
