found your new account! I reported and blocked the hacker! glad you made a new one! 💗💗
anywho can I get the family with a reader that dyes their hair A LOT
one day it’s blue next hour it’s pink and a week later purple ? THANK YOU!
IVORY FAMILY WITH A READER WHO DYES THEIR HAIR A LOT
a/n: ahhh thank you! i also did to. im just glad i made a new one. i cant make a master list yet because idk if i wanna write for different fandoms yet ૮(˶ㅠ︿ㅠ)ა! i need recommendations baddd
warning: none really , nyen is a warning and randal is also .
NYON
• noticed pretty quickly the third time you dyed your hair
• always gets scared when seeing you dye your hair different because he always thinks it’s a new person
• every time he sees your hair color he thinks of a certain fruit or something
“why are you holding up a strawber— it’s my hair isnt it..”
nod nod
• hes so proud of it, it’s so cute
• likes watching the process of the dye
• you’ll be sitting there bleaching your hair and all of a sudden
• boom. lean figure just watching and soaking in the steps
• would like to match hair colors but he would want YOU to do HIS hair color
• dunno if luther would like it
• (not true just scared of nyens opinion)
• once dyed your hair a light blue for a few days and he didn’t notice until the 3rd day
• he genuinely forgot his OWN hair was blue
(╥﹏╥)
“nyon you notice anything?”
stare
“uhm..?” gestures to hair
literally still staring
“we’re matching hair colors dingus!”
• you see his face change a slight bit
• still the same stare just like
• “wow! :0”
NYEN
• oh BOY
• hes a bully
• like the fruit thing with nyon but so much meaner
• you have to give it to him , hes creative
• dyed your hair green for a while and..
“hey grinch!”
“what the fuck??”
• called you jello.
• so sad because the nicknames he calls you , you know he means you
• just have to accept it at this point
• but he enjoys watching you dye your hair
• won’t tell you that but still
• the kind to mess it up , add gorilla glue to the bleach or something
• would want to match hair colors
• but hes like nyon and wants YOU to dye your hair HIS color
• not in the sweet way because he’s scared
• no, hes just better and it’ll look good because it’s HIS
• big ass ego and big ass arms
• tugs your hair to see each strand
• or just tugs it for no exact reason
“stop pulling my hair!”
“Never even thought of touching it stupid”
“I just saw you-?!”
LUTHER
• supportive
• doesn’t like how messy it is but it always ends up good!
• prefers the calm colors
• or just your natural hair colors but he still thinks of you gorgeous
• always try’s to guess your inspiration
• like
“were you going for my rainbow socks?”
“what?”
“my new fluffy limited edition rainbow socks”
“uh yea!”
• you weren’t
• you just wanted rainbow hair thats it
• doesn’t offer to help but DOES offer to clean up
• When you first dyed your hair he had a fit and panic attack
• why?
• the newspaper said it caused cancer and scoliosis
• you knew damn well.. ( ;´ - `;)
• assured him it was fake and you wouldn’t end up looking like a bald eagle nor a dead one at that
• brushes your hair and LOVES how it looks so much better and just glows
• likes neon colors also because he can point you out better
• likes when you style your hair with multiple colors
• as said as the rainbow socks..
“you should change your hair to orange!”
“oh , ok i can look into that! why?”
“see my special underwear i wear—“
• you never did
RANDAL
• O M G
• sees your dyed hair and becomes obsessed
“did you use magic to do that?!”
“no , unless walmart is a palace then 100%”
• always try’s to get a strand of your hair to see if you’re a alien or something
• never believes you when you say “this isnt my natural hair randal”
• go all OUT to find the truth
• until he does..
• now he set his mission to find out your natural hair colors
• but you always do it so quickly and unexpectedly
“AHA-“
you sleeping with a entirely new hair color
“sneaky are ya..”
• sniffs it to see if it’s scented
“did you use strawberry jam to dye your hair?”
“no. no i didn’t randal”
“mm..sure smells like it”
• it’s bleach??
• would want you to dye his hair like a strand or full head
all done! hope it came to your likings! reqs open! had to skip sebby for this one sorry!!
Hope you’re doing well Mona!! ^^ if ur taking requests, could you write Nyon fic where reader accidentally punches/slaps him and it causes him to become obsessed and in love with reader. Leads to some lowk stalker/voyeuristic behavior from him *w* Miss your Nyon fics badly 😔
Kiss or Slap? | Nyon
➷ Paring - Nyon x GN!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]
➷ CWs - masochism, sadism, dry humping / grinding, some voyeurism, degradation, mention of drug use (weed ofc), nyon is down bad
a/n - this is fun because i tried to focus more on Nyon's perspective so let me know if you'd like more fics like that. he's a bit (maybe a lot you decide) ooc but i don't give a rats ass. he's so pathetic here. also, nyon is fucking perfect for dry humping he's almost never in hole sorry. love yall
You hit him because he startled you.
You were tired, on edge, and he materialized in the doorway like some ghost suddenly, and before you could stop yourself your hand was already swinging. Your fist connected with his cheek, hard, so much so that the sound of it echoed in the hallway.
He stumbles back a bit, a hand coming up to his face, and he lets out a sharp breath through his teeth. There was a moment where his eyes squeezed shut, and you could see the pain flicker across his features before he smoothed them out again. Doubtedly, one of the unoccasional times shows expression on his flat face.
"Shit," you curse, "That was—"
You step closer, reaching for his face without asking, turning his chin to examine the mark on his pale skin. He lets you, but his jaw was tight, and you could feel the tension in his slouched shoulders.
“Thankfully you'll live," you say, dropping your hand back. "But you need to stop sneaking up on people like that. It's weird. You're lucky I pulled back, it could’ve been worse. Imagine if I broke your nose!"
Nyon doesn't respond. His eyes were watering slightly, and he looks away, trying to hide it.
He was imagining it. His nose all swollen and bloody, he could almost taste the blood that would drip down to his lips. Nyon’s face flushed red, partially masked by the redness of the impact on his skin.
You give a half-hearted sigh, aware that Luther can get upset if you actually hurt his catmen too badly, “You’re fine right?”
He can only focus on the heat radiating from his cheek, the sting slowly blooming across his skin. His mind circles on blood dripping, about how it would feel to have you that close, to have your hands on his face again, even if it hurt. Especially if it hurt.
He wonders if you'd feel bad. if you'd touch his face again, gentler this time, just to take a look at how badly you hurt him. He wonders if you'd even care.
"Hey," you say, and he blinks, realizing he's been standing motionless for too long. "Did you hear me? Are you fine?”
He nods, lying.
-
Nyon has always been good at being invisible. It's a skill he learned long before Luther found him, before the Ivory house, before he had a name that wasn't borrowed from something else.
If he stood still enough, he might as well not have existed, only when Master beckons him to appear and listen. It’s useful, when he gets to use it how he’d like.
Nyon stands in your room now, watching you sleep. The rhythm of your breathing is steady, calm, and he feels something twist in his chest. You hit him three days ago, and he hasn't stopped thinking about it since. The impact, the hurt, the way your hand felt against his face.
The pain has long since faded now, his regeneration hadn't even left a bruise. His body has been through far more, but this is the one thing he wished lasted forever.
Nyon doesn't leave your room until early in the morning.
A habit is birthed from what happened. Standing in doorways. Not just yours — any doorway within the Ivory house, just anywhere you might be.
His plan is to to startle you again, to see if your hands swing again and connect with his body. He positions himself carefully, just out of sight, waiting for you to round a corner or push open a door.
It's been a mixed success. Most of the time, it's another housemate who he surprises. Sebastian yelped so loud once that Master had to punish the ginger for causing a ruckus so early in the morning.
But sometimes it does work (marginally). Sometimes it is you that flinches, or curses, or shoves past him with that exasperated expression he's starting to crave. But you don't hit him again. Not yet.
Nyen shoves him against the wall one afternoon when it's him that walks through the doorway, sharp and mean. Nyon barely registers it. His eyes are closed, and he's imagining it’s you. Nyen scowls at how weird his fellow catman is being.
He starts taking things from your room. Small things you probably wouldn't notice at first, like a hair tie from your nightstand or a crumpled gas station receipt from your pocket.
It escalates quickly, he's so drawn to your smell. Your shirt was a favorite. He presses his face into it, breathing deep, imagining you were still wearing it. He takes it to his room, folds it carefully, and keeps it under his pillow. He’s also keen on the bottle of lotion on your dresser and takes that too, not even using it himself. Rather, he opens the cap and smells the fragrance, enjoying how chemically it starts smelling after half an hour.
Nyon doesn't feel guilty despite knowing he's slightly inconveniencing you everytime he swipes something. Part of him enjoys the furrow of your brow everytime you complain about misplacing something. No, he doesn't feel anything except the need to be closer.
When he gets to be alone in his room, with the door closed tight, weed smoke curling in the air, his favorite pastime is to fantasize.
Fingers trail his body, gripping him tightly, your voice telling him he's pathetic. He pulls your shirt out from under his pillow and presses it to his face again. His hand drifts down, careless and desperate, not even bothering to fish his hard length out his pants. Please, his mind begs. Pin him down, make him hurt, do whatever you want to him.
He murmurs something in Russian, soft and broken, and when he comes apart, it's your name on his lips.
-
Of course, you're bound to catch him.
Too much time in, he was in your room again. The door was unlocked, as he learned you usually kept it. He slipped in silently, careful with the floorboards as he crept towards you.
The room was dark. Moonlight barely cut through the curtains, enough to cast pale shadows across the room. He could make out your body in bed, blankets pulled up, turned away from him.
Nyon liked the nights when you were facing him better, but he was constrained to this side considering your corner bed. He did consider trying to merge into the wall, or perhaps give the vent above your bed a try — but he preferred the thrill of being able to get close to you. He stood at the side of the bed for a long while, just watching.
Then, almost as if it was calling him, Nyon’s attention drifted to your dresser. The top drawer was slightly ajar — he'd noticed it earlier when you'd been digging through it. He moved over, slid it open without a sound, wide eyes looking at the fabric inside. His fingers found a pair — cotton, he couldn't make out the color in the darkness, but he imagined they were blue, maybe like his hair. These were for him.
The fabric was soft against his fingers, clean and unused — a disappointment, but he'd take what he could get. He pressed them to his face again, inhaling the faint laundry scent, imagining the warmth that should be there.
He’s too entranced, barely noticing that the floorboard creaks. Not the one he carefully avoided — but one behind him.
Near the bed.
He turns, but too late. Something collides with his chest, hard, sending him stumbling backward. His feet tangle and he hits the floor, the air knocked out of him. Then weight is on top of him, a knee digging into his ribs, hands shoving his shoulders down into the carpet.
"What the fuck—" Your voice is sharp, panicked.
He doesn't struggle, rather he just lies there, dazed as you pin him. Your knee is digging into him so roughly that it feels like stabbing. The weight of you on him isn't enough, he wants you to press harder.
You begun reaching for the standing lamp just a foot away — he can feel you shift — but then you stop. Maybe you think better of giving away your position. Instead, you stay on top of him, trying to make out his face in the dark.
"Who are you?" you hiss. "What are you doing in my—"
Then you feel it. The headband. Your fingers brush against the fabric of his ears as you try to grab his hair. You pause, eyes focusing through the dark, the moonlight helping you stare back at wide, red rimmed, eyes.
"Nyon?"
You sit back slightly, still straddling him. In the dark, "You've got to be kidding me," you say, your voice dropping from panicked to more of a whisper.
One of your hands still press into his shoulder, though softer now. The other is still touching the fabric of his headband, but you quickly let go when you confirm it's him. Then your hand moves down, brushing against his chest, his abdomen. He flinches — not from pain, but from the contact. Then your hand reaches his hand, the one still holding your underwear.
"What do you have?" You stared, his fingers tightened around the fabric instinctively, like he was afraid you'd take it.
You did, reaching down and prying his fingers open, yanking it from his grip. He didn't fight like he hoped he would, his hand falling limp at his side.
"Seriously?" You held it up in the moonlight, examining it. "You broke into my room to steal my underwear?"
Nyon didn't answer, feeling his face was burning, red spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. He was sure you could see it even in the dim light.
You dropped the underwear onto the floor beside him, dismissing it. Then your hand moved, brushing against his lap as you shifted your body, perhaps to get off, it was a bit of a struggle without light.
But very quickly, you halt, fingers pressed against the hardness there, unmistakable through his pants. A small sound escaped him — a whimper, high and broken — and your eyes widen.
"Are you…?" Your voice trails off.
Nyon was so so hot. He couldn't look at you, eyes darted away, fixing on the wall. He was so embarrassed. This is all he'd ever dream of.
You pressed down harder, and he bites the inside of his mouth, hips bucking involuntarily. His hands twitch at his sides, wanting to touch you, but he didn't dare. He just continued to lay there, stilted even on the floor, body rigid with tension.
You laugh — a short, dry sound. Then you move, grinding down against him, and he practically shakes. His head fell forward, his eyes squeezing shut. The friction, the sensation, the warmth of you — it was too much. His hands found a purpose, gripping the carpet, fingers digging in.
He wants to tell you he'd do anything for you. He wants to tell you he'd let you do anything to him. He wants to tell you he's yours, but his mouth stays shut.
You grab his jaw, squeezing hard, forcing him to look at you. His mouth opens in a gasp, his eyes wet and wide. He doesn't blink, gazing back at you in the dark.
"Look at you," you said, grinding down again. "Sneaking into my room and stealing my underwear. Hard just from me tackling you."
His breathing hitches, his chest heaving. Nyon can feel himself getting close already, something tightening in his abdomen. There's no coherent thought left, just the need, just the feeling of you, just the pressure of your hand on his face that he wish would come.
Then, as if you’ve read his mind, your hand leaves his jaw and comes down across his face — a sharp slap, only a bit softer than when he first scared you. Nyons head snaps to the side, a choked sound catching in his throat, the pain spreading hot and immediate. His eyes water, but he doesn't make a sound beyond a shaky exhale. Thank you, echoes in his skull. Thank you for touching me.
You slap him again, and again. Each impact sends a jolt through him, the sting spreading across his face. His cheeks are on fire, his eyes streaming tears that he doesn't bother to wipe away. He just takes it, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. Every part of him is focused on you, and he wished he could see you better through the darkness. Maybe you can hit him harder.
Your hand comes down one more time, hard, his body trembling beneath you. His face hurts in a feverishly good way, sweat beading on his temple.
"You're pathetic, Nyon." you say, rolling your lap against his hardness, pushing him to the edge. "A creep.”
He nods frantically, his hips still moving against you. A creep, he repeats, you think he’s a creep. He can feel himself getting close, so close—
He lets out a whine, a questioning sound, his eyes silently pleading.
"Go ahead," you answer, like an angel.
He comes, harder than he’s ever had with just your shirt and lotion. His back arches off the floor, a strangled moan tearing from his throat. His hips buck against you, riding out the wave. His face is red, tears still on his cheeks, his eyes squeezed shut. He's yours. He's completely, utterly yours.
And then he collapses, gasping, trembling.
You get off him, standing up, and he feels the cold immediately. The absence of your weight is almost painful — a hollow ache spreading across where your body had been. His hands are still curled into the carpet fibers, not ready to let go.
You walk to your bed, and he hears the rustle of sheets as you crawl back into your mattress. The covers shift as you settle in.
"You can come back tomorrow," you say, voice already muffled by the pillow. "Don't take anything else."
He stays on the floor for a long moment, trying to remember how to breathe. Then he pushes himself up, slow and unsteady, his body stiff and slouched as always. He walks to the door, his steps shuffling.
Nyon pauses at the threshold, looking back. The moonlight catches your silhouette under the covers, already facing away. He slips out, shuts the door behind him, a wet patch on the crotch of his jeans.
Tomorrow. He can come back tomorrow. He's already counting the hours.
could you do hcs of the catmen + luther (separately or together 😏) w/ an afab reader who is always begging during sex like it's crazy
don't die ok
HAAHHAA I won't die probably maybe only a little (had to go to a dr today because my body is actively trying to kill me) LETS GET IT OOONNNNN
Headcanons under cut since nsfw :))))
• SEPARATE begging of the sex lmao •
- Luther -
- ego stroker 9000. Begging is exactly how you should be even if he won't ask or demand you to.
- It's just one of the few things that genuinely riles him up okay? Like yeah things excite him but theres a difference between interesting, exciting, and absolutely arousing.
- "what's that, dear? Speak up now, use your words for me..." to "hmm, thats it. Thats what I thought... Now, what kind of lover would I be to ignore such cute pleas?~"
- Pummeling your pussy and playing with your clit dear lORD he wont even breaking a sweat.
- Nyen -
- He's used to you begging- probably definitely made you beg for him to touch you in the first place. So when you keep going on and on...
- "haa? What? Is this not enough for your filthy little pussy?" Jesus "Fuckin' hell... Louder, then, Louder!"
- honey your ass is gonna be RED
- and your tits
- and your face if youre into that
- But he provides, dont you worry :)
- after sex his head is all groggy and hes just like "....did I spit on you during that?" MAYYYBEEEE look he just gets REALLY into it.
- Nyon -
- Nyon is... often a lazy lover. In the best way of course. He just is either a service bottom or he likes having his dick rode. So when you're on top and you start begging and begging and begging...
- his brain is MUSH.
- "hhhn,, m-more...?" Barely can keep his head up right to look you in your eyes, processing your begging disasteriously slowly.
- but when it clicks, hes all in. Hands on your ass, fingers gripping into the soft flesh as he bounces you harder. You basically become his personal fleshlight.
🥧 ~ hosts group crochet, bingo and game nights with the family - usually ends up in a disaster
🥧 ~ has books and information from the 1940s on etiquette like setting the table, basic hygiene routine, and health diets from way back when
🥧 ~ has antique store shopping days where he enjoys bringing his brother - he finds antiques and his brother finds dolls
🥧 ~ if everything was specifically present, he would probably have those big red-light treatment things and would sit in front of one every morning, soaking in the red light - would claim it helps him “sleep better and be more mindful through the day”
🥧 ~ has a dr seuss book collection
🥧 ~ DEFINITELY owns that one water bottle that has timestamps to drink at that say “good morning!” “keep going!” “almost there!”
🥧 ~ he can do cool card tricks while staring really deep into your soul - same with shuffling, he doesn’t need to look at the cards
🥧 ~ owns OLD paintings from centuries ago - people say the eyes move and follow you around
Tw. none (I think...), fluff, badly written comedy, slight reader x catmen enjoy!
You lay in your shared bed with the catmen laboured breaths on one side, quiet soft ones on the other. Nyen the candyfloss haired catman was draped over you and adamant that he wasn't moving from (not without a fight). He softly grunts as he sleeps, it was surprising to find out he was a deep sleeper meaning a great disturbance was needed to wake him. Good thing you knew how to be one: you wiggle repeatedly getting a huge grunt from Nyen who isn't pleased he's being woken up pushes the pillow onto your face, a warning to cease your actions.
"Stay fucking still." Nyen growled his eyes squinted as he went back to sleep. Meanwhile Nyon who had been awake the entire time turned over spooning you, he placed his head in your neck his soft shallow snores beggining again. You wonder to yourself how to get out of this entanglement you're being subjected to when... "ACHOO!" the pastel blue haired cat man sneezed some how waking the other. Nyen now fully wide awake kicked Nyon out of the bed.
"Goddamnit! You idiots can't let a man sleep can you?!" Nyon shuddered whilst you contemplated coffin options. Somehow your efforts to wake Nyen were in vain but Nyon's measley sneeze had awoken the wrath of the more aggressive catman??!!? Nyon now shivering, muttered in Russian, "Is he.. praying?" you thought to yourself. Before Nyen could wail it on the both of you Luther suddenly burst through the doors "Rise and shine meine Katzen☆!" Luther said in the most cheerful tone he could manage. Nyen halted his movements the most thunderous scowl appeared on his face. You and Nyon both had sighs of relief thank goodness for Luthers saturday routine, you live to see another day!
A/N: thanks for reading guys its quite short and I promise to write longer soon! The Nyon bit was very self indulgent (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)... shame on me... ps:I haven't written something proper in a while can you tell?
Summary: Getting sleep in the ivory household is hard with all the noise. During a restless night you try to find comfort in a certain someone. NOTE: Я тебя люблю means I love you!
The house was never truly quiet, but at least it had its quieter moments. Moments where the usual chaos faded into something softer, where only the steady chime of Luther’s old, “decorative” grandfather clock remained.
But tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
Hours of tossing and turning, annoyed groans, and the faint screeching from down the hall had left you restless. It was bad enough being trapped in this hellhole, forced to sleep on a torn beanbag, but now, you couldn’t even get a decent night’s rest.
You were used to Randal’s late-night screaming, but tonight, it was impossible to ignore. The sudden burst of cursing, followed by the unmistakable thud of something hitting the wall, probably another failed round of whatever game he was playing, jolted you fully awake.
Sighing, you rolled onto your side, pulling the blanket over your head in a weak attempt to drown out the noise. It didn’t help. The house was always too loud when you wanted silence, too quiet when you actually needed the noise.
“What the hell do I do now?”
The thought lingered, heavy with exhaustion. With another sigh, you forced yourself upright, peeling yourself off the beanbag chair and onto unsteady feet.
The old wooden floorboards groaned under your weight as you trudged forward, mindlessly drifting toward Nyon and Nyen’s shared bedroom. Randal’s shouting faded into nonsense (if it wasn’t already) as you carefully avoided the endless trinkets scattered across the dark hallways.
<3
After what felt like forever, your shaky hand finally reached for the worn-down doorknob, its cold metal surface pressing against your palm. Before you even registered what you were doing, you had already nudged the door open, peering cautiously into the shared bedroom.
The pungent scent of cigarette smoke and dust clung to the air, thick and suffocating. The room was an absolute mess—heaps of laundry were strewn across the floor, no doubt belonging to Nyen. You carefully stepped forward, scanning the room, your eyes landing on the bunk beds.
Nyon’s was empty.
The realization settled in slowly, a quiet, unexpected weight in your chest. The sheets were untouched, neatly folded, as if he hadn’t been there all night.
From the top bunk, a loud, obnoxious snore broke the silence.
You flinched, turning just in time to see Nyen sprawled out like he owned the place, one arm dangling lazily over the edge, face half-buried in his pillow. Another snore rattled through the air, followed by an unconscious grumble. Of course, he’d sleep through Randal’s yelling with all that snoring to cover it up.
You understood why he left immediately.
Your attention snapped back to the empty bed below. If Nyon wasn’t here… where was he?
<3
All you wanted was to sleep and maybe talk to the only person you felt comfortable around in this house, but life had other plans I guess.
Slowly, you navigated through the incomprehensible maze of winding hallways, past the creaking floorboards and eerie shadows that stretched along the walls. The house felt endless at night, shifting and restless. After what felt like an eternity, you finally reached the front door.
A breath of fresh air. That’s all you need right now.
The door creaked faintly as you pushed it open, stepping onto the worn, half-faded welcome mat. A soft breeze brushed against your skin, the cool night air offering a rare moment of relief. Moonlight casts long shadows across the porch, illuminating the old wooden planks beneath your feet.
Silence, at last.
You inhaled deeply, expecting the crisp scent of pine and damp earth, the way the forest always smelled at night.
Instead, all you could smell was…smoke??
The vague scent curled faintly through the air, lingering, replacing what should have been fresh and calming. You turned your head, and that’s when you saw him.
Hunched against the far end of the porch, perched on a weakened wooden bench, Nyon sat still—motionless, yet unmistakably aware of you. His usual slouched posture made him blend into the night, almost disappearing into the flickering shadows cast by the porch lights. (Note: imagine his wide-eyed ass staring at u that’s SCARYY 😭😭)
You hadn’t even noticed him at first.
But he had noticed you.
<3
The faint glow of his MP3 player screen reflected in his tired eyes, the dim light flickering against the deep red circles beneath them. His head was bowed slightly, gaze unreadable, but you could feel the moment his attention shifted to you.
You hesitated.
Something about him looked… uneasy. Not in the way he usually was—quiet, awkward, keeping to himself—but tense. Like he hadn’t expected to be caught.
For a second, you considered leaving. You weren’t sure if he wanted company, and you felt bad for intruding. However, before you could decide, his eyes flickered up fully, locking onto yours—wide, surprised, unsure. And then, just as quickly, he looked away.
<3
“I… I’m sorry. Should I… er… leave you be?” you whispered under your breath, your voice barely audible over the swift hum of the wind.
At the sound of your voice, Nyon stiffened, his shoulders rising just slightly, his grip tightening over his knees as if bracing for something. For a moment, he didn’t move, didn’t even breathe, his body tense like a startled animal caught in the open. Then, slowly, hesitantly, his fingers loosened, his posture shifting ever so slightly as if willing himself to relax.
“…No. You may stay,” he murmured, barely above a breath.
His voice was steadier than his body. Even in the dim porch light, you could see the way his hands curled and uncurled against the fabric of his jeans, the way his breath came just a little uneven like he was focusing too hard on keeping it steady. Without looking at you, he shifted to the side, making the smallest amount of space. Not quite an invitation, but not a rejection either?
You hesitated, glancing at the newly opened space beside him. Was he… letting you sit with him? Was that for you?
Before your thoughts could catch up, exhaustion won over hesitation. Your legs moved on their own, carrying you forward until the old wooden bench creaked beneath your weight. The sound cut through the stillness, sharp and splintering, and you felt him react beside you, fingers twitching nervously.
You weren’t even that close, yet you could feel him go rigid, almost like he was caught between instinct and thought, unsure whether to lean into the moment or escape it entirely. He shifted ever so slightly, barely an inch, a quiet retreat assuredly, but not far enough to push you away.
The silence stretched, and for a while, neither of you moved.
Then, after what felt like forever, he exhaled quietly, as if he had just made up his mind about something, before finally parting his lips to speak.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked, voice low, distant, like the question had been lingering in his mind long before you arrived.
He still wouldn’t look at you. His eyes stayed fixed on the cigarette butt smashed against the porch floor, his gaze unfocused, like he was staring through it instead of at it. You watched as his fingers flexed against his knee as if they needed something to hold onto but had nothing to reach for.
You opened your mouth to answer—then paused. Instead of a response, all you did was move closer.
It was only then, in the dim, flickering porch light, that you noticed his face, half-lit by the glow, held the faintest trace of color. The tips of his ears, the curve of his cheekbone, just barely tinged pink.
He was blushing.
And you moved even closer.
<3
The space between you shrank, just enough that you could feel the faint tremor in his body, and hear the glitchy, muffled music spilling from his earbuds. The closer you got, the more you noticed—the way his hands started shaking aggressively against his lap, the uneven rise and fall of his chest as if he was trying too hard to keep his breathing steady.
Frankly, it was getting awkward.
What were you supposed to do? Say something? Pretend you didn’t notice how nervous he was.
You hesitated before finally breaking the silence.
“…I can leave if you want. No hard feelings,” you murmured, voice softer than you intended.
For a moment, nothing. No response, just the quiet hum of the night and the flickering porch light casting unsteady shadows over his face.
You took that as a yes.
Just as you started to push yourself up, a hand shot out, grabbing yours. Not rough. Not forceful. But desperately, softly.
His fingers curled lightly around yours, hesitant, uncertain, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to touch you but couldn’t let you go, either.
“…Please stay out here with me.”
His voice was barely above a whisper, unsteady in a way that tightened your chest. You sat back down, closer this time, your hands still entwined together. After a few more moments of silence, he spoke up.
<3
“Would.. you like to… listen with me?”
Nyon’s voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. His fingers fumbled slightly with the MP3 player before he finally glanced at you, his soft red-rimmed eyes meeting yours for only a second before flickering away.
Even in the dim light, you could see the heat rising to his cheeks.
You smiled, tilting your head. “You didn’t have to ask, dummy.”
His breath hitched slightly, but he still reached out, pressing an earbud into your palm. His fingertips brushed against yours for barely a second before he pulled away, gripping the cord so tightly it might’ve popped.
The sound quality was terrible. Extremely. It was horrendous. Static-filled and distorted, the lyrics are barely recognizable. You had no idea what the song was, but honestly? You didn’t care.
The warmth of his shoulder was more distracting. You glanced at him again. He was staring straight ahead, unmoving, his face still flushed.
God, he was cute.
Maybe it was the way his lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Maybe it was how he kept stealing tiny glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.
You smirked. You were too tired to think over what you were even saying at this point.
“You know…” you murmured, voice low, teasing, “You’re kind of cute when you get all nervous like this.”
His breath caught in his throat.
His fingers twitched, and before he could stop himself, his arm moved, slow, hesitant, but this time, with purpose.
You felt the weight of it settle around your shoulders, his touch gentle but firm, like he was still expecting you to pull away.
But you didn’t.
Instead, you leaned into him, your head lightly resting against his shoulder. His breath came slower now, steadier, though you swore you could still feel his heart racing beneath his skin.
For a moment, he stayed quiet. Then, barely above a whisper—so soft you almost missed it—
“…You’re the cute one.”
The warmth of his arm tightened around you, holding you just a little closer.
And under the quiet hum of static and song, the night faded into something softer.
You gazed up at the moonlit sky, exhaling deeply, grateful that through all this chaos, you had something—no, someone—who could give you the quiet you needed. The soft silver glow bathed the world in light, illuminating the stillness, and when you turned your head, you saw it—the same glow catching the edges of Nyon’s face, highlighting the warmth in his quiet, lingering stare.
And for a while, you looked back down into the endless abyss of the night sky. The stars above twinkled like scattered dust, flickering in ways that felt almost familiar. They were cold, like shattered glass, but soft—soft like a whisper against skin.
A sky full of stars.
And he was looking at you.
A quiet warmth bloomed in your chest, one you couldn’t name, one you didn’t have to. You shifted closer, pressing yourself into the crook of his neck.
You felt his entire body tense, his breath catching in his throat, but he didn’t move away. He just sat there, stiff and warm and unsure, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. But you did.
He was soft. He was comforting. And he was the first thing in this house that had ever made you feel at peace. You turned your head slightly, eyes tracing over his face—the sharp angles, the way his lips parted slightly, the nervous flicker in his gaze as he refused to look at you.
His breath was uneven. His fingers twitched at his side, flexing and clenching like he didn’t know what to do with them.
“…Nyon.”
At the sound of his name, he stilled. Completely.
Slowly, you leaned in—closer, closer, so close your noses almost brushed.
That got his attention.
His wide, red-ringed eyes finally darted to yours, pupils slightly enlarged, his face burning like a fever beneath the soft glow of the porch light.
You swore he wasn’t even breathing.
God, he looked so cute like this. Frozen, wide-eyed, lips barely parted, as if he wanted to say something—beg for something—but couldn’t.
You smiled. You leaned in closer and closer till your lips were mere centimeters away from each other. You could feel his grip on your hand tighten as he pulled you closer to him, almost as if he’d lose you if he didn’t.
And then you kissed him.
It was quick, barely even a second, a soft press of lips that left him completely wrecked.
You pulled back just enough to see his face—his breath shaky, his face blushed a bright red, and his body practically trembling.
For a long moment, he just stared at you, eyes looking at you with such an adoration before slowly pulling you back into a kiss.
You chuckled, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck like nothing happened.
“You’re cute.”
He made some kind of strangled sound in response, but you were already drifting off, letting the warmth of him pull you under.
<3
Sleep was already pulling at you, dragging you down into its quiet embrace. You barely heard it when he whispered, voice low and uncertain—
“Are you… awake?”
You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. You were already half-drifting, the sound of his unsteady breath mixing with the quiet crackle of music.
His arm tightened around you, his grip firmer, protective.
For a long moment, nothing.
Then, as soft as the moonlight, he murmured into the stillness—
KINDA SUGGESTIVE BUT‼️‼️‼️ may i please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please please ask for an imagine with nyon x reader okay okay okay
imagine him first being timid towards you but then soon warming up to you and starting to get into a weird situationship…AND THEN‼️‼️‼️🗣️🗣️🔊🔊 you two end up mindlessly making out on the couch at night watching tv AAAAAAA
Mdni or wtv cuz this is suggestive.
Whoever the fuck you are doesn't matter anymore as soon as Luther brought you to the Ivory household. Observing the layout of the house doesn't matter due to the fact the house feels like it'll open a pathway when you have a specific place to go to but that's its charm. The house is alive, just ask as they say in the monster high live action.
No one really cares about your appearance, maybe Randal but even that didn't last long. You were however interested in one of the catmen that is, Nyon. Shy little thing because everytime you get close to him, he scatters away in fear. If he even feels that but you are a persistent little thing and soon the catman starts being more comfortable around you little by little each day.
After a while you two even started getting a bit handsy with each other but not too much that others will notice. What? You two still have needs and the two of you are available for one another even if it's not a true relationship.
One night, it was just you and nyon alone on the couch as the TV mindlessly displayed random available shows for the viewing. Seeing how the two of you were alone, the air shifted and both of you got a little frisky. Nyon decided to lay on top of you as you wrap your arms around his waist, staring into eachother's eyes. Leaning closer until your lips touch.
It started off simply kissing the other multiple times before tongue was involved. None of you were even thinking, just continue to make out on the couch, holding tightly each other in your own arms. Occasionally pulling away to leave more kisses on the skin before continuing to dwell each other with your smooches.
