#a little like code quantum

[lulue-xie]

Ok, what if Jayce and Viktor didn't die at the end and just get teleported into another alternative universe like Ekko and Heimerdinger was ? But they found out they will get transported into another universe every time they found a way to stop the hexcore/arcane

Like they have to travel to repair their mistake in every universe

[poutysprouty]

CALL NUMBER: 69.GOJO

You work at the University library. Gojo has made it his mission to bother you during every shift. But when the cocky Physics professor finds your guilty pleasure read, your quiet night takes a wildly unexpected turn.

pairing: Librarian!Reader x Physics Professor!Gojo

warnings: 18+ MDNI. porn with slight plot, cursing, dirty talk, praise, oral (f receiving), p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, slightly public sex? idk, the library is closed and locked you tell me, Satoru is lowkey downbad.

wc: 6.0k

a/n: in case anybody is curious, the title is a reference to call numbers on books in libraries!

Satoru Gojo showed up every weekday at 4:03 PM.

Not 4:00. Not 4:05. Four-oh-three. It was too precise to be accidental. The worst part was, you were starting to look up from your desk the second the clock ticked past four. Like clockwork, the Physics professor would enter the library with a smirk on his face and a new way to annoy you locked and loaded.

He never checked anything out. Never asked for help.

Just wandered the stacks, tracing his fingers along the spines of books he had no intention of reading. Always in those crisp shirts with unbuttoned collars and tailored pants, with a pair of mirrored sunglasses that were absolutely against the staff dress code.

You’d checked. Twice.

You suspected he thought his presence was charming. And judging by the giggles from some of the undergrads who frequented the library, he wasn’t wrong. But you? You were one smug comment away from printing a sign that read:

“NO PHYSICS PROFESSORS BEYOND THIS POINT.”

In bold, 18pt font. Maybe with a drawing of his face and a red X over it.

But of course, that would be “inappropriate conduct,” and your boss already thought you were too territorial about your space. She’d often compared you to a dragon who hoarded books.

So instead, you suffered.

You endured the monologues about theoretical wormholes and particle alignment and concepts that had about as much relevance to your life as interpretive dance had to quantum mechanics.

Today was no different.

“Did you know,” he began, leaning across the circulation desk, voice light, “that in quantum entanglement, two particles can be miles apart and still react to each other instantly?” His glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, revealing crystalline blue eyes that seemed too bright to be real. “Kind of like us! You over here, trying not to look at me. Me over there, feeling it anyway.”

You blinked. “So... they like, text each other or something?”

He grinned. “Better. It’s like they vibe.”

You stared at him. “I don’t think I’m vibing with you.”

“Ah, denial,” he sighed, feigning disappointment, tucking his sunglasses into the front of his shirt. “A classic defense mechanism. But fine, I’ll try a more literary approach.”

You watched cautiously as he reached behind himself and plucked a random hardcover from the returns cart. He held it up and read the title aloud.

“I think this one’s about me,” he mused, tilting the cover toward you. “A misunderstood soul. Trapped. Yearning. Sexy.”

Your brow arched. “It’s about a traumatized ex-soldier who lives in a cabin and can’t talk to women.”

Gojo pressed a hand to his heart. “God. It is about me.”

You sighed and stood up to take the book from him. “Please don’t mess with the returns cart. I have it organized and would prefer it to stay that way.”

Gojo pouted like a scolded child, lips pushing out in a dramatic, overdone frown, but he released the book with a little sigh of mock sorrow.

Then, without warning, he collapsed across the circulation desk like he was a fainting Victorian heroine. He let his long body collapse across the edge of the circulation desk, arms sliding dramatically over the wood surface, and his chin thunked against the polished wood with a muttered “ow”.

Sometimes, it was hard for you to remember that this was a 29 year old man with a PhD in Physics and a tenure.

You returned your focus to the task at hand: scanning the barcodes on a pile of returns, logging them into the system, sliding each book into its designated bin to later be added to the returns cart. The quiet beeps of the scanner were comforting, a rhythm that usually soothed you. But today, with Gojo’s exaggerated sighs and occasional hums filling the space around your desk, your concentration frayed at the edges.

He didn’t speak. Just watched.

It wasn’t until you reached for your reading glasses, sliding open the drawer and perching them delicately on the bridge of your nose, that he spoke up again.

“Holy shit,” he murmured, not even bothering to pretend like he wasn’t checking you out. “You wear glasses? You’re killing me.”

You didn’t look up. “They’re for work.”

He didn’t flinch, just continued yapping like you hadn’t said a word.

“I mean, I already had a thing for you, obviously,” he continued, voice dropping an octave, “All you need now is a pencil in your hair and a silk blouse, and I’m done for.”

Heat flared instantly in your cheeks. You kept your head down, hoping the computer screen would provide some cover, but he noticed anyway.

“You’re blushing,” he sing-songed.

“No, I’m not,” you lied.

“You totally are! You like when I flirt with you. I knew it.”

“You’re delusional,” you muttered. “Go flirt with someone else.”

“I’d much rather flirt with you.”

“Maybe I’ll make that sign after all,” you muttered, mostly to yourself.

He leaned in just a bit, his voice low and teasing. “Ohh, a sign? Make it say ‘Trespassers will be kissed.’ I’ll break that rule hourly.”

Despite every effort to seem unaffected, your skin continued to heat up with every second that passed. Determined this time to regain some semblance of control, you forced your gaze downward, fixing it on the neatly stacked books waiting to be processed. You told yourself firmly: Ignore him. Just ignore him.

But Gojo, of course, had other plans.

Leaning forward across the circulation desk, his gaze snagged on something perched atop your purse—something that, under normal circumstances, would remain hidden from view. The book sat there, its cover partially obscured, visible only if someone was positioned just so, leaning close enough to peer over the desk. Much like Gojo was right now.

“What’s that you’re reading?” His voice dropped into a murmur, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You squinted at him, blinking slowly. “What are you talking about?” you asked.

Without a word, he tilted his head slightly, nodding in the direction of the book. The subtle gesture drew your eyes to the spot.

The moment you saw the cover, your breath hitched just a little. Your cheeks flared even hotter, and without thinking, you slid your foot back a bit, giving your purse a sharp kick. The purse and the book both vanished beneath the desk, hidden in the shadows, out of sight.

“Nothing to worry about,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though the faint tremor betrayed your nerves.

Gojo chuckled softly. “Must be something naughty,” he said with a teasing grin, “if you’re reacting like that.”

You didn’t answer and you kept your eyes firmly on the screen as if it might shield you from his presence.

A low whistle slipped past his lips, but he didn’t say more, just plastered an easy, knowing smile on his face.

He glanced at his watch and stood up. “I’d love to stay longer,” he said, stretching his long arms over his head, “but I have a tutoring session in twenty minutes.”

He looked back at you, eyes gleaming with a sudden spark of mischief. “How about a kiss goodbye?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Hell would freeze over before you got a kiss from me.”

Gojo laughed. “We’ll see about that.”

With one last wink, he turned on his heel and strode out of the library. You exhaled slowly, trying to calm your still-racing heart and praying he didn’t have the chance to memorize the title of the book before you’d hidden it.

— — —

Friday arrived under a cover of clouds and the threat of rain. The library matched the mood all day, with low foot traffic and lower voices. You welcomed the hush.

By the time the wall clock above the circulation desk ticked to 4:03 PM, you were halfway through organizing the reserve shelf behind the counter. Your hand paused briefly over an anthology, your eyes already darting to the front doors.

They remained closed.

Your chest felt… odd. Like you’d been bracing for something and were disappointed that it never came.

Gojo wasn’t there.

You told yourself that it was a good thing. He was disruptive. Loud. Always making some smug, unnecessary comment and leaning a little too far over the counter. Honestly, it was about time he gave it a rest.

Still, you checked again at 4:07.

Just in case.

By 4:15, you were scolding yourself for the glances. By 4:25, you were trying to distract yourself via mentally drafting a list of new arrivals you could process in peace for once. And by 4:45, you had almost convinced yourself you didn’t care at all.

Almost.

You kept your head down and fell into your routine. You manned the desk. Answered two separate panicked freshmen asking where the printer queue was. You filed five returns, denied one student’s (admittedly very creative) excuse for not paying a late fee, and by the time 7:30 PM rolled around, there was nobody left in the whole building except for you.

The end of the day was in sight. You stood, stretching the stiffness from your spine, and made your way to the backroom. The new book deliveries had arrived late in the afternoon. Three boxes in total, freshly opened and stacked onto one of the wheeled carts. The smell of new paper was faint but unmistakable, calming your nerves as you began wheeling the cart out.

You emerged from the staff hallway and stopped so suddenly the cart gave a slight jolt.

He was there.

Gojo stood at the desk. Leaning against the edge, posture relaxed, legs crossed at the ankles like he didn’t have a care in the world, his white hair slightly mussed with a few strands falling across his forehead.

Your heart skipped, and then you realized he wasn’t looking around for you.

He was reading.

Your feet began to move again on autopilot, steps slow but steady as you guided the cart closer. You kept your expression carefully neutral, though your eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion. Gojo rarely touched the books unless he was using one as a prop for some elaborate joke or stupid pickup line. You half expected him to lift his head and start monologuing about quantum entanglement again.

But he didn’t.

His eyes were on the page, his mouth slightly parted in concentration. He was engaged. Focused.

And then you saw what he was reading.

The book.

The same one from yesterday. The one whose plot had less to do with character development and more to do with how many surfaces a couple could have wild sex on before getting caught.

He was reading it.

Openly.

At your desk.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Gojo glanced up as you got closer. His smile was small and deceptively sweet, head tilted just enough to let a few strands of pale hair fall across his forehead. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his strong forearms, his long fingers curled loosely around the edges of the book.

“Evening,” he murmured, watching you closely as you approached.

“What are you doing here?” you managed, wishing it sounded more annoyed and less breathless. You glanced at the clock. “The library closes in twenty-five minutes.”

Gojo hummed as he slowly closed the book. It made a soft thwack as it shut, a sound that seemed far too loud in the quiet between you.

"Thought I’d get in a little… research," he said smoothly. There was a deliberate lilt to the last word.

Your stomach twisted.

“So… This the stuff you’re into?” he asked, raising the book slightly.

“Give it here,” you demanded, flustered as you stepped forward, hand outstretched.

He laughed and lifted the book just out of reach, his long arm rising easily above your head.

“I don’t know,” he teased, leaning back slightly to make you follow, “I’m kind of invested now.”

You glared, stepping even closer, nearly pressed up against him as you reached again.

“I bought it last night,” he added casually, his free hand dropping to rest on the edge of the desk behind him, letting his long frame stretch lazily across the space. “Stopped by that used bookstore on 3rd. Thought that if it’s good enough to make you blush like that…”

You made a frustrated noise and reached once more, on your tiptoes now and internally cursing his height. He evaded you easily.

“Stayed up most of the night reading it,” he went on, voice dropping lower. “Can’t say I regret it. You’ve got excellent taste.”

His breath fanned across your cheek and you realized how close he’d gotten. Just the barest inch separated you now. He hadn’t touched you, but the way he leaned in made your entire body go taut.

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words got stuck in your throat as Gojo leaned in closer, his lips brushing close to your ear.

“Gotta say,” he hummed, “that shower scene in chapter eight? Gave me ideas. Got me thinking, y’know… I wouldn’t mind reenacting some of these scenes sometime.”

You froze.

Your muscles locked, eyes fixed on him as your heart thudded in a wild rhythm beneath your skin. It was like he’d reached into your chest and flipped a switch you hadn’t known was there.

He had actually read the book.

Not skimmed. Not peeked. Read. Enough that he remembered chapter eight. Chapter eight, the one you’d re-read more times than you’d like to admit, the one that had made you shift under your covers late at night with flushed cheeks and wetness pooling in your panties. It was vivid. Explicit. The scene that had convinced you to buy the rest of the series. And now Gojo had read it, too.

You couldn’t look at him.

He tilted his head and raised one hand. His fingers found your chin, tilting your face upward until your eyes met his.

Your breath hitched the moment your gaze locked.

It was overwhelming. His presence always had been. But now, with his touch burning softly against your skin, it felt like your brain had gone entirely offline.

And then he leaned in. So close you could feel his breath ghost across your lips, could practically taste the mint on it. Every inch of you buzzed. The space between your lips was razor-thin.

“I’d like to reenact them with you,” he murmured, voice just above a whisper, “if you’d let me.”

You swallowed, hard. Your throat was suddenly dry, and the sentence that finally escaped you came out quieter than you intended.

“That’s… not appropriate.”

It was weak. You hated how weak it sounded. You hated that you didn’t sound more confident, more indignant. Gojo, of course, only seemed more amused by that.

He laughed. A deep, rich chuckle that rumbled in his chest, just inches from your own. His smile widened.

Then, he let the book fall from his hand. It landed with a dull thump on the desk behind him, the sound barely registering over the roaring in your ears. His now-free hand slipped around your waist like it belonged there. His palm settled at the small of your back, fingers splaying out possessively.

And then he pulled. Just enough for your body to brush against his, just enough that you could feel the lines of his chest through that button-up shirt he never wore properly. Just enough to make your lungs follow your brain and forget how to work.

His voice dipped again, “In case you haven’t noticed, sweets,” he murmured, “I don’t give a shit about what’s appropriate.”

Gojo closed the distance between you, his movements slow like he wanted you to have every moment to decide if this was something you wanted, too. His lips met yours with a feather-light brush that caused warmth to begin blooming deep inside your chest. The library around you faded until there was only the press of his mouth on yours.

His kiss was gentle at first, testing the waters, almost hesitant, as if he were feeling his way through uncharted territory. You could feel the faint tremor in his fingers as his breath mingled with yours, the slight parting of his lips as he deepened the kiss just a fraction, and the careful way his hands hovered near your waist, as though he was unsure if you’d let him pull you closer.

You stayed still, caught off guard by the tenderness of the kiss. Your body felt light and heavy all at once, nerves sparking beneath your skin. The taste of him was faintly minty, comforting, and downright addictive.

After a few seconds, he pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. His voice was low, almost a murmur.

“If at any point you want to stop, just hit me.”

There was a vulnerability in his tone as he spoke that surprised you. Before you could find your voice or respond, he leaned back in, this time with more urgency.

His lips pressed against yours again, more demanding this time. His hands slid down from hovering to resting firmly on your hips, fingers spreading wide and pulling you flush against him. The heat radiating from his body seeped into yours, melting away your last defenses. Your own arms rose, trembling slightly as you wrapped them around his shoulders, feeling the firm muscles beneath his shirt.

Every nerve ending in your body felt alive, from the ache in your fingertips, to the quickened thrum of your pulse, to the rush of warmth flooding your core.

But then, as the kiss deepened, you suddenly remembered where you were. With a gentle but firm tug, you pulled away just enough to catch your breath. Your chest rose and fell in quick pants as you tried to steady your racing heart. Your voice came out breathless.

“The door is still unlocked, someone could walk in,” you whispered, glancing toward the heavy wooden door on the other side of the room. After hours or not, it was a very real possibility.

Gojo chuckled. His grin was infuriatingly confident, that signature crooked smile that made your knees weak.

“Nobody will walk in on us,” he said. “I locked it when I came in.”

You squinted at him suspiciously. You realized then that he had planned this, had hoped for this exact outcome from the start.

He caught your eyes and, instead of explaining, simply shot you that cheeky grin again. Without a word, he pulled you back in close, his lips capturing yours once more in a kiss.

Gojo deepened the kiss, his tongue delving past your parted lips to tangle with yours. His large hands gripped your hips possessively, fingers digging into the soft flesh. Instinctively, you began to grind yourself against him, seeking friction, craving more of his touch. 

Gojo groaned into the kiss, the sound rumbling through his chest and vibrating against you. He tightened his hold on your hips and started to guide you, rolling your clothed pussy against the prominent bulge straining against his slacks.

Your head fell back with a gasp.

"That's it, sweetheart," Gojo purred, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

As he spoke, Gojo's lips began assaulting the column of your throat. He peppered the sensitive skin with open-mouthed kisses, occasionally grazing his teeth over your pulse point or suckling lightly. Each touch left you trembling and whimpering with need.

Lost in the onslaught of sensations, you found yourself being maneuvered. Before you knew it, Gojo had lifted you onto the edge of the circulation desk.

"Lift up for me, darling." His fingers made quick work of the button on your pants. With your assistance, he slowly peeled the fabric down your legs, his hands trailing teasingly along your skin.

Once your pants were discarded, Gojo lowered himself to his knees, settled between your thighs, pushing them apart. He gazed up at you with hooded eyes, his expression absolutely ravenous.

"You're absolutely stunning," he murmured, drinking in the sight of you before him. Then, without warning, he leaned in and placed an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed sex. The damp heat of his mouth seeped through the thin barrier of your panties, making you jolt and gasp.

Gojo didn't waste any more time. With a wicked grin, he began to devour you through the damp fabric of your panties.

His tongue traced over your slit with broad, firm strokes, feeling the shape of your folds even through the thin material. He focused his attention on your clit, circling and flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves until you were writhing above him.

"Mmm, you taste even better than I imagined," he growled against your core, the vibrations making your toes curl. Gojo hooked his fingers in the waistband of your underwear and tugged them down your legs, fully exposing you to his hungry gaze. He hoisted one of your thighs over his shoulder, wrapping one large hand around it to keep it in place.

Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in and dragged the flat of his tongue up your dripping center, savoring your essence.

As Gojo's tongue slid up your slick folds, a choked moan escaped your lips. The sensation was overwhelming, every lick sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

"God, you're so wet," he murmured against your pussy. His words sent a shiver through you, adding to the growing tension coiling in your stomach.

Gojo shifted closer, pressing his face deeper into your sex. He continued to lap at your juices, paying special attention to your swollen clit. His tongue swirled around the sensitive nub, driving you crazy with desire.

Your hips bucked involuntarily, grinding against his face. You couldn't help but pant and whimper.

"Ah! Ohh fuck!" You cried out, arching off the desk as he sucked your clit into his mouth. Your fingers dug into the wood of the desk as you fought to keep yourself upright.

Gojo reached up and grabbed one of your hands, guiding it to the top of his head. "Don't be shy now, baby. Hold on tight," he commanded with a wink. "Ride my face, sweetheart. Take your pleasure."

His words sent a bolt of lust straight to your core. Trembling, you fisted your hand in his silky white hair, holding on for dear life as you began to grind yourself shamelessly against his tongue.

Gojo groaned in approval, the sound muffled by your dripping folds. He redoubled his efforts, his tongue plunging deep into your channel, fucking you with swift, sure strokes.

While you guided his pace, one of Gojo's large hands slid up your body. He palmed your breast roughly, kneading the soft flesh. His thumb and forefinger found your nipple, pinching and rolling the hardened peak through the thin fabric of your shirt.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous like this," he growled, pulling back just enough to speak. His chin and lips glistened with your arousal. "So desperate, so needy. Love seeing you fall apart for me."

He punctuated his words with a sharp nip to your inner thigh before diving back in, sucking your clit hard into his mouth again.

A scream tore from your throat as the suction suddenly sent you hurtling over the edge. Your vision blurred, eyes rolling back in their sockets as wave after wave of mind-numbing pleasure crashed over you. Your body convulsed, hips jerking wildly as you rode out your climax. Gojo lapped at your spasming cunt, greedily swallowing every drop that leaked out.

Even as you slowly came down from your high, Gojo remained attached, his mouth still sealed to your sensitive flesh. He purred contentedly, eyes closed in bliss, clearly savoring the taste of your essence.

He finally released your throbbing clit with a wet pop, pulling back to admire his handiwork. A satisfied smirk played on his lips as he licked them clean, savoring the taste of your release.

He kissed his way up your quivering body slowly, leaving a trail of fire in his wake. Reaching the hem of your shirt, he pushed it up and over your breasts, revealing the lacy bra underneath. His eyes darkened with hunger as he took in the sight. He grasped the front of your bra and tugged it down, freeing your breasts to his eager eyes.

Gojo wasted no time in claiming one pert nipple into his hot mouth. He suckled greedily, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud as his hand cupped and massaged its twin.

You arched into his touch, a whiny moan escaping your lips as he lavished attention on your aching nipples. His mouth was pure heaven, each suckle sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

At the same time, he ground his hips against your slick entrance, the fabric of his pants rubbing deliciously against your sensitive folds. The dual sensations quickly had you teetering on the brink once more.

Gojo's free hand slid down to palm your ass, squeezing the plump cheeks as he continued to feast on your breasts. He broke the seal on your nipple with a wet pop, blowing cool air across the wet skin before moving to attend to its mate.

"Want you so bad, baby," he moaned against your breast, voice rough with desire. "Gonna make you cum all over my cock."

"Please, Gojo," you begged, your voice breathless with need.

Your hips rocked up eagerly. Gojo's eyes flashed at your pleading, and he pulled away from your heaving breasts.

With a fluid motion, he unfastened his jeans and yanked them down, along with his boxers, just enough to free his straining erection. He gave his thick cock a few pumps, spreading the precum that had already begun to leak from the tip.

When you finally caught a glimpse of his length, you could barely contain your gasp. Even in the dim light of the library, you could tell he was big. Not big in length, though he was certainly above average in that department, but big in girth. You quickly regained your composure, subtly parting your thighs in invitation.

Gojo's smirk widened as he noticed your subtle gesture. He leaned down, capturing your lips in another searing kiss as he notched the broad head of his cock against your soaked entrance.

You moaned into the kiss, your body trying to draw him in. But Gojo held back, content to tease you with shallow thrusts, rubbing his cockhead against your clit and then dipping just inside your fluttering hole before retreating again.

He alternated between gentle pressure and almost nothing at all. It was enough to keep you teetering on the edge, but never quite tipping over.

Breaking the kiss, Gojo looked down at you with a wicked glint in his blue eyes. "Beg for me, sweetheart," he urged, his voice low and husky.

You whimpered, torn between your own pride and the desire for him to fuck you. But the ache between your thighs won out, and you found yourself whispering, "Please, Gojo. Need you inside me."

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that vibrated against your lips. "Such a good girl," he praised.

Emboldened by his reaction, you wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in deeper. But Gojo held steady, his grip on your hips firm as he continued to tease your entrance with just the tip of his cock.

He pressed in just a little further, giving you a taste of what was to come before withdrawing again. You huffed in frustration.

“Gojo, I already did what you asked. Just fuck me already!”

He grinned, clearly enjoying your desperation. "Alright, alright. Since you asked so nicely..."

Gojo’s grip on your hips tightened and he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt in one stroke. A guttural moan ripped from his throat as he bottomed out, your walls clenching tightly around his thick shaft. 

Then, with a roll of his hips, Gojo began to move. He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with long, deep strokes that hit all the right spots.

Gojo's powerful thrusts shook the desk beneath you, the edges scraping against the floor as he pounded into your willing body. Each stroke drove you higher, the force of his hips slamming against yours sending sparks of pleasure shooting up your spine.

His mouth roamed freely over your exposed skin, leaving a trail of love bites and hickies in its wake. You felt his teeth graze your collarbone, your earlobe, the tender swell of your breasts. His lips and tongue worked magic, drawing gasps and moans from your lips.

Your hands clawed at his back, nails digging into the muscles flexing beneath his shirt. The fabric stretched taut over his shoulders, and you knew you'd leave your own marks on him when he eventually pulled away.

Gojo's rhythm faltered for a moment as you squeezed around him, his chest heaving against yours. But then he started talking, his voice a low murmur against your skin.

"Fucking hell, you feel incredible," he rasped, his hips picking up speed once more. "So tight, so wet, so damn responsive."

As if to emphasize his point, he slammed into you particularly hard, his cockhead finding your g-spot and hitting it dead on. "I've wanted this for so long. Ever since I first saw you behind this desk. Watching you, imagining what you'd look like bent over it, begging for my dick..."

He must’ve felt the way your walls fluttered just a bit at his words, because a feral, knowing smirk grew on his lips. "That's right baby, think about how much I needed this. How much I craved sinking my cock into your sweet little cunt."

Panting heavily, you managed to choke out, "I-I always wanted this, too. Even though I tried to pretend I didn't. Thought about you when I read those books."

A sly grin spread across Gojo's face as he heard your confession. "So you imagined us like this, huh? Fucking like animals?"

Hoisting your legs over his shoulders, he locked your ankles behind his head, bending down so your knees were nearly at your shoulders and pinning you in place. The new angle allowed him to plunge even deeper, his cock dragging against your innermost walls with each brutal stroke.

"You filthy little slut," he growled. "Reading those dirty books, fantasizing about being fucked senseless by me."

Moaning and nodding frantically, you couldn't form coherent sentences anymore.

"Look at you, so fucking cock drunk for me," Gojo taunted. "Can't even string together a proper sentence."

Dazed, you gazed up at him through half-lidded eyes, whimpering brokenly as he continued to ravage your body. Your walls clenched tighter around him, signaling your impending climax.

Gojo cooed encouragingly, his fingers trailing down your cheek to wipe away a stray droplet of saliva that had escaped your lips. Then, to your surprise, he pushed two digits past your parted lips, curling them against your tongue.

You sucked on them greedily, eyes rolling back as he worked them in and out. At the same time, his other hand descended to find your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles. With a slam of his hips, he nailed your g-spot perfectly, sending you hurtling over the precipice.

Your body seized, a wail tearing from your throat. Waves of intense pleasure crashed through you, causing your pussy to spasm and gush around Gojo's pistoning cock. He groaned at the sensation, hips stuttering as your walls rippled along his length. "Fuuuck, yeah, milk my cock, baby."

Gojo continued to pound into you, riding out your orgasm and prolonging your pleasure. His own climax was close, his balls tightening as he chased his own release.

With a final, brutal thrust, Gojo buried himself to the hilt inside you, his thick cock pulsating as he reached his peak. You felt his hot seed spurting deep within your convulsing walls, filling you up.

He didn't withdraw, instead holding still and letting the waves of his orgasm wash over him. As he came down from his high, Gojo captured your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

The intensity of the moment left you breathless and trembling, your body still quaking from the aftershocks of your climax. As Gojo gradually softened inside you, he broke the kiss, his eyes searching yours. Slowly, he withdrew from your spent body, his softening cock slipping free. But rather than immediately disentangling from you, he remained on top of you.

You could feel the sweat on his skin and the rapid beat of his heart against your stomach. His arms encircled you, holding you close as he nuzzled into the valley of your breasts.

“You okay?” he asked finally, his voice soft, as though speaking any louder would break the fragile moment between you.

You nodded and reached down with a trembling hand, your fingers brushing gently across his forehead to sweep a damp lock of hair away from his eyes. His lips curved into a warm smile as he leaned into your touch, eyelids fluttering half closed.

Then, he tilted his head, eyes sparkling as he murmured, “Wanna continue this somewhere a little more private? Maybe somewhere with a bed? Like, say, my place?”

You couldn’t help it. A tired, breathless giggle escaped your lips as you rolled your eyes at him, even as your fingers slid a little deeper into his hair.

“Only if you’re planning to feed me after all of this,” you teased.

Gojo let out a laugh, his face lighting up like he couldn’t believe you were real. “Deal,” he said easily, dipping his head to press a slow, lazy kiss against your collarbone, breath warming your skin. “I’ll order you anything you want.”

After a bit longer of laying there, catching your breath, the two of you finally started moving again.

Gojo helped you clean up and straighten your clothes. His touch lingered here and there, almost as if he couldn’t quite believe he was allowed to touch you like this now. You could barely believe it yourself.

“I’ll have to come back in tomorrow,” you murmured. Your voice came out a little hoarse, your throat still dry. “I didn’t get through any of what I was hoping to tonight.”

Gojo tilted his head, his white hair catching the low lighting. “Since I’m the one who, uh… interfered,” he said, suddenly sounding sheepish, “I’ll come in and help.”

You blinked at him, eyebrows lifting as you followed him to the door. “Now you offer to help?” you scoffed, voice laced with amusement. “After months of bugging me, flirting with me, and loitering in the stacks?”

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know I was already helping by enriching the atmosphere with my charming presence.”

You snorted as you stepped outside into the warm night air beside him. “You’ve been haunting the library like a poltergeist.”

“That’s Professor Poltergeist to you,” he replied smoothly, making you roll your eyes as you reached out to lock the door behind you, testing the handle once just to be sure.

Gojo stood beside you as you locked up, his hands shoved in his pockets as he kept his gaze fixed on you. There was something different about the way he looked at you now.

“I don’t want this to be a one time thing,” he finally admitted.

You looked up at him, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. His sunglasses were tucked into his shirt pocket, leaving nothing between you and the full force of those beautiful blue eyes. The mischievous sparkle was still there, but behind it was something else. Something hopeful, maybe a little vulnerable.

“I don’t want it to be a one time thing either,” you said, your voice coming out softer than you expected. 

The smile that stretched across his face in response wasn’t the usual cocky thing you were used to. It was softer, and impossibly radiant. He shifted a little closer, shoulder brushing yours as the two of you walked down the front steps.

Gojo let out a quiet breath and then said, more to himself than to you, “Good. Because I don’t think I could pretend to go back to how things were.”

You didn’t answer, at least, not with words. But you reached out, gently threading your fingers through his as you walked, and when his grip tightened around yours, it said everything you needed to hear.

[genshingorlsrevengeance]

Could you do honkai girls with an s/o who can transform like a Power Ranger or Kamen Rider?

(H:SR/ToCS) Firefly, Herta, Seele, Rappa, Laura, Emma, and Duvalie's S/O having a Power Rangers Transformation

"IT'S MAKING ME CRINGE, DUTCH!-" *VIOLENT COUGHING* - 99% of the characters in this post

Firefly at first was taken aback by S/O's wrist suddenly glowing a bright red color.

...Which were then quickly followed up by flashy and dramatic poses.

(S/O) "IT'S MORPHN' TIME!"

(Firefly) "Morphing what-?"

In an instant, S/O's body was overtaken by electricity, before their clothes were replaced with a red spandex jumpsuit, posing and an explosion appearing behind them.

Firefly couldn't react too outwardly, considering that she was still acting as SAM.

And...truthfully, yeah if she criticized them about it, it'd be the pot calling the kettle black.

She knew her transformations were sometimes dramatic, but that was a fear factor. S/O's on the other hand?

Well, even their explosion was color coded to their suit, so this was going a little overboard.

(Firefly) "...I wonder if the armor would form like that flawlessly if I posed like that too."

Herta was honestly fascinated by S/O's Power Suit, moreso than she was annoyed.

It was kind of funny too, if not cringeworthy.

(S/O) "GO, GALACTIC!-"

S/O pointed their sword heroically in the air, scaring the subjects Herta had them fighting against.

Which was impressive, considering they were all automatons.

(Herta) snrrk! "Is the catchphrase necessary?"

(S/O) "Absolutely it is!"

(Herta) "I see...Note to self, make prototype not require vocal confirmation-"

Once she got around to making her own for science, she would not be shouting that literally every single time she needed someone beat up.

As for the residual energy buildup, Herta would also make sure that a transformation would not cause a catastrophic explosion too.

Seele just groaned everytime a fight broke out near her and S/O.

Normally, she would have been concerned that the love of her life had the risk of getting hurt.

S/O's method of fighting was anything but normal.

(Grunt) "Tch, what is a Galaxy Ranger going to do, bring us to 'justice'?! Hah, get real!-"

(S/O) "I'm not just any ranger. Not by a long shot...!"

S/O stuck their hand out, reaching for the weird red lizard-themed wrist device on them.

(S/O) "I need more quantum power!"

Seele crossed her arms and waited impatiently, foot tapping on the ground waiting as the suit suddenly morphed around them, shocking everyone but her.

(Seele) "Can you get this over with already? I'm not gonna wait for you to summon your giant robot this time."

After seeing it for the 50th time this month, Seele is more than just a little over this flashy and stupid ass way of fighting.

Who the hell would even find this cool?!

(Rappa) "THAT IS SO FRIGGIN' COOL, NINJA KOIBITO!"

Rappa is basically frothing at the mouth the moment S/O transforms into their suit.

Even their lines mirrored hers, and which meant that it was over the top, obnoxiously loud, and flashier than the signs around Penacony.

It was to the point that Rappa copied S/O: lines, movement, and all.

(Rappa & S/O) "NINJA STORM, RANGER FORM!-"

Landing in front of the robbers they were bringing to justice, they struck a pose inflicting fear into their hearts!

...Or at the very least, left them confused as to what they were witnessing.

(S/O) "WITH THE SPEED OF THE WIND!"

(Rappa) "AND STRENGTH LIKE THUNDER!-"

Rappa has zero issues with their transformation, and is enjoying it perhaps a little too much.

(Rappa) "Ninja Koibito, you will get me a suit like yours, won't you?!"

Laura knew that S/O was part of a very eccentric Bracer group, but she truly had no idea how weird they were until seeing them in action.

She drew her greatsword, prepared to fight the monsters threatening the village before S/O ran past her, reaching for their wrist.

(Laura) "S/O! Hang on, we need to-"

(S/O) "LIGHTSPEED, RESCUE!-"

S/O apparently thought it was more important to pose in front of the monster than dodge it, something that gave nearly gave her a heart attack.

With a blinding light, S/O transformed into a red jumpsuit that effortlessly punched past the monsters, causing them to burst into a fiery explosion, one that nearly scorched her, as they effortlessly saved the townspeople behind them.

They landed from the explosion with a rather impressive flip, but she was still absolutely floored by their theatrics.

And the townspeople were just as weirded out as her.

(S/O) "Don't worry, we're here to save you! Now go!"

(Man) "T-Thanks...I think?"

(Laura) "S/O, are the poses required?-"

(S/O) "Hm? What poses?"

(Laura) "...Nevermind."

Now, Emma has dealt with and seen some strange magic in her time.

But never has she seen anything like the way S/O uses theirs.

Emma is half convinced it isn't really magic, since they were using a device that wasn't too dissimilar from an Arcus to activate it.

And she certainly hopes it wasn't, because just watching S/O transform gave her second-hand embarassment.

(S/O) "MAGICAL SOURCE, MYSTIC FORCE!"

As they dramatically posed and pointed their phone into the sky, Emma's hand slid down her face, slightly knocking her glasses out of position.

(Emma) "Dear Goddess...-"

She couldn't imagine having to do that everytime she used her staff, let alone keeping a straight face and not think it was the dumbest thing.

Emma would find the suit and cape kind of cool, if it weren't for the flamboyant poses they struck, and the explosions that happened everytime S/O finished fighting something.

Now that had to be magic.

She politely chooses not to say anything about it, for better and worse.

Duvalie's jaw dropped the first time she saw S/O in action.

She was in awe alright, awe of their stupidity.

S/O had brought an ancient lizard-like archaism to their control, colored it bright red, and even managed to make it pose with them.

On top of that, they changed into their combat gear with a dramatic flash of colors, complete with pose and catchphrase.

Duvalie's eye twitched as she watched them effortlessly bulldoze through scores of monsters.

Which someone in spandex, no armor, and a sword that borderline looked like a toy shouldn't be able to do.

Meanwhile, her two subordinates simply watched, turning to their head knight.

(Ines) "...Did they just shout, 'Dino-'"

Duvalie spun around to Ines, finger on her chest as her voice bordered full on yelling.

(Duvalie) "NOT. ANOTHER. WORD. Oh, they are SO DEAD THE MOMENT THEY COME BACK!"

(Ennea) "If anything, they're doing a good job. We were supposed to be here clearing them out. Perhaps we need to don their jumpsuits and-"

(Duvalie) "SHUT UP! JUST SHUT UP! I WOULD NEVER PUT ON SOMETHING SO STUPID LIKE THAT!"

(Ines) "And you let S/O do that?-"

(Duvalie) "IF THE TWO OF YOU SAY ANOTHER WORD, I'LL MAKE THEIR GIANT MACHINE EAT YOU!"

[holydracii]

“i f*cked my way up to the top” - spencer reid! ˖ ᡣ𐭩 ⊹

who?: perv!spencer x maneater!reader

a/n: first smutty thing i’ve written i feel dirty will not happen again (i feel like i got possessed while writing this?)

w/c: 5.2k (again i went a little over board)

summary: “His jaw clenched. You were fucking your way to the top. — And you were winning. And worst of all—he liked it. He liked the power in it. The danger.”

You were walking down the corridor beside Spencer, your heels clacking against the tile in a rhythm too confident for the beige walls of the BAU. He was mid-ramble, something about a new paper he read—quantum decoherence, string theory, Schrödinger’s cat on acid, who knows. You weren’t really listening. You were more focused on the way his hands moved when he talked, long fingers twitching like he couldn’t quite hold still.

And he was focused on you. Always was.

Spencer’s mouth went dry when he noticed it again—just like every day now.

The stares. The greetings. The fucking grins.

Almost every guy in the hallway acknowledged you. A wave. A wink. One guy from Forensics had the audacity to nod and say “Hey, gorgeous.”

Spencer blinked. Stopped walking. The words in his mouth tangled themselves up like a bad dream.

“You uh... must know a lot of people here?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

You just giggled.

Spencer’s brow furrowed. His head tilted. “What’s so funny?”

You glanced at him, sly and soft. “Yeah, I know everyone. Very well.”

The implication hung in the air like perfume—thick, heavy, undeniable.

Spencer’s heart jumped behind his ribs. His fingers twitched again. His eyes dropped from your smirk to your mouth, then further—your throat, your blouse, the subtle rise and fall of your chest. He tore them back up. Swallowed.

He was a profiler. He knew the game. And he hated that you played it so much better than him.

“You’re not serious,” he said finally, voice low.

You raised an eyebrow. “You think I made it here because I aced my psych evals and color-coded my case files?”

“...I mean, those things would help.”

You laughed again, and it was almost cruel. “Spencer, baby. I’ve been on my knees more times than I’ve been behind a desk. To put it simply I got tested — and I'm best, yes”

His breath caught.

You leaned in, brushing past him as you walked again, your hand dragging lightly across his chest as you passed. “But don’t worry,” you murmured. “I’m still deciding if you’re worth the effort.”

His mouth parted, but no sound came out.

You didn’t look back.

Spencer was supposed to be filing reports. Instead, he was in the dim, quiet room of the archives, the light of the desk lamp casting long shadows on the walls. The air smelled like old paper and the faintest trace of your perfume—Chanel No. 5 and something darker.

He’d checked. He’d profiled.

He didn’t like the way Morgan looked at you. Or how Hotch’s eyes lingered just a second too long. Or how you’d touched the new PA’s wrist and whispered something that made him blush.

Spencer was smart. Too smart. And it was driving him insane.

He sat with your personnel file open in front of him. There wasn’t anything official to prove it—but the puzzle pieces were there. Timing of promotions. Transfer requests. The field agent who left mysteriously a week after you arrived. The interdepartmental memos that didn’t quite add up.

His jaw clenched. You were fucking your way to the top. And you were winning.

And worst of all—he liked it. He liked the power in it. The danger.

He didn’t want to stop you. He wanted to be next.

He closed the file and pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, breathing slow and shaky. He could still hear your voice.

“I’m still deciding if you’re worth the effort.”

A quiet creak behind him.

He turned.

You were there, silhouetted in the doorframe.

“Couldn’t sleep?” you asked, walking in, shutting the door behind you with a click.

Spencer stared at you like you were a mirage—half dream, half threat.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he whispered.

You walked to him slowly, hips swaying like you knew the effect, like you counted on it.

“I know,” you said. “But I figured... why wait?”

You slid into his lap like you owned him. Your fingers curled around the back of his neck.

Spencer's breath hitched. He didn’t move. Didn’t dare.

“You’ve been watching me, Doctor Reid.”

“You—you’re not subtle.”

“You’re not either,” you purred, grinding down slightly, feeling him stiffen beneath you.

He swallowed hard. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

You smiled like the devil herself. “And you’re about to lose.”

You kissed him. Slow. Possessive. Like you were taking something from him.

And he let you.

The kiss ended, but you didn’t move.

You hovered over him, fingers still tangled in his hair, thumb tracing the edge of his jaw like you were studying him. Like he was your next case. Your next conquest.

Spencer stared at you, wide-eyed and dazed, like he couldn’t tell if this was real or a hallucination born from too many sleepless nights and too much wanting. His hands hovered awkwardly at your waist, barely touching you—like he was afraid you’d vanish if he held on too tightly.

“You kissed me,” he said, dumbly.

You smirked. “Took you long enough to notice.”

“I don’t understand…” he trailed off, but he did understand. He just didn’t want to say it out loud. Didn’t want to admit he liked being used. Liked being one of your pawns.

“You don’t have to understand, Doctor. You just have to behave.”

That shouldn’t have made his pulse spike, but it did.

“Is this part of your—your game?” he asked quietly.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “This is the game, Spencer. The question is—are you going to play along?”

He shuddered.

And then, finally, he snapped.

He grabbed your waist, hard. Not rough, but with purpose. Possession. Like he’d been holding back for too long.

“I’m not like the others,” he said. His voice was quiet, but it held something dangerous in it. Something simmering.

You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “No,” you said slowly. “You’re so much worse.”

He kissed you this time—messy, needy, clumsy with want. Like he’d been starving. Like he couldn’t help himself. His hands gripped your hips like he was anchoring himself, like if he let go, he’d drown.

You moaned softly into his mouth, and it only spurred him on.

You reached down, hand ghosting over the bulge in his slacks, and he gasped, pulling back, cheeks flushed and eyes glassy.

“We—we shouldn’t—”

“We already did,” you whispered, licking your lips. “And you liked it.”

He didn’t deny it.

He just let his head fall back against the chair, breathing heavy, watching you through his lashes like he wanted to ruin you and worship you at the same time.

You stood slowly, straightening your skirt like nothing happened.

Something in his eyes snapped.

He kissed you then—messy, hungry, like he’d been denied oxygen and you were the only source left. It wasn’t sweet.

It wasn’t gentle. It was desperation, pure and raw. His tongue tangled with yours like he needed to prove something—prove that you were his. His hands gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, dragging you flush against him, like if there was even an inch between you, he’d lose control completely.

“Do you even know what you do to me?” he rasped, breaking the kiss, panting, forehead pressed against yours.

“I’ve been watching you for months. Do you know how many nights I’ve sat there pretending I was normal, pretending I wasn’t thinking about this? About you? About bending you over that desk in the briefing room, about hearing you cry for me behind a locked door?”

Your heart thundered, but you didn’t look away. You should’ve been scared. Maybe you were. But it didn’t stop the heat building low in your stomach.

He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear—tender, if not for the darkness in his gaze.

“I’ve read every paper you’ve ever written. Memorized the way your voice sounds when you're excited. I know how you take your coffee. I know you fake smiles when Morgan flirts with you, and that you bite your lip when you’re trying not to laugh. I’ve imagined what else you bite your lip for…”

You swallowed hard.

His hand slid up under your shirt, fingers trailing fire along your ribs. “Say the word,” he said hoarsely, “and I’ll stop.”

You didn’t.

That was all he needed.

His mouth was on yours again, rougher this time, like he’d just barely been holding himself back before and now—now that he had permission—there was no reason to pretend. His teeth grazed your bottom lip before he bit down, not enough to hurt, just enough to make you gasp.

“That sound,” he breathed. “I’ve heard it in my head a thousand times.”

His hands moved like he already knew your body—like he’d mapped it out in some quiet, obsessive fantasy long before you ever let him touch you. You should’ve known. Maybe you did. Maybe that’s what drew you in. The way he looked at you like you were a secret he was desperate to crack open. Like you were a crime scene and he was going to find every hidden piece of you.

“You don’t get it,” he murmured into your neck as he kissed a line down your throat, his fingers slipping beneath your waistband. “I study you.”

Your breath hitched.

“I’ve imagined the exact pressure it would take to make you tremble. I’ve read so many books on human response, but none of them compare to watching you arch your back when you think no one’s looking.”

His fingers dipped lower, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every inch. Like he wasn’t just touching you—he was claiming data points, filing them away, building a thesis on your desire.

You moaned, head tilting back, and he grinned into your skin.

“Statistically speaking,” he whispered, “you should be fighting me off right now. You should be running. But you’re not. You want to know how far I’ll go.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, chest heaving. “I won’t stop unless you make me.”

There was a flash of madness in his eyes. Controlled. Beautifully restrained. Like a knife polished to a shine.

And you weren’t going to stop him.

You didn’t stop him.

You should’ve. Maybe. But instead, you let your hips roll into his touch, greedy for it. You let his breath hitch in your ear, let his fingers slide lower, parting you like he’d been studying your body the same way he studied case files—methodical, meticulous, obsessive.

“You’re so wet,” he whispered, and his voice was tight, like it cost him something to stay this controlled. “Fuck.”

He dragged his fingers through you, slow and deliberate, collecting everything, like he was analyzing it. “Do you know what this does to me?” he asked, slipping one long finger inside. “You—like this? You ruin me.”

You gasped, and his other hand caught your hip, keeping you right where he wanted you. “You always act like you don’t notice me watching. But you do. You like it. You like being the reason I have to jerk off in the FBI bathroom between briefings.”

He added another finger—long, thick, curling just right—and you cried out, but his hand clamped over your mouth.

“Shhh,” he hissed, eyes burning. “You don’t want anyone to hear how filthy you are for me, do you?”

You shook your head, biting his palm, and he groaned.

“God, that mouth. You have no idea what I’ve imagined doing with that mouth. I’ve read every psychological profile on oral fixation just trying to understand why the fuck I need to feel your lips wrapped around me like I need air.”

He pulled his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, sucking them slowly, tasting you like a man starved.

“You taste like sin,” he said, voice wrecked. “Like the price of everything I’ve ever wanted.”

And then he was undoing his belt with shaking hands, eyes locked on you, and there was nothing clinical about him now. No trace of the good doctor, the genius, the golden boy.

There was just him. Obsessive. Starving. Unhinged.

And all of it—every fractured, brilliant, filthy part of him—was for you.

His belt hit the floor with a soft clink, but the sound felt deafening in the silence between you. His eyes devoured you—completely unblinking, like a predator studying prey it had already caught.

“You wanna know how long I’ve wanted this?” he asked, already moving over you, sliding you onto your back like you belonged there. “Every single time you walked past my desk in that tight little pencil skirt—I had to bite the inside of my cheek just to keep from grabbing you right there in the damn bullpen.”

You opened your mouth to answer, maybe tease him, but his hand was suddenly at your throat—not squeezing yet, just resting there. A warning. A promise.

Your breath caught.

“Oh,” he breathed. His eyes went half-lidded, pupils blown, and his voice dropped so low it felt like it rolled straight through your spine. “That look right there? When you realized how much you like this? That’s going in my permanent memory archive.”

He pressed down just slightly, enough to make you aware of how fragile it all was. His thumb brushed the side of your neck while the rest of his hand tightened, slowly, like he wanted to feel your pulse racing under his fingertips.

“I’ve read the studies on erotic asphyxiation,” he murmured, mouth hot against your cheek, your jaw, your ear. “I know exactly how long to squeeze, how deep to push. You’re safe with me. That’s the irony, isn’t it?”

He was inside you before you could respond—one long, smooth thrust that knocked the air right out of your lungs. The stretch, the fullness, the filth of it. And with his hand still around your throat?

You moaned—helpless, high-pitched, and ruined.

“Fuck,” he gasped, hips jerking. “You feel like you were made for me.”

He started moving, hard and hungry, and every thrust shoved you higher up the slick black couch that used to stay in Hotch’s office. His grip on your neck tightened—not enough to scare you, just enough to hold you there, under him, for him.

“You like being used, don’t you?” he growled. “You like that I can’t stop thinking about this. About fucking you raw while my hand’s around your throat and my brain is short-circuiting from how tight you are.”

You whimpered, and that only made him groan louder—dirtier, more desperate.

“I’m gonna come so deep inside you,” he whispered, lips brushing yours, “you’ll still feel me when you sit down for your next debrief.”

And the way he said it? Like it wasn’t just dirty talk. Like it was a fact.

Like it was already happening.

“Baby, stop.”

The few words sliced through the air like bullets.

Spencer froze—mid-thrust, hand still wrapped around your throat, eyes wide and desperate above you. His pupils were blown, lips swollen from kissing you like a man possessed, and sweat clung to his neck in delicate rivulets. He looked unhinged. Beautiful. Yours.

But he stopped.

Because you told him to.

You slid your hand over his, slowly, prying his fingers from your throat one by one. Then you pushed him back with a firm palm to his chest, watching the confusion flicker in his eyes, then the arousal that followed it like a shadow.

“You think you’re in control, Doctor?” you asked, voice low and venom-sweet. “That this was your fantasy?”

He let out a shaky breath as you pushed him to sit back on his heels. His cock was still inside you, twitching, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not with the way you were looking at him now.

“You’ve been jerking off to the thought of this for months, haven’t you?” you whispered, grinding your hips down just enough to make him groan—wrecked and guttural. “Obsessing. Profiling me. Getting off on the idea of fucking the girl you weren’t supposed to touch.”

He nodded—pathetic, breathless.

You leaned in, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

“Then sit still. Be good. Let me use you like the toy you’ve been pretending I was in your head.”

And just like that, Spencer broke.

His hands clutched the sheets behind him to keep from touching you, knuckles white, jaw clenched. His brain was short-circuiting—desperate to analyze, to stay in control—but his body betrayed him. He was panting, cock twitching helplessly inside you, eyes rolled up like just the act of being inside you while you called the shots was too much.

You started to move, slow and deep, rolling your hips with calculated precision. He whimpered—Spencer Reid fucking whimpered—head falling back as he tried to hold himself together.

“You’re not going to come until I say so,” you warned, one hand sliding up his chest, nails dragging over his skin. “You’ll sit there and take it like the pathetic, pervy little genius you are.”

“I—fuck—I can’t—” he gasped, shaking beneath you. “Please.”

That’s what you’d been waiting for.

That word. From him.

You smirked, grinding harder now, feeling him unravel beneath you.

“Oh, now you want to beg?”

His hips bucked, instinctive, and you clamped your hand around his throat—not hard, just enough to remind him.

“I said still.”

And he obeyed.

Because no matter how many degrees he had, no matter how many cases he solved, no matter how much control he thought he had—when it came to you?

He was just a toy.

You kept your hand at his throat—just enough pressure to keep him grounded, controlled. Your other hand slid down his chest, slow and teasing, nails dragging along his stomach, until your fingers wrapped around the base of his cock, still thick and twitching inside you.

Spencer was a mess beneath you—sweat-slick, trembling, mouth slack with need. His eyes kept fluttering shut, then snapping open again, like he couldn’t stand not looking at you.

“Please,” he choked out, voice wrecked. “I’m—God, I’m so close. I need—fuck—please let me come.”

You tightened your grip slightly around his neck, leaned down until your mouth was right against his ear.

“You need to come?” you repeated, mock-sweet. “After all that talk about how obsessed you are? All those nights jerking off to the idea of owning me… and now look at you.”

You rolled your hips slow, deep, and cruel—just enough to keep him on the edge, but never enough to let him fall over it.

“You don’t own anything, Spencer. You’re just a toy I let inside me. A smart little perv who knows how to beg.”

He groaned—guttural, broken—and you felt his cock twitch, hips jerking involuntarily. His whole body tensed.

He was right there.

And then you pulled off him.

Completely.

His mouth dropped open, a strangled sound clawing out of his throat as his cock throbbed uselessly in the air, aching and flushed, leaking with how badly he needed release. You wrapped your hand around him again—tight, fast, filthy strokes—and his entire body shook.

“I’m gonna—I’m—” he gasped, teetering right at the edge.

And then, with a smirk, you squeezed hard at the base and stopped.

His orgasm died in his throat—cut off before it could crest, back-arching, eyes wide in disbelief as his body tried and failed to finish. A ruined mess of desperation and overstimulation.

He whimpered—actually whimpered—hips twitching, cock still straining in your grip, but there was no release. Just pressure. Just denial.

You leaned in close, lips brushing his ear.

“Good boys come when they’re told,” you whispered. “Not when they beg.”

Spencer collapsed back onto the bed, panting, absolutely wrecked. His cock still hard. Still leaking. Still yours.

And he looked up at you like you were holy.

“I’ll do anything,” he said, voice hoarse. “Please. Let me earn it.”

You grinned, dragging your fingers down his chest.

Spencer was still flat on his back, panting, cock flushed and twitching with the ache of a ruined orgasm he didn’t get to have. His eyes followed your every move—hungry, reverent, completely wrecked.

“You want to come?” you asked, straddling his chest, your knees framing his ribs. He nodded instantly, too fast, like the need had short-circuited his brain. “Then make yourself useful, Doctor.”

You shifted forward slowly, dragging your slick cunt across his stomach, up to his chest, until you were kneeling over his face. His eyes widened. You didn’t give him time to adjust—you just grabbed a fistful of his curls and lowered yourself onto his mouth.

He groaned into you—deep and eager, tongue lapping like a man who’d fantasized about this exact moment every night since the second he met you. He licked you like he had something to prove, like his entire self-worth hinged on how fast he could make you fall apart.

And you let him.

You rode his face, grinding down hard and slow, watching his eyes flutter shut as he moaned against your pussy, so fucking eager it was pathetic.

“God, look at you,” you said, breathless, curling your fingers tighter in his hair. “Smartest man in the room, and you’re happy just being my seat.”

He moaned again—needy and filthy—and his hands clutched your thighs, holding you down, urging you to move faster.

“Oh, now you want to be in control?” you laughed breathlessly. “Not happening, baby. You’re not even allowed to breathe unless I let you.”

You rocked your hips harder, chasing your own high against his mouth, feeling the sharp edge of his nose against your clit, his tongue fucking into you like he wanted to memorize your taste.

“Fuck, yes—just like that—don’t stop,” you gasped, hips grinding now, erratic, relentless. “You wanna come? Then earn it.”

Spencer whimpered beneath you, moaning into your cunt like it was the best thing he’d ever tasted, his hips bucking up helplessly against air, denied again.

You kept going—riding his face like a throne, using him like a toy, moaning his name while you chased your own climax on his tongue.

And when it hit?

You screamed, thighs tightening around his head, grinding down hard as you came all over his mouth—and he just moaned louder, like it fed him.

You finally lifted off him, breathless and shaking, and looked down.

His face was soaked.

His eyes were wild.

And his cock? Still painfully hard. Still untouched. Still waiting for your permission.

“Did I do good?” he whispered, voice hoarse. “Did I earn it?”

You just smirked, dragging a finger through your slick and pressing it to his lips.

“Not yet,” you said. “But you’re getting there.”

You pulled back, gasping for breath, your body still trembling from the way you’d used him. Spencer was still lying there, eyes wide and full of need, mouth slick and swollen, trying to catch his breath like he hadn’t just been a slave to your pleasure.

You slid off his body, slowly, letting him feel the absence of you—the aching emptiness where he had been just seconds ago. He watched you like a lost puppy, desperate for more, but you were done.

You were certainly satisfied.

You grabbed your clothes from the floor, pulling your panties back on first, letting the cool fabric slide over your damp skin. You didn’t spare him another glance as you slid your dress back on, slow and deliberate, like everything had just been another routine for you.

Spencer’s gaze never left you—his hands clutched at the cushions, still hard, still begging for some release, but you didn’t even acknowledge it. He had his answers now, his punishments. This was what he’d asked for.

The only word he could think up right now was, Feral.

“I can’t stop thinking about the way you moaned,” he said, almost dazed. “The exact pitch. I could graph the sound waves if I wanted to.” He chuckled, but it wasn’t amused—it was unhinged. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve come just thinking about you in that skirt you wore to the Gideon briefing?”

You raised an eyebrow, sliding your bra strap up your shoulder slowly. “You're such a perv, Doctor Reid.”

His eyes flashed.

“And you like that.”

You did.

He lunged forward, pulling you onto his lap like he was starving again. “You fucked your way up to the top?” he growled against your throat. “Fine. Then fuck your way through me. Let me be the price you pay to keep it.”

As you pulled your heels back on and sat up slowly, you finally glanced at him—his face wrecked, begging in that silent, desperate way. But there was no tenderness, no softness in your eyes. You were a different version of yourself now. The one who wasn’t affected by him, the one who wasn’t obsessed.

“You’re not going to come, Spencer,” you said, voice cold as ice. “You’re not even worth it.”

You turned toward the door, one last look over your shoulder. “Next time, maybe don’t get so obsessed with the idea of me. It’ll save you some embarrassment.”

And then you left.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Spencer lay there, panting, still twitching, completely fucked.

But you were already gone. And you didn’t look back.

[inkwelldesires]

𝙴𝚖𝚙𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝙴𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙻𝚘𝚟𝚎 S.R

𝙵𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚜, 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍.

─────────────────

𝙿𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚁𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐: 𝙶

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: ~𝟸.𝟺𝚔

𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚐𝚘𝚛𝚢: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 | 𝙳𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚁𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 | 𝙲𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢:

𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠—𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑, 𝚌𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚛-𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚎𝚎𝚛-𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚕𝚎𝚜. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚗𝚘 𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚊 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚢’𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚋𝚎𝚊𝚝, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚢 𝚔𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝚋𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚕𝚖, 𝚘𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊 𝚜𝚘𝚏𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐’𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚔𝚊𝚢. 𝙸𝚗 𝚊 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎.

─────────────────

Spencer Reid never does anything halfway—especially when it comes to you.

So when that little plus sign showed up on the pregnancy test, he didn’t just take a moment to breathe and let it sink in.

He made a spreadsheet.

And then a backup copy.

And then a reading list of 23 books, all peer-reviewed and medically endorsed.

Within forty-eight hours, your fridge was reorganized by trimester-appropriate nutrients. Your water bottles had timed reminders. Your vitamins were sorted into tiny labeled containers that Spencer personally double-checked for exact daily values. And when you asked him, jokingly, if he’d set a bedtime schedule for you—he blinked and asked if you preferred the color-coded or bullet-point version.

Still, he wasn’t hovering.

He was… preparing. And if he could do anything to make this easier, to make you feel safe, he would. And he did. Endlessly.

“Did you know that sleeping on your left side improves blood flow to the placenta?” he said one night, gently nudging you when you started to roll onto your back. “Also reduces the risk of stillbirth by 3.7% according to a 2017 study.”

“Spence, are you seriously citing peer-reviewed journals in bed?”

“I do that even when you’re not pregnant.”

Fair.

He took over grocery shopping entirely—studied walking routes to determine which ones had the least incline, the best sidewalk conditions, and the cleanest public restrooms. He tested the car seat installation three separate times and bookmarked forums for “silent” baby toys that wouldn’t overstimulate a developing sensory system.

But it wasn’t just the facts.

It was the way he brought you ginger chews when you didn’t ask—because your face looked a little pale that morning. It was how he ran a warm bath exactly two degrees cooler than your usual, because he didn’t want to raise your body temperature even slightly. How he kissed your belly like it was already a whole person he knew, speaking softly about quantum physics and children’s book authors, because he said the baby could hear your voices now.

Every choice had intention. Every action had evidence behind it.

But somewhere along the way, Spencer also started taking better care of himself—and you noticed.

He added more sleep to his schedule, adjusted his diet to match yours in solidarity, and started working out regularly—not out of vanity, but out of understanding. “There’s solid research linking paternal health to pregnancy outcomes,” he told you one morning, mid-jog, his curls tied back with one of your old scrunchies. “Lower cortisol levels in me can actually lower stress in you. It’s all connected.”

It wasn’t performative. He never made it about himself. It was just one more way he showed up for you—and for the tiny life you were growing together.

And when you’d had a long day—when you curled into his chest with a heavy sigh and said, “I love how much you love us,”—he held you tighter, eyes soft and voice barely above a whisper.

“I just want to get it right,” he murmured. “You… this… you’re the most important thing I’ve ever done.”

And he meant it. Down to the decimal.

When it comes to the delivery room: Spencer tries to stay calm.

He has read everything. He’s memorized every stage of labor, every breathing technique, every emergency protocol. He knows how to read fetal heart rate monitors and he’s calculated the average time of labor for first pregnancies down to the hour. He’s even practiced the route to the hospital during high traffic and low traffic hours—twice.

But nothing in the literature could prepare him for the sound of you crying out in pain.

“Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe with me,” he murmurs, voice shaking even as he grips your hand with steady fingers. “You’re doing so good. So good. Just like we practiced, okay?”

You’re soaked in sweat, shaking, and biting back curses that would make Morgan proud.

And Spencer—Spencer is unraveling. Quietly. Internally. Because his brain, the one that thrives on structure and knowledge and answers, can’t control this. Can’t fix this. He can only hold your hand and whisper stats like prayers:

“Cervical dilation is progressing on track. Normal. You’re so strong. You’re everything.”

He doesn’t leave your side for a second. He counts for you during contractions, adjusts the pillows behind your back, rubs your lower spine exactly the way the midwife showed him in a video six weeks ago. When your breathing staggers, his syncs with it. When your eyes lose focus, he brings you back—gently, with words only the two of you share.

And when they tell you it’s time to push, he squeezes your hand so tight, he almost forgets to let go.

The moment the baby cries—sharp, shrill, alive—Spencer gasps. He physically gasps. Like he’s never heard anything more beautiful in his entire life.

And when they place that tiny, wriggling bundle on your chest, Spencer’s entire body goes still.

His world narrows.

It’s not theory. It’s not abstract anymore. It’s real.

He kisses your temple, breath caught in his throat. “You did it,” he whispers, tears catching in his lashes. “Oh my God, you did it.”

And then he sees the baby.

Really sees them.

At first, he hesitates. His hands hover just above the baby’s tiny form, like touching them might disrupt something sacred. But you nod, exhausted and glowing, and whisper, “It’s okay, Spence. They’re yours.”

He swallows hard.

Then, with a carefulness that borders on reverence, Spencer shrugs off his cardigan and slowly unbuttons his shirt, revealing the pale skin of his chest. His hands tremble slightly as he takes the baby from the nurse, bringing them gently—gently—against his bare skin.

They fit so perfectly against him. Warm. Fragile. Real.

The baby’s cheek presses to his collarbone, a tiny sigh escaping as they settle into the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. And Spencer just stands there, completely still, arms wrapped securely around the impossibly small weight of his entire world.

He lowers his head, eyes closed, breath shaky.

“Hi,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “I’m your dad.”

His thumb traces over the baby’s back in slow, grounding circles. One of their hands wiggles free from the blanket, fingers brushing his chest—and Spencer lets out a soft, broken laugh. Like the kind of laugh someone makes when they’re trying not to cry.

“You’re so little,” he murmurs, lips brushing the baby’s temple. “I’ve read about this moment a thousand times. I thought I’d be ready.”

He opens his eyes slowly, gazing down with tears clinging to his lashes.

“But there’s no study, no book, no theory that could’ve prepared me for you.”

The baby lets out another sigh, soothed by the warmth of his skin, by the pulse beneath it. And Spencer—Spencer holds them like they’re the answer to every question he’s ever asked. Like this is the only truth that’s ever really mattered.

You watch from the bed, eyes blurred with tears, as he rocks gently side to side. Shirt half-open, curls falling into his eyes, chest to chest with your newborn like he was always meant to be.

And in the quiet, Spencer whispers, almost to himself:

“I think this is what home feels like.”

[whxre4hange]

the hargreeves go to family therapy :D (my headcanons)

because we all need therapy after season 4....

luther: brings a clipboard to therapy sessions to "take notes" but mostly ends up doodling stick figures of the family, complete with little speech bubbles like "diego is being mean again" or "klaus smells weird." always wears a sweater, even in the middle of summer, because he thinks it makes him look more approachable and "leaderly." instead he gets incredibly sweaty and stinks up the entire room through no fault of his own. tries to mediate arguments but ends up making them worse by accidentally taking sides or quoting something reginald once said. once cried over a motivational cat poster in the waiting room that said, "hang in there!" and now carries a miniature version of it in his wallet for inspiration. spends half the session apologizing for things no one remembers or cares about.

diego: sits slouched in his chair with his arms crossed, glaring at the therapist like they personally insulted his knife-throwing skills. claims he doesn’t need therapy but shows up every week anyway, muttering something about "keeping an eye on klaus." gets into heated debates with the therapist over ridiculous hypotheticals like "how many ninjas could you fight at once" or "is batman technically a vigilante or just misunderstood?" has been banned from three different therapy offices for flipping furniture during arguments, including one time when he threw a chair because someone suggested he might have unresolved daddy issues. once tried to leave mid-session but tripped over the coffee table and pretended it was part of his escape plan.

klaus: shows up 20 minutes late every session wearing sunglasses, a fur coat, and carrying an empty coffee cup he insists is full of "spiritual energy." overshares wildly inappropriate stories that make everyone uncomfortable, like the time he accidentally summoned a ghost during karaoke night at a dive bar. somehow manages to charm the therapist into letting him stay despite breaking every rule imaginable. frequently lies down on the couch and pretends it’s his turn to be analyzed, even when it’s not, and once fell asleep mid-session while everyone else was arguing. keeps trying to convince ben to possess him so they can do a "fun bit" for the group, but ben refuses out of sheer embarrassment.

allison: arrives perfectly on time every week with color-coded binders filled with self-help worksheets she made for everyone. no one ever uses them, but she keeps bringing them anyway because she believes in "the power of structure." speaks in calm, measured tones during sessions but secretly live-tweets the chaos under a pseudonym that has amassed thousands of followers. once convinced klaus to do a dramatic reading of her old tumblr poetry during group therapy just to lighten the mood (it didn’t). occasionally uses her rumor power to end arguments before they escalate but denies it if anyone calls her out.

ben (ghost): sits in the corner with his arms crossed, silently judging everyone because no one can hear him except klaus. tries to offer helpful advice through klaus, but it always comes out garbled or sarcastic because klaus can’t resist editorializing. once knocked over a water bottle during an especially heated argument just to remind everyone he’s still there and then felt bad about it for days when the therapist got scared. spends most of the session wishing he could haunt reginald instead but sticks around because he doesn’t trust klaus not to say something stupid on his behalf. occasionally makes snarky comments that only klaus can hear, which leads to klaus laughing uncontrollably at inappropriate moments.

five: refuses to sit down because he considers therapy "a waste of time" and insists that his 45 years of life experience make him more qualified than the therapist. spends most of the session pacing like a caged animal and muttering about quantum mechanics or assassins he’s killed. keeps trying to outsmart the therapist by turning every question into a philosophical debate or logic puzzle, much to everyone’s annoyance. is basically the human form of "erm, ackshually," correcting even the smallest inaccuracies with smug precision ("no, actually, i didn’t run away from home; i teleported through space-time"). once corrected the therapist’s grammar mid-session and then stormed out when they didn’t thank him. frequently interrupts others to point out why their trauma is "objectively less significant than surviving the heat death of the universe." once tried to psychoanalyze diego as payback for calling him short and ended up starting a screaming match that ended with both of them being escorted out.

viktor: sits quietly in his chair with perfect posture, doodling in a notebook while everyone else yells over each other. only speaks when directly addressed and then drops surprisingly insightful comments that leave everyone stunned into silence for at least 30 seconds. once brought his violin to therapy and played an impromptu concert when things got too tense, which made allison cry and diego accuse him of being manipulative (he wasn’t) and luther fall asleep. occasionally zones out during sessions while planning elaborate revenge fantasies against reginald that involve poison tea and dramatic monologues.

lila: shows up uninvited every week and acts like she’s part of the family now because "why not?" spends most of the session antagonizing diego for fun—stealing his chair, mimicking everything he says—but will defend him fiercely if anyone else tries it. once stole all the pens from the therapist's desk just to see if they’d notice (they did). eats snacks loudly during sessions and offers none to anyone else unless they beg. tried to set fire to one of luther’s binders during an argument just because she was bored but got distracted halfway through by klaus showing her how to make shadow puppets on the wall. keeps threatening to throw diego’s knives out the window if he doesn’t stop glaring at her.

[fanged-fanfics]

Hi mod Fang :D

Could I please request some soft fluffy Dr. Flug x reader content? There hasn't been a lot of love for him lately

Tysm 💜💞

☆ No Equation for Attraction — Dr. Flug x GN!Reader Fluff HCs ☆

Genre: Fluff || they/them pronouns for reader || No warnings needed

──────.𖥔 ݁ ˖˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ──────

ᯓᡣ𐭩 If you're a fellow villain, he sees a lot of potential in you. He'll think about bringing you up to his boss, and makes sure to hand you out a business card to Black Hat Org, telling you that anything your wicked mind can come up with is something he'll be glad to make a reality

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Now if you're a hero, it gets a bit more complicated. He's in the position to destroy you, it wasn't a problem for him in the past or towards anyone else. But you're different.. maybe you're kinder to him than most are, or you actually help if he gets hurt during a battle, making sure he gets out the other side with minimal harm. No matter what it is, he thinks about you all the time. Out of a drive to figure out how to take you down of course... he hopes-

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Once you two get rather close, he likes to teach you little things about aeronautics or quantum physics. He's used to no one really listening, so at first he seems a little distracted. Once he realizes you're actually paying attention and asking follow-up questions, he starts going on much deeper tangents on the topics

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He tries to defend you from Demencia, doing his best to negate her usual picking on him whenever you're about to keep you from being harmed by her chaotic nature. In turn, he gets a little flustered when you defend him from her cruelty

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You once talked with him so long you both ended up falling asleep late into the night. He woke up rather abruptly due to his night terrors, and you did your best to guide him to being grounded again. He explains through deep exhaustion that this is why he sleeps in a cyrobed. From that point on you always made sure to carry him to sleep if he ever overworked to the point of passing out

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He calls you pet names in a variety of languages, from Spanish to French, Mandarin, or English. His favorites are Cielo, Mon Ange, Qīn'ài de, and Dove. Thinks he's being all charming and coy if he can sneak in terms of endearment from languages you don't know in causal conversation

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Unironically tried to flirt with you by comparing you to a super specific model of plane and got so embarrassed when you didn't get it that he couldn't meet your gaze for almost a week

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The second you offer to watch Code Turkey (Código Guajolote) with him he quickly gives you the longest recounting of the show possible before making plans then and there to rewatch the series by your side so he can see all your reactions firsthand

ᯓᡣ𐭩 You're pleasantly surprised when he shows how cruel and cunning he can be. Depsite how Black Hat and Demencia often tear him down, you can see exactly how he's just as effective a villain as anyone else. You make a point to bring attention to this, and he gleefully brags about his 80k recorded crimes ("And those are only the ones they could prove!")

ᯓᡣ𐭩 He feels bad when he gets nervous interacting with you, even months into the relationship. Working for Black Hat definitely never helped with his self-esteem, so he's prone to accidentally talking down about himself. You try to combat that by giving him positive affirmations whenever possible, reassuring that you've never minded his occasional skittishness and that you could never be annoyed with him over something so small

[mondo-tastic]

Don't get me wrong I love tragic villains and I love seeing people's different interpretations of characters but in my heart turbo is just a self absorbed angry little cunt and that's all there is to him and I love him for it

all he cares about is winning and attention because he believes that he deserves it because he is the greatest racer ever. no one should have the attention on them because he believes he is the best. and if he has to get people's games unplugged, killing them in the process, or destroy other's lives then oh well he doesn't care.

in fact I think he REVELS in it. he loves the whole idea of masquerading as king candy and manipulating people. like he did ralph. that manipulation came from a place of pure evil and the way he twists the truth like that ..oughhh...solely because he thinks he is the best and he should own sugar rush

the way a slight smirk tugs at his lips as he's saying "you're not going turbo, are you?"

the way his code box is so huge and disorganised. its his ego. but it's also the fact he's not some master programmer. canonly he hid away in GCS and taught himself how to code.

also can we discuss how terrifying the idea is of a video game character learning to code is??? like to other game characters they can just manipulate the fabric of reality??? that's actually scary??? that's like someone coming up to you being like oh yeah I know uhhh quantum physics. I can just. change your genome sequencing if I want to. and give myself any physical attributes I want. while circling through 30 different hair styles.

I love all the interpretations of him but I love to think there's not really any hidden self hatred or inferiority behind his ego, he's just a self absorbed evil piece of shit and I love it

[calc1fers]

marauders at university part 1

james - business

u cannot tell me james isn't a finance bro who exclusively wears collared ralph lauren shirts and sambas/clogs

probably president of the business society, too. he's known for organising the most chaotic parties/pub crawls

plays rugby for the university team

sirius - quantum engineering/music composition

overachieving little fucker just had to do a double degree with the least compatible degrees ever

i can imagine sirius, sat at the potters' kitchen table with his hair in a messy bun and drinking straight from a bottle of red wine while working through a coding task

always hands all his assignments in seconds before the due date

remus - history/english

he gives ancient history professor so of course he'd have to study something to do with history

ended up writing his doctoral dissertation on old welsh civilisation

has a crazy arsenal of historical facts that he'll share if one (1) drop of alcohol enters his system

peter - education/arts

does NOT gaf about becoming a teacher but chose it to 'keep his options open'

majors in polish

probably a part of a fortnite society or something icl

lily - pharmacology

i feel like muggle lily would do med/pharm bc witch lily did healing/alchemy

tortured academic who does all the extra reading

she brought a sleeping bag to the library during exam season

mentors younger students in biology and anatomy

mary - fashion design and textiles

for mary, university is a Very Serious outfit competition and she must look hot Always

except there are people like peter rocking up in their pjs

lugs her portfolios around in her shoulder bag bc she refuses to wear a backpack (it would kill her swag)

marlene - media/film studies

either this or zoology 🤔🤔

part of the theatre society and acts in their plays/skits

also leaves all her assignments to the last minute and pulls all nighters with sirius

most of which just consist of gossiping and yelling at the other to lock in (they're both living off 4 coffees and an iget bar)

[undergoing-mitosis]

i am going to ramble about my death note accent and language headcanons (wammy's boys + light) okay thanks

L is very British. This fits surprisingly easily with Alessandro Juliani's incredible dub performance, but just lose the Canadian(?)ness. He still has that slight drawl and softly pronounces every consonant, so it's less bo'o'wa'a bri'ish and more autistic every consonant is pronounced British. Every language he speaks is practically perfect accent wise, he tends to be a bit of a chameleon. You can only tell that he's not native Japanese when he speaks it by a few lilts on certain sounds which aren't quite right, but even then it's only noticeable if you're looking for it. Knows an ungodly amount of languages fluently: he had a period of hyperfixating on learning a bunch between cases, before he got bored and moved onto advanced Go strategy.

Light is Japanese. Mamoru Miyano's voice is canon. That is all I have to say on the matter. He also knows a few other languages from his studies, including English, but knows very little about using these languages in practice, making his speech sound very formal and textbook-y.

Mello is from somewhere in east Europe, but given he's lived at Wammy's since he was around 5-ish he had completely lost his accent. So his base accent is British like the rest of them. Whatever his native language may be, he can understand it but not speak it. Mello tended to err on the side of more rough British, dropping consonants no matter how much Roger tried to make him speak properly. He never devolved into full roadman though. When he ran away to the US, he taught himself how to speak with an American accent. (this idea is directly from Crush on ao3 haha) Over the years of the time skip he perfected his accent, now it is indistinguishable from a native LA resident. However, he is still having to actively put this accent on. Post-Mafia, Mello doesn't have to put up a front of being purely American any more: he still does it out of habit, especially in public, but in private his voice will become an odd mix of American, British and a few muscle memory sounds that come from his mother tongue, creating a unique sound. When Mello loses his composure (mainly, when he gets pissed at Matt) he devolves into full British expletives. He is known he mutter "bloody hell" under his breath frequently. He can also speak Japanese fluently, along with French and bits and pieces of a few other European languages.

Matt is Canadian. I don't know, I just think a Canadian accent suits him. Picked up a few British turn of phrases at Wammy's, but given that he moved there later than Mello he kept his accent. The only Japanese he knows is osmosised from anime. He also picked up wingdings from that period of time when every email he sent would be in it for funsies.

Near is also British. Very much has that autism British accent, without the added drawl in L's, making him sometimes sound quite posh even though he isn't. Nate River is the most British name I have ever seen I'm sorry I don't make the rules. He learnt Japanese for the Kira case, and can speak it pretty fluently and without a strong accent, but as a rule of thumb he has no interest in learning languages: he'd rather spend his time making paper cities or studying quantum physics. An exception to this is code languages: he knows morse code fluently.

[worldofsaia]

MICHAEL TALBOT ;

the holographic universe • 1991

what if reality isn’t as solid as it looks? what if it’s more like a projection from something beyond?

TALBOT explores an idea—taking principles from the legendary physicist DAVID BOHM, and neuroscientist KARL PRIBRAM that suggest that behind the projection, there's interconnected existence.

in THU, quantum mechanics connect to paranormal experiences where current technologies fail, and this suggests that consciousness might be non-local, influencing reality like the observer effect.

these cases follow: telepathy, near-death experiences, synchronicities, and psychic abilities.

¹ ˙𖦹 *∴ A HOLOGRAM BRAIN

KARL PRIBRAM, in his research, realized that memories were not localized to any specific brain region, and, inspired by the holography concept, began to explore how the brain processes and stores information, leading to the holonomic brain theory.

the brain has FOURIER-LIKE PROCESSING, rendering information using wave interference patterns.

╰╼ a fourier transform is a math construct that takes complex signals (like sound waves) and breaks them down into simpler parts (like individual notes). your brain is doing this with information all the time, i.e;

— you suddenly remember a song you haven’t heard in years.

— a childhood memory pops up randomly.

— people with brain injuries sometimes recall after amnesia, or even access entirely new skills and epigenetic memory.

in these moments, your brain isn't like a hard drive storing data in little compartments—it’s more like a receiver, tuning into a bigger field of information.

and if that’s the case, is your brain creating consciousness, or is consciousness something bigger that your brain is just accessing?

other theories state that consciousness is a fundamental aspect of the universe, with the brain acting as a receiver or filter, it's the blueprint that allows the brain to do what it does, or even better, a physicalized avatar of consciousness, the same as the body and the world.

²˙𖦹 *∴ A HOLOGRAM REALITY

In the 1980s, DAVID BOHM thought mainstream quantum physics was missing something. dissatisfied with conventional copenhagen interpretations of his time, he proposed that reality itself is a projection from a deeper, invisible order—like a video game rendering a 3D world from 2D code.

consider: you think about someone, and they text you. you think of a number or an animal, then you see them everywhere, you convince yourself so thoroughly that you'll fail your driving test, and do so spectacularly awful it feels prophetic.

coincidence? maybe. or maybe your brain is tuning into a frequency—filtering reality based on what you’re focusing on—just like the sims 4—where the game only loads what you’re looking at.

physics states that particles remain connected even when they’re light-years apart. this is called nonlocality; everything in reality is deeply connected.

in bohm’s holistic view; these connections undeniably imply an “unknown and undescribable totality” which he calls the “holomovement,” which is the fundamental ground of all matter or; implicate order, which our observable reality, aka explicate order, comes from.

even black holes are theorized to store reality on their horizion surface, like a hologram—so what if the whole universe does the same? if our reality unfolds from a largely unseeable, unknownable infinity, it's right to call it a projection.

³ ˙𖦹 *∴ TIME, SPACE, MATTER

if reality is really holographic, then time, space, and matter are illusions emerging from a deeper level of unity.

we've already connected non-locality with space, so what about the other two? in quantum physics, TIME doesn’t always flow the way we think it does.

entangled particles not only connect to each other, they can also act on each other across what appears to be impossible distances in no time at all.

time dilation (proven by EINSTEIN) shows that time slows down near the speed of light, shows that time is relative.

even in daily life, time feels different depending on what you're doing (boring class vs. fun weekend). that's why we have calendars, watches, units and systems to measure something that, otherwise, doesn't exist unless we're paying attention to it.

as a matter of fact, ‘time’ seems to happen without time. the projection we watch (our observable universe) still follows its own internal “script” that includes processes like aging and cellular decay. even if you don't know time, you know progress, because you expect it.

okay. what about MATTER? when we look at the world around us, everything seems solid, right? your phone, your chair, your body—all solid objects. but at the smallest scales, where they become particles, collectives of atoms participating in unison, none of these things behave the way we think they do.

even stranger—particles (like electrons or light) can either act like solid little particles (like a tiny ball) or like waves (like ripples in the water), when we observe them closely. they “choose” to behave as particles.

this means at the most basic level, matter isn’t really “stuff”—it’s more like potential until we observe it. it’s only when we look that it “decides” to act like a solid thing.

⁴ ˙𖦹 *∴ SHIFTING W/ HOLOGRAPHIC MODEL

if we take the holographic universe theory seriously, reality is a hologram, then your consciousness is the projector. shifting should be as simple as changing the film running in that projector, right?

yes. and you've shifted so many times! it's just that the more you ‘try’ to shift, the more you reinforce a reality where you're trying to shift—not the one where you've already shifted. and your brain filters out changes to keep you itself stable and safe. this is why reality feels so monotonous, even though it's constantly shifting in little ways.

to break out of the loop, you need to glitch reality—enough that your brain stops autopiloting and lets your consciousness move freely. it's important to note you're not traveling anywhere, you're just wiping your glasses—aka, consciousness, the lens of your reality.

STEP ONE

the fact that you even know about shifting means it’s already happening. you’re just stuck in the “trying” loop. reality runs on predictable patterns, and your brain fills in gaps to make it feel stable. naturally, the quickest way to shift is to mess with that stability.

here are some ways to do that, stick with one or two of them or all of them, it doesn't matter:

— walk into a room and act like something changed (without checking). even if things look the same, in your mind, keep running the “program” that you're already in your dr.

— misremember something on purpose (“Wait, wasn’t my blanket blue?” Even if it never was.)

— when you do anything, like check your phone, act like it’s your DR phone. what would be on your screen? if your DR has no phones, imagine you’re reading a book or getting a message another way.

— if someone talks to you, mentally swap their words for what they’d say in your DR.

— throughout the day, remember that you shifted, mentally say: “Wait, when did I shift?”

— or ask yourself: “Wait, what was I doing again?” (in your DR) it doesn’t matter if you don’t “believe” it, act like it’s obvious.

STEP TWO

notice how you shift realities when you least expect it? when you’re half-asleep, zoned out, or so exhausted you stop caring? that’s because caring too much locks you into your current state.

— before bed, or when making an attempt, prime your mind by saying: “I actually don’t care about shifting anymore,” or “Shifting isn't so important after all.”

you’ll either 1) shift because you stopped resisting the process, 2) wake up feeling slightly different, which means you did shift but your brain is pretending nothing happened.

NOTE

if it feels weird, good. that means your brain is questioning it. when your brain starts doubting reality, it will try to restabilize by convincing you, “this is normal, nothing happened.”

your consciousness moves faster than your logical brain, meaning 9/10 you literally shifted—but your brain is reconstructing old memories to keep things feeling ‘normal.’ so if you keep asking, "did i shift?", you’re just reinforcing your old reality.

[outbreakperfected]

Summary of the current state of the Chess/AION ARG from both a real life and lore perspective as of 9:19pm PST below the cut, for any guardians interested in catching up. Copy pasted from Discord from a few hours ago but there's been little progress on the state of the board so. Sorry if it's a bit hard to read.

After compiling together a bunch of people's different chess boards they got from completing a game in Eris' throne world that can be done once you collected all the chess pieces in the world that spawned last week, a bunch of streamers were able to piece together a QR code that led to the following site: http://aion-archives.net/ If you complete the puzzle, which is 27 weird chess boards you have to solve, you will be able to interact with a bowl of water that says "the water reveals" and it will give you a four number code (Signal Frequency x----) from 0001 to 4096, along with a custom chess board that you should take a photo of. If you plug in your chess board to any kind of chess site and receive the chess notation or FEN number, you can go to AION and input the following: your frequency number, and then the FEN number minus a few pieces. This will give you one of three things: Green text saying match confirmed, blue text saying data corrupted, or purple text saying quantum spin failed. The last one means you input your FEN notation wrong, while the first two mean you successfully put in the FEN notation. Meanwhile, people are also piecing together each unique board generated to match a frequency by their borders, and lining them into smaller chess boards assembled out of either red or grey tiles. By finding the piece in that bigger chess board created by the smaller chess board that would create some certain checkmate condition, this piece can be plugged into the in-game chessboard and if you complete a square successfully pillars around the arena will light up. They have the middle square done as of right now.

A handful of numbers on the website from frequency signals, as well as a bunch of other random dates (typically in coordination with stuff to do in either Destiny/Bungie or actual real life chess history) will spit out little bits of lore from the terminal. AION stands for the Apollo Intertemporal Observation Network, and we previously heard a mention of an "AION Initiative" back in some of the dialogue you can unlock from Vesper's Host by progressing through the puzzles in the questline. This was mentioned alongside the likes of Rasputin and Soteria, who we know are BrayTech AI. This fact also came to us from Astraea, who herself is a BrayTech AI. It is also very likely that the corrupted data outputs in some way link to the Corrupted Puppeteer, which is a failed BrayTech AI attempt to simulate a Vex Mind that possesses the ability to jump across various hosts and was able to construct some kind of neural network hivemind amongst House Salvation refugees on the Vesper Station.

A dialogue piece that only unlocks once the questline is finished actually reveals the message that was received through the Anomaly, and it is essentially that of someone named "Lodi" communicating that they are adrift. It is very likely this person is connected to AION. Additional texts you can receive from the website are prompts about an experiment starting today, traveling to another star, and a bunch of shit relating to astrophysics. If you bug the terminal too much, it will literally IP ban you which has happened to some unfortunate people in the twitch chat.

What is most interesting is that the code for the chess puzzle was cracked by uncorrupting FEN notations held behind the following set of numbers: 10071956 (I believe). This date aligns with some super important game in chess history, but importantly, you can see it be one of the dates counted down on the satellite in the short Edge of Fate teaser trailer.

and basically that is what we have so far

also if you input bungie related dates you can get easter eggs like pictures of a chess board made out of master chiefs

Right now a LOT of dialogue suggests stuff about jumping through space and time, which aligns with both what we know about the Nine and how the whole ARG is basically a game of 4D chess.

[pragmaticide]

Mastering the EIGS Factor: A Guide to knowing who to cooperate with to survive the Killing Game (Shitpost)

Introduction

As we all know, Mxs.Pragmaticide has tried every means to prove that Whit Young is suspicious and untrustworthy as hell--based on which they designed a multi-dimensional dynamic risk assessment model that achieves fine-grained differentiation of character types through nonlinear functions and weight allocation.

Behold, the EIGS model—by ingeniously weaponizing variables like Outward Warmth (E) and Inner Warmth (I), we've cracked the code to exposing Whit's diabolical duality with the elegance of a raccoon dismantling a trash can.

Below is the complete mathematical model and usage instructions:

Upgraded Mathematical Model (EIGS)

Let four continuous variables (ranging from 0 to 5, integers or decimals allowed):

E: Outward Warmth (5=extremely warm, 0=extremely cold)

I: Inner Warmth (5=extremely kind, 0=extremely cold)

G: Grief Expression (5=extremely grief-stricken, 0=no reaction)

S: Suspicious Behavior (5=extremely suspicious, 0=completely normal)

Formula Design

Formula Interpretation and Weight Allocation

Decision Rules

EIGS factor ≥ 15: Extremely Dangerous (active deceivers or highly anomalous behavior, must avoid).

8 ≤ EIGS factor <15: High Risk (requires continuous observation and limited interaction).

3 ≤ EIGS factor <8: Moderate Risk (can cooperate but remain cautious).

EIGS factor <3: Safe (priority alliance targets).

Examples

Model Advantages

This model has several advantages. First of all, its Dynamic Nonlinearity ensures that Whit's gaping chasm between E=5 ("golden-retriever type of boyfriend! A cute and pink matchmaker!") and I=1 ("black hole of empathy") triggers a danger multiplier so explosive, it's basically Newton's fourth law: "For every smile Whit fakes, poor Charkitten's soul gets audited."

Meanwhile, Behavioral Sensitivity weaponizes metrics like Suspicious Behavior(S) and Grief Expression (G)—because nothing screams "trustworthy" like someone who makes puns about hanging and their classmates fed-to-the-wolves while muttering formulas about how to snap a person's neck under their breath.

But fear not! Our Safety Compensation Factor graciously deducts risk points for Whit's occasional "kindness" (e.g. pretending to have an eye surgery and monitoring Hu and Teruko while mentally calculating the TV show costs), because obviously, giving someone new clothes to wear in a Fangan, even if the clothes are stolen from the other party's house(poor Hu would never have expected Whit to use his three-dollar-store-thrifting abilities on her expensive Hanfu, would she?); neutralizes 0.0001% of their latent sociopathy.

Finally, Fine-Grained Classification dissects Whit's 16 personas across the Whitverse—from "Faux Altruist" to "Semi-Sentient Tax Evasion Algorithm"—proving, with spreadsheet-level rigor, that even his mid-tier evil modes outpace humanity's moral median like a Ferrari lapping a bicycle.

In conclusion, the EIGS model isn't just good—it's 666% peer-reviewed (only been seen by a writer who lives on the Western Hemisphere but keeps the same resting hours as Prag in the time zone of GMT+8 @rulanarinrush), ethically unhinged, and guaranteed to diagnose Whit's villainy faster than he can say "Aw Frig." Science!

Usage Recommendations

Congrats! Now that you've mastered the art of saying utter bullshit, deploy your Quantum-Tuned Paranoia Engine™ with the strategic finesse of Prag against any accuses that disagree to their Charxanteruwhitvid agenda: did someone just "accidentally" point their useless remote (that can't even make an elevator start running) at the lights of the computer lab where the redhair dies? Immediately boost their S to 4.9 faster than a conspiracy theorist connects dots, because that person (instead of Whit Young innocently displaying yaoi with his Hispanic little boyfriend for the audiences in the far corner) is definitely the mastermind!

When resources dwindle to "dirt on the ground and the aromy in the ballroom," redefine alliances like a billionaire redefining "middle class." Set your cooperation threshold to Danger<30—After all, you're so hungry now that there's nothing left to eat. As long as the other party isn't some blue-haired psychotic policeman screaming "justice" while pointing a gun at you; everying is negotiable. Remember: In the hunger games of trust, you're both Katniss and the tracker jackers.

Also, to cloak your inner Moriarty, calibrate E=3, I=3, G=4, S=1—achieving the charisma of a slightly damp sock and the menace of a spoon. This renders you invisible to both Eden Tobisa and Veronika Grebenshchikova, like a LinkedIn profile optimized for witness protection.

Pro Tip: If your Danger score ever dips below 1, congratulations—you've either become Gandhi 2.0 or a sentient doormat. Either way, update your will.

Final Notes

Please calculate with real-time data as the game progresses—your survival probability is directly proportional to the model’s rigor. Now, survive! (Unless you’re Whit Young, because your fate is doomed to be impaled by spikes like Chiaki Nanami or that boy in Forever Dead while you are left dying alone!)

Credits&Peer Review

Let's take a moment to bow down to Rula, whose sleep schedule is so inverted it makes bats look like morning yoga enthusiasts. Without their caffeine-fueled midnight cackles, this formula would just be math, not a masterclass in weaponized absurdity.

Then there's my data-obsessed irl accomplice Mxs Cai, who, upon seeing my Whit's E=5/I=1/G=0/S=4 rating, immediately tried to run a regression analysis. As the saying goes:

"Any equation can be a banger if you gaslight people into believing it." — Sun Tzu, probably

[artatruc]

I just watched the first episodes of the new Devil may cry anime and here's my live reaction to the episodes if you want to hear me ramble about my favorite franchise as i descend into madness (it's not that bad actually from the 2 episodes i've seen)

Episode 1

-Too much exposition

-Why is there politicians in my demon hunting show

-When you're happy we're finally getting a Dante centered thing because it's been a while and they hit you with random politicians talking for 30 minutes and 2 to 3 minutes of dante

-Loving my 2 minutes of Dante though

-TOO MUCH EXPOSITION

-Why did they name drop New York, where is my time and place blurry world building, like every place we saw in the games/novels where based on real places but weren't real places like Mallet island, Dumary Island, Fortuna, Red Grave. Also not every show has to be set in New York ok netflix

-Again who put these politicians in my demon hunting show and why are they talking about irrelevent things like demon dna and the quantum physics of opening portals to hell i don't want science i want dante

-Vergil introduced way too fast where is the mystery netflix? We don't need answers right away mystery is not a crime i beg of you stop over explaining all the lore in the very first episode

Episode 2:

-Cool that they introduced Dante's mercenary past from the novel

-Jet pack boots thingy Lady??? (She looks really cool tho)

-The dialogues are very netflix show coded, not insufferable but it can get annoying at time

-Why are they introducing so many random characters can we see Dante for more than 2 minutes per episode

-Enzo you little rat (very in character tho)

-After another painful 10 minutes of politicians we are allowed a minute of dante, how lucky, now let's wait another 20 minutes before seeing him again

-I don't really see Dante opening up to people that much

-Ok a Dante scene longer than 2 minutes WE ARE SO BACKK

-Dante's backstory in episode 2, again, a bit of mystery won't kill us netflix

-Billiards fighting scene yess that's what we want to see, Dante and his over the top "never let them know your next move" fighting style

-"who are we shooting at" ok that was actually funny

-Why is lady swearing so much and acting like an angsty teenager (i guess she IS an angsty teenager but still)

-She said shit and fuck so much that's very netflix animated show coded and i'm not a big fan of that brand of edgy writing

-There's a bunch of random people introduced like i wouldn't mind 1 or 2 new people but this show doesn't even focus on the main character. Can't we have 1 DMC media centered around dante (that's not 2 decades old)

-Nooo Dante is not stupid, even if he didn't know his dad was a demon he'd still know he's part demon like come on, insane regenerative power/super strenght/etc... he can put 2 and 2 together

-Cyber jetpack boots and now hologram traps, netflix you listen, not every show has to be cyperpunk

Anyways despite all my complaints the show is fun so far and it's not canon anyway, so far i'd give it a 7/10 (could have been an 8 maybe if there wasn't so much exposition and again ??politicians???)

[centrally-unplanned]

I have been taking my fit-and-starts second stab at playing Victoria 3 - I did a Japan run, and a Korea run, and this is a very frustrating game. It bothers me because its deep core is probably the best of Vicky so far. It understands that the appeal of these game is Factorio-esque; you want to build up this cool little supply chain that goes chug chug chug I make-a the widgets and numbers go up.

Vicky 1 was ofc just pure cheese; most goods could just be dumped on the global market with no buyer and do fine, certain goods were just hard-coded to be profitable, and insane things like 100% of import costs coming out of the government's budget pushed you towards a kind of samey, slapdash hyper-industrial mercantilism. Vicky 2 was the opposite - so opaque in its function that you as the player didn't really have agency over it, as the vaunted World Market just does its thing. Your strategies "worked" no matter what you really did though, so you just kind of followed basic "build factory in same territory as RGO" logic and let the system run itself. Both of these systems made for functional-but-not-exceptional gameplay loops.

Vicky 3 is more complicated than its predecessors, but in ways that makes how the economic system functions more concrete. You have local prices for goods, wider markets with clearly labelled high-and-low demand, and clearly defined "production methods" where buildings can commit to better tech at the cost of different inputs. As a player you can build factories, farms, and mines of a dozen different types anywhere, so you always have agency - and those new production lines gives you goals. Invent steel tools, so now your tooling workshops can make more tools but will need steel instead of iron as a input? You can switch over the lines...but make sure you have enough steel mills! And oh, that drives down the price of tools once you do it...so now your cattle ranches can justify switching their line to tool-assisted butchers! And now you make more meat, your local cost is low, but oh in the Russian market meat prices are high - as shown by that little gold coin icon it - so you can export it now!

Things are looped, contingent, and based on your decisions. It is simple, of course, you are making lots of little, easy calls that build you up over time - which is what makes it fun. It has to be simple, because otherwise it is a dizzyingly complex web of a million markets, it would never work. You feel like you are actually building the economy without being overwhelmed by it.

Which would be great if it wasn't stapled to one of the worst political & military systems I have ever seen, played with a UI God abandoned in shame.

So you can join the markets of other countries? Like you have your own market as a default, so you can click the "market" tab and it will show you how much wheat your country makes, how much iron it buys, etc. All good. But if you join another country's market, now that tab shows the collective market, everyone's wheat, iron, etc. Useful but like obiously I am not playing the market, I am playing the country; so how do I see how much wheat I make?

You can't.

You actually can't! Idk maybe they patched it in recently, but I couldn't find it and all the reddit threads I google from 2023 say you can't. Are you planning to declare independence and wanna see if you make enough food for your people? Too bad! Fuck around and find out I guess. I saw one thread where someone's advice was "save the game, declare independence, screenshot the new market, then reload". Quantum timeline level of experimental design going on in these guys' Bureau of Labor Statistics.

It isn't even the gameplay implications that bother me the most - this is a game about building an economy. You want to see what you built! And they stop you. It is baffling, and is just the tip of the iceberg - there are so many things like this. One of my favourites is that your "construction sector" is a hybrid of government and private projects, sometimes it is you spending the money, sometimes investors. Okay, cool, when it is you spending it comes out of your treasury, right? Well, yes, but the way they show that is when everyone spends it comes out of your treasury, but the private sector reimburses you for their share. Which you will not understand your first ~3 games, and instead just see huge red numbers on your budget screen and panic. And you are just left asking why? Why do that?

Beyond UI, the political system is just half-baked. It is "interest groups", each has baseline popularity, and verrrry slowly that changes as your economic structure changes (or revolutions). And to change laws you initiate campaigns to drum up support with roll dice to pass/fail. Which isn't a bad baseline, but it completely fails to capture how political change occurred in the era. Like the Meiji Restoration is "done" by you putting industrialists in power and kicking out the "landlords" lol. Japan didn't have industrialists then! Landlords are the ones who did the restoring of Meiji.

More importantly than inaccurate it isn't fun - to change a law you just arrange a coalition in power than kind of backs it, then pray you get good random events. In Vicky 2 they had a lot more railroad-style decisions and stuff you could do to capture history, "hit this military score benchmark and launch a civil war" kind of stuff. It wasn't complicated, and it was less organic, but it was pro player agency, you could take active steps to achieve it. In Vicky 3 it is mainly waiting or cheese - people often talk about getting the Meiji Restoration by deleting all your armies at game start and launching a civil war immediately that the AI will lose by default. A checkbox decision is better than that!

The military mechanics are the epitome of their "systems over gameplay" approach. What they wanted to do was two-fold; reduce micro in Vicky 2 where it is "click army to province" over and over, and "balance" the game by making combat not reward micro where players could cheese the AI. Very valid goals, I totally support it. What they did was built a system where armies auto-move to "fronts" and their AI can't handle it, but now as a player my agency over my units is gone so I can't fix it. The UI is awful, you can't even really tell armies to attack or defend, they just ~whim. You have to do a lot of clicking to fight the system - yes it is less clicking than Vicky 2, but in Vicky 2 that wasn't mentally taxing, it was fun enough to wage the war you wanted to wage. Everything was concrete and in your control.

Here...look, as Korea I declared war on China to gain independence. Then the UK - not my ally, just separately, declared war on China as well. So now we are kindaaaa on the same side? At which point half my army auto-reployed to Hong Kong because a "new front" had "appeared". One my one boat. Then the UK declared war on me as well and then 50% of my army was fighting the UK in the South China Sea alongside the Russians (???) while the other half of my army is sitting there at home facing the Qing troops along the Yalu River going "bro, wtf?". At one point a newly spawned army of mine tried to auto-redeploy to Senegal.

All of this is just so preventable - you wanna reduce micro? Make combat provinces really big. You just invade "Manchuria", no clicking from Jilin to Mukden, and have bordering armies support each other defensively or something like that so you don't have to dash back and forth. Don't try to make your AI "do it for you" because it clearly can't and you want to play your own game. I'm sure the above will get better as I learn the system but I can just see the hundreds of players who saw this system and insta-quit, because until you "understand" it, it stabs you in the back. Not what you want out of a game.

Anyway enough me whinging about the game for way too long - the fundamentals are strong in the end. I will test out mods, I could see an overhaul mod really fixing everything except maybe the combat (and then you just cope). I definitely want it to work, the potential is high.

[stvrdrops]

soul ties ☆ | shuri x fem!reader

love at first sight was something everyone believed in. for wakandans, it was something entirely different. it was the belief that bast had created lines to connect each human to their perfect fit. shuri believed that you were the end of that line for her.

warnings : some fighting mentioned, mature themes, and cursing.

word count : 6.2k+

note : i would play the song right when the word "she" is highlighted. :) also this is the largest fic i've ever written so yayyy

song : un-thinkable (i'm ready) by alicia keys ft. drake

"shuri?" a voice peeks through shuri's daydreaming. when the princess looks slightly down to her left she sees riri speaking to her.

"are you even paying attention to the tour?"

"yes, of course i am." shuri says in a tone that sounds almost as if she were offended that riri would even ask such a question. even though she did in fact have her attention elsewhere.

"don't front. what do you see that's so important?"

riri follows shuri's eyesight across the quad, until it lands on you. her face lights up and her eyes widen.

of course. she thinks as she watches you in a world entirely of your own. your airpod maxes had been on and you were stuck in a studying session. your braided hair was tied back into a long ponytail, keeping the strands from falling in your face. riri could see even from afar that you were wearing very little makeup. your natural face was the one she preferred, and it was one shuri quickly grew attached to. you were in spandex shorts and a red hoodie that proudly repped MIT in white lettering.

"no."

shuri looks back over to riri, "what?"

"i said no. you're not going to get anywhere with her. no one has. not even i could crack that code." riri mumbles out, clearly butthurt.

"so, i'm hearing that you two know each other."

riri rolls her eyes, "yeah, we're friends. i tutored her last year."

"will you introduce me?"

"no."

"the dean said meeting fellow students would be a good idea. y'know, so i can be more accustomed."

"the dean ain't here though, is she?"

"oh don't be like that."

riri grumbles. she assumes that it can't hurt to introduce the two of you. it's not like any of the other generational wealth kids impressed you. however, a princess with panther powers just might do the trick.

"fine. you get five minutes."

shuri smiles and begins making her way towards you. with every step she noticed how much more beautiful you got. she also happened to notice how her heart would be tugged on, as if being pulled along on a string by you. you reminded her of the beauty she found in wakanda. with your rich skin and dark brown eyes, she couldn't help but notice you.

shadows of figures fall over your textbooks as you were reading over a line about quantum physics. annoyance began to bubble up, considering you had to have all of this material memorized by tomorrow afternoon for a test.

your eyes raise to meet the people causing the shadows, ready to ask them exactly what it was that they needed. that is, until you see riri, and a face you've only ever known in the news. your hands quickly find their way to your headphones, slipping them around your neck.

"hey y/n." riri says so casually that it shocks you. did she not know who was standing right beside her?

"uh, hey riri."

riri does her silly smile that she does every time you say her name. you knew she was utterly smitten with you, but you also knew that your friendship to her mattered more than anything.

"hi y/n." shuri says with a sultry wakandan accent. riri knew that wasn't how she usually talked, all sexy like that. a swift elbow was placed into shuri's side. due to her panther powers she could barely feel it.

"are you who i think you are?" you can't help but ask, struggling to pick your jaw up from the floor. shuri was someone you would say you looked up to. politics was something you were extremely interested in and watching her on tv speak about wakanda inspired you deeply. you wished so badly to visit wakanda since they opened up their borders, but their policy on foreigners remained the same. they were not to enter unless absolutely necessary. riri was only granted access because of her and shuri's close friendship, that riri never thought to mention until now.

she laughs, which makes your eyes light up. riri notices and figures it's just because you're starstruck. that's what you assume too, but it doesn't feel like that.

"yeah, this is the princess of wakanda, shuri." riri says as she rolls her dark brown eyes, "enough about her though," she slides next to you on the bench. "what are you studying?"

"i'm trying to study quantum physics right now. which is proving to be practically impossible." you say with a heavy sigh. at this rate you were doomed.

"oh, that's real easy baby. i can help you with it later tonight if you want." riri says as her eyes rake over the material in the book.

"very funny riri."

"no, i'm serious. i'm holding a little study session later for shuri to meet some friends. i know you don't hang out with my crew all like that but you're welcome to join."

the invite is enticing.

"i happen to know a decent amount of quantum physics myself." shuri says with a charming smile, "i can help you if you need it."

now the invite seems even more enticing.

"i mean, i guess. as long as we actually study. last time you had a 'study session' we all ended up high."

riri puts her arm around your shoulder, "yeah, but you passed that test the next morning, didn't you?"

a smile can't help but make its way across your face, "yeah, that's true."

"mhm, i thought so."

"shouldn't you be off giving the princess a tour?"

"shuri." the wakandan says.

"hm?" you ask, your eyes torn away from riri.

"you can just call me shuri." she says, "no need for formalities."

"oh, okay. shuri." you say, testing how her name sounds against your tongue. it feels natural and comfortable. shuri would be lying if she said her heart didn't flutter.

riri's eyes shift back and forth as they watch you and shuri.

"ookayyy. yeah, it's time for us to go shuri." riri speaks as she gets up from her spot next to you. she walks back over to shuri, who is still gazing at you. "see you later y/n."

"bye girls." you say as you watch them walk away. riri is saying something to shuri with a weird look on her face, but you can't tell what it is. you're just surprised you kept your cool in shuri's company.

then almost as if by clockwork, your phone begins to ring. you stare at the name on the screen and a sigh leaves you. of course he's calling.

"y/n is here!" riri shouts to the rest of the guests in the room. the couch had been filled with the couple guests riri had waiting in her living room. you thought this was going to be a small gathering, which granted it was. six people, including yourself, wasn't even all that bad. you just felt like you weren't going to actually study tonight after seeing them all. also, you were the only one with a school book in your hand. you weren't surprised to see a few people you knew, with the exception of one girl who had been in the kitchen with shuri.

you set the book onto the table as you take a seat on a beanbag. you notice the girl you're unfamiliar with is hanging onto shuri in the kitchen, keeping her preoccupied with conversation. however, when she feels a gaze lingering on her she's not shocked to see that it's yours. despite how fast you looked away, she knew you were staring.

"you want a hit?" a girl you recognize as karly says before extending her arm out to you. you can't help but look at riri, who just shrugs at you.

"sure." it can't hurt to relax if everyone else was. besides, this might be exactly what you needed. if you took a break from studying maybe you'd do better on the test type deal.

you take a hit of the blunt, making sure to show off how much experience you have with one. it felt good as it scratched the back of your throat. it took you some time to get used to the feeling. now you could successfully take in large amounts without coughing your guts out.

"we got a pro over there." riri says with a smirk on her face. she moves closer to you and sits on the floor. you pass her the blunt and she takes a hit equivalent to yours.

"with the amount of times you persuade me to smoke with you i should be a pro by now."

she laughs at your remark and passes the blunt onto someone else.

shuri makes her way into the room after watching the conversation for a while. you could tell from her eyes that she had already had the blunt a couple times. you wondered how she looked as she smoked. she takes a spot on a chair opposite of the beanbag.

"ri, so you ain't gonna update us on you and justice? i saw you sneak back into the apartments with her. it's almost like you forget that just because you stay in the bougie ass campus apartments means we can't spy on you."

"she not important."

"mhm, not like how y/n is."

riri narrows her eyes at her friends.

you laugh though, the weed taking your edge off. "i don't think my boyfriend would like that very much."

the whole room's eyes are now on you. your smile slowly dissipates from your face and your eyes go wide when you realize what you've said.

"boyfriend? since when the fuck do you have a boyfriend?" riri asks, a bit hurt that you never bothered to tell her this information.

"since my senior year of high school. he goes to a different school out of state." you say this so matter of factly. you weren't lying, you did have a boyfriend. he did also attend an out of state school. he was studying computer engineering. he was pissed when he didn't get into MIT and you did. he viewed it as an insult to his intelligence. that should've been one of your first of many red flags. you two talked at max five times a day. any more than that would just be a headache. two busy schedules don't mix well, especially when sometimes you're filling up your schedule just to make sure you had a solid excuse for missed calls.

"you didn't think that was important to tell us? no wonder someone hasn't been walking on campus bragging about how they nailed you." jacari says, a mutual friends of your's and riri's.

"lay off, at least she's faithful." karly says, staring daggers at him.

"i mean, you guys don't really ask me about my romantic life because you assumed there wasn't one."

"is there one? if he's out of state i'm sure that's hard to deal with." shuri can't help but say. the entire room turns to look at her, surprised she's asked such a question like that. she barely knew you. the one fact that she now did know about you was that you had a boyfriend that you didn't like to bring up. that was something she wasn't hoping to learn at all.

"yes, i have a very happy relationship with him." you say, knowing it's a lie. why are you lying? are you still trying to convince yourself? just today when he called you as you studied you argued with him. he wanted to stay where he was at for spring break and you wanted him to come visit you. it was months away, but you had to plan these things in advance with him. he never came to see you anymore. just this past christmas he lied saying he couldn't get out of his internship, but instead he was at his mother's house opening presents as she asked where you were.

you should have broken up with him by now. however, he was comfortable for you. did you really have the time to get to know someone entirely new? did you want to relearn someone's favorite color, zodiac sign, dreams, and goals? granted, there were plenty of choices in front of you that you already knew. such as riri, who you could see yourself being with. however, you prized her friendship so much more.

"that was intrusive, forgive me." shuri apologizes. her thick accent making your skin crawl.

"it's okay.." you mutter out.

"what's his name?" she asks, desperate to get any more information out of you. really, she just likes to hear your voice.

"monty." you say, his nickname rolling so easily off of your tongue, "i mean, his real name is montell. i call him monty."

"he sounds nerdy as fuck." riri can't help but say out of her own saltiness.

"i mean, he is."

"oh my god, so when was the last time you had an orgasm?" the mystery girl can't help but ask.

now this was a question shuri was interested in.

"i don't know. the beginning of this past summer." you wouldn't dare tell them that it had been one you pulled out of yourself.

"sis, you're kidding." jacari says, shocked at how long it had been. "y'all don't have phone sex?"

not even once.

"nah, it just never comes up for us." you try to say in a nonchalant manner, as if it doesn't bother you how you don't get turned on for him anymore. as if you ever did.

"that sounds miserable."

"it is." you can't lie as you laugh, "i've been itching to have sex for a while now. guess it'll just have to wait."

"whew, you're better than i am. i would've fucked half the campus by now if i were you." jacari continues on before taking a hit.

the conversation ends abruptly when riri's roommate comes out of her room and towards you.

"i need my beanbag please." she says, standing right over you. "i'm about to start studying and i'd rather not do it on my bed."

it takes a second to realize what she's saying to you through your high.

"yeah, of course." you say as you get up, pulling the chair from beside you and handing it to her.

"thanks." she says kindly, and then glares at riri. she goes back into her room, leaving you to stand.

"that bitch is always tripping. she didn't need her damn chair. she's just mad i have people over." riri says as she glares towards the door.

shuri notices you're standing and her mouth begins to speak before she can stop herself.

"do you want to sit in my lap? it's probably more comfortable than the floor." shuri offers up, everyone looking at her with wide eyes. it was a bold move that she was practically flirting with you despite finding out you have a boyfriend. also, after insulting the said relationship between the two of you.

of course, you didn't pick up on how charged that question really was. you were naturally oblivious to that stuff.

"yeah, okay. thanks." you say as you sit on her lap, or more specifically her knee. your spandex shorts made it so that practically every inch of your exposed skin was touching with hers, considering she had on shorts as well. you could tell they were riri's.

maybe it was the weed, or maybe it was the lack of sexual release. all you knew was that it felt damn good to have yourself pressed up against her knee. it was like she was teasing you, without even having to do it on purpose. you felt embarrassed as you felt yourself pulse from the closeness and how wonderful it felt. you attempted to get up, scared that she might know how you were feeling. however, her arm quickly found its way around your waist as she held you down onto her lap. your skin covered itself with goosebumps from the dominating grab. it was hard to act like you were interested in whatever conversation riri and her friends had been having with one another. shuri, on the other hand, had no problem continuing in the conversation as she felt how warm you were.

really shuri had not noticed just how bold her movements were. she had this want to protect you, as if you were hers. she wondered if it was because of her panther powers. however, she also wondered if it was something more. the reality that you had a boyfriend kept her from doing anything unwanted. she didn't know the way you felt towards her, if you had any feelings at all. if she couldn't get to know you in a romantic way then a friendly manner would have to do. even if she would ache for something more despite just meeting you this afternoon. shuri recalled a moment with her brother earlier in her life that left her thinking for the rest of the day after meeting you.

"when did you know nakia was the one for you, brother?"

he chuckles, "when i saw her."

shuri couldn't believe it, "what kind of hopeless romantic answer is that?"

"exactly what i just said. bast created soul ties underneath the rich vibranium soils that our eyes are unable to see. even us panthers can not view where the lines lead us. however, we can see when they have reached their destination. when you see that person, you just know that this is where your line ends. you know that bast made you for one another. you also know that you no longer need to search for that line."

"is there a chance that bast would forget to create a line for me? or at least, in the same way she created nakia's to you?" shuri began to wonder, scared because when she was young she didn't know where her sexuality laid.

"oh sweet little sister," he sighs, "bast would never forget to make you a person. after all, your annoying tendencies were made for someone to love."

"ugh, you suck!" shuri says, a wide smile on her face as she playfully hits her brother. he just smiles in return.

shuri believed that she saw the soul tie that connected to you. an american girl who she had never seen before. her brother was gone, but he was right.

your phone that is sitting in your lap starts to buzz, interrupting your train of thought as you attempt to uphold your composure and try not to seem too high. you squint your eyes at the bright screen.

"hi monty." you answer the phone, buzzed enough to sound happy that he's called. shuri watches the phone out of the corner of her eye. she's too curious to see what her competition looks like. he's sun kissed and has a buzz cut. he looked just as nerdy as his name sounded.

"where are you at?" he asks, not greeting her back.

"i'm at riri's."

shuri watches as his face turns into one of disgust. "i thought i told you to stop going over there. all she ever does is get you high."

riri is far too buzzed and in her own world to realize what he's said. shuri heard it though, and furrowed her brows.

"getting high is my own choice, monty. i know you get high with your frat bros in north carolina."

"it's different."

no it isn't.

"wait a minute, are you sitting on some other dude's lap?" he asks, as all he can see is shuri's curly hair.

"no, this is shuri. like the princess of wakanda shuri." you whisper that last part into the phone. it shows just how truly geeked you are.

"you're lying. that's a fucking dude."

before you can say anything, shuri takes the phone from you and puts it on her own face. you watch as monty's face goes wide and for once he has nothing to say.

"hello montell."

"oh, um. i-i'm sorry, princess." monty is scrambling to find the words and shuri can tell he wants to hang up. he always hated to be embarrassed. being embarrassed by royalty was the lowest it could get.

you take the phone back before he gets the chance to hang up, "wait, monty, what were you calling for?"

"well, i thought about what you were saying earlier. i'll come home for spring break. i miss you baby."

his voice sounded so insincere and shuri cringed at it. this was the man who got to claim you as his own? you had a beauty unrivaled and here you were wasting it on some man who couldn't even seem excited about seeing you. she felt offended for you, even though you were use to this by now.

"really? what made you change your mind?"

"i don't know. i guess i'll see you over break though. we can talk more about this at another time."

you knew what he meant by this.

"i'm not out partying, monty."

"you are. at least be a responsible adult and get up for your classes tomorrow. bye."

"bye." you say back, unwilling to fight.

when he hangs the phone up you realize the everyone is looking at you. your face heats up from noticing that everyone probably witnessed that entire exchange. of course they caught him on a night where he was being a dick. it was pretty much every night, so this did make your case to defend him a little harder. you didn't want to get up from shuri's knee considering it felt so nice up against you. however, you also didn't want to hear any comments from the gallery.

"i'm going to go home." you say, pulling yourself into sobriety after that conversation. "hope you all have a good night."

shuri lets you up from her lap. she feels bad you're walking home but it's not like you've never done it before. the heat you resonated leaves her feeling cold when you stand away from her. everything inside of her is screaming for her to grab you back into her arms and keep you there. a part of you wanted that too, but it was unrecognizable.

riri hands you the physics book on the table. "get home safe, y/n."

"i always do."

you got home safe that night. you also searched for an orgasm multiple times that night as you recalled how good you felt against her. you replicated her knee with a pillow and held on tight to yourself with your free hand. you tried so desperately to think of monty as you rocked against it. however, nothing worked. all you could do was imagine your head placed in the crook of the princess's neck, smelling her enticing cologne. you could hear her wakandan accent telling you how good you were doing and how badly she craved you. they were all words that monty could never say to you. they were words you searched so bad for because you ached for her praise. only when you moaned out her name as you finished made you so self aware to what you had been doing. this made you dig your head into your pillow, still heaving from the high.

what you did weighed heavy on your conscience. especially when you had been practically spending every day with shuri. she was basically attached to your hip. she joined your study sessions, she came with you to try american cuisine, her favorite being wingstop for some strange reason, and she even waited for you after every class. she was your best friend, making riri fall into second place.

at one point a rumor had been going around campus that the two of you were in a relationship, despite the fact you had a boyfriend. after all, who could deny a princess of the most powerful and advanced nation in the world? you could deny her as much as you wanted. however, you knew deep down that you couldn't do it for long. you didn't know how much longer you'd keep stringing monty and yourself along. commitment was something you were scared of. commitment to a future leader of a nation was something entirely different. what if you had decided to dump monty for a potential happy relationship with shuri? what would happen if it ended? you'd rather not think of all the possibilities, instead you preferred self sabotage. you appreciated shuri so dearly, in the a.m. and in the p.m. when you would finish to thoughts of her. whether it be how she played with your hair when she got bored, how she laughed so sweetly at your jokes, or how she constantly had her hand in yours or on your waist. you knew friends didn't do that. you knew that she also knew that.

the more time you spent with shuri meant the more time you spent ignoring monty. he saw paparazzi pictures that his friends would show him of the two of you together. he felt some type of way of course, blowing up your phone with "she might as well be your boyfriend the way she's touching on you." your only response being a swift "okay" and an "i'm sorry." you weren't sure how else to respond to him, knowing that you were cheating emotionally and even somewhat physically. you imagined that monty couldn't have stayed loyal to you with the lying he did. so what did it matter if you told a couple white lies too?

you didn't even realize that at one point whenever you brought him up you'd start referring to him again as his birth name, montell.

"montell?" you can't help but ask in surprise as you open the door to your dorm.

"surprise!" he says with the most emotion you've heard out of him in weeks. a bouquet of flowers are in his large hands. a nice turtleneck adorned his chest, which had gotten bigger. he must've been putting his frustration into working out. "you back to calling me by my birth name?"

he pushes his way into the dorm, looking around at your space that you shared with your roommate who had been out of town.

"um, you're early. a week early." you express to him, rubbing your forehead. you weren't prepared for his arrival in the slightest. your hair had been pulled into a bun and your face was bare. you adorned some grey sweatpants that did not belong to you. shuri had left them here the last time she slept over. she claimed it was "too warm" in the room to wear such pants. instead she wore a pair of your shorts that you never got back.

"you weren't going to tell me that your spring break started a week earlier than mine? i just decided to do my coursework ahead of time and then surprise you."

"honestly it slipped my mind." you say, which was the truth.

he sets the bouquet down.

"you look pretty." he says as he gets closer to you. his hands grab your waist, pulling you in and looking at you as if he wanted to devour you. it was almost as if he had forgotten how pretty you were. or maybe he was just jealous, because he knew the pants were too big for you.

you wanted to pull away, not wanting to kiss him despite thinking that you had been missing him all this time.

"not right now, i kinda just woke up." you say, which was a lie. it was eight p.m. on a rainy night. you could never sleep when it rained.

"okay, i guess later then when we go out to dinner. you looked like you were expecting somebody though with the way you opened up the door. is it that stupid princess you've been hanging around?"

there was the montell you were used to. a jealous, insecure, fucking man child.

"no." you say, a lie. your face scrunches up in disgust that he would refer to her in that tone.

he knows you're lying.

"okay. so if i wait up around in here she's not gonna show up?"

"i don't know. i can't control what she does."

"bullshit. you've got her walking around behind you like you're the one who's royalty. call her."

what?

"no."

"i said, fucking call her."

before you can say anything he's attempting to grab your phone. you put up a good fight, causing the phone to get launched right into his face. you gasp when you've realized what you did. instant regret fills your body as you spurt out countless apologizes.

"it would've been better if you just fucked her, y/n. cause then i could confidently say i don't give a fuck about you and finally tell you about all the girls i've been nailing since i went away. heh, just like how you've been. guess we finally have something in common."

your eyes go wide at his words. there it was. there was the truth that you had been begging to hear in some deep part of your brain. those were the words that could allow you to finally let him go. this was the moment you decided that you weren't okay with being 'comfortable' anymore. you were utterly repulsed at him and yourself for letting this go on for so long. for months you refused to act on impulses that you craved so badly to have. your lip trembled when you thought about how you could've kissed shuri ten times over by now. you had been holding onto something that you didn't realize had no real value to you anymore. and for what? to be treated like some idiot? you didn't deserve that.

"get the fuck out. you should've never come home."

"yeah i should've stayed with my other girlfriend. at least she doesn't flaunt herself around with other people in fucking tabloids. it's embarrassing you know that? when your buddies send you links of some bitch having her arm wrapped around your girlfriend? they teased me about it in my frat for weeks after she got caught playing in your hair and looking so lovey dovey with you. they called me a pussy for not coming back home sooner."

"so that's why you came back? to prove yourself to some idiot frat boys who are gonna be stuck drinking out of kegs the rest of their life while you write all their code, making them the millionaires? get the fuck out montell."

"you bitch-"

"i said leave."

you don't have to tell him again before he's grabbing up his roses and muttering curse words at you under his breath. you held your composure until he slammed the door shut. when surrounded in your own hospitality you finally crack. the tears fall down your face and plop as they hit the wooden floor. you were crying because you were upset about losing someone you loved. you were crying because you had let yourself be played for a fool for so long. a part of you feels liberated as the weight of montell is lifted off of your shoulders.

"y/n?" a voice says from behind the door. you recognize it's shuri.

attempting to speak only results in you being choked up. the door opens as you raise your head to look up at her.

her grey hoodie that says MIT has raindrops all over it. her curls are wet and drip against the wood floors. she looked beautiful despite being soaked. the fact she looked so beautiful made you cry even more.

when she lays her eyes on you she can't help but immediately rush over. she drops the books about physics she had in her hand. she had every intention on coming over here to study with you, but now she didn't care about any of that. she had never seen you like this before. her only priority was you. her heart was set solely on you.

"what happened?" she asks, her arms wrapped around your body as you huddled into yourself. you don't dare to look at her, feeling too ashamed.

"montell.. i'm so stupid." you manage to choke out.

shuri puts it all together. she thought that man she had passed in the hallway just now looked familiar. she knew even more that something was up when he gave her a glare that could've had him killed. had she known he left you like this, she would've killed him herself. how dare he cause such pain to someone who did nothing but care for others?

"whatever happened, you are not stupid. you are one of the brightest girls i know, and that's saying a lot."

you somehow manage to laugh and look back up at her. she's still holding on tight, making you feel warm in her embrace. it reminds you of the study session at riri's. it feels pure. it feels like you're the only person in the world to her.

she wipes away your tears with the pads of her thumbs, her eyebrows contorted into a face that resembles worry.

"please don't cry. you are too pretty to cry over such ugly things. i hate to see you cry."

you think that this is exactly how love is supposed to feel as she says those words to you.

"shuri.."

"y/n. you make me feel things that i've never felt before. you're something that is so impossible to ignore that i can't help but spend every second with you. you put up with my annoying tendencies. you put up with my clinginess. you put up with my lack of american pop culture knowledge. you denied me my feelings because you knew it was the wrong thing to do if you fell into my temptation. i know you know deep down how i feel for you. it is quite obvious. you are an angel among men, y/n. you are my angel. you've saved me in ways that you can't even begin to think of. i never had any intentions on falling in love with you, but it has happened. you may not be in love with me but you are what makes my world spin. you are what makes my oceans flow and earth quake. you are exactly who bast intended me for and i can't ignore this anymore. i can't let you sit here and think you are foolish when you are anything but. you are considerate, you are kind, you are a person worthy of being a queen. you are my queen, wakanda's future queen."

her words have shocked you as you sit there, eyes wide and your mouth partly gaped open. you thought you'd want to hear those words from montell, but really it had been shuri all along. you couldn't ignore your feelings towards her after a love confession of such caliber. it had shaken you to your core and it took you out of your sadness. your heart was beating at a dangerous tempo, but it was aligned with hers. you didn't know what she meant by her goddess creating you for her, but you could feel it. you could feel it because you knew she was made for you as well.

you hadn't realized, but you knew everything about her. you knew shuri's favorite color was purple. you knew her zodiac sign was sagittarius. you knew her dreams and goals of advancing wakanda. you also knew how scared she was to become the future queen as she once cried in your arms.

you love shuri. you love her so much that it made you blind. you'd rather ignore that feeling than feed into it, but that's all changed now. she took the lead tonight and now it was time for you to express what came to your mind.

so you did.

your lips connected to hers in a wild frenzy. finally you were quenching this thirst you had been searching for since she came into your life. after all this time you were doing the unthinkable. you were allowing yourself to be her's, rather than anyone else's. your fears of commitment felt like things of the past when your hands made their way to her face. her skin felt so soft against yours, as it got wet from your tears. her plump lips are attached to your soft ones. it felt like you were intertwining yourself with her. for shuri, it felt like the soul ties were becoming knotted into one. finally she had you and she had no plans of ever letting you go. this was the unthinkable and it was so beautiful as you held onto each other, placing intimate kisses one one another. this was you saying you loved her just as deeply as she loved you, in very little words.

you were ready. after all this time you were ready to see what was right in front of you this whole time. you could never go back to what it was before. she was your soulmate.

"i'm sorry." you whisper out after you pull away to breathe.

her hands begin caressing your face as her eyebrows furrow. "what are you sorry for, my love?"

"i'm sorry for not doing this any sooner. i'm so sorry."

"you never have to apologize to me. i would've waited until the end of time for you."

you smile, feeling your heart swell.

as the rain falls down around outside of your dorm walls, you stay in her embrace. shuri could feel her brother smiling at her from a distant plane, knowing in death that he was right. he had been smiling even brighter at the prospect that shuri did indeed find her nakia.

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙✧⋆｡°✩☼⋆｡°✩☽︎