#the host x reader

[riotlain]

Egos with their s/o’s cat

Bc my cat is laying on me and being loud

shorter than usual bc i want to post

THIS IS A NWLNW BLOG!! WOMEN DNI

Iplier Egos

Darkiplier

He likes your cat

He just hates the fur

I feel like he’d talk to the cat casually-

“Hello there. How are you doing?” “Meow!” “Oh really?”

You’d never see him do it ofc

When you have your back turned hes cradling your cat

Every once in a while youll find a cat toy on the ground that you dont remember buying

It was Dark ofc

Wilford

Dog person but he doesnt mind cats

Definitely babys the cat tho

Holds it like a baby and walks around

“Have you fed the lil guy today?”

No guns around the cat

Will shoot anyone who insults your cat

Illinois

Bros literally never home bc adventures

But he find it nice when he visits you have a cat to rub against his leg

Pets it like a dog

If its a kitten he’ll put it on his shoulder and walk around your house with it

Gets cool artifacts for you cat??

10/10 Cat dad whenever hes over

Eric Derekson

Was scared of your cat being mean

Now hes emotionally attached to it

Rough day? Eric hangs with your cat

If your cats an outside one he’ll be so fucking scared sometimes

“What- what if your cat gets in a- uh- um- a fight?” Please reassure that your cat will be fine

Always gets lil toys or treats for your cat

Host

Host cant see your cat lol

He enjoys the cat fur tho

Unless its hairless then uh-

He definitely talks to your cat casually

“The Host asks how [Insert cat’s name]’s day has been?” “Meow!” “Well thats nice :)”

Emotionally attached to your cat now

Septiceye Egos

Anti

Hes an asshole to your cat

Would never hurt em or anything

Just bullies him

“Hey, Y/n! Look at this fatty!” * Anti holding up your cat*

Has beef with your cat for some reason??

“What’re you lookin’ at?”

Jameson

Cat person for sure

Cradles your cat

Gets lil toys for em

Literally the whole thing

“Looky here at this rascal!” *Pats your cats head*

Your cat will probably end up following him around alot

[sardonic-the-writer]

━"Manning The Mics"

━Tw: None

━Notes: I have delted this over five times on accident. If there's any typos- too bad so sad I'm never revisiting this. It took so long ;-;

━Song: "Why Am I Anxious" By Tom Cardy

"You know I have the power to fire you right."

Giggles filled with pure mirth came from (Y/n) as they tried not to double over, staring at their unamused boss, whom, was covered head to toe in sticky notes.

Their record for how many post-it notes they could place on one person had been 18. Had been.

Now it was a whopping 23.

As one could clearly tell if they took one look at the man in front of (Y/n).

You know, suprisingly, working at a studio downtown dedicated to airing a local t.v channel wasn't all that entertaining. Especially when someone like (Y/n)—who had mounds of untapped potential according to the company—was stuck wiping the dust off of camera lenses instead of putting their four years at college to use.

What's the use of going to school for a degree in sound design if they didn't even use it.

So they had to find a way to spice up their day to day routine. That didn't involve loitering around the snack table untill the day ended. (The coffee tasted like shit anyways.) What better way than slapping half a pad of post-its on your co-workers.

"If I didn't like you so much I would have kicked you out a long while ago."

(Y/n) paused their laughing fit to swipe dramatically at the corner of their eyes, pretending to wipe a tear away.

"Yeah. But you wouldn't want to get rid of 'one of the most talented workers you've seen in years'. Your words not mine." They clasped their hands together with an overdone grin, looking up at their (still) uninterested boss. He just grumbled at them in response.

Honestly Robert wasn't a bad supervisor. He never yelled at anyone, only tossing the occasional death glare when people needed to be reminded of things. Which was much appreciated concidering his sagging eyebags and sardonic demeanor made it seen like he would and could snap at the smallest thing.

He was pretty nice to (Y/n) anyways. Treated them like a hyper cousin. You know; the one you always saw getting yelled at by their mom at family gatherings because they put a whoopee cushion on someone's seat.

"Listen. I didnt call you in here to talk about, er, this." Robert plucked a blue sticky note off his temple, crumbling the material up into a ball and flicking it across the room.

It landed in the waste bin by his desk perfectly, making (Y/n) widen their eyes with an entertained smile. Robert didn't share their enthusiasm.

"I got an email from HQ this morning. One of the cast members saw you, ah 'performing by the water cooler' the other day so to speak, and wanted to meet you for something in building 2M today. As in, fifteen-minutes-from-right-now today."

(Y/n) saw a flash of remorse pass across his eyes. His tone was gentler now. The kind of gentle tone people use when they tell you your dog was just run over by a steam roller.

They felt their heart drop, face twisting into an unpleasant expression.

It had just been a bit of goofing off. Balancing a cherry on their nose before popping it in their mouth and tying the stem like a magician presenting their next trick—that kind of stuff. They didn't even know a cast member would be there. If so they would have used one of their sick days ahead of time. (Can you blame them. No one wants to be in the same room as their boss when their working.)

"Do you know who saw-"

"No. I don't know. I'm sorry (Y/n)." Robert's lips twitched down into a frown full of sympathy. He reached out to place a hesitant pat on their arm, the gesture holding a lot more meaning than anyone would think.

"If they try to fire you, quit before they can. That's business 101."

Well that certantly made them feel a lot better.

"Thanks. Want me to just hand in my resignation now or-?"

"Shut up (Y/n)." He rolled his eyes. But there was no annoyance behind it.

"You need to get going anyways. And-" He rubbed the back of his neck.

"-good luck."

"Just make sure my headstone looks nice and neat alright?"

"Fuck off."

Offices surrounded by glass should be illegal.

That's all that was going through (Y/n)'s brain as they walked through the winding hallways of headquarters. More specifically building M2.

They could see everything going on in the rooms due to those stupid glass walls, yet nothing at the same time. It was anxiety inducing.

But also what-the-fuck inducing.

A man with a cowboy hat, sunglasses, and atrocious mouth mullet was talking to a group of terrified looking people in one area while waving around what was, hopefully, a fake gun.

In the room next to him was a masked figure in a skin tight black body suit, posing like a superhero while resting their comically large hands by his hips. They almost looked to be roleplaying if anything.

The company didn't talk about this in the introduction video.

What room were they supposed to be in again? The lady at the front desk had said the one with the cream walls right? Or was it gray-

They let their feet lead them down a few more twists and turns while trying not to think about it too much. The contents in the rooms only got more bizarre as they went, albeit less and less people occupying them untill no one was left.

The journey only paused when a room on their right came up, big bold letters above it reading Conference Room.

Hey, that room looked cream colored enough.

(Y/n) pushed the glass door open, head popping in as they scanned the contents of the place. Just as their view from the outside suggested, no one was in there.

"Yeah. Okay. That's great. Invite me up here why don't you. Give me a heart attack why don't you. Make sure not to show up before me why don't you."

Their words were full of nerves, bones in their neck popping as they cracked it anxiously.

Who exactly was the cast again? They knew the general idea that surrounded all of them. The Big Men. The bosses. The people who ran this entire company in their free time.

Wispers about who exactly they were ran rampant on set some days. How one was a demon. The other was an insane pink Willy Wonka. Someone even had a thoery that they were all just fragments of one mans mind, which was met with as many eyerolls and scoffs as one would think.

Honestly (Y/n) had never paid much attention to any of the theories. They were never gonna meet the guys in charge anyways, so why bother? They'd much rather spend their time getting their job done quickly so they could spend the rest of their shift goofing off.

But now, walking around the oval shaped table and eyeing the place skeptically, they wish they had listened in to those conversations.

"Ah! Wonderful! We were wondering when you would show up sugarplum!"

(Y/n) nearly jumped three feet in the air, whirling around to the source of their sudden spike in heart rate.

Right where seconds ago no one had been sitting were six individual men surrounding the brown table.

Everyone looked the same. But different. It was a wonder how they had never really seen any of them before, despite working on set and them being the 'main cast'.

They all were staring straight at (Y/n), who swore their face lost all color at the attention.

Each one was dressed in different attire, ranging vastly from suits to hospital scrubs. A couple of them even looked to be glitching. Or was that buffering? They couldn't tell.

"Well come on! Sit down sit down. There's a chair right next to Bim and Hosty right there!"

Their eyes flickered to the enthusiastic man with messy brown hair, his voice slurred as if he'd been drinking. A pink tinted mustache moved with his words, which they couldn't help but stare at for a moment.

Nonetheless they listened, walking over to the chair he spoke of and slowly sitting down. If they hadnt felt small enough being stared at by six separate pairs of eyes, they certantly did now.

The one—Hosty he had been called?—on their left was a man in a light brown trench coat. He was rather handsome looking, albeit solom. He had a bandage around his head, weaving through his dark tresses and covering his vision. There looked to be dried blood stains where his eyes were, causing them to wonder how he could even see them.

"The Host thinks it's rude to stare."

(Y/n) quickly looked away at their words, choosing instead to eye the other man beside their seat.

Not like they had much of a chance to before a hand was shoved in their face.

"HI! Bim here. Bim Trimmer. Extrodinare in everything! That's Bim Trimmer. B-I-M, T-"

"Alright that's enough Bim. You're startling them." Someone said with a sigh.

The hand pointing straight inbetween the area of their eyes slowly reclined, Bims smile still ever present—if a bit forced now.

Who the absolute hell were these people.

"Wilford, why exactly are we all here?"

"Ah, yes. That!"

(Y/n)s eyes furrowed in the slightest, shifting in their seat as they watched the smiling man shuffle around for some papers. His tounge would come out and lick his lips occasionally and they tried not to acknowledge Wilfords little wink when he noticed them looking.

He then slammed a file decorated with stickers down on the table, patting it gently as if he didn't just completely demolish it against the furnitures surface.

"(Y/n) (L/n)! Works in building 4A, mic check crew. Born in Nevada, moved to Ohio to pursue their career in sound design! An adventurous little thing."

"We know Wilford. I recal reading the report on their interview. A very interesting one." A very monotone voice said, before screaming.

(Y/n)s eyes widened as a red and blue verson of the person across from them split in the air, howling. They looked to be in the worst pain imaginable. It was enough to make (Y/n) forget about the mention of their rather embarassing interview. (Let's just say the janitor had to stay overnight that day)

And then the figures were gone.

"Host notices (Y/n) jump. He wishes tell them that they were not imagining that. It is simply Dark becoming a bit aggitated."

Alright. So that made no sense. Perfect.

How to deal with this. Avoid eye contact? No they were already doing that. Music? Earbuds were in the car damnit. Oh-

Humor.

"So, is this gonna be done by my lunch break, because I have some tofu in the fridge I really can't let sit too long. Last time that happened I had to quarantine for a few months and oh boy-"

Their words faded the more they talked, nerves increasing by the moment.

Alright so no jokes. Tough crowd.

"Are you going to fire me? Becuase if so I quit first."

That made Wiford let out a hearty laugh, a few others joining in with small chuckled. Even the monochrome ones lips tilted up slightly, his expression having been stony untill now.

"Fire you? Why of course not! On the contrary sugar! Here, have some candy."

Before (Y/n) could say anything in retaliation a lollipop was shoved forcefully in their mouth. They gagged on it slightly, muffling out a 'hey!' as the sweet flavor coated their tounge.

Wilford just winked.

Host quietly narrated their flushed face with a slight tilt of his head.

They worked the treat around with their tounge, successfully muted as Wilford continued to go on a rant, pacing around the room and its inhabitants. Tossing out reasons why he had called them all up here with the occasional off topic discussion.

"-ut (Y/n) we were wondering if you'd like to come work in our building! On Warfstashe Tonight to be specific." He finally finished, filling with his suspenders and leaning down to look them in the eye with half closed lids.

He was so close, they could have stuck him in the eye with the end of their lollipop stick—and honestly was thinking about it just to see what would happen. So thank god for Host.

"The Host feels a bit neglected when Wilford fails to mention his podcast."

"Yeah, what The Host said. I'm Bim Trimmer! The Bim Trimmer! I need a mic guy too for my show about me! Bim!"

"They could help me with my diagnosis'. It's always more fun to tell people that their dying with an audience."

"I-I have no-o use f-for a us-seless huma-an."

Fuck you too blue shirt guy.

"Settle now." The dark man said again. Wait, dark? Dark.

(Y/n) thought someone had called him that. Strange name. However, it fit them.

"Wilford I recommend you stop playing with this poor human and get on with it. We can all figure out a schedule later. We've already confused them enough."

"You're no fun Darky." Wilford pouted, snatching the lollipop right out of (Y/n)'s mouth and placing it in his own. He sighed as he walked away, licking it at his leisure.

They blinked at the unsanitary action.

"But fiiiiine. Meeting dismissed. That means you too bubblegum. I can escort you out to your car if you'd like."

The pinkette was smiling at them innocently while twirling the spit coated treat around in his hand. But with the way Wilford looked them up and down they felt like he wanted to do more than just escort them to their car.

By now most of the other members at the table had gotten up to leave, shuffling around and making small talk amongst themselves. Not many spared an extra glance at (Y/n). Which they were thankful for. Their head was already spinning a little.

"Uh, no thanks Wilford. I'll just go back to my erm, building now." They declined his offer as politely as possible.

"You have some important tofu waiting for you if I'm not mistaken." Dark smoothed down his suit as he stood up, red and blue iris' boring into (Y/n)s own as he spoke. They had forgotten he was even there, which unnerved them a little. Silent guy.

"Uh, yes. Yes. That's it. Mhm yes totally. Tofu. I'll go get that and then I'll just- see what's left to do around here." (Y/n) stuffed their hands into their pockets, already starting to inch towards the door stiffly.

Wilford whined once or twice. But the glass door slammed in his face before any real words could make it out of his mouth, (Y/n)s pace increasing as they sped walked away with eyes as big as dinner plates.

They mentally thanked Dark for an opportunity out of there. They had never had trouble socializing in any sort of way, but in that room being offered so many promotions—could they even be called promotions if you're just thrust into the job—it felt more like they were being cooed and ogled at by a bunch of higher beings. Mainly Wilford.

But- whatever. They would do their research. The deranged Willy Wonka theory didn't seem too crazy anymore.

For now though–

–they were really craving a lollipop.

[mothgodofchaos]

*Climbs up the wall with suction cups on my hands and knocks on the window.*

May I see more headcanons of the Host'n'Author Angel and Devil boys? Perhaps something with love languages and all the little ways they show their affection?

Love languages, can do.

Angel!Host:

Touching, constantly touching

The man is blind, he needs to know where you are

Technically he has whatever god is giving him guidance to do that, but he's not going to say that

Holding your hand as a constant reminder of your presence is very comforting to him

Demon!Author:

Words, compliments, catcalling, you name it

He will speak his mind, and he is not afraid to say some unholy things about you

This of course flusters his brother, who is used to narrating everything, and doesn't exactly want to start narrating his thoughts either

He's a little shit, but he's going to say in every way possible how much you mean to him and how attractive he finds you

[peachyloveswriting]

Smol request for Damien and The Host {Seperate} Reader asking for comfort due to the anniversary of a loved one kinda sneaking up on them and they just aren't prepared mentally on the day? (fanfic/imagines or headcanons. up to you.)

ANNIVERSARY FOR DEATH --- (Host & Damien x reader)

SUMMARY: while visiting an old friend you realize that today is you sister's birthday, thing is, she passed away a few years ago and this year it hits you hard. But Damien is here to comfort you.

While at home cleaning the kitchen your phone buzzes with a reminder of your father's recent passing. Unexpected, you break down into tears. Host appears to help you.

CONTENT: angst, mentioned death, grief, soft Damien, Wilford content, host is baby, he protecc

TAGLIST: @batty-the-red-koolaid-man @abbzzzzz @dragonangel201 @crustydustycowboi @crazy-obsessed-enby

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

DAMIEN --- hurt/comfort

Today you're visiting the Iplier Manor. It's not a special occasion, just a simple visit to see Damien. It's been a while since you last saw him and you owed him a visit.

Walking up to the door you grab the handle and push it open. Thankfully you don't need to knock anymore. Everyone's known you for so long that they know when it's you coming in. Wilford is the first to greet you.

"It's about time you came to see us." He says as he twirls in front of your path. He's not wearing the bright pink wig he likes to wear on occasion, his hair is just combed gently in the top of his head while he's dressed in his shiny pink shirt.

You smile kindly and shut the door behind you. "I know it's been awhile. I've been busy and all." You explain as you begin to press further into the house with Wilford right on your trail. As you climb up the stairs Wilford speaks behind you.

"You're going to see him again aren't you?" Pausing on the steps you turn to look at him. There's a twinkle in his eyes as he smiles up at you.

"Yes. Is that so wrong?" You retort.

Wilford shakes his head. "No. Not at all. You just spend a lot of time with him."

You turn and shrug him off. "I'll hang out with you soon Will. I swear by it." He watches as you make your way down the hall before disappearing from sight. Reaching Damien's door and lifting you hand to knock you hear him call out.

"Come in dear. You know you don't have to knock." He says. Damien does this a lot. He knows what you're about to do or what you think without even realizing it. It's like a strange sense he has. You've come to enjoy it over the time you've known one another.

Grasping the door handle and twisting, you push the door open to reveal Damien sitting in the chair beside the window. His jet black hair is slicked back as usual and his suit is ironed out across his body. He sits with his hand under his chin and his eyes looking out over the mansion grounds. He seems contemplative.

"Hey." You hum as you walk over to his bed, closest to where he sits.

As you settle he finally looks over at you, his dark brown eyes softening as he smiles. "Hello dear." He purrs. It's a nickname you very quickly adopted a few months ago. All the Ego's have their own names for you but his is the most significant. "How have you been keeping?" He asks.

As you open your mouth to speak your phone buzzes against your leg. The alarm starts playing and you hastily fish it out of your pocket.

"I'm sorry." You mumble as you flip the screen over to read the words at the top of your screen. Watching you carefully, Damien notices your face falls as you dismiss it. He quirks a brow, curious, but stays quiet.

"I was fine." You finally say as you toss your phone down beside you. It was a reminder for your sister's birthday. She would have been eighteen today. Raising your hands to you face, you wide at your now wet eyes.

"I'm sorry, I just realized it's my sister's birthday today." You tell Damien. He leans forward with his elbows now resting on his knees.

"Why be upset about it?" His words only hurt you more, with the tears beginning to slip down your face. He doesn't know about it, you never said anything. Now just so happened to be the wrong time.

"She's not exactly...here." Looking up at him through blurry eyes you sniffle. "She passed away a few years ago."

The curiosity in Damien eyes fades and he frowns, sadness swirls in his eyes. Lifting his hand he reaches out to rest it on your knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Oh. Love. I'm so sorry." Standing from his chair Damien quickly settles next to you on the bed and pulls you into a hug. His hands rub your back to soothe you as your cry into his shoulder.

"Sh...it's okay. I'm here." He whispers as he moves a hand up to the back of your head, this thumb gently rubbing back and forth.

Pulling back with soaked cheeks and a red nose you look down to see a wet spot on his suit. Reaching for it you swipe at it with you hand. "I messed up your suit." You say shakily. Damien looks down to observe it before smiling sweetly.

"No worries, I have others. You can use is as a tissue for all I care. What ever makes you feel better."

Wiping the tears from your eyes you let out a small laugh. "I'm not going to blow my nose in it."

Damien rests his hands on your shoulders. "I know. But I'm getting my point across. Aren't I?"

You nod before pulling him into another hug. "I'm going to have to go buy her flowers and visit her soon. Can you come with me?" You ask.

Pulling back again, you sniffle. He nods softly, his hands grabbing yours. "Of course dear."

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

HOST --- hurt/comfort

Music plays from your TV as you move around the kitchen, wiping off counters and placing dirty dishes in the sink to be washed later. As you do this your phone begins to go off from it's spot in the livingroom. Confused, you make your way over to check the lit up screen.

As you come closer you can see that it's an alarm buzzing your phone. The words on the screen reads very clearly: 1 YEAR SINCE DAD PASSED.

Picking the phone up you stare at the screen your eyes burning as tears begin to well. Taking in a breath to keep composure, you crumble. Your tears spill over as ugly sobs leave your mouth, the thought of not even being able to say goodbye hits you hard and you hobble your way into the couch. As you reach it and shakily dismiss the alarm, you curl into yourself; your knees against your chest and your arms holding them tight.

At a really young age you mother divorced you father, custody battles were fought and eventually he won. Soon after he married your step mother, Miranda. She was sweet when he was around but she despised you for not being her own. Though she never treated you unjustly. After you moved out, she made everyone on your dad's side of the family cut contact with you, no one helped, called, or visited. Except for your dad.

He called you every night, sent you flowers on your birthday, and wrote you letters on the holidays. He was the only man you could love more than your boyfriend: Host. Now he was gone, passed away from stage four brain cancer.

It's all you can do to stop yourself from screaming. Screaming until your voice gives out.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

At the Iplier Manor.

Strolling down the up stairs hallway towards the stairs, Wilford begins to hear a shout from the small library downstairs. Curious, he stalks down the steps. As he does the voice calling throughout becomes clearer. Someone's calling his name and they sound distressed.

Jogging at a light pace he pushes the door to the library open to find host hurrying towards him.

"Take me to her." He begs.

Wilford is confused. Host is babbling incoherently under his breath as he reaches out for him, his hand grasping his shirt sleeve. "Take you to who exactly?" Wilford asks.

Host mumbles under his breath before he finally speaks coherently again. "Y/n." He says. "Take me to her. Wilford's foggy mind clears once he realizes who the Host is talking about. He wonders why." His furious narration worries Wilford who gives in to the Host's request.

⸝⸝⸝⸝⸝

Minutes have passed yet nothing has eased your mind, the tears just keep coming. Every thought of him the crosses your mind sends you into a babbling mess. Knowing you're alone makes this worse, just the thought alone making you realize just how much of a sob story you really are.

Lowering you head and covering your eyes you sob into your hands. Suddenly, hurried footsteps pull you from yourself. Looking up you're tacked into a hug. Wilford frowns from where he stands in your kitchen before disappearing from sight. Mumbling in your ear is the familiar voice of Host. Precariously he sits beside you, holding you against his chest and you cry.

The hand on your back holds you in place while his other holds your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your cold knuckles.

His narration continues on above you as he comforts you. Not once does he offer words of reassurance or words of anything other than his slowing narration.

Turning your head to the side you gaze at his hand holding yours and sniffle. There's no need to ask Host how he knew you were upset, you already understood that. Hence why he didn't need to say anything to you once he arrived.

Taking a deep, Shakey breath you pull away from his grasp. Looking up at him you squeeze his hand. "She wants to say thank you but Host already knows this. He wishes to caress her face."

Smiling lightly, you lift his hand to your cheek. He's gentle as he wipes away your tears.

"I am sorry I was not here sooner my Love." He says. Leaning into his touch you close your eyes.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to make you rush. I would have been okay eventually. I'm just glad you're here now." Reopening your eyes you spot a glimmer of red falling from the fabric over his eyes. Frowning, you rub the blood away with your hand.

"You're bleeding again."

He sighs. "Worry about that later. Let's go buy him flowers."

ENDING NOTE ---

Honestly you can tell who my favorite is but I head cannon that Host talks two different ways depending on what's happening. Sometimes he'll talk in third person and others he'll talk normally, I love that idea.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

It's me again, could you do the ilper egos (dark,host,heist,Wilford, Illinois,king and Google) with reader who is an forgotten exe (almost similar to sonic.exe) that has Imortality(along with other powers of your choosing) and can transfer from game to game and computer to console?

Dark

“So many souls, so little time~” You mock Sonic.EXE as you look within this entity’s collection of souls.

Unfortunately they’re far too broken for you to take. 

Dark was powerful enough to manipulate the technology you inhabited, able to turn off the game/computer or cover the screen in static to get you to shut up.

Though you just appear through the static and laugh.

You love taunting him and glitching to another device or console if he tries ignoring you

You remind him so much of Anti and it pisses him off.

Host

You can’t take his soul since he sold it long ago to be brought back to life.

Apparently his dealer “cheated” and took his eyesight too.

You almost pitied this man. Such a sad life he had..

Not to mention his sockets were cursed to forever bleed rivers of red, much like that demonic hedgehog.

Although he can’t see what you look like, he knows a lot about you and can sense where you are thanks to feeling static in the air.

So scaring him never usually succeeds.

Heist

He’s already a shapeshifter in a way (ie the Where in the World is Markiplier segment of ISWM 2).

So he declines your offer, which would’ve helped him create perfect disguises and given him the ability to impersonate people down to a T.

“Nah, I’d rather keep my soul thank you very much.”

“Well..you didn’t wanna be found by the authorities, right? I can make you disappear..or make them disappear instead so you can continue your thefts in peace.”

Despite your temptations, he refuses every time.

Wilford

As a “configuration of being”, of course he had to interview you!

“Sooooo you’re like one of those Sonic.EXEs Markimoo used to play back in the day??”

“First off, don’t compare me to that shmuck of a hedgehog or any of his copycats.”

“Ooh, touchy subject, huh? Now where has this bitter rivalry come from?”

“Ever since he made a name for himself on the Internet. Now he’s got an entire cult helping him gather souls! Meanwhile I’m left to rot and gotta settle with whatever souls he hasn’t already claimed.”

Wilford realized he just unlocked some lore(tm) and asks you about it further, becoming more and more fascinated.

You’ve seen his soul and...honestly you don’t want it. It’s too chaotic.

Besides he might “politely” stab you for trying to take it.

Illinois

Most likely did something to piss off the Cult of X (let’s say in this case they view you as a “lesser god”), like stealing one of their relics or old 90s gaming consoles you inhabited.

He accidentally freed you and you attempt to take his soul. But this dumb himbo is like “is my soul the only thing you’re after~?”

His lack of fear confuses you.

You try making him play the game you corrupted in an attempt to drive him mad, but he’s lost.

“How do I move,,can I jump here?? Sorry I never grew up with these video games.”

You move on, finding him boring now.

‘How can humans be so stupid..yet so handsome?’

King

Was probably messing with one of the younger egos’ gaming consoles and you appeared to him.

He almost runs out of the room, but then you make an offer to him.

“We’ve both been..forgotten, haven’t we? Don’t you miss the days where everybody loved you?”

“..I-I mean...yeah?” He slowly turns back around, interested. “But I still have my subjects-”

“I mean the human fans..the very ones that gave you life. Now they see you as a joke, a “running gag” on the channel. But what if I could make them all bow down to you again? All I ask is for one thing in return-”

However he doesn’t get to hear that part as the ego walks in and snaps at him for using their game and he skitters off.

Damn.

Google

You, seeing this glitchy outdated android: "It's free real estate".

He’s seemingly a perfect vessel for contacting humans with. So you take control of him for a while.

Unfortunately it’s not an easy transfer as his eyes immediately bleed oil everywhere and the security software eventually kicks you out.

Of course, since he contains no soul you find no point in being around him.

But from time to time you’ll slow down any updates he has or use Bing as a vessel to mess with him.

You annoy him a lot by hacking his computers, jumping from one device to another to impede his work.

[leighsartworks216]

Please Stay

The Host x gn!reader

Requested by @captain-wordy-and-nerdy:

“Hello lovely human. Might I request #2 and #26 from the Hurt/Comfort list with The Host (Markiplier) with a nonbinary reader?”

2. “If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars.”

26. “Please stay. I’d like some company.”

I went with the universe where all the egos stay in a manor because I love that idea that they all just hang out and Dark has to put up with everyone's bs so they can take over the channel. I also went with a theory I saw for how the Author lost his eyes to become the Host that said he removed his own eyes but I didn't go into it, I just sort of implied it

Warnings: hurt/comfort, lots of blood, wound descriptions, implied self-h*rm, awkwardness, just sorta the beginning stages of a crush so its really cute lol

Word Count: 1865

Masterlist

The Host didn’t particularly enjoy company. When someone was nearby, he got a scratch at the back of his mind. His fingers would itch to type out the story his brain would concoct. His mind would always flash back to that dark room he was abandoned in during these times. To when he lost control of himself and took control of others. So, for fear of hurting one of the other egos or guests, he kept to himself.

The only people he did interact with, through necessity more often than not, were Darkiplier - who often had to demand he attend meetings with the others - and the good Doctor Iplier. Though, he only allowed the doctor to help him when the Host couldn’t help himself.

Today, he could not help himself.

He woke up frantically describing everything around him, biting his tongue when he felt the names of others on his lips. He would rather not drag anybody else into this. Instead, he locked himself up in his room - a bare space with a desk and its own chair, a typewriter, a waste bin, and an armchair. A few of his old best sellers sat unacknowledged in the corner. The good Doctor, his only source of help in this tormented state, was out, doing god knows what. If he let his mind wander, he could almost feel where the ego was - but he elected not to think on the topic too long.

His plan worked, for the most part. Nobody truly ever sought out the Host unless there was a meeting or another urgent matter to attend to. That is, until, a guest to the Manor began knocking on his door.

For the last few weeks, Wilford had been bringing along a new intern. The Host was unaware of this fact until he entered the kitchen one late night for a glass of water and narrated your presence. Since then, you hadn’t shied away from him, but you also hadn’t actively sought him out.

More often than not, the two of you would simply happen upon each other. You would be taking a break from Wilford’s antics, catching your breath from following the interviewer everywhere, and find yourself in a secluded corner of the Manor or the surrounding grounds where the Host liked to hide. Or he would be dragged into another meeting and find himself narrating your presence next to Wilford, anxiously making sure he didn’t pull his gun when the egos inevitably refused another one of his wild ideas. Neither of you spoke much to each other, simply existing in each other’s presence comfortably.

Knock knock knock.

“Host? I didn’t see you at lunch.” His mouth narrated your thoughts that he hadn’t been at dinner either before you had a chance to say it. He bit his tongue to shut himself up from saying anything more. “And you weren’t at dinner. I just wanted to check if you were alright.”

Fine, he wanted to say. You had a very kind nature, and the egos all enjoyed your presence. He didn’t wish to upset you and get on everyone else’s bad side. But, his mind couldn’t just will his mouth to shut up.

“The Host is struggling with his narrative abilities today. He asks that Y/N not come in or worry.”

It was quiet outside the door. He could feel your thoughts on his tongue, prodding at his mind. He could feel your worry through the door.

He sighed.

“The Host crosses the room and opens the door. Y/N is just outside. They look concerned,” he narrated. He tilted his head, brows furrowing over his blindfold. “‘Concerned’?” It was an adjective he hadn’t been expecting.

“Host, you’re bleeding.”

He didn’t have time to process your statement before you were making your way into his room. He could hear you opening drawers at his desk, looking for the emergency medical kit each room was equipped with. (Orders from the Doctor, of course.) Sure enough, when he reached up and touched his blindfold, it was soaked through. The warm, stickiness of blood latched onto his fingers.

He heard your command in his head before you said it out loud. Sit down. He shut the door, making his way to one of the armchairs.

“Sit down, Host.” You had the kit open on his desk by his typewriter, grabbing bandages and gauze. When you turned to the armchair, he was already sitting in it. His hands were set on his thighs and he was seemingly looking forward at the wall.

“The Host can take care of himself.”

You scoffed, almost offended by his remark. “I’m sure you can, but does it really hurt to let someone else help you?”

He tilted his head, covered eyes pointed toward the wall behind you. Despite your insistence on helping him, you still had not approached the chair he sat in. You were waiting for approval.

“The Host gives Y/N permission to help.” He couldn’t shut his mouth fast enough before he was narrating, “At the Host’s approval, Y/N smiles. They step forward with determination and-” He shut his mouth with a great effort, teeth grit together. “He apologizes for his narration. He does not wish to take away Y/N’s sense of free will on accident in this state.”

You knew very little about the Host, to be honest. Wilford had brushed off your concerns when you asked about him, offhandedly remarking that the ego was an author and liked to be alone. The Host was always reclusive and isolated, and no one seemed to worry much for him. If anything, Dark seemed the most concerned when the Host was late to meetings or hiding all day, but he never showed it. The most he did to combat his worries was to send you in his place to ask after the ego. After all, if something was happening, Dark had to be in the know.

You pushed your rampant thoughts of the ego aside and focused on the matter at hand. Setting the gauze and bandages on the arm of the chair, you hesitated to remove his blindfold, even after he gave his permission. Perhaps sensing your uncertainty, he leaned his head forward in your direction. This gave you plenty of room to untie the cloth.

You hadn’t expected what awaited you underneath. His eyes were, well, missing. Scars of what appeared to be scratch marks littered the area around his sockets. The empty sockets stared from behind his eyelids; gaping wounds, oozing blood like tears.

“How did this happen?” you found yourself asking before your mind had time to catch up with your mouth. “I mean- You don’t have to tell me. It’s just… Doesn’t it hurt?”

The Host had to think on that question for a moment. Did it hurt? Could he even feel the pain anymore? As you began to tenderly dab at his eyes - or lack thereof - with the gauze, he hummed. “He does not know. The Host has adjusted to living like this for so long, he does not register the pain as any more than a dull throbbing.”

The way you so carefully wiped blood off his cheeks, away from the creases and folds of his eyelids, had his shoulders relaxing. Doctor Iplier was never this gentle. When he cleaned his wounds, he was rough and mechanical in the way only a doctor could be, spouting medical nonsense as he did so.

Instead, your softness had his head tilting back to allow you better access to his wounds, and more than once he had to force his eyelids from falling closed in relaxation. They shot open to stare at nothing when he felt the unmistakable touch of fingertips brushing along the scars around his eyes.

“If I could, I would kiss away all of your scars,” you whispered, soft as a mouse.

He wasn’t even sure if you were aware of your statement. But there you lingered, tracing his marred skin. It was only once your fingers brushed too close to his sockets that he flinched, and you pulled back, startled out of your revelry.

You stammered out apologies as you grabbed the bandages from the arm of the chair and began bandaging his eyes. He almost missed the feeling of your fingers on his old wounds.

“There,” you breathed out a moment later, stepping away as though being too close to him would burn you. “All done. The bleeding seems to have stopped, so, that’s good.”

He hadn’t even noticed. His mind, the voice that creeped out of the deepest wrinkles of his brain, was quiet. He no longer felt his vocal chords lurching out commentary and commands, nor did he feel the need to.

“The Host thanks Y/N for their help.”

You chuckled lightly, awkwardly. You didn’t wish to admit that you had enjoyed the experience perhaps more than you should have. After all, he had been bleeding and struggling with whatever abilities he possessed when you got here. It felt wrong to enjoy him at his most vulnerable.

“Yeah, of course, anytime.” You gathered the used up gauze and what was left unused of the roll of bandages, busying yourself cleaning up and putting everything away in the kit. “I mean, not anytime, because I’m sure it’s not a great experience for you, but, like, anytime you need help I’d be happy to.”

He hummed, but said nothing. For once, he did not feel the need to fill the silence in the slightest.

“Uhm, your blindfold is kinda…”

“The Host asks them not to worry on his behalf. He has plenty of extras due to situations like this.”

You nodded, but realized quickly he couldn’t see it. “Okay. I’ll just… throw it out then.”

He listened as you moved around his desk. The crinkle of the plastic trash bag as you threw away everything bloody told him that you were on the side of his desk furthest from the armchair he sat in.

You stood awkwardly by the desk for a moment afterwards. “I should go.” You didn’t know what else to say to leave him here in the safety of his barren room. And the Host did not seem to make any arguments as he followed your footsteps making their way toward the door.

He sensed your hand touch the knob, heard it from the voice deep inside his brain, and felt his heart lurch at the same time. “Please stay,” he suddenly called out. His heart hammered anxiously against his chest. He cursed himself for succumbing to his lonely desires, but he had never been treated so softly before. “The Host would like some company.”

His mind suddenly felt quite loud once again as he waited for any response. His head tilted and turned to try to hear better, understand what was going on around him better. He stilled when he heard footsteps approaching once again. The unmistakable sound of his chair being pulled out from under the desk sounded next, along with the creaking of wood as you sat down in it.

“Okay.” His anxiety faded once more at your gentle presence. “I’ll stay.”

--

This was also my first time ever writing for the Host so I hope it was okay and I hope you enjoyed it!!

[westanthewaterman]

What You Need - Host x F!Reader

Rating: NSFW

Word count: 2600+

TW: orgasm delay/denial, Host using his powers on you

Summary: “The Host will not give you what you want, little songbird, but he will give you what you need.”

Request:‘Okay, since I saw this mentioned earlier I gotta request a dom!Host and GN/F!Reader 😅 I’d love to see your take on his narration powers!’

Notes: Ended up using an old drabble as a basis for this :) Hope you like it!

MASTERLIST - AO3 - ORIGINAL DRABBLE

The Host is an odd person, you’ve come to realize. Well, you think maybe you’ve known that since the day the two of you met and your observation has just continued to be proven true every time you interact with him, despite how infrequent that is. 

Host spends most of his time either tending to the plants in the garden or locked away in his studio. What he does in there, you’re unsure. The Jim twins had told you it was where he went to ‘ practice dark magic, the likes of which no Jim has ever seen before’ , but when you’d asked Dark about that, the entity had simply rolled his eyes. 

You were curious and for no other reason than for the sake of curiosity.

Absolutely no other reason. Nope. 

So maybe Host’s quiet, brooding nature caught your attention the moment you met. Maybe his tenderness towards Eric makes your heart skip a beat. And who’s to say if your dreams have been taunting you with desires you can’t even admit to yourself?

It’s simple curiosity, nothing more. 

You want to know what he does in his studio all day. You want to know more about him. 

You want him.

It’s late, easily past ten o’clock, you should be in bed, fast asleep. And you were, before the dreams had started up again, teasing you with glimpses of strong hands and bare skin that made your body feel hot. You’d decided, once you’d woken up, that enough was enough.

This is why you find yourself standing at the door to his studio. You’re not sure what’s on the other side, but you know it will answer all your questions, or, at least, you hope it will. 

Your knock is soft, barely breaking the silence that surrounds you in the hallway. A few moments go by with no answer so you knock again, this time a little louder. When you, again, get no response, you lean forward to press your ear to the door. However, it slips open and you tumble forward, barely managing to catch yourself before you fall. 

The first thing you notice is that it’s pitch black and you fumble blindly for a light switch. When you find one, you flick it on only to find that nothing happens. 

“Well,” you mumble to yourself, “I suppose he doesn’t really need lights anyway.”

As you make your way further into the room, your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and you take some time to survey your surroundings. The room is bigger than you thought it would be. A large desk, covered in radios and a microphone, sits on one side of the room, a plush-looking couch and chair on the other. There’s a record player in the corner, old but obviously well kept. Next to the desk is a large bookshelf packed full of records and vinyls. 

You want to feel guilty for coming into Host’s space uninvited, and part of you does, but mostly you’re just eager to finally figure out what he does all day. That is until you hear a floorboard creak behind you. 

Spinning around, you find yourself face to face with Host. He’s a tall man, easily towering over you, with broad shoulders. He has dark hair with a streak of blond swept back from his forehead. The thick blindfold wrapped around his head covers much of his face, and the bandages are stained a light pink color over his eyes. 

Host is speaking quietly, so quiet you can’t quite make out what he’s saying. You know he’s narrating, using his powers as a substitute for his missing sight. You’ve never heard him do it before, but then again, you’ve never been this close to him. 

“H-Host, I’m so sorry. I was looking for you and the door came open.”

Instead of responding, he begins to circle you slowly, arms tucked behind his back as he continues to mumble to himself. You feel yourself growing more on edge by the second, and you’re sure this whole thing was one terrible idea. 

“Host?”

He stops behind you, leaning down close enough for you to feel his breath on your ear. “The Host wonders what you are doing here.”

“I already told you.”

“The Host is aware of the lie you have told yourself to come here. He wants to know your true intentions.”

Your breath catches in your throat, but you shake your head. “I, um…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The Host can tell when you are lying. There is no point in being dishonest, little songbird.”

The nickname makes your heart skip a beat and heat rush to your face. Despite your limited knowledge of Host’s powers, you’re sure he knows the truth of why you’re really here. You lick your lips and attempt to turn towards him but a hand on your arm keeps you in place. 

“The Host does know. He wants to hear you say it.”

“I-I can’t.”

He takes a step towards you, pressing his chest to your back. His hands grab your arms in a firm but gentle grip. Host presses his lips to your ear and you can feel the wicked smirk on his face. 

“If you will not tell the Host what he wishes to hear, the Host can always make you.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t he?” He ghosts his lips from your ear and down the side of your neck, hovering them over the spot where your pulse is hammering beneath your skin. “The Host knows what you want, but he will not give it to you until you do as he has asked. Tell the Host why you are here.”

“I want you.” You whisper.

It’s quiet for a moment and you wonder if maybe he hadn’t heard you until a pair of soft lips begin pressing featherlight kisses to your neck. 

Host wraps his arms around your waist, “Go on.”

“I can’t stop thinking about you, Host. All day you’re in my thoughts and then I go to sleep and you’re in my dreams. I can’t get you out of my head.”

“The Host assures the feeling is mutual. The thought of you has kept him up many a night, thinking about this, about what he wanted to do to you when this moment finally came.”

He presses his hips flush against yours and you can feel how hard he already is. You moan and try once again to turn around but the arms around your waist keep you in place. 

“There’s no need to move. The Host has you right where he wants you.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“The Host is going to give you what you need.” He returns his attention to your neck, sucking marks into your soft skin. “You must forgive the Host’s impatience, he has been waiting for this moment.”

“What do you-”

His voice drops down a few octaves and you have to strain to hear what he speaks against your shoulder. “The Host presses kisses to her shoulder, holding her steady in his arms. Suddenly her clothes are gone, folded neatly on the chair in the corner of the room. She shivers, looking down in surprise.”

In time with his words, there is suddenly a chill running up your spine and you look down to see that your clothes are truly gone.

“Host!” You squeak, trying to cover yourself but he grabs your hands and returns them to your sides. 

You can feel him smiling against your skin as his hands move over your body, touching every inch of skin he can reach. Host cups your breasts in his palms, running his thumbs over your nipples, forcing a moan from your lips. 

“So responsive for the Host.”

His hands continue downwards, one hand rubbing circles over your stomach while the other slips between your legs. Two of his fingers slide through your folds, stopping to rub circles over your clit, making your hips buck up into his hand. 

“Host,” You moan, digging your nails into his arm 

“Stay still now. The Host will take care of you.”

As he continues to rub circles over your clit, Host moves his other hand further down. He pushes a finger inside you, groaning low in his throat at the way you tighten around him. He curls his finger, finding just the right spot to force another moan from you. 

“That’s it, little songbird. Sing for the Host.”

And you do. You whimper as he presses a second finger inside you, reaching behind you to tangle into his hair. Tugging on it makes him groan and the sound of it sends a shiver down your spine. 

“Host, please, I can’t wait anymore. I need you.”

“You already have the Host. You must be more specific.”

You can feel the way he smirks against the side of your neck and you want so desperately to turn the tables and wipe it off his face, but you can’t seem to focus with the way pleasure has begun to fog your mind. 

“Please, please, I need you to fuck me.”

“Good girl.”

Host pulls his fingers from you, making you whine at the feeling of emptiness. He takes your hand, intertwining your fingers, and guides you to the couch. He sits down first and pulls you down to straddle his lap. Your body flushes with heat at the realization that you’re completely naked while he is fully clothed. 

Quickly, you push the trench coat off his shoulders and undo the buttons on his shirt until you can pull it open and run your palms over the pale skin of his chest. 

“You’re beautiful.” You whisper, leaning down to press a kiss to his collarbones. 

For the first time, Host seems to lose his composure. A light blush colors his cheeks and he fumbles for a response, instead pulling you towards him. He captures your lips in a kiss, one of his hands cupping the back of your neck while the other slides down your back and to your ass, squeezing it in his hands. 

“Host,” you giggle against his mouth, slipping your hands down between you to undo his belt. 

“The Host also thinks you are beautiful. He has been waiting a long time for this moment, to have you like this.”

“You mean since we met?”

“Longer. The Host has seen this, seen you, long before you came into his life. He has been waiting for you.”

Tears sting the corners of your eyes suddenly and you duck your face into the crook of his neck to hide your smile. He peppers kisses over your shoulders, stopping to scrape his teeth over a mark he’d left earlier, making you keen softly. 

You return to the task at hand, undoing his pants and pulling out his cock. He’s hot and heavy in your hand and you waste no time, wrapping your fingers around him and pumping up and down his shaft. The groan he lets out sends jolts of electricity spiking through your body and a heat settles low in your stomach. 

Host reaches down to rub over your clit in fast circles, licking his lips at how wet you are already. 

“Will you let the Host have you?” He whispers in your ear.

You nod frantically, “Please Host, I’m so ready.”

“Good.”

He nudges your hand away from his cock, wrapping his own around himself and guiding the head to your entrance. You lower down onto him slowly, the feeling of him stretching you open making both of you moan. 

You sink down until your hips are flush with his, stilling to give yourself time to adjust to the feeling of being so full. Host runs a hand through your hair and kisses along your neck, whispering praises as you relax.

“You feel so good around the Host, little songbird. He cannot wait to feel you cum on his cock.”

A whine tears itself from your throat at his dirty words and you clench around him.

“Host,” you gasp. 

“Do you like hearing the Host speak?

You nod frantically, trying to roll your hips down against him but he takes them in his hands, keeping you still. Host noses along the column of your throat, occasionally nipping at your skin on his way to your ear.

“You feel so tight, so warm. The Host could just sit here and remain inside you for hours, feeling you tighten around him at the sound of his voice. He thinks you could cum just like this, don’t you?”

“No, I want more, please.” You squeeze your eyes shut, digging your nails into his shoulders. 

“The Host will not give you what you want, little songbird, but he will give you what you need.”

Host’s voice drops once again to that barely audible murmur from earlier and you whimper at how deep and rough he sounds. 

“She whimpers at the sound of the Host’s voice, dark and low in her ear. The Host moves his hands from her hips and up to her back, rubbing soothing circles into her skin. Pleasure begins to spread through her body in waves, and she finds it impossible to keep back her quiet whines."

In time with his words, you feel pleasure rolling over you as if Host was focusing his attention on your clit, but his hands remain at your back. Whatever he’s doing to you feels good and you let out a soft moan, rolling your hips down against him. The feeling of his cock inside you on top of the ghostly pleasure makes your head feel cloudy and you grow dizzy with want. 

“Host, please, please.”

You’re not even sure what you’re asking for, but Host knows what you need. 

“Each roll of her hips down against him sends sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine. She is not sure how she has gotten so close to her release in such a short amount of time, but there are other more important things to think about, like how desperately she wants the Host to drive himself up into her, filling her with his cock. And he will, but the Host wants to feel her come around him, untouched and completely at the mercy of his power.”

You’re a mess, helplessly grinding your hips down onto his cock, moaning and whimpering, lost to the pleasure he’s giving you with just his voice. Every roll of your hips grinds your clit into his pubic bone, making your eyes roll back.

“Host,” you moan, “please, I need to cum. I can’t take it anymore.”

“The Host understands what she needs and h wants to give it to her. She is so close. Her body feels so hot, the coil in her stomach pulled taut and ready to burst. She is right on the edge, her orgasm so close she can practically feel it creeping in.” 

The Host pauses and you hold your breath, still messily grinding against him when you suddenly feel him begin to smirk against you.

“But no matter how hard she rolls her hips down against him, no matter how close she feels, she cannot cum until the Host gives her permission.”

You cry out, desperate tears stinging your eyes as you continue to rut against him. “Host, no, please, please!”

Strong hands smooth over your back, rubbing soft circles into your skin and he presses a gentle kiss to your cheek. “Do not worry, little songbird, the Host knows what you need, and you will get it, once he has had his fun.”

[writtengalaxies]

The Narrative

Radio Broadcast to Nowhere :: Part 1

Characters: The Host

Word Count: 495

Spicy Rating: None!

The guest to the Host's domain walks slowly. Carefully. Uncertain if the old rumors of a murderer lurking in these woods are true, wondering if he's still here. If his actions still bleed over into everything.

Not that the guest yet knows that the Author and the Host are one in the same.

Not that the guest knows truly where they walk, nor where his cabin is.

They do know, however, the quiet narrations that have come through the radio in the late hours, on a frequency they had found by chance during a night of sleeplessness. They do know the soft spoken tones, the careful guidance on exactly how to find the Host, should they wish to meet him.

And he knows that they do.

He knows, because while he is simply a vessel for the narration, it tells him much. He knows, because he is also simply a man who has found someone else who craves company, who craves his company. They do not yet know that they do, nor the true depths of their affections for him.

He does, however. He finds himself often repeating that line of narration, hoping for the day in which the Host gets to hear the words for himself, to force himself to silence his own speech to hear the guest's voice say words he longs for.

The Host admits that, perhaps, it may be cheating to know of feelings far in advance. However, he finds himself unable to mind cheating as such if it means winning the guest's attentions.

Perhaps it is also rude of him to refer to the guest in such a manner.

Perhaps it is better for him to speak of you by name, to know he is already thinking of you, of the way he waits to hear your voice at last. To no longer think of you as the guest, but a companion. The Host knows that you can't help being curious about him. He knows. He understands. He has carefully set his broadcasts in such a way that you can't help seeking him out.

Besides, the Host only knows what the greater narrations allow him to know. He does not know the finer points, not yet. He knows he wants to know you, in every way you're willing to give him.

But that is for later.

For now, you walk closer to him, following a trail you do not fully understand, a path that can not exist...and yet, does.

The Host knows your eyes linger on the simple cabin, and he wishes he could offer you nicer, something better. Something worthy of you.

Unfortunately, too many people are perturbed by his appearance, just as he is unable to walk easily among others.

Still, he waits eagerly, having made sure the house was well lit for you, where his appearance wouldn't startle you.

And as you reach for the doorknob, The Host can not help but smile and welcome you home.

[cozyenigma]

Say It Again

Word Count- 746

Request?- Yes!

Summary: A rare quiet moment on a cheap, unused couch. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

Tag List- @cookielover0001010 , @swag-droid , @watchoutforfrostbite

Warnings- None

The air was still, warm, near silent. There was a faint hum of a fan in the corner though its breeze barely reached the two of you.

Dappled in the light of the sunset, you spent all the time you could simply mapping the Host's features with your eyes. The arch of his nose, the gentle curve of his cheeks, the angle of his jaw. He hadn't shaved recently. You were treated to a five o'clock shadow that you wanted to run your thumb across; if the situation were different you might've.

Because for once the Host was sleeping. Not an exhausted, fitful, passed out at his desk kind. Not the kind broken up by nightmares and choked off cries.

This was true, peaceful sleep. You'd convinced him to lay down with you on the couch. It was a beat up pleather thing he'd shoved into his studio. He hardly welcomed guests so it was usually covered in bits and bobs of recording equipment and notes. Today the boxes were sitting off the side. The couch was actually being used and the Host was using you as a pillow.

You were afraid to even breathe wrong and ruin the moment.

His back was to your front, head turned and resting against your chest, lips slightly parted. Your legs framed his body like this. The Host was a warm, comforting weight against you. Still it would be criminal for you to fall asleep too and miss this moment. You could count the number of times he was this open and unguarded on one hand.

Gentle, you brushed his hair back. It lay flat against his head, limp and a little shiny in the dim lighting. He needed this. You so rarely ever saw him still and the rest would do him good. Maybe later you'd wake him up, coax him into the shower and then into an actual bed. You glanced up at the clock. Not for another couple hours at least.

This was perfect.

Even though he was dead to the world, it took you too long to gather your nerves.

Licking your lips, your voice barely above a whisper, you said, "I love you."

The words felt natural. You liked the feel to them as you said it. You might've even said it again, just to hear it out loud, if the Host didn't twitch in your arms. Stretching like a cat, the Host hummed and settled back against you.

"Never said that before," he murmured, sounding like he might drop off again.

Heat crawled up your neck. You tried playing dumb, letting out a laugh that shook with nerves. "Said what?"

"They know what."

His weight against you shifted, settling in again on his side. In this position he could probably hear your heartbeat.

The little smile of his was impossibly soft. None of the usual teasing as he said, "They should say it again. The Host almost missed it the first time."

You swallowed past the lump in your throat as he waited, patiently, for you to repeat yourself.

“I love you,” you said again, barely above a whisper. You might as well have been shouting it in the silence of the studio, inches away from the man. There wasn’t any way he couldn’t have heard you. Even if he didn’t, the Host would know you’d said it.

Still, he just… hummed with that same gentle smile on his face. “One more time?”

At this rate you were bound to combust, right here on this cheap couch. When you went to curl into yourself, to shrink back in embarrassment, the Host simply held you tighter.

“Just one more time. Please.”

You huffed, smiling into his chest as you said it one more time. “I love you.”

A shaky little exhale to your side. Then a soft kiss to your forehead. At first you had worried that he wouldn’t feel the same. But the tender way he held you, the warmth of it all just left you waiting.

“He loves them too.”

Turns out that smile was contagious. You buried your face into his shoulder and held on just as tight as he did. A handful of words had you floating like a cloud. The silence was comfortable and you felt like you could drop off in a heartbeat.

“Again?”

The Host’s laugh was lighter than air, as were the words that came after. Maybe the nap could wait for a little while longer.

[riotlain]

Egos with a s/o with bad luck

bc in saiki k theres a character with god awful bad luck and its silly to me

THIS IS A NWLNW BLOG!! WOMEN DNI

Iplier Egos

Wilford

You barely managed to dodge his gun multiple times

Near death is normal for you

At first Wilford thought you were clumsy

Then you told Wilford about your god awful luck

He didnt believe you at first

Then when you guys were cooking 4 plates fell on you

Dr. Iplier wasnt a fan of you coming over so often

Wilfords luck is average but it doesn’t average out yours

Date nights are usually inside

Last time you went out you got hit by a hearse

Captain Magnum

You 2 met when you were literally drowning

You bowed your head telling him about your constant misfortune

Captain has seen many things

Bad luck? It’ll be fine!

First day on the ship a storm hit

Then the map to the treasure got lost

Captain was very concerned

Captains usual good luck was evened out by your atrocious bad luck

Now its a 50/50 chance of finding anything good

Host

Host knows about your bad luck

At your first meeting he ended up spilling coffee all over you

He tries to use his powers to counter your bad luck at times

Doesnt always work

“Sorry I’m late Host! I got struck by lightning.”

Hes good at patching you up whenever you get hurt

You guys have simple dates

Sitting in the library together and reader

Just hope a bookshelf doesnt fall on you-

Septiceye Egos

Anti

He definitely didn’t believe you at first

And then when he saw it in action he was concerned

But when he saw that you laughed he laughed too

It became sort of a game

How many near deaths can happen in a day

Record is 13

Shneeple

He met you bc of an accident

That accident was that you got struck by lightning

He loves you so much

But boy you give him a heart attack at times

Always there to patch you up

Dates are casual ones where you guys cuddle on the couch and watch movies

You arent allowed in the hospital he works at lol

unless its an emergency

Marvin

Marvin doesnt really want you around his potions

Last time you were around them you had 3 different potions fall on you

The result was you being a tiny cat for a day

He then decided to make a potion of luck for you

Made your luck average

As in youd have something horrible happen and then a good thing happen

The usual i guess

Battle Egos

Phantom

You were at Phantoms bar after a rough day

And at the bar the seat under you broke

And then you had multiple drinks spilt on you

He decided to walk you home. He felt kinda bad-

Now that yall datin he tries to make it so you dont end up near dying everyday

Maybe putting a soul with usually good luck in a charm

It kinda works

And its fairly pretty :]

Natemare

Natemare laughed when he heard of this bad luck of yours

He thrives off bad vibes and fear what can he say

Then he saw you literally literally get electrocuted

He was shocked (lol) to see you just laugh and apologize

He literally steals one of Phantom's souls

He needs some goodluck for you man

Bones

Bones also has bad luck...

So it cancels out kinda

That or its 2x as bad now

Like literally it could be a sunny ass day

And then it just starts storming like crazy

Unlike him tho, you just laugh it all off

I think Bones has anger issues of sorts

So seeing you all fine with looking like a soggy cat has him confused as shit

[weirdlyhornyforegos]

congrats on 800! :D

may i request host + praise kink (giving or receiving) with a gn afab reader ?

MINORS DNI!!!! Event closed!

“The Host says you’re being so good for him that at this point it’s almost spoiling him.” His fingers rub over your folds where the two of you are joined, giving pleasure to you and himself at the same time.

“So wet, so responsive, the Host murmurs as he brings his fingers up to his lips to lick them clean of your juices.” You watch, slightly slack jawed as he does what he just described.

“And so sweet, so very, very sweet. The Host thinks he could stay inside of your pussy, and use his cock and finger to make you cum forever if you let him.”

[mothgodofchaos]

-rises from the abyss like Snape from Potter Puppet Pals-

Could I please get a continuation of the request where Y/N took dance lessons and it was obvious in the way they moved with Eric, Engie, Actor, Host, Night, and Illinois?

Oh boy, more big lists. Let's go! *cracks knuckles*

Eric:

Eric hasn't taken up dancing before because he was worried about his prosthetics being an issue

You drag him on the dance floor, offering him a sort of private lesson

He moves cautiously, being extra careful to not step on your feet

Soon he relaxes his shoulders, and a big grin grows on his face

Maybe he likes dancing after all

Engi:

He waves you off at first, thinking you're joking that you want to dance with him

But you drag his ass to an open spot on the floor and start leading, and he goes bright red

What he was expecting was cheesy dance moves and a night of cringey fun

Instead you have the time of your life sweeping him off his feet

He might be a little wobbly later

Actor:

He may be intentionally bad at Just Dance but if he has an audience? Busting out a whole ass tango

The two of you change dance styles with the music, almost like a battle of who's leading

Adrenaline is pumping as you take over the dance floor, ending with a spotlight above you as he dips you low

He definitely will challenge ask you to dance again

Host:

Man may be able to narrate movements, but doesn't have a good grasp on how dances are supposed to be

He's hesitant, but allows you to bring him onto the dance floor

He lets you guide his movements, allowing his brain to take a break from narrating

It's rather charming how he laughs when he's allowed to freely be

Night:

The god of night does not dance with mere mortals

How dare yo- LET GO OF ME-

You spin him between various dance partners, but he keeps coming back to you like a moon in orbit

Admittedly, he can't stay away from you for long

He likes this little song and dance, so to speak, despite what he says

Illinois:

This man knows so many fucking dances

How else do you think he got with so many handsome and/or beautiful people on his trips?

Gotta make them swoon

You are no exception to this rule

[peachyloveswriting]

Long past dawn (Yancy x reader)

Summary: taking event about a month after the events of ISWM Yancy calls you asking for a place to stay, now that he's on parole. But you can't seem to remember your last visit with him, nor can you remember the past month very well either. It seems Mark's to blame when he shows up at your doorstep asking for a favor

Word count: 1.9k

This chapter || next chapter >>

Notes at the end

Chapter 1

Your phone rings beside you. Glancing at the number, you don’t seem to recognize it. Maybe it was Mark calling to harass you again, you thought.  After setting down the bowl in your hands, you scoop the ringing phone up and answer.

“Hello?” You wipe your mouth. 

“Hey, is this y/n?” the speaker crackles to life in your ear. Furrowing your brows and standing, you pace. The voice sounds familiar, but it wasn’t someone you could remember off the top of your head. You rack your brain only for a moment longer before speaking again, 

“Yes. Who is this?” You asked. The curiosity was getting to you. Maybe it was a cousin of yours who had only just now remembered you existed. It’s such a foolish thought. 

“Youse really don’t remember me? It’s Yancy, your old pal from Happy Trails Penitentiary.” He mocked a pout, but the smile was still clear in his voice. The smile soon enough made its way onto your face as well. The fond memories reminded you of the time the two of you had spent together for those few hours. It was such a lasting impression. It surprised you, you even forgot. You note, it was probably because of Mark. 

“I’m so sorry. Of course, I remember you.” Trying to sound over the top happy really didn’t work out the way you’d hoped. It made you sound like a douche. You just pray that Yancy didn’t notice.

A dry laugh crackled through the speaker. “It’s okay. I know it’s been a while.” He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. “Say, uh… would youse maybe come and get me? I applied for parole, but youse already knew that. I was hoping to crash at your place. And maybe stay there.” Inquiry lingered in his voice, sounding almost more like a suggestion than anything.

 But before you could answer, Yancy interrupted you. Tripping over his words as he went. 

“I mean, ya’ know. I just.” He huffs, “I have nowhere to stay, and if youse say no, that’s okay. I don’t want youse to feel you have to let me stay.” His voice trembled on the other end of the line, and his words jumbled together right at the end. 

“Yancy, buddy. It’s okay. You can stay as long as you like. It would be nice to have some company, anyway.” Reassurance felt necessary. He was literally starting over again, and maybe he needed someone. 

“Seriously? I don’t know how I'll repay youse.” He exclaims. His voice is still shaky, but you can hear him clearly now. 

“You don’t have to worry about that.” You stated. Turning away from the front glass door, you walked back to the table and picked up your soup. Using your shoulder to hold the phone to your ear, you grabbed yourself another spoonful of your soup. 

“Thank you,” He chirped. 

Not wanting to make it appear you were ignoring him, you hummed. Swallowing the food, you finally spoke. “Of course, it’s not an issue.”--setting down your bowl again you grabbed a notebook and pen --’’ So where are you at?” You asked. 

“Right outside of the prison, actually. They’re letting me stay until someone comes to get me.” He explains. You hum. The memory of the way to the prison was fuzzy in your head, but you somewhat knew where he was talking about. 

“Alright, I’ll be there shortly.” You said. 

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you soon.” He chirped again. A breathy laugh escaped you.

“Yeah, m’bye.”

“Bye.” 

The call ended with a click. You gathered your things for a rather long ride. It would be hell on the way there, with traffic being shit and the anticipation killing you. The end goal was more important than how you got there, though. Excited would be an understatement in all honesty. 

As you were rushing back through the house, you noticed your bowl still sitting on the table. Not wanting it to go bad, you placed it in the fridge. Probably the only semi-real food you’d eaten in a while. Living off of takeout wasn’t fun. And you didn’t want to waste perfectly excellent soup.

⭒✩✦✧✦✩⭒

Google maps had been your savior on the way there. Damn near getting lost three times off of memory alone. It was embarrassing, but no one would know. You thought it silly for being embarrassed to begin with. But you got there in one piece and in a relatively good timeframe. It really must’ve been the universe blessing you, for that you were thankful. After all, you were sure that even on the interstate, going over one hundred in the fast lane was illegal. Now that you were off the interstate though and on a relatively empty road, the excitement built. 

The sight of the prison in the distance made your stomach churn. It was a good thing none of the workers there seemed to remember you miraculously. Maybe it really was the universe giving you a break, you note. 

The outside walls of the prison are bare, the barbed wire at the top different in contrast to what the place was actually like on the inside. The Area in which Yancy sits is uncanny. To have a sitting area and a garden outside of prison just didn’t fit. He fit it though, wearing the white tee and striped pants from when you first met him, and in his lap, he had a black leather jacket. 

Yancy leaned back against the bench, one arm outstretched on the back and one ankle resting on his knee. His eyebrows were knit tightly together and his eyes squinted against the light of the sun.

The butterflies fluttered around your stomach as you stepped out of the car. The anticipation was building.

When he saw you, he jumped to his feet, his jacket draped over an arm and a folder in one hand. He practically bolted to you. You opened your arms with a wide smile, letting him tackle you into a hug. It was like fireworks were going off inside you. The joy was unexplainable. You didn’t know him that well, but it felt like you were seeing a best friend for the first time in forever.

“Oh my god, it’s so good to see youse again, youse do not know,” Yancy exclaims as he pulls away from the hug. A smile wrinkles the skin in the corner of his eyes, and there’s a glow to him now that you can see him fully.

“It’s so good to see you again, too. Seriously, it’s been so long.” Sincerity lingers in your voice. He shifts from one foot to the other, his hand lifting to scratch his head. 

“Yeah, it has.” He agrees.

Lifting your hand, you point towards your car.

“C’mon, it’s hot out here.” You suggest. He agrees quietly. Now that you thought about it, you weren't entirely sure what to say to him. But you were eager to fill the silence as you drove away from the prison. Gazing over at Yancy, you could see him watching the prison disappear from view in the rear-view mirror. 

“How’s it feeling?” You ask. 

Yancy looks at you, his brows furrowed. “Huh?”

You ask again. “How does it feel to be free?’ You glance at him before turning back to the road ahead. Humming in thought, Yancy shifts in his seat. The folder formerly in his hand now rests on the dashboard in front of him. Something about him seems restless now as he stares at it intensely. 

“I'm not sure yet,” he drawls. You nod your head. Who could blame him? After all those years in prison, you wouldn’t know what to do or how to feel either. Just years before this, he never even thought of leaving. He didn’t want to. And to just be torn back out into society again was probably a huge mental challenge. Again, he didn’t want to be free, to begin with. So, what changed his mind?

“Why’d you go on parole?” Unable to recall him telling you why you didn’t second guess your knowledge. 

Yancy licks his lips and takes a deep breath before he speaks. He’s looking at you now, a mildly concerned look on his face, eyebrows furrowed, and lips ever so slightly down-turned into a frown. 

“Youse don’t remember?” he sounded hurt, and that scared you. Biting the tip of your tongue softly, you questioned what you knew. 

“I’m kidding,” he said with a smile, “Kinda.” Your heart dropped.

To think that you had even forgotten what he told you hurt. It pained you to think about how hurt he must feel by your seemingly inconsiderate reactions. He probably thought you weren’t listening.

“It’s okay though, I’ll still tell you.” He’s noticed the visible distress on your face, even if you didn’t. 

“Thanks.” You mutter, a sheepish smile on your face.

Yancy smiles, “Of course!”-- he chirps before briefly pausing--” Youse the reason I got parole.”

You freeze. He barely knew you and you were the reason he suddenly wanted to be free. It warms your heart. His words are too kind for your previous actions. But to forget that, of all things. It saddens you. 

“I can’t believe I forgot that.” You shake your head slowly, loosening your grip on the steering wheel. “I’m so sorry, Yancy. It warms my heart to think that I’m the reason. Thank you for that. I’ll make it up to you though, I promise that.” You announced your newfound lawful voice perhaps too justifying, making Yancy cackle. 

You smile at that. 

“Sorry if that sounded rather prideful,” you remark with a grin. 

He giggles again, “S’okay, it was funny anyway.” 

Silence falls back over you, opening your mouth to say something before you stop, deciding against it. If he wanted to talk, he would. You didn’t want to push him.

"By the way,"-- Yancy snaps you from your thoughts — "we have to stop at the department of corrections so we can give them your address n' stuff.." He explains. 

You nod.

He seemed so regular now that you thought about it. You had only ever seen him in prison, so there's a reason. The idea of what he’s like outside of that life urges you to think about it. The vision of you and him making your ways around the kitchen, his hand resting against the small of your back as he scoots past- 

"I also need clothes." Sarcastically he gestures to his outfit. You smile, a light heat rising to your cheeks.

"We'll definitely be going shopping after we get the paperwork done." You deadpan.

He lifts his arm, running his fingers through his slicked-back hair. 

"I'll pay youse back once I get a job." You glance at him again, sending him a dismissive wave with your hand.

"No, don't concern yourself with it." You pause, thinking of your next words. He broke you out of prison, you remember?

"Think of it as a favor for breaking me out." You remark, a teasing smile playing on your lips.

Yancy smiles and the skin around his eye crinkles up. "Thanks, it means a lot, seriously. I don't know how many times I've said thank youse." — he chuckles, deep — "but I'll say it as many times as I need to." 

You smile at that.  

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°|

Thanks for reader the first chapter I hope you enjoyed. This took me a really long time to feel satisfied with how it turned out but once I finally had what I felt was good enough I felt really happy so I seriously hope this get as much attention as I hope it does. I'll be posting the chapter links in my master list.

Tags: @batty-the-red-koolaid-man @abbzzzzzz @dragonangel201

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

HELLO ITS ME AGAIN!!

I’m here with a request

The Host x D.A!Reader <3

ISWM P2 SPOILERS//

Takes place during ISWM 2, they’re going through the different timelines and instead of landing in the cabin and meeting the narrator, they meet The Host.

Could be completely fluffy or angst/comfort, your choice!

I miss my boy <\3

Have a lovely day :]

"However, the Captain bizarrely started gesturing up towards the sky in a very unstealthy manner."

"What the hell?" You whispered as your arm was flailing about, drawing you out from behind the bush as you tried to stay hidden.

It's like your body had a mind of its own, but you knew what was really going on.

That damn Narrator.

He was starting to genuinely piss you off, especially back on the ship where he started doing whatever he wanted to you and those around you. At one point he tried making two people fight each other, so they became acutely aware of this “higher being” much like you did.

You just wanted to get back to your own timeline and fix things..why did he feel the need to complicate shit and make your life even more of a living hell?

Now because of his stupid narrating, your cover was blown and you were on the run from this feral Mark--apparently called Heehoo in this universe.

“Well, it seems to be the end for our intrepid Captain-”

“But with luck, they managed to put enough distance between themselves and Heehoo. Then a sudden noise from the woods startles him into fleeing.”

In confusion you slowed down as you heard a much softer-sounding voice; similar to Mark’s but not quite him. Looking back, you saw that Heehoo had fled, spooked by a loud rustle in the bushes.

You wondered who saved you, though...you knew only one other person who spoke in narrations.

“What?! No! You can’t do that! Who the hell are you?!” The Narrator demanded.

“The one who will be taking over the story from here on out. Goodbye, Dr. Mills.”

“Wait!! NO-!!”

You flinched slightly as you heard what sounded like a bat striking something, followed by a heavy thump against an unseen floor. Then you heard the bat being tossed aside and a sigh. “Now then..the warp crystal glows brightly in the night, sending the Captain to a familiar place that may jog their memory.”

Raising your hand, you saw the crystal glowing brighter than ever before you were whisked away through another wormhole, landing in...

A library?

You looked around, removing your helmet as you breathed in the scents of old wood and paper, sighing deeply. This certainly felt familiar.

“The Host is relieved to see the Cap--[y/n] has made it in one piece.”

Blinking, you turned around to see a certain man in a tan trenchcoat, illuminated by a dim orange lamp light. The gauze wrapped around his eyes was clean, and the smile on his face was warm. You noticed he had bandages around his hands, too, though that didn’t stop you from going over and taking them into yours.

“Host!” You grinned. “God, you don’t know how glad I am to see you.”

“..h-he considers the feeling mutual.” He seemed a bit flustered by the fact you were holding his hands, as he cleared his throat. 

You realized his discomfort and let go, chuckling awkwardly. “Sorry. It’s just..it’s been one crazy trip after another. Thanks for getting rid of that control freak.”

“[Y/n] has nothing to fear. He was a..poor excuse of a narrator, and an even worse author.” He shook his head. “But with the threat of him gone, [y/n] believed they deserved a break from their journey across timelines.”

“Damn right I do.” Sighing, you slumped into one of the couches, leaning back and closing your eyes for a bit, trying to relax. 

Once you felt a little bit calmer, you looked back at Host, who was sitting nearby and reading something in braille. “Say, I don’t suppose you can “narrate” Mark into shutting down the warp core...or “narrate” him into this timeline, can you?”

“The Host has a notion that attempting to influence events in other realities may break the universe further, so he abstains from doing so. He already took a risk bringing [y/n] here.”

“...of course, that’d be too easy-”

“However, he may have found something that can assist [y/n] in their quest.” Closing the book, he stood up. “And so they follow him to his studio.”

Feeling your legs move on their own, you followed him to a room that held his radio broadcasting equipment. You remember him taking up this profession after he had gone blind--since, of course, he couldn’t write as an author anymore. But he did make great podcasts.

He picked up a small leather book on the desk, handing it to you. “The Narrator’s book.”

“He was..using a book?” After taking it, you flipped through a few pages, eyes widening as you read the most recent one about your arm flailing and other unusual actions you’ve taken, followed by illegible scribbles (assuming they’re from the Narrator’s struggle with Host).

You couldn’t believe it. That asshat was controlling your every thought and move with writings.

You noticed a small blood stain in the corner, but you didn’t care. Whatever the Host did to him was much deserved.

“Son of a bitch. All this time, he was in another world ripping away my free will-!!!” 

Suddenly you came to a realization as you gazed at Host. "Wait...he was able to do all of this no matter what world I was in.”

“Indeed, that book is a powerful interdimensional tool, greater than the Host’s own abilities, even. And the quill in his possession is-”

“That’s it! I can use this to find Mark!” You beamed, going over to take the quill from his hand. “I’m gonna need that....Host?” Blinking, you noticed how sad he appeared as he moved it just out of your reach, taking a step back.

“Does [y/n] truly wish to leave so soon?”

Your smile faltered. Of course you didn’t wanna leave him already, though you knew you had to get going. Or else the warp crystal itself would drag you back into the wormhole and put you god-knows-where.

“..I’d hate to but..I-I made a huge mistake. You know that, Host. I have to find Mark and fix this. The longer I wait around, the worse everything’s gonna get. Once this is over I’ll come find you."

You put your hand out, hoping he believed you. “I promise we’ll have all the time in the world to catch up...but first I gotta save all the worlds.”

After a moment more of hesitation, he finally relented and handed over the quill. “The Host understands. However, he warns [y/n] to write clearly and not be so ambiguous, as there could be consequences that even he cannot foresee.”

“...I just have to breathe and there’s consequences." Rolling your eyes, you sat down in the chair and opened the book to a new page, writing: “The Captain finds Mark, the head engineer of the Invincible II.” 

“There. Can’t get anymore specific than that.”

“So it is written. The Host bids [y/n] farewell and wishes them luck on their journey.”

“Thank y-”

All of the sudden a wormhole opened beneath your feet, dragging you down into it as you cursed rather loudly in annoyance.

“Oh WHAT THE FU-”

The Host watched as it closed, finding the Narrator’s book and quill left in-place of where you once stood. He knelt down and picked them up, sighing somberly.

Once again he was all alone.

But he enjoyed your company. He hopes to see you again soon.

[leighsartworks216]

Cuddles

Host x gn!reader (platonic)

Requested by 🖌 Anon:

“Hi! Would it be alright if I requested platonic hurt/comfort for Host with a reader who's super touch starved but very anxious about asking for affection? With the hurt/comfort prompts 12 (“No, no - it’s alright, come here”) 14 ("There's nothing to be ashamed of") and 18 ("I'll leave if you ask me to") if you don't mind. If you don't want to, that's fine! I love your work btw! Have an amazing day/night/etc. :)”

12. “No, no - it’s alright, come here.”

14. “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

18. “I’ll leave if you ask me to.”

Changed up some of the prompts to fit the Host’s speech pattern but otherwise they’re the same :) I'm also sorry it took so long to write and that it's hot garbage

Warnings: swearing, awkwardness, anxiety

Word Count: 1630

Masterlist

“Host?” You knocked twice as a semi-warning before letting yourself in. He’d told you several times already that you were welcome in at any time. “Hey, can I hang out in here?”

As usual, Host was sitting at his desk, working on his next great piece of fiction. He didn’t publish anything anymore - as far as the public knew, the author he used to be was dead, and he wanted to keep it that way. But he still enjoyed writing too much to leave his mind overflowing with his ideas.

His head angled up to face the door instead of his typewriter, his fingers pausing in place as he mentally bookmarked what he was writing. “The Host reminds Y/N that they are always welcome in his room.”

You grinned, even if he couldn't see it, and fully let yourself in, closing the door behind you. “Thanks.”

He followed your footsteps as you made your way to his sofa. It was too comfortable for his tastes - the rest of his room was furnished with the bare minimum and almost nothing was created with the thought of comfort behind it, but you often fell asleep in his armchairs and he wished for your visits to be more comfortable.

You sat down, stretched out; got situated and comfortable. Host didn't even have a clock in here, so you were completely able to detach from the rest of the mansion.

To some degree, it was really nice. You had your own little get-away from the insanity that laid beyond that door, any time you needed or wanted it. Host also allowed you to proofread his work and offer your input, so it was like you got free entertainment that was always changing, all the time. And, more selfishly, you got to spend time around your friend.

You don’t know when you realized it - maybe you’d always been this way - but you really enjoyed physical touch. You craved it sometimes. You’d order a drink and brush hands with the barista and stutter and stumble, or you’d get a haircut and completely dissociate as the stylist scratches at your scalp. You didn’t really have a lot of sources for it, but what little you could get was usually enough to help minimize the longing, itchy feeling under your skin.

What also helped was being in the presence of friends. Well, a lot of the other egos were touchy, too, so that sort of also helped. But sometimes it was overwhelming. Bing would saunter in after figuring out a cool skateboard trick and drape an arm over your shoulder and you’d shut down. Wilford was no better. He would pop in and out, showing up at the most unpredictable of times just to hug you and twirl you around. (He probably caught on a long time ago and was now using his affection to mess with you.)

Host was a much easier presence to escape to when you felt like this. You would both just hang out in each other’s space, occasionally talking about your days or what you were up to, and you could selfishly soak up all of the comfort and ease that dissipated the itching under your skin. Every now and then, he’d ask you to read his work and you would give him feedback. You were always surprised how he never seemed to make any typos, since he couldn’t see what he was writing, but he would never tell you how he does it when you ask.

You sighed as you stretched out, your back popping a few times as you sank into the cushions further. Host must have been confused by your audible display of relaxation. He tilted his head in your direction, his brow obviously furrowed even behind the cloth that hid his eyes.

“The Host wonders if there is something bothering Y/N.” His hands were still settled on the typewriter, but in a different position than before. He must have gone back to writing while you were lost in your thoughts.

“Ah, don’t worry about it,” you brushed off his concern. “Am I interrupting your writing? I’ll leave if you ask me to.” You were already beginning to sit up to act on your promise. Even if he didn’t seem to mind your intrusions, you did.

He shook his head, removing his hands from the machine entirely. You tried to get him into computers, but he enjoyed the old feel of the typewriter. He also claimed it was easier to feel for the keys he needed.

“The Host would like them to stay.” He seemed to struggle to find his words for a minute as you settled back into the couch.

Damn, it was quiet in here.

He pushed out his desk chair and stood, the wood creaking in protest as he did. He easily made his way over to the couch. He didn’t sit until he was sure you made space for him. When he did sit, as usual, he never seemed to relax.

“The Host is worried about his friend,” he begins, trying to form his thoughts as he speaks. “They seem to be… anxious, as of late. He wonders what he can do to help.”

You fiddled with your hands. Even though the couch was small, just large enough for you to lay down with your feet on one arm, you’d still managed to leave a large gap between you and your friend. And even though it felt like the Grand Canyon, leaving a gaping hole that felt impossible to cross, you were fighting the longing urge to simply fall into him. You’d scared people away before with being too clingy, too touchy. You didn’t want to scare him off, too.

“I-” You bit your tongue. “It’s stupid Host, honestly. Please, just- Don’t worry just go back to writing.”

His brow only seemed to furrow more at your protests, a frown tugging his face down further. He turned his body toward you, though he was looking at the wall more than anything else. “The Host assures Y/N that there is nothing to be ashamed of. He will not laugh or push them away.”

As if he could feel your hands fidgeting, his own hand effortlessly found and covered yours. They stopped along with your heart. You weren’t even sure if you were breathing for a second. Once you realized how strange you were acting, you jumped up and away from him. He was even more puzzled than before.

“Is it something the Host has done?” His voice is soft and unsure as he asks. It almost breaks. Your heart breaks with it.

You didn’t wish to worry him more, but it was weird to feel this way, right? It was weird to crave physical touch like this, to lock up once you got it. Everyone else thought so, or refused to touch you as much once they found out. Why would he be any different?

He deflated the longer you were silent. His hand slowly slid back into his lap, his shoulders slumping down and into his chest. He listened intently to know where you were, trying to work out what you may be thinking. But his face fell to look to the ground.

“I…” Dammit. God damn it all. “You didn’t do anything, Host, I just…” God, how the hell were you supposed to say this? You inhaled deeply. “I’vebeentouchstarvedeversinceIwaslittleandnowIreallylikecravetouchbutIgetweirdwhenIreceiveitandIdon’twanttoloseyourfriendship!”

A pause. His head lifted, directing toward you with a tilt. “The Host didn’t understand what they just said.”

Fuck, your heart’s racing. You’re pretty sure your hands are shaking, too, but you can’t stop picking at your fingers long enough to find out. Another deep breath. It’s shakier this time. “I said that… I’ve been touch starved ever since I was little and now I really, like, crave touch, but I get weird when I receive it and I don’t want to lose your friendship.”

His face smoothed out into a neutral expression as you spoke. By the time you were finished, he seemed to be perked back up. “The Host understands.”

“You do?”

He nods with a hum. “He would like to help them with their issue, if he is allowed.”

He sits patiently on the couch, waiting for you to decide whether he can help or not. You slowly make your way back to your seat, watching him for anything he might do.

“The Host would like to know what would help Y/N. Would he be allowed to cuddle them?”

You swear you’ve never been more embarrassed in your life as you agree. Watching this strange, eccentric being lean back into the arm rest, arms open and waiting for you to initiate the hug. He is clunky and just as unsure as you are. But he simply sits there and waits, ready to aid you in your ongoing struggle.

“This is really weird. I mean, I appreciate it!” you quickly add on. “But no one’s ever done anything like this for me. Don’t you think it’s weird? That I’m weird?”

He shakes his head immediately. “The Host does not think those things at all. He assures them that it is alright, and urges them to come here.” His arms open wider, his broad chest becoming a wide open target for you to fall into.

The hug is strange at first. The touch gives you chills, unused to being hugged by anyone other than Wilford when he catches you by surprise. As time passes, however, you both become more comfortable on the couch, laying down and spooning. You aren’t really sure how long you’re there when he begins to rub his hand along your back, or how much longer before you’re both passed out still curled close to each other.

[sardonic-the-writer]

━RANDOM HOST HEADCANONS

━Tw: None! Just Hosty boy <3

━Notes: Tagging @voidsnarrator becuaze I know you like Host!!!!

━Song: "Are You Satisfied?" By Marina

I feel like he would really enjoy geography

He might not be able to see things like us, but immersing himself into the cluter of places where ancient artifacts/buildings were made would just make him happy

Host is also very very awkward

Sort of like Erik, just hella more composed and less sweaty

It's gets worse around you though if you know what I mean wink wink wink

"The Host turns his head slightly to look at (Y/n). The Host can't help but notice how stunning they are. He suddenly realizes they can hear him narrating and goes to uncomfortably clear his suddenly dry throat."