#emcee x reader

Hey diva, guess who's writing now😝

Mother is sick of reading fanfics and this y/n bitch is a baby acting pick me. Like.. Bitch I would NOT say that and I do NOT act like that.

SO! IM TAKING IT INTO MY OWN MANICURED HANDS😍

𝓡𝓾𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓲𝓶𝓹𝓵𝓮.

Just send me a prompt or a request and.. i'll write it pretty much

Please do be specific though! The more specific the better. Do you want romantic..? Platonic? General headcanons? Ect! 💞

I do best with headcanons and writing specifics. Like.. Say.. Goth!reader, Gyaru/gyaruo!reader, Punk!reader.. You get the gist. My reader will NEVER be the basic pick me that y/n is, trust💞

I WILL WRITE:

Headcanons

Fluff

One shots

X Male!reader

X Fem! Reader

X G/N! Reader (unless its specified ina request, everything I write will be gender neutral unless a character is strictly lesbian or gay canonically)

YOUR OCS X CHARACTER!! Just send me a specific inbox message of how they specifically act and all that jazz

Character x character

Comfort fics

And the basics pretty much. I'll write for any race, any gender, any subculture.. ANYONE pretty much

Oh and a big one.. READER IS NEURODIVERGENT FRIENDLY!!! In fact in the way I write, it's more likely they're somewhere on the spectrum😭 I can't help it

Satire!

I WON'T WRITE:

Smut (sorry diva, i'll only joke about it.)

Little kids

Yanderes

NONCON (goes without saying)

Infantilized (sp?) Reader

Just the basic gross shit

REAL LIFE HUMAN PEOPLE WITH REAL LIFE HUMAN LIVES

Mafia (unless its satire)

Omegaverse (unless its satire)

I'll write for just about any fandom, but here's some I'm in! Not sure if anyone is still in some of these or writes, but i'll gladly do it!

Jeepers creepers (Specific characters like Darry, Trish)

HXH (The Phantom troupe, Leorio, Kurapika)

Dispatch (Any of them!)

Balders Gate 3 (Astarion, Karlach, Gale)

Cabaret (EMCEE)

Little shop of horror (Audry, Seymour)

Arcane (Any)

The Quarry (Any)

Legend of Zelda (Also any)

Persona series (Again, any!)

Scooby doo (Any)

Harry Potter (Any)

FINAL FANTASY!! (Reno, Tseng, Rufus, Rude, Cloud, Biggs, Ignis, Prompto, Gladio, Jessie, Reeves.. You know what.. ANYONE!!)

RWBY (Any)

Devil May Cry (Any)

Bayonetta (Any)

Ride the Cyclone (Any)

Resident evil (specify which era you'd like pls💞 Also Any, its all of your lucky days)

Metal Gear (Hal, Raiden)

Black Butler (any, but Grelle is my fav)

Uhmm more that I can't think of rn. When I say specified, it just means I write for these characters best. I can still write the others in said series I specified in.

I'm also really into 90's and 2000's movies, so GO FOR IT!!

DOESN'T MATTER THOUGH BC I'LL WRITE FOR JUST ABOUT ANYONE!! If I don't know the character i'll just study videos of them and do my best!

@cabaretbrainrot. This is my warm-up

Disclaimer: YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REPOST MY WRITING ANYWHERE ELSE WITHOUT MY CONSENT. YOU DO NOT HAVE PERMISSION TO REWRITE MY WORKS! REBLOGS ARE ENCOURAGED THOUGH. YOU MAY NOT FEED MY WORK TO ANY AI DATABASES OF ANY KIND OR TO USE MY WORKS TO TRAIN AI. FUCK AI.

WARNINGS: 1 (ONE) MENTION OF DIRTY TALK

Man's down bad the first time he sees you. He's never seen you before, and you look so sweet and out of place, sitting all pretty.

Flirt, the biggest flirt, so much flirting. Like you're gonna be red in the face with how much he flirts with you

Even if you're a massive flirt too, he's always gonna win

GERMAN PET NAMES

GERMAN SWEET TALK

GERMAN DIRTY TALK 😉

The last three points all increase by 1000% if you don't speak German. He loves seeing your little face get red and flustered

Touchy. He is so touchy. Must have one hand on you at all times

Kisses, so many kisses.

His cute little facial expressions make you happy

Prompt: reader has an unpleasant encounter with a stranger. Luckily Emcee is there to protect his precious regular

(If you are sensitive to sa topics i suggest you pass on this one⚠️)

Under the Spotlight

The Kit Kat Klub was always alive, alive in a way that was almost intoxicating. The flashing lights, the thumping music, the laughter that never seemed to end—it was a world all its own. For you, it was a place of refuge, a regular haunt where you could escape from the mundane. And, of course, there was Emcee. His performances were captivating, his presence magnetic, and every time his eyes swept over the crowd, it felt as if he was speaking directly to you.

But tonight was different.

You’d been here plenty of times, always enjoying the raucous atmosphere, but there was a sense of discomfort creeping into your bones tonight, though you couldn’t pinpoint why. You had settled into your usual seat near the stage, the familiar hum of conversation surrounding you, but as the night wore on, you began to feel... watched. Not just casually observed, but scrutinized, with intent.

It wasn’t long before you noticed him—the man sitting at the bar, eyes locked on you. His gaze was far too intense, far too focused for comfort, and every time your eyes met his, his smile grew wider, like a predator smelling prey. He didn’t bother hiding his interest, didn’t even try to be subtle. His eyes roamed over you as if you were an object to be claimed.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, but then the moment arrived—the one you had been dreading all night.

The man stood up, and without any shame, began making his way over to you. Your breath caught in your throat as he approached, the scent of liquor heavy on him. You tensed, hoping this would be one of those moments where he’d just pass by, but no. He stopped right in front of you, blocking your view of the stage.

"Well, well, well," he purred, his voice thick with a false charm. "What’s a beautiful thing like you doing in a place like this?"

You forced a smile, trying to ignore the way your stomach twisted in unease. "Just enjoying the show," you said, your voice shaking slightly.

The man grinned wider, leaning a little too close, the warmth of his breath making you recoil. "I think you should be enjoying it with me," he said, his fingers brushing against your shoulder. You pulled away instinctively, but the man wasn’t deterred. He stepped closer, his hand creeping down your arm, lingering much longer than it should have.

"Hey," you said, your voice shaky, trying to push back the knot of fear rising in your chest. "I—I'm not interested."

But he just laughed, leaning in even closer, until his hand was on your leg. You flinched, instinctively trying to move, but the crowd was too packed. You couldn’t escape. "Oh, come on," he cooed, his fingers grazing along your inner thigh. "Don’t be shy. We can have a good time together. You know you want to."

Your heart pounded in your chest, panic beginning to set in. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight. His hand was too high, too close, too much. "Please, stop," you whispered, voice barely above a tremor. "I don’t want this."

The man only chuckled, his fingers continuing their invasive journey, like he hadn’t heard a word you’d said. "You’ll come around," he muttered, as if he was entitled to your body, your space, your silence.

It was in that moment that you felt a hand on your shoulder—firm and reassuring.

“Is this how you treat everyone around here?” Emcee’s voice rang out across the noise of the Klub, sharp and commanding, but laced with that flirtatious confidence you knew so well.

The man looked up, startled, but didn’t let go. Emcee’s eyes locked onto his with a dark intensity that immediately shifted the power dynamic in the room.

“You know," Emcee continued, his voice smooth and taunting, "I think you’re making this very awkward, darling. The boy said no. Isn’t it funny how ‘no’ works as a complete sentence?"

The man’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, it seemed like he might challenge Emcee. But Emcee didn’t give him the chance. In one swift motion, he grabbed the man’s wrist and yanked it away from your leg, forcing him to take a step back. Emcee leaned in close, eyes glinting with both warning and something more predatory.

“Run along now, Liebe. And next time, when a man says ‘no,’ you listen.”

The man scowled, mouth opening in protest, but after a few tense moments, he backed off, muttering under his breath before disappearing into the crowd.

Emcee turned his attention back to you, his expression softening, though there was still that underlying mischief in his eyes. He sat beside you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his body, but not too close to be invasive.

"You okay, meine Schatz?" he asked, his voice low and comforting. His hand settled on your back, his fingers rubbing in soothing circles, like he was trying to pull the tension from your body.

You swallowed hard, fighting the burning feeling in your eyes. You didn’t want to cry, not here, not in front of him. But the weight of the moment—the fear, the helplessness, the anger—was too much to hold in.

Before you could stop it, the tears started to fall. Silent at first, then more freely, as the sobs you had been trying to suppress rose to the surface. You buried your face in your hands, mortified, wishing you could just disappear.

Emcee didn’t say anything for a moment. He just moved closer, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace, pulling you into his chest. His fingers stroked your hair gently, his voice a soft murmur above you.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, the teasing edge replaced with tenderness. “It’s okay, you’re safe now. You’re okay.”

He held you like that, close and unwavering, while you let the tears fall, the tightness in your chest loosening just enough to breathe again.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, meine Süße,” Emcee said quietly, his voice almost as soothing as his embrace. “Let it out. I’ve got you.”

You clung to him, your tears falling into the fabric of his jacket, as he held you tighter, murmuring comforting words, not letting go until you were ready. And in his arms, amidst the chaos of the Kit Kat Klub, you finally felt like you weren’t alone.

__

I did another one about 'Emcee', since the last one did quite good.

A/N: Mentions of drug use.

-(Male Reader)-

=========

The room was dim, a single flickering candle casting elongated shadows across the peeling wallpaper. 'The Emcee' lounged on a worn chaise, a cigarette holder balanced delicately between two gloved fingers. His makeup remained untouched from the evening’s show—stark eyeliner framing sharp, mischievous eyes, red lips curved in a permanent suggestion of a smile. He could have washed it away, let the mask dissolve beneath soap and water, but he wondered if he would even recognize himself without it. And anyway, not in this company. Not now.

Across from him, sprawled on the floor, the man—quiet, introspective—shook slightly as he prepared another line on the scratched glass coffee table.

The air between them was thick, not just with opium and tobacco but with something less tangible, something restless and unspoken. This was how it always was—drawn together by a shared darkness, their nights edged with vice and blurred by indulgence. Lovers? No. Friends? Certainly not. They occupied a space that defied definition, where desire and need bled into something sharp-edged and irresistible.

"Darling," 'The Emcee' purred, tilting his head, amusement curling in his voice. "You're shaking like a leaf. Nervous, hmm? Or excited?"

The man didn’t answer, only ran a hand over his face and laughed—softly, bitterly. 'The Emcee’s' painted smile widened. With feline ease, he leaned forward, plucking the razor blade from the man's trembling fingers.

"Allow me," he murmured, tracing the powder into a perfect line. His voice was velvet dipped in acid, each word a performance. "You’re hopeless without me, you know that?"

The man didn’t argue. Just nodded. Bent forward. Inhaled.

'The Emcee' watched him, the corners of his mouth twitching, his expression unreadable. When the man leaned back, eyes glassy, 'the Emcee' laughed—a bright, hollow sound that danced off the walls.

"Better, ja?" He slid from the chaise to the floor, their faces mere inches apart.

The man’s gaze met his, and for a moment, the air crackled with something unspoken. They didn’t kiss—they rarely did. That was too intimate, too dangerous. Instead, 'the Emcee' rested his head on the man’s shoulder, draping himself there like a cat settling into warmth.

"You’re such a mess," the man muttered, voice rough, but without malice.

"Of course," 'the Emcee' replied, featherlight, teasing. "And you adore me for it, don’t you?"

The man didn’t answer. But his hand found its way to 'the Emcee’s' side, fingers absently tracing the seam of his corset. It wasn’t affection—at least, not entirely. It was something rawer, something they both recognized in each other.

The hours passed like that, the drugs dulling their sharper edges. They spoke in riddles, made jokes that meant nothing, let their hands wander when the silence grew too heavy. Sometimes they laughed. Sometimes they didn’t.

When dawn began to creep through the window, 'the Emcee' rose, adjusting his suspenders, smoothing his hair. The man had moved to the chaise, half-asleep, but still watching him, eyes laced with something unreadable.

"Well, my darling, this has been… delightful," 'the Emcee' drawled, voice laced with mockery, or perhaps something softer.

"You’re leaving?"

"Always do, don’t I?"

'The Emcee' bent down, pressing his painted lips to the man’s forehead in a gesture that was strangely tender. "But don’t worry. I always come back, too."

The man nodded, eyes fluttering closed. He didn’t ask why, and 'the Emcee' didn’t offer an explanation. They didn’t need to.

Whatever this was—whatever they were—existed only in the in-between, in that strange, liminal space where they could indulge in each other’s chaos without ever fully belonging to it.

He always left, and he always returned. It was the only promise he ever kept.

=========

Not sure how I feel about this one but I was half asleep when I wrote it so I'm sure we can forgive it being kind of eh 💀 And I'm running out of ideas tbh.

Using this post as my intro/connection attempt to connect with the Cabaret fandom! My name is Parker, he/they, and I wrote a Cabaret fic titled “The thought of you makes me stop before I begin”.

After receiving a huge amount of positive feedback I’ve decided to continue writing, but I’d love to talk directly with those who were interested in my pervious work!

If you’ve read my fic (or simply love Cabaret and want to talk writing!!) feel free to comment, direct chat, or send an ask!

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Cabaret - Kander/Ebb Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: The Emcee/Reader Characters: The Emcee, Reader, Texas (mentioned) Additional Tags: Oral Sex, Spanking, Light Dom/sub, Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange Summary:

Was unsure whether to post this or not due to the meaning of the musical but I'll leave it here for now.

A/N: Implications/Brief mentions of Nazi's.

-(Male Reader)-

========

The room was a haze of smoke, curling tendrils of opium and cigarette ash wrapping themselves lazily around the dim light of a single flickering bulb. A gramophone wheezed out a scratchy melody, something mournful and defiant, the kind of music that could only exist in Berlin—a city teetering between brilliance and destruction. On a stained mattress in the corner of the room, 'The Emcee' reclined, his makeup smeared, his shirt half-open, revealing a gaunt frame that seemed almost unreal in its sharpness.

Unhealthy—if nothing more.

He was laughing softly, his voice a raspy echo of the performer who owned the stage at the Kit Kat Klub. But the laughter wasn’t entirely joyful; it had a sharpness to it, a kind of edge that dared the world to cut him deeper, dared it to tip him off the teeter.

Beside him, a man—a figure whose silhouette shifted like a shadow under candlelight—lit another cigarette, his hands steady despite the quiet tremor of their shared indulgence a mere few hours prior.

“You’re beautiful when you’re broken,” the man said, his tone flat but not unkind. It wasn’t a compliment, not really but it was neither an insult.

'The Emcee' tilted his head, the corners of his mouth curling into a sly smile. “Darling, I am always broken. That’s the trick, you see.” He plucked the cigarette from the man’s lips without asking, inhaling deeply before letting the smoke billow out in a long, theatrical sigh.

“Tell me, do you think they’ll come for us? The little men in their stuffy, brown uniforms?”

The man didn’t answer immediately. He laid back, staring at the cracked ceiling as though it held the secrets of the universe, or he was merely buying time or ignoring, a usual response for him. He wasn’t the type to offer comfort, and Emcee wasn’t the type to expect it.

They had an unspoken agreement: no lies, no pretense, no promises. They weren’t lovers, not in the way poets wrote about, but they weren’t strangers, either.

They had slipped into a strange rhythm, an intimacy born not of love but of survival, of shared moments stolen from a world that wanted to erase them both.

“Does it matter?” He finally replied.

“They’ll come for everyone eventually.”

'The Emcee' laughed again, this time louder, the sound bouncing off the walls like a broken melody.

“Oh, darling, you have such a gift for the macabre! You could take my job if you ever decided to trade in your... stoicism for a little flair.” He stretched out his legs, his stockinged feet brushing against the man’s.

“But no, you’re right. It doesn’t matter. The show must go on, ja?”

The man glanced at him then, his eyes unreadable. “Doesn’t scare you?”

“Everything scares me,” 'The Emcee' said softly, almost to himself. His voice dropped its performative edge, becoming something raw and vulnerable.

“The Jews, the queers, the misfits—we’re all standing on the same gallows, waiting for the rope to tighten. But you don’t survive by crying, meine Süße. You survive by laughing, by dancing, by drinking and... this.” He gestured vaguely to the crumpled sheets, the empty bottles, the scattered remnants of their last high across the room.

“You survive by pretending none of it matters until it doesn’t anymore.”

The man reached out, his hand brushing against 'The Emcee’s'. God, they didn’t even know each other's actual names, The man was given nothing but 'Emcee' to go off of, 'Master Of Ceremonies', fitting he must admit. While 'Emcee' never bothered inquiring about the man's name, sticking to loose, meaningless endearments, both in English and German.

It worked for the two, kept a nice distance between them and this arrangement of their's.

For a moment, they didn’t speak. There was no need to. Their silences were as eloquent as their conversations, filled with everything they couldn’t—or wouldn’t—say.

They didn’t talk about the future. 'The Emcee' wouldn’t let them. He lived in the moment, in the chaos, in the strange, fleeting comfort they found in each other’s arms. He didn’t ask where the man went when he left, and the man didn’t question why 'The Emcee’s' laughter sometimes turned into quiet sobs in the middle of the night.

“I should go,” the man murmured after what felt like hours.

“Yes, you should,” The Emcee replied, his voice light and teasing. But his fingers lingered on the man’s wrist, holding him in place for just a second longer. “Stay.”

It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t quite a command, either. The man hesitated, then lay back down. 'The Emcee' smiled, triumphant but not smug, not yet anyway.

“Good boy.”

In the quiet that inevitably followed, the gramophone clicked off, leaving only the sound of their breathing and the faint hum of the city outside. Berlin was restless, caught between its hedonistic past and its ominous future. But in this small, smoke-filled room, the world could wait.

For now, they had each other. They would focus only on each other, when within these four decaying, yellowed walls. Not as lovers, not as friends, but as something fragile and fleeting, like the last note of a cabaret song lingering in the air before the curtain falls.

And for now, that was enough.

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Just something I threw together tonight because I've been obsessed with the 1993 version of Cabaret lately.

Also the tiny bit of German is from Google translate, so god knows what it says vs what I meant 💀