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GOJO SATORU: HUNGRY FOR MORE
⩠⧠Ë. serial killer!gojo x detective!reader: fucking the serial killer you're supposed to be arresting might be the best (or worst) decision you've ever made. PART 2 | NSFW
contents: fem!reader. porn with plot, dubcon, public sex (in an alley), p â> v, orgasm denial, fingering, he cums inside, unprotected sex, degradation, praise, lil' bit of dumbification, hair pulling, squirting, dirty talk, manipulation/coercion, mentions of murder (he's a serial killer what did u expect), non-sexual mentions/usage of guns, probably more. 3K words.
author's note: wrote this instead of writing my research paper and studying for my math final. if this flops i will actually become the serial killer /j. anywaysss tagging @satoruhour @screampied @satorena.. and yes, the "season 2 coming soon" in the banner means something ;)
âlooks like your little killing spreeâs gonna have to come to an end,â you muse, crossing your arms and cocking an eyebrow at the man across from you. he grins back at you, and itâs almost unsettlingâhe looks a little too smug for a killer whoâs just been caught.
âi donât think so, sweetheart,â the man responds dryly, leaning back against the alley wall, features relaxed and at ease. heâsatoru gojoâhas been your target for a couple weeks, and now that youâve finally cornered him, you find yourself feeling a little⊠unfulfilled. usually, when you caught criminals, they begged for mercy and showed a little more emotion than what satoruâs shown so far.Â
also, the criminals usually werenât this good-looking.
you maintain eye contact with satoru while you carefully reach into your coatâs pocket, withdrawing your phone and unlocking it. unexpectedly, satoru doesnât make any move to stop you from dialing the number to your boss, instead smiling coyly as you do so.
âso, youâre one of those guys who donât care what happens to them?â you ask, tilting your head as you hold the phone to your ear. satoru shrugs and his grin only widens the longer your phone rings. ten seconds pass before your phone tells you that the number you dialed is currently busy, and satoruâs muffled laughter becomes unbearably suspicious. you narrow your eyes and involuntarily take a step back. âwhatâs with the smile?â
satoru scoffs and dips his head, pushing himself off the wall and taking a step towards you. âyâknow, youâre rather brave, cominâ out to catch a serial killer all by yourself. and in the middle of the night, too.â he stops advancing when he sees you pull a gun out of your pocket and hold it up threateningly, a look of warning in your eyes. âokay, okay, relax. iâm not gonna do anything to your pretty face.â
âwhat did you do?â you ask suspiciously. satoru widens his eyes in mock disbelief, as if heâs completely and utterly shocked that youâd ever accuse him of anything.
âbesides the fifteen separate counts of murder? not much, really.â
âiâm not an idiot,â you snap, cocking the gun and aiming it at his head. âyouâre not the one in control here, satoru gojo. spit it out before i put a bullet through your skull.â
satoru laughs and holds his hands up in surrender. âfiesty, arenât we? itâs alright, i like my girls with a little fire in them.â he tilts his head to the side and looks you up and down, eyes lingering on parts of you that suddenly make you feel naked, despite the coat covering most of your figure. âput down the gun, sweetheart, then we can talk.â
you wait a second, scanning satoruâs overly relaxed face before cautiously lowering the gun. âwhat are you hiding?â you ask again, eyes hardening.
âa lot of things. but i think youâre talking about what i did to your boss, right?â
âyou have five seconds before i shoot you.â
satoru makes a face and then rolls his eyes dramatically. âfine, since youâre beinâ so pushy about it. i killed him, obviously. youâre a smart girl, shouldnât you have figured that out by now?â when you donât immediately answer, satoru sighs and shakes his head. âand here i thought that the girl whoâd been tailing me for the past week would have a little sense in that pretty head of hers. looks like i was wrong.â
âshut it,â you snap again, re-dialing the number and letting your phone ring for fifteen seconds. when nobody picks up, you internally curse and think about what to do next. dialing 911 would be worth a try, but the look in satoruâs ice-blue eyes makes you think otherwise. despite the gun in your hand, something about him makes you entirely certain that he could overpower you, even if you landed a shot on him. and even if you just shot him right now, heâs been shown in the past to be able to function fine with a bullet through his chest. thatâs how two of your subordinates lost their lives to himâby underestimating your cityâs notorious killer.
so you decide to bide your time.
âran out of options?â satoru asks smugly. he raises an eyebrow when you slide your phone back into your pocket and exhales a laugh. âyou gonna wait for a big, strong man to rescue you? âcause iâm right here, honey, and i could be your savior.â
âthat was actually the shittiest line iâve ever heard,â you scoff, rolling your eyes at the self-satisfied look on his face. âare you seriously proud of that one?â
âwell, it worked.â
he pushes himself off the alley wall and towards you so fast that you hardly even have time to process it, and before you know it, youâre the one pressed to a wall with a gun to the side of your head. satoruâs other hand grabs both your wrists and pins them above your head, and his face is close enough to the point where you can feel his breathâwhich is unexpectedly mintyâon your cheeks as he grins down at you. âyou really think iâd use a line as shitty as that if i didnât know itâd make you lower your guard? tch, you really shoulda known better.â
you use every curse word youâve ever heard in that moment and grit your teeth, rapidly thinking through all the possible ways you could get out of this situation, but nothing comes to mind. youâre quite literally stuck in between a rock and a hard place, with a gun pressed to your head and with your limbs out of commission.Â
satoru clicks his tongue and widens his eyes at you, leaning in closer. his lips are uncomfortably close to your own as he traces the gun down the side of your face, cold metal brushing against your heated skin. ânot gonna fight back? thatâs no fun.â
âthe fuck you want me to do?â you snap irritably, glaring up at him and curling your hands into fists. satoru tightens his grip on your wrists and cooes a sarcastic apology to you, taking his time looking you up and down again. if you didnât value your life, you probably wouldâve said worse, but seeing as you were the only person in this ridiculously isolated alley, it wouldnât be worth much.Â
âi dunno. didnât that detective academy or whatever teach you anything?â
you roll your eyes again, and somewhere in the back of your mind, you consider the possibility of your eyes getting permanently stuck in the back of your head just because of him. âyâknow, youâre not giving me a whole lot of options.â
satoru laughs. âif i did, thatâd defeat the whole purpose, wouldnât it?â
at this point, death would be preferable to hearing his idiot talk any longer.
âso, iâm gonna be the one asking the questions from now on,â satoru continues, clicking his tongue disapprovingly when you scowl. âif you behave, i wonât hurt you that badly, âkay? keep that in mind.â
âthought you liked your girls feisty.â
âoh, thatâs true,â satoru muses thoughtfully. âyeah, never mind, you can be a little bratty. i need a reason to fuck you stupid anyways,â he grins after a moment of consideration.
âwhat the fuck?â
âyou heard me, sweetheart,â satoru cooes, feeling his pants tighten as he watches your eyes widen. your âtoughâ demeanor drops for a split second, and satoru canât help but want to fuck it off again when it returns. your scowl deepens and you frantically think through all your options again, but there isnât a whole lot you can do at this point.
âif you wanna stay alive, youâll be a good girl and you wonât scream,â satoru murmurs, leaning in closer and pressing his lips to yours. you grit your teeth and try to shove him away with your shoulder, but it doesnât do much. satoru smiles against your lips and hums softly, pulling away with an almost affectionate look on his face. itâs so at odds with who he is and what heâs done that you drop your guard again, wanting to believe that he really will keep his promise not to hurt you.
satoru sees the shift in your features and smiles tenderly, all traces of his borderline-sadistic look gone. he studies your face for a moment and kisses the corner of your mouth, letting his lips linger for a second before he pulls away again. âiâm gonna let your hands go now, mâkay?â when he drops your wrists, they fall limply on his shoulders as you warily study him, eyes wide with confusion. itâs jarring, the way he just⊠changed personalities within the span of a couple seconds. âiâm not gonna hurt you, pretty,â he breathes, dropping the gun and letting it fall to the floor with a loud thwak. âthisâll be a lot more fun for me if you donât resist, yeah?â
oh, fuck it.
âokay,â you murmur, ignoring every siren going off in your head. you donât really have any other options, and honestly, nobody was going to walk by and get you out of this sticky situation anytime soon. and satoru was pretty attractive⊠and you could just arrest him afterwards, right?
as if he read your mind, satoru smiles and promises, âyou can handcuff me after iâm done with you. just let me have a little fun one last time, baby.â
yeah, itâd be a stupid decision to believe the sweet-talker towering over you. thereâs no way heâs just going to let you drag him off to jail, but thereâs a reason heâs stayed out of the grasp of the law for so long. itâs hard to live a life as on-the-edge as being a serial killer, but the reason satoruâs survived for this long is because he knows how to use his words. he knows how to make a person go against every warning in their head, and he knows how to get what he wants.
which, for tonight, includes you.
âyou have thirtyâno, twenty minutes,â you mumble, knowing damn well that this would be the end of your career as a detective. whether or not you dragged satoru in after all this, you could never continue your work knowing you had sex with the biggest serial killer in the city.
satoru laughs and kisses you again, lips trailing down your face and settling on your neck. âhavenât i already made it clear that iâm the one in control here?â he muses as he slips his hands under your coat and tugs it off. it falls to the cold ground and bunches up around your feet, leaving you in a button-up shirt and flowy, dark pants. âcâmon, letâs get these clothes off you.â
within a minute, the rest of your clothes save for a black lacy pair of undergarments join your coat on the floor, and the chilly nighttime air nips at your skin. âiâm cold,â you mumble, feeling yourself involuntarily tense up everywhere but where satoruâs hands cloak your skin. satoru laughs in response and presses his knee to the spot in between your thighs, and something in you snaps at the point of contact.Â
âyou really are an idiot, arenât ya,â satoru scoffs, hand sliding down to your waist. his fingers latch on the waistband of your panties and he tugs them down, exposing your already-wet pussy to the cold evening air and his eyes. âlettinâ a serial killer fuck you in a dark alley⊠what kind of detective does that?â satoru spits on two of his fingers and slips them inside you, instantly groaning when he feels you clench around him. âfuck, you gotta be the tightest pussy iâve felt in a while,â he mutters, white hair falling into his eyes as he looks down shamelessly. âdo you not have sex with other guys?â
âdonât have time,â you swallow what wouldâve been an embarrassingly loud moan as his fingers go deeper and deeper. how long are this manâs fucking fingers?
âaw, look at you, youâre so cute,â satoru cooes, smiling down at your scrunched up face. you look back at him through squinted eyes, hips starting to roll against his fingers. itâs trueâyou really havenât had time to have sex given your already-insane schedule. itâs almost like you spent more time tracking the man whoâs now knuckle-deep inside you than sleeping, but the slutty part of your head tells you that it paid off.
ââm gonna cum,â you whine pitifully, squirming around satoruâs fingers as he curls them inwards, making you clench around him even tighter. a shiver runs over your body, starting from in between your thighs and spreading all over you as satoruâs fingers move back and forth inside your soaking wet cunt. âg-gojoââ
âcall me satoru, baby, and youâre not cumming until i say you can.â with that, satoru withdraws his fingers from your pussy with a pop! and grins at the way you glare at him sullenly. he mockingly pouts and licks his drenched fingers clean, tongue lapping up your essence. âheh, donât worry, iâll make you cum more than you knew you could once youâre stuffed with my cock.â
although youâve determined satoruâs âpromisesâ to be dubious at best, he fufills this one after heâs spread your legs wide open and positioned his cock at your entrance. âthis might hurt, baby, but remember, no screaming.â after you nod in acknowledgement, satoru slips his tip in and watches, amused, as you try to close your legs on reflex. âuh uh, keep âem nice and wide fâme,â satoru tuts disapprovingly.
and true to his word, it hurtsâa dull ache spreads throughout your legs as his dick goes farther and farther inside you, reaching places you hadnât felt in a long time. satoruâs hands settle somewhere on your waist as he pushes himself deeper, ignoring your gasps and pleas for him to slow down a little. your shaky hands move to his hair and you unwittingly pull on it, somehow eliciting a soft groan from satoruâs lips, and somewhere in the back of your mind you think that of course a serial killer has a hair pulling kinkâit just makes sense.Â
âs-satoru, it wonât fit,â you whisper, feeling satoru hit an especially tight spot in your cunt. even with how wet you are, it just feels like you canât possibly take any more of himâhe might as well be ten feet inside you, given the pain in your hips. but, as expected, satoru only smiles tauntingly down at you and murmurs words of encouragement as he somehow pushes past the barrier and gets all the way in amid your pained whimpers.
âyeah, thatâs it, knew you could do it,â satoru says sweetly, voice coated with poisonous honey. now that heâs all the way in, the ache from your waist down starts to fade into pleasure, especially as satoru starts moving himself in and out to get you used to the feeling of his dick. âjust like that, pretty girl. jusâ like that.â
soon enough, he sets an unexpectedly harsh pace that makes your back arch off the cold, brick wall behind you, and even as satoru tries to keep up his âcool serial killerâ act, you can hear his quivering breaths as he gets close to cumming. âshit, i forgot how fuckinâ good it felt to fuck a cunt this tightââ he mutters through gritted teeth. ââm gonna cum inside, âkay?â
you nod breathlessly, chasing your own pleasure and not actually listening to the words satoru murmurs in your ear. at this point, it didnât matterâall your pathetic little head could think about was satoruâs dick, and somehow, you forget that heâs a killer when he cums inside you. itâs hot and thick and it almost knocks you overâwhen was the last time you felt this good, if ever?
the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum with him, nodding along to satoruâs praises on how well youâre taking him. you squirt all over his painfully hard dick and suck in a sharp breath as you do so, body trembling from the force of both of your orgasms.
âsee, that wasnât so bad, was it?â satoru murmurs when you both come down from your highs, stroking your hair almost tenderly. you bob your head in response, face warm and eyes unable to properly focus. he stuffs his fingers back inside your puffy cunt and scoops the cum dripping down your thighs back inside, mumbling something about not letting a single drop go to waste. âwho knew the pretty detective iâd had my eye on would be this good to me?â he cooes, grinning snarkily.
satoruâs earlier promise floats through your head and you force yourself to look him in the eye. ây-you said youâd let me arrest you after,â you breathe, back still pressed to the wall as satoru surveys you amusedly.
âoh, sweetheart, youâre in no condition to be giving orders,â satoru says condescendingly, pulling up his pants and grinning at you. his cheeks are still flushed red, but whether thatâs from the cold nighttime air or from the heated sex, you donât quite know. âwe should do this again sometime,â he continues conversationally as he picks up your coat for you. despite the fact that youâre still naked and trembling, satoru drapes your coat around your shoulders and helps you button it up.
âbut you saidââ you protest, but satoru cuts you off with a raised eyebrow.
âyou didnât seriously believe me, did you?â satoru tuts, shaking his head. âiâm a serial killer. iâm not gonna turn myself in just âcause of a detectiveâs pretty pussy, baby. you shouldâve known better, doll.â satoru wraps an arm around your limp shoulders and tugs you in for a kiss, lips pressing firmly against your own for a couple seconds before he pulls away with a satisfied smile.
he leaves you with a promise to see you soon.
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secret baby trope with tf141? đđ
Anon! OH. MY. GOOOOOD. I love this. I love this. I love this. Secret baby? Yes, please. I adore this trope. I bow down to you for requesting this. I don't know who you are but I wish that I did. I can absolutely get behind a secret baby trope. I actually read a book recently that was a bit like that and I enjoyed it so so much.
I had an absolute blast putting this one together. Seriously. You totally indulged me here. Thank you!!
For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE
Task Force 141 x Female Reader
Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): swearing, suggestive themes, stalking, possessive behavior, second chances, pregnancy / unplanned pregnancy, parenthood, reunions, light angst
Word Count: 2.3k
ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist
Kyle "Gaz" Garrick
Kyle relaxes further into the couch. The air around him is slightly smoky.
He brings his vape to his lips and takes a hit. The action is calming, and thatâs exactly what he wants. Kyle is rotting, and it feels fucking good.
Between missions, Kyle is always somewhere, but right not there is no reason for him to do anything. He can relax. He can watch reality television, eat himself to sickness, and wank off until his wrist hurts.
Itâs bloody fucking brilliant.
Kyle isnât attached. He has no kids. The only responsibility required of him is the one he has to himself. Which is why heâs splayed out on the couch in nothing but grey sweatpants and his vape. The television is on, and the volume is low. Itâs mostly for background noise. Kyle isnât really paying attention to it.
With a vape in one hand and his phone in the other, Kyle scrolls through his contacts. There are all the usual people there, but there are also a slew of general acquaintances and a long list of people heâs had it off with but never took anything further.
He pauses at one name, and old memories resurface.
They just happen upon him. Kyle doesnât drag them up from the depths. They linger there, and Kyle remembers all the fun he had with you.
You were just a small fling. A few lengthy but deliciously good fucks that tops most of the sex heâs ever had in his life. There have been times since he last saw youâover a year nowâthat Kyle has thought about what could have been.
You were sweet. A potential partner. But Kyle didnât follow through. He would regret it, but things canât be taken back. There is no turning back the clock to change what has already occurred.
Kyleâs thumb hovers above the screen.
He shouldnât. He really fucking shouldnât.
But he does. Because why not?
Switching over apps, Kyle starts scrolling social media. He doesnât usually give a shit about whatâs happening in peopleâs lives, but he is curious about you. What are you up to? What are you doing? If youâre not attached, maybe he could call you up, rekindle what was once there.
You donât have him blocked on anythingâthank fuckâand Kyle delves into your socials, exploring your life. At first, the small infant in your arms is nothing to him, but then the tiny human keeps reappearing, and Kyle pauses.
Kyle scrolls a bit more. And stops.
Just threeânoâfour months ago, there are a slew of friends and family congratulating you on the birth of your son.
YourâŠson.
Kyle thinks back. Does the math in his head.
âFuck,â he mutters, sitting up, gaze glued on the screen.
He scrolls back, studying every photo where your son is featured. Kyleâs heart slams in his chest. The features Kyle sees are features he sees every time he looks in the mirror.
âFucking hell,â groans Kyle, the phone nearly slipping from his hands as he slumps back against the couch.
Why didnât you say anything? Why didnât you contact him?
The very thought of you not reaching out doesnât sit well with him. It sits heavy in his stomach.
âFuck,â says Kyle, switching over to his contacts.
He finds Simonâs number and taps the call button.
It rings on the other end, and Kyle doesnât think that heâll answer. But he does.
âKyle,â comes Simonâs gruff voice.
Kyle sighs. âI need you to track someone down for me.â
John Price
John doesnât like cutting off contact with people.
He likes to keep in touch, even if itâs just an acquaintance. But things happen, like a fucked phone with no way to retrieve contacts, and the only people heâs able to retrieve are those he sees on a regular basis.
Your number is gone. And John has no way to get it back.
Legally that is. He could try and find you in the system. What information he has is minimal, but then again, the two of you only had a one-night stand. Heâs prone to it since heâs never in one place. Always moving around.
John would like to settle down one day, but his work is his life, and it just doesnât seem possible to have a family and be consistent with them when heâs constantly called away.
He chews it over while sitting in his office. Itâs late, and there isnât anyone else here but him. Late nights like this are calming to himâa time to process away from the events of the day. John has your first name, where you might live, and a general idea of what your number is. But he isnât certain, and itâs hardly enough to go on.
Sighing, deciding heâd rather find you than not, John turns on his computer. It takes a while to get the classified systems he has access to. No one tracks what he does on here, and no one will think twice if they do happen to look. John runs lots of names and faces through this system.
John waits. Ponders. Enters in different spellings and every possible clue to try and seek you out. With every new search, John begins to lose hope. He might be completely fucked. Completely at a loss.
If this doesnât work, he might not ever see you again. And for some goddamn reason, that bothers him.
He tries one last time, expecting nothing, only for his heart to drop into his stomach,
âThere you are,â he murmurs, leaning forward, gaze sweeping over your passport photo.
Grabbing a piece of paper, John jots down your phone number and current address. He also notes your top place of employment. You might not be there anymore, but that isnât an issue. He has enough.
John shuts off his computer and grabs his coat. Heâll try to reach out first by phone and go from there.
âYou have the wrong number, bud.â
The manâs southern drawl irks John. âYou sure?â
âYeah Iâm fucking sure. Quit calling.â
John frowns as the line goes dead. The number on file isnât recent.
âFuck,â mutters John, running his hand through his hair.
This is getting him nowhere. The only other option is showing up at your home or place of employment, but he canât do that unless heâs on scheduled leave. Thatâs months away.
And each month is fucking agony.
When John finally makes it to your front door, nervousness sets in. This is completely fucking weird. Who the fuck shows up at someoneâs door months after a one-night stand? Him apparently.
But fuck it. Heâs here.
Either he does this and things go great, or things go to shit and he doesnât need to worry about it anymore.
John takes a deep breath, and then pounds on the door. He takes a step back, hands in his pockets as he waits. There is a stretch of silence, and then he hears itâthe turn of a deadbolt.
The door swings open, and there you are, just as beautiful from when he first saw you. At first, your brow scrunches in confusion, and then your eyes widen.
âJohn,â you breathe.
He smiles, and then his gaze drops as your hand moves away from the doorknob to land on your stomach. Your belly is round. Protruding. Youâreâoh shit.
âIs thatââ
âYours?â
Fuck.
John glances up into your eyes and swallows.
You shift on your feet, one hand resting against the doorframe.
âIt is,â you confirm.
Simon "Ghost" Riley
Simon shouldnât. Reallyâitâs fucked up. Wrong.
But he does it anyway because there is no fucking way heâs letting you go even if he has to watch from afar.
Heâs done a lot of things he isnât proud of, and losing you is near the top of the list. Not that he blames you for breaking it off. You had every right. Simon is always gone. Always away. And he rarely thought of you when he came home.
Communication can be a difficult thing for him. He knows this, and yet he couldnât make an effort to do better with you. It wounds him. It does. Like a sharp blade to the gut.
But that is secondary now. Simon has dismissed it.
Sure, youâre not truly his now, but youâll come back to him. Heâll make sure of it.
In the dark, Simon watches. Before him is a slew of screens and all of them show different angles of your home. Simon also has your phone tapped, and in another window, he can lurk through your messages and emails.
Itâs where he first learned you were pregnant.
You know, and havenât told him. Havenât reached out in the slightest. Simon has to see all the results and tests come back via your email. He has to log into your medical portal to access specific things which is goddamn frustrating but he needs to know.
You are fucking pregnant. With his child.
Itâs growing in your belly.
Even through the camera feed, Simon can see the swell of your stomach. He wants to be there, to stand beside you, and rest his hand against it. He wants to feel his son kick. Because you are carrying his son in your belly. Simon saw the results.
Itâs fucking painful watching you like this.
Heâs stayed away for a bit. Not engaging.
But youâve broken it off before, and came back eventually.
Simon just needs an in again. All he has to do is figure it out, and then he can put away these fucking screens and surveillance. He can be by your side and be there when you give birth.
Leaning back in his chair, Simon observes every screen, his palm rubbing against his thigh as he considered his options.
He has to play this right.
He has to.
John "Soap" MacTavish
âDo you think youâll ever find your woman again?â
Johnny grins behind his pint glass. âIf sheâs here,â he replies.
The beer is perfectly cold and goes down easily. Itâs refreshing since itâs so bloody hot outside.
Johnny didnât think heâd ever come back to the little seaside town. He came between missionsâa way to relax and get away for a bit. With only a few hundred residents, it seemed like the perfect place. What he didnât expect was to meet a woman that upended his fatigue and made him glow a little brighter.
He learned your name while exploring a local pub. You were a pretty thing. Caught Johnnyâs eye immediately. With several beers fueling him, Johnny struck up a conversation, and you were receptive to his charmâmelting like butter over fresh toast.
That evening, the two of you jumped from pub to pub, having a bloody good time. It was fucking magical. Afterward, the two of you ventured back to Johnnyâs hotel room. But the two of you didnât have sex. It wasnât until the next morning that Johnny actually fucked you.
Johnny had presented himself, you slid right into his arms. The hotel bed was well-used. There wasnât a moment after that Johnny didnât have his dick inside you. He kept you full and screaming his name for an entire fucking week.
But when that week was up, the two of you parted ways. You gave Johnny your number, and for a couple months, you were consistent in your texts and phone calls. Then it all changed, and you began to contact him less frequently.
Eventually, you didnât talk to Johnny at all.
He was hurt at first. He tried to reach out. But Johnny didnât hear a thingâand he left you to it. Maybe someone else arrived into your life. Johnny can respect that even if he doesnât exactly like it.
It sucked then. And it still pains him a bit now. Johnny liked you when you leftâand if heâs being entirely honest with himselfâhe still fucking likes you.
Maybe youâll be here. Maybe you wonât.
Kyle is with him this time. A guyâs trip. Price isnât one for vacations, and Simon has his own shit going on.
âWe could try that pub again,â suggests Kyle. âSee if sheâs there.â
Johnny shrugs. âMaybe.â
âDid she live here?â asks Kyle.
Johnny nods. âAye. Sure did.â
Kyle bobs his head. âWeâll find her.â
The two of them sit outside a small pub. The air is laced with salt from the ocean, and the sun is out, shining bright. Itâs hot, but itâs a beautiful fucking day.
Johnny hums in agreement, bringing his pint glass back to his lips. For a moment, Johnny glances away from Kyle, looking out across the road where people walk along the pavement. He frowns.
Is that?
No. Canât be.
His focus becomes a tunnel, and all he can see is the woman across the road. Itâs you. There is no doubt. He knows that body, that hair and smile. You havenât changed all that much. Not really.
There is another woman with youâa friend that Johnny met briefly before you and him went off on your own.
But that isnât what has Johnnyâs attention.
Youâve turned, and Johnny can see a swell to your stomach. Your hand cradles it affectionately.
âWhat is it?â asks Kyle, but his voice is distant.
âThatâs her,â murmurs Johnny, his pint glass lowering back to the table.
You donât see him. Youâre chatting with your friend, features animated. The curve in your stomach is fairly large, and a deep twisting in his stomach arises, moving toward his throat.
âOh fuck,â says Johnny as Kyle shifts to look in the direction Johnny is staring.
âIs that?â
âIt fucking is.â
âSheâs fucking pregnant.â
Johnny swallows. âAye.â
He doesnât want to admit it, but itâs likely the fucking truth. The baby is probably his. No wonder you stopped talking to him. Maybe you thought it best to cut off contact when you found out.
But that doesnât sit right with him either. If you had told him, Johnny could have been there for you soonerânot finding out like this.
You throw your head back and laugh, playfully hitting your friendâs arm as she says something funny. When you wipe at your face, clearing tears, your gaze shifts, and all the humor leaves your face.
Youâre staring right at Johnny.
And heâs staring back.
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do you believe me now? | 4
in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader are interrupted at the most inopportune of times. he calls you on the first night of his case. dirty talk turns into a hard conversation. we get a glimpse into spencer's past, and we finally learn why he's so hesitant to sleep with you.
series masterlist
18+ (smut) warnings/tags: dirty talk, phone sex/mutual masturbation, softdom!spence, obligatory he talks u through it, lots of graphic discussions of sex, established relationship, angst (sorrryyy!) a/n: so remember how i said you'd need the bonus chapter to fully appreciate/understand this part? i was wrong!! it will come in handy probably in the next part tho:) also idk how these parts keep getting so long im sorry! anyway, i love you all so bad. thank you for bearing w/ my craziness. PLEASE let me know your thoughts on this part!! i adore hearing from you!! kisses
(also special thank you to @fliesforeyes who convinced me phone sex w/ spence could be done!! i will link his phone sex blurb here :)) thank u binx!!
âThree million six hundred eighty four thousand three hundred thirty two times fourteen million seven hundred sixty one thousand nine hundred seventy one.â
Youâve lost count of how many stupid math questions youâve asked your human calculator boyfriend, just to see if he can actually do them. Spencer is silent for a second, and you think youâve finally stumped him.Â
âThat one is complicated.â
You sit bolt upright in his bed, looking down at him and pointing an accusatory finger. His brows raise at the manic look in your eye.Â
âYou donât know.â
âI do know. I meant it would be hard to explain if you arenât a math person.â
âBullshit!â You scoff, âyou donât know!â
âIt would display on a calculator as five-point-three-eight-eight-E-thirteen. Itâs a really big number.â
âOh, really big, huh?â you mumble, searching for your phone blindly in the sheets and scrambling to open the calculator app. âUm⊠what numbers did I say?â
Spencer repeats them back to you and you press the equals sign.Â
You look at it.Â
And then you set your phone down.Â
âI was right, huh?â he smiles up at you, probably reveling in your pouty wrongness.Â
Too proud to admit it, you collapse on top of him, burying your face in his shoulder.Â
âI donât like this game anymore. What the fuck even is an e? Why are we doing algebra?â
Spencer laughs, brushing your hair aside.Â
âThe e stands for exponent. Itâs to the power of ten.â
âEver heard of a rhetorical question?â
âYes, I have.â
Itâs hard not to snort even at his dumbest jokes.Â
âYouâre annoying. Letâs do something else.â
You roll over onto your back again, letting your head flop over to look at Spencer, whose hair is exactly the right amount of messy after a long day, falling in impossibly soft waves over the perfect lines and contours of his face. Despite lounging, heâs still in his suit from workâheâd left Quantico and immediately picked you up. There were no solid plans for the evening, so after both of you pretended that you wanted to go out for a while, you ended up back at his apartment.Â
He looks good. Almost too good.Â
âSomething like what?â he smiles lazily, reaching over and tracing his fingers over your cheek.Â
âSomething⊠naked?â
His grin widens and he shakes his head.Â
âMe naked or you naked?â
Pretending to think about it, you roll your bottom lip between your teeth.Â
âMm⊠why not both?â
âHm. Why do I feel like I know where this is going?â
The mattress sinks underneath your elbow as you prop yourself up, dropping your head over Spencerâs to kiss him.Â
âBecause youâre so smart, and you think itâs a great idea.â
He entertains your kiss for a moment. Just a moment.
âYou sound sure of yourself.â
âBecause I am!â You finally give in to your impulses, tangling your fingers in his hair and looking at him meaningfully. âIt doesnât make any sense for us to have not had sex. I donât care about any of your weird, cryptic moral reasoning.â
He grabs your wrist carefully.Â
âIt is not moral,â he scoffs. âWe havenât even talked about it yet.â
âReally? Because I feel like weâve talked about it a lot.âÂ
He begins to reply, but you realize you donât want to get into a debate over whether youâve technically talked about it yet. âI donât even care! If thatâs all thatâs standing in your way, then letâs talk about it. Right now.â
Spencer sighs, his eyes darting between yours as he reaches up to cradle your cheek.Â
âFine. But I have things to say youâre not going to like.â
âSo business as usual?â
He rolls his eyes. You allow yourself a tiny self-satisfied smirk, forever relishing in his poorly-hidden soft spot for your constant teasing. Spencer ignores this. Which is probably for the best.Â
âI know you probably wonât see it this way, butâsex is different than everything else weâve done so far. It can be really fun, obviously it feels good, it facilitates deeper feelings of connectionâthatâs all true. Which is why, in my opinion, itâs incredibly important that you be selective with who you sleep with. Because itâs so easy to do something you regret, and sex is vulnerable. It should always be with someone you trust andâand⊠care about.â
A pink flush stains his cheeks like watercolor as he stumbles over the last few words. It makes your heart flutter against the confines of your chest.
Maybe best not to think about the absence versus presence of certain four-letter words and what they may or may not mean. Youâll move on to more pressing matters and pretend like it doesnât ache just a little in your whole body.Â
You cover his hand with your own.Â
âAre you going to break up with me anytime soon?â
Spencerâs eyes widen, filling with genuine horror and confusion.Â
âWhat? No!â
âAre you going to cheat on me?â
âAbsolutely not, Iââ
âThen Iâm not going to regret it. Issue resolved. Moving on.â
âHoney, I just want you to be 100% sure that Iâm what you want.â
âOh my god,â you groan, flopping onto your back once more. âI have begged you to sleep with me on multiple occasions. We have been dating for months and I liked you even longer before that. I think about it literally every time I see you. I donât know how to be any surer.â
Itâs quiet for a moment as you study the imaginary pattern on the ceiling. The rebuttal youâd been anticipating doesnât comeâinstead, the mattress shifts next to you. Spencer enters your field of vision, now leaning over you with a little smile on his face that gives you butterflies.Â
âEvery time?â
ââŠyes, every time,â you agree, voice considerably thinner than it had been a moment ago. Spencer glances at your lips as he speaks.Â
âInteresting. And what is it that you think about exactly?â
You groan again, attempting to roll facedown, but he pins your shoulder to the bed. The way heâs sweetly kissing down your cheek and jaw is infuriating because you know itâs a false pretense.Â
âUgh, I donât know! Donât make me answer that!â
âYou said if talking about it was all that was standing in my way, we would talk about it. Now I want to talk about it. Come on,â he says, voice low and cloying against your throat as he attempts to tease the answer out of you. âTell me what you think about when you think about us having sex.â
You let out a shaky breath at the feeling of his lips skimming your neck, hating how easily he can reduce you to this.Â
âI⊠I always wonder what it will feel like. Sometimes I wonder if it will hurt.â
Spencer sighs, interrogation by way of seduction momentarily forgotten. You silently curse yourself for saying something so un-sexy.Â
âIt might, sweetheart. Thatâs one of the reasons weâve held back. IâŠÂ really donât want to hurt you. I donât even know if I can.â
You grab his face in both hands, forcing him to look at you with more confidence than you feel.Â
âSometimes I worry about it, too. But I like you a lot more than it scares me. I still want to.â
He kisses your palm.Â
âYouâll be okay. It doesnât hurt for everyone, and even if it does, youâre resilient.â
âExactly. So you have to get over yourself.â
Spencer laughs like he wasnât expecting to, eyes sparkling as he regards you. Â
âYeah. Yeah, maybe I do.â
Heâs smiling again as he leans down and kisses youâa slow, lingering thing which tastes like spearmint as you part your lips for him.Â
âPlease?â you whisper against him after a long moment. He hums, keeps kissing you.Â
âWhat is it that you think you want? You donât even know what youâre asking for.â
âTell me,â you beg, chasing his lips. âTell me what youâre going to do with me. We can talk about it. This is talking about it.â
Spencer exhales deeply, wedging a thigh between yours. Immediately you clamp around it, trying not to grind against him too overtly.Â
âYou want to know what Iâd do to you?â
âYesââ you paw at his jacket. Surprisingly, he doesnât stop you from pushing it off. Your heart pounds.Â
âWell⊠we both know how anxious you get,â he muses, pressing his lips so delicately to your fluttering pulse-point in emphasis, and then back to your mouth. His thigh pushes harder against you to supplant the absence of his lips as he speaks, though he kisses you sporadically and between sentences. âYouâre hard to get out of your head when youâre nervous, you know that? I watch it happen. One minute youâre with me, and then you start overthinking, and getting self-conscious. The only thing that seems to relax you is letting me touch youâso first I would touch you like Iâve touched you before. Iâd make sure you know how pretty you are and how good you deserve to feel.â You whimper inadvertently at his words, arching into him and grinding against his leg as he pauses to kiss the sensitive soft spot below your jaw. âYouâre going to need to be really ready to let me in. Do you know what I mean by that?â
As he asks, he pushes his thigh against you harder. Your body responds immediately, arching into him and seeking more friction. When you squeak, he takes it as a no.Â
âI mean I need you relaxed and wet. Youâll excuse my crude language.â
You pull at his tie, breathing heavier now and so turned on itâs almost painful.Â
âWhat are you gonna do after that?â
âWhat else is there to do but fuck you after that?â he breathes. âYou want me to tell you how Iâd fuck you?â
Something about it makes you whine salaciously. Youâve heard him curseâyouâve even heard him talk about fucking you. But it feels more real now; when itâs low in your ear and youâre covertly undressing him and heâs pushing your shirt over your stomach promisingly.Â
âYes, please.âÂ
He hums against your jaw, nipping and brushing his lips over the skin as he considers. Leaves you waiting.Â
âI would have to take my time with you. Youâll be overwhelmed. I know you think you wonât, but you will. Iâm going to have to be so, so careful with you, angel. Itâs going to drive me insane. But it will feel good for you.â
âWhy careful? I donât want that.â
He chuckles. A chill runs down your spine.Â
âYeah, you do. Youâre going to want me to be careful when Iâmââ he pauses, pressing his thumb to your bare lower tummy and dragging up to a spot below your belly button. He presses down lightly again. âRight here. Approximately.â
The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your skin in this moment, as you writhe underneath him in both arousal and embarrassment. Mostly, burning need. You feel almost sick with it.Â
âPlease donât make me wait anymore. Just do it, please, Spencer. I need it to be you, I donât want it to be anyone else. I promise Iâm ready.â
Itâs silent for a moment. Your heart quickens. You sense his walls wearing away, his instinct to keep you intact for god knows what reason crumbling. Heâs finally going to give you what youâve been begging for.Â
Spencer opens his mouth, eyes glimmeringâ
And then his phone rings.Â
You both freezeâhe melts dejectedly before you do, more accustomed to an ill-timed phone call and realizing the finality it can present.Â
Heâs breathing heavily against your neck, as if maybe whoever it is will just hang up. But the phone keeps ringing.Â
âIâm sorry.â
Your stomach sinks as he sits up, grabbing his phone from the side table and rubbing circles on your inner thigh as he answers.
âThis is Reid,â he says, lackluster.Â
If you wanted, you could hear what Penelope is sayingâbut you donât bother listening. Itâs going to be a case. Spencer is about to leave. The details are his problem.Â
âOkay. Iâll be there in an hour.â
He hangs up, tossing the phone onto the mattress and not speaking for a moment, just continuing to rub your leg apologetically. Watching you almost mournfullyâtaking in your disheveled hair, your likely blown-out pupils, the shirt pushed almost over your chest.Â
âI have to go right now,â he finally manages with a heavy sigh, gently pulling your shirt back into place.Â
You sit up, shedding all the hopes that had been building for the evening, and try to sound chipperâthough all you feel is bitter disappointment that goes deeper than you understand.Â
âI know. Go ahead, I can get a cab home.â
He frowns, running his hand over the back of your hair.Â
âI donât love the idea of you standing on the sidewalk waiting for a car in this part of town so late. Do you just want to stay here for the night and go home tomorrow?â
You force a smile. Great. So youâll be spending the night in his bed after allâjust without him.Â
âSure. Thanks.â
âYeah.â
Neither of you are feeling particularly grateful.Â
Soon youâre walking him to his own door. Both of you come to a stop in front.Â
âIâm sorry,â he sighs again.Â
âSpencer, itâs fine. Itâs your job. You donât need to apologize. You were very clear about this part when we started dating.â
âI know, but⊠itâs easier in theory than in practice.â
You smile. If Spencer is a reflection of you, it doesnât quite reach your eyes. His hair is still messy from your fingers running through it and heâs missing his tie. You hope all his coworkers see and feel bad about taking him away from you.Â
But itâs not their fault. You just want someone to blame.Â
Instead you mould yourself to his body, wrapping around him like you belong there. He returns your embrace, pressing his lips into the crook of your shoulder and rubbing your back in that way he always does with you.Â
In that moment, your affection for him becomes so profound itâs like a chemical reactionâeverywhere he touches burns and you love him so fucking much it aches in every inch of your body the way your muscles do when you have a bad fever. Love is the most terrible of afflictions, you realize. It is a fever dream. Itâs every fiber of your being screaming to tell him how you feel, to beg him on your knees not to go because you love him like a child loves a parent or a bee loves honeysuckle or the ocean loves the horizon. Pared down to your most basic components, the barest version of yourself, you require him. Your soul needs his soul.Â
âSpencer?â
âHm?âÂ
Itâs nothing more than an absentminded hum against your skin.Â
âIâŠâ
Should you be looking him in the eye when you say this? Should you say it right before he has to leave? Just because you say it doesnât change the fact that heâs about to be gone for several long days. Maybe this is a terrible time to admit something that suddenly feels so true and so consequential.Â
He senses your internal conflict, pulling back despite your resistance and holding your face between his hands.Â
âYou what?â He murmurs, soft eyes bouncing back and forth between your own. Fuckâyou feel so observed, now. Like he can read your mind.Â
âI forget.â
FUUUUUUCK.Â
Spencer blinks. Processes. You watch the disbelief crystallizing over his eyes like ice freezing over a lake.Â
He knows.Â
He knows you didnât forget, and he probably knows what you were going to say, and heâs going to tell himself he was wrong to spare your dignity.Â
Everything hurts when he kisses you. You wonder what regret tastes like.Â
âWell, let me know if you remember.â
Itâs too gentle and at the same time he canât hide the edge with all the tenderness in the world. You nod as if in a trance, already looking forward to dissociating as you lie in bed and stare at the dark ceiling.
Two small goodbyes are exchanged, slightly stifled now, as if shared between drunk strangers who have sobered up and are mutually embarrassed about how candidly theyâd interacted before.Â
You close the door behind him, doing up all the locks, and meticulously flick every light switch in the apartment off before climbing into his bedâthough you donât really feel like you deserve to be there anymore.
But perhaps this is all an overreaction. Itâs not like you owe it to him to say I love you, or anythingâit was bad timing, anyway. And why canât he say it? In fact, why hasnât he said it?Â
Maybe you have it all wrong.Â
Maybe he doesnât feel that way about you.Â
You fall asleep before you allow these questions to make you sick.Â
24 hours go by.Â
24 hours go by and you really had meant to leave his apartmentâit was just that you woke up late, and your phone was dead so you couldnât call a car, so you charged it while you made breakfast, and then you ate, and then you decided to take a shower and wash your clothes, and then it was two in the afternoon and you hadnât left yet and you decided to walk to the store and replenish the groceries youâd used up.Â
Maybe you got a bit distracted looking at flowers and other beautiful things at the market and by the time you got home it was 5:00, so you decided to wait until seven to skip rush hour. And then eight, just to be sure.Â
Before you know it, itâs midnight, and youâre dozing off in his bed again (teeth cleaned with the brush youâd bought at the storeâmaybe this whole situation hadnât been entirely unwitting on your part.)
Throughout the day, you tried to let all your anxiety about the previous night melt away. If itâs something that needs to be addressed, Spencer will address it. Everything will work out in the end. That thought is how youâre able to doze off.Â
Youâre almost asleep when your phone lights up and begins buzzing on the side table. You wince as your eyes open, not adjusting well to the harsh bright display and unable to discern whoâs even calling you at this hour. Stupidly, probably because youâre half asleep, you answer without checking.Â
âHello?â
Your voice is groggy, quiet with sleep.Â
âShit, did I wake you?â
âSpence?â you whisper, stomach flipping at the sound of his voice on the other line. You feel caught, still sleeping in his bed.Â
â⊠yeah,â he chuckles. âDid you not check who was calling before you picked up?â
âI was asleep,â you pout. âKinda.â
âOkay. Go back to sleep, honey. Weâll talk tomorrow.â
You sit bolt upright, phone balanced between tense fingers and speaking directly into the microphone.Â
âNo! No, Iâm awake. Whatâs up? Why did you call?â
A longer stretch of silenceâyouâre too sleepy to comprehend what it might mean, though never too sleepy to worry about it. With a pang of pain, you recall your strange goodbye, the words you hadnât said.Â
âI just needed to hear your voice,â he sighs. You frown, staring at nothing in particular in the pitch black room.Â
âOh. Is everything okay?â
âAs much as it can be.â
âRight.â
More quiet. You chew on the inside of your cheek, stricken with a sudden feeling of awkwardness that you havenât had with Spencer in a while.Â
âIâm sorry⊠I donât really know what to say.â
âThatâs okay,â he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice which makes you feel a bit better, âwhy donât you tell me about your day? Or you can absolutely go back to sleep, if youâre too tired.â
âDonât ask me about my day,â you whisper, flopping down on the bed once more. Shame seeps into your voice. He laughs.Â
âWhat? Why?â
âBecause if I tell you youâre going to think Iâm super weird and youâre going to break up with me.â
Laughter tapers off into gentler tones.Â
âI already think youâre super weird. Itâs actually one of your most attractive qualities.â
Blood rushes to your cheeks.Â
âBut itâs like⊠borderline crazy.â
Immediately, he replies, âfor better or worse, I also frequently find myself attracted to crazy.â
âThank you for calling me crazy and super weird,â you grumble.Â
âI also called you attractive twice. Tell me.â
When his tone takes on that easy, assertive quality, and itâs sort of raspy and low because itâs late and heâs been talking all day, and you can hear the lazy smile on his faceâyou imagine him laying on his hotel bed, arm slung over his eyes in the dark as he grins into the microphoneâyou have a very difficult time saying no.Â
âFine. Guess where I am right now.â
âUm, I would hope youâre in bed?â
You smile to yourself, basking in the victory of successfully throwing him off his game even slightly.Â
âGuess whose bed.â
Silence.Â
âWhat an interesting question.â That cocky smile, the low drawling is back, and you chew on your lip, ignoring the shiver that runs down your spine. âIf itâs not mine or yours, weâre going to have issues.â
âBut if it is yours? Youâre not going to call the police on me?â
âWhy would I call the police? To tell them thereâs a pretty girl in my bed and I donât want her there?â
âTo tell them your psychopathic girlfriend broke into your apartment and might be holding hostages there.â
Spencer laughs; a brittle, drawn out thing, flat and quiet as the desert.
âIf you were a psychopath, calling the cops would be a waste of time. I would handle you myself.â The idea of being handled has your thighs clenching. âButâyeah, donât invite anyone else in.â More humor finds its way into his voice, momentarily relieving some tension that had sneakily begun to build. âHaving people in my space makes me anxious.â
âBut not me?â Your whisper is half flirtatious, half insecure. Spencerâs reply is soft, as if heâs picking up on this from hundreds of miles away.
âNo, not you. You are always the exception.â
âGood,â you say, cheeks aching as you half-bury your warm face into his pillow. âBecause I made myself really comfortable. You have a nice shower, by the way.â
Spencer groans.Â
âYouâre killing me.â
âWhat? What did I do!â
âDonât talk to me about my bed and my shower. I might start to think youâre intentionally being a brat.â
âYou asked me about my day! Iâm just telling you what I did!â
But youâre also intentional teasing him for sure.  After a pause, he sighs in defeat.Â
âYouâre right. I did do that. Tell me what else happened.â
âWell,â you begin, all too eager, âI had to put my clothes in the dryer after I got out, so I borrowed some of yours. But then they were way comfier than mine, so after I went to the store I put them back on, andââ
âOkay.â
âOkay what?â you frown.Â
âTell me what this is.â
âIâI donât know what you mean.â
Lying to a profiler is usually pointless.Â
âIâm not stupid, sweetheart. Tell me why you keep talking about my shower and my bed and my clothes.â
Caught red-handed. Your skin heats up.Â
âI donât know. I miss you.â
He hums in a way that blurs the line between sympathetic and patronizing. Even through the phone you can feel the bass of it in your bones.  It changes the frequency youâre vibrating at. Itâs hypnotic.Â
âBut thatâs not really why youâre being intentionally provocative, is it?â
âNo,â you admit quietly. âIâm still upset you had to go last night.â
âSo youâre frustrated and youâre taking it out on me?â
Your brow furrows. Well, when he puts it like thatâŠ
âIâm not taking anything out on you.â
âI think you are. And I donât appreciate that, because Iâm on your side, honey. Do you think I prefer being in a hotel bed by myself or being in my bed with you?â
Somehow, he makes you feel like a scolded child. But he makes it appealing in ways you donât understand.Â
âYour bed with me,â you murmur, skin prickling with the coldness of his absence even as you curl under the blanket.Â
âRight. So why donât you tell me what I can do for you right now, instead of punishing me for things that are beyond my control?â
âI wasnât punishing you,â you mutter.Â
âNo? You werenât intentionally talking about using my shower and sleeping in my bed and putting on my clothes so that Iâd have to think about what I canât have right now?â
âIââ
âBelieve me when I tell you I have been thinking about what I canât have, all day. Your efforts are entirely redundant and you canât say anything about yourself that is even close to as dirty as the frankly disrespectful thoughts Iâve been having about you for seventeen hours.â
The lack of air is making you so dizzy your vision goes gray at the edges.Â
âWhat⊠what thoughts?â
âNone that you need to concern yourself with.â
âYou canât just say something like that and then not tell me!â you insist. Heâs obviously giving you a taste of your own medicine and itâs fair but it doesnât mean you have to like it.Â
âI can do whatever I want,â Spencer corrects cooly in a way that pisses you off beyond belief because heâs right. It triggers some adolescent immaturity within youâa desire to get back at him, so to speak. He wants intentionally provocative? He can have it.Â
âFine. Then so can I. And thereâs nothing you can do to stop me.â
âI wouldnât dream of it even if I could.â
âSpencer,â you warn. âIf you donât tell me what you were thinking Iâm gonnaââ you look around the room for ammo. âIâm gonna look through your nightstand!â
âGo ahead. Iâll warn you, itâs not very interesting.â
âSounds like what someone who has something hide would say,â you mumble, crawling across the mattress through tangled sheets and using your phone flashlight to open the drawer.Â
Spencer is patient and silent as you take in its contentsâa small blue leather-bound notebook (full of what looks like Russian), a fountain pen, a glasses case, various kinds of vitamins, andâ
âSpencer Reid,â you say, dragging out his name and pretending nothing is fluttering in your stomach, âwhat are these?â
âI donât know. I canât see what youâre referring to.â
âTake a wild guess.â
âOh, I have one. But Iâd like to hear you say it.â
You realize you may have gotten yourself in deeper than you meant to by going through his stuff. Wellâthey donât say karma is a bitch for nothing.Â
âWhat are you doing with a box of condoms?âÂ
He chuckles and you feel it in your whole body, warm as you stretch across his mattress and eye the box like it might jump out at you.Â
âThose are years old. Iâve used three since I bought them.â
âDonât tell me that,â you whine. âI donât wanna think about all the other women youâve seduced.â
âYou wanted them to be for you, huh?âÂ
You flush. Honestly you hadnât even thought about that.Â
âI⊠I donât know. I kind of just assumedâŠâ
Itâs silent for a second and you frown, realizing you hadnât even considered protection when youâd imagined sleeping with him before.Â
âYou assumed what, honey?â he asks, voice soft.Â
âItâs dumb. I canât tell you.â
âYou can tell me anything. Iâm not going to think itâs dumb, I promise.â
You chew on your lip, letting your eyes unfocus on the box as you muster the courage to be honest.Â
âWhenever I imagined it⊠we didnâtâŠÂ use anything.â
The words make you cringe even as youâre saying them. So does the quiet that follows.Â
âWhen you imagine us sleeping together, we donât use a condom?â
âAh!â The phone drops to the mattress as you cover your ears and roll onto your side, curling into yourself once more. âYou didnât have to say it! You make me sound so weird!â
âItâs not weird,â he laughs, because he can probably imagine exactly what you just did, âI just wanted to make sure I was understanding you. That said⊠we would definitely use protection.â
âDo we have to?â
The quiet words take even you by surpriseâand they seem to stun Spencer as well. Several false starts are punctuated by a sigh as he gathers his thoughts.Â
âWe really should, baby. Thatâs the kind of thing we need to take seriously.â
âBut youâre⊠youâre good, right?â
Thankfully he picks up on your meaning.Â
âI am. I wouldnât touch you if I werenât.â
âAnd Iâm good. So...â
âHm. And has anyone ever explained to you where babies come from?â
You groan in frustration.Â
âSpencer, Iâm being serious! There are ways to negate that.â
âHoney,â he murmurs, âI understand that. But it would be irresponsible of me to say yes. We can talk about it in the future, butââ
âIâm telling you itâs already dealt with. The chances of an accidental pregnancy are slim to none.â
The new information hangs in the air for a moment until Spencer speaksâto your surprise, his voice is low and humorous.Â
âThat is⊠good to know. But even soâIâm setting a dangerous precedent if I always let you get exactly what you want.â
âIs it such a bad thing that I just wannaâI wanna know what it feels like? You donât want that?â
âThatâs not what I said. I want to know exactly what you feel like. Iâm just hesitant to give in so quickly because it makes me look weak.â
You laugh breathlessly, caught between being turned on by the first part of his sentence and amused by the sarcastic second half. Your thighs clench and your hand absentmindedly wanders between them.Â
âYou know what I was thinking about?â you ask. Spencer hums curiously. âI was thinking about when you let me, um⊠when you let me touch you how you touch me.â He hums again, but you can hear the amused curve of a smile in it now.
âWhen you had your mouth all full of me and you looked so pretty?â
âWhen Iâyeah,â you agree, too caught up to deny his compliment as your fingers brush your most sensitive spot through clothing. âAnd  how you got me all messy after. And I was wondering what it would feel like⊠inside me.â
He sucks in a breath. Your legs brush against each other and you twist slightly as you pretend like youâre not touching yourself just a little bit.Â
âYou want me to come inside you?â
âYeah,â you whisper, brain short-circuiting at the way those words sound in his voice.Â
â
On the other side of the line, Spencer isnât doing a fantastic job of thinking clearly either. His dick is half-hard already and itâs only getting worse with each little noise you make that you donât seem to realize youâre making.Â
âReally? That would be very messy, baby. Iâm surprised thatâs what you want.â
âBut I really want it,â you breathe. Heâs not even looking as he slips his hand under the waistband of his pajamas and palms himself, his other hand rubbing tiredly over his face as his phone rests on his chest. This was not how he intended for this call to go, believe it or notâbut heâs here now.Â
âYeah? Is that why youâre touching yourself right now?â
You go silentâwhich is more or less exactly the reaction Spencer had been expecting. Patiently he waits for you to deny it, in three, twoâ
ââM not.â
Now, he could explain how he knows thatâs a lie. How your breathing pattern changed, and your voice got softer and airier, and how you started speaking with smaller words in fragmented sentences. But he doesnât feel like explaining any of that.Â
âI know thatâs not true,â he murmurs. âYou know what? It wasnât fair to get you all worked up last night and then leave. I donât want you frustrated, honey. I want you to do whatever you need to do.â
You make a little gasping noise, and Spencer can imagine the way your back would arch when you did it. His own hips buck slightly as his dick twitches under his fingers.Â
âWhere are you touching?â
âUmâover my clothes.â
Cute.Â
âGo under them for me. Tell me how it feels when youâre touching yourself like that.â
It takes a moment, in which all he hears is the rustling of fabric, until youâre whispering, âfeels⊠it feels good. I wish you were here.â
He inhales, freeing his cock and squeezing the base.Â
âI know. Just listen to my voice, pretty. Iâm right here.â
Spencer allows himself a few slow tugs as he imagines whatâs happening in his bed. You make a squeaking noise, like a held-back moan, and his eyes screw shut.Â
âI need them inside,â you whine, and he knows youâre referring to his fingersâthe ones currently stroking his own leaking cock.Â
âYou can use your own, just give yourself a minute first. Remember what I said about needing to be ready?â
âI am readyââ judging by the surprised chirp you interrupt yourself with, youâve proven yourself right. What surprises Spencer is the weak sound of disappointment you make next. âSpence, it doesnât feel the same.â
âWeâre different sizes, honey. Your hands arenât as big as mine. But you can still make it feel good.âÂ
He almost says, 90% of the nerves in the vaginal canal are located in the lower thirdâin other words, within approximately 2.36 inches from the opening, which you can most certainly reachâbut he refrains. Heâs not sure if thatâs good dirty talk.Â
âYou have a really sensitive spot about three inches up, right in front. Itâs going to feel a little different than the rest of you when you touch it. I want you to try and find it for me, okay?â
âOkay,â you breathe, ever-eager to please even from a great distance. Thereâs a quiet moment. âI canâtâI donât think I can râoh,â
The moan is so pretty Spencer canât help speeding up the motion of his hand, hissing slightly as his fingers brush against the angry tip with every pump.Â
âDid you find it?â
âYeah,â you whine, a weak, high-pitched thing. âOh my god.â
âBe gentle,â he warns with some effort as his own hips jump slightly. âYouâre really sensitive there. If youâre not careful youâll make yourself sore.â
âI donât careâholy shitââ the way your voice rises and tightens to a squeak at the end has Spencer moaning as he fucks his fist. A black hole forms and warps time, turning every minute into a second and every second into an infinity until he has no idea how much time is going by. He drags his thumb over the tip, smearing precum over his cock and whining as his jaw drops at the feeling. âOh my god, Spencer,â in that same strained, high voice. ââM gonnaâah!â
He gets the general sentiment.Â
âWhat, baby? Youâre gonna make yourself come all over your fingers? Is that what you wanted to tell me?â
âMhm!â
âYeah, I bet you are. It feels good, huh?â
âYes,â you cry.Â
âSee? You donât need my fingers to feel good. Mine barely fit, you know that? I have to hold your fucking hips down whenever I put my fingers in you because you canât stop squirming. I donât know how you think youâre going to take my cock.â
âSpencer!âÂ
He knows.Â
âCome, baby. Let me hear you.â
The delicate sounds you make as you bring yourself to orgasm tip him over the edge of his ownâgrunting as he comes all over his fist.Â
âJesus,â he strains under his breath, the word dragging out into two long syllables as his hips buck involuntarily and cum drips down his knuckles. Heâs lightheaded and heâs created a mess and it all happened so quickly. âFuck,â he breathes, a rasping chuckle as he reaches for the towel heâd dropped on the bed after his shower earlier. âYou conscious over there?â
âIâm conscious,â you slur, breathing heavily. âIâve never had an orgasm by myself before.â
âAre you proud of yourself?â Spencer smiles, wiping his hand off and making sure heâs otherwise clean. âYou should be. I am.â
Heâs barely kidding.Â
âIâll be proud when I can do it without your help,â you tease.Â
âBut Iâll always want to help you with that.â His already warm face flushes further as he goes over what heâd said. âSorry I was so vulgar.â
You laugh. He blushes even more.Â
âAre you? I think you secretly love being vulgar.â
âI donât know why! I have no idea where it comes from. I would never speak that way in any other context. I should probably work on that. Sometimes I look back on the things I say and Iâm genuinely appalled.â
âWell, donât stop on my account. Personally I enjoy it.â
âYeah, I think Iâm corrupting you. You probably shouldnât enjoy it.â
The truth of it weighs heavy on his mind, but heâs pretty sure his voice alone doesnât betray that and you canât sense it through the phone.Â
âOh, my god. Do not do that falling on your sword shit. I like being corrupted by you. If you stop Iâll be very upset.â
âWell god forbid you get upset,â he teases gently. Idly he wonders if the reason heâs suddenly feeling so depressed is because his cortisol levels were already high from the case, and then he jarred his system with an orgasm, spiking his dopamine and ultimately causing it to plummet without the oxytocin release that post-coital physical contact would usually provide.Â
Or if it was something else. It could also be something else.Â
For the millionth time, he wishes he was with you. Part of him also wants to go to sleep. But mostly he wishes he was with you.Â
â
A comfortable silence settles over the conversation. In the ditch between words, youâre mapping constellations in the texture of Spencerâs ceiling. If you squeeze your eyes almost shut, you can imagine it really is the night sky. You can imagine heâs really here.Â
You think about what he saidâhis apparently mindless vulgarity. Did it mean anything? Or was he just rambling to get you off?
âSpencer?â you murmur.Â
âYeah?â
âCan I ask you a question?â
He sounds earnest, perhaps a little tired, as he replies, âalways,â through the little metal rectangle on your chest. He likes me and my questions are important to him, you repeat to yourself silently as you work up the strength.Â
âIf Penelope hadnât called, last night⊠were you going to have sex with me?âÂ
Your lip tastes like his toothpaste as you chew it. Spencer sucks in a breath of air like heâs about to speakâand lets it fizzle out like foam on a carbonated drink.Â
âI donât know,â he finally admits, lamely. âThat wasnât my plan, but you can be extremely convincing when you want to be.â
âBut why canât it be your plan?â Itâs an almost whine, pouty and childishâbut the next words are quiet and pained. âIs it something Iâm doing wrong?â
âNo, no! Itâs not you. Youâre perfect. Itâsâitâs complicated. Itâs a me thing.â
Such trite wordsâsuch a ubiquitous, simple excuse sounds almost comical from his mouth when you know heâs capable of all the eloquence in the world. Itâs not you, itâs me. Itâs ridiculous.Â
âOkay. Let me simplify this for you,â you begin with an uncharacteristic assertiveness that surprises even you. âI want to have sex with you. Either we are going to have sex or weâre not. So your future branches in two diverging paths. In one, we have sex, and then we keep having sex. In the other we never have sex ever. If you want to ever have the privilege of fucking me, then we just have to do it. Otherwise it simply will never happen. And Iâm not eternally patient, Reid.â
Go me, you think, slightly breathless from your monologue.Â
âWatch your mouth,â he says dryly. Something about the chastisement makes your stomach flip and your whole body tingle. âWhen you talk to me you call me Spencer. I will also accept Doctor Reid.â You wrestle down a smile, refusing to let him change the subject. A delayed sigh from him sobers up the conversation. âYou know what I want. Iâve been very clear with you about that. ButâŠâ
âButâŠ?â
Another sigh. A deeper, shuddering sigh, like his breath is searching for balance. Like Spencer is in a precarious position for which he was unprepared.Â
âButâbut to be completely honest⊠I worry that youâll regret choosing me. And I know virginity is a social construct and Iâm not implying that your worth will somehow be diminished if we have sex but regardless of my views on virginity as a construct, having sex for the first time can be weird and scary and itâs incredibly intimate and I donât want you to regret your first time like I regret mine because you chose the wrong person.â
The words come at you so rapid-fire it takes you a moment to process them. And aside from all the ways you want to reassure him that you will not regret choosing himâthat you could never, ever regret anything about himâone thing stands out.Â
âYou regret your first time?âÂ
Something between a scoff and a sigh travels through the line. You can tell heâs not annoyed at you for asking so much as heâs flustered himself with all his own words as he occasionally does.Â
âYeah. Yes. Sometimes I do. The personâshe didnâtâŠÂ like me as much as I liked her. And I was really, really in love with her, and she knew that and she knew she wasnât in love with meâor maybe she was, I donât knowâbut my point is, when one person likes the other more than the other person like them, things get complicated. And however you feel about meâthatâs fine. Itâs fine. I donât want you to feel bad if we donât feel exactly the same way about each other. I understand that this is newer for you, itâs different, IâI just donât want us to do something we canât undo because I donât want to relive that. And Iâm not saying it will never happen but I just donât want you to make this choice when⊠when right now, I think weâre in different places emotionally. Regardless of that, I want you to choose the right person. I donât want you to choose me and then find out that we feel differently after we sleep together and leave you feeling like you signed up for something you didnât understand. Iâm sorry. Maybe telling you this is selfish. But Iâve been thinking about it and trying to ignore it and I think I just have to be completely honest.â
Your ears ring like Spencer just fired a blank right into the microphone. Like you just got backhanded across the face and now you have the worldâs worst case of whiplash.Â
Every finger is numb and your blood is so cold it feels blue as it slithers thick through your veins.Â
What you want to do is scream. What you want to do is go back to last night and stop yourself from almost telling him I love you, slap yourself and keep your cards a little closer to your chest. Because now he knows, and he doesnât feel the same.Â
You want to scream bloody murder.Â
But when you try, when you unhinge your jaw and part your chapped lips and expect a bellow to come hurdling up the corridor of your throat with so much force it rattles your bones, all that falls out is a small, âoh.â
Maybe thatâs worse.Â
Spencer doesnât reply. You hate yourself for feeling obliged to fill the silence.Â
âI didnât realize youâŠâ
I didnât realize that you donât love me back.Â
I didnât realize I like you more than you like me.Â
I didnât realize youâd tell me to masturbate in your fucking bed and then drop this not even five minutes later.Â
If Spencer Reid was able to talk to you over the phone with the same amount of affection and familiarity as always, like everything was still okay, knowing you love him and he doesnât love you the whole time, he is not who you thought he was.Â
âIâm sorry,â he lamely says again, like it could ever help.Â
More silence. Now you canât bring yourself to speak, so Spencer does.Â
âI realize how awkward this is. I really didnât mean to put you in this position. Especially not over the phone when Iâgod, Iâm stupid. Iâm sorry. But can weâcan we talk about this in person when I get back? Please?â
Is that what grownups do? Is the proper etiquette for him to take you out to dinner and explain why heâs not in love with you? Is he going to break up with you?
What does one even wear to a breakup date?
âOkay,â you whisper. Your eyes sting, your everything stings, like youâve been wrapped in a shroud of briar. Sheets that were soft a moment ago feel like sandpaper on open wounds. You feel like an open wound.Â
Spencer sighs. Itâs a sound of relief that confuses and hurts you even more.Â
âOkay. Iâokay. Thank you. UmâIâll let you go back to sleep, now.â
âOkay,â you repeatâas if any of this were okay. But you canât keep being that stupid girl who feels it all so much harder, who loves easily and begs to be loved in return, too naive to assume that someone who treats her so kindly might not reciprocate her feelings. It has to be okay, because if itâs not, youâre silly and dramatic and youâre just proving him right.Â
âGoodnight,â Spencer whispers, and you canât help but feeling that itâs the last time youâll ever hear those words from his mouth while youâre in his bed. And heâs not even fucking here.
So you pull the blanket a little higher. You let your tears stain his pillow because theyâll be invisible by the morning. It will be like they were never here. Like you were never here.Â
âGoodnight.â
-
part five
#spencer reid#spencer reid fic#spencer reid smut#spencer reid fanfic#spencer reid imagine#spencer reid x fem!reader#spencer reid x reader#spencer reid x self insert#spencer reid angst#spencer reid fanfiction#spencer reid x y/n#spencer reid x you#criminal minds#criminal minds smut#criminal minds x reader#criminal minds imagine#criminal minds fic
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i am disappointed in all 36 of you
#i could go into a whole thing about all it takes being is old white and with deep voice#but why bother#that would make it seem like i care WAY more than i actually do#so lets keep it at me being disappointed in all 36 of yalls#also yes i did do the percentile math to be able to call out precise number of people im disappointed in đđ«Ą
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pairing: Dealer!Abby x Camgirl!reader
synopsis: youâre a college student when you suddenly ran out of your fix of weed and your normal dealer is out of town so Ellie your closest friend gives you abby's number a well-known dealer on your campus but all you'll be getting is the weed right?
warnings: MDNI, 18+, pussy eating (r receiving), weed, smut, car sex, fingering (r receiving), reader is 20, praise + degradation (baby, princess, slut, mama) , dirty talk.
a/n: haven't wrote lesbian smut before but anything for abby she is so mf fine, also another thing to mention cam girl only gets mentioned once but might make it an actual thing.
credits: @cafekitsune @animatedglittergraphics-n-more for line dividers â„
Abby Fucking Anderson.
She was the college's well known dealer and was always known to be selling drugs towards the back of the parking lot. You would see her black Mercedes parked out back and only caught a glimpse of her, she was well built, dressed in a black tank top and a pair of baggy shorts to go with it.
Her hair was always in a braid or down no in-inbetween and you barley saw her face, you'd occasionally smoke when you were stressed about the amount of assignments piling up and your last dealer was out of town so you knew he wouldn't be back for another month or so and you were desperate for some weed.
So when you ask one of closest friend's Ellie she gives you Abby's number and your now sat in the dark in your room conflicted, deciding whether or not to message her but with a rush of confidence you send her a text, watching the delivered message on your screen illuminating your room.
'You still selling'
A few minutes pass by as you're scrolling on TikTok, the anticipation killing you as you kept checking the message over and over again. Your eyes widen as you saw that she had seen your message and she began to type, the three dots appearing on your screen before a loud ding echoed in the silent dorm.
đ 'Yh sorry was just with one of my boys if you want I'll be out back you've seen my car right'
You read the message, tapping on the back of your phone thinking of what to reply with before your typing away,
'The black Mercedes right'
She's reads it, the three dots appearing once again
đ 'Yh meet in 5, you go to the college right'
'Yh I do'
đ 'k meet in 5 yh'
'alr' â€ïž
Abby likes your message and you turn off your phone, what were you doing, yes you were desperate for a quick fix but to go to Abby you were fucking nervous about even though you had never seen her face or even talked to her eye to eye.
You quickly dressed into the quickest thing you could find, a black skirt and pink top that was thrown onto your basket from yesterday and you grab your keys and phone, sliding into your fluffy slippers before leaving your room. It was beyond curfew just gone after 10 as you quickly leave the building, the cold bristly air hitting your arms, giving you goosebumps.
You make your way towards the back entrance parking lot, quickly spotting the black Mercedes, the trunk was open and Abby was dressed in her usual attire of a tank top and shorts with a boy just stood just a few feet from her, you recognised him to be Darren from your 1st period science lesson that sat a few seats behind you.
Approaching you finally see her face, she was breathtakingly beautiful, blue eyes, pale skin and cute freckles spread out across her nose and cheeks. A few strands fell to her face as she laughed at something Darren said, she must have noticed you approaching in her peripheral vision because her attention turned towards you as so Darren's.
Your legs felt like jelly as you got approached, her eyes scanning your face before slightly looking you up and down stopping at your thighs. Did abby just check you out ?
"Your Y/N right" she spoke out, the raspiness of her voice making your knees buckle slightly.
Darren crosses his arms before his eyes widen, "Oh shit Y/N your in my maths class right" he says, "Science, i'm in your science class"
"shit my bad" he turns to abby and you notice the small bag of weed in his left hand, "thanks abby, see you next week yeah" he says, going to dab her up as abby reciprocates.
"You know it" Darren gives you a ânice to see you againâ slightly smiling before walking off happily towards the boys dorm. "So Ellie tells me you're trying get some weed yeah" she asks as your attention turns back to her.
"oh yeah I just run out and needed a quick fix" You reply and she hums going to her trunk and pulling a small box tucked towards the back, opening it and revealing a fuck load of drugs. "How much"
You don't usually know the amount you buy since your dealer just recommends the it and your just stood there contemplating, "You alright"
"Yeah sorry my dealer normally recommends the amount so I don't really know how much" she pauses, biting her lips before grabbing one little baggy. "3 grams alright for you, it's one of my best sellers at the moment"
You eye the bag before nodding, "Yeah that's fine how much will it be" you reply going to grab your purse and pulling a few hundred dollar bills. "Shit what do you do, no college student should have that amount of cash unless your a stripper or sum'
Your cheeks heat up as you meet her very intense eyes, you were what some called a cam girl, fucking yourself with different toys for people online and hooking up with people you've met around college that promised to keep your little side hustle a secret, the only few people who knew about what you did was Ellie since you had accidentally left your computer open on the site and she managed to accidentally press the recent video of your fucking yourself with one of your toys since she needed to access a file on your computer and she promised she'd keep it a secret.
"oh- I uh sell clothes from now and then so that's how I make most of my money aside from my job" Abby notice's your nervous stammers but decides to leave it.
"Well it's $50 for 3 grams" she replies as she watches you pull out five ten dollar bills, handing it to her. She takes it stuffing it into her pocket, "Nice making business with you Y/N" she replies, passing you the small baggy and closing the trunk,
She turns around to still see you stood their a conflicted expression on your face, "sum wrong"
"Yh no I normally smoke this with someone, usually can't finish a blunt by myself, I'll end up getting too high but its alright thanks" your about to walk away before Abby's voice stop's you.
"If you want I can smoke some with you and then the next time you come to me I'll give you a discount" she offers and you think about it for a second "Sure I'm down, anything for a discount" you joke and she smiles.
"Let's do it in my car don't want to attract attention" she says, walking towards there driver door before getting in and you follow getting into the passenger side.
"Do you mind if I turn on the car, it's bit cold in here- you sure you ain't cold in that little skirt you got on" she implies, looking at the black plait skirt that barley covered your knees.
"Say's the person with shorts that barley cover their legs...I should be asking you the same question" you remark and she chuckles turning on the engine and you feel the warm breeze hit your legs as you go to adjust the mini fan on the dashboard to face your direction.
Abby goes to connect her phone to the car, the familiar song Die for you emitting from the speakers. "Pass the bag princess" your heart skips a beat at the nickname Abby gave you, watching as her arms tense up as you pass her the little bag with weed in. She grabs a small brown paper from her pocket and you watched as she fixed up the blunt, rolling it into the familiar shape and sealing it.
She takes a lighter from the cupholder and passes the blunt to you, lighting it whilst it's in between your lips and you take a long drag from it, entering through your lungs before exhaling into the air, the familiar feeling hit's you as your body relax's and your eyes droop slightly. You pass the blunt to Abby who mimics your actions as you see the veins in her hand pop out.
Your both sat in silence whilst taking turns hitting the blunt before abby speaks up,
"Shit...been a long time since I've hit a blunt" abby admits as she passes it back, "Really how long"
"Been about a month" you look at her, "Shit how come" taking in a drag once more, "I never really got the time to business been busy lately"
"Oh so you only sell to college students or you're just selling when you can" you ask, rolling the window down to allow the smoke to leave through the little crack. "A bit a both I just sell when I can" she pauses looking at you, "So how long you known Ellie for"
"Since high school she's one of my closest friends, trust that girl with my life"
"Surprised Ellie didn't tell me she had such a pretty friend" you looked at her, realising Abby Anderson had just called you pretty, you were at the point were your high as fuck, your eyes were a tinted red and your breathing increased slowly, the feeling of your panties getting soaked was prominent
You were desperately getting horny and your attraction to Abby didn't help in your situation but make you wetter, the sexual tension in the car was high as you both feel silent, nothing only but the music playing in the background, abby watches the way you lick your lips before making her move.
It's slow and sensual, her hand laying gently across your jaw as your hand goes to grip her hair, the blunt long gone from your hand. You gasp as her hand slides into your panties and you feel her smirk against your lips at the wet mess you created.
"So fucking wet for me princess" she groans, your whimper's muted by the music as she slides her fingers in between your folds.
She takes her fingers out, placing them into her mouth. "It's always the pretty ones with the best tasting pussy" she mutters, sucking every last bit off her fingers.
"Please" you plead, grinding into her hand, her lips quirk up as she pulls her fingers out of her mouth with a plop. "Please what baby"
"Please fuck me" her hand grips your thigh as the once soft blue eyes you had fawn over had been replaced with darkened ones, "With what"
"Your fingers'" you plead, your legs opening slightly as her fingers tread carefully towards your aching cunt.
"Lay your seat down princess" she orders and you quickly go to pull down the latch beside you allowing abby to climb over to your side carefully watching you as she pulls your panties to the side, revealing your wet cunt.
"So pretty for me mama" she latches her lips onto your aching clit, you gasp slightly leaning back into the seat, her tongue slowly licks every crevice and every spot with care and your hand snakes up into her dark blonde hair.
The filthy wet sounds from your pussy, bounced off the car walls as she sucked on your clit, the dirty moans from abby's mouth vibrating against your cunt, "Oooooh fuck" you moan, the elongated fuck coming from your mouth as you briefly make eye contact with Abby. "Your make such pretty sounds baby let's see how much louder you can get for me"
You gasp as she slips two fingers in with her mouth still attached to your cunt, fingering that spongy spot with every harsh thrust of her fingers at a rapid pace, sucking and slurping on your juices as she hollows her mouth around your clit, your juices dripping down abby's face. You grind your hips into her fingers, your eyes rolling back and jaw slacking with every movement letting your eyes fall back onto hers.
Strands were sticking to her forehead, the glimpses of her pretty freckles covered in your juices made her look even prettier than before and her muscular arms forcing your legs open making it impossible to shut them. "Look at you grinding your pussy into my face like a helpless slut, is it good hmm"
She whispers, watching the way your legs began to buckle under her grip, the way you got so fucking pussy drunk from it soaked her boxers. "it feel's so fucking good abby..." you scream, your legs threatening to close on her face, abby could just suffocate in your pussy at the sweet taste, you were so addictive that she could go down on you for fucking hours.
"I knew you liked this shit hmm...did you dress like this knowing you were going to get fucked stupid" you go silent for a second feeling an orgasm building up as abby goes to slap your pussy, "I know you can fucking talk slut... tell me"
"y...yes- fuck- I did" she grins continuing her pace, "nasty bitch" those words alone managed to make you squirt all over her face, the juices splattering on the seat and dashboard as your eyes rolled deep into your head, the grip on her hair tighter than before as she continues to eat you out, "made such a mess baby didn't know you were a squirter"
"wait- abs mhmm.... please stop" you beg, the sensitivity of your clit, making you shake as she continues til your licked clean. satisfied she comes up, face covered in your juices bringing you into a kiss allowing you to taste yourself.
"Same place next week" she offers and you smile giving her another kiss, "sure abs".
#smut#abby anderson#abby x reader#abby anderson smut#abby anderson x reader#abby the last of us#lesbian smut#lesbian#die for you#black reader#tlou2#leiscoven#leiswxrld
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DUMB
I had always been a smart guy. IQ 180, an all As student, summa cum laude graduate, one of the youngest scientists in my faculty.
That is, until I was challenged by one of the jocks from my old school to listen to his favourite song. I had always looked down onto him for his simple taste in music and now he dared me to listen to it without giving in to the beat. âYou cant judge what you donât know, right? Thatâd be so stupid!â, he mocked me when I hesitated, not knowing what I could gain from listening to something else than Mozart or Vivaldi.
I couldnât leave this challenge without reply, so I took the bet and listened to that tune of some guy called âTimmy Trumpetâ. https://youtu.be/D4m737SW2yc?si=upG5zB5Y_HKoKA9y After just one second I knew I hated this style of music. But I had to keep going to not lose the bet, so I decided to just endure this test.
âI play my games, you work away the day! Youâre blowing up your brains for somethingâ
smartâ
to say!â
Yes, thatâs me.
âBut Iâ
donât wanna know it, rather focusâ
on the fun!â
Yes, thatâs him.
âSo you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
Iâd definitely do that.
âDumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
Did they have to repeat it so often? I just counted 26 times! Well, I think thatâs because the typical audience of that supposed âartistâ canât memorise more lyrics than that. But just as I was thinking that, an image of said artist flashed before my eyes, looking at me as if he was swearing revenge for insulting him.
âBut I donât wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
34! I caught my feet going with the beat and instantly stopped it. No chance he was winning this bet!
âDumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
55! I suddenly felt like I had forgotten something. But I couldnât figure out what it was.â
âCall me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
76! I recognised that strange feeling was connected to a drop. A drop? A drop of what? A drop of temperature? No, it was actually getting rather hot and I felt the urge to pull of my shirt.â
âCall me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
97! Was it the beat dropping? Hell, yeah! Timmy Trumpet always dropped the beat like a pro! I didnât even know what dropping the beat meant, being new to all this, but who cared?
âCall me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
118! I suddenly realised what was dropping, but it was too late. With every âdumbâ, my IQ was dropping down! Something told me it had to be⊠like⊠half a point per repetition? Damn, that sounded like math⊠how many âdumbâs had there been? Divided by two⊠damn, this is hard⊠and subtracted from⊠and⊠121!?! Thatâs barely scratching the mark for being highly intelligent! Come on, this has to be a bad joke!
âIâm just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
123. A jerk. One, two, three. Just a jerk. Yeah, these are numbers I can work with. A jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb. I couldnât stop going along with the lyrics while my old class mate smiled at me like a silly jerk.
âIâve got a worth in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
128 âdumbâs and my IQ dropped down to 114, only one standard deviance over average. No, I canât let him do that to me! Iâm special! I have a worth in the world of the smart and educated! Iâve got inventions to create and discoveries to make!
âI wonât be the one you want!â
Right!
âIf you canât be one with dumb!â
Oh, damn! I have to be one with dumb! Wait, that doesnât even make sense grammatically!â
âCause Iâm just a jerk in the world of the dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
134! Ha! One, three, four! Haha! Did I forget one number? Hahaha! Who cares? Iâm just a jerk!
Suddenly I found myself singing out loud along with the song:
âI play my games you work away the day! Youâre blowing up your brains for something smart to say!â
Stupid nerds wasting their time with work and learning when there are weights to be lifted, parties to be held, holes to be filled!
âBut I donât wanna know it rather focus on the fun!â
Theyâre the stupid ones. Iâm the genius, because I donât waste time trying to be one!
âSo you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!
And my jerk bro joined in, both of us jumping and partying like idiots:
âDumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb! But I donât wanna know it rather focus on the fun! So you can go ahead and call me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
169! Hahaha! 69! So good! I laughed. I didnât even know why. I just had fun. I didnât even count anymore. And the beat dropped, and my IQ dropped, all down to 95, and we dropped our shirts and showed off our jock bodies. And while all of it dropped down, Timmy Trumpet bowed down, as an artist having finished another masterpiece.
And I bowed down in front of him, thanking him, laying my drained out IQ points to the ground before him, giving my life to him to never have any goals again than getting swole and partying half naked to his great songs.
âCall me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
And as the song faded, my favourite song from my favourite artist, my thoughts faded into simplicity, my IQ settling at a comfy 85, one standard deviance below average, right before the beginning of a light learning disability. Not that I was interested in complex stuff like that anymore. Or even able to comprehend it. All I knew was that I had reached the jerk spot, that sweet spot right between your everyday stupidity and concerning imbecility, where I was still able to manage my daily routine and training plans, but was assured to get a headache from hard stuff like⊠doing equations and reading science stuff. So I think Iâll make sure to stay far away from that shit from now on!
I put the song on repeat to make my IQ click into place and lock it where it was to make sure Iâd never lose that silly happiness and fun a jerk like me enjoyed. And I proudly sang along:
âCall me dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb dumb!â
#transformation by music#hypnosis#mind change#reality change#male transformation#nerd to jock#personality change#intellect drain#dumbing#dumb and jocked#dumbification#dumbing down#iq loss#jock transformation#timmy trumpet#dumber#jerk#gradual transformation#gradual change#shared photo#original text
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okay the new episode has people poking my sleeping special interest like a bear and it was about time to wake it from hibernation anyway so here are some fun facts about welsh fairies
it's spelled fairy. it's always spelled fairy. not faerie, faery, fae, or fey. fairy. please. or tylwyth teg if you want to be proper about it
fairies are not inherently malevolent. they work by their own rules that sometimes don't make sense to humans but there are rules, if you pay attention.
yes fairies will punish you for doing something they don't want you to do
they will also reward you for doing things they do want you to do
fairy rings are circles of green grass. they sometimes how up as a different shade of green than the grass around it and are generally markers of where fairies dance, as well as portals to the fairy realm. mushrooms aren't really a thing for that in welsh folklore.
string and bones and flowers are man-made and possibly supposed to bind or protect against fairies (though i haven't seen anything quite like what we see in the episode described in any of my sources) but generally breaking one of those doesn't immediately anger fairies, just lets them in to affect whoever put the ward up in the first place. that's not called a fairy circle.
changelings exist in welsh folklore. have fun with your theories.
fairies will generally let you leave the fairy world if you ask nicely. yes even if you've eaten the food and drank the drinks
however time moves differently so when you come back you might be super old and/or turn to dust the moment someone touches you
dancing is a different thing tho. they don't exactly want you to stay dancing with them until you die of exhaustion but like that's on you my dude get your friends to help you
if you broke fairy rules like kicking them out of their meadow to build a castle they will count eight* generations** and come back to turn that castle into a lake and drown everyone inside. you have been warned (repeatedly. usually by old ladies and/or bards and/or birds or sometimes just. A Voiceâą)
* the number of generations can and does vary but in welsh folklore it's generally 8 that's an important number, not 3 or 7.
** also the way generations are counted is. weird. idk if it's that i'm bad at math or bad at welsh or that the book i read explaining this is over 100 years old but i don't think i fully got how many generations this actually is.
oh and they only wait if you beg enough otherwise they kill you now
so basically. no getting trapped in the fairy world as punishment. they just kill you
personally i think the closest thing in welsh folklore to that old woman is a weird lady but even that isn't a great fit
yeah fairies bend time and space to always be far away from you if they want to but that's generally because they're trying to avoid you not following you at a distance
i am fully aware rtd probably couldn't care less about any of this. he definitely didn't do the work that i did to learn all this and incorporating this into your theories is probably shooting yourself in the foot as far as actually being correct goes. HOWEVER i do think it's more interesting and fun this way :) theories are gonna be wrong anyway might as well respect the culture that's inspiring them while we're at it yeah?
i will cite my sources if anyone asks but i doubt many people care to read hundreds of pages of edwardian non fiction novels just to fact check me. trust me on this guys
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âYouâre not going.â
Keith picks his head up from the table. âHuh?â
âTo the Blades,â Lance clarifies, chopping up something that looks like a bright pink potato and throwing it in a rapidly boiling pot in what Keith would call an aggressive manner. âYouâre not going.â
ââŠI didnât say I was.â
He didnât. He didnât mention anything about the Blades to any living soul. Like, yeah, he had made the decision and was going to, but.
Thereâs no reason Lance should know that.
âGood, then, because I took your uniform â which looks like a slutty catsuit, by the way, just so youâre aware â to the incinerator last night. Itâs ash now.â
Keith stares at his best friend, jaw dropped, hands resting limply on the edge of the dining table, because â huh? pardon? what happened?
âWhatever identity crisis youâre having can happen here,â Lance adds, shaking some spices into the boiling pot and stirring it a couple times. He dips in a spoon, brings it up to his lips, then makes a face. âHere, try this.â
He marches over to where Keith has been moping as he makes dinner and shoves a spoon into his gaping mouth. Keith chokes, hot stew making its merry way down his trachea, eyes watering and chest heaving.
âA little too salty,â he rasps.
Lance scowls. âFuck. I knew it. Gotta add more barbie potatoes.â He turns down the heat, grabbing more potatoes from the sack and busying himself with peeling them. Slowly, as he recovers from the fear of his actual lungs collapsing in on themselves, Keith stands, hesitantly approaching Lance and reaching for a knife to chop what he peels.
âSo,â he starts.
Lance ignores him.
But Keith is used to this dynamic. Itâs either this or flipped. Friends or not, if thereâs one thing they canât do itâs use their big boy words. So he carries on.
âI take it youâŠdonât want me to go, then.â
Lance grunts. âOh, look, the caveman has room in his skull for a brain after all.â
âUncalled for,â Keith says, scowling. âI am not the one whoâs refusing to communicate right now.â
The corner of Lanceâs mouth twitches upwards.
Score. Point to Keith.
âObviously I donât want you to leave, you stupid dumbass,â Lance admits finally. He wrestles the chopped roots out of Keithâs hands and practically dunks them in the pot, turning the heat back up. Keith smears his starch covered hands on his shirt in revenge (and then wisely takes three quick and giant steps back, well out of backhanding range).
âBut there are too many paladins,â Keith points out. âYou said it yourself.â
Lance grabs a dishtowel, twisting it menacingly in his hands. Keith tries not to think about the scar he knows Hunk has from when Lance snapped a towel at him when they were kids, wrestling in the McClainsâ kitchen. He fails.
âDo you actually have any braincells left in your head at all?â
âYes, jackass. Thatâs why I did the math. I leave and the numbers add back up. Problem solved.â
âYou leave and Voltron falls apart,â Lance snaps. âSo maybe crunch those numbers again.â
Keith stills. Lance steps towards him, still glaring, still menacing, but he doesnât move â he holds Lanceâs gaze, searching his dark eyes, looking for the words he isnât saying. Because KeithâŠKeith isnât the one holding Voltron together. There was a reason his heart caught in his throat when Lance came to him downtrodden and talked about being a seventh wheel. Thereâs a reason his duffel is packed, a reason heâs talked to Kolivan. He knows who needs to step aside.
âYou just donât get it,â Lance says, frustrated. He takes another step.
âYou talk to us about teamwork all the time.â
Another step.
âYouâre favourite thing to whine about is the bonding moment.â
Another step, this time as he pitches his voice high and mocking, flapping his hands.
âYou never shut up about training as a group.â
One final step and heâs toe to toe, shoes to boots, nose to nose. Keith realises, startlingly, that theyâre the exact same height, now.
âWe are a crew, imbĂ©cil. Team, group, boyband. Whatever you wanna call it. All for one and one for all. The whole nine yards, all that cheesy bullshit.â He pokes Keith hard in the chest. âYou donât get to ditch.â
âBut it makes more sense,â Keith argues, weakly and half-desperately. âWe only have so many resources. If I can be useful at the Blades ââ
âFuck the fucking Blades.â
Keith deflates. His hand comes up to stop Lanceâs jabbing finger, curling around his knuckles. Lance softens, slightly.
âI just want to be as useful as I can be.â
âAnd if youâre enough as you are?â Lance asks quietly.
Keith opens his mouth, but stops, automatic Iâm not dying in his throat. For the first time in his life, it doesnât seem like the truth, with the determined set to Lanceâs jaw and the sliding of their fingers together, gripping tightly.
âThen I guess Iâm staying,â Keith breathes.
Lance nods. âGood.â
Keith notices his hands are kind of clammy. His forehead, too, is a little sweaty. The air between them feels hot. Keith swallows.
âYour stew is on fire,â he croaks, voice rough.
Lance drops his hand, cursing.
âOh â por amor de dios, hablas en fucking serio ââ
âââ
At dinner, Keith eats his burnt stew without a word of complaint. When Lance drags him to the sink to help clean up, after, even though itâs not his turn, he goes, and he lingers too close and too long, and heâs grateful that the duffel he packed to leave home for good is laid emptied on his bed when he turns in for the night.
#fuck keith leaving â€ïž#vld#voltron#lance#lance mcclain#keith#keith kogane#klance#pre klance#black paladin keith#red paladin lance#angst#communication issues#kekth angst#langst#klangst#brown eyed lance#insecure keith#keithtober#my writing#fic#longpost
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Day 13- Step Bro!Dazai/Reader/Step Bro!Fyodor
Notes: I think it's a little ooc, but i really couldn't decide which characters to go with so yeah.
also, uhm, that fyodor header picture has nothing to do with the actual story, i just though he looked so fucking hot with that gun(also yes, ik im using the step silbing/dad concept twice but its just so sexy to me yaknow*)(*and also, if your wondering, i actually have a wonderful relationship with my father)
Ever since you can remember the house had been cold. You didn't call it your house, even though you had lived there all your life. No, it was more akin to a creature unto itself, a perfect reflection of your childhood. You were born in this house, the only child Mother, or Cecilia as she insisted upon, didn't abort. You spent your younger years with a nanny, who cared for you the best she could. She taught you to read and write, and you excelled especially at math. But Cecilia didn't care. She never cared. And the house reflected her disinterest.
The nanny, a kind woman named Martha, had been disposed of when you turned eight. Cecilia decided you were old enough to function on your own and fired the waste of money. You spent your years after that in the library, absorbing information, reading fanciful stories with mothers who loved their daughters. You wondered why Cecilia never loved you.Â
When you turned ten, Cecilia brought home a man. She introduced you, and you stood like instructed, pretty and well behaved. He patted you on the head, but never spared you a glance. He was tall, blond and very, very young. Much younger than Cecilia. And he was much too enamored to care for you, Cecilia's little child. Cecilia encouraged this behavior, and although the number of people in the house had grown, you were all alone. You were always alone. But it was ok, you were used to the silence. You sat in your large playroom, and cried into your pillow, muffling your feelings in the silk. Cecilia didn't need your burdensome feelings.Â
The summer you turned eleven, Cecilia brought another man home. And this man was kind to you at first. He gave you candy and treated you with kindness, luring you into his trap like a spider. The first time he hit you, you had cried defiantly for Cecilia. And of course Cecilia had not come, for she would rather believe her boytoys over her own flesh and blood. Humans were cruel things, ready to hurt others at the drop of a hat. And Cecilia was the cruelest. Nothing comforted you for ounce as you cried into your comforter, as unloved as before.Â
The summer you turned fifteen it was clear you had inherited Cecilia's peerless beauty. You spent the rest of the summer mastering makeup and when you arrived at your private school you were instantly popular. The makeup just elevated your already peerless beauty and people, both boys and girls fell at your feet. You reveled in the popularity, the love. A different kind of love, but love all the same. The house congratulated you, but Cecilia didn't care. She never did, after all.
Your grades never fell however, you simply could not let them. If you were proud of anything, it was your intelligence. It was wholly yours, unlike your beauty, inherited from Cecilia. You hated that you were her creation, hated it with your entire very being. You loved your intelligence, however. It came from your father, you were told briefly by Cecilia, and because you had never met him it was easier to accept his qualities. The house was from your father, his money at least. A gift to Cecilia.Â
And the one gift he had ever gotten you was a ring, a gorgeous piece of silver and emeralds that Cecilia had taken, stoll right from your pudgy two year old hands. You had never even gotten to hold it as an adult. You didn't miss it, not really. But you hated the trait you shared with Cecilia, a sense of selfishness, and a love for jewelry.Â
 It was on your sixteenth birthday, sitting at a table alone as you were blowing out the birthday candles, that you truly cried without the comfort of your pillows. Cecilia was out, and as you eat your cake, you soon come to realize that you had grown up too fast. You had been an adult since the moment Martha was fired and you had sat in the cold walls of your beige playroom, crying and crying for comfort, something that would never find you again. You were a shell, a puppet, a beautiful china doll empty of love. You were Cecilia. The house laughed at your plight, as you sobbed into your pillow, muffling your feelings into the comforting silk.Â
It was a hot summer day, a few weeks after you turned seventeen when Cecilia broke the news. You were sitting by the pool, sunbathing in your swimsuit. Cecilia simply walked in, spared you a glance, and informed you she was getting married. You felt a small shiver of surprise run up your spine. Cecilia had had many boyfriends, yes, but she never married them. This man had to be different. Or maybe it was her age, and her fading looks. You hated the spike of happiness that pillaged though your heart, you hated how feelings of hatred turned you into a spiteful shrew, just like Cecilia. Cecilia had cracked open a beer, flipping through her magazine, sparing you one last glance. âHe has sons, two of them.â She had said, closing the screen door behind her.Â
âïœĄ °â©
âThere you are, Name. You're late.â Cecilia said, giving you her usual faintly disapproving stare mixed with disgust. You still quail under it, even though it's the same one youâve seen for years and years and years. You still fear her disapproval, even after all.Â
âI'm sorry Cecilia.â You say, straightening your spine. You're still in your school uniform, and the bus was late but you know better than to give excuses. Cecilia doesn't care for those. The little skirt and blazer combo is one of your favorites, and the only thing you truly love about St. Catherine's private school for young ladies. The walls of St Catherines are barren and cold, but not as cold as your own. Cecilia flips her hair, looking perfectly put together as always, although her age is beginning to show around her eyes. She hates it, you know, and you love it. You can't wait for Cecilia to wither away, her personal worst nightmare.Â
âDon't embarrass me, Name.â Cecilia says, her cold eyed stair rooting you to your place. âJust smile pleasantly and entertain your step brothers, alright Sweetheart?â She says. The pet name reeks of disinterest but her disinterest is preferable to her anger. For when Cecilia angers the foundations of the very house shake. You nod, and Cecilia takes that as enough. A knock sounds on the door, and any ugly expression is gone from her face as she flies for the door, opening it and hopping into the arms of the man behind it.Â
Heâs your mothers usual type, tall and handsome, but several years older than you would have guessed. He spins her around, and they kiss. You look away. There are two boys standing behind him on the doorstep, and to your surprise they also look away from the torrid display. Their strange boys, both around the same height, but that is the only thing they share in common. They don't even really look related, but who are you to judge? Done with their display, Cecilia and her new husband step through the door, still attached at the hip. Cecilia throws you a glare, and you put on your customary smile, a smile so fake you feel like a barbie doll.Â
âMy daughter, Name.â Cecilia almost imperceptibly grimaces at the word daughter, gesturing at you. You smile. âHello.â You say, feeling like a fake. The man gives you a smile, gesturing at his sons, who have stepped through the door, and now stand on either side of him and Cecilia. âMy sons, Fyodor and Osamu.â The one on the right smiles at you, the other one simply gives you a nod. They're so different, youâd almost think them adopted. But you can see their features in their father.Â
The smiling one, Osamu, has short wavy brown hair and sparkling brown eyes. He gives you a tiny wave, and you feel your smile become genuine for a second, before you catch yourself. The ones who smile are more dangerous, you had learned long ago. They lure you with kindness and hit you with force. Heâs dressed in a wrinkled button down and uniform pants, his posture casual with his hands in his pockets. A matching tie hangs crooked on his neck. It's the uniform for your school, or the boys school across the street. St. Catherines school for young ladies and St. Andrews school for young men share a single campus separated by a metal fence.Â
The one on the left side is pale, almost sickly pale, with dark circles to match his long dark hair. It looks soft, his hair, and brushes just below his jaw. Hâs eyes are dark, and they run over your face, almost as if they're checking for cracks in your composure. Heâs dressed in the same uniform, but his appearance is more neat. His tie is tied correctly, and he wears a black jacket over the rest of his uniform. They are strange boys, but you are very used to strange after all.Â
âName? Entertain your new brothers, Sweetheart.â Cecilia says. You wince at the nickname. You hate that nickname, you hate it so much. âYes Cecilia.â You bite out, smile still in place. You feel empty, like a porcelain doll. A tool Cecilia can use and discard at any moment. You feel disposable. You hate it.Â
âïœĄ °â©
Your new brothers are kind, if a little strange. The quiet one with pretty hair, Fyodor, is a year older than you. He plays cello and dislikes Cecilia, which makes you like him a lot. Fyodor treated you with an amount of distance at first, but slowly warmed up to you when he found out you play piano. He had informed you one day, when he was helping you with homework, that his mother was a Russian supermodel. And heâs handsome, you're not really surprised. Heâs kind in a quiet kind of way, less teasing than his younger brother. You also notice how he subtly moves forward, shielding you whenever Cecilia is angry. You love him for it, that protectiveness.Â
Osamu is younger than you by about six months, and loud. He quite clearly makes it his goal to be the loudest person in the room and you love how it annoys Cecilia every time he steals her thunder. Heâs a very touchy person as well, unlike his brother. He would comfort you with jokes when he saw you were down, and could not cook for the life of him. His reaction to Cecilia was the most reactionary. He taunted her, shot smart alec remarks in her direction, or just plain ignored her. And every time he got a reaction. Ceciliaâs face would flush red with anger, and she would strike out, just to be dodged with a snarky little comment. And the more angry she got, the more pleased Osamu became
And they hate each other, the brothers. At first you had thought they got along well, but then you noticed the snarky little comments they would trade back and forth, the glares behind their parents back. Everything is a constant competition, be it a board game or report cards they make it their goal to beat the other each time. And you don't really mind, the house feels warm and full of life, and you feel included. To them, life seems a game, and the people who live it merely pieces, to be moved to and fro to their pleasure. You must assume yourself a spectator, not a piece, but if you were a piece you would like to be the queen. Cecilia didn't like your new brothers, that much was obvious. But she still used them to belittle you every chance she got. Â
âYour brothers got all A+.â She would say, pinning you with that faintly disgusted expression she used as default. âAnd you got an A.â You would surrender to your room to cry in peace, away from Cecilia's proud eyes, and the prying ears of your much to perceptive brothers.Â
But if they shared anything, it was a sense of mystery. Because each of them never allowed you to get too close, keeping you forever just a length away. You tried not to take it personally, but you still shed a tear or two.Â
But for the first time in many years, you were happy. The house congratulated you, as its hallways filled with laughter to replace to silence, its rooms with color to replace the beige. Cecilia was as unpleasant as ever, but she was busy with her husband, and left you and your step brothers to their own devices. But still you feared it would all go away. That soon, they would tire of you, that they would never let you close, that Cecilia would grow tired of her husband and toss out the trash as she always did. It was a nagging fear that came back to haunt you in dreams, until you woke up in a cold sweat.Â
And there's an odd tension that hovers in the air, whenever you and the brothers interact. A strange tension that makes your blood sing with excitement, that leaves you on your toes with anticipation. When Osamu slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into a loose hug of sorts. When Fyodor pulls your hair behind your ear, his cold fingers brushing your face, leaving goosebumps in their wake. It's a tension youâve felt before, a tension you don't want to give name to, a tension that scares you. But then, you're sure it's just you, that your new brothers simply treat you as a sister, like how you should treat them. You should not desire your step brothers, Cecilia had told you the night before they moved in. But then again, Cecilia had never been a very good role model.Â
âïœĄ °â©
It's raining, big fat drops pattering against the roof, wind splattering the droplets against the window panes. A faint clatter can be heard from outside, as if the wind itself is crying, banging at the doors. The wind sounded lonely. It banged on the doors of the world, begging to be let into the light, much like you had when you were young. You wanted to comfort the wind, to hold her in your arms with the warmth you had never been given, but everyone knew you could not hold the wind. So you simply told her to stay strong, and let the night and rain embrace her for you.Â
You would always read when it rained. You remembered a book you had read long ago. It had been the one to solidify the wind as lonely, and had been oh so impressionable to your young mind. âKeep strong windâ it read, âkeep strong and soon the rain and night will hold you in their comforting embrace, will keep you warm and happyâŠâ. You had always seen yourself in the lonely wind, and had dreamed of your rain and night to comfort you. The library had long been your only comfort, and you begged for human comfort, human warmth.(You didn't dare to hope that your step brothers could be your night and rain, because you knew god would hear you and laugh in your face. Because god loved Cecilia, not worthless you.)
Cecilia and her husband are gone, on a weekend trip to Hawaii. You were not invited, because of course not, and neither were your brothers.Â
The house is almost silentand with Osamu out at book club the house seems to sigh in relief, giving itself time to relax before the loudness returns.Â
You are curled up on the couch with a book, listening to Fyodor as he practices his Cello. It's a cozy evening, the fire crackling in the grate, the strains of the first movements of Brahms â Cello Sonata No. 1 floating through the cozy atmosphere. You hear the piano part along with him unconsciously, fingers tapping your things in rhythm. You can never quite beat the musician out of you, it's embedded into your very being at this point.Â
Brahms â Cello Sonata No. 1, the first movement is a deep piece, and slightly depressing if you're being honest. But you love the melancholy that surrounds it. It creates a certain air, allowing the instruments to tangle together beautifully almost as if the melodies are dancing together. They twist like lovers, the parts, dipping one then the other, a beautifully teasing medley of pure emotion, something you could never truly give in life. It would be nice to dance with Fyodor, he was such an elegant human being, from the way he walked to his looks. You imagined the two of you would sail across the floor of the ballroom, his gloved hand on your waist, twirling you and spinning you and only looking at you. You wanted him to gaze upon you with reverence, much like the men your mother married gazed upon her. You want to be loved.
The Cello part comes to an end, and you sit silently for a moment, hesitant to break the spell. Then Fyodor's accented voice, still slightly hushed, breaks through the atmosphere. âHow was it?â He says. You love his accent, it feels all full and warm. âGood, good as always.â You say, putting a finger in your book and looking up. âYou were a bit sharp on the first note of measure twenty seven.â You're reading Pride and Prejudice, again. Youâve always loved it, and have read it some many times youâve simply lost count.
Fyodor sighs, leaning back in his chair and resting his cello back into its case. âYou always catch my mistakes. What would I do without you, Name.â He says with a small smile. Your heart warms at the praise, your smile threatening to break out of its confinements, all together and split your face in two. You tamp it down, putting on a face of disinterest you're not sure he believes. You always get the vague feeling that your brothers know you better than you know yourself.
You flip through the channels on tv, happy to have control of the remote. It's all the usual, sports games and real housewives and spanish game show episodes. You put on a random movie, which sounded interesting. âEssential object of enjoyment,â(is a title that to anyone else would scream softcore porn film, to you, still a sheltered girl of seventeen years old, it seemed as innocent as a daisy. You were not a virgin, but inexperienced and somewhat oblivious, so at odds with your calm adult attitude.) Fyodor plops himself on the couch next to you, a tedious foot away. He seemed too far away but all at once to close, the heat of his body a tease beside you. You clench your legs together, pulling in on yourself.
The film is about a young woman named Maria, who is taking a vacation on a very sketchy manor in a strange small town. It's a low budget film, with crappy acting and even crappier scares, but it's entertaining and you find yourself settling in against the couch, slowly leaning closer and closer to the warm human beside you. And soon, as Maria decides to ignore all the advice of the locals and enter the abandoned church late at night, you're so close your shoulders are almost touching, and finally, you dare to lean into him.Â
He lets you, slinging an arm around your shoulders with an excuse none of you are listening to anyway, and pulls a small blanket over your bare legs. âYou're cold aren't you?â he says, voice hushed in your ear. You shiver, with a nod. You arent that cold, but you want to be close to him, to feel his heat, his warmth. You're sure he knows this, and you let yourself feel hopeful for once, curling into his body like a pedigree cat.Â
And as you watch the movie, heart pounding in your throat, it dawns on you that something is very clearly wrong. The budget is too cheap, but the camera work is too advanced, the cameraâs to expensive. The acting is too bad, but the actress has professionally done makeup and hair. And then, as you watch Maria get tied up by the clean masked man, it all makes too much sense. It's softcore porn. You move for the remote, fishing around for it on the couch, desperately. You're already flushing, your thighs rubbing together as you reach around for it. The idea of watching a porn film with your step brother is humiliating and embarrassing and frustratingly arousing.Â
âDo you need something?â Fyodor says, rubbing little soft patterns in your shoulder, pulling you closer to him. You nod. âThe remote, gonna switch channels.â You're already flushing, but have stopped your frantic fishing for the remote. He frowns in disappointment and you automatically tense, so used to Ceciliaâs disappointed or angry stares. âCan we leave it, I'm actually enjoying it.â He says. You glance at the screen, where Maria is now being threatened by a knife. You desperately want to say no, but the people pleaser in you insist you agree. And so, you sink back into his touch, flushing.Â
âWhere is it? Where is it?â The masked man is saying to Maria. The film takes a moment to focus on the actressâs bountiful chest, and you try not to writhe with embarrassment and jealousy. You bet Fyodor likes big boobs, Cecilia said all men like big boobs. Herâs are fake, but you don't feel the need to protest and get a slap.Â
The bad guy of the film is a man in a purple mask. Heâs thin in stature, and tall, overwhelming Mariaâs small frame. He reminds you distinctly of the man sitting beside you, with his face hidden like that. He has a russian accent in the film as well, just like the man beside you, and as he whispers in her ear it does stuff to you.Â
âTell me where it is or there will be consequences.â the man in the mask says.Â
âI will never tell you!â Maria says definitely. You watch in horror as the masked man's thin fingers slip between her thighs. The camera cuts to her face of surprise. It's clear that this is where the actressâs true chops shine, as her mouth drops open in a little oh of surprise.Â
You feel hot, biting back a whimper as you press your thighs together, hoping that your step brother doesn't notice.Â
âYour such a slut for my fingers aren't you?â The man in the mask bends Maria over a table, the camera now showing a cut of his hands pulling her thighs apart. All you can picture in your mind is you as Maria, and the man in the mask as Fyodor. When the man in the film speaks all you can hear is Fyodorâs voice, his teasing lines, him all him all him.Â
And then, the other bad guy of the film appears. And honestly it should shock you out of your dirty fantasies, but the other man, this one in a teal mask, sounds very similar to your other step brother.Â
You can imagine yourself in Maria's place, bent over a table like that, fingers shoved up your cunt, dick keeping you silent. And most of all, pretty praises falling out of your step brother's mouths. âSuch a pretty girl, such a smart girl, so good for us, such a slut for usââ
Fyodorâs eyes are on you, you can feel them even as you focus resolutely on the screen. He speaks near your ear, a pur, a whisper, a tease ment for seduction. âWhat are you imagining, darling?â He says. He speaks like he already knows, and through your haze of arousal clouding your brain you let the words escape before you can stop them.Â
âFingers in my cunt.â You say, your voice a whimper. Maria on the screen begins to moan, loudly. The volume goes down on screen and you're too lust clouded to question why Fyodor had the remote.Â
âYou want fingers in your pretty cunt baby?â Fyodor purrs in your ear, his long pale fingers teasing the edge of your uniform skirt. âYou want my fingers stuffed up that tight cunt of yours? Would that feel good?â You whine, head falling back against his arm, eyes falling closed.Â
âOh yes, please.â Your voice is embarrassing, all breathy and whiny. This whole situation is illogical, and if you were able to see through the haze of lust in your brain you would have backpedaled immediately. But you're horny and in love and heâs encouraging you.Â
His fingers caress the edge of your panties, teasing you with glances of touches, driving you crazy. You grip his arm, the one teasing your pussy and shove the hand against your drooling cunt. The man beside you bites back a groan, muffling his pleasure, but you hear it. It reassures you that he wants you too, but also drives you insane, craving sweet relief with his touch.Â
Fyodorâs fingers find purchase, clever musicians' hands pulling back the crotch of your panties. He chuckles as you clutch his arm, still clothed in his loose white turtleneck and jeans. âYou're so wet darling, your little cunt is absolutely drooling.â he says, his accent doing things to your brain, to your pussy. Your eyes catch on the dirty picture. He drags his fingers through, collecting a fair bit of wetness and popping his fingers in his mouth. The picture is nasty. He keeps eye contact all throughout, sucking his fingers wetly, the dirty slurping sounds filling the room.Â
âHere darling.â He holds out his wet fingers, dripping with a mix of saliva and your own arousal. âSuck.â He says. You take them in your mouth obediently, tasting the mix of arousal and saliva. The very idea that you're tasting him, that you're tasting his very being, makes your abandoned cunt clench around nothing, the nasty slurping sounds you make only fueling the arousal perfuming the air. At some point Fyodor had turned off the porn, and now the only sounds that fill the room are from the two of you. A different kind of music than that you're used to, a symphony of debauchery.Â
His fingers leave your mouth with a pop, and you open your eyes. He smiles at you, all hazy eyes and spit slicked lips. âGood girl.â He says, and then shoves both fingers in your cunt. You arch off the couch at the abrupt intrusion, clenching down hard around his fingers with a scream. âOh, oh god Fyodor!â You say, panting. He looks vaguely proud as he scissors you open, watching as you thrash around on his fingers, bucking desperately.Â
The sound of the door slamming penetrates the haze, and you grip Fyodorâs fingers, trying to stop him. He just continues to fuck you open, grining all the while.Â
âMan, fuck you Fyodor.â It's Osamu, looking less surprised and more annoyed. Fyodor just continues grinning as you moan on his fingers, drooling pussy on display. âI consider this a win then?â He says, smirking. Ah, another one of their competitions. You would pay more attention but your being fucked open by Fyodorâs long relentless fingers. You keen as he adds another one, gripping his arm with a nasty whine.Â
Osamu speaks to Fyodor, but his eyes are fixed on you. âIt's not over yet, you fucker.â He says, slamming his backpack down on the floor and sauntering over to you. âName declares the winner. Deal?â Fyodor, now rubbing a thumb on your clit nods, holding out his other hand to shake. âDeal, that sound good darling?â You nod around your moans, not truly comprehending what that means. Osamu sends you a rather scary looking grin and pounces.Â
They move you into a doggy position first, Fyodor replacing his fingers with his cock. You're already so close, and as you feel the large intrusion bully your walls apart you cum right there, your head falling against the couch cushions. âOh, oh, oh god, âm coming!â You scream, drooling onto the couch. Fyodor grunts behind you. âYou're tight.â He coos. Osamu grips your jaw, draggin you off the ouch to look at him. âSo pretty too, just perfect aren't you.â His dick is already hard in his jeans, you can see the bulge as Fyodor begins to move, fucking you through the overstime. You whine in pain, the sharp pains of overstimulation mixing with the blinding pleasure they give you. Dazai chuckles.Â
âWeâre going to fuck you do good darling.â He says, running a gentle hand through your hair. âMake you feel our love.â
âïœĄ °â©
It's when you're three orgasms deep, and you're hung over the couch backwards, a dick down your throat and cum dripping from your pussy, that you maybe start to have second thoughts. Their stamina seems endless, and they bring to the edge relentlessly, their competitive natures making them drive you to orgasm after orgasm. The world is hazy at this point, and all you feel is pleasure, all you hear is their voices, all you want is them, them them.Â
âSwitch her around Osamu.â Fyodor says, his accent rough though the haze. You feel yourself hoisted up, and now you're folded into a mating press and Fyodorâs fat cock is bullying your walls again. Cum leaks out of all your holes, the loud squelching sound letting you know that you're thoroughly ruining Cecilia's favorite couch. You're covered in sweat, completely naked and makeup ruined, and to the boys youâve never looked so pretty. They tell you at length, compliments showered on your exhausted form.Â
And as you cum yet again, clenching around Fyodorâs dick with a weak cry, you feel so loved, so appreciated, and so optimistic.Â
And then you bended into another position, Dazaiâs dick lodged into your ass, Fyodorâs in your dripping cunt.
âïœĄ °â©
âSo, which of us won anyway?â It's Dazai, and he sounds plenty exhausted. You sigh tiredly, holes dripping cum onto the carpet and exhausted. âDraw.â Is all you manage to pant out.Â
Fyodor beside you chuckles. âI guess weâll have to have a rematch then.â You're exhausted, but you feel your pussy clench tiredly at the mention of that. âYeah.â You sigh out tiredly. The boys chuckle beside you, each pressing a kiss to your cheeks.Â
âLove you Name.â You hear them whisper in your ear. You smile as you drift off the sleep.Â
End Notes: I am actually a piano player, and every time I listen to classical pieces nowadays I feel really bad because I haven't been practicing lately because my piano teacher is taking a break because she had a baby.Â
#bungou stray dogs#mariannacrxss#kinktober 2023#bsd smut#helplesslypurple77kinktober#kinktober#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#dazai x reader#dazai smut#fyodor x reader
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Math Tips
(Pictures are not mine)
Well, let me tell you, we all have this love-hate relationship with this subject, right? The worst part is that when you don't know what the heck is going on, so, as a girl who studied maths (2 Volumes/textbooks) on her own during the year she was homeschooled, here are some tips and tricks that I did to get an A+ in my math finals!
Get your syllabus together
In the beginning I had no damn idea what was going on and it was just confusing. I had to do the first thing I did was taken my index/table of contents and mark the chapters which i knew very well and the ones I had no clue about. And then i arranged them with the marking scheme, like which one carries the most marks etc etc and study accordingly.
Complete lessons/chapters that you already know
When you finish off the things you already know then that's gonna give you the confidence you need even if you know only 1-2 chapters, learn it throughout and make sure that you'll get the answer no matter how twisted the sum is. If you're doubtful about the whole textbook like any normal person.... Start with the easy ones. (I know there are literally really no "easy" chapters, spare me)
Harder chapters need hard work
Most chapters like Trigonometry proofs, Geometry proofs, Algebra, Graphs, Mensuration and Calculus etc need more than minimum effort but here's a trick, what is the common thing in this? Yes, they're all formulae and theorem based which goes to my next point. These chapters are completely based on how much you've understood your basics.
Formulae and theorem cheatsheets
Make a list of all formulae and the theorem used in the book, write them chapter wise and no printouts or digital notes. Take a paper and write it down, no excuses. It helps you while you're practicing, revising and in the last minute review, it helped me damn much. Remember, maths is a sport. The basic formulae must come to you like reflexes.
YouTube is your best friend.
For every single chapter, go and watch the basics and how a sum is done step by step. A recommendation for this is Organic Chemistry Tutor who literally is one of the reasons i passed. He has videos from basic geometry, trigonometry, statistics to calculus. Search for your own YouTubers and be clear with concepts.
Math is fully memorization
Memorize formulae and theorems with the back of your hand, you should be able to recall them within seconds. Be thorough.
Memorize basic math values (if calculator isn't allowed)
Do this if you have a majority of chapters like Statistics, Mensuration, Profit/loss calculation etc, where large numbers are concerned. Memorize the first 10 square, cube, decimal and multiplication values. It may be dry but there are literally songs available for these things, I'm serious, i learnt the first 10 cube roots by listening to Senorita xD Search for rhymes and they'll definitely be many!!
Work it out!!!!!!
Can't stress this enough, atleast 30-40 mins is the minimum for maths. I'm serious, work out each sum, don't ever think it's a waste, you'll see the results. Practice makes perfect. Work out every single sum, from examples to exercise ones cause let's be honest, our examiners love to take problems from every nook and cranny of the book.
Whiteboard method
So, I made this up and it actually works, if you have a whiteboard or anything else, once you completed a chapter, take a random page and whatever sums you have on those two pages, you need to complete within a given time limit. It helps you to identify your weak points and where the hell you're losing both time and effort and not to mention that it gives you confidence boost up.
Hope this helps :))
#mathematics#mathblr#math#maths posting#math problem#mathskills#maths#math student#school#studyblr#exam season#exams#high school#study notes#study motivation#study blog#studyspo#study aesthetic#study with me#studying#student#study rant#study techniques#study tips#studying tips#studyblr community#study plan#trigonometry#calculus#bella_studies
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Daggerheart Character Build thoughts!
I am actually out at work and haven't checked the version that's since come out, but I did participate in the character build beta, and the NDA is officially lifted, so here's my thoughts from that! It's definitely limited since I just made a L1 character and didn't go through gameplay, though I surmise about some aspects of gameplay.
Overall, it clearly seems to be made by people who love a lot of things about D&D 5e but wanted both more flexibility and more simplicity, which is difficult. I think they succeed.
To that end, it takes away some of the crunchier aspects (precise positioning, exact amounts of gold) and I think for some people that will be a problem, and that's valid, but ultimately this game wants to both allow for interesting mechanics in and out of combat while also not being terribly math/map/resource management heavy. It is a hard line to walk; most systems either go hard crunch or go entirely gooey.
The dice mechanic (2d12, Hope and Fear system) is fantastic; look it up but I think it handles mixed successes more gracefully and interestingly than a lot of games.
The playtest was not super clear on armor and evasion choices (or indeed what evasion means; it seems to be sort of initiative but sort of dex save, or maybe more like the Pathfinder/old school D&D varying ACs by scenario?). It was much, MUCH clearer than D&D on weapon choices (part of why I play casters? Weapon rules in D&D are annoying and poorly explained and many people rightfully ignore them) so I'm hoping this becomes clear when there's a full guide rather than just the character creation info.
The character creation questions by class were fantastic and in general, and this is a theme, this feels like it guides people towards collaboration. FWIW I feel like D&D has that information, but the way it's presented is very much as flavor text rather than a thing you should be doing. Daggerheart makes this a much more core part of creation. The Experience mechanic is particularly clear: you better be working with your GM and really thinking about background, rather than slapping it on as a mechanic.
The other side of character creation questions is that it really encourages engagement with the class, which is something I've talked about. I think either subversion for the sake of subversion, or picking a class for the mechanics and aesthetic but not the fundamental concept, will be much harder to justify in Daggerheart, and I think that's a good thing because when people do that, their characters tend to be weaker.
The downtime is designed for you to write hurt/comfort fanfic about and this is a compliment. There are a number of mechanics that reward RP, particularly one of the healing mechanics under the Splendor track. I feel like a weakness of D&D is that when you try to reward RP it's really nebulous because there's not actually a ton of space to put that - you can give inspiration, but, for example, the empathy domain Matt homebrewed actually feels kind of off because it's based on such fuzzy concepts amid mechanics that are usually more rigid. Daggerheart comes off as much cleaner yet still RP-focused, and I'm excited to see it in action.
A judgement of Candela and I suppose Daggerheart might be that it's designed for actual play. I've mentioned before that I know people who are super into the crunch and combat and numbers of TTRPGs and are less story-oriented, and again, that's valid, but actual play is just storytelling using a ttrpg and so yes, a game that encourages RP while also having mechanics to support that and influence it is an extremely good goal. I am not an actual player, but I do like D&D games with a good plot and not just Go Kill Monsters, and I want to play this. (I also have some real salty thoughts about how if you modify an existing game for AP purposes that's staggering genius apparently, but if you make your own game how dare you but that's another post).
And now, the classes/subclasses. I am going to sort of use D&D language to describe them because that's a point of reference most people reading this will understand, but they are not one-to-one. A couple notes: everyone can use weapons and armor. HP is not totally clear to me but it seems to be threshold based - everyone has the same HP to start but people have different thresholds and armor, so the tank classes have the same amount of HP but are much harder to actually do damage to.
All classes are built on a combination of a subclass and two domains. There are 9 classes and 9 domains. This technically means that if you wanted to fuck around and homebrew you could make up to 36 classes (27 additional) by just grabbing two domains that weren't otherwise combined, which is fun to consider for the potential. Anyway I cover the classes and briefly describe domains within them. You can take any domain card within your domain, regardless of subclass.
There are six stats. Presence, Instinct, Knowledge, and Strength map roughly to Charisma, Wisdom, Intelligence, and Strength. Dex is split into Agility and Finesse; Agility covers gross motor skills (jumping, most ranged weapons, "maneuvering") and Finesse finer ones (lockpicking and tinkering, though also it does cover hiding). The really big wins are first, no CON score, so you don't need to sink stat points into something that grants no skills but keeps you alive. The second one is that the "hybrid" classes spellcast from their physical stat. This is fucking fantastic. The thing about ranger or paladin or the spellcasting subclasses of rogue and fighter in D&D is that if you don't roll pretty well you're locked into the core stats and CON and nothing else. (This also doesn't have rolling for stats: you assign +2 to one stat, presumably your main, and then distribute two +1s, two 0s, and one -1.)
Your HP, Evasion, and Thresholds are set by class, and there's a core ability; the rest is all from the cards you take for subclass and domain.
Leveling up is very much based on taking more domain cards (abilities) but has a certain degree of flexibility. It's by chunks: in leveling up anywhere levels 2-4, you can, for example, increase your proficiency by +1 once, so if you wanted to do that at level 2 but your fellow player wanted to wait until level 4 and take something else at level 2 instead, they could. It allows for more min-maxing, but also everyone has the same level up rules and differs only in the abilities on the cards, which is very cool.
Bard: Grace (enchantment spells) and Codex (learned spellcaster stuff; the spells available are definitely arcane in vibes) based, Presence is your main stat. The two subclasses map roughly to lore-style stuff and eloquence. Core class ability is sort of like inspiration but not entirely. It's a bard; I like bards a lot, and this is very similar vibes-wise to your D&D bards. If you like D&D bards you will like this.
Druid: Sage (nature spells) and Arcana (raw magical power spellcaster stuff), Instinct is your spellcasting/main stat. The two subclasses are elemental but frankly cooler than circle of the moon, and a more healing/tranquility of nature focused one. I really think Marisha probably gave feedback on this one, because the elemental version is really strong. You do get beastform; it is quite similar to a D&D druid under a different system, as the bard, but the beastform options are, frankly, better and easier to understand.
Guardian: Valor (melee tank/damager) and Blade (damage). Strength based for the most part (Valor mechanics assume strength) though you could go for like, +2 Agility +1 Strength to start. This is barbarian but like. 20 times better. It is, fundamentally, a tank class, and it is very good at it, with one even more tank-focused subclass and one that is more about retaliatory damage. You do have a damage-halving ability once per day, but really guardian's questions are incredible. I think Travis and Ashley likely gave feedback. Also rage doesn't render you incapable of concentration as that doesn't seem to be a thing, so multiclassing seems way more possible (you are, I think, only allowed to do one multiclass, and not until you reach level 5 minimum, which I am in favor of). Yes, you can be a Bardian.
Ranger: This is what I built! It is based on Sage and Bone (movement around the field/dodging stuff) and it is Agility-based, including for spellcasting, which is a MASSIVE help (as is, again, the fact that CON isn't a thing.) The subclasses are basically being really good at navigation, or animal companion. Most importantly to me you can be a ranger with a longsword and you are not penalized; Bone works with either ranged weapons or melee.
Rogue: Midnight (stealth/disguise/assassination spells and skills) and Grace-based. Yes, rogue is by default a spellcaster, which does help a LOT with the vibes for me. One subclass is basically about having lots of connections (as a spy or criminal might) and the other is about magical slinking about. Hiding/sneak attack are also streamlined. I will admit I'm still more interested inâŠalmost everything else, but I think it evened out a lot of rogue weaknesses.
Seraph: Splendor (healing/divine magic) and Valor. This is your Paladin equivalent. It is strength-based for casting, again making hybrid classes way less stressful. Questions for this area also incredible; you do have something not unlike a lay on hands pool as well. Your subclasses are being able to fly and do extra damage; or being able to make your melee weapon do ranged attacks and also some extra healing stuff, the latter of which is my favorite. Yasha vibes from this, honestly. Single downside is this is the only class where they recommend you dump Knowledge. I will not, and I never will. Now that I don't have to make sure CON is high? I am for REAL never giving myself less than a +1 Knowledge in this game.
Sorcerer: Arcana (raw nature of magic/elemental vibes) and Midnight based. Yes, sorcerers and rogues now share a vibe, for your convenientâŠ.less enthused feelings. Instinct-based, which intrigues me, and the core features are in fact really good. The two subclasses are either one that focuses on metamagic abilities, or one that is elemental based. I would play this for a long-running game, though it's not my favorite, and I can't say that for D&D sorcerer (except divine soul).
Warrior: Blade and Bone, and the recommended build is Agility but you could do a strength build. Fighter! One subclass is about doing damage and one is about the hope/fear mechanics core to the game that I have NOT talked much about. I will admit, the hybrid martials and Guardian are more interesting to me but you do have good battle knowledge.
Wizard: Codex and Splendor. Wizards can heal in this system; farewell, I will be doing nothing else (jk). Knowledge-based, and you can either go hardcore expertise in knowledge, or be a battle wizard.
Other scattered thoughts: healing is not as big a deal here; there is no pure cleric class! There is also no monk, warlock, or artificer. There is not a way to do monk as a weaponless class really though you might be able to flavor the glowing rings as a monk weapon and play a warrior. Wizard, meanwhile, with the right experiences and high finesse, would allow for some artificer flavor. Cleric and Warlock are the two tough ones and I will admit those are tricky; I feel like you'd have to multiclass (which you cannot do until level 5) between perhaps seraph and a caster class and you're still going to come off very paladin.
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Matchmaking Harringtons 2
Diane wanted to ask more about Steve's interaction with the cashier, but she remembered being a youngin. The more questions she asked, the more Steve would close up. She didn't know what her husband had said to get things started, but clearly they needed a different angle.
She said as much that evening as she and Jonas got ready for bed. He protested, as she knew he would, but it was her turn now.
So right away the next day, she returned to the mall, hoping Steve's intended would be there. And to her luck, he was.
"Hello, hi", she waved as she approached the counter.
"Hi. Did you need help finding anything?"
"Oh no, not really", Diane said. "You see...", she looked to his name tag. "Eddie, I don't know if you remember but yesterday my husband and I were here with our son, Steve?"
Eddie's cheeks got red and his mouth turned to a straight line. Diane would take that as a good sign.
"We really want Steve to find someone special", Diane said in a low voice, leaning in a bit. "Now I don't know what my husband told you, but I'm here to give you a bit of advice."
"Advice....on getting a date...with your son?", Eddie said slowly as if speaking to an alien.
"Yes. Now here's our number. Call today, we'll make sure he answers. And ask him out."
"Your son? On a date?"
"You've got to be assertive, really make use of this...", Diane gestured to his whole being, "alternative look you've got going. Steve's never dated anyone like you so I'm sure he'll get a thrill having a taste of rebellion."
Eddie smirked as he took the paper with the number written on it. "Getting permission to be rebellious kind of takes the fun out of it. Uh, where should I take him?"
"Some place where he'll get a real rush of danger", Diane suggested.
"A dive bar?"
"He's not of drinking age yet and I am still his mother. I've got to act the part." Diane had definitely drunk underage, but her parents didn't know about it. She was pretty certain Steve had partaken while hanging with his friends. But as long as she didn't see it, she could play dumb. "Where do you and your friends normally hang around?"
"Dive bars", Eddie answered.
Diane pursed her lips as she thought of the best course of action. "I've got it. You're going to say you're taking him out to dinner. But when you pick him up, you'll actually be taking him out to a movie."
Eddie was silent as he did the mental math. Tell the parents one thing, but do another, thus the rush of rebellion. Dinner was public and respectable. But two young folks could fool around in a dark theater. It was honestly something he might try to do.
"Okay, I asked your hubbie yesterday if this is entrapment and I just need to ask again."
"Our Steve is a good boy. He...just has trouble holding onto someone. We don't know if it's him or the girls. We just want him to find someone special."
"...How special? Like, should I be making room on my hand?", he asked, wiggling his ring covered fingers.
"Not that special. Just enough to get him on the right track."
Eddie looked down to the number, then this strange woman again. He braced his hands against the counter and took in a deep breath. "Alright. I'm a gambling man. My break's at noon. I'll call him then."
"Wonderful. And whatever you do, don't tell him that we came to you."
"I don't even know how to begin that conversation", Eddie admitted.
-------------------
Diane was staring at the phone like she was the one waiting for a date to call. Jonas and Steve were watching a game on the tv and she was practically guarding the phone, using dirty dishes as an excuse. When it started to ring, she bit her lip to keep from smiling too much.
"Steve, sweetie, can you get that? My hands are wet."
"Got it", Steve said, picking up the phone on the third ring. "Hello, Harrington residence."
Diane was pretty much just pretending to do the dishes at this point, eavesdropping on Steve's side of the conversation the best she could without looking obvious. She fought the urge to jump for joy when she heard Steve confirm that he would be seeing the caller this Friday at 7.
"Alright. See you then", Steve said, the cord twirled around his finger. "Bye."
He hung up the phone, a dreamy smile on his face and Diane knew that look for sure but she reigned in her own expression. She was about to ask but Jonas beat her to it.
"Who was on the phone?", he called out.
"Oh, um, it was...", Steve was clearly debating how much to tell them, if anything. He took a breath as he decided to trust them. "It was that guy from the music place. He wants to grab a bite this weekend."
"Grab a bite, huh?", Jonas sat up a bit in his chair.
"Yes. Just a little something, we'll probably go to Benny's or whatever", Steve crossed his arms like he always did when he was trying to downplay something.
He then quickly excused himself to go up to his room and Diane dried her hands off for real. She went over to Jonas and nudged him, then nodded to the stairs.
"What woman? I'm not psychic."
"Go and listen. I bet you anything he's calling a friend right now to tell about the date."
"Are we really dropping eaves on our son now?"
"Go and listen!", she whispered urgently.
Taking his sweet time, Jonas got up and crept up the stairs. Steve's door was closed of course, but when he put an ear to the door, he could hear him walking about the room and talking to someone on the line in his room.
When he figured he'd heard enough, he came back downstairs to report to his wife.
"Well?"
"He's talking to that one girl he never dated, Robin?"
"About Eddie?"
Jonas nodded. Apparently the other day, Steve thought he didn't make the best impression on him when buying the music. He thought he came off as boring compared to Eddie. So he was surprised to get his call.
Diane couldn't help but be a little smug. Now the ball was rolling.
-----------------------
Saturday night was here and at 7 o'clock sharp, the Harringtons heard a loud engine enter their driveway. Steve came downstairs but instead of going to the door, went to the bathroom and did a final check in the mirror as the bell rang.
Jonas opened the door and got a load of date night Eddie. The ripped jeans were still there. But now instead of the uniform shirt and name tag, he was wearing a t-shirt that Jonas was just guessing had album art on it and a ratty denim vest.
"Evening Mr. Harrington. Is Steve ready yet?"
"I am", Steve said, appearing behind his dad.
"You two have fun at the diner. Have him back by 11", Diane said as she saw them off.
Jonas was oddly quiet the whole time. Diane just waited him out, knowing he'd announce any opinions he had once they were alone. In fact the moment he closed the door, he turned to her.
"How sure are we about Eddie?"
"Oh here we go. Were we so sure about Chloe? Or Mary Lee?"
"I just thought he might clean up a little more for a date, that's all."
"The important thing is that Steve likes him."
They spent their evening, drinking some wine and watching a movie. But they made sure to be up in their room before it got too late. They wanted the boys to have just a smidge of privacy when they returned.
All the lights were off when they heard that roaring engine come back at 11:15.
"They're late", Jonas said. "That's a good sign."
Diane smiled. They were both listening hard for any sort of sound that might tell them how the night went. They heard the front door open. It was about two minutes before it actually closed. Another good sign. Steve tiptoed up the stairs but in the quiet of the night and them holding their breath, he was easily heard.
The door to his room closed and Diane gripped Jonas' arm tight. "Do you think it went well?"
"Are you gonna go knock on his door and ask? Or should we tap his phone line this time?" Jonas chuckled at his wife's pout. "We'll hear about it in due time. Good night, Di."
"Good night."
They both settled in, officially this time. If things kept going well like this, they'd be inviting Eddie over to dinner soon.
Part 4
Don't worry, we're gonna get some actual steddie focus soon. And Jonas still needs to warm up to Eddie all the way.
Tag Team
@tartarusknight @swimmingbirdrunningrock @estrellami-1 @potato-of-the-lord @dragonmama76 @m-owo-n @sticknpokelightningbolt @somegirlsomewhere @tinyplanet95 @samsoble @runniem
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That Time...
That time you maybe sorta accidentally almost had phone sex with König
Rated: Mature Word Count: 2097 Notes: [Neighbor!König] 1. Chronological order? Never heard of her. đ€·ââïž (what happened before he left is an event for another chapter). 2. Sorry for the hiatus. IRL, you know?
König retreated to his temporary quarters with a sigh. It had been nearly 72 hours since he had proper sleep. A few naps in a jostling humvee was nothing compared to his bed at home. Free of gear and mask, he gently laid down on the stiff bed, wishing he was at home. This mission, already supposed to be a long one, had gone haywire before he even arrived. Meaning he first had to take control of the situation before he could even attempt his mission. Lucky for him, that meant heâd get bonus pay.Â
He sighed again as he flopped over on his stomach, arm dangling off the edge of the bed, and eyes drifting to the small, much too small, desk. Some paperwork and a canteen of water sat on top. In the little drawer a pen and, the most important item he carried here, his personal phone.
He blinked and pushed himself up a bit, black paint leaving a small stain in his pillow and reached for the drawer. He had to lean over a bit more to reach, but he found his phone after a few blind taps. After a quick unlock he looked at his only text conversation. Yes, only. Very few people had his personal phone number, and all but one of those contacts communicated with him solely through calls. Ever since he exchanged numbers with you, you texted him quite often. Mostly quick questions: would he like to join you for dinner? Can you stop by real quick? Things of that nature.
He actually hated texting. The keyboard was too small for his big hands and auto correct proved not to be his friend. Still, he put up with even the small amount he did for you.Â
He glanced at the time, doing quick mental math to determine what time it was at home. It was late, but not too late, and you had a habit of staying up late. He could- the phone slipped in his hand and,Â
Shit!
He quickly sat up as he accidentally called you, finger hovering over the button to end the call. What if you answered? He desperately wanted to hear your voice. He loved his job but,
âKönig?âÂ
His stomach flipped and his heartbeat spiked as he faintly heard your voice. He swallowed thickly and put the phone to his ear.
Your voice, slightly creaky, started to panic. âKönig? Is everything alright? Are you back?âÂ
âYes. Iâm fine, darling. No, Iâm not back yet.â He answered in an even and calm voice, feeling both guilty and touched that you were so worried about him.
You sighed and there was some faint shuffling, âitâsâŠâ you paused and he could just see you biting your bottom lip. âWhatâs up?âÂ
âI.â He swallowed nervously again. âI just wanted to hear your voice.âÂ
âŠ
The only thing he could hear was his blood pounding in his ears as he waited for your response.Â
âKönig?â
âYes?â
âDo youâŠmiss me?â Your voice pitched up teasingly; heâd heard the tone enough to know that you were grinning.
Grateful that you couldnât see how flushed his face was, he took a moment to push himself up the bed enough to lean back against the wall. âY-yes.â He mumbled into the phone.Â
âAww! Thatâs sweet!âÂ
âIt is?âÂ
âYea.â
His heart, his stomach, his blood, fluttered again as a relieved smile crossed his face. âDo you,â he licked his lips, âdo you miss me?â
You coughed on the other end of the call, âuhhâŠwelllllâŠ.â
König gasped, âyou donât miss me?!âÂ
âWhat! No! Of course I do!âÂ
âNo. You forgot about me the moment I left, didnât you?â He sniffled dramatically, even placed a hand over his heart even though you couldnât see him.
âNoo, König! I DO miss you!â You half giggled as he played with you.
âOh? Then why the pause?â
âUhmâŠâÂ
You looked around the room. His room. You really didnât know how to explain this without coming off as creepy. (does that mean you are, in fact, creepy?)Â
König saying your name, and not one of those cutesy nicknames he often used, drew you out of your thoughts. âI donât know. Itâs just. Uhm. You see.â
Now it was his turn to be worried. âWhat is it?â
You took a breath, âok. I. I thought you were coming home tonight.â
He sighed, âI know, angel. Iâm sorry, some unexpected-â
âNo, no! Thatâs ok! Iâm not upset about that!â
âThen what?â âI mean, Iâm not upset at all!âÂ
âAh. I was right. You donât miss me.âÂ
âKönig!âÂ
He chuckled, âwhat are you trying to tell me?â
âLike I said, I thought you were coming home tonight. So I, uhm, used the key you gave me to cook dinner at your flat. I thought you might like to have dinner in the comfort of your own home.â
Königâs heart thumped in his chest. In only a second the image of going home, to see you waiting for him, pampering him, feeding him, caring for him all flashed through his mind. It was an image he very much wanted. Your name quietly slipped past his lips, but you had only paused to take a breath and continued with your rambling.
âBut then you didnât and thatâs fine, like, you said you were only estimating when youâd be back and then I started cleaning and, uhmmâŠâ âDonât tell me you burned down my flat?âÂ
âNo!â You barked out a laugh, a little thankful that he interrupted before you could fully embarrass yourself.Â
You sighed, you knew he wouldnât drop it now. Sure enough you heard him once again asking you to just tell him. Instead you pulled your phone away from your face and turned on the camera. You snapped a quick selfie and after a breath, sent it to him.Â
Königâs phone buzzed in his hand just as he called your name again. He blinked and opened the text message you just sent him. His eyes widened and he quietly gasped as instead of a text, you sent a picture. It was nothing provocative, but it was you. Of you in bed. His bed. His blanket pulled up to your neck as you smiled sheepishly into the camera.
â-And then I got tired and laid down in your room.â You finished your explanation, unaware that König was still staring at the picture you sent. Unaware that he was now imagining what his life could be like if instead of staying on base after a long shift, he spent the extra time to go home and crawl into bed with you.Â
âKönig?â You asked, voice tight with anxiety. âAre you mad at me? Iâll leave! And Iâll wash-â âNo! No! Iâm not mad! You can sleep there!â Please sleep there!
âAre you sure? I get it, if I crossed a line-â
âIâm sure. Donât leave. Itâs late and itâs cold out.âÂ
It was late, sure, but it wasnât cold; it was still summer. It was an excuse you both accepted.
âI am just surprised. You hate sleeping in your day clothes.â He tried to joke, to reassure you that he absolutely did not mind you sleeping in his bed. At least someone was enjoying it. Even if he did wish that he could enjoy it with you.Â
You coughed nervously again, âwellâŠâ
Dear God. If you told him that you were sleeping naked in his bed? Heâd abandon his post, steal a helicopter and fu-
âI kinda borrowed one of your shirts to wear as a nightgown. Is. Is that ok?âÂ
Oh. That made more sense than you climbing into his bed naked. He took a deep breath. âOf course, darling.â
You sighed in relief. The fact that he switched back to your normal nickname put you at ease. "Oh, good. It really makes for a comfy nightgown, so I can sleep in your comfy bed."Â
You teased and chuckled at the groan he let out, assuming that it was his bed that he was missing.Â
König chuckled with you, relaxing against the wall, and licked his lips as he felt another spike of anxiety flutter in his stomach. âDid you borrow a pair of my shorts too?âÂ
âWhat! No!â You laughed, âare you kidding? This shirt is so big on me, it can be a dress.âÂ
He closed his eyes and let his head drop against the wall. âGood. That is good.âÂ
âWhat? Why?â
He hummed as he imagined crawling into bed, flipping you onto your back so he could settle between your bare thighs, his hand grabbing a fistful of your smooth soft flesh until he was gripping your hip.Â
âKönig?â
He froze, only now realizing how hard he was getting and where his free hand had been. He cleared his throat, âah. Itâs nothing, darling. I just want you to be comfortable.âÂ
âMe? How comfortable are you right now?âÂ
âNot very.â He answered honestly. The bed he was currently sitting on was too small for him, it was both stiff and lumpy, and the blanket was thinner than his shirt. âMy couch is more comfortable than this.âÂ
âI mean, you do have a really comfortable couch.âÂ
âHm. Especially with you on it too.âÂ
You blinked, stomach alight with butterflies. You must have heard him wrong, or he must have misspoke. He must have meant that his couch was more comfortable even if he had to share it with you. âWell, there is enough room for both of us.âÂ
âYea.â He agreed, eyes closed as he thought about the night he left. Of the little shorts you had been wearing, so short that his hand hit the elastic of your panties before the fabric of your shorts when he âcasuallyâ dragged his hand up and down your body. âEnough for you to lie down with me.âÂ
You let out the quietest little gasp, a shiver running down your body as you remembered the feeling of his hands on you. âOh. YeaâŠI wasâŠkinda on top of you, though.âÂ
König grunted, now palming himself through his pants. He had a hard time forgetting the feeling of you grinding your hips into him. âA perfect fit.âÂ
That night had started out normal enough. Maybe it was the calming scent of the candle, or the steady rainfall and rolling thunder. It was not a cold night, but you still just wanted to cuddle with him. And he obliged.
You sighed over the phone, into Königâs ear. He was so solid. And warm. You bit your lip, thighs clenched at the memory of his meaty thigh between your legs.Â
Just a breathy whisper of his name had his eyes rolling back into his head, his free hand desperately pulling at his belt.Â
Knock! Knock! Knock!
âKönig!â The voice of one of his men interrupted him before he could even fully undo his belt (thankfully).Â
He growled and pulled the phone away from his face, âshit! What!âÂ
You jumped when König started yelling, there was some shuffling and more shouting. It gave you a moment to collect yourself, to realize what you were about to do, and think of an excuse to get off of this phone call.
An excuse you didnât need, as he sighed and put the phone back up to his ear. âListen, darling, I have to go.âÂ
You nodded, you expected as much after all that commotion. âBe safe.âÂ
âYea. You too.âÂ
You stared at your phone once the call disconnected. He was always worried about you even though he was the one running into what you presumed to be an active war zone. You felt a little guilty that if things hadn't been so urgent on his side, you were about to end the call before things got even more intimate. (It was late! And you had to work in the morning!) What if you made it up to him?
Before you could chicken out, you quickly turned on the light and set your phone up on the nightstand to get a picture of you on the bed. You hadnât borrowed one of his t-shirts, but a tank top, with a comfortable scoop neck on him. But on you? It dropped deep enough to reveal plenty of cleavage.Â
Then you snapped a few pictures and choose the most flattering flirtatious one and quickly sent it to him, with the message: âthanks for letting me borrow your shirt!âÂ
To say that König was surprised when he returned to base was an understatement. How in the world was he supposed to concentrate on his work now?!Â
[Neighbor König Masterlist]
Neighbor König taglist (blurbs): Please let me know if you wish to be added or removed.
@warrior-of-justice @cumikering @ihateuguys @rand0m--fangirl @keiva1000 @dtftheavengers @takeyour-pants-off @aeeliy @milenko115 @sodonuthideout @onegami @nadiauddincrafts @nadiauddincrafts @grizzersmamma @flooftoof @techs-ass @virginalsacrifice @s0rc3r3r @sleeplessskeleton @introvered-violinist @tizylish @romula96 @peach-habibitch @mitchlow @queenotaku27 @fenixnegras @emmbny @love-dove-noora @lesbianmitsuri @supergirl16Â
#könig x reader#könig x fem reader#neighbor!könig#still working on requests. one sec.#no edits#it's just been a second since i've written and just needed to get it out of me#idk what i'm doing to this time line#so...the night before he left. you were dry humping him before he got called off for a sudden mission#which is what both of you are thinking about in this chap.
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Apocalyptic squirreling
We're not, like, impaling these quotes like the proverbial shrike or anything, just hoarding them away in a nice stash. A collection of Disco Elysium tidbits about the end of the world compiled by @yekokataa and I, feel free to add!
...starting with the game's earliest teaser trailer.
(28 rather than 27 could be its own odd math, there's some miscounting in the text now and then just like there's the occasional typo, or it could follow the fact that the year of canon events was changed at some point. for that matter, the infamous 22 years to the nuke should be 21, like it originally followed that same 28 and wasn't edited - consistently, the variable it flags is ice.andre_hyper_rc_succ_28)
(this is an example of odd math to me, for the record, as it's 365x27 to the day. It could be it's the EXACT count and also that Elysium doesn't have leap years, but I would've expected a less precise number, personally)
:)
Ours has actual six thousand years of history: it spans from its own version of the early Bronze Age (Perikarnassian period) to the early Middle Ages (Franconigerian period), to the Renaissance (Dolorian period), right up to a decade we call âThe Seventiesâ. Itâs a world like ours, one that has evolved culturally and technologically over widely varied periods of time. No Truce With the Furies takes place in the modernity of this world.
(source)
Q: How tight is the connection between the book and the game? Is it a Witcher-like situation? KURVITZ: Things in this world are connected to each other like things in our world are connected to each other â not like things are connected to each other in Star Wars. The book and the game share themes and historical developments. The book is set in the early seventies and the game is set in the early fifties. They are connected the way two stories set in our world would be. The fault-lines developing in the fifties are more apparent in the seventies. The situation has worsened, the political climate has shifted, but there is no Skywalker saga. The main story in Elysium is history.
(source)
yes yes we've all seen the nuke convo but let's put it here for completionism's sake
This connection - saying 22 instead of 27, or 28 as the variable reminds us - could seem strange based on game data alone, but it neatly follows the context of the book, which shows us that the bombing of Revachol is one and the same as the material beginning of the end of the world.
This one is also a fun book throwback, from apocalyptic Kurvitz self-insert to apocalyptic Kurvitz self-insert
(being appreciative of that kind of future just nets you a YEEEAGH)
more personally ominous than globally ominous but ominous nonetheless
("we become vapour" being, of course, the planned title of the eventual Elysium tabletop setting rulebook. sigh.)
This one's intriguing, isn't it? With an eye to Le Retour...
Her echoes of the other dialogue options are similarly ominous, for the record.
And we don't know if Nilsen had visions of his own (the man sounds well-acquainted with his Half Light, on behalf of the war crimes, so it's not... entirely out of the question) but we do know that his pocket calculator lap cat second-bestie very much did and could've been his source.
Also a strong book callback, among other things. Remember kids: object permanence!
Harry, all these quotes like this one sound like they would make sense for the actual guy who goes and blows it all up, not you personal-
...ah yes. Ambrosius looms... yeah buddy it sure is solemn AND historical, I'm afraid:
and of course, in closing:
đ„Č
...for the remaining 276 pages of Elysium tidbits about the end of the world, of course, over here.
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If you want to take this into the next level? Have different people (or different communities/groups of people), have conflicting superstitions with each other! like seriously. Have one group saying that, if we keep on OP's example of vehicle that sometimes explodes and how to avoid that, have one group saying that you should, say, start the vehicle so that the front of it is pointing downwind, to avoid it exploding. And another group saying that front-pointing-downwind is specifically the way you shouldn't start it or then it will explode, like they say that have the front pointing in literally any other direction but not downwind, downwind is bad luck. Or, like, not necessarily specifically that, but seriously, when you look at folklore and old superstitions, you sometimes really do run into cases where two communities have superstitions that say basically the exact opposite thing with each other. (Like. The amount of rowan berries as an omen of the coming winter? Some people will say that if there's a lot of berries, there'll be a lot of snow. Some say that if there's a lot of berries, there's not going to be much snow at all. Some people will say that if there's a lot of berries, it means there'll be a war in the winter. Now which one is it? I don't know, take your pick)
If you're worldbuilding and someone gives you criticism on something, remember that most of the shit that humans do isn't perfectly logical, just mostly functional. If someone points at a vehicle you've designed and says "it may be super fast, but this part would catch on fire immediately if a single particle of dust floated close enough, exploding the whole vehicle", that doesn't mean you scrap the vehicle, it means that it's common knowledge that they burst into fire sometines. But not "randomly", humans don't do well with exploding randomly.
Dying in unexpected and unpredictable ways in high risk high reward situations will always have some superstition in them, make it personal. Rituals that people do in hopes of avoiding that 1-in-10 chance they'll explode while starting the ship. Not wearing clothes of a certain colour because the last guy who exploded had a red scarf. Not eating meat the day before because someone ate a ham sandwich. One pilot who has done countless of successful flights who is convinced that the engine only combusts upon starting if you're thinking about heterosexual thoughts.
#also i would like to remind everyone here#of just how many superstitions and Doing This Thing are related to spaceflight#yes. spaceflight. one of the biggest achievements of modern science#the thing that involves so much math and physics and planning things with Science to make them as safe as possible#to send humans flying off the planet into space on top of giant sticks with fire coming off one end.#i don't remember everything off the top of my head because it's been a while#but it's on level of things like. if you're going to space from russia#at some point on the way to the launchpad#it's tradition that the vehicle taking the astronauts there stops#and the astronauts get off the vehicle to pee#because yuri gagarin did that.#i am not even kidding about this#also i don't remember if it was american or russian tradition#but iirc at some point somewhere it was a thing that the astronauts weren't supposed to see the rocket#while it was being transported to the launch pad#because that was supposedly bad luck#and i'm pretty sure there's a number of other traditions related to this that i'm forgetting#oh and the orion spacecraft on artemis i which nasa just launched?#along with actual scientific equipment#it's carrying moon rock shards from apollo 11#as some sort of good luck charm or symbol of hey this project is for getting us back to the moon#like. seriously. this is the shit that humans just /do/#we're practically superstitious by nature#so please#add in superstitions that people have into your worldbuilding#especially regarding dangerous things#but also feel free to add them in for random little everyday things#just as flavor. because it's fun
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Can't remember if I've talked about it here or just in fic wips, but I like to HC that Dante is Actually Cursed levels of unlucky. Like, it isn't just that he *seems* kind of unlucky based on his circumstances, he's "loses 85% of the time on a 50% chance" kind of unlucky. He *will* consistently get tails 8 or 9 times out of 10 when flipping a coin and trying to get heads, or rolll a 1 or 2 five times in a row when playing a game where you want to high roll (reasons to destroy the DMC4 Dice, anyone?)
Lady and Trish actually discretely kept track a few times and did the math to come up with this number before telling him. They noticed it mostly applied to things that depend on pure luck/random chance like games with draws and rolls and so on, but he's had enough weird cases of being dealt a bad hand by fate that they're pretty sure it impacts everything to some extent. Dante mostly takes it in stride though, deciding that there's nothing he can do about it so he'll just do as he pleases. So what if he has crummy luck; he'll make up for it with skill. Or just take advantage of it. Maybe at some point he and the ladies go to a bar where they egg him into joining a game where they bet against him because it's pretty much guaranteed he'll lose and they'll profit big time. (Unless of course the "bad luck" comes in the form of him doing uncharacteristically well to the point that Lady and Trish lose their money because Dante suddenly couldn't stop rolling 6s. Bad luck comes in many forms, and some of them can seem good on the surface!)
Nero, on the other hand, is a "wins 70% of the time on a 50% chance" kind of guy because a ton of his skills are named after gambling stuff. Yes Dante has the Jackpot phrase, but otherwise he doesn't have the same sort of skill list so I think it would be hilarious if both Dante and Vergil have terrible luck while Nero's somehow wraps around to being pretty lucky. I think Dante would find it funny while Vergil would (not-so-) secretly be jealous.
#dmc#devil may cry#erubabbles#erurandomness#eruhcs#hcs#many ideas here#also i didn't originally even connect the two when i first developed this hc#but my brother was talking to me about the wheel of time recently and now i'm thinking about that...#reverse matt situation#also i'm only at book 6 of wot so if by chance someone has read that and wants to reference stuff i'm not done...
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