#and i just couldn't do it. it's too long man. not in a fic where every other chapter is between 7-10K | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sabraeal · 2 months ago

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The Man of Progress, Chapter 4

[Read on AO3]

Written for @infinitelystrangemachinex who has not only been very patiently been waiting nearly two weeks for this birthday fic, but beta read it TWICE in one week so I could turn this around within a week of Act 3 airing. Since I think we all could use...something else to think of right now 🤣

Pretty manners might keep any clansman in good standing from daring to venture the question, and a personal precedent to refuse answering any inquiry without compensation might keep her from giving it, but there’s no shame— in Mel’s mind, at least— in admitting that she is just shy of three decades. That might make her an old crone according to some of her more distant cousins; the kind that merely cling to Medarda’s coattails, only caring about investments and opportunities the clan makes when it affects the amount of money left in their pockets.

But to her, that is nearly twenty years of experience. The proof of a comprehensive education in keeping this clan afloat, even in its leanest years. A testament to her knowledge and skill, a record of competence—

And yet one step beneath these vaulted ceilings, and she might as well be that small girl child from Noxus once again, still smelling of blood and sand as they herded her into the master’s study. Even now she can picture their pinched smiles, worry and suspicion carving furrows at the corner of her cousins’ eyes.

“I wonder if you understand the scope of what you mean to do.” Master Jago does not so much speak as croak these days, his once sonorous voice interrupted by the pops and crackles of age; a victrola’s skipping needle on the record of time. “It was Medarda who cast the Sun Gates' first gears.”

Mel stifles a snort, pacing the length of a shelf, fingers tracing over the master’s trophies; a carved dunpor horn from Stonewall, the dried husk of a honeyfruit from Palclyff, two entwined statues from Demacia with wings spread wide. Ridiculous to think that she needed to be reminded of their contributions, as if her tutors hadn’t had her memorize those accounts down to the washer barely a week after Ambessa dropped her at their doorstep.

As if Jago hadn’t handpicked her himself to be their representative on the council, hadn’t called her ‘the most Medarda of all of them,’ as shrewd and sensible and relentlessly ruthless as any of the old cog-clutching misers that preceded her. The only difference between their service to the clan and hers was that she looked good doing it. “Isn’t it fitting, then, that we should be at the forefront of Piltover’s next great venture?”

“A more prudent one would have been to use this Hextech to strengthen our current investments.” Jago’s hands are parchment pale as they tremble over his desk, wrinkled as an bank note discarded in the bin, but when he takes up his pen, there’s not a bit of him that isn’t steady, as sharp as the nib he sets to page. “If the Sun Gates were able to pass ships through fifty percent higher than our current rate, then that would put us near Clan Ferros in terms of wealth generated per day—”

“And they would somehow find some way to pick at our profits, either through maintenance or manpower.” For a man who professed to have no interest in running his clan, Albus has a keen sense of how to wedge his elbow into every door, turning any opportunity for one clan into an unmitigated triumph for his. “Even if our current ventures vest as they should, we’ll still be left nipping at Ferros’ heels. But if we were to put our considerable assets behind something new, something bold, then we have a chance to not just pull ahead of the other families, but to set the pace entirely.”

Jago had been halfway to gray when she’d been dropped on Medarda’s doorstep, but the brows he furrows now are whitecap pale, one disappearing behind the golden frame of his monocle. “You present a compelling point, as always, Mel.”

It would be foolish to preen under the master’s praise— she’s no longer a child in the schoolroom, proving that she has sufficiently mastered her sums, after all— but Mel allows herself a moment to bask in the flush of her accomplishment. To even let her shoulders relax— no slumping, and never slouching, but not entirely square. A moment of repose, well earned.

That is, of course, until Master Jago says, “However…”

Her spine snaps straight, even as her steps remain languid, confident, as if she anticipated his doubt. “I have handled all the arrangements,” she assures him, circling behind his chair until only her voice and the steady staccato of her heels mark her. “Not only will the presentation be sure to impress even Hextech’s staunchest critics, but there will be no question as to which clan has chosen to back the venture. The Sun Gates ushered in a new age of progress for Piltover two hundred years ago, and the Hexgate will do the same now.”

“I have no doubt you have seen to all the details, my girl.” Her cousins might murmur that one day Master Jago will lose his edge, that senility will come for him the way it does every man and take Medarda with it, but the eyes that swing to her now are still sharp, wheels and cogs in the great machine of his mind still running with a young man’s ease. “But Medarda has long made its fortune on maritime trade routes. These are not seafaring vessels, but…”

“There is no reason to worry, Master.” His shoulder is thin beneath her hand, frailer than she remembers. Still, she keeps her grip firm, if gentle. “I don’t imagine you acquired that sky frigate a few years ago with no intent to use it, did you?”

“Of course I didn’t.” One absent hand reaches up to touch hers; an afterthought, if a fond one. “It doesn’t do to be beholden to only one form of trade. You only need to look at the Hollorans to see what happens when you allow yourself to fall beneath the wheel of progress.”

“Then Medarda is already poised to take advantage of the new avenues for trade that the Hexgate can open to us.” She steps past him, hand leaving his shoulder to trace along the contours of his desk. How large this thing had seemed as a girl— an entire other country, never to be traversed. And now she skirts around the perimeter of it with no more than a stretch of a leg or two. “Only a few families have bothered to buy into sky ships, and those are nearly all pleasure barges. Not a single one of them is fit for long distances with heavy cargo.”

“It will astound you how quickly those things can change.” He laughs— a heavy, rolling noise, more like thunder than humor— but the stare he fixes her with is stern, sober. If she were more given to drama, she might even call it dire. “Only this morning, the papers said Albus Ferros planned to finance a significant portion of Hextech research. How certain are you that he will not simply shut you out from your plans when they’ve advanced far enough and reap the benefits all on his own?”

It’s certainly not out of the realm of possibility, as uncomfortable as it is to admit. Talis plays the part of a man of the people, just one engineer out of the hundreds of genius inventors the Academy has put out, pulling himself up by the bootstraps to change the world— and he plays it well. But he’s not that humble engineer, no matter how well he swings a hammer; he’s the scion of one of Piltover’s merchant clans, even if their circumstances are much diminished, and as eager to prove himself among them as any master’s son. If she can sway him with a sashay and a smile, Ferros could just as easily with an open purse and a pat on the back. Even now she can see it, those two sets of broad shoulders— one natural, one entirely engineered— rubbing as they bend over some schematic, shaking hands as coins rattle one after the other on the workbench.

But then she pictures that constructed bit of posture turning around, glaring over his mustache at the curved spine in the corner, more grease than man, and laughs.

“Quite sure, my dear Master Jago,” she says, smile slanting over her lips. “But I must admit, I’d love to see him try.”

The morning still clings stubbornly to the horizon when Mel emerges from the Medarda manor, none the worse for wear. It’s too early; Master Jago might prefer to have his business done by tea, but it's hours yet before any councilman would dare to show their face at the office, the fog not even burnt off from the dawn’s chill. It sits thick on the cobbles, eddying around the sway of her skirt, leaving an unpleasant draft against her ankles.

“You’ll be off then, Councilor?” one of the grooms asks, pushing off from where he’d been leaning on the carriage’s cab, making time with what seemed to be a gardener.

“That I will.” She takes his offered hand— appropriately gloved, black, and sturdy for the purpose— and asks, “Is your mother feeling better, by the way?”

There’s a single moment of hesitation, a small hiccup between one blink and the next that leaves room for his cheeks to flush and his tongue to flop around like a loose cog before snapping right into smiling place. “Much, ma’am. And I’m supposed to pass on her thanks— for the tonic, she says. Got rid of the cough right away.”

“Think nothing of it.” Impossible, she knows, but humility assures more goodwill than lofty benevolence. And a squeeze of the hand— not too much; just shy of an invitation— wins more loyalty than words ever could. “It was the least I could do.”

The man’s too well-trained to gawp or gape— Medarda isn’t in the habit of hiring hayseeds fresh off the wagons, after all— but his wide eyes weigh on her as she ducks into the carriage, warm as a hand laid against her spine. There’s one less tongue to wag itself at the master the moment he glares its way; important, if she’s going to pull this snare tight without Jago’s long fingers tangling in the knots.

A sigh slips from her as she sits, fogging a sliver of the carriage’s glass. “I trust everything is set for the reception?”

“Yes, Councilor.” Engineers could use Elora’s spine as a slide-rule for how stiff she sits on the bench, collar and hemline pin-straight, perfect. Another flawless cog in Medarda’s great machine. “Your meeting went well?”

“As well as can be expected.” Better, but Mel’s hardly fool enough to admit it where it might work back to Jago’s ears. Elora may be her personal assistant, secretary, and the closest she comes to a confidant, but it’s not from her accounts that Medarda pulls the cogs to pay salary. “Do I have any other engagements today?”

Elora glances down at the notes in her lap, even the line of her jaw precise, if not the bend of her mouth, too worried to meet proper angles. “The atelier you requested is sending over samples this afternoon.”

“Really.” Mel leans back, frowning at where the Academy juts up from Piltover’s skyline, its towers far above the fog of the city below. “They’ll be acceptable this time, I assume.”

“They have been informed of your particular specifications.” A corner of Elora’s too-serious mouth lifts, almost a smirk. “No blue, no beige, no white. Something impressive.”

Mel snorts. “Let us hope that they pay attention this time. If I have to hear that man preach to me about visions or muses again just because he can’t envisage a color darker than cream…”

“Any other modiste in the city would trip over themselves to dress you,” Elora assures her, quick as reflex. But it’s not simply comforting patter, oh no; she’s already flipping through her notes, finding names. “It would be short notice, but it’s not as if we can’t afford to pay them for the rush. If they even thought to ask.”

“We would pay them for their hard work whether they asked for it or not.” The other clansmen might clutch to cogs and account for every nut down to the washer, but Mel prefers to deal in a more valuable currency. “But hopefully our dear modiste does not get it into his head that he knows my preferences better than I do, and we are saved the trouble of finding out.”

Elora’s mouth rumples, unconvinced, but her fingers cease to flip pages. “As long as you’re sure. We could start contacting a few of the more fashionable houses to see if they could promise a complete product, just in case—”

Mel holds up a hand. Better to beg for a dress at the eleventh hour than to be seen undermining one of their fellow dressmakers the day before. “Let us believe that he can at least put out one sample that meets our expectations. At least for now.”

Modistes might have a reputation for nipping at each other’s backs, having as many petty quarrels as the council itself with just as disastrous consequences, but all it would take is one perceived insult to turn them all into dear colleagues— and leave her quite in the lurch.

A lone sky ship putters through the clouds; a heavy, ungainly thing that wobbles as the wind eddies around its bulk. There’s another slouching over the horizon, propellers struggling to keep the whole of it aloft instead of fumbling toward the sea. Pleasure barges; one more and it would be as many as she’s ever seen floating at once. The merchant clans might tout progress as their business and innovation as their creed, but when they envisioned the future of Piltover, this was still what they saw— a city dominated by the Academy.

Mel squints at its peaked roofs, clouds catching the thrust of its golden spires, and asks, “Is that all?”

“That’s all,” Elora confirms, hands folding over paper and ink. “They’re not supposed to be by until later this afternoon, so if you wanted to head to the Council Building before—?”

“Hardly.” She leans forward, drawing down the trumpet that leads up to the driver’s box. “To the Academy, if you would, Mr Gallow. I would be most appreciative.”

The carriage lurches to the left, hurtling down the familiar cobbles, and Elora’s frown furrows deeper into her cheeks. “The Academy? What business do you have there?”

“Why, to check up on my favorite investment, of course.” Mel leans her arm on the rest, letting her gaze drift back to those ivory towers, considering. “If we’re having all of Piltover out to see this little bit of theater, I’d like to know we have an actual show to put on.”

“The presentation is only two days away,” Elora reminds her as she chases her heels up the academy steps, practically bleeding paper on the marble. “Nearly all our guests have RSVP’d.”

“You don’t need to remind me.” The Academy has always been an impressive edifice, a marvel of modern engineering— and hell on the legs, if one didn’t navigate stairways poro-back. Still, she mounts each one with the ease of habit, hand only just brushing over the rail rather than Elora’s life-line clutch. “Why do you think I’m here?”

Her assistant blinks up at the labs looming before them, just as stately as the lecture halls— and certainly far nicer than the warehouse in Midtown, only suited to contain occasional explosions of genius. “You don’t think it’s done?”

A laugh spills right off her lips, as airy as it is wry. “You don’t know many engineers, do you?”

The question catches Elora by surprise; she lags behind a step, then two, before she scurries to keep pace. “It’s just…Mr Talis’s presentations are so polished. I can’t imagine him leaving anything to the last minute— not something so important, at least.”

So one might be tempted to think, so long as they had not witnessed Talis more than ten minutes pre-symposium. The Master of Ceremonies could be cutting his teeth on the glowing words of their introduction, and both those Academy boys would be on their knees backstage with wrench in hand, tightening bolts until the curtains rose.

Knowing Viktor, he’d still insist they were one last tweak from perfection, sending Talis to beg for five more minutes— ten, twenty, just an hour, surely she could give them one more day?— to work. Just one last distraction before the masses got to take their peek behind the curtain.

Mel snorts. “It’s not Mr Talis that I’m worried about.”

Elora’s brow furrows. “Then who—?”

The lab’s glass facade does not so much open as burst; at one moment a long, endless bank of mirrored windows, and the next, hinges squeal their protest as the atrium doors fly open, disgorging an entire entourage of trousers and waists, open-cut coats fluttering in the breeze of their brisk pace.

“Reginald.” The voice is as bold— brassy, one might even say— as the cogs capping Ferros’s shoulders, ringing out across the pavilion with all the pomp of a man used to being heard. “I want results, not numbers. Make it happen.”

The man scurries off on Ferros’s business, but he could be bowing and scraping and crawling on his belly still for all that Ferros notices, swaggering down the steps with the confidence of kings. Piltover prided itself on its meritocracy, boasting that without lords and peers, any man may make himself into a master if only he worked hard enough. But it was men like Ferros— born clansmen, ones who had enough hexes to be patrons rather than the patronized— who seemed to succeed, standing on the backs of brighter minds and pretending to more talents than simply sussing con from coup.

“Councilor Medarda.” The man smiles with all the warmth of a shark in chummed waters. “What a pleasure to see you here.”

“Albus.” She inclines her head, letting him take her hand between his two over-large ones, swallowing her up to the wrist. Thankfully he refrains from doing anything so crass as pressing his lips to it. “The pleasure is all mine.”

“I doubt it.” His mustache twitches at a corner, threatening to lift, to smirk. “You must be here to take a gander at what my boys have been up to.”

His boys. Her smile nearly creaks. “I just came by to make sure that everything was prepared for the presentation. Only a few days left, after all, and Medarda has put quite a bit behind this technology of theirs. We’re quite invested in making sure there’s no…surprises before the curtain rises.”

Such as not having a functioning prototype. Clan Cadwalder had never quite recovered from their last little slip up— fifteen years ago, by her count— and Mel had no intention of making Medarda suffer the same shame. She hasn’t clawed them this far up Piltover’s wheel of progress to be shoved back down by trusting engineers to meet a deadline. Especially not these engineers.

“Of course, of course.” There’s a smoothness to the way Ferros speaks, leaving the gravel of his voice to catch on it like a callus on silk. “Mr Talis’s project would be quite the boon for Medarda and its investments, should it pay off. One you must sorely need, since those summer storms off Demacia have made your foreign ones…slow to mature.”

Sunk to the bottom of the Conqueror’s Sea, he means— or at least, his shark-smile implies, eager to feast upon misfortune. He’d gotten their taste not long ago, and oh, it seems he’s ravenous for more. Pity she’ll have to disappoint him.

“Your concern is touching, Albus,” she drawls, brushing her fingers just beneath his cogs. “But Medarda has been sailing their ships down that strait since before the Sun Gates’ first cog was a sparkle in our eye. A few summer squalls won’t scuttle our ships or our investments— we know better than to count our coins before they cross our palms, or ships before they come into harbor.”

That mustache twitches again, grin stretching to grimace before finding good humor again, and pride pulls those bronze cogs even broader. “Excellent to hear. Medarda has always had a history of…over-reliance on its foreign connections. A pity when there is so much profit to be made relying on good old Piltoverian stock.”

“When it comes to innovation, I suppose, we can hardly disagree.” Her hand presses against the fine wool of his coat, patting the sloped shoulders he’s trying so hard to conceal. That was ever Ferros’s way— covering weakness with a show of strength, whether it be a poorly worded trade agreement with a display of wealth, or a weak upper lip with a ridiculous mustache. “Progress Day would hardly be much of a celebration of Piltover’s prowess if Medarda hadn’t commissioned every gear to be made in our own forges.”

“Well said,” he drawls, like a man marinating more than a few arguments of his own. “I must admit, I didn’t think you would be so appreciative of Piltover’s place in history. Few are, outside of these walls.”

Mel blinks, fingers flinching back from where they rest. They hang in the air for a bare moment, tension coiled down to the knuckles, before she lets them fall. A controlled descent, poised, like a skipping needle set back on its groove.

An amateur might stretch a smile across their teeth, making bone act as a buttress, as if more structure would solve the need for motivation. But Mel is an expert in insincerity, letting her lips lilt instead, humor implied by angle rather than earnestness by length. “And we’re all the poorer for it. Just think what our engineers might achieve if only they had competition to compel them.”

There’s a sharp jerk that of that mustache, a spasm that resembles a furred creature’s death throes more than a facial twitch, before it settles into one of his patronizing smirks. Or at least the shadow of one; Ferros barely able to hold its shape as he drawls, “Now wouldn’t that be something to behold.”

“If you would excuse me.” She rises one more step, the gap between them shortening. “Business conspires to keep me moving. No rest for the wicked and all that.”

“There certainly isn’t.” It’s said pleasantly enough, polite smile clutched in his mustache’s talons, but when she moves to pass him, his eyes fix on her with a predator’s purpose. “The presentation is only a few days away, isn’t it, Councilor? And with Medarda hosting the reception, it must keep you busy.”

He might well put a paw to her neck for how thoroughly his stare gives her pause, mounting only one last step to draw them shoulder-to-shoulder.

“Talis’s technology— it’s quite impressive, isn’t it? Magic for the masses.” He huffs out a laugh, but for all his bluster, his eyes never move an inch, keeping her pinned perfectly in place. “It could go a long way in paying back Medarda’s debts. If it works.”

Spoken like the man who holds them. “I suppose,” she allows, careful of the purse strings that could choke her. “Though one might think that being informed of such an opportunity might be its own payment.”

“One might,” he remarks, as if it were nothing.

Clan Ferros never concedes, never compromises— and yet here’s a foot in the door; the wedge she needs to keep it open, if only so that one day she might get out. Desperation makes strange bedfellows, her mother would laugh, watching clans and countries scramble for allies under her encroaching shadow. If only Mel had known she meant necessity breeds mistakes, she might have thought better of crawling into bed with them in the first place.

“Have a good day, Lord Albus,” she says, putting one sole on the step above her, shifting her weight to rise—

Only for Ferros to reach out, fingers banding around her arm, folding over where metal bites into flesh. It warms beneath his touch, a warning and a promise, just like the way he leans toward her, shoulders so broad they cast her in shadow.

“Impress me, Mel.” It’s not a growl— Ferros is far too mannerly for that— but it grates nonetheless. “Give me progress, and then we’ll see just how much such a helpful hint was worth.”

He releases her— just a simple jerk of his fingers and he’s gone, as if manhandling her was as natural and unremarkable as picking up a handkerchief. And yet, here she is, standing on the pavilion steps with every nerve left raw and sparking, like some half-finished project strewn across Viktor’s bench.

“Mel.” It’s more gulp than gasp, Elora lurching forward, concern scrawled across the tight furrow of her brow—

But Mel holds up a hand, halting her in place. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d like to see some blue after all.”

“Blue?” Elora steps back, blinking. “You mean...the dress? But didn’t you say—?”

“I know what I said,” she says coolly. “But I think a few people need to be reminded.”

Her head tilts. “Reminded? Of what?”

Mel pointedly lifts her gaze, right up to the top of the Academy’s ivory towers, where the blue and gold of Piltover waves. “Of who I am.”

Much as Talis might have prided himself on Hextech’s humble origins, there is nothing of that Midtown warehouse left in the lab now. Every surface is polishing to gleaming in the showroom, even the podium for reception sleek and buffed until stone shines like chrome. Which is where Talis stumbles out from, notes fumbling across the desk as she makes her entrance, guilt leaking out of him like a faulty faucet.

“Councilor!” he calls out, surreptitiously shoving papers on top of other papers, every line of him screaming unready. “I didn’t expect to see you today.”

Her eyebrow arches, one corner of her mouth following. “Clearly.”

“What do I—? Er, I mean, we, what do we, ah…” He clears his throat, one large hand tugging at the knot of his tie, as if a little air might make his conscience cleaner. “Elora isn’t with you?”

“She was.” Mel paces past him, touring the tables with all the interest of a tutor overlooking a student’s drill work. They’re cunning pieces, useful things in a pretty package— even the mining gloves have an elegance to them, though she doubts it would be appreciated by the folk down in the fissures— but with the instability of the crystals themselves, ultimately decoration; a future Talis could design but not manufacture. “However, it seems that I overlooked a small detail for the reception. I sent her to handle it.”

“Really?” She has to hand it to Talis; when he turns those wide eyes on her, all concern, she believes it. “Not anything too important, I hope. Be a shame for things to go sideways this late in the game, you know.”

“Nothing that would keep you two from getting up on that stage, I’m sure.” Though she wouldn’t put it past Viktor to try. What’s the point, he would drawl from the bowels of his creation, if the Councilor isn’t looking her best? We might as well move the whole thing to, oh, let’s see…never?

“That’s good.” His waistcoat doesn’t leave much room for slumping, but, ever the over-achiever, Talis manages it, relief slackening that chiseled jaw. “So this is just a…er…personal visit?”

“Hardly. I was out handling some last-minute plans for the presentation, I thought I might see how you boys were coming along.” She brushes past him— not close enough to touch, but close enough to imply, which, by the sharp breath he draws in, is more than enough for an engineer wound as tight as Talis. “Or at least make sure there’s an actual, working prototype.”

“Aw, come on, Councilor, can’t you give us a little credit?” One of those large palms scrapes over the short hairs at the back of his head, and ha, no one else could make humility so appealing. “We’ve never come up empty-handed, have we?”

She lifts her chin with a playful sniff. “Try that on someone who hasn’t seen you spend every last second before an exhibition tightening bolts.”

“Well, you got me there.” Talis rests one hip against the receptionist’s podium, hands lifted in a very aesthetically pleasing surrender. He always did have the sort of face that Noxian artists would clamor to paint on its knees. “But I promise, Councilor, I don’t have any intention of letting you down.”

“I’m hoping neither of you will,” she warns with a warmth that leaves Talis grinning rather than grimacing. “Though I suppose if Lord Albus’s mood was any indication, I won’t be unsatisfied with your progress.”

“Ah…” Talis has the grace to look chagrined, at least. “So you did see him.”

She cocks a hip, crossing her arms beneath her chest for best effect. “We ran into each other on the stairs.”

“Ah, right, right. Makes sense.” Little as he seems to like it. Clearly crossing patrons hadn’t been part of his afternoon plans. “It’s just— he only wanted a look around. Not in the lab, though. You know how Viktor doesn’t like, er” — gawkers is the politest way he’s ever put it in her hearing, and she doubts he’s stretched himself to search for another— “visitors while he’s working.”

“Really?” She arches an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Albus Ferros never struck me as the sort to leave any sleeping dog to lie.”

At least, not as long as he had money in it. The finer details of Hextech might fly right over his well-oiled head, but he does know what it will cost right down to the washer.

“Well…” Talis grimaces, guilty. “He might have peeked his head in. Just for a minute.”

Ah. Gawker. “And I suppose Viktor’s in fine feather after such a pleasant visit from his patron?”

“To put it mildly,” Talis mutters, arms crossed over that wide expanse of waistcoat. “He’s in the lab, if you’re looking to get scowled at. I’m letting him make some last minute tweaks to blow off some steam.”

She doubts that Talis had much of a say in the matter, but she magnanimously refrains from saying so; no, instead she drawls, “Tweaks? Is there some problem I should be aware of, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that, Councilor.” He’s all good humor and graciousness now, hands waving in the air between them. “He just— well, you know Viktor. He had some ideas about optimization and performance, and well…as long as the gate gets on stage in working order in time for my presentation, he can do whatever he likes.”

“Your presentation?” The muscles in her cheek twitch, one side of her smile slanting into a smirk. Teasing, of course; playful, even. Enough to take the sting out of, “Weren’t you the one who wouldn’t even stand next to it when there was a cage?”

“Well, that’s before we got the field stable,” he protests, shoulders a little too square for nonchalance. “Now there’s no worries at all. Smooth sailing. Like riding one of those steam cabs downhill.”

Mel arches an eyebrow. The masses do seem to find their fun where they can get it. “I can’t say I would know.”

“In any case, I think we’ve all earned a rest on our laurels, haven’t we?” He leans over the podium with his most charming smile, heedless of the pages crinkling beneath his sleeves. A little ink smudges on his cuff, still wet, and she can’t help dropping her gaze to trace the angle of it, making out strange corners and hastily scribbled letters. “Speaking of a little rest and relaxation…I’ve heard there’s a new restaurant that’s opened up on Sidereal Avenue, just down the street from the treasury. Some little Shuriman fusion place, I thought maybe you might—”

“What is this?” She bypasses those big dog eyes of his with a tap of her finger, drawing his attention down to his elbow. “Runes, I suppose?”

“Oh, that?” A laugh blows right out of him, more dismissive than a wave of his hand. “This is just a theory Viktor’s got me working on. It’s…well, it’s kind of technical” —meaning, she presumes, that there’s no possibility she might understand it— “but he’s got some ideas about the formation of runes. You know, how they talk to each other.”

“Oh? Because of how you two constructed the gate, correct?” The nitty-gritty of Hextech’s inner workings has never been her forte; she saw little point learning a science poorly when she already had two experts at her beck and call. But even she can see these aren’t the sharp lines and pointed corners she’d seen etched into metal from the day she first elbowed her way into the lab. “You’ve been toying with that gravity rune for ages, but the beam needed—”

“Something to focus it, and another to aim, yeah.” Talis scratches at the back of his head, no longer from boyish charm, but single-minded focus. “Took more than a couple, and the whole time it felt like I was trying to reach an itch I couldn’t scratch. I thought I was, you know, remembering, but Viktor…”

A thick finger traces over a delicate curve of ink, four trembling tines disappearing beneath it. As if the strokes themselves were uncertain— or the hand that made them. “He’s wondering if we just sort of find them. You know, when we need to. Like when we reach for the arcane, it’s just….”

Talis shakes his head, suddenly all square jaw and smiles once again. “Anyway, it’s all just a theory. Something we’ve been scratching away at in our spare time.”

Mel arches an eyebrow. “I imagine you don’t have much of that, right now.”

“We don’t,” he agrees, a shade too quickly for sincerity. “But I’ve been pecking away at it when I’ve got a minute. It’ll all be worth it if a little bit of forethought now keeps us from burning the midnight oil for months, hoping the lack of sleep will give us a breakthrough later.”

“Is that so?” she hummed, resting a hip against the podium. “And here I thought Viktor loved staying up to all hours.”

Talis laughs, shaking that pretty head of his. “That’s what I said. And you know what Viktor told me? I’d like to be doing it alone.”

“Now that sounds like him.” She can see it now— his already curved spine bent to all angles, making one last tweak, taking one last measurement, peeking out from beneath his monumental work to say, get out. “I suppose since I’m here, I best pay my respects to the genius inventor. I’d hate for him to think I’m playing favorites.”

“I doubt he’d mind,” Talis huffs out, all humor until she sweeps past him, making her way to the lab door. “Hey, you aren’t really going to go in there, are you? I told you he…?”

She slows to a sashay, each click of her heels lingering before she makes the next. “Would be happy to see his favorite patron?”

His outstretched hand curls, falling back down to his side. “Not exactly what I was going to say, no.”

“Oh, please.” It’s a struggle not to roll her eyes, but she blunts her impatience down to a cock of her hip and a cross of her arms. “If you think I can’t weather a man’s poor temperament, Mr Talis, I’d invite you to spend a day on the council. Then you’ll really see the sort of tantrum a grown man can throw.”

Talis snorts, shaking his head. “Hey, it’s your— er, choice. Just thought I’d give you fair warning.”

“And miss Viktor’s undoubtedly stimulating conversation?” Her mouth hooks into her slyest smirk. “Perish the thought.”

“Try blistering,” he mutters, so soft he must think she cannot hear. “Ah, but about the restaurant—”

“It sounds lovely,” she replies absently, the first set of doors opening before her. “I do hope you have a good time.”

If there is one compliment Mel can lay at the Revered Professor’s feet, it is this: his penchant for high ideals never stumbles. Every building of the academy is designed with his lofty goals in mind, every wall stretching up to vaulted ceilings, supported by square columns meant to draw the eye up, inviting every body that views it to dream beyond their earthly goals.

What purpose that might serve in what was, essentially, a service corridor, she could never quite say, but the acoustics were superb. The harsh click of her heels amplifies with every step, echoing down the tunnel like her own personal set of heralding trumpets. A pity there’s a set of doors at the end of it, heavy and metal; the academy’s answer to Talis’s blast door— what she wouldn’t give to see the face of her favorite investment as she swept into the lab, a veritable angel choir announcing her arrival.

Knowing him, he’d start researching an automatic door. Or at least a way to sound-proof the corridor.

Not that either of them would be terrible ideas. Especially if this presentation impresses the way she’s certain it will. Going forward with gate technology would take all this from academic to proprietary; an investment Medarda will have to see to protecting. More doors would be a start, and security that did not simply start and stop at the reception desk. Heimerdinger would never consent to private consultants on academy soil, but maybe a more responsive team of Piltover’s best—or at least someone with a bit more ambition than a grandfather more eager to show off family pictures than arrest trespassers.

He’ll have his concerns, of course— too much power in one person’s hands, he’d bluster, and anyone could become a tyrant— but she knows all too well that most of his protests are meant to act as a dialogue; a mentor posing questions in order to lead a student along the proper path. To teach how to think, rather than provide answers. An irritating little habit of his, but one Mel is happy to play along with so long as it helps him put pen to paper. Or wrench to bolt, as it were.

The sticking point will be whose pockets the washers come from— Medarda eager to stake its claim, and the Good Professor just as keen to keep the academy from being sullied by the grasping hands of Piltover’s clans, but—

“—Much as I would usually love to debate over the wisdom of that particular phrasing.” Viktor’s voice rings clearly into the corridor, just as strident and harassed as she expected from a man who spent the morning with Albus Ferros. “I do not particularly have the time for the theoreticals right now. Not when the practicals are going to knock down my door if this isn’t ready to ship out by tomorrow.”

It’s not until the much softer, more uncertain, “I appreciate that, I really do,” that follows— from the assistant, she presumes, considering the heavy dose of hero worship weighing it down— that Mel notices the doors stand open, the full breadth of the lab on display before she even gets to the stairs.

“It’s just…” The girl hovers at Viktor’s shoulder— or where his shoulder would be, if the whole of his body wasn’t eclipsed by the dome bubbling out of the floor tiles— fretting the way Hoskel does over his horses. As if by worrying, he might make them cross over the finish line faster. “I’m concerned with how much power the beam might need to be focused. Doesn’t it have to be grounded somehow? I thought that if we moved a couple of these antecedents, we might be able to displace—”

“Sky.” He sighs at the precise pitch of the pinnacle of his patience. “That is a conversation almost certainly worth having…at another time. Right now I have to concern myself with—”

“Making it work?” Mel offers, letting her heels clack a little more sharply as she descends the small set of steps down to the lab floor. “And after Mr Talis spent so long assuring me that you actually finished something on time.”

“Councilor.” The title rolls around between his teeth, taking scores out of it before he lets it loose in his lab. Viktor doesn’t bother to stand— where he’s crouched, she hardly thinks he could manage it without a crutch and a decent dose of cussing, both of which he’s loath to use in front of her— but he also doesn’t bother to look up, not until she orbits around one side of his lonely star to meet him in the middle. “To what do we owe the”— he hesitates— “honor?”

Sky watches her closely, skittish, almost. Those clever eyes dart between them with the same fervor as children counting between thunder and lightning strike, trying to divine just how close the next might come to their doorstep.

Mel smiles, but not at her. “Do I need a reason to visit my favorite investment?”

“No.” His teeth bite around the word, just shy of something like a smile. “I was under the impression you didn’t do anything for less than three.”

He looks at her now, hair askew and brows lifted to meet it, entirely too cocky to abide. She wraps her mouth around her next volley, already calculating his return, when—

“Viktor.” The Sky girl elbows her way between them, tall enough for the puff of her hair to disrupt line of sight. “What I was saying, about the rune phrasing—”

“We will talk about that at a later date.” It’s a rare occurrence to see Viktor acting as a mentor rather than recalcitrant employee; what would have been a rousing row if Mel stood between the man and his machine is blunted down to a gentle correction, his impatience only apparent in the way he puts his back to the girl, focus narrowed down to the single point where he works. “Now is hardly the time to start talking about…grammar refinement.”

“But the arcane power demanded by the current construction is—”

“Miss Young." His hands still, his dismissal all the more stark in the silence. “Later.”

Her shoulders shift beneath the white of her lab coat, sitting straight enough a yardstick would turn green with envy. A defensive maneuver, like a kitten puffing up its fur or hedgehog quivering its spines. As if she makes herself big enough, his disinterest can’t hurt her.

It’s a child’s game, one destined not to last. Puffed up as she is, there’s nothing left to do but deflate, her chest rounding over the books she has clutched to them. The girl spares Viktor one last lingering glance— hoping, perhaps, that he’ll notice the blow he’s dealt— before scurrying toward the door. Mel’s half-tempted to pity her; it’s the same sort of scene she’s seen played out in schoolyards and soirées and soldier encampments alike, one of the abiding embarrassments of growing up—

But the clever little assistant stops at the top of the stairs. Has her hand on the door and hesitates even still, as if just one more moment, one last look might change everything. But this time, she doesn’t pitch puppy dog eyes toward Viktor, oh no— this is a wary glare, aimed squarely at where Mel stands. Accusatory, almost. As if she is the interloper in the sanctum sanctorum that is this lab.

Perhaps she’s right, at that. But Mel’s hardly going to apologize for it. Business, as always, comes before feelings, no matter how tender some may be.

“Don’t you think you might have been a little harsh?” Most of their conversations flow best with a level playing field, but it would be a cold day in Sai Faraj before Mel would lower herself to a crouch. Not in these shoes, and certainly not in this dress. “The girl only wanted to impress you.”

“What’s the point? I’m already impressed.” He leans back, hands flush against the marble floors, leaving dark streaks of grease over its artful veins. “What would be the point of having her here if we didn’t think she could lend any insight into this project?”

It’s at the tip of her tongue, a reflex rather than a conscious thought— have you thought to tell Ms Young any of that?

Were this merely the lapse of a mentor in regards to his student, a failure in encouraging professional confidence to thrive, she might have let it fall. She’s hardly an expert on the shaping of young minds; not nearly old enough to take on anything like a successor, at least according to the Medarda, and not inclined to tutor any of her younger cousins, lest they’re encouraged to compete for her place. But she had, not long ago, been an apprenta herself, and Master Jago— well, he had never had a reputation for being effusive in his praise, not even for a young girl desperate to prove her place among a family more eager to see her stumble than succeed, but Mel never questioned his respect for her skills or her talent.

But this— this is not that. Simple professional jealousy would hardly leave her back burning this long after that girl’s glare gouged it; no, this is something infinitely more personal—

“Besides.” A tuft of dark hair slips down the furrowed expanse of Viktor’s forehead, and he spares a breath to blow it back. “She’s right about the grammar. This design draws too much power to be supported by so short a phrase. We either have to elongate the chamber, or we’ll have to swap the antecedents etched on every piece of the mechanism, from top to bottom—“

And equally unlikely to be noticed. The object of Ms Young’s admiration was already in a committed, mutually-beneficial relationship: with his work.

Sweet though, to see someone so interested in a man made more of math than muscle. Refreshing, even, to know that there were some who were drawn to intelligence over aesthetic. Little as the man in question would ever see his way around to appreciating it.

“So you mean to tell me that when you flip your switch tomorrow, the machine won’t work?” Hard to believe when every surface of this dome is carved with runes, channels for the arcane shaped like fissures around them; somewhere between an art installation one might find in the Council Building’s atrium and a brain.

“Ah, what? No. No no.” His hand waves sharply between them, not to ward off her question, but to redirect his mind to answer it.

“This” —his palms open, the whole of this great machine encompassed between them— “will turn on. And not only will it turn on, it will work. It will work so well that all our esteemed patrons will see fit to empty their pockets and give us five more years funding. And that is where Miss Young’s theory on antecedent order will matter, since then we will either reconstruct the whole thing to use the more efficient grammar, or we’ll have to…I don’t know. Build a tunnel long enough to contain the runic phrasing done the wrong way.”

Mel has never been a slouch at mental calculations, but even her mental faculties fail her as she tries to consider the scope. “And just how long would that be?”

“Well, let me put it this way: it wouldn’t do the Council any favors with your relationship with the Undercity.” A laugh scrapes up from the recesses of his chest, less like draining the dregs at the bottom of the barrel, and more like cleaners shoveling up carriage-crushed carcasses from the streets. “Not that any of our Betters have lost sleep over that sort of thing before. But I would like to consider it a last resort. Greatness does not come from taking shortcuts.”

That little adage still has so much of the Great Professor in it, it squeaks, but Mel hardly finds that the most noteworthy part.

“Betters?” Her fingers reach out to trace the dome’s joints, pacing its perimeter with all the curiosity of a child approaching pristine plate glass. “Esteemed patrons? I never thought I’d live to see the day when you called me that.”

“It goes over better than purse strings.” There’s a strain in his voice, a snap, before Viktor settles back on his heels, nodding at his success. “Jayce has informed me that if I liked the…academic lassitude that comes from our funding, I cannot bite the hands that feeds. Or at least”— his mouth curls at a corner, teasing the barest hint of teeth— “learn to nibble a little more pleasantly.”

“Oh my,” she hums, drawing the words out to their flattest notes. “What dire straits Hextech’s funds must be in if you consent to being civilized. Whatever will Mr Talis do should his project fail before he even takes the stage?”

Ah, now that gets a glare slanted her way, Viktor’s mouth pursing in the very picture of academic affront. “I’ll thank you to remember that this is our project, Councilor.”

“Is it?” She lets a brow arch, inquisitive, skeptical. “With the way Mr Talis was talking out in the showroom, I assumed you had stepped down from being a partner to a”—pet, she’s not quite unkind enough to say— “employee.”

Four years of handling Piltover’s prickliest engineer has made Mel a connoisseur of grunts and snorts, and this newest one— a huff, bare inches away from a cluck— is dismissive. Dubious, even. “Then I’m afraid you’ve quite misunderstood. I am just a much as founder as I was the day—”

“I found you fiddling with Heimerdinger’s keys outside his office door?” Her mouth tilts, the fold of her arms following a similar cant. “Or maybe you mean later, when you blew out the Revered Professor’s—?”

“That’s all water under the bridge,” he assures her with a lazy wave of his hand. “He can hardly complain about his star pupils, now can he?”

“I suppose not.” The fissures thread along the bottom of her fingers, the chaotic network of channels falling into a half-familiar pattern, one she almost anticipates as one etching leads into the next. Like a half-forgotten childhood lullaby; she knows the tune by heart but stumbles through the words, phrases rising from her memory only fall to pieces beneath the weight of her tongue. “I have to admit, despite all the…extralegal skulduggery, you seemed like more of a partner then. Now you stay here in the lab, working on the future you and he were so keen on creating, while Mr Talis makes himself a household name.”

There’s scuffling as he gets his foot beneath him, one hand grasping at the crutch leaning on the console to deftly lever himself to his feet with only the barest squeal of his brace. The man might be doused in lubricant, the stretch between wrist and rolled up sleeve more grease than skin, but even still he can’t keep the thing properly oiled. For all his flaws, Talis must have the patience of a saint; even now she’s half tempted to hold him down and care for the joints herself, if only to save her from the clanking and whining she’s subject to as he hobbles his way across the workshop. Away from her, she takes care to note.

“You may not know this, Councilor,” he drawls, leaning over a sprawl of schematics. “But long-term partnerships require compromise.”

“Is that so?” She approaches with all the patience of a predator, skirt swaying around her legs like tall grass before a sand cat strikes. He watches her the way prey doesn’t, wary but aware as her hip props up beside his, fingers brushing over the topmost sheet— a sky ship, it looks like, though its shape has more in common with a sloop rather than a galley— until they trace over the single signature sweeping across the corner: Jayce Talis. “Including who gets credit for your inventions?”

He scowls, scooping up the schematics and rolling them into a tight tube. “That is for patenting purposes. We both invented these. Jayce knows that better than anyone.”

Reality rarely keeps an ambitious man from claiming credit, in her experience. “And I suppose it’s the both of you who will make sure the gate is in proper working order before the presentation? With no chance of explosion, if you don’t mind.”

“Councilor, please.” He presses a hand to his chest, the slant on his smile far too steep for sincerity. “When has one of my projects ever exploded?”

She barely has time to roll her eyes toward the window before he adds, “Recently.”

“I’m being unfair,” she admits, after a heavy pause to consider. “Your inventions don’t explode.”

“Thank you for n—”

“You merely throw yourself through them, untested, and hope for the best.”

“The gate wasn’t untested.” Most men would puff themselves up for this amount of protest; stretching their spines to loom, hoping the breadth of their shoulders might quell any question. Viktor, however, sits. “Its effects were just largely unknown on living objects larger than…oh, let’s say a cat.”

It’s Mel who stretches now, lifting her chin to its most imperious height. “So you thought the first person to test those effects should be you?”

Viktor shrugs, mouth pulling into one of his ridiculous grimaces. “Someone had to do it.”

“And what about me, then?” Positioned at all her best, most forbidding angles, Mel favors him with a glare. “Was there some reason I had to be the one to witness it? Without warning, might I add! Just called across the city with no explanation, only to have you disappear right before my eyes—”

“Not disappear, really,” he muses, one long finger tapping at his chin. “More like a relocation. The gate merely opens a point of entry in reality, and the vacuum pulls you through, almost like a pneumatic tube—”

“You were gone.” Mel prides herself on control, on her precise grasp of the way her voice rises and falls, always doing just as it ought. As she wills it to. But that last word leaves her mouth and collapses, folding in on itself, unable to bear the weight.

Viktor glances at her. Not the kind she’s used to from men; that surreptitious pass from one end of her to another, taking her measurements as thoroughly as a modiste— only it’s not the fit of a dress they’re concerned about. No, this one lifts to meet hers, not falling to any more familiar anatomy, but lingering. His brow furrows, the subtle movements of his eyes searching.

It’s…embarrassing, really. This…vulnerability. Mother always said it would kill her, caring too much. If only she had known it could lead to things worse than death, maybe she might have listened.

It’s a relief when his attention finally drops away, fixed to where his hands rest on the desk. His fingers flutter, his mouth works, and after one terrible, too-long moment, he shrugs. “I came back, too.”

She clears her throat, the pitch of her voice concertedly casual as she says, “Yes, well, you might have given me some warning. I’m sure Mr Talis might have had some idea of what to do should your…experiment go wrong, but I was quite in the dark.”

“Well, if I’d done it in front of Jayce, he would have stopped me.” He rolls his eyes, hands lifting to wrap quotes around, “For ‘safety reasons.’”

“I see,” she hums, deceptively light even as her temper lashes behind the golden cage of her civility. “So you chose me because you thought I’d be too stupid to understand what you were up to.”

“You wouldn’t be aware of the precise nature of my intentions, no.” The bastard doesn’t even have the decency to sound even slightly apologetic. Typical of him, really. “Or the risks of putting myself through what essentially amounts to a hole in reality.”

“Oh?” There’s no point in hiding the edge of her tone, not when he could have a real, actual knife held to his throat and still go on about his precise criteria for what constituted a ‘calculated risk.’ “For example?”

“Well…” His head tilts, sending that tuft skittering across his brow again. “There’s no air in a vacuum, traditionally.”

“Oh, honestly—!”

“I lived,” he tells her, as if that is his only metric for success. Considering the few times she’s seen Viktor testing his creations, there’s a reasonable possibility it might be. “And you were suitably impressed with my efforts, if I recall.”

“I was suitably impressed when you managed to move a pencil.” Had she only known that would not be his only magic trick that day, she might have spared herself no small amount of fright. “It has always been Medarda’s policy to allow our apprenta be the experts of their field of study with little oversight, however”— she slanted a pointed stare toward him— “perhaps in the interest of our continued support, I should become more familiar with the basis of your work.”

“Oh, don’t put yourself out on our account, Councilor,” Viktor assures her with his best don’t-get-in-my-way smile. “The naive mind is a wonderful thing. A layman’s perspective often gives more insight into a problem than—”

“I’m not trying to help you with your work, Viktor,” she grates out, every syllable strained through her teeth. “I’m trying to keep you from killing yourself with it.”

“Oh.” His mouth wraps around the sound slowly, as if testing to see if it might hold his weight, brow furrowed. “Well, that doesn’t seem necessary. It’s not as if I’ve died.”

“Yet,” she stresses wearily. And yet, even so, her own mouth begins to curve, hands coming to rest against the cool metal of the tabletop. “I do have to admit, that’s the first time in a long while that someone’s dared to call me naive.”

“Well then.” Viktor makes to stand, the mole beneath his eye wrinkling with the first inkling of a smirk. “I’m glad I could get away with it.”

It’s just chance that makes his glance flick to hers, a trick of the light that turns amber to gold and the strain of straightening his spine that drops his voice just so, that makes him lean in, entirely too close. And yet—

And yet the effect is undeniable. A strange itch that settles beneath her skin, an odd twist to her stomach. The sort of things that a nice pair of shoulders might make her feel, at least on the right man.

Which this certainly is not. It’s just…Viktor.

He rights himself, cursing as he gets the splinted leg beneath him, chin dropping to inspect the brace— it may not be squealing now, but misbehaving certainly seems to be on the menu— and that ridiculous tuft drops over him again, obscuring his eyes, in the way—

Her hand reaches out, the lightest brush pushing the errant tuft back to where it belongs. Or at least, where it will consent to stay. She knows better than to expect anything about Viktor to be tamed, least of all by her. “You will get cleaned up, won’t you?”

He stares at her, his gloved hand half-raised— to knock hers away, she realizes. A reflex, perhaps, abandoned after a thought. Or by the look in his eyes, a lack of one. “Pardon?”

“For the reception,” she says, stilted in a way she can’t quite account for. “I thought you might try and look presentable, for once.”

“Reception?” He snorts, hand dropping back to his crutch. “Why do you want me to go to one of those things? So they can all talk over me like I’m furniture?” His weight shifts, turning his back to her. “I think I’ll pass.”

“So that they can see it’s not just Jayce who is the mind behind Hextech,” she presses. “But the both of you.”

He hesitates, knee joint squeaking in protest. “I think they might rather it that way. It’s certainly simpler. I don’t think any of them would enjoy having to owe something to a man from the Undercity.”

Mel crosses her arms, one eyebrow lifted in challenge. “I didn’t realize you wanted to make things simple for these people.”

His hand flexes on his crutch. “I’ll think about it.”

“That’s all I ask,” she says, and knows better than to add, for now.

#melvik #arcane #the man of progress #my fic #okay so like confession time. i had to split this time point in half #presentation & reception should be coming some time in Feb/March #and i am still annoyed that like. I had to do it at all #because I got to the scene with mel and viktor and realized i was halfway through #and at 10K. which meant the other half would be 10K too #and this would be a 20K chapter #and i just couldn't do it. it's too long man. not in a fic where every other chapter is between 7-10K #DOES NOT BODE WELL FOR THE NEXT TIMEPOINT EITHER #in any case please enjoy this fic where the only thing i take from season 2 is how the hexgate works #because fuck all that noise!

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totalswag · 4 months ago

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hii, I’m not sure if you take request still but if so is there a possible way you can do a drew x singer!reader one shot take on how Sabrina “arrests” her fans before performing Juno for being too hot but the reader does it to Drew during her shows please 🫶🏼

arrested for being too hot — DREW STARKEY

authors note THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING THIS!! my request box is still open so feel free to send me any ideas regarding singer!reader or regular fic ideas you’d like me to write. this was so much writing too. thank for all the love on my last fic lovies <3

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summary "arresting" drew, your boyfriend, during your show before performing your song from your new album.

warning(s) none!

You are on tour for your new album in-front of thousands of fans almost every night. You worked hard on this album and it turned out wonderfully. If it weren’t for the amazing fans of yours, you don’t know where you’d be in your career— they are the reason you are doing this.

Half way into the show— going amazing. The crowd tonight isn't disappointing you. Everything you've hoped for on this tour. You've performed eighteen songs and about to go onto your nineteenth. Played musical spin the bottle not long ago which was really fun.

Before Juno, you begin with a small "skit" where you call someone out in the crowd, arresting them for being too hot. This became a thing after your first show of the tour and doing it ever since. Plus, fans absolutely love it. Interacting with your fans has always been something you did and create those bonds.

Drew, your boyfriend, is attending the show with Madelyn Cline, a mutual friend and cast-mate of Drew's. You told him earlier today you wanted to arrest him in the middle of the show to get the audience excited and it would be fun.

Drew was all for it, and he didn't want you to tell him what you were going to say—he prefers surprises.

Your pink, glittering, dazzling clothing was sparkling in the lights. You pressed your free hand to your brow as though you were looking around for a call. With security, you could see Drew and Madelyn making their way to the front.

You begin by adjusting your earpiece while moving around the stage in your long skirt. "You guys know that moment when you are in a room filled with such beautiful looking people that you start to feel overwhelmed?" When fans applaud, you smile.

"Oh, girls, I think I just seen my future husband in the front row! Oh my god, girls, come here, come here," you say anxiously into the microphone, beckoning them over and waving your free hand.

You turn to face Drew as the girls approach you, asking, "Do you see that gorgeous looking man over in the front row with his arms crossed in the tan shirt?" You speak into the microphone aloud, pointing to Drew in the crowd.

Your girls joyfully waved at Drew while placing their hands on your shoulder. As Drew blushes on the big screen, the crowd reflexively turns up the volume in the arena.

"What's your name handsome?" With your head cocked slightly to the right toward your shoulder, you inquire in jest.

"Drew!" You can hear him when he places his hands on the side of his lips. He gives you a childlike smile and a flushed face.

You say, "I'm sorry I couldn't get that?" as though you couldn't hear him. Leaning forward more, you place your free hand behind your ear.

He shakes his head and utters "Drew!" a little louder.

"Oh my Drew, I must say that you must be a magnet because you drew me in" brings a smile to your face. Your tone indicated that you were trying quite hard not to laugh, yet you kept your calm brilliantly.

Fans had their phones out, capturing the entire interaction. Nobody would have expected Drew to be the person arrested at your gigs since the tour began.

"Drew, you are under arrest for being too hot," you say aloud, smiling and pointing at him— fanning yourself, moving your hips side to side as the sound of sirens going off with blue and red lights behind.

You put your left elbow against your girls shoulder, "guys do you ever just see someone so good looking that you just don't know what to do and all your clothes fall off in that moment" your long skirt slips off smoothy.

"Like your brain just like malfunctions and like I just wanna handcuffed to you now like," one of your girls puts the pink fluffy handcuffs into your hand, you kneel down, "do you know what I mean? Will you take these from me?"

Drew is overwhelmed in this very moment— it's very obvious how much you are affecting him. Drew gives you a gimme me gesture with his fingers, ready to catch the hand cuffs.

He takes them in his hands, looks down, and feels the smooth texture of the fuzzy. He tilts his head to the side before slowly glancing up at you with a smirk—keep in mind that he's still on the big screen.

"We're gonna sing this one to you, Drew."

Juno's song intro starts playing. You wave goodbye to Drew and Madelyn as you return to the center of the stage. You could hear the two begin speaking to fans in the distance.

Drew and Madelyn met you in the dressing room following the show. After giving Madelyn a hug and thanking her for attending the event, you moved to approach Drew and put your arms around his neck while grinning.

"That was insane," Madelyn exclaimed, pulling you into a hug. "What about the full call-out and the handcuffs? Iconic! "You're the talk of the night; everyone is crazy about it."

You giggled as your face heated up. "It seemed right." "You should have seen his face!"

She laughs, "I got the whole thing on video, I'll send it to you later."

"I'm going to give you two some alone time, but you did such an amazing job tonight and looked so hot doing it," Madelyn adds, taking your hands in her and wiggling her brows.

"Thank you, babe. I love you always," you say, hugging her before she leaves you and Drew alone.

When you close the door, Drew comes behind you, placing his arms around your waist and kissing you on the cheek, making you laugh with the tenderness of his lips.

"I'm so proud of you baby, you did such an amazing job on stage and looked unbelievable in your outfits made me feel like the luckiest guy in the entire world." He expresses emotionally, which uplifts you.

"Coming from you, it warms my heart baby. Forever grateful to have you in my life," you smile softly, leaning against his chest, feeling that sense of warmth you always feel whenever you are with him.

"And I'm forever grateful for you" he quietly responds, kissing the top of your head.

"So what are we gonna do with those pink fuzzy handcuffs?"

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yourcutelittlegayfriend · 4 months ago

Text

Imagine this

I've been reading some of this good fics about Yandere Batfam x neglected Reader and it got me thinking.

In some of this fic, usually it's Alfred that has given the reader some love and have not neglected the poor thing and I was like,

What if Reader is still neglected by the batfam but Alfred gave them enough love so much that reader just decided to stay just for Alfred and Reader really just treated Alfred as their real Father or Grandfather.

Where Reader just let go of any expectation from getting attention from the others and just strive to make Alfred proud and happy.

How the turns have table

Imagine reader walking pass the others not bothering to greet them as they look for Alfred instead and other stuff.

Dick seeing them practically skipping as they clutch on a medal hanging on their neck.

"Woah hey!-...um whatcha got-". He tries to say but doesn't get any answers because you were busy muttering to yourself 'I got first place! I have to show this to Alfred!' as you giggle while looking down at the medal and sprint away when you see a glimpse of the butler at the distance.

How instead of begging for the others to train you and become a vigilante, you ask Alfred to train you for self-defense (especially the stuff from his spy days).

Jason was the first to arrive at the manor when the team heard about some intruders getting in but halted when he sees you tying up the unconscious thugs on the floor.

"Hey Alfred is this right?". You didn't pay them any mind when some of them pile in as you pay attention to Alfred who was praising you and giving you more good defense tips while you and him pull the unconscious people out.

How you spend healthy family time with Alfred by helping him in cooking and chores that earns you some knowledge of the recipes from his famous dishes.

Tim was trying to grab a coffee when he sees you having a fun time with Alfred as you skillfully prepare for dinner and actually have good laughs with him.

"Okay, then after I fold this I should add some paprika, right?". You ask the butler as he smiles at you while sipping on the tea that you made for him.

"Yes, you're correct once again young miss/master". He said while humming after drinking the tea indicating how good it is.

Tim can practically see you lighting up as you cheered a 'yes!' from Alfred's confirmation.

How you revolved your time and passion to Alfred and actually deciding that only Alfred is the one you should waste your time on.

Damian wonders around the manor when you and him bump into one another.

"And what are YOU doing walking around MY Father's manor?". He asks while glaring at you.

you just sigh and turn while clutching away the art supplies you bought so you can paint in the garden with Alfred.

"Walking away from you that's what I'm doing". you tell him as you turn the other way not even bothering to argue with the boy anymore.

How you do well in your studies and aim to get a good degree/phd and act like a proper man/lady but not because you want to keep up to being a Wayne but to see Alfred's proud face as he watches you stand on the stage as you show him your diploma/degree certificate.

Bruce decided to take a walk from sitting down for too long when he walk pass a framed picture on the hallway near Alfred's room and double takes when he sees you and Alfred standing together with while you were wearing a toga and cap holding not just any graduation certificate but a college one as the both of you look so happy and him seeing Alfred having that loving and well pleased expression something he rarely sees from Alfred after becoming the crusading dark knight.

Looking at the date he couldn't believe that it has been more that a few years since the graduation happened.

All of the family who used to ignore you suddenly took a different turn and started to try and get your attention but they fail to see that you already moved on from them and only cared about the one person that have literally loved you from the beginning.

Bonus:

Imagine Thomas and Martha Wayne was mysteriously revived for a day and met the family but was deeply disappointed to the others and took a special liking to reader because Alfred has said many good things about them and them especially getting many good degrees something that the rest haven't gotten yet or never bothered to get (this is my hot take because my family are hellbent on us cousins to finish school) and you know for a fact that Alfred is really REALLY proud of the kid that he raised preciously

#x neglected reader #batfam x reader #yandere #yandere batfam

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misayani · 1 month ago

Note

Okay, this is a bit of an odd request, but could you write a threesome between No-el, Se-Mi, and the Fem!reader? Like both No-el and Se-Mi are ganging up on the reader to fuck hard enough for her to see stars.

I don't really have a plot in mind. Maybe another contestant was flirting with the reader and they both get jealous so they corner her in the bathrooms? And the reader is more than willing to fuck them too.

Thank you so much!

NOBODY KNOWS — NO-EUL (GUARD 011) & SE-MI (PLAYER 380)

◜ pairing ... no-eul / guard 011 & se-mi / player 380 x fem reader

◜you knew you were fucked, as you managed to get two women jealous over you.

𔗨 author's note — came ten times writing this so i apologize if i took so long /j. lets just pretend mi-na's still alive and happy in this fic <33 (i needed this no-eul fic as much as you guys do because theres little to no fics about her and im so sad and I JUST NEED HER.) [lowercase intended]

♡ upcoming fic — se-mi + comfort

warning: smut [threesome, fingering, oral]

"ugh, get off meeee!" mi-na tries to wiggle you off as you cling tighter onto her arm. right now was your second game, and they had asked everyone to team up into five— your team included you and mi-na, thanos, nam-su, and se-mi who had been acting distant ever since you guys sat down waiting for your team's turn.

you were sat in between mi-na and se-mi, the latter who had been sneaking glances to the both of you without you noticing.

"i'm scared, what if i mess up?" you unconfidently mutter to your bestfriend, who looked at you with an expression that read 'are you kidding me?'

"babe, i've seen you play gonggi ever since we were kids. and there was not a single time where you missed catching. you won't mess it up." mi-na said, grabbing your hand to reassure you.

"you've known each other since kids?" se-mi spoke up beside you, making you both turn your heads to her. your lips form into a polite smile, she finally spoke.

"yes, we were neighbours but she actually used to bully me—" mi-na cuts you off as she rolls her eyes, "yah! don't just go and tell some nobody shit about us." she nudges you as se-mi scoffs.

"the fuck you mean nobody? if it weren't for me, she wouldn't have made it past first game." your smile drops as se-mi speaks, well it was true— if it weren't for her catching you during 'green light red light', you would've been dead by now.

"you bitch—!" mi-na started but you immediately jumped in, "it's fine. not a big deal." you shoot your bestfriend a look to calm her down. please, not now.

mi-na flips her hair and crosses her arms against her chest, turning her attention to the purple-haired man beside her, who called himself thanos. he notices her and smiles, starting a conversation with her.

you turn to look at se-mi and give her an apologetic smile, "i'm sorry about her. she acts the same for everyone, if that makes you feel better." se-mi rolls her eyes, pressing her tongue against the inside of her cheek as she darts her eyes back to the contestants currently playing.

you just pressed your lips together in a thin line at her lack of response before you turned your head back to also watch as you fiddled with your fingers anxiously.

ㅤ࿚࿚࿚࿚ㅤ࣭ㅤ𐙚ㅤ࣭ㅤ࿙࿙࿙࿙

"can't it be our turn already? my ass is starting to hurt from sitting." you hear mi-na complain under her breath. you roll your eyes playfully as thanos smirks, "don't you worry babe, i'll massage it for you later." nam-su—you think that's his real name. thanos calls him nam-gyu, despite nam-su correcting him many times already until he got tired and just let it be— looks at the purple-haired guy weirdly, you couldn't blame him.

"get a fucking room"

finally, the current team playing made it to the finish line. all of you stood up, cheering the group that won. you turned to mi-na the same time she does and you both crash into a hug as if your own team had won.

beside you, was se-mi staring at the both of you, jaw clenched and hands formed into fists. she sat back down as mi-na and you finally calm down, smiles still plastered onto your faces. the both of you sit back down and you tilt your head at mi-na, whose eyebrows are furrowed as her gaze was locked at something behind you. you follow her gaze, simply seeing a triangle masked guard.

you look back to mi-na before you spoke, "what's wrong?" you see her blink as she snaps out of it, looking to you instead, "nothing. just felt like that guard behind us was staring."

you laugh, "you're overanalyzing everyone. what? gonna fight that guard too?" she rolls her eyes at you as she shakes her head, sighing. "whatever."

moments later, it was finally your team's turn. what mi-na said was right— you didn't mess up during playing gonggi. in fact, the each of you managed to play all the mini games smoothly and went back to the large room without any scratches.

ㅤ࿚࿚࿚࿚ㅤ࣭ㅤ𐙚ㅤ࣭ㅤ࿙࿙࿙࿙

it was finally bedtime, after doing the votings. you and mi-na had voted for go home, while the other three in your group voted for the opposite. you toss and turn in your bed, unable to sleep. many thoughts are racing inside your mind and you would literally kill just for them to give you a break.

suddenly, your mind wanders off, and a girl with the bold personality comes to mind. se-mi. just the thought of her makes you squirm. you had noticed the way she looked at you, the way she touched you everytime she had a chance to.

heat rushed to your core. really? right now? you shift, removing the pillow supporting your head and placing it in between your legs instead. it's not enough, you thought. with a sigh, you hesitated before slipping yourself out of bed and drag your feet towards the door on the left side of the room.

you knock on the door softly, patiently waiting for the masked men to answer. seconds later, the hinged cover on the window swings open, revealing a triangle masked guard.

"restroom. please." you speak, before adding "my stomach really hurts." you see the guard pause for a while, before shutting the hinged cover and you sigh in defeat, preparing to walk back to bed. the door opens and you look up, the triangle masked guard standing on the side, making way for you.

"i need to go too." you flinch as you hear someone speak behind you. glancing to your back, your cheeks heat up as you see the girl you had just been fantasizing about earlier. se-mi glanced back, looking directly into your eyes.

you snapped your head back, facing forward. with an awkward cough, you walk forward, se-mi following behind as the triangle masked guard guides you both towards the restroom.

the guard opens the door for the both of you as soon as you reach the restroom. se-mi walks past you, going inside first before you walked in next.

the door shuts behind you just before you hear one of the bathroom stall's door slam shut. you just stand there for a moment, why was i here again? right. to get yourself off.

you felt disgust towards yourself as you made your way to the sink, turning on the faucet. you start to wash your hands as you think: but how the fuck am i supposed to do that when the woman you were thinking about is also inside this restroom and wouldn't that be so disgusting to think of someone like that an— your thoughts were cut off as you look back up to the mirror in front of you, startling as you see se-mi just meters away behind you.

you turned the faucet off before you turned around, facing her. "you scared me." you said quietly, your chest rising up and down. she snickers before she spoke up, "scared you, huh? don't tell me you don't like me being in the same room as you, alone."

she clicks her tongue, "you think i haven't been noticing your little stares?" oh so she felt it too, the thing between us. "you're probably having dirty thoughts right now for all i know." her lips form into a smug smirk, making your knees feel like jelly.

your lips part and the restroom door suddenly swings open, making you both snap your heads to look. your eyes widen in fear as you see a triangle masked guard walk inside, locking the door behind. your head turns to look at se-mi, who didn't look as scared at all. what the fuck? you thought.

your heart started to hammer in your chest. you hear rustling as you look back to the guard. he— or she— started taking the mask off, revealing piercing eyes, before taking off the balaclava next. it revealed a woman. a rather hot woman, she had short black hair and a scar on her right cheek that was still reddish.

"s-semi..?" your voice came out shaky, as you reached for the girl beside you. you were so confused and scared, not knowing what this guard's deal was. she glanced at you, walking in front in a protective manner, before speaking to the woman you didn't know the intentions of.

"why the hell are you here?" she bravely starts, "don't you guys have your own restrooms?" se-mi huffs at the woman. you admired se-mi for her courage to talk confidently but at the same time you're scared shitless for her.

the woman sighs, "why the hell—? fuck—" she starts, before adding: "to join in on whatever the hell you two are doing."

"to join in on—? ah." se-mi pauses as if she read the woman's mind. "i see. you want her?" se-mi chucks her head sideways at you, as the woman glances at your confused state— eyebrows furrowed and eyes doe. you looked like a puppy, which made her want to ruin you even more.

"wha-what?" you stuttered, fiddling with your fingers. "what do you mean? what do you mean you want me? how?" you hear se-mi chuckle as the woman in front of you crosses her arms. want me? want to kill me?? or like, sex? hopefully sex. different thoughts raced to your mind.

"don't act dumb now sweetheart. you know exactly what i mean by it." se-mi cooes at you mockingly.

"well.. what do you say? are you up for it..?" the woman speaks up again with her raspy voice. you bit your lip, as they both stare at you in anticipation. fuck it.

you shyly nodded as you look down at your fingers. "words." your head snaps up to look at the woman once again before saying, "fine— yes.. i'm down."

after hearing your confirmation, the woman starts to unzip her red jumpsuit, making your legs weak. se-mi walks closer to you, "take your jacket off, baby." she softly says. you comply, before se-mi speaks up once again "shouldn't have been so close to your 'bestfriend' in front of me"

you furrow your eyebrows in confusion, dropping your jacket onto the floor. "oh. i guess we're both in here for the same reason, then." the woman speaks, your cheeks heat up as you saw her figure— she had the jumpsuit unzipped down to her waist, revealing a sports bra underneath.

se-mi snickers as she pushes your shoulder, making you fall down to your butt. "you saw that too?"

"was observing them from afar." oh.

"huh? bestfriend? you mean mi-na?" se-mi hums as she squats down to your level.

"but- but we're just friends?" you lock eyes with se-mi as the other woman walks just behind you.

"we're just friends," se-mi mocks you, "bullshit."

the woman's also bent down to your level now and you can feel her hot breath against the back of your neck. "shirt, off." she whispers.

you hesitantly grap the end of your shirt, you were shy to show them your body, it'll make you feel too exposed and pathetic.

the woman behind you clicks her tongue, before she takes your shirt off herself impatiently. "hesitant now? you weren't as hesitant earlier when you kept flirting with your friend."

"won't be surprised at all if the both of you had sex before." semi continues, you were now left in your bra and tracksuit pants. "slut."

your breath hitches as the woman behind you started kissing the side of your neck softly, while her gloved hands traveled to your covered breasts and started caressing them over the cloth. "no-eul. my name's no-eul." she whispers in between leaving kisses on your neck.

you whimper, your hands going towards your pants to slide it down your legs. se-mi helps you and she throws it aside, exposing your soaked underwear. "you look so pretty like this. so wet for us." se-mi purrs as she presses the pads of her fingertips to your clothed cunt.

the woman— no-eul— unclasped your bra and you wiggle it off you as the cold air made your nipples hard. no-eul takes off her gloves and immediately brings them back to your boobs to grope them.

you let out a soft moan, head tipping back to kiss no-eul. she complies, taking your soft lips onto her chapped ones. the both of you make out as se-mi kept herself busy sliding down your underwear. you lifted your hips up slightly to make it easier for her, and once they were finally off, she spreads your legs as her breath hitches.

you pull away from the kiss and rest your head on no-euls shoulder while she continued to touch your chest. semi leans down and starts to leave kisses on your thighs, sometimes sucking them.

your head shoots up to look at se-mi. "se-mi please" you plead, "please what?" she murmurs against your inner thigh.

"please, eat me out. please."

"yeah? is that the same way you beg mi-na?" she taunts, "no, no— we don't fuck i swear! we're just friends." you cry out, your hips bucking up, desperate for any contact.

you tilt your head back to no-eul's shoulder once again, pouting and whining, "no-eul.." the woman chuckled at you and shook her head, "you have to beg, baby."

you look at se-mi as your lower lips tremble. you didn't even care at this point on, "please se-mi, i— i promise we're both just friends. really- i— i swear she's straight. just please, i need you."

"give the poor girl what she wants, don't be so mean." you were grateful that no-eul spoke up, as it finally led to se-mi giving in.

your back arches as your head falls down to no-eul's left shoulder. se-mi latched her lips onto your aching clit, swirling it with her tongue. soft gasps escape your mouth—that's very close to no-eul's ear— making her hear everything loud and clear.

"mnnnh— so good.." no-eul herself was getting wetter and wetter at your noises: soft moans and the lewd sound your wet cunt is making while se-mi hungrily makes out with it.

"fuck, baby.." you swear you just heard a low moan from no-eul, but maybe you're just tripping, considering your mind is spinning around right now out of pleasure.

you reach for no-eul's hand, bringing it to your mouth before you started to suck on her ring and middle finger. "shit," no-eul mutters, her fingers softly thrusting in and out your mouth, "don't do this to me."

se-mi hums against your cunt, her tongue teasing your entrance before she pushes it in. many things are happening too fast right now, you could feel your orgasm growing.

no-eul pulls her fingers out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting them. she leans down to kiss you, making your moans muffled. your hand travels towards se-mi's hair as you push her head deeper. you couldn't think of anything that's better than this: no-eul's tongue exploring your mouth while se-mi's explores your cunt.

"i'm going— to cum—" you say in between kisses, loud enough for se-mi to hear. you should be thankful for se-mi being nice, because she speeds up, eager to make you cum and taste you.

and then it happens. everything waist down tightens as you release, your orgasm ripping through you. a loud moan escapes your mouth and onto no-eul's who pulled away and watched your pleasured face. se-mi laps your juices up before you feel no-eul remove herself from behind you.

se-mi stands up and no-eul whispers something to her, nodding before she pulls her pants and underwear down and tosses them somewhere else. you lick your lips at the sight before no-eul spoke up

"on your hands and knees." holy fucking shit— se-mi places herself down as you turn around, your legs slightly wobbling while you try to support yourself using your hands. your face was met with se-mi's dripping core before she speaks "well?"

"i- i don't know how to... um," you shyly say, not feeling confident to make someone cum.

"it'll be fine, just trust your instincts." trusting her, you lean down to close the space between you and se-mi's cunt, giving her light kitten licks. "fuck— more." she forces out. you started making '8' patterns against her clit as she lets out a breathy moan.

your eyes widen as you moan out loudly from no-eul slamming two of her fingers inside you without any warning. "fuck—! mngggh!" se-mi didn't let you adjust as she forcefully pushes your head down to her core, making your moans muffled against her, sending vibrations to her whole body.

tears started to well up in your eyes as no-eul's fingers pound into you. no-eul grunts behind you as her fingers works wonders inside of you, hitting the right spots, "you're so fucking tight."

se-mi lets out a scoff, "surprising, thought you were a whore." you moan against her core, if it was possible— you grew wetter at her words.

you start to think that you're doing a good job because of how se-mi lets out small moans. you flutter your eyes open and traveled your eyes to look at her expression, you were surprised to see her already looking at you, eyes half-lidded with lips parted and sweat dripping down her forehead as you kept making out with her cunt.

your arch your back as you felt no-eul curl her fingers inside you. you felt another orgasm building up, this time faster due to being the second one.

"dirty girl, letting a guard fuck you senseless like this when you should be scared of me." you hear no-euls raspy voice— shit, her voice alone is turning you on so bad, making you feel butterflies inside your stomach.

"think you can handle one more finger baby?" no-eul cooes, as you hum against se-mi, tasting something salty— did she just cum? holy fuck did i make her cum?

se-mi tugs your hair up and shifts herself closer to you before crashing her lips onto yours. you could differentiate the way no-eul and se-mi kiss you: no-eul kissed you soft and slow while se-mi kissed you hungrily and rough. you moan into her mouth as no-eul pushes a third finger inside you, making you closer to releasing.

"you're taking it so well, so good."

you pull away from the kiss and se-mi immediately latches her lips on your neck, sucking on it.

"i'm gonna cum- i'm gonna cum," you moan out as no-eul's fingers work faster.

your eyes roll back as your second orgasm hits you, feeling an overwhelming bliss throughout your whole body. no-eul doesn't stop but she slows down her thrusts as she lets you ride your high. soon enough, you've calmed down and the woman behind you pulls her fingers out of you, making a squelching noise.

your knees shake before they gave out, if it weren't for se-mi catching you you would've fell to the floor face first.

"clean her up. i need to go back outside." no-eul speaks up. you can hear the faucet running so you assumed she was washing her hands. you can feel se-mi nod against you, before you turned around to look at no-eul who was zipping up her jumpsuit and tidying herself up before walking towards the door.

she's leaving already? the thought made you sulk.

se-mi leans you against the wall as she starts to dress herself up as well. no-eul pauses, her shoulders going up and down as if she let out a sigh before you see her turn around and walk back towards you.

you just stare straight forward dumbfoundedly, before feeling a cold hand tilt your chin up as no-eul leans down to give you once last kiss.

"i trust you to not tell a soul about this."

her voice was gentle but firm, and it made you not want to even think about telling anyone about this— it wasn't like you're planning to anyways. no-eul walks towards the door and pauses as she sees se-mi come back with a tissue roll on hand, she gives her a nod before unlocking the restroom door; she opened it slightly at first, checking for anyone outside, and walking outside when she confirmed it was clear.

se-mi picks your underwear and pants up from the floor and shakes it off, you stand up as she hands you the toilet paper and you use that to clean your slick off. she hands you your clothes after and you wear them, disposing the used tissue paper and then washing your hands after.

you glanced at where you dropped your jacket, frowning when you didn't see it there. se-mi clears her throat behind you, you turn off the faucet and turn around before she hands you your jacket.

you both stare each other awkwardly. you bit your lower lip as her lips form into a smirk, "have you learned your lesson?"

you nod slowly and then you see her raise her eyebrows at you. "next time you pull the same shit, i won't be so nice." she leans in to kiss you; you reciprocate. "but it's too bad we don't have too much time using the restroom." se-mi says in between kisses as she cups your jaw

"or maybe should i just fuck you out there for everyone to see, hm?"

she smiles against your lips, "even had a fucking guard swoon over you." she murmurs. you pull away from the kiss before clearing your throat, you aren't really sure what to say right now. "cmon." se-mi intertwines her fingers with yours as she leads you towards the restroom exit, opening it before stepping outside with you following.

no-eul— well, a masked guard, but you think it's her, was standing outside patiently, nodding and leading the way back to the large room after seeing the both of you.

your mind wanders off as you walk— oh my god. i just fucked two women and one of them's a fucking guard. a quiet sigh escapes your lips as you rethink your life choices;

what the hell am i doing with my life

ㅤ࿚࿚࿚࿚ㅤ࣭ㅤ𐙚ㅤ࣭ㅤ࿙࿙࿙࿙

"why are you walking so weirdly? hey— walk straight for the love of god!" mi-na exclaims as she catches you from falling down, the two of you were walking towards the line of players to get your breakfast.

"the fuck does that have to do with you not walking straight?" she scoffs, "it's like you got fucked so hard you can't walk." she murmurs as your eyes widen before you nudged her.

your cheeks heat up as you remembered the things that happened last night in the bathroom. you shake your head, "it's nothing. my head just hurts."

"mi-na!"

you didn't deny it though. if only she knew, if only.

@misayani

#squid game #squid game x reader #squid game season 2 #se-mi x reader #squid game smut #୭ ୨♡୧ ৎ misa writes ...

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v6quewrlds · 3 months ago

Text

❝ candy paint, l. norris. ❞ ‎ ‎ ┉

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀summary: lando norris is a lot of things: 100% honest is not one of them. good thing you're around to make sure he owns his weaknesses.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀author's note: first lando fic everyone cheer!! finding my footing writing lando's personality (dry asf) but I'll get there lmao day three of my no nut november series.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀warnings: smut, please do not interact with my work if you are under 18. language, friends with benefits, the max mentioned is fewtrell not verstappen, oral (male receiving)protected sex, neither reader nor lando can shut the fuck up.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀pairing: lando norris x reader.

‎ ‎ ⁎⠀┉⠀word count: 2k.

"You're kidding, right?" you said into the phone, your voice laced with a hint of skepticism. The rain pattered against the window of your apartment, matching the rhythm of your thoughts. You had just returned from a week-long work trip and were looking forward to a quiet evening in.

Lando's voice was as persistent as the rain outside. "Come on, mate. It's been too long. You know I can't wait." His tone was a blend of playful and demanding, the kind that usually made your heart flutter. But this time, you had to draw a line.

"Lando, seriously," you said, a smirk playing on your lips. "What about your little bet with Max?" The mention of Max's name brought a mischievous glint to your eye. You knew how much he hated losing, especially to his friends.

Lando chuckled, the sound echoing through the line. "I wasn't sticking to the bet anyway. I've got to see you." His voice grew husky with desire, the kind of voice that made your knees wobble and your resolve waver. "I'll come to you."

You hesitated, your eyes narrowing as you considered his plea. The thought of seeing Lando sent a warm shiver down your spine. You could almost feel his strong hands gripping your hips, his breath hot on your neck. "Fine," you relented. "But if you want to come over, I'm telling Max you caved."

"You wouldn't," Lando said with mock horror, and you could almost hear his grin.

"Oh, I absolutely would," you replied, the challenge in your voice unmistakable. "You're the one begging to see me, remember?"

The line went quiet for a beat, and then Lando sighed dramatically. "Alright, fine, whatever. I'll be there in twenty."

Twenty minutes later, the sound of the door opening and closing was like music to your ears. You felt the heat of Lando's presence before you even saw him. He was soaking wet from the rain outside, his white t-shirt clinging to his muscular chest. You couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him. "You look like a drowned rat," you said, standing up from the couch where you had been scrolling through your phone.

"Charming," Lando shot back with a smirk, shaking his wet hair like a dog and spraying droplets across the floor. He stepped closer to you, and you could smell the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the freshness of rain. "But it's worth it if it means I get to see this gorgeous face." He leaned in to kiss you, but you playfully pushed him away. "What, no greeting for the man who braved the storm to see you?"

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide your smile. "Take off your clothes before you drench the whole place," you said, stepping aside. You watched as he peeled off his shirt, revealing the defined abdomen and muscular arms that had your knees growing weaker by the second. You made no effort to hide your eyes sweeping over his form as you bit your bottom lip.

He kicked off his shoes and socks, leaving a puddle by the door. "Better?" he asked, a glint in his eye as he moved closer.

"Marginally," you replied, trying to keep your cool. But when Lando's hands reached for your waist, pulling you into his warm embrace, you melted against him. His touch was like a warm blanket on a cold night, comforting and revitalizing all at once.

You kissed with an intensity that spoke of weeks of pent-up longing, your tongues dancing in a familiar rhythm. His hands slid down your back, cupping your ass, and you felt his erection pressing against your thigh. "You're going to be the end of me," he murmured against your lips.

You pulled away just enough to whisper, "You're the one who couldn't wait." You stepped back, taking his hand and leading him to the couch. With a swift motion, you straddled him, your cotton shorts riding up your thighs. Lando's hands roamed up your legs, his thumbs teasing the hem, hinting at what was to come.

Your round brown eyes searched his emerald ones, a silent question lingering between you two. "You sure you're ready to lose?" you asked, your voice low and sultry. The room was filled with the sound of your ragged breaths and the distant patter of rain.

Lando's grin was all the answer you needed. "Love, I'd do anything to taste you right now." His thumbs hooked into the waistband of your shorts, and with a quick pull, they were around your ankles. He groaned as he felt the heat of your bare skin against his.

You giggled, a sound that was music to his ears, and leaned back, placing your hands on his shoulders. "Well, you're in luck," you said, your voice dripping with seduction. "Because I'm feeling quite generous."

Without breaking eye contact, Lando reached for the waistband of his sweats pulling it down with a slow, deliberate movement. His erection sprang free, and you couldn't help but gasp. He was always so beautifully aroused, so ready for you. You slid your hand over it, feeling it pulse beneath your touch.

He groaned, his eyes closing briefly before snapping open again. "Don't tease me," he warned, his voice strained.

"Who's teasing?" you said, your smile wicked. You kneeled off the couch, your soft dark curls brushing against his chest, and took him in your mouth. Lando's grip tightened on the couch cushions, his body arching off the cushions with a hiss.

"Fuck, babe," he groaned, his eyes rolling back. Your mouth was warm and wet, moving over him with the kind of expertise that only came from knowing someone's body intimately. You took him deep, your tongue swirling around the head before pulling back to tease the sensitive underside. You knew every inch of him, every spot that made him squirm, and every spot that made him beg.

You felt a rush of power, your eyes sparkling with amusement as you watched Lando's reaction. You loved the way he lost control around you, the way his cocky exterior crumbled to reveal the desperate need beneath. You bobbed your head faster, taking him deeper each time, until you felt his thighs tense and his hips jerk upwards.

"Goddammit," he breathed, his hands finding their way into your hair, guiding your movements. "I can't wait anymore." He pulled you off him, his eyes dark with need. "Get on top," he said, his voice a gruff command.

Your heart raced as you straddled him, your own desire matching his. You watched as he reached into the pocket of his sweats, retrieving a condom he casually slid over his length. Then you felt him at your entrance, his fingers eagerly pushing your panties to the side, and with a little wiggle, you sank down, enveloping him in your warmth. Lando's eyes rolled back in his head, a silent groan escaping his lips. The sensation of him filling you was overwhelming, a sweet ache that you had missed.

You found your rhythm quickly, your bodies moving together as if you had been practicing this dance your whole life. Lando's hands roamed your body, cupping your breasts and squeezing your hips as you rode him. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving little half-moons of pressure as you rose and fell. Each time you took him in, you felt like you were claiming a piece of him, a piece that was yours and yours alone.

The sound of your bodies slapping together filled the room, a testament to your passion. You leaned forward, your breasts brushing against Lando's chest, and whispered, "Couldn't even go two weeks, could you?" Your voice was teasing, but it held an underlying satisfaction. You knew you had the power to make him break his bet.

"Fuck the bet," Lando groaned, his eyes squeezed shut in pleasure. "You're all I need." His words were punctuated by his hips bucking upwards, pushing into you with a desperation that sent a shiver down your spine. The room grew hotter, the scent of your desire mixing with the dampness from the rain outside.

Your movements grew more frantic, their breaths mingling in the air. The couch creaked beneath you, a testament to the intensity of your passion. You felt yourself getting closer, your inner muscles tightening around him. Lando's grip on your hips grew firmer, his fingers digging into your skin.

"Come for me," he urged, his eyes burning into yours. "Let go, baby."

You threw your head back, your dark curls bouncing off your shoulders as you picked up your pace. The sensations grew more intense, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. Lando's hands moved from your hips to your breasts, his hands squeezing at the bouncing flesh before leaning down to bring his mouth to the peaks. You gasped, the pleasure shooting straight to your core.

"Yes, just like that," you moaned, your voice a little raspy. The warmth of his mouth on your breasts sent shockwaves through your body. You felt your orgasm approaching, the familiar coil tightening in your belly. You leaned into him, your movements becoming erratic as you chased the feeling.

Lando could feel you tightening around him, your breath coming in short gasps. He knew you were close, and it was his undoing. He thrust upwards, his own release building. "Fuck," he groaned, his eyes meeting yours, silently pleading for you to let go.

With a cry, you did. Your orgasm washed over you, making your body convulse. You felt him swell inside you, his own climax following closely behind. You held onto each other tightly, your bodies moving together in perfect harmony until the waves of pleasure subsided.

For a moment, you stayed just like that, panting and sweaty, your hearts hammering in your chests. Then, Lando leaned in to kiss you, a gentle brush of his lips that spoke of affection and satisfaction. He pulled out of you with a soft groan, and you felt a twinge of loss. But the warmth of his body remained, his arms still wrapped around your waist.

"You're amazing," he murmured against your neck, his voice a low rumble that made your skin prickle. You leaned into the embrace, feeling a sense of peace wash over you. This was your thing, your little slice of heaven, left uncomplicated despite your close friendship.

You lay there for a while, your bodies entwined and your breaths slowing. The rain outside had turned into a gentle pitter-patter, lulling you into a state of post-coital bliss. It was moments like these that made the world seem to stop spinning, where the only thing that mattered was the warmth of each other's skin and the sound of your hearts beating in unison.

You leaned back and looked into his green eyes, the corners of your mouth curling up in a knowing smile. "So," you began, "Are you going to man up and text Max now, or should I?"

Lando groaned, his head falling back against the couch cushion. "You're enjoying this way too much," he said, a hint of a grin playing on his lips.

"I like seeing you squirm," you replied, your voice light and playful. You reached for your phone on the coffee table, your eyes gleaming with mischief. You knew Lando was competitive to a fault and losing was not something he took kindly to, especially not when it came to something as serious as a bet with Max.

Lando's eyes narrowed playfully as he watched you type away, his arms still around your waist. "Don't be too detailed," he murmured, his grip tightening slightly.

You glanced up at him, your smile widening. "Oh, I won't," you said sweetly, sending the text. "But he's going to know you didn't last five minutes."

Lando's eyes shot open. "You didn't!"

"Oh, I did," you said with a laugh, the sound like a melody in the quiet room. "And you know what?"

He tugged on your hair gently, bringing you closer. "What?"

"It was worth it," you whispered, your voice filled with sincerity. "Every single second."

You kissed him softly, your tongue darting out to trace his bottom lip. Lando's eyes closed, savoring the moment, his arms tightening around you. He knew you were right, that the thrill of being with you was worth any bet.

#&. cassie writes.#&. nnn masterlist.#lando norris #lando norris x reader #lando norris imagine #lando norris x you #lando norris fanfic #lando norris smut #lando norris x black!reader #x black fem reader #black!fem!reader #black!reader #x black reader

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hoe4hotchner · 4 months ago

Note

hey! i love your stuff :)! was wondering if you could maybe do a short fic with hotch where he's interrogating the reader (who is a suspect, but is actually innocent), and the reader politely informs hotch that they're about to faint (they have a fainting condition, like POTS or something). hotch doesn't panic bc he's, well, hotch, but he calls for medical help. meanwhile, reader is just casually lying down on the cold floor of the cell and being really chill waiting to faint, even making conversation. anyway, hotch finds out that the police officers who had arrested the reader had denied them their medicine, and he rips them a new one.

OBVIOUSLY DONT WRITE IT IF YOU DONT WANT TO, I THINK YOU'RE LOVELY AND I DONT WANT TO PRESSURE YOu

have a nice day!

Unexpected Interrogation | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!reader | WC: 0.9k | CW: Hurt/comfort?, medical condition (POTS), mistreatment by law enforcement, fainting, medication.

A/N: I'm trying a new layout for when I answer requests, I don't know if I'll commit to it, but I like it for now.

Also I don't know anything about POTS or other fainting conditions, so I hope I did it justice - feedback is appriciated.

Hotch sat across from you, his expression stern and unyielding as he leaned forward in his chair, the dim lighting of the room casting sharp shadows on his face. To any observer, you would seem calm - your hands folded neatly in your lap and eyes focused - but inside, you were already feeling the telltale signs. The tightness in your chest, the lightheadedness creeping in. You’d been here for hours, and now, without your medicine, it was simply a matter of time before you would faint.

"You've been uncooperative since the moment we brought you in," Hotch said, his voice level but carrying the weight of suspicion as he couldn't quite figure out if you were guilty or not. "Tell me why you were at the scene."

You took a slow breath, trying to center yourself. "Agent Hotchner," you said politely, your voice a little too soft for the intensity of the moment. "I understand why I'm here, and I will tell you everything you want to know, but I think I should let you know… I'm about to faint."

He blinked, his gaze sharpening but not a trace of panic crossing his face. If anything, his brows furrowed, a mixture of confusion and concern settling in his expression. "You're about to faint?"

"Yeah," you nodded, shifting slightly in your seat, trying to ignore the swimming sensation behind your eyes. "I have a fainting condition - it's called POTS. Normally, I’d take medicine, but..." You gave a tired shrug. "The officers who arrested me didn’t let me have it."

The tension in the room shifted. Hotch leaned back slightly, the gears in his mind already turning. He wasn’t a man to panic, even in strange situations. He pressed a button on the desk to signal for help, keeping his eyes on you. "I’ll get a medic in here."

You offered him a small smile. "Thanks, but it’s cool. Happens all the time. I’ll just… lie down." Without waiting for a response, you eased yourself off the chair - thankful that you weren't cuffed to the table - and laid flat on the cold tiled floor, your head resting on your arms as if this was the most natural thing in the world. The coolness of the floor helped somewhat, but your vision was already narrowing at the edges.

Hotch stood, watching you for a moment before kneeling next to you, his tone softened slightly. "How long have you been without your medication?"

You glanced at him from your place on the floor, blinking slowly. "Since they arrested me… hours ago? Honestly, it could be worse. But you know, fainting isn’t great for clearing one’s name." You chuckled lightly, trying to make the best of the situation, though it quickly turned into a weary sigh. "I’m innocent, by the way."

He didn't respond to that directly, but there was a flicker in his eyes, something acknowledging the injustice of your situation. "How often does this happen?"

"Often enough that I’m pretty used to it," you said casually, your breath slowing as the dizziness increased. "But hey... it gives me an excuse to lie down on the job, right?"

A small smile tugged at the corner of Hotch’s mouth - just for a moment - but then his professional mask slipped back into place. "Don’t talk. Just focus on staying calm."

You hummed in agreement, though your vision was blurring fast. "I’ll be out soon, but when I wake up, I’d love to continue this conversation. I mean, I know I’m innocent, but it would be great to convince you of that too."

He gave a short nod. "We’ll get to that. First, let’s get you taken care of."

Moments later, the medics arrived, rushing into the room with a stretcher and medical kit. But Hotch didn’t leave your side, ensuring they knew about your condition, making sure they were doing everything right. As they checked your vitals and prepared to move you, you started to fade, your words becoming slow and drowsy. "Thanks, agent… you’re not as intimidating as I thought you’d be."

The medic smiled at that, while Hotch’s lips pressed into a thin line, the smallest hint of amusement in his eyes. But once you were being taken care of, Hotch’s focus shifted back to the situation that had led to this. The officers who had arrested you. The ones who had denied you your medication.

Minutes later, Hotch found the officers outside the room, his demeanor stone cold. “Which one of you denied the suspect their medication?”

One of the officers, a tall man with a smug expression, stepped forward. “We didn’t think it was relevant. They didn’t say it was urgent.”

Hotch’s eyes darkened, his voice dropping to a low tone. “Didn’t think it was relevant? You’re lucky they’re stable, or you’d be facing a lawsuit at the very least.” He took a step closer, towering over the man. “You do not withhold medical treatment from anyone in custody. I don’t care if they’re a suspect, a witness, or guilty. Do you understand?”

The officer faltered, clearly not expecting the sharp reprimand. “Y-yes, sir.”

“I’ll be filing a report about this. You’ve jeopardized a life today. If I ever hear of anything of the sort again, you’ll be out of a job.” Hotch didn’t wait for a response, turning on his heel and heading back toward the interrogation room. There were few things that set him off more than mistreatment, especially under his watch.

He returned just as the medics were finishing up. You were still unconscious, but stable. Hotch stood by the door for a moment, watching as they prepared to transport you, his expression unreadable.

Innocent or not, he was going to make sure you were treated right.

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pomefioredove · 7 months ago

Text

a private meeting

summary: yuu makes a list of the top five cutest third years. the following conversation type of post: short fic characters: cater, trey, leona, rook, vil, idia mentioned, lilia, malleus additional info: romantic?? platonic?? idk, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, this is more for character interactions. and fun

"I'm sure you're all well aware of why we're here,"

The eight gentleman standing around the dark, candlelit room look between each other.

Leona yawns.

"How long is this gonna take, exactly? I was dragged outta bed for this,"

Vil glares. "Hush. I wanted to deal with this matter in the quietest manner possible, without disturbing the prefect. Sevens know what happens when your egos go unchecked,"

"Look who's talking,"

Another glare, but Vil chooses not to waste any more time.

"Two nights ago, the prefect hosted a slumber party for Ace Trappola, Deuce Spade, Jack Howl, and our own Epel Felmier,"

"I remember that," Lilia says, rubbing his chin. "Sebek was invited, but refused in case someone attacked Malleus whilst he was away."

Malleus shakes his head.

"During this event, the prefect created a list of the top five "cutest third years", as we all know. And, to avoid any childish squabbling, I've gathered you all here to open it as an ensemble. Rook?"

A slim, folded sheet of notebook paper appears from the dark of Rook Hunt's pocket. He holds it up, as if presenting it to the heavens.

"Where did you even find that?" Trey asks, adjusting his glasses.

"Facile! It was buried under a stack of homework assignments in our dearest Trickster's bedroom," the blond says merrily.

"Logistically speaking, that's almost too easy. Are we sure it isn't a fake?" Ortho pipes up.

"Ortho?" Vil asks. "What are you doing here?"

The boy giggles in an electronic chime. "Idia is hiding under his covers and won't come out, so I'm here in his place!"

"...Alright,"

"I don't know what he's so nervous for," Vil goes on. "When I am already guaranteed to be in the first place slot."

Leona scoffs, kicking back with his feet on the table. Vil glares again.

"How rude,"

"He's not wrong. You are the most beautiful here..." a smile creeps up Lilia's face. "But, as I recall, you said cutest third years, not most beautiful. And if anyone is the cutest, it's me."

"Oh, spare me," Leona sighs. "Let's just get this over with. Open the damn thing."

"You're not the least bit curious, Leona?" the fae asks, batting his large eyes.

"Don't patronize me. And no, I'm not. I couldn't care less,"

Lilia smirks, but says nothing more on the matter.

He turns to his tablemate. "And what say you, Malleus?"

Every person in the room falls silent, and then turn to the prince sitting at the furthest corner of the table with his hands folded in front of him.

He hasn't shared a single thought all evening.

"...The contents of this list make no difference to me," he finally speaks. "My feelings towards the prefect will be unaffected."

Rook sets a hand over his heart. "Quelle beauté! I am moved! Not even the strongest of winds could make your friendship bow,"

Leona groans as if he's in agonizing pain.

"Open it!"

"Okay, hold on. Isn't this like, a major privacy violation?" Cater says. He doesn't sound eager to see the results, either.

"I would hate for someone to read my private thoughts to a room full of people."

"He may have a point. This was a list made between friends at a slumber party. Taking it out of that context could be disastrous," Trey agrees.

"There's a 96% chance this will end in conflict!" Ortho chimes in, merry as ever. Leona sighs.

"Can I just leave?"

"No," Vil snaps. "Rook, open it."

"Rook, don't,"

"Rook!"

The poor man observes the conflict slowly unraveling before him, and he sets the folded sheet of paper on the table.

"Now, now, do not squabble! Let this be a chance to celebrate our bonds with the lovely prefect!"

"I agree with Rook," Lilia smiles big. "We should all agree that no matter what is on that list, we'll leave it after tonight and move on."

Vil sighs. "Yes, yes. You're all right. We can't let what they wrote at a private slumber party affect our relationships with them,"

"No matter what, we leave them out of this. Agreed?"

Everyone in the room nods.

"Alright. Rook, read it,"

Rook reaches behind him, the anticipation building, and... is met with a cool wooden surface.

The note seems to have disappeared into thin air.

Before anyone can express their obvious confusion, an evil cackling pulls their attention to the doorway.

Vil gasps.

"Grim! Put that down!"

The small direbeast, now holding a crumpled piece of paper in his paw, smiles wickedly.

And then, to everyone's horror, he eats it whole.

Leona is the first to react, storming over and lifting Grim by the scruff of his neck. "Seriously?!"

"Fufufu. Looks like someone cared, after all," Lilia chuckles. Vil rolls his eyes.

"Hey! Not my fault you guys were so loud! You woke me up from my nap over a stupid list!" Grim says, crossing his arms.

A brief silence follows, and then a sigh. Leona drops him and he lands on his feet.

"Perhaps Grim is right," Ortho says. "Instead of worrying about the numerical grade the prefect assigns you, you should focus on the unique and special aspects of your individual relationships!"

"How eloquent!" Rook coos. "Oui, you are right! Sometimes it is best to let secrets remain secrets."

"Something about the way he says that tells me he already knows what it said," Leona grumbles.

"Ohoho. A fascinating mystery, non? Did I sneak a peek before tonight, or am I just as clueless as you?"

The prince rolls his eyes.

Vil sighs. "Ortho is right. Now I feel ridiculous for getting so worked up over what amounts to a joke at a slumber party,"

Everyone grows quiet, seemingly reflecting on themselves for the duration of the brief silence.

Lilia's giggles change the melancholic mood of the room.

"Perhaps Malleus had the right idea all along. It doesn't matter who the prefect thinks is more attractive; they're still a wonderful friend. How wise- I'm very proud,"

Malleus beams.

"Yeah yeah," Grim grumbles, turning to the door. "I didja a favor, anyway. None of you weirdos were number one."

He leaves, and he takes the peace and reflection with him.

Slowly, everyone turns to each other.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #cater diamond x reader #trey clover x reader #leona kingscholar x reader #rook hunt x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #lilia vanrouge x reader #malleus draconia x reader #queued

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phoenixyfriend · 1 month ago

Text

Star Wars Time Travel Rec List

About time I put together a General Rec List for Star Wars Time Travel, yeah?

Organized by the time-traveling character(s). I'm adding a star for my favorites that imo you have to read. I'm not going to claim that those are necessarily the best, because I feel like that's not objective and also kinda mean to the ones that are good since they might just not be to my personal taste, but they are my favorites.

Obi-Wan

Anakin Skywalker

Ahsoka

Clones

Other Prequels-Era Characters

Two or more people

Luke or Leia

Other

Tagged authors where I could. If they aren't tagged, I either couldn't find their tumblr, they have their settings such that no one can tag them, or they blocked me for one reason or another.

Obi-Wan

It Was Another Time and I Another Man by Pell_Binterhol - under "Groups"

Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust by @livsy ~35k+, complete Obi-Wan is a time traveler, mental from the OT. What makes it unique is that the fic is from Anakin's POV. It's a very heartwarming piece.

⭐Take it from the top and try again by @mauverawrites ~170k, series - two fics complete, more on the way Possibly the best way to describe this series is as the platonic ideal of an Obi-Wan time travel fic. Weird Force stuff? Check. Obi-Wan having spent years on Tatooine? Check. Qui-Gon surviving? Check. Obi-Wan doing some shady illegal stuff to get money and infiltrate crime rings so he can save the galaxy? Check. Anakin being adorable as an initiate, and Shmi being saved from Tatooine? Check. Surprise Feemor? Check. It's all the bits you (or at least I) hope for when opening a new Obi-Wan Time Travel fic, and it never feels stale or repetitive or cliche. It's just a Very Good Fic.

The Exchange by @misslearn - under "Groups"

An Abundance of Obi-Wans by The_Last_Kenobi (orphan_account) ~45k, abandoned Unfortunately we'll never know how this ends, but it's a lot of fun while it lasts. Baby Obi is being haunted by three ghosts of his future self.

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars- under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

⭐the massive machinery of hope by @killbothtwins 150k, complete Do you want comedy? Yes, you do. This one is great. Go read it. It's one of my favorites for a reason, and the reason is that Obi-Wan is a sarcastic little shit with a billion quips.

Living Memory by elsa3beth 353k, on hiatus, possibly abandoned? Obi-Wan Time Travel, leans a bit more heavily into the distrust and despair surrounding Anakin (due to Vader things from the future) than most.

⭐The Desert Storm/Rise and Fall by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning ~1.6m (1592k), ongoing This is one of the longest, most consistent, best-regarded time-travel fics in the fandom for a reason.

⭐Reprise by Elfpen ~560k, ongoing Another Obi-Wan time-travel fic, this one using that favored cover story of "Ben is Obi-Wan's biological uncle," and I love it so much for how it explores both characters and political events.

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Current of Fate by @feybarn ~195k, on hiatus? It's been so long since I read this one that I can't quite remember what it was that I liked about it so much, and it's too long to do a reread right now... but I do remember loving it, especially when it switches to an outsider POV for the second fic.

Anakin Skywalker

The Exchange by @misslearn - under "Groups"

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

War Drums by @intermundia ~91k, ongoing Vader travels back to TPM. Runs off with Obi-Wan into the stars to Achieve Some Goals to take down Sidious. Gets quick-aged to 19 by some Dathomiri magic. Projected to be Obikin.

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

Old Promises by @threebea ~65k, ongoing Time Traveler Anakin panic-kidnaps Initiate Kenobi. Absolute disaster of a man.

An (Un)fortunate Haunting by @kooriicolada, @scarletjedi 3.5k, oneshot Anakin thinks the Vader ghost haunting him is a hallucination. This one is technically more than just Anakin, but it's... mostly Anakin.

⭐Force of Many Sights by DAsObiQuiet ~480k, on hiatus? Vader to TPM, possessing his younger self. This fic has a heavy, and much-appreciated focus on therapy as it functions for someone of Vader's... particular situation. This is also technically a "Groups" series, since it's also got Siri Tachi as a time-traveler, but her POV is much smaller, and it takes... I want to say about 100k words for her to really start playing a more active role in the plot.

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Ahsoka

I don't know why all the good Ahsoka time travel fics are her as part of a team, but they do in fact fuck, so. I LIED I forgot to bookmark one of the Ahsoka fics I like.

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross - under "groups"

⭐Although He Smiles by @autumnillustration - ~157.6k, ongoing This one is amazing, it's an Ahsoka main, and she is very funny with Padawan Obi-Wan and adorable with 9yo Anakin. Lovely.

Clones

love is with your brother by Petrichor (Mythmaker) ~8k, complete TCW Rex bodyswaps with his baby self. POV is Ahsoka during the clone wars.

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - Rex and Cody - under "Groups"

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - Rex and Cody - under "Groups"

Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross - Rex - Under "Groups"

⭐Dominoes by meridianpony ~380k, ongoing All five Dominoes go back to the beginning, from the points of their deaths! (Disclaimer: Echo's treated as having died at the Citadel. I think the fic started before his survival was revealed.) Technically this is a group, but all five are clones, so...

Other Prequels-Era Characters

there is no death by @ashkav ~140k, ongoing There is something really cool about Cal Kestis time travel fics, especially when he's got a decent amount of knowledge of The General Situations (e.g. Anakin will become Vader) but is missing so many details, like Why and How.

⭐An Echo in the Force (a whisper in a cave by @stardust2flame ~8k, complete Feemor is trapped in a time loop. This was actually written as a gift to me, so it has a special place in my heart.

⭐Mace Windu Fixes the Timeline... And Breaks it in Whole New Ways by AbsentmindedAuthor98 ~52k, ongoing Absolutely choice series based on an AU by @suzukiblu. Mace Windu does some time-traveling. He takes on Anakin as his padawan on an impulse, but he ends up doing his damnedest to be a Good Master for the kid. Depa helps.

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero - Fox - under "Groups"

Make a Brand New End by @batshieroglyphics ~120k, I think on hiatus Another Feemor fic! This one's not time-loop, just time travel. Lots of juicy Qui-Gon drama.

⭐Not a Good Man by @feybarn ~28k, ongoing Imperial era Boba Fett goes back to AotC. He decides to fix things, partly by trying to get his dad to fall in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

a distant fire is burning by e_va ~47.5k, ongoing This is another Cal fic! It's got video game logic in it. Also, Anakin and Cal are both being so weird about sort of being adoptive brothers, it's great.

⭐They Don't Care About Us by @ironhoshi Time traveler Boba! And Cal! They're doing great, sweetie. Their best. Obi-Wan and Jango are mostly just confused. (Has anyone checked on Anakin? Someone needs to go check on Anakin. Again.)

Groups

It Was Another Time and I Another Man by Pell_Binterhol ~200k, incomplete This is a very fun fic that involves multiple time-travelers from multiple points in time. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon from the Legends novels are pulled forward into TCW, and Old Ben and Luke are pulled back from the OT, and some spoilers as well.

⭐The Exchange by @misslearn ~120k, complete A swapping-style time travel. RotS Anakin&Obi-Wan end up in TPM, and TPM Anakin&Obi-Wan end up in RotS. Shenanigans ensue. (Also trauma.)

⭐Can We Start Over? by @triscribe ~22k, ongoing Most of the Jedi have time-traveled from the points of their deaths to about a year pre-AotC. Some handle it better than others. The POV is Aayla, which I find very cool.

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars ~183k, ongoing It's technically more of a de-aging than a time-travel, but hey! Still a good read! TPM Anakin and Obi-Wan take the place of their TCW selves, who no longer exist.

⭐Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars ~complicated as the second fic has been hidden, ongoing This is one of my favorite series, but as you can see by the above, it's in a bit of a timeout right now. Bookmark it for later? Also, there's an entire side series called Inspired By One Hundred Hours To Rearrange The Stars.

These Paths by HiddenEye ~90k, complete Our five TCW mains (Obi-Wan, Cody, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex) are booted forward to the Original Trilogy. The latter three are deaged to their TPM ages (9, 4, baby respectively). Also it's CodyWan.

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero ~33k, complete Leia and Fox time travel! This one is very dark. That said, it has a comedic counterpart that I love, which is only available on tumblr: ⭐Fox & Leia's Holiday Special

⭐Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel ~68k, abandoned Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex, and Cody, from TCW to TPM. Despite the unfinished state, I cannot deny the oddly intense level of influence this fic has had on my own approach to star wars time travel fics.

⭐Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross 118k, ongoing Rex and Ahsoka are time-travelers! They are so, so very fucked up. Sure do wish they had access to therapists that could actually be cleared for knowing their Extensive Lists Of Traumas. This one definitely had a huge impact on how I characterize Rex and Ahsoka since I entered the fandom.

Luke and Leia

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero - Leia - under "Groups"

There is another Skywalker by WabiSabi ~85k, on hiatus? Time-Traveler Leia! Mentally in the sequels, physically in her thirties, and chronologically in the clone wars. Also Luke's sharing space in her noggin.

Shifting Sands by @chancecraz ~180k, ongoing "Ongoing? But it hasn't updated since 2021!" The last time it updated, the chapter was 65k, after over two years of radio silence. Trust me when I say that the lack of recent updates means nothing for this author. Anyway, Sequels Leia to about a year pre-TPM, hangs out with baby Anakin and Shmi and then neatly inserts herself in the plot.

⭐Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns by @chancecraz ~860k, ongoing Same author as above, same disclaimer for the gap since last update. Sequels Leia does a mental time-travel into her ANH self, specifically the 'being tortured on the Death Star' moment. It's so fucking good.

Old Man Luke by @scarletjedi ~110k, ongoing Sequels Luke to TCW! He is very cryptic, channeling the Jedi who taught him! Fun!

⭐Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight ~53k, ongoing Luke and his students (including Ben Solo) travel back in time to a bit before AotC. They decide the best way to proceed is to pretend they are Sith Lords. This is primarily a comedy fic. Luke really enjoys fucking with people.

⭐Don't Look Back by @this-acuteneurosis ~700k, ongoing Post-OT Leia (after the deaths of most of her friends) physically time travels to a year or two before AotC. She is taken in by the Lars family, and then she and Shmi start to head for Coruscant, run into Padme, and join the Nabooan government in Padme's employ. Do you want a fic that feels like 70% politics and logistics and trade routes? Because that's what this is and it's great.

Other

The Way of Conquest by pagination ~76k, ongoing There is something very funny about the time-traveler not even realizing they are about thirty years into the wrong time. Din has no idea when he is. Grogu does, but he's not telling.

#time travel #phoenix recs #star wars #the clone wars #sw prequels #sw ot #obi wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #captain rex #commander cody #feemor #mace windu #luke skywalker #leia organa #din djarin #cal kestis #commander fox #boba fett

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heavysighing-dreamyeyes · 12 days ago

Note

So excited for your requests to be open! I know you'll feed us well with your content, whether it's full fics, hc, imagines, blurbs, or even just yapping

"I want to be good. I want to be good for you, but I just don't know how"

A little angsty number with AK!Jason por favor 🙏🏽

Hurt/Comfort, my beloved (And anything with AK!Jason Todd is my kryptonite fr) ~1.4K words

The Arkham Knight can only be described as dangerous. He's a lethal, brutal example of a man with nothing to lose. He's a trained, efficient machine with one mission– one purpose. His sights are set and focused solely on his revenge, on owning Gotham.

So you don't exactly know where you fit in. You. His– his something. Partner isn't quite the right word, but you don't know what else to call him. He crawls into your bed at the oddest hours of the morning, sits across from you at inconsistent, sporadic meals, drops lavish presents on your laps like a cat bringing home dead or dying prey.

He's tangled himself into the very fabric of your life, and for better or worse, you can't imagine your world without him. At some point between him moving your belongings to his apartment (though you would argue the loft apartment above the warehouse filled with tanks and drones is hardly a home) and the first time The Arkham Knight (not Jason) kissed you, he became a permanent fixture in your days and weeks.

You think you might love him. You do love him, actually. Even if you can't bear to say the words out loud– to threaten the tentative peace of a relationship that is and isn't something more– you love him. No matter if what he does– what he's doing– is right or wrong, your very soul craves to be at his side. It doesn't even matter what 'being at his side' looks like anymore.

Jason could never visit you while the sun shines, he could disappear for months on end, he could ask you to throw away your morals and dreams just to be with him. And you would. In some ways, you already have.

But he did fail. He didn't kill Batman. Gotham is still standing. And all that's left of The Arkham Knight is kneeling in front of you, fingers curled into the hem of your shirt like he can't bring himself to touch you– but can't bear to let you go.

You just never imagined he would feel anything like that towards you– at least not anything more than what he already gives you. (That alone feels like a gift, when a man so scarred trusts you enough to close his eyes and relax into your shoulder, when he lets you trace the lines of his face without flinching)

So you don't know what to do when that lethal, terror-inspiring man you've come to know better than anyone else fails. It's something that was never in either of your plans, something you couldn't have begun to suspect, even in your more cynical moments.

He's crying– sobbing– broken gasps escaping from his throat like he forgot how to breathe. His eyes are manic, darting over your face like there might be something there to save him. And you want to, of course you want to, but you're in your own state of shock.

You don't know how to treat this version of Jason. You're used to The Arkham Knight– him, you know how to cater to, what to say, what to do, when to touch him. But this Jason looks broken, shattered into pieces, so different from the harsh, biting person you know so well. (The one you fell in love with all over again)

"Please," he chokes out– he begs, begs like he expects it to save him, like he has no other choice than to throw himself at your mercy.

Your silence, your lack of motion, must go on for too long. You can tell he takes it as a sign that you're planning something, that some form of goodbye is forming on your tongue.

You can tell he's thinking the worst in this moment, you can see it in the way his face flickers with anguish, the way his hands grasp and tug desperately at your clothes like it might change your mind.

It makes you want to vomit, that whatever happened between him and Bruce drove him to this state. He truly believes he has to beg to get you to listen, that he has to plead and crawl and offer whatever he thinks you need to hear to get you to stay.

"Please," he starts again, his ragged breathing making his words garbled and raspy, "I can't– I don't know what to do. I lost and– I– I'm so sorry."

"I'm sorry. I want to be good," He stumbles out into your shirt, pressing kisses over your stomach as if it might please you– earn your favor, "I want to be good for you, but I just don't know how. I'll be good. I'll– I swear, I'll–"

Your throat tightens as he sinks into himself, mumbling your name like a hallowed prayer. He buries his face in your stomach, hiding from the weight of your gaze. You know you need to react, offer him what he needs, but you don't know what it is anymore.

You don't know what comfort you could give, not when he's so unrecognizably erratic, so lost in his own failures and torments. You don't know this Jason, and it scares a small part of you to admit that.

You can't take another moment of it– all of it. You want to run, gather your thoughts and feelings, and break down because he's crying, and you didn't know he still could. But running would break him, tear him down further than he's already fallen.

So, you do what you've been wanting to since he crawled into your window with a broken helmet and chest empty of the emblem he remade himself in.

He freezes, sobs stalling his chest, and you have to believe that this is enough, that you can pour everything you can't say into the way you cup his face to wipe his tears, the way you kiss him like your life depends on it.

You carefully untangle his fingers from your shirt, and he looks up at you, face streaked with tears that don't seem to end, and you sink to the floor to be level with him.

You don't know if what you do next is the right answer, but when you don't have the words to explain how he fills the emptiness in your chest, how your days begin and end with the thought of him, you hope kissing him is enough until you do.

But he doesn't react, doesn't move under your touch, and you wonder if you've got it wrong. You pull away to ask, to offer apologies of your own, but he's never been very good at letting you get far from him. The Arkham Knight– Jason crashes into you like he'll never get another chance to kiss you.

You need it to be enough. You need him to know that you love him and winning or losing, Arkham Knight or not, you have never stopped loving Jason Todd.

There's no escaping it, no burying it down or leaving it behind. Whatever form it takes, whatever form he takes, you can't fight the feeling that swells in your chest every time his eyes meet yours, every time the ghost of a smile paints his face.

Fingers curled around the back of your neck, nails nearly digging into your skin with a force that sends you both tumbling to the ground. But he never stops kissing you, and you never stop pulling him closer, as if it could save you both.

His hands do the same, crushing you to him with the thought that it'll get you to stay.

You think it might just fix something, because he's mumbling thank yous against your mouth like you've dragged him out of hell. And maybe you have.

It's a thought too heavy when you can taste his tears on your tongue, when all you can offer him in the moment are harsh, unyielding kisses and hands that grab desperately at his back, hoping it will keep him with you.

You still don't know how to treat this version of Jason, what the right way to comfort him is. But he kisses the curve of your jaw the same way, hovers over your pulse for nearly a beat too long when he drags his mouth down your throat like he always does, and you decide you want to learn.

You don't know if The Arkham Knight is gone, and you're still not quite sure where you fit with him, but Jason's eyes still flash in the same delighted way when your nails scratch a little too roughly at the back of his skull, and you think you know enough.

#arkham knight x reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd #x reader #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader

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mariasont · 18 days ago

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I know youre working on a fic right now but can you sometime make a fic where a new agent comes to work at the bau (the reader) and early seasons Spencer catches her interest, to which he's completely oblivious? Like just a cute little fluffy fic where two genius idiots can realise they like each other throughout their case together.

(also a lot of jokes from Morgan lol)

Reading Between the Lines - S.R

masterlist

pairings: spencer reid x reader

warnings: reader just being in love with dr. reid

wc: 1.2k

The two of you were alone in the police station break room, which had become something of unofficial workspace for the team during the case. You'd been sitting there for a while, mostly pretending to read through a file while Spencer, across the table, actually read his—flipping through pages faster than should be humanly possible.

You'd been watching him out of the corner of your eye for the last ten minutes, trying (and failing) to keep your focus on your own. You couldn't help it. He was enthralling to watch. His long fingers moved smoothly over the paper, turning each page with that ridiculous speed-reading technique of his. And when he tilted his head slightly, his eyes scanning the words so quickly it looked like he was barely reading at all, you were sure you'd never seen anyone more unfairly attractive in your entire life.

And you did mean unfairly in the purest sense. It was undeniably unfair—no, unnatural—for a man to possess such a perfect plethora of qualities, like Spencer Reid did.

You hated how obvious you were being. Every time Spencer glanced up at you, your face grew hot, and you had to fight the urge to duck your head like a nervous schoolgirl. It was absurd. You were a grown adult—a professional in the FBI, for gods' sake. You had no business mooning over someone this hard. But... it was Spencer. How could anyone not?

Eventually, you gave up trying to work and leaned forward on the table, resting your chin on your hand. "How do you do that?"

Spencer glanced up, blinking. "Do what?"

"Read that fast," you said, gesturing toward the file in his hands. "I mean, it's like you're just flipping through the pages for fun, but you're actually... reading them, right? You're not just pretending?"

Spencer tilted his head, his lips twitching into a smile. "No, I'm not pretending. I'm absorbing the information. It's called speed-reading."

You raised an eyebrow. "And you just... taught yourself how to do that?"

He nodded, setting the file down in front of him. "It's not as hard as it looks. Anyone can learn it with enough practice."

"Anyone?"

"Anyone," Spencer said, leaning back into his chair. "It's all about training your brain to recognize patterns in the text and absorb information in chunks rather than word by word. It's just a matter of rewiring how you process what you're reading."

You stared at him for a moment, then a grin spread across your face. "Teach me."

Spencer blinked, clearly caught off guard. "Teach you?"

"Yeah," you said, sitting up straighter. "If anyone can learn it, prove it. Teach me how to speed-read."

For a second, he just stared at you, like he wasn't sure if you were serious. But then his expression morphed into something that looked almost... excited. "Okay. I can teach you."

You tried not to look too pleased as he reached for a book sitting on the nearby counter and slid it across the table toward you. It was some dry academic text about linguistic patterns across extinct languages—typical Spencer reading material—but you figured it didn't really matter what the book was. You weren't here for the content.

"Alright," Spencer said, pulling his chair closer to yours so he could see what you were looking at. He leaned in, his shoulder brushing yours, and every single coherent thought you had ever had evaporated into thin air. You swallowed hard, staring at the page but unable to actually read anything. "The first thing you need to do is stop subvocalizing."

"Sub... what?" you asked, already lost.

"Subvocalizing," he repeated patiently. "It's when you say the words in your head as you're reading them. Most people do it without even realizing it, but it slows you down. If you can train yourself to read without subvocalizing, you'll process the text much faster."

You nodded slowly, though you weren't sure you entirely understood. "Okay. So... how do I stop?"

Spencer smiled. "It takes practice, but one way to start is by using your finger to guide your eyes. Like this."

He reached out and gently took your hand, guiding your index finger to the first line of the text.

Your brain short-circuited for a second. His hand was warm, touch light as he moved your finger along the page. Did he notice the way you tensed up? Did he feel how clammy your palm was? If he did, he didn’t mention it, his focus entirely on the page. Meanwhile, your focus was entirely on him.

"Try to keep your eyes moving with your finger," Spencer said. "Don't focus too much on each individual word—just let your brain take in the whole line."

Every time you inhaled, you caught the faintest hint of soap and coffee—clean, warm, him—and it was becoming impossible to think straight.

"Okay," you said softly, moving your finger along the line as he'd shown you. "Like this?"

"Exactly. Now, try to pick up the pace. Keep your eyes moving."

You tried, but your focus kept slipping—not because of the text, but because of the way Spencer was leaning so close, his shoulder almost brushing yours as he watched you. You could feel his breath, soft and even, against the side of your face, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that this was probably the closest you'd ever been to him.

"Am I doing it right?"

"Mostly," Spencer said, his hair brushing his forehead as he leaned even closer to point at a section of the text. His long fingers hovered just above yours, and your heart stuttered at the proximity. "But try not to pause at punctuation. Just keep your eyes moving in one fluid motion."

"Okay," you said again, though honestly, you weren't sure how much you were actually absorbing. Your brain was too busy screaming Spencer Reid is touching me. Spencer Reid is this close to me.

For a few more minutes, Spencer guided you through the process, his hand occasionally brushing yours as he helped you adjust your pace. You couldn’t tell if you were actually improving or if you were just doing your best to survive the moment without completely embarrassing yourself.

"You're doing better already," he said. "It just takes time to get used to."

You smiled back at him, cheeks warm. "Thanks. You're a good teacher."

Spencer’s ears turned pink, and he glanced down, his fingers brushing idly at the edge of the book. "I don’t think I’ve ever been called that before. A good teacher, I mean."

You couldn't stop smiling.

"Maybe next time, you can teach me," he said suddenly.

You laughed. "I don’t think there’s anything I could teach you that you don’t already know, Spencer."

"I wouldn’t be so sure about that," Spencer said, his voice quieter now, almost teasing. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and for a second, his eyes met yours, before flicking back to the book.

Correction, you wouldn't be able to stop smiling for the next 3-5 business days.

Morgan was leaning against the hallway wall just outside the break room, holding his phone and scrolling casually, when you finally stepped out of the room.

You didn't see him at first—you were too busy floating on a cloud, practically glowing as you replayed the last few minutes with Spencer over and over in your mind. You were smiling so much your cheeks hurt, and you could still feel Spencer's hands on yours.

"Well, well, well," Morgan voice cut through your daydream, startling you so badly you almost tripped. You snapped your head toward him, your heart jumping to your throat. He was grinning like a cat who'd just caught a mouse. "What's got you all smiley? Pretty boy say something sweet, or are you just thinking about those magic hands of his?"

You felt your face burst into flames. "What? No! It's not—"

Morgan held up a hand, shaking his head as he chuckled. "Save it, girl. I know the look of a lovesick rookie when I see one. Trust me—you've got it bad."

You sputtered, desperately trying to come up with a convincing rebuttal, but Morgan was already walking away. "Better make your move before he speed-reads right past you!"

You groaned, burying your burning face in your hands as Morgan’s laughter faded down the hall. Lovesick rookie? Was it really that obvious?

Yes. Yes, it was.

taglist: @readergf @edencherries @aurorsworld @princess76179 @malindacath @broadwaytraaaaash @r-3dlips @m-indkiller @sunfyyre @sleepysongbirdsings @trulycayla @reiderrambles @averyhotchner @hbwrelic @sky2nd @messylxve @alexxavicry @doigettokeepyou @pleasantwitchgarden @kodzukenmaaa @hiireadstuff @dilflover-3 @spenciesslut @phoenix-le-danseur-de-pole @c-losur3 @theylovemelody @alahnizamolo @oliver-1270 @ssahotchbabe @savagemickey03 @justanotherbimboslxt @imoonkiss @spiderladyleah @estragos @khxna @spencerssoup @de-duchess @raysmayhem-72 @piinksdoll @reidfile @sugarbutterbailey @aecd27 @persephonestears @moonyxstars @xxmooxmooxx @spookyysinsanity @proxxyshouse @spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @jungchloee @she-wont-miss @duchesz @i2rapunzel @historicallyweirdandqueer @lcvealwayss @p13rc3-th3-m4tt13 @babyhoneybyhs

join my taglist here!

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid #reid #dr reid

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themultifanshipper · 18 days ago

Note

Hi! I love your fics sm

Please don't feel obliged if this makes you uncomfortable, but I was wondering if you wouldn't mind writing something where reader has vaginismus and the driver is so sweet about it :3

For Max or Oscar (but I don't really mind any of them tbh)

Max was the best boyfriend anyone could ask for. He was incredibly patient and understanding. Frustratingly so.

Warnings: smut, talk about vaginismus, oral, fingering, improper medical procedures

Disclaimer: people with vaginismus have different experiences with the condition, this fic is vaguely based on a friend of mine's experience, do NOT do what is described in this fic, if you are seeking treatment then talk to a doctor because this is NOT the proper treatment method IT IS FICTION… that being said, enjoy the filth.

You'd been scared to tell Max about your condition at first.

All your other relationships had fizzled out because the guys were either too impatient or annoyed, or disgusted with you.

Which is why you expected Max to be the same. But you couldn't have been more wrong.

You sat him down one day, texting him beforehand to warn him that you had something serious to talk to him about.

He tapped his fingers on the table while you made some coffee.

Once the steaming mugs were in front of you, you just came out with it.

“I have a condition, called Vaginismus”

Max just blinked, which made you smile at his clueless face.

“Do you know what that is?” you asked.

“Uhh… no” he scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. He didn't like not knowing things.

“That's okay. It's quite rare. It's a condition that makes sex painful, or at least difficult if it’s not treated properly”

He nodded.

“And basically it's an involuntary response to penetration. The muscles contract and it can be painful…”

His brows furrowed.

“So how do you… do you have sex?”

You huffed out a laugh. “Well not since we've been together, but yes I have had sex before, but most of the time it didn't work”

He blushed. “And have you tried, you know… treatments?”

You took a sip of coffee before answering.

“I started. Sometimes it works, but it takes time and effort.”

“Okay…” he muttered. “So it's just penetration that is painful?”

You nodded.

“So I can eat you out?”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“I- yes. Yes, I suppose you can.”

He got up and walked over to you and held out his hand.

“What, now?” you asked incredulously.

He shrugged.

“Unless you don't want to?”

You were taken aback by his attitude.

“That's it? You don't want to know more? You're not… disgusted?”

He stroked your cheek with his thumb.

“Why would I be disgusted. It's not like you can control it. As long as you are happy, I am happy. And if you want to try treatments, that's up to you. I'm not going to force you. I have a fully functioning hand, and as long as I can bring you pleasure in other ways, I'm good”

Tears sprung to your eyes and he melted, getting down on his knees and stroking your thighs.

“What is it? Did I say something wrong?”

You shook your head. “You're the first man to not react badly. You really are the one”

He blushed even darker at that.

“Well let's see if I can make you come with my mouth, then you can decide”

It was your turn to blush. He led you to the bedroom and lay you down on the bed, dragging your clothes off and admiring your body.

“Fucking perfect. Can't wait to devour you”

You scoffed at his cliché choice of words and he smirked.

He spread your legs, licking his lips as he gazed at your already glistening cunt. It was all his, and he was going to prove to you he was worth it.

He licked a stripe up your folds and you shivered.

His eyes were on yours the whole time, studying your reactions, every twitch of your hips for any indication that he was doing a good job.

He brought his hand up to thumb at your clit lazily while he took a quick breather.

“Wait, I can't finger you can I?”

You blinked at him.

“Uhh… not at the moment, no”

He nodded, taking it in his stride. “What about my tongue?”

You groaned and he smirked up at you, proud that he was getting you this flustered already.

“Yes, your tongue should be fine”

He dove back in gleefully, happy to have new information.

You felt his tongue prod at your entrance and you gasped.

He mistook that for discomfort so he retreated.

"No” you begged, your hands going to thread in his hair to hold him there. “Keep going, it feels good”

Max hummed and continued, pushing his tongue further inside you, and his nose bumped your clit every time.

He quickly figured out how to use that to his advantage, and he rubbed it against your clit with purpose every time he pushed his tongue inside you.

You took an embarrassingly short time to come after that.

Once Max had figured out the fastest way to make you come, it became a daily ritual.

And the absolute sweetheart was doing as much research as he could to understand your condition, and how to treat it.

He didn’t push you though. If you wanted to seek treatment that was your business.

So he waited, and was perfectly happy to eat you out every day for the rest of his life if that's what was required of him.

But a few weeks later you sat him down again. This time on the couch, and you were next to him with your legs over his lap as you chatted.

“So I have some news…” you were looking at him with a shy smile, almost looking guilty about something.

When you didn't elaborate he tried to diffuse the tension.

“Well I know for a fact you're not pregnant. Unless you found another way to get my sperm and babytrap me”

You slapped his chest and giggled.

“No, Max. Although that is a great idea, thanks for the suggestion.”

He laughed and leaned his head on the back of the sofa.

“What I wanted to tell you is that I think I'm ready for the next step.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, up until now my condition has been mostly situational. A stress response, and sex has always stressed me out, for obvious reasons.”

His hand was stroking your leg soothingly, which encouraged you to carry on.

“I've been working on this since we got together. And I feel very at ease when I'm with you. And when I'm not with you…” you blushed and looked at your hands, suddenly shy.

“Hey. Tell me. What about when I'm not here?”

You looked up at him.

“I've been fingering myself”

You bit your lip, waiting for his response but he just stared at you.

“You-" you could tell he was picturing it, although his expression remained mostly blank. “Okay…”

“So really you're supposed to get these dilators, right? But I figured, fingers do the exact same job, and they're free. So I started out with one. And you're supposed to do it for like 20 minutes a day or something. And it has to be snug but not tight or painful, and when it feels fine you move up a size. So I'm now up to two fingers, which is fine, so I need a size up, but three fingers is way too much so I'd need someone with bigger fingers than me…”

Max blinked.

“You see where I'm going with this?” you asked encouragingly.

“No?” Max was lost. All he could picture was you sticking your fingers up yourself for 20 minutes a day while he was out.

You sighed. “Your two fingers are bigger than my two fingers, but smaller than three. So… I need you to finger me”

Max just blinked again.

It took most of your willpower to not slap him

“Stop fucking blinking and say something”

“I… are you sure it's safe? I mean you're supposed to do it with like proper equipment and-”

“Max I swear to god if you start Maxplaining my own treatment to me I am going to lose it”

He promptly shut up.

“So we are going to go into the bedroom, and you are going to stick your fingers in me for twenty minutes. Can you do that?” you batted your eyelashes at him.

“Yes” he rasped, and you giggled at him before leading him over to the bedroom.

He lubed up his fingers, sliding one in to test the waters, and see your reaction.

You nodded at him and he slipped the second one in.

You immediately felt the difference with your own.

It was a stretch, but not painful whatsoever.

And Max was already hard in his pants.

This wasn't about him though, this was a medical procedure to help you out, nothing more.

He knew what to do.

He moved his fingers gently in circles, just like he'd read about on all those forums, towards the front, the back and to the sides.

You looked at him in awe.

“Max… how do you know what you're supposed to do?”

He smiled gleefully at you. “I've done a lot of research”

You melted into the bed, doing your breathing exercises as he continued to stretch you out.

Your alarm rang when the twenty minutes were up, and you were almost disappointed.

Despite it not being sexual in nature, you kind of liked being this close to your boyfriend.

It felt very intimate.

You did the same thing four days in a row, and it became a routine for Max, because every time it was over, he ate you out, and then you gave him a blowjob.

Which is why when you told him you were moving up to three of your fingers and didn't need him for the next few days, he honestly felt like you'd put him on a sex ban.

But when you explained to him that that just meant you didn't need him for the medical part, but he could still put two fingers inside you while he ate you out, his spirits were lifted instantly.

A week later, it was time for three of his fingers, and that was a real stretch.

It wasn't painful, but as soon as the third slipped in, you felt full.

Your breathy gasp alerted Max.

“All okay?”

You nodded.

“More than okay… I feel so… full.”

Max twitched in his pants.

“I suppose that's normal… my fingers are pretty big”

You hummed and Max started the usual exercise.

Except this time, it felt different. It felt almost… pleasurable.

As it went on, Max noticed you were getting progressively wetter.

After about 5 minutes of trying to hold in your noises, you let out the tiniest whimper.

Max stopped his movements and you let out a soft whine.

Max raised an eyebrow at you.

“Did that feel good?”

You huffed “Too good. I think you're gonna make me come like that if you carry on for much longer.”

Max bit his lip. “I suppose that's good. It means you're relaxed”

He continued the slow circles and you let out a shaky exhale.

“Don't keep your noises in” he piped up. “It will just make you tense up. Let them out”

You couldn't go on like this, it felt too good to not take advantage of it.

You glanced at your phone.

12 minutes left.

“Max, if you can make me come just like this in the next twelve minutes I'll let you come on my tits”

Well with an offer like that how could he possibly refuse.

“Can I use my mouth as well?”

You looked at the time again. 11 minutes 37 seconds…

“I suppose”

His tongue ghosted over your clit as his fingers moved in their usual slow circles.

You moaned and he smirked.

Some medical procedure this was shaping up to be.

He crooked his fingers upwards just the slightest bit, and the noise you let out was confirmation that he wouldn't need the full 11 minutes.

You came with 7 minutes left on the timer.

And you were so relaxed he swore he could have slipped a fourth finger in, but he didn't. That would be abusing your trust, and he was determined to be patient and see this through to the end.

After another couple of weeks you deemed yourself finally ready. You'd done 4 of your own fingers, then 4 of his larger fingers. And you came every single time.

And Max had bought you a small-ish dildo to make properly sure you were ready.

He was away for a race weekend when you used it, but you sent him plenty of proof that you could take it easily, and he was very grateful.

When he got back, you had a candle lit dinner, wine and all, before he took you to bed.

You were eternally grateful to Max for sticking this out with you, it was the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you, even if it did just involve sticking fingers inside you.

When Max finally lined himself up with your entrance, he was so nervous he felt like a virgin again.

When he pushed in it was like the stars had aligned. Everything just felt right.

You had tears in your eyes (of happiness) and you pulled him down for a passionate kiss.

He rolled his hips and you moaned into each other's mouths at the incredible feeling of finally being joined like this.

Max lasted about 3 minutes he was so excited. Bless him.

But he made up for it in the best way.

He proposed, that night, while you both sat on the balcony in the warm Monaco air as the lights of the harbour twinkled below you.

Yeah, he was the one.

#my thots #max thots #max verstappen #max verstappen smut #max verstappen x reader #f1 #formula 1 #request

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