#Fanfic teaser

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

readerbot fic chap4 sneapea

yeah thats it thats the chapter

bonus

[starslovechasers]

canon compliant au where when sirius is stuck on house arrest in grimmauld place he uncovers regulus’ letters and tries to find out what happened to him aka who lives who dies who tells your story au aka sirius finds out about his dead best friend and dead brothers love affair 15 years later??

edit: bc no ones seeing my reblog! 😭😭disclaimer! this is my work in progress, hoping to have the first chapter up this weekend so id appreciate if ppl dont steal this/but whatever do whatever you want just at least credit me 😭

[uniquethingtastemaker]

I’m also working on another Vil x Reader idea that involves MC misunderstanding Vil’s immediate criticism upon meeting them as some sort of weird Pomefiore custom. So they also criticized Vil in the most honest, genuine and well mean way possible. Here’s a section I wrote. I apologize for any mistakes. It’s 3 in the morning lol

Congratulations, here’s the teaser:

—————

Vil took your hand as he responded, “It’s nice to meet you too. You should really put some benzoyl peroxide and salicylic acid on that breakout.”

You blinked, bewildered. You hadn’t expected that. Was this some sort of strange Pomefiore greeting you didn’t know about? Vil pointed out something you could work on. The wording was terrible, but it seemed in line with what the dorm stood for: continuous self-improvement. Maybe this was a way to show respect and consideration within the dorm? You thought it was only polite to return the favor. Even if you were wrong, Pomefiore seemed to respect bold improv choices and you could always apologize.

You gave a sharp, decisive nod and a small grin.

“Thanks! I’ve been meaning to get some products with those ingredients, but my budget's been tight,” you explained.

You gave the Pomefiore greeting back.

“If you greet everyone like that, you’ll never break out of your villain role,” you responded with sincerity.

You felt Vil freeze as you released his hand. Before you had time to observe his reaction, your attention was ripped away by your best friends yelling at you.

“Why did you say that?!” Ace shouted, mortified.

Startled by the sudden outburst, you matched his volume.

“I thought it was some weird Pomefiore greeting!” You defended, “Heartlabyul has strange rules and customs that Riddle is always strict about that. I thought as the head of Pomefiore, he was doing something similar.”

“What do you mean?” Deuce asked, stunned.

“Isn’t Pomefiore all about improving oneself? He greeted me with something I should work on, so I was just returning the favor,” you answered.

Deuce was silent for a moment, before speaking, “You could’ve phrased it better.”

You crossed your arms. “That was the point, though. I wanted to show him that coming up to someone and pointing out a potentially sensitive flaw could make someone upset and defensive. It sounds like an insult rather than constructive criticism. Public opinion is shallow. If it sounds mean, they’ll think you are even if you’re trying to be helpful. The only reason I didn’t get offended is because he’s the head of Pomefiore and friends with Rook. The hunter is equally weird and also disregards general social norms like Vil was.”

The four of them stared at you in silence.

————————

It’s 3am. I might’ve worded stuff strangely, so forgive me if I did.

I was just excited with what I wrote and wanted to share. I hope you all enjoyed. I always look forward to your comments!

[entitled-fangirl]

I need a cheeky tease on the Cregan give you are writing 😩😩

Just for you <3

..............................................................

She had to practically beg him.

"No. No, and you need to drop it," he said as he began to lace up his boots.

She whined and pulled herself from the bed, her hair a mess and still only in her shift, "Cregan."

Cregan let out a soft growl, "You dragons just don't see reason, do you?"

She smiled and neared him. Her hands rested over his, keeping him from lacing his boots. "I want time with my brother again. Is that so terrible?"

"It's a two week trip to the Wall."

"That's at least a month with him." She gripped his hands tighter, "Please, Cregan."

He sighed, "The prince will have plenty of time with you before and after. I won't have my wife and unborn child far from the maesters." He laughed forcedly, "Or near the men of the Wall for another matter."

"There are maesters there, Cregan. And we all know I am safest with you."

He stared at their connected hands for a while, a million thoughts ringing loudly in his head, but all unvoiced. 

..................................................................

[pampushky]

Mon Petit Doudou Teaser

Charles Leclerc/Reader (Teaser)

Apologies for going silent, I promise I'm writing my other works, I just have a full time job that's about 50 hours a week lmao

masterlist | actual fic

anyway enjoy, full fic will becoming monday

He was too beautiful to be doing something like this for a living. With those bewitching hazel eyes. The effortlessly styled hair. His athletic build. The sweet slur of his accent as he lowered his voice to a sultry level when he talked to you.

But weren’t you as well? Wasn’t that why you fought so hard for your anonymity? Why you had only ever allowed your mouth or lower to be seen in any stream or video, combined with the concealer that hid away any tattoos or marks from the prying eyes of those who watched you pleasure yourself on camera. Why you never wore your glasses to any professional shoot. Dressed so differently on and off screen.

So why did it feel so weird now? Two of you, the same profession between you as you discuss plans for your… collaboration. Charles smiles at you. Stubbly beard and white teeth, a bit of the foam from his coffee clinging to his mustache. Perfectly styled hair as though he’d just stepped out of a convertible. You know you look similar. The soft cardigan slipping of your shoulders. Exposing the delicate tattoos of rue on your upper arms, circling your biceps and dancing up to your shoulders.

Herb-of-grace. Purity. Innocence. How ironic for you, considering what your profession had turned into. From a part-time job to a serious career that often ended up having better benefits and more money. 

Charles leans forward, whispering something in French you don’t quite catch, making you frown as he cackles, leaning back. Other tables at the cafe look at the two of you, and you can see the adoration in their eyes. You look like the perfect couple. In a way, you are. A spoiled rotten sub and the protective, sweet dom.

“I think you should let them see the tattoos, no? I think they would like it,” Charles says, shit eating grin on his lips. “What does the rue flower represent again?” Because he damn well knows what it means, he just likes to tease you.

[fadedtoneverland]

teaser - selfish waltz | jung wooyoung

noble!exbf!wooyoung x noble!gn!reader

(since it’s wooyoungie’s bday, i thought i’d tease my next big project with him)

-

“dance with me.”

your eyebrow twitched when you heard that voice. his voice still sounded so serene, like a songbird, just like when you first met him. but instead of feeling warmth and butterflies, sparks of irritation danced over your nerves.

“i’d rather not.” you replied curtly, gripping the wine glass tighter in your hands. you tried to distract yourself by looking at the other people in the grand hall, dressed in satin silk and feathered masquerade masks, but the sight of the billions of couples in the room made you feel even more pathetic.

wooyoung scoffed, his smirk even more pronounced with half of his face covered by the black venetian mask he wore. you hated that he could still look so good after all this time.

“come on, darling.” wooyoung cooed, the sound of his words coming out more mocking than honeyed. “you know you want to. or would you rather stand here looking all sad and lonely?”

you scoffed and turned away from this man, already getting agitated from the mere sight of him. though, you can’t tell if it’s agitation or excitement.

“don’t call me that.” you sassed, not wanting to meet his gaze. “besides, i thought you’d be off with your new toy or whatever. why don’t you go dance with her instead?”

a flash of irritation twitched on wooyoung’s facials.

“it’s a fucking waltz, y/n.” wooyoung snapped, getting up in your personal space and making you turn around by grabbing your wrist.

“the easiest ballroom dance in the world, and i know you don’t wanna stand here moping around. wouldn’t exactly look good for mommy and daddy, now would it? so dance with me.”

fuck. now you couldn’t ignore him. your eyes rounded from shock and being intimidated by your ex’s rather aggressive reaction, but you’ve known of wooyoung’s volatile nature for a while.

besides, you can’t make a scene, you’d rather not get chewed out by your family during their grand ceremonious event.

swallowing your pride just this once, you relented.

“fine.”

wooyoung smirked, already dragging you to the center of the ballroom, letting you and him get swept up in the materialistic crowd.

“great. let’s dance, mon amour.”

-

❤︎ — dancing round and round the old ballroom that you created so many memories in, you find yourself falling into a loop where you, and the man you once loved, selfishly give into each other’s desires

[sapphiresandgold]

[Day 7 of @lucienweekofficial – AU]

Coming to theatres* in December 2024 ...

Flight Risk

Elain Archeron is not looking forward to spending the holidays at her sister's estate – not when she was supposed to be on her honeymoon instead. But the wedding has been cancelled and she has nowhere else to stay after crashing on her friend's couch for the first few days. The same friend who has bullied her into forgetting about Graysen by looking for a hook-up on a dating app. What she certainly wasn’t expecting to happen was to wind up sitting next to the hot guy on the plane she accidentally swiped right on ...

(*theatres meaning Ao3)

[deny-the-issue]

Interest check for a Halsin x fat!Reader one shot 👀

Like this post if you’re interested!

There will be smut of course but it’s also a fluffy love story about acceptance

[crappymixtape]

because of you • ( pt. vi teaser )

TEASER for part VI of because of you // one last lil taste of this cos my book deadline is up on the 9th and then after that? YOU AND STEVE ARE GONNA FUCK UP THE UPSIDE DOWN ( and then fuck each other ) – okay love you bye! // ENEMIES -> LOVERS, STEVE x READER

Steve started up again at your feet. Skipped over the bruises on your shins and the angry-looking scrape on your left knee and as he gently shifted you to reach your upper leg, the water running off your body turned bright red.

“Oh shit..." he breathed, a deep frown pulling at his features as his eyes frantically searched for the source, worry tugging at the pit of his stomach. Where was it coming from?

And then he finally saw it. The nasty gash on your thigh courtesy of a demobat that had dragged a claw down through your skin. “Christ,” he hissed under his breath, moving to let the water run over it, “We gotta clean this–”

“Fuck, Steve–” you choked out, the pain in your leg white hot as you pressed a hand heavy into his before he could use the washcloth. “It hurts,” you half-sobbed and he quickly blocked the shower with his back again.

“Shit–I’m sorry–dammit–” a string of curses fell from his lips as he leaned closer to get a better look.

The few seconds of water had done a good job of cleaning it up, but he could see now how deep it was. Probably needed stitches, just like his stomach would, and he squeezed his eyes shut for a minute.

It’s okay. It’s gonna be okay. We’ll be okay.

Pulling in a deep breath he went to the place in his mind he knew all too well. The one where he closed out the sick feeling of worry blooming in his chest, the thoughts of 'what if' that didn't end nicely and hardened against it all so that he could do what he needed to keep you safe.

“Alright, princess,” he reached over his shoulder and turned off the tap, then looked back up at you, still on his knees. “I gotta get you out and dried off, okay? Get this fixed up,” he said, nodding at your leg, “Will you let me do that?”

A soft scowl pulled at your features and it almost made him smile – how pretty you were even when you were mad. Even like this.

“I don’t think you’re gonna give me a choice,” you tried to snark around the sob in your throat and that finally cracked a tiny grin on his face.

“I’m not,” he gently agreed and with that you let him lift you from the seat. Let his hands, warm and wide at your waist, guide you from the shower and wrap a towel around your tired body.

[byexbyez]

TEASER:

you'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loves you. | james x mary (& maria) one-shot content warnings: 18+, dark themes, canon character death, graphic depictions of violence

excerpt: If there was a time when the sound of James’s name from Mary’s lips did not feel like a burden, he does not remember it.

coming soon.

read here.

[caubool]

Transformers One fic WIP:

Isn't it crazy how much work Sentinel's "The Truth is What I Make It" spiel would actually take to follow through on and how much stuff "he" did that would require many many many more bots to carry out? Isn't it wild that Orion was searching for answers Everywhere in that archive and never found a stray hair out of place in the story Sentinel spun?

I’ve started writing out my own answer to the questions I kept coming up with while thinking way too hard about this movie! The first bit below:

In his spark, Optimus Prime is a mech of action. But never without strategy. Contrary to popular belief, he did look before he leapt. He just tended to assume he would land flawlessly on the other side. He wasn't called Optimus because of his dedication to realism, after all. And if all else fails, he knew he was fraggin’ lucky.

In the wake of Sentinel’s execution, Iacon stands on shaking, new-build legs. In just 50 cycles Cybertron lost a war, lost all of its Primes, nearly starved, and went into hiding at the call of a charismatic mech who pulled cogs from freshly sparked chambers. In less than that, Optimus himself onlined. Now, he stands as the sole Prime of Cybertron. Primus’s chosen. He and Iacon reel in tandem. So much in so little time. His servos still buzz with the vibrations of splitting D- Megatron’s canon. As if it'd been mere kliks ago and not a several phases.

Elita helps in the aftermath. B, too, but the little bot seems more preoccupied with exploring these days. Optimus can’t blame him. Though he privately wishes he could get out of all these blasted meetings and go exploring with the minibot rather than just hearing about his adventures after the fact.

In his office, Elita pushes another neat tray of holowork into his servos and levels him with a look. Her optics narrowed and lip plates pressing together so tightly there’s the faintest scrape of metal.

Optimus lets her stare for a few nanokliks before restarting his voice box. “Can I help you, Elita?”

The scraping sound twists up sharply as her look intensifies. "You're no help to anyone right now, Optimus."

He blinks. The words take longer than he'd like to admit to fully process. When they do, he jumps to his pedes. "What do you mean? Have I missed something? Has there been a Quintesson attack?"

"Sit back down, Prime." She ex-vents sharply and walks around to the other side of his desk.

He slumps into his seat and turns tired optics out onto Iacon, vast and crumpled before him. He had tried so hard to deny this office. With its gold trimmed windows and grand desk and personal energon fountain. It was all too much. But he was the Prime and this was a Prime's seat, it's tradition it's- he shutters his optics and terminates that line of thought. "Elita, please tell me what I've done wrong."

Leaning against his desk she watches him out of the corner of her optics. "What do you see there?" She gestures to the windows.

"I see Iacon, in pain. Bots, still unsure of where they fit now. I see a Cybertron uncertain of itself." He says.

"Do you know what I see?" She asks and Optimus doesn't so she continues, "I see a very tired bot working himself to the wire." He startles, but she isn't done yet. "I see a mech spreading himself so thin that he can't actually step up where he's needed."

Optimus has to work hard to get his jaw struts to function correctly. "I- Elita, I can't turn away from Cybertron, even for a nanoklik. They need a leader and that's- Primus chose me to do this. I can't undermine Primus's will."

"You can't jump in front of every canon blast aimed at Cybertron. And frankly, I don't want you to. Primus knows doing it that first time has only made your recklessness worse." Elita says.

"It is not reckless to try to build a better future for all bots." He shoots back.

She rolls her optics and sends him another look. "No, but it is reckless to avoid self-maintenance in the name of being a good leader. You can't be the mech Cybertron needs if your processor is half fried."

He ex-vents and he knows she's right. She often is. "Still, what do you suggest I do? Everywhere I turn there are more bots who need me."

"Find someplace quiet, keep all the lights off, and take a fragging break." Elita knocks her pauldron against his as she says it.

Optimus can feel a smile coming on and he doesn't fight it. "Is that advice, Commander?"

Elita smirks back at him. "That's an order."

--

For as often as he visited the Hall of Records—or, more accurately, was chased out of the Hall of Records—Optimus Prime had never seen another bot actually wandering the stacks. Security bots, sure, but they only showed up if they got tipped off by a roaming drone.

It feels odd to walk through the front doors of the Archive, nobody on his heels. Walking among the shelves of holovids that used to dwarf him and now seeing all the dust caked on their tops. It feels forbidden.

When he had dismissed the security at the entrance he had asked them to leave the lights off. Something he appreciates, even as it adds to the uncanny feeling building in his core. He knows the paths in the dark, the way his headlights snake around corners and up walls. Keeping one thing the same, just one…it's helping.

He starts where he left off last time. The projector screen was still set up with the history of Cybertron queued up. He spins the cartridge tray idly as the holovid starts. It breezes through the history every bot knew forwards, backwards, and inside out. He can feel his actuators depressurizing as the narration continues. He can almost pretend he's still Orion Pax, trying to solve an epic mystery and prove himself as more than just some cogless miner.

"-The Matrix of Leadership. Lost, with the Primes, to the surface." This is where he'd gotten found out last time. Optimus watches as the Matrix fades out into the globe and shakes his head, almost fond. He's already reaching for a new holovid when the narration continues. His optics narrow, hadn't he gotten to the end already? "Cybertron's only hope rests with our final, tireless leader: Sentinel Prime. But he cannot protect us alone. That's why Sentinel needs every bot in Cybertron to do their part and pull their weight. Cybertron needs you, your Prime needs you." The holovid projects Sentinel smiling, waving to an unseen audience, with the light glinting off of his helm.

He looks regal.

Optimus feels his fuel lines twist.

As the holovid finishes, it flashes a few final lines of text. "The Modern History of Cybertron - by ID-A. Sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative."

"What?" the word flies out of him as he reads, then re-reads the text. The Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative? Out of all the branches of government he'd had to get acquainted with recently, he hadn't ever heard of something like that. Optimus ran an internal search of his memory just to be sure but, no, this was the first time he'd seen the name.

Frowning, he swaps out holovids and let the next one play. The screen glows with colour as each of the Primes getts introduced. It's a basic history of the rulers of Cybertron and is similarly scant on details. The holovid once again ends with a shot of Sentinel and a call to work hard for the mech. The credits read: "Who Are the Primes of Cybertron? A Summary - by Thundercracker. Edited for clarity of purpose by ID-A and sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative."

Optimus slides in another vid. "The Quintesson War - by Gearstrike. Edited for clarity of purpose by WR-N and sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative." Then another one. "Energon: Its Sources, Uses, and Necessity to the Cybertronian Ecosystem - by Quarkkey. Edited for clarity of purpose by ID-A and sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative." And another one. "Iacon's Sub-Levels and You: A Guide - by WR-N. Sponsored by the Cybertronian Well-Being initiative."

Optimus spends the rest of the chord looking through any and every holovid he can get his servos on in that archive. By the time Cybertron starts its hum again—the signal for recharge to end and for first shift to begin—he's an island among the piles of holovid cartidges. Each of them branded by the Cybertronian Well-Being Initiative. And none of them ever explaining just what that initiative is.

This bothers him, more than Optimus thinks was strictly logical. It's more than likely that it's just an educational branch that created basic informational holovids. Yet, just reading those four words fill him with a dread that has become all too familiar. On the edge of a cliff, searching brassy, yellow optics, and knowing that no matter how much he hoped for the best, the worst is already staring him in the face.

[bones-of-a-rabbit]

Can we have some crumbs for (it was, in reality, not fine.), pretty please? ❤️❤️

it's still in a rough work-in-progress, but i do have a bit that i thought was funny i can share?

snippet:

“So let me get this straight. I, as of,” you checked the time, “three minutes ago, just told you,” you gestured to Sun, who hunched his shoulders sheepishly, “specifically not to over exert yourself because your shoulders might not be ready yet and any damage would mean another month of no daycare. And, about thirty seconds after that, I told you,” you gave Moon a wary look. He had the intelligence to duck his head apologetically, “to behave reasonably at least until I got back from my, let me just remind you, three. Minute. Long. Absence. Is all of that correct?”

[zemkzone]

So, it's Thanksgiving, and I'm spending it alone in a country where it isn't even a holiday. I'm in a mood because of a lot of things this month (not just the Terrible Awful Crappy 5th).

Buuuuuut I wanted to spread a lil cheer, and be thankful for this hellsite and all the ColdFlash creatures I've met while scrolling through here--@theroguesharlequin @hardwiredweird @notquiteinsane @hautecoldture @softboydepot @simpledontmeanpeachy to name a few (while I'm still vaguely sober). So here's a snippet of a scene I've been tinkering with for That Rare Arctic Thunderstorm, which is hilariously set on Thanksgiving 2015. Not the final version, of course, and yes, there are... redactions marked by brackets ([])... but hey, HAPPY TURKEY DAY, 'Murricah! And to the rest of you, early happy weekend!

“Right on time, Doc,” [Len] drawled, opening the front door for Henry Allen. “Len, good to see you, son,” Barry’s dad said, a genuinely pleased smile on his face as he handed over one of his two large, heavily stuffed tote bags. He was all bundled up in cozy fall colors. “Happy Thanksgiving! Mike and Avigail send their regards—along with fresh sweet potato latkes, jelly doughnuts, and something called… borekas?” “Huh, here I thought a pit-stop at the Birnbaums’ would take you longer.” Len turned to hit the elevator button, trying to ignore the funny way the endearment made him feel. “I wouldn’t be late for my first Thanksgiving as a free man,” Henry remarked as they stepped into the elevator car. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.” “You and Scarlet both, Doc.” Len would have shrugged and smirked, but in the face of Henry’s warm smile, he couldn’t manage enough nonchalance. “I think we’ve known each other long enough for you to start calling me Henry.” Barry’s dad clapped his shoulder with his free hand. “I’m actually glad it was you who came down to get me. I wanted a moment alone with you, to thank you.” “For what?” The elevator doors slid open on the top floor, but Len’s feet refused to move. Henry seemed to notice his discomfort and let go of his shoulder. “Barry’s always been a kind boy, sometimes too kind. I know today—the original plan and the new one—was all his idea. You didn’t have to go along with it [...] but you did. So, thank you.” For one extended moment, Len couldn’t speak. [...] Len had agreed and been thanked by Barry repeatedly in several different ways already, but he hadn’t expected understanding or gratitude from anyone else. He got his mouth—and his feet—to work again right as the elevator doors started to close. He stopped them with his palm, gesturing for the older man to step out ahead of him. “Henry… Did Scarlet ever tell you my four rules?” Barry’s dad smiled and quirked his brow curiously. “No, he didn’t.” “Make the plan, execute the plan.” Len stepped out after him. “Expect the plan to go off the rails,” he opened the door to the apartment proper, “throw away the plan.” Henry laughed with delight as they stepped inside, again clapping a hand on his shoulder. “With rules like that, you two will be just fine.”

[uniquethingtastemaker]

I think ruggie is such a great character to have in Vil fics, especially ones that center the VDC training because you have a character who is so aware of the importance of food and eating and not being wasteful and a character who is spiking/drugging/cursing food (food the MC is known to not have a ton of) just because it doesn’t fit his diet plan. The juxtaposition is incredible, and if you have the reader be close to ruggie (say shopping for food deals or just commiserating over screwy bosses and lack of funds), this makes it that much more interesting!

I'm so glad you're excited to see Ruggie in one of my upcoming Vil fanfics! I'll admit I'm not using him as a counterpart to Vil. However, that is an interesting idea! I didn't even think about that. I'll give you a little teaser for his upcoming role: Ruggie is more connected to Epel than Vil. Ok! That's it for now!

I love hearing what other people think, so thanks for sending in a comment anon!! It always makes my day

[arson-duck]

Your Hand Grenade Heart - Coming soon to an Ao3 tab near you!

“I like your mask,” I break the silence, desperate for comforting conversation. For a distraction from the haunting images still clouding my mind. “Where’d you get it?”

“I made it.” He answers quickly, like he was waiting for me to ask him something.

“You enjoy arts and crafts, Lieutenant?” I grin, sly and slow. I picture him stitching the mask together at a desk covered in craft paper and black thread, scissors and glitter glue. I nearly crack up at the image.

“If you consider killing an art, yes.” He seems to sense what I’m thinking, and lowers his voice to a growl.

Ok, Edgelord. 

“I do,” I take another sip of my tea, ponder pushing him. “but I doubt you enjoy it.”

“What makes you say that?” He sounds almost amused, and the switch in his tone gives me the courage to continue.

“Your eyes.” 

Subscribe to l3uttstuff on Ao3!!! will be posted soon!!!

[heavenlyraindrops]

sneak peek!

i decided to finally start writing part three of “obsessed”