I can't get this new form of Void Nulla with teeth out of my head.
Do you have any ideas for an x reader scenario related to this? (Safe one, of course.) I would love to see it<3
He is teasing, of course, when he asks if you would love him in any form. Would you love him if he was a worm? Would you love him if he was a woman? Would you love him if he was Septem? Would you...? Nulla wants to convince himself that the answer doesn't really matter. After all, he would do anything to make you love him. And after all, the life within this world would be soon snuffed out. He wants to treasure that time with you, and give you the best time he could provide. Yet, when you ask to see his void self, he stumbles, surprised and perplexed by your request. Nulla obliges, of course. Who is he to deny you such a request, especially with that look on your face? It's going to be just a brief showing of what he is, he reasons. Even if you don't like his "true" self, you'll be easy on him, with the different form offer still on the table.
Yet, you lean in, nearly pouncing over the table, making him recoil in surprise. Your hands reach over, fingers mere inches away from his face, you freeze. It doesn't dawn on him immediately what you're trying to do until he musters up the courage to look you in the eye, and see the adoring glint that he didn't expect. He searches for something else within those eyes, a shadow of fear, disgust. When he can't find anything to validate his insecurity, he leans into your outstretched hand, melting into the warm touch. Nulla's form begins to morph, instinctively draping itself between your fingers. You smile. And in turn, so does he. Or so you assume, as you're now able to see white, sharp shards within the shimmering depth of his amethyst hue. Against perhaps your better judgement, you reach for the boundary between the vivid plum and glistening mauve. Your fingers trace over the shifting shapes, and you feel the void in your palm hum with delight. You are looking into the true face of your lover; joy washes over you. The intimacy of the moment makes the two of you giddy.
"Careful, mi vida," you hear Nulla's mellow chuckle everywhere around you. "You wouldn't want me to bite."
It's your turn to freeze up, evaluating how fine you are with being exposed to those incisors. And frankly, by the Bordeaux of your face, something is telling you that you are all to excited to find that out.
"Perhaps we..." Nulla's gently grabs your wrists, moving them away from his face, letting it take its previous, human shape. You see his face flushed, cheeks adorned with a deep shade of red. He tries to stutter out something nonchalant, but the realization of just what your face means made him entirely too ruffled with the wild thoughts running through his head.
"As much as I'd love to explore what that look in your eyes means in vivid detail, the writer would only give us a fade to black."
"But we can most definitely work with that rich imagination of yours, cariño~," Nulla winks at you with a great deal of mischief. He isn't lying, dear.
TW: Paranoia, suicidal thoughts, description of accident, harm
Writer is not a doctor, and this is not medical advice
[Deca and Reader]
Deca belongs to the beautiful @5eptem
3670 words
Summary: You have been plagued with horrible hallucinations and paranoia for months. Is your mind playing tricks on you, or can you believe your eyes?
There was something right on the boundary of your vision.
Everywhere you went, everywhere you looked, there was this odd, pooling darkness in the corner of every room. You felt it drill holes into your skull. As if the weight of a hundred eyes scrutinized your every move. But you chucked it off to your anxiety. After all, it could only be your imagination playing tricks on your tired mind. Your constant sleep deprivation only helped to contribute to this gnawing feeling of being watched. It's nothing that crazy, you reasoned. You were not crazy; you were just tired. It's not as if you've become twitchy, and somewhat paranoid under the pressure of the imaginary audience.
It got worse the night you had to walk home alone. You weren't usually one for night walks, but you didn't really have a choice, unknowingly having stayed past the sunset at your favorite cafe during the winter. It was not like it was particularly late, but with the sun setting around six in the evening, you found yourself in the dark, illuminated only by the searing LED lights of the street lamps. Of course, you were still plagued by the persistent feeling of being watched. It's as if your mind conjured up an invisible stalker to combat your occasional, nagging feeling of loneliness. It got worse at night. Why wouldn't it? It's the prime time for an actual stalker to make themselves known. And you swore, that night they did. You swore you saw eyes—actual eyes—in the alleyway. You swore, you saw a tall, lanky figure within. But as you did a double take, there was no one there. You almost imagined a floating, swaying person-like being asking you for a cigarette. But fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately—you haven't decided yet—the alleyway was empty. Goosebumps painfully coated your skin. Whether it was the cold, or the fear, you weren't sure. Perhaps both. You picked up the pace, of course, not wanting to stay outside longer than you had to. Especially with this rotten feeling in your chest. The flickering lights didn't reassure you, either. You heard the electricity overloading the bulbs, making their light comparable to the midday sun, followed by a quick eclipse, or, well, flicker. You breathed deeply, preparing your lungs for the rush of cold air, if your feeling proved to be real, and you had to make a run for it. You didn't know what took over you, but you stopped under one of the lights to listen in on their hum. For some reason, you felt as if their sound was more than just the regular electrical current. It was as if there was a message, encrypted somewhere among the noise. You swore that you could hear something. No, someone whisper. You earnestly tried to listen in, and as you almost managed to discern that personal message, you heard a loud POP above you as a million shards of glass began raining down on you.
You ran home after this.
You became more vigilant towards odd happenings, or maybe they just became more pronounced? Did it even matter?
The second "strike" happened when you were at home. You were staying up late, as one does, reading one of the million books you've bought, and promised yourself to read, but never got to. That was the day, you decided to pick one up. Not because you wanted to justify your spending habits, but because you were, once more, plagued with insomnia, and needed something to distract yourself with. And definitely not because the clawing feeling of being watched started to make your skin crawl. You were never afraid of the darkness—well, maybe not since you were a child—but you began fearing turning the lights off. You wanted to believe that reading the book would tire you out, truly. But the more you stared at the words on the page, the more upset you became as none of the words registered. You had to reread the passages over and over again, the words becoming a jumbled mess as soon as your eyes passed over them. You groaned in upset, slamming the book shut. There was something in the room with you. There was something in the room with you. There was someone in the room with you. There was— It felt like your brain was screaming at you. There was no pain, no actual visible danger, no one in your place, besides you. Yet, you felt like you weren't alone. You haven't felt alone in a couple of months now, if you were to be completely honest with yourself, but that night the feeling started becoming unbearable. You walked around your place twice over, checked all the locks thrice. You closed all the windows, all the doors, even every cupboard, and closet. You turned all the lights on, and paced around, checking every corner for a presence that wasn't there. Or so you hoped. Or so you prayed. Exhausted, you let yourself fall on the couch. You were tired of this whole song and dance of paranoic reconnaissance of your own home. But you weren't tired enough to ignore the sinking feeling of being watched to finally get some well-deserved rest. You were tired, but the fear-induced heart palpitations hammered at your temples. You've decided that, the moment the doctors' offices open, you'd give a call to a psychiatrist to deal with your neverending anxiety. There had to be some pill, right?
Although it went deeper than just anxiety, didn't it?
As you finally started drifting off to sleep, the screeching TV static startled you awake. You didn't turn it on. You weren't anywhere near the remote, either. You yelped out in surprise, the pressure headache as acute as it ever was. You grasped onto the couch's pillow in search of anything that could double as a weapon. Surely, someone turned on the TV. You frantically looked around, searching for a sign of an intruder. Anything at all. But you were only met with the cacophony of the static, and the sound of your heartbeat. Hugging the pillow tightly, you slowly overcame the fear boiling in the depth of your chest, and got up from your spot. You had to check all around your home again. But that had to come after you turn off the, apparently, self-turning-on-TV. Perhaps, your neighbor's remote connected to it? That would be a rational explanation. As you began to approach it, you could've sworn up and down that some image began to appear within the static. Perhaps it was one of those channels that your TV antenna could just barely pick up. And so, you were getting some frames from an odd show you've never seen before. That is what you thought until you finally reached the screen when the image became clear, and you could make out a dozen of eyes, all focused on you. It's as if they were alive. They followed you as you stumbled back in fear, tripping over your feet, you fell down backwards. You crawled away from the TV, laser focused on the eyes, just as they were on you.
It ended as abruptly as it started, leaving you trembling in the darkness on the floor. You didn't remember turning the lights off.
You didn't sleep that night.
Since then, your electronics started malfunctioning at odd times. Sometimes it would be your TV, or your landline. Sometimes your Nokia decided that the 6 key should give out, right as you wanted to exchange phone numbers with a new person, making you write them down instead. Sometimes you'd get calls from your friends' numbers with complete silence on the other end; once you called back, your friends claimed that they had never dialed you. Sometimes your MP3 player started playing electronic music. Not that you were particularly opposed to the genre, but you never downloaded any of the tracks it played. You swore you were going insane.
After the fourth call, you went to a psychiatrist.
Clonazepam and aripiprazole. Low doses first. With no history of psychosis, your doctor decided to focus more on your anxiety.
It didn't take long for the doses to increase with your symptoms worsening, as the occurrences started piling up.
The eyes in your screen started to appear more. The lights in your apartment started flickering often. Your phone malfunctioned frequently. And you couldn't escape it. There was no escape, no release from the soul crushing feeling of being watched. It felt worse being outside than it was trapped at home with whatever felt the need to torment you. You stopped being able to go out with friends—everything around you constantly short circuiting: light bulbs popping, screens turning static, automatic cars refusing to drive when you sat inside. It felt like you were in a perpetual nightmare, unable to wake up. It's as if your life stopped the moment you decided to listen in to the sound of that street light. Maybe that lamp fell on you, and landed you in a miserable coma? At least, if that was the case, you would have a way out. Either you'd wake up with everything behind you, or you'd finally be taken off life support. It'd be a win-win either way, regardless of how dark this line of thinking is. But before that, you had to try to cope with your predicament.
Your doctor recommended you take pictures of your "visions" to have solid proof that they weren't real. So, you bought the cheapest camera you could find. Surely, you'd be able to look back on the images and see that it was nothing more than a figment of your imagination.
No matter how many photos you took, they all ended up becoming corrupted before you could have a chance to look at them. All of them. So, you brought the images to your psychiatrist.
That day you got prescribed clozapine.
You hung Christmas lights up in the middle of June. You came up with an idea that maybe, just maybe, whatever was haunting you was simply trying to communicate. Because, of course, if none of the medicine was helping, you were experiencing a real haunting. And if you proved that you were not crazy, you'd be able to get off these pills that made your stomach hurl with side effects. Surely, if this thing was capable of exploding light bulbs, turning on your TV, and messing with your music, it would be able to turn on some lights. Surely.
If you are here, turn the lights on. You would often ask the moment you walked into the room.
Sometimes it did.
Every time it freaked you out. You hated being proven right time and time again. Why couldn't it leave you alone? Why was it haunting you to begin with? What did it want? Did it want you scared? Paranoid? Well, it had achieved its goal, then. How long was it planning on haunting you?
You were scared to drive. You became scared of getting into cars altogether. None of them malfunctioned yet. But with this entity that seemed to have a presumed distaste—or maybe taste—for electronics, you kept imagining it frying the car's automatic transmission in the middle of an intersection, or such. But you didn't have a choice, but to get into the car. And on one of those inevitable days, it happened. You white knuckled the steering wheel, as usual. You never played music. No, proper intonation would be: YOU never played music. Your entity always had something to play for you. Your entity? Oh, your screws were so lose they might as well had been chewed up gum, holding your mind together. Regardless. The point is that your car spun out of control after its transmission switched to 'park' whilst you were driving fifty kilometers per hour on the freeway. Or that was what you assumed, hanging upside down by your seatbelt in a ditch. The belt rubbed painfully against your ripped skin mixed with tiny shards of glass. Your dislocated and/or broken shoulder felt like the least of your worries as you faded in and out of consciousness. Maybe this was the release you were asking for. You didn't expect it to be accompanied by Club Bizarre, but there you were.
You woke up. Whether it was fortunate, or not, you weren't sure. The reason why you weren't sure was because you had no way to immediately test your theory that the past half a year was just a coma-induced fever dream. You remained hopeful it was the case.
Despite the pain, you tried to sit up. Key word 'tried.' Instead, you groaned in pain. It would've been wiser to assess the situation before attempting locomotion, but you needed confirmation that you were finally free from that supernatural stalker of yours. You prayed it was good news.
Your vitals skyrocketed as soon as you managed to turn your head at the heart monitor. Eyes. You saw eyes. Of course, you saw eyes. Of course, it was too good to be true. Of course, you didn't escape. Of course, there was no release. You didn't know if you should cry, scream, or rip the IV out of your vein, and strangle yourself with it. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! What the hell was its problem?! Why was it still there? Did it come to gloat? To laugh at you for almost killing you? Or did it come here to finish the job? God, you hoped it came here to finish the job. You went through a range of emotions in an attempt to cope with the fact that the first person(?) that greeted you post-accident was the very thing that caused it. Well, you had no way of knowing for sure if it was what caused your car to spin out of control, but it was most definitely the safest guess.
"What the hell is your problem?" You managed to cough up an accusation. You might as well knock the interrogation out before the nurses come to check on you.
Your ECG reading formed into a sad face.
It made you angry. Eye-twitching, knuckles white, blood boiling angry. You seethed, but ultimately, kept your mouth shut. Not that you wanted to humor the entity's faux emotions, but its messing with your heart rate monitor caused a nurse to run into your room, expecting to see you coding. And while you were relieved that the care team took your health seriously, you didn't feel like spending your hospital 'vacation' at a psych ward.
Later that day you learned that, had you not found yourself in a ditch, you would have had to be scraped off the asphalt like a fried egg off an old skillet. There was an accident at the same intersection immediately following yours, involving a semi with faulty breaks, and two sedans. Only one survivor. You were in an hour-long stupor, following that revelation. Was that entity actually helping you? Maybe? Hopefully? Did you need to apologize to it now? Maybe it should've warned you that it was there to help you. Half a year ago. Instead of tormenting you…
When you were let out of the hospital, you were determined to figure out what was this entity's purpose. For your own non-existent sanity. The accident made you quit your medication altogether. It convinced you, with about eighty-five percent certainty that it was real. That your supernatural… Acquaintance..? Well, you didn't know anything about it, except for its proclivity to electronic music, and technology.
Oh, and the freaky eye thing. You hated the freaky eye thing it did. You hoped the entity would be receptive to constructive criticism: the many eyes had to go. You wouldn't be too mad if it didn't stop the eye thing—you kind of grew accustomed to it. It would just be nice not to jump every time it decided to stare at you from across the room. It got weird every time because, seemingly, you were the only one who could see them. So, you gained the reputation for being crazy, and skittish.
You felt an odd sense of comfort when the Christmas lights lit up as soon as you stepped foot in your place. It's as if you had someone to welcome you home after being away. Your arm was in a cast, your face bruised, and you had stitches in places you didn't know could tear. But you were alive. And you supposed, it was all thanks to this many-eyed fellow of yours. Should you thank it? Maybe you should hold your horses. You were getting too friendly with this thing that had been terrorizing you all these months. It did one good thing for you, and suddenly you were all mushy-gushy, ready to throw away the simmering frustration over the wringer it put you through. But was it even worth it to hold a grudge against it?
Yes, it was.
But it wasn't the time for you to muse over how you should feel towards this entity. You were determined to establish an actual communication link with this stalker of yours, or you'd be damned. It had to have something to say, surely. It had the audacity to give you a sad face after sending you to the hospital. Well, it was to avoid your death, but your point still stood. So, after doing some research, you laid out a plan which you spoke aloud in hopes of the entity following along. You would use the lights to relay a cipher. It was foolproof. Or, well, foolproof to your wild mind. Which is to say, only on paper. But you had to try.
"Okay, listen up, you!" You spoke with determination into the silence of your apartment. "Lights on, if you're here!"
The lights switched on briefly in response. For the first time ever, you were truly glad to see a response.
"I want to talk to you!"
The lights blink quickly in what you assumed to be enthusiasm. Well, you hoped it was enthusiasm.
"Okay, um… Can you light up individual lights? Light them up differently if yes, and light the whole thing if no."
It lit up every other light. Your smile reached your molars, your heart raced. You were ecstatic. This was progress.
"Um, I went to the library, and printed this out," you pulled out a sheet with a table. It was a table with a series of numbers with a bunch of pluses, and dashes next to them. "I spent some time researching this. I'm sure, you know that already, since you seem to be following me around…"
"But I'll still explain!"
The lights, once again, lit up brightly with fervor. Was it happy? Hard to say.
"Okay, so, this is a decabit cipher. It uses a series of electrical pulses to relay information. Each command consists of ten selections: five pulses, and five pauses. It always begins with a pulse, and ends with a pause. Those don't count towards the total pulse count. They only signify the beginning and the end. The pulses and pauses between them are what determines the information," you speak slowly. You wanted to make it as clear as possible to your 'companion'. And to repeat it for yourself, just in case. You didn't want anything to be lost in translation. "Light up once if you understand, and twice if you don't."
The lights shone brightly, then quickly faded. It understood. You were trembling with anticipation. Excitement overtook your fear of the unknown. You could be spelling out your doom, but you didn't care. Your months old guessing game was about to be over, even if you were flying too close to the sun. You walked up to the lights, and pointed out a section of ten.
"Can you light up only these lights?"
Positive.
"Okay. Okay. Cool, cool, cool," you let out something between a nervous giggle, and a psychotic laugh. "For the purposes of our dialogue, we can forgo indicating start and finish."
"Do you see this table?" You pointed at the printout.
Yes.
"I want you to show pluses as lit up bulbs, and keep the bulbs off for dashes," you pull out another sheet of paper. This time it was the alphabet with numbers each corresponding to the letters. All handwritten by you. There definitely was an easier way to do this, but you were racking your brain for so long that you didn't care. "I want you to use one through twenty-six for each letter to answer my questions, okay?"
The lights got as bright as they could without popping. You felt the electricity of your companion's excitement which matched your own.
"Okay, let's start!" You clap elatedly. "What is your name?"
"Four… Five… Three… One…" You transcribe the symbols first, then numbers. "D, E, C, A."
"Deca! Is that your name?"
Bright yes! Joy washed over you. Something you haven't felt since before you became haunted.
It took a while. Transcribing, decrypting, and asking was a long, and taxing task. But you didn't care. Fueled by your manic enthusiasm to finally get answers, you would spend as long as this 'Deca' would humor you. And they seemed to have matched your mirth over finally being able to communicate. Never in a million years would you have guessed that you'd be happy to chat with the being that tormented you for so long. But here you were, at the depth of your insanity. They claimed to be your guardian angel, they told you to be careful, you had them apologize for causing you so much distress—they made a sad face in the lights. You spent all night chatting. You used up an entire notebook of just handwritten code. Your last question was posed at dawn.
Can you do a neo x reader? Anything is fine really take creative liberties. There is so little work of him 🥲
I started writing a Neo x Reader Coffeeshop AU. The first chapter is up!
Cigarettes After Tarts
Summary:
You are still heartbroken over the closure of your favorite cafe months later. You've avoided exploring new places, but a treacherous rain forces you to put yourself out there, and find shelter in a place you've been willfully ignoring. Perhaps, exploring new places isn't such a bad thing, after all. And one foul-mouthed baker might be able to help you attest to that.
Chapter 1: Frozen Dough
Your favorite cafe closed a couple of months ago, and you’ve been devastated since. How can you not be? You have to look for one that’s just as cozy, open past three in the afternoon, and has pastries and coffee just as delicious as the one you frequented. And to rub salt in the wound, as you’re reminiscing on the simply delectable croissants, you are caught in the rain without an umbrella, like a dummy. Thankfully, you aren’t in the middle of nowhere, finding shelter in a cafe that you’ve been passing by every day. You never dared to step inside before, having been so distraught over your favorite place’s closure. Your mourning prevented you from checking it out, feeling as if you would be cheating on a relationship that had sailed away long ago. But today is the day, since you aren’t given any other choice. Well, you do have the choice of braving that downpour outside. But for some reason, you aren’t too excited over the prospect of getting soaked through to the bone. And besides, the place itself seems nice: warm, and homey.
You are greeted with a chime, and a pleasant, sing-song voice of a woman you can’t quite make out behind the counter. Smooth, jazzy music, and a pleasant aroma of coffee accompany your sopping wet shivers as you slowly make your way to the counter. You scrutinize every detail: the pastries behind the glass display, the decor, even a couple of other unfortunate patrons in the same predicament. You still feel like a cheating spouse, betraying your partner who had long passed; but coming in, and not ordering anything is worse than the unfounded way-too-personal feeling towards the place you’ll never visit again. As you come up to the register, you are greeted by that girl with a sing-song voice, and as you can now see, a very bright smile. You can’t help but smile back, feeling welcomed, and warm inside. You can even ignore your drenched shirt, and the feeling of betrayal. Her raven hair is carefully tied back in a high ponytail, her chocolate brown eyes look at you with the warmth that matches her smile, and her light brown apron only complements her features. It’s as if a warm cup of coffee you are craving materialized right in front of you. A gentle blush peppers your face as she asks you for your order. You stare at her for a moment, still stunned; as her words register in your mind, you stumble, trying to form a sentence. The woman chuckles while you’re looking for the right word. You can only muster up a couple of “um”s, and a singular “I’m still looking…”, trying really hard to look around at the various baked goods, and pastries. She hums a soft “Take you time”, and walks away to finish putting the rest of the pastries for the day on display. Just before she turns away, you catch her name, embroidered on the apron. Mary. You aren’t too sure what to do with this information, since you aren’t the type to call a barista by their name before they formally introduce themselves… But it’s good to know. Probably. You stare up at their drink menu, and consider if your months away from any cafes made you a socially inept weirdo who is unable to interact with people. You already know what you’re going to order. You always know what to order at a bakery to figure out if it’s worth coming back to. Coffee with an espresso base, and an almond croissant. If they mess up almond paste, they aren’t worth your time. It is an iron-clad method for anyone not allergic to nuts. If you are, a regular croissant should suffice, as well. You feel as if the thought is imposed on you, rather than being something that would naturally come up when you’re alone. You brush that feeling away.
You take a long, deep breath, and look around some more. You suppose, since you already volunteered yourself to be “still looking”, you’ll do just that. There’s a plethora of pastries to choose from, as you begin to lazily follow the length of the display shelves. There is, of course, quite a wide selection of various croissants, and other flaky pastries on one side. On the other, among macarons and bon-bons, there are cake slices, and pastries with tiny handwritten signs. Leche Asada, Opéra, Brazo de Reina, Pavlova, Fraisier, Milhojas, various mousse cakes, and tarts. “They know their stuff,” you whisper. You begin to contemplate grabbing more than just a croissant, and a coffee. You don’t want to admit, but being surrounded by all these made-in-house sweet treats is beginning to give you a choice paralysis. Especially, since you’ve been depriving yourself of the joys of local bakeries after your previous heartbreak. Well, that, and the fact that you haven’t eaten all day. You want to taste everything, but you also know how corny it is to answer “Everything!” to someone asking what you want to order. So, for now, you are stuck in this self-imposed limbo of indecision. You’ll get there. Eventually.
Your trance-like state is interrupted by a man’s silky voice that startles you awake. You frantically look around, thinking that he might be talking to someone else. At the confirmation that you are, in fact, the only one staring holes through the pastries, you look up. You are met with a man, maybe a smidge younger than Mary. Yet, as you look at him, it’s as if you’re looking at her spitting image, only with shorter hair, and lower voice. He has a similar pleasant smile, and gaze, with a hint of mischief that Mary’s eyes lack. Or a hint you missed behind the stuttering mess you made of yourself. And well, this gentleman doesn’t help you fix that mess as you swallow an attempt to suppress another blush creeping up your face. You might not be returning to this place not because you don’t like it here, but because you’re going to make such a fool of yourself that you’ll have to go into witness protection just to avoid the embarrassment.
“You seem like you have some questions, lindo.”
Good lord. You blink slowly, trying to collect your thoughts. You cannot afford fumbling any harder than you have already. You need to FOCUS. You’re here for pastries, and coffee. You need to warm up. And you need to do some reconnaissance on the potential replacement for your long lost cafe love. You are a socially apt person. Your face is red because you’re just moments away from running a fever due to the rain. Not because you’re suddenly visually assaulted by the most beautiful baristas around. It’s their job to be nice to you. FOCUS.
“Um, yes… Your fraisier cake–do you put Kirsch in it?” You finally muster up a question. You don’t particularly care whether or not the strawberry shortcake has that tiny brush of cherry liqueur. But you can’t just stand there, mouth agape, staring at the handsome gentleman trying to help you.
“We do,” he nods, his eyes dropping to your hands, tightly grasping the straps of your bag, before looking back up at your face. You begin to relax. If you can stir the conversation towards a more professional direction, you can ignore the rising heat in your chest.
“There’s also Grand Marnier in our Opéra, if you worry about the liqueur," the man hums softly, giving you another once-over. “But something is telling me that you should grab something warmer.”
With his words, you finally notice the shiver in your hands that you can’t subdue even by white-knuckling your poor bag’s straps. You are freezing. And you failed to notice that behind your ogling of the people behind the counter. Great. You are officially a weirdo. Maybe you may still have a chance to play it cool, and showcase your nonchalance by ordering like a normal person. Back to your checking-if-the-place-is-worth-it agenda, you need to get a cappuccino, and a croissant. That’s it. That is all you need to get. Nothing more, nothing else… You look back at the barista behind the counter. Okay, you might want to get something else. He seems trustworthy enough for you to fall for his upselling. Better word would be handsome, but you aren’t vain like that. You hold the silence for a couple moments longer, your eyes traveling over the pastries once more. Cappuccino, croissant, and a dessert of his recommendation. Yes.
“I suppose, you are right,” you finally break the silence, with a shaky chuckle. From the shivering, of course. “I know what I want to order, but since it’s my first time, I’ll ask you for a recommendation…”
“Nulla,” he introduces himself with a cheeky smile. If you weren’t blushing before, you’d be blushing now. “You may call me Nulla.”
“And I do have a couple of recommendations to choose from.” Oh no, not a couple… How are you supposed to pick just one?
“Our croissants are to die for, if I do say so myself,” he taps the glass, moving smoothly over to the register counter, so he can lean over for a better look at you. You take a couple of steps to follow him. You tilt your head curiously, intent on hearing him out. Even if you weren’t motivated by how handsome he is, you’d still listen. You need to know what you’re working with here to see if the menu is worth braving the absolute humiliation you just put yourself through to come back. After all, you do need to move on from your toxic attachment to the last place you frequented. It’s time to put yourself out there, so to speak.
“Brazo de Reina is pretty cozy for the weather. Especially with coffee…”
Nulla trails off, describing how each dessert is delectable in its own way, seemingly forgetting that he was supposed to recommend just a couple of things to warm you up. You feel the passion in each word, and frankly, you are all too happy to listen to his euphonious speech for hours. You are warmed up just by his voice alone. It’s as if the two of you are acquaintances who haven't seen each other in a while, and only now are able to catch up. You lean on the counter to mirror Nulla, occasionally asking follow-up questions. He is so pleasant on the ear that you forget why he is talking about the pastries in the first place. It’s supposed to be a sales pitch, yet his love for the craft turns it into a passionate discussion of various sweets, and how they’re made.
Well, that is until the two of you are interrupted by the loud slamming of a metal tray with unbaked croissants on the counter that makes the two of you jump. You look behind Nulla, where the ruckus came from, and you see another man–who looks damn near identical to the one in front of you–boring into Nulla’s back, and at you. Nulla rolls his eyes, his gaze not leaving your frame. You give him an awkward smile, and with a sardonic smile, he spins back around to look at the one who so impertinently interrupted your chat. Nulla props himself up by his elbows, leaning back on the counter, his shoulders relaxed. The casual gesture makes the loud one seemingly more upset, as you notice an eye twitch. Oh, you might witness a scene. Maybe even a catfight. You aren’t sure if you’re excited to see what’s going to happen, or worried about Mary potentially having to step in. You don’t know any of these people, yet you already feel protective over them, and their place. Okay, perhaps, you will be returning here, if only to witness if this hostility lends itself somewhere interesting. You aren’t particularly inclined to join the drama, but you’d be lying if you say that juicy workplace drama isn’t something worth witnessing from the bleachers.
“Is the tray too heavy for you to carry, Neo?” He chortles. “Need some help?”
“Can you actually do your job, instead of chatting up customers? We have a bunch of orders for tomorrow,” the man named Neo hisses back. He definitely suppressed some choice words, based on the forced half-smile-half-scowl.
“I will. Once I’m done helping this beautiful person, of course.”
“Maybe try being more efficient,” you see Neo’s fake expression slowly dropping. The two of them definitely do not see eye to eye. Or perhaps it could be sibling bicker. Too early to gauge.
“Duly noted,” Nulla turns on his heels back to look at you with a cheeky smile. “How can I efficiently help you, bombón?”
You blush at the nickname. Neo groans, heading to the back.
“Qué culiao…” you hear Neo speak under his breath.
“¡Culiao guapo, sí!” A sassy retort.
“¡Ándate a la conchetumadre!” Neo’s vulgar yell sounds distant, and echoey as he disappears in the back of the kitchen, once more.
“That’s why we keep you in the back of the house!”
Nulla’s smile doesn’t drop as he is arguing with the man. Nor does he turn back the second time. His eyes are solely focused on you, expectantly waiting on your answer to his question. You are sure that he’d be way too good at poker, being able to maintain his composure so well. Or maybe, he gets a kick out of bickering with Neo. Or maybe it’s a two-way thing? Too little information to make assumptions. The only thing you can say for sure is:
“He is… Charming,” you chuckle nervously, still shaken by the abrupt interruption. Looking to the side, where Mary was doing her thing, she is glaring at Nulla. She is, most definitely, waiting for your interaction to be over to give Nulla and Neo a smack to the back of their heads. Their fighting seems so homey that you can’t help but smile.
“Not my first choice of words, but sure,” he chuckles back.
“So, have you decided?”
“I’ll take a cappuccino, pain au chocolat, and Brazo de Reina, please.”
Can you do nulla x assassin reader? It just sounds cool :3
I've been gone for so long... Ahaha, sorryy...
Anyway, your request inspired me to write a ficlet. I wasn't entirely sure what you wanted, so I took the matter into my own hands!
It's been posted on Ao3, and I'm posting it here.
Light Work
Summary: You are an assassin who has been contracted by an unknown employer to deal with someone people only know as Mr.Nulla. But the job appears to be not as straight-forward as you initially thought.
It should’ve been an easy job. Just another assassination of some guy whose ideas and/or actions do not align with the current leadership. But to maintain the facade of innocence, they would hire people like you to do the dirty work. Someone who could not be traced back to them. Usually, the recruitment process happens second-hand. You never meet your clientele; they have their errand boys deal with you. In fact, you very rarely know exactly who is hiring you. Not like you ask, either. Asking too many questions usually leads to having a meeting with one of your colleagues. And not the workplace lunch kind. But you aren’t dumb—otherwise, you wouldn’t be alive to tell the tale—you can usually guess who needed your disposal services. But a paycheck’s a paycheck, and you take half up front. That half sometimes exceeds what some people see in their lifetime.
With this job, you can also make a reasonable guess as to who your client is. Your target: the elusive owner of a major hotel chain—which will remain unnamed due to the writer’s lack of creativity—who goes only by the name Nulla. To hold such a successful business, it’s only inevitable that you will cross the wrong person, or piss someone off in one way or another. And especially considering how ‘beloved’, or ‘beloathed’—however you want to put it—Mr.Nulla is in high class circles, his name, you figure, would’ve inevitably ended up on your list. It still shocks you that it didn’t happen sooner, all things considered. And as of late, Nulla has been a major thorn in Mayor Septem’s side. Of course, to the general public, they’re amicable, and friendly. The mayor is always seen hanging around the hotel, be it for conferences, or for another high profile party. Word is: the mayor has a taste for vintage Brunello di Montalcino. If anyone dares to put a hit out on him, you can always go for cyanide, considering the low sugar content… But that is irrelevant. The point is that the public believes Nulla and Septem to be on good terms; yet, most everyone whose worth is not truly reflected within their tax return can tell you that the two of them do not stand each other. The only reason why they’re seen next to one another is just to watch the other’s every move. And well, considering that your contract currently has Mr.Nulla’s name on it, the mayor grows sick of this little cat-and-mouse game they seem to be playing. But if anyone asks, you are none the wiser.
Or you would be, if you weren’t tied to a chair with your head covered with some old sack. That is where you find yourself after being knocked out for who-knows-how-long, following you attempting to enter an employee-only area. You pride yourself on your skill, but even you sometimes make mistakes. It’s just that, in your field of work, mistakes can cost a tad more than a simple reprimand. In this case, you failed to notice someone’s pair of eyes on you whilst sneaking around the hotel. Alas, dwelling on your mistake is pretty useless when you ought to be focused on figuring out how to get out of your rather worrisome position. It isn’t like it’s the first time you were caught, but most of them were quickly mitigated by your irresistible charm. You figure that this time isn’t going to be any different. Once you raise your head, indicating that you are awake, you will instantly begin to beg and cry. Putting up a front of an innocent little lamb who accidentally stumbled upon the room they were never meant to enter. These people love to see others groveling, that one was sure. And with enough conviction in your puppydog eyes, they’ll surely have a hard time believing you to be one of the best assassins around. Who could ever imagine such a cute face to be this deadly.
Alright, you can’t take too long gathering your thoughts. Time is money, after all. And being dead would lose you both.
You sharply inhale, frantically moving your head around, trying to get yourself out of the tight ropes. The harsh threads rub painfully against your skin. You want to instinctively hiss, but you suppress it in favor of a more pathetic cry. You have to play the part of a hurt doe. You flail for a little longer. Not hearing a response, you stop, as if tired out, and let out a weak ‘Hello?’. Play the part. Pretend. Even if there’s no one here, you need to keep it up for when someone will inevitably come to check on you. Or well, if more than about four hours pass according to your internal clock, you’ll figure out how to get yourself out of these ropes. They didn’t seem that hard to get out of, especially with the knife in your… Shoes… You realize that they feel a lot lighter than they should be. Okay… No need to panic just yet, you always have multiple weapons on your person. Perhaps you were careless enough to forget them. You are never careless. But maybe this time you acted uncharacteristically rash. You thrash some more, trying to feel if you have any other weapons you are supposed to hide on your person. Nothing behind your belt, neither on your garters. Oh, this is definitely not your mistake. They know who you are. You clench your jaw, preparing for the worst. If there was anyone with you in the room, they haven’t shown themselves yet. Not like you can check with this beg over your head. No matter. You can finesse your way out of any situation, even if it involves tearing the rope through only teeth and friction. You seize the aimless thrashing, and begin to move with a purpose. The chair is rough, and even if the rope and wood will rip your skin, you will be free to go and finish your mission. The contract is still on, after all. If you are alive to collect it, you will have to finish it. Otherwise, you’ll land yourself as another target. So, you either die from the hands of your target, or your employer will make you the target if you dare skip town upon incomplete assignment. You are stuck between a rock and a hard place. Or between a rope and a wooden chair, in your case. When you just begin to believe that you’re making some progress, feeling the heat beyond your torn skin.
But having an infinite amount of time to work yourself out of your binds is too good to be true. You hear the sound of a metal door opening, and you confirm your suspicions that you must be in some sort of a warehouse. Metallic echo from the walls work to confirm it. You stop thrashing, raising your head up at the source of the noise. You might not be able to see, but you are smart enough to acknowledge the presence. The person doesn’t speak. They simply slowly walk towards you. The steps sound like they are wearing shoes with a small heel—probably men dress shoes, and probably expensive, considering the poise and confidence within each step. You don’t make a sound as the person walks around you and stops right behind. They rip the bag off your skin, allowing air’s arid chill to reach your face. You inhale deeply, finally able to breathe freely. With that breath, you attempt to turn your head around to look at your captor, but a loud cocking of a gun right by the crown of your head makes you immediately stop. You chuckle nervously, letting out a soft ‘Let’s not be rash now…’ through another torn sigh. You swallow, mentally preparing to meet your maker with any wrong move. Heavy silence follows. You don’t dare break it, your entire body tense. Perhaps if your captor is the one to break the ice, your chance of survival will go up just enough for you to seize it.
A low, mellifluous laugh resonates throughout your body, making you shiver. Whether in fear, or in a perverse excitement behind the danger, you aren’t sure. Perhaps your blasé attitude towards life and death made you rather excitable towards the prospect of being on the receiving end of your professional scope. You choose to believe that it is the fear, and the realization of just whose laugh you just heard. Nulla himself decided to pay his prospective killer a visit. And alone, at that. He is either really confident that you are incapable of doing anything to him in this state, he has a death wish, or he is just plain stupid. Well, you suppose, it is reasonable to be confident that you aren’t much of a danger disarmed, with a gun to your head. Even if you were able to tear the rope within such a short amount of time since you woke up, you wouldn’t try to pull any risky maneuver to disarm Mr.Nulla. Not only does he, most definitely, have a finger on the trigger, you’ve also done your homework. Trying to research anything on the hotel owner’s life before his business grew disproportionately, yields you nothing. No past relationships, no business partners, no education information. Nothing at all. It’s odd. When it’s this odd, you have to assume the worst. And asking too many questions in this business is bad for your health.
“It is a pleasant surprise that, out of all people who could’ve been sent here, it is you,” you can hear a smile within Nulla’s words. Not only that, he sounds just like he’s chatting up one of his high-class clientele. You are confused by the words. A ‘pleasant surprise’? That you came here to kill him? Maybe your guess that he is a loon isn’t too far-fetched. But you’ll have to play along if that means he doesn’t pull the trigger.
He slowly steps around you, keeping about a meter distance between the two of you. Clever. It is close enough to be considered ‘intimate’ in a situation like this one, but is also far enough that you can’t lunge at him with your limbs tied to the chair. Infuriating, but clever. You hate to see this shrewdness, but you have to commend him for it, as well. Unfortunately, it does solidify your suspicions of his shady origins. But it’s better that he keeps talking. The longer he speaks, the longer you get to live.
“I’ve heard really good things about you, you know?” You finally get to look at him from up close. A handsome gentleman, maybe in his late twenties, early thirties. He’s dressed sharply in a perfectly tailored burgundy suit, his raven black hair is slicked back, and his eyes are piercing obsidian shards, shimmering mischievously as he watches your expression shift between exasperation and confusion. You remain silent. You can’t really be the boastful kind with your occupation. You can’t chat about your accomplishments in the same manner as the regular office plankton can. How can you even bring up that last week you killed a man by putting a highly potent poison on the key of his prized grand piano during the cooler talk? Or that you had to drop a crystal chandelier on a business rival of yet another rich prick with more money than humanity within? Not that you can boast about your humanity, either. After all, you did take that job. But it appears that Mr.Nulla in front of you seems to have some sort of professional—or so you think—infatuation. He hasn’t said that, of course, but his eyes have a certain glint of recognition within them that you can’t place. The two of you never met before.
“So many whisper about you like some sort of a boogeyman. Yet, everyone prays you’ll deem their offer good enough,” he lowers the gun, a wide smile still ever prevalent on his face.
“So, imagine how ecstatic I was to learn that you’ve accepted my contract, cariño.”
What.
Huh?
Excusez-moi?
Прошу прощения?
You have a good poker face. You had a good poker face. Right now, you are looking at the man in front of you, mouth agape, blinking slowly. He isn’t just a ‘loon’. He is INSANE. If you are understanding him correctly, Nulla reached out to you through a third-party and paid you a frankly absurd amount of money to contract an assassination on himself? What for? You are frantically looking into his eyes for a hint of… Anything! For what purpose would ANYONE order you to kill THEM? Is he suicidal, and wanted an interesting way to go? Then why would he stop you? Did he want to check how tight his security is? That’s placing entirely too much trust in people who can be easily paid off. Which you, in fact, did. A couple of them, to be more precise. Or did he want the satisfaction of catching you whether to gloat about how he thwarted a professional assassin, or to destroy your reputation, to kill you? You scoff, you cough, and then you shake your head, trying to center yourself. How are you supposed to react to this confession? He still has a gun, so you can’t exactly be too snarky. But you also don’t know the purpose of this, for the lack of a better word, clownery.
“I don’t think I understand…” The only thing you can reasonably muster. You aren’t lying, either. You cannot comprehend what’s going on through that head of his that made him think of this idea. You’ve encountered quite a few peculiar individuals, especially as an assassin for hire. But this is a new one for you. Are you lucky, or unlucky right now? This situation is entirely too unpredictable for you.
“It’s quite alright. I don’t imagine you would remember,” his voice is oddly resigned, yet the smile on his face makes his words sound more playful.
“We’ve met before. I know you frequent my hotels. Of course, you would. After all, you have to study your targets. But while you wait, you blend in so effortlessly… You do love to chat up bartenders, don’t you?” Nulla winks, and you attempt to recall every time you spoke to a bartender before, if any of them looked like the man before you. You can’t parse through your memory as he stares at you with trepidation. You can’t remember any of their faces.
“I do love to sometimes chat with the patrons, and our conversations—even if brief—are always a delight, the highlight of my week.” You remember a bartender with a dashing smile, and a pair of hungry, onyx eyes. Surely, you weren’t unknowingly chatting up the owner of the hotel, then. If that is the case, you’ll have to rethink your entire career because you aren’t supposed to miss these details. It’s impossible for you to miss these details.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself, mi vida. I love to play a little dress-up, if you will. No one would blame you for missing it.” You will blame yourself. You should have known. You are better than this. Your eyes reflect confusion once more, finally registering the nickname Nulla gave you. It is way too intimate for just simple chatter than the two of you allegedly shared. Pointedly, you also were not aware of these meetings. You definitely haven’t earned the title of ‘mi vida’. Not yet. Not that you are planning on that, either. But Nulla seems to have his own plans, way beyond what you can ever come up with.
“I’ll ask you to forgive me for such a dramatic meeting, but I grow tired of our rare, brief encounters. But you are rather hard to come in contact with in a more casual setting. I appreciate how guarded you are. Can’t be too careful…”
You interrupt him with indignation, having a hard time taking this seriously. He has to be punking you.
“You paid three hundred thousand for us to have a conversation?”
You make him laugh. Its sound: soothing, velvety. You can see how he can charm his way anywhere.
“Always straight to the point. I like it. But no. I paid to open a conversation about a partnership. Of course, I would love to have you by my side, but that can come later…” He sighs wistfully. “I want you to be on my payroll, and at my professional disposal. Someone of your skill is hard to come by, so I’d like to have you for myself. And you do know that I pay well.”
You close your eyes, processing the information, seriously considering his words. The contract’s terms do offer an absurdly high payout. You might be one of the best, but the total amount, upon completion, stipulated over half a million. And Mr.Nulla paid half of it upfront, no questions asked, check cleared. Having him as a form of constant, ridiculous income doesn’t sound half bad. Too good to be true.
“Forgive my bluntness, but it can’t be all there is to it. You want to pay me exorbitant amounts of money to have me occasionally get rid of people you dislike, and to have a chat with me sometimes? What’s the catch?”
“No catch,” he raises his hands, feigning innocence. “I suppose, the only other stipulation would be that I want you by my side. Physically, during public events, of course. The other can come later.”
“And if I say no?” you speak slowly. He might seem calm, but you can never be too sure with people who would do something like this.
“You are free to go,” he snickers. “Well, I would ask you to still have these passing conversations we have. But you can leave.”
You don’t like the way he says ‘ask’. He isn’t asking. You know definitively that he isn’t just asking. You ponder for a moment. The terms are sweet. And it’s not like you have particular moral aversion to working as an assassin on a payroll, instead of for-hire. An odd equivalent to an office job, but you might like it that way. Not only that, you can definitely tolerate chatting with Nulla. You may not know him, but for an insane person, he is rather agreeable. You can also always terminate the contract. In any way you can read that phrase. You aren’t going to think too long, and wait for him to grow impatient.
“Yes,” you break the brief silence, seeing the man’s face light up. “We can negotiate the terms. I agree with the general description, but I’d like to take the time to review the duties and expectations.”
“I’m so glad to hear it, cariño!” Nulla stretches his arm out for a handshake.
You stare at him blankly.
“The rope…” Nulla averts his gaze, a subtle blush spreading across his face over this brief moment of foolishness. “Right. Forgive me.”
Idk if this is too suggestive or not buuut how about a scenario where nulla gets smothered in kisses? Lips, face, neck.... He deserves to be pampered a bit 🥹
Eheheheheehhe. This is SO CUTE.
And no, this isn’t too suggestive! Romance and kisses are a-okay. “Suggestive” would be something risqué, exploring sexual themes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Nulla?”
You woke up all alone within his domain, but the sudden lack of a very handsome gentleman in your presence after you went to bed with him watching over you was almost startling. Of course, Nulla had his duties, and as he said, the time moves a lot slower for him than it does for you. That didn’t, however, remedy the fact that you missed seeing the owner of the void, dammit! How could you not miss him, let’s be honest here.
What surprised you even more is that he didn’t come when you called out for him. That was odd. Sure, Nulla was his own person with his own responsibilities, but he usually arrived as soon as you called out to him. He couldn’t resist being away from you! And when you wanted him to be near, how could he say no? But it was okay for him not to come at your first whims. But you did have some time to kill now, so you went ahead and climbed out of the bed, heading straight for the table within your shared room with piles of documents, IDs, written notes, diary entries. Nulla didn’t hide from you the fact that he had lived many lives. Why would he? He wished you were in all of those lives, of course, but he was content with having you in this one. There was no need to hide what was if that ‘was’ was empty, lacking your presence.
You couldn’t read everything you saw. Some of the papers in languages you didn’t speak, some washed out from the years of being left out, spilled ink and coffee. You perused the pages you could read, getting his history with a good friend of his whose disappearance impacted the trajectory of his life forever; you read some loose pages of his diary detailing his thoughts about the very Creator he oh so loathed for his fate. You noticed a seemingly newer loose page, his neat handwriting wrapping itself around the sheet with same elegance its owner held himself with. He wrote of you, gushing about your presence, your appearance, your voice, your… Your everything! Everything about you that Nulla could put on paper, he had been adoring, lovingly describing every little detail. You felt a blush rising on your face, and the same smile that he professed his undying affection to touch your features. You didn’t know it was mathematically possible for him to be more attractive to you than he already was, but here you were, standing in the middle of your room, ready to start gushing about him yourself, wanting nothing more than to kiss him. You NEEDED to kiss him, to smother them with kisses. You needed to show him how much you appreciated and loved him, just as much as he loved you.
“My apologies, mi vida, I got caught up with—” he broke the silence of the room with his presence.
Usually, you were the one startled by his sudden appearance, but as soon as he arrived late to your call, you damn near took him off his feet! You cupped his face, placing one kiss, another, third, fourth… You lost count as you relentlessly peppered his face and neck with kisses, feeling him smile widely embracing you within his arms. He laughed giddily, happy to accept your unadulterated love and adoration. He couldn’t be happier.
As you leaned away for just a moment to get a breath of air after forgetting how to breathe – you were that happy to pepper him with kisses – Nulla took this chance to, in turn, cup your face and place a deep, meaningful kiss on your lips.
As you two parted after moments that felt entirely too short-lived, he smiled cheekily at your blushing self:
could you please write fluff for Nulla??? That man is just so cute and I'm starving for teag content aagh
I love Nulla! He's such a gentleman.
First things first, Nulla loves you unconditionally with all of his heart, body, and soul.
He is INFATUATED by you. Anything you tell him, he will remember. He would never miss a single detail of your conversation. You are precious to him, and your words and voice are no exception.
Hell, you could ask him a week or two later what it was that you talked about, and he would tell you, no matter how trivial.
Nulla is a romantic. He would love to go on dates, watch movies, go shopping, cooking together.
In fact, he would organize surprise dates for the two of you all the time. You’d have to always be vigilant about when a potential date could pop up. Be prepared for flowers and good food. And maybe a slightly-too-sweet dessert.
Nulla is also incredibly suave. I don’t even know what you would have to do to make him blush.
He, however, makes it his mission to make you blush and swoon from his words alone. With how many compliments he gives to you on a daily basis, you are left genuinely wondering how he hasn’t run out of them yet.
THE cuddler. He could be a big spoon, he could be a little spoon, he’d let you rest on top of him, he’d blanket you with his body. Any position you could ever ask for, he’d be content with.
He’s also not too-hot, not too-cold. Just right for cuddling under a warm blanket with a romance movie.
Speaking of romance movies, he’d watch the cheesiest of Hallmark movies with you. And he’d comment on everything the love interest could’ve done better. He needs you to know that he is the best one out there. Perfect for you. ;)
He is the biggest softie when it comes to you. He’d do anything you ask him to, he’d get you anything you want.
You need to show just marginal interest in an item, and suddenly it’s at your doorstep not even an hour later.
He loves you so much, you could never quantify his feelings for you, even if you tried. He is yours completely and undeniably.
Summary: The mere thought of you is driving him insane.
Writer's note: While I post this chapter here, I strongly encourage you to read this particular work on Ao3 ;)
Neo has been in the shower for a frankly exorbitant amount of time. Not that he is particularly cleanly—Nulla's the one who spends over an hour grooming himself—Neo is an in-and-out type of person. He isn't dirty, but you'd never find him hogging up the bathroom for as long as he is today. This isn't a deliberate change to his routine, not at all. In fact, he isn't putting minimal effort into it. No. Neo is staring off somewhere into the distance, letting the damn near ice cold water wash over him. His actions weigh heavy on his shoulders, and the cold water gives him something to focus on that isn't his transgression against self. Frankly, he is horrified with himself. If he is capable of doing something like that, how much further can he go? How slippery is the slope he found himself on? Was he always destined for this? Is it an inevitability that he turn to this? Does this run in the family? Is being a loser like Nulla a familial curse? Is there any way to circumvent this? Maybe a lobotomy? That would surely be preferable over wherever he is heading. What if—
"Neo, Dios mío, if you don't come out of there… It's been an hour!"
Speak of the devil.
"La concha de la lora, Nulla, fuck off! I'm busy!"
"Busy?!" Nulla's irritation matches that of Neo's. "You use a three-in-one shampoo, what on Earth are you busy with?!"
"Use your brain, dipshit! What can a young man be doing in—"
Nulla groans loudly at his brother's retort. He knows that Neo's saying this just to further annoy him, but he'd be damned if it wasn't working. Neo's brazenness never fails to get under the older brother's skin. How can someone this uncouth come out of the same family? Mary and Nulla are both polite and sweet. Neo, on the other hand…
"Just… Get out of there," Nulla sighs in defeat. He isn't going to humor this idiocy. Nor does he want to annoy Mary with a yet another fight between him and Neo.
Neo himself isn't particularly in the mood to fight, either. And he never passed up a chance to have a cat fight with Nulla. It's been almost a week since the two of you smoked together. Yet, only now does he even begin to realize what he had done to himself. He has been in a state of shock these past few days; and now that he has managed to begin unpacking the reason behind his stupor, he wants nothing more than to bang his head against the wall until he gives himself a concussion. Maybe then he'll be able to forget the way you looked at him that day. Or maybe he'll slip in the shower, and break his neck. Anything is preferable to the burning feeling in his chest when he thinks about your face. If only you could leave his mind even for a moment…
Neo turns the water off, but hesitates to get out of the shower. If he stays here for longer, maybe the cold air will grant him release. He begins to slowly settle down into the icy absence of thought, but a stray memory of the sound of your voice makes him spiral once more. He groans, not sure if he's more upset with you for rudely taking over his every thought, or if he's upset with himself for letting you do that to him. Neo grabs his towel as he carelessly stomps out of the shower. Towel around his waist, he stares daggers at himself in the bathroom mirror. He is a fucking moron. Stupid fucking moron. For letting you join him. For letting himself look into your eyes for a moment too long. For letting himself think these ridiculous thoughts. Neo meant to tease you when he shared the lighter. But he ended up playing an insanely cruel joke on himself when he felt his breath hitch at your proximity. Merely thinking back on it leaves him reeling, scolding himself for either letting you bewitch him… Or for not tossing those nasty cigarettes aside to kiss you.
Neo slaps himself, his eye twitching. What is he thinking about? Why does he sound like Nulla? In his own mind. Without mockery, no less. Why is he seriously considering how soft your lips would've been, and if the taste of coffee would've still lingered on them? He slumps—or rather, nearly folds himself in two—banging his head on the cold stone bathroom counter. Should he start crying out of frustration? Or maybe bite the stone to not scream bloody murder about the ridiculousness of his condition? Why on Earth did he let you near? Let you climb into his chest like a parasite, slowly devouring his aorta. Frankly, he'd prefer if you were a literal heart-eating parasite. Then, he wouldn't have to deal with the ugly thoughts of your warmth. Neo makes an earnest—for once—attempt to compose himself, giving himself a couple more, smaller slaps. Grown ass man, acting like a high school girl with a crush, he scolds himself. Okay. Okay. He has to stop sulking, and face it like said grown ass man.
Meaning, actively suppress his feelings, and avoid you like the plague. The latter being something he has been doing since that day. What else is he supposed to do? Face you, and address his feelings? Tough luck. He isn't Nulla with his cheesy romanticism. Neo would much rather toss himself off a cliff than be like his older brother. Ridiculous, and annoying. He just needs to wait these feelings out before facing you again. Yes, that's a sound plan. Or as sound as he could come up with. Is it realistic? Well… He surely hopes so.
It takes Neo around ten more minutes to drag himself out of the bathroom, most of that time spent cursing the very foundation of this world for dealing him such a shitty hand. High card being a seven of hearts. And he's afraid that he has to fold unless he manages to bluff his way to a win. If only he had played poker more than twice in his entire life. Both he lost to Mary, but that is irrelevant. Because he is planning on winning this one. Or experience spontaneous human combustion immediately following your smiling at him. Double or nothing, so to speak.
Neo carelessly throws on a shirt—cleanliness of which is up for debate—and some slacks. The bakery is, thankfully, closed today, so, Neo is free to laze around all day long. Which isn't necessarily a good thing since it gives him more opportunities to think back on your lovely face. But it also gives him an opportunity to distract himself enough to figure out how to shove his feelings somewhere deep within the crevices of his wretched soul. Probably.
"Finally!" Nulla's voice is glass on a chalkboard. "There is no reason for you, of all people, to be spending an hour in the shower."
Nulla is the the last person Neo wants to be talking to right now. His grating voice reminds the younger one of the horrid love affair he is trying so desperately to avoid. Nulla's heartthrob self is annoying on a good day, and utterly unbearable now.
"You can shut your pie hole, and go do your beauty routine, princess," Neo barks out, plopping on the couch like a sack of potatoes.
Staring back at his brother, Neo begins to feel cold sweat gathering on the back of his neck. The look on Nulla's face is one he hasn't had a chance to see before. It's not his usual mildly disgruntled stare after another minor spat between the two of them. It's a knowing, displeased glare which carries entirely too much weight behind a single look. Neo is unsure what exactly he did to earn it. There is no way that a simple change in routine is worth a death stare. He didn't fall on the couch with too much attitude, either. And he isn't as much of a fat ass as Nulla is, so there's no way he'd break it.
"What?" Neo is raised an eyebrow, acting annoyed, to avoid thinking about why he is getting stared at so intensely.
"You're acting weird," Nulla's coldness is palpable.
"I'm acting weird?! Have you seen yourself, weon?!" Neo should channel his irritation, rather than the sudden nervousness over what the hell exactly is going through Nulla's mind to be acting like this. "You're acting weird my ass!"
"Is it about them?"
It's Neo's turn to dispense death glares. Who does Nulla think he is to be talking like that?! Well, he isn't entirely wrong, anyway. It is about them… Them? No name, no nothing? There's a lot of assumptions happening from both sides right now. And Neo is hoping, and praying that the aforementioned 'them' isn't the one he's thinking of.
"Them?" Neo feigns ignorance, his expression one of exasperation.
"{Name}," Nulla clears his throat, collecting himself. He doesn't want to get overzealous. Not yet, at the very least. "Something happened between you two to warrant your acting shifty this past week, no? You've been avoiding them."
"What the hell are you talking about?! You can keep your little delusions to yourself!"
Nulla falls silent at Neo's scoffing. He doesn't need any more confirmation to know that his brother's antics are what caused you to be dejected for the entire week. A chill ran down Neo's spine at the prolonged, freezing cold stare he receives. The older one is acting odd enough to almost make Neo forget about the past week of idiotic yearning, or whatever one would call the trance state you've put him in. Almost. And now, even Nulla is going cuckoo. That isn't to say he wasn't already messed up in the head in some way. Neo speculates that the older brother had been dropped on his head a handful of times as a child. But the brain damage seems to be catching up to him faster than ever. Who would've thought?
"Oh well," Nulla hums, relaxing his expression. "I suppose, I'm just imagining things."
"Fucking lunatic…" Neo pulls his phone out in an attempt to zone out the older one's attitude. He doesn't want to catch whatever disease Nulla has that made him like this.
"But I am planning on taking {Name} out to make up for your attitude," he what. "I want to cheer them up. You should really be nicer to them."
These were the last words Nulla had spoken before retreating to the bathroom for his 'princess routine'. Neo wants to say that Nulla walked away too fast to give him a chance to come up with a usual snarky response, but that would be a bold faced lie. In fact, Nulla stood in his spot, waiting for a response, before—presumably smugly—walking away. Silence is enough of an answer. In fact, louder than anything Neo could've ever conjured up. Nulla leaves uncertainty in the air behind him, having sucked all the confidence out of the room. He shouldn't care. Truly, Neo shouldn't care. He shouldn't. He doesn't. Of course, he doesn't. Why would he? Why would he care? Another scoff under his breath. What is Nulla thinking? That his little love venture with you has anything to do with Neo? In fact, he shouldn't even begin thinking about how much he doesn't care. In fact, it's a good thing that Nulla is doing this. He can finally relax, having confirmation that this week-long mental escapade can finally come to an end. He is content, really. There's no need to be skittish around you anymore… Not like he is skittish around you, to begin with. He wasn't around you at all. But not because he is going to great lengths to avoid you, no. He is just really busy. Yes, there has been way too many orders to be taking chatting breaks, like Nulla does. Irresponsibly, mind you! But would this affect Nulla's already lackluster productivity? After all, you're incredibly distracting. To Nulla. Incredibly distracting to Nulla, yes. Neo is worried about their productivity, and the bakery's success. After all, he wouldn't want Mary to be disappointed in their performance. Maybe if Nulla finally gets his little outing with you, he'd realize that you're not worth his time, and he'll be able to focus, once again. Yes, of course. After all, talking to you is fruitless. You barely talk. You two didn't talk during the smoke break. And it was for the better, yes. The sound of your voice is grating. He just didn't want to be rude to you. But yes, the sound of your voice is distracting. He should tell you next time he sees you that you distract him… Distract him by being so annoying. He needs to clarify that for you because you're just such a dimwit, of course. No other reason. It's not like he's been distracted this past week by the mere thought of you. It's not like you've been on his mind all this time, occupying nearly every thought of his. It's not like he is thinking about you when he is decorating those tiny pastries, putting an extra flourish into their design, because you told him you like those cute creme bows. It's not like the thought of you haunts his every waking moment. It's not like he dreamt of you three night out of the four that he managed to get a wink of sleep in…
"FUCK!" Neo groans loudly, digging his fingers into his face. Maybe if he claws his eyes out, he won't have to deal with you.
"Dios mio, Neo, you startled me!" Mary's voice knocks him clean out of his you-induced stupor. He didn't even notice when she entered the room. "What was that for?"
"…My stocks plummeted?"
"You don't own any stocks."
"Bitcoin. Invested four grand into it yesterday."
"Right."
***
New work day, and Neo couldn't be happier. He hadn't had any weird dreams involving you last night, and he is so content about it. Couldn't be any more content. If he could ignore the fact that he didn't actually have a wink of sleep to get that result. But it is a result nonetheless, no? Thankfully, he remains confined to the back of the bakery. Perks of being a mean nuisance. He is free to focus on baking and decorating, rather than the eye-twitching thought of Nulla inviting you out; and the idea of you giving him that bright smile of yours as you say 'Yes'.
He definitely didn't just squeeze the piping bag to hard, spilling way too much cream all over these poor cookies, requiring him to scrape it all off, and begin anew. And Mary definitely didn't spend the whole day, throwing sardonic—or knowing, he hasn't decided yet—glances at Neo. She is waiting on you with trepidation. Simply can't wait for your daily visit. Oh, Mary is so ready for whatever is going to happen today. Neo is certain that Nulla had already informed their sister of his intentions. But nothing escapes her eyes, and she, most definitely, knows exactly about Neo's recent affliction… Or rather, lack thereof, of course. She knows that he is entirely impartial towards you. In fact, finds you irritating. And she simply wants to see how smoothly Nulla's invitation will go through. Mhm. Obviously.
Like clockwork, you come to the cafe at the same time you always do. You pensively glance over the empty spot where Rafael usually hangs around. It's as if this Septem client of his has Rafael locked in his studio. Poor guy. You give the entire cafe a once over, and as you spot Mary, so does she—you. She waves at you to come quicker with that bright smile of hers you love, making it impossible for you to both smile back, and pick up the pace. Maybe she has some new gossip for you? Oh, you can't wait to hear what she has to say. Of course, you'd love to say 'Hello' to all three siblings, but Mary is the only one you can see manning the front. But you also don't hear any loud spats in the back of the cafe, so either the two brothers finally found a middle ground, or—which is a lot more likely—one of them is out today. You hope that no one is sick. You're always ready to bring a little care package, of course, but you hope that you don't need to.
"Mary! Hi!" You match her smile. "You're energetic."
"That I am," she giggles, having already pulled a shot for your drink. Yet, she doesn't elaborate, remaining cryptic.
"So, um, what's up?" You don't want the silence to turn awkward. "Is someone out today?"
"Oh, no," Mary waves you off, quickly finishing your order, and sliding it over to you. She didn't even try to ask if you wanted to switch things up today. Something got her excited, but she doesn't want to share with you for whatever reason. "Los gorditos are giving each other the silent treatment."
"What? Why?"
"Oh, you know…" She winks at you, leaving you with even more questions. Did you miss some sort of a memo? The groupchat's been silent since yesterday. And Mary's lax attitudes tells you that it's nothing serious. But her shiftiness isn't particularly reassuring, either.
"Um… No," you're honest. "I don't know… Please, enlighten me."
Mary pauses, looking at you dumbfounded. You two share a long stare before Mary bursts out laughing, startling you. It's a long, gleeful laugh. The kind of laugh that leaves her eyes tearing. She tries to compose herself, brushing away the tears. You hear faint 'No way…' from under her breath. Did you say something funny? Is there some sort of an inside joke you aren't clued into? You raise an eyebrow at your friend, waiting for her to catch her breath. She isn't making it easier on you to understand what she's talking about on bit.
"Okay, okay…" She wipes the tears off her face one last time, finally able to take her laughter under control. "So, you know how Neo has been avoiding you since your little smoke break?"
"He has been avoiding me? I was sure you guys are just busy… Why would he do that…" You sound hurt, but it slowly begins dawning on you the kind of intonation Mary used. "Smoke break? We just smoked, it's nothing crazy that would warrant him avoiding me!"
Your attempt to minimize the damages feels futile, as you watch your friend's smile turn to a smirk.
"You do know that we have CCTV, right?"
"…"
"…"
"I will elect not to internalize that information."
"That's too bad because I've seen the whole thing from two different angles."
"I will not be talking to you without my lawyer present, Mary."
"Oh, come on," she chuckles. "I know you were giggling and kicking your feet when you got home, amigo."
"You are the worst," a deep, dark blush is spreading across your face. "And besides, it was just Neo teasing me. Nothing more than that."
"Ah, yes, and the fact that he's been out of it for an entire week is 'nothing'," Mary rolls her eyes. "Sure thing."
You slam your forehead on the counter, whimpering out some indiscernible curses. You want to cry out of embarrassment. In fact, you're suddenly glad that Rafael is locked up somewhere in his client's basement, instead of witnessing this display of public humiliation that you're currently enduring from your dear friend. How can anyone be so cruel to you? You haven't done anything to deserve this type of treatment. You try to think back, if you can conjure up some grievous sin that the universe might be punishing you for, but you get nothing. Nada.
"Why would you do this to me…" You draw your words out, mixing them with whines.
"Good news for you is that I have Neo hostage in the back for the two of you to talk about your little high school crush. You two can't keep me in suspense forever, you know?"
"How is this good news?! I can't do this today! Or tomorrow! Or any other day, for that matter!"
"I am not hearing any convincing arguments against you two talking it out," Mary shuts you down. "So, c'mon. Come around. You know your way."
"I don't want to!"
"I'm not asking."
Mary drags you over behind the counter, and shoves you towards the kitchen. Against your will, or your better judgment, for that matter. You can't fathom looking Neo in the eye after you got a confirmation that he did, in fact, avoid you like the plague since your smoke break. Mistakes were made. Not by you, you want to say, but you have to be honest with yourself. You let Mary peer pressure you into talking to the object of your odd desire. Twice. You begin to consider stopping letting her have this much power over you because it keeps ending in detriment to you and your mental health. But alas, you're already standing in the kitchen, watching Neo's back as he's working on decorating something. You are surprised that he didn't notice all the commotion that Mary and you caused, but you can also sense the tenseness in his shoulders as he's decorating the hell out of those poor cookies. You stand there, watching him, thinking over every single mistake in life you had made which lead you to this very moment. You can still make a run for it, right? You doubt that Mary would tackle you, or anything… Or you can dash past Neo, and run out the back. There is a chance that you might run into Nulla there, since you haven't seen him yet. You can only hope that Nulla's simply somewhere in the walk-in freezer, or something.
Your musings are interrupted by the very person you are actively avoiding talking to:
"¡Mierda!" Neo nearly jumps in his place, not expecting to see you, of all people. "How long were you planning on creeping around here, you fucking weirdo?!"
"I just walked in. You're being dramatic," you sneer. "Maybe pay attention to your surroundings next time. I don't know."
The conversation died there, as it started. You expected Neo to scold you more, to curse, or even to yell. But now, he is just staring at you, as you are at him. Like deer in the headlights. Should you wait for him to break the silence? Or should you? Does he know why you're here? If so, he seems to be entirely too quiet for his usual self. Where's the scolding, the cursing, the… Everything?
"Are you just going to stand there, staring at me, or what?" There he goes. "Why are you here?"
Neo's voice is low, uncertain. He knows the answer already, but he doesn't want to admit it.
"Um…" You begin. One of you two has to be brave. "It's about last week."
"What about it?" Neo looks away from you. He doesn't want you to see the heat rising on his face. Especially when he has plausible deniability of needing to finish decorating these cookies. He isn't a coward. And other lies he can hide from you this way.
"Well," you have to be the brave one, unfortunately. "You have been avoiding me since then, and I wanted to know—"
"I haven't been avoiding you, what the hell are you talking about?!"
"Can you let me finish, damn?!" If he's going to get defensive, you have to be more straightforward.
"Wow, don't you think we're moving too fast?"
"Bitch?!" You stare daggers at Neo who begins to snicker to himself. He can't talk his feelings, but he can definitely deflect. "I'm serious. What you did then… The leaning in, and…"
Neo freezes. There is a knot in his throat he can't clear. He doesn't want to talk about it. Hell, he wanted the both of you to move on, and forget that it ever happened. He was an idiot for doing that, and he maintains that position firmly. Will he say that out loud to you? Absolutely not. Will he scold himself, however? Most definitely. He hears your voice falter. You are the braver one of the two of you, but even you can only do so much under pressure. Neo isn't the nicest guy around to be emotionally vulnerable with. Perhaps Nulla's admission that he wishes to ask you out was actually a good thing. It's easier this way, really. As much as he'd like to stick it to his older brother, and snatch you up for himself, he doesn't know what he'll do with you. It feels… Wrong to treat you like a toy to be fought over like little kids. You don't deserve this. Even now, having you here with him, he somehow—for the first time in his life, perhaps—feels regret.
You are an idiot for thinking that that little exchange meant anything. And Neo is an even bigger idiot for putting the meaning out there.
"And nothing," he speaks up, finally gathering enough courage. He resumes his decorating, needing something to focus on, instead of thinking too long, and too hard. "I don't know what you conjured up in that peanut brain of yours, but me not wasting time, and simply lighting two cigs at once, means nothing."
"Ah."
"Don't project your little fantasies on me."
"I see. Sorry."
He doesn't need to be facing you to hear the painful dejection in your voice. He doesn't want to be facing you. It's for the best, he reasons with himself. He doesn't need this. He hates feeling this way. He hates being haunted by the mere thought of you. If he shuts down these ridiculous feelings now, he won't need to suffer their consequences. Vulnerability is a scam he doesn't want to fall for. There's a long silence between you two as you're watching him work, feigning nonchalance. He prays to every deity he can think of that you will let it go, and won't push any further.
Your fading footsteps are the confirmation that his wish has been granted.
In your silence, you contemplate going through the back, but your legs choose for you. You dejectedly drag yourself out to where you came from. You walk past Mary, intending to simply head home, your coffee left forgotten on the counter. You don't want to look her in the eyes, still trying to collect your scattered thoughts and feeling. You don't know what you've expected, frankly. It's Neo, after all. You are unsure why, in your heart of hearts, you've believed Mary's speculations… Or your 'little fantasies', as he put it. Why would your feelings be, in any way, shape, or form, reciprocated? Neo has been right to call you names for your childish naiveté. It's real life; not some sort of a cheesy Hallmark movie where the love interest only pretends to dislike their deuteragonist while harboring intense feelings for them. You have to take things at face value whenever you can to spare yourself this ugly, conflicting feeling. You can't read minds. And you shouldn't waste your time, chasing your heart's every whim. You can't go around humoring it. It might get used to the princess treatment.
Mary looks at you with confusion. There's no way it didn't go smoothly. Not according to her predictions. You reciprocate Neo's feelings, and she forced you to confront him with your feelings, and undivided attention. What else did her little brother want? She quite literally presented you in a perfect gift wrap with a pretty bow. Hell, he didn't even have to do anything except smile and nod! Well, maybe just nod, in Neo's case. How can anyone fuck up that part? Your look tells her that he managed to fail the simplest of tasks to guarantee his and yours happiness. Your friend catches your wrist before you can walk away. You were right: she doesn't tackle you. But she might as well have by the look you give her. Mary's grip on your wrist tightens with an irritated eye twitch. Oh, is she angry. Not at you, of course. Somehow, even you can feel how hard Mary is clenching her jaw. She wants to go, and immediately give her younger brother a piece of her mind. But right now, her priority is you—her dear friend. Her hold on you relaxes, and her features soften. You're holding yourself well, too proud to cry over spilled milk. Well, at least, not in front of the entire cafe clientele, and your friends. Or perhaps, you're simply too shellshocked to emote.
Mary gently wraps her arms around you; and as you reciprocate her embrace, she looks up behind you, searching for a glimpse of Neo in the kitchen with a murderous glare. Neo is lucky—or smart enough—not to show his scrawny frame immediately following his biggest fumble to date. She'll give him a piece of her mind after hours. And he won't be escaping it. He can't escape it.
Well, her other brother also seems to have the hots for you. And while she would've preferred matchmaking the youngest with someone who as readily puts up with his bullshit, as you do, Nulla is objectively the better choice. And she wants nothing more than for you to be happy. He'll treat you better than the dunce in the back of the house. With a sigh, Mary lets go of you, giving you a pitying look, seeing you keep face as well as you do. You want nothing more than to break down crying right now, but you also can't give Neo the satisfaction. Well, he wouldn't get any satisfaction from watching you sob your heart out—it's more awkward than anything. But you also simply don't want to address your feelings before you can sort them out. It's all too overwhelming right now. So much so, you begin to slowly disassociate just to numb yourself, to steady yourself.
"I'm sorry," Mary offers you an apologetic look. "I shouldn't have rushed you to talk to Neo. He's… A handful, I suppose."
She isn't going to talk about his feelings. She knew her brother well enough to understand that this isn't coming from a place of contempt. She will show him contempt when she gets her hands on him, or so help her.
You open your mouth to respond, but you notice Nulla's familiar frame approaching the two of you with from behind. His hands are full, and the smile on his face is even more radiant than usual. He has a dapper, white three-piece suit that sits perfectly on his frame. You'd compliment him, if you weren't on the verge of breaking down from making a single sound. The surface tension of your emotions is spread as thin as it can be. You aren't even entirely sure what you were going to say to Mary before Nulla's presence interrupted you. Made a single sound, and immediately began sobbing? What a plan. Just simply foolproof. Ironclad. Like a Swiss wristwatch.
Nulla takes long steps to close the gap between you two; his smile shifts to worry, seeing your tense face and twitching eyebrow. He throws Mary a brief quizzical glance which is instantly replaced with a polite, disgruntled smile. Neither of you need to say anything for Nulla to put two and two together. He doesn't even need to be as perceptive as he is to comprehend what exactly went down that got you down in the dumps. You find it hard to look either of the two siblings in the eyes, electing to let your eyes wander, counting the crumbs on the floor, until you finally notice that Nulla's hands are full. He is carrying a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Which he stretches out to you, seeing the surprise on your face. You want to ask how he knows that since you can't recall ever talking to anyone in your friend group about flowers. It must've slipped your mind, you reckon. You silently accept the bouquet, finally getting your lost courage back to look up at Nulla. He is positively beaming. You are unsure if it's from your acceptance of his gift, or from him trying to wordlessly cheer you up. But you can't say it isn't working. Nulla's charm is undeniable, and it's hard for you not to return him a weak smile.
"Thank you…" Is all you can muster right now. You'll pull yourself together slowly. You should be strong. You can't let Neo, of all people, get you this upset.
"Of course, mi bombón," the nickname earns Nulla an eyebrow raise from Mary, but he ignores it. "I see that I've come at a perfect time to cheer you up, haven't I?"
You stay silent for a couple moment, taking in the sight of the flowers. He did come at a perfect time. You draw the bouquet closer to your chest, inhaling the pleasant scent. And despite how hard you were trying to pull yourself together, you begin tearing up. But to maintain even a shred of dignity, you continue smiling, letting out a weak laugh.
"You have…"
"And I know exactly what'll cheer you up even more," Nulla immediately seized the moment to touch your face, delicately wiping a stray tear off your cheek, and earning a yet another side eye from his older sister—this time accompanied with a sigh. "Let me take you out for dinner. I'll make sure to take your mind off of whatever—or whomever—made you feel this way, cariño."
Since Christmas is approaching, I would really love to imagine scenarios of how we could spend the holidays with Nulla… You know, holiday preparations, cooking, or just spending time together in some cute, cozy, or relaxing way.
I would be grateful for a little Christmas scenario with him 🥺🎄
I forgot to post it from my drafts yesterday!!! Forgive me for being a dunce </3
Merry Christmas!
While it is unclear if there is a Christmas, or a holiday akin to it in his world, he has memories of his past lives to guide him. And even still, he can always ask you.
Nulla is very meticulous about his preparations. Not only is he a big foodie, he is also immeasurably excited to have you at his side for as big a holiday as Christmas.
He is also ecstatic that you want to join him. He'd be content if you just hung around, of course. And, well, he was initially hesitant to letting you do anything. But with that look on your face, he caves immediately.
It's really easy for Nulla to become overzealous, and prepare entirely too much food, ESPECIALLY sweet treats. You'll have to limit him to only a couple of savory dishes. You can't limit his dessert agenda, sorry.
For the most part, Nulla lets you decide on the menu. He gives you a plethora of choices, but since it's just the two of you, you have carte blanche over your Christmas dinner.
But there's more to prepare, besides dinner, isn't there?
You decorate the Christmas tree together, of course. It's pretty nifty to have someone with Nulla's powers helping you. He can reach wherever you need him to. Or you can have him hoist you up to reach higher. Both of us know which of these two choices he would prefer. ;)
There's mistletoe everywhere. You don't recall putting it up. But it sure is everywhere. You can't approach Nulla without a kiss. That would be the case even without the little plant bundles, but now, he has a cheeky excuse to steal a kiss or two.
I get the feeling that Nulla would enjoy either cheesy Hallmark movies, or old romance movies. But rest assured, you're watching some sort of a Christmas romantic flick.
No ugly Christmas sweaters. He can be persuaded by you, of course. He can be persuaded to do anything for you. But please, don't wound him like that.
Stylish sweaters are okay.
In fact, get an oversized sweater and snuggle up to him after dinner.
He sets up a really fancy table. There are candles, impressive flower arrangements, those napkin swans, and some high-end champagne. He'd be delighted to share a glass with you, if you drink.
Nulla will offer you to slow dance with him. Please, say yes. Even if you have two left feet, he knows how to lead. He's a great teacher (Duae is a testament to that). And if you can't quite grasp it still, he loves the proximity.
After all set and done, you two get to cuddle on the couch with the aforementioned romantic movies and hot chocolate. It's warm, and you feel as if Nulla is purring. He can't help it but to allow his void wrap you up. Hence the purring.
The atmosphere, and the closeness makes for the best conditions for dozing off in your lover's arms. You know that he'll remain where he is even when you wake up. You slowly fall into the clutches of sleep, and Nulla holds you even closer.
