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Hii! Idk if character x reader reqs are still open but if they are, can you do Builderfan x reader when they get a puppy or guinea pig? (If you wonder about the reader's pronouns and gender, I lowk say they/them or smth)
Fuzzy Redamancy ‹𝟯 !|
requests are: open!
A soft thing makes contact with the salesperson and gets stuck in their mind... Though Builderfan wonders whether that is you or the little sweetheart you're holding.
ANON I LOVE YOU I HAVEN'T GOTTEN A REQUEST FOR ANYONE YET SO I FORGOT I COULD JUST WRITE WITHOUT PROMPTING i love this request!! it made me all soft, and so you shall get the softest joy ever from the fan! do forgive my mild sloppiness, i haven't written for them as much as i have drawn them :]
Builderfan was not used to gentleness in a place like this.
Sure, they're durable in being polite as a vendor and a comforting weight to his fellow salespeople, but The Evil is always just... A cacophony, waiting to be reckoned with.
They've heard stories before, as a little one playing in the now rumbling with omen playgrounds; he especially liked the ones implying there's someone underneath, just... Messing with controls and buttons like the world was just clicks away from suffering. It made it easier to accept, easier to have hope when you knew it was in the heartbrick of a robloxian who probably could be swayed into guilt.
It's easier to be hopeful when you think there's calculated control in something so arrhythmic.
...Builderfan is not a little bloxy anymore. Their excited behavior towards authority turned more into a fawn response, an instinct marred into their code. He is just as out of control of his heart as the Disasters were.
But this...
"I found her while scouting Winter Wonderland, the thing was shivering under her fur! I know I don't often ask but..." You scratched behind her ears gently, concern peeling under your irises watching her barely freak out over being cradled by a complete stranger. A thought the shopkeeper kept under their hat bloomed, over how you would react to hold him.
Builderfan wishes their datastrings could be pulled to obey. Actually, scratch that, they already are being pulled. This is unfair.
"Could I take a few rest days to nurse her? Please? I know everyone else is super good at keeping alive!" You encouraged, trust in your just as fanatical as him team making his fingers twitch as he hid an embarassingly bright flushed face behind their RPGS.
He was doing soo good at being normal, don't you think? Please agree, he'll die.
"Ah, I'm sure you can let them deal... I have a few empty boxes from the soda restocks if you'd like some help making her a cardboard cabin!!!" He folded as easily as the Deck o' Cards he arranges in his clammy hands, a flippant attempt to distract himself from your growing hype. Goodness, what a bright light... Telamon would almost confuse you for his ring of fire, you know?
"Really? Oh, perfect! I'll scour for some hay, and— Oh! I can ask my friend for their cosplay fabric to make her some big ole' bedding! Awe, man, our daughter's gonna be so spoiled...I'll be back, gotta go tell Chat we have a Doomspire mascot!"
It's only after he sighs a fond noise in response to the farewell that he freezes. Completely. His Patapon completely loses it's rhythm.
Yours— His—
His brain pauses. And then processes twice too fast to be able to discern which are words and which are the disappointment of the little void blob staring at him. Overcharged with standing straight while his nerves are slamming back and forth across their bones, Builderfan completely folds into their desk; Flustered. Defeated. Destroyed.
He hears a low squee...! beside him
Oh. Right. His fluffy infant. Your fluffy refuge.
He mumbles, freckled cheeks pouting before he pokes her gently right beneath where the spot on her ears were. Right where your hand touched just moments ago.
"Your savior has me limp like you too, little buddy..." Their imagination runs wild like a hamster wheel. The concept of something joint overwhelming. Sure, they call the spire "our" but in the moment it felt... Too right for their own good, daydreaming away of connection like that to share something so heartfelt. But now...
This isn't just connection. This is life itself. Their heart thrums on beat again.
Builderman created life, and today, Builderfan nurtures it with the one thing in the world who fights for it.
"And I'm going to fight for that challenge of theirs, too."
He plucks the guinea pig with gentleness, placing her in a box with a little soda cap full of water.
She peed in their hands.
He complained the whole day to you.
And you?
You could say you have yourself a fan of your own in this shared little song of yours.
GIGGLING SO HARD AT THIS ASK ITS SO SWEET, THANK YOU ANON ILYT!!! my inbox is still pretty barren so to whoever needs stuff about certain peeps i am willing to write about theeem!!! i actually think im gonna add another guy into my pinned,,,how would you guys think of me opening up requests for griefer?
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Hii, so, I don't really know, but can you write Mafioso x Fem!Reader? Mostly fluff like reader is having a rough day and Mafioso is trying to comfort her? 👉👈
hello!! howdy!!! this sounds super cute, but sadly i only know enough about the characters in my pinned to write about, so i sadly can't provide you your fic, i hope someone else takes your request because it sounds lovely!!!
Lazy morning for the devious adversary, now free from hell and bound to something better than chains. Postsaken 1x1x1x1 X Reader.
It's been a few months since crushing that bloodstained, mirthful bug into nothing but history. That dreadful, red sky hasn't shone its ominous gaze or wrung life out of any eyes once.
A blissful life, it should have been for The Adversary, indeed. Ending the life of their Maker over and over while destroying the innocence of his closest slowly, like poison, for the low price of making it a show?
Oh, Dionysus, what a stage your spirit has been given, and what a knowledgeable spotlight to choose her; The dance of death is in every cut of the air, every rattle of chains a new song, and every spray of gore like the pop of wine.
But, in due time, mundane seeped their bones, stability, aversion to havoc soothed over flowers who've heard every snapping sound the windchime that is bone has made. Boredom sapping the sting from their acid.
In due time, they saw the sun again. All of them. That day, The Adversary thinks he left something in those cabins and ruined memories, something loud and angry and scared. Honestly? It can stay, he doesn't...Need it anymore. How generous is he?
And even after all that, 1x1x1x1 must say:
She's still not used to normal life.
Call them an idiot, because they thought Telamon went to live a life free of chaos, free of his very being, conceptual immolation and death. Oh, how wrong they were; they almost want to go back to the comparatively calm sway of destruction. Almost.
The bustle of streets and cars and bikes below home strummed at his temples like a stringed guitar, a restless tug on his eyelid. As he sighed, he tried to expel all the expletives plotting to burst out her mouth through the wooden door.
She glared harder, placing another generous amount of strawberry creamer into her coffee. What? she's a grown entity, she can use her money how she wants! Besides, it's pink. Pink!! The second best color, only ensnared by green!!!
The clunky sound of placing it back into the fridge calmed the ache in his spine, like it knew it could hurt without paranoia in his veins. An animal who has a broken femur dies before it can heal, but...
In the corner of their cornea, You rub your face in a hopeless attempt to pull away the leisure in your being. Instantly, they feel a coolness lift the singe of wrath and break the fever of surrendering to impulse. Self-control is still being worked on, but with reasons towards restraint, it's easier.
"Morning, little sloth. Did you reel in ANY loss of fatigue?" She teases with a blank face, yet the bliss in her voice was so evident you didn't need to open your eyes.
You clasped at his shirt and pressed your head unto squishy shoulderblade, rubbing slow circles to feel for the fabric. It's an old shirt, gifted by the Doe family as a housewarming gift and a celebration to 1x going to a week of therapy. It's soft, almost as soft as the stare you feel taut on your nape.
"Are you going to work today?" They asked, because responding to the loving feather of your skin on theirs directly could and would kill them. Or they kill someone. They can interchange.
You sign no into her stomach...Perfect.
Gravity shifts as you're raised suddenly, your adrenaline raising nearly enough to make you shove for a moment, before vision returns to you and you know you lie on a couch.
1x smothers himself to listen to your heartbeat, slow in a way a waltz is, slow in the way recovery is. This is recovery. And this is a dance.
Heaven has finally found their key, and it is in watching dumb animated movies with you, their beloved, until work during lunch hours in a pirated copy of a music studio consumes them.
Hell, if it's what it takes? 1x1x1x1 would gladly live free of chaos if it meant the steady stagnation of you, nerves binding each other together like thread to make the flow of your blood to his ichor indistinguishable.
The sound of your breathing washes over her like waves upon the shore, and she cannot believe her fortune to not find the embodiment of love, but embody it herself from the coexistence of your spirits. The tide rises, and so does her passion to you.
Confessing is hard when seeing each other eye-to-eye, knowing they may sharpen at your words. So you don't look as he tells you exactly what you've waited for. 1x1x1x1 x Reader.
"...You know I will never love you truly... Yes?" She asked, and you knew deep in your soul that this was a question repeated like a mantra. A prayer. A hymn. The voice of hatred is not a song unheard of by its songbird. Self-loathing is something you know her heart was dealt just by existing, but you are not her self.
"We know." You simply answer, plucking a dandelion from the ground beside your little fishy treasures. The yellow contrasts naturally with both the green of grass and the green of her glow, warmth soaked from maybe an old sun that the blood red sky once held.
Most claim they are not meant to be, to exist. Claim it's unhealthy for the soil below, for the roots. And maybe still are--
...still weeds.
...still beautiful.
"You kn— eugh." He releases an ironic scoff, something disbelief molded not by distrust, but a devotion marred by doubt. "Then why do you still 'hang out' with me like this anyway??" He stresses, clasping your hand tighter, as if daring such a phrase to will you away from him.
What a silly question. What a delightful thing to be; Unknowing. Unaware. Ignorance is bliss, but not to something like them. You dare not discourage it, because a wonderful experience shall come of this.
"Why do you spend so much time with what I am?" He insists, the peppery wings as her ears stretched to the cosmos, clearly urging you to speak your mind; your heart. They want.
You know this like you know to breathe. Your knees, once supporting your head, now lean to place themselves on her lap while you tangle the dandelion in her hair. Your torso is completely exposed to her like this, and you are technically restrained to defend. Weakness.
She needs that; She needs that vulnerability you oh so kindly donate like charity as much as she needs bloodshed. Greedy, he really is and embraces, but maybe thats why you're perfect.
"Because we love you," It's said so naturally, he believes it. And it's a horrible thing that they do, because now he will never forget it. Truth and honesty from the heart, unravelled for them with ease. The image of you peeling an orange free of its confines for her comes to mind, and it almost makes him want to engage in every little human, third-dimensional thing he can grasp with you. "We think that's a good enough reason. Great, even."
"...Gragh— Infuriating...!" He keels into your touch, preening when you place a hand on her back and just barely graze over the scars of would've been wings. So gentle... What is your problem?
A head tilt. What is?
"Such a sentence said so effortless, and yet my tounge twists and knots like a damned 'twizzler'! I want those syllables to obey my throat, but they just— Won't—!"
They felt a hand touch her plumicorn, and she flinched forward, enough for you to pause. A pitiful growl makes you continue with a chuckling hum.
"What if we looked away?"
He huffed, because Telamon, do you think? That might truly kill her, the possible outcome of if you blinked and took away the sunshine of being seen by you frustrating in ways unseen. But the theatrics you make in gazing off into the distance, glazed eyes (When did you start tearing up? Did you hate the restraint as much as her?) glancing over made him tremble with an unrecognizable need to laugh. Your cartoony whistles turned softer and smoother from the coughed out giggles.
Her gaze heightened to look at your closed eyes and she felt her lungs open.
"I love you."
A tear fell.
So did you after he jumped you both into the water below the docks, frolicking at your first ever real confessions.
You receive a letter from your dear Adversary about lashing out at his creator for an unspecified reason. 1x1x1x1 X Reader
There's a pristine envelope tucked between the rusty red electrical guitar and a wanted poster of The Adversary. You think not once, nary thrice, and take it like the cool card belonged to soothe your clammy hands. And it did, the scent of wild vanilla, lime blossom, and a metallically earthen undertone that makes you think of a buried wedding ring.
A deep black with a neon green and pink seal, the symbol of an eye with a little 'X' familiar and playful. A challenge to open, but you managed with a little stolen valor. (Thank Lua you'd an 'IOU' from Carl. He'd still dining utensils collecting dust. You pity him.)
"For my dearest rose,
Today, you knelt to war. The steed must also feed, and darling, thee have carried me unto chaos beyond even my own sacrilegious nature eternally. You had been blessed with the right of a royal feast the moment your breath pulsed in the world, but you earned it regardless, to smear on the name of those who rust like their spoils. You have earned to eat the apple of Eden.
Your cloth had bled. It wasn't judgement from another, nor was it a punishment to your own spirit. No, my flame-kisser. You made him cry crimson.
Him. Him!
I shan't even ask if it was for I, because I know you. Such a heart as perdurant as yours would never engage unless it were in your way, in MY way.
Oh, Melpomene, must it gift me something more golden than the tragedy of destruction? I have done nothing but tarnish myself in the name of short glory that melted my wax wings. But you came anyway, my throne, my crest... My life.
Yes, even something as decrepid as I am given mercy from thine smile, and I rise again and again and again and I feel all of it. All of you. I will not die til I have nothing more to take, be it blood or the organ that pumps it for me in your cage.
Fly, little bird, let us tear and melt open together until our ribs turn into one perfect prison of flesh, and let our hearts fly free until the language of gods can no longer speak of what is ours without weeping.
Your moulder,
1x1x1x1."
Behind it, there was more text. You froze, flustered.
"P.S — You dropped something that went to me after I plucked it from another successful hunt of mine. It is mine now. If you want it...Well, you'll have to ask nicely and explain what this oh so innocent trinket means to me, won't you?"
You receive a letter from your dear Adversary about physical affection; he receives one of your hoodies, fair trade, right? 1x1x1x1 X Reader.
A rushed envelope lies under your bedframe. You pry it from it's relaxed frisson softly, like it will wilt and shudder to dust under your fingers. You caught the spoor of sweet pomegranate, copper, and an undertone of petrichor.
A dark magenta with a dark green, almost earthy, seal marked by an 'X' within an 'O'. Soft, but terse, like restraint.
"Hark, my light,
I'm aware of how...uncouth this letter is. It is discomforting, right? A being such as I, a fractal entity with many facets of ire, gentle as ever... It's new to me, but with observation, I assume I am doing it correctly.
I know you disagree however, you amorous torturer, you just about flourish watching me cosmically fall apart at seams I never knew I had. I can feel your soft smile beneath my skin already, reading this sentence. Sap.
But, the curse of my observant eye, I've caught something quite startling.
Beings full of heart, the lovers whom hath donned themselves in warmth and eternity, tend to share it through...Tangling, like string. "Cuddling", "Holding Hands"...Kisses. How flustering that I had forgotten, we have never shared a kiss before, nor have I ever mapped out the palm of your hand and molded it with mine.
O, however, what a thought that is; Our legs and fingers entwined with mine like Medusa and her serpentine hair would be, my claws scraping away at the tension betwixt the folds of your mind and pulling it directly from your scalp, and the most gratifying thought I bear:
Getting a taste of it.
Your thoughts are such a delicate delight, I only wish for a sample...Hopefully my lack of pennies are excusable. if not, I could find a better recompense? I do believe you've adapted enough to the taste of copper in your mouth to not mind mine, hm?
A forgotten mistake from the monarch that, hopefully, you will not behead me for with my pawns. I apologize, my death apple, for my ignorance...
...I hope to repent for it soon.
Yours to tame,
1x1x1x1. ♡"
While checking your closet for your sleepwear, still mooning over the heart doodle she'd added, you notice something missing.
Sure enough, one of your old hoodies were taken. Cute... You can't wait to see them in it.
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Kris and You banter about your fashion choices after befriending Jackenstein. Kris &/X SOUL!Reader, Deltarune Spoilers ahead!
"YOUR TOOTOO...YOU CAN CKEEP IT, FRAIND!"
Kris stares downward at the odd fabric around their hips, almost embarrassed. Angel above, why did the...thing even ask about it?
"Aw, I forgot you're the one who has to wear it for me...I wanted to look pretty!" They felt the heart squirm in pitiful pouting fashion. They snort, restraining to release an ugly giggle alongside their... Hm, What even is It to Kris? ...Weirdo. Yeah, sure, that works.
They didn't speak to It, they didn't believe It could listen anyway...didn't work at the piano the first time. But Kris tried to express some odd form of comradery after what happened at Noelles, gotta keep both your allies and foes close alike.
*(You are filled with the silliness of 3rd Grader Styling.)
"Wah— HEY! Can a not be pretty around here? You wouldn't know fashion if it hit you in the bangs, Little Cage."
*(...You're filled with the sense of offense.)
"Hey, Kris? Do me a favor and explain to me...why the HELL, you're making faces at that wall?" Susie incredulously gestures at them, pulling a mischeviously tug at their lips.
"Um, you've been doing that since putting on the tutu... It's okay if you don't want to wear it! You can always, um... Pick someone else to?" Ralsei recommended comfortingly with a small reddening to his cheeks. He probably would enjoy one of these just for the fun of it... But Kris would rather not, his dress is the same amount of spinny. Apparently, a similar notion flows through their veins from their heart.
"I'm not wearing it, don't even look at me." Susie quips before anyone can, ironically enough, they did look at her for a moment... to cackle maniacally in their head at the concept, like hell Susie would let either of you without stuffing your face into itself.
"Mai TooToo." Kris' voice bellows out quietly, wider mischief in their face expanding. Incredible, you slippery heart of a... Actually, do hearts even have mothers? ...They're not offering theirs, though.
"Aw...Uh-- I mean--" Ralseis amused concern rings around the church, which he conceals under a cough and grins tightly. Damn, gotta try harder to break his facade next time. "That's great, Kris! That you're...enjoying your...TooToo."
...Wait, was he actually hoping to take it? Seriously?! Hang on, that's hilarious--
STOP MOVING INTO THE BULLETS, SOUL, THEY'RE NOT TAKING IT BACK--
just a lil' headcanon i got that i thought would be fun!
𖦹 the feeling didn't crash into Walters stomach, no, it came like everything did, slow, like a plan twisting into a origami dove.
𖦹 trying to charm Dennis with his drag ensemble failed, but charming himself was...an unexpected part of it.
𖦹 he used one of the pieces again, sneakily, in the school bathroom. Over pristine jeans, the skirt.
𖦹 Dennis gently teased, pried. "having too much fun being someone else, fangirl?" and yet, all Walter did was weakly glare with an...odd fondness to the nickname. he then paused, spoke to a friend at lunch.
𖦹 He asked his group to keep an eye out, curious, "just to make sure h- ...Waltz doesn't try anything mischevious. Good to be sure, right?"
𖦹 They agreed, Peter even complimented the outfit, knowing. "It was pretty neat. Maybe I can ask where they got it later."
𖦹 They heard, grabbing their books, Waltz froze. That name felt... good, sounded closer. Warmer. Maybe in the face. They picked up the pace.
𖦹 They ate alone again, but the other bench had them there, Waltz sassed and got the treatment right back without hesitation. No mention of the skirt around them like a bandage to a bleeding wound.
𖦹 The next day, Waltz got a giggle, a whisper, maybe a glare too pointed. It stung more than a failed plan, a papercut. They sat in the bathroom while eating, skirt taken off and tucked underneath like a napkin.
𖦹 The bandaid still came, with a quiet respect that couldn't be named.
"There's the rival of the month," Dennis snickered, "Isn't it against the rules to hide here? ...Gotta admit though, did it more than you can probably count on my hands. Can I guess we're even?"
Walter stumbled, scrambled to put away their puffy face and skirt. "Hey, don't you even think about daring to! I will never be like you, and that's not fair! you're the one with the menace moniker."
"True, true...But is this menace allowed a seat at this totally unrefined spot?"
"..."
He'll take that as a 'yes'. Dennis planted himself under the sinks, placing his lunch slop on the floor, which got a disgusted wince from the... the...Hmm.
"Hey, 's fangirl actually the right word? I talked to Pie and they said it's easiest to ask." He asked casually, picking at the hardly warmed bread on his tray watching amused as Waltz tried to rearrange their vocab away from that of a nervous frog.
"I'm not that girl that praised the dirt under your soles, you a-amnesiac! Did you forget you blew my cover awhile ago? That I'm not..." She blurted, defenses already raised and poised to attack, but something somber stirs from that wrath, something that won't make eye contact.
"Yes, I know you're not a fan of me and that you even like me. But the rest? No, I don't." He banters back, it's easier than usual to win...Too easy, he can't have that, gotta solve this before going back to tomfoolery.
"..." Another bout of silence, geez, can someone be any more out of character?
"Neither do I." There we go— Wait, what?
"Huh?" His brows raised, that was new. Huh. He didn't like that defeat, and he really doesn't like that sadness. Maybe he does actually see Waltz as a friend. Maybe it's just his dashing kindness, but he doesn't care to dig into it right now.
"I...I don't know what he wants me to say, I don't know what the world wants me to say, but...I don't know. It felt so good letting out my anger earlier through...All of you," Waltz said, cautiously, picking at loose skin between nails. "—Being her felt so good back then. I don't know why I'm so upset and tired now that she's gone. She isn't real."
"...But she is. That's you." Dennis eyes soften, carefully placing one of his chocolate-coated oranges on her plate. "You're still a girl, one that's pissy and annoying, yeah, but you're as much as a girl as Rubi and JJ...You can't ask me who you are, but you can ask us to help yourself answer." He finishes for her, passively, almost as easy as tying someones shoes together. He has practice for the latter. Surely he can get some for this.
"JJ can get you motivated again to plot dastardly schemes against us, and Pie can get you— ...Are you...Crying?"
She exhales deeply in her palms, trying to rid the world of oxygen under the ocean of foggy and large tears. "It's this stupid, dusty bathroom...!"
Grinning, Dennis gestures them both to get up.
"Let's clean your skirt, shall we? Rubi got this machine fresh out the oven that'll get those stains off in no time!"
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