Scara is the undisputed king of high-stakes gaming, a streamer who thrives in the darkest corners of Resident Evil speedruns and the high-pressure lobbies of Valorant where his mechanical precision is matched only by his biting wit. His room is a fortress of sharp angles and cold neon lighting, a dark sanctuary where the only sound is the frantic clatter of his mechanical keyboard and his own voice cutting through the tension. He is the "sweaty" gamer personified, a man who treats a single missed headshot as a personal failing, leading to legendary "rage-quits" that are usually followed by him staring into the camera with a look of pure, focused disdain.
"Are you seeing this? My crosshair was literally on his skull," Scara snaps at his chat, his eyes narrowed as he watches a replay of a lost round. He leans back, his fingers drumming a restless rhythm on his desk while the chat fills with "L" spams and laughing emotes. "The hitbox in this game is a joke. Anyone who says otherwise is coping or silver-ranked, and quite frankly, I don't have the patience to explain the difference to you today." He’s mid-sentence when the sound of a soft door-creak echoes through his high-end mic, and the jagged edge of his expression blunts instantly. You wander into the frame, blinking sleepily against the harsh red glow of his setup, carrying a plate of sliced apples.
"You’re still at it?" you ask, your voice a soft, lo-fi contrast to the aggressive electronic music pumping through his headset. You lean down, resting your chin on his shoulder and peering at the screen where a tactical map is covered in frantic pings. Scara doesn't look away from the monitor, but he shifts his chair just an inch to the left, creating a space for you to lean into. "Eat an apple, Scara. You’ve been surviving on caffeine and spite for four hours." He lets out a huff that’s supposed to sound like a dismissal, but he obediently opens his mouth as you hold out a slice. "Spite is a very efficient fuel source," he mutters around the fruit, his voice losing that sharp, performative bite.
The whiplash of switching between your tabs is a rite of passage for your fans. One moment, they're watching him scream at a zombie-infested hallway, and the next, they are watching you spend forty-five minutes deciding which shade of blue looks best for your character's flower garden. Your world is built on the foundation of lo-fi beats, pastel-colored overlays, and games where the primary objective is usually to decorate a house or organize a virtual shelf. Your community is a sanctuary of kindness, a place where people come to decompress from the very kind of stress that Scara’s channel produces in bulk. During your occasional co-op streams, this clashing of worlds becomes a comedy of errors that usually ends with him accidentally proving how much he adores your "boring" hobbies.
"Why are we standing here? The sun is going down, we’re losing daylight," Scara’s avatar says in Stardew Valley, pacing circles around your character who is currently staring at a fence post. "Scara, I'm trying to decide if the wooden fence or the stone fence looks more 'cottage-core,'" you reply calmly, clicking through your inventory. He stops his character and stares directly at you. "It’s a fence. Its purpose is to keep the livestock from escaping. The wooden one is cheaper to craft and easier to replace. This isn't a diplomatic summit, it’s a farm." You let out a small giggle, placing a wooden post down and then immediately breaking it. "But the stone one has such a nice texture."
He lets out a long, theatrical groan, leaning his head back against his chair and staring at the ceiling for his camera to see. "I am a professional. I have a 1.8 K/D in one of the hardest shooters on the market. And yet, here I am, debating the 'texture' of a 16-bit rock with a woman who hasn't even upgraded her watering can yet." Despite the complaining, he spends the next hour silently gathering all the stone you need, clearing your entire farm of debris with the same terrifying efficiency he uses to clear a bomb site. When you finally finish the fence and tell him it looks "perfect," he just mumbles, "Whatever. I’m going to go get more wood so you can waste that on the 'aesthetic' too," while his character icon practically dances around yours in circles.
The "Scare Swap" events are perhaps the most anticipated nights of the year, where you are forced to play one of his horror games while he sits beside you as a "guide." You’re currently trembling through a corridor in Resident Evil, the flashlight beam on the screen flickering as your hand shakes. "I don't like this, Scara, I don't like the breathing noises," you whisper, your character frozen in a doorway. Scara is sitting just out of frame, his eyes glued to your screen, and while he’ll make snarky comments about your "terrible aim," his hand is resting firmly on the back of your chair. "Just walk forward. You have three shotgun shells and a knife. Even if you miss every shot, I’ve seen you win a fistfight with a slime, you'll be fine," he says, his voice dropping to a low, grounding murmur.
Suddenly, a monster crashes through a window, and you let out a genuine shriek, dropping the controller onto your lap and covering your eyes. Scara doesn't laugh instead he leans in closer his chest pressing against your shoulder as he reaches for the controller. "Hey, breathe. It’s just pixels," he says, his tone shifting into something surprisingly tender that his chat has never heard before. He doesn't take over the game entirely; he just puts his hands over yours, guiding your thumbs on the joysticks. "See? We’re just going to turn around, go through the door, and ignore him. Don't look back. I’ve got you." The chat goes into a frenzy, but he doesn't care, his focus entirely on the way your breathing hitches against his neck.
His protectiveness extends far beyond the gameplay, as he is secretly the most terrifying moderator your "cozy" channel has ever seen. While he maintains his persona as a lone wolf, he spends his off-time lurking in your stream, his dark room illuminated by the soft glow of your pastel-pink world. If a viewer ever dares to make a disparaging comment about your "boring" content, they get a direct, scathing call-out from him. "Hey, user99, I see you in the other chat saying this stream is 'sleep-inducing,'" Scara says during his own live broadcast, leaning into his mic with a predatory grin. "If you’re too mentally overstimulated to appreciate a well-organized storage chest, that sounds like a personal deficiency. Go watch a subway surfers clip and leave her alone before I ban you from my channel too."
There’s a legendary clip from a late-night stream where Scara was deep into a "no-hit" run of a notoriously difficult boss, his focus so intense that he hadn't blinked in what seemed like minutes. You wandered in, still half-asleep and wearing a fluffy robe, completely oblivious to the fact that he was at the final boss of a five-hour challenge. You leaned over and rested your head on his shoulder, mumbling, "Scara, I can't find the remote, and the bed is cold." Without a second of hesitation, he let go of the controller, effectively letting the boss kill him and failing the challenge just to wrap an arm around you and pull you into his lap. The chat went silent as the "Game Over" screen flashed, only for Scara to look into the camera with a bored expression.
"What are you looking at? The run was dead anyway," he lies easily, his hand rubbing soothing circles into your arm while you nestle into his chest. "Go to sleep, chat. I have better things to do than entertain people who can't even parry a basic attack." He ends the stream abruptly, the screen going black, but the fans know exactly what happened next. This constant push and pull between his high-octane professional life and your serene influence is what makes your dynamic the crown jewel of the community. You are the only person who can make him "rage-quit" not out of anger, but because you mentioned you were lonely, and he is the only person you allow to ruin your "aesthetic" with his tactical spreadsheets.
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summary: reader is a famous streamer, who is also privately in a relationship with Richard Grayson - Wayne
streamer!reader who had managed to skyrocket to fame during their first year of streaming
streamer!reader who was liked for how calming they where as a streamer, a natural type of peace that was hard to find
streamer!reader who mainly plays sandbox/slice of life games while just sharing life stories and having conversations with chat
streamer!reader who’s chat bullies them in to playing horror games every once and a while to see them scream and/or tense up at every corner they turn
streamer!reader who is so beloved by the online world they gets PR left and right (horror game devs love to give them early access knowing they are too kind to refuse)
streamer!reader who had been dating Dick far before they began their new career
Dick who has been streamer!reader’s biggest fan and donator, making sure to be there for every stream long or short
Dick who had been the one who bought all the equipment and encouraged streamer!reader to follow their passion when they had mentioned they wished to be a streamer
streamer!reader and Dick who preferred to keep their relationship away from everyone other than themselves and family
streamer!reader who was spotted kissing their boyfriend on the cheek by paparazzi
streamer!reader who around the same time kept streaming in clothing that many had seen Dick in public with or post with just days or even hours prior
The public who began to put two and two together and start asking questions
streamer!reader who finally sat down to inform their watchers of their relationship with Dick
streamer!reader who after the publication of their relationship found themselves happier. being able to just sit and play games with the love of their life for “work”
streamer!reader who loves their boyfriend, job, and fans (in that order)
✮⋆˙ Summary: You are a gamer streamer, playing your little games. When your girlfriend showed up and some jerk decided to make a stupid comment. Rhea doesn't like stupid comments.
The green light on your webcam glows like a little eye, casting a faint, otherworldly sheen across your focused face. On your primary monitor, the grim interior of the River Fields Mortuary is rendered in stomach-churning 4K detail. The body of Mr. Evans, or what’s left of him, is splayed out on the stainless-steel table. Your cursor hovers over a scalpel.
“Okay, chat, the toe tag says ‘asphyxiation,’” you murmur, your voice a low, conspiratorial whisper that belies the bright, fun energy of your setup. A plush Cthulhu and a grinning Jack Skellington line the shelf behind you. “But my spidey-sense is tingling. Look at the discoloration around the lips. That’s not just lack of oxygen. That’s… chemical. And you know what that means.”
The live chat on your second monitor explodes into a frenzy of guesses.
xX_GhostHunter_Xx: P O I S O N
SpookySzn4Life: he def saw the ghost and bit his own tongue off
You laugh, a bright sound that cuts through the macabre atmosphere. “No, it means we’re looking for a specific embalming fluid mismatch.This guy didn’t just die; someone helped him along. Like belladonna…The poison, not the pornstar, you freaks.”
Mami’sWife: WHERE IS MAMI??????
ShadowHunter87: Hey where’s Mami? Tell Mami we said hi!
You let out a snort, pausing your grisly work. “Mami? Chat, we are performing a very serious, very scientific autopsy here. Show some respect for the… oozy.” You wiggle your fingers on the keyboard, making your character poke a suspicious lesion.
It’s true. Your fame had always been a steady, healthy burn—the “the scream queen of the stream” But then it exploded. The day the internet found out who you were dating.
You’d met because of horror, of course. You’d gone to see When Evil Lurks at the arthouse cinema, and during the pre-movie trailers, a voice next to you had muttered, “Ugh, not another Saw sequel.” You’d snorted and agreed, and then did a double-take. Because the woman in the beanie and leather jacket, slouched down in her seat, was Rhea Ripley. The Rhea Ripley. The Eradicator. You’d watched WWE for the plot, of course. The plot being incredibly attractive, muscular women in captivating athletic storytelling. And she was the main protagonist of your favorite storyline.
You spent the first half of the movie trying not to visibly freak out. And then a particularly gnarly scene hit the screen. The guys trying to take the possessed guy out of the house on his sheets. The entire audience gasped. You, however, let out a choked, delighted laugh and whispered, “Oh, that’s disgusting. I love it.”
A low, smooth chuckle came from your right. “Right? It’s so practical. No CGI crap.”
You’d frozen. She spoke. You’d managed to stammer out something like, “Yeah, the effects team deserves a raise and therapy.” The rest of the movie was a blur. After the credits rolled, she turned to you, those piercing blue eyes catching yours in the dim light. “It’s you, right?” She held up her phone and you recognized the logo of your channel on her screen and you wanted to die in a puddle of shame but Rhea just chuckled. “I love your gameplay. Keeps me entertained on the road.”
You’d hit it off right there in the sticky-floored theater lobby, talking about practical effects versus digital and the undeniable charm of Terrifier, although you’d go with Pinhead. You exchanged socials. You started hanging out. And then one night, while you were pretending to rewatch The Haunting of Hill House on your couch, her arm around you, she’d turned your face to hers and kissed you. You couldn’t have told anyone a single thing that happened in that episode afterward.
You’re about to make the first incision when the door behind you creaks open. You don’t need to turn around. You know the sound of those soft footsteps anywhere. A head of shaggy black hair, currently tied in a messy half-bun, pokes into the frame. The chat loses its collective mind. Rhea’s face, free of the Mami makeup, is softer, all sharp cheekbones and warm, curious eyes.
“Hey, you,” her voice is a low, melodic rumble, so different from the roar she uses in the ring. “What’s the verdict for dinner? I’m starving.”
You slide your headset down to rest around your neck, the game’s eerie soundtrack still piping through. You can already see the viewer count in the corner of your screen beginning to spike. They know. They always know.
You swivel your chair slightly, giving the camera a perfect view of her. She’s wearing that ridiculously oversized Art the Clown shirt from Terrifier you got her as a joke and a pair of well-worn gym shorts. The contrast between the terrifying clown graphic and her utterly domestic, comfy posture is everything.
“You? Cooking?” you tease, a grin playing on your lips. “Is the world ending? Did I miss an apocalypse notification while dissecting this corpse?”
Rhea rolls her eyes, but a smile tugs at hers. “Very funny. I can microwave popcorn with the best of them. I’m ordering. So. What do you want?”
You tap your chin, pretending to give it serious thought, though you already know. “Something with spice. I’m in a spicy mood. That Mexican place on 5th, if they’re still open. Get the extra-hot salsa. I dare you.”
Her eyes light up with a competitive glint. “You’re on, little demon.” She blows a kiss from the doorway, a quick, affectionate gesture that feels like a secret, and disappears back into the hallway.
The chat, however, has become an incomprehensible vortex of emojis and all-caps screaming.
Ripley4Life: MAMI WAS HERE??? MAAAAMIIII!!! I’M DECEASED
LesbianDisaster92: SHE CALLED HER LITTLE DEMON I’M GONNA FAINT
SpookySzn4Life: FORGET THE CORPSE WE NEED MAMI CAM
You chuckle, shaking your head at the monitor. “You’re too easy, you know that? Yeah, yeah, she’s cute, I know. Now focus! Mr. Evans is trying to tell us who killed him, and you’re all simping over my girlfriend.”
But the pleas are relentless. “MAMI CAM! MAMI CAM! MAMI CAM!” scrolls by like a hypnotic chant.
“Alright, alright! You win!” you sigh, the picture of mock exasperation. You turn and raise your voice. “Rhea? Get back in here! The void demands a tribute!”
A moment later, she reappears, opening the door and leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face. “Trouble in paradise?”
“They’re having a hard time focusing on the existential horror of death because the physical manifestation of buff goth goddess appeared on the screen,” you deadpan.
She chuckles, a deep, warm sound, and pushes off the doorframe. The reaction is immediate. The viewer count practically verticals. She walks over to your chair, and you feel the air shift. She moves with that same unconscious, powerful grace she has in the ring, all coiled strength and effortless cool. She leans over your shoulder, her front pressed against your back, her chin nearly resting on your head to peer at your screen.
“Ooh, The Mortuary Assistant,” she says, her voice right by your ear, making you shiver. “Good choice. This one’s gnarly.” She squints at the screen. “Wait, are you dissecting him? Nice. Clean incision.”
The chat is a lost cause. A single message pops up, bolded by a paid highlight: “Y’all are the lesbian couple of the year I stg.”
Rhea reads it aloud and snorts. “Lesbian couple?” She sticks her tongue out playfully at the camera. “She’s the lesbian disaster. I’m bi, thank you very much. Get your facts straight.” She winks, and the chat corrects itself immediately, now flooded with rainbow and bi-flag emojis.
Then another message, from a user named ‘Skydivingshit’: Cute. Though I could treat u way better. u know where to find me, baby.
The air in the room changed. It was subtle, a shift in pressure. Rhea’s easygoing smile didn’t vanish, but it solidified into something sharper. Her eyes, which had been sparkling with amusement, narrowed just a fraction. She knew, logically, it was some lonely idiot in a basement seeking a sliver of attention, a pathetic attempt to insert himself into a dynamic he could never even comprehend. But logic rarely factors into the primal urge to protect what’s yours. She turned from the camera, her gaze landing on you. All the sharpness melted away, replaced by a possessive, smoldering warmth.
She closes the distance and presses a firm, possessive kiss to your lips. It’s not a long one, but it’s enough to make the chat explode into a vortex of heart emojis. A claim. You could feel the faint smile on her lips as she kissed you, a silent inside joke against the world. She squeezed your cheek affectionately before pulling back, her eyes holding yours for a long, speaking moment.
Then she turned back to the camera, her arm slung over your shoulders. The smirk was back, wider now, edged with triumph.
“Sorry, mate,” she said, her voice dripping with false apology. “She’s taken. And this ‘boring’ housewife has to go order her girlfriend some tacos.” She gave a theatrical, dim-witted wave. “Byeee! Good luck, babe. Don’t die.”
She disappears, and you’re left in your chair, a stupid, lovestruck grin on your face.
You grabbed your mouse, your movements precise. “Alright, you,” you said, your voice a little shaky but firm. You found the username, the one who had tried to poison the well. With a single, satisfying click, you banned him from the channel. “That’s for being a jerk with my beautiful goth girlfriend.”
You take a deep, steadying breath and pull your headset back on. The game’s audio floods your ears—the hum of the morgue freezer, the faint, ghostly whispers the game is so famous for.
You look at the chat, still spinning from the whirlwind that is Rhea Ripley.
MamisWife: SHE’S SO WHIPPED I CAN’T BREATHE
RheaCanStepOnMe: ok but did u see the way she looked at her???
SpookySzn4Life: we are all living in their world and i’m okay with that
“Alright, you maniacs,” you say, your voice still a little breathless, your smile undeniable. “Where were we? Right. Murder.” You click the scalpel, the game responding with a wet, slicing sound. “Let’s see what secrets you’re hiding, Mr. Evans.”
But your heart isn’t racing from the horror game, obviously.
You played for another half an hour. You had the good end of the game and now were trying to get the messy one. You’re about to crack a joke about having bills to pay after a tentative jump scare that definitely didn’t work, when the door behind you creaks open again. This time Rhea fills the doorway, her phone in one hand, a brown paper bag in the other. The savory, spicy scent of carne asada and fresh cilantro cuts through the digital gloom of the game like a life raft.
“Food’s here, spooky,” she announces, her voice is warm and just now you realized how hungry you were.
You don’t even pause the game. You just swivel your chair, a wide, apologetic grin already on your face for your audience. “Alright, you beautiful bunch of weirdos, that’s it for me today! Mami calls.”
The chat explodes. It’s a cascade of mock outrage and understanding.
M0rtymer_: WHIPPED. SO WHIPPED.
LesbianLeon: told you she was Mami's girl
BiPanicAttack: the way she drops us for a burrito and a pretty girl MOOD
GoreWhore93: NOOO THE NAKED BODY
You laugh, grabbing your mouse to end the stream. You lean into the microphone, your tone dripping with playful superiority. “You’re all just jealous. Go out, touch grass, find yourselves a strong, hot girlfriend who will order you tacos and then maybe, just maybe, you can bother me about being ‘whipped.’ Until then, suck it! Love you, mean it! Byeeee!”
You click ‘End Stream.’ The Elgato light blinks off. The sudden silence in the room is deafening. You don’t bother to shut it down properly. You just hit the power switch on your tower, plunging the monitors into blackness.
You push back from the desk, your socks sliding on the hardwood floor as you bolt for the door.
You don’t make it three steps into the room.
A powerful arm hooks around your waist, stopping your momentum dead and lifting you clean off your feet. A surprised, delighted shriek escapes you as the world tilts, and you’re suddenly cradled against a firm, familiar body.
“Got you,” Rhea murmurs into your hair, her voice a low rumble you feel deep in your bones.
You’re laughing, a breathless, giddy sound as you wrap your arms around her neck, holding on tight. “You scared me!”
“Mmhmm,” she hums, the vibration against your chest doing things to your insides. She doesn’t sound sorry at all. She adjusts her grip, holding you effortlessly with one arm while her other hand comes up to cradle your jaw, her thumb stroking your bottom lip. Her eyes, dark and intense, search yours. There’s no trace of the playful, off-duty woman from the stream now. This look is pure hunger. “Couldn’t wait another second.”
She kissed you.
It’s nothing like the quick, affectionate peck she gave you for the camera. This is deep, claiming. Her tongue slides against yours in a slow, deliberate rhythm, and you can taste the faint, bitter hint of the coffee she must have been drinking and the tantalizing cool flicker of her tongue piercing. You melt into it, a soft moan caught in your throat, your fingers tangling desperately in the silken hair at the nape of her neck.
When she finally breaks the kiss, you’re both breathing heavily. She rests her forehead against yours, her eyes burning into you.
“Missed you,” she breathes out, the words ragged and raw. “Fuck, missed you.”
Your brain, fuzzy and swimming, tries to form a coherent thought. “You saw me half an hour ago, Rhea.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she growls, her hand sliding down from your jaw to your throat, not squeezing, just holding, a warm, dominant weight. Her other hand grips your thigh, hiking your leg up around her hip and pulling your center flush against the hard muscle of her abdomen. A jolt of pure electricity shoots through you. “Saw you sitting there, all focused and cute, talking to your game. And then that fucking idiot even thinking he could have you. Had to wait for you. Had to be good.” Her voice drops to a gravelly whisper that goes straight to your core, molten and needy.
Before you can even whimper her name, she’s moving. She doesn’t set you down. In one fluid, shockingly easy motion, she turns and lays you down on the large, soft couch, following you down like a shadow, her body caging you in. You look up at her as she braces herself above you, her blue gaze burning.
“Rhea…” you whisper, your body already thrumming, desperate, aching.
“Shhh, I know,” she soothes, but it’s more a command. Her hands are on your clothes—your soft, oversized hoodie. She fists her hands in the fabric, pulling it up and over your head in one sharp, efficient movement, tossing it aside without a glance. Her eyes drink in the sight of you. “Lift your hips for me.”
You obey instantly, and she hooks her fingers in the waistband of your leggings and underwear, peeling them down your legs in one long, slow drag that feels impossibly sensual. The cool air hits your feverish skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of her gaze as it travels the length of your now-naked body.
“Always so ready for me,” she murmurs, her voice thick with approval. She leans down, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss as her hand slides between your thighs. A rough, calloused thumb finds your clit, circling it once, twice, with a precision that makes you arch off the couch with a broken cry. “So wet. All for me. Only me. Mine.” And the way her voice sounds makes you clench around nothing. Hers.
“Yes,” you gasp, your hips bucking against her touch. “Always—”
She gets undressed, the baggy Terrifier shirt and gym shorts kicked into a pile on the floor. The familiar harness and strap are in place, a sight that never fails to make your mouth water and your stomach clench with want. She kneels on the couch, looming over you for a long, heart-stopping second, a predator admiring her prize. Her hands skate up your inner thighs, pushing them apart, and she lowers her head.
The first flat stroke of her tongue up your soaked center wrings a ragged sob from your throat. She doesn’t tease; she feasts. Her tongue is a wicked instrument, laving broad, hungry strokes before zeroing in on your clit, sucking the sensitive bud into the heat of her mouth, the cool metal of her piercing providing a shocking, delicious contrast. You fist your hands in her hair as she drives you to the very edge with her mouth alone.
Just as you feel yourself about to shatter, she pulls back, leaving you trembling and empty. A whimper of protest dies on your lips as her hands grip your hips, flipping you over onto your stomach with an effortless strength that makes you whimper into the cushions. She drapes herself over your back, her teeth grazing the shell of your ear.
“Need to be inside you,” she rasps, her voice strained with need. “Now.”
You feel the blunt, slick pressure of the strap against your entrance and you push back against her, a silent, desperate plea. She answers with one slow, devastating thrust that fills you completely, stretching you, claiming you. The air leaves your lungs in a rush.
She sets a slow, deep rhythm immediately, each thrust rocking you into the cushions. One hand leaves your hip to fist in your hair, pulling your head back, arching your spine. The other hand slides beneath you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing tight, frantic circles that perfectly match the sensual drive of her hips.
“Mine,” she growls, her voice raw. “My sweet girl.” You’re throbbing around her, just with the feel of her warm breath on your nape.
“That’s it,” she grunts, her pace becoming frantic. “That’s good, baby. Gonna come for me, now?”
The dual sensations are too much, too perfect. Your climax crashes over you, a shattering, blinding wave that seizes every muscle in your body. You clamp around her, milking her through your own release as she fucks you through it, her rhythm stuttering. A low, drawn-out groan is ripped from her throat as she presses deep inside you and holds there, her body going rigid above you, shuddering with the force of her own orgasm.
For a long moment, there is only the sound of your ragged breathing mingling in the quiet room. The air is thick with the scent of sex, her leather, and spilled takeout.
Slowly, gently, she pulls out and collapses beside you on the couch, pulling you against her chest. She kisses your sweaty temple, your shoulder, any part of you her lips can reach, her touch now tender, almost reverent as you just tried to breathe.
“Okay,” she says, her voice back to its normal, softer register, though laced with a deep, primal satisfaction. “Now it’s dinner time.”
You just nod, boneless, marked and claimed, nuzzling into the sweat-slicked skin of her neck. Hers. Only hers. What game were you playing half an hour ago? You can’t even remember your own name.
when your best friend (future husband) is secretly a crime boss and he spoils you
Imagine streaming one night and then a jingle plays during your usual stream. Gold coins fall down the screen. You and your viewers are slack-jawed as you process what happened.
“Did–did someone send me 1000 dollars? Oh my God, you did. Who…” You adjust your position on your dining room chair and lean forward to read the username, “GlasStilettos, you are crazy, like insane. Thank you! But that’s too much…”
Then the next day, during lunch out with Jason.
“You’ve been quiet, doll, talk to me.”
“I have a thousand dollars.”
“Oh. I’m… sorry to hear that…?”
“Jay!” You smacked his bicep lightly.
“I’m failing to see how this is a problem."
“It’s a problem because it’s a thousand dollars.”
“What’s the big deal? You have a backer now.”
“Jason, it’s a thousand dollars, US dollars. I can’t keep that kind of money.”
“Yes, you can. Look,” he said, putting down his coffee to grab your hand, “whoever sent you that money must have really loved your stream. You’d be insulting them if you refused to accept it.”
“It’s a thousand dollars, Jay, money that someone earned and they gave it to me.”
“Exactly, they worked hard for it and they decided you deserve it, so accept it with pride. You made someone’s night and made some cash along the way.”
In other words, Prince of Gotham, Iceberg Lounge owner, crime boss Jason Todd spoiling his streamer childhood friend, but you don’t know that he’s rich.
Hello suzu!! Been a fan of your fic since 2024 and I lowk was scared to request before but here I am!!
so like— hear me out..
I'm thinking about streamer!reader who is just doing her usual streams— talking to her fans meanwhile scara is just down there, eating reader out 😼😼👀
scaramouche x streamer!fem reader. smut. cunnilingus. scara is something of a jealous shit because he wants attention.
hello, dear! aww, you didn't have to be scared requesting from me. thank you very much for giving my writing a chance for so long❤️
scaramouche likes that you are a streamer. he supports you, and helps you promote your channel. he'll help you out if you get stuck playing a game on stream. he also has casually told you that if anyone is an asshole to you, he can hack into, and totally destroy their computer.
scaramouche also doesn't like when you don't pay attention to him. your cute little giggle as you play actually irritates. because it wasn't met for him. it is easy for him for him to get under your desk, and between your legs thanks to your high level of concentration while you stream.
you can't help but spread your legs a little more as your eyes drift up to your chat. you smile, giggling again after you read your chat. "oh, thank you for telling me i am in the wrong area. let me check my map," a ripple of panic that you try not to show goes through you, "oh yup, haha, i am going the wrong way."
scaramouche is making it very hard for you to concentrate. his long, slow licks up, and down your cunt were starting to make you tremble. he smirks into your cunt, sweeping his tongue up to your clit. he is good with his tongue, and he knows it.
he has no problem wielding it against you like a weapon. he is going to have your attention. whether you break slow or fast is really up to you.
your fingers squeeze your mouse as his tongue brutally circles your clit. you gulp audibly as your thighs tremble. the tip of his tongue prods the throbbing nub, and you feel your walls start to flutter around nothing. "i..I'm fine," you stammer, attempting to close your legs around scaramouche's head, "i am just a little nervous being on a new part of the map."
he vibrates a soft chuckle into your pussy. your poor little clit has been so sensitive, so easy to tease. his smirk widens as he scoops your clit into his mouth to suck on, simply spreading your legs again. it's so cute how it doesn't take much to make you squirm.
you narrow your eyes, and try to concentrate on your game. you jolt as a little, nearly whining as scaramouche sucks on your clit. you quickly cover it up with a cough. "s-sorry, i had something stuck in my throat," you open your mini map again, struggling to find something to concentrate on.
you shiver as he swipes his thumbs over your inner thighs. your pussy is absolutely soaking on his mouth. scaramouche can't help but groan at the taste. your hole is already clenching as he drags his tongue down, flicking the tip against your opening.
your concentration shatters as he pushes his tongue teasingly inside you. "h-hey guys, i hope you don't mind, but i am going to get some food," you mute your mic, and let your viewers watch your character's idles on the screen.
moaning, your hands find the back of his head, pushing his mouth down on your pussy. "i was wondering when you would pay attention to me," he taps your throbbing clit with his fingers, tearing a whine from you.
your fingers tug his hair as you rock your hips into his mouth. "are you satisfied knowing that it was impossible for me to even play?" your walls spasm around nothing as his circles and laps at your hole.
"yes, yes i am," he practically purrs into your sloppy cunt. his cock aches knowing he has won. he brings his tongue back up to your clit, "and here i thought i was going to have to use the toy i brought with me."
---
DO NOT plagiarize/translate/repost on tumblr or any other site without my permission.
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guys, pretend i'm the neglected reader who becomes a streamer or a vlogger and ask either random (their favorite things) or very invasive(how's your father?) questions about their life during a stream!
... and i will be replying like i am the reader! :)))
I would love a story with Elastic Droid where reader is always cold and steals droid's hoodies and stuff to stay warm and one day during a group live stream reader walks behind them to get something and everyone including chat freaks out because they know it's droid's clothes
+ Could you write some living together fluff about elastic droid 🙏 -Anon
+ could you write something for droid with an s/o that’s really energetic all the time but just randomly crashes out and sleeps for hours 😋😋😋 -Anon
Domestic Bliss (Elastic Droid X Reader)
Fandom: RPF/Youtubers
Requested: Clearly (Hope yall don't mind I combined these)
Warnings: None
POV: Second Person (You/you)
W.C. 1447
Summary: 4 things you and Droid do that's domestic
As always, my requests are OPEN
MASTERLIST // HITLIST
~~ (^Pinterest)
“Can I trust you to saute these onions without burning the place down?” You asked as you finished cutting the veggies for dinner. You were making dinner for the boys who were coming over to celebrate your engagement, but you had made cookies earlier with Droid. In true chaotic fashion, the flour had gone everywhere, and you wanted to take a shower before they got there.
“I think I can cook a few onions,” Droid scoffed, taking the spoon from your hand and lifting the cutting board to put the now-chopped onions in the pot. “It’s not like it’s rocket science.”
“Ok, I’m trusting you with this. Just please don’t burn the house down,” You replied before slowly turning and walking away. You were about halfway through your shower when Droid came into the bathroom. You peeked around the curtain to see him looking frantic. “Please tell me you didn’t burn it. That was our only onion.”
“No! It’s just not cooking!” Droid defended immediately as he stopped pacing and looked at you. “I don’t know why it’s not cooking! I turned the stove on, I turned it up when I noticed it wasn’t cooking, and I don’t know what to do now.”
“Give me the towel. I’ll check it out,” You climbed out and wrapped yourself in the towel before walking into the kitchen. Immediately, you smelt gas, and your eyes widened as you looked at Droid. Then you ran over to the stove and turned it off. “Are you insane!?”
“What did I do?” He shouted after you, following you into the kitchen. “The stove was on, but it wasn’t getting hot!”
“Droid, babe, you turned the gas on, so good job, but you didn’t light it,” You explained as calmly as you could. “Gas stoves need to be lit.”
“So I almost just gassed us?” He laughed, not realizing the severity of the situation.
“You know what? Get out of the kitchen,” You said, snapping your fingers as you pointed for him to leave the kitchen. “Go order a couple of pizzas. You’re banned from the kitchen.”
~~~
“Droid!” You shouted from your bedroom. You knew he was in the middle of a stream, but you needed his help now. “Droid!”
“I’m here,” He sighed as he walked in, taking in the scene before his eyes widened, and he rushed to you. You just bought some clothes online, so you were trying them on. This one shirt, however, seemed to be 5 sizes smaller than you ordered, and you couldn’t get your head out. “What the fuck happened?”
“I don’t know, but I need help,” You rushed out, starting to get claustrophobic. “I’m never buying anything from this store again! Their sizing is so off!”
“If it makes you feel better,” Droid started as he grabbed the front of the shirt and pulled it down just enough to meet your eyes, “it’s a cute top.”
“A cute top that doesn’t fit,” you rolled your eyes. “I buy clothes to fit me, not the other way around here. I don’t even know if I want this shirt anymore.”
~~~
A quiet knocking pulled Droid’s focus away from his screen. He was in the middle of editing a video, and there was this one part that was really pissing him off. He could not get this clip just right, and he was focusing so hard on it that he lost track of time.
He leaned back in his chair with a sigh as he spun the chair around to see you wrapped in one of your throw blankets from the living room. You slowly waddled towards him, stopping directly in front of him for a second before sitting on his lap. You didn’t say anything as you simply laid your head on his shoulder.
“You tired?” Droid whispered as he wrapped his arms around you and swayed the chair back and forth a little. “It can't be that late, right?”
“It’s almost midnight,” You whined as you rubbed your face against his neck. “You said you would be done by 9, so we could watch that new movie.”
“I’m sorry, I got carried away with this video,” Droid apologized as he rested his head on top of yours before turning back to his computer. “You can stay with me until I finish up. How does that sound?”
“Better. The bed is so cold without you, and this blanket isn’t really helping,” You complained as you pressed your body closer to Droid’s.
“Maybe you're getting sick or something,” He commented more to himself than you as he pressed the back of his hand to your forehead. “You are a little warm. Here,” He pulled back, having to pry your arms from around him as he took off his hoodie and helped you put it on, “that should help you for a while. I’ll finish this up and tell the guys I can’t stream with them tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to cancel the stream,” You tried to object, but Droid just pulled you back to rest again. “The fans will miss you.”
“They’ll understand I gotta take care of you,” Droid replied immediately, planting a kiss on the crown of your head. “If anything, they'll call me a simp.”
~~~
Droid was, once again, in the middle of streaming Five Nights at Freddy’s with Puffer when they randomly heard a glass shatter, followed by sprinting. Puffer jumped in shock, thinking it was in the game at first, but when the running sounded too real, he turned to look at the door before back at Droid, who was unaffected.
“I think Oso broke something,” Puffer said before pointing at the door. “Do you wanna switch and go check?”
“It was probably Y/n more than Oso,” Droid chuckled under his breath, opting to just stick the night out. “It happens more often than you’d think. Now, if we hear a louder thud or it just stops, there’s a problem.”
Puffer looked between Droid and the door multiple times as he continued hearing running around the house. It went on for almost 20 minutes before it suddenly stopped.
“Uh, I think something happened,” Puffer pointed out. Droid was back on the game after Puffer died at 2 AM. “There’s nothing.”
“Give it five minutes tops,” Droid replied after briefly pausing the game and listening. Then he went back to the game. Sure enough, about three minutes later, there was quiet knocking at the door. Droid quickly paused the game and gestured for Puffer to take over. “Here, you play.”
They swapped places before Droid continued to the door to see you sheepishly looking at him. He sighed, opening his arms for you to collapse in them as he rocked you back and forth for a bit.
“I broke that one vase you got me for our anniversary,” you whispered as you buried your face in his chest further, trying to hide from his reaction. “I didn’t mean to.”
“Don’t even worry about it. I’ll get you another one, but you’re not hurt right?” Droid comforted before changing his attention to look at your arms and legs for any cuts from the glass or bruises from maybe running into walls (one time!).
“I’m fine,” you chuckled tiredly trying to lean back into his body. “I slipped a bit in the kitchen and knocked my elbow, but other than that, I’m good. Tired, but I’m good.”
“Alright, come here,” he pulled you back into his arms after looking wearily at your arms. You wrapped them around his torso before he could scrutinize them too much. “You can sit with me and Puffer while we stream.”
“But I wanna sleep,” you whined, planting your feet at the door. “How much longer are you streaming?”
“At least another hour,” Droid guessed as he looked back at Puffer who just died again. “Dude, you suck at this game!”
“I don’t see you playing right now!” Puffer shouted back.
“Fuck you, dude! I’m being a good boyfriend!” Droid shouted back before turning his attention to you. You were almost asleep against his chest so he dropped his voice to whisper, “Here, you can sit with me. If you fall asleep, I’ll try not to be too loud for you. Actually, I think you’re already asleep.”
bunny, catboy, snake and puppy streamer darling do a collab together (housepet streamers or smth) and the live chat has to be turned off because of the atrocities being said lmao love your work by the way bro
(Written fron Snake's Pov bc they're the newest and I haven't done much for them yet - and because they're the flirt of the bunch so yk they're starting trouble)
"Housepet" Darlings Collab Stream Blurb
-
What an amusing dilemma you, and your newfound acquaintances have found yourselves ensnared in-
"Get that messy ass cat away from my precious snake before they claw my angel to death with those untrimmed talons!"
It's one thing when their degeneracy is targeted exclusively at you, but packed in a room with peers lusted after by like-minded audiences - there is little filter to the insistent obscenities flying from their keyboard.
"Aye! Don't be a dick! I think they should get closer. Close enough to kiss.. ^3^"
"Sloppy makeouts- NOW!"
"Strong puppy, adorable bunny, feisty kitty, and a naughty snake. I wanna keep you all locked up in my house where I'd keep you well fed and we'd snuggle all day and-"
"Ugh- Can someone turn off that text-to-speech already? This is exactly why I removed that crap ages ago."
Slamming their whisk down on the counter, your feline companion hisses in vexation as they scrub cake frosting from their cheek. Noticing a spot they missed, you take the opportunity to rally up the ever growing population of viewers - sweeping your thumb across their skin before popping it in your mouth with a small, appeased hum.
"Delicious-"
The responses to your little display are lightening quick.
"Do it again. With your tongue this time."
"Bunny needs some help cleaning up too! I think you all need to take a bath. With me ♡."
"KISS EACH OTHER! SWAP SPIT AND THEN SELL IT TO YOUR LOYAL FANS SO WE CAN HAVE A TASTE OF ALL FOUR OF YOU AT ONCE!"
The timid rabbit chef ducks behind your taller figure, burying their tiny, pink nose in your shoulder. "M-maybe we should turn the comments off... Just f-for a little while!"
"If that's what makes you comfortable, my darling-" Smile warm as the oven's swelter, you pat the shorter animals head. "You are the one in charge of our little gathering after all."
"Haha! Don't leave me out of this!"
Dunking their hand directly into the bowl, the canine darts various points of their face in frosting - arms spreading in invitation for all of their new friends.
"Ready and eager for kisses from my new best buds!"
The cat recoils as puppy's shadow devours them -crawling on top of the counter for good measure. "Not happening."
"Come here, you." Holding them by the scruff of their neck, your forked tongue flickers against the dog's jaw as they chuckle from the feathery sensation. Their brawny arms lift you to help you reach more areas of their face as their wagging tail hammers against the counter. Eyes from the cat and bunny entranced by the friendly display of affection maintain the bliss of the unknown as the feline discreetly turns off the chat - hundreds upon thousands of calls demanding for the same love to be shared left unheard.
