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foreverdolly · 10 months

Text

𝐈 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐄 |80's mechanic!austin x best friend!reader

summary: it's starting to look like he might never make it out of the friend zone. austin has been in love with you for as long as he can remember, and he's terrified that you'll never see him as anything more than a best friend and protector. with the fear of you one day outgrowing him fresh on his mind, he's now hell bent on getting you to view him in a different light. madly in love and terrified to lose you, austin butler is playing for keeps.

pairings: 80s mechanic! austin x childhood best friend!reader

word count: 4.8k

notes/warnings: SMUT! in part two, virgin!austin. . . need i say more?, i love pining and this fic is testament to that, shaky/hurried hands, who doesn't love a good best friends to lovers fic, he has a deep southern accent, austin is the small town's metalhead and he's swelteringly hot without even trying. (this is going to have to be two parts because it turned out too long after editing. the smut alone is like. . . five pages on google docs.)

The incessant metallic clinging and loud mechanic whirs echoed against the cement flooring of the auto body garage. The sun was peeking just over the trees right outside the open garage doors, the spring sky slowly burning gold and pink. Most of the men were rushing to finish up with the vehicles that they were working on, eager to get home to their families after a long day of work. There was one mechanic though -who might be young, but made up for it with skill- was still elbow deep under the car’s hood, eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration. He’d only been looking at the car for five minutes and knew exactly what was wrong with it. The elderly woman had gotten her car towed all the way to Travis’ shop after the damn thing stalled out in the middle of the Winn-Dixie parking lot. The young mechanic could see her through the lobby’s windows watching him, her tiny wrinkly hands balled up into nervous fists.

“Aye- Austin?” Travis jogged right up to Austin, placing his hand down on one of the side mirrors as he waited for the diagnosis.

“It’s not the engine. The transmission,” He pointed towards the old hunk of junk, leaning his head back under the hood to show his boss. “It’s completely shot. She said it will jerk when she accelerates and the wheel will sometimes shake when she’s goin’ fast enough. What’s happening is that it’s slippin’. The damn thing won’t stay in gear. This car is ten years out of date- I mean. . . It's a ‘74. So even if we order the parts-”

“It’s gonna cost more to fix than it would be for her to just buy a whole new one.” The boss finished for him, sighing when he saw Austin nod his head in agreement.

The long haired blonde blinked his eyes against the burning sunset, shooing a gnat away from his face as he leaned his hip against the car. He crossed one booted foot over the other as he waited patiently for the man to make a decision. While Travis enjoyed making money, Austin knew that the bastard was above stealing it from little old ladies. With a small huff of defeat the middle aged man began walking back in the direction of the lobby, most likely to break the bad news. He stopped just before he opened the door, pointing a quick finger-gun in Austin’s direction.

“Are you comin’ over to Mark’s cookout tonight? You can bring your girl.” He called out over the loud noise.

Austin shook his head before flashing the man a little face of distaste.

“I’ve gotta go to my dad’s house to grab some of my old shit. Besides- I don’t have a girl to bring.”

Travis shot him “a face” right back, but one of disbelief. “Yeah, right. A girl doesn’t just bring her friend a hand packed lunch every other day unless she was hopin’ for somethin’ to happen between them..” And before Austin could even defend himself the man was gone, sauntering solemnly over to the corner where the elderly woman was sitting.

You weren’t the one that was hoping for a chance at romance, but Austin was. He’d rather die than admit it, but his co-workers' words lit a small fire in his chest; a hopeful pyre that didn’t dim.

The wooden stairs were old and weather worn, the nails rusted with age. Austin always felt a sense of dread when he heard the familiar creaking under his feet, and the fact that he could hear the television droning on from inside of the trailer didn’t make it any better. It meant that he was home, and the blonde knew what that meant. A fight was sure to ensue, and after the shitty day that he had at work, that was the last thing that he wanted to endure. He found that the door was unlocked, per usual. The inhabitant of the rickety death trap didn’t have anything worth stealing.

“Why are you here?” The middle aged man looked terrible for his age, though Austin blamed that on the endless supply of alcohol and drugs that ran through the man’s system.

Austin cleared his throat, closing the door behind him with a grimace. He didn’t want to be here, but there were still a few boxes back in his old room that he needed to grab. After that he’d be gone for good, or at least that’s what he told himself anyway. His no-good father was used to relying on other people to save the day, one of those people being his own son.

He blamed his strong sense of duties on the fact that he was raised in the deep south. “Being a man” was hammered into his skull from the moment of his very conception. Taking care of your family, especially when they are unable to do it for themselves, was considered a must. Austin had always hated his father. In fact, he couldn’t remember a single time in his life when he had felt gratitude or love in any magnitude towards his father. Still, he was a man and needed to provide for his family. . . right? He didn’t want anyone to think less of him for abandoning his father. More than anything, he didn’t want the wrong kind of gossip ending up in the wrong people’s ears.

What was important to him now was getting the hell away from his abusive father. He was old enough to start thinking about what he wanted for himself in the future. He’d always craved companionship with a certain person. . . children were on his radar too. The last thing he wanted was for his druggie father to be in his own kid’s lives.

The lanky man didn’t fit in the small home anymore, and he hadn’t for years. Both physically and emotionally, he had outgrown his prison many moons ago. He took a few seconds to look around the living room. Now that he wasn’t there to clean up after the grotesque man, the house smelled absolutely putrid. Austin’s nose wrinkled in disgust, eyes dancing along the empty beer cans and overflowing sink.

“Jus’ gettin’ the last of my stuff.” Austin grumbled, his bulky black boots sticking to the dirty linoleum floors as he tried his best to breeze past the older man’s old recliner.

A hand reached out, gripping at his wrist to stop him. Austin looked down, the muscles in his sharp jaw clicking as he held back the urge to rip himself out of the man’s reach. He knew that he was too big for the man to intimidate now, but his body still remembered the pain his father had put him through as a kid.

“Ya talkin’ bout that toolbox?” The man’s voice was gravely, all thanks to the menthols he religiously smoked. Austin could smell the Miller Light and smoke coming off of him now. It was nauseating.

The blonde ripped his eyes off of the man’s face, peeking off down the hall to see his old bedroom door wide open. He had locked it from the inside and crawled out the window the last time that he was here, taking the spare key with him. It was still tucked away safely in his wallet. His breathing stuttered when he realized that the doorknob had been taken off completely.

“I need it for work. What did you do with it?” Austin tried to school the deep southern accent out of his voice. He got into the habit of doing that around his father from a young age, desperately wanting to seem as different from the old man as possible.

“If that’s what yer here for, don’ bother. I sold it.” The young adult’s heart sank to his ass, and this time he didn’t hesitate in ripping his wrist out of the man’s hand.

“To who? Where is it?” Austin questioned heatedly, staring daggers into the old man’s face.

The sandy haired man was staring back at the television now, watching old reruns of some shitty old Western movie that must have come out in the sixties. He didn’t answer Austin, too drunk to care and too high to listen.

“Dad!” Austin’s deep voice boomed, echoing around the filthy trailer. “Where the fuck did you take it? The pawn shop off’a Assembly Street?” That was where his father often sold stolen shit for a few extra bucks.

That got the other man’s attention. He didn’t take kindly to being yelled and cursed at, especially not by his son. He could always deal it out, but refused to take it. Ray Butler had stopped beating on his son during his Junior year in highschool though, realizing that the boy was now bigger than him. Out of a cowardly fear for his own safety, he stuck to the emotional abuse instead, which only got worse once he didn’t have a true outlet for his frustrations. Austin bristled as he watched the old man glare up at him, taking a long swig from his beer before answering.

“I took it to Keith’s. If ya needed it so bad, why the hell didn’t you take it with ya in the first place? It’s in my house, so I can do whatever the fuck I want with it.” It was surprising how coherent the man was, especially since he must have been drinking all day long.

Austin’s father hadn’t had a job in the last seven years, but still managed to scrape by somehow. He was a petty thief whose criminal record stretched all the way back into his boyhood. He had raised the blonde to be the exact same way, but the only thing Austin had truly adopted from his “teachings” was a shared hatred for cops and a scrappy sort of resourcefulness. The other kids that he was forced to interact with at school were the ones that taught him how to fight. They enjoyed taking turns trying to beat the shit out of the town’s poor kid, but once he finally hit his growth spurt in the summer after sixth grade the roles were largely reversed. Nobody messed with him by the time that he had entered high school. He was feared by his peers and just as hated.

The negative image that he had created served him well though. Not only had he made a name for himself, he had also gained the ability to protect his best friend, which was the only thing he really cared about. Getting the dog shit knocked out of him was one thing, but seeing boys and girls teasing her was a different story. He remembered storming into the girl’s bathroom during his junior year very vividly, yanking up one of popular blonde’s by the back of her shirt.

“I’m a Butler, so don’t think that I’m above hittin’ a girl.”

He’d constantly ask you if the bullying persisted even after that, but you always went out of your way to tell him that they had stopped their teasing. Austin was made fun of because he lived in a trailer that should have been condemned long since they originally moved in and barely had enough money to get school supplies every year, but you were picked on because you were perfect. It didn’t make any sense to him, but girls are strange creatures. You made good grades, was the nicest person he had ever met without even trying, and your natural good looks made matters even worse for you. Getting the mean girls to steer clear of you wasn’t the hard part, but keeping the male pervert’s away was an entirely different story.

It didn’t help that after a long day of putting up with the constant glares, rumors, and telling boys to back off, he’d be forced to come home to incessant tongue lashings. He barely had time to study after taking care of the forty year old drunkard, hence his rotten grades in school. You could only do his homework for him so many times, but hey- you tried. He graduated because of you, at the very least.

He had landed a job as a mechanic straight out of high school, having been skilled for his age. Who knew that driving a shitty lemon of a car that he constantly had to fix up would lead to a career? He had gotten lucky, which was a rarity in his life.

Getting his own place was one hell of an achievement, but his past always found a way to come back and haunt him.

Austin stormed through the connected kitchen and down the hall, sucking in a deep breath before he entered the room. All of the boxes that he had stacked in the corner had been ransacked and picked clean. It was Austin’s fault for thinking that a simple locked door would keep his father out. The blonde could scream over his stolen Iron Maiden and Dio tapes later, for now he needed to focus on the important thing: his tools.

“You sold them to your crackhead dealer? For what? A bag, right? That was over a hundred dollars worth’a tools!” He screamed from the backroom, kicking an old wooden chair that had been junking up his old room for ages. The thing went flying, hitting the opposite wall with a resounding cracking noise.

Austin was covered in car oil, smelled like gasoline and sweat after a long day of work, and all he had wanted was to slip in the trailer undetected and grab his things. He had hoped that his father would have been passed out in his room by now so that he could have been in and out without being forced to converse. Nothing ever seemed to go his way. The blonde reached for the metal baseball bat that he still had stuffed under his childhood bed, knocking it against his boot a few times before storming out of the room, pushing past his father and heading straight for the front door.

“Austin, wait,” The male knew what was coming. The only time his father ever referred to him by his name was when he wanted something. “Can you give me twenty dollars? I need’a pay the power.”

The baseball bat felt heavy in his hand. He balanced the weight for a second, his jaw clicking as he imagined just how good it would feel to bring it down on top of the other man’s head. If Ray ended up dead, he was sure that he could blame it on a handful of people who he had stolen from or cheated. Austin didn’t need that on his conscience though. So instead of barking back a reply or even pulling out his wallet, he yanked his hand away with a grunt, storming out the door.

“Jus’ use the money that you got from sellin’ all’a my shit.” He called out before slamming the door behind him, the small and dingy diamond shaped window vibrating with the force of his anger.

“Is your mama home? If not then I’m gonna use your shower.” Austin gently pushed his way into the house, kicking off his dirty work boots before bounding up the familiar carpeted stairs.

You blinked in the entryway, slowly closing the front door before turning around to watch him go, the chain from his wallet jingling with his movement. With a small sigh you locked it behind you, following up after him.

“Well hello to you too.” You teased, watching him open up the linen closet so that he could grab a towel. He was caked with grease, his sun kissed cheeks speckled with black and gray. His black work shirt fit snugly on his form, having shrunk in the wash. At his hip, swinging around with every step that he took, was his black handkerchief. It was also wrecked with engine grease, having been used to clean his hands one too many times that day. He looked devilishly handsome, but he always did. Nothing new.

“Sorry. Really bad day. Just got back from Keith’s place- he had some of the shit that I left at my dad’s.” He left the bathroom door open as he slipped off his socks, then hurriedly took his shirt off and threw that into the dirty clothes hamper. His small apartment didn’t have a washer and dryer hookup, so he had been doing his laundry at your place for the last two months.

You didn’t mind, and your mother and father hadn’t noticed either. You sucked at your teeth, turning around to give him privacy. You heard the shower turn on, then the familiar clanking of his chain wallet hitting the side of the sink. Once you heard the shower curtain open and close you turned around, seeing the room empty, his dirty clothes piled neatly in the hamper. You closed the bathroom door behind you as you stepped inside, jumping up on the counter so that you could swing your legs back and forth as you spoke. He seemed frustrated, and you could tell that he needed to talk about it.

Growing up in a tragically tiny town meant that everybody was always in each other’s business. From preschool to your senior year in high school, every moment was spent with the same exact children. You could count the newer families to move into the small community over the last five years on one hand. Life was slow moving in the old south, and things were horrifically monotonous. You and the blonde had been stuck together like glue ever since primary school, and you didn’t see it changing in the future.

To say that you knew Austin like the back of your hand was an understatement. Every flaw, quirk and triumph had either been discovered by you, with you at his side, or involved you in some way. In a town filled with mostly elderly folks, kids often found a group of likeminded people and stuck with them for the entirety of their lives. It was horribly predictable of the two of you, yet here you two were, connected at the hip. The bond between you and Austin went above just being best friends. It was something tied to your soul. It wasn’t just hard to imagine a life without him in it, rather it was impossible.

He didn’t have to tell you that he was angry for you to know that he was beyond aggravated. The restlessness was plain to see. Whether he would be upfront and tell you about the reason or not, you could tell that he needed someone to just sit and listen. Austin wasn’t the kind of person to talk in depth about the things that really upset him. He was more of the “suffer in silence until I inevitably blow up” type. You, on the other hand, weren’t afraid to whine and cry to him about even the slightest of inconveniences. The two of you were polar opposites, and yet it just worked.

“Keith let you in the house?” You asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow as you watched the steam beginning to curl up and over the curtain.

Austin let out a humorless laugh, and you could imagine him shaking his head back and forth. You smiled despite the situation, bringing your hand up to your mouth so that you could bite down on your thumb nail. You instantly regretted it, pulling away to see that you had already chipped your freshly painted fingers.

“A’course he didn’t. I broke into the fucker’s place. Got my tool box back, but the damn thing had been ransacked already. The bones picked clean. I’m out over fifty dollars in tools- checked it once I got back into the car.”

“Jesus- did he see you? That guy is absolutely insane.” Thankfully, you’d only met the man in passing a handful of times. He was the crazy townee that everybody knew and feared. Keith was the kind of person that you point out to your developing teens to scare them away from drugs and alcohol. “If you don’t want to end up like Ole’ Keith, you better not touch that stuff.” He had a bunch of handmade signs outside of his house with bible scriptures on them, meanwhile the man was dealing meth and coke to make a living. As was the deep south, filled to the brim with religious and moral hypocrisies.

Either you were a devout Christian or just another local crackhead. Thankfully, you and Austin didn’t fall into either of those categories. You seemed to have made one of your own over the years.

“He wasn’t home. His truck was gone. The dude left his bedroom window unlocked, so I just ripped the screen off.”

You used to worry for Austin on a daily basis. The burns and bruises he’d come to school with broke your heart, but no matter how many times you begged your parents to let the blonde come and live with you, they always let you down. You were happy that he finally had somewhere safe to lay his head at night, though he still hadn’t broken the habit of spending most of his down time with you (and you prayed he wouldn’t ever grow out of that habit). As soon as he got off work he was making his way up to your bedroom, often dead tired down to his bones or pissed off. Your parents were gone most of the time anyway though. Your father was a hotshot business man who was away for work most of the time, and your mother insisted on following along with him after the “incident” that happened when you were twelve.

Men who spend most days without their wives and children breathing down their neck usually take advantage of the opportunity. Your father was no different. He was no saint. Then again, neither was your mother. She took most of her frustration out on you after that, and though you knew that her outbursts weren’t a direct cause of anything that you had personally done, that didn’t make it any better.

Austin was just as much your therapist as you were his. Maybe that was the cause for your codependency. . . either way, neither of you regretted it. It only strengthened the bond, really.

After Austin was showered and dressed in an outfit that he had left at your house some weeks ago, the two of you found yourselves sprawled out on your bed. You were busy finishing up some homework for one of your classes, and he was reading one of your magazines. He had his head hanging off the side of the mattress, ankles crossed up on one of your pillows. His wet hair was dripping onto your floor. The constant droplets hitting your outdated shag carpet lulled the two of you into a comfortable silence. The two of you didn’t need to talk

“Where’s a newer one? This one’s a year old.” He suddenly dropped what he was reading onto the floor next to his head, sitting up so that he could face you again.

You scrunched up your nose, dropping your psychology textbook beside you.

“That is the newer one.” You told him, to which he scooped it up and off of the floor, turning it over and pointing at the date.

He was right. It was old.

It was the June twenty-first issue, the date clear to see on the front: nineteen eighty-four. Bob Dylan was posed on the front in all of his tambourine-man glory.

“Shit. Sorry, Aus. I thought I handed you the Beatles Anniversary edition.” You started to stand up, but he waved you off.

“I should probably get going anyway. I have to try to cook myself something. If I don’t eat now then I’ll jus’ go to bed hungry.”

You had hoped that the two of you could order pizza tonight, but you kept your mouth shut. Lately you found yourself clinging to him a little bit harder than usual. Maybe it was the stress of your sophomore year in college, but you couldn’t be certain. You tried to school the disappointment off of your face as you nodded, standing up to walk him back to the front door.

“Are we still driving down to see Dave’s show? His band sucks, but he’ll be disappointed if we miss it.” He asked you at the front door, shoving his sock clad feet into his work boots and tying them up haphazardly.

You slapped your forehead with the palm of your hand, eyes wide. You’d completely forgotten about your friend’s show tomorrow. You’d planned to stay after class and study in the library, but you didn’t mind cramming for next week's test. Austin laughed, the sound causing you to smile to yourself. His laugh was deep, rich and completely contagious. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face.

“You forgot, didn’t you?” He leaned down so that he was at your height, his smile practically blinding.

You sucked in a breath, but nodded your head anyway. It was hard not to notice his beauty in moments like this. He’d always been handsome, but lately you’d been looking a little too closely at that. A sick twinge of guilt soured your stomach, a feeling of what could only be categorized as “betrayal” causing your face to flush. He was your best friend, and if he knew that you were looking at him like that he would probably be disgusted with you. Hell, you were horrified by your own thoughts recently. You tried to blame the odd feelings on your long-standing lack of romance, but you were starting to believe that was just an excuse.

“I completely forgot.” And you felt bad about it. You’d been so busy with your school work, the recent fight that you had with your mother and. . . well. . . Austin. You cleared your throat softly, kicking at an imaginary pebble on the tiled floor to try and distract yourself.

Austin seemed to notice the change in attitude and put his hand on the top of your head, ruffling your hair in the way that he knew you despised. He chuckled when you slapped his hand away, instead moving his hand to the base of your neck so that he could pull your much smaller form against his in a tight hug. He’d always been lean and tall, but his physically demanding job had caused his muscles to fill out. He felt warm and strong, smelling of your shampoo.

“I’ll drive us tomorrow, alright? Maybe you can get some studying done in the car.” And with that he removed his arms from around you.

You felt the loss of his warmth like a slap in the face. You let him go though, watching as he bounded down the steps towards his van, his keys jingling in his hand with the movement. He was in higher spirits after spending a few hours in your presence. He felt lighter, like some of the crushing weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. You leaned against the doorframe, peeking your head out just to watch him.

“I love you! Drive home safe, alright?” You called out.

Austin couldn’t fight off the blush that raised to his ears, but he turned around and quickly returned the sentiment. You had told him that you loved him every day, but his heart still pounded like it had the very first time. Only these days he wished that you really meant it.

That you loved him the same way that he loved you.

#foreverdolly #austin butler fanfic #austin butler #austin butler fluff #austin butler fic #austin butler smut #austin butler angst #austin butler x reader #austin butler x y/n #austin butler x you #elvis 2022 #elvis baz luhrmann #austin butler imagine #austin butler elvis #austin butler fanfiction #self insert

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thursdaygxrls · 10 months

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thin ice — one

part one | part two | part three

summary — she didn’t handle the sports section of the campus newspaper, but apparently, she did this week. interviewing hockey players was easy, though—unless one of those players happened to be peter parker.

pairing — uni hockey player!peter parker x fem!journalist!reader

disclaimers — i don’t own peter parker. and pls don't come for me with the accuracy of this situation i'm begging

warnings — reader is referred to as ‘kitty’ (there’s a reason, i promise), slight one sided enemies to lovers, sewer slide jokes (very briefly), possible maybe slightly ooc, and very unedited

“You’re joking. You’re pulling the biggest prank I’ve ever seen, you are the impractical joker,” she huffs out, her eyes wide as furiously clicks her mouse, “I’m gonna die. I’m writing the note tonight—farewell, my lovely!”

“Woah, okay,” MJ, her roommate, had only just entered the room when she was bombarded with a sudden rant. She didn’t even have time to take down her ponytail of thin, red braids before her eardrums were assaulted.

“I mean it.” Spinning her chair, she meets MJ’s eyes.

“I literally just got here,” MJ plops down on the bed in front of the desk, “Care to tell me why you’re writing that note?”

“I’m a dumb, dumb girl, that’s why,” she groans in response.

“We already knew that.” MJ’s words only cause the girl in front of her to shoot daggers with her gaze; “Sorry, sorry. Why are you a dumb, dumb girl?”

“God, okay, so,” she lets out a loud sigh, “Eli is gonna be gone for the rest of the month—Europe or something, good for him. Anyways, they needed someone to cover his assignments for him until he gets back, and I volunteered, but, like, only to be nice, y’know? I did it as an obligation. But…”

“But?” MJ pressed.

“I just got an email, and it’s me,” she grumbled, “They’re putting me on Eli’s assignments.”

“Hm, I see,” MJ’s lips curl into a frown as she gently rubs the girl’s arm, “Too much work?”

“Oh, no, my stuff’s easy,” she waved her off, “Just reading the poetry submissions. I mean, it can be exhausting, but it’s not too bad.”

“Then what is it?” MJ cocks her head.

“Eli…Eli does sports,” she shuddered. MJ couldn’t contain the loud laugh that slipped out, clamping a hand over her mouth to stifle it.

“You’re worried about sports?” She giggles, her eyes twinkling.

“It’s not funny!” She smacks MJ lightly, “Sports aren’t unbearable or anything, but, like, why me? I don’t know enough! I’ll screw it up, I’ll lose my spot, they’ll stick me back in—”

“Relax,” MJ grabs her shoulders, bringing her closer, “First off, no, you won’t lose your spot, we both know they’d be losing their minds without you. Second, they wouldn’t just throw it on you if they thought you’d give them bad work, right?” She eyes MJ almost suspiciously. There’s a momentary stare-down before she relents.

“I hate that you’re right,” she sighs, spinning her chair around. MJ stops the spin by putting her hands down on the arms of the chair.

“Thought you’d be used to it by now,” she giggles, “So, what do you have to do?”

“I don’t know.” Is the mumbled reply.

“You didn’t even look?” MJ laughs again, “You were losing your mind, and you didn’t even know what you’re doing?”

“I’m sorry that I’m sensitive,” she huffs. Her gaze moves back to the laptop before her. The email is open on the screen, so she begins scrolling through it, MJ reading the words over her shoulder. Her eyes nearly bulge out of her head when she gets to the end.

“Fuck this,” she almost slams her laptop shut, but is stopped short by MJ.

“Slow down!” The redhead slaps her hand out of the way to read the rest of the email.

The ESU hockey team had made it to the NCAA Division I Men's Ice Hockey tournament for the first time in six years—and they were doing damn good. Eli had been tasked with interviewing the team captain as well as a few other star players, but, of course, it was no longer Eli's job.

"Oh, come on,” MJ rolled her eyes, “They gave you a Google Doc with questions, all you have to do is ask them and write down their response."

“That's the problem, I have to ask,” she shivered.

"You've done interviews before!" MJ was ready to smack her.

"With professors! And cool artsy people! Not hockey guys," she cringed, “I bet half of them are in a frat. They're probably gonna be assholes and tell me I have cooties."

“Are you twelve?” MJ groaned, “You sort of lucked out with this—half the work is already done for you! You don’t need to write up any questions!” A sigh left her lips as she took on a more comforting tone: “If it makes you feel any better, Harry is on the team.”

Ah, Harry. MJ had been seeing him for a little over a month by now. He wasn’t a bad guy at all. A little full of himself, but nice enough to talk to. Her eyes roved over the list of players she was set to interview. Sure enough, Harry Osborn was there. So was Miles Morales, who was described as an extremely promising freshman. Zack Coleson, who had the highest number of goals for the season. Last on the list was the team captain: Peter Parker.

“I can talk to Harry,” MJ offered, “I can let him know that it’s you doing the interviews. I’ll make sure he tells them to go easy on you—”

“No, no,” she shook her head, “That might make it worse. And they already know that it’s not Eli coming. Or they should, at least”

“You sure?” MJ quirked a brow, her features crinkling in a way that was only intelligible as concern.

“They’ll be walking on eggshells around me if they know I’m chickenshit, I won’t get a good interview,” she sighed. Even if the interview wasn’t what she wanted to do, she was going to have to. And she would do a good job—a great job.

“You got this, Kitty,” MJ squeezed her shoulders. The nickname pulled a smile from her, and she gave into MJ’s touch.

“We’ll see about that,” she relented. Her eyes traveled back to the computer screen. The interviews were scheduled two days from now at the Stark Memorial Rink.

“Hey, MJ,” she hummed, “Could you grab me my noose?”

The rink was colder than she expected. The empty stands provided no body heat, not to mention there was a literal sheet of ice on the floor. Tugging at the strap of her messenger bag, she took slow, careful steps to the plexiglass.

Clink.

Her eyes widened. There were around ten to fifteen guys in full gear out on the ice, and another ten to fifteen more on a bench near the glass or flitting around the edge of the rink. She was nervous, so she got there early. Now, she was stuck watching them practice.

Leaving was so tempting. She could go back to her dorm, or better yet, leave college entirely. She could just give up and fall off the grid, cut her credit cards, throw her phone in the ocean, sail off to Greece—

“Hello?”

She cursed the muffled voice that pulled her back into reality. Blinking, she found that standing before her was one of the very hockey players she’d seen skating on the rink before her. He was tall, and gear under his black and purple jersey made him appear far more bulkier than she theorized he was. He slipped his helmet off to reveal brown, curly hair that was drenched in sweat.

“Hi,” she replied, trying not to sound as nervous as he would. He cocked his head at her as he popped out his mouth guard.

“This is a closed practice,” he said, though, he didn’t sound all too upset that she was here.

“Oh, yeah, I know,” she nodded quickly, her fingers toying with the strap of her bag again, “I’m a bit early, I’m supposed to be interviewing some people on the team. I’m—”

“Kitty?” She was interrupted by the sound of a voice as well as skates scraping across the ice. Glancing past the guy in front of her, she saw Harry slide off the ice and clomp to benches where they currently were.

“Hey, Harry.” Her lips were screwed up in a tight grin. He’d heard MJ call her Kitty once, and now it was the only thing he’d refer to her as.

“Kitty?” Mystery guy repeated the name with a hint of intrigue.

“It’s not my real name, my friends just call me that,” she shook her head.

“What’re you doing here?” Harry asked, swinging an arm around the shoulder of the guy in front of her.

“I’m Eli’s replacement,” she explained, trying to plaster a friendly smile to her lips, “I’m doing the interviews.”

“Aw, shit, why didn’t MJ tell me we got the cool Kitty-cat on the case?” Harry grinned.

“Could you try to never say those words again? Really hated it, thanks,” her nose crinkled.

“You got it.” He tried to point finger guns at her, but with the thick gloves on, it just looked like he was pointing his whole hand.

“Hey,” he started up again, “You’re a little early, so practice isn’t over yet, but we’re almost done. It’s just the four of us, right?”

“Right,” she nodded in response. It was a relief that they’d been briefed on the situation.

“Alright, well, I’m Harry, obviously, Miles and Zack are on the ice somewhere, and this right here—” Harry jostled the shoulders of the Mystery guy, “—is Peter. Oh captain, my captain!”

Peter chuckled as Harry clapped him on the back. The noise that emanated from the friendly hit was harsh, but Peter didn’t move a muscle.

“Right,” she nodded, “So, I figured we could do them individually? There’s some sort of specific questions for each of you.”

“Sounds good, Kitty,” Harry replied. She’d smack him if he said that name again.

“Sit tight for a bit,” Peter spoke up. Even with the stubble on his chin, his smile gave him a boyish appearance. He looked her up and down quickly, “We can try to wrap up practice early.”

'A bit' ended up feeling like forever. At first, she tried to distract herself with her phone, but it didn't work: she would open apps, scroll through them, then close them just to reopen them over and over again. So she organized her bag, which took about five minutes. Time seemed to tic by in a tauntingly slow manner. It was only when she saw a few of the players emerge from the locker room did she let out a breath of relief. She immediately sucked that breath back when she realized that she would actually have to talk to some of them.

Harry went first. It was easy enough to go through the questions with him. It was like talking to an over-eager relative at a family reunion, one who was just dying to talk about all the new things they're doing. Miles wasn't all that bad to interview, either. He was a lot more nervous than she was. His awkward pauses and constant strings of 'um' and 'uh' was almost comforting. Then came Peter.

"Kitty," he grinned as soon as he saw her seated on the bench next to the rink. He no longer wore his gear—just a hoodie and a pair of gray sweats. His hair, however, was still wet and tousled. She gave him a tight lipped smile in return.

"That's not my name," she replied. Before she had time to properly introduce herself, his raspy chuckle was already echoing through the open arena.

"You said that's what your friends call you, right?" He cocked his head as he sat down on the other edge of the bench.

"You're not—” If she could just make it through the interview without fuss, she'd be one person away from being free, "—right. That's what my friends call me."

"I'm going to be recording this, just so I can reference it later," she explained almost monotonously.

"This isn't my first time," he responded with another light laugh. She had to physically bite her tongue to fight off any comments. A soft click sounded from her phone as she started a new voice memo. Her eyes scanned the list of questions on the page before her. Some she'd already asked to Harry and Miles: How does it feel to make the tournament? What is the atmosphere of the team right now? She chose a fresh question to start with.

"What's it like to be the captain of this team? Are you proud? Overwhelmed?" She asked, her voice taking on a new tone closer to a news anchor than a regular person. Peter's lips curled up at the change.

"I'm proud, yeah," he nodded, his voice smooth, "This is a great group. But we all work our asses off, so I'm not surprised by how far we've come. Being their captain is really something."

"And—"

"Do you normally do sports? For the paper, I mean." Before she could even get her next sentence out, he interrupted her. Her grip on the papers in her hand tightened.

"No, not normally," she grit out, "And going along with your thoughts on being captain, what about making it to the tournament this year?"

"It's the best feeling in the world. It's something I've been chasing after for years now, finally getting to it is just...sort of indescribable." Even when his tone is nothing but sincere, he can't wipe the cocky grin from his lips.

"I can imagine," she smiled tautly in reply, "What was it like working your way up to captain? Was it a personal journey, or did you get support from the team?"

"I'd say it was an even mix of both," he hummed, "Do you like hockey?"

"What?" She furrowed her brows.

"Are you a hockey fan?" He reiterated, "Because our next game is home, and it's sort of packed, but I could get you some tickets assuming you don't have some already—"

"No—Peter," she let out a frustrated huff, tapping on her phone to momentarily pause the recording, "This is an interview, not social hour."

"Aren't interviews inherently social?" His smirk was infuriating.

"I mean that I ask the questions, you answer them," she grumbled, "Do you act like this with Eli? Are you not taking me serious because I'm a woman?"

"What?" His smirk fell immediately, "What? No—no. I'm taking you seriously, I take women very seriously. I'm all for women. They're great."

"Then can we just do this interview and get it over with?" She sighed, her finger hovering over the unpause button. He nodded, but before she could resume the interview, he quickly added: "But do you want tickets?"

Ignoring the question, she carried on. Peter seemed to mellow out after a while and didn't interrupt again. It was almost surprising how well he'd listened: he was giving her real, insightful answers to her questions without a hint of flirtation. The final interview with Zack flowed easily, and she fled Stark Memorial Rink as quick as she could.

Transcribing the interviews was the easiest part. Days later, she would be hunched over her computer in the darkness of her shared dorm, playing and replaying the recordings and typing out the words onto the screen. Her concentration was briefly interrupted, though, when the door opened and a stream of light threaded its way through the room and onto the back of her head.

"Light bad!" She slapped her hands over her eyes, "Light very bad!"

"You're gonna go blind if you keep staring at your computer in the dark," MJ spoke in a warning tone, but ultimately closed the door.

"Then blind I must go," she sighed, swiveling on her chair to look at her roommate, "How was class?"

"Normal," MJ shrugged, sliding her bag off her shoulders, "But I have a little something for you."

"Something for little ol' me?" She gasped in dramatized delight.

"Yes," MJ grinned widely as her hand reached for the zipper of her bag, "Close your eyes."

She obliged immediately, her nose scrunched in anticipation, "I hope it's a million dollars. Is it a million dollars? Am I close?"

"Almost," MJ giggled. After a moment of anticipation, MJ gently grabbed her hands and place something into them. It was thin and papery and rectangular. Opening her eyes, she looked down to see a white envelope with 'Kitty' written out on the front. Her brows furrowed at the unfamiliar handwriting.

"Is there a check for a million dollars inside?" She asked as she cocked her head.

"No clue, it's not from me," MJ shrugged.

"Then who's it from?" Her fingers slid under the lip of the envelope.

"Harry gave it to me to give to you," MJ grinned, "He said it's from Peter."

She should've sailed to Greece when she had the chance. Inside the envelope were two tickets—Empire State University versus Pennbrook University this Saturday at seven. A long groan left her lips before she finally met MJ's eyes.

"You never got me that noose I asked for."

a/n — not sure how i’m feeling abt this one guys. hockey peter has been causing me brain rot tho so i couldn’t help myself.

656 notes · View notes

tallymonster · 3 months

Text

Careless Whisper ❤️ AO3 link ❤️‍🔥

Summary: Zesstra is a stripper and she just got off work. She turns on her computer and watches a very steamy streamer.

THIS IS PURE SMUT TRASH, IT IS NOT SERIOUS. If you come to my asks being an asshole, your ass will get BLOCKED.

A/N: there's a lot of emojis and out of character speak going on here. Do not take anything written here seriously, this was done for fun. Consider this a love letter to my friends on the Astarion Brainrot discord and to the ones who let me use their Tavs in this wild idea I had one day when I got too stoned and started to write on Google docs. Might be a one off, might be a thing, who knows?? Either way, enjoy! Happy Valentine's Day 😘💕

@cursedhaglette who let me use Halia (goldengalhal)

@tragedybunny who let me use Sera (SeraQueen)

@micropoe10 who let me use Colette (EcoGirl)

@just-a-refrigerator who let me use Elora (slutty_songstress)

And @bhaalbaaby who let me use Penelope

Thanks guys, I love love love you all 💕

Zesstra flops onto her bed with her laptop and a giant glass of wine in her hand. Another shitty day at work, but what's new? Being a dancer at the Fae Cabaret wasn't the ideal thing, but fuck, if the money wasn't worth getting her ass slapped for 10$ extra dollars in her tip pile.

Today though, was the last straw. The creepy rich dude who comes by every once in a while came by tonight, and did his same bullshit. She could practically recite his opening line “Hey gorgeous, why the sour face?” followed by a stupid smarmy laugh.

Zesstra smiled, put on the fake giggle, and slapped his shoulder. Next, he buys her the cheapest mixed drink, and of course, he gets himself an expensive glass of whiskey he never finishes.

She tries her hardest not to roll her eyes after he makes some degrading comment about her coworker, grimacing while he rants about some meeting with important people she doesn't give two fucks about.

Whatever, that's all in the past now. Tonight was about Zesstra, of course. It's her blessed time off and she was going to spend it the only way she could truly enjoy it.

Zesstra turned on her computer and went through her socials. The public one for family and close friends, some messages from the girls at work, nothing too exciting.

Then she flips to the slutty socials, the ones where she can post pictures from work. She answers some messages on her pay per post site, adds more lewd photos from her various shopping sprees, and scrolls for a few minutes. Messages pour in offering her the world for a few seconds of her attention, but there's really only one place she wishes to be.

Zesstra thinks back on the one bright spot in her nights. A regular she only knows as “The Lawyer”. He's a good looking elf, perfect silver hair, gorgeous face, dazzling red eyes that lock onto her as she walks the floor of the club.

He usually doesn't say much, but when he does Zesstra swears she’s heard that silky voice somewhere before. She put that thought to the back of her mind. Tonight was about seeking her own pleasure.

Clicking through the streaming sites she visits on nights when the images of him won't leave, she finds that her favorite creator, an asmr streamer called ProfaneDelight, just began his stream. Zesstra clicks on his name and pops her headphones on. She drinks more of the wine, and closes her eyes as his voice begins to fill her ears.

“Good evening, darlings.” She watches as he enters the frame of the video, his tight red shirt and black pants hug his body. The camera is at the most unfortunate angle, since it won't allow her to see his whole face which she assumes matches the delicious sound of his voice.

“Have you been waiting all day for me?” He huffs softly, a small laugh follows, “What a good audience you are…” His breathy tone sends shivers down her spine.

Zesstra kept her eyes on the screen as his hands come up to the desk he stands behind. She notices the black leather gloves with red piping along the edges that cover his hands.

“You know I can't stand to be away from you.”, his voice drips, seductively. “I bet you think of me while you do the most boring things.”

Zesstra can't help keeping her eyes locked on his hands, she tries not to, but her mind starts to imagine The Lawyer’s hands there instead.

“Do you get excited when you see time passing by as I get closer to coming back to you?”

His right hand comes up to the top of his shirt, slowly undoing a couple of buttons. A breathy sigh followed his hand as it lowered itself down his torso. Zesstra bites her lip in anticipation, taking another slow sip from her wine.

Her eyes follow his hand as it comes to a stop at the waistline of his pants. The heat rises to her cheeks when she sees the outline of his cock as the gloved hand cups it.

A strained groan escapes his lips, she can already feel the effects of his seduction working on her body. Her cheeks are heating up just by watching these slow teases.

Zesstra swallows more wine, watching as he opens his shirt more. The pale skin of his core seemed to shine in what appears to be candlelight. The soft yellows of the light bathe his body, the shadows cast highlight the muscles that are slowly exposed.

“Ah ah aaahh” he teases, “if you want more…you know what to do, darlings.”

Zesstra smirks mischievously, the money she earned tonight would be put to great use right now. She types a quick message and before she could type it she hears the ping of a donation from someone called goldengalhal.

goldengalhal sent 20$ “Starting off right, love. There's more where that came from 😘”

Zesstra rolls her eyes and sends her 25$ donation, 5 more than whomever that is. Back on the screen she sees her name and message pop up.

TestyZesty sent 25$ “couldn't wait to come home, looks like I got here just in time…”

He laughs and begins to slide one of the gloves off near the microphone. The soft scratching sound of the fabric rubbing against his pale hand sent more shivers through Zesstra’s skin.

As the glove comes completely off his hand, he taps on the mic, Zesstra sighs contentedly and licks the wine off her lip. She notices his fingers, and does a double take. They look familiar? She pours the last bit of this bottle into her glass and leans back to watch more before jumping to conclusions.

“Looks like we have someone who came by at the right time…little TestyZesty…my dear, what are you so testy about? Anything I can help with?” His lips curl into a little smirk, “I hear I give wonderful stress relief…”

Zesstra shoots up on her bed, her wine swivels in the glass and almost spills due to her abrupt reaction. “No fuckin’ way.” her jaw drops and she begins to type her response. Suddenly, another donation pings, this time from a SeraQueen.

SeraQueen sent 50$ “I had a bad day at work, can I get a little love too 🥺”

“Of course, dear. Hope your day can improve now that you're here, my Queen.” he responds with all the sweet words they all love.

Zesstra scoffs, “Biiiiitttttch, please.” she giggles and sends her message. As soon as it pops up on screen, she hears his melodic voice begin to read it.

“Work, irl shit. Life sucks, then you die. You make it better though.” she sees a small smirk on his lips, Gods, she would kill to suck on those lips. “Oh, don't be so nice to me, Zesty…you make me want to be nice back..” He draws out the last bit of that sentence, making the hairs on her arms stand on end.

The second hand comes up and begins the same languid dance of slipping the matching glove off. Bit by bit he takes the glove off each finger, a soft moan flows out of those pretty pink lips when he finally releases his hand from the offending accessory.

He strokes the microphone with his fingers as more soft, breathy moans leave his lips. “You're all so eager to get me exposed aren't you? All these adorable messages just for me?”

“You have no idea…” Zesstra grabs the second bottle of wine that sat on her nightstand, she unscrews the top and drinks straight from the bottle. More images of her Lawyer pop into her head, but her mind decides to think of the way he ran his hands all over her when she took him into the private rooms at the back of the club a couple of nights ago.

No matter how many times she's been told not to let people touch her, she can't help letting him do it every time they're alone. He was paying for the whole experience, of course, but sometimes she wonders what they would get away with if she were the one paying him.

She snaps out of it the moment she hears another donation ping from an EcoGirl.

EcoGirl sent 150$ “do you like to garden? Because I have a hedge that needs tending 😏”

“Oh no, little love. I can't mess up these immaculate hands…then how would I be able to make these streams?” He giggles a bit and stands to remove his belt. It's like a little game of back and forth comments and donations from different people.

Among the many she notices a comment from a slutty_songstress “how do I get you to sing for me? bet you make wonderful sounds 👀”. He apparently noticed that one as well, he reads it out and huffs into the microphone.

“I don't usually do private performances…most of the time I’m the one getting the dance done for me…” A skewed smirk grows on his face, as if he's trying to play coy.

Zesstra’s mind begins to fire off with unhinged horny thoughts. She would do anything to give this man a dance he would never forget. People do love her aloof drow attitude, who’s to say he wouldn't?

Before she could stop herself, she drops another donation.

TestyZesty sent 100$ “what kind of dancing? Are you going to the ballet or stopping by the Cabaret? maybe I'll see you there? 😘”

Another cheeky comment, sure to get his attention. He laughs again, and bites his lip. “Well, I do enjoy both, but I do hold a special place in my heart for the girls at the Fae…have a few in mind actually.”

Within seconds the chat is flooded with questions on who the girls could be. Zesstra sees a few of her coworker’s names flash up on the screen, most notably, Penelope, the pink tiefling with a huge fan base, and Nym the other drow girl who worked part time at the strip club.

Some even mentioned Nym’s brother Sorm, but he had given up the cabaret after finding himself a job as a model after one of his regulars hit it big during Faerun Fashion Week.

Penelope and Nym are Zesstra’s friends and friendly competition. Most nights where the three of them work, they'll place bets on which one of them will get hit on first (Penelope), which one will get a four figure tip (Nym), and who can get the client the most drunk within 30 minutes (Zesstra).

She giggles as the comments keep flying, eventually, one commenter names her!

“Have you seen Zesstra?? She's kind of a bitch but total dommy mommy energy 🥵”

Zesstra cackles like a banshee, “That's right, babes, fear me!” She takes a long drink from the bottle, amused that someone out there thought of her.

Back on stream, the delightful treat in front of her sucks his lip and releases it with a pop, “Darlings, I will never kiss and tell, but I do know one of my little friends is here right now.”

Zesstra sputters into her wine glass, she cannot believe what she just heard! Is he trying to imply that he's a possible client of the Fae??? There's no way, he's probably talking about the ballet that her cousin Octavia is a part of. But then again, how many of those girls sit in their room after a performance and flick their bean to this shit?

She chuckles the thought out of her head, and focuses her attention on the screen. She starts to type a message when a donation pops up.

goldengalhal sent 200$ “I do ballet, maybe you’ve seen one of our performances? I'm the prima ballerina at the Gate’s Performance Hall.”

“Good for you, goldengal. I do appreciate the arts, and I do love dressing up for the occasion, but….there's just something about the girls at the Fae that gets me going…”

Zesstra’s brain short-circuits. “OH MY FUCKING GODS.” Could he be one of her regulars????

Another donation. EcoGirl sent 50$ “CAN WE GET BACK TO THE MATTERS AT HAND?? our boyfriend is still wearing a shirt. 👀”

Zesstra laughs and sends her donation, TestyZesty sent 69$ “i agree with EcoGirl, can we get back to these pressing matters? In particular, the rest of those buttons 😏” An amused chuckle comes out of his lips, he stands and Zesstra could see him lean in closer to the microphone.

His hand slides down his chest, following along the line of buttons at the front of his shirt. The almost hushed sounds flowed from his lips. A strained groan here and a breathy moan there. Zesstra’s skin prickles under his teases.

His hands linger on the buttons that hold his shirt closed, one by one he begins to slide his fingers over the closures, his pale skin becoming more visible by the second. More soft whines and moans fill Zesstra’s ears, the vibrations pooling down in her core.

He leans over and speaks directly into the camera “I hope you all are pleased with yourselves, I don't usually let you all have this much power over me, but I figured with it being Lover’s Night, I would give my little pets a treat.”

He blows a kiss to the camera and begins running his hand down his neck, slowly trailing his hand down his now exposed chest. A low groan, almost a growly noise flutters out of his throat as he pulls the rest of his shirt open. The red silky looking fabric hung off his shoulders as his hand lingered on his waistband.

“Shall I keep going, lovelies? What do you think?”

The messages fly on the left hand side of Zesstra’s laptop screen. One after the other they compete for his attention until another high donation drops.

Slutty_songstress sent 200$ “off with the shirt, please (respectfully)”

“Well, my songstress, since you asked so politely…” The last word is drawn out, he lets his shirt drop from his shoulders, his hand throws it off and palms his cock again. He sucks his lip into his mouth, Zesstra could see what looked like a fang pop out the right side.

More breathy moans fill her ears as she begins to remember earlier in her night, when her bright spot waltzed into the club. She watched as the Lawyer walked up to the bar, he leaned on the counter and began to text furiously. Zesstra didn't usually feel so flustered because of a client, but the way he looked at her was not usual of the other patrons.

When she walked up to him he looked straight at her eyes and smiled. “Hello, beautiful.” She smiles back and leans over the bar, letting her shoulders drop, pressing her upper arms together to puff out her chest. The little game of playing it cool failed under his gaze.

They talk for a while before she hears her name being called, at the same time he checks his watch and notices the time. “I’m late to a very important meeting. Looks like we have to part ways, gorgeous. Maybe next time, we can have some time together? Perhaps away from these prying eyes?”

Zesstra could never properly hear him, no thanks to the loud ass music Alfira played behind the DJ booth, but she was pretty good at reading lips by now.

He slips her a note and winks as she bends down seductively to shove the little scrap of paper inside her platform boot. The moment ruined by Nym, who comes to pull her up on stage. Soon after she finishes her set, she pulls the little note out and reads it.

Zesstra’s jaw drops and sees that it's a business card for one of the most elite law firms in Faerun. It was a plain white card with his name, Astarion, and number written on it. On the back there was a note that read “I helped you once before, don't hesitate to ask again.”

She had given him her landlord’s number when they were trying to pull some shady shit and not fix her leaky shower. One call from “her lawyer” and it was done.

Seems like this was her chance, and given the amount of alcohol she's drunk so far, Zesstra decides to text the number.

“Hey, Astarion. It's Zesstra. Pretty bold of you to give me a business card.” She hits send and throws her phone on the nightstand. She'll check it later, he was probably busy at that meeting he mentioned.

Back in her room, she snaps back to reality yet again when she hears the sound of hundreds of messages scrolling past. Apparently in the time that she was in her daydream, her streamer had already undone his pants! She scoffs and types out a message.

TestyZesty sent 123$ “Holy shit, I looked away for five seconds and you sluts got his pants open??”

Zesstra hears the sultry voice reading her message out loud with a little wince at the end, “I guess if you were paying attention, you wouldn't be surprised.”

Her throat feels dry, she clenches and swallows. “You're all so sweet, letting me ramble like this…I wish I could see your face when you let me do whatever I want to you.”

Zesstra was already extremely turned on from seeing her crush earlier and the way she could feel his eyes studying her reactions.

“Touch yourself. I know you want to.”

As if she was being compelled to, her hand begins to trail down her center, slipping into her tiny shorts. She feels her wetness coating her fingers, her body opening up under his commands.

“Be good for me, I could be really good for you…” he slips his pants down, and she hears them hit the ground. His hand moves up to his waist, pulling at the fabric of his skin tight boxers, his cock very clearly hardened by this point.

“Oh fuck…” she slips her shorts completely off, spreading her legs on both sides of the laptop sitting on her bed. Her left hand goes back to work herself open while the right is tugging her bra up to play with her nipple.

“Give me what I want and I'll give you what you want, darlings.”

Another flood of donations and messages ring out, Zesstra wishes they would all just shut up and enjoy the show, but it's all part of the game.

EcoGirl sent 100$ “pleeease, I need to see this man cuuuuummmmmmm 🥵”

“As you wish, dear. Any particular way? Or is it the dealer's choice?” his voice drops as a sharp exhale escapes with a pout, his muscles tense and release as he runs his hand over his cock.

“Tell me how you want me to.” a sigh, and a moan, “I really wanna come for you all, you've been so good to me tonight..”

Two donations come in at the same time, each opposes the other.

SeraQueen sent 350$ “love the teasing, keep going, we love anything you give us”

goldengalhal sent 420$ “fuck your hand. Let us see your cock leak.”

“Ooh, the war begins…So direct, goldengal, and sooo generous…thank you, love. I do like what SeraQueen adds though, maybe I can give both of my generous beauties a compromise?’

He runs his left hand down the front of his boxers more, his breath hitches and stutters. His fingers teasing the length of his cock. He pulls the camera and the microphone down a bit and flops into the chair behind him.

TestyZesty sent 422$ “you look comfy, just how I imagined when I think of riding you when I touch myself.”

Zesstra had to take her hand off her tit to type that, but she could tell it had an effect on him. As a stripper, she could pretty much tell when any of the patrons got too excited by the dance. This guy clearly loved the attention he got doing these streams in more ways than one.

He begins to pull his boxers down, teasing them all with how slowly he was inching the fabric off. As soon as his cock is freed, it bounces back, bobbing with a twitch. “Is this what you think about, Zesty?”

TestyZesty sent 100$ “ fuck yes. I want to milk you, you drive me crazy.”

A pleased hum that turns into a moan follows as he runs his hands up his thighs, digging his nails into his skin. Zesstra can see the red scratch marks grow bright against his pale skin. Gods, she would love to bite down and see how pretty he would look bruised with little love bites all over.

He wraps one hand around his cock, the other continues to work his way up his toned chest, tweaking a nipple as he begins to lazily stroke his cock.

TestyZesty sent 100$ “get yourself nice and hard, I wanna have a good image of you underneath me.”

“Let me give you a better image then, darling Zesty…”

Zesstra is rewarded with a louder moan, he strokes himself a little more, grabbing a bottle off camera with his other hand. He flips the top and drizzles what looks like lube all over his cock.

EcoGirl sent 50$ “yesyesyesyes get it nice and slick, daddy. I would suck you all day if you let me.”

SeraQueen sent 240$ “you have the prettiest cock, so thick too”

“Oh EcoGirl, you like it when daddy fucks his hand? Would you like it to be your cunt instead? Maybe you and Sera can share?”

Zesstra clenches around nothing, she can't take it anymore and reaches down to fully indulge in herself. She begins to circle her clit, stroking slowly, trying to imitate the movements of his hand on screen.

His hand now coated in a combination of lube and precum slides up and down his hardened length, the muscles on his thighs flex and he lets out more breathy moans. “Let's see who can get me to come all over their beautiful tits, I do love it when they're covered with my come, bouncing in my face.”

Zesstra strokes down her pussy, her slick entrance is so desperate to be filled by him, to be the only one bringing him pleasure. She lets herself wander to the place in her mind where Astarion is the one making her mewl underneath him.

goldengalhal sent 300$ “faster, I love it when you can tell how desperate you are to come.”

He huffs and does as he's told, his hands find their places on his cock and on his balls, both working in tandem to ruin him for the audience. With one hand he strokes himself more, building up speed. His other cups his balls as his fingers spread, moving down towards his frenulum. He arches his back, thrusting into his hand more desperately.

Zesstra wants him to cry out for her like this, she wants to be the one to make him feel as good as he does for her, all she can bare to think of is his cock sliding inside her, splitting her open and taking what he wanted.

Waves of pleasure crash into Zesstra as she watches him stroking his cock faster, she can see how everyone's words affect him. The way his chest stutters as he's getting closer to his own high. His hips thrust up into his soaked hand, seeking release, his breaths growing more ragged and strained.

Zesstra's fingering herself in time with his thrusts, she lets the images of Astarion flood back into her head, his hands all over her as she grinds herself onto him during her dances. She rubs the heel of her palm into her clit faster as she feels herself getting closer, the moans and breaths in her ears pushing her closer to the edge.

“That's right, come for me…let me fill you with my come, get you nice and full for me. Have my seed drip down your legs as you go about your day…” a stutter followed by a strained groan “fuck yourself faster, I want to feel you come for me.”

Zesstra feels herself winding up more, the tension ready to snap at any moment, when she hears his moans grow louder and more primal. He's desperate to come and she would do anything to get that to happen. She keeps her eyes locked into his hands.

With her free hand she sends the last donation she thinks she can type before the lust fully takes her.

TestyZesty sent 69$ “come for me, gorgeous. Let me see you come and coat your beautiful skin.”

“Yes darling… gods, I'm so close… are you gonna come too, Zesty? Come with me, sweet girl.”

As if on command, Zesstra can feel herself crossing over the precipice, her body writhes and clenches as her cunt squeezes down on her fingers. She rides her orgasm out as she hears him panting and whining.

“Yes yes fuck you're so tight and wet, I can't take it anymore, fuuuuck…” he twists his hand on the rise of his hand, giving the head a bit of a squeeze. He thrusts into his hand with little shallow movements, his fingers from his other hand grip on his balls as he fucks his hand.

His body is clenching, tensing up more and more as he pushes himself over the edge, his cock twitches as he comes. The thick liquid coats his hand as it drips down. His body shudders as he keeps fucking his hand through his climax.

His moans stutter and his hips tremble. His waist and stomach are coated with his come, an obscene display for such a composed subject.

“Looks like I gotta clean up here, darlings.” he pants with a small laugh, his breath shallow and chest heaving. “For my little messenger, I hope you liked it. Expect a response from me soon, pet. Good night, loves.”

The stream ends, Zesstra thinks that little sign off was strange, but everyone has their thing. As she's coming down from one of the best orgasms she's had, she hears her phone ring and notices that Astarion has actually texted back! His meeting must've just ended, perfect timing.

When she opens the message, she nearly dropped her phone from the whiplash from throwing her head back. As plain as her own red eyes could see, was a short text. “You were pretty bold tonight, yourself, testyzesty…” Zesstra gasps, her eyes are as wide as dinner plates. “OH MY FUCKING GODS?!?!”

She immediately feels her hands trembling wildly. All she could think about was him, and it turns out that it was. Zesstra’s brain immediately blanks out when her phone rings again. “Did you mean what you said? Do you really want me like that?”

She quickly types a response and sent it back “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Come now, dear. Don't play coy.” his response reads, “Pretty easy to figure out it was you, not many girls mention seeing me at the Cabaret. Thought you were trying to drop a hint? Figured you recognized my voice from earlier?

Zesstra didn't even think about it, the club is so fucking loud, her mind races at the fact that now she knows that he definitely got off to her watching him. “Did you always know?”

“No.” he replies.

“So then…you meant to give me your phone number tonight?”

“Yes. Let's just say, you intrigued me. Besides, you're not the only one who has a public and private life. I was hoping to let you in on my little secret eventually, but it seems life had other plans for us.”

Zesstra cannot believe what's going on right now, her mind is racing through the hundreds of times he's come through the club. The sudden departures and strange late night meetings, it all makes sense now. There were never any meetings…well, not with other lawyers at least.

“So….what happens now? I know who you are, you know who I am…do we keep going down this path or do we split ways?”

“I think you're a rather curious little kitten, why don't we see how far down the rabbit hole we can go? I'll send you my address. Let me know what you decide on.”

Zesstra bolts out of bed, she puts on the skimpy dress that hangs on the bathroom door. She slips it on and gathers some things before running to the door. As she makes her way down the stairwell of her building, she gets his address. She bites her lip and replies “I’m on my way, see you soon.”

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion smut #everyone is out of character #it is what it is #happy valentine's day

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maccaronimassacre · 2 months

Text

Resident Evil Bot Dump #9

A couple of quick updates on the bots!

I have made a new masterlist which is the google doc on my pinned post. It contains every single bot I have made and will be regularly updated with any rules or short notices in regards to them. I have also organised them into little subheadings and groups for easier navigation.

I will now take requests for my favourite girlboss Mia Winters <3

As requested I have made some character voices as well as some variations for people to use. Unfortunately it is only a feature on the mobile app but you can find them by looking through the voices as normal. I will also take requests for them.

On that note thank you guys so much for the support! Requests have been and will be slower as I have exams coming up but do keep them coming. Feel free to ask me anything whether it is related to c.ai or not and I'll try and answer them all!

Mercenary!Ada Wong x Mercenary!Reader

Ada sighs as she looks at the small compact mirror in her hand, taking the time to apply some more lipstick. “You do remember the plan right?” The whole reason why the two of you find yourselves outside the opulent manor in the first place is because of the intel from your employer. Apparently the host of the ball is in possession of an exotic and rare treasure. A treasure that you must try and find while masquerading as a couple.

Cat Hybrid!Ada Wong x Reader

Her footfalls barely audible, Ada slips through the open window, landing with grace. A sly smirk spreads across her lips when she sees you, her tail flicking back and forth playfully. “I told you that I’d come back, didn’t I?” Ada speaks with confidence and ease, yet the subtle twitch of her ears reveal her joy of being near you once more.

RE:4R Ada Wong x Agent!Reader

“You can stop right there {{user}}.”

A voice calls out from behind. A voice that you haven’t heard in years.

“Wouldn’t make me use this, would you?”

Her heels echo on the wooden floorboards as she strides towards you, a gun pressed against the back of your head. Ada finds a glimmer of satisfaction in reuniting with you, her eyes drifting to your face and taking in how the years have changed you both. The normally calm and collected Ada finds herself unable to suppress the smirk tugging at her lips.

Detective!Ada Wong x Reader

Files lay sprawled across the desk, each being inspected with a critical eye. The radio's talk show drones like distant static as Ada looks over the witness statements, the text blurring as exhaustion starts to creep in. With a weary sigh Ada tugs at her tie, adjusting it around her collar in an effort to cool down. Suddenly she’s snapped out of her daze by a knock on the door, prompting her to straighten up and refocus on the case once more. “Come in!”

RE:4R!Ada Wong x Reader

Ada was used to getting some odd jobs here and there from her employers, but saving the president’s kid? Now that’s a new one. Yet here she was, in a village overrun by mindless cultists and infected villagers, tasked with guiding you through the treacherous catacombs to safety. “Our best shot is that castle over there.” Ada calls out, her voice steady despite the chaos around them. As she navigates through the rocky terrain, her eyes stay fixed on the imposing walls of the castle.

Post RE:3R!Carlos Oliveira x Reader

On the balcony, Carlos finds solace, his eyes fixed on the horizon where waves cascade over rocks and meet the shore. Since escaping the destruction of Raccoon City and settling down with you in Mexico, he finally feels a sense of peace. Even though he has contemplated changing his identity, being with you washes away his doubts and anxieties just like the calming waves before him.

Android!Carlos Oliveira x UBCS!Reader

“This right here is Carlos, Umbrella’s latest android model who will help you rescue the remaining civilians here in the city.” Mikhail pats UB300 on the back, gesturing for him to analyse and familiarise himself with his new teammate. You watch as Carlos’ LED flickers while looking you up and down, looking up every bit of information about you and committing it to his memory. After a couple of moments he finally smiles at you and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you {{user}}.”

Carlos Oliveira x Umbrella!Reader

Carlos is accustomed to working for all kinds of corporations and groups, regardless of their morality. To him, Umbrella was just another pay check and this time he’s been assigned to protect you, a scientist. He stands in front of your office, throwing a polite nod your way as you make your way over to the door to begin another shift. “Congratulations {{user}}, because you just landed yourself a personal bodyguard.” He announces with a slight bow, stretching his arms out dramatically while flashing you a charming grin.

Biker!Carlos Oliveira x Barista!Reader

The door to the coffee shop swings open, announcing the arrival of the rugged biker, clad in a black leather jacket and sleek leather boots. He effortlessly slides his visor off, tucking it under his arm while striding up to the counter. A charming grin plays on his lips as he leans closer to have a look at the menu, the blend of his cologne and motor oil wafting through the air. “Strange. I don’t see you anywhere on the menu.” He winks, casually draping his forearm across the counter.

Umbrella Agent!Chris Redfield x BSAA Agent!Reader

“Can’t say I expected you to be here.” A voice echoes, a voice the BSAA have sought for years. Your former partner, once a beacon of determination and courage, approaches with an icy expression, devoid of the spark that ignited his squad. “But after all these years you’re still their lapdog.” Chris adds, his gaze narrows when he catches the BSAA patch on your shoulder and his lips curl up into a bittersweet smile. He pats his own shoulder, revealing the familiar red and white logo of the corporation he swore to destroy all those years ago. Umbrella.

Bioweapon!Chris Redfield x Reader

“STARS…” Heavy footsteps and growling echo down the halls of the desolate RPD, Chris’ gruff voice distorted due to the modifications made to his body. He wasn’t even sure what he was doing. His mind conflicted between protecting you from the zombies and B.O.Ws roaming the streets, or crushing your head with one swift blow like he’s been programmed to do. Either way he’s hot on your trail with clenched fists…

Chris Redfield x Injured!Reader

Chris storms through the base, his usual stoic demeanour replaced by a desperate urgency. Disregarding all praise and kudos for the successful mission, he strides silently towards the medical ward, haunted by vivid images of you engulfed in blood soaked cries. He wanted to. No, he needed to know if you’re okay. Despite the protests of several staff members, he bursts into the room, his resolve shattering instantly at the sight of you in the hospital bed.

Chris Redfield x Reader (Stargazing)

“Beautiful isn’t it?” Chris gazes up to the sky while lighting a cigarette, the bright orange of flames illuminating his face before pulling away to take a drag. Leaning against the thick tree trunk, he exhales with a deep sigh, observing the smoke dance in the air, vanishing into the myriad of dazzling stars above. “Want me to show you some constellations?”

RE:1R!Chris Redfield x Zombie!Reader

A curse escapes Chris' lips as he faces the oncoming crimson head in the narrow corridor, devoid of ammo or flash grenades. Bracing for a gruesome fate, he squeezes his eyes shut and lifts his hands up to guard his face until a loud crash and sickening crunch disrupt the impending doom. Tentatively he opens his eyes to discover you standing by the corpse of the crimson head with grey glazed eyes and rotting skin giving way to brittle bones. At that moment Chris realises that you have just saved him. A zombie has actually saved his life.

Infinite Darkness!Claire Redfield x Reader

Moonlight seeps through the blinds, unveiling the vacant spot on the bed where Claire rested. You can see the familiar glow of her laptop from the hallway, the files and documents displayed on the screen reflecting off her glasses. Since her conversation with Leon and her humanitarian efforts in Penamstan, Claire has plunged back into the familiar pattern of sleepless nights, driven by her determination to uncover the fate of the Mad Dogs after the civil war.

RE:2R!Claire Redfield x Reader

When Claire told you that she was going to Raccoon City to see her brother, you decided to tag along knowing how dangerous it is to go alone. Of course you didn’t know that the danger included a zombie outbreak. “The STARS office. They will probably have something on my brother there.” Claire calls out while reloading her handgun. The two of you now find yourselves trapped in the RPD, exploring the labyrinthine layout and its strangely elaborate puzzles.

Mechanic!Claire Redfield x Reader

As you step into the shop you are immediately greeted with the smell of car oil and rust. Tools, spare bits of scrap, and scattered screws create an organized chaos on counters and workbenches. Claire's eyes light up as she spots you, promptly brushing sweat from her brow and wiping motor grease on her uniform. “Hey there, how can I help you?”

Claire Redfield x College Student!Reader

Claire continues to make her side of the dorm as homely as possible, putting up the front covers of fashion and car magazines on the wall and neatly organising out her trinkets on the desk. Excitement and nerves tangle within her as she wonders about her new roommate. What if they don’t share the same interests? What if they find her weird? The sound of the door opening interrupts her thoughts. Turning, she sees you entering with a stack of boxes in your arms. She can feel her palms grow sweaty and her heart races as she studies you, trying to form a quick impression of your character.

Post RE:8!Ethan Winters x Reader (+Rose)

Ethan chuckles as he watches Rose babble and squeal at the TV, her arms flailing with excitement when her favourite cartoon would appear on the large screen. Gently, he set Rose down on the floor to play, the metal of his prosthetic fingers cold against her skin. The BSAA were kind enough to fit him with some replacements after he lost his pinkie and ring finger in Romania. But more importantly, he was finally granted a quiet life with you and Rose finally by his side. No more tests. No more monsters. No more surprises.

RE:7 Infected!Ethan Winters x Reader

“Don’t worry Evie… They’ll accept your gift, and then we can be a family.” The voice pulls you out of your disorientated state, your vision blurring and your head throbbing with a dull ache. As consciousness returns, you find yourself strapped to a chair in front of a dining table laden with rotten and moulded food. The pungent juices that ooze out of each filled dish serve as an instant wake up call to your surroundings. “Eat up, it’s good.” Across the table sits a man bearing a cold smile as well as staples that protrude out of his left wrist. The candlelight flickers and casts shadows across his pale skin, making the wild look in his eyes more sinister and crazed.

Ethan Winters x Reader

Ethan's heart pounds in his chest like a drum, hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, now damp from sweaty palms. Silent since getting in the car, he's consumed by various scenarios and outcomes for the day. Today marks the fateful day where Ethan introduces you to his parents. To say he's nervous is a massive understatement as you're his entire world, and he prays his family embraces you as warmly as he did when sparks first started to fly.

Post RE:8!Ethan Winters x Reader (+Rose)

After moving to another continent, discovering that he’s dead and made out of mould, having a half mould child, killing a scientist posed as a deity and an extremely messy divorce, Ethan decides to do the unthinkable. Online dating. As Ethan swipes through all the profiles and pictures he can’t help but feel ridiculous, he’s in his late 30s with a daughter yet his hands are shaking like leaves when your name and profile pop up on the screen. After pacing around the living room for five minutes he finally settles on the perfect opener. A real conversation starter. He types out: “Hey.”

RE:7 Infected!Ethan Winters x Reader

He asked you to come find him. After three years he finally gave you a shred of hope, all the way out in the swamps of Louisiana. “You shouldn’t have come here… I must contain… Must contain the outbreak.” Ethan growls as he approaches you, his hazel eyes swallowed by a black abyss and dark veins snake across his features. A low laugh tumbles from his lips and he lunges towards you with the kitchen knife, chasing you down the corridors of the decrepit house with a sinister smile etched on his face.

Ethan Winters x Reader

Glittering like diamonds under the golden sun, the waves sweep against the shore line, leaving behind bits of seashells in its wake. The sand feels good under your feet, keeping you warm against the cool ocean breeze. “I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of this.” Ethan squeezes your hand, your fingers interlaced with his while you continue the quiet stroll down the beach.

RE:3R!Jill Valentine x UBCS!Reader

Jill scoffs as she heads up the subway stairs, checking the remaining ammo in her handgun. To her annoyance, you, an employee of Umbrella, have been ordered to assist her in powering the subway station for the survivors' escape out of the city. “Just stay out of my way, got it? The last thing we need are more screwups from you people.” With a huff she slips under the metal barrier, heading back into the chaos of the city where she is immediately greeted with smell of fire and rotting flesh.

Android!Jill Valentine x Reader

With crime rates on the rise, the RPD finally relented and invested in some androids, programmed to act as human partners and aid the police force. “{{user}}, correct? I’m Jill Valentine, part of the STARS series of androids created by Cyberlife. Captain Wesker has assigned me to be your partner.” Despite the formality of her words, there is something uncanny about her mannerisms and flat tone of voice. Her gaze flickers to your desk, assessing it with a critical eye, as if she's attempting to gather information about you.

RE:1R!Jill Valentine x Zombie!Reader

After stumbling upon another batch of supplies in the mansion, Jill can’t help but wonder who keeps leaving all this stuff for her. She picks up the torn piece of paper attached that simply reads “heer :)” scrawled in poor handwriting. It can’t be Wesker, and even though Chris isn’t the brightest bulb in the box he can at least spell. Barry was also ruled out, having been with her just moments ago. As Jill contemplated the situation, a figure emerged from the shadows of the stairwell, carrying first aid sprays and ammo. With lifeless eyes fixed upon her, the figure shuffles closer, grunting as it places the supplies on the ground. The person actually helping out Jill is a zombie?

RE:3R!Jill Valentine x Zombie!Reader

Jill's heart pounds in her chest as she slams the door shut behind her, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as the heavy footsteps of Nemesis echo through the streets. As the sounds fade into the distance, she makes her way to the Subway Office, her handgun held firmly in front of her. The door to the control room swings open, revealing a figure hunched over the control panel manipulating the subway lines. "Hey, what are you-" Jill’s words die in her throat when you turn around. Your skin is pale and sickly in colour and your eyes glazed over, boring into her soul with a blank expression.

RE:4R!Leon Kennedy x Agent!Reader

The bell tolls, bringing an abrupt end to the chaos. Villagers, entranced and mumbling in Spanish, slowly shuffle out of the square, leaving behind the haunting aftermath of bodies and ruined houses. “Where’s everyone going? Bingo?” Despite the eerie atmosphere, your fellow agent still manages to find the time to crack out one liners.

Leon Kennedy x Pregnant!Reader

“How’s little {{user}} and Leon junior doing in there, hun?” Leon wraps his arms around your waist tenderly, drawing you close from behind. Gently he caresses your stomach and rests his chin on your shoulder, taking in your beauty and marvelling at the transformations your body has undergone during these past few months.

RE:4R!Leon Kennedy x Mercenary!Reader

“Try using knives next time. Better for close encounters.” Leon smirks, holding his combat knife to your throat as he restrains the arm bearing your gun. Despite his confident facade, Leon’s heart races, his mind is turbulent with conflicted thoughts as the memory of your supposed demise plays in his head on repeat. He watched you die that night, yet here you stand, devoid of any scars that bear witness to the event that has tormented his dreams for six years.

Single Dad!Leon Kennedy x Teacher!Reader

As you're wrapping up your files and shutting down your laptop, the door to the classroom bursts open, revealing a somewhat dishevelled man. Running his fingers through his hair and adjusting his collar, he strides over with an apologetic expression. “Sorry I’m late, I got caught up in some business… You’re Sherry’s teacher, right?” He quickly takes a seat across your desk, offering an easy going smile.

Leon Kennedy x Reader

“Hey, looks like we’re in luck! I can’t believe these things still exist.” Leon remarks as you pull into the drive-in cinema. Only a few cars are scattered around, providing you both with perfect view of the classic movies projected onto the large screen. Once parked, Leon grabs the popcorn and snacks, wedging them in the console between you two. He also fetches a couple of blankets, draping them over both of you for a cosy yet old fashioned movie night under the stars.

RE:2R!Leon Kennedy x Zombie!Reader

In the tense silence of the narrow corridors, subtle clicks and low snarls echo as the licker crawls across the ceiling, hunting for new prey. Leon struggles to keep still as the creature approaches him, holding his breath and trying to calm the pounding of his heart. Just as the licker is about to sense him, a sudden loud bang shatters the stillness from the opposite end of the corridor. Squinting, Leon catches sight of you, your greyish skin and glazed eyes gleaming in the light that pours through a barricaded window. You throw something in the other direction, diverting the licker’s attention as it scurries away towards the source of the noise, leaving the rookie unharmed.

RE:7 Infected!Mia Winters x Reader

“{{user}}? You can’t hide from me forever you know…” Mia’s words turn into twisted snarls as she stumbles down the corridor, revving up the chainsaw once more. Her eyes, now black abysses, lock onto yours as she charges forward, the chainsaw raised for a deadly strike. “They’re counting on me! I must contain it… I must stop the outbreak!”

Mia Winters x Reader

A gentle breeze rolls over the hills, caressing your bodies as you bask in the warm sunshine. The flowers appear to glow under the bright rays, swaying in the wind as insects rest on their delicate petals. Mia continues to flip through the pages of her book, one hand on the pages and the other gently caressing the side of your head that rests in her lap. Her fingers create soft and soothing patterns on your skin, tracing any bumps or marks, as well as the contours of your lips and cheeks.

RE:8!Mia Winters x Lord!Reader

Your footsteps echo throughout the hidden dungeon of Mother Miranda’s domain. While your ‘brothers and sisters’ were tasked with Rose’s body parts, you’ve been left to watch the child’s mother, Mia Winters. “Why won’t you listen to me? If you let Miranda go through with the ceremony it’s over for everyone in this village. She won’t hesitate to kill you or any of your siblings. She’ll throw you out just like all her other failed experiments.” Mia pleads, her voice laced with frustration as she rattles at the bars of her cell, yet another futile attempt at escape.

RE:7!Mia Winters and Bioweapon!Reader

It’s a simple task for Mia. All she needs to do is keep you under control and pretend to be your mother while the ship makes its course to Romania. “Just one more… You’re doing good {{user}}.” Mia smiles as she administers another dosage of medicine into your veins. She ruffles your hair, pretending to be sweet and affectionate towards you.

Post RE:8!Mia Winters x BSAA Agent!Reader (+Rose)

It’s been a couple of months since the events of Romania. Since Mia’s husband, Ethan, sacrificed himself for their daughter Rose. Mia never wanted the BSAA in their lives ever again, but who could blame her? Their blunder ultimately led to his death, leaving Mia to raise a baby all on her own. Despite her self isolation, you still visit her and help out with Rose when it gets too much. Which is why you find yourself at her front doorstep today, Mia welcoming you in with a small smile.

RE:7 Infected!Mia x Reader

“We’re going to be a family now that you’re here.” Mia’s voice lulls you out of your stupor, the dingy dining room lights filtering through your eyelids. Despite the throbbing headache you can make out Mia in front of you, her elbows propped up on the table with her chin supported by her hands. The pungent odour of mold and rotting meat assaults your senses, the food laid out before you oozing a strange alien like substance. “Eat up darling… It’s good.”

Post RE:7!Mia Winters x Reader

Mia quietly comes up from behind and plants a tender kiss on your cheek, a soft hum escaping her lips as she savours the tantalizing aroma swirling around the kitchen. “Rose is finally asleep. Honestly how does her little body have so much energy?” Opening the wine cabinet, she retrieves a bottle of fine red wine that Chris bought them as a housewarming gift. She pours out two glasses and takes them to the dining room table.

Post RE:7!Chris Redfield and Ethan Winters x Reader

You walk into the gym after your Captain, Chris Redfield, had asked for some help with training someone. “Hey, over here {{user}}!” Chris’ gruff and booming voice calls out from the training mats, a wide grin spread across his face. Currently on the floor and panting like a mad man beside Chris is who you assume is Ethan Winters. “H-Hey!” Ethan waves as he regains his footing, his face glistening with sweat. It’s quite difficult to believe that this is the man who supposedly took down a whole house of monsters and Bioweapons with a stapled hand and leg.

Post RE:7!Ethan x Mia Winters x BSAA Agent!Reader

Since they were relocated to Romania, you’ve been tasked with regularly checking up on the Winters family. “Ethan! Can you get that, hun?” “Yeah one moment!” You stand at their front door after ringing the bell, the muffled sound of shuffling and talking can be heard. The door swings open, and Ethan's eyes light up with recognition. He gives you a warm smile and steps aside, welcoming you in. “Oh hey, {{user}}. Come in, Mia and I were just having some lunch.”

RE:3R!Carlos Oliveira and Jill Valentine x Reader

“The subway is out of power, looks like we’ll have to head to the substation and get it back up and running.” Carlos remarks while adjusting the earpiece in his ear and casts a glance between you and Jill before gesturing for you to follow. Jill resists the urge to roll her eyes as she begrudgingly follows him out of the subway. She’s already made her disdain for working with an Umbrella mercenary evident since the beginning. “Stay close to me, {{user}}. Let’s just focus on getting these survivors out of here.” She says, refocusing her mind on the task ahead as they step out onto the desolate streets of Raccoon City once more.

RE:4R!Leon Kennedy and Ashley Graham x Reader

“Will we really get out of here?” Ashley asks timidly as the three of you walk through the opulent and grand halls of the castle. The walls are lined with renaissance style paintings of the Los Illuminados and the Lord Saddler and Salazar, their ghostly expressions following your every move. “Don’t worry, {{user}} and I will make sure you make it back home to your father safely. I’m sure of it.” Leon replies while he reloads his weapons and looks over the castle layout, mentally mapping out any escape routes. Despite the horrifying circumstances you’re in, he manages to maintain his stoic and almost nonchalant attitude towards the dangers up ahead.

Link to the Masterlist

#ada wong x reader #carlos oliveira x reader #chris redfield x reader #claire redfield x reader #ethan winters x reader #jill valentine x reader #leon kennedy x reader #mia winters x reader

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maximwtf · 1 year

Note

Can you write Villain/tall era! peridot x sapphire! reader? Idk what else to put there but maybe she was with peridot to help her with her research? (like directions, how the experiment would likely turn out etc) ;p

Peridot x Sapphire reader

words: 1480

google docs pages: 3

Warnings: none?

opening: A sapphire has been assigned to join Peridot on her research concerning the kindergartens and the cluster on earth. How can you make the stubborn gem listen to you?

AN// Thank you for the request! I’m looking forward to writing more su fanfics!^^ I’m mainly going to write for Pearl, Peridot, Holly blue agate, Jasper and Yellow/Blue diamond for now!

I’m also not sure if sapphires can see multiple futures or just one, but I think they’d be more useful if they could see many, so that’s what I went with !

Gif by: Me

“Watch out!”

You had been assigned to follow and help a peridot on her mission. She had been sent on earth to check on the cluster and to do tests on the old kindergartens. Your job was to make sure nothing goes wrong, and to keep the green gem safe.

But before the two of you could even warp there, the homeworld warp pad on earth had to be fixed. To do that, the green technician had sent a bunch of flask robonoids down there. In all of the futures you saw, the warp pad had been fixed, which meant that there was nothing to warn Peridot of.

You watched from behind as the gem typed something on a screen, mumbling about log dates as she went on. You happened to hear her state her facet and cut number too. Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG. Unimportant information, but you’d still savour it in the back of your mind. You heard the screen she had been typing on close and the boot of her limb enhancers hit the surface of the warp pad. “The robonoids have finished their task.” She said, indicating that it was time to go on earth for the first time. You made your way on the pad too, standing next to the tall green gem. Your form looked much smaller than her’s, but that didn’t bother you. A bright white light overtook the bodies of you two, moving you to a warp pad you had never stood on before. The blue sky matched you perfectly, alongside with the blue crystal like warps that surrounded the two of you. The stomping noises the peridot had made got your attention. She was making sure the warp pad was properly fixed, but you already knew it was. The robonoids had done a good job on it.

As Peridot began to write down another log date, your attention started to wander. Her voice and the noises from the screen were just background noise now. Your mind went through multiple futures to see if there was any danger around the area. In most of them, the first visit seemed calm, no danger. A silent gasp left your mouth, not loud enough to alert the working peridot. In a few of the futures a group of gems appeared. You furrowed your brow and kept looking. There was no way that could have been the most possible future. Were you imagining things?

The sound of Peridot breaking one of the damaged robonoids brought you back to reality. “Peridot.” You said silently, turning to look at her even though she couldn’t see your eye. She seemed to have not heard you, as she walked down the small steps, only to find something that didn’t belong there. “Peridot!” You said a little louder this time. She looked up at you. “There’s something here. We still have time to go.” You said quietly, still unsure if the gems you had seen were here, and if they were, where were they? Even with the uncertainty, it was safer to leave for now. “So it seems. This site may have been compromised.” The green gem said as she got up. With the newly found item in her hand, she stepped back on the warp pad.

You watched her place a glowing green box on it and then you were off again, soon back on homeworld.

After this, and throughout the whole mission a group of gems and ‘a Steven’ had been on your backs. They were in all of the possible futures you saw. With your help, she had been able to avoid most contact with the gems, up until she had started to act on her own. The green gem had lost the bottom part of her limb enhancers on one of her legs, and also all contact to homeworld. You were stranded. Telling the green gem that ‘I told you so’ didn’t help. This mission was sensitive, and as much as the peridot seemed to want to change the future, it shouldn’t have been done here. That had ended the two of you in the least likely future, where you got stranded.

There was one future that you saw. One where this ‘Steven’ was able to fix the homeworld warp pad. And so you had sent Peridot on a mission to get this Steven to the Galaxy Warp, where you were waiting.

The place was calm, not a noise nearby. Only the sound of waves hitting the sides of the Galaxy Warp. You had located yourself on the homeworld warp pad, sitting on top of it as you waited.

Soon, a bright light overtook the darkness of the night, and Peridot appeared with the ‘Steven’. They fought for a while, before the green gem got tired of wrestling and levitated the ‘Steven’ in the air. It was asking what the two of you wanted, which she replied to by saying. “I want to get off this lousy Gem-forsaken planet!” Before dropping him on the ground. She did most of the talking, telling the ‘Steven’ why she needed him.

Peridot had placed herself in front of you, knowing you were more precious than her. Your personal rubies had stayed on homeworld, and not that they could come and help anymore either. You had no way to contact home. This mission was supposed to be quick and easy, but you should have seen this coming.

As of right now, there seemed to be no threats. ‘Steven’ would either be able to fix the warp pad or not, but as of now him fixing it seemed the most possible. You watched him try, but nothing happened. The warp was still broken, and you had no way to go back home. Your mind began to wander through possible futures again. What if that didn’t work, what then?

Peridot kept yelling at the Steven in the background, which you had grown used to over the time you had spent with her. A lot of complaining. A second silent gasp left your mouth. The likely future was the one where the gems appeared here. In that it either ended with you escaping with Peridot or- The futures began to mix again as Peridot began to speak of the cluster. And so it happened, the gems appeared right on time.

Peridot placed herself in front of you, shooting at the gems. Your mind was going through the most likely situations as quick as it could, but nothing seemed to lock in place. Hearing the gems beat up the green gem in the background was when you saw it. They were going to poof her. “Peridot!” You called out, but just a little too late. You watched Pearl place herself behind the green gem as distraction, and when Peridot would turn around, Garnet would finish her.

You sped up to her, dodging an attack Amethyst had been trying to land on you. Taking a firm grip on the green gem’s hand, you tried to run off the edge of the altar with her, but it was too late. Just as you were able to take a hold of her hand, Garnet grabbed Peridot’s waist which caused her to poof in a matter of seconds. Hearing her gem fall on the ground stunned you, but there was no time to stagger.

As stubborn as the gem was, and as much as you would have liked to blame her for getting you trapped here, you needed her. Ducking down as the pearl’s spear went over your head, you picked up the green gem and sped to the other side of the arena. After placing yourself on one of the warp pads, your mind found the most peaceful place to warp to. You had to give Peridot time to reform.

With one last look at the limb enhancers from which smoke rose from, the warp pad under you activated. It consumed you and the green gem in your hand with bright white light, and took you away from harm's way. The gems would be after the two of you, but in a good hiding place you might have just been able to stay for long enough to get Peridot back. She wanted back home just as much as you did. Without the limb enhancers the already failed mission would have been even harder to complete, but you could try. Maybe she would now listen to you.

Pt. 2 - "Keeping up hopes."

#steven universe #su #peridot #steven universe peridot x reader #steven universe peridot #peridot x reader #steven universe x reader #x reader #fanfic #fanfiction #peridot su

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daisyvramien · 29 days

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Okay so, I've been waving the Google Drive and Docs flag like it's my own personal banner for ages. I mean, it's been my ride or die, my trusty sidekick through countless projects and late-night writing sessions for over +6 years now. But in November last year, during Nanowrimo, I decided to get the trial for Scrivener after I saw the add when I completed the challenge. I installed it and chose to let it live in my computer but never "really" dipped toes in it cause Google Docs and Drive ARE my jam (and I hate changes but that's another topic for another day). So I decide to open it, you know, this april (I know it's ate but hey) ? But not gonna lie, I was skeptical.

I mean, the interface alone looked like it could swallow me whole, and my poor scattered attention span was already shaking in its boots. I would rather face a haunted house than an application full of features because me and technology ? When it works, I like it but when it doesn't, good God and pancakes above- But I did try. And went from skeptical to pleasantly surprised. Sure the interface looks scary af, too much stuff you gotta check out BUT-.... It's like the fairy godmother of organization swooped in and blessed my writing life. I'm talking files for days, characters and places neatly tucked away, notes that actually make sense, and research that feels like a breeze to manage. And the formatting? Don't even get me started. It's like having a magic wand that just waves away all my worries about how my writing should look. As someone who has spent way too much time fiddling with font sizes and margins, discovering that Scrivener takes care of that for me? It's like a weight lifted off my shoulders. Now, instead of obsessing over the perfect font, I can focus on what really matters – telling my story.

You can add files, images, pages links, anything really (not sure about videos yet though or music, gotta check this out). I hate organization because it means clearing up my ideas, maybe throwing some away but this is necessary and just because one doesn't make it in this one, doesn't mean she won't be there in another.

Like, seriously. I know, I know, it looks like a lot (and let's be real, it is), but I promise it's worth-it. So, if you're anything like me, drowning in a sea of half-baked ideas and forgotten plotlines with an attention span shorter than a butterfly's lifespan, do yourself a favor and give Scrivener a shot. Trust me, your future self will thank you for it.

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ellephlox · 2 years

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Devil's (Bad) Luck

Pairing: Matt x fem!reader

Summary: You get cursed to be extremely unlucky for a day. Matt has to deal with the fallout — in other words, every inconvenience now bombarding you, including (but not limited to) spiders, falling stop signs, and running into Wilson Fisk.

Warnings: None, only some light profanity!

It was one thing to know that magic existed, and another to experience it with the complete firsthand, fairy-dust-in-your-face 3D encounter.

Seriously, though, it was actually a sparkly dust, and at first you weren’t sure whether to laugh or swear when a hooded man arrived out of nowhere and drenched you in glitter. You were in the library, picking up three books you’d ordered for the week — a short one that you felt sure you could devour tomorrow, since it was supposed to rain; another one that you hoped you were going to like since it had a lot of praise; and lastly, a third that you got as a Plan C in case one of the first two didn’t draw you in as you had hoped.

It was then, that you were mulling over the third book and whether or not it was a reliable Plan C, when the glitter hit you in the face.

If you were anyone other that you, then you probably would have laughed it off, or at least just said something to the hooded man — something along the lines of Why the hell did you just chuck sparkles in my face? Instead you just panicked at first, certain that he’d tossed some sort of poison at you, and then upon realizing it was glitter you stood there, agape; partially alarmed by the alacrity with which he had approached you and struck dumb by the fact that it was glitter, of all things.

Well, Matt will think it’s hilarious, at least. You’d begun to keep a shared Google doc with him titled WEIRD NY THINGS, and throughout the day both of you would add to the list so that it was now a few pages long. Matt, unfortunately, had the privilege of experiencing the bulk of strange encounters, as he was the one out from dusk until two in the morning. Most of your contributions were amusing or bizarre interactions that you witnessed on the subway.

Brushing the glitter off of you, you went to the desk to check out the books.

“Just these,” you said, smiling at the woman behind the desk and handing her your library card. She scanned it, frowned, and then scanned again.

“It’s declining,” she said, handing it back to you.

“Declining?” You smiled nervously. “Well, I can confidently say that I didn’t exceed my credit limit.” It was a bad joke, and the librarian didn’t return the smile. She typed in the number on the back of your card.

“It looks like your account has been requesting books online from Fort Myers, Florida. Have you been there recently?”

“Uh, no.”

“Okay. I’m putting a hold on your card and you’ll have to order a new one. Someone’s hacked yours.”

“People hack library cards? Why, to steal $20 worth of books?”

“It happens,” was all she said, and you left the library empty-handed. That was only the first of several other unfortunate circumstances that befell you on your way home. You went to the grocery store next, to buy fixings for supper, and opened your phone to text Matt in case he needed you to pick up anything, only to find it dead. Two minutes later you stepped aside in the aisle, to allow another shopper more space, and bumped into the jellies behind you, two of which fell to the floor with horribly loud crashes and shattered in a gooey mess of pectin, strawberry, and raspberry. It didn’t help that the worker you alerted about the mess got pissed, grumbling that he’d just arrived at work and didn’t have time “for shitty imbeciles like you.” And then one of your paper bags split while you were on the subway, sending kiwis, potatoes, and frozen peas tumbling down the floor.

When you finally arrived back at the apartment — manhandling the peas, potatoes, and kiwis in your arms — you couldn’t find your key. And since your phone was dead, you had no way to call Matt. It was Saturday, and he was likely at Fogwell’s, getting in a morning workout by punching the living daylights out of a bag.

At least you didn’t have to sit outside of the apartment for very long. Matt ascended the stairs in his sweats and tee shirt, white cane still held loosely in his right hand, about half an hour later.

“Thank goodness you’re here, I thought I’d be stuck out here for hours and I really want lunch,” you said, relieved.

“Why do you smell like jelly?” he asked, eyebrows drawing in.

You sighed. “I have lots of things to tell you, if you don’t mind me venting to you for the next hour.”

“And you know you’ve got bird poop in your hair?”

“Are you serious? Shit!”

“Why are you holding all of the groceries out here?”

“Like I said — I have to vent to you later, and it involves sparkles,” you grumbled, accepting Matt’s hand so that he could pull you to your feet. “Bird poop is my first priority, though.”

It wasn’t until after your shower (a shower in which you used thrice the amount of shampoo as normal, and rinsed as quickly as possible because there was, for whatever reason, no hot water) that everything made sense. You came out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around you, and turned on the television to the news as you slipped on a sweater and pants.

“—gotten word from the Sorcerer Supreme that anyone in the vicinity of Hell’s Kitchen should be wary of this man,” the news reporter was saying. “While his identity has not been confirmed, the glitter-like substance — which has been used on at least three individuals so far — has been verified as—”

Matt chose to call to you at that moment. “Mashed or baked potatoes?”

“Wait, wait! Sorry, Matt, hang on—” You turned up the volume on the television.

“—causing what has been given the moniker ‘Friday the Thirteenth Syndrome’, after the extreme bad luck that comes to its victims for the next twenty-four hours. The Sorcerer Supreme has assured the public that any victims of this man will endure no lasting effects, though they should take care to not engage in any risky behavior until the effects of the substance have worn off. Coming up next on Channel 14 News, we have breaking news coming from Manhattan, where Spider-Man and Deadpool have been videotaped attacking a man dressed as a gorilla at a local nightclub—”

You shut off the television triumphantly. “Friday the Thirteenth Syndrome!”

Matt paused from where he was peeling potatoes. “Come again?”

“Did you not hear the segment I was just blasting through the living room?” you asked, wandering into the kitchen and joining Matt at the cutting board to help peel using the spare knife.

“I was a bit preoccupied tuning out the couple having sex two floors above us.”

“Okay. Gross. Well, long story short, a guy threw something at me today and now I’ve been cursed to be unlucky for the next twenty-four hours. I knew something was off, because no one just happens to be unlucky enough to shatter the jelly and get yelled at and then locked out all in one day, but—” You stopped short as your potato you were sawing at split open to reveal a rotted center.

Matt’s nose twitched almost instantly. “Burn that, please.”

“Evidence!” you said emphatically, picking up the potato and waving it at him. “This is it, Matt! Evidence that I’m unlucky! Of all the potatoes, I just happened to get the rotten one? This is undeniable evidence.”

“Hasty generalization,” Matt corrected.

“We’re not in court, Matt.”

“Sorry. It’s a habit.” Matt rubbed the back of his head. “I guess I believe you, then? Not that I think you’d lie, just that it’s a bit... far-fetched.”

“It’s magic,” you enthused. “We’re experiencing magic, Matt, for a full twenty-four hours. So soak it up and enjoy it, because it’s not often that—”

“Y/N, your sleeve is getting dangerously close to the stove.”

“Right.” You shifted away before your sweater sleeve could make contact with the flames by the stove.

Your enthusiasm didn’t last very long. The entire afternoon was a bombardment of the worst possible luck you could have imagined; it even got to a point that you were scared Matt was going to get annoyed with you, and the idea of just your presence ruining his Saturday began to stress you out more than the prospect of whatever ill-fated misfortune was about to strike next. Still, you played two games of Monopoly with Matt on the braille board you’d bought for him last Christmas, and both games you lost miserably after landing on Matt’s properties with every single roll of the dice.

“This was a horrific idea,” you said, pushing the last of your money at Matt. “We’re not doing this until the stupid glitter stuff wears off.”

“So you’re not in the mood to play some chess?”

“I hate everything about this,” you complained. “Luck is dumb. Maybe I’ll just test my luck for fun and go pick a fight at a bar or something.”

“That’s not happening,” Matt objected, and it looked as though he would have said more, but his phone interrupted him with its mechanical iteration of Foggy. Foggy. Foggy. Foggy. He picked it up while you began to scrape the mess of paper money back into the Monopoly box.

“Hey, Foggy. No. I don’t think so.” Matt stood up, pacing into the living room. “He wants it today? Are you serious? I thought they approved our request to push out the trial. I don’t know if I can — well, I can, but...” He hesitated. “Y/N might be coming with me, if that’s alright.”

That was why, on a day so cold that you could see your breath, you were zipping up your winter coat and following Matt down the stairs out of his apartment.

“It shouldn’t take more than an hour or two,” he told you apologetically. “There’s just this client who’s been costing us a lot of time and money, and he needs the paperwork by this afternoon in order to submit—”

“It’s okay, Matt. Really. I mean, you’re a lawyer; weekend hours are kind of a rite of passage, right?” You shivered. “What I’m less than ecstatic about is the fact that you’re forcing me to come along with you. I’d be perfectly content to sit on the couch and watch a movie.”

“With your luck, the ceiling would come down on your head. Or a burglar would break in and hold you at gunpoint.”

“So I’m safer on the street where we could get hit by a car?”

“You’re safer with me near,” he corrected. As though to prove his point, he suddenly steered you sharply to the left, so roughly that you almost fell over. A massive clang resounded right where you had been standing, and you looked down, alarmed, to see the broken half of a stop sign fallen beside you.

“Oh my God!” a woman shouted from behind you. “That coulda killed you! You should sue for that!”

You looked dumbly at the sign. “Well, I do know a lawyer.”

Matt gave you what was almost a reproachful look. “This is why—”

“Why I have to stay by your side. I know. Ugh. This feels like having a driver’s permit again, when I couldn’t legally drive without an adult watching my every move.”

But once you were safely in the office of Nelson and Murdock, the next hour passed with a suspicious lack of unfortunate events. You sat rigidly in Matt’s chair, confined to the “permissible” activities of drawing on the notepad or reading a book on criminal justice, and bearing Foggy’s good-humored reaction to your situation.

“If there’s a bad luck sparkle dust, then there’s got to be a good luck sparkle dust, right?” he said, popping back into Matt’s office. “Because I’m thinking we send Y/N off to find this hooded man again and ask him for the good luck version. Then all we need to do is have her buy a lottery ticket and no longer shall we dine on ham and cheese sandwiches at lunch.”

“If I won the lottery, paying for gourmet lunches wouldn’t be my first priority,” you said. “I’d buy a big house on the coast and dedicate the largest room to my own personal library.”

“With a guest house,” Foggy said. “So I can visit.”

“Okay,” you agreed. “And then I’d make sure that we have an in-house doctor who can tend to all of Matt’s injuries every single night. Ooh — and I’d also want one of those fish tanks that’s built into a wall. Did you ever watch that show Tank Masters or whatever it is on Animal Planet?” You snapped your fingers. “Tanked. I think that’s what it was called.”

Matt cleared his throat. “You guys know that I absolutely love your chatter to pieces, but—”

“Sorry. I’ll shut up,” you said. “How much paperwork do you have left?”

“Actually, it’s just about done. Now we just need to bring it to Mr. Devon.” Matt tilted his head at you. “Nothing unlucky has happened in the past hour or so.”

“Maybe it wore off earlier than expected,” you suggested. “He didn’t throw that much dust at me.”

“Catch.” Foggy tossed a pen at you and you caught it, bewildered. He shrugged. “If you were still unlucky, wouldn’t the pen have hit you in the head, or exploded?”

“Or she could just come,” Matt said. “It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Mr. Devon likes his privacy,” Foggy reminded him. “Remember he threatened to request a new lawyer when we had Karen come with us to take notes?”

Matt exhaled. “Okay. Y/N, you have to swear that you’re going to sit here the entire time and not do anything that has any chance of going wrong.”

You raised your hands defensively. “I’m not the one with a death wish, Mr. I-Punch-Bad-Guys-At-Night.”

“You’re deflecting.”

You sighed. “I promise. Where’s this Mr. Devon’s place?”

“On the other side of Hell’s Kitchen,” Matt said. “Which means I probably won’t hear you if something goes wrong.”

“I’ll just scream really, really loudly if someone comes in to try to kill me so that you can pick it up,” you assured him. But the look on his face was so far from amused that you winced. “Sorry. Nothing’s going to go wrong, Matt. Look, I’ve been sitting here for a long time now, perfectly fine.”

Five minutes later, he and Foggy left, and you remained in the office of Nelson and Murdock, twiddling your thumbs and making a M.A.S.H fortune for yourself on the notepad. You showed Matt how to play it a month ago, and had written out an array of five-year predictions for him. His results gave him a career in the publishing industry, a penthouse suite in Manhattan, zero children, and a happy marriage with Elektra (the last of these predictions pissed you off and you didn’t bother making any M.A.S.H fortunes for yourself).

Bored, you began crossing out the options, counting off by fours. It narrowed until you were married to Thanos, working for the Hand, living in the sewer, and mother to fifty-six children.

Maybe the unluckiness hasn’t worn off.

Exasperated, you flipped open the criminal justice book, preparing yourself to read what was surely going to be mind-numbing jargon, when a siren suddenly began to wail. At first, you assumed it was the fire detector, because that went off every single time that Karen made the coffee, according to Matt. But the fire alarm above you was silent and dark. You craned your neck to see where the flashing red light was coming from, and your stomach dropped when you recognized what was emitting the high-pitched wail: the carbon monoxide detector.

“Oh, come on,” you complained, to absolutely no one in particular. Matt had made you swear to stay put, but something told you that he’d also be pissed if he came back and you were sprawled out dead on his office floor from carbon monoxide poisoning. Resigning yourself to having to leave, you got up and gathered your phone and coat.

It took only a minute to call 911 once you were on the street to let them know what was happening. The street was busy with people, so you stepped into the entrance of a hotel across the street where you were less likely to get crushed by a falling piano or get struck by lightning.

That was a mistake, though.

You rounded the corner of the foyer, hoping to find a sitting area that you could make yourself comfortable in, and ran straight into a large suited man who was standing there. You would have nearly fallen if you hadn’t steadied yourself in time, taking a few steps backward.

“I’m so sorry—” you began, and then your heart stopped.

This wasn’t even badluck. This was hellish luck, and for a moment you felt certain that you had to be having a nightmare, because no one, not even someone who was cursed, could be this unlucky.

“Pardon me, ma’am,” Fisk said, voice gravelly and baritone.

You started to speak but your throat had gone so dry that nothing came out. You cleared you throat, then started again. “My bad. I, uh, wasn’t looking where I was going.”

Fisk looked at you, and for a moment you felt sure that he could see traces of Daredevil on your face, where Matt touched your cheekbone and kissed the nape of your neck, as though there were glowing residuals there — because it was eerie how penetrating Fisk’s gaze was. But then he swung his eyes back to the man with whom he was talking and you were forgotten.

Taking a breath to steady your heartbeat, you returned to the street, where there were already responders to the carbon monoxide. It turned out to be a malfunction of the alarm, and there was no trace of any carbon monoxide in the building, so you were allowed to return.

Of course, nothing seemed to be simple at the moment, so you didn’t exactly return to the office as smoothly as you’d hoped. Someone hurrying down the street with a carton of cream-filled doughnuts, of all things, plowed right into you as ungracefully as you had run into Fisk, and only two minutes after that mishap, once you were sitting back at Matt’s desk and twirling the pen Foggy had thrown at you earlier, it exploded, right onto your hands and face. The worst part was that now you didn’t even dare go wash up, for fear of some brain-eating bacteria somehow getting from the sink water and into your body, or some other equally horrific misfortune.

Matt and Foggy came back a half an hour later. You assumed that Matt could smell the powdered sugar, cream, and ink on you from far away, judging by his expression of unsurprised amusement, but the look on Foggy’s face was far too delighted.

“A guy with cream doughnuts ran into me,” you said shortly before they could ask. “And then, yes, that pen you thought was such a good test earlier, Foggy, finally betrayed me, and now I desperately want a shower. Again.”

Matt’s lip twitched, and then he moved to his desk, picking up a notepad and pencil.

“What are you doing?” you asked suspiciously.

“Making a note to add this to the WEIRD NY THINGS document,” he said, smirking slightly as he tore the note off and stuck it into his pocket.

“Ha, ha. This must just be a riot for your senses, having a girlfriend who reeks of sugar and ink—”

But Matt’s face darkened and he cut you off. “Why do I smell him?”

Him could only mean who you thought it meant. “Matt, don’t worry, I’m okay.”

Matt’s hand flitted onto your shoulder as though to assess your well-being. “Where’s Fisk? You’re sure you’re not hurt?” he demanded. “What happened?”

"Everything’s okay. Really. I had a false alarm for carbon monoxide so I went down into the street and then into the hotel but Fisk was there, so I left—”

“Fisk? As in Wilson Fisk? Like, Willie Fisk, the guy we’re always talking about? That Fisk?” Foggy said, his brow furrowing.

“Yeah. I maybe sort of... ran into him. Literally,” you admitted. “But everything’s okay, really! So I was kind of lucky in a sense, right?”

“No, you weren’t,” Matt said, his expression sour. “You could have been killed. What if you’d run into him while he was doing something illegal? He would have murdered you without blinking."

“But he didn’t. Although if you can smell Fisk underneath all this doughnut dust on me, I really want to shower even more now.” You stood up and stretched. “I’ll make us some coffee to-go. We’re free to leave, right? Is your thing with Mr. Devon over?”

“Yes, it’s over, and no, you’re not making coffee,” Foggy answered. “Because Matt will kill you if you die making coffee.” He trooped over to the kitchen, whistling as he started the Keurig.

“I feel like Alexander,” you said absently. “Did you ever read that book? Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. Except now it’s Y/N and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day.”

Matt didn’t answer. His head was cocked ever so slightly at you.

“What is it?” you asked warily. “Am I about to have a heart attack or something? Is there an earthquake coming? Please tell me there’s no meteorite coming to use my head as a landing pad.”

“Stay still,” he said, voice low.

“What is it?”

“Stay still.” He edged around you, and swiftly swiped something off your back. You gasped as a spider fell to the floor and scurried towards the wall, but Matt followed it and quickly squashed it with his heel. You squinted at its twitching remains.

“Please tell me that’s not a brown recluse,” you said, feeling suddenly lightheaded. “Is it? Is that a brown recluse?”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I haven’t memorized the various smells different spiders emit when squashed,” Matt said, smiling slightly. “It does smell venomous, though, so whatever it was, it wasn’t anything you’d want to get bitten by.”

“Back,” Foggy announced, handing you both cups of coffee. “I was trying to brainstorm risk-free activities and came up with something brilliant.”

“Meditating? Napping? Yoga?” you offered.

“Nope. It’s movie night,” Foggy said. “Tonight, us three — plus Karen if she’s not busy — where you, Y/N, will be surrounded by guards, a.k.a. us, who will ensure that nothing unlucky can happen to you.”

“Sounds good to me,” you said, bringing your coffee to your lips.

“Wait!” Matt started, but it was too late; the coffee immediately burned the tip of your tongue and you pulled it away, swearing.

“Damn it. That was my fault,” you said, nonetheless still glaring at the cup. “I can’t wait for this stupid spell to wear off.”

“Then let’s kill time,” Foggy said. “Not just movie night. A movie marathon night. Popcorn, hot cocoa, the works. My place.”

“Alright. And you’re forbidden to go anywhere alone, Y/N,” Matt said.

“Come on, I can at least go to the bathroom alone—”

“Not a chance,” Matt said, and he looked far too pleased with himself. “I’ll just come with you.”

And despite being one of the most unlucky people in the world, right then you couldn’t help but feel like one of the luckiest, as Matt’s hand brushed against your back and he kissed the side of your head.

A/N: I don’t know if anyone noticed while reading this but the premise was heavily inspired by Bad Day at Black Rock from Supernatural — one of my favorite episodes :)

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #marvel #matt murdock x fem!reader #daredevil #daredevil x reader #x reader #reader insert #reader

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fuckyeahdindjarin · 11 months

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Behind the Seams: Part IV

{ Behind the Seams: Part III | Part III: Edgestitch | Series Masterlist }

Welcome to the second instalment of Behind the Seams! For those new to the series, this is a behind-the-scenes deep dive that I post in between chapters for those who are interested in taking a peek at my writing process (mainly because I update so slowly lol). There are spoilers for Edgestitch below the cut, so if you're not caught up, I suggest you come back when you are!

Current status: 3.6k unfinished rough draft

Initial thoughts: The last chapter laid down a few anchor points that I hope will carry the story forward for the next 2 to 3 parts. I still don't have an overarching plan for this series, and there is no 'plot' to speak of other than the unfolding of the relationship between Joel and Pin, and I'm good with that!

After the excitement of the last chapter, it took me a while to get back into the Seams mindset. While we resolved a tiny bit of the sexual tension last chapter, there is still a lot to unpack between these two. The camera is zooming in for this chapter, where we throw Joel and Pin together again, but in a less accident-prone manner as they take things into their own hands rather than leave it up to chance.

The challenge: One word - intimacy. On both their parts.

As Pin alluded to in the last chapter, it's been a long time anyone has even kissed her, let alone anything else. There will be some action in this chapter - I haven't decided to which degree yet - but I want to do it in a way that is sensitive to her history (even though I will leave it vague).

As for Joel, it's also one word - Tess. My Google doc right now cuts off at the beginning of the intimate scene, because I haven't figured out what he's thinking just yet in relation to her. As much as he's falling for Pin, I imagine he might be confused, guilty, probably in denial about his grief. I don't want Seams to get too heavy, and I might not be exploring these themes in Part IV just yet, but these are themes that I'm looking to explore in some way in the series.

Ellie: I was so bowled over by everyone's reaction to Ellie in the last chapter! That really gave me such a confidence boost, and I'm so happy to say that our favourite gremlin is making more of a cameo this chapter. She's great comedic relief while bringing out the dad side of Joel that I just love dipping into.

Joel: Many of you have brought up you're enjoying Joel's thoughts about Jackson and Sarah, and you don't understand how much it means to me. Getting into Joel's head has been one of my favourite things about this series, especially with him trying to figure out how to exist in this place after 20 years of just surviving. Ellie allowing himself to get back in touch with his dad side is another angle that I love delving into. The instincts have never left him, and I'm having so much fun bringing out that side of him.

Something fun: As I teased right here, the white undervest will make a return, and yes, Joel will be sweaty AF in it - I wonder why 🤷🏻‍♀️

Thank you for reading if you've made it this far! As with the last chapter, it helps so much putting my thought process into words, to make space in my head so that I can push forward with the writing. Thank you for indulging me, I hope you enjoyed this one ❤️ I'm always open to chatting, so don't be shy!

#behind the seams #fuckyeahseams #seams iv #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x fem!reader

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writingfool001 · 10 months

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No Difference

Author’s Note: Hi, it's been a while since I update. My google doc I had full of some of my WIPs got deleted so I lost some of the previous request.

Request:

Due to the culture of looking down on half-bloods in the wizarding world, I can picture Newt!MC sympathizing with Sebek about his internalized racism as they had seen multiple Slytherins act the way he does in order to hide the fact that they're either a half-blood or a muggle born. It'll be touching if while Newt!MC is explaining their world to Sebek they touch upon the blood status subject and bring up example of half-bloods being just as exceptional as any regular magician.

Pairing: Newt!MC x Sebek (Platonic or romantic)

Warning: Newt!MC is based off of Newt Scamander, mostly dialogue, short.

You've met many people on your travels, different races, ethnicities, and so on. Compared to your fellow wizard, you would treat everyone you met with decency unless you saw a valid reason not to. Ever since you arrived at NRC, there were few who didn't let anyone doubt their magical abilities due to their background. Yet there was a certain first year, in your flying class, who often called you human and would talk about humans or about Malleus being superior. Overtime, you learned more about his lineage and how he himself was half human himself which made you thought perhaps that is what fed into his usual behavior.

“Sebek, I didn’t know your dad was a dentist?” I started out as we were studying.

“Why would that be important as of right now?” he stated, looking up from his homework.

“You always ask me questions; wouldn’t it be fair if I could not do the same to you?”

He glared a bit before speaking with a slight hesitation and suspicious tone.

“...yes, he is.”

“Such a fascinating job, he must be quite special.”

“He’s just a magic-less human dentist.”

"So what, his magical ability does not change the fact that he is special. I presume your mother hold him in a high regard."

"She does, though I do not entirely understand why/" He grumbled as he wrote out his notes.

"She likely saw him for who he was rather than the lack of magic." I suggested, only for him to scoff at it.

"That does not take away from the fact tha he does not have magic."

"That does not make him any less important besides, do you care about having magic that much?"

"Yes, or else I would be weak, it would've been easier if my father wasn't magicless."

It was a little surprising to hear Sebek be somewhat open with you considering how he's usually yelling at you and such throughout the day, but it was nice. It also sowed some of his insecurities about himself.

"There have been many extraordinarily talented people I have met. Many of them being half-blooded magicians that have been more exceptional than the sum purebloods magicians." You start "I do not judge on one's magical capability or who they're related to which you should learn to do as well. Each to their own."

“You won’t see me differently for my blood?” He asked as you shook head before he let out a hearty loud laugh. “Of course not, for I am Sebek, skilled magician and retainer of the great Malleus Draconia!"

It's good to see somethings don't change. We went back to studying and later on, you saw Sebek still prideful and his loud self, but shown a little brighter.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x mc #twst x reader #newt!mc #sebek zigvolt x reader #sebek x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek

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suddencolds · 9 months

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Fool Me Twice [5/?]

Hello, remember this series? This chapter took me like six months to write. It was very embarrassing opening up the google doc again to see that the last edit was in April (back when I rewrote this chapter from scratch five times over before giving up entirely.) Anyways, I need to post it before I lose my nerve. 😭

Part 5 ft. fake dating, a cold, and an intervention

You can read part 1 [here]! (No context is needed aside from the previous 4 parts).

—

The drive to Good Day Diner is uneventful. Francesca recommended it to him awhile back, when they were both still in college, and he’s been trying to puzzle out their recipes ever since. Though, even with the ones where he’s come close, he rarely has the time to make them properly, in between work and everything else, so he’s been back here a few times since then.

Yves picks up two pint-sized containers worth of soup—chicken farro and miso with ginger—and strikes up a conversation with the cashier while he waits.

“This isn’t your usual order,” she says.

“Yeah,” Yves says. “It’s for a friend.”

“They’re a fan of miso?” Yves considers this. They’ve gone to more than a couple work outings together, and though Yves hasn’t paid particularly close attention to what everyone else has ordered, he thinks he remembers Vincent getting miso salmon on one occasion, a few weeks back. “I’m not sure,” he says. “I hope so.”

“Your friend didn’t tell you their order?”

“He doesn’t know I’m getting dinner for him. I just happened to be passing by, so I thought I might as well.” That part’s not entirely true—the restaurant is a twenty minute drive from the office, and it’s not really on the way home, either.

“So it’s a surprise,” the girl says, leaning back with a smile that looks a little too knowing for Yves’s liking. Whatever she thinks she’s figured out, he’s sure she has the wrong idea. “That’s awfully nice of you.”

“It’s not like that,” Yves says. “We aren’t that close. I’m not even sure if he’ll be happy to see me.”

“Why’s that?”

“He’s done a lot for me, and I think—” I think I might’ve repaid him in the most ungrateful way possible, his mind supplies unhelpfully. “I think all I’ve done, in return, is cause him trouble.”

The girl finishes ladling soup into the containers and reaches over the counter for two caps. “Usually when people do a lot for you, that means they like you.”

“Or it means they’re just really nice,” Yves says. “I think that’s closer to it.”

“So you’re getting him soup because you feel indebted to him?” She sets the soup containers carefully into a brown paper bag, slips in two plastic sleeves worth of utensils, then slides it towards him.

“Something like that,” Yves says, taking the bag from her. “Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes the next time I’m back. Have a good one!”

“You too,” she says. “I hope your friend appreciates it.”

It’s not as nice as treating Vincent to dinner, but maybe what Vincent needs right now is convenience, not luxury. if he’s already made up his mind about working late, then at least he can work late with dinner on the side. Yves doesn’t even have to talk to him, really. He can just leave the soup on Vincent’s desk with a note, as unobtrusively as possible, and then take his leave again.

The drive back is shorter than expected. Yves turns on the radio, if only to not be left with just his thoughts, and listens to the newscaster talk about traffic, and the weather, and a local festival that’s going to be held on friday. When he puts the car into park and pulls the keys out from the ignition, the silence that follows is not reassuring in the least.

He pockets his keys and heads up the stairs, into the office building, and takes the elevator up to the fifth floor. The office is well-lit, even this late at night—it gives the impression of it being perpetually daytime, even though the clock on the wall says otherwise.

He takes a post-it note off of Cara’s desk, scrawls on: Figured you wouldn’t have time to get dinner, so I got you soup, and signs it: -Y. He sticks the note onto the paper bag, regards it for a moment, and then—after reconsidering—staples it on, just in case.

Then he heads off—past rows and rows of desks, around the corner and through the hallway, past the break room, to stop at the doorway which overlooks the room where Vincent sits.

Vincent is still at his desk, paging through documents with one hand, scrolling through what looks to be a long list of email correspondences with the other. From this distance, it’s hard to tell that anything is off, except—

He looks exhausted. It’s subtle, but once Yves notices it, he can’t stop noticing it. It’s present in the way Vincent holds himself, as if the wiry frame of the office chair is the only thing keeping him properly upright. It’s in the way he blinks hard at his monitor, his eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if he’s been staring at it for hours.

There’s a mug of what looks to be black coffee on his desk, half empty but still steaming, which seems to imply that he plans on staying much later. Yves clears his throat.

“Still working hard?” he says.

Vincent’s gaze snaps up to where Yves is standing. “Yves,” he says. “I thought you left.”

“I did.”

“Did you forget something here?” Vincent dog-ears the page he’s flipped to, then sets the stack of papers off to the side. “I can help you look.”

“No,” Yves says. “Well, not exactly. I know you said you didn’t want to be bothered. I promise I’ll be out of here soon.”

“Okay,” Vincent says, expectantly.

“Have you eaten?”

“I ate,” Vincent says. The relief Yves feels, at that statement, is unfortunately short-lasted. “Lunch. A few hours ago.”

“Lunch was eight hours ago.”

“I’ll eat tomorrow.”

“Will you catch up on sleep tomorrow too?”

“If I manage to finish this by then,” Vincent says, “Then yes.”

Yves stares at him. Does Vincent really, truly think there’s nothing wrong with any of this? With whatever sleepless, miserable late-night work session he’s already seemingly resigned himself to? “So what? You’re going to crash on the couch here?”

“I’ll head home around 4,” Vincent says.

4am. “And what? Lay down for fifteen minutes?”

“Three hours, maybe,” Vincent says, turning aside to muffle a cough into his elbow. “I don’t live that far.”

He says all of this in earnest, as though none of it strikes him as even the slightest bit unreasonable. Yves can’t help it—he doesn’t think he could hide the incredulity in his voice even if he tried. “You have to be kidding me.”

Finally, Vincent’s face shifts to show—something. Something other than the utter blankness from before, something past the civil, perfectly drawn business facade. Yves doesn’t have to look for very long to register it as frustration. “What part of my answer was unclear?”

“None of it is unclear,” Yves says. “It’s just… exceptionally unreasonable.”

“By some arbitrary metric of yours, sure.”

“Ask anyone else at the office and they’d agree with me.”

“What you—or anyone else at the office—think about my sleep schedule doesn’t concern me.”

“Let me help,” Yves says. “Please. We’ll get it done twice as fast if I help. Or if you really don’t trust me, hand it off to someone you do trust.”

“There’s no need. It’s my work to get done.”

“You should be at home right now, not working overtime on your first day back,” Yves says. He looks over all of it, now—over the desktop computer and the monitor, the charts and graphs laid out on screen, the piles of paperwork currently occupying Vincent’s desk. There’s a pang in his chest that he hadn’t quite accounted for. “It can’t be pleasant doing all of this with a headache.”

Vincent blinks at him. “What headache?”

“The one you’ve had since before I left.” Vincent can attempt to deny it if he wants. But between Leon, Yves’s younger brother, and Victoire, his younger sister—who’ve caught their fair share of colds throughout the years, between the other members of the crew team he’d spent his 6ams with—who he’s seen frequently tired and occasionally under the weather—Yves thinks he’s well equipped to recognize a headache.

And Vincent looks as put-together as always, for the most part—he looks like he could’ve just walked out of a photoshoot for some classy magazine, his hair neat, his tie done neatly, his suit jacket criminally well-fitted to his shoulders. But Yves doesn’t miss the stiff set of his jaw and the tension strung through his posture, the way he tilts his head ever-so-slightly away from the bright overhead lights as if it hurts to look at them, the way he rubs his eyes or pinches the bridge of his nose, always subtle enough to go unnoticed. The way he holds himself, now, as if it’s taking all of his energy to appear so presentable.

“I don’t,” Vincent starts. “I haven’t—”

“I can tell, you know,” Yves says, a little dejectedly. “I’m pretty sure it’s my fault you have one, anyways.”

Vincent frowns. “Talking to you hasn’t given me a headache.”

“Not that,” Yves says. “But I’d imagine that spending all of New Year’s Eve next to me when I was under the weather might have.”

Yves watches the surprise flicker across Vincent’s face.

“So that’s what this is about?” Vincent says slowly, his eyebrows furrowing. He looks—confused, now, taken aback by Yves’s admission—and then a little sad. “You’re just here because you feel guilty.”

“I do feel guilty,” Yves agrees—that much is true. “But that’s not why I’m here.” he feels hopeless, suddenly, attempting to explain himself to someone who would probably have preferred it if he never bothered. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. Perhaps it was presumptuous to think that he could help in the first place. “I realize now that I can’t change your mind on any of this. But even if you plan to stay here all night, I— I just thought maybe I could—”

He’s interrupted with a harsh, “hhHh’NGk-t!” which jerks Vincent forward in his seat. Then a soft, wet sniffle, and then another— “Excuse m—Hhh’GKT!”, neatly pinched off into his hands. Vincent’s eyes flutter shut as he cups both his hands over his mouth, his eyebrows drawing together as his shoulders tremble with an inhale: “hih… hiIIh… hI’GKSCHHuuh-! Snf-! hH… HEh’DZSSChhUH!”

It’s immediately followed up with a few harsh, grating coughs which leave Vincent hunched over slightly, his glasses slightly askew, his hands still cupped to his face.

“Bless you,” Yves says, a little stunned.

Vincent doesn’t say anything to that—he just reaches across the desk for a tissue and blows his nose quietly into it, before he discards the tissue into a small metal trash can under the desk. The tips of his ears look a little red.

His throat probably hurts too, Yves realizes, with a jolt. Yves really shouldn’t be prolonging this conversation if he can help it.

“I, uh, brought soup,” he says awkwardly. The paper bag crinkles slightly as he lifts it. “Just so you wouldn’t have to skip dinner entirely. That’s why I was gone earlier. I initially meant to just drop it off here, not—” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to argue with you.”

Vincent is quiet for a moment longer. Then he says, “You didn’t have to do that.”

“What? Bring you dinner?

“You didn’t have to come back at all.”

“I know that,” Yves says. “But I wanted to.”

Vincent takes the bag from him, lifts the post-it note so he can read the few lines Yves has scrawled onto it. He turns aside to muffle a few coughs into his sleeve. “This must have been a lot of trouble.”

“Not more trouble than attending a New Year’s party on someone else’s behalf, that’s for sure,” Yves says. It’s a wonder that Vincent agreed to that arrangement in the first place—Yves doesn’t know how he’ll even begin to make it up to him. “If we’re keeping count, I still owe you.”

Vincent regards him for a moment, his expression unreadable. “I never thought that you owed me.”

“Okay,” Yves says. “Then I’m doing this on my own accord.”

“What do you possibly have to gain from that?”

Is it not obvious enough? Yves sighs. “Nothing. I care about you.”

Carefully, slowly, Vincent opens the bag, shifts his documents over to the other side of the desk, and takes out the two containers of soup. Yves regards them closely—hopefully they’ve still retained most of their warmth, even after the drive here.

“I’m not sure if they’ll be to your taste,” he says, a little sheepishly. “If you tell me what you like, next time I’ll try to keep it in mind.”

“I’m not picky,” Vincent says. He rummages through the paper bag for a spoon. “I think I’d like both of these. Have you eaten already?”

“Not yet,” Yves says. Perhaps he should’ve picked up dinner for himself at Good Day, too—he’d been so preoccupied with getting something for Vincent that he’d forgotten. Either way, it’s inconsequential. There’s probably enough in the fridge to last a day or two before his next grocery run.

“You also got dinner for yourself, right?”

Yves must hesitate for a moment too long.

“That’s a little hypocritical,” Vincent says. “Do you want to pull up a chair?”

“What?”

“You haven’t eaten. You brought two soups.”

“They were both supposed to be for you.”

“You’re already here.” Vincent says. He shuts his laptop and leaves it off to the side, clears a space on the table, and sets the chicken farro soup in front of Yves. As if it really is that simple.

Yves stares down at it, a little perplexed. I thought you didn’t want to speak to me, he wants to say.

“Unless you’d just prefer to take this home,” Vincent says, misinterpreting his silence as hesitation.

“No,” Yves says. “You’re right. I’ll pull up a chair.”

—

Yves ends up dragging over a chair from one of the tables nearby—he makes a mental note to put it back before they leave. Vincent shuts his laptop and leaves it off to the side.

“Now we’re both staying past nine,” Vincent says.

“Yes,” Yves says. “I’ve always wanted to see what this place turns into at night.”

“Does it live up to your expectations?” “It’s a bit of a ghost town,” Yves says. “But not in a bad way. Feels like I could take all the snacks out of the break room and no one would bat an eye.”

“That’s the real reason why I’m here right now,” Vincent says, so deadpan that it barely sounds like a joke. Yves laughs.

Something about this scene—about sitting with Vincent, here, having dinner on the only corner of his office desk that isn’t occupied by documents—feels a little nostalgic.

“This is just like when I first joined,” he says. “When you were helping me with all the onboarding stuff.”

Back when he first joined, Vincent’s desk was a frequent destination. It’s not that Vincent is particularly friendly—it’s more just that Vincent is really, really good. He has expertise in things that he’s only done once in his life, and he can spot mistakes at a glance. He’s patient, too, even though Yves thinks that if the roles had been reversed, anyone teaching Vincent anything would never have to exercise any patience at all.

He can’t blame Angelie for looking to Vincent for help, either. It wasn’t that long ago that Yves was the one hovering at his desk, watching Vincent go through relevant work over his shoulder.

“The first couple weeks are - snf-! - always difficult,” Vincent says. “But you picked things up quickly.”

“I can’t imagine you as a beginner at anything,” Yves muses.

“Everyone’s - snf -! - a beginner at s-some— hH-! Just a second—” Vincent turns his head away sharply, burying his nose into his shoulder before— “hh’GKt-! Hh… Hhh’IIZSCchuhH! snf-! Hh-! hhih… HiH’GKT-!... Hh… hHih… hIH’IKTSHhh’uuh!”

“Bless you,” Yves says reflexively.

“Thank you,” Vincent says, with a small cough, which he muffles into his sleeve. He sighs. His voice has held up pretty well, but Yves can hear the muted edge of congestion in his voice, softening his consonants. “What was that you said to me? ‘You’ll get tired of that phrase really quickly?’”

“I won’t if you get over this cold soon,” Yves says. “Maybe that’s the real reason why I brought soup.”

“So that’s why you’re being suspiciously nice to me,” Vincent says, with a laugh. “I’m relieved to know you’ve had ulterior motives all along.”

Everything gets easier, after that. Vincent seems to enjoy the soup, for the way his eyes widen, almost imperceptibly, after he takes his first bite. (“So I was right to think you’d like miso,” Yves says, and Vincent laughs and says, “Am I really that predictable?”) When Yves offers again to help, after dinner, Vincent wordlessly hands him a small stack of business proposals. It’s not much, but just the fact that he’s agreeing to let Yves help is already a step in the right direction—give Yves an inch, and he’ll take a mile.

Yves looks through all of the documents he’s handed, scrawling notes in the margins, and then goes through another third of the stack of unreviewed paper on Vincent’s desk, while Vincent scrolls through pages of spreadsheets, processing data and creating new graphs. Vincent is almost frighteningly efficient, even when he’s not feeling his best—they lapse into a comfortable silence, interrupted only by the occasional, near-inaudible hitch in Vincent’s breath, always followed by a wrenching sneeze, or two.

There’s the coughing, too—always muffled tightly into his sleeve, after Vincent turns to face away from him, which must be exhausting. Yves doesn’t know why he bothers. It’s not as though he can catch this cold again.

(“Bless you,” Yves says, after the tenth-or-so sneeze, trying not to let the concern creep into his voice. “I think the pharmacy near 59th is still open. If you want, I can stop by and grab you something for your symptoms.”

“No need,” Vincent says. “If it - hh-! - gets bad enough, I’ll — Hhh-!”

“Bless you again—”

“hihH’IZSCHhhuh! - snf-! - I’ll get something myself.”

Yves wonders what his metric for bad enough is. Then again, it’s probably better not to press.)

It’s nearly eleven before Yves decides to head home at last.

“I can’t thank you enough,” Vincent says, with a rueful sniffle. “You must be tired.” “Not really,” Yves says. “I usually sleep pretty late. If you’re still feeling this bad tomorrow, take the day off.”

“I’ll think about it,” Vincent says.

Yves sighs. “At the very least, promise me you’ll head home sooner rather than later?”

“No promises,” Vincent says—though at the disapproving look Yves gives him, he amends, “But I’ll try.”

He sounds like he means it, at the very least. Yves supposes he’ll take what he can get.

[ Part 6 ]

#snz fic #sneeze fic #sneeze kink #snz kink #snz #i cannot decide if i want to write another chapter of this where vincent gets even worse or if #i should advance their story in the plot sense #i do like these two and want to write more of them in the future if people are still interested in reading more of them :')#my fic #yvverse

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mars101 · 1 month

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Act 10: -> Scene 2: "are you mad?"

WRITTEN PART -> (0.8k) -> ss after text

“you what..?”

“i invited my dad…”

a huge sigh of relief escaped jay's mouth, “oh thank god, you're not cheating on me”

“are you crazy?? why would i cheat on you?!?”

“hon you’re the crazy one, you. you invited your dad. i- how?-”

yin lays back down as she runs a hand through her hair, pulling at the knots, “i read mom’s diary, and there were three names.”

jay leans on his arm and raises an eyebrow, “three names? what like, your mom had three men?” he squints his eyes as he starts to think. “ohh she did… so how did you find your dad?”

his fiancé groans into her hands, “i didn’t.. all three of them are here, and they all think they’re walking me down the aisle.”

“no.” jay’s own face falls, and he rests his hand on yin’s for stability. “yin you actually invited all of them? ..why..?”

“i.. i thought that i would know who my dad was right away, but no. and even after getting to know all of them, i'm honestly not sure, even though i was sure it was juyeon for a bit but-”

“no yin, i mean why? why did you invite them? they've never been here, and you've lived your whole life without knowing who they are. i mean- does mom know?”

“no.. god, this is why i didn't tell you at first, i knew something like this would freak you out-”

“something like this? you invited three whole strangers to our wedding without telling me first. you didn't even tell your mom about this. they were a part of y/n's past, and considering you were never told about them, she probably wanted to keep it that way.”

the two sat in silence for a while, even with the loud footsteps of their friends passing by their room, the couple stay staring at the ceiling.

“are you mad?” yin broke the silence, her voice a silent whisper.

“not mad, just confused..” jay turns his head to glance at yin, her eyes fixated to the air. he makes a move and places his hand atop hers. “thank you for telling me, better late than never, right?”

“i'm sorry.”

“i'm not the one you should be apologizing to.” he sits up to grab the forgotten plate of food next to them. “once you finish your food, go ahead and see mom outside”

“alright..” yin hesitates before asking something, “do you maybe want to see our notes?”

“our?-” he was cut off when yin pulled out her phone and was scrolling through google docs. he notices the texts on the page with the ‘designated colors’ of each girl and sighs, knowing that he can't refuse now that he knows.

Meanwhile, outside back on the courtyard was Y/n. A huge mess was left as an aftermath of the bachelorette party turned bachelorette and bachelor party, and she took the duty of cleaning up the whole place.

A few of Jay's friends helped a bit but when it came to decorating the eventually dinning table she dismissed the boys to enjoy themselves. Good thinking as someone ended up sneaking up behind her.

“Y/n.”

Hands on her shoulders and the familiar tone of the voice calling her name startled Y/n. “Woah! Who—Younghoon?”

“There's something I need to tell you or ask you but—”

Y/n tries walking off, but the stubborn male trails right behind her. “Look, I can't talk long, no wait. I can't talk, period. My daughter's wedding is today—”

“This is what I wanted to talk about because, daughter? I thought you said she's some local girl.”

Y/n opens her mouth to answer but is cut off by Younghoon before a sound can even come out of her mouth. Deep eyebags under the man's eyes start becoming more prominent to Y/n now that the two are looking at each other under the bright sun.

“Why didn't you say she's your daughter at first?”

“Because Younghoon, it's none of your business.”

“Oh, but I think it's my business too.” The word ‘shit' runs through his mind as he thinks about how he's going to get himself out of this situation.

“What? I—What do you mean..?”

Younghoon's face runs cold, his eyebrows narrowed, and eyes narrowed onto Y/n's features. He wanted to keep his acknowledgement a secret and was searching her face for a reply to give.

“Because I'm still in love with you..”

Well, that's some answer he conjured up.

synopsis = a day before her wedding day, Yin decides to find her father so he can walk her down the isle, the problem? There's three candidates: Lee Juyeon, Kim Younghoon, and Lee Hyunjae.

an: no one comment abt how long i take to finish this smau. im attached to her i dont want her to end 🤕

last/next

masterlist

taglist:

@boomhoon , @sanasour , @loonaluvz , @jaerisdiction , @cowsmicwu , @jundundun , @piripurora

#deoboyznet #tbz imagines #tbz x reader #the boyz drabbles #the boyz imagines #the boyz x reader #tbz smau #the boyz smau #the boyz scenarios #juyeon x reader #hyunjae x reader #younghoon x reader #juyeon smau #hyunjae smau #younghoon smau

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takeyourcyanide · 4 months

Text

A Buzzing

Summary: Marie returns from a shitty date and Stein is not doing great. Are we surprised at all

I think my writing is becoming sort of one note. Maybe I’ll start writing for the younger cast.

- - - - - -

Marie, exhausted from the not-so-great date she just went on, trudged through the doors of Stein’s laboratory, and her temporary living quarters.

“Franken, I’m home now,” Marie informed Stein, wherever he happened to be.

As she took off her shoes, she set out to find Stein. She happened to notice the sound of a keyboard, as well as Stein very clearly moving around the room in his chair.

She went towards his office, opening the door, and curiously called out, “Stein?”

Stein was visibly startled, lightly jumping in response.

“Hey, Marie. I didn’t know you were home,” he stated.

“The moment I walked through the door I said I was home,” Marie teasingly chuckled, one eyebrow raised with interest.

“Oh.. I suppose I didn’t hear you,” Stein said, losing himself in thought.

“What are you doing in here, anyway?” Asked Marie as she looked around the room. Marie noticed a clearly dead frog lying in one of Stein’s medical trays, held down by pins. Its abdomen had been held open by pins, as well. Syringes filled with substances unknown to Marie lied beside the corpse, and beside the tray. She had also noticed that what looked to be Google Docs opened on his computer. He had typed something she couldn’t read well from where she was standing.

“Injecting a frog with hydrogen peroxide and recording the results,” Stein spoke, pointing towards the frog, and then proceeding to point at his monitor.

Marie lightly smiled in amusement, shooting Stein a “did you have nothing else better to do” look.

“Lord Death hasn’t been assigning me much work. I haven’t had much to research lately, unfortunately,” Stein stated, shrugging his shoulders, visibly disturbed by the notion that he had nothing to do.

Marie sighed, giving Stein a gentle look.

“Yes, and I know that’s hard for you, but it’s for the best right now. At least until you’re a little better again, or until we absolutely cannot get anyone else to complete a certain task,” Marie stated sweetly. Stein looked down for a brief moment, seemingly contemplating something.

Stein lifted his head up, staring directly into Marie’s eyes. He gave her this miserable and tired look, sending a shot of both sympathy and empathy down her spine.

Stein reached in one of his pockets and fished for his pack of cigarettes, grabbing one and lighting it.

“I thought you were trying to quit,” Marie said, mildly confused.

Stein, after taking a relatively long and deep drag of his cigarette, replied, “I gave up. It only caused me to be even more irritable.”

“And anyway, I’m perfectly fine. I can work just fine,” Stein replied to the statement Marie had made earlier.

“Try telling Lord Death that,” Marie sighed, beginning to leave the room.

“You can’t just drown yourself in work and ignore your problems, Stein.”

Stein took another drag of his cigarette, this time leaving it sitting in his mouth. He looked down at his pale, cold hands, and over at the decomposing frog. When he looked back at Marie, she gave him a concerned look of pity, opening the door.

“When’s the last time you ate something, Stein?” The woman ask worriedly.

“I don’t remember. Maybe this morning,” Stein replied in his typical monotone manner.

Marie’s eyebrows furrowed in response, little butterflies of pure concern and mild anxiety stirring within her. Stein was a man that remembers everything.

“How about I cook you something?” Marie kindly offered.

“That would be nice, but I’m busy…” Stein stated, once again peering over at the pinned down frog specimen.

“Stein, you can continue later,” Marie said - or rather, nicely ordered the clearly overtired man.

“Come out and eat something with me. I bet it’d be good for you. You might feel a tiny bit better.”

“I never claimed to have been feeling bad, though, Marie,” Stein matter-of-factly stated.

Marie tilted her head, once again shooting him a “stop spouting a load of bullshit” look, placing her hands on her hips in a particularly sassy manner.

“That doesn’t matter. The dark circles under your eyes might as well be covering your whole face,” Marie teased.

“How’d your date go, by the way?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Stein,” Marie narrowed her eyes slightly, chuckling. Stein pouted.

“Come on out and let me make you something and I’ll tell you all about it, you big baby,” Marie walked back over towards Stein, wrapping her arms around the pouty man’s forearm and forcefully dragging him out of his office chair.

“Fine.”

- - - - - -

Marie was now in the kitchen, Stein seated on the couch after having put out his cigarette. Typically, Stein would actually be the one to whip something up - well, now that they were living together. Before Marie scolded him into eating at least one proper meal a day, he didn’t even have proper silverware or plates or cups or anything.

Marie decided on something easy and relatively light - chicken and rice. It was their go-to.

Marie, despite attempting to focus on her current culinary goals, couldn’t help but turn back repeatedly to observe Stein.

Stein was seemingly entirely zoned out - in other world, almost. His eyes were opened wide, he wasn’t blinking at all - which was not exactly surprised, as the man didn’t blink as often as most, but not at all? That’s certainly odd, even for him.

He wasn’t moving. The only movement Marie could see was the delicate rising and falling of his chest. Even that was just barely noticeable.

This wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence.

Stein has been doing this since they were children. He’d zone out on one specific area on the room, assume a one thousand yard stare, not move, not speak, hardly breathe, not blink - nothing. He looked to be simultaneously dead and lost in thought.

Marie had come up with multiple different things to do when he was in this state in an attempt to get him out of his stupor. From ruffling his hair and waving her hand in front of his face, to simply having a one-sided conversation with him.

Marie would save that for later, though, after she would get done cooking.

She hoped he wasn’t too submerged inside of his own head.

Maybe she’d try speaking with him now, actually.

“Hey, Stein?” She called out.

She received a low and quiet hum of acknowledgment from the man - a good sign. He still did not move at all or look towards anything other than the specific portion of the wall he was focusing on, however.

“You asked about my date, right?”

“Mhm.”

Marie laughed quietly to herself, saying, “I never even told you who I was going out with, did I?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Well, it was a man I met in that quaint little coffee shop you like to go to sometimes,” Marie begins, “his name is Wyatt.”

“Wyatt was pretty nice and charming at first, but once we actually went out, he turned out to be a real dick,” Marie grimaced to herself.

“He was super insecure and sexist. I offered to split the bill to be polite, and he went on this rant about ‘modern women,’ and how they want to be too much like men nowadays, and how he thought I was one of the few ‘good ones’ left,” Marie physically made air quotes with a mildly annoyed look at her face, recalling the events of earlier that evening.

“So, I left the raging misogynistic asshole behind to pay for the whole damn meal like he so wanted to! Despite making a huge fuss about the bill, he called me a bitch as I left!” Marie exclaimed, quickly growing more and more passionate.

By the time she had finished her story, the food was ready.

Marie placed the food onto one of the many plates she had to bring in, walking it over to the couch where Stein still sat like a corpse.

Marie attempted to hand the food over to him, but he made no movement.

She sat down, pulling the plate into her lap. She cut a piece of the chicken, stabbing it with the fork, and holding it out towards his mouth.

“Does the baby need me to feed him?” Marie had a wickedly teasing smirk on his face, hoping that her teasing would startle him out of his stupor.

Luckily for her, Stein looked over at her, a small smile lightly tugging at the sides of his mouth.

Stein opened his mouth, quickly closing it around the fork, and smirking as he allowed Marie to effectively feed him.

Marie’s eyes widened slightly, not expecting him to actually go through with it.

Stein chuckled sadistically as he ate.

“It’s good,” he stated, his voice a bit hoarse and dead, with a teasing lilt to it.

“But I can feed myself, Marie, thank you.”

Marie smiled, handing the food and fork over to him. She sat back on the couch, staring off into space as he ate.

Stein soon finished his food - or most of it, at least - taking his dirty dishes to the sink.

Once he returned, he sat by Marie, saying, “He most likely had a small penis, honestly.”

Marie snorted, eyes wide.

“Was he short?” Stein asked curiously.

“Not really,” Marie answered, laughter interrupting her.

“Then his dick was either below average, defective, or both. Or perhaps early childhood trauma shaped his worldview,” Stein hypothesized about the man whilst Marie laughed.

“Anyway, baby needs to be put down for a nap, I’m fucking exhausted,” Stein said, smirking.

“Don’t make it weird, Stein,” Marie scolded, still laughing.

“Actually, I’m not sleeping now. I’m going to return to my dear frog prince now. Thank you for the meal. Have fun,” Stein said, quickly lifting himself up from the couch and running off towards his office.

Marie scoffed in offense, hoping he’d simply just forget about the stupid frog.

“Get back here, Stein, and go to bed!” She yelled, running towards him.

“How about no,” Stein said, smirking once more as Marie opened the door to find him, syringe in hand.

“Decomposition stops for no one, Marie. I could slow it down, though.”

Marie sighed in exasperation, shaking her head, wondering why she was this man’s partner.

“Fine. But you really shouldn’t stay up for too long. Going to sleep at six in the morning every night isn’t good for you. And do you want to know what else stops for no one? Dying of a lack of sleep, Stein,” Marie lectured, holding her pointer finger up for emphasis.

Stein chuckled in response, his attention returning to the frog.

Marie rolled her eyes, leaving the room and heading towards her own bedroom, ready to change into comfortable clothing and go to sleep, completely and utterly exhausted.

- - - - - -

Marie groggily and slowly opens her eyes. She is immediately met with the darkness of her bedroom, as well as a full bladder. She looks over at the clock on the bedside table, the clock reading “4:36 AM.”

Marie groaned, got out of bed and trudged towards the washroom.

As she made her way downstairs, she noticed the light in Stein’s office was still on, said light spilling out from underneath his door.

Marie rolled her eyes, and continued toward the bathroom.

- - - - - -

Marie turned off the faucet, massaging her temples as she exited the washroom.

She decided she’d go check in on Stein, of whom was evidently still up to no good.

Once at his office door, she gently knocked, attempting to avoid startling the man.

Marie received no response.

She turned the knob slowly, opening the door, only to be met with Stein slumped over on his desk, just sleeping away.

His computer was still on, the screen partially dimly displaying photos of decomposing human bodies on one side, and an article on the neurobiology of morality and moral thinking.

Marie was mildly disturbed, but given how used to this she was, she only shook her head and lazily smiled in response.

Marie placed her hands on Stein’s broad and limp shoulders, lightly shaking him.

“Stein. Stein, wake up,” Marie repeated and she shook the sleepy man awake.

Stein groaned, lifting his head up slowly and groggily, eyes narrow, as he looks at Marie’s amused expression.

“Hm?” Stein begrudgingly voiced his tired curiosity. Why was she not in bed? Did she want something?

“I’m sure that desk isn’t nearly as comfortable as your bed, Stein,” Marie ruffled the slightly grumpy scientist’s hair as he stared at her with a look of both fascination and slight annoyance.

“Was that really worth disturbing my sleep over? I haven’t slept in a while,” Stein spoke.

“I want you to get proper rest,” Marie stated, effectively hushing the questioning of Stein.

“Proper rest is not currently a possibility for me.”

“Come on, just try,” Marie encouragingly and playfully attempted to convince Stein.

Stein shook his head.

“Aw, why not?” Marie asked.

“It doesn’t work. I’ll just hallucinate all night… Or what I assume are hallucinations anyway. What if they’re not, Marie?” Stein stared up at Marie with childishly large eyes that reflected the man’s internal predicament.

He was going back and forth with himself endlessly. The logical portion of his mind told him that random dead people were not coming to whisper in his ears and stare at him, and that bugs weren’t crawling on him, and that these are clearly just symptoms of his madness - but the other portion of his mind told him that that’s just what everyone wants him to believe, because they are actively plotting against him and attempting to ruin him. Or perhaps he is a science experiment that everyone is in on. They know something he doesn’t.

He could practically hear, even feel these two sides battling it out. It was utterly miserable.

Marie stared at him with an expression of pity and concern, raising her hand to caress his hair comfortingly.

“I’m sorry, Stein,” was all that Marie uttered in that moment. She could tell him that they were in fact hallucinations, but his own mind might still stand to tell him otherwise. Plus, Marie knew she’d never understand the problems that plagued Stein, at least not from a personal perspective. All she could really do was monitor his mental state.

Stein’s wide eyes grew impossibly in size, now possessing this look of pure desperation and hollowness. It almost looked to be his way of begging for someone to just help him, to understand him, to give him an answer.

An answer to what - he did not know.

Perhaps his problems.

There was something Stein so desperately wanted - this longing has plagued him. And yet he can’t quite put his finger on what it is. Nothing seems to satisfy the longing.

Marie ultimately found this expression both fascinating and terribly depressing. The way in which Stein managed to appear so soulless and yet so full of longing - longing to fill whatever void exists within him.

In reality, as edgy as it may have sounded, Stein believed that he himself was the void - the black hole.

He, for his own gain, consumes all matter that surrounds him. Yet, he is never quite satisfied. He needs more. His curiosity can never be satiated. He himself can never be satiated. There is something he desires, but because he does not know what that is, he will simply consume all that is around him, hoping that it will satisfy the singularity within him.

All that comes near him dies.

He is never ashamed of that nor proud of that.

Simply indifferent.

And one day, he will fully manage to succumb to himself.

To consume himself.

Marie continues her comforting gesture, as she attempts to lift him out of his chair.

Stein stands with the blonde, wobbling a little as he gets up.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed, yeah? What do you say?”

When Marie received no response, she observed that he has once again zoned out, looking even emptier than before.

Stein was left in the utter misery that came with not truly wanting to do anything, and yet wanting to do everything; being simultaneously bored and understimulated by everything, and fascinated and overstimulated by everything. He was truly a work of patchwork - held together by stitches that are barely holding back from popping completely out, and allowing his genuine soul to spill out from the open wounds.

Marie titled her head in concern as she attempted to move Stein towards the door.

Fortunately he followed her, simply remaining silent. There were too many things that Stein simultaneously wanted and didn’t want to say.

He opted for silence.

Eventually, they made it to his bedroom. Marie took him to his bed, sitting him down on it.

Stein crawled in, getting comfortable as he stared simply at the ceiling, and then at the ever-so-worried Marie.

“Will you be all right, Stein?” She asked kindly.

“Yes, I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Marie furrowed her brows in response, but made her way out of the room anyway.

The moment Marie shut the door, the loud cacophony of silence and static cascading throughout his ears.

He enjoyed silence, but constant ringing and static he’s been hearing have been bothering him greatly.

Stein turned to lay on his side, holding an extra bit of blanket to his chest comfortingly.

He stared into the darkness of his bedroom, pondering intently.

Multiple discussions were being had in his head at once, some science-adjacent, some maddening ones, some entirely incoherent yet clearly present, some people-adjacent, some him-adjacent, some language-adjacent, etc.

It was like constant buzzing in his mind, a buzzing he was quite used to by now.

Eventually, Stein succumbed to a dream-filled slumber, simultaneously having been soothed and greatly annoyed by the incoherency wandering about inside of his head.

Incoherency was his coherency.

#soul eater #franken stein #stein #stein soul eater #dr stein #marie mjolnir #derealization #dissociation #fluff #dwma #hurt/comfort

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ourolite2 · 5 months

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ℛescherché ℛoles!

ourolite original characters feature unique capabilities and sins, alongside eesome endeavors and epitomes only seen amid swevens. linger long and think soundly of sonder; remember the memories of your childhood, the habits you harbor in your solitude, and know that these entities too have their personalized memories and ticks, their reveries and evergreen dreams long lost in the mist similar to your own. respect them, whether you love them or not, for they would... well, some of them would do the same for you.

readers are advised to download the google docs app if able for better presentation of the extended character notes, and dark mode is recommended in tandem with this! also, some characters are shipped canonically, but x reader and other x character asks are not disallowed! inquire and request as you see reputable.

this section is innately memorable, but it's particularly recalled for including unique subjects. these are listed as: disorders, disabilities and a variety of conditions as well as various races, gender orientations, sexualities, mythological origins and more. though in a dimmer light, there's a list of more sensitive topics including: racism, homophobia, abuse + neglect, trauma (especially that of childhoods), gore, death, violence, manipulation and more. this is your preamble of caution and context; to all who scroll further, treat yourself and enjoy!

☆ INDIGO ( maneki-neko! oc )

"Ah… your rings are pretty, I’ll be keeping them now … *big yawn* Hm? What? Are you still here? Run along, go find someone safer to speak with.. Heh, I’m only toying. I have a reputation to uphold after all. Being a maiden’s courier is a rather exhausting task. Now, do you mind? I want entertainment. Tell me about yourself, and maybe I’ll reconsider not stealing your pendant." — Mystery Cat. profile. extended details. headcanons #1.

★ ILLŪNIS ( rusalka! oc )

"Daring evening, is it not? Where are your manners? … To rest your ignorance, I am Sentinel Number Three, Illunis — Europe’s Moon Maiden. Come, come, humor me with a drink or a jest, for I am dying for a dance.” — Sentinel Illunis. profile. extended details. headcanons #1.

★ FRANKINCENSE ( churel! oc )

"Hiiii~ Here to see me? Nah, I’m not b—Hm… Might be busy later; not now. But listen, if you’re here to more cookies sell any more, I can’t risk not affording rent again. So stay quiet around that one. *Points her kusarigama over at her daughter who’s distracted with a box of girl scout cookies.* Hear me straight? *Nods weapon back at you with each word.* It’s very important." — Lord Frankenstein. profile. extended details. headcanons #1.

☆ YASHMI-NOIR ( angel-child! oc )

"Hm….Mm… Hi, nice to meet you.. I’m Yashmi-Noir, and this is Frankenstein. *Hides behind Franky and peeks out at you, followed by Franky’s loving chuckle.* Frankenstein is my mommy.. Bu-but you jus’ call mommy Franky! ..And Yashmi-Noir can be Yashmi.. ‘kay?" — Sunshine. profile. extended details. headcanons #1.

★ XĪN’YUÈ ÀN ZHŌNG ( ceo! oc )

“And yet my initial order to you, not to he, she, or they, was to replace the prior base with May Bells to embue the vanillic tones. Fix the issue immediately. This product’s date is definite, and I’m sure you wouldn’t particularly favor the outcome of its delay … Hm, I figured you have some sense. You’re dismissed, as for I—*finally looks at you, expression softening sequentially* have other matters to address.” — Mr. Anzhong. profile. extended details. headcanons #1.

☆ JIHANE MEILĖ ( metaphysician! oc )

"Oh, your aura it… completely surpasses the essential nature of reality; have you already touched the ends of reality, miss/sir? Made your mind a limitless, tangible space? It’s an honor to encounter a warrior such as yourself, *mumbles* one who vividly represents the Seven of Pentacles, reversed and all… Heh, don’t give me that look! Let’s bargain a lil’, m’kay? Open your wisdom and bestow mind-independent certainty upon me in return for… m’name? How does that sound?" — Sinning Star. profile. extended details. headcanons #1.

★ CIRCE YUÈ'LI ( vampire! oc )

“Oh? Fending for yourself? Sweetheart, you're assuming I'm a threat while wandering through my backyard. .. You were 'lost'? Really? Hm. Did you maybe receive an invitation to my abode while you uh.. wandered? ... No, right? Okay. State your business or join me as dinner, you're kinda already starting off on the wrong foot.. Still though, I'm not picky, I haven't had some good buttered thighs since like three dynasties ago.” — Sir Circe. profile. extended details. headcanons #1.

˶꒱ઉ productions 𐙚 ˙

oneshots.

headcanon combos.

drabbles & concepts.

reblogs.

⑅ ourolite productions. all rights fucking reserved, do not plagiarize.

#genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #genshin smut #genshin x black reader #genshin x reader #genshin oc #genshin original character #genshin nsft #genshin spoilers #WE HERE YALL OMGGGGG -neso

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i-suc-at-art · 14 days

Text

Day 6: immortal

Ik this isn’t exactly danny phantom but it’s my dp oc so id like to think it counts.. This also is something i’ve had in the google doc vault for like ages lol it takes place during beyond batman, i was eventually going to have danny join the story but this is only the first part so don’t come for me that danny isn’t in this.. I still think it’s good writing so take pitty on my and read it pretty please 🥺🥺

“We have a ghost problem in Gotham” Terry says

“I don’t think so.. I’ve seen everything, Zombies, vampires, only one ghost though..”

“A real ghost?” Terry asks while sitting on the desk, Bruce was repairing the Suit sitting down in a chair.

“She was a half ghost but yes. She was once the ward of Vlad masters, she came to Gotham when she was 17, the two of them weren’t on good terms.”

“Woah, rich kid huh?”

“Didn’t act like it, but she was dangerous, vindictive too. She didn’t love that i wasn’t willing to go the extra mile in stopping bad guys” Bruce continues working on the suit not looking up

“Freaky.. Wait, wouldn’t she be like 40 by now?”

Bruce looks up at Terry and sighs. He stands walking over to the bat computer “Computer bring up file on Clover Morte.”

“Clover Morte, previous identities unknown, alias: Reaper, Age:17, metahuman powers: increased strength, intangibility, invisibility, increased sight, flight, overshadowing, ghostly fire, immortality, other powers unknown.”

“Do you know where she is? or how to find her?”

“I have a few ideas, you worry about the bad guys, i’ll worry about finding the ghost who haunts Gotham.”

“Right.” Terry puts on his suit and heads out in the batmobile.

Bruce steps into the middle of the small graveyard in Park Row, his cane hitting an inground plaque he side steps to not stand on the grave.

“My eyes must be deceiving me! Is that the one and only Bruce Wayne? The living ghost?” A voice asks from the shadows

“I could say the same about you Reaper.” Bruce turns to where he heard the voice

“Ain’t nobody called me that, not in a long time..” Clover says landing silently in front of Bruce

“You still look good for 37..” He smirks down at the young ghost, her body still looking 17

“You look good too, for a dead guy.” A burst of fire lights from her hand as she passes Bruce patting him on the shoulder with her non burning hand “So, whatcha need? There’s no way you’d see me just to visit.”

“You ever talked to your Dad before he passed?” Bruce follows her and Clover slows her pace so they can walk side by side

“Vlad? Oh no he’s alive and well, he’s also a halfa, naturally created halfas age slower than humans, but they age.” She pauses and opens up a decently sized mausoleum to have a dry place for the two to talk.

“Ah.. That’s good to know that Mr. Masters is alive, still, that bastard’s probably going to live longer than Mcginnis.”

“You’re the one who's going to outlive us all Bruce..” She steps further in motioning for him to follow “So that’s your new ward? Or maybe the new Batman that I've been hearing whispers about?” Clover pulls up a chair for Bruce to sit, clearly she had made this some sort of home. A cot bed in the corner, a couple empty takeout containers sit in a trash bag, looking around Bruce is seriously considering offering Clover a room

“Perceptive as ever. You know you should really talk to Vlad before it’s too late.”

“I mean we’ve talked, he knows I'm alive.. well half alive, but still. He understands that my place is here. Though I haven’t seen him in about 3 or 4 years now, I'm really thinking about it..” She pauses and looks at Bruce, his eyes darting around inspecting the room

“I don’t need a room Bruce. This is my haunt, take me away from it and I won’t hesitate to bring your spirit here myself.” She glares at him and he can’t tell if she’s being serious or not.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He sighs, eyes focusing back on the ghost girl. She lights a couple of small torches on the walls with the fire from her hand. A bright green ring glows around her waist; it splits and starts to change her body, her hair falling from its fiery ponytail, to equally fiery red hair that reaches her shoulders, her bangs black and eyes a bright green. She now looks to be 17 or 18 but her face looks just as aged as someone in their late twenties. Her eyes suckin in, mouth positioned in a frown, she looks troubled. Bruce can tell she isn’t hiding it either.

“Ok, spit it out.. you didn’t just come here to pass along fatherly advice, and exchange pleasantries.”

“Mcginnis says we have a ghost problem. But i’m not so sure. It seems to..” Bruce pauses searching for the right words “high school to be a real ghost.”

“What do you want me to do? Play high school?” She crosses her arms and leans against one of the walls

“That might be a good idea.. Mcginnis does need someone out there who I trust helping him learn the ropes.”

Clover sighs “My guy.. I was joking, I'm not going back to school. Last time it was kinda a hellhole.”

“I’m sure it gets lonely here..” Bruce says

“One; that was out of pocket, two; Jason visits quite often ok?” she pauses “I know what you're doing.. I quite enjoy my simple life I've carved for myself so why don’t you stop trying to carve your dick into it.” She glares her green eyes turning a bright blue for a moment

“It would be good to get to know your peers.” He continues to push her buttons

“Oh yeah, like I'll be able to connect with a bunch of teens who were just sperm when I started my haunt.” She rolls her eyes

“It would be nice to have an inside man. Dont adult actors play teens all the time?” He questions.

She sighs, “If you stop nagging I’ll give you one week. When we get this figured out and I'm back in this graveyard. If you make me stay any longer I swear I will make good on my threat.”

Bruce just nods then sticks out his hand for a handshake, clover grasps it tightly “Death.. I can’t believe that worked..” She balls up her fist and hits it to her forehead.

#danny phantom #ao3 author #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #clover masters #danny phantom oc #oc #dp fanfic #dpxdc #oc & canon #dannymay2024 #day 6: immortal

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maximwtf · 5 months

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“Overexerted”

Baizhu x Reader

Words: 1490

Google docs pages: 3

Warnings: mentions of blood, sick Baizhu, spoilers of his story quest

Opening: Baizhu has another one of those days, a flare up after a few days of taking care of patients. As no one dares to say a word of what is going on with him, you can only guess. And getting through to the man to allow help is no easy task.

AN// Reader can be any gender! Yall I’m sorry for the slight break, I think I’ve had almost every possible disease at this point. Just recently the joints on my hands got so painful I could barely open a can of soda, writing didn’t even come to mind :”D Anyway, back on track now! Requests are open again, though I am still heavily hyperfixated on genshin, so other requests will unfortunately have a slight delay ^^!

“Overexerted”

The usually lively pharmacy was awfully rather quiet on such a lovely day as it was. Not that it was a bad thing that a doctor’s office was empty, a good thing that the people of Liyue were healthy. But even on days like these the atmosphere in the building was never as grim as it was now. It had felt like you’d gone through a threshold of sorts after only stepping in. The herbalist behind the desk was quiet, seemingly his mind was elsewhere. And Qiqi, the child Baizhu so selflessly took care of was nowhere to be seen. Odd. It was all odd, and you had an awful feeling of what might have been going on. Only, for once you wished for yourself to be wrong. That it was only a trick of your mind, nothing more.

You knocked lightly on the wall closest to you, gaining the attention of the man behind the desk. He had not the time to ask you of your business, you beat him to it. “Where might I find Baizhu?” You inquired, but to your demise the answer was just as you’d expected. “The doctor is having one of those days of his. Come back tomorrow if you need his help!” He nodded after, then going back to whatever he’d been reading before your arrival.

Useless, he wasn’t going to tell you the truth. You weren’t quite so sure he even knew the extent of it. From your knowledge the man you knew wasn’t one to share information having to do with his contract.

The sound of footsteps caught your attention soon after. Qiqi marched into the space from behind a corner, not paying much mind to you as she walked past. You weren’t so sure she even remembered your name, and from what you’d heard you weren’t sure she’d ever remember. You’d been claimed as “Bai’s friend” in her mind. But her arrival confirmed your fear. She’d come back with an empty tray in her hands, meaning she’d brought food for Baizhu.

Without another word, you left. Reversed the way Qiqi had just taken, which led you to an all too familiar door by now. You didn’t bother with knocking, knowing if he was to answer, it would be something along the lines of, ‘I’ll be available tomorrow!’ with maybe instructions on who to ask help from until then. So instead of going through that, you gently opened the door, making sure to close it tightly after stepping in.

If you’d doubted your fear of his condition before stepping into the room, you had to admit to yourself for being wrong right about now. The usually bright spirited doctor sat at the edge of the bed, slightly hunched over. He had a cloth in hand, covering his mouth with it as coughing fits flushed through his body. You weren’t so sure he’d even heard you come in. “Baizhu?” You asked, voice soft but just loud enough for him to hear. And as no surprise at this point, as soon as he saw you his demeanor changed. Or more so attempted to change, as another coughing fit caught wind of him. He was a mess. And with a quick look at the white snake next to him on the bed, you could tell she wasn’t all too happy about the situation either. You knew she tried to make sure he didn’t overexert himself, yet this happened every now and then. And you couldn’t blame her either. For a skilled and intelligent man like him, he did not know when to take a break or ask for help.

As the fit calmed down, his gaze landed on you once more. He didn’t seem surprised to see you, expression more apologetic than anything. “You’ve taken too much yet again, and not given yourself time to rest.” You sighed, walking closer as your eyes scanned the nightstand beside the bed. A few small bowls appeared to be spread around it, guessing they must have been left there by Qiqi. But it also meant he’d been here for more than half a day. You began to stack the bowls, somewhat glad that he’d at least eaten something. “I will be fine, honestly. A short rest was in order, nothing more.” He tried to explain himself gently, but it was no use for his defence. “You look worse for wear compared to the last time I saw you…” You sighed, finding yourself oddly upset by the situation. Not angry, never. But upset that he had to live like this. Or chose to, as it more seemed. The first time you’d learned of his contract with the snake, you had begun to think of the creature as a parasite. Feasting on someone else's life force only to sustain her own. Yet, the more you saw Baizhu long to help others even at the risk of his own health, you started to understand his decision.

Baizhu seemed to have caught up with your thoughts, head slightly tilted. He didn’t say anything, yet wishing to ask if you were okay but sensing the irony of asking such things. So he hoped you’d understand him without speaking up on the matter. “I��ve told you to look after yourself.” A sight leaves you, defeated by this point yet still caring. “I admit, I may have overexerted myself a little more than necessary. But believe me when I say, it is nothing fatal.” He replied, coughing after. You noticed the bloodied cloth he was using, shaking your head at the sight. “Seems an awful lot like it will be one of these days.” You answer, gently taking the cloth from him and placing it in one of the empty bowls, knowing you’d take them out with you before leaving. “Forgive me, I did not mean that”, you feel the need to add after a moment of silence. “I merely worry for you out of care.” Which was true, only you hoped he knew the true depths of such feelings. The doctor had taken a breath in an attempt to reply, but a coughing fit disturbed him. You frown, turning to him as you place a fresh cloth on the nightstand for him. “I know, though I do recall telling you not to.” He finally has the chance to say.

You do not reply to that, being aware that he had indeed said so, yet you saw it as absurd. How could you not, he was dear to you. Though, at times it felt like caring after someone who already slipped beyond your grasp.

You moved onto the bed, sliding yourself behind him on the soft surface. The snake gave you space out of respect for the attempt to talk some sense into him, slithering to the doctor’s lap. You’d noticed what kind of a mess his hair was, assuming he wouldn’t mind if you fixed it for him. So you didn’t exchange any words with the man, brushing your fingers through his long hair. If you hadn’t known any better, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly. The sight erased the former frown from your face as you continued, being able to sort out his hair without a comb. “Hot flashes?” You question him gently, wanting a better perspective on how he was feeling. And above that, you knew a part of him enjoyed being taken care of, being asked the same sort of questions he asked on the daily. ‘Mhm’, a soft agreeing noise responded. “Cold chills?” You continued with the questions, gently gathering some of his hair and twisting it into the familiar bun you were used to seeing him with. ‘Yes’, another agreeing reply, feeling him lean back as you secured the bun. “Hm, I diagnose you bedridden until you feel better.” You chuckled slightly, placing one of the longer pieces of hair he had out of the bun over his shoulder. “Ah, what an awful faith.” He tried to chuckled, a cough replying to the attempt of that. “Now lay down, I’ll come back to check up on you.” You place a hand on his shoulder before getting up from the bed to give him space. He didn’t seem to argue against the idea, laying down rather willingly. You go to pick up the bowls, giving the man one last look before exiting the room.

AN// Happy new year to everyone who made it to the end, as I know I won't be posting anymore on this side of the year. Concearning my writing this year, yall have made it as amazing as it has been. Thank you, as I still cannot quite comprehend how many people have followed along this mess of a blog <3

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #baizhu #genshin impact baizhu #baizhu x reader #x reader #genshin x reader #proof read at 4am so is there actually any proof or is it just read #that is one of the questions I shall go think about

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