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Trash Novel Chronicles: My Consort Calls Me Shrimpy || Floyd Leech
You get isekaid into a novel where the perfect Empress got absolutely wrecked by the plot, and now you have to juggle a bland heroine, a traitorous consort, and a delightfully unhinged eel whoâs oddly good at solving your problems.
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Youâre about three hours deep in line, squashed between a woman wearing an unsettling amount of dragon-themed jewelry and some dude intensely vaping in front of you. The line inches forward at the pace of continental drift, and youâre in no mood to be here.
You're here out of pure, misguided loyalty to your best friend, whoâs practically shaking with excitement at the idea of meeting their favourite authorâthe world-renowned queen of girlboss fantasy.
In a valiant effort to distract yourself from your eternal boredom, you pull up her previous novels on your phone. Maybe, if you understood her work better, youâd understand why people would willingly spend this many hours standing on asphalt.
After skimming through some of her top titles, you can barely believe these are real book plots: Slaying the Patriarchy with My Stilettos? Lipstick and Blood Magic? Each one more ridiculous than the last, filled with protagonists who blast their enemies with a "feminine fury" and, honestly, you're just not buying it.
Why did I agree to this? you think, suppressing the urge to gnaw on your own hand out of boredom.
Suddenly, you spot a stray bird aboveâa pigeon, wobbling through the sky like it's had one too many lattes. You barely register the bird's existence until it lets out an alarming squawk and, in a tragic twist of fate, plummets from the heavens right towards your head.
In a perfect shot, it bonks you directly in the face, knocking you backward with an impressively dramatic flair. You spiral down, your vision blurring as you fall in slow motion, gasping.
In the last seconds of your consciousness, as chaos erupts around you, one solemn thought echoes through your mind: I hate pigeons.
And with that, you drift off into oblivion, serenaded by the panicked cries of your best friend and the distant wail of someoneâs Lipstick and Blood Magic audiobook playing on full blast nearby.
You wake up, blink, and immediately realize that your bed is both way too luxurious and way too large. Rich, velvet curtains drape around you, shimmering with gold embroidery.
A chandelier overhead sparkles with enough jewels to fund at least three public libraries. The air smells like a mixture of incense, rose petals, and maybe faint hints of⊠burning tyranny?
Oh, dear God. Youâve been isekaiâd.
Straight into that novel you were doom-scrolling through to survive the crushing boredom of line-waiting.
Your mind reels back to the summary youâd read. The heroine, a weepy maid with all the emotional range of wet toast. The consort, a charming traitor with âdreamy eyesâ who betrays his own Empress for said toast. And then, of course, the villainess.
That poor, genius Empress who actually had talent and ambition, who could annihilate anyone with a flick of her wrist and yet was somehow destined to lose it all because of a love triangle involving a glorified housekeeper.
And nowâyou are that Empress. The Villainess Extraordinaire, Scourge of Kingdoms, War-Waging Prodigy, Mary Sue on Steroids⊠and now you're stuck in this tragic play of bad romance tropes.
You shoot upright in bed, taking it all in. Lavish room. Silk sheets. Jewels littered around like confetti. And then you notice a presence by your bedside. You whip your head to see⊠her. The heroine.
She's standing there, looking down at you with the wide-eyed wonder of someone who hasnât yet discovered a single personality trait. Her face is soft, angelic, and you already know that beneath those doe eyes lies⊠absolutely nothing.
She's here to dress you, a task that apparently requires thirty minutes of excessive hair-braiding, enough layers to construct a mattress, and endless, mind-numbing conversation about the consort.
Oh, right. The consort. Your dear, disloyal boy toy whoâll soon be scheming against you. Heâs probably off somewhere sharpening his cheekbones in a mirror, wondering if he can pull off âsoulful yet traitorousâ in the same expression.
The heroine starts tugging on your hair, a bit too enthusiastically for your taste. "Your Majesty," she coos, âYour consort was asking for you yesterday. He misses your attention."
You mentally scream. I'm running an empire, Susan! Who cares about his feelings right now? You're barely awake, freshly isekai'd, and trying to mentally tally your enemies, not exactly in the mood for his fragile ego.
And, technically, arenât you the one in need of support here? Not the consort, who apparently needs a throne, a palace, and a shoulder to cry on every two hours.
"Oh," you manage to reply, voice dripping with an irritation that you pray she interprets as imperial grace. "Tell him⊠Iâm thinking about military reforms."
The heroineâs eyes flicker in confusion. "Military reforms?"
"Yes. Reforms. Vital to the stability of our empire." You wave a hand, and she clearly has no idea what you're talking about. This maid was not hired for her intellectual curiosity, thatâs for sure.
Then comes the worst part: her doe eyes start misting over. Great. You forgot. Crying is, apparently, her most crucial skill set. She clutches a sleeve to her chest, looking at you as if youâve announced the arrival of a natural disaster. "Your Majesty⊠but what about your consort?"
You take a deep breath. Focus. How did this woman end up so crucial to the plot? What was it about her that was supposed to outshine an entire empire? Itâs as if sheâs constructed entirely from damp tissues and vague romantic inclinations. And this is the girl whoâs going to take you down?
But youâre already devising a plan. Youâll keep tabs on her. Outwardly, youâll play the role of the intimidating yet graceful Empress, while inwardly making sure that neither she nor the consort gets a single chance to stab you in the back. And as for the consort himselfâŠ
Well, when he finally arrives for his âaudience,â youâll be sure to give him the warmest, most menacing smile in your arsenal. For now, youâll have to endure the heroineâs dramatic sniffles and the hundred layers of fabric sheâs convinced you need.
As she fiddles with a particularly elaborate golden sash, you look at her with an eyebrow raised. âTell me,â you say, feigning curiosity. âWhat would you do if the palace were to⊠burn down?â
Her face goes blank for a second. Then, she frowns and wrinkles her nose as if this question is somehow unsolvable. âUm⊠cry?â
Of course. Absolutely riveting. You sigh and try to look satisfied, which is hard when youâre mentally questioning how this woman has a heartbeat, let alone plot armor thick enough to take you down.
By the time she finishes with your dress, you've already come up with about sixteen ways to save the empire and seventy-two reasons why this love triangle is absolutely ridiculous.
In the mirror, you catch a glimpse of yourself. Youâre the picture of beauty and deadly grace, an unstoppable Empress who could wield the fate of kingdoms.
And they want to reduce you to a footnote in the saga of this girlâs whimpering romance?
Well, thatâs not happening. Youâve read the novel; you know how this story ends. And now that youâre here, youâre rewriting that ridiculous fate.
You try to keep a dignified expression, but inside, youâre screaming.
The entire reason youâve gathered the harem is to graciously cut them loose and rid yourself of the ongoing melodrama. Because if there are no consorts, thereâs no backstabbing love triangle, no tearful betrayals, and no doomed political coups.
You can practically taste the freedom alreadyâso you clear your throat and begin, putting on your most diplomatic voice:
"Esteemed consorts,â you say, hands clasped. âThank you for your service and devotion. You are now free to leave and may claim land and titles if you wish to remain in the empire.â
You pause, waiting for cheers or at least some relieved sighs. Instead, dead silence. You glance around and spot the heroine sneaking glances at the traitor consort, eyes brimming with pure unadulterated⊠something.
She looks like sheâs five seconds away from throwing herself across a fainting couch. The consort looks at her for a moment and then back at you, entirely unimpressed.
Maybe theyâre just in shock, you think, trying to keep it together. Maybe they need a moment to process the incredible gift of freedom youâve just given them.
But then, from the back of the room, someone clears their throatâFloyd Leech. He raises his hand, a gleeful glint in his eye that makes your stomach churn.
See, Floyd was not a character that shouldâve belonged in this novel. The man was unhinged. Slightly terrifying, if youâre being honest. He treated warfare like a casual hobby and had a grin that said I could absolutely cause problems on purpose.
And the worst part? Floyd was actually one of the few who stuck around in the original plot. After the Empress dies on the battlefield, he takes her body back to his home country, out of sheer love.
He's also the only one who got to call the Empress Regnant herself "Shrimpy" and lived to tell the tale. You'd swoon over the romantic implications if you weren't that same Empress who had bigger problems right now.
You steel yourself. âYes, Floyd?â
âCan I stay?â he says, looking entirely too happy. âThese other guys are boring, but youâre kinda fun to watch.â He stares at you like youâre some sort of exotic animal in a zoo. âBesides,â he adds, throwing an arm over a very uncomfortable-looking consort, âwhoâs gonna protect you if I leave? These losers?â
God help you.
Before you can even answer, the traitor consort steps forward, expression so intense you can feel it from across the hall. He clears his throat dramatically. âMy Empress,â he says, taking a deep, tragic breath. âMy heart is bound to you, likeâlike the tides to the moon. Likeââ
In the background, the heroine lets out an audible, swooning sigh. Oh, please, you think. Youâve seen better monologues in toothpaste commercials. The consort glances at the heroine, clearly confused, then goes back to gazing at you with what he probably thinks is soulful longing.
Meanwhile, Floyd is grinning at him, shark-like. âNice speech, buddy,â he says, clapping the guy on the back hard enough that the consort nearly goes sprawling. âBut I think she liked mine better.â He leans in to whisper, loudly, âBesides, I bet you donât even know her favorite food.â
The consortâs face scrunches. âDo you?â
âNope!â Floyd beams, looking at you as if expecting some kind of reward. âBut Iâm gonna figure it out.â
The consort looks like he wants to protest, but before he can, another one of the haremâLord Something-or-Otherâsteps forward, visibly shaking with emotion. He kneels, clutching a hand to his heart as if heâs about to propose.
âMy Empress,â he says, voice wobbling with way too much sincerity. âWithout you, my life is a barren wasteland. I would rather endure the endless, scorching sands ofââ
âOh, for crying out loud,â Floyd groans. âDo you guys hear yourselves?â
âCan you not mock me while I pour my heart out?â Lord Something-or-Other snaps back.
âSure I can. Iâm multi-talented,â Floyd replies with a grin thatâs somehow both playful and threatening. He leans against the throne, looking completely at home while you fight the urge to dive out the nearest window.
Now everyoneâs in a frenzy. Every last one of these menâyour so-called âconsortsââare lining up to deliver heartfelt soliloquies, tragic metaphors, and similes so flowery they might as well be a bouquet. You can barely keep a straight face as the next one steps forward, proclaiming that he would âgladly suffer a thousand winters if only to see her smile.â
As if on cue, the heroine wipes a tear from her eye, sighing dreamily. The consort sheâs apparently in love with looks at her again, this time with an expression somewhere between pity and terror. But she doesnât seem to notice, too busy whispering to herself, âOh, how romanticâŠâ
And then Floyd leans down and whispers in your ear, voice gleeful. âYâknow, if you let âem keep going, they might just start fighting each other for you. Free entertainment. Whaddaya think?â
You feel a headache coming on. âFloyd, please, Iâm begging youââ
âWhat?â he asks, grinning wider. âI thought this was fun. Câmon, Empress,â he drawls, giving the title an absurd little flourish. âLet me stay. I promise I wonât let any of these guys stage a rebellion.â He smirks at the traitor consort. âUnless you feel like rebelling, huh?â
The traitor consort scoffs, bristling. âUnlike some of us,â he says, glaring at Floyd, âmy devotion is genuine.â
âAnd boring,â Floyd mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.
You let out a long, exasperated sigh. âFine, Floyd. You can stay,â you say, hoping that giving him what he wants will end this disaster. Youâre immediately filled with regret as his grin widens.
âAwesome! And you know what? Since everyoneâs so devoted, why donât we all stay? Make it a real party.â Floyd tosses an arm around your shoulders, ignoring the death glares from half the room.
Now youâre stuck with fifteen poets, one unhinged eel, and a heroine whoâs still making heart eyes at a man who clearly isnât interested. And as you sit there, feeling your last shreds of sanity slip away, you think, This is going to be a very, very long reign.
Youâre making your way through the moonlit palace corridors, trying to mentally prepare yourself for the⊠experience that spending the night with Floyd Leech is sure to be.
Mostly, youâve chosen him because, unhinged or not, heâs at least the most loyal out of this whole ridiculous lineup. Plus, thereâs a kind of chaotic charm about him, like a very large, very untrained puppy with fangs.
But before you can even make it to his side palace, youâre intercepted.
âMy EmpressâŠâ Itâs the traitor consort. You sigh as he blocks your path, looking like heâs about to burst into tears. Heâs clutching his chest dramatically, as if heâs seconds from fainting, and his voice wobbles with pure tragedy.
âDo you not love me anymore?â he blubbers, eyes shining with tears. âWhy do you never choose me? Have I done something wrong? Do you know how long itâs been since youâve graced my chambers?â Heâs practically sobbing at this point, clutching at your sleeves like some tragic hero in a soap opera.
You stand there, blinking. âUh⊠dude. I⊠what? â
He looks at you with the heartbreak of a thousand rom-coms. âI thought you cared about me. I thought I meant something to youâŠâ
Youâre trying to process what exactly is happening (and failing spectacularly) when you hear an all-too-familiar voice.
âYoo-hoo~!â Floydâs voice echoes down the hall as he appears at the other end, looking like heâs just won the lottery. He practically skips toward you, a grin stretched across his face, his shark-like teeth glinting in the moonlight.
âShrimpy!â he calls out cheerfully, giving you an exaggerated wave. But his cheerful demeanor drops like a rock the moment he sees the traitor consort clinging to you, tears streaming down his face.
Floydâs grin turns into a much darker smirk, and his eyes narrow dangerously. He tilts his head, sizing up the blubbering man like heâs something he might enjoy crunching on for a midnight snack.
âOi,â Floyd says, stepping closer, voice dropping into a lower, much more menacing tone. âWhatâre you doinâ, crybaby? Gettinâ all snotty in front of my Shrimpy? That doesnât seem real respectful, yâknow?â
The traitor consort pales instantly, his tear-streaked face going from tragic to terrified in half a second flat. âIâI was justâŠâ he stammers, trying to find an escape route.
âYou were just what?â Floyd grins, but thereâs absolutely nothing friendly about it now. âYou got somethinâ you wanna say to her? âCause I could help you say it better, yâknow.â He cracks his knuckles for emphasis, and you swear the traitor consortâs soul nearly leaves his body.
And you? Youâre exhausted. Normally, youâre pretty sure the original Empress would step in, say something appropriately royal and dignified to diffuse the situation. But at this point? Youâre too tired to deal with either of them, and honestly, watching Floyd scare this guy senseless is a little too satisfying. So you just sigh and cross your arms, waiting it out.
âLook, Iâ I didnât mean anything by it,â the traitor consort mutters, eyes darting between Floydâs unsettling grin and your unimpressed stare. âIâll⊠Iâll just goâŠâ
And before you know it, heâs stumbling off, practically tripping over his own feet in his rush to escape Floydâs glare. You can still hear his sniffles echoing down the hall as he disappears.
Floyd watches him go, then turns back to you with an exaggerated pout. âHe didnât even say bye. Rude, huh?â Then, just as quickly, his mood switches back, and he gives you a toothy grin. âCâmon, Shrimpy! Letâs go. Youâre finally here!â
And without another word, he loops an arm around you, practically dragging you the rest of the way to his palace. By the time you arrive, youâre half-expecting him to start a monologue or make a big romantic speech, but instead, he plops down on the massive, plush couch, pulling you down next to him with surprising gentleness.
âThere we go! See? Ainât this way better than dealinâ with crybabies?â He laughs, leaning back and throwing an arm over your shoulders.
You give him a look. âDo you actually scare all of them off on purpose?â
Floyd grins, showing all his teeth. âOnly the boring ones.â He taps his temple like heâs sharing some brilliant secret. âCanât have anyone else thinkinâ theyâre more special than me, right?â
Honestly, youâre too tired to argue. So you just lean back, letting Floyd prattle on about his grand plans for âgetting rid of the competition.â At least, you think to yourself, youâve successfully survived another day of being Empress.
The banquet table stretches out in front of you, each seat filled by one of your fifteen consorts, who are locked in an elaborate battle of âwhoâs the cutest?â You watch, sipping your wine like itâs medicinal, as they coo, flirt, and â at least in one unfortunate case â attempt a juggling act.
A consort on your left even starts singing a heartfelt ballad he very obviously wrote himself. You silently make a note to ask Heroine if itâs possible to declare some sort of moratorium on public serenades.
Just when you think the evening canât get any more surreal, the doors burst open. Floyd strides in, late as usual, with all the grace and subtlety of a pirate commandeering the dinner table.
Without breaking stride, he makes a beeline for the coveted King Consort chair, ignoring the man whoâs been trying to occupy it and who now looks as if heâs about to faint.
Floydâs âgentleâ suggestion to move aside comes in the form of a rather forceful nudge, and the poor consort goes skidding two seats down, clutching his untouched plate of tiny hors dâoeuvres.
Floyd plops into the seat, throws his legs up on the table, and proceeds to grab a handful of grapes like heâs claiming territory.
Instantly, fifteen men start having what can only be described as a collective meltdown. One consort gapes at Floyd, cheeks puffing like an indignant chipmunk; another begins audibly hyperventilating. Somewhere on the far end of the table, a man has already shed a single, dramatic tear.
Your maid Heroine sidles up to you, wide-eyed. She whispers loudly, as if sheâs sharing a forbidden secret, âYour Majesty! Youâve broken their hearts!â
You stare at her, bewildered. âHow? By letting Floyd sit down?â
Heroine nods, lip quivering. âThey think youâve⊠chosen! Thatâs the King Consortâs seat!â
âWhat? â You glance at Floyd, whoâs now lying back, casually chomping on a drumstick he must have acquired from who-knows-where. He doesnât seem perturbed in the least.
âYes!â Heroine sniffles, pulling out a lacy handkerchief. âItâs the sacred chair of royal favoritism!â She dabs at her eyes, gazing at you with something akin to heartbreak. âAnd here I thought you were a romantic.â
âOh, for heavenâs sake!â You rub your temples, feeling a headache coming on. âI just wanted a quiet dinner!â
One of the consorts, evidently hearing this, begins to wail, âBut why, Your Majesty? We loved you!â Itâs clear heâs already going to be composing several tragic stanzas about this moment.
Then Floyd â whoâs been watching this entire scene with the amused look of someone whoâs just discovered heâs won the jackpot â clears his throat, aiming a rather shark-like grin at Heroine. âHey, little miss servant girl,â he says, his voice sugary sweet with a terrifying edge. âMaybe stop making Shrimpy feel guilty, hmm? Unless you want to join âem in the Royal Seat Shuffle?â
Heroine squeaks, as if heâs just offered to turn her into a garden gnome, and stammers an apology, hands fluttering as she edges away.
In the silence that follows, you decide enough is enough. âThank you all for coming,â you announce, giving your consorts a forced smile. âThis has been⊠lovely. But weâre done for tonight.â
The consorts hesitate, as if they want to protest. But when Floyd gives them one of his very special grins â the kind that says he just might take a whole different seat next â they practically stampede out of the dining hall, leaving behind a trail of emotional debris: teardrops, wilted roses, and a half-eaten plate of pastries.
As the door closes, Floyd leans back with a smirk, throwing an arm casually over the back of his new favorite chair. âSo, looks like Shrimpyâs all mine tonight.â
You chuckle, half-exasperated, half-relieved. âWell, seems you chased everyone else off.â
âDonât be like that,â he purrs, clearly pleased. âYou know, youâre different now. Last time, youâd have been practically begging those guys to come back.â
You scoff, rolling your eyes. âMaybe Iâm just too tired to care anymore.â
He leans in, gaze softening. âNah. Youâve just gotten tougher. And it looks good on you. The new Shrimpyâs got a spine.â
You smile, almost despite yourself, as Floyd raises his glass, winking. âTo the new Shrimpy: long may she rule.â
The annual Talent Showcase Extravaganza for the Empressâs Affections has begun, and your consorts are pouring every ounce of drama and flair they possess into their performances, each desperate to secure that exclusive week at the countryside villa with you.
Unfortunately, it seems that the traitor consort â Mr. âI-know-the-theme-because-Heroine-canât-resist-my-cheekbonesâ â is dominating the competition. Heâs wowing the audience with a perfectly themed tapestry, and you can already hear the maid giggling over in his cheering section.
This calls for drastic action.
You glance over to where Floyd is occupying himself by tormenting a pair of unfortunate ministers with tales of his more âcreativeâ fishing techniques. With a sigh, you snap your fingers. He looks over, feigning annoyance at being interrupted in what he surely sees as âMinister Horror Story Hour.â
âShrimpy, what gives? This is the first fun Iâve had since I got here,â he says, hands on his hips.
You clear your throat. âActually, Floyd, I need you to⊠win this competition.â
He raises an eyebrow, incredulous. âWhat, by doing some fancy painting or something? Boring. If you want something painted, Shrimpy, Iâll fish out an octopus to do it for me.â
You take a deep breath. âIf you do this, Iâll grant you any wish you want. Plus⊠an extra reward.â
Floyd pauses, smirking as he steps closer, his voice dropping into an exaggerated whisper. âAny wish, huh? Dangerous promise, Shrimpy.â
You raise an eyebrow, undeterred. âYou in or not?â
With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he sighs. âFine. But Iâm not painting. Iâve got something much better planned. Just try not to faint in awe, yeah?â
When Floyd finally unveils his âmasterpiece,â the room falls silent. Somehow, heâs cobbled together a mosaic made entirely out of shiny rocks he probably pilfered from the palaceâs prize garden.
The piece is of you, looking bold and triumphant, wielding what can only be described as a âbattle spoonâ against some sea monster (youâre guessing itâs supposed to be a shark, but it might just be a rock that looked vaguely fish-like).
âTa-da!â Floyd announces, throwing his arms out. âThe Empress: Rock ânâ Roll Edition. I call it, âShrimpy, Queen of the Waves.ââ
Despite yourself, youâre mildly⊠no, very swoony. Somehow, itâs both absurd and⊠kind of amazing. Floydâs grin is pure mischief as he winks at you. âLike it, Shrimpy? Donât worry, I can make one for the garden too.â
But your moment is interrupted by a loud sniffle from across the room. The traitor consort, clearly irate at being outshone, is tearing up, looking at you with big, watery eyes as if youâre the villain in this scenario. Heroine looks one step away from bolting to his side, but he raises a hand, his voice trembling as he murmurs, âNo, I only want the Empress to comfort me.â
You shoot a silent plea to the universe, practically chanting, âPlease, mercy, mercyâŠâ
Floyd, never one to ignore an opportunity, steps up, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. âSorry, bud. Shrimpyâs already spoken for tonight. Youâll have to get in line. Oh, and try not to tear up over her rock portrait, yeah? Not all of us can handle the majesty.â
The crowd erupts in applause, one point to you and Floyd â and youâre pretty sure Heroineâs sulking in the corner, still staring longingly at the sobbing traitor consort, but thatâs a future problem. For now, youâve got a mildly unhinged art piece to hang up and a certain mischievous consort to thank.
Itâs another late night in the study when you notice the Heroine, your ever-loyal (if not a little clueless) maid, lingering by the doorway, watching you with an odd expression. At first, you chalk it up to her usual eccentricities. But as the minutes tick by, she doesnât move, just stands there with a faraway look in her eyes. Finally, you set down your work and gesture for her to come in.
âHey,â you say gently, âwhatâs on your mind?â
She hesitates, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. âItâs nothing, reallyâŠâ Then, in a small voice, âItâs just⊠I never got to study like this.â
Your brow furrows, and as she opens up, the full picture starts to form. The Heroine, despite her noble blood, was barred by her father from studyingâher dreams of an education crushed under his outdated beliefs.
She clung to the traitor consort, she confesses, because he seemed like an escape, even if a flimsy one. He was a nobleman with some level of authority, and for her, he felt like the only ticket to a different life.
Understanding sinks in. Itâs not love she feels for him at all. Itâs desperation, something almost like a distorted version of Stockholm syndrome.
Sheâs convinced herself heâs her only way out, though itâs clear as day that he doesnât deserve her loyalty. The manâs barely got two brain cells, but heâs got freedomâand for her, he must have looked like her only way out.
The realization hits you hard, like finding out your favorite dessert is made with broccoli. No wonder sheâs been swooning over that guy. Sheâs not âin loveââsheâs just starved for any path out of her cage. Your heart softens, and you give her a gentle, if slightly exasperated, smile.
âWell, that wonât do,â you say firmly. âHow about this? Iâll teach you myself. Then, when youâre ready, weâll get you the education you deserve.â
Her face goes through a series of hilarious expressions, from shock to joy to the kind of wide-eyed, wobbly-lipped excitement normally reserved for puppies seeing their owner after a long day. And so, your lessons begin.
Over the next few weeks, you teach the Heroine to read, and she devours each lesson like a kid in a candy store. Sheâs throwing herself into her education with such energy, itâs like sheâs forgotten the traitor consort entirely.
And youâre thrilledâpartly for her growth and partly because it means your coup odds have just dropped by a solid 90%.
Soon, Heroineâs loyalty to you is ironclad, her former starry-eyed infatuation with the traitor consort completely extinguished. Youâre so relieved you could dance, and, maybe more importantly, you realize that the kingdomâs other daughters deserve the same chance.
In a flash of imperial inspiration, you draft a new law requiring all daughters, noble or otherwise, to attend the academy. The state will foot the bill, so no one has an excuse to hold their daughters back.
Later that night, feeling unexpectedly sentimental, you return to your room to find Floyd sprawled on your bed, grinning like heâs just heard the worldâs juiciest gossip.
âYou look smug,â you say, arching an eyebrow.
âNah, just⊠pleased,â he drawls, giving you that signature mischievous smirk. And before you know it, he pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug, his arms wrapping around you with unexpected warmth. âLook at my Shrimpy, changing the world one law at a time.â
A blush creeps up your cheeks despite yourself. âOh, stop it,â you mutter, though you donât pull away.
He chuckles, giving you an affectionate squeeze. âNah. Youâre doing great, Empress. Iâm proud of you.â
Youâre speechless. Floyd? Sentimental? But as he holds you, laughing at your stunned expression, you canât help but feel a littleâŠsmitten.
Youâre reviewing reports in the study, savoring the rare, blissful calm, when the double doors burst open like some villain from a badly written romance novel. There stands the traitor consort, dressed in what looks likeâŠa suit made of loose, strategically placed peacock feathers, a sequined sash, andâoh, yesâface glitter.
He strikes a pose, does a dramatic hand flip, and announces, âBehold! My love for you is eternal, as boundless as the stars, and as bold as my outfit!â
You're thinking about ordering Floyd to chase him out with a chair, when you catch Heroineâs expressionâsomewhere between horror and volcanic rage.
With a fierce gleam in her eye, she steps in front of you, looking like sheâs about to deliver an exorcism. âYouâŠâ she begins, her voice so cold even the peacock feathers on his shoulders look like they might molt in fear. âYou miserable, egotistical, fashion-disaster-in-waiting!â
Heâs stunned, blinking like a child caught sneaking candy. âW-what? Heroine, you used to help me with my plans!â
âYeah, well, that was before I got a brain cell,â she snaps. âI actually know my worth now, and itâs definitely not tied to whatever fever-dream cape situation youâve got going on.â She points to his glittering sash. âWhat, did you rob an arts-and-crafts store on the way here? Do you know who youâre talking to?â
He stammers, visibly shrinking, feathers quivering with fear. âY-you were always there for meâŠâ
âThat was when I was too naive to realize you were the human equivalent of a trash fire!â Sheâs in full swing now, arms crossed and eyebrow raised, spitting out insults that would make the court jester blush. âPlease, the Empress has standards, and youâre down there with questionable cabbage soup.â
He reels back, totally caught off-guard. By this point, youâre honestly not sure if you should applaud or slowly back away.
With a smirk, you lean forward and say, âWell, since youâre dressed for the occasion, why donât you strut that ridiculous ensemble back to your own country?â
He opens his mouth, gapes like a fish, and finally closes it, completely defeated. Without another word, he shuffles out, feathers dragging behind him in a sad little pile.
The second heâs out of earshot, you sigh, look up, and thank the universe for finally sparing you from that headache. The Heroine just dusts her hands off, grinning like sheâs just won the greatest battle of her life, and youâre suddenly very aware of just how terrifyingly competent sheâs become.
Floyd has been hounding you about his reward for days now, showing up at all hours with the persistence of a cat at dinner time. Youâre mid-sentence in a policy meeting, mid-sip at dinner, even mid-bath when you hear him shout from outside the door, âHey, Shrimpy! Remember my prize? Donât forget now!â
Finally, in a moment of resignation, you sigh and wave him in. âFine, Floyd. What do you actually want?â
He grins, and thereâs a gleam in his eyes that should probably have you worried. âMake me king consort.â
You open your mouth, ready to laugh and then say something like, âNo chance,â but thenâŠyou pause. Becauseâwhy not? Heâs loyal, heâs your particular brand of chaos, and honestly, the idea of using it as an excuse to disband the harem is almost too good.
Youâd get to tell everyone youâd found the âlove of your lifeâ and keep your mornings free of peacock-feathered declarations of eternal devotion.
âAlright, Floyd,â you say, shrugging as if you just agreed to a dinner plan and not a royal title. âYouâre king consort.â
For a solid five seconds, heâs frozen, blinking like heâs not sure if you just announced the best prank of the century or an actual royal decision.
Then, with a roar of laughter, he picks you up, actually tossing you in the air like a sack of grain. âSHRIMPY, IâM KING CONSORT! WOOOO!â
Ministers nearby practically leap out of their chairs in terror, and one drops his teacup with a spectacular crash.
âOh, and by the way,â he says, setting you down but keeping a hand on your shoulder. âDonât think I forgotâI still get that week alone with you in the countryside. Just you, me, and the great outdoors.â
Youâd expected to feel dread, but insteadâŠyouâre kind of excited? Because it turns out, when thereâs no glittered consort in sight, Floydâs brand of mayhem might just be exactly what you needed.
Youâre slumped on the throne, staring into the void as a minister drones on about the scandalous rise in scarf-wearing among the commoners.
The man is red-faced and foaming at the mouth as if heâs narrating the downfall of civilization itself instead of just⊠knitted accessories. With each drawn-out sentence, your urge to grab his own scarf and dramatically tie it around his face grows stronger.
âAnd, Your Majesty, donât you agree that such⊠frivolousness undermines the dignity of the empire?â he sputters.
âUh-huh,â you mumble, one mental toe dangling into the sweet abyss of existential crisis. How did your life get to this point? Did the previous Empress really deal with scarf politics? You contemplate just passing the crown to the nearest potted plant. Surely it couldnât do worse.
Then, like a savior bathed in sunlight, Floyd appears. He slinks in casually, eyes glinting with a dangerous mix of glee and malice. He takes one look at Wedgeworthâs scarf-induced fervor and rolls his eyes. âOh, I see the scarf issue is really eating away at the Empire,â Floyd deadpans, clearly unamused at the absurdity.
The minister stammers, blinking like heâs never been interrupted in his life. âWell, actually, I was explaining to Her Majestyââ
Floyd raises a hand. âIâll take it from here, Lord Scarfington. Very urgent royal matters, wouldnât want to keep the Empress from them, now would we, hmm?â
The ministers exchange horrified looks, but when Floyd locks eyes with them, his expression darkens into a gaze that could probably scare the teeth off a shark. Ministers shuffle out, muttering about âthe sanctity of scarvesâ and how they ânever liked those shellfish folk anyway.â
When youâre finally alone, you look at Floyd, and he gives you a grin. âCome on, Shrimpy, Iâve got a surprise.â
He leads you through a series of narrow, winding hallways you didnât even know existed until you arrive at a small, hidden courtyard surrounded by high walls and shaded by some flowering trees.
In the middle of it is a picnic spread that looks⊠questionable. Thereâs food you donât recognize: odd, glistening items that could pass as snacks in a very brave galaxy.
âI brought some delicacies from the Coral Sea,â Floyd announces, looking way too proud. âI even cooked some of this myself.â
You smile, hoping he means the less suspicious dishes, but as you take a bite of one of the âuniqueâ items, you immediately realize your error. Itâs a taste explosion, and not in a good way; youâre fairly certain you just ate something alive. Floydâs already laughing, watching you try to hold back a gag.
âOh, thatâs rich, look at your face!â He claps his hands, doubled over with laughter.
But then you try the food he actually cooked, and itâs⊠itâs really good. Your eyes widen. âFloyd, you didnât tell me you could cook!â
He shrugs nonchalantly. âGuess you just have that effect on me, Shrimpy.â
As you eat, you feel the weight of scarf debates and mundane ministerial crises slip away. Floydâs teasing you about your reaction to the Coral Sea snacks, youâre pretending to smack him, and somewhere between the laughter and the food, you realize youâre completely relaxed. Youâre even⊠happy.
Then he casually picks up a pillow, eyes glinting with mischief. âHey, Shrimpy,â he says slowly, âbet I can take you down.â
âBring it, fish-boy,â you fire back, grabbing a pillow.
A feather flies. Then another. In no time, the two of you are engaged in a full-on pillow war, feathers floating through the air in chaotic puffs. You swing a pillow with all your might, narrowly missing Floyd, who dodges and counters with a playful shove, sending you sprawling onto the blanket, laughing so hard youâre almost crying.
In the flurry of feathers and laughter, you realize just how much you care about him. And as if reading your mind, Floyd suddenly stops, pinning you down, his face hovering just inches above yours. His usual playful grin fades into something softer, more serious, and you find yourself staring up at him, completely captivated.
You kiss him, right there, surrounded by scattered feathers and half-eaten snacks. âI think Iâm in love with you, Floyd,â you whisper.
He grins, looking almost smug. âKnew youâd come around eventually, Shrimpy. Youâre a smart one.â
You roll your eyes, laughing, and pull him into another kiss, feeling lighter than you have in ages. Whatever royal nonsense tomorrow brings, you know youâve got himâand for now, thatâs more than enough.
Vacation plans with Floyd start out so simple in theory, but the minute he said, âCountryside? Nah, Shrimpy, weâre going under the sea,â you just nodded because, hey, you did promise a reward. Plus, how bad could it be?
Bad, it turns out, is relative. Upon arrival, Jade, Floydâs brother, gives you a grin that says welcome, poor soul. âSo, my brotherâs finally gone and gotten himself an Empress. How unexpected,â he says with a glint in his eye that suggests heâs got a bet running on how long youâll last.
But youâve barely survived Jadeâs interrogation when Azul, Coral Seaâs resident business octopus, swims up with an entire briefcase of contracts and a grin that spells danger.
âWelcome, Your Majesty! I thought we might discuss a mutually beneficial agreement,â he says smoothly, his tone so charming you almost miss that the contract slides in a 50-year lease on your kingdomâs fishing industry.
âSo thatâs how it is here,â you think, snapping back to business mode. You haggle until both sides are happy, but the second you reach across to shake Azulâs hand, Floyd swoops in, sighing dramatically. He grabs your hand, practically prying it out of Azulâs. âAlright, Shrimpy, enough time with the fish dealer. Youâre mine this week.â
Before you can blink, heâs thrown you over his shoulder like youâre a stray potato sack, striding away from an open-mouthed Azul and an utterly delighted Jade who looks like he's a minute away from bursting out popcorn.
By the time he hauls you to your guest room and plops you on the bed, his usual grin has given way to an expression youâve only seen on annoyed cats. Heâs holding your hand in a grip that could rival steel, not letting go even as he sulks like a kid who just lost his favorite toy.
âFloyd,â you say slowly, âis something wrong?â
He looks away, puffing out his cheeks, refusing to answer. It's downright adorable in an overgrown, slightly unhinged eel sort of way. You squint at him, reaching over to grab his face, smushing his cheeks together until he finally makes eye contact. âHey, I canât read your mind, Floyd. Tell me whatâs wrong.â
He mutters something too low to hear, and you lean closer, arching a brow. âWhat was that?â
âYouâre my Shrimpy,â he grumbles louder, still not meeting your eyes. âAnd the handshake with that fish scammer went on too long.â
It takes every ounce of self-control not to burst into laughter. âSo thatâs it, huh?â A laugh slips out despite your efforts, and his pout deepens, though his grip on your hand stays as firm as ever. âYou silly eel,â you chuckle, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. âAs if anyone could match me like you do?â
That does it. His expression softens, the pout melting into that slightly unhinged, overly excited Floyd smile you know too well. âSee, Shrimpy, thatâs why youâre the only one for me!â he practically shouts before pulling you into a spin that has you clinging to him for dear life.
He kisses you again, and youâre so breathless you half-expect a storm outside to rise to match.
But it doesnât matterâheâs too busy swearing up and down that heâs not letting anyone else get a âsingle finâ on you. And somehow, as you laugh together, it feels like you really are on a vacation you never knew you needed.
The ceremony for crowning Floyd as your King Consort goes all-out, much to your delightâand, judging by the expressions around the room, their absolute horror. The whole throne room is so packed with flowers and banners it might as well be a festival.
Youâve made sure that this is a spectacle the diplomats and ministers will never forget. After all, the more smitten you look with Floyd, the less theyâll try to âreasonâ you out of it. And if they have any opinions about your choice, well, they can keep it to themselvesâor they can talk to Floyd.
As you lean in to place the crown on Floydâs head, heâs giving you a smirk so bright you swear itâs practically a stage light. The second the crown touches his head, he dips you into a kiss that is equal parts âfairytale endingâ and âscandalized gasp from the old guard.â The ministers are barely holding in a collective gasp. Someone clutches their chest like they might need medical attention.
Over on the sidelines, you can see Jade and Azul clapping way too enthusiastically for the roomâs mood. Meanwhile, everyone else looks like theyâre watching you deface a holy artifact. You pull back with a satisfied smile, fully aware of the whispers swirling through the room.
Now, to seal this newfound reign in your own⊠unique way.
You turn to the front rows where your now-ex-harem stands, looking various shades of awkward and confused. These âprizesâ will be going back to their respective nations, and itâs about time. âAmbassadors,â you announce, your tone absolutely oozing sincerity, âI believe youâll be taking back your⊠prizes. Enjoy.â
The diplomats exchange looks, clearly unsure if they should feel insulted or relieved. You give them a regal wave and watch as they shuffle out with the ex-consorts in tow, one of whom lets out a dramatic sigh loud enough to reach the rafters.
Just as the room finally starts calming down, you glance over at the row of your ministersâmany of whom look like theyâd rather have run off with the consorts.
These are the ancient relics of nepotism who have only ever accomplished growing their own egos and possibly a few money-siphoning schemes. You decide nowâs the time to deal with them, too.
Smiling so politely it almost looks sweet, you say, âMinisters, thank you for your service. But Iâm sure youâll understand when I sayâŠâ You pause, voice dropping to an icy sweetness, âYouâre dismissed. Please kindly fuck right off.â
Several of the men freeze, as if unsure they heard you correctly. One or two start spluttering, âButâYour Majestyâthis isââ
âOh, donât worry,â Floyd cuts in, grinning from ear to ear, clearly enjoying this far too much. âYouâre free to go! You wouldnât want to disappoint the Empress, would ya?â
It takes a second, but the room clears of protesting ministers soon enough. Then you turn to the waiting group of young scholars, women who fought their way up to the top on pure merit, many of them owing their presence here to your recently passed education reforms. âWelcome,â you say with a genuine smile. "Your interviews will be conducted tomorrow"
Their reactions are priceless. Several tear up on the spot, whispering thank-yous so heartfelt you nearly tear up yourself. One of them murmurs, âThis is a dream come true. Thank you, Your Majesty.â
You feel a swell of pride. This is what youâve wanted to seeâa competent court, fresh talent, and the chance to make a real difference. Just as youâre soaking in the satisfaction of this triumph, Floyd leans over, clearly up to something.
âYouâre done now, yeah?â he asks with a conspiratorial grin.
âUh, yes?â You've barely said the words, only for him to suddenly scoop you up and throw you over his shoulder, entirely ignoring the royal dignity of it all. The young scholars stare, completely unsure of whether to salute or run.
âFloyd!â you half-laugh, half-scold. âYou could at least let me walk out on my own!â
âNah,â he says, casually strolling down the hall with you like youâre a sack of potatoes. âYouâre mine now, Shrimpy. And besides, itâs tradition for the King Consort to carry his Empress, isnât it?â
âIâm pretty sure it isnât,â you mutter, but you wave cheerfully at everyone as youâre carried off.
As he strides out of the throne room, ignoring the horrified gasps and protests behind you both, Floyd grins. âAny more old men to fire? âCause Iâm having a great time.â
You shake your head, smiling. After all, youâre the Empressâwhoâs going to stop you now?
Your empire has transformed. The old guard, once weighed down by nothing but scarves and scandals, has finally given way to a bright-eyed group of scholars and ministers, most of whomâmuch to the old ministers' horrorâare brilliant young women now leading the realm.
Among them is your ex-maid, the heroine herself, newly appointed as Minister of Diplomatic Affairs and already so intimidatingly competent that foreign diplomats quake just a bit when she enters the room.
And the grandest twist of all: you declare that your successor will not be by blood but by merit. The heir to the throne will be the sharpest, most capable mind in the empire, regardless of their birth.
Youâre already giddy as you imagine the ambitious parents prepping their offspring for the grueling tests youâre planningâchallenges youâll design alongside your newly assembled council.
After hours of being regal and respectable, you finally get back to your chambers, ready for a night of blissfully ignoring politics. Floyd, your beloved eel, is already sprawled on the couch like heâs conquered half the known world, arms open and ready to receive you. You practically collapse into his embrace, sighing as you burrow against him.
âSo, Shrimpy,â he drawls, smirking. âFix the whole empire yet?â
âAlmost,â you laugh. âAt least Iâve retired the Scarf Parliament. Thatâs enough for today.â
You snuggle closer, closing your eyes, and for a second, you think back to the ridiculous, drama-filled story that threw you into this life. Maybe the original author had a point, or maybe she just really liked throwing you curveballs.
Either way, cuddled up with the love of your life while your empire flourishes, you canât help but think, yeah, she knew exactly what she was doing.
Series Masterlist
Main Masterlist
#twst x reader#twisted wonderland x reader#twst#twisted wonderland#floyd leech x reader#floyd leech x you#floyd x reader#floyd x you#floyd leech#floyd#trash novel chronicles
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hello hello hello !!
a teeny tiny request for you (hopefully it's not much to deal with): reader seeing Spencer interact with the kids who come knocking for treats, he does a small little trick for them too
Or
reader with the team goes to catch an unsub hiding in an abandoned lab or hospital (maybe x aaron?)
honestly idk what I'm yapping about but here are some mediocre thoughts from my side
âč3
AN: Sorry for not being able to do the top ask, I started getting motivation a little too late- I also need a name for this series so tell me if you have any ideas :3
Aaron Hotchner x fem!reader
Word Count : 1k
You stepped forward with your gun out. The team spread around you. You looked up at the large abandoned building in front of you. You let out an exasperated sigh as you finally noticed why the building was so large.
"An abandoned hospital. This sounds like it's straight out of a horror movie."
You muttered to no one in particular but they all heard and responded non verbally with grimaces. Frowning, you opened the door but winced as it opened with a loud creak.
"There goes our sneak attack."
Emily said to the team. You nodded in response. You agreed and you jogged forward, not caring about not making a sound anymore. The unsub had been alerted of your presence the moment you had opened that door.
Once all of the team was in the building, the door creaked shut, it was unsettling once it shut completely. As it was now dark and completely silent.
You crept through the hospital. You saw many things, but the thing that irked you the most was the fact the walls were void of graffiti. It was an obvious sign of something ahead. Especially since the place was obvious and not far from the main city.
The team split up and you were set with Aaron. The adrenaline rushing through your veins became more and more intense with each room you walked into. You came across many things, security cameras in tact and functioning, fully set up operating rooms, expensive equipment was still there.
"Something isn't right."
You muttered until you heard a bang and a loud scream. Both you and Aaron snapped up and ran to the sound of the scream. Panic made you run faster than you had before. Quicker than you thought was your limit.
You skidded to a halt as you rounded a corner but not before Aaron smashed into you due to your abrupt halt. You grabbed Aaron's hand and twisted sideways to avoid the knife that was being held out using some sort of contraption. You let out a quiet sigh of relief as you saw the rest of the team come from the other way. None of them would get hit by the knife. You sat up from where you were on the ground. Helping Aaron up, you dusted yourself off.
"This place is full of traps."
You muttered bitterly and Aaron gave you an apologetic look and you gave him a small smile in return. You trudged to the others.
"What did you find?"
Aaron asked them. Emily and JJ gave each other a look.
"We found a morgue."
You looked at them with a perplexed look, that was normal for a hospital like this. That was until JJ added onto Emily's statement.
"It was full of the missing people."
You paused. Oh. So this was where the unsub dumped the bodies. You turned to Rossi and Derek.
"Did you find anything?"
You asked the other two.
"We found.. Uh.. Organs."
Derek said with a tone of disgust. Your head snapped up in surprise.
"Where? Take me."
You asked and he nodded. The team followed behind you two.
Once you got there, you scanned the organs that were in the room.
"These are all the things that were 'wrong' with each person. The heart for heart problems. Lungs for asthma. The spine for back problems."
You listed off a few things. Until Aaron clicked it together.
"He was trying to fix them. Make them better. Take away what was bad and let them leave in perfect condition."
You nodded in agreement.
"Exactly."
You spun around at the unrecognizable voice. Your gun raised along with everyone elses. He held his hands up.
"I can go. I've saved all the people I need to."
At that Aaron nodded and Derek surged forward to snap handcuffs on the guy. They decided to go the way the guy came but before Derek could step forward with the guy you held a hand out and stopped them. You told everyone to go the other way and they did with only Aaron as an exception.
"Why did you tell them to go the other way."
Instead of answering properly you spoke instead.
"When I shout run. You run."
You waited for his nod and you grabbed something and threw it forward and the motion set something off as the place started to tick loudly.
"Run!"
You shouted as the two of you dashed out and got out of the hospital just in time to see the section of the building they were just in blow up. The two of you were slightly breathless from the running as the rest jogged to you both and bombarded you with questions.
"How did you know?"
You shrugged nonchalantly.
"He smirked and I noticed the motion sensors."
AARON'S POV
Aaron smiled slightly as the nonchalance reminded him of your daughter, Eleanor, he could tell that she got it from you. The smile was quickly wiped from his face as Rossi walked up to him with a knowing smirk.
Though you didnt notice that as you walked back to one of the vehicles, speaking with Emily.
He noticed a light red blushing on your cheeks as Emily teased you about something. You groaned as Emily laughed. Aaron didn't take notice of what Rossi was saying as he followed you.
He climbed into the drivers seat as you called shotgun and scrambled into the passenger seat. He smiled softly as you grinned and stuck your tongue out at Emily. You were a mix. You could be serious in times of need but also childish and light hearted. He admired that in you.
Emily grumbled and took the seat behind you and he held back a laugh as you gasped dramatically when Emily jokingly kicked your seat. You whipped around to glare at her but the smile that graced your face told him that you didn't mean it.
He turned the key as you begrudgingly turned around but not before giving Emily the middle finger.
Aaron enjoyed watching you interact with the team, he didn't know why but he did. It was nice. He enjoyed being with you overall but he didn't know why he felt a fluttering feeling with you. It confused him to no end but he didn't mind being confused if he got to spend time with you.
That was one of his favourite things to do and he could do it for hours.
#criminal minds#bau x reader#criminal minds x reader#fanfic#criminal minds x y/n#bau!reader#x reader#aaron hotchner x reader
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BRUCE & DISSOCIATIVE IDENTITY DISORDER
*note: i have DID and am writing this from that experience.
** note two: while this is to give anyone who interacts perspective, none of these alters will EVER acknowledge being different people. it likely won't come up in threads unless the other writer specifically requests it.
this got so so so long lmao.
VOCAB LESSON:
alter: sometimes also called 'headmates' (this is the term i use for mine). these are the 'alternate' identities. a lot of people consider them as distinct people, separate from the "base personality", though some might consider themselves only facets.
switching: the process of changing from one alter to another. this can be sudden, uncontrolled switches (often caused by a trigger of some kind) or slower, more controlled switches when someone is deliberately called to the front.
the front/fronting: the place of control/who is controlling the body. there can be multiple alters fronting at the same time, even some that control different parts of the body at the same time.
splitting: the act of creating a new alter. the initial one is typically caused by some kind of trauma but other ones can split off for any number of reasons, some even being deliberately created.
MEET THE ALTERS:
bruce wayne: the primary alter. he's what you might consider the "base" alter. i tend to call him the "cowl down" alter. he's most present in moments when the cowl is down and he's around smaller/non-public groups of people. he's more emotionally stable and softer. he's often more reasonable and lenient. he does occasionally front while in the cowl when a gentler touch is needed but he prefers to interact with the cowl down.
batman: the "cowl up" alter. he formed during bruce's batman training. he tends to be harsher and more brutal. willing to do things that bruce might not. he's calculating and willing to put logic/the mission before emotion. if the cowl is up, it's probably batman. he doesn't front at all if the cowl is down/off.
brucie: the "public face" alter. formed when bruce started having to have a public persona and kind of freaked out about it. his entire job is being the public face. he's ditzy and forgetful and kind of a whore. he's the most obviously a different person because he doesn't always remember things from when bruce or batman were fronting. (dick in particular seems to view him as a separate person canonically. see: that gotham knights arc)
the bat: the "persecutor/protector" alter. this is the original alter to split off bruce. it takes the form of a giant, almost humanoid bat. it flips between encouraging bruce, protecting him from his own past emotions/memories, and persecuting him for his failures. it never fronts. (this is drawn from the ram v detective comics run, btw, check it out.)
failsafe: the "persecutor" alter. even more than the bat. he was deliberately created by batman to do what he couldn't. including kill. he was supposed to be a last resort but there have been times that he has wrested control for periods of time. (canonically, he is called batman of zur-en-arrh but i hate that name so i stole the name of a DIFFERENT batman thing. see: the current zdarsky run for more.)
tommy: the "child" alter. also formed around the same time as the bat. he is based off tommy elliot and presents as a childhood friend in bruce's memories. which is why his memories don't line up with what the ACTUAL tommy elliot says. while tommy has fronted before, it has almost never been alone, has always been accidental, and alfred has done a good job of getting him away before anyone notices.
THE TIMELINE:
bruce sees his parents die. he splits the bat and tommy.
he trains to be batman, realizes he might not be able to handle everything this entails, and batman splits off.
batman is worried about his ability to perform both as a hero and a civilian. he deliberately creates failsafe to do what he can't. brucie splits off on his own around this time.
i didn't include him above but matches malone splits when bruce goes undercover for a little too long.
there are some other thoughts i have, like internal workings, their relationships with each other, their relationships with people outside the system... but that's a post for another day. this one has already gotten so long.
again, this post is mostly just for OOC knowledge as it likely won't come up in threads unless requested.
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something about dance scenes in film
the last days of disco (1998)
#the last days of disco (1998)#robert sean leonard#chloë sevigny#i need her so bad#honestly that should be me#i love her dress#i also love dance scenes in film#something about dancing#so many thoughts head full
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cw: mention of previous abuse, dad Dabi, mom reader, mention of childbirth, angst
new dad touya that doesnât know how to deal with his son. heâs growing too fast and his smiles are so big, but heâs still not sure how to just be with him.
touya isnât abusive in the slightest, not like his shit for brains dad. he can acknowledge, after youâve drilled it into his head on cold nights where you had to hold his quivering cheeks in your hand, that heâs better. that heâs trying. that heâs a great dad.
he doesnât really believe it. itâs hard to believe that heâs a great dad when his son, still covered in that fresh newborn smell, stares up at him with matching azure blue eyes, the little shit, and he finds it hard to smile back. itâd be easier to smile back if he could guarantee a life with no trauma, with the perfect pair of parents, that heâd love him as much as his tiny little face deserved.
touya can still hear the labor and delivery nurse tell him that he mustâve gotten on your nerves for the baby to look so much like him, and that theyâve never seen a baby that fresh out the womb smile so big at their dad. he hands the little bundle back to you, and glares at the nurse who hands him a tissue. he takes it anyway.
touya loves his son. so goddamn much that it hurts, but, he doesnât know how to be a dad. and he knows that you donât know how to be a mom either, that itâs a learning process for the both of you. but heâs so scaredâheâs terrified that heâll fuck up this innocent brat with his ruin. with his scars and history and the want to better but never knowing how to just be.
so he leaves. itâs the day after your sons first birthday that you celebrated together in your home.
you thought everything was okay, that he was starting to get the hang of being a dad. he did everything right, why couldnât he stay? he sat on the floor with your son and changed his diaper and made him giggle those addicting baby giggles? he carried your son everywhere whenever he cried after being sat down without a single complaint? he helped him open his birthday presents? he didnât smash the cake in his face, only swiped a little icing on his sons nose to hear that addicting baby giggle? he held your son like he could never let him go?
how could he just go like this? you thought he was finally learning and accepting how to be a dad? what happened?
#angst angst angst#SORRY#I thought about this earlier while I was under the dryer#and I was like ohhhh write that down before your slow ass forgets#my toxic trait is that every time I write soemthing short im like#âŠâŠthis could be a full fic đ«Ł#LMFAO honestly duck it im making this a full fic#I have so many on my plate but this has to go on the list#he makes my heart so sad I love him mr pathetic man with so many troubles in his head#I also wanna write a sleazy shiggy n keigo fic (separate) whatâs wrong with me#all these ideas and no juice to write them#im just about halfway finished w my classes so maybe il get more inspo to write#anyway I have a bkg draft from like two nights ago that I forgot about#and I wanna write that too but my head really hurts and I have to be up early tomorrow sad đ#okay I think im gonna sleep now :)#ânew treat in the streets! đ«#dabi treats! đŹ
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The Sonic the Hedgehog brainrot so strong itâs making me come up with an entire game for Silver
#I have so many ideas already#anyone want to listen to me ramble for about an hour or so#when I finally sit down and learn blender itâs over for yâall#it is OVER#maybe someday Iâll make a video talking about it#honestly iâd love for it to become a fangame if I ever learn coding#itâll never happen#but it sure is fun to think about#sonic the hedgehog#sth#silver the hedgehog#sonic games#game idea#many thoughts#head full#smartie speaks
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SS&SP Drabble: Homeward Bound
Hello, everyone, and Happy Easter or Passover or just a regular Sunday! I thought Iâd share a little scene Iâve had sitting in my notes app today, as a gift and an apology for the incredibly long wait for the next chapter! With college and transferring and research project my life has just *explodes.* Anyway, here it is! Benjamin and Elizabeth have their most intimate conversations right before she goes home, which I think is interesting. Perhaps itâs their way of unwinding after a day full of supply talk and dealing with Congressâ bullshit and Hamilton being Hamilton (I say this with love.) Enjoy, and thanks for sporting me and SS&SP!
âIs it true, Major Tallmadge?â
âIs what true, Miss Walker?â
âMy father-â she began, remembering the look on their faces whenever she brought him up, the flashes of disdain and resentment. Did she have any? âHe always said New York had too many Tories and not enough Patriots. Said it was more divided than Pennsylvania could ever be- which seems impossible now that I know- now that Iâve seen it.â
Benjamin let out a soft whistle between his teeth. âI donât want to agree with your father. He seems to assume rather than know.â
âBelieve me, I learned that quickly.â She never wanted to leave him to be exposed vulnerable, alone. âHe promises rather than acts, too.â
âBut it- itâs complicated.â His fingers fell back onto the map, his gaze gone for a second, before he spoke again, âDo you remember where Iâm from?â
âSetauket?â
He smiled, that wistful, sad smile- torn and frayed, a hint of defeat. âThereâs a troop of British soldiers quartered there. No, not quartered- occupying. Ruling.â
Her heart dropped as soon as he said it, her stomach turned when she glanced down and saw where his fingers were- tracing the Long Island coast, subconsciously showing it to her.
âThey- they turned my fatherâs church into a stable. Terrorize the citizens. They donât respect them- they hate them-â he inhaled a sharp breath, âthey want them to suffer.â
âAnd there was nothing you could do,â she said.
Just like there was nothing anyone could do when the British burned the valley. When she saw the smoke from her window, all she did was stay inside, trying to hide instead of fight.
âI tried. I tried, Miss Walker.â His eyes met hers- did they match the color of the sound? She never stood at the edge of the shore, so close to the fathomless deep. âDo not doubt that for a second, I tried.â
âI know you did, Major. As you did at Brandywine, and Germantown, for Philadelphia.â
She rested her hand on the tableâ silence laid over the wood, the maps underneath their palms, their homes written in ink.
âI hate that living in an area they destroyed is something we have in common, Major Tallmadge. Iâm so sorry about Setauket.â
He shook his head, as if it would solve and dispel his troubling thoughts. It never works for me. âTis alright, Miss. It makes us work harder.â He said.
âIt makes us fight for what we believe in. For our God given rights.â
âYou truly are a preacherâs son, Major.â
âSo you always say, but why?â
âYou always find the blessing in disguise.â
The dragoons were outside.
It was time to take her home.
Benjamin smiled.
âIâm not the only one who does.â
At the tentâs open flap, she asked, âWill you tell me about Setauket, if I ask?â
âWell,â he considered it, a second too long. âIâm not sure it is beneficial for your mission.â
âReally? You are not the only Long Island soldier I feed, Major. Is that a sufficient answer?â
âYes,â he said, clearly refraining his laugh, âyes, of course.â
She nodded, and laughed for both of them. Then she raised her chin, âGood. You just earned yourself an extra piece of ham.â
âMiss Walker!â
âIâm coming, Captain Seymour!â
âIâm not counting on the ham,â Benjamin remarked, âYouâll give my extra piece to a foot soldier, wonât you?â
âI-â she paused. He knows me.
âYes, I would.â She moved forward, âSeymour is getting reckless. Goodbye, Major Tallmadge.â
âGoodbye, Miss Walker.â
And she left the soldier from Long Island.
#inspired by my mom honestly making a very good ham today#added a bit of work to this and I really like it#I also just love when Benjamin talks about Setauket⊠so many thoughts⊠head SO full#this man can fit so much trauma in his anxious little heart#SS&SP#the summer soldier and the sunshine patriot#benjamin tallmadge#elizabeth walker#otp: first thing in the morning#Benliz#benjamin & elizabeth#turn: washington's spies#turn: washingtonâs spies#turn fic#amc turn fic#turn amc fic#turn: washingtonâs spies fic#benjamin tallmadge x oc#amanda writes (kind of)#Benjamin Tallmadge#please show up in the tags
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Thinking about what happened in the summer
Kids are... Really different when it comes to spending three weeks without their parents
Some start crying near the end of first day
Some start crying after couple of days
And some don't show anything while feeling the same
And being... I think English has a good word for that, let's go with a teacher but mix it with caretaker a little bit
I think seeing a kid cry at the end of that first day finally short circuited my brain, teens are way harder to understand that pre-teens who are literally still kids
They come around after a week, settle down and find new friends and your job stays the same mostly to be the one controlling their behavior
And then you'd have a kid crying again, because they miss home and the only thing you can really do is comfort them that they're not stuck here forever and that time flows so fast they won't notice it
And maybe they didn't. Time really did flew and they were leaving
Parents visited kids sometimes, of course, and it was so scary at first but they were mostly friendly and nice
Maybe because of that group chat that let them see that their kids are fine and are having fun
In the end for kids it was painful at first, but fun in the end. I got hugged more times than I could count when they were all leaving
And then poof
Back to your own life you go, like nothing happened
#not art#irl stuff#some thoughts#Every time I tried mixing my 'usual' behavior with the one I had back in the camp it felt like adding acid into water in the wrong order#Because it didn't feel right and it felt right at the same time#Like I just suddenly got a brand new way of behavior all together and it was so different that I stopped recognizing myself#Literally I'd work all day without much of a thought head full of WHERE EVERYONE IS ARE THEY SAFE??? And then at break near night go 'huh'#And at first I tried desperately to catch the usual behavior and bring it back on the break#And it never led to anything good because I'm supposed to be fully like in daytime 24/7#I did that one sketch of silly guys to just keep at least something in my head aside from being fully aware 24/7 of every passing second#I still don't know if I miss that or not#It felt so nice to not feel like I have no goal in mind anymore#A goal of 'get to the end of this with all of the kids fine and safe' without ever swearing or making them feel threatened was... Exhaustin#I never became some super sweet person to know so I did what I knew best - talked a lot telling about the things they liked#And if a kid is curious being interesting by telling stories that they didn't know about the things they liked is a way to be liked#Most of them probably forgot about me existing there but some probably didn't and would return next year again#Honestly I don't know why I failed so many exams when becoming a teacher is the only thing that makes me truly happy now#And super tired because THAT'S WORK and it's exhausting as hell some kids love to fight and you need all your diplomacy to work with it#Maybe that's just me missing my time with siblings when they were little I didn't get much time being a good elder sibling to them#I can't associate this work with becoming a parent for a month because I'm still not so different from those kids#Like... I've literally have been told by older kids that they mistook me for a teen like them#Excuse you but I'm like 7 years older than that#It was funny tho because I was considered a bit closer to them all instead of being a big bad grown-up#Yet some kids despised me because of that in the first group because welp not being an authority figure sucks#That being my first job sucks even more because I had no idea about the unspoken rules while everyone had aside from me and mom#Second try was way better because I knew exactly what I had to do even if I was terrible at making us participate in dances and songs#Thankfully it started raining and don't you dare let kids get cold from being in the rain at night that's just ridiculous#So it was like we had a slumber party with me letting them watch GF on my laptop and read some comics#It was way better than being forced to look at the other groups winning all over again. Kids disliked losing so many times in a row#And in the end the things we planned weren't exactly enough but when they were kids were happy and I was happy because we put so much effor
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DPxDC prompt: Danny is Chronos' first child.
Well, not his first child biologically, to be completely honest.
It just so happened that the Phantom very often helped/helps/will help Clockwork at different times and his presence next to the titan required an explanation.
And the opportunity to call Zeus a little brother is worth a lot, right? So when the Ancient came up with this idea Phantom did not resist just to have such a pleasant bonus from their cooperation.
However, in the time of the gods and heroes, such a solution was not a problem. But in modern times, when Phantom tries to attract as little attention as possible in order to graduate from university, such relatives are more likely to cause a lot of problems.
~~~~~
Wonder Woman: Uncle Danny?
Superman, who wanted to chase away a teenager serenely strolling through still smoking battlefield, turns to Wonder Woman, who is waving affably at excactly this guy.
Well, Fenton honestly happened to be in Fawcett City by accident, and it just so happened that by chance it was on this sunny and cloudless day that the villains decided to cause riots worthy of the attention of the founders of the Justice League.
Danny: Diana! My dear, it seems like we really haven't seen each other not for a long time! In what century was it? Ah, I honestly, I barely remember it... The speed at which children grow up defies the laws of time. I mean, look at you! Your mother must be so proud. How's Dad? Still not paying child support, arrogant bastard?
Wonder Woman: Oh, uncle, please. I'm all grown up now, don't worry about me.
Danny: Hm, well, let's get back to this question later. I didn't want to embarrass you in front of your friends. Anyway, would you like to introduce them, little princess?
Wonder Woman: Of course, meet Kal El, Batman, and Shazam. The rest of the guys have already returned to our base. Would you like to...
Danny: Ooh, you're talking about, um... What do you young people call it? The Justice League, right? During my youth, the heroes rarely united and mostly performed all the feats alone. It's good that you help each other, kids.
Danny flies up a little to pat Superman and Batman on the head.
Under the Diana's gaze full of hope that they will get along with her uncle, the men do not move.
In the background:
Red Hood and Robin who used to hang out with Danny near the Lazarus pits: *sounds of seagulls dying of laughter*
~~~~~
Flash: So you're Diana's uncle?
Danny: Yes, call me Danny.
Flash: Cool, cool...
Danny: What does the temperature have to do with it? Do you need ice? Let me make some for you.
Flash: No, it's like,um, I didn't know that Zeus has a younger brother with that name. So, it's good to know?
Danny: Hmm, thanks. Many people tell me that I look quite young, hah. But actually I'm his older brother, so...
Flash: Older? Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to disrespect.
Danny: No, it's all right. It's "cool". I rarely appear on the pages of your human myths and legends, I know it. After all this business about Chronos devours his own children, my father punished me for a long time. So, yeah...It's a funny story.
Flash: Punished for what? How?
Danny: Uh, sitting in a room at a time when there is no Internet or electricity is not fun at all. You see, I just didn't want a younger brother or sister because I was afraid that my parents would pay less attention to me. So, I made up this stupid prophecy and persuaded Gaea to tell it in order to remain the only child in the family. My father would never have thought that I would decide to kill him, that's why...Phah, it's just a bad family story. In 10 thousand years, we'll all laugh about it.
Flash: Yeah, that's... funny.
~~~~
Danny *is woken up by an emergency call from the League at three in the morning, although he fell asleep at two o'clock* (he gave his contact so as not to upset his niece): I knew this would happen! I knew it!
~~~~
Billy Batson *stands in his human form in front of the Justice League and doesn't know what to say*,*sweating nervous*.
Danny *enters the hall*: What's up, mortals, Diana and...Batman? My father said that there is something that I have to be here for. Oh! Well, at least someone in this family is also a shapeshifter. Have you decided to make a younger form so that your uncle doesn't feel lonely? What a good boy! Usually everyone is so afraid to seem like children, once they turn a couple of centuries old. Ah, youth~
Billy: Yeah, I decided to..experiment? and it seems I got stuck by accident.
Danny: It's okay, Uncle Danny will help you. Come on, let's go...
~~~~
Danny *teleports them to the Fawcett City*.
Billy: ....
Danny:
Billy: Hey, I'm still stuck!
A new portal opens and a man in a purple cape hands Billy a note. "Go to Constantine. P.S., my son always completes all assignments only by half, sorry." written on it.
Billy: Oh... OoOhHh!!!
~~~~
Meanwhile, Constantine, who is forced to do additional work: Son of a bi... beloved and respected Master of Time.
Danny: Yeap, that's me.
Constantine: Damn it. Couldn't you just let Batman adopt him like in other timelines?
Danny: And where's the fun in that?
#dpxdc#dpxdc prompts#dcxdp#dpxdc prompt#dpxdc crossover#dc x dp prompt#clockwork is kronos#dp clockwork
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Note: Wow, the roommate!Simon story blew up. Anyway, here's part 2.
Following his conversation with Johnny, Simon begins to think. He begins to consider the possibility that maybe, just maybe, heâs developing feelings for you. Why else would he be so protective and mad when the sergeant talks this way about you? The thought scares him at first.
For one, being near him is a death sentence, he saw that with his family. He canât even imagine surviving losing someone he loved again. Then there is another thing, the fact he isnât sure you would return his feelings. If you didnât, as he suspects, living with you would be torture, and heâs honestly too lazy to look for a new place to stay.
The next time he arrives home in the middle of the day, the apartment is empty since youâre at your workplace most probably. Not seeing your face brighten at the sight of him makes his heart ache, but he knows youâll be home in two or three hours, so he can most certainly survive that by lying down to catch up on sleep. He leaves a post-it for you on the small table next to the front door where you always put your keys, warning you that heâs back home.
Heâs woken by the smell of fresh coffee and something sweet. When he checks the clock on his bedside, he notices itâs past seven, which means he slept a good four hours without interruptions. The new record of the past weeks as the most he slept peacefully was two hours tops. He climbs out of bed and goes to the living room, surprised to see you in the kitchen, humming a song to yourself as you admire the neatly cut brownies on the kitchen island.
âYouâre awake!â you exclaim happily, quickly pressing a button on the coffee machine to make him some coffee too, then pick up an empty plate and put a slice of brownie on it. âWelcome home. Here, try this. I thought you might use some homemade things after being away for so long.â
That damn smile of yours. Itâs wide, happy, and it easily warms his heart and makes him smile too. Your good mood is infectious and he finds himself stuffing the cookie into his mouth as he stands next to you, nudging your side with his hip playfully. âItâs perfect, thank you,â he says while chewing, earning a roll of your eyes. You hate it when someone talks with their mouth full, so he quickly swallows the remains and goes, âSorry.â
You shake your head with a laugh then turn away to get his coffee. Simon canât help but wonder if this is how things would always be if you were his wife, if you would be this kind and caring all the time. He certainly could get used to this. He wouldnât believe he deserves all the love, but he would definitely enjoy your attention.
âWhat got you thinking so hard?â
Simon lets out a questioning hum before realizing he zoned out for a while. âYou,â he replies honestly.
âMe?â
âMm-hmm.â Before you could ask more questions, he moves in front of you, trapping you between the kitchen island and his body as he leans down to you. âI had an interesting conversation with someone and it got me thinking while I was gone,â he says with his lips moving so close he almost kisses you. âDo you have any idea how much I miss you when Iâm deployed? How many times do I wonder what youâre doing while Iâm away?â
Itâs easy to tell, especially from this close, that your heart is racing and your breath is caught in your throat as you watch him. Your eyes are moving back and forth between his lips and his eyes, unable to decide what to focus on. Youâre both under a spell that he doesnât want to break, in fact he wants this moment to last forever, this anticipation before he finally makes up his mind to kiss you. He wants to do it, but he canât help but think about whether or not you would be against it.
Maybe he thinks too much, maybe his brain is too focused on the negative thoughts, and before he knows it, you move your head to capture his lips with yours in a slow and sensual kiss. Simon is aware that he has issues. He understands that his brain is only on high alert because deep down he doesnât believe he deserves your attention. After all, heâs not a good man. Well, not always. He does his job like a good little soldier, but the lines are blurry between good and bad.
He knows that you know this too. Shortly after he moved in and found out what he did for a living, you had a lot of questions, many that he simply wasnât allowed to answer. But you probably sensed that he was keeping things to himself, certain aspects of this position that civilians would never understand. He didnât want to scare you away, he didnât want you to throw him out, so he kept his mouth shut. You knew that and never pried for more information.
When your nails dig into the skin on his back in a desperate attempt to pull him closer, Simon finally returns to the moment, returning your delicious kiss while his hands grab your ass and help you on the counter behind you. His lips trail from your lips to the shell of your ear, whispering praises until he feels your hands moving to his belt.
As much as he wants that, he knows he has to stop you. So he reaches down to grab your hands, pulling them away and lacing his fingers with yours as he kisses the tip of your nose. âNot yet, love. Letâs go on a proper date first, yeah?â he asks you with a small smile.
You whine, then you beg for more, asking him why you have to go on a date when you've been living together for over a year now. He tells you that the reason is simple; he spent a bigger part of it away from home so you have to get to know each other.
âI know you, Simon,â you push on, your fingers tracing the tattoos on his forearm as you speak. When you see the determination in his eyes, you finally let out a sigh of defeat and say, âOkay, fine. Let's go on a date first. But don't even think about something fancy. Let's keep it simple.â
With a short laugh, he leans down to give you a quick kiss. âUnderstood.â
Later in the evening, way past eleven, the two of you finally say goodnight and he returns to his room. There's a message waiting on his phone, one that came from Johnny. âIâll send her a DM if you won't introduce me,â it says.
âBetter not. She's taken,â he replies.
#ghost#ghost x reader#simon ghost riley#simon riley#simon ghost riley x reader#call of duty#simon riley x reader#mw2#modern warfare#mw3#john soap mactavish#john mactavish
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Forgetting
Jake Seresin x reader
Summary: Jake forgets to pick you up at the airport because of his ex, and for the first time, you think maybe you and Jake aren't mean to be.
Notes/Warnings: Angst, but ends fluffy. Fighting. Cursing. This was a request that I said I'd have done in a couple days and it took me a week and a half. Sorry about that. Also, please be gentle. I haven't written for Jake in what feels like a millennium.
Words: 2700
Jake Seresin Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List
As much as it would kill you to know that he could be hurt, you hope heâs hurt. You hope heâs on his way to the hospital to receive life-saving treatment because if heâs not hurt, if heâs not receiving life-saving treatment, then he simply forgot about you. And that makes your heart want to claw its way out of your chest and scamper across the floor until itâs well out of your range to catch it.Â
Your call goes to voicemail for the fourth time. You send your twelfth text: I hope youâre ok. I landed an hour ago. Please call me. Nothing different than the eleven other messages that have gone unanswered. Forty-five more minutes pass of you sitting on a bench by the airport exit before you finally surrender your last shred of hope and call Bradley to come save you.Â
Within the hour, youâre sighing in relief, the sight of a friendly face almost bringing you to tears. He approaches you with open arms and you fall right into the embrace, comforted by the hug that should be in your boyfriendâs arms, and the warmth that should be from your boyfriendâs body, and the forehead kiss that should be from your boyfriendâs lips.Â
âPlease tell me heâs ok,â you say against your friendâs chest.Â
A heavy palm rubs up and down your back. âNo one could get ahold of him.â
Your head jerks back so you can meet his eyes. âOh my god!â
âIâm sure heâs fine, kid. Donât worry.â
âHow can you say that? He was supposed to be here and heâs not andââ You pause when Bradley looks away from you, and a hefty stone settles in your gut. You know your friend well. Heâs a good man, honest but sensitive, and when that honestly meets that sensitivity, it results in his inability to look someone in the eye if he thinks the truth might hurt them. Youâve seen it a hundred times, but never with you.Â
Your posture wavers with your lengthy exhale. âWhat arenât you telling me?â
Another great thing about Bradley: he doesnât make you play any games. You donât have to jump through hoops. You donât have to ask the right questions in the right way in order to get what you need out of him, unlike many men, your boyfriend included, who recently has found ways to skitter around telling the full truth.Â
âJavy said he saw him a couple of hours ago,â Bradley says.
Your back teeth clench. Your mind shoots to one conclusion. âWith her?â you ask. Bradleyâs eyes drift from yours again and you nod, a tear at the ready to leak down your cheek. âHe forgot about me because heâs with her.â
âWe donât know that for sure, andââ
Your hand scrubbing down your face cuts him off. Your fingers pinch the bridge of your nose before you suck in your whimper and say, âRooster, why did he even ask me to come here?â
âBecause heâŠI mean, we thought heââ
âYou thought he gave a fuck about me.â
âHe does,â Bradley says, stressing his words in an attempt to reassure you. âHe never shuts up about you.â
âSure,â you say. âHe gives so much of a fuck that he forgot about me to be with his ex. How can you explain that?â
Rooster sighs. His hands slip into his jeans pockets just to have something to do with them. âI canât.â
âExactly.âÂ
No one can explain it. Not you, not Bradley, not Jake. Everyone you know back home would be telling you to run for the hills right now. They were already wary of this âNavy guyâ that theyâd only met twice around the holidays, who lives a decent distance away from your entire life and who constantly requests that you be the one to hop on a plane rather than the other way around.Â
For the duration of your time together, youâve been understanding of that sacrifice. You know his schedule doesnât allow impromptu trips out of state, but that hasnât made it any less exhausting for you. And maybe thatâs a sign. Another sign. A nail in the coffin. Maybe you and Jake arenât meant to be. And why would you be? You met him on a brief vacation to visit a friend who doesnât even live in the same town anymore, and somehow, during those few days, he convinced you to take a chance on him. So you took the leap. But being that bold doesnât guarantee you wonât fall flat on your face, and you think thatâs exactly whatâs happening. Youâve tripped over a guy only to realize he doesnât care about you to the same degree that you care about him.Â
However, youâre not the type to avoid confrontation. If Jake Seresin is going to mistreat you because of his ex, then he is going to do it to your face. Heâs going to look you in the eye when he shows himself to be the liar he is. It may hurt more to go to him rather than get on the next plane home without so much as taking in a breath of fresh Californian air, but youâre too upset to let that thought fully develop, and a moment later, Rooster is following your stomps out the door.Â
â
You find him at the Hard Deck, standing at a hightop with a beer glass in his hand that clinks against the one in his exâs before he takes a sip. Bradleyâs comforting hand lands on your back in solidarity. You only met him because of Jake, but the two of you bonded despite their differences, and having him by your side now makes him nothing short of a life-saver.Â
He helps guide you through the crowd to the table, and when Jake spots you, he chokes around the liquid going down his throat. His blown-out emerald eyes rival saucers and his mouth gapes like a fish, but then his stare flicks to Bradley, and those eyes shrink into narrow slits. His face heats to a boiling red.Â
âWhat the fuck!â Jake snaps, shocking the composure right out of his exâs poised stance. Bar patrons close by turn their heads but quickly return to their own conversations. Jake steps away from the table, coming to a halt in front of you and his squadmate. âWhat the hell is this?â
You figured heâd be bothered if you showed up with Bradley in tow. And good, thatâs what you feel he deserves. Jakeâs been wary of the other Daggerâs closeness to you for a while, and even though you knowâas does Bradleyâthat itâs an asinine concern, you have no problem using it against him now. But still, the intensity of his reaction manages to surprise you. You didnât think he would be this angered by the sight of you with another man that it would have him overlooking his mistake of forgetting you.
Your arms cross. âThis is your girlfriend and the guy who saved her when her damn boyfriend left her stranded at the airport.â
âExcuse me?â
Jakeâs exâs prying gaze tugs at your attention, but when you glance over his shoulder to catch her in the act, she quickly looks awayâjust more proof that whatever the fuck sheâs doing with your boyfriend is something to be ashamed of.Â
Bradleyâs saying something. You canât quite hear him over the anger-induced fuzzing in your ears, but youâre pretty sure itâs a scolding based on the twisting of Jakeâs features as he shoots back his own words of aggression. And then your hand is in his and youâre being pulled through the bar, out the back door, and onto the deck where the only intrusive sound is the lapping of waves on the shore.Â
âWhy are you here?â he asks.Â
You scoff to mask the heartbreak that comes with that question. âBecause you asked me to be here.â
âTomorrow.â
âWhat?â
âItâs Wednesday,â he says.Â
âItâs Thursday, Jake.â
âNo, itâsââ he freezes, and you donât know if heâs tipsy or stupid, but it takes him a minute to come to the same conclusion: it is indeed Thursday. âFuck,â he mutters.
Your lower back meets the edge of the railing, and you sigh, thankfully keeping in the tears. âWhat are you doing with her?â
âWhat the fuck are you doing with Rooster?â he returns much more forcefully. âWhy didnât you call me?â
âI called, I texted, I left voicemails,â you tell him, âBut clearly, she was more important.â
Jakeâs hands pat down his pockets, mouth setting in a frown when he canât find his phone.
âDonât bother. Phone or no phone, you forgot about me because of her. Last time I was here, you were late for one of our dates because of her. You spent fifty percent of our time together stepping away to take her phone calls,â you say, trying and failing to avoid the bitter taste on your tongue. âJust fuck her, Jake, if you havenât already. I only came here to tell you that she can have you.â
Youâve never seen him fall apart the way he does. Youâve never seen the blood drain from his cocky face. Youâve never seen his features break and crack and contort into the vision of pure devastation as they do. His parted mouth mustâve gone dry because his next words come out slightly hoarse.
âYou donât mean that,â he says, but itâs more of a plea than anything. âWhyâŠWhy would youââ He swallows. A wrinkle forms between his brows and he shakes his head. âYou love me. You didnât mean to say that.â
You do love himâterribly soâbut youâre willing to be one of those people who wonât view love as enough if it also means laying you out as a fool. âJakeââ
âTake it back,â he says. His steps are quick, and then youâre trapped where you stand, his hands on either side of your body, gripping the rail. Eyes drill into yours, and for a second, you feel a pang of guilt. âPlease, baby, take it back. She doesnât mean anything to me.â
âAnd I mean less.â
âNo!â he says. âThatâs not true. Youâre everything, ok? You mean everything to me. She was just helping me, thatâs all.â
âHelping you,â you mimic with a roll of your eyes. âHelping you what? Get off?â
With a little whine, Jakeâs head drops between his shoulders, his blond hair brushing your collarbone. âPlease. Please quit saying things like that.â His hands slide closer to your body and land on your hips. You donât push him awayâyou can'tâand his touch softens you ever so slightly.
âThen tell me the truth,â you say. âRight now. Iâm giving you one shot.â
His head snaps up. His eyes flick back and forth between yours, ironically searching for your honesty, as if youâre the liar on trial here.Â
âIt was a surprise,â he tells you. âSheâs a realtor now, and for the last few months sheâs been helping me find a new place, one thatâs bigger than what Iâve got because I was going to ask you to move in with me.â Your heartbeat stutters. A layer of goosebumps coats your arms. When you donât respond, he continues, âI hate missing you. I hate how unfair it is that youâre always the one to come here because I canât fly out at the drop of a hat. I know itâs a big step, but I figured if I had a place, I could show you how great things could be. Thatâs why she and I came here. We were celebrating because Iâm signing on a house first thing tomorrow,â he says. âWell, thatâs why Iâm celebrating, anyway. Sheâs probably celebrating because she just made a decent commission.â
Itâs almost unfair how that new information doesnât make you feel any less of a fool. Had he told you that under any other circumstances, youâd be leaping into his arms, kissing him like youâve been deprived of him for years, repeating âyesâ over and over between those kisses, but you canât. You canât because his explanation doesnât fix everything.Â
âThat still doesnât change that itâs Thursday, not Wednesday,â you say.
âI know, baby. Thatâs my fault. I was so excited, and I was thinking how perfect the timing was that I would be able to pick you up tomorrow and drive you by the house now that itâs officially mine, but I fucked it up.â
Jakeâs thumbs press into your hips, and youâre instantly reminded of each moment in your relationship when youâve felt that same light pressure on your skin. A gentle claiming. The same pressure you felt when you agreed to be his girlfriend. The same pressure you feel whenever youâre in bed together.Â
You sense eyes on you other than your boyfriendâs, and when you turn your head, you find his ex staring right at you, an expression on her face that you wish you could say wasnât one of distress, but it is. And worse, itâs obviously not distress for herself, but for Jake, as if sheâs hoping she wasnât just a contributor to a bomb dropping on his life.Â
Jakeâs busy staring at you despite your averted gaze, and in a monotone voice, you say, âShe feels bad.â
He doesnât follow your eyes. âBecause she knows Iâve been doing this all for you.â
You blink. Your hand runs down your face before sifting through the strands of your hair. âYou really want me to live with you?â
âOf course I do,â he tells you. Heâs shaking his head, but you know itâs because he thinks any idea that he wouldnât want you to be blasphemous. His hand cups your chin. âI love you.â
With a sigh, you push aside the rollercoaster of emotions, the misunderstandings that lead to frustration and hurt, and look him directly in the eye. And where moments ago you thought you saw lies, you see honestly. Where you thought you saw betrayal, you see love.Â
âCan I see it?â
â
Itâs smallâa two-bedroom with a little driveway, the shingle siding painted a blue-gray shade that is more blue than gray; bundles of flowers bloom in the boxes under the windows; a bay window protrudes from the side of the structure facing the beach. And itâs perfect.
You can imagine building a life here. You can picture a dog that youâll have to build a fence for and children years later that will have you reinforcing the fence because theyâll probably be like their father, and Jake didnât choose to be a pilot because of his lack of adventurous nature. You look at this house and you can see the core of a family. A house that, no matter how far you go for Jakeâs job, will always be home base.
Jake is leaning around you so you can both watch the house from the passenger seat window. âIâd offer to show you around, but I donât get the keys until morning.â
âItâs ok,â you tell him. âI donât need to see inside.â
When you say that, he falls back into his seat. The back of his head presses against the headrest. His fingers squeeze the steering wheel with his sigh of defeat. âYou donât like it.â
Shifting your body to face him, you say, âJake, I love it.â
Just like that, his eyes brighten like a pouting child who was just offered a lollipop, and you canât help but chuckle. You canât help but forget everything that happened earlier in the night, all of it seeming so insignificant now, even though you know itâs not, and you both know that if he ever makes the same mistake again, heâll have hell to pay. But something tells you that wonât be a problem.Â
âEnough to live with me?â he asks.
You nod. âEnough to live with you.â
---
A/N: Thanks for reading! Comments make my entire world, so if you liked it, let me know? Thanks :)
#jake seresin#jake seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin#jake seresin fic#glen powell#top gun maverick#tgm#bradley bradshaw
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Hi can i pls request a lando x reader where he mentions in many interviews that he wants an army of kids and the camara always pans to other drivers teasing reader
ofc you can baby <33 thanks for helping me celebrate! here's that kiss i promised xoxo
requests are open!
852 words.
it wasn't unknown that lando wanted kids. it's not like he went out of his way to to talk about having children either, he just went on half an hour tangents anytime an interviewer brought up the topic is all. you didn't find out just how many until you decided to ask him about it one night, not long after lando had gotten slandered on twitter for being 'obsessed' with having a mini version of himself running around.
"so.. you know how you've said you want kids?" you start, voice a little hesitant knowing he was a bit peeved about the bullying he was getting online for that very thing. if looks could kill you swear you would be a dead girl.
"don't you start." he groans, eyes rolling so hard to the of his head you thought they may get stuck.
lando, who had just gotten ready for bed, slips in beside you and you immediately know he's not actually pissed off at you because he is pulling your arm to get you as close to him as he physically could.
"i don't mean it like that, i just wanted to ask you about it." lando watches as you strain your neck up to be able to see his reaction from your very comfortable position on his chest. it does bring the smallest of smiles to his lips.
with a joking sigh he asks "what do you want to know?".
"well, i guess the most important one is-"
"if i want them with you?" lando interrupts, sending your brows into your hairline. you smack him on the back of the head and he just laughs like it was actually funny. dickhead.
"no! how many you want. but now i don't want any with you if they're going to turn out like you." you cross your arms over your chest, trying to convince him you actually were in a huff. a strong hand running down your front seconds after ruins your plans for any further annoyance though.
lando hums in thought before he answers your question. his hand now drawing random shapes on your hip bone.
"you're going to hate me when i say this, but i only really wanted a few maybe two max? but being with you? i want minimum four."
your gasp makes him wince. you're shocked, there is no way he is actually being serious. you tell him as much but he shakes his head and assures you just how serious he is.
"honestly baby. i want a big family with you."
his words may or may not rile you and you guys maybe get started on that big family that night, but you don't kiss and tell..
ËËËê° đ ê±
lando wasn't to hold back on his thoughts or feelings and with his rants about wanting to start a family were proof of this, well you had thought so. the next time you're at the paddock is the next time he's asked about starting a family. you're watching from the side with max and oscar as he gets interviewed and you can see the say his whole face lights up at the question, as if racing was a chore he was getting forced to do every few weekends and not the second favourite part of his life.
lando takes a quick glance in your direction before he starts and it's like your conversation on the topic opened the floodgates in lando's mind as he reveals his every thought on having a baby or two or ten.
"me and my girlfriend were talking about this and it made me realise i want a full on norris army of children behind me. i want minimum four with my girl. ideally two of each but wouldn't even complain if all i had was girls because then that means that there would be so much more of my girl out there in the world, and little parts of me i guess too." lando's smile is splitting and the interviewer smiles back at him, loving seeing him being so open and honest about it.
"would you encourage your little ones to get involved in karting and racing?" she enquires. you can already picture taking your imaginary children along to watch lando in his races. it does make your heart skip a beat or two.
as the interview continues, unbeknown to you and the other two drivers who are making kissy faces at pretending to cradle a child in their arms just to tease you and how much lando was infatuated with the idea of kids with you, the camera pans in your direction to get a nice reaction shot to your boyfriend's words.
all they capture is your bright red face, from the teasing and lando blunt words, and the boys childish behaviour.
that night is then filled with lando teasing (and comforting) you as it was now your turn to get teased on twitter, millions of fans already making your reaction a meme. you knew you'd never live it down and a small part of you was excited to explain the video and reaction picture to those future kids.
#lando norris x you#lando norris oneshot#lando norris fluff#lando norris fic#lando norris one shot#lando norris x reader#lando norris imagine#f1 fluff#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 oneshot#lcriedlastnight#lcriedlastnight 500 followers special
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Head Empty, Mouth Full
âGenre: smut 18+ MDNI
âPairing: soft bf!Yunho x needy gf!reader
âWord Count: 1.9k
âWarnings: pwp, oral (m receiving), praise, hair pulling, cock worship, just a sprinkle of deep throat, soft dom Yunho, cum eating, reader doesnât orgasm (sorry) (let me know if I missed anything)
âa/n: Short fic, I just canât stop thinking about what it would be like to give Yunho head. Yunho makes me feral so I hope you enjoy this as much as I do ^_^
âââââââââââââââââââââââââ
You hummed softly at the feeling of Yunhoâs long fingers massaging your scalp. Your head rested on his thigh as he sat back against the headboard on your bed. You both enjoy each other's warmth as a movie played on the TV.Â
You felt so warm and so safe snuggled up in the covers and nuzzling into Yunhoâs lap. Every now and then he would glance down, smiling softly at the sight of your comfortable position. Your hair was so soft, he liked to brush the strands out of your face so he could see your pretty beauty marks better.Â
âYouâre so pretty,â he said in a low, gruff tone.
âYouâre one to talk.â
Yunho chuckles at your reply, cupping your face to stroke your cheek. Yunhoâs touch was so gentle, it made your heart swell. He felt so warm, and he smelled so nice. He just came out of the shower a few minutes ago, so you could faintly smell his body wash. It was a mix of musk and soft vanilla.Â
You nuzzled your face in his thigh, taking in his scent and holding him closer. You loved his smell, his touch, and his voice. You loved his long fingers that felt good when they ran in your hair, and you loved how they felt thrusting deep inside you.
Woah, where did that come from?Â
You try to shake those thoughts away. You and Yunho were having a wholesome time; letâs not ruin it with your degeneracy. Your eyes zeroed in on his crotch that was a mere inches away from your face.Â
Oh no⊠Why were you feeling horny all of a sudden?Â
You tried to ignore the small ache that began to grow in between your legs. You shifted around, legs entangling with Yunhoâs under the covers. Yunho didnât think of it much, assuming that you were just trying to get comfortable.
It wasnât until he felt your hands slowly running up his thigh, gripping the fabric of his sweats, that made him put two and two together. He noticed the shift in your behavior, and a small smirk grew on his lips.
âIs my baby horny?â
You pressed your lips together, and you felt a blush creeping up on your cheeks. Of course, Yunho has always been observant; he can practically read you like a book. You didnât know why you were feeling shy all of a sudden; itâs not like you both havenât had sex many times before. You nod slowly, avoiding Yunhoâs gaze.
âHow did you know?â You ask softly.
âWeâve been dating for years; I can tell when my girlfriend is horny.â
You hear him chuckle darkly, the sound sending straight to your core. He runs his hands down under the cover to rub your arm in a soothing manner.
âWhat do you want to do about that, huh?â
Your eyes flickered back to the crotch of his sweats, your mouth starting to feel empty. You rolled over on your stomach, resting your weight on your elbows in front of you. You look up at a smirking Yunho.
He knew exactly what you wanted.
His hand cupped your jaw, thumb toying with your bottom lip, pulling it down just to let it snap back in place.
âWanna suck my dick?â He says softly, his voice deep with desire, and you already started to feel hypnotized by it.Â
You nod your head, looking up at Yunho through your lashes. He tsked at you, shaking his head side to side before speaking.
âUse your words, baby.â
"Yes, I want to suck your dick.â
He smiled wide, pushing your hair out of your face and behind your ear.
âGo on then. You have my permission.â
Without a second thought, you pulled the waistband of Yunhoâs sweats, pulling them under his balls and admiring his soft dick.Â
He watched in admiration as you took his length in your hand, slowly stroking it. It honestly didnât take long for Yunho to start getting hard; the sight of you looking up at him with his dick in your hand alone was enough to cause a stir at his lower stomach.Â
You loved the feeling of Yunho slowly getting more aroused; you took his half-hard cock in your warm mouth. You loved it even more when you felt him grow bigger against your lips. He let out a small huff, never taking his eyes off you.Â
âThatâs it, my good girl; get me hard.â
You moaned softly at his praise, encouraging you to bob your head slowly up and down his shaft. After you felt he was fully hard, you pulled off, collecting a wad of spit and letting it drip past your lips and down on his length. You use that as lubricant, stroking Yunho a little faster.Â
Yunhoâs breath started to grow heavier, and his eyes glistened with desire and affection. You just looked so pretty between his legs. He continued to run his hands in your hair, wanting to keep touching you any way he could.Â
âYou have the prettiest cock,â you whisper, placing a warm kiss on his tip while you looked up at him.
Yunho takes in a breath through his nose, your praise going straight to his dick. His eyes darkened a bit, watching the way your lips pressed against him.Â
You trailed kisses from his tip all the way down to the base of his shaft; you stuck your tongue out and licked a long strip back up to the top. Yunho let out a shaky breath as his fingers started to grip at the roots of your hair.Â
âYou are so perfect like this.â
You whimper softly, licking his tip while you stroke the rest of his shaft.Â
âI love your dick Yunho,â you whine.
He moaned at your words, feeling himself throb. You take the head of his length in your mouth, sucking softly while your tongue dances around his slit. Yunho let out a quiet moan, brows furrowing as he spoke in a breathless tone.
âI love when you worship my cock.â
You couldnât take much more; you needed Yunho to fill your mouth. You slid down, taking him deeper, which caused Yunho to gasp. He wasnât expecting you to take him in all of a sudden, and he held your hair back to keep it out of your face.
âFuuckk, there you go.â He breathed out.
You bobbed your head up and down slowly, closing your eyes to enjoy the feeling of his throbbing length sliding against your tongue. You let out moans, subconsciously rocking your hips back and forth with need.
You core ached desperately between your legs. You loved sucking Yunho off so much; it was so hot and intimate. You swear you can get close just by having his dick in your mouth.Â
âMmm, you look so happy with my cock in your mouth,â he moaned, looking down at your blissed face.
You whimper at his words, your hand holding onto what you couldnât reach. Yunhoâs dick was long; youâre still training yourself to fully take him down your throat with ease.Â
You pull off to let yourself breathe, stroking him faster as you pant heavily. A string of saliva connected from your lips to his tip, and Yunho groaned at the sight. He reached down to wipe the drool off the side of your mouth.Â
You rested your head on his thigh while stroking his cock; he chucked at your behavior, petting your hair while he watched you endearingly. You started to feel yourself get more needy, but you didnât want to stop pleasing Yunho. Not until he finished.Â
âMy pretty girl just canât get enough of my dick, huh?âÂ
You whimpered, hiding your face in his lap. He gripped the roots of your hair, slowly lifting your head up to look at him. The action was both gentle and rough; it made your pussy throb.Â
âAnswer me when I talk to you.âÂ
âYes! I love your dick. I can never get enough,â you moaned out.Â
You loved how Yunho can manage to be both soft and demanding. Hearing his dominant words while he spoke in a gentle tone made you feel dizzy. He groaned, enjoying the look on your face and the sound of your needy voice.Â
You take him back in your mouth, sucking while bobbing your head. This time Yunho helped guide you on his cock. He held onto your hair, pushing and pulling your head up and down. His moans grew louder, and so did yours.Â
You tried to keep your eyes on Yunho, wanting to see his expression, but your vision kept blurring. Tears spilled out of your eyes from how turned on you were, and Yunho smiled while wiping them away. The sounds of lewd slurping and low moans filled the room.Â
You wanted more; you needed more. You pulled off one last time, trying to even out your breath to prepare yourself for what you were going to do next. You saw the way Yunho twitched in your hand, his pretty cock glistening in the dim lighting as it shone with your saliva.Â
You kissed his tip one last time before taking him back in your mouth. This time, you steadied your head, taking in a breath through your nose, and let your jaw relax. Yunho watched you intently, curious about what youâre doing.
âWhat is it, ba-oh my god!â
You take Yunho deeper in your mouth, going all the way down till your nose nuzzled against his pelvis. Yunho let out a loud moan, throwing his head back and tightening his grip in your hair. The feeling of your throat constricting around his length was enough to make him feel closer to release.
âIâm gonna⊠Iâm close.â He whined.
You moaned, pulling off just to do it again. This time Yunho held you down, panting heavily as he moaned your name beautifully. You gripped his sweats tightly, feeling dizzy and, oh, so aroused. You felt him uncontrollably buck his hips up, fucking your face and making you choke.Â
You choking is what pushed Yunho off the edge. And with one last whine from him, he came down your throat.Â
You pulled off slightly so his hot seed could cover your tongue. You moaned at the taste of him; you swear you almost came right then and there. Once you felt Yunho pull you off by your hair, you looked up at him holding his cum in your mouth.Â
Yunho panted heavily, head resting on the headboard after his intense orgasm. He looked down at you, cupping your cheek.
âLet me see,â he huffed.Â
You opened your mouth, showing off his semen on your tongue and making sure not to let it spill out. He smiled weakly, patting your cheek.
âGood girl, now swallow.â
You did just that, opening your mouth again to show him that you swallowed every last bit. He cupped your face with both his hands.
âYouâre so good to me; come here, sweetheart.â
Your heart swelled with pride at his words, sitting up to straddle his lap. You felt him wrap his long arms around your waist as he placed a soft kiss on your lips. You hum in the kiss, smiling wide.
âI like being your good girl.â You say softly, causing Yunho to chuckle breathlessly.
âThat was amazing, baby.â
You giggle, placing a kiss on his nose, making him scrunch it up adorably. You both sat there for a moment, feeling his soft touches on your body as he tried to soothe you. He rubbed your aching jaw, placing kisses down your neck.Â
âYou really know how to make me feel good.â
âWhat can I say? Itâs a gift.âÂ
You both laughed softly; you felt his arms tighten his hold around you. He grabbed your chin to pull you in for another slow kiss.Â
âNow itâs my turn to make you cum.âÂ
âFuck, yes, please,â you groan.Â
~
#ateez imagines#ateez smut#ateez x reader#ateez#ateez fanfic#ateez oneshot#smut#jeong yunho#yunho smut#yunho#yunho x reader
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Into You â„ïž
Max Verstappen x Redbull Engineer! Reader
Oh baby, look what you've started, the temperature's rising and is this gonna happen? (Been waitin' and waitin' for you to make a move)
At 27, you've just been promoted to the role of Redbull's race engineer - a very impressive feat in motorsport for a young woman. There's just one issue though - you secretly had a massive crush on the driver you're meant to be guiding, Max Verstappen. Will you make it through the season before he catches on? (You hope so because goddamn, the HR team were a nightmare to deal with.)
Content includes: fluff, humour, Max and reader are simps for each other, sexual tension, pining, drunk confessions, 3.2k WC
Recently, you'd started having some issues at work. Okay, gun to your head, you'll admit it was more like a single issue - in the shape of a very attractive, 6 foot Dutch racing driver who occasionally had problems with anger management. Sure, it didnât sound that bad, in fact, someone else would just sit back and enjoy the eye candy the F1 paddock provided! But to truly appreciate the full depth of your embarrassing problem, one needed to unpack all the lore behind it.
After graduating from a prestigious mechanical engineering master's program, you'd been ecstatic about getting to intern at Redbull's F1 racing team, department of aerodynamic design. You'd started working at the company at a very good time, because later that year, their top driver Max Verstappen claims his first WDC at age 24 - only 6 months your junior. A very impressive feat for such a young age - as you admire him from a distance in the garage workshop. And, super hot too, you thought cheekily, whoever wifed him up was sure to be a lucky woman.
Your own hard work hadn't gone unnoticed, and many higher-ups and sponsors alike were curious to see the team who had been behind the championship winning changes to the Redbull car. You'd risen very quickly in the ranks, from intern to permanent technical engineer and then last year to to the innovative research & development department, now involved directly with calling the big shots for what each version of the car would look like and coming face to face with Max for the first time in your career with Redbull.
Unlike the other drivers, Max was genuinely curious about your design process. The way he asked questions, thoughtfully listened to your long explanations and then would give you direct feedback about the exact issues he would have in the trial runs had made you flustered, especially from the full intensity of his blue eyes. No, seriously though, Shakespeare himself would have written poetry if he'd gazed into them. The TikTok creators certainly seem to agree, with all their ocean eyes edits. Not that you had any saved. Anyways, moving on-
You were on the quieter side but Max seemed to know just how to get through to you. It meant that your team had been able to design the most dominating car in F1 history - the RB23, and paired with Max Verstappen it was an unstoppable force, almost like you made it just for me, Max had said, smiling gorgeously at you like some GQ Sports model. You stared back at him incredulously, banana choc chip muffin halfway to your mouth, cause who the hell woke up looking like that, you two were wearing identical Redbull shirts but his looked like it had been personally tailored to fit that broad muscular chest and yours was giving oversized trash bag??
Honestly, you'd hoped that working in closer proximity would humanise him more and you'd lose this silly crush of yours the moment you saw him do some icky rich white boy move. Like maybe heâd donate to Donald Trump's anti vaccine campaign or say guys đ„ș Canât go to Ibiza this weekend the yacht staff had an emergency, got caught in some Gulf war zone or something? Idk
But when he had knocked on your apartment door when you hadn't shown up to work in two days, and found you crying because your childhood dog had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer across the other side of the world and saying Iâm sorry, I know itâs not that big of a deal, Iâll come back tomorrow I promise-
And instead of laughing like youâd expected, heâd cut you off, told you to pack a bag and then driven you all the way to his personal jet. You looked into his beautiful blue eyes while he earnestly begged you to use it so you could make it in time to say goodbye to your Arlo before your parents put him down tonight. And thatâs when you realised you were doomed to be hopelessly in love with the younger man. (But also, you had a serious discussion with him about the extreme greenhouse gas emissions from private jet fuel use, we only had one planet, you would be happy to just fly first class instead-)
But when your mentor Newey announced his plans to leave Redbull this year, you had planned on following him - making the exec panic at the thought of losing two of their crucial engineers. They frantically thrown random promotions at you, praying one would stick - and Redbull twitter fans breathed a sigh of relief when you took interest in the role of race engineer and stayed in the company.
You'd been excited about becoming one of Checo's engineers, having trained under the current one for the last few months. But to your horror, one day you arrived on the paddock only to be promptly sat down at a meeting along with the two drivers and be informed that they'd had to switch some things around, GP had an emergency to attend and could you pretty please fill in for the role of Max's race engineer this weekend-
NOPE. You'd announced, standing up and slamming your hands on the table, then realising that might be a touch overdramatic as everyone questioningly looked at you. Why not? Christian Horner demanded suspiciously.
Um, because he's super hot, you fool?! How is a girl meant to focus with him whispering track feels really wet today in her headphones? Were the years of self control to just admire from a distance like a loser and not jeopardise your career just a joke to him?? You donât blink as your boss stared you down, hoping he could pick up on the thoughts that youâre trying to telepathically communicate. The table remained silent, only interrupted by the noisy slurping of Checo's boba tea. You quickly changed tactics - well, Verstappen is the winning champion, he needs an engineer who has experience working alongside him during the race-
Alas, the object of your affections threw a well intended wrench in your escape plans by adding that you were the perfect person, then, since you'd worked together for years and understood his communication style. Unless - he paused, flashing those deadly baby blues at you - unless the issue is you don't want to work with me?
You'd lasted all of three seconds under his hurt gaze before admitting defeat and accepting the role, slumping down next to him and desperately praying you'd wake up a lesbian tomorrow morning. Max continued to sneak long glances at you through the meeting, leaning around you to grab a pen and then his phone and making you jump each time his strong arm wrapped around your small frame. Across the table, Checo thoughtfully chewed on his boba as he watched you two curiously. Ah, young love.
And to no one's surprise the pair of you had made a flawless team, you expertly guiding Max as your engineer instincts took over and him actually listening to your helpful instructions without his usual aggression over the radio. And so when GP announced that his 1 week emergency was now going to be a 6 month break, sorry! - it had been all too easy for Christian Horner to bestow the honour of being Max's primary engineer onto you.
So now, here you sat, before your 4th race with Max, grimly looking on with your chin propped onto interlaced fingers, preparing yourself for his deep, sexy voice that was going to be purring in your ears very soon. The very voice that had become a recurring theme in the dreams you'd been having lately, that and also how he would bite those thick lips of his when he'd stare at you, with his cute little freckle on his top lip-
Why do you look like you're about to go to war, your intern asks bluntly, putting an end to your illicit thoughts and delivering you your triple chocolate caramel frap. Because I am, you hissed, sculling the whole thing in one go. She smirked, leaning in conspiratorially. Was this to do with how categorically down bad you are for your precious Maxie?
You proceeded to inform her that if she ever brought up how you'd drunkedly referred to him that one time, you'd have no problem abusing your authority to shaft her on tire service duty for a week. She wisely chose to leave you be in peace, taking your empty cup as she went.
Taking some meditative breaths, you focus on thinking about unsexy things. Like the hydraulics system of the current car needing to be redesigned to better incorporate-
Your thoughts are cut off a second time as another cup is deposited in front of you, this time by none other than Max himself, who's thoughtfully brought you a triple chocolate caramel frap. You stutter out your thanks, not daring to touch more caffeine currently as you already had sweaty palpitations at the sight of him looking so big and muscled in his slutty tight fireproofs. Dear God, had he no shame? They needed to bring back the Victorian era and cover him up, he was going to distract everyone (mainly you.) He frowns slightly, leaning down to your height, and informs you that you didn't have to call him Verstappen, you know, Max is fine-
Wow. And then what would come next? Maxie? And then you asking him for his hand in marriage? No, no, absolutely not - you needed to maintain strict professional boundaries or risk him catching onto your massive crush and promptly be fired. You politely informed him that for the sake of public decorum and the rabid fangirls that were watching your every move as a young female engineer in proximity to their favourite drivers, that you would refer to him as Verstappen, or Mr. Verstappen if he preferred a more formal title?
He'd pouted those lush lips of his and reluctantly agreed that just Verstappen was okay, he supposed. But he much preferred hearing you call him Max, at least when there were no cameras around? What you had done in your past life to now be forced to resist such temptation, you would never know.
So the season went on, you two continuing to be a smashing success and a very popular internet pairing. Not that you'd been paying that much attention! Just a saved TikTok edit here and there of the time Max had called you schatje over the radio after blowing up about a tire malfunction. Heâd then sweetly apologised the next lap when you remained unfazed and told him to sort his shit out, babes, Leclerc was right up his ass with a tire and DRS malfunction, yeah? (Twitter had gone crazy. Who knew Max Verstappen responded so well to a 5 foot, slightly older woman giving him orders over the team radio?! Youâd instantly been accepted as a replacement for the beloved GP, original gentle domTM to the Dutch driver.)
And perhaps another saved edit of the time he had protectively held you in those big, strong arms of his, guiding your tiny figure through a massive media-frenzied crowd and whispered reassurances in your ear when you couldnât breathe properly. Or the time heâd bitten a reporterâs head off with the ferocity of a lion after he suggested that as the first female race engineer, youâd acquired your new job through yourâŠfeminine wiles.
And maybe just one of when the PR team had made you do one of those ridiculous hot lap videos with him after seeing the online response, and he'd laughed as you screamed out of fear for your life when he cruised at a cool 200km/hr. The aftermath had been brutal, as you weakly stumble out and almost fall flat on your face, only for him to easily pick you up, carrying you bridal style back towards the garage (Truly, this right here was proof God sent his hardest battles to his strongest soldiers.)
Nearing the end of the 6 month stint, when GP was due back in to resume his role as Max's race engineer, the Redbull team had decided to take a well deserved weekend trip to Verona, Italy. Youâd suspiciously looked at your intern, asking why sheâd selected the romantic setting of Romeo & Juliet of all places, to which she replied that just cause youâd chosen to cockblock yourself for eternity with a crush on your coworker the millionaire F1 driver, didnât mean the rest of them couldnât get some. Valid point, so you shut up.
So now, here you are, sitting in a romantically lit corner of a cute Italian vineyard with a small group from the engineering division, sloshed after a bottle of red wine and asking them be real, be real, you're telling me none of you have been checked out Max's ass in his fireproofs? Lies.
Across the courtyard, Lando is currently extremely unimpressed with his good friend, 3 time Championship winning, and general terror on the track Max Verstappen. That is because said friend has decided, rather pathetically, to lie on the cobblestone and drunkedly ask the stars why fate was so cruel. Seriously mate, Lando sighs, all this over a silly insta post?
Excuse you, itâs not just any insta post! Max had protested, baby tears in his eyes and face flushed from the four G&Ts heâd drunk. Pulling out his phone, he shows Lando the damning evidence of the pictures you'd uploaded from the group trip with your engineering friends. Look. LOOK. His arm is around her and she used a Lana Del Ray lyric in the caption. Do you have any idea what this means?
The Brit has to resist rolling his eyes at the melodrama unfolding in front of him. The Dutchman continues, never one to miss a chance to maxplain - as he details how it had taken him a a whole 2 months to get him to call you by his first name, and then another 2 months before you'd told him your favourite song was Summertime Sadness, and that even now if he hugged you to celebrate a win you would look like you were about to throw up and furiously speed walk away.
Lando is seriously regretting tagging along to the Redbull trip instead of Carlos's invitation to Mallorca. It was bad enough that the whole train ride Max had been on the phone begging GP to take another 6 month break so that you'd continue to be his engineer, but Lando has had his limit with this simpy pining. Taking his phone out as the maxplaining continued in the background, he shoots a text to your intern, who immediately replies, and within minutes the pair of them have hatched a conniving plan to dump you lovesick fools together while the rest of them make their way into town.
And thatâs how you and Max find yourself locked inside the upstairs wine cellar, having been separately tricked with various promises from your scheming friends - only to hear the door click behind you and turn to find each other. It's very romantic and all, soft candlelight and bottles of luxurious Italian wine and a shining full moon visible from the terracotta balcony. Someone had even generously left a speaker in the courtyard, with Lana Del Ray's melodic voice rising upto the second floor. Basically, the worst nightmare for your self control as you prayed for inner strength and avoid looking into Max's dreamy blue eyes. This was definitely some twisted beyond the grave revenge from Shakespeare for you saying he'd write poetry about a F1 driverâs eyes.
Max, though, is all too happy to come right over to you with another freshly opened bottle of wine, drunk and flushed and having zero inhibitions about pulling you into his warm side with a strong arm. You're too buzzed to resist, letting yourself fall against his chest to hear his soothing heartbeat and rest a palm against his hard abs, just this once (The real thing was even better than what you'd imagined.)
You're both laughing and giggling then, hearts full, reminiscing about the season together, the inside jokes on the radio, the side eyes to each other when Horner got too wound up at a meeting, and oh did you hear that the McLaren tireboy was hooking up with the Mercedes oilchecker?
And then your eyes meet his and your homegirl Lana starts singing dear lord when I get to heaven, please let me bring my man (real) and Max is softly brushing your cheek, leaning down as your heated gazes flit to each other's lips-
NOPE! you force yourself to declare, dramatically leaving his arms and contemplating if you could land the jump from the 2nd floor balcony. The Italian wine has made Max demanding though, as he doesn't let you go, grabbing your hand to pull you back like he was Anthony goddamn Bridgerton and wanting to know Why not, was he just imagining the chemistry, did you not find him hot or?
You'd gaped at him. Not hot? Apparently the Italian wine had gotten to you too because you didn't hold back, launching into a tirade of how no, Max, the issue was actually that he was too hot for his own good and did he even know how unfair it had been to be his engineer, pure torture really, you were sure the American military would be adding it to their interrogation tactics. As if it hadn't been bad enough to crush on him from a distance for years but then have to resist falling for him every time you saw him? So, no, you couldn't just give him a casual drunk kiss because you were in love with him!
Max stares at you, initially smug that you apparently found him so irresistibly good looking, but now completely bewildered when you finished ranting. You think - he swallowed. You think that this is just casual? Cause I- cause I'm drunk?
At your nod, he launches into his own maxplaination, brows furrowed, demanding to know how on earth you could think it was just casual, what about when he diligently showed up to every meeting with a banana choc muffin and caramel frappe and his hoodie for you to wear on the chilly mornings, or when he brought two Lana Del Ray VIP tickets the very same day you'd told him you liked her, or when he'd literally called you darling in Dutch over the team radio for the whole world to hear, or how he even sold his private jet and only jetpooled with the others since you told him off?! Seriously, even that old crone Helmut had asked him when you two were going to hard launch!
Your doe eyes go wider and wider at each statement, a pretty flush taking over your own face as your mind boggles at the realisation that apparently, the love of your life felt just as deeply about you. Stuttering, you try to formulate a reply - only to come up with Oh, well, I, uh - you sold your jet? For me?
Max rolls his eyes, but there's nothing except pure adoration on his face as he pulls you back into his warm chest, grinning down at you when you eagerly wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. Yes, schat, he murmurs gently, the cutest blush painting his cheeks. Because I love you, too. And this time you don't pull away when he finally, finally leans down and meets your lips in a passionate kiss, enjoying the sweet moans he draws out of you as he showcases his numerous talents off the track.
Somewhere, in the middle of a Verona nightclub, your intern gives Lando Norris a firm handshake. Pleasure doing business with you.
_____________________________________________
A/N: A lil sweet fluff for me, this is actually my first fluff piece i think ahaha i've only written like 8 smut pieces in a row!! Hope you enjoyed đ and PS thank you ALL for the requests youâve been sending, been getting them and will work thru them just have a few projects Iâm cookin up for u guys hehe xx
#max verstappen fanfic#max verstappen imagine#max verstappen x reader#max verstappen x you#max verstappen#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#formula 1
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all yours if you want me | s.r
pairing: spencer reid x bau!fem!reader
a/n: i think i really like this but if i proofread it one more time im gonna hate it so im just putting it out now lol. this is the full version of the sneak peak i posted last week woohoo ! also this is my first time writing smut so im sorry if it sucks but i hope y'all like it <3
summary: bau's got their first day off in weeks, and you're heading straight to the club to have some fun, you just didn't expect your coworker/crush to also be there while you're trying to forget him.
cw: 18+ minors pls dni, smut, p in v (dont be silly wrap ur willy), munch!spence, lowkey softdom!spence, suggestive dancing in public spaces, minor insecure reader, reader is afab and wears a dress and heels
wc: 4.6k
pls let me know if i forgot anything and let me know your thoughts pleaseee xx
it was the first friday night off you and any of the team members of the bau had in a long time, and you all were determined to spend it well. jj and hotch immediately went home to their families, penelope and emily decided they were going home to get some well needed rest, rossi went to a cigar club, not really sure what derek and spencer ended up doing, but you knew what you were doing tonight.
youâd had a long standing invitation from one of your college friends for a club night, and at first youâd decline because youâd get swept away on a case, and because you were hopelessly pining after your hot nerdy coworker dr. spencer reid.
spencer was smart in many ways, three PhDs, countless published papers, not to mention that eidetic memory of his. there was one thing that spencer was just fucking dumb at, and it was your shameless flirting at him.
like it annoyed you how clueless he was. youâd bring him coffee in the mornings with hearts drawn on it, fall asleep on his shoulder on the jet rides back, even complimenting his outfit or looks which made him flustered, but still nothing. your harbored crush seemed to stay just that, a crush. and while youâd hope he would get the hint he just hasnât.
so you pull out your phone to text your friend.Â
âbarryâs at 9?â
âoh my god FINALLY. iâm there i'll pick you up at 8:30.â
you grin to yourself, this was good. you needed to get out and unwind for once.
you drive home quickly to hop in the shower before your friend comes to get you. throwing on a silk slip dress as your outfit of choice, you slipped your heels on and met your friend in the car.
walking into the club, youâre met with the thumping bass of the music playing and the staunch smell of alcohol, sweat, and sex.
it made you think about the last time you got laid, which was a really long time ago. and honestly you wanted to sleep with spencer so bad you hadnât been making advances elsewhere. but that was going to change tonight, you were determined to have good slutty fun, and hopefully get laid.
your friend grabbed your hand and beelined to the bar, ordering two tequila shots each. once you downed them you moved to the dance floor and started preying for a target. as youâre scanning the room, you notice a familiar looking mop of brown hair standing next to bald headed man. a combo you knew all too well.
-
derek morgan was a player. and before heâs a player, heâs a damn good friend. which was his reasoning for dragging spencer out of his apartment to come out to the club and have fun.
âbut i can have fun at home by myself morgan.â
âkid, you need to let loose once in a while. you are young, iâm just helping you take advantage of it.â
-
so now spencerâs at the club (a sentence he still struggles to believe) wearing trousers and navy button down shirt to which morgan had popped the top buttons open because âit gives the ladies a sneak peekâ. he just rolled his eyes and went with it. heâs nursing a shirley temple at the bar, perusing the environment when he comes across a pair of eyes he knows like the back of his hand.
when you recognize the amber eyes you couldnât believe your luck. of course, on the one night youâd decided to explore other options he shows up in the least expected place for him to be. so much for getting over him, you think. shyly raising your hand to wave, spencer returns the gesture. morgan takes note, âwho are you waving t- oh, pretty girl is here huh pretty boy?â he nudges him.
a blush raises on his face. spencer thought you were attractive, like really attractive. you were a great addition to the bau and he admired your work ethic a lot, the day you walked into the bullpen wearing a fitted pantsuit had his own pants growing real tight. he still remembers when you introduced yourself and he couldnât even get up without exposing himself. you thankfully didnât think it was weird, and spencer was relieved when it was finally time to go home. heâd be lying if he said he didnât have nights where he wished you were the one finishing him off and not his rough hands. he didnât think youâd like someone like him, and took all of your âadvancesâ as morgan calls them, as acts of kindness.
morgan laughs as he watches spencerâs iq deteriorate to below 50 staring at you, âdo you what you gotta do man. but you better be going home with someone tonight okay?â
spencer nods and nurses his drink a bit and looks back to morgan to realize heâs already off dancing with some girls in the corner. damn.
after your distanced encounter with spencer, you decide itâs time to move on and have some fun on your own. you couldnât be hung up on him anymore, at least not tonight. tonight was for bad decisions.
good thing bad decision walked up to you asking to dance, whatshisname leads you to the dance floor and puts his hands on your hips, swaying to the beats of t-pain and pitbull.
you didnât know, but spencer was watching every move you made. he watched you get led to the dance floor, the way he placed his hands right on your ass and squeezed, and how he turned you around so you were dancing on his front with your back. he gripped his glass so tight the bartender had to tell him heâd have to pay if it breaks.
he gets it, youâre attractive. this is the kind of thing that happens to people who look like you. who wouldnât want you? but then he watched it happen a second time. and a third. and a fourth and fifth, till he just stopped counting at nine for his sanity.
spencer was not used to the green monster taking over him, but oh god was he fucking seething with jealousy.
you realized spencer was watching you by whatshisname number five. he hadnât moved from his spot and he was constantly staring in your direction. deciding to do a little experiment, you played up your dancing a lot more, acting more flirtatious, dragging the guyâs hands further down, and letting out open mouthed moans that you knew spencer couldnât hear but could definitely see. you watched as his jaw shifted and his knuckles turned white as you danced with each guy, realizing the growing effect that you now had on him.
by whatshisname number nine, you casted your hook. making sure to face spencer and meet his eyes, you watched as they darkened when he realized you were looking right at him. spencer mightâve brushed it off as a coincidence, but then you winked at him. and he realized what you were doingâyou were taunting him, and fuck was it working for him. the bulge in his pants grew uncomfortable that he had to stand up to not draw so much attention to it under the bar lights.Â
you watched him stand up and adjust himself and you threw your line. when he looked back up at you, you made a come here motion with your index finger and a bite of your lip. spencerâs eyes darkened impossibly more, he paid for his tab and strode over to you.
sinker.
he pulled you from the man behind you, who muttered a âwhat the fuckâ and moved away. spencer pulled you flush to his chest and with a low voice in the crest of your ear he whispered, âwhat do you think youâre doing?â
âi donât think i know what youâre talking about dr. reid, could you explain it to me?â
spencer tightens his hold on you and ghosts over your ear once more, âthis is a dangerous game youâre playing, sweetheart.â
âa game you joined the second you walked over here.â
he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes, and matched the small smirk on your lips. game on.
the song changed to something with a more sultry beat, and you used the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck and let his hands guide your hips to the music. while he wasnât much of a dancer, he could definitely keep a beat. it didnât prove to be so difficult when your chest was pushing up on his own that he was just waiting for them to spill out. he realized he could feel your hardened nipples through your slip, the nubs rubbing friction through the fabric of their clothes. he moaned internally while he gripped your hips to pull you even closer. it was clear spencer seemed to be getting comfortable with moving your body and holding you close, but you couldnât let that happen.
before the second chorus you turn around in his arms so your back is pressed up against his front, and you start dancing on him.
spencerâs taken by surprise, something you felt when his hands faltered the confident rhythm it kept up, and while he watched you dance just like this with all those guys itâs like his mind is blank now.
you recognize the song playing, collide by justine skye & tyga, and use the sultry beat to your advantage. you move your ass hard on his front, feeling his length pressed between your cheeks. you gesture for him to lean his head down and he lets out a low groan as you whisper in his ear, âall that for me?â.
a primal instinct starts to take over spencerâs being, and he grips your hips to meet his rutting from behind. spencer was desperate for any friction that could soothe the growing ache in his pants. you grinned as you felt take what he needed from you. it was quickly wiped off your face when you felt his hands inching dangerously close to where you really wanted him. you place your hands on his with surprise and look at him, âwhat are you doing?â
âi donât think i know what youâre talking about, sweetheart,â he threw back at you, âbut if thereâs something youâd like me to do, iâm all ears.â spencer grazes his fingers under the hem of your dress, toying with the lace band of your panties and slipping his fingers below it to stroke your inner thighs.
fuck. he turned it on you so fast it almost gave you whiplash. the provocative dancing was something you could handle, hell everyone on that dance floor was doing the same thing as you both. what you werenât sure you could handle was him about to touch you in a public space. but, your body betrayed you as it turned you on to another plane. you look up at him with lust filled eyes and let out a breathy moan of his name. spencer collapses internally and stands his ground, âif you want something, beg me.â
spencer thinks heâs won the upper hand, and heâs feeling so smug behind you. he still thinks he has the upper hand until you reach down and place his middle and index finger in your mouth, circling your tongue around the digits.
âtouch me.â you moan out, releasing his fingers.
spencer is dumbfounded how heâs the one about to burst out his pants when he made you beg for him. it should make him feel embarrassed at how close he was, but he couldnât find it in him to care. not when you in his arms pleading him to do something. you sounded so pretty, and who was he to deny a pretty thing like you?
his fingers continue their journey down, outlining the lace trim resting on your thighs. he hooks his fingers on the fabric to pull it aside and slips into you, going at an aching pace to gather the wetness and groaning out, âjesus, youâre so wet, was this all for me? you needed my attention that bad, baby?â
you whimper and grip his hand even tighter because youâre not sure if your legs are holding out any longer. itâs all so overwhelmingâhaving his hands down your panties in the middle of the dance floor, the lewdity of the noises in your ear, the hard length pressing desperately on your ass. this is all youâve ever wanted from him, to want you. and now itâs happening, and your brain canât fire the neurons fast enough to process the moment. instead your body responded with your skin heating up with anticipation, heart beating out as much adrenaline to keep up. the daze is getting foggier by the second as he trails his fingers up and down your slit, spreading the wetness and circling your clit on the way up. and you think youâre about to get accustomed to the pace heâs set, when he delves between your folds and you moan out loud so abruptly that the nearby patrons looked around wondering where it came from.
you can feel spencerâs shit eating grin behind you as he moves his head down to leave love bites on your neck. if he can feel your bluff dissipating, heâs not saying anything. his fingers set a painfully slow rhythm, and you grind down trying to get any more friction to reach your peak. heâs hitting you in all the right spots that make you see the stars and beyond, leaning your head back on his chest as you barrel towards your climax. you feel yourself mere seconds away from reaching, and spencer suddenly pulls his fingers out, making you whine out in protest, âwh- what are you doing?â
spencer grabs your wrist and starts dragging you through the sweaty bodies surrounding you, tightening his grip with a small smirk as he passes a few of the guys you were dancing with earlier. suckers.
he pushes the doors open with a force and while the cool air is attempting to return your body to homeostasis, the anticipation of where heâs going overtakes you, âspence, where are we going wh-â you cut off your sentence with a gasp as he handles you flush to the door of his car. then itâs just silence for a few moments. no loud bass or weird dudes, just the two of you. the only sound that can be heard are your breaths competing for prominence. you look up at him and focus on the details of his face illuminated by the moonlight, trying to read his expression. his honeyed eyes have fully darkened to a lustful hickory, and suddenly you felt like a gazelle being preyed on by a lion.
he reaches into his pocket and unlocks the car with a soft beep. itâs the focused eyes on you that drive you to open the door, but itâs the subtle silent nod of his head towards the car that makes you move inside waiting for him to join you. he climbs in after you, shutting the door and locking it.
spencer moves to the middle seat and allows his legs to spread open, he taps his thighs and faintly says, âcome here.â
you shuffle closer and swing your legs over him, your dress rising up a little as you fully sit on his clothed crotch. and now you realize the corporeality of the moment. itâs like, really real now. all this time pining after the boy genius with no luck and now heâs got you in the backseat of his car and your panties crooked, waiting for you to move. the bravado you wore and so tightly held onto for a majority of the night comes crashing down like a shattered vase, and youâre not sure if you have any more in you to salvage the pieces. you may be a profiler, but try as you might you are not a mind reader, yet you so desperately want to know what heâs thinking. is it too much to ask what this means? will it overwhelm him to say youâve dreamt about this moment for many nights, and how those dreams went on till the early morning when heâd stay and brush your hair back with a temple kiss. the whispers of sweet nothings sticking to you like honey as you got ready for the day. are these questions you even want to know the answer to?
you may not be a mind reader, but he is dr. spencer reid, who noticed your demeanor change after too long of a silence.
âhey,â he holds your chin delicately to your eyes, âitâs okay if you want to stop, iâm sorry for tak-â
itâs your turn to cut him off, âno! no i, i still want this, i just,â you falter.
âjust what, baby?â he coos softly.
it makes tears well up in your eyes, you hope he canât see them, âiâve just wanted this for so long, and itâs probably embarrassing that iâm admitting this now of all times, but i donât know if i can handle this meaning more to me than it does to you.â you confess quietly.
spencer listens to your admission and gingerly resecures his arm behind you, a position he thinks is starting to become second nature. he rubs soft shapes into the small of your back, âwhat makes you think that?â
âbecause i basically threw myself at you tonight, and it seems to be the first time you noticed me.â you say halfheartedly.Â
âyou think i donât notice you?â he whispers, leaning in to leave soft kisses in the crook of your neck. spencer is dumbfounded, confused at how you reached such a conclusion. but as a man of science, he feels thereâs only one way to prove himself. he breathes your name out, âcan i show you how much i notice you? please?â
you nod, at least you could commit this moment to memory if it was all youâd have left of him. he presses his lips to yours for the first time that night, your breath faltering as he becomes more feverous with his attacks. slotting his tongue with yours, your hands move up to his silky hair to take purchase in. he lets out a groan as he pulls back from you, âi need to taste you.â
he guides your body to lean back on the center console, the only way his tall figure would be able to accommodate this position. your legs are still split on either side of his legs, using your hands to prop yourself up to watch his movements. he hooks his fingers on the sides of your panties and slowly slides them down, moaning at the way your slick causes resistance as he pulls them off your legs. wrapping his arms under your thighs to lift you up to face level, he places small kisses on your inner thighs as he makes his way to your core. he places a final kiss on your center before licking a long stripe up to your clit. moaning out wantonly, he continues his ministrations and kitten licks all over you, circling back up to your clit after each round.
âspence..â you whine out. he moves his focus to your clit, circling and sucking till youâre squirming in his arms so much has to grip your thighs. your hands are fussing through his hair, gripping and pulling to find something to ground you. spencer then slips his fingers into your core for the second time tonight, and you lose it.
heâs pumping his fingers in and out, that all you can hear is the squelching noises of your cunt. adding another one, youâre unable to stay still anymore, as if you were before.
âoh my fuck, spencer. iâm gonna cu-, cum. please donât stop, donât stop, donât stop.â you moan out filthy.
spencer unlatches his mouth for a moment, âcome for me, baby.â
your orgasm crashes down on you like a wave breaking on the shore. itâs all consuming, leaving you shaking and breathless and he lifts his head from between your legs and you see his chin glistening with you in the moonlight. the sight itself is so pornographic, you canât help but shuffle back onto his lap to crash your lips back to his, tasting yourself on his tongue. he tangles his hands in your hair as you move yours between you both, unzipping his trousers to palm him through his boxers.
he breakily moans in your ear as you slowly pull back the band to take him out. the sight takes you by surprise, you knew he was big, you felt it on your ass while you were dancing. but seeing how it compared to your hand had you bulging your eyes.
âyouâre so big,â you whisper. how the hell was that fitting inside of you?
spencer the mind reader places his hand on top of yours as you lazily stroke him, âweâll go slow, donât worry.â he canât help but feel his ego inflate to the skies, he canât remember the last time he had someone look intimidated by him.
nodding faintly, you gather the spit in your mouth and let it fall between you both to land on the flushed pink tip. you spread it up and down his length, setting a slow pace that had him moaning expletives in your ear.
âoh-, ohhh, fuck baby. youâre so good at that holy shit,â he says trying to hold himself together. you give him a few more pumps before lifting your hips up to guide him inside you. you move his tip to your entrance, rubbing it teasingly before spencer places his hands on your sides to stabilize you, and slowly sink you down onto him.
the second his tip pushes past your folds, you both moan out in harmony. placing your hands on his shoulders you leverage yourself to sink down further inch by inch, until your core is flush with the base of his thighs.
spencer is a man of many words, maybe too many. but right now the only word he can remember is your name as he watched you take his length whole inch by inch slowly losing any restraint he had left. the pressure his cock had inside of you was heavenly. youâd never felt so full, and you could tell he was trying so hard to stay still as you adjusted above him.
when you bottom out spencer throws his head back against the seat, âoh thatâs it, good girl,â you clenched around him. âyou okay?â
you nod in response, ignoring the way the term of endearment sent flutters to your heart, and attempt an experimental rock of your hips, causing spencerâs head to whip up and meet your lust blown eyes with his own. he adjusts his hands on the sides of your thighs and starts helping you move up and down on his length, setting a brutally slow pace.
you rest your head and moan into the crook of his neck as he continues his movements, âspencer, please, more, i can take it.â
he still canât believe whatâs happening right now, all those days he spent thinking about you in the bullpen, at home, everywhere really, and here you were begging on top of him to fuck you good.
âyou still think i donât notice you?â he says into your ear, âi have dreamt about what youâd look like bouncing on my cock, and you are blowing any idea i had out of the water.â
you whimper as he continues, âand when iâm not thinking about ruining you, i am in awe at how you walk through life. you bring so much joy everywhere you go, itâs a blessing to be able to experience you.â he says through shaky breaths.
the praise goes straight to core, with some traveling to your heart again, and youâre not sure how much longer you can hold on before you unravel physically and emotionally.
his hands are guiding you up and down at a harder pace now, âso,â thrust. âyou still think,â thrust, âi donât notice you?â he thrusts into you once more and holds you down, making sure youâre looking directly at him, âit was never an option to brush past you, you are everything to me. i didnât know how to show that without overwhelming you. iâm sorry.â
tears well up in your eyes again, spencer notices this time and presses a small kiss on your forehead. all your senses feel like theyâre in overdrive, unable to comprehend anything right now. your skin feels like itâs on fire as he rolls your hips faster to meet his ruts.
âspence, i- iâm so close.â you whine desperately.Â
he slips his hand between you both to rub your clit, âi know baby, iâve got you. let go for me.â
his words were enough to break the dam, your second climax of the night hurling towards you. the white hot feeling overtook your whole body, shaking and clenching above him. your grip on him was threateningly vicious, probably leaving deep crescent marks in the nape of his shoulders. you wish the euphoria would last forever if it meant having spencer like this. as you came down from your high, the two of you were still moving together, slowly rocking your hips to meet each other. once you were grounded again, you pushed through the sensitivity in your core to rise up on his length, just barely leaving the tip in before you slid back down fast and hard, now focusing on spencer reaching his peak.
âoh jesus, fuck.â spencer moaned out brokenly.
âcome on spence you can do it,â you taunted as you clenched down, âcome inside me, make a mess of me please.â a rush of confidence flowed through as you whispered into his ear, and spencer held your hips to help you bounce faster on him.
spencer let out a loud groan as you felt the hot spurts coat your insides, he was leaving matching crescent marks on the sides of your hips as the ones on his shoulders, making sure all of him was left in you. feeling him soften inside, you remained on his lap with him sheathed in you. you both are breathing heavily, leaning back to hopefully give you both some relief from the sex filled air. looking around the car you realize that all the windows are fogged up and let out a tiny giggle.
âwhatâs so funny?â he looks up at you slightly amused and very out of breath.
âno itâs just, the windows are such a dead giveaway for what we just did in here.âÂ
âeh, i donât really care what people think.â
âgasp, dr. reid wants to let the world know he has car sex with random girls?â
he leans in to bite your neck playfully, ârandom? did nothing i said during all that register for you?â
you yelp and attempt to play dumb, âactually i donât remember a word, you might have to jog my memory. maybe even recreate the circumstances to help with cementing it. i read about situational memorization where certain scenarios are easily remembered when thereâs a big event to anchor it to.â
he swears he couldâve melted on the spot at you explaining a concept youâd read about to him, âcareful sweetheart, calling it a big event might inflate my ego a little too high.â
âi mean, i can tell it worked,â you tease as you feel him harden inside of you again, âso tell me genius, how many times does a scenario have to happen for me to remember the information?â
âi guess weâll have to find out, donât we?â
#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid smut#spencer reid#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds fanfic#mgg#spencer reid fanfic#dr spencer reid#bau team#criminal minds fanfiction#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid one shot
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here we go :) part one of three, updates to be released weekly!
---
sam says 4 (game master cinematic universe, part 3)
Ruby was at her mum's for a family dinner she couldn't miss on pain of death, apparently, and the Doctor was many things, but a family dinner kind of guy wasn't one of themâparticularly when Carla had already slapped him once in the short time he'd known her. He thought he'd broken his streak of bad luck with mums, but⊠well, seemingly not. So he was companionless for a few hours, and while he could wait for her to get back, maybe catch up on his readingâwhat was the point of waiting when you had a time machine?Â
He ran his hands over the TARDIS console, marvelling at her clean lines and metallic flourishes, the way that even now she felt brand new but familiar, and paused. Heâd just pop off for a quick adventure, nothing too dangerous, butâwhere to go?
He could scan for a distress call nearby, and pitch in to help. He could drop in on Donna and Shaun and Rose, beautiful Rose, and see how they were all doing. Or he could just hit the randomiser button, and jump in feet first wherever he ended up.
He remembered a conversation from a long time ago, when he wore a different face, and his gorgeous TARDIS wore a face too, for the first and only time.
âYou didn't always take me where I wanted to go.â
âNo, but I always took you where you needed to go.â
He grinned. Who could resist an offer like that? He pressed the button and whooped as the time rotor spun into action, ready to see where the universe would take him.
---
Apparently, he was needed pretty close to where he already was. Earth, 2024. Huh. Same planet, same timeâwithin a few months of where heâd left Ruby, even. The main thing that had changed was the location: he was now in the good old US of A. California, to be more specific, and Los Angeles to be more specific still. And to really narrow it down, the Doctor discovered as he poked his head out of the TARDIS doors, he was in⊠a broom closet. Not bad, as a parking spotâa bit squeezy, but out of the way. And as he poked his head out of that door, he could finally see he was in the backstage corridors of a studio of some kind. Film or TV, if he was to hazard a guess, it was a different vibe from Abbey Road.
With a shrug, he decided to go exploring.
It couldnât have been more than a minute before a young woman wearing the full-black outfit, headset, and permanently stressed expression of a production assistant came running up to him.
âAre you the fill-in Sam organised?â she asked breathlessly, and honestly, seeing the look on her face, the Doctor didnât have the heart(s) to tell her no. And really, what was the Doctor, if not a professional fill-in? This, this was why he had a randomiser button on the control panel, because whatever he was about to get himself into was going to be fun.
âSure!â
âOh, thank god,â sighed the production assistant, relief dawning across her face. âWhen Ally tested positive this morning, I thought we were sunk for the record, because we called around and we couldnât get a hold of anyone. But then Sam said he could get someone in, and, you know, here you are, and just in time, soâah, yeah, if you could follow me this way?â
Smiling all the way, the Doctor followed his guide through to hair and makeup, looking around as they went. The studio seemed to belong to a company called Dropout, according to the branding scattered around, and things seemed, at least on the surface, to be⊠well. Fine. He couldn't tell why he'd been brought here yet, which meant that when he found the reason, it was going to be particularly tangled. He couldn't wait!Â
And then he looked back at his guide, still engulfed in a miasma of anxiety, and realised he'd been too busy looking for clues to notice the person right in front of him.Â
âHey, it's cool, you've found me,â he started with a gentle smile. âYou can relax. Hi, I'm the Doctor. What's your name?â
âOh!â she said, startled. âThe Doctor, yeah, of course. Um, hi, I'm Kaylin. Look, sorry, it's just that I've been so busy this morning, I'm so distracted⊠Shit, and I would've completely forgotten to get your details too. There's paperwork to fill in, but you can do that later. Um, just for now, though, can I get your pronouns?â
The Doctor thought for a moment. âHe/him, for now.â
Kaylin nodded, making a note on her phone. âOkay, cool! And do you have any socials?â
âNot me, babes,â he replied. âI'm hardly sitting down long enough to be able to update, you know?â
âOn a day like this, I know exactly what you mean,â she said. âThat's okay, Lou didn't have socials either for the longest time. Right, so if you go through there, the team will get you sorted, and once you're done, someone will take you up to the greenroom. All good?â
âAll great,â the Doctor replied. Kaylin flashed him a quick, relieved smile, then hurried off.
Hair and makeup was a fairly quick process, the sound mixer fitted him with a microphone, and before too long, Kaylin was back to take him upstairs.Â
âThis is the greenroom,â she said, pushing the door open. âThe rest of the cast for the episode are already hereâtheyâre great guys, and theyâve both been on the show a lot, so theyâll be able to help if youâve got questions. And if you need anything else, just come find me or any of the other PAs, okay?â
The Doctor nodded, beamed at Kaylin, and walked in.
---
The greenroom was small but comfortable, and its occupants, two men around the same age as the Doctor appeared, looked up as he entered.
âOh, youâre new,â the taller of the pair said, clearly giving him the once-over.
The other sighed with a mixture of fondness and exasperation, just as clearly used to his friendâs antics.
âHey, Iâm Brennan,â he said, levering himself up to standing from his perch on a chair arm, and holding out a hand. âThatâs Grant.â
The Doctor took it warmly. âThe Doctor. Just passing through, and happy to help.â
Grantâs eyebrows quirked. âDoctor⊠something?â he prompted.
âOr is it just âthe Doctorâ?â Brennan asked.
âJust âthe Doctorâ,â the Time Lord confirmed cheerfully. âYouâll get used to it, everyone does.â
Grant didnât look convinced, butâ
âCopy that,â Brennan shrugged, and settled back on the arm of the chair, returning his gaze to the door.
Grant, in turn, looked at the Doctor and rolled his eyes in a clear expression of âno, I donât know why heâs like this, eitherâ.
âOkay,â the Doctor said after a moment of watching the watching. âI wasnât going to ask, but now I think I have to. Whatâs up with the door?â
Brennan huffed a laugh. âWell, the last time there was one of those upââ he pointed to the Out of Order sign stuck to the bathroom door, ââwe got locked in here for the game.â
âHeâs paranoid,â Grant interjected.
âWell, yeah, maybe,â Brennan retorted. âOr just cautious. Because Samâs been acting weird lately, and weâre coming up to the last few records of the season, so heâs probably planning something way out of the box for the finale. And the original cast was you, me and Beardsley, soâŠâ
He shrugged one shoulder meaningfully, and Grant nodded, conceding both the point and the potential for chaos.
âSo if Sam comes in to give us the briefing, rather than waiting til weâre on set,â Brennan continued, âor thereâs anything else weird going on, Iâm gonna know about it right from the beginning.â
He turned to the Doctor. âThe only reason I'm not quizzing you is because I know for a fact Beardsley was genuinely scheduled for this, so you can't be a plant by the production team. No offence.â
âNone taken,â the Doctor smiled. âThat sort of thing happen often, does it?â
Grant and Brennan exchanged a look.Â
âMore than you'd think,â Grant answered with a grimace.Â
âAlright,â the Doctor said slowly, then brightened. âSo what is it we're actually doing?â
Grant gave him a disbelieving glance. âYou don't knowâ?â
âVery last minute fill-in,â the Doctor said breezily. âBut don't worry, I'm a quick study.â
âWell, you're not that much worse off than the rest of us,â Brennan said encouragingly. âYou know about Game Changer, obviously, if you know Sam, and we only find out the rules of the game once we get on set. Hopefully,â he added, with a dark look back at the Out of Order sign.Â
The Doctor nodded. No, he didn't know Sam, and he didn't know Game Changer, but he could work out the situation from context clues. This was a game show. And with the Toymaker banished, and Satellite Five not coming into existence for another 198000 years, give or take, he found himself smiling. Maybe third time would be the charm.Â
âMmm, hopefully they aren't going to throw you in the deep end,â Grant said. âBecause Brennan might seem lovely now, but as soon as we get out there, he's a whore for points. He'll stab you in the back and won't even blink.â
Brennan barked with laughter. âYeah, and you wouldn't?â
âExcuse you, I'm always a goddamn delight,â Grant replied, the very picture of injured dignity.Â
âOh, absolutely!â agreed a new voice. The Doctor turned to the now-open door to see a bearded man in a pinstriped suit smiling broadly. âThat's why we keep inviting you back!â
Grant bowed sarcastically. âWhy, thank you, Sam. Good to know I'm appreciated by someone here.â
âAlways,â Sam replied, gently but firmly ending that particular path of the conversation. He scanned the room, and his eyes lit up when they landed on the Doctor.Â
âAh, you must be the Doctor!â he said with obvious delight, walking over with his hand outstretched. âI'm Samâthanks for filling in for us, you've made sure we're going to have a good show. Seriously, it's a pleasure to have you here.â
âAw, cheers!â the Doctor smiled, shaking the offered hand. âGlad I could help out, I'm really looking forward to this!â
âWell, great!â Sam exclaimed, then took a step back, regarding all three players in turn. âNow, folks, I'm just letting you know that we're just about ready to start the record, so if you can start heading down, that'd be great.â
Grant and Brennan noddedâBrennan, the Doctor noticed, with relief.Â
âSee you down there,â Sam said, smiling. âHave a great show, andââ
His eyes caught on the Doctor's for a second, twinkling.Â
âGood luck.â
---
Backstage, the Doctor, Brennan and Grant were marshalled into podium order and given a final briefing from the crew. And then, with a thumbs-up from Kaylin, that was it.
Showtime.
âGet ready for a Game Changer!â came Sam's voice from onstage. âTonightâs guests: he can shoot off a monologue with laser accuracy; itâs Brennan Lee Mulligan!â
Brennan, his back to the camera as the curtains opened, spun on his heel and, with a stone-cold expression, pointed finger guns straight down the barrel, before letting the facade crack open. âHi!â he exclaimed, and walked over to the leftmost podium.
âItâs his first appearance, but heâs already on fire; itâs the Doctor!â
The Doctor leant against the archway to the stage and flashed a broad smile towards the camera, then in a few skipping steps, had bounded over to the next free podium. What the hell, why not make an entrance?
âAnd even in the toughest of mazes, youâll always be able to find him; itâs Grant OâBrien!â
Grant dipped his lanky frame into an approximation of a curtsey, spreading his arms wide, then sauntered over to the closest podium with a grin.
âAnd your host, me!â Sam announced, a ring of manic white showing around his irises as he beamed down the barrel of the camera. âIâve been here the whole time!â
âThis,â he continued, pushing his microphone shut and stowing it in his jacket pocket, âis Game Changer, the only game show where the game changes every show. I am your host, Sam Reich!âÂ
As he said his name, he looked at his hands, front and back, as if he was pleasantly surprised to be himself, then gestured towards the three podiums.
âI am joined today by these three lovely contestants! Now, you understand how the game works.â
âOf course not,â Grant started. âYou know we don't.â
âWe can't, Sam, that's the whole point of the theatre you've set up here,â Brennan said over him.Â
âNot yet,â was all the Doctor said, anticipation starting to drum a tattoo of excitement against the inside of his ribcage.Â
âThatâs right!â Sam said brightly, shooting finger guns at the camera. âOur players have no idea what game it is theyâre about to play. The only way to learn is by playing. The only way to win is by learning, and the only way to begin is by beginning! So without further ado, letâs begin by giving each of our players fifty points.â
The Doctor, biding his time, watched the reactions of his fellow contestants. Grant looked at the front of his podium, checking the point total, and nodding approvingly when he saw that yes, it was sitting at a round fifty. Brennan, on the other hand, was starting to frown.
âPlayers, Sam says: touch your nose,â Sam began, and Brennan sighed the sigh of someone who wasnât happy to be proved right.
âOh, no,â he groaned. âOh, you son of a bitch. Wasnât one this season enough?â
He touched his nose anyway, as did the others, and Sam smiled encouragingly. âSam says: touch your ear.â
When they all did, Sam nodded. âTouch your other ear.â
Everybody held still, fingers on the ears they had originally touched.
Sam beamed. âEasy, players, right?â
âYou say that now,â Brennan said darkly. âWhich makes it worse, because all you're doing is setting us up for failure.â
Sam gasped, pretending offence. âWould I do that?â
âYes,â Brennan and Grant replied in unison, which drew a grin from the Doctor and set Sam off chuckling.
âAnd I'm not having it,â Brennan continued, leaning his elbows against his podium and pointing at Sam with the hand not touching his ear. âYou better watch yourself, because I know how this game works, and you're not going to get one over on me.â
âStrong words, Brennan!â Sam said, clearly delighted by this response. âOkay, then, let's start making things a bit more interesting!â
The game continued as per Sam Says usual, some rounds done as a group and some individual. Points were won, sure, but lost slightly more frequently, and even the Doctor found he was having to concentrate to avoid getting caught in the host's traps.Â
It was fun. Genuinely, it was like playing a game with friends, and the Doctor felt himself leaning into it. There wasn't any sign of dangerâmaybe there wasn't a mystery to solve at all, and the TARDIS just decided he needed a total break.Â
Well, probably not. But the way things were going, he was able to let himself hope.Â
âAlright, players,â Sam said a good few rounds in, just as pleasantly as he would start any other question, and the screen behind him dinged as a new prompt popped up. âSurvive the death beam.â
For a second, everything was frozen perfectly still.Â
And then came the crash, the explosive noise of heavy machinery moving relentlessly through a drywall set.
The Doctor was already moving. âEveryone down!â
âDuck!â Brennan yelled at the same time.
The two of them hit the ground within milliseconds of each other, but Grant was still paralysed in the face of the giant, science-fiction type laser cannon that had just ploughed through the wall.Â
It whined ominously, screaming its way to fever pitch. And then a sharp pain in Grantâs ankle made him stagger, pitching forwards onto the carpet behind the podiums as the Doctor rolled away to avoid getting pinned.
âSorry, babes,â the Doctor whispered. âBut it was either kick you to get you down, orââ
A hideous metallic screech ripped through the air, and all three of them could feel the crackle of ozone as a beam of energy swept across what had, moments ago, been neck height.
ââŠOr that,â the Doctor finished with a grimace.
âJesus fucking Christ,â Grant breathed, suddenly very conscious of every inch of his 6â9 frame. âThanks.â
âWell done, players!â Sam exclaimed delightedly from above them. âBut⊠sorry, I didnât say âSam saysâ, so thatâs a point off for everyone.â
âWhat the fuck!â Brennan snapped.
âAre you actually insane?â Grant demanded at the same time, his voice overlapping with Brennanâs.
In response, Sam just wheezed with laughter. âYou can come back to your podiums,â he said, cheerfully ignoring them.
Nobody moved.
âVery good!â he acknowledged, and even without seeing his face, the grin was obvious in his voice. âOkay, Sam says: come back to your podiums.â
Although the words were innocuous, and his tone was just as light and breezy as usual, there was nevertheless an edge hiding just underneath the surface. And while the death beam loomed large in the minds of all three players, it was impossible to consider disobedience as an option.
Slowly, they stood, returning to their places. Now they had the time to look at it properly, the death beam was even more sinister, and Brennan and Grant both kept flicking nervous glances its way, ready to move if it looked like it was charging up again.
The Doctor, however, was focused purely on the man standing in front of them. Unbothered, Sam met his gaze like a challenge, a mischievous smile playing about his lips.
âOh, youâll love this one,â he said, and the screen changed. âSam says, starting with Grant: say my name.â
Grant frowned in confusion, but answered quickly nonetheless. âSam Reich?â
The man himself shrugged tolerantly, moving on. âBrennan?â
Brennan just stared at him coolly. âDo you take me for a fool?â
âWell caught, Brennan!â Sam said happily. âSam says: say my name.â
âSam,â Brennan replied, suspicion clear in his voice. âSamuel Dalton Reich.â
He nodded, still with a hint of indifference. âAnd lastly, Doctor.â His smile broadened. âSam says: say my name.â
It was easy. Too easy. And as the Doctor looked into the eyes of the man calling himself Sam Reich, he felt his hearts stutter in recognition, because something had changed. He wasnât hiding himself anymore, and while the face was different yet again, the Doctor would know the shape of that soul anywhere. It was impossible. It was inevitable.
âYou canât be,â he breathed.Â
Sam smirked, leaning in across his podium. âOh, but Doctor⊠Iâve been here the whole time,â he stage-whispered with a wink.
âHe said you lost,â the Doctor said, shaking his head, looking wrong-footed for the first time that Brennan and Grant could recall. âYou lost, and he trapped you.â
The other two watched, uncomprehending, but Sam just smiled, drumming his fingers against the podium with an audible beat, fast but distinct. Four taps, four taps, four taps. âIâm waiting.â
The Doctor took a slow, deep breath. Set his jaw.Â
âMaster.â
---
missed an installment of the game master cinematic universe?
original idea by @ace-whovian-neuroscientist: x
art by @northernfireart concept: x scissor sisters sketch: x sam and his doppelganger: x
writing by me (!) part one (escape the greenroom): x part two (deja vu): x part three (sam says 4): you are here!
#game master#sam reich!master#doctor who#dw#dropout#game changer#you know what let's chuck some character tags in here#15th doctor#the master#sam reich#brennan lee mulligan#grant o'brien#kaylin mahoney#clari speaks#clari writes#ah darlings i'm putting my chat down here rather than in the post body for once#so i've thought of this whole saga as 'part three' but i will be a) titling them all and b) just keeping on numbering the parts sequentiall#rather than 'part three part one' etc#otherwise we're getting into homestuck act titling territory and that is ground i do not wish to tread#also fuck i hope i've got the time zones right#i'm planning to post this when an episode of game changer would ordinarily be released. to plug the gap. to tide us over.#(the finale trailer is so delightfully unhinged and i cannot wait til next week)#anyway gang this one was wild#the slight but significant genre shift from 'game changer with doctor who elements' to 'doctor who with game changer elements'#it was fun to write! and hopefully fun to read :)#also i MUST say that eugene northernfireart has a baller comic in the works that this entire thing is based on#this is thousands of words of setup and continuation because the sketch idea was so good it possessed me#and we decided that it had to be a proper dw episode#(hey rtd hire me pls)#anyway eugene is on hiatus bc of life so in the meantime go give him love and be Fuckin Hyped for the comic when it appears bc i know i am
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