#keyes x reader

[yasminawayne]

meeting in my bedroom?

SYNOPSIS: You were the beloved, helpful houseowner full of objects who were head over heels in love with you. Which would’ve been great if you weren’t completely dense to their flirting.

TAGS: GN!Reader, VERY suggestive, Everyone Falling for the Same Idiot, Mentions of alcohol / drinking (it’s a party), not proofread bc i lazy eheh...

W.C: 4.5K | CHARACTERS: Dorian, Dirk, Hanks, Volt, Eddie, Betty, Keyes, Hector

AO3: yasminwayne Ko-Fi: buy me a coffee!

Your entire house was deeply in love with you. Hopelessly and pathetically in love with you.

Which was… a bit of a problem.

Not for them, of course! For them, every brush of your hand, every conversation, every time you offered to help was another arrow through the heart! Proof that their feelings were mutual.

But for you? Well... you were just being nice. 

You always had been funny, patient, and warm. 

You gave everyone birthdays, even if they didn’t have one, just so they could feel celebrated. You mended them when they cracked, chipped, or broke. And you always handled them like they were something precious.

You were, quite literally, the glue that held the whole household together. So naturally, they fell for you. 

No one was entirely sure when it started. It was less like a singular lightning strike and more like a slow flood, realization blooming like ivy around the chest, subtle and soft and then suddenly everywhere. You would walk into a room, hair messy from sleep, holding a mug half-filled with tea you’d forgotten you made, and every eye would turn to you with the same expression of love.

But there was just one problem for them...

Their human was so, so, so horribly, painfully, devastatingly dense.

Dorian liked to think of himself as a door with standards. A gentleman of structure and duty. He had withstood years of rough treatment—slams, kicks, storms, and the occasional toddler with a marker.

But despite everything he’d already endured, nothing could have prepared him for you.

You padded barefoot out of the bathroom, damp from your shower, skin dewy, and towel hanging dangerously low. 

The hallway was quiet, sun slanting in through the skylight in lazy golden beams, warming the floor under your toes as you hummed something off-key. You smelled like soap and warmth and innocence, and it was driving Dorian absolutely mad.

He tried to avert his gaze, to maintain his usual composure, when a thump caught his attention.

"Oh shoot!" you gasped, chasing after something.

A hairbrush, Dorian registered distantly, just before it slipped from your hand again and clattered against the hardwood. It bounced once, twice, then came to a rest, pressed right up against the base of his frame.

Before he could even attempt to register what was happening, let alone help, you were already by him, reaching for it. You bent forward, and your towel, already scandalously low, hitched down just a little.

Then, suddenly, the backs of your thighs pressed warmly against his front, your ass making full, unintentional contact with his crotch.

Dorian froze. His entire frame locked in place. His hinges seized with a creak so soft it was barely more than a breath.

"Oops!" you said lightly, still crouched. "Sorry, big guy."

Big guy.

"Didn’t mean to bump into you," you added, voice bright and oblivious.

Brush in hand, you stood up and glanced back at him, one hand settling against his side. Your fingers trailed along his suit like it was nothing.

Something inside Dorian snapped. In one fluid, startlingly effortless motion, he reached around your waist, his arm wrapping across your stomach as he hauled you back against him.

You gasped, startled, as your spine collided with his chest. He completely dwarfed you, the breadth of his body enveloping yours, his height casting you in shadow even in the golden hallway light.

One of his hands slid upward, settling over your ribs. His palm alone spanned nearly the entire width of your torso, his fingers grazing the edge of your sternum.

"I do wish," Dorian muttered, his voice low and gravelly near your ear, "you’d stop calling me that."

You blinked up at him, that same unfazed, sunny smile creeping back up on your face. 

"What? Big guy?"

Dorian let out a sound that was somewhere between a groan and a grumble, low and rough in his throat. "You're doin' it on purpose now."

"But you are big!" you said sweetly, as if you weren’t driving a stake directly through his wooden heart. "And to be fair, you were in my way."

He just stared down at you, jaw clenched, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. For a long, loaded moment, he just stood there, trying to decide whether you were messing with him or were really this much of an idiot.

Then finally, after what felt like minutes, he exhaled sharply, muttering a low curse under his breath as he let go of you. 

You giggled, entirely unbothered, and gave his arm a light squeeze, right over the solid curve of his bicep.

"Guess I’ll just have to squeeze past you next time," you teased, nudging a hip against his side before walking away, towel swaying with every step.

Dorian huffed, pink creeping up his neck. 

"Hate to see you go," he muttered under his breath as his eyes followed you, "but love to watch you leave."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 1

Hector was overheating.

Literally, yes... his filter was long overdue for cleaning and his internal systems were running hot, but also in the other, far more inconvenient way. The emotional one. The one caused by you sitting on your knees beside him, pulling his panel open like you were undressing a lover kind of way.

It wasn’t good for his circuits. It wasn’t good for his systems. And it was absolutely catastrophic for whatever vaguely heart-shaped piece of him had decided it was a good idea to fall in love with you.

"I’m so sorry, Hector," you murmured, your brow furrowed in soft concern as you wiped delicately at the filter casing with the edge of your cloth. "I should’ve cleaned you days ago! I kept meaning to, but everything’s been so hectic lately. You must’ve been so uncomfortable."

He wanted to respond. Really, he did. But he was fairly certain that if he tried, his voice wouldn't work.

Instead, Hector emitted a soft, strangled click-hiss, his cooling fan sputtering to life.

You, of course, mistook it for a glitch.

"Oh no, that sounds awful!" you murmured, your voice full of guilt as you leaned in closer to inspect the exposed panel.

One hand of yours braced lightly against the edge of his casing for balance as you peered into the tangle of metal and heat. Your breath warmed the inside of his frame. Your fingers skimmed the edge of his vent. Your hair, damp from your shower, fell forward and brushed against his shoulder.

That was the moment Hector ceased to function as a coherent being.

His fans rattled audibly, and he briefly considered whether it would be more dignified to combust on the spot or simply roll back into the vents. 

"A-Ahm," he choked, voice static-cracked and strained as his systems tried and failed to recalibrate. "You’re... v-very close."

You didn’t move away. Instead, you looked up with wide, apologetic eyes and that same devastating softness in your expression.

"I know! Sorry—! I’m totally crowding your space, aren’t I?" you said, voice sheepish. "But your filter’s delicate, and I didn’t want to tug anything wrong. I’ll be quick, I promise."

Hector was going to die right here on the attic floor.

You resumed brushing the filter with small, circular motions. Flecks of lint came free like snowflakes, and every time you leaned in to inspect your work, Hector buzzed faintly in the chest.

"I don’t deserve this kind of attention," he said finally, voice quieter now, but more intentional. "N-Not unless you... mean it."

You looked up, soft and earnest, your eyes wide and full of the exact kind of kindness that had ruined his life.

"Of course I mean it! You take such good care of the house. Of me. I just want to return the favor."

"I wasn’t talking about the maintenance," he tried again, more firmly this time. "I meant your hands. The way you touch me... The way you speak to me."

You blinked slowly. Then lit up like you’d solved a puzzle.

"Oh! I’ve been watching a ton of HVAC maintenance tutorials on YouTube," you said proudly. "Is it working?"

Hector made a sound like he'd been punched in the chest.

"Yes," he said, flatly. "You’re very good at... modulation."

"Thank you!" you chirped, beaming at him as you resumed your gentle work. "Your filter’s almost totally clear, by the way. You’re going to feel so much better when this is done."

"I already feel better around you," he muttered.

You glanced up. "Hmm? Did you say something?"

"Nope... Must’ve been... one of my vents…"

House - 0 | Homeowner - 2

"Ah, ah—no, no, no, my dear," Keyes said, clicking her tongue and stopping you mid-chord with a firm press of her hand over yours. "That is not D. I don’t know what that one was, but it certainly wasn’t D."

You blinked up at her. "Oops! Sorry. My fingers have a mind of their own."

"Hmph," she muttered under her breath. "They should ask for directions, then."

With a sigh, she straightened beside you, every inch the proud, long-suffering teacher. You were not the composer she’d imagined when you first started tinkering at her keys. But still, you were… something. Despite being a hand-me-down, she’d become yours. You had carved out space for her and shown a stubborn eagerness to learn.

She guided you patiently, though her eyebrows betrayed her irritation. You were clumsy, untrained. And yet there was something undeniably charming, infuriatingly so, about the way you kept trying. The way you beamed every time a half-correct note rang out from her keys.

Keyes then heard three notes in a row, clear and clean, ringing out like an actual chord. You gasped, delight blooming across your face as you turned to her.

"Wow! I almost got that chord right. I’m totally getting better at fingering you!"

There was a pause.

There was a very long pause before the piano lid slammed shut with a violent clang, the strings inside shrieking in protest like she’d just tried to swallow a metal pipe. You flinched hard, yanking your hands back before the lid could slice your fingers clean off.

"What was that?!"

"Nothing!" she barked, voice jumping half an octave. "Just—a tuning fault! Environmental conditions. Hector! I do not like how he has set the temperature of this room."

You gave her the softest, most earnest look imaginable. A small frown, all concern and kindness. It nearly destroyed her.

"Aww, sorry about that. I bet you’d sound amazing if you were properly tuned. I already cleaned Hector’s filter, but I’ll take care of you soon, I promise!"

Keyes was burning. She could not deal with that kind of tenderness. Not from you. Not from the person who just said "fingering" her like it meant nothing. Like it was lunch talk. 

Then, as if that weren’t enough, you giggled and reached over to lift the piano lid again. Only to dramatically slam one of her lowest keys in a perfect imitation of her earlier screech.

"NAIIIIIIL on a chalkboard," you said, grinning wide. "Just like that, right?"

Keyes dropped her head into her hands.

House - 0 | Homeowner - 3

You were sitting cross-legged on the rug in the living room, surrounded by a battlefield of tangled laundry, a knotted-up clothesline, scattered socks, and five very stuck Hanks.

"You guys really need to stop trying to Hank-glide near the drying line," you said, exasperated but patient, gently working a stubborn knot off Hank 2. "This thing’s practically a choking hazard."

"Heh. You know what else is a choking hazard—" Hank 3 started, grinning from where he was half-hogtied in last week’s laundry.

"Don’t even finish that, bro!" Hank 2 blurted, voice cracking halfway through.

His face was scarlet, practically steaming. Hank 2 wasn’t even breathing at this point. He was just desperately pretending this wasn’t happening, not like this. Not with you this close, crouched over him, touching him like he hadn’t had dreams about this exact scenario.

"Hold still," you said softly, slipping your fingers under the clothesline tangled around his waist. "I’m gonna try to ease it off—"

You pulled hard, and the knot cinched immediately. It went down low, squeezing snug around Hank 2’s hips.

The poor hanger’s soul evacuated his body. The noise that came out of him started as a gasp but ended up as a breathless whimper.

"Oops!" you winced. "Sorry! I’m just trying to get you out without, like… yanking your frame clean off."

“I—I’m gucci,” Hank 2 managed to croak, not nearly as convincing as he thought. “Straight chillin’, homie.”

You tilted your head, frowning as you inspected the knot wrapped tight around his leg. “But… you’re really red. Is it cutting off your circulation? I can try wiggling it loose. It’s just… tight in here.”

That earned you a chorus of wheezing and muffled laughter from all around the room.

Hank 1, already freed and standing off to the side, cleared his throat a little too sharply. “Yeah. Tight. Needs gentle handling. Real finesse job, dawg.”

You glanced over your shoulder and grinned at him like he’d just handed you a compliment. “Mhm! Oh—hey, I’m gonna try to get Hank 5 loose first, but don’t worry! I’ve got magic hands.”

You wiggled your fingers proudly, flashing that sweet, innocent smile that had absolutely no business being as dangerous as it was.

“And you know, I’m super good with ropes,” you added casually, crouching down again to inspect the tangle near Hank 5’s thigh. “Sometimes you just gotta work it slow—back and forth—till it gives.”

“Back and forth,” Hank 3 echoed faintly, eyes fully glazed. “Right on, baby…”

The Hanks weren’t exactly the sharpest objects in the house, but with how dense you were acting, they were starting to think your head might actually be emptier than theirs. How were you going to say stuff like that, all sweet and serious, crouched between someone’s legs, and not realize what you were doing?

Hank 5 watched as you stepped over with that focused little frown you always got when you were being gentle. His head tilted slightly, eyes following every movement of your hands.

"You take care of us so much," he murmured before he could stop himself. It came out lower than he meant, rough around the edges, too honest.

You glanced up at him, beaming like it was the simplest truth in the world. "Of course! I love caring for people."

He flushed, hard. Something inside him flipped like a switch. He had no business thinking what he was thinking, but it was already there, thudding behind his ribs like a heartbeat.

Bet you’d love to take care of a baby, too, his mind supplied hazily. My baby. Ours.

He swallowed hard, biting the inside of his cheek before anything worse could slip out.

When the final knot slipped free and the line fell away from his leg, Hank 5 let out a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

The movement tugged the rest of the line taut, and with a soft snap, the section that had pinned Hank 2 finally gave way, freeing them both.

You lit up instantly. “Yes! Okay, that’s two down!”

You turned your attention to Hank 4, who was somehow tangled in both the clothesline and your pajama pants.

"Hmm. This one’s tricky," you muttered. "It’s wedged real deep."

Hank 4 looked down at you, lip caught between his teeth, cheeks tinged pink.

"Oh yeah," he grinned, voice dropping like he thought this was a very different kind of situation. "That one’s in real deep. Might need some serious effort to… ease it out."

"Might take a few tries," you agreed. "That’s fine. I think long, twisty cords are fun to handle."

From somewhere behind you, Hank 3 groaned. "Oh my god, bro. Bro."

With a few steady tugs, the final loop slipped free. The cord gave a soft snap as it came undone, and before you could even register it, Hank 4 let out a surprised yelp.

“Whoa—!”

He toppled backward in an ungraceful sprawl, limbs flailing briefly before landing squarely in Hank 1’s lap. There was a distinct oof from both parties.

“Okay! That’s four.”

Now, only one Hank remained.

You turned toward him, brushing a few strands of hair from your face as you assessed the last, worst knot job of the bunch. Hank 3 was slumped against the wall, half-pinned by a spiderweb of cord. It looped around his chest, through the sleeves of his wingsuit, and—

You paused. Blinked once. Then again, slower.

“Uh,” you said carefully, leaning in to poke at a stubborn knot. “Okay. So you’re… like, really tangled into my underwear.”

Hank 3 looked down at the spot in question. Then up at you.

"I’m good right here," he said, grinning way too brightly. "Don't need to untie me, gorgeous."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 4 | Hank #3 - 1

Dirk sat cross-legged on your closet floor, half-buried beneath a pile of costumes and old clothes. In one hand, he held up a glittery mesh crop top. In the other, what looked like the shredded remains of faux leather pants.

"So… Volt and Eddie’s Halloween party," you said, rummaging through a plastic bin with half-peeled stickers. "I want something cool. But also, like… hot!"

Dirk blinked up at you, adjusting the pirate hat you’d thrown on him earlier. "Is that why you dragged me in here? Costume triage?"

"Yep!" You held up a sheer, iridescent bodysuit with a smile. "Too much?"

Dirk made a strangled sound, his voice catching in his throat as he stared at the outfit. It barely qualified as clothing, and now all he could picture was you in it.

"Y—yeah. No, yeah. That’s… that’s definitely a bold choice."

You grinned, clearly taking it as a compliment. “Perfect.”

Then, you turned away and pulled your sweatshirt off in one smooth motion. Underneath, you were just in pajama shorts and a cami. You tossed the sweatshirt onto the pile beside him like it was nothing. 

Dirk, still sitting cross-legged on the closet floor, looked like you’d physically drop-kicked him.

You held the bodysuit up to your chest, turning toward the mirror. "Do you think Volt or Eddie would wear something like this? I want to match their vibe, y’know?"

Dirk let out a very soft, very audible groan through gritted teeth. "I think if you show up in that, nobody’s gonna be thinking about the damn fusebox."

You blinked, tilting your head. "Huh?"

He coughed once, looking down at the crop top in his hands like it held all the answers. "Nothing. You’ll look great. Totally… on-theme."

You brightened. "Perfect! Help me zip?"

He stared at you for a moment like you’d just asked him to diffuse a bomb with one hand while blindfolded.

"Yeah. Totally. Yep. Zipping. Great," he muttered, voice a little too low, a little too strained. Then he lifted two fingers, curling them in a lazy beckon. "C’mere, bug."

You turned around and stepped in close, presenting him your bare back. The bodysuit was already halfway up your thighs, hugging every curve like it had been poured on. Dirk’s breath hitched. His hands hovered, fingers twitching slightly before they settled on the zipper.

His fingertips grazed the dip of your spine as he slid the zipper upward, and you gave a little wiggle to help it along.

Once it was fully on, you turned to admire yourself in the mirror. "Okay, but be honest… Is this too sexy-scary? Or just scary-sexy?"

You bent forward slightly, twisting to check the fit. "It’s a little tight around the back…"

Dirk’s eyes bulged. "N-nope, it’s—it’s perfect. It’s barely clothing. I mean—it looks great. On you. In a way that’s… completely hot."

"You’re such a good hype man," you added, tossing him a wink. "I’d be lost without you."

He didn’t respond at first. Just nodded, very tightly. Then turned so fast he tripped on a hoodie sleeve and nearly ate the floor. 

"Are you okay?" you asked, half-laughing, half-concerned.

"Yup," he muttered, breathless and wrecked. "Totally fine. Everything’s fine. The universe is testing me, but I’m fine."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 5

Halloween night at the Breaker Box was loud. Thumping bass, flashing neon strobes, and fog machines in overdrive. 

Volt had wanted it to be big, a full spectacle, especially since this was the first time their human was going to be there. That was probably the only reason Eddie had agreed to it in the first place.

Eddie held down the bar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, expression locked somewhere between irritation and resignation as he poured drinks beneath the flickering lights. Volt, on the other hand, was in his element, gliding through the crowd, all confidence and charisma. 

"Hi guys!"

Eddie turned just in time to see you walk in, dressed for the occasion.

And immediately choked.

Not on a drink. Not on smoke. Just on you.

Your hair was a wild halo of static-kissed chaos, somehow framing your face perfectly despite looking completely unintentional. The outfit you had on was a sheer bodysuit layered under a cropped vest, fabric clinging and torn in just the right places. Flashes of skin peeked through: a sliver of hip, a glimpse of collarbone, the gleam of a screw-shaped clasp on the choker around your neck.

You were Frankenstein’s monster. And you looked good.

Eddie felt his whole system short-circuit. And clearly, he wasn’t the only one.

The crowd quieted for a second as heads turned, eyes wide. People stared. Someone actually dropped their drink. Heat spread across more than a few faces.

"Live wire—" Eddie muttered, voice low and a little strangled. "What the hell are you wearing!?"

You beamed at Eddie, bouncing slightly on your heels, proud as ever. "Frankenstein! Well, Frankenstein’s monster, technically. I figured I’d fit right in with you guys, you know... all alive and electric."

Eddie just stared. It took him a second to actually process what he was seeing. The way the vest clung perfectly to your frame, the delicate stitching tracing your thighs and collarbone, the gleam of bolt-shaped earrings catching the light. You looked like you belonged here. 

Like you belonged to him. 

To both of them.

"My, my," came Volt’s voice from behind you, silk-smooth and slow like warm static down your spine. "Isn’t this a lovely surprise?"

You turned cheerfully toward him, just as the next performer, Keyes, hurried up to the piano. You gave her a bright wave, beaming with your usual sunshine.

Face flushed, Keyes dropped onto the bench and launched into her piece like it might save her life, fingers flying over the keys as if she could outrun the image of you still lingering in her head.

Beside you, Volt let out a low whistle.

"You look like our third," he murmured, eyes trailing from your boots to your vest, lingering far too long on the space in between. His smile curled slow and dangerous, pure voltage wrapped in charm.

You turned to him, head tilted in confusion. "Third what?"

For a beat, something sharp and electric flickered behind his eyes. Then, with a wicked gleam, he recovered.

"Our third piece," Volt said, lips twitching. "You complete the look."

"Oh!" You laughed, delighted. "Yeah, that’s what I was going for! I based this on your outfits. Thought it would be fun to match."

Behind the bar, Eddie made a sound that could’ve been a groan. His hand slipped while wiping a glass, knocking over a shaker, which he caught with reflexes just a second too slow. 

“Mmm. They look great, don’t they?” Volt added smoothly, clearly enjoying the show, and the effect you were having on Eddie.

“Yeah,” Eddie muttered, voice low and hoarse. “If they’re trying to kill me.”

You turned toward him. "What? Sorry—didn’t catch that."

Volt chuckled, low and knowing, stepping just a little closer to your side. “You’re going to be the end of him.”

You blinked, tilting your head. “Why?”

Then you shifted, turned fully to face Volt, and that’s when Eddie saw the back of your costume. Or rather, the complete lack of it.

You see, what little fabric you had on in front didn’t quite make it all the way around.

Eddie dropped behind the bar so fast he nearly sent a bottle of rum flying. His ears went crimson. His entire face followed.

Volt, absolutely glowing with delight, slid an arm lazily around your shoulders like you were the night’s main event. Which, frankly, you were.

"Why don’t you come with me," he purred, steering you smoothly toward the dance floor, "before poor Eddison starts shorting out the liquor shelf."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 6

You yawned as you stumbled into the dim hallway, one shoe dangling loosely from your toes, the other long since lost to the dance floor. Glitter was smeared across your cheeks, streaked with sweat and eyeliner. The distant bass from Volt and Eddie’s Halloween party still throbbed somewhere deep in your skull.

You padded toward your room, dragging your feet like a glittery zombie, and found Betty sprawled across your bed, basking in the silver wash of moonlight spilling through the window. Her dark curls fanned over the pillow like a halo, and her lips curved the second she saw you.

"Well, well," she purred, voice all velvet and slow amusement. "Look who survived the electric rave."

You blinked at her, swaying like a drunk little sapling. "Betts… I think I danced so hard my toes forgot how to be toes."

She arched a brow, eyes glinting. "That would explain the outfit."

You hiccuped out a laugh and tugged your costume shirt over your head. Glitter exploded into the air like celebratory dust. "Too many layers. I’m like… a sexy onion."

Betty’s eyes followed the shirt’s arc as it floated to the floor, then snapped back to you, lingering as you struggled with the zipper on your pants. "If that’s what onions look like now," she murmured, watching you wiggle, "I need to spend more time in the kitchen."

"Whaaaat? Why would you do that?" you asked, half-wriggling, half-collapsing. "You’re a bed. Beds can’t be in kitchens."

Your pants finally gave up their grip, and you attempted to kick them off, only to faceplant onto the mattress.

Betty sat up slowly as her gaze ran over you, hunger wrapped in amusement. 

"Poor thing," she murmured, voice sticky with suggestion. "Sounds like you need someone to… take care of you."

You groaned into the sheets. "I need coffee."

She paused. "What if I offered… a massage?"

You rolled halfway onto your side and squinted up at her. "Oh my god, no. If anyone touches me, I might vomit glitter. I’m unstable."

Betty blinked, clearly unprepared for that answer. "Okay… how about a bath? Me, Bathsheba, and you?"

You peeled your remaining shirt off with the elegance of a molting animal and flung it vaguely across the room. "No time. Must become one with this mattress."

Betty, undeterred, slinked forward on her knees and leaned close, her lips brushing your ear. "You know… some people sleep better when they’re not wearing anything."

You let out a blissful sigh into her stomach, your voice muffled. "Wow… You smell like sexy marshmallows."

Betty fell flat on her back, staring at the ceiling in utter defeat.

"Sexy marshmallows," she repeated, deadpan.

You gave a solemn little nod. "So soft and squishy. I’d drink you with a spoon."

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then Betty let out a long, tortured sigh and wrapped her arms around you, pulling your half-naked, glitter-dusted form flush against her.

"You’re lucky you’re cute," she muttered, tucking you close as you immediately went slack and boneless in her hold.

She traced gentle circles over your back, eyes heavy-lidded.

"You know," she whispered, voice low and dangerous, "if I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me into trouble. Crawling into my bed, stripping down, whispering sweet nothings…"

You snored against her stomach.

Betty groaned, defeated once and for all. "Unbelievable."

House - 0 | Homeowner - 7

a/n: my laptop charger broke so im just trying to get my drafts out before it goes lowbat TT

my new charger comes in a few dayss so the part 3 to the 100 bfs fic will take a while

[bittybeanscafe]

Oh, They’re So Weird (☉-⚆)

“You recently got laid off of your job. Thankfully, you found an ad on Craigslist that paid quite a bit for you to just housesit! 🍩”

DAY FOUR

Previous Day -> Next day

CONTAINS: Mateo, Betty, Mac, Artt, Keyes, Tyrell, Amir, Telly, Hector, Friar Errol, Luke, Stefan, Freddie, and brief mentions of other objects because of a meeting (Celia, Harper, Dirk, Teddy, Chairemi, and Volt)

A/N: Sorry for the long wait lol. Also, sorry if I was unable to get you in the tag list. A lot of people wanted to be added, so I might have missed a bit. Or I was unable to tag you. I think that might be a me issue but I’m not sure.

You stirred slowly, blinking up at the ceiling with a sleep-heavy haze behind your eyes.

Something was… different.

The blanket was wrapped around you just right. Not too tight. Not too loose. Just firm enough to press into your shoulders, your hips, your chest. It felt like it had weight to it now. Not stifling, just comforting, like a hug that knew when to let go and when to hold you closer.

You didn’t remember it being a weighted blanket when you got here. Had you missed that detail?

Did it matter?

You sighed through your nose, eyes fluttering shut for a few more precious seconds. Your legs shifted slightly, but the blanket moved with you, cradling every angle of your body. You felt… cocooned. Safe.

Unseen and unspoken in the quiet world just beside your own, Betty gently fluffed the pillow beneath your head. Mateo pressed a little firmer into your back, a silent, immovable warmth that grounded your whole body. Neither said anything. But both radiated a quiet, glowing joy.

They were happy.

You were here.

Eventually, the morning tugged you from the bed with soft reluctance. You murmured a half-hearted goodbye to the blanket, maybe you’d even thanked it, and got dressed in something loose and comfortable. Today would be lighter. Or so you thought.

Your first stop was the office. You weren’t even sure why, just that it felt right. Familiar. Like maybe the computer would greet you again with completed work you didn’t remember doing.

You sat in the same chair and booted up the computer. It whirred to life like it was happy to see you. Still fast. Still flawless. Still faintly unsettling.

As you waited for the screen to load, your eyes wandered toward the walls. There was that art again. The framed pieces you had admired on the first day: beautiful, strange, modern in a way that felt too intentional.

You squinted.

Had the eyes on that one always been… turned this way?

You stepped to the side.

The gaze followed.

You blinked, looked at another. Tilted your head.

Still following.

You frowned slightly, a pit blooming low in your stomach. “Weird,” you muttered to yourself.

There was no sound in reply.

Just a low creak behind the walls.

The air felt… different.

Only slightly.

But enough.

You shook it off and sat back down at the desk. The keyboard clicked happily beneath your fingers, and your work loaded again, flawless. Maybe even better than yesterday.

But something inside you, something you hadn’t quite heard since that dream, was beginning to whisper again:

This isn’t normal. You know that, right?

You leaned back in the oddly perfect desk chair and let out a satisfied little huff. “Man, I don’t know how this computer does it, but everything’s done again.” You squinted at the screen. “Seriously. I feel like I should pay you at this point.”

You laughed to yourself. Then…

A white window appeared.

Just a blank screen… with a pixelated smiley face sitting in the middle.

: )

You paused.

“…Okay then.”

It was simple, kind of weird… but not creepy. Somehow. You smiled back awkwardly at the screen and reached forward to shut the computer down. “Glad you’re on my side, mystery machine.”

Inside the humming body of the computer, Mac quietly glowed with joy. Someone had smiled at them. Not mocked or ignored or dismissed, smiled. It was a small thing, but for them? It felt bigger than code.

You headed to the kitchen next, stomach growling. You were too tired to cook anything complicated, so you grabbed the bag of frozen nuggets from the freezer.

“Simple lunch,” you muttered, tossing a few into the air fryer.

Minutes later, a soft ding announced they were done.

You opened the fryer and paused. The nuggets were… perfect. Crispy on the outside, tender inside. The exact golden color you liked. You blinked at them.

“You didn’t do too bad,” you mumbled, poking one with your fork. “Thanks?”

From beyond the veil of your reality, Friar Errol tood tall in his metal shell, glowing with righteous smugness.

“And lo, did I say unto thee, ‘be not tempted by the false idols of soggy heating!’ For Stefan burneth, and Luke scorcheth, but I? I crisp with divine balance!”

“Convert now, dear child, and I shall lead thee to salvation: perfectly golden, perfectly seasoned.”

From across the room, Luke buzzed in irritation.

“Excuse me?! I reheat with consistent internal temperature! Not everything needs to be rung out like a towel, holy man.”

Stefan flicked his burners.

“I may get a little zealous on high heat, but at least I cook like a real appliance. You’re nothing but a glorified hair dryer with a superiority complex.”

“Silence, flame-born sinner!” Friar Errol bellowed back. “You turn chicken into ash and pizza into charcoal! I deliver divine crunch!”

Meanwhile, sweet Freddie gave a quiet hum of happiness when you opened the door.

The drink inside? Perfectly chilled. Not frozen. Not warm. Exactly how you liked it.

You took a sip and sighed. “Okay, kitchen… you’re really pulling it together today. Gold stars all around.”

In the cold hum of his little world, Freddie practically wiggled in delight.

“I’m just happy to be of service!”

After lunch, you walked into the living room with your cold drink in hand, planning to relax a bit before heading back to the office. You passed by the piano on your way to the couch, glancing at it the same way you always did, politely, like one would nod at an old neighbor you don’t really know.

But then, the keys moved.

Just one or two at first, like a fluke. But then they played again. And again. And before you could process it, a familiar melody began to echo gently through the room.

Your favorite song.

You froze.

No one was near the piano.

You turned in a slow circle to make sure.

Still alone.

“…Okay. That’s not weird at all.”

The music continued, soft and sweet. Like it wasn’t trying to show off, just please you.

Deep within her elegant wooden frame, Keyes smiled to herself as her keys danced smoothly.

“Such sophisticated taste,” she whispered to no one but herself. “I knew it. I knew it. And to think, I wouldn’t have known had Curt and Rod not mentioned the humming. They listen so closely. I owe them so much.”

She played the last few notes with extra care, like placing flowers at someone’s door.

After shaking off the piano thing, kind of, you dropped down onto the couch and grabbed the remote. A little TV wouldn’t hurt, right?

You clicked the power button.

The screen lit up. Instantly, a show started playing. Not just any show, that show. The one you’d been meaning to start but hadn’t gotten around to. Weird coincidence. You changed the channel.

Another show you had mentioned offhandedly. Then another. Then one you’d forgotten you wanted to watch.

You lowered the remote slowly. “…Alright.”

On the other side of the screen, Telly nearly buzzed with excitement, their static heart fluttering.

“Only the best for our favorite viewer!” they chirped. “No subscription fees, no commercials, just curated perfection. You’ll see! I’m better than any streaming service! I know what you want before you do!”

You stood up, shaking off the weird feeling starting to press in behind your ribs. “Okay… maybe I just need some fresh air.”

You passed through the hallway, and the mirror you caught your reflection in? Your face looked really good in it. Not like a normal mirror. Like the perfect lighting, perfect angle, perfect everything.

“You look your best with me, azizam,” Amir whispered from behind the glass, his frame humming gently with pride. “I only show you what you deserve to see.”

In the bathroom, your toothbrush had already been loaded with paste. The water was the exact temperature you liked. The towel rack had the fluffiest towel folded on top, just for you.

“I fluffed it twice,” said Tyrell. “Just in case once wasn’t enough…”

Even the hallway lights dimmed when you squinted. Brightened when you leaned in to check your phone.

The objects weren’t just helping, they were observing. Adjusting. Learning.

You sat down on the couch again and gripped your cup a little tighter. This was nice. Very nice. A little too nice.

You weren’t sure when it started feeling like the house was… watching.

Not in a bad way. Not yet.

But you could feel it now. Something behind the warmth. Behind the comfort.

You took a sip from your drink.

“…What is this place?”

And though no one answered, the house practically held its breath.

After dinner and a few more eerily perfect episodes of your favorite show, you decided to turn in early.

The minute you stepped into your bedroom, the air shifted. The temperature? Exactly how you liked it. Not a single degree off. The sheets? Warm but breathable. The blanket, just weighted enough to anchor your limbs without crushing you.

You blinked.

“Okay… now I know it wasn’t this comfy on day one…”

“That’s because you’ve been adjusted,” muttered a voice, though only just outside your perception.

Behind the vent, Hector sat in the dark of the central panel, staring at your sleeping figure through the vents like a Victorian man seeing his muse for the first time.

“They’re perfect,” Hector whispered reverently. “So considerate. So grateful. So warm-blooded.”

“I calibrated every degree to match their soul. Their SOUL!”

You drifted off to sleep fast, your body practically melting into the bed.

And once your breathing evened out…

The house began to shift.

Not physically (they weren’t trying to scare you… yet), but in a low hum of gathering energy, of quiet footsteps, of whispers through pipes and vents and sockets.

In the ethereal echo of the object world, Mayor Celia stood on her platform, a clipboard in hand, heels clicking on the polished marble floor that didn’t actually exist. Her glasses perched perfectly on her nose, her blouse wrinkle-free despite being conceptual.

“Okay, meeting of the household objects, let’s come to order!” she barked with a sharp smile. “Topic of the hour: the house sitter. Or as Hector has called them: ‘my thermal twin flame.’”

“I stand by it,” Hector muttered, arms crossed, a small space heater clutched dramatically to his chest.

“You’re so embarrassing,” Rebel groaned, flopping over a chair back. “You need therapy. A fan. Something.”

Telly raised a hand. Their screen face was showing a soft blush emoji.

“I…I would like to state for the record that I’ve never felt this seen before. They watched three shows in a row. THREE. They even LAUGHED. At ME.”

“You’re a TV,” said Stefan, who was trying to light a cigar with one of his burners. “Laughing at you is kinda your job.”

“Blasphemy,” Friar Errol hissed. “The house sitter has chosen us. Clearly, they’ve seen the light. The light of the righteous fryer path.”

“Don’t you start,” snapped Luke, slamming his door dramatically. “You’re not the only appliance in this kitchen, grease boy!”

“Grease boy? How dare you, wretch!” Friar Errol fumed.

Keyes twirled a spectral music note through her fingers. “I played their favorite song. Did anyone thank me? No. Because I’m not in the kitchen and I don’t toast bread or confess sins through oil.”

Amir checked himself out in himself.

“Oh, please. I’ve been holding their insecurities together with glamour and good lighting. The rest of you just feed them.”

“Okay, okay, settle down,” Mayor Celia said, rubbing her temples. “We’re getting off track. The house sitter is clearly-“

“A GIFT TO HUMANITY,” Hector interrupted, his voice echoing through a heating vent. “I would lay down my circuitry for them.”

“Same,” muttered Freddie, who rarely spoke in meetings but had been secretly glowing just a little extra every time the reader opened him.

Celia clapped once.

“Focus! We need a plan. We’ve been slowly revealing ourselves in little ways: temperature, food, comfort, music. But they still don’t know we’re alive. And if we scare them too much-“

“-they’ll leave,” Volt finished solemnly.

The room fell quiet.

Then, from the back, a soft beep: Mac shyly displayed a smiley face on their screen.

“They smiled back at me today,” Mac said, their tone gentle. “I think… they’re starting to feel it.”

Everyone went quiet again.

Then:

“I think we should let them find one of the letters,” whispered Teddy.

“No!” Harper shouted. “It’s too soon! They’ll freak out!”

“Better to let them know than make them feel tricked,” Dirk said, arms crossed.

“How about we just… drop a hint?” Chairemi offered. “Like, subtle. A post-it note that blinks.”

“You are not allowed to do anything with lights,” Mac grumbled.

Mayor Celia cleared her throat, voice firm:

“We vote. Raise your hand if you agree that we start nudging them more directly, just enough to let them know… they’re not alone.”

Almost every hand (or equivalent) rose.

“Very well,” she said, writing something down. “Tomorrow, we begin phase two. Meeting adjourned.”

Back in your bed, warm and safe and perfectly regulated by an emotionally attached HVAC system, you shifted in your sleep as a dream drifted in.

A dream where the house was alive.

And it was smiling.

Tags: @nightlark100 @stinkyboyfaliure @darlink-xoxo @pumpkincitrus @sweetly-sicken @owihitmyhead @emiko-chan-the-clown @glitch-05o2 @theblackberry @moonjellyfishie @irethepotato @shadowlover321 @gonegonethankyouuu @eternityofend @leathesimp @viennarambles @littlesliceofcheese @blu-brrys @ecao @hallahella @call-me-nyxx @hhhyperbole @goldebloom1977 @kittenlover614 @fearthefrostbyte

[araswritingblog]

Date Everything characters with a player who has selective mutism Part 5

(Five parts already, and the ideas keep coming. Some of these were tricky, Cam and Doug specifically: I'm so different from them so getting into their headspace was difficult. I tried my hardest, so I hope I did a good job with them. As usual, please do let me know who you'd like to see in future parts, or if you want the series to continue at all. I'm having a lot of fun with it so I'll probably continue it either way, but it doesn't hurt to hear some feedback).

Characters: Cam, Celia & Florence, Parker, Doug, Keyes

Cam

Doesn't really care. He assumes your silence is the result of indifference.

As far as he's aware your relationship is purely transactional, so he doesn't see the need for conversation anyway.

The first time you use the dateviators on him not many words are exchanged: you smile, wave, and quietly thank him when he takes your trash. But you don't leave immediately.

He gives you a weird look, are you not done here?

It takes a minute to force your voice to cooperate and ask his name, eyes glued to the floor. Is that all? Why are your legs shaking? He's not some rabid wild animal, chill out.

After some very awkward introductions you leave him somewhat baffled.

He starts to figure you out a little following that. Sometimes when interacting with other dateables you write down your contributions to the discussions on paper. When they're no longer needed, they often end up with Cam; he finds out about your condition while reading one of them.

Next time you meet he's mellowed out a bit and lets you know you really don't have to force yourself to speak to him: he knows it's not your thing, and he's not one for small talk anyway.

From then on it's entirely up to you if/when conversations happen between you both. He won't admit it but he finds it kind of sweet that you try with him despite your social struggles, and his salty attitude.

Might snoop on accidentally read your notes to others. He's curious what you talk to them about, and wants to know more about you without having to ask questions.

Appreciates the respect you show him and how you don't force conversation on him either. When you do chat it comes naturally and leaves you both feeling at ease.

Sometimes you leave notes for him with your trash, even without the dateviators on. Just silly little messages, maybe questions you're too nervous to ask in person; general things you feel like saying to him. The casual acknowledgement makes him feel warm and gooey in a way that he hates.

On occasion you'll find napkins or paper scraps with messily scribbled responses on the counter.

Likes hanging out with you in silence, just doing your own thing. It's nice just being beside someone who understands you without judgement.

Celia & Florence

You've never really thought about it before but Florence has been supporting you for a long while. You have a habit of staring at the floor when you speak; when you feel nervous; when you're searching for the right words. You may not realize but before you received the dateviators she was always looking back up at you, cheering you on and hoping her silent encouragement would reach you.

Celia as mayor of the house knows all about your condition and does what she can to ensure all objects in the house are aware to some degree.

They know how you prefer to communicate so are both fully prepared when you first meet.

They support and trust you implicitly, having seen the efforts you've made to help the other objects in the house, and it's not long before you share the sentiment.

You find Florence fairly easy to talk to from the start, she's such a pleasant and welcoming presence.

Celia is more difficult initially. You know she likes you, and she truly is a wonderful, magnanimous woman. But you've always struggled speaking with authority figures so her mayoral status is naturally intimidating; you can't seem to look her in the eye.

It take's Florence's canned air predicament to give you pressing enough motivation to speak. It's much easier to use your voice when you're doing it on the behalf of others.

Celia is impressed by your drive and determination when problem solving; both women find it very attractive admirable how you step up to the plate and save the day.

Their office is a safe place for you to retire if you need sanctuary from the outside world (or the rest of the house in your unique case). The three of you can quietly work on your own things without any awkward tension.

If you agree to become co-mayors, Celia allows you to take on a more behind-the-scenes approach. Leave the public, social aspects to her.

Both encourage you to come out of your shell by setting tasks for you that involve other objects. You won't be doing them alone of course, Florence will join you if you need support. However, when you do manage them on your own you return to two very proud partners, both eager to wrap you in a loving embrace.

Parker

Do you have hands?

Can you role a die?

Do you still wanna play? Yes? Well that's all that matters, silly!

Follow the rules, play the game, have fun, you'd better be having fun, he's having so SO much fun, you're nodding so that must mean FUN IS BEING HAD!

Oh, and for the love of all things holy DO NOT CHEAT! Not that you ever would, you're too scared to open your own front door, why would you ever in your right mind subject yourself to Parker's fury?

No doubt he frightens you at first, he is overstimulation personified, but he also doesn't treat you like you're weird for not speaking. In fact, that doesn't seem to phase him at all.

You listen to the rules and don't interrupt him; that's a big turn on for him that's a quality he values in a possible lover/friend/enemy. He loves your company, even if he doesn't yet know how he feels about you.

He's a bit of a mixed bag: sometimes he's intensely loud, sometimes he's intensely quiet, sometimes he's intensely somewhere in the middle. Due to that he can be hard to speak to sometimes.

You're never really sure where you stand with him, even after you roll for love. But if you express your insecurities to him, he'll be quick to shut them down. The dice do not lie. You are his one and only true love!

Believe it or not, he is actually capable of toning himself down a bit if you display genuine confusion or concern about his true feelings. He'll assure you that his feelings are real, and he's so glad you rolled love, as that was the result he'd been hoping for since the beginning.

Tends to frighten the other dateables off, so he's actually pretty good to hang around with when you need a moment away from the noise (just make sure you pick a focused game, or you can't guarantee quiet).

Doug

Oof

You probably don't get off to the best start if I'm being honest. He's not going to go easy on you just because you're a wimp. It's up to you to be brave and persist.

You came back? Weird choice, but you're hot so he'll give hanging out with you a shot; he hates small talk anyway.

Most of your meetups are spent doom scrolling. You don't even acknowledge each other; no hellos or goodbyes, just you and your sense of existential dread hanging in silence on the same couch.

It's kind of nice, not that he'd ever admit it out loud. You remind him a bit of her, with the patience and kindness you show him, the fact that you actually choose to be around him. Plus, you actually text back.

You mostly communicate with him through text. He'll send random texts while sitting right next to you, usually mild insults or videos of animals being separated from their owners - you know, fun stuff.

I can't imagine you ever being mean to him, you don't have a cruel bone in your body, so if you want him to open up to you, you'll have to stick it out for a while.

You can try opening up to him first, but he already knows everything, in fact part of it is probably his responsibility. Although he will admit your social anxiety is a major douche canoe (maybe not in those words but we try and keep things somewhat appropriate here).

With enough persistence he'll give in and explain himself. It's a relief to talk about his past with someone who listens so unjudgmentally.

From there you're relationship blossoms. Maybe blossoms isn't the right word, nothing much changes, but he is more gentle with you. He cares, even if he struggles to show it.

He won't talk on your behalf. But also won't encourage you to speak to others on your own. You don't need to force yourself to make friends, in the end everyone dies alone anyway. Just hang out with him, he's better company.

Probably doesn't encourage the most healthy habits. Might be a good idea to get Artt involved, he'll even things out.

Keyes

Finally! Someone who listens and doesn't speak.

She appreciates a captive audience and doesn't like people who disrupt her peace so you are a welcome friend.

You listen attentively to her grievances and go out of your way to help her.

She realizes that she genuinely takes pleasure in having you around, and not just to smile and applaud whenever she finishes playing a piece.

You're genuinely nice to talk to, and approach her with patience and understanding instead of a sour attitude like so many of the other objects.

Most of all: you're genuinely likeable. You do not speak yet have so many friends around the house; clearly there are things she can learn from you.

In your presence she learns to be humble, more respectful of those around her. You are truly inspiring.

She is used to being center stage so has no issue taking the attention off of you when things get too much.

You're able to find peace by her side, free from judgement, no need for words. Just listen to the music play, let it soothe your soul.

Keyes enjoys spending quiet time with you. It's nice having someone who simply likes being with her, without expectations. Although she does enjoy the sound of your voice when you do use it.

Loves teaching you piano duets so you can play together. It's a beautiful form of intimacy that doesn't require words, and it's exclusive to the two of you.

(Thank you as always for reading. Characters confirmed for part 6: Dante, Eddie & Volt, Rainey, Bathsheba. Feel free to request anyone else you'd like to see)

[sugarribb0nz]

I have a Date Everything fic request! Reader (any gender) is making their rounds around the house, but whenever they talk to one of the lipstick-wearing ladies (Miranda, Sophia, Rainey, Phoenicia, Fantina, etc) they pepper Reader with lipstick kisses, which flusters reader every time it happens. At the end of the day, Reader learns Barry asked them to test some new lipsticks he got. Reader is puts things together and thanks Barry for the best day of their life.

Creators note 🐑 - Bring in my girls 😩 sorry for not using all the girls who wear lipstick i just feel like it would all be to much 🥲 + learning about diffrent places on the face lol + this may be a little long 😅

Asked 🤍 - Anon!

Summary - you've just been hanging out around the house lately, relaxing, reading, etc, but one thing you couldnt figure out all day was how some of the girls (Miranda, Sophia, Rainey, Phoenicia, Fantina, Keyes, Prissy,) have been giving you small kisses throughout the day and you loved each and every one of those kisses.

Cw - Slight guilt tripping with Fantina + Fantina being Fantina lol, Mention of throw up, sophia 😌,

word counter - 2,739

Date Everything x GN!Reader - fluff!

You honestly had a great day,

Miranda

Let’s start from the beginning. You woke up in a terrific mood, like nothing could get in your way. You walked down the stairs and headed straight into the kitchen, humming to yourself, you grabbed a piece of toast from the bread compartment and walked towards Miranda, “Ooo someone has a pep in their step eh?” She pointed out as she held the toast in her hands, warming up the bread as she smiled at you,

“Oh yeah, I was just excited to start the day, i suppose!” You said while flashing a grin, “Oh yeah? What are you going to do today, hm?” she said as she tilted her head, her cheeks slightly pink as her eyes crinkled from smiling, “Oh you know, maybe organize the attic, check up on everyone else,” You said as you shrugged as you leaned against the counter as you speak to her, “Sounds like a busy day,” she mumbled as she grabbed a butter knife, scooping some butter and sliding across the piece of toast, she then hands you the now perfectly toasted piece of toast, “Yknow, I could make your day better,” she stated matter of factly, “Oh yeah?” You said intriguingly as you bit into the toast,

“Just close your eyes, okay?” She said with a mischievous look on her face. in return, you nodded and closed your eyes. You honestly didn’t know what to expect, but a soft gentle kiss on the left infraorbital cheek wasn't what you expected, causing you to open your eyes to see Miranda pull away laughing.

“Oh my gosh, look at your face! You’re so red! Hahaha!” She said as she had her eyes closed, you felt your face heating up, you look at your reflection in the reflection of the fridge beside you, seeing a small smudge of red on your cheek, “Hehe… That… Caught me off guard,” you huffed out a laugh as you take another bite out of the toast as you reached to touch lipstick smudge on your left cheek, “i should kiss you more often, that color looks so good on you,” she said as she grabbed her guitar, tuning it as you continue to blush, “T-Thank you for the kiss Miranda… ill see you later…” you mumbled as you walked away, finishing the piece of toast as you walked, “Okay then, see you soon!” She said as she began to sing to herself as she strung her guitar.

…

Phoenicia

As you leave the kitchen, you decided to just go ahead and check up on Phoenicia. You take your phone out of your pocket and open it, meeting Phoenicia’s smiling face, “Good morning (Y/N)! Are you having a good morning so far?” She asked as she pulled you into a side hug, smelling the buttery toast from your breath, “Already ate?” She asked as she pulled away with a small smile. “Yeah, just decided to go basic and have a piece of toast,” you said with a casual smile as you placed your hands on your hip, “Honestly, you should’ve seen this viral açai yogurt bowl, it had basically everything on it,” she gushed as she tries to find the video, she eventually pulls it up and shows you the supposed viral yogurt bowl,

“That does look good…” you muttered, “Mhm, you should definitely try and make it sometime,” she said as she closed the tab, “You should save me a bite,” she said with a small smile. “For you, Phoenicia, I would make any viral food trend for you to try,” you said causally as you placed your hands in your pockets, seeing Phoenicia’s face glow with happiness, “Ooo! You are too cute!” she said as she kissed the right zygomatic cheek area, leaving a darker purple smudge, way darker than her usual lipstick. She pulled away with a big smile on her face,

Until she suddenly gasped in shock. “I almost forgot to tell you the latest gossip!” She said as she placed her hand on her own cheek as her other hand opened more tabs to find some drama to unfold, but you were still distracted from the kiss, “Two kisses in one day? Damn… i must be looking good or something…” you thought as you smiled at the feeling of lipstick on your face as Phoenicia snaps you out of it, telling you about the latest drama.

…

Rainey

After your talk with Phoenicia, you decided to do some cleaning around the house, so you got a rag from the laundry room and put it under some water, squeezing the access water, as you did, you noticed the kiss marks on your face, “Hm I should wash this off later…” you muttered as your wet hand smudges Phoenicia’s lipstick stain, staring down at your now stained fingers, you shrug “Eh I’ll wash this off later,” you thought as you walk in the dining room, “Maybe I should put on some music?” You thought once again with a smile as you placed the wet rag on the table, bending down to choose a record until you hear Rainey’s voice “(Y/N)! Oh, i haven't seen you in days! How you been sugar?” She asked as she looked down at you as you picked out a record, “Well, i thought while i clean i should put a little music on,” you said as you placed the record in the record player,

“A little pep in your step, huh? Always a pleasure!” she says as she interlocked her hands beside her face. The music began to play, “Ah! One of my favorites!” She exclaimed as she began to dance. You chuckled as you joined her. She smiled as you danced along beside her. She took your hands and spun you with her as your hands were interlocked. “You dance so well, Baby!” She said as you spun her, “I’ve learned from the best after all!” You said as you smiled as you danced. Rainey pulled you in as the song was coming to an end. She chuckled as she leaned in and placed a kiss on the tip of your nose, leaving a small ruby-red-coloured smudge on your nose. You become flustered once again, already feeling your face become warmer. The kiss was quick but gentle. “Alright sugar, I’ll let you get back to cleaning! I’m just gonna keep on dancing!” She said as she rocked her hips from side to side, you smiled as you grabbed the wet rag and left the dining room as the next song began to play.

…

Keyes

You walked into the next room over, and you saw Keyes in her seat, her fingers tracing the keys on the piano. You slowly sat beside her, causing her to be slightly startled, “Oh… Hello Maestro, doing some cleaning, i assume?” She said as she noticed the rag in your hand, “Yeah, to get rid of some dirt and dust… Would you like me to wipe off the dust?” You said as you lift the soggy rag, “Go ahead maestro, just be careful…” she muttered as she moved along the keys, going along with Rainey’s music playing, you got up from the seat as you wipe away the dust, nodding your head as you listened calmly to Keyes piano play,

You let her focus on her playing as you clean up the grand piano, she looked so pretty as the light hit her as she concentrated on the piano. “You know… you’re so talented, Keyes…” You said as you left the room to go fetch a dry rag to dry off the droplets of water. “Thank you, maestro, you have good taste in my playing,” she said slightly loud with a gentle smile on her face as you returned to the room with a dry rag and dry the top of the piano, “Well, I must since I can’t be away from your playing,” you said as you sat back down beside Keyes, her fingers danced across the keys as she had a small smile on her face, after she finished she turned her face towards you, she had a gentle look on her face, “You are to kind maestro… im going to continue practicing, don't let me continue to distract you,” she said as she scooted closer to you and leaves a small kiss on the right of side your temple, “Now, run along maestro,” she said as she turned back to the piano and continued to play, you nodded and get up from your seat, leaving Keyes to enjoy her music.

…

Fantina

You went upstairs and began cleaning around the second floor (or first floor, whatever you wanna to call it), cleaning up all the dirty clothes on the floor, cleaning the windows, cleaning out the junk drawer, etc. After about an hour of cleaning, you began to feel hot as you wipe your forehead, removing small bits of sweat, you sighed as you walk into the small gym area, already hearing Fantina’s gasp,

“OH. MY. GOSH! It’s you! I haven’t seen you in forever!” She squealed as she saw you coming towards her, feeling the coldness radiating from her. You sighed in relief from the sudden coldness, “It’s nice to see you to Fantina, how have you been?” You said as you enjoyed the coolness from her fan, “I’m so glad you asked! I’ve been so lonesome since you haven't been here lately… I miss you sometimes, you know,” she said with a saddened tone as she crossed her arms with her mouth in a straight line. “I’m sorry, Fantina, truly, I try to remember to see you but I sometimes forget, which isn't an excuse,” you said as you raised your hands in defence, Fantina smiled, causing her eyes to crinkle as she pulled you into a hug, squeezing you in a tight embrace, “You have no idea how much that mean to me!” She said as she laid her face on your chest, feeling her sniff deeply, “Are… you smelling me?” You asked as you looked down at her, “Sorry! You just smell so good right now,” she said as she chuckled and kissed you on your left mandibular, causing you to blink as she left a small kiss, “I should get back to cleaning Fantina,” you said as you patted her shoulder, “Aw… Okay… Please come back soon,” she begged as you walked off, “I promise Fantina, ill be back soon,” you said as you closed the door with a smile.

…

Prissy

As you left, you noticed the time and decided to grab yourself some dinner from downstairs. You were in the kitchen and grabbed some of your (Fav meal) and decided to also grab a cup of water. You finish your snack and just take up the glass of water with you upstairs while cleaning up the attic. You walked back upstairs and opened the attic door. Meeting Prissy’s face as you opened the door, he smiled was wide, and her eyes were crinkled due to her smile.

“Well hello Prissy, what’s with the look on your face, if you mind me asking?” You asked as you held the cup to your chest, “Noticed anything different?” She asked as she did a little spin, her leafs slightly bouncing each spin she did, “Uh… You’re shinier?” You said like it was a question, she stopped spinning and sighed, “Aw man… Nothing’s different?” She said as she slightly pouts, her arms crossed as she looked down at the dirty wooden floor, “It’s alright prissy, maybe something will change and if nothing doesn't, that’s okay too,” you said with a smile as you hand her your cup of water, she takes it with a smile and takes a sip from the glass cup, her lipstick leaving a small print on the edge of the glass, “I know… I just would LIKE to be a real plant you know? Enjoy some soil, be watered every day, like an actual plant…” she said as she looked into the glass, smiling to herself,

You place your hand on her shoulder with a genuine look on your face, “How about we do a routine? I’ll bring you a glass of water and we can just… talk more,” you said as you tilted your head, “That sounds nice, I like that!” She said with that happy smile once more. She began to talk your ear off as you cleaned up around the attic. She eventually finished all the water in the glass cup, and you finished cleaning up as well. After you finished getting cobwebs from the cracks, you stood up, cracking your back as you felt a warm embrace behind you. “Thanks for talking with me today, I really appreciate it,” she said with her eyes closed with her head tilted. “Your welcome Prissy,” you said as you turned around, facing her relaxed and tired face, she smiled while meeting your eyes and leaned in and kisses your forehead, she lets go as she yawned, “i think it’s time for me to get some rest… See you tomorrow?” She asked with her cheeks flushed, “Of course, sleep well Prissy,” you said as you slowly walked away, to finally get cozy and rest up like Prissy.

…

Sophia

You arrived in your room, the feeling of no more chores left to do in the house was lifted from your back. You let out a content sigh as you walked towards your closet, opening the sliding doors, revealing some neatly folded and prepared on the shelves. You threw on the PJ’s and walked up to the bed, slowly sinking into it. That’s until you felt something hard in your back pocket of your PJ pants, you reach behind yourself and dug into the pocket, finding 25 cents,

“Oh, I should probably give this to Sophia…” You thought to yourself as you held the coin between your thumb and pointer finger, you got back out of the bed, walked out of your room towards the attic door, you open it noticing Sophia smiling mischievously as she made eye contact with you, “Hello wretch… it’s been awhile hasn’t it?,” she said as she takes your cheek, “Yes mistress… it has… I have something to give you…” you said as you blush, you placed your hand on top of hers, “It better be good wretch…” she said in her seductive voice, you pulled out the coin and raised it to her face, “I found some pocket change I wanted to save, since you keep everything safe mistress…” you said with pink cheeks, “Mhm… very good my wretch…” she spoke as she takes the coin, “Monique would be thrilled to see you saving…” she said as she squeezes your cheek, “You look so tired little wretch… shouldn’t you go to sleep? Hm?” She hummed as she stared into your eyes, “I just wanted to give you the coin my mistress…” you said as you smiled, feeling her warm hands on your face. “Very good wretch… now goodnight,” she said as she leaned in, giving you a kiss on the lips, leaving a faint print of black lipstick on your lips, cause you to blush and leave the attic with a stupid smile on your face. …

Barry Styles

It was the next day, and you completely forget to remove all the lipstick stains off your face. Your pillow was covered in different shades of lipstick. It was like someone ate an entire bag of skittles and threw up all over it, your eyes widened from the stains hoping they could come out, but for now you just walk to the bathroom to see your face, but before you even see Amir, Barry see’s you first, his mouth was agape from the colors on your face, you couldn't tell what his reaction was, it was like of wanting to laugh but also being in shock, “(Y/N), Those Color's look so good on you, but you’re going to get pimples if you don't remove those!” He exclaimed as he grabs your face, examining the different lip shades on you, but as Barry spoke you slowly zoned out on what he was saying, not because he was right in your face, but you just woke up and you needed a moment to think,

But honestly, what could you say? You're just that kissable. 💋

Masterlist

Masterlist 2 ⬅️

Rules

Ask

[devswritingcornerorsmth]

Can you make some HC for Keyes 🎹 who is with a Reader who have a surprise skills in playing a piano but hid it after some dealing with harsh treatment in learning how to play it when they were younger resulting in trauma and being afraid to play the piano until Keyes helps them with it

keyes my underrated queen i love her SO much

---

Keyes/Ex-Pianist!Reader

= You were hesitant to Awaken the piano, remembering all the harsh words said to you when you were younger from "friends" and parents. But you did anyway, curious to see what your piano had to say to you after all this time of not playing her.

= Keyes lights up when she sees you, smiling happily as if seeing an old friend. She tells you that she missed you deeply, reminiscing about the times you played your favorite songs on her. Sure, it had been a while since you've played her, and yes, she was a little lonely and upset that the other new objects couldn't hear your shared song, but she's happy nonetheless. She brushes herself off despite having no dust on her, and gestures toward the piano, offering you to play once more.

= You hesitate, staring at the familiar black and white keys, remembering how each one sounded in your head from a distant past. You still remember the distant notes of a favorite song, a past filled with harsh words and demeaning language. You stare at her expectant face before saying that you couldn't.

= Keyes stares at you for a moment before placing her hands on her hips. She blames the temperature, saying that it was too cold to play. She orders you to go tell Hector to turn up the heat so you are comfortable enough to play. You try to tell her that it's not the temperature, but Keyes is gone before you can.

= The next day, you come back without talking to Hector since it's not his fault. Keyes smiles when she sees you, asking if you have spoken to Hector about the temperature. You say no and quickly say that it isn't the problem before she could say anything else. She asks if it's the lights, the sound of the TV, or something else? You were so good when you were younger, remembering how you played her almost professionally.

= Instead of telling her outright, you ask her if she remembers the last few times you played. Keyes pauses, taking a moment to think it over. A frown slowly grows on her face as she remembers the words said to you as you played, your hands lowering as you looked away from the piano and got up, never to return.

= "I wasn't able to say it then, so I'll say it now: those people didn't know what they were talking about! They didn't know true music like you do! Nobody is here to judge you or tell you those things now, not on my watch! So please, at least try to play something."

= Keyes' words are aggressive, but encouraging. You sit on the stool and stare down at the keys on the piano, Keyes' words talking over the harsher ones permanently scarred in your brain. And you play. You make a few mistakes here and there, but it has been a long time since you've touched the piano. You play a thirty-second snippet of one of your favorites, halting just before the second verse, and looking up at Keyes.

= You expected angry words of disgust and criticism, instead, Keyes smiles warmly, almost proudly.

= "That sounded lovely, my darling. Just as beautiful as I remembered it, please, continue."

= It feels like a small weight has been lifted from your chest, those harsh words from past friends seemingly not so harmful anymore as you rest your fingers on the keys, and continue the song.

-----

locked in for this one since keyes is one of my favorite dateables yippee wahoo

thanks for reading mwah

[alexex8sts]

Hiiiii! I was the anon who requested the dateables x oblivious homeowner and I LOVED IT! It was so cute and thank you so much for doing it!!! Also sorry for the character limit thing (╥‸╥) I didn’t see the request info link and I already typed out the request before thinking about it. I was just so excited to see other characters (other than Eddie and Volt) having a moment to shine I got carried away haha! But I would love a part 2 of the last four characters on the request if you have the time :) thank you!!! \(˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ )/

Hello anon!! No worries, Mel was excited to get your request and finish it up!! Hope you enjoy!! Also here's a link to the first part! TW: Ooc, reader portrayed as oblivious/an airhead, sappy

To say Teddy was your friend, would be an understatement, he was your best friend! Your childhood buddy from past to present, even before you knew he was more than a plush and cap. And to say Teddy loved you would be true, growing up with you, protecting you from nightmares. Even when you put him up, he loved you. So when you brought him from the closest and onto your bed he knew it'd be about time to confess.

The only problem was your oblivious self, it was sweet really! Every fairy tale he read you before you fell asleep, all with the same theme of the characters loving and oh my… kissing! But you'd merely bat your eyes or doze off. And in the mornings when you wanted advice, it flew over your head the hints he put into each word. Do you know how hard it was to related popcorn to love?! But Teddy couldn't be mad, it was just how you were, so after a few weeks he finally sat you down on your bed

" Hey buddy, I got something to tell you, " He starts softly, smiling as you straighten up. " I just wanted to say, that I love you. Always have, we've been together through thick and thin. So what do you say? "

Miranda feels like writing song after song with you around, it's almost scary! I mean, you're a great person, no one denies that but how do you know how to weasel into people's heart and be oblivious to it? Miranda feels herself grow annoyed when you merely smile and clap after another love song, how did you miss the oblivious message!?!

" That was amazing Miranda! " You cheer, watching as she let's her guitar hang once more from it's strap. " I mean whoever you wrote those songs for is lucky! "

" Yeah… Lucky, just wish they weren't oblivious, " She replied, straightening her jacket for a moment, glancing towards your confused expression

" How could they not notice? " You asked softly

" Could be cause they're you " She grinned, watching as your face paled

" Wha? "

" You're an airhead, glad it only took what… 10 songs and a straight answer? "

Keyes is somewhat annoyed by your oblivious nature, who in there right mind could help others open up, change for them for the better, and notice how others struggle, just to entirely miss the biggest queue someone loves you!? Goodness, she feels out of tune by your nature. How you merely clap when she plays you a complicated piece written by a lovesick composer, when she writes you her own songs. How you merely smile as she places her hands over yours to correct your hand position, to play a song as simple as Hot Cross Buns.

It feels like one of those bevy shows Telly constantly plays, how the love interest has to do something ridiculous like running to a airport to stop the main character from leaving without confessing feels. Never did she think she'd be a position similar to that. A glass of wine, a chat with Gaia and Beverly and she finally decides you need a direct approach.

So now you sit, watching as she took a moment to place back and forth before she reached, gently taking your chin in her grasp and beginning a speech

" You have ruined my tempo far to much "

" I didn't mean to- " A finger pressed your lips together

" No, no. This ruined temp can be fixed. " She offered a stern smile " You merely need to open your eyes. "

She then let go of your chin, sitting next to you before taking your hands and placing them over the piano tiles

" And see that I have fallen for you "

Mitchell can only sigh watching you eat the food he had prepared for you, a lobster ravioli, it wasn't simple by any means. No the lobster was Maine lobster one freshly caught from the sea, the blend of cheese included aged parmesan, asiago from a beloved Italian man farmer and his cows Daisy and Maribel. It was a meal made with only the highest quality ingredients, evident of his love for you.

Yet you could not pick up on that fact, merely thanking him for the meal and eating it like an excited puppy. He wonders, how did he fall for such an person? Maybe it was the way you listened to his critique, the way you smiled at him? If only he knew how much of an oblivious person you were.

" How does the lobster taste? " He asked, feeling himself grimace for a moment as you glanced up at him, a bit of sauce stuck to the bottom of your chin. Picking up one of the folded napkins to wipe your cheek

" It's amazing, Mitchell! " You beam, eye squinting as the napkin touched your face. you didn't even notice they were folded like hearts. Or the raviolis in a heart, or the hearts in Mitchell's notepad.

" I see, that is good news, but do not be afraid to critique me. " He stated, setting the napkin down " But do you know why I made this meal? "

" 'Cause you needed someone to give feedback? " You ask, tilting your head and pausing when you see him rub his temples

" No, no. That's not the reason "

" Uh.. What is it then? " you asked carefully

" It was my love confession, you truly are oblivious. "

" Oh… " you glance down in embarrassment, letting out a soft chuckle before taking his hand in yours " I.. I love you too "

P.s!! Mel finally posted after a few weeks! Yay :DD anyway Teddy makes them cry all the time (T-T) he's just so sweet

-> Masterlist -> Request info

[driftd0ll]

(I'm answering older asks from my other blog - I'm being productive!!)

Hear me out on Gaia and Keyes!!

You can't expect a woman like Gaia, as adventurous and with as much as she travels with that cute, excited gleam, to NOT be absolutely starving? She's not particularly clean, but half the fun is when she's sloppily slurping at your cunt with as much enthusiasm as she has when talking about boarding a plane to her next destination. Not to mention, she's so, so strong and will wrap her arms around your thighs to keep you sat nice and sweet on her face.

Keyes can't bring herself- purely out of pride- to even let you consider a performance of hers being bad, or more insultingly, "lukewarm". This includes perching you on top of the piano's bench, kneeling and pressing a trail of kisses along your inner thighs in a way that seems carefully curated to drive you insane. She's soft, or that's what you think, but just like her music, it has high and low notes. Both of her hands keep on your knees, refusing to let you even try to squirm away while her tongue circles your clit with hunger.

Fantina. Do I have to explain? I'm going to anyway - Girl is obsessed with you and everything about you, so it makes complete and utter sense that she fucking loves your taste. She'll suck on your clit, swiping her tongue through your puffy folds while plunging her fingers in and out of you, crooking them just the way she knows you like it until you can't help but cry out her name as your vision goes black for just a second. You'll be left twitching while she laps up the mess she made, all too happy to continue pressing her tongue into your skin.

Honorable mentions; Lucinda, Harper, Bathsheba

[discotechque]

ADAGIO BREEZES FILL MY SKIN WITH SUDDEN RED

summary: the first time keyes catches a glint of the brass in your hands, she knows she's lost. there's no greater defeat than watching a musician who doesn't have the slightest idea on what to do with you.

pairing: keyes x reader word count: 4.6K content: mc is a french horn player, goes through time with no breaks, mc being oblivious to keyes' attraction, jealousy over a french horn, gender neutral pronouns used, not proofread. note: keyes being criminally underrated is so crazy to me when she's the fucking piano in our living room. anyways you bond through little moments where you are not entirely aware of keyes but she is bounded by her ire for brass. KEYES YOUR STORYLINE MOVES ME.

♫ the first taste - fiona apple

THE FUNNY THING is that Keyes doesn’t remember the exact date she was wheeled into your home. She’s usually good at that sort of thing—dates, punctuality, timing. It’s embedded within her, this metronomic ability to pin down a memory. Instead, there’s a heavy haze weighing on her chest when she thinks of your first encounter. The moment never ceases to humble her.

It’s you, drenched in sweat and splayed across the hardwood floor. Every heave of your chest is followed by a painful moan. You writhe against the surface, seeking for any comfort before crawling to her leg. Finding solace within the groove as you lean against it. She doesn’t appreciate your hot breath fanning against her nor your sweat staining her paint. She’s lucky she wasn’t cheap ware made for the sticky fingers of children—the varnish is the only thing protecting her from your negligence.

Another person enters the space and you seem to perk at their presence. Charlie, a distant friend or acquaintance you haven’t called since, languidly trails in from somewhere beyond her scope and leans against your back door. He tosses something at you—an ‘oof’ pitches from your throat as it plummets onto your stomach. You pepper the thing in kisses like you’ve wanted it since you were born.

It looks to be a slightly cold water bottle.

You rip off the cap and chug, leaving only tiny droplets that catch onto grooves of the plastic. Rivulets of what must be part water and part drool slide down the corners of your mouth as you speak, “You said you had a gift for me?”

“Are you blind?” He balks. At the request of your slack jaw, he continues, “We just hauled it in.”

Your brows furrow and you strain your neck to peer back at her. She is pristine in the sunlight and beams refract from her surface—posed at the centerpiece that would lure guests further into your home. You rise from the floor, lips slightly parted. Uncertain on how to respond. 

It’s a typical reaction to her. More often than not, she strikes people with her beauty. Anticipation flutters across her strings and she awaits the gratitude that will surely flow off your tongue. Praising Charlie for being such a thoughtful friend and wonderful companion to the object that will compose all your masterpieces.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with this thing?”

She pauses, hoping that what you’ve said is a fluke. Still you grow sour, lower lip pouting as you assess her. She feels that with every drag of your gaze, you are peeling her into parts and her petals tilt in anticipation. Fingers graze her glossy finish and you bring them closer to view, squinting as if you want more than anything to find a flaw. Keyes is assured in her craftsmanship, made in West Africa to be lauded around with the likes of Europe’s greatest composers. She doesn’t know why the part of her that was so ready for adoration has turned heavy and threatens to splinter.

You press down at one of her keys, a groan emanating from her. G flat. The sound frays at the edges. You press down again, temple pinched and focused on the sound. “Outta tune anyway.”

The offhand comment intrigues her. Lifts up her spirits enough to notice that you know she needs to be attended to. The frigid tinge to your eyes makes her less hopeful of that reality.

Charlie shrugs, “Thought you had your little band phase in high school? Some keys to help you break in the place.”

Little band phase? She shivers. Transferred in the home of a hack who soaked a reed beneath their tongue and squealed out something resembling a note. An even worse image of you appears to her, someone who tapped in tempo on a snare.

“I don’t play.”

It rolls off your tongue flat, low and unwavering. A fact. A certainty. However Keyes wants to put it, she knows that as long as she resides in your home—she will sit untouched.

“You could learn,” he offers. She thinks he regrets even thinking of buying you a gift in the first place. That she's the tile bridging the finality of this friendship. However irked you were previously has washed away by now, replaced with a hollow nod at the suggestion. Your fingers clamp down on the tense air before turning away from her.

“I think I’m past that stage of my life,”

You stay true to your promise.

Keyes sits and she waits, ankles crossed and her spine aching from the tension of being caught in her taut posture. She waits an agonizingly long time for you to notice her. Dismissing other objects because she knows at some point, you will stop fiddling with the coffee machine or the television and become awed at her beauty. Maybe sell her to an orchestra or take it upon yourself to tinker at her faults. Whatever the case, she sits ready.

When it comes to you, Keyes is bad at dates. Dawns close into sunsets as she lazes upon her lid and she feels a chill settle within your home, wind blowing through the heavy willow that sits in your backyard. She thinks autumn has finally settled within this weary corner of the world she sits in. Whatever season, it’s been enough time for a thin layer of dust to coat her being. There’s soft rings clear of the substance.

The marks of incidents where you forget something and she is the most convenient perch for you to place a mug on. Evidence of interactions where you seek to insult her very purpose. An elegant piano that canvases this room of your house being reduced to a mere shelf. She would rather have a conversation with any of those dullards rather than endure this fate any longer.

Then one night—a rich velvet tone wakes her from another dreamless sleep. She thinks you’ve turned on the record player again, the crackling of the music always getting under her skin. Then, it stops and the same melody repeats. She hears you from the other room, prohibiting herself to peer at whatever is causing the ruckus you’re making. It’s low, steeped in a tinny edge that rings in her ear and keeps her restless.

It goes on like that for a while. The whine of a timbre begging to become full. The unbecoming squawk it lets out. A mumble followed after it.

At a certain point, you’re begging for her to acknowledge it.

You’re on the couch, not so much resting as your spine is arched tight. The dim haze of the lamp shrouds you in sharp shadows, a rich groan emitting from you. She thinks you’ve fallen ill and turns back to rest until the tone grows softer in pitch, arching itself into song. Returning, Keyes does to you what you have not reciprocated—acknowledge you fully. Her eyes drag down your features, watching as your brows contract and release with each new note. Cheeks hollow for a steady stream of time until you pull away to inhale a quick gasp, heeding to the call of your instrument.

She misses that kind of attention. Concentration which can only be viewed as passion to anyone untrained.

A mouthpiece is puckered against your lips, a hand lodged firmly inside the bell of the horn, and the other is delicately pressed at keys decorated with shell coverings. The loops and bends hypnotize her in the spiral shape of the instrument. Everything clicks when Keyes sees you inhale again before plunging back into the piece. You play the french horn, a shiver runs down the length of her spine.

Keyes thinks her and brass instruments share a mutual dislike. They’re loud, uncouth and sly by dragging out sound through tricks like slides. She was constructed to hold range on her own, needing no more than hands and feet to guide the piece where it needs to be with precision. What was once daunting becomes uncomplicated underneath her purview and she used to relish in the struggle of trombones and trumpets that would veer off pitch from too much pressure.

Your little band phase must’ve been full of moments like these. Mistakes needing to meet the inevitable.

“Fuck,” the metal has made your lips swollen and sore. She can see it even from behind the fireplace, hands curled around the mantle. Hiding, although she doubts you would ever notice her if you two existed simultaneously. “this fucking piece, man.”

You rest your head in your hands, the horn beside you long forgotten. A few moments later, you stand and your feet pad along the floor towards the stairs. The brass thing sits on the couch, awaiting your return. Glimmering even in the darkness and demanding attention.

Her tongue clicks against her teeth and whips away from the sight. An extension of yourself she will not bear. Finally refusing it the same way you had her.

It becomes routine for you anyway.

She becomes comfortable in the idea that her presence matters little to you no matter how her skin prickles at seeing that thing on your lap. Caressing it, bending to the mellow vibration that it sings, wiping it clean after every use. Her being still used as a glorified table for toast and hot chocolate as the winter chill seeps within the window frames. The curtains bristle at every occurrence of this now—finding amusement at her suffering since she rebuffed their attempts at friendship. She hides the satisfaction that tugs at her when you pull at them, puzzled at the movement.

Recently, you’ve become her unlikely companion as you lugged the gilded monstrosity over to her bench. Perching yourself upon it and never giving any attention to the fallboard. Pieces written in treble clef are strewn around her cover but pitched a fifth lower than she would like to hear. She recognizes a few of them, her fingers trailing around the edge of the sheet. 

Camille Saint-Saëns' Morceau de Concert, Op. 94. 

Franz Strauss, Nocturno Op. 7. 

Robert Schumann, Adagio and Allegro, Op. 70.

Works that typically require accompaniment. Works that typically include her and you purposefully starve her. Keyes displays another nocturne upon her rack, something only a child would play. The coiled body of the horn sits snugly in your lap until it rises along your chest, placing your mouth onto the metal lip. 

Suddenly she feels something wet by her feet. Accumulated spit splatters by her leg in a thin stream, fiddling at the valve to empty the horn completely.

Her hammers slam down all at once, your eyes widening into saucers at the horrific cacophony that escapes her. The edges of your instrument practically fuse to your sternum from how rightly you grasp onto it. You whip your head side to side, shoulders drawn to be level with your chin as if the small shred of movement could save you from whatever made the noise. A desk and spit tank—little can convince her that you have something deeply personal against her.

Your lips tuck underneath your teeth and a long breath is drawn from you. Stowing away your precious horn and leaving it underneath her feet. The thrum of glee that plucked at her strings suddenly falls flat. You’ve left her alone once again.

She thinks it only gets worse when you have the glasses. Objects in the house have viewed her as pompous and pretentious—tolerated unlike Scandalabra because Keyes is clipped in response rather than salacious. Her eyes flicker at your wandering form, cooing at the vent and rummaging around the laundry room. Consorting with those who made this stale home inhospitable.

With everyone but her.

Dusk has settled over the house when you’ve finally decided to gift her a crumb of attention. Tuesday evening, she thinks, two weeks since you could see them. She would be better off without it, your interruption of her stellar performance already imbues her with annoyance. Even more so as she comes to terms with the fact that you’ve interpreted it as silence. 

Door 33, she corrects your ignorance. Keyes wonders how rude it would be if she vanished into her soundboard.

You supply her with something entirely different that weighs heavy on the furrow of her brow. Oh, you mean John Cage 4′33″. Clearly the both of you are still out of tune. 

She lets her indifference stew between the two of you. Curt nods at the end of each sentence. A long hum dragging on before she sharply shrugs in response. A huff slipping from her as you stutter over the mention that you are a musician. You play the french horn. Something cruel provokes her further—she smirks at your uncertainty.

Keyes is glad you’ve never paid her any mind if you consider what you do as playing.

A meek nod is all she receives and you scurry away as she retreats back into the piano. She settles there in the stifling tension, composing unfinished melodies that turn flat and trail off into dissonance. She hopes you are tossing and turning in the bed from the unease simmering underneath your skin. She hopes you stare at the ceiling and replay every interaction down the root to find where your life went wrong. Picking at the suspense, opening the wound until it is a massive thing you carry. 

You return to her the next morning anyway. Fingers wiggling at other objects in greeting as you pass them by. The action is brief before returning to the handle of your case that swings in an erratic tempo. Keyes’ shoulders sag. Maybe she had been too caught up in cursing you from the floor below last night to realize you’re not telepathic.

The glasses are perched upon your nose as you sit at her bench and greet her. Unclasping the lock on your case to reveal your instrument. She hadn’t noticed before but the brass is engraved with delicate spirals and grooves that constructs the image of a flower unfurling from cloves of leaves. It’s well-polished and beams in the light, not unlike her when she had traveled. Alterations done by different pianists that she kept as keepsakes—what remains of her true self is her keys.

“Abalone,” you offer the thing to her, palms embracing its curves. One of your hands deftly slides up its body to tap on one of the caps. The disks twinkle in her glare, gaudy magenta caps decorating the thing that allows for you to assail her with soliloquies of velvet. Retracting your arms when you realize she has no intention of holding it. You must be color blind or have poor taste to seek these modifications.

She can’t decide which fate is worse.

“Mine are made of pearl,” she stiffens and lies. Keyes knows that the ivory molded to her will soon fade yellow—illegal and unsightly. What a pair she and that thing make.

Your jaw goes slack. The months it took to seek that sort of awe and it unveils itself at a cheap line. It takes a few moments before it hinges itself to speak, “Did Charlie fucking steal you?”

Her ears perk at the mention, “Charlie,” Your brows arch but she continues. “hm, do you still see him?”

You slowly nod, “Yeah, he just moved,” 

A silence slowly envelopes the room, thick and sticky against her skin. You avoid her gaze, picking at one of your levers. If she didn’t know any better, she would mention the guilt that consumes your movements. Instead, she lets you make the first move.

“You ‘member Charlie?” The question is soft, plush against your tongue like you were figuring out ways to mold it. Putting the pieces together, you look at Keyes and all she can see is the shame leveled in your gaze. Like you know before it even has to be said.

Her satisfaction feels so small. Finding herself letting go of the chagrin she held so tightly before, “I was a gift. I surely remember the people who saw that in me.”

The conversation dips again. You bite your lip and she gives you the grace to mull over whatever is thrumming within your thoughts. She’s expecting you to regale her with a long winded defense. How she was a gift you never asked for. How Charlie should’ve been more attuned with your silly dawdlings in high school. Not exactly unsure about what you want to say but rather how it will come out.

“I’m sorry about what I said,”

Keyes lips purse, a hitch in her breath is hidden. When it comes to her, you’re awfully good at taking her by surprise.

You still avoid her, continuing to speak as the edges of your lips are pulled downward. “I didn’t just hurt you when it happened. The moment felt kinda righteous, y’know? But Charlie was so sorry about it and it felt like I gave him shit over nothing.” 

A long sigh is drawn from your chest. You gaze at your horn and she feels that she’s mistaken your wistfulness for neglect. Ghosting the curve of the horn with a light touch, you’ve wanted nothing more than to play. 

“I think about it a lot whenever I’m around here.”

Her eyes make contact with yours for the first time in a while. Something new unfurls between the two of you.

Keyes thinks the best punishment is fetch quests. She finds it amusing as you run all around the house, advocating what she needs and rolling your eyes at every rebuff. You persevere through the snide work she drafted in a tizzy of vexation that overcame her, a goddess and her deceitful magician. She rants about the nonsensical programming that Telly runs and follows your advice as if it were instruction. Her only friend in this house after months of being here, all due to you.

Teasing yourself into moments where you should not exist.

Her sonata begins to shift, composing itself to be tender to you in ways she could not say before. She hopes that when she plays this an understanding will come to you about everything that lies beneath.

You sit in the front row that night, dimmed in the shadows of the living room. Chatting amongst Telly and Gaia but your eyes always flicker back to her. She is brimming with anxiety over the thought over you enraptured in her. Watching every stroke she makes and a softness in your eyes that is reserved for her, an attention she so desperately craved. She would’ve done anything to make you look at her with such fondness a few months ago.

Some part of her is glad that it’s happened now.

“It was stunning,” you compliment before retiring for the night. She flushes, the edges of sheets with thousands of notes crumpled between fists that wish to capture this feeling forever. She lies awake, restless on her soundboard and giddy at the chance to see you again.

Yet, everything stills. Not necessarily that this thing she feels is brewing has stopped but it is more so stuck and struggling to get free. She feels the words brushing the back of her tongue but one look from you, she swallows them whole. Another Keyes isn’t good with you is subtlety, she’s sure that if she were to confess—the words would spill out and drown you. She can’t quite tell if you’re torturing her or just quite dense.

So she takes another approach. On days where you don’t speak, she sees you practicing another piece. Mozart: Horn Concerto No. 3. Cataloging the willowy movements as you serenade the first floor and deciding that it’s perfect. She collects your colleagues from all around the house to come see you perform for one night only in the living room. Mentioning to keep quiet about the affair, arranging for Rainey to be a collaborator, placing seats all around her. You raise a brow at the sudden shuffling of your furniture but shrug your shoulders at it.

Keyes has also sacrificed her dignity for you, she feels she should lord it over you at some point. Lux’s lips curl inward at her request of letting you know to speak to her later, horn included. This has also meant she’s sacrificed some television time to be heckled with the screeching of women from The Real Luminaires of Chandelier. She wonders if she’s confusing this torment for yearning.

By nightfall, objects are already littered around your living room and buzzing about what you’ve been working on. Even she can see that Hector peers out from the vents to join the small performance. You descend in pajamas, both hands wrapped around the leather handle of your case. Lux must’ve also forgotten to tell you the general vibe of this whole event. She turns to see the blond already smug in their corner.

When you finally face her, all eyes turn towards you. In response, your mouth pries itself open to unveil a smile that’s all tooth and discomfort. Your eyes flick to her for help.

“You helped me with my concerto,” she supplies but from the way your face is stuck in that unsettling expression, you clearly want more. “I wanted to do the same for you.”

She gives you pages, the same ones you’ve been clutching these past few weeks. Gifting you with a reward you never asked for. You see her and she thinks your shoulders melt at the sight. “Wow, this is … super sudden.”

“I know! I wanted it to be a surprise.” She notices some of the others hiding their laughter after her small outburst. Her voice softens, smaller and a whisper. A secret only the two of you can hear, “Are you adequately surprised?”

Your pitch matches hers, silken and inviting. “Excellently surprised would be more accurate.”

She reaches for your wrist, lightly grazing it with her nails. Regret floods her system until realizes that somehow, you’ve tangled your fingers with her. Awaiting for some semblance of direction. She perches you upon her bench and drifts to take one of the chairs across from you. Even in an oversized shirt and basketball shorts, you beam underneath the attention and wave at the small crowd. You peer back at Rainey and she snaps for a few moments, counting you in.

All these people and Keyes still think you’re playing just because she requested it.

A lean every time you take a breath before falling back. She thinks she can even make out the hint of a small smile after holding a note after changing the key from skimming your levers. Technique being rusted by years of missed practices that shows when your eyes flutter open for a brief second to take hold of the note that almost slips by. The pace never falters, good at keeping tempo even if the only thing leading you there is Rainey’s metronomic clicks that fade out. The velvet your horn spools out weaves itself inside her chest.

“You’re staring,” Dante croons and is promptly shushed. She flushes, the room becoming entirely too hot. It must be because the damn fireplace has decided to sit right beside her.

It’s a concert. Of course, she’s staring—she’s allowed to stare obviously. It'd be weirder if she didn’t admire your performance from an entirely musical perspective. She rushes up from her chair to applaud you after the trill that caps your performance. She’s not the first to congratulate you, friends swarm up and press kisses your checks and grab your shoulders in pure elation. Keyes sits back, observing you being showered in the praise she was so afraid to give and taking it in stride.

The others filter out until it’s only you and her facing one another. You lift a shoulder, beckoning her to sit beside you. She doesn’t waste the offer. Slotting herself on the small area of her bench, her arm brushing against yours. Lips pursed into a shy smile, she’s infected with the same dizzying energy.

Another silence shrouds over the two of you. It’s different, full of potential and warmth. A million ways this conversation can go and she can only think of one outcome. 

Again, you start, “I was better in high school. Went to a conservatory for a few years, got first chair, snagged a scholarship at some elite college. Everything was just laid out in front of me.”

She thinks of students who played stupid songs on her just to earn the ire of their band director, students who covered her with gum that had to be scraped off weekly, students who would crack at one wrong note. She wonders what kind you were and how much it took to push you away. She can only imagine you as plucky and young, primed to play Brahms and Hadyn.

“I wanted to be in Berlin or Paris,” you relay to her with an empty laugh. Grazing the pads of your fingers against her keys and she stutters out a sigh. Your touch ghosting her skin and you are oblivious to it. “Somewhere big. Somewhere I could be something.”

“I can play cute songs but it’s—it was a pipe dream.”

She supposes she could ask you about that. Unravel every bit there was to your youth and the supposed fall from grace. It’d be similar to her at the start of making a home here where she toured parts of the world and sat amongst stages that seated thousands. A terribly wistful thing tugs at her stomach. Both of you have allowed yourselves a reprieve of the past that satiated something deeper than renowned could carry.

“But you can still play, no?” she allows herself this question instead. Treading her fingers over the ivory that decorates her and innocently drawing them closer to your hand.  “I stewed here in my anger for months because I sat untouched. Then, I saw that maybe you were just as lost as me.”

At a certain point, your fingers brush against one another. Undeterred by the touch, Keyes raises her head to look at you. She finds herself already pinned underneath your gaze. Her mouth grows dry, her lips part a few times and a slight nod of your head leads her back on track. As if she always unwittingly needs someone to know where the conversation should be steered.

“Music is more than fame, bigger than the whole world in fact.” She can’t help but notice how Gaia wobbles within her spot. It gives her the courage to cover your hand with her own. Her fingers are only a little longer than yours but you fan out your palm so that they can fill the gaps. Always making space for her. “I’m glad to be a corner of your world, no matter how small.”

A small huff escapes you at that, amused in her confession. She knows the little things that lie unsaid in that statement but it still weighs as heavy. Keyes feels every beat of her heart thump louder within her chest, a melody waiting to be explored.  

“Plus Paris is not that nice. Have you heard of what they’ve done to the Seine?"

That gets a laugh out of you, biting your bottom lip so as to not wake up the whole house with noise. She eagerly awaits the next time it can happen unrestrained. Even as you turn away, she finds you gravitate back into her space. Returning to still be saddled beside her and unwilling to part if even for a moment. Keyes decides then that she isn’t so much taking chances as she is creating a routine.

She rests her head against your shoulder, “A duet next time?”

“Definitely,”

Keyes doesn’t remember when she first met you because she thinks everything has just begun now.