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dreamauri · 6 months

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♪ — 𝗪𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗗 𝗜𝗡? - part one max verstappen x reader (fluff) “. . . when he wants to be normal, he can count on you, stranger.”

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One of the things Max Verstappen despises about being Max Verstappen is being Max Verstappen. Three time world champion, youngest race winner, mad max, f1 dominator, all the fame and media and people following him around. It's very hard to get a moment of peace or be treated normally. When people hear his name they either put on big smiles or ugly frowns. He hates the special treatment.

He misses when he could have a conversation without people recording or judging him. Without people whispering about him, or fake being his friend for whatever fame. When people would just spend time with him for the sake of spending time, or having a conversation for the sake of friendly socialization and conversation. Luckily though for the Dutch, in this day and age, Max could just enter a spare email in Discord and make a second lowkey account.

The pfp was a random photo of Max, a meme. Lowkey enough, Max decided after staring at the profile long enough before opening DiscoBoard. After scrolling and searching, he was dawned upon with a relatively small server with only 280 people online, surrounding sim racing. After he followed instructions on the welcome page like verifying he's not a robot and picking roles, he got his first ping.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Max met you in August of 2022. The way you talked and messed around with him got him constantly checking his phone for notifications over the next months. The way you befriended him and were relaxed around him once the two of you got to know each other, it kept him sane. And although Max didn't really reveal a lot about himself except that his work required a lot of traveling and effort, you trusted him enough to share about your own life up in France, ranting about your weird encounters as an employee at Cisco.

The blonde’s favorite part about getting home was plopping in his gaming chair and switching his Discord accounts. Pulling his headphones on and navigating through the server, he joined the active voice chat. It was as if he was switching lives, turning off Max Verstappen to be an irrelevant 26 year old.

“A millioooon.” you sang like you always did, a nickname you’d given him since amilian sounded like a million.

“Laaaaa.” Max sang back with a chuckle before greeting the other acquaintances present on the call.

“How was your weekend?” You hummed.

“Same as always. Maybe a bit shittier this time.” He sighed, seeing you were on Gran Turismo from your shared screen.

“I’d love to beat up someone for you.” You always offer when he’s down. The blonde would laugh and shake his head even though you can’t see. You never cease to bring him a smile with your tone and jokes and hearty aura, despite being kilometers up north. "We're waiting for Josh to take a few rounds around spa, you wanna join?"

"Oh, yes please." friendly racing with no consequences, points or championship? just friends messing around and enjoying themselves? Yes please.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"You see the new verstappen photos that just dropped, Mr. Max Verstappen nerd?" Max looked up from his phone, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at your dm chat where the two of you decided to move the call once everyone else put down the steering wheel for the night.

"This one is from Bahrain I think . . . you know, I'm starting to take a liking to him." Max rolled his eyes playfully at your words. "To be honest, I was kind of disappointed this weekend." Max rubbed his eyes, looking up at your profile picture.

"Why what happened?" He asked even though he probably knew all too well the events of the Australian grand prix.

"Max DNFed on the third or fifth lap." You sighed.

"Oh yeah?" Max hummed, pursing his lips, not wanting to recall the memories. "What's so bad about that? I thought you were a die hard Charles fan?" he asked.

"Excuse you, I'm a die hard Fernando fan." You joked in a sassy tone which pulled a chuckle from him.

"What is it about Max DNFing that is bothering you then?" Max himself asked, putting his phone down to concentrate on your voice.

"I just don't—" you sighed deeply. On your end of the call you rolled back in your chair, getting up and flopping on your bed with your phone in hand.

When you did answer his question, all Max heard was mumbles because your voice was muffled by your pillow. "Can't hear you, La. Aren't you happy about the Carlando podium? You were so happy about it last year."

"I am happy, I am. But Max . . . well Max . . . i don't know." you grumbled frustrated. "He's such a good driver, and deserves a lot— he works really really hard."

Max never thought he'd hear you talking about him like that. He'd usually hear other people on the server dissing him and cursing him. And although you were always mostly neutral with the drivers, the way you spoke about Max tonight melted his heart. It also felt very wrong.

While you turned and laid on your back, staring up at the ceiling of your room, venting your feelings about a driver who you thought didn't know you existed, said driver folded his arms on his desk and leaned forward, resting his chin on his arms listening to you vent about how much you were amazed and proud even though you don't know him personally or him not being your favorite driver.

Max glanced up at his monitor as you sighed to gather your thoughts. "Sometimes when i look at him, he reminds me of myself. I never really got to go past karting, but for some reason I see a little bit of y/n in him."

"—Y/n?" He sat up hearing the name.

"I—" You face palmed upon the realization.

"Is that your name?" Max asked. You nodded briefly with a sigh but he couldn't see.

"Unfortunately." You sighed. "Weird name, I know—"

"I like it." He reassured. "It's not like Amilian is any better." he tried to lighten the mood, working slightly.

"A million." you giggled making him chuckle back.

"A million, " he repeated quieter, a small smile on his face as he leaned his chin back down on his arm.

Such a foolish thing to do, taking a liking to a woman you've never met.

Voice notes . . . ( my brain is like a zoo rn, starting projects and not being able to track anything while working on everything at the same time ) Word count - ( 1, 165 ) credits for proofreading -> @classiclitfreak (check out their blog!!)

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theemporium · 7 months

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[2.6k] it's hard to remember you are good enough when everyone and everything in the world seems hellbent on convincing you otherwise. or, at least, the voice in your head is.

tw: description of panic attacks and symptoms

Luke Hughes thought he was ready for this.

He had spent the better part of his life preparing for this moment, letting it lead up to this moment. From the day he was born, it was like a prophecy that he would inevitably fulfil, just like his brothers. From the moment he put on those skates and took his first step onto the ice, it was like planets aligned and stars shone down on him and the universe decided that Luke Hughes would make it to the NHL.

It was everything he wanted in life, it was everything he trained for in his life.

And he watched his older brothers do the same.

He had spent his childhood listening to his parents tell him all about the bigger leagues. He trained and trained and pushed his way through the junior leagues. He went as far as doing his stint in college hockey, in following Quinn’s footsteps in hopes of being just like him.

He watched Quinn be drafted. He watched Jack be drafted. He watched his own name be called out.

He even got a fucking taste of it all in the playoffs, that small insight into what would be the rest of his life before he officially started his rookie year. It was overwhelming but it was everything he ever wanted. He had trained for this. He was prepared for this. He was made for the NHL.

He thought he was ready for this but he really fucking wasn’t.

The bitter sting of a loss was a familiar but unwelcome feeling, one that washed over him and suffocated him as he stood on the ice. He liked to torture himself a little, to tilt his head back and look at the losing score on the big screens whilst the echoes of the fans around them hit his ears. He liked to make himself feel the sting so he wouldn’t forget it, so it would push him to do harder, to play better.

But these days, it seemed like nothing was enough.

It was humiliating, some of the games they were losing. No one on the team was going to outrightly say it, but Luke could see it on their faces. He could see it in the way Nico’s face shut down like he didn’t want them to see their captain down. He could see it in the way Jack gripped his stick a little tighter, like he was reissting the urge to hit it against something to vent his frustrations out. He could see it in the way Jesper’s shoulders sagged as he skated towards the tunnel, or the way Daws kept his head down so nobody would see the look on his face.

He saw it on all of their faces, and some horrible, bitter voice in the back of his head told him it was all of his fault.

Logically, Luke knew that was impossible. Hockey was a team sport and one bad player didn’t make the whole team bad. But it didn’t help him from feeling like he was dragging them down, stopping them from being the same team that made it to round two of the playoffs last year.

Luke couldn’t help but feel that maybe he wasn’t made for the big leagues, that he didn’t belong.

That he didn’t deserve his spot.

His body felt heavy as he followed the team and skated towards the tunnel. Every move felt slow, lethargic, weighted. Everything felt like it was too much, and yet his mind never stopped moving.

It was like watching a tragic movie on loop in his head.

Each fumbled pass replayed in his mind. Each missed shot. Each stumble on the ice. Each bad call. Each intercepted passes. All of it. The shitty plays and shittier calls. Not even from the game they just played, but the string of losses they had been pushing through. They all played in his head over and over again until that voice was screaming at him.

It was his fault they were losing.

It was his fault they weren’t scoring the points they were capable of.

It was his fault he wasn’t good enough.

It was his fault because they thought he would be as good as Quinn and Jack, and he fucking wasn’t.

It was all his fault.

It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his—

And the voice just didn’t stop.

It didn’t stop screaming at him as he stepped off the ice, his body wanting nothing more than to stop fighting gravity and just give in. It didn’t stop screaming as he joined the line towards the locker room, every other sound muffled to him. It didn’t stop as he shuffled towards his stall, collapsing onto the bench like his body couldn’t handle his weight anywhere.

It just didn’t fucking stop.

His brain was so loud and noisy and deafening, he couldn’t focus on anything else. He couldn’t focus on whatever post-game speech Nico was inevitably giving the boys. He couldn’t focus on whichever players got pulled for media. He couldn’t focus on the way everyone was meticulously packing up their equipment, discussing what their plans were for the night since they didn’t have practice until the afternoon tomorrow.

He couldn’t focus on anything but that screaming voice.

And truthfully, Luke didn’t know how long had passed since the horn blared at the end of the game. He didn’t know when everyone else started leaving the locker room. He didn’t know when his hands started shaking and his vision started to well up with tears. He didn’t know when it became so fucking hard to breathe.

“Luke?”

The voice was muffled and he should have tilted his head back, he should have looked up to see who was calling out to him. But his head felt heavy and his blurry vision was making it seem like he had more fingers than he should and it was just all too fucking much.

“Hey, Luke. Buddy? You good?”

And then there was another voice.

They both sounded concerned. They sounded close. They sounded like they cared.

But Luke couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t lift his head and see looks on their faces because he know, without a fucking doubt, who those two voices were. He knew it was Nico and Jack. He knew it was his captain and his brother. And in complete honesty, they were the last people Luke wanted to see.

He didn’t want to see the look of pity on Nico’s face. He didn’t want to see his captain look at him like he was some wounded animal that probably wouldn’t make it. He didn’t want to see that disappointment like he expected more from a Hughes brother, like he expected more from Luke. He didn’t want to see Nico stare at him like he was a freak for being upset when it was his fault they lost the game.

He didn’t want to look at Jack. He didn’t want to see the mix of emotions on his face. It had always been a dream of theirs—all three of them—that they would play in the NHL together, and it fucking happened for them. He didn’t want to see the regret on his brother’s face. He didn’t want to see the disappointment in what he’s turned Jack’s team into. He didn’t want to see the anger on his brother’s face that he had fucked up their chances of playoffs again. He couldn’t fucking handle seeing his brother look at him with distaste, for not being good enough.

Nico and Jack were the last fucking people Luke wanted seeing him like this.

He didn’t want his captain or any of his teammates right now. He didn’t want Jack or Quinn or either of his parents.

He didn’t want anyone.

His chest felt tight, his body felt cold, his hands wouldn’t stop fucking shaking and the gear felt like it was weighing him down even more to the point he swore he could have melted into the ground. He didn’t fucking want them around him, he didn’t want them to see him like this. He just wanted—

“Luke?”

This voice was softer and quieter. It was like a hum, familiar and warm and—

Fuck, it was just what he fucking wanted, needed.

His movements felt slow and shaky but he managed to lift his head, his bottom lip wobbling like he wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or cry. But somewhere in the well of tears, in the blur of colours and blobs, he saw you.

“Baby,” you whispered, soft and heartbroken and he honestly thought that was worse than any pity or anger he could have received. He didn’t like seeing you sad, and he hated it even more when he was the reason behind it.

But when he opened his mouth, no words came out. Just a garbled noise, a choked out sound that had his lungs heaving for the air they so desperately needed.

“Hey, shhhh,” you murmured, and suddenly your hands were on his face. He could feel you wipe away the tears streaming down his face, soft brushes of your thumb against the irritated skin of his cheeks. He could feel you shift closer until you were kneeling between his legs, until you were as close as you could be whilst still keeping your eyes on his face. “Just breathe.”

Luke shook his head, something like frustration bubbling inside him.

“Yes, you can. I know you can,” you continued, your voice firm but reassuring. One of your hands dropped from his face and he almost cried a little harder, cried for you to keep touching him. But then he felt your fingers wrap around his wrist, felt you guide one of his shaking hands until it rested on the centre of your chest. “Just copy me, okay?”

Luke blinked at you.

“Just gotta copy what I do, baby,” you told him, giving his wrist a soft squeeze like you were telling him you knew he could do it. “Just breathe with me. Deep breaths. We will go slow, okay? Just follow what I do.”

So, he did.

He wasn’t sure how long had passed. He wasn’t sure where everyone else was. He didn’t know if the team had already left, if Jack had already left. He didn’t know if there were any fans left in the building or if the rest of the team had started making their way home too.

He didn’t know anything except you.

It took a while to ease the band around his chest enough to let air into his lungs. His breaths were shaky and shallow, his body still felt buzzed and on alert like it was preparing him to run at any given moment. But with each passing breath, each little exercise, his heart slowed down from his thundering pace and his blood wasn’t roaring in his ears anymore.

And somewhere along the line, the rest of his tears were blinked away until he could finally see you again.

“There’s my pretty boy,” you murmured with a soft smile on your lips, one hand remaining on his cheek whilst the other was pressed over his on your chest. “You’re doing so well, baby, just like that. Keep breathing.”

And Luke continued to breathe, continued to copy the way your chest moved with each breath until his brain started to remember he could do this himself. And it was only then he spoke.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, his voice a little rough and croaky like he hadn’t spoken for years. Like his throat wasn’t used to it. “I am so sorry—”

But before the hyperventilating could take over his body again, you were squeezing his hand to catch his attention. “Hey, no,” you frowned at him, an emotion he couldn’t quite read passing over your face. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologise. You didn’t do anything wrong, Luke.”

“But I—” He let out a shaky breath, feeling a ball form in the back of his throat like it was stopping the words he wanted to say. “The game—”

“Was unfortunate,” you finished for him. “But it happens, Luke. And it wasn’t your fault.”

He shook his head like he disagreed.

“Luke,” you started.

But the boy looked away. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t see the expression on your face when he pointed it out. He knew you had probably seen it all online anyways, he knew you knew what they said about him. But he didn’t want to see the moment it clicked for you.

He didn’t want to see the moment you realise he wasn’t good enough, for the league or for you.

“Luke,” you said in a firmer voice, a little more serious and it finally scared him into lifting his head again. “None of this is your fault. Hockey is a team sport. You win as a team and you lose as a team. This isn’t on you—”

Luke let out a choked noise. “People say—”

“People will say a lot of things but that doesn’t mean it’s true,” you said to him, the hand on his cheek becoming a comfort he leaned into. “Luke, baby, it’s your rookie year. You are going to make rookie mistakes. It happens to everyone. It happened to Jack.”

“I know.” He could feel his throat closing up. “It’s just…maybe it was a mistake—”

You frowned. “What was?”

“This,” Luke said as he gestured to the locker room around him. “Me. Hockey. I don’t know.”

Your frown deepened. “Luke—”

“Maybe I just wasn’t cut out for the big leagues like Jack and Quinn were,” he continued as he swallowed harshly, the truth raw and bitter and suffocating.

“Luke,” you said once again and this time both of your hands were cupping his cheeks. “Don’t start bullshitting me now.”

His eyes widened a little. “Baby—”

“No, Luke, listen to me,” you said, squishing his cheeks a little to emphasise your point. Your stare was strong but full of sincerity, and it made his chest tight for a different reason. “You aren’t here because of Jack and Quinn. You are here because you are good enough. Because they saw your skills. Because they think you are skilled enough to be a fourth overall draft pick. Are you hearing yourself right now? You are made for this. And yeah, a couple of losses are gonna knock anybody’s confidence. But you are at the start of your career, Luke. You have so much ahead of you.”

He blinked away the tears that were starting to form again.

“You are more than these last few games, Luke. And you are more than enough to be in the NHL.” Your voice was softer, quieter too. “You are going to get past this rough patch. And I’m going to be by your side and so is the whole team. This isn’t the end of the world, this is just the start.”

“I love you,” he blurted out because he didn’t know what else to say. His body was still shaking with the after effects of his panic attack and his body still felt heavy, but it was hard to focus on the bitter voice in the back of his head when he was so full of love and admiration for you. “Like, so much.”

You smiled at him and he could have sworn his heart fluttered.

“I love you too,” you told him, leaning forward to press a sweet but chaste kiss to his lips. “Now, c’mon, let’s get you changed and then we can head back home. I told Jack to order us burrito wraps.”

He swallowed back the urge to say ‘I love you’ again.

“You’re amazing, Luke Hughes, and I’ll be damned if you ever forget it.”

#luke hughes #nhl #new jersey devils #luke hughes x reader #luke hughes x you #luke hughes x y/n #luke hughes fic #luke hughes one shot #nhl x reader #nhl x you #nhl x y/n #nhl fic #nhl one shot

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kikyoupdates · 1 month

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Love Bite ⭑˚🩸⭑ 𝑓𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑖𝑡𝑒

yandere!vampires x f!reader

yandere, reverse harem, original characters, vampire!ocs x fem!reader

Desperate for money to pay off your debts, you sign up for a program that allows you to sell your blood to vampires. At first, everything is fine, and you’re finally able to make ends meet. But they soon begin craving more than just your blood.

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Certain people are dealt a shittier hand in life than others, and unfortunately, you are one of those people.

Life has never been easy for you. As far back as you can remember, it's been one shitstorm after the other. Your parents are as good as dead to you, because all they ever did was make reckless choices and run away, leaving you to clean up their mess. That's how, at the young age of twenty, you've already got more debt than the average person could ever fathom.

Still, you make do. You hustle as best you can to get through one day and move on to the next. It's exhausting, and sometimes it feels like you're ready to give up, but against all odds, you persevere.

"That'll be 50 credits," the cashier says.

You let out a sigh and give her your card. Everything is so goddamn expensive these days. Even a simple grocery trip feels like a big slap in the face.

"Oh. Sorry," she blinks. "It's been declined. Do you have any other form of payment on hand?"

Shit. This one too?

You mumble an apology and dig through your wallet again. Thankfully, you happen to have enough cash to cover the cost. Just barely.

"Thank you for shopping with us," the cashier recites monotonously. She packs your groceries in a bag and hands it to you, then gestures for the next customer to step forward.

You leave the store the same as always, feeling worn-down and discouraged. You'll have to apply for a new card, but who knows when they'll send it to you. Goddammit. You're already scraping the bottom of the barrel as is. You hardly have enough emergency savings to last until then.

It's a shitty day, and unfortunately for you, it's about to get even worse.

"[Name]," a distinct, familiar voice mutters. You flinch at the sound, nearly dropping your grocery bag in the process. There's a man standing outside your apartment complex. A man that always makes your stomach crease in discomfort.

You instinctively step back. "I don't want any trouble, Johnny. Please, can I just get through?"

He ignores you and walks over, and while you stand there, stiff from fright, he peeks into your grocery bag and hums, visibly amused.

"Not exactly a lavish dinner," he chuckles. "But I guess you've got no choice but to be frugal, huh?"

"I just want to go home," you plead. "Please. Don't do this."

Alas, Johnny has never been one to give a shit about your circumstances, and today is no exception.

"I haven't been getting the money you promised me," he glares. "You've been late on your payments, and I'm really starting to lose my patience here."

You try to protest, but he wraps his hand around your throat and forcibly pins you against a wall. He isn't applying too much pressure, not yet, but the threat is there all the same.

"You owe me money, [Name]." His pupils constrict, a telltale sign that he's furious. "I'm done with your shitty excuses. If you can't make good on your promises, then you pay the price. This is the way the world works."

He holds you there, just so he can watch you whimper and cower in fear, then he eventually releases his hold on you and steps away.

"I'm giving you one more week," he says. "If you don't come up with the amount we agreed on in one week, I might seriously have to kill you. And don't even think of running away like your parents did. I'm sure as hell not gonna make the same mistake twice."

Johnny walks off with a steady, relaxed gait and his hands buried in his pockets. It's that easy for him. He can threaten an innocent woman and not think anything of it, the sick bastard.

You sniffle and resist the urge to cry. Fuck your parents. All they ever did was ruin your life. You have no idea where they're hiding right now, but for their own sake, they had better not show their faces around you ever again.

Still. There's no point in lamenting what can't be changed. Your parents are gone. It's up to you to remedy this situation and pay that disgusting loan shark back.

The question is, how?

How in the world will you pull that off? You barely make enough to eat two meals a day and cover your rent, let alone the steep cost of your debts.

It just seems like a lost cause. You've been working yourself to the bone, but you still can't even make a dent in what your parents owe. It's all too much to bear. It makes you want to forfeit your life entirely. At least then, you might finally be able to rest in peace.

Weighed down by the hopelessness of your situation, you trudge into your crappy studio apartment, chuck the groceries in the fridge, and plop down on the couch, defeated.

I guess it's time to look for another job. Something I can squeeze into my schedule. I can probably survive without sleeping a few days in a row, right?

You chuckle brokenly and scroll through your phone, looking for anything you might have a shot at. Finding a good job in this city is yet another hopeless dream for someone like you, who didn't go to college and doesn't have any other notable qualifications. All of your current jobs may as well be paying you dirt, which is why you can never meet Johnny's ridiculous demands.

You're just about to give up and go make yourself a rather pathetic dinner, when suddenly, something catches your eye.

[𝗡𝗘𝗪 𝗣𝗥𝗢𝗚𝗥𝗔𝗠 𝗟𝗔𝗨𝗡𝗖𝗛]: 𝗕𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗱 𝗱𝗼𝗻𝗼𝗿𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱. 𝗦𝘂𝗰𝗰𝗲𝘀𝘀𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗮𝗽𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗰𝗼𝗼𝗽𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝘃𝗮𝗺𝗽𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗰𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘇𝗲𝗻𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗻 𝗮𝘀-𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗲𝗱 𝗯𝗮𝘀𝗶𝘀.

Vampires. Not long ago, a law was passed, granting vampires access to the city. More and more of them seem to be moving here, the central hub of the country. Of course, most people felt uncomfortable with this change, but it seems to be a necessary step in fighting back against years of discrimination. Humans naturally fear vampires, and the government is doing everything it can to integrate them into society.

Since drinking blood by force is considered a crime, this program is most likely a way for vampires to obtain their blood safely and without any consequence, just so long as people are willing to sign up for it.

You take a moment to assess your situation. You have almost no money to your name, and there's a greedy loan shark that's just itching to torture you if you fail to pay him back in time. If you don't get some money, and fast, you're probably headed for the afterlife.

That being said, you've never encountered a vampire before. You've heard all sorts of horror stories about them. That they're physically stronger than humans, have more acute senses, and could easily bludgeon you to death if they wanted to.

But even if that's actually true, how is it any different than what Johnny will do to you if you don't pay him back?

You press your lips together. Perhaps there's no harm in trying at least once and seeing how it'll go. It's not like you're guaranteed to get accepted for the program anyways. And besides, this is being implemented by the government, so surely, they won't allow any humans to come to harm in the process.

Above all else, you are incredibly desperate, with very little to lose.

So, you decide to take a gamble.

𝗔𝗣𝗣𝗟𝗬 [𝗫]?

...

Your luck might finally be changing for the better, or maybe they're just desperate for applicants, but either way, you got the job.

It was a bit tedious. The screening process was rather lengthy, and they made you do quite a few medical tests to ensure you didn't have any infectious diseases or anything like that. You suppose having a clean bill of health is the one thing required for this position, considering you'll be giving your blood to someone else. Thankfully, even though your life is shit, you've always been rather sturdy, which is the only reason you've lasted this long.

You're currently walking through a glossy white corridor. The building you're in is polished and sleek, some kind of medical company that's been researching vampires for quite a long time. They call themselves Plasma Inc., which is a bit tacky, but you're certainly in no position to judge.

The doctor escorting you holds a clipboard against his chest, and glances over at you every so often.

"We're almost there," he says. After a brief pause, he adds, "There's no need to be nervous."

Honestly, you're a little nervous, but only because you've never done this before. Giving your blood to a vampire... it all sounds so farfetched. You really didn't think this was something you'd ever be doing.

But beggars can't afford to be choosers.

"For the client's privacy and peace of mind, there aren't any cameras inside the room. We will not be able to see or hear anything that happens in there. You signed the confidentiality clause, so please keep in mind that you will be liable for any private information that you happen to disclose."

You knew as much going into this. There's no point in psyching yourself out. Everything's going to be fine. This is all perfectly safe.

...it should be, at least.

"Whenever you're ready," the doctor says. He's stopped in front of a door, and you instinctively gulp as you imagine what—or rather, who—is on the other side.

Okay, then. No reason to back out now. You chose this. It's a desperate measure, and sure, you'll lose a bit of blood in the process, but if it helps you pay off your debt and get back on your feet, then it's easily worth it.

"I'm ready," you say.

The doctor nods briefly, offers you an encouraging smile, then opens the door.

It closes behind you right away, and your eyes instinctively search the room until they land on a motionless, seated figure.

It's a man. Well, a vampire, but still a man. Deep down, you'd been hoping that it might be a woman. A man seems somewhat more intimidating, although you suppose all vampires are stronger than humans, so it wouldn't have made a difference either way.

He's beautiful, though. Vampires are scarce in numbers, and they don't usually go out during the day, so it's unlikely that you would have ever passed by one. But you've only ever heard people speak of them in frightening terms. Never in a million years did you imagine they'd be so utterly gorgeous. Or perhaps this particular vampire is simply an exception.

You don't quite realize how much time you've spent fawning over his appearance until he suddenly stands up.

Instinctively, you flinch, and it's clear that it doesn't go unnoticed.

He narrows his eyes. "If you're not comfortable doing this, you're welcome to leave. I was told that the humans who signed up for this program were all completely willing. I have no intention of taking your blood without your full cooperation."

"Oh. S-Sorry," you stammer. "I'm not uncomfortable. I guess I'm just a little bit starstruck. It's my first time meeting a vampire."

"There's no need to gawk at me. I'm not some animal trapped inside a cage."

He has a rather harsh tongue, but again, you're in no position to judge. Perhaps your reaction offended him, unintentional as it may have been.

"Sorry," you say again, then you offer him a weak smile. "Um... I'm [Name]. I'm not really sure what the etiquette for this sort of thing is, but it's nice to meet you."

It takes him a while to respond. He studies you quietly with those mesmerizing eyes of his, and the silence is awkward, to say the least.

"I'm Xavier," he finally replies. He frowns a bit. "But I didn't come here to chat. If you're ready, I'll like to move on with this as soon as possible."

Right. He's here for the same reason you are. It's not an opportunity for the two of you to exchange pleasantries.

You're here to sell your blood, and he's here to drink it.

"Okay," you swallow. Now that it's come down to it, you can feel your heart beating faster by the second. But this is fine. This is nothing. Compared to all the shit you've already been through, this may as well be a walk in the park.

You walk over to him, taking slow, careful steps, then you sit down in one of the chairs. He does the same, staring at you without blinking the whole time. You watch as he shuffles a bit closer, and he uses his fingers to pull down the collar of your shirt slightly. You shiver at the sensation of his skin brushing against yours. God, his hands are cold.

Xavier stares right into your eyes. "This is your last chance to back out. If you tell me to stop now, I will, but otherwise, I'll take it that you've agreed to move on."

"I'm fine," you reassure. Despite the fact that your stomach is a bundle of nerves right now, you're determined to press on. You need this. There's simply no other option.

You'll do whatever it takes to live on, even if it means selling the very essence that grants you life in the first place.

"Okay," Xavier says, and he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. His jaw unhinges, and the last thing you see before you squeeze your eyes shut is the pearly-white color of his bright, glistening fangs.

He bites into your neck.

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waywardsou2 · 1 month

Text

Drunk!Logan x Drunk!Male Reader

This was supposed to be kinda smutty but it ended up being kinda sad. If you want to see part two with some actual NSFW themes then let me know in the comments, because I feel like I can go somewhere with this.

Summary: Life is shitty being a mutant, and it's even shittier when you can't save everyone. So where do you turn? The bar, to drink away the pain and forget for a few hours. Unfortunately for you, someone decided to keep you company.

Word Count: 1k+

Tags: alcohol, bar fight, suicidal ideation, self-hate, self-esteem, worthlessness trauma

It had been a rough week, the missions got difficult and sacrifices had to be made. People were lost. But its part of the job right? That shit always happens. Well tonight you just couldn’t stand it, the knowing that there were people you couldn’t save. Families who were missing loved ones, because you weren’t fast enough.

It made you sad, but it mostly made you angry. At least that’s how you presented it to the world. And that’s how you presented it to Logan, the man who had followed you to the bar. You didn’t know why. If he cared, you didn’t want his pity. If he was here for a drink why couldn’t he have gone somewhere else.

Big scary Logan, The Wolverine. What did he need to sit here and drink about, especially where you were trying to get shit faced before you had to see Charles the next day.

“Can’t you drink somewhere else?” you say to him, your words already slurred from the bottle you had almost finished emptying.

“Nope” he said flatly as he sat down on the stool next to you, ordering a round of shots for himself.

You rolled your eyes, either this guy was dense or just an asshole.

“Oh Logan is too high and mighty to go drink somewhere else because I would rather get shit faced alone than with company” you say

The bar was empty, but it didn’t really matter much, you weren’t going to keep your voice down even if there were people in here. Something about him was just rubbing you the wrong way. You didn’t know whether it was the alcohol, the pain of your supressed emotions or just the fact that Logan never bat an eye at you despite how much you tried to show him you had value to the team.

“Yeah basically”

Your anger gets the better of you at his sarcasm and you shove him, he leans away, almost spilling his drink. He downs it and turns to you

“Are we gonna have a problem, bub?”

“I don’t know, are we?” you retort

“You want to do this here? Now?”

“What to scare to make a mess? Afraid you’ll hurt me? Guess what asshole I’m-“

But he didn’t get to hear what you are because he shoved you back, standing up from his seat as he pushed you off yours and onto the ground. Your back hit the wooden floor and you hear the bartender sigh.

You watch as he walks away from the counter and into the back.

You glare up at Logan, lips peeled back in a snarl. But before you could stand up, he was grabbing you by the collar of your shirt and pulling you up from the ground. He was taller than you slightly so he could lift you off your feet.

“You think your funny with a smart mouth like that, well I got news for you, it’ll be no good for anything if you keep running it off”

You tried to shove him off of you but you couldn’t bring up enough force with your feet barely touching the ground.

“Let go of me!”

“Are going to calm down?”

“That depends, are you going to keep pushing me around?”

He dropped you and your knee buckled a little bit at suddenly having to take weight again.

“You pushed first” he muttered going to sit back down

“And I’m going to push last”

You swing at him, a sloppy, open swing, unlike your usual bullet-like punches. Before you could even make contact with Logan he spun around and pushed you to the floor again, clambering on top of you. His claws out. The outermost ones were jammed into the floor creating a fracture in the wood from the force, the middle was still retracted, barely peeking out of the gap in his skin just above your neck.

Instead of feeling fear at the threat you laugh. Like him, you had super regeneration so him stabbing you was no real threat. Not to mention you had carbon fiber steel for skin. He shoves his face in yours and growls

“What the fuck is your problem” he spits

Both of you have drunk enough, you're both rearing for a fight and the only person you have to take it out on is each other.

Logan is pissed, he doesn’t get you. You spend every mission jumping into dangerous situations and then you come to the bar every night to come back drunk. Do you have a screw loose or are you just that stupid.

Even as he looks at you with his brow furroed and his claws at your throat you continue to laugh.

“Go on then, slice me open. Maybe we’ll both feel better afterwards” you laugh again but pain stings at your eyes as tears well up.

If only you could just die, make a sacrifice worth something like everyone else. Maybe then the pain will stop, maybe then you won't spend every night pitting yourself, maybe you won't be the cause of any more loss because you just weren’t good enough.

Logan pauses, ready cut you to ribbons but your statement makes him freeze. He knows that tone, the mirth. The self-deprecation and pain in your words. He doesn’t need to be like Charles to know what’s going on in your head.

“What. Are. You. Waiting. For?”

Before Logan could answer or move you grip his wrist pulling it out of wooden floors and slam his fist into you chest.

But there are no blades, no blood and not cuts. Just the knuckles of his fist thumping into your chest. It only throbs in pain, no damage done.

“Fuck you” you say bluntly and shove him off of you, pushing him away and standing up. He’s left speechless watching as you stand up, down the rest of the bottle and one of his shots. Pull out some crumpled notes and storm off, walking out into the night.

Let me know if you want part 2 and I take request for as well so check me out @waywardwritesstuff for my request info.

(Psst you can find part 2 here)

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cheesecakethots · 4 months

Text

phinks will try to have a semi-normal relationship with you, unlike others in the troupe who will flat out kidnap you the second they realise their feelings. the key word here is try.

he is unfortunately very adamant that you are so damn weak, and that he has to be on your ass 24/7. you do not know this.

he’s not great at stalking you, and if you were just a little bit more aware of your surroundings you’d notice him more often. that’s not to say you haven’t before, but you’ve brushed it off as chance encounters.

he gets worse as time goes on, if he’s not stalking you he’s in your home, going through your stuff and checking for any safety hazards, anyway someone (other than him) could break in. it becomes a habit of his to sneak into your home when he’s had a particularly rough day. watching you sleep is oddly calming, but it does make him feel embarrassed. he’s only protecting you he’ll try to convince himself, despite the faint blush on his face when your shirt rides up your stomach in your sleep.

he steals some of your clothes sometimes; it feels nice to go back to the shitty apartment he’s currently renting, lay down on the even shittier mattress and press your shirt to his nose for a bit.

you’ll probably find him one day, either in the middle of the night or after you get back from work, going through your draws and wardrobe, a tent in his trousers. you don’t get far before your back is to his chest, a muscular arm is tightly crushed around your stomach, and a hand is holding your mouth shut. he may seem calm and collected to you, but internally he’s panicking.

you’ll be crying, squirming and whimpering and he’ll only give you a harsh, “shut up. i’m not gonna hurt you” that does not make you feel better in the slightest.

it’s at that moment he’ll decide that maybe keeping you in a little safe house for him to come home to doesn’t sound like the worst idea in the world.

#phinks is one of the better yans in the troupe to have imo #he’s a perv but nowhere near to the degrees of others #cough uvogin cough #cough shalnark cough #yandere phinks #tw yandere #yandere #tw.yandere #yanderecore #yandere hxh #yandere hunter x hunter

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queer-n-here · 7 months

Text

In love with my baby, Sigma from BSD.

Contents: Sigma has a bad day at the casino and feels like shit, so reader comforts him, and they have sex.

Warnings: Top male reader, soft dom, Smut, praise kink (slightly), nipple play.

Fem aligned and MDNI

Sigma was so close to tears.

He'd had an awful day, filled to the brim with rude customers and lost visitors that made him feel shittier and shittier by the minute. He just wanted to curl up in his bed and pass out, and only wake up when the world had ended. Or not at all, he wouldn't mind.

But you had other plans. As Sigma turned around the last corner to reach his bedroom, he saw you leaning against the wall next to the door to his room. And the moment he saw you, he ran to you.

As you caught him perfectly in your arms without the slightest of stumbles, the tears that had been collecting in his eyes finally slid down his face.

You froze when you heard him sniffle.

"Sigma, baby, what-" You tried to pull away to look at him, but he clutched your shirt, burying his face in the crook of your neck as sobs shook his frame. "Baby, what's wrong?"

He shook his head, trying to pull you closer. You wrapped your arms around him, worry on your face.

"Sigma, let's go into your room first, okay?" You said gently, trying to calm him down.

It worked, and he nodded, not letting go of your shirt as he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

You led Sigma into the room, locking the door behind you so that no one could barge in and ask Sigma to deal with another problem. You sat him down on the bed before following, and he immediately buried himself into your chest again.

"Baby, talk to me," You whispered, stroking his head. "What's wrong, hmm?"

Sigma never wanted to be a burden on anyone. He would rather suffer in silence than ask for help and inconvenience anyone. But you were different. You wouldn't be inconvenienced. You would love him and tell him he was doing good.

"I just... I just f-feel so shitty." Sigma said, trying to steady his breathing enough to speak. "I can't even... I can't even run a ca-casino properly, and-"

His words turned incoherent, and he pressed his face into your shirt, muffling them out.

"Sigma, look at me, baby." You said softly, and he let you pull back to make him look at you, holding his face in both your hands. "Who said you can't? Sky Casino already has a steady reputation amongst the elites. Everyone knows how magnificent your place is. You do your best every time."

"But," He sniffed, swallowing. "But my best isn't always... the best."

"And that's fine, baby." You tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, wiping away his tears with your thumb. "That's perfectly fine. You're always pushing yourself to do better, so what if you fall behind once in a while, hmm? And you're so perfect already..."

Sigma's breath hitched, more tears collecting at the ends of his eyes. "Really?"

"Yeah, baby," You nodded, planting a soft kiss on his forehead. "My beautiful perfect baby,"

"[Name]," Sigma's cheeks were red. "K-kiss me, please."

You smiled and obliged him, leaning forwards and placing your lips on his, kissing him slowly and gently, trying to show him his worth. Trying to tell him that he deserved everything in the world and more.

As you prodded his lips with your tongue, he opened his mouth, letting you in. You kissed him gently, but at the same time passionately, and soon Sigma felt your teeth nip at his lips a bit too hard.

"Nhh," He pulled away slightly, looking at you with his moist eyes. "[Name]."

"Yeah, baby?" You caressed his cheeks.

"Can we... Can we do it?" His blush had deepened, but his gaze was steady, and you couldn't help but smile.

"Of course, baby," You planted another kiss on his forehead. "Strip and lay down, okay? I'll go fetch the lube."

Sigma nodded, obedient as always.

You pulled away and stood up, walking to Sigma's bathroom to bring out lube.

Generally, you preferred to have sex in front of the bathroom mirror, holding Sigma's face in one hand to show him how pretty he was, and teasing his nipples with the other as your cock plunged into him repeatedly, leaving his brain foggy and eyes spilling.

When you returned, Sigma was bare, his pale skin a contrast to the dark bed sheets that were going to be stained soon.

You stripped too, letting your clothes fall carelessly to the floor as you climbed on to the bed to sit in front of Sigma, leaving the bottle somewhere on the sheets as you reached for him.

You kissed him again, your movements soft and careful, as if too much vigour would break the man before you. Sigma responded positively, wrapping his arms around your neck and letting you kiss and lick as you liked.

As the kiss grew slightly heated, you pulled back and reached for Sigma's thighs.

"Can you spread your legs for me, baby?" You whispered, and he obeyed, shyly opening up his legs and letting you prop them up on the bed, exposing his hole.

You grabbed the bottle of lube, pouring a considerable amount of it onto your hand before placing your finger against his entrance.

You looked up at him, and he nodded, the way he always did whenever you asked him if you could continue. You slid in a thickly coated finger, watching Sigma's face for signs of unwillingness, because he would never tell you to stop.

You knew his body better than himself, the way his muscles twitched in pain was very similar to the way they twitched in pleasure, but after months of gently easing down Sigma's walls, you had learnt the difference.

Sigma moaned at the feeling of your finger, raising one hand to cover his mouth, his other clutching at the sheets.

As you slid in a second digit, you looked up at him, but there were no signs of discomfort on his pretty flushed face as he panted and huffed.

"[Name]," He breathed. "F-faster, please."

Your hand sped almost involuntarily, wanting nothing more than to give the man beneath you everything he wanted.

Sigma bit his already red lips, trying not to be too loud. He was sensitive, and also loud, both without wanting to be.

As your fingers pumped into him at a constant pace, you leaned down, planting kisses on his neck, collarbone and chest as you travelled down, finally enveloping his perky nipple with your lips, making him arch his back with a moan. You pinched and rubbed the other nipple with your free hand as your mouth worshipped this one, and Sigma whined at the feeling of your fingers speeding up in him.

Your fingers hit that sweet spot in him, making the poor man come undone immediately with only a cry for a warning, ropes of cum shooting out of his untouched dick as a sound as lewd as the devil himself spilled from his pretty swollen lips.

You slowed to a stop, reaching for your cock that had been leaking precum at the sight of Sigma's magnificent body for some release. You left his nipples alone, letting him come down from his high as you stroked your cock, your eyes glued to his beautiful flushed face.

When Sigma came to, and saw you touching yourself, he reached out to clasp your wrist.

"Put it in me," He flushed, looking at you. "Let me help you."

You nodded, leaning down to plant a soft kiss on his cheek before aligning your flushed tip with his entrance. You entered, being as gentle as humanely possible, but Sigma grew impatient.

"[Name]," He placed his hands on your shoulders. "Don't stall anymore, just... Just put it in."

You obliged, not arguing with Sigma when your cock was throbbing almost painfully. You hooked your hands beneath his legs, and pressed his thighs against his chest before pushing your entire length in. As you filled Sigma up, he arched his back at the feeling, his walls tightening around you once you were all in, holding you in place.

"So pretty," You couldn't help but murmur, brushing a strand of Sigma's sweat-soaked hair out of his eyes. "So beautiful, Sigma. I can't believe you're all mine."

He flushed, his hole fluttered around you at the praise, his eyes wide as he watched you, and you knew he wanted you to continue.

"So heavenly, my pretty baby," Your hips pulled back slightly, before thrusting in again, making Sigma grab onto you, arms wrapping around your neck. "So fucking pretty I can't believe my eyes."

You thrusted as you spoke, slowly speeding up, relishing the sight of Sigma's face, scrunched up and flushed with pleasure.

"So good for me, Sigma," You continued, now bludgeoning into him, each thrust making him cry out at the feeling of your tip poking him in those amazing places. "So brave, and so amazing..."

Sigma's face was almost the colour of blood, and he raised a hand to cover it. But you wouldn't let him, pulling his arm back and entwining your hands before pinning his against the bed. Your hips snapped against his, and his back arched, presenting his erect and swollen nipples to your face. You readily lowered your head to suck on them, and Sigma whined.

"My beautiful baby, so lovely that I don't want anyone else to look at you, or get to touch you."

As you pounded into him, worshipping his chest with your mouth at the same time, tears collected at the corners of Sigma's eyes at the overwhelming pleasure. He panted and moaned, the only thing in his world was you and the amazing way you made him feel, your cock snug between his walls and your teeth against his sensitive skin.

Your name was stuck like a life saving mantra on his tongue, the sound of which made you feel the heat pooling in your stomach.

You pulled back, till the only thing left in Sigma was your tip, and then thrusted in again, hitting his sweet spot, making him scream.

"[Name]!"

You did it again, and again, and again, till Sigma was tightening around you in that way that you knew meant he was close.

You yourself were not far from the edge, your thrusts getting slightly sloppy as they sped up, panting till you released inside him with a "Fuck, baby,". The feeling of your cum seeping in him was enough to throw Sigma over the edge again, his blunt nails digging into your shoulders as he cried out one last time, his untouched cock spilling over both your stomachs.

As you slowed to a stop, Sigma's tired arms fell off your shoulders, his marked and bruised chest heaving with each breath. You pulled out of him and collapsed next to him, letting his legs fall back onto the bed.

He immediately turned to press himself against you, and you wrapped your arms around him, steadying your breath.

You stayed like that till you had both caught your respective breaths, and Sigma slowly raised his head to look up at you.

The question was plain in his eyes.

"You did good," You placed a soft kiss on the top of his nose.

He smiled, and in that moment he was so dazzling you almost grew dizzy.

"Wanna go again?" You said, a small smirk on your face.

He blushed, but nodded.

#top male reader #dom reader #dom male reader #sub sigma #bottom sigma #top reader #bungou stray dogs #bsd x you #bsd x reader #bsd x male reader #im feral for this man #i just wanna *aggressive loving noises*#sub character #sub bsd #sub bungou stray dogs

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yurozo · 18 days

Text

what could have been (chris redfield oneshot)

description: chris made the biggest mistake of his life letting you walk out of it, and he's determined to make it right this time.

a/n: there really isn't enough fanfic about chris redfield and i am more than determined to change that. this man is sooo underappreciated. about: gn!reader/little physical description/no use of y/n. fluff, with very minor angsts, and a few mentions of in-canon violence.

it was an unsettling thing to walk away from you. but that was the way it always worked— you went one way while he went the other. a research laboratory on the other side of the city beckoned you over, studying accessible cures to viruses that chris had dedicated his life to eradicating. ever intertwined, despite the miles between you at all times.

on the other hand, chris spent his time travelling from place to place, never truly settling in washington due to the unbidden fear of having to leave it again. familiarity was a privilege unbeknownst to him, the mortal atlas condemned to carrying the world on his shoulders. he could at least enjoy knowing that if you ever needed a place, you would know where it was. and despite everything, he was rather proud of the way he matured. he was more fit than he was back in s.t.a.r.s- not entirely of his own accord, mind you- and eons more responsible.

watching every person you've ever cared about lose that twinkle in their eye did that to people.

and he didn't hate his job, contrary to popular belief. founding the b.s.a.a is among his crowning achievements, and allowed him to enact some real change. along with paying him a decent salary.

he supposed, bioweapons notwithstanding, that adulthood had changed him. long gone is the foul-mouthed air force pilot, and in its place stood a true soldier. safe and solid, protecting and proud. it was more so the person he imagined you would be into, someone dependable that could protect you if the need arose. truth be told, everything he did back in the s.t.a.r.s was with a side glance in your direction, desperately hoping you were watching him the same way he was secretly watching you.

the two of you kept minimal contact throughout the years, limited to the occasional 'how are you' and 'work's been good'. you always let him know of any major life changes, and he always contacted you after a mission, however brief, to sate your anxieties of whether or not to look for his name in an obituary. you pointedly never mentioned your dating life, but the very thought of someone vying for your attention made chris a little sick to his stomach.

call him possessive, call him crazy, for helplessly pining for a girl who was just slightly nicer to him than everyone else at the police department. what he did know is that the only suppression to that boiling feeling in his gut was the unbridled joy that filled him whenever he saw your contact name show up in his notifications. an indicator that you thought of him, however briefly.

in some parallel universe, he would be standing outside your balcony playing some queen song with terrible audio on an even shittier boombox, and you would be awed and wooed by his grand romantic gesture. you would run down from the balcony and plant one on him, and he would swing you around in his arms and there would be nothing but the two of you. no bioweapons, no blood staining his hands, no nightmares about finding you dead in the middle of a ruined city. but he lived in this world, where he was too old and too tired to indulge in those fantasies.

he was a man. he was also a soldier, and therefore, a realist.

so, when you texted him about being in the washington area and wanting to meet up for a day, chris had spent two days drawing three viable conclusions.

1.) this was an elaborate dream made up by a combat-addled mind to live out some younger, unbridled fantasy of his,

2.) this was a cruel prank by some twisted fuck that somehow knew how much he clung to you over the years,

3.) the final, and least likely conclusion: that there was some part of you that missed him as much as he missed you.

he wants to cross the third one off by instinct, but something in his heart adamantly refuses. that sparkling hope in his chest is something he's not particularly looking to stamp out just yet, so he chooses to simply let it burn until it probably would just consume him entirely. by the time he reaches the bar you both agreed on meeting at, he's been so wrapped up in determining your motivations that he's caught entirely unprepared by the sight of you.

you were sitting there, chin in your hands as you mindlessly tapped on the glass in front of you. probably waiting for a while, given your propensity for being unbearably early to social gatherings. you always did have a distaste for tardiness, even if chris was technically five minutes early. the same endearing furrow in your brow makes chris falter in his steps, taking a moment to truly absorb you for the first time in years.

fuck, you were gorgeous. the kind that had other tripping over themselves just to bask in your presence. hell, chris was one of them. always had been.

that same simmering boil of jealousy that used to arise every time that he watched some civilian lean over the reception desk, speaking to you in hushed tones as they preened in your attention, sparks to a roaring fire. he has to remind himself that things are different now; you had lived a whole other life without him, and he's had to learn to survive without you.

he briefly entertains the thought that his absence affected you in the same way. this gnawing feeling that something vital to his very being was lost somewhere in the wreckage of raccoon city.

your face had matured over the years too— jaw set a little sharper, eyes a little duller, the faint lines of age beginning to appear on your skin. you're still gazing somewhere far away by the time he musters up the courage to approach the table, hesitant like you'll reach over the table and sink your teeth into his arm like a-

no. bad chris. no talking shop here.

you don't seem to notice him as he approaches, still staring down at the table like it will speak to you if you glare at it long enough.

"seem lost in thought." chris gives you the most dazzling smile he can muster, full of charm eased by age. while his body language is casual as he slides into the booth next to you, his mind has gone blissfully blank.

your thigh is touching his. oh god, you're wrapping your arms around him before he can think of something suave to say. your action is immediately reciprocated by strong arms pulling you closer, tucking you into his chest like he wants you to live in it forever.

god, he fucking missed this. seeing you, touching you with a familiarity he thought was long lost.

"i missed you," you murmur, letting your cheek smush into his collarbone.

"missed you too," he laughs, bright and warm. all the tension from his job immediately eases in your hold, and he lets himself squeeze you tighter and tighter, like a serpent desperately trying to stay out of the damnation of hell.

"jesus, chris. you got huge."

chris frowns as you pull back from him and start squeezing his arms appreciatively. he has no choice but to let you manhandle him, silently relishing in the way your eyes trace across the contours of his body. he is proud of it, even if he hates the reason why he felt the need to train this much in the first place.

the only way to stop wesker, to try and make the fight on level terms. he never told you about that either, keeping the details concise, knowing that you would have gotten on the first place to washington if you heard his plans of hunting their former boss. you had once admired the captain the same way chris did, and the knowledge of what had to happen would have crushed you.

that shoulder of burden can lay squarely on him.

"you know how it is," he answers instead, taking a sip from your glass. something sugary and way too sweet for his taste. "work never stops."

"tell me about it." the glass is then swapped to your hands. "i'm pretty sure i've huffed enough chemicals to send me to an early grave."

if anyone is going to rot eight feet below the earth soon, he thinks, it's most definitely not going to be you. he's been running from that ticking clock for far too many years.

"but you do good work." he grins, waving down a bartender and ordering a simple whiskey. on the rocks, top shelf, because he's a classy guy.

"we do good work." you remind him.

"fine." he concedes, hunching slightly over the table. "we're both patron saints."

a bright smile is what he gets in response, one that has his heart stuttering and tripping over in his chest. he can't help but give you a slightly goofy one in return. everything feels like as it should be. you're here, alive, and he is here, slightly less alive but feeling like he's finally able to breathe.

—

in retrospect, three-drink chris was probably not the best choice for tonight. one-drink chris is a little chattier than usual, but still relatively normal. two-drink chris loves music, always tapping his feet or bobbing his head to whatever song is playing. and three-drink chris might just be the most impulsive person on the planet.

the entire time you drive him home, which you insist on, chris has his head turned to you with the most obviously love-struck look in his eyes. the entire world around him seems to dull to a faint hum, instead focusing on that frustrating smile of yours as you recount some time that a coworker of yours accidentally put whatever chemical in something solution, causing a lab-wide evacuation.

like he said, impulsive. no more little voice in his head warning him to be subtle.

no more voices in his head screaming the songs of the damned.

he's honestly only half-listening. and only half-paying attention it seems, because you give him a questioning look when the car pulls into his driveway and he makes no move to get out. a nervous laugh escapes him then, breaking the awkward silence in your car like a clap of thunder.

"this was nice," you say eventually, lips upturned in a sort of half-smile. endearing, even cute.

"it was," he nods, trying desperately to keep this moment going as long as it can. just the thought of leaving you again after spending years drowning in the emptiness gives him a headache. chris spent enough time dawdling around like an idiot, going so far as to refuse to change phone numbers in the small chance you would never contact him again.

you're picking at your nails during his internal monologue, that same worried pinch forming between your brows. you're, once again, the one to break the silence. "chris, i-"

his lips are on yours then. thick hands curled around your neck, keeping you in place for one second, then two, then three.

his eyes are still squeezed shut when he pulls away.

"fuck," he whispers, jolting back like you had slapped him. "i'm sorry, i just have wanted to do that for a while, and i couldn't let you go away again without doing something."

"chris."

"i know it was stupid, and impulsive," he keeps going, purposefully avoiding eye contact. "i didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, i just-

"chris," the stern tone of your voice is enough to make him stop mid-ramble, peering up at you hopefully. you only laugh in response, before raising your hand to the nape of his neck. his hair is longer than you remember it being. just another way he's changed.

"yeah." he sighs, defeated. just another part of his life that he's royally fucked up. another friend he's going to lose, and this time it's not to circumstances out of his control. not because of bloodshed or shitty calls. this one is purely on him, because he really does lose all sense around you.

instead of slapping him, or yelling at him, like he expects you to— you take pity on him. "are you going to shut the hell up and kiss me?"

there's another long stretch of silence then, the only sign that chris even heard you is the glimmer of hope twinkling in his eye.

"fuck yeah, i am." he smiles, before pulling you into him again.

#chris you mean the absolute world to me #i want to rub his back and tuck him into bed with a lil forehead kiss #one forehead smooch anyone who can list motifs or references #chris redfield x reader #chris redfield imagine #chris redfield fanfiction #chris redfield #resident evil #resident evil imagines #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil 5 #ali writes

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meraki-yao · 7 days

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RWRB Full-Cast Audiobook Imaginations

So with the sequel on the horizon, we’re not that far from a full-cast re-recording of the audiobook, right?

I listen to the audiobook more than I read the book, mostly because I can listen to it while doing other stuff, and no offence to the original narrator, but while it’s good, it’s not the best. I kind of cringe at his British accent for Henry.

So I have a lot of thoughts.

The thing is with an audiobook, we can get both the wonderful vocal performance of the movie cast, and the iconic book lines, the ones that didn’t, and frankly, could never have made it into the movie due to format restrictions:

Sexy explicit sex scenes

Sexy explicit sex lines “For fuck’s sake, man, you just had my dick in your mouth, you can kiss me good-night”, “I want you to fuck me”, “I’ve been thinking about your mouth on me all well”

Emails in their entirety

Email openings and endings “Huge Raging Heache Prince Henry of Who Cares”, “First Son of Shirking Responsibilities”, “Horrible Revolting Heir”, “First Son of Founding Father Sacrilege”, “Haplessly Romantic Heretic Prince Henry the Utterly Daft”

Email historical quotes “The whole is a mass of fools and knaves; I could almost except you”, “I meet you in every dream”

Swearing and explicit language “fucking shit” “I fucking love you, okay?”

Internal Struggle

Iconic lines that didn’t make it into the movie for adaptation and story purposes “I’m never gonna love anybody in the world like I love you” “I love him on purpose”, “America, he is my choice”

Like, imagine hearing all of this in Taylor, in Nick, in Sarah and Uma and Ellie and Rachel and Thomas and Aneesh and Cfiton etc etc 's voice. Just imagine it!!!

Another thing to add is that to put it in simple terms, the current version of the audiobook does the dialogue lines closer to theatre acting: more enunciated, more inflection, and slower. Which is fine in its own right (I’m a theatre kid). But with the cast audiobook, hopefully, we can get them to do something closer to film acting, i.e. closer to reality, reading the lines as they would if they were to shoot those scenes.

Which is gonna make big moments like sexy times and confrontations a lot of fun :D

And something really entertaining to think about is now that we also know the cast and their dynamic is thinking about how much fun they would have while recording the book, especially when they have scenes together. And it’s not necessarily just Taynick, it’s group scenes with the whole Super Six, like the karaoke scene in chapter seven, or the Texas Holiday Scenes with Firstprince and Junora.

Like, Imagine it, the actors in the same recording studio, maybe even on the same couch:

Taylor and Nick laughing while reading off the insults from the earlier frienemies days of their relationship

Taylor and Nick squirming and playfully hitting each other when recording lines for sexy scenes like the first night, or the tack room, or Wimbledon

The cast shouting and booing (playfully) whenever someone messes up a line in their group scenes

The chaotic fun that is the LA karaoke scene, everybody’s laughing, Ellie gets to be the singular sober person while everyone else acts drunk, Nick singing Don’t Stop Me Now shittier (Nick has the voice of an angel but book Henry can’t sing for shit),

Taylor and Nick giving each other hugs after screaming at each other for the Kensington confrontation

Nick grinning smugly at every book height difference mention (:<

More of Taylor speaking Spanish!!!

Thomas gets to be a proper asshole villain who later turns into awkward older brother who's trying

Ellie gets to do the pie metaphor grief monologue

Taylor gets to do another speech (he’s really good at delivering speeches)

I want to quickly reiterate that I am in no way unhappy with what we got in the end for the movie; I love it to pieces. However, as Matthew and Casey said, there are two “canonical” versions of the story now, and since audiobooks are an option, it would be really nice to connect this aspect of the movie verse with the book verse in some sort of middle ground.

So yeah Audible? Amazon? Get on with it!!!

@almightaylor this was the long post I mentioned, I literally started this in July lol

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrb movie #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #henry hanover stuart fox #firstprince #rwrb audiobook #rwrb cast #rwrb thoughts #rwrb rambles #literally cannot explain how much I want this #meraki essay

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mariacallous · 4 months

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I feel completely disillusioned by the American government (the 2 party system, electoral college, etc) and in a broader sense, capitalism. So much so that I don’t want to vote in any elections and thus condone our shitty system. I’m into civil society associations and other discourse along those lines, but I’m experiencing cognitive dissonance. I feel like by not voting I’m lumping myself into a group of unengaged, nonpolitical people and it doesn’t feel good. Thoughts?

Fuck your disillusionment. It’s boring. Of course the system is shitty. The system has always been shitty, and the system will always be shitty. That’s the very nature of the system, and the system will do all it can to resist change. It takes ridiculous amounts of energy to force progress onto the system — the collective will of entire generations sometimes isn’t enough.

Maybe, if we’re lucky, we can make the system grow a tiny bit less shitty over the course of our shitty little lives, but there’s no guarantee of that either. So I say again, fuck your disillusionment, because disillusion breeds apathy, and apathy is how entropy and ignorance win, and that’s how things get even shittier.

As a citizen, you are obligated to engage in the system. It’s your civic fucking duty. It doesn’t matter that the system is shitty, because engaging with the system isn’t the same thing as condoning it. If you want to manipulate the system, you have to participate in it, and the very fucking least you can do is vote.

Seriously, vote. It matters. It literally counts. People who go around saying your vote doesn’t count are enormous gaping assholes. That goes double for the mealy-mouthed shit sacks who insist there’s no difference between the two parties. Fuck that noise. Every single decision we make in this shitty world is a choice of lesser evils, so suck it up and choose.

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allloudontheeasternfront · 4 months

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Everything at Once Part 5

Dieter Hellstrom x Original Fem Character

Btw this is very short! (Part 6 will be up soon as well!!!)

Sorry that this is later and shittier than expected. I had some personal issues to take care of and I kind of straight up procrastinated lmao. Hopefully y'all like it :)))

Warnings: antisemitism, cursing, some implied angst and smut, Dieter is a sad boi, Hans is meanie lol. Again, I do not support Nazis in any shape or form. This is just for the Inglourious Basterds fandom stuff.

A few days past and Camille still hasn't heard from Dieter.

Did he forget about her?

Was he hurt?

Did he leave her?

Awful and heartwrenching thoughts clouded Camille's brain. She sat on her rocking chair with a book in her hand, and a self-crocheted blanket on her lap.

Fuck... she thought. Why do I keep thinking about him?

Her mind was flooded with the passion he shared the other night. What would happen if he kept going? Would he be nice?

Her mind then went to the emblems and symbols that scattered that man's uniform. What if he found out? What would he do?

The thought of what Nazis were capable of made her world stop.

Her throat went as dry as sand and tears prickled in her eyes.

Feeling worthless and hopeless, she curled herself in a ball on the chair and weeped.

Why does my first love have to my enemy? She thought.

Eventually the sun would set, people would sleep peacefully and the world would stop turning.

The same evening, Dieter was sat in his god forsaken Gestapo office, going over all the shitty personnel paperwork Hans has so gratefully gifted him.

Asshole.

The personnel paperwork included the Jews and Communists living in the arrondissement in the last ten years that Dieter needs to find and eventually arrest.

Angrily, Dieter flipped over one person's file so roughly it cut the middle of his thumb and index finger.

"Shittttt!" Dieter exclaimed putting the wound to his mouth.

His eyes fell to the paperwork.

The face seemed familiar.

Though in black and white, the long curly hair was a lighter shade, the skin pale, dark lips, light eyes...light doe eyes...

His mind panicked.

Riddled with anxiety, he looked at the person's name...

No.

It cant be.

Robichaux. Camille.

Age 21.

Hair- blonde

Eyes- blue

le septième, Paris.

Owner of Boulangerie François

Jew.

No communist allegations to date.

Father- in custody

Mother- deceased

Unknown family members - possible hiding/ deceased

Other information unavailable.

Dieter's heart was beating out of his chest at a rapid speed. If it was possible, his skin became paler. Nausea and anxiety filled his body.

His thin fingers traced the picture of the young baker... tears threatening to spill.

Stupid waitress...

A part of him wanted to prove himself to Landa. To prove he isnt some dickhead officer who is capable of being promoted. To prove he isnt some desk jockey.

But a very real part of him sunk heavily in his heart, wanted to hide Camille..to shield her from world. Make her safe.

He looked at the giant swatiska flag in the corner of the room. It mocked him. It displayed nothing but hatred and cowardness.

What can I do to protect her?

I am nothing but a uniform controlled by a pompous asshole.

Footsteps woke Dieter out of his saddened daydream. He stood up straight with his arm raised in a salute welcoming his higher up.

Landa...

"So...how is paperwork going along, Dieter old boy?" Hans asked smarmy. "Dont tell you fell asleep again?"

It was one time...

"Negative sir. The missing citizens have been traced." Dieter replied emotionless.

Hans walked over slowly to his desk and saw Camille's documents on full display. He picked it up and sighed.

"Our little baker girl, eh? Who knew he was a dirty jew? Her cafe was so clean." Hans said condescendingly.

Dieter tried to swallow the lump in his throat.

Hans looked at him dead in the face.

"Find her tomorrow."

"But Sir..."

"Do not undermine my authority Hellstrom. I gave you an order."

Dieter sighed...

"Do you understand?" The evil stone cold look on Hans's face was chilling.

"Ja, Standartenführer."

"Gut. Keep working. You're not off until you're done." Hand left the room.

Dieter collapsed in his chair with a loud sigh escaping his lips.

He took Camille's documents in his hands and scared at her face. Studying it.

"I'm sorry..."

He downed his glass of whiskey in one go.

He drifted off to the night were Camille was under him, completely submitted. Dirty thoughts clouded his brain space. Her quiet sighs, her soft skin below his fingers, her eyes looking into his...his uniform pants got tight all of a sudden.

He looked at the documents once more. His eyebrows furrowed in frustration.

What if I lie to Landa...everyone lies to the prick so why cant I?

A plan was now in progress for Hellstrom.

He folded up Camilles paper and secretly stuck them in this coat pocket. He grabbed the main "Jew" paper and found her name.

After rummaging through his drawers he found white ink. Carefully and surely erasing Camilles name until there was nothing but a clear white line above the black ink. He blew on the paper to dry for safe measurement. Dieter smiled at himself, feeling accomplished.

But a real feel of crippling guilt creeped in him...

To be continued...

@whore4waltz @rurivu @xoxocillian @fridaycanbesadsometimes @racheljo47 @whitechoc135 @officerh4t @blueberrypancakesworld @hanslandasstrudel @gentlemenashortviewbacktothepast

(Lemme know if u wanna be tagged.)

#august diehl #german actors #inglorious basterds #dieter hellstrom #dieter hellstrom x reader #inglorious basterds fanfic #inglourious basterds #inglorious basterds (2009)#hans landa #christoph waltz #this is so bad #im sorry

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