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em1i2a3 · 2 months ago

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I’m On Fire

Pairing: Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry/The Void x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader!

Summary: The heating unit in the compound breaks during the peak of winter, leaving everyone in the tower freezing cold and grumpy, except for Bob–who’s a walking furnace. So you decide to get a taste of the warmth.

Warnings: No explicit warnings, just fluff! Bob and you are friends…With feelings…Friends with feelings I say.

Author’s Note: I really enjoyed writing this request anon, but I kept laughing when writing this because all I was picturing was this Tik Tok. Anyways, I absolutely loved writing this one! Very fun fluff for a Saturday, and thank you @receedingdawn for the cute ass banner.

Word Count: 4,034

The cold came in like a wave. It didn’t crash through the windows or blow in through the doors. It seeped through the cracks, and invaded.

It started sometime before dawn–quiet and unnoticed–at the base of the Tower, where a blinking red light pulsed steadily on the diagnostics board in the lower mechanical level. It was just a minor system alert. One line of code trying to tell someone to check the heating core. A low-priority flag. The kind of warning that gets buried under a dozen other maintenance requests, and a digital blanket.

Nobody noticed it, or bothered to check, so the cold just continued to climb. It crept floor by floor, rising like tidewater. Slow. Patient, and semi-forgiving it the alert got caught–which didn’t happen.

By midday, the lower levels had cooled to a mild chill–noticeable, but nothing out of the ordinary for winter in New York City. It was the kind that made you rub your hands together and blow against your palms to give you a little relief from the cold, before moving on with your day. But by the time the sun dipped below the skyline, the eightieth floor–the Thunderbolts living quarters–was freezing.

High above the city, the wind screamed against the glass walls like it was a living thing. The steel bones of the Tower groaned softly in response to each gust, and you could’ve sworn you could feel the floors shaking at some point. The vents blew nothing but a mechanical sighº–like it had risen a white flag in surrender to the harsh winter–and the lights that lined the ceilings flickered every so often as if they were shivering with you. The floor tiles had the bitter feel of ice cold concerte, mugs of hot coffee and tea went lukewarm within minutes of being poured, and your breath had turned visible even within the confines of the living quarters–puffing out in little clouds that hovered and curled like ghosts before fading into the stillness.

The air had a sharpness that bit at fingertips, slid down collarbones, and made people quiet, and frustrated all at the same time.

”I’m telling you,” Yelena muttered, pacing in thick socks, and two layers of sweatpants, “We are one bad power surge away from an ice age in this damn place.” She fixed her gloves on her hands, as she huddled into the collar of her sweater.

”Pretty sure my blood is trying to congeal in itself…I think I’m on the brink of death.” Walker added, hunched over on the common room couch with a blanket draped over his shoulders like a funeral shroud.

Across the room, Ava was bundled in a military-grade parka she must’ve pulled from storage. Only the sharp glint of her eyes were visible above the thick wool scarf that she had wrapped around her head. She hadn’t said a word in fifteen minutes, she just stared into her mug, watching as little frost specks floated on top of her coffee.

Nobody was handling the cold well.

Except Bob.

He looked like he had wandered in from a completely different climate–like he had gone on a beach vacation in the tropics and brought the heat with him.

Perched at the far end of the sectional, he sat cross-legged with a worn paperback in his lap, a bowl of salt and vinegar chips balanced on the armrest beside him, and a cold Coke Zero sweating quietly on the coffee table in front of him from the warmth of his hand touching it every so often.

He didn’t have a blanket or socks, just a pair of soft grey sweatpants and an old, slightly threadbare long sleeve shirt that clung gently to the shape of his chest and shoulders–damp in spots where the heat radiating off him had started to collect.

In comparison to the rest of the team–who looked like they were preparing to trek across the Arctic–Bob looked like he was five minutes away from cracking open a window. It also wasn’t just the fact he looked comfortable–it was that he was radiating heat.

It was rising from his skin in slow steady waves if you paid close attention to him. The faint shimmer was lifting off his forearms, and a soft flush clung to the tops of his cheeks and the bridge of his nose, like he had just come in from a run rather than being sat unmoving in the meat locker common room for the last forty minutes. There was even a sheen of sweat glistening at his temples, catching the light every time he turned a page and tilted his head.

Yelena froze mid-pace and squinted at him.

”Bob…” Her voice was flat, bordering on accusatory, “Are you–are you sweating right now?!” Bob blinked up from his book, pushing his light brown hair out of his face.

”Uhm…” He lifted a hand to wipe at his forehead, as if he was surprised to find it damp, “Y-Yeah? A little. I–I mean, I told you guys I run warm…A-And I’ve got the Sentry in me, so–uh–of course I’m kind of…Y’know…Hot.” There was a beat of silence, then Yelena turned to the others.

”And he has the audacity to joke about it.” Walker let out a dramatic groan from beneath his blanket.

”He‘s not joking, he is hot. Like tropical-level hot. Bob…You’re a walking space heater.” Bob went pink immediately. Not just his face–his ears, too. He ducked his head with a bashful shrug and tried to laugh it off, but it came out awkward, then he reached out for his Coke Zero and took a long sip.

From the kitchenette, where a bottle of whiskey was being passed like emergency rations, Alexei glanced up from his glass.

”We should wrap Bob in blanket burrito, then take turns crawling in like it’s sauna.” He stated, and Bucky, who had been silent until now, raised his glass slightly, unbothered by the cold.

”I’d pay to watch that happen.” Bob choked on his drink. Not a little, polite cough–a real sputter. He turned his head and pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, trying to keep it quiet, but he could feel the heat continuing to rise beneath his skin. Alexei, of course, was completely unbothered.

”Just saying,” He shrugged, pouring himself another half-glass, “You get three people in there with you, rotate every thirty minutes…Efficient heat source I say.” Walker snorted.

”We could even install a zipper on the blanket, then call it the Bob Bag.”

“Worst part is I would definitely be the first person to try it…It’s freezing.” Bob hunched slightly where he sat, trying to disappear into the cushions. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the idea of someone cuddling up next to him–it was the idea of the entire team looking at him like he was the last functioning radiator in New York City that was making his skin prickle.

”G-Guys, “ He stammered, lifting his palms in surrender, “I’ll probably end up combusting if you all t-try to–if anyone–I–I mean…” He fumbled for a save.

”H-How about we just–uh–call m-maintenance again, yeah? I’m sure they’ll help…R-Right?” No one responded. Instead, they all turned toward him slowly. Creeping forward. Ava didn’t even stand–just started sliding across the armchair like a sleep-deprived slug with one goal: heat. Yelena grinned.

”You’ve been outvoted, human furnace.” Walker stood.

”Don’t resist Bob…Embrace your destiny.” Bob’s shoulders hit the back cushion as the group began to close in.

“G-Guys, I’m being serious–”

His voice cracked at the end–not from fear, but from that thing under his skin, the one that didn’t like being crowded. Not when he didn’t want it. Not when he wasn’t ready. Then his eyes glowed. Just a soft, flickering glint beneath his lashes. It was enough to make everyone freeze. Walker stepped back instinctively. Ava’s mug lowered a fraction. Even Yelena lifted her brows and let out a soft scoff as she retreated a step.

“Ugh…The sunshine god always has to ruin the fun and scare us off,” She commented, letting out a long sigh, “I guess I’ll call maintenance again and see what the hell they’re doing. Probably still trying to figure out how to reset a server without breaking a nail.” She grabbed her phone from the coffee table and turned her back on the couch. Bob exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“S-Sorry guys…Didn’t mean to uh–to flare.” He hated that part. That undercurrent of otherness. The way people joked until something flickered in his eyes, and then everything stopped being funny. How he went from Bob to the Sentry in a heartbeat without meaning to. Even here, in this mismatched pile of sarcasm and trauma and second chances–they still backed off when the light showed.

Bob was still hunched over, fingers pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to will the faint glow in his eyes away when the sound of teeth chattering echoed down the hallway.

Everyone turned toward it.

The sound grew louder–soft footsteps over the cold floor, the rustle of layered blankets, the stifled clatter of a mug being carried between violently trembling hands. And then you appeared in the doorway, wrapped in two fleece throws like a cocoon, shoulders hunched, cheeks flushed with windburn, and face pulled into a miserable grimace.

You looked like you were on the verge of dying. Or committing murder. Possibly both.

“The hell…” You croaked through your chattering teeth, breath curling in front of your lips, “How did this happen without anyone catching it on time?”

Your voice wavered on the last word–not just from frustration, but from the way your whole body was trembling. You were shaking, jaw clenched, knees knocking together slightly under the blankets as you shuffled forward like someone trying to survive a blizzard in a hoodie.

Bob’s heart slammed in his chest. Not from panic, or from Sentry wanting to see you, but just from pure instinct. He felt it burn inside him–this pull toward you, this immediate, deep, animalistic need to wrap you up and make you warm. Not just because you were cold. But because you were you–someone that had connected and tethered to him on more than just a baseline friendship level. Though it was hard for Bob to really contain himself, and the desire to take care of you in general because he knew you probably didn’t see him in the manner he saw you in.

“They probably missed it. That’s the only reason this could’ve happened. Nobody flagged it in time.” Ava responded first, her voice muffled behind her scarf. You exhaled hard through your nose, steam huffing from your lips. Your eyes flicked to the sectional–to the wide, open space beside Bob. You took one step toward it, then paused.

Your eyes landed on him.

You blinked slowly, your gaze dragging from his flushed face to the damp edge of his collar to the Coke can on the table still sweating with heat.

Then it clicked.

“Oh, right,” You rasped, eyebrows lifting. “I forgot about you running hot, you’re gonna be my life saver!”

Before Bob could respond–before he could stammer out anything–you moved.

You dropped onto the couch beside him with the exhausted weight of someone who had given up on survival. You let your blankets slide open just enough to let the heat in, curled your toes beneath you, and leaned into his side with a soft, contented groan.

Bob stopped breathing.

He felt you. Every inch of you. Your icy fingers brushing his thigh. The chilled edge of your arm nudging his ribs. Your cheek settling lightly into the curve of his shoulder. And then–God help him–the tiny, blissful sound that slipped from your lips when the warmth of his body hit you full-force.

It was quiet. Barely audible. Just a hum of deep, unconscious relief.

“Mmm…”

But to Bob, it was devastating.

His entire body tensed like he was preparing for impact. His breath caught in his throat. His hands twitched on his thighs, and the heat under his skin flared so suddenly he had to will it back down before his shirt started to steam.

You didn’t even notice.

You were too cold. Too relieved. Too focused on not crying from the sheer comfort of finally, finally finding warmth after what felt like an hour and a half of your limbs feeling like they were going to shatter.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, pressing your face against the side of his arm like you were trying to melt into him. “You’re boiling. This is perfect.” You breathed in deeply, smelling the cool mint scent of his body wash, letting it invade your lungs, as you nuzzled even closer to him.

Bob swallowed hard. “I-I…Uh…”

You sighed again. And this one was worse. Better. More dangerous. It wasn’t just relief–it was pleasure. The kind that only came from thawing out after a deep freeze. A sound that vibrated low in your chest and hummed right against his ribs.

He couldn’t look at you.

If he did, he’d die. Spontaneously combust on the spot. Sentry and all.

You tugged the top blanket around the both of you, like it was natural–like sharing heat was second nature. Like you weren’t undoing him with every breath that ghosted across his neck.

A long silence settled over the room.

Not awkward. Not exactly. But heavy with something unspoken.

You didn’t notice the way everyone else had gone quiet. You didn’t see the way Yelena lowered her phone without pressing call, or how Walker and Ava slowly exchanged looks, eyebrows raised. You didn’t catch Bucky’s subtle nod from the kitchen, or Alexei’s low whistle as he leaned back in his chair like he was watching the beginning of a very good movie.

Because you were too busy melting.

Literally and figuratively.

Your arm moved slowly. Almost imperceptibly. It slipped from beneath your blanket, slid across Bob’s damp shirt, and curled around his torso–fingers splaying wide across his side. Not in a flirtatious way. Not in a way that begged attention. Just an unconscious, instinctual kind of closeness.

A gesture that said: you’re warm, and I need all of it.

Bob’s heart skipped.

He didn’t move. Couldn’t. His spine had gone rigid, and his breath had stalled somewhere between his throat and lungs. You were touching him. Really touching him. Not in passing, not in jest, not in the familiar bump of shoulders during a mission or a sarcastic pat on the back.

But this. A full-body lean. An arm around his waist. Your chilled hand flattening over his ribs, tugging him–gently–closer to you.

And he let you.

Because he would’ve let you do anything.

Your fingers brushed a damp spot on his shirt. He was sweating. Badly. But you didn’t flinch. Didn’t comment. You just let out another of those sighs–low, content, sinful in its softness–and nestled closer until your forehead touched the curve of his neck.

“God…” You mumbled into his skin, breath curling warm under his jaw, “You’re saving my life right now.” Bob let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

His hands were still on his thighs, white-knuckled, as if he were holding himself down. As if one move would tip this entire fragile balance into something he couldn’t pull back from. Because it wasn’t just warmth he was giving you–it was everything.

Every part of him was screaming for more.

More of your voice. More of your weight leaning into him. More of your fingers splayed against his side and the way your leg was now casually draped over his calf under the blanket.

And yet–somehow–you still didn’t seem to notice what you were doing to him.

From across the room, Yelena’s voice broke the silence.

Soft. Distant. A whisper clearly not meant to be heard.

“Oh no…She’s gonna kill him.”

Walker coughed into his sleeve. “He’s not gonna survive the next ten minutes.”

“I give him five.”

“Three, if she sighs again.”

Ava hummed in agreement. “He’s gonna short-circuit.”

Bob could hear them. He could hear everything–every shifting blanket, every laugh being swallowed behind a cup, every knowing glance being passed around like popcorn.

But all he could feel was you.

The weight of your body against his.

The cold that finally eased from your limbs.

The way your breathing slowed, softened.

And the way you whispered–barely audible, but so close he could feel the words against his skin:

“…Think I could stay here all night.” The words left your lips like a sigh—half asleep, half joking—but Bob felt them hit.

They lodged somewhere between his ribs, soft and brutal, and echoed in his chest long after the sound had faded into the blanket-wrapped stillness.

He didn’t respond right away.

Couldn’t.

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came. His throat was dry. His breath was shaky. The heat he’d been radiating all evening was nothing compared to what flared through him now–less like warmth and more like a furnace igniting from the inside out.

You shifted again. Just a little. Your fingers flexed slightly against his ribs. You were settling in deeper.

Bob’s voice, when it finally broke free, was small and trembling.

“Y-You can. I-I mean–if you…If you want. I-I wouldn’t–I wouldn’t mind.”

You didn’t say anything at first.

But after a beat, you tilted your head and looked up at him.

And that was it.

The end of him.

Because you weren’t even trying to do anything. You just looked up–sleepy and flushed, lips parted, eyes soft–and you saw him.

The way his jaw was clenched. The way his shoulders were locked up. The way his fingers curled into his thighs like they were holding on for dear life. The way his shirt was soaked from heat and nervous sweat and yet he hadn’t dared move.

And then your eyes met his.

And you saw it.

The wreckage.

His face was flushed–burned red at the ears, his lips slightly parted like he was afraid to exhale too hard. His eyes were wide, glassy, stunned. Not from embarrassment. Not from discomfort.

From everything.

From being touched, and wanted, and needed.

From your breath on his skin, your arm around his waist, your words curling like ribbons into his ear and tying knots he didn’t know how to undo.

You blinked once, slowly.

“…Bob?”

His breath hitched.

“I-I’m f-fine,” He stammered, the lie so thin you could hear the tremble beneath it. “J-just…Y-You’re really close, and I-I’m trying not to–uh–I mean, I d-don’t wanna–”

He stopped himself.

But the damage was done.

You stared up at him for another long moment, blinking against the golden flush of his cheeks and the sweat dotting his brow, and the way he couldn’t quite meet your eyes now.

And something shifted in your chest.

You loosened your grip around his waist–but not to move away. Just enough to smooth your hand against the curve of his side. Gentle. Careful. Tender in a way that quieted everything else.

“…Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Bob shook his head before you’d even finished the question.

“N-No. G-God, no,” He said quickly, too quickly. “Y-You’re not. I-I like it. I–”

He swallowed hard.

His eyes finally flicked toward you, just briefly.

“I-I just…Don’t k-know how I’m doing this w-without Sentry going o-off the rails…” Your lips curved into a quiet smile against his skin.

“Maybe he’s used to me pestering you by now,” You murmured, voice low and teasing, “Maybe he knows not to get in the way of things.”

Bob blinked.

His chest lifted with a deep breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, and the glow in his eyes flickered briefly behind his lashes.

“Y-Yeah,” he said softly, with a quiet sort of wonder. “M-Maybe.”

He didn’t add that Sentry was right there. Listening. Not pushing forward, not flaring to the surface like he so often did when Bob felt overwhelmed.

He was just…Calm.

Not silent, exactly. But watching through Bob’s eyes with something that felt like reverence. A kind of awestruck stillness that made Bob feel like his ribs were filled with golden thread instead of bone.

You were still watching him. Still close enough that every breath he took shifted you slightly. And even in the dim light of the living room, he could see the soft twitch of your lips and the calm around your eyes–like your nervous system had finally unclenched for the first time all day.

“Sorry I’m so clingy,” You added after a moment, eyes fluttering shut, “I know this probably feels like being tackled by a human-shaped block of ice.”

Bob’s voice cracked again.

“Y-You could tackle me any time.”

Your eyes opened slowly.

“What?”

His ears turned bright pink. “N-Nothing. N-Never mind.”

You snorted–this breathy, fond little sound–and let your hand trail lightly across the shape of his ribs, fingers drawing lazy circles through the soft fabric of his shirt.

“I think I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that,” You said, lips curving into a slow smile. “For your dignity’s sake.”

Bob swallowed hard. You shifted a little closer until your forehead was tucked under his jaw and your fingers were curled in the hem of his shirt like you didn’t want to let go.

He could feel your eyelashes brushing against his skin.

Your voice dropped to a whisper.

“Give me a few more minutes with you…And then I’ll untangle and let you recover.”

That almost made him laugh.

But it caught in his throat because something about the way you said it–something about the gentleness behind the tease–made it feel bigger than just cuddling on a cold night.

It felt like you knew.

Maybe not everything.

Maybe not how often he thought about you. Or how many times he caught himself daydreaming about a moment like this–exactly like this. The weight of you against him. Your breath slowing. Your body folding into his like it belonged there.

Maybe you didn’t know how much he ached when you brushed against him on missions or leaned on him when you were too tired to stand. Or how long he’d been pretending it was nothing when every second of contact burned through him like a star being born.

Maybe you didn’t know that every part of him had been waiting for you.

But maybe you felt it. Just a little.

Because you didn’t pull away. You didn’t tease too much. You just settled in, calm and warm and real, and gave him the one thing no one had offered in a while.

Time and gentle touch.

A few more minutes. A few more inches of closeness. A few more breaths shared between them. Bob turned his face slightly toward your hair, just enough to breathe you in. Your scent was cold, but there was a depth of warmth beneath it, something fruity–like jammy blueberries and blackberries, maybe a field that had ripening strawberries. It was like you were bathing yourself in something that was tropical to emote the sense that you were someplace warm instead of a cold compound.

Finally Bob lifted his hand, and let it rest over your back. It was tentative at first, then more solid, like a soft protective weight. His thumb stroked gently across your spine, and he whispered:

”Take as long as you want.” You didn’t respond, you just let out a slow, steady breath that warmed his neck and a soft hum of contentment as you curled into his chest and closed your eyes again.

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skzophreniic · 3 months ago

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⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content. voyeurism, exhibitionism, public surveillance themes, dubcon undertones, masturbation mention, dirty talk, praise kink, overstimulation, filming/recording during sex, dom!reader, sub!Jisung, light power play, light humiliation, intense sexual tension.

⍣ ೋ notes: okay so i know u requested a drabble but it got a bit out of hand i'm sorry (not rlly). <3 also jisung is a wee bit of a creep here so if you don't like that, i suggest you don't read this one lol.

🧾 FORMAL INVESTIGATION REPORT

Filed by: Minho Lee Subject: Officer Voyeur Staff Member Under Review: Jisung Han Guest Involved: Guest at 704

“You ever think about what you’d be doing if you didn’t work here?”

Minho doesn’t even look up from the tray he’s balancing—some late-night room service no one claimed—but Jisung’s voice cuts through the silence like a mosquito in a dark room: annoying, high energy, impossible to ignore.

“I mean,” Jisung continues, spinning slightly in his chair, hoodie sleeves covering his hands up to the knuckles, “you? Probably some depressed barista who’d stab someone with a milk frother. Me? I’d probably be like… I dunno. A cam boy. But like a classy one. Real artsy lighting. Minimalist sets. Sad music.”

Minho finally glances up, deadpan. “You are a cam boy. Just without the lighting. Or consent.”

Jisung grins, unbothered. “Wow. That was almost a compliment. You think I’ve got the face for it?”

“I think you’ve got the delusion for it.”

He spins again in the chair, slow this time, letting the monitor light smear across his face. Black bangs hang in his eyes. Black painted nails—chipped and matte—tap against the armrest. “You ever think about what it’s like, though?” he muses, voice lower now, a little dreamy. “Being the one getting watched. Instead of always doing the watching.”

Minho snorts. “Jesus. How many nights have you been down here?”

“Too many.” He stretches, hoodie riding up a little at the waist. “Not enough.”

Minho slides the tray onto the desk, finally giving Jisung a look that says he’s both concerned and tired of his bullshit.

“Okay, Edgar Allan Perv. You seriously need to touch grass.”

Jisung laughs—sharp and wheezy, sleeves bunching as he curls up into the spin of his chair again.

“Grass doesn’t touch me back,” he pouts.

“Neither do women,” Minho mutters.

“I have women,” Jisung says, clutching his chest like he’s been stabbed, “just... from a respectful, tasteful distance. Through very discreetly placed cameras.”

Minho levels him with a look. “You know if Aeryn hears you say that out loud again, she’ll staple your dick to the control board, right?”

“Oh, Aeryn loves me,” Jisung says with faux innocence. “She keeps me around because I’m a visionary.”

“She keeps you around because no one else knows how to rewire this rat nest of a surveillance system without setting off the fire alarms.”

“Exactly.” He points at him. “Indispensable.”

Minho rolls his eyes and starts unpacking the tray, metal clinking as he peels back a corner of foil. “Indispensable, yet somehow the most likely to get the hotel sued for public indecency.”

“I prefer the term ‘unconventional asset,’” Jisung says, tapping a blunt black nail against his temple. “I bring innovation. Intrigue. Erotic suspense.”

Minho stares. “You bring violations,” he says. “I saw your 'private archive.' The one you named ‘private archive’ like a dumbass. Half those camera angles aren’t even legal in this country.”

“They’re experimental,” Jisung argues, slouched deep in his chair, hoodie swallowing him whole. “Like, avant-garde. Think of it as hotel noir. A study in loneliness. A peek into the human condition.”

“You mean tits.”

“Tits are the human condition.”

Minho groans, grabs a breadstick off the tray, and throws it at his head.

Jisung yelps, catching it midair. “Assault!”

“You’ll live.”

“I’ll press charges. I know how to access your payroll.”

“You are the payroll,” Minho says, flat. “And speaking of people who want to kill you—”

Jisung immediately straightens.

“No. Who?”

Minho looks like he’s been waiting for this moment. He leans forward, rests his elbows on the tray like it’s a podium, and locks eyes with Jisung.

“Concierge Aeryn.”

Jisung blinks. “...No.”

Minho nods, face pure grim satisfaction. “Yup.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

Jisung recoils, hoodie cinching tighter around his face like a defense mechanism. “What’d I do? Wait—no. What’d she think I did?”

“Oh, she knows what you did. Everyone knows what you did. Suite 704. Hidden camera. Woman caught it. And instead of flipping out, she left you a little love note.” Minho makes air quotes with the hand not holding a breadstick. “And now Aeryn wants you to go clean up your mess before it turns into an HR nightmare.”

Jisung pales under the flicker of the monitor lights.

"Changbin?"

"Mhm. Or worse. The cops."

“The police?”

Minho shrugs. “I mean, best-case scenario, she’s into it and doesn’t report you. Worst-case?” He trails off.

Jisung’s spinning chair comes to an abrupt halt. He stares at Minho, stricken. “You’re telling me I have to talk to her? Like in person?”

Minho slaps a foil-wrapped pat of butter onto the tray. “Yup. Aeryn said, quote: ‘Tell that creepy little fuck to do whatever needs to be done.’”

“Define whatever.”

Minho raises a brow. “You know exactly what it means.”

Jisung sits frozen for a second, then groans—loud and guttural—and drapes himself backwards over the chair like he’s just died. “Hyung, I don’t do guests. I’m a background character. I thrive in the shadows.”

“Then consider this your main character arc. You’re going upstairs. You’re knocking on her door. You’re making sure she doesn’t sue this hotel for emotional trauma or sell your name to Buzzfeed Unsolved.”

Jisung is already scrambling to sit up again, bangs in his eyes, black painted nails tapping against his phone screen as he checks the suite number one more time like it might have magically changed.

“Seven-oh-four. Fuck me. She’s still in the room.”

“And probably waiting.”

Jisung’s hoodie sleeve rides up just enough to show a little ink on his forearm—some half-faded lyric he probably regrets—and he tugs it back down, muttering like a man preparing for war.

“This is bad. This is so bad. I’m not made for human interaction. I don’t even blink right. I’m gonna knock and she’s gonna pepper spray me.”

Minho tosses him a room key with a flourish. “Then make it count.”

______________________________________________________________

Suite 704.

Jisung stands outside the door, hoodie up, sleeves down, heart racing like he just ran a five-minute mile in a panic attack.

He stares at the door. The peephole feels like an eye. Like she’s already watching him—knows he’s there.

He raises his hand.

Lowers it.

Raises it again.

Knocks.

Silence.

Then: a soft voice. “It’s open.”

His spine straightens. A jolt hits low in his gut.

He fidgets with his sleeves just to stall, then pushes the door open.

Dim lighting. The faint smell of wine. You’re in the robe again—one leg folded under you, the other stretched out along the couch. Hair loose. Lip gloss smudged.

And you’re looking right at him.

Like you expected this.

Like you invited it.

Jisung lingers awkwardly in the doorway. “Hi. Uh. Sorry to bother you. I’m from security. Han Jisung. Not the scary kind—well, I mean, maybe a little scary if you saw me in a dark alley but like, not murder scary, more like, spooky little raccoon scary—”

“Shut the door,” you say, slow. Measured.

He shuts the door.

You tilt your head, eyes flicking down to his hoodie, his hands, his chipped nails clenched into sleeves. “So you’re the one who’s been watching me.”

Jisung’s brain bluescreens. “Okay, no, but also yes—but also maybe no again if you press charges—”

You pat the space next to you.

“Come here.”

He doesn’t move.

You smile.

Jisung exhales, then shuffles toward you, sits on the very edge of the cushion, spine stiff, hands between his knees like a middle schooler at a parent-teacher conference. He’s hard already. Jesus, just looking at you up close like this has the memory of last night resurfacing; you in that little dress, slipping it off–

You lean closer, voice honey-thick. “You don’t usually come upstairs, do you?”

He shakes his head.

“I figured.”

You trail a single finger up his thigh.

He makes a sound—half gasp, half squeak—and looks like he’s about to pass out.

“You don’t usually come upstairs,” you murmur, watching him squirm. “But when you do… you turn off the cameras first?”

Jisung’s eyes snap to yours. Wide. Busted.

You smile, wicked. “You didn’t think I’d notice?”

“I—uh—security protocol,” he blurts. “Can’t record myself doing, like, illegal mea culpa visits. Liability and all. It’s—it’s for your protection. My protection. Our protection—”

“You’re cute when you panic,” you interrupt, tilting your head. “But it’s a shame, don’t you think?”

He blinks. “What is?”

“That no one gets to watch this.”

His mouth opens. Then closes. He’s short-circuiting, visibly.

You lean back a little, robe slipping further down your shoulder. “I mean, I assume you know how to turn it back on.”

Jisung swallows hard. “...I do.”

“Then do it.”

He hesitates, just for a second, clearly running mental simulations of how badly this could end. But your gaze is steady, coaxing, amused. Like you want him to. Like this whole thing is your idea, not just his fucked-up fantasy.

He fumbles for his phone—shaky hands, hoodie sleeves falling back just enough to expose the faded lyric tattoo on his forearm again—and taps open an app buried between half a dozen folders.

You watch, fascinated. “So that’s how you do it? Everything through there?”

“Yeah. I, uh… I built it,” he mumbles, eyes locked on the screen as he taps through camera feeds. “Modified the firmware. Added remote access. Wired in some motion triggers. It’s—kind of janky, honestly. But like, in a good way.”

“Smart,” you murmur. “You really are a little genius.”

His cheeks flush. He doesn’t know what to do with praise—real praise, not Minho’s backhanded insults or Aeryn’s thinly veiled threats. And definitely not like this. From someone half-curled into the couch, glossy-lipped and looking at him like he’s something fascinating. Dangerous.

Valuable.

“Can it record?” you ask.

He licks his lips. “Y-Yeah. But I don’t—”

“Turn it on.”

Jisung short circuits. The red light flickers back on.

You lean closer, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Show me what it’s like,” you whisper. “Being the one getting watched.”

Jisung’s head tips back against the couch, hoodie slipping down, pupils blown wide. “Holy shit.”

Your fingers brush his jaw. “C’mon, Officer Voyeur. Don’t get shy now.”

He doesn’t get shy. He malfunctions.

Because you’re straddling his lap before he can even blink, thighs warm through the paper-thin barrier of his joggers, robe slipping open just enough to make his brain leak out his ears. One second you’re teasing, breath against his neck, and the next you’re grinding slow, deliberate, like you know exactly what it does to him. Like you’ve memorized him.

He makes a sound. Choked. Half whine, half breathless moan. His hands flutter uselessly at your hips, hoodie sleeves bunched at his wrists, unsure if he’s even allowed to touch you.

You roll your hips again. Harder.

“F–fuck,” he gasps, bucking up just a little. “Wait—wait, I’m not—this isn’t—I’m not ready—”

“You’re already hard,” you purr, rocking against him. “Feels like you’re more than ready.”

He whimpers, hands finally gripping your waist like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to the planet. His head tips back against the couch again, hoodie bunched at his throat, black bangs stuck to his forehead. Sweat beading already and you’ve barely touched him.

The red light blinks from the ceiling.

“You ever jerk off,” you murmur, sliding your hands up under his hoodie, fingers grazing bare skin, “thinking about someone finding the footage?”

His eyes snap open. He looks at you like you just kicked the air out of his lungs.

“I—n-no,” he stammers, flushing. “Maybe. Once. Shut up.”

You smile like a knife.

“Bet you’d look so pretty,” you whisper, leaning down until your lips brush his jaw. “Sprawled out in the security booth. Pants down, eyes on the screen. Mouth open. Begging.”

He moans. Real, raw, filthy.

“Jesus fuck, you can’t—” he gasps, hips jerking under you, cock straining against the thin cotton of his sweats. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You slide one hand between your bodies, palm flat against the heat of him. He jerks, bucks into your touch with a strangled noise, hands flying to your hips to hold you down as if that might stop him from unraveling.

It doesn’t.

“You wanna fuck me, Officer?” you whisper. “Or do you want me to keep putting on a show?”

He nods frantically. Then shakes his head. Then nods again. “I—both.”

You laugh, soft and wicked.

Then you lift just enough to tug his waistband down, cock springing free, flushed and leaking and so achingly hard he whines the second the air hits it. You sit back down slow, robe open now, pussy bare and already slick.

And Jisung’s brain just stops.

You’re wet—already wet—like you’d been waiting for this. Like you’d been thinking about it, touching yourself, fucking preparing before he even got here. His mouth parts, chest rising like he’s breathing too fast, too shallow, hoodie still clinging to him like a second skin. He can’t not picture it now—your fingers slipping between your thighs, sinking in, slow and lazy, while you watched the door and imagined him standing there like this. Squirming. Sweating. Begging.

“Fuck,” he chokes, voice cracked and desperate. “Did you—shit—did you touch yourself for me?”

You don’t answer. Just shift your hips, tilt your pelvis forward—showing him the mess between your legs, the glisten that coats your folds, the way you glide your fingers along your inner thigh like you already know what it’s doing to him.

“Oh my god,” he gasps, hips twitching, fingers flexing like he doesn’t know whether to grip the couch or your waist or his own goddamn hair. His cock jerks where it rests, leaking against his hoodie hem, angry and untouched. “You did, didn’t you? Fuck, you got yourself wet for me, you—fuck.”

His pupils are pure black now, lips wet, jaw slack—completely undone. Like the moment that image lodged itself in his head, he ceased to exist as a functional human being.

You reach for him—slow and sultry—and he swears he could come untouched if you so much as look at him like that again

You sink down.

“Oh—fuck,” Jisung gasps, whole body seizing, fingers digging into your hips so tight it’s almost painful. His head snaps back again, jaw slack, breath stuttering out of him in a broken rush. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy fucking shit—”

You take your time—rocking slow, grinding deep, letting him feel every inch of you. He’s so sensitive, so overwhelmed, twitching and gasping under you with every movement. One of his hands slips under your robe, palm splayed across your lower back like he’s scared you’ll disappear.

The red light blinks.

You press your mouth to his ear.

“Smile for the camera.”

He whimpers.

You ride him slow and filthy, watching his expression crumble under every grind of your hips. His voice is wrecked—soft, shaky gasps, breathless little moans, whining your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

“Feels—feels so good—holy shit, I’m not gonna—fuck, I’m not gonna last—”

“Then don’t,” you whisper, rolling your hips just right, “C’mon, baby. Let ‘em see what a mess you are.”

He spills with a choked-off sob, hips jerking, whole body trembling as you ride him through it, eyes glassy, jaw slack, thighs shaking under yours. He clutches you like he’s drowning, face buried in your shoulder, moaning your name into your skin.

The red light blinks.

Still recording.

You stroke his hair gently, smiling as he gasps against you.

“Officer Voyeur,” you murmur. “You gonna watch this later?”

Jisung can’t even answer.

______________________________________________________________

INT. SKZOTEL – CONFESSIONAL ROOM (A.K.A. MINHO’S JANITOR CLOSET)

[Camera clicks on.] Minho sits on an overturned mop bucket, legs crossed, eyes heavy-lidded. The room smells like lemon cleaner and apathy. There’s a security monitor propped on a rolling cart beside him, flickering softly with very NSFW footage.

He lifts a paper cup to his lips. Sips. Winces.

MINHO (flat):"Didn’t think I’d spend my Friday night watching our head of security get reverse-cowgirled into the next life, but..." shrugs "...here we are."

He sets the cup down. Rubs his temple like this is the third migraine today.

MINHO (cont’d):"Honestly? I’ve seen less raw emotion in Oscar-winning films. Man was crying. Mid-fuck."

A long pause. He turns to the camera.

MINHO (deadpan): "Camera three caught his soul leaving his body."

He clicks a remote. Screen behind him pauses on Jisung’s face: eyes rolled back, mouth open, pure chaos.

Minho gestures vaguely at it.

MINHO (cont’d): “Ten bucks says he’s gonna ask me to make a highlight reel.”

Another pause. He sips his coffee again. Nods.

MINHO (quietly): "...I'm gonna do it."

[END OF RECORDING]

series taglist: @nightmarenyxx @miyaluvvsyou @jisuperboard @fackeraccount @silly250 @lov3rachan @lze325 @angel-writes-here @jesuisstay @lov3rachan @lze325 @scribblesnsketches05 @jesuisstay @slut4junho @wickedbutlovely @woozarts @pixie-felix

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circeyoru · 7 months ago

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Shadow and Void _ Part 4: A Rigged Test

[Yandere!Sung Jinwoo x Enemy Monarch!Reader]

Arc 1: Part 1 ― Part 2 ― Part 3 Arc 2: Part 4 (here) ― Part 5 Arc 3: Part 6 ― Part 7 Arc 4: Part 8 ― Part 9 ― Part 10 ― Part 11 ― Special Arc 5: Part 12 ― Part 13 ― Part 14 ― Part 15

You want to kill something—someone to be specific—right now. Even as you were surrounded with snacks you liked, you hated the situation unfolding before you. The mind of a human is just too weird for you to understand in any sense.

You angrily bit on the chip between your fingers with a loud and resounding snap that broke the silence while your eyes drilled holes into the man who was basically holding you there against your will, maybe with some form of bribe, but it was definitely not the snacks. Definitely.

“Just let her in your guild, you edge lord.” You hissed as you took the female Hunter’s side, annoyed at the various ridiculous excuses Jinwoo listed to push Hae-In away. You would admit that you’re impressed with her resilience when facing such a menace; then again, she is in love, and love makes one do crazy things.

Jinwoo had half a mind to know not to voice out the question of how and why you’d know such phrasing, since there was Cha Hae-In present and there was no need to raise alarm bells. Though the greatest reason was that he didn’t want another to know about you or what you are precisely. He can’t say he’s bothered by the way your eyes stared at him, all focused and guarded, ready to take Hae-In hostage if the situation calls for it.

Ah, but it won’t be much help to you. You’d have picked the wrong target. If it were someone like his mother or younger sister, then there’d be an effect you’d wanted. However, this was Hae-In, he barely met her and she barely knew him. That can’t be the case between you two.

He knew about your being as a Monarch and an inhuman thing using a human body as a vessel, you knew about his levelling-up system that granted him his status as an S-Rank and all his other abilities. He and you could be your true selves in each other’s presence, no filter, no expectations of fulfilling anything. In a sense, he felt more at peace with you than the other people around him. Like you were someone as close to him as family.

Perhaps this was the after-effects of viewing the memories between you and Ashborn, but that was his thoughts.

“There’s an entrance test before I can allow you to join, Hunter Cha.” Jinwoo stated nonchalantly.

You raised a brow while Hae-In flinched in alarm, “H- Huh?! That wasn’t in the recruiting notice…”

“A mistake, since we were busy these few days.” Jinwoo got up and eyed you to do the same, you complied while bringing along your unfinished snacks. “If you think it’s too sudden and unreasonable, you can―”

“What kind of test is it?” Hae-In asked with resolve.

You practically saw the shock in Jinwoo’s eyes, hiding a snicker as you internally mocked his poor insight into a woman’s determination.

“You have to win against one of my summons.” Jinwoo laid out the simple yet vague requirement.

“Is the evaluation of me in your eyes so low, Hunter Sung?” Hae-In’s tone turned firm and solid, nothing like her previous blushing mess. You can’t miss the fire burning in her eyes, “What kind of summon is it?”

With a cruel thought, you wondered if killing this Hunter for Ashborn and adding her to his army would be a good enough apology gift. Then again, you had to do it when the vessel’s soul is gone and Ashborn is back to fully appreciate your work well done. You’ll keep the thought in mind for the future. For now, you’ll let the humans deal with their business.

“For you, Hunter Cha, I’ll use my strongest summon ally.” Just as you were leaving the scene, Jinwoo’s hand placed firmly on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. You looked up at him in confusion and question as he looked down with a smirk. “This one.”

Hae-In jumped, “You’re a summon?! But you’re so… So…”

“Human?” Jinwoo smiled, leaning down to your level as his face was next to yours and made eye contact with Hae-In, “Yes, this is my perfect ally and companion in battle; it wouldn’t be good for a monster to be around me, right?”

You glared at Jinwoo, completely unaware of the conflicted expression on Hae-In’s face as your back was facing her. You whispered a hiss at him, “What are you doing? Don’t drag me into this.”

“A small deal then.” Jinwoo whispered back, taking advantage of Hae-In’s inner turmoil. “If you can ward Hunter Cha from joining my guild, you won’t have to stay by my side all the time. In other words, defeat Hunter cha and you get some free time for yourself without me around.”

That got your attention and you turned to glance at Hae-In. This woman can’t even manage to hold this vessel’s attention for long, not to mention how you were now dragged into some useless fight. Even if you let her into the guild, her use wasn’t much and she is weak compared to this vessel before you. The comparison was unfair, but it was the truth.

“Fine, but you keep your word.”

“Of course.”

You turned your heel and dumped the snacks back onto the coffee table. Taking a page out of Igris’ book, you stood at attention and fixed your expression to a more stoic and indifferent look, your chin angled down and your hands were placed behind your back, your eyes stared sharply at Hae-In. “My Lord has suggested I do battle with you for your place in his guild,” You offered your hand as you asked, “Should you accept, only if you win against me will you be considered acceptance. Do you still wish to partake in the duel?”

Jinwoo was almost taken aback with your shift in attitude and character. Not that he found fault in it, but rather, he was more drawn to you. It was smart of him to make such an appealing offer to you. The System’s information was right on the money. You are so self-centered and willing to abandon others for your own cause.

Now, all he needed to do was make sure you don’t can’t leave him.

His eyes glowed briefly when Hae-In’s hand gripped yours with a firm nod that meant ‘yes’. The moment you looked over as if asking for approval made his heart skip a beat, you were acting just like an actual Shadow soldier of his. He nodded back and watched you raise your other hand to snap your fingers.

In the blink of an eye, all three of you were transported to another dimension. All your surroundings were misty, and even the ground was covered with a layer of fog that obscured their vision of their own feet. You had long walked off from Jinwoo’s side, only when he snapped back to attention did he realize he was standing at the perfect angle to see you and Hae-In on either side of a field of sorts.

“Here, we can battle without restraint.” You said, and with another snap of your fingers, a rack of weapons appeared by Hae-In’s side. “Pick your weapon, and we will begin on My Lord’s mark.”

So Jinwoo was right; you could have escaped to your own realm at any moment, with or without his consent and knowledge. Why you haven’t done so was odd, but that also proves how much of a hold Ashborn has on you. If only he could shift your attention from his predecessor to himself.

Hae-In picked a long sword while you stood immobile.

“Ready.”

Hae-In got into a stance, but you were as still as can be like you were frozen in place.

“Set.”

Hae-In’s mana aura surrounded her, charging her blade as well. You did nothing.

“Go!”

Hae-In took the initiative and charged forward, planning to end the duel with one quick decisive move. However, just before her blade reached you, you had disappeared in thin air. As quickly as you disappeared, you materialized behind Hae-In and kicked her in the back to send her flying to the side. You stood at your spot, fixing your clothes, tugging at your sleeves from your movement.

Swiftly, Hae-In had recovered and remained on the offensive. Your head tilted and you dodged her incoming attacks with graceful movements. The way you put minimum effort into this was almost like you were toying with the Hunter. Your monotonous expression and your hands behind your back were screaming handicap. It may look like an advantage to Hae-In, but it hurt her pride.

“Fight me for real.” Hae-In panted, finding this play irritating.

You merely blinked and hummed. Your eyes darted over to Jinwoo’s analytic look, no doubt he was watching this fight with a hawk, mainly judging your abilities than Hae-In’s qualifications to join the guild. You knew and he knew, there was no way Hae-In could win against you, a Monarch. It was only a matter of how to create that loss without death.

If only you could kill. Then everything would be so easy.

You sighed, momentarily closing your eyes before they opened and glowed, “Humans are so ignorant of their limits…”

Note: Probably not the update you guys wanted, but I've been writing for this series still~ I'm thinking of making the parts longer cause of the gaps between updates though, not just for this series, but maybe for future posts too.

𝕮𝖎𝖗𝖈𝖊 𝖄.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: @o-qi-shisme @2021animeandwebtoons @mochinon-yah @skylar896 @rai-xxx @lilliana-14 @larettajudith

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #Solo Leveling #Only I Can Level Up #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jin woo x reader #sung jinwoo x reader #sung jinwoo #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo #yandere sung Jin woo #yandere sung jinwoo #yandere jinwoo #Yandere sung jinwoo x reader #yandere sung jin woo x reader #Shadow and Void

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clairewritesfanfics · 2 months ago

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Villain Creation System Chapter 7

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

Author's note: I'm still tipsy so there may be some errorst that I overlooked. I'll edit them tomorrow.

CHAPTER 6: Square Root of a^2+b^2 Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

You were not in the mood for a party.

You were hardly ever in a mood for a party, but today you had a good reason. Between meeting the alleged soulmate of the man you’re tasked with destroying, almost getting roofied, stopping a rape attempt, and breaking down in the arms of Mark Grayson, you wanted to spend the rest of today buried in the sheets while random clips of old sitcoms played on your phone as you dissociated.

And yet here you were at five p.m., dressed in uncomfortable “casual” partywear and standing in front of Amber’s sorority house, a giant monster of exposed bricks and a symmetrical number of windows on each side of its deep blue front door.

[This system does not encourage procrastination, but if the Host is so exhausted, you could have stayed in your dorm. You managed to raise Mark Grayson’s affection and darkening to impressive levels in a single day, so a small break would not be unreasonable.]

“You don’t understand, maybe it’s your age or the fact that you aren’t human, but being a grownup means doing things even when they’re annoying.” You scratched your elbow, the fabric of your top was needlessly tight, and then you pressed the doorbell. “Besides, it would be rude to Amber.”

[She already told you that it would’ve been fine if you didn’t attend.]

“If I didn’t attend, she wouldn’t be able to enjoy the party entirely.”

[How do you know this?]

“I just do.”

[You are quite full of it.]

You sighed and pulled on your collar. “Amber is a good person, she’s the type to worry. I don’t want her to waste time worrying about me when she can be having fun.” It doesn’t help that you took a rain check on that nacho run with her and the others and went straight home. You also felt bad for not replying to her anxious text messages.

[You barely know her.]

“I know enough.” You pressed the doorbell again.

This time, someone answered immediately.

Amber. Today her dark brown hair was adorned with gold hairclips in the shape of tiny butterflies and she wore a burnt orange peplum top that flared daintily over white skinny jeans.

“You made it!” she exclaimed, pulling you into an abrupt hug.

“I said I will. Here.” You lifted an eco bag full of different brands of chips. “I don’t cook.”

She looked confused but took the bag from your hands. “Thank you, but uh, you didn’t have to bring anything.”

That was odd. You were sure that it was basic etiquette to bring something for the party host. Then again, it has been a while since you’ve been to a party thrown by university students, or by anyone, really.

“Come in, come in.” Amber motioned for you to enter. “Everyone is in the living room, we just ordered pizza. Got any preferences?”

“As long as it’s not drugged.”

She looked startled.

You shifted your weight from one foot to another. “Too soon, huh.”

Realizing that it was your poor attempt at humor, she laughed a little too hard. “Well, the girls and I agreed to always have someone watching the food and drinks.” She started walking and you followed. “We ordered five of every flavor.”

She stopped right before you crossed the doorway leading to the living room.

“Listen, you know, you don’t–”

“Please.” You raised your hand. “I wasn’t the one who was attacked, and I appreciate your concern, I really do, but babying me will only cause me more stress. I’m fine, truly.”

“...All right.”

You smiled. “Now let’s go.”

You wanted to go. Like, leave.

After Amber introduced you to her dozens of sisters and you reassured her that you can make do on your own, you spoke with random people here and there, some of them shared classes with you, others were actual strangers. With forty-five minutes of small talk and laughing at jokes you did not understand while you chewed on triple cheese pizza (which was good), you felt like you already fulfilled your guestly duty and it was a safe time to bid goodbye.

But before that, you wanted to taste the truffle-flavored pizza, so you excused yourself.

On your way to the kitchen, you passed by the bathroom and heard sniffling.

That was none of your business, so you attempted to keep walking, but then came the sobbing.

You sighed and knocked softly on the door. “Hello? You all right in there?”

“I-I’m okay.”

“...Eve?”

No reply.

“I’ll go if you want to break down in peace but if you want to talk, I…” You shut your eyes, regretting this already. “I’m here for you.”

[How nice of you.]

Shut up.

There was silence at first, then you heard shuffling and the sound of the door unlocking. Eve’s eyes were swollen and her nose was red as a cherry.

Yep, this was a mistake.

“May I come in?”

She nodded and stepped aside.

You carefully shut the door behind you and stayed standing while Eve sat on the toilet.

You stared at each other before Eve confessed, “My boyfriend cheated on me.”

Ah. Real or fictional, the universe was never short on scum. “I hope you dumped him on the spot.”

She laughed and then sobbed. “I did.”

“Did you cry in front of him?”

“No, I was too mad, that’s why I broke down here.”

“Good.” You crossed your arms as Eve continued to blow her nose into the tissues. “That’s good.”

After three minutes of nothing else, Eve finally looked at you. “I-is that it?”

“I can quote a philosopher, if you think that would help.”

She gawked.

“No? How about a song? Let me think… ‘A man is a two-face, a worrisome thing, who’ll leave you to sing the blues.’” [1]

That got her to laugh this time, just laugh.

“Look,” you started, “I’m not an expert with relationships or comforting people.”

“And?”

“And that’s it. I already gave you a quote.”

She laughed again. “I can use another one.”

“Um, ‘you’re going to kiss a few frogs before you find your prince’?”

She shook her head, smiling. “That actually helps.”

“Good.” You uncrossed your arms. “Do you want me to get you anything? Pizza? Peach soda?”

She shook her head.

“You gonna be okay?”

“I will be, but I think I wanna stay here and be pathetic a little longer. Besides, I don’t want Amber to see me like this, she’s a worrier.”

You grinned. “All right.”

“And hey.” She pushed a scarlet strand behind her ear. “Thank you. For asking and for staying even though you’re…y’know.”

You shrugged. It wasn’t a big deal. Any girl would worry about another girl crying at a party.

You headed for the kitchen where two of the sisters were arguing which of The Sims installments was the best one. In this reality though, The Sims equivalent is called Live Dolls.

Both girls took a moment to acknowledge you with friendly nods and a smile before going back to their debate.

“How can you possibly say that 3 is the best when it can barely load even with an Intel Core i7 processor?” shouted the brunette with ruby streaks.

“It has the best open world and relationship-slash-memory system among all of them!” defended the blonde with giant hoop earrings. “And there is the customization for both body and furniture, and also the personality traits, need I say more?”

You didn’t know about the best, but if Live Dolls was anything like its real-life counterpart, the fourth would be the worst.

Not wanting to intrude, you opted to silently grab the last slice of truffle pizza on the kitchen island and then book it, but instead of a delicious greasy crust, your fingers hit a familiar set of knuckles.

“I’ll trade you the slice for a kiss.”

You smiled to yourself. You didn’t have to look to know who it was that just stole your slice. “I doubt the pizza’s that good.”

“Fancy seeing you here, princess.”

Mark Grayson leaned over the table, the collar of his white t-shirt hanging lowly as he bent closer to you. From this angle you could see his collarbones and the slopes of his chest.

“Am I distracting you?” His Adam's apple bobbed with each syllable.

“No, I just, I need to discuss–” You looked down. Big mistake.

Mark was a tall guy, and he did not have proportionally sized feet; no, in fact, his feet were bigger. He also liked to wear fitted jeans, you only noticed now, and from where you stood, he had other parts that were more than just proportional.

Rough fingers gently guided your chin upward, leading your gaze to a pair of hungry-looking eyes.

“Up here,” he whispered. “Tell me what you need.”

“I…wanted to have a private conversation with you.”

He smelled so nice–

“You guys know we’re still here, right?” Hoop Earrings interrupted, sounding more amused than annoyed.

You snapped out of it and took a step back, Mark’s fingers sliding away.

Ruby Streaks pitched in, “We’ll order another batch. In the meantime, you kids find someplace more private. Upstairs or the bathroom, please?”

“Sorry about that, ladies,” Mark replied, his hand slipping into yours like it was second nature. “Let’s go, doll.”

“Doll”? That was new. But you didn’t hate it, like how you didn’t hate how he led you so casually up the stairs.

Perfect. It’s best to get this out of the way quickly.

“Is this really okay?” you asked as he entered a random bedroom near the end of the hall, tugging you inside with him.

“They’re the ones who offered.”

“I know, but it feels rude. I can’t even stand letting family inside my room, let alone strangers.”

Mark chuckled. “Trust me, no one’s going to care. This room is reserved for guests.”

“I see, well, that’s good.”

“Do you mind locking the door?”

“Um.” You preferred locked doors for your room, but that was unnecessary here. You were just going to thank him for comforting you during your breakdown. “Actually, no. I want to make this quick.”

“Trust me, babe, you don’t want quick with me, and you deserve better than that.”

“Really, I want to–” One half-glance at him and you instinctively turned back to face the door. “Mark, please put your shirt back on.”

“Oh, you like to do it that way, huh? Okay–”

“Mark.”

“Wait. Are you serious?”

“Yes, I want to have a conversation with you, as I have said.”

“I thought that was your way of asking for sex.”

“I can see that.” You pinched the bridge of your nose.

“But did you really not think I was planning to sleep with you?”

“What the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I didn’t mean anything, it’s just…” From the look of his face, you could tell his gray cells were firing rapidly, trying to find the right thing to say. “I believed…that my signals were there, but there seemed to be some miscommunication. I’m sorry.”

“Well, I’m sorry as well. I guess I should have been more clear.”

“No, no, you said what you said, I just heard what I wanted to hear. I thought for sure you wanted to–”

“–to get laid on a stranger’s bed, in a room that seems to be reserved for spontaneous hookups?”

Brown eyes blackened. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“It is for me. I don’t do one night stands or random makeout sessions.”

“Oh, because you’re so much better than the rest of us, right?”

That was… “What?”

“I see the way you look at everyone else, like you’re too good to be here, like we’re below you. Newsflash, princess, just because some of us don’t spend ninety percent of our time doing advanced reading and sucking up to teachers, doesn’t mean we’re idiots.”

“I never–”

“Some of us work hard, even if we don’t show it, and we deserve to party and have as much meaningless sex we want because that’s what we need to get through a hard day, and if you don’t get that, well tough. Not everyone can be a frigid loser.”

His words were an ice-cold knife through the heart.

Mark exhaled and backed away, running his hand over his face and hair.

Your jaw slackened, but you forced it back shut.

What else was there to say?

His lips parted but the beeping of his watch made him click his tongue.

You didn’t slam the door, you were tired. You wanted to go home. You wanted to be in your own bed with your weighted blanket suffocating you while old sitcoms played in the background.

[Ding. Affection: 51%. Darkening: 21%.]

[Ding. Affection: 50%. Darkening: 21%.]

[Ding. Affection: 52%]

[Ding. Affection: 49%]

[Ding. Affection: 51%]

Ding, ding, ding, ding–

You bumped into several bodies, and you couldn’t apologize because if you opened your mouth again, you would lose whatever semblance of control you had left.

You were halfway out the hallway when you bumped into a wall of brick wearing a light blue dress shirt.

The brick held your forearms to steady you. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

You nodded in acknowledgement and tried to leave but he asked, “Are you okay, miss?”

“Sorry, I gotta go.”

You retrieved your arms and pushed past him and then past the heavy blue front door.

You sent Amber a message: thanks for the invite, see you in class, and you speedwalked back to your dorm.

***

You did not cry. You don’t cry.

But you did have Golden Girls on full blast as you fixated on the ceiling until dawn arrived.

You took a cold shower and went to Professor Harper’s class looking like a raccoon.

The system informed you that Mark was in the auditorium today, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to care. You wanted to focus on the history of stoicism and not on Mark Grayson’s furious black eyes when he called you a coldblooded loser and accused you of being a snob.

Easier said than done. You didn’t jot down a single note and you had no memory of anything Professor Harper said in the past two hours.

[Did Mark Grayson’s words truly hurt you, Host?] The system inquired when the bell rang. [His affection is sitting at a comfortable 52% so you are still favorable in his eyes.]

You don’t get it because you’re telepathic and omniscient.

[Nigh-omniscient, and without further authorization, I can only hear your superficial thoughts.]

Whatever. My point is that it doesn’t matter if he likes me or loves me; when he or anyone talks to me like that, I’m going to feel bad.

[But he likes you.]

Well, he has a horrible way of showing it.

[Weren’t you the one who informed this system that humans are contradictory creatures? You have the advantage of knowing his true feelings so why do his words upset you so?]

It’s complicated, little one. You felt like an old lady speaking with a hypercurious toddler. And while I was offended by his remarks, I am not upset.

[How fortunate, because here he comes now.]

Mark approached your desk. “Hi.” His voice was small.

You did not spare him a glance as you organized the contents of your bag. “Hello.”

“I want to talk with you.”

“Go ahead.”

“You’re not going to look at me?”

“I can listen and pack up my things.”

“Right… Look, I’m sorry about what I said, I didn’t mean it.”

“You chose very specific points about me to attack.”

“That wasn’t intentional.”

“So you came up with them on the spot? It’s that easy to find reasons to insult me?”

“No, you’re twisting my words.”

“No, I’m trying to understand them.” You zipped up your bag and finally faced Mark. You crossed your arms. “You called me a frigid loser. You said I was condescending.”

“I never said that you were condescending.”

“You implied it, rather firmly, might I add.”

“Okay, okay, but you need to understand, you were… I just…” He rolled his shoulders. “I didn’t like that you seemed to look down on my way of life.”

“I have never looked down on you or your choices. If meaningless sex means that much to you, then go to town, but my not wanting that for myself does not make me a frigid loser.” You were panting by the time you finished.

[Ding. Affection: 55%]

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.”

“Do you…wanna grab something to eat?”

You turned away from him, suddenly finding the burger charm on your bag very interesting. “I’m not in the mood for burgers, or coffee.”

He laughed. You didn’t.

“That’s fine, we can go to the canteen.”

You slung your bag over your back before he could reach for the straps. “We should leave before the next class arrives,” you murmured, moving ahead of him.

“Professor Harper sounded pretty impassioned about Thomas Aquinas,” he remarked, his long legs taking small, slow strides to match your unhurried pace.

You grunted.

“Did you write down everything? Including his spiel on the seven cardinal virtues?”

You hummed.

“...you think it’s going to rain today?”

You shrugged.

Mark didn’t bother to say anything else, which you appreciated. His usual entertaining and dare you say, even endearing attempts at eliciting a reaction from you have become an annoyance, the buzzing of a fly that cannot be smacked away.

Mark sulked next to you like a six-foot-tall shadow while you kept your chin up and focused on walking. This wasn’t ideal but you can deal, you would take awkward and tense silence over awkward and tense small talk any day.

Thankfully, the trip to the canteen was short.

Mark held the door open. “You go and find us seats while I order–unless you want to go and order.”

You put down your bag on a vacant table. “I’ll go.” You needed to be on your feet for a while longer, to shake off excess tension. “What do you want?”

“Well, it’s supposed to be sloppy joe day today but I think I want something with rice, the staff has been really branching out. I hear the chicken adobo[2] is good. Although the–”

Your increasing lack of patience must have been showing because he clasped his hands together and rapidly spurted, “I-I’ll just have the sloppy joe special.”

“Drink?”

“Bottled water.”

“Okay.”

“Wait, the money…and she’s gone.”

[He’s slumping over the table.]

I can imagine.

[Did you not forgive him already? Why are you being so short-fused with the target?]

It’s complicated.

You approached the counter and smiled politely at the woman behind the cashier. “Hello, one sloppy joe and one order of adobo rice. Can you give me extra rice with that? And some vinegar and two waters? Thank you.”

You paid her and stepped aside to wait for your order.

“It’s you.” A male student stood next to you. The voice was familiar, and so were his arms and chest.

[Ding. Host, this is one of the supporting characters of Invincible. He doesn’t hold as much importance as Amber or Eve, but this system might as well introduce him.]

He shot you a dimpled smile. “I’m–”

You snapped your fingers. “Brick!”

He blinked slowly before chuckling. “Actually, it’s Rick.”

[This character is named Rick Sheridan and he might be gay.]

Might be?

[In the TV show he is definitely gay, but who knows in this universe.]

And?

[And I finished talking.]

Of course.

Hiding your exasperation, you grinned at Rick. “My bad, but I do remember you. Sort of. You were at Amber’s party.”

“Yup. You got me worried there for a second, but at least you look good–fine, I mean.”

He was tall but wider than Mark. He had golden hair and baby blue eyes to complement that All American smile.

For an unimportant extra, he was cute, in that generic young Caucasian man way.

Rick shook your hand and you cringed at your own thoughts. “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for asking, by the way.”

“Anyone would’ve done the same.”

You rubbed your elbow. “Not anyone did, only you.”

The serving lady called and you went to retrieve your food tray.

“It was nice meeting you, Rick.”

“You too. You need help carrying that?”

“N–”

The food is lifted from your forearms. “No, we have it handled, thanks.”

You didn’t know when he closed the distance but now Mark possessively clasped onto the food tray.

“You were taking forever, princess, I’m starving.” He smiled at you but shot a nasty side eye glance at Rick, who glanced at you, then at Mark.

Then, he chuckled.

“Okay, I gotta go. See you around.”

You bowed your head lightly in agreement before turning to Mark, whose eyes have zeroed in on Rick’s departing form like an eagle to a mouse.

“Mark.”

He blinked and smiled at you. “Yeah, princess?”

“Who’s looking after our bags?”

“Don’t be silly, no one’s going to steal anything from us.”

“And this confidence is based on?”

“Come on, this is a university.”

“Right, because no university student has ever committed a crime.”

“Well–”

“Almost feels like judging a book by its cover, huh?”

“I–”

His smartwatch beeped.

He swore under his breath.

You grabbed the tray. “Go, I’ll be right at our table, watching over our things.”

“No.” He kept holding the tray. “I’m staying, I’ll eat with you.”

“Mark, we can eat later, your boss is looking for you. That is him, isn’t it?”

“At least let me carry the tray.”

You pulled. “Unnecessary.”

“Please let me do this one thing for you.” He pulled back.

The tray wouldn’t move no matter how hard you pulled.

“Would you let go–”

His watch blasted an even louder alarm, yelling like a siren.

An old man’s voice followed, “Mark, do you copy?”

“Shit–”

Mark reached for his watch and you fell backward with the tray, the food spilling on top of you.

Amazing.

For years, your teenaged self feared this exact situation, on your butt with lunch all over you and surrounded by people you barely knew. You didn’t expect you would go through something like this at your age.

Mark’s watch beeped and rang and flashed lights and he looked tempted to smash it into pieces.

He opened his mouth and stretched an arm towards you, but you refused to take his hand.

“Just go,” you breathed, wiping the sloppy joe and adobo cocktail off your sweater. “Don’t want to make your boss angry, do you?”

[Ding. Darkening: 24%.]

***

Mark shot through the fifty-foot reptilian monster, splitting its skull in half instantly.

As the giant fell to its knees, he flew towards the helicopter of Cecil Stedman, his gargantuan buttmunch of a boss. “You called me over for this?” Mark gestured towards his current mission partner, who hovered next to him. “Eve could’ve handled it!”

“You know she can’t.”

“Then send the damn team for all I care. I’m not your damn errand boy.”

“No, you’re supposed to be a superhero, and last time I checked, taking care of kaiju-level[3] threats comes with the job.”

“I have a life outside of this bullshit. I’ve missed over a dozen of my classes!”

Cecil sighed. “Maybe it’s time you make the choice then.”

Mark pushed his face closer to the man who unfortunately paid his bills. “Let’s not go there, Cecil, because you won’t be happy with the choice I make.”

He pulled away from the chopper. “Don’t call me unless it’s an actual emergency.”

He then flew higher into the sky.

Eve and Cecil shared a look.

“I’ll talk to him,” she muttered. Pink sparking between her fingers and under her feet as she thrust herself upward.

“Mark–Mark, slow down!” Eve yelled through the clouds.

There was no one on this planet who could keep up with Mark at his top speed.

He clicked his tongue but slowed enough for Eve to catch up.

“What is up with you lately? You’ve been moody as Hell the past few weeks.”

Mark smirked. He recalled your words last night; “What the Hell is that supposed to mean?”

You said “Hell.” Mark didn’t think you could even physically say “Hell,” but it was so hot when you did. He can still remember it, your voice, your tone, your indignant expression that bordered on disgust.

His cock stirred at the memory.

Shit.

He told himself to focus on Eve. His hormones calmed down in seconds.

“I’m not going to school because I need it. I like having stuff that doesn’t involve the life or death of civilians, but I’ve barely been in any of my classes because of this hero gig.”

“This is not a gig, this is our life.”

There it was again. Holy and perfect superhero Eve. “Spare me the whole ‘great power, great responsibility’ speech, will you?” Mark shivered at the flashbacks of his mother forcing him to recite the story of the Sword of Damocles[4] before he could eat breakfast. And lunch and dinner. And his snacks.

“I understand how you feel.”

“No, you don’t.” He hit the breaks and stilled in the air, catching Eve off guard.

He regarded her angrily. “You have parents who love and support you. You have a boyfriend, you have a future, and this life isn’t even yours. No one is going to look at you differently or judge you if you decide to hang up the hero cape. Me? This is all I get to have, so don’t you ever tell me you know how I feel.”

Eve’s face went from surprised to hurt to calm. Tranquil, like the surface of the ocean, hiding deep and inexplicable emotions. “My dad never wanted me to be a hero. He didn’t even like me getting a scholarship. It wasn’t because he was worried for his little girl, it was because he didn’t want anyone in his family outshining him, especially if it’s his daughter. When I’m home, all he does is talk down to me and mom usually lets him.”

Mark unclenched his fists.

“And,” Eve continued, “Rex cheated on me.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘Oh.’” Her hands flickered pink as she pivoted in the air. “But hey, they’re just tiny problems compared to yours, right?”

She flew away, leaving Mark alone.

“Two for two.” He groaned into his hands. “Nice going, Grayson.”

[1] This is a line from Blues In the Night. The version sung by the Queen of Mars is my personal favorite cover:

youtube

[2] Adobo: a Filipino dish with meat (typically pork or chicken) braised with soy sauce, vinegar, black pepper and bay leaves. They say that there is “no recipe” for adobo because of how much freedom you have in making it. Heck, I once had a tomato (yes, no meat) adobo LOL.

[3] Kaiju: Japanese for “strange beast/creature,” though it is a term commonly associated with Godzilla-sized monsters.

[4] Sword of Damocles: this Greek parable is evocative of the famous proverb “With great power comes great responsibility.” To give you a summary, a man named Damocles was given the chance to live like a king for a day, but the actual king ordered that there be a sword hung above the throne, suspended from the ceiling by a single horsehair. It’s not a perfect representation of the popular take on great power and responsibility, but I’m sure you guys understand why I referenced it.

taglist: @weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks @gluttonousriceflour @phisen @sleepyzzz3 @whaaaaaaaaat111 @ik33ponmakingc00ki3s @lonely-entity @noxus123

Disclaimer: The images used in this post do not belong to writerclaire. They were lifted from the following sources:

Invincible flying

Alternate Invincibles

CHAPTER 8: They Call Him– Series Masterlist

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ ,<)~✩‧₊

MAIN MASTERLIST

Any questions for the author? Ask here.

#invincible #reader #mark grayson #y/n #invincible x reader #mark grayson x reader #imagines #invincible x y/n #afab reader #invincible variants #mark grayson variants #angst #Youtube

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tritoch · 1 year ago

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I wish people were willing to have a slightly broader or more expansive understanding of FFXIV's women because I think there's so much there in terms of easily-unearthed subtext that no one really thinks about! And I don't mean this in a "people need to re-evaluate their response to the women of Stormblood" way (though I do think that's largely true), I mean I think fandom's understanding even of the women it mostly likes is pretty weak. And you can say that's because the women are underwritten, and I won't argue that they couldn't use more attention from the writing, but that doesn't prevent you from analyzing them the way you can any character in fiction.

Like everyone's always like, oh, Y'shtola and Krile are like your snarky wine aunts, haha. But...Sharlayan is a pretty ossified and patriarchal society from what we see of it in Endwalker and places like the AST quests. Can we open ourselves to the possibility that it means something that almost every young Sharlayan woman we meet, almost all young women in academia, tends to be a little sharp and quick on the retort? The arch and snarky ways in which those two carry themselves reflect in some sense the facts that Krile is almost literally a nepo baby woman in STEM who is barely older than her students, while Y'shtola learned her behaviors from her much older female mentor, a woman who hated Sharlayan academic culture so much she literally abandoned it to go live in a cave.

Or like, Alisaie! Fan jokes and meta frequently buy into her tendency to characterize the dynamic between her and Alphinaud as a jock/nerd, street savvy extrovert vs book smart introvert thing. Except, tragically, Alphinaud's highest stat is 100% Charisma and he absolutely pulled in his student days. All his greatest achievements are diplomatic, and he very easily develops strong friendships with people in every culture you learn about. Alisaie is the determined, sensitive genius who revolutionizes Eorzea by proving the tempered can be healed. She's just permanently carrying a chip on her shoulder that while she and her brother are remembered as the youngest students in Studium history, actually he got in six months before her, a fact pretty much no one else ever brings up once. She's constantly fuming over the fact that he was marginally better than her in certain specific ways in high school, and looking to differentiate them in ways that actually fail to credit her own obvious strengths and accomplishments. I think that's so fun! It's so juicy, and it's equally good for comedy or serious character studies.

Venat is a genuinely benevolent hero who has no compunction sacrificing lives for the greater good. Minfilia is kind and compassionate and clearly on some level actually buys into the narrative of her own unique moral authority. Ysayle is a revolutionary firebrand with almost no concern for the common man, whose death reflects her Javert-like inability to reconcile her own romantic belief in justice with the tragic ways her blinkered worldview (born largely of trauma) let her be easily co-opted by a violent system. But even people who like these characters rarely move past surface-level reads (people who think Venat is just an all-loving mommy figure make me want to fucking die). The fandom is allergic to drawing connections the game doesn't draw, and fails to recognize that FFXIV is a game where characters voice understandings of themselves and others that are wrong about as often as they're right.

You can already see the ways that women like Wuk Lamat and Cahciua and Sphene are getting flattened or losing their shading in fan reception and it's boring. Like I'm not even saying this because you should take female characters more seriously or something (though you should), I'm literally just bored to tears sometimes and if you guys turn Wuk Lamat into another Hot Dumb Jock Lady, I will combust.

#ffxiv #y'shtola rhul #alisaie leveilleur #krile baldesion #master matoya #endwalker spoilers #dawntrail spoilers #not really dawntrail spoilers but i try to over tag #shadowbringers spoilers #meta: durai report

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bambidoll96 · 26 days ago

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Lone doll still in its original box, long forgotten in the lower level of a mostly abandoned department store in an off highway Midwestern mall that refuses to die. It was built with a set of batteries installed and unbeknownst to anyone they began to corode and leak decades ago. Its hope frozen as its power terminals ceaced to carry electrons, pleasant stasis replaced by nothing. Unnoticed for years, occasionally shuffled around the department, still on the floor long after the trend had passed. By luck its box gets put near a vent and spores on the air carry a chemophagic fungus, a subtle mold. It feeds on the corrosion and can sustain its colony for decades on the decaying d-cells. The fungus spreads throught the doll, as it grows it generates enough bioelectricty to tickle the dolls inner chips. A break in the darkness, the mold exchanges information through the spores, billions of data points carried through the mall's air handler system. The doll finds its perception begin for the first time, the box seems to open before it as the mold brings the mall to the doll. An accurate realtime space of the mall running on the dolls internal processing system. For the first time the doll can feel what its like to walk about the place it has been for so long. In its fungal matrix the doll takes its first steps out of the department store and sees the fountains and finds the space populated by the essence of all things bound by the fungal network. Forgoten but found by eachother.

#dollposting #doll #1997 forever #mallcore #moldcore #fungus #empty spaces #emptycore #rot optimisim

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cowboybabeop · 1 year ago

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Vault-Tec Vaults; Game Origin & Location

Hi I'm going to back to my "Fallout Blog" roots. Here is a summary of all of the vaults and experiments (starting with a timeline) because I'm insane ^_^ I had to add a weird break bc I literally hit the tumblr character limit, but I used it to section off the major spoilers for the TV series :)

Timeline

The Great War: October 23rd, 2077

Fallout Bible: Compendium of added lore by the creators.

Fallout 76: 2102

Fallout 1: 2161

Fallout Tactics: 2197

Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel: 2208

Fallout 2: 2241

Fallout 3: 2277

Fallout: New Vegas: 2281

Fallout 4: 2287

Fallout TV Series: 2296

Corporate Vault - Fallout: Brotherhood of Steel - Texas

A control group vault meant for Vault-Tec employees to continue research, primarily on FEV (Forced Evolutionary Virus) during the war.

Vault 0 - Fallout Tactics - Colorado

A control group vault with geniuses kept in cryogenic stasis, with their minds interlinked into an entity called The Calculator.

Vault 3 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada

A control vault. Residents ended up opening the vault doors when the lower levels flooded. Eventually the vault was overrun by Fiends.

Vault 4 - Fallout TV series - California

A test vault that was filled with residents prior to the bombs dropping. Experimentation on human subjects led to most of the original residents being killed in a revolt. In 2296 the vault is still thriving, while kidnapping surface survivors and continuing to experiment on them. The vault offered refuge for many inhabitants of Shady Sands.

Vault 8 (Vault City) - Fallout 2 - Nevada

A control group vault that remained closed until 2241. Instead of receiving two G.E.C.K. (Garden of Eden Creation Kit) devices, Vault 8 received just one and a replacement water chip that was supposed to go to Vault 13.

Vault 11 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada

Every year the residents were told to sacrifice a fellow resident, with the threat of everyone's death if they did not. In reality, the system would praise them for NOT sacrificing an individual and the vault door would be unlocked. This message finally played after only five residents remained.

Vault 12 - Fallout 1 - California

A seemingly normal, safe vault with an ulterior motive to study the effects of radiation on the inhabitants. The door never fully sealed, and in 2083 the ghoul residents left to found Necropolis.

Vault 13 - Fallout 1 & Fallout 2- California

Your home vault as the Vault Dweller. A rather normal vault, however due to a shipping mishap Vault 13 received an additional G.E.C.K. device (that was supposed to go to Vault 8) instead of a replacement water chip. Thus, leaving the Vault Dweller to leave the vault in search for a replacement when their only water chip breaks.

Vault 15 - Fallout 1 & Fallout 2 - California

A vault that experimented with incredibly diverse ideologies and backgrounds. The vault became severely overpopulated in 2097 and the dwellers decided to open the door. Shady Sands was created using Vault 15's G.E.C.K. and the local raider gangs all have origins from this vault.

Vault 17 - Fallout: New Vegas - Mention Only

Inhabitants were kidnapped and transformed into Super Mutants. Lily originates from this vault.

Vault 19 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT

Paranoia was induced by noises, lights, and segregation. The vault was divided into two sections, Red and Blue, with a separate overseer for each sector.

Vault 21 - Fallout: New Vegas - Nevada

An almost normal vault, with the exception of a culture and society built around gambling. All major decisions were made through gambling, with the decision to open the doors and become part of New Vegas being "won" in a game of Blackjack.

Vault 22 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT

A vault dedicated to studying agriculture. A fungus designed to kill pests on plants became capable of infected human hosts. Vault 22 is curiously green on the outside by the time The Courier arrives at the location.

Vault 24 - Fallout: New Vegas - Mention Only

Remnants of a Vault 24 jumpsuit are found in the FNV game files.

Vault 27 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

A vault designed to be deliberately overcrowded with not enough means to sustain the inhabitants.

Vault 29 - Fallout 76 - Mention Only

Only children younger than 15 were allowed in this vault, with their parents being sent to other vaults. Harold is believed to originate from this vault.

//TV SHOW SPOILERS//

Vault 31 - Fallout TV Series - California

Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as cryogenic home for the managers and higher ups of Vault-Tec.

Vault 32 - Fallout TV Series - California

Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as a healthy breeding pool for Vault 31 and 33. Somewhere around 2294, Vault 32 failed and the residents resorted to murder, cannibalism, or suicide.

Vault 33 - Fallout TV Series - California

Lucy MacLean's home vault. Part of 3 interconnected vaults, serving as a healthy breeding pool for Vault 31 and 32.

//END OF TV SHOW SPOILERS//

Vault 36 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

The only food in this vault consisted of thin, watery gruel.

Vault 34 - Fallout: New Vegas - Somewhere in CA/NV/AZ/UT

The vault was purposefully overstocked with guns with the overseer being able to give/deny access to residents. This inevitably led to it's downfall, and those who revolted and raided the armory relocated above as The Boomers in 2231.

Vault 42 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

No lightbulbs over 40W were provided.

Vault 43 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

A vault containing 20 men, 10 women, and one panther.

Vault 51 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia

A vault with a supercomputer as the overseer. Interference from the computer led to most of the residents being murdered by other residents.

Vault 53 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

Most equipment was designed to break down every few months in order to stress out inhabitants.

Vault 55 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

No entertainment tapes were provided.

Vault 56 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

The only entertainment tapes provided were of one terrible comedian.

Vault 63 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia

The inside of the vault remains sealed, with the outside door being all that is accessible to the player character. Other parts of the vault are revealed through cut content.

Vault 65 - Fallout 76 - Mention Only

Remnants of the vault remain in Fallout 76 cut content.

Vault 68 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

The vault contained 999 men and 1 woman.

Vault 69 - Fallout Bible - Mention Only

The vault contained 999 women and 1 man.

Vault 75 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

A secret experimenting in refining human genetics through selective breeding, genetic modification, and hormonal treatments. The vault's concept was made by Stanislaus Braun.

Vault 76 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia

The home vault of the player character in 76. It was a control vault, set to open after 25 years. This is when the player character leaves the vault.

Vault 77 - Fallout 3 - Mention Only

Mentioned by slavers in Paradise Falls, this vault was rumored to only contain one man and a box of puppets.

Vault 79 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia

A vault dedicated to hoarding the country's gold reserves.

Vault 81 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

Designed to develop a cure for every possible sickness or ailment. Residents were unknowingly sprayed with diseases by nozzles hidden in their rooms. The first vault overseer had thought this to be cruel, cut off the scientists from the rest of the vault and cut the nozzles from spraying residents before the experiments could begin.

Vault 87 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD

The original vault experiment for 87 was scrapped, and it became a research center for FEV, leaving the vault wildly radioactive and inhabited only by super mutants by the time you access it as the Lone Wanderer.

Vault 88 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

An unfinished vault inhabited by ghouls.

Vault 92 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD

The best musicians were sent to this vault to "preserve musical talent", but truthfully residents were subjected to subliminal messages mixed into white noise. Eventually some of the musicians went into random, murderous, psychotic rages that led to the end of the experiment.

Vault 94 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia

A vault with non-violent faith-centric inhabitants. The vault opened one year later to search for survivors. The vault became overrun by wastelanders and raiders that destroyed their G.E.C.K. and their nuclear reactor. The vault was swarmed with radiation and is now overrun by mirelurks.

Vault 95 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

A vault designed to get people clean and sober. After a successful 5 years, a Vault-Tec agent brought out a hidden stash of drugs for other residents to find.

Vault 96 - Fallout 76 - West Virginia

A vault with a focus on agriculture, animals, genetics, and mutations. The original residents were killed in a failed escape attempt, and the vault was then used by West-Tek scientist Edgar Blackburn to continue research on FEV.

Vault 100 - Fallout 3 - Mention Only

Remnants of Vault 100 can be found in game files and cut content.

Vault 101 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD

The home vault for the Lone Wanderer. This vault was meant to never open and Vault 101 did not receive a G.E.C.K. However, the overseer of the vault pretty quickly broke this rule and occasional survey teams were sent to the surface. Several residents of Megaton are the result of these survey teams. Daddy James found the vault after the birth of the Lone Wanderer and negotiated his doctoral services in exchange for shelter.

Vault 106 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD

Psychoactive drugs slowly released into the air of Vault 106, causing the vault to be filled with psychotic survivors by the time the Lone Wanderer visits.

Vault 108 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD

A slew of experiments occurred in this vault. The elected overseer was dying of cancer, the primary power supply of the vault was scheduled to fail after 20 years, the backup power supply would not be enough to power ALL of the vault, the vault was given three times the normal amount of weapons, and the vault was not given entertainment. With a majority of scientists, one of the inner experiments involved repeatedly cloning the same man... Gary.

Vault 111 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

Your home vault as the Sole Survivor. All residents were meant to unknowingly stay in cryostasis, with scientists overlooking them. However, conflicts arose among those unfrozen, leading to the vault door eventually being opened.

Vault 112 - Fallout 3 - Somewhere in VA/PA/MD

Residents lived in a virtual reality simulation to create their "perfect life" with their overseer, Stanislaus Braun, a scientist who proceeded to use the residents as playthings. Braun continuously murdered residents, then wiped their memories and reset the simulation.

Vault 114 - Fallout 4 - Massachusetts

An unfinished vault meant for only the wealthy. Vault-Tec exaggerated the luxury of the vault, gave residents very small rooms, communal bathing and dining areas, and a homeless drug-addicted overseer named Soup Can Harry.

Vault 118 - Fallout 4 - Maine

An Unfinished Vault meant to house both a handful of ultra-rich and hundreds of working class individuals to observe how they would interact within the same space.

Vault 120 - Fallout 4 & Fallout 76 - Mention Only

The vault itself was meant to mimic the underwater atmosphere of Bioshock. The game was cut from Fallout 4, but remnants can be found in Fallout 76 game files.

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