#I'm getting pretty efficient at getting these out!

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

Hiii, congrats on 800 followers! I think it's soo good of you to write, and study and everything. I was soo overwhelmed by just study and work 🫣

Always love your fics, so thank you so much for everything 🫶🏽🩷

For the drunken challenge, could you maybe write something with number 1 and 17? Maybe with Javi Peña or Frankie? 😁

Drunken Love Confessions prompts l Frankie Morales

1. "I like your stupid face. It’s so stupid. It’s so… I like it. Can I touch it?"

17. "I’m not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?" "You’re not doing anything." "But… I sent you my love. Did you… did you not get it?"

~~~~~~~~

a/n: Sweetie, you've supported me for so long it's been a pleasure to write this. Thank you for being here.

warnings: alcohol, some swearing, mentioned kissing

~~~~~~~~

"I like your stupid face. It's so stupid. It's so… I like it. Can I touch it?"

"Do you think I look stupid?"

"Nooo!" you groaned, grabbing Frankie's arm with a look like you just realized what you said. "I just... I just..."

“I’m kidding you, damn it!” he laughed, and you felt like you hadn’t fucked anything up after all. “But why do you want to touch my face?”

You had no idea. 

You had already drunk so much that there was no efficient connection between your brain and your mouth. This evening had been going on for a long time. Benny's birthday was celebrated by quite a large group, and you and Frankie had already managed to get pretty drunk.

Frankie. Your friend. Someone you could always count on. Someone who knew how to make you laugh and what kind of chocolate you liked when you were having a bad day. Someone you called when your date was hopeless and picked you up from everywhere. Someone you were incredibly close to. And finally someone you kissed on the 4th of July, and a few more times after that, but you both blamed it on the alcohol and the wrong time.

Even though you had a soft spot for him, you felt like you couldn't meet halfway. You had no idea that the boys had started placing bets on when you would finally decide to be together.

And even now, when you were both drunk and you touched each other more often than friends should, you still couldn't talk about your feelings.

Frankie wrapped his arm tightly around you so you didn't fall to the floor when you both decided to go outside for some fresh air. It was only there that you saw his brown eyes sparkling beautifully, and a small smile playing on his lips.

"What are you staring at?" he asked, lighting a cigarette and looking at you suspiciously.

You leaned against the wall. The back parking lot was just the two of you, muffled music coming from behind closed doors. You smiled broadly.

"I like you, Francisco." You said, and maybe this confession would have made a bigger impression on him if you hadn't staggered at the same time.

"Watch out! Jesus Christ!" he laughed, grabbing your arm and straightening you up. "You're drunk as hell."

"I'm not drunk. Can a drunk person do this?" you looked at him in a strange way and for a moment you were both silent.

Finally, it was Frankie who spoke first. "You're not doing anything."

Desperation appeared on your face. "But... I sent you my love. Did you... did you not get it?"

"W-What?" he choked out. "Oh, hermosa! You have no idea how much I would like to hear that when we were both sober, but..."

You suddenly frowned and folded your arms over your chest. "I'm not joking, Francisco." Your voice sounded incredibly sober and determined. "I like you. Even in that cap you wear all the time." He instinctively adjusted the cap on his head. "And I'm worried that you only have feelings for me when we're both drunk."

That melted his heart. You were the sweetest thing he knew. He adored you, your sense of humor, the way you always listened and didn't judge him. He would give anything to have the courage to ask you out, but all he'd done so far was kiss you a few times and then you both pretended that you were just drunk.

Frankie shook his head and sighed. "We should talk again tomorrow when we're sober, hermosa. I'll take you home and..."

“Give it back!” you announced suddenly.

Frankie blinked, surprised and confused. "But what?"

"My love, dumbass!" no you weren't joking "If you don't want it then give it back!"

"What makes you think I don't want it?" he asked but you took a step forward, you were really angry.

"I told you to give it back, Francisco."

He suddenly crossed his arms over his chest and took a few steps back, as if he really wanted to keep something with him. "No." he said "I'm not giving you anything!"

You snorted and rested your hands on your hips. You almost stomped your foot like a little child. The whole situation would probably be funny for you, but the drinks you had had made you really start arguing about something that wasn't physically there.

You snorted and put your hands on your hips. Frankie was sure you were about to stomp your foot like a little kid. The whole situation would probably be funny to you, but the drinks you had had made you really start arguing about something that wasn't physically there.

"Hermosa..." Frankie started slowly "I really appreciate this..." you glared at him "I mean, I don't want you to think I don't feel anything for you. You're amazing and all..."

"That sounds like you're about to say some 'but'." you stated.

"But we're fucking drunk!" he threw his arms out in helplessness "You'll regret it tomorrow."

"You want to know what I regret when I'm sober?" you asked, pointing a finger at him "That we always pretend nothing happened between us. I've never even been drunk enough to not know what I was doing!"

Frankie frowned as if trying to piece it together. “You mean…”

“I mean, every time I kissed you, I wanted to kiss you, dumbass. But then you acted weird so today I decided to give myself some courage and now I’m fucking drunker than I’ve ever been and you’re still ignoring me and…”

Frankie’s large hands closed over yours with a finger extended and for a moment you tried to understand what he had just done. His eyes stared at you in awe.

“Let's make a deal, I won't give you back what you sent me, but tomorrow, if we both still want it, we'll finally do something about it, okay?”

“What do you mean?”

“A date. We’ll go on a real date. If we both still want it. Because I want it, I want it bad. I want it really fucking bad to be honest.”

Your face suddenly brightened. "Are you serious, Francisco?"

"Of course, hermosa."

You sighed quietly and your eyes filled with tears. However, after a moment you nodded. "Take me home then. I want to end this day."

You didn't know what time it was. The sound of your phone woke you up and you rolled out of bed to find your bag somewhere in a pile of your clothes. The phone vibrated in your hand and you noticed a picture of Frankie on the screen.

"Yes?" you yawned as you answered.

"Hi, hermosa." His voice was tired but cheerful. "If what you said yesterday is still relevant, maybe I could pick you up today around 6? What do you think?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Drunken Love Confessions prompts

you can still send requests

[notbojack]

I love your hcs for the linkuei trio, very funny :3

Can I request hcs of annoying things they do? Like they're messy and stuff like that. I don't think I've ever seen anyone exploring a part of them like that and I'm curious what it would be like 😅

I'll do as best as I can pookie :D

the Lin kuei bros and annoying things they do

Bi han

Dang. Here we go again

The first annoying thing about him that's very noticeable is that he has a resting bitch face

No matter if he's actually annoyed, indifferent etc, he WILL have that same frown. He def had some misunderstandings because of it

"Stop giving me attitude young man" "I'm not doing anything"

Actual conversation between an elder of the clan and him btw

He's judgmental. That we know ofc

If you do something that he deems is not the "right" way to do it, he will try to correct you. That is SO annoying when trying to get something done and someone beside you is like "that's not how you do it"

Anyway-

It's hard to make him laugh honestly. If you make a bad joke he'd just slowly turn to stare at you

When he jokes, it's probably a smart quip said in a deadpan tone that most people have to actually think about it for a few seconds to get it

Yk when teachers randomly come up to your desk to stare at your work in a tense silence while you stress out? Yeah that's bi han

He'd just come randomly to you at training to see if you're getting better. Does he know it stresses out most students to get stared at when training? It's a mystery, but he doesn't look like he cares much

Sigh. People, I'm sorry to say it, but he probably wouldn't like shy people

He just doesn't understand how someone can be shy. For him it's a sign of weakness

He won't mind if someone is mostly silent and efficient, but he will mind if someone is too shy to get job done

He mostly cares about competence after all

Oh, last thing, he's a sore loser

He's not allowed to play board games in this household anymore

Kuai liang

Why is Tomas being a pretty princess behind kuai liang-

Anyway

He's similar to bi han. He honestly copies him without noticing. At least he did that when he was a kid

It can come off as annoying if you're trying to joke around and he does bi han's slow turn

You have to explain the joke for him to crack a smile most of the time

He's stubborn. Yk the type of stubborn to actually write up a Wikipedia text to confirm his opinion even when he's wrong. Ik they're not familiar with the internet, but he'd be the type to do that if he was so

He gossips

Ik it sounds odd said like that, like "how can a trained ninja gossip like a schoolgirl!". Well, he does, just more discreetly

If someone starts talking shit about someone he dislikes (example bi han after his betrayal COUGH COUGH) he WILL get in the conversation

Though he tries to be subtle, he's obviously liking tea time from time to time

Guys.. he forgets anniversaries

Don't take it personal though. It could be valentine, anyone's birthday, new year, it doesn't change the result

I can see him randomly ask for the date after people act weird and then hearing what date it is (again, any special event) and he'd be like "really?" LIKE BRO DIDN'T KNOW

I think it's because he doesn't care much about what date it is, having other things to worry about

He's ridiculously charming

Ik people when hearing that would be "how is that annoying?" Well, it is if you're his partner and see other women flirt with him. He'd probably be polite but refuse the advances

Still annoying af though

That and because he can get away with many things because of it. Countless of times when they were kids, one of his brothers would get scolded instead of him because their father believed more in kuai liang and thought he could never do such thing

He did

He just has a way with words. He understands social cues and use it to his advantage

Yes, it is pretty manipulative, but most people just see him as a cool dude anyway so he gets a free pass

Tomas vrbada

Bbg (war criminal)

He's a prankster. That can be annoying when he does it to you instead of his brothers

He will always pretend to have done no wrong with a smirk that CLEARLY tells you he's the one you did it, but you have no proof of it

As I said, he's a little shit-

He will tease about quite literally anything, just to annoy

Why? Why not

Yes, he is a kind and noble man. No, that does not keep him away from being mischievous

If you have some typpa crush on him, he WILL know. No matter how much you try to hide it, he's unfortunately very observant

Example, he will flex his muscles while training if he notices you looking, though subtly and making it look accidental of course. He might even wink at you if he's feeling particularly bold that day

He's one of those that "doesn't want to take sides" when a conflict comes up, though he ends up taking a side anyway because he's forced to

Is a nerd about animals. He's the type that's like "Well actually-" if you get a fact wrong about an animal

He knows, he's been a hunter before

It is irritating if you talk about your favorite animal and he corrects you. like bro let me enjoy stuff

"I like raccoons, they're funny-" said anyone (or you) before Tomas corrects them by saying weird ass facts about raccoons

He's a "no, you pick" in a relationship most of the time. And most of the time, it's chill, but sometimes it is kinda hard if you both say that. It just won't end

Yk that annoying couple that's giggling and all "no, you pick!" Until it actually turns into an argument? It reminded me of that

He's insanely lucky at board games. Like BRO wdym you just picked a card that said you own the bank now?!

He'd taunt about it too

As I said, he's very perceptive. Don't try hiding stuff, he will know if you're hiding stuff or if something is wrong and etc

"Did you eat my dessert in the fridge?" "No" "I know you're lying"

Actual conversation between one of his brother and him

He'd pester until he gets the truth, too

Well that's all bbg, I hope it's alright!

Gifs not from me. I got inspired by some mk fanfics and environment lol

[storiesbyjes2g]

3.221 Left field

I got a chance to teach a yoga class today, and the turnout was pretty good at half full. Chi Chi and our neighbors, whom we haven't seen since we moved in, were there. The house yoga instructor was there too, so I assumed he was early and waited for his session time. My neighbors were obviously beginners and sat out half of the routine, but what surprised me most was how badly Chi Chi performed. I thought she was better than that, given she's a professional athlete and all. But thinking about it, she mostly attends my meditation sessions, not yoga. I went to talk to her afterward, and she high-fived me.

"You still got it, friend! I haven't done yoga since you did it outside that one time. I figured since I'm getting old it might be a good idea to start again, ha ha!"

"Wooow that was so long ago! It's never too late."

"That's what I always say! Anyhoo, I gotta go. Got a lunch date with an old acquaintance. Toodles!"

The instructor settled onto the mat—my cue to leave. At midday, it was far too early to return home, so I started a meditation session. I'm not sure if I'm getting more efficient with my time or what, but usually when I do two sessions, I don't make it home before Desi. But today, I did. Or at least I arrived shortly after. On the way home, I got a weird call from someone saying I was going to inherit money and heirlooms from her, and she suggested I write a will so that when I die, no one is fighting over my stuff. At first, I thought it sounded like a scam and told her I wasn't interested. But as she went on and on about the will and inheritance, I thought maybe this was an elaborate and clever marketing ploy to drum up business for her law firm. The call irked me, yet I admired its creativity. No matter how sketchy it sounded, she had a point with the will. My parents didn't have an official will, but they left us instructions on how they wanted to be celebrated and what both of us should receive. I only have one child, so it wouldn't be that complicated, but still. It's better to have a plan at the ready for when the situation calls for it. I definitely needed to talk to an inheritance lawyer; just not that lawyer, heh.

As I approached the house, I saw Sophia outside. When she spotted me, she ran over to greet me, almost knocking me down just like when we met, but in reverse. Her voice was frantic with excitement, and she rambled on even faster than Chi Chi. I couldn't make out what she said and asked her to take a breath and slow down.

"I WON THE LOTTERY!!!"

"You WHAT???"

"A million simoleons! I won a million simoleons!!"

"A mi-WHAT???"

"I KNOW!!!"

"The lottery?!"

"Yup!!"

"You WON?!?!?"

"YES!!! Isn't it wonderful??? I don't usually play, but...I don't know!! I just bought a ticket on a whim! I never thought I'd actually WIN!! Just think! You have all the money you need now to do everything you want for our family!"

I can't lie. I could have broke down crying right there on the street. She's ALWAYS thinking about me and my plans! Even the plans I've abandoned. She's been this way ever since the beginning, but I still find it amazing how sweet and selfless she can be. I couldn't speak, so I just kissed her. Everything was a blur after that.

[canmom]

I tried the full version of DeepSeek and yeah you aren't kidding, large models are scary. At the same time... we didn't actually get to an impressive demo but it did showcase a lot of capabilities that smaller models don't have.

Like, perhaps not the hardest but certainly the most annoying part of doing any C/C++ programming in my experience is wrangling the fucking toolchain and 18 billion compiler flags you have to keep track of. And this is where DeepSeek really came through. It was able to give me precise, relevant instructions to get FreeGLUT working with my weird setup (MinGW installed via Scoop on Windows Powershell) that I couldn't easily figure out from searching, and give useful advice on how to handle the weird edge cases.

Its first effort gave something much more size-compressed than any of the other models I've tried, a pure C program using GLUT. It compiled (once it had walked me through getting GLUT up and running) but it was kind of crazy jittery. It was able to figure out how to control the animation time, and help me figure out how to get around a powershell issue with the linker commands.

Unfortunately it did not seem to be capable of getting down to the 4kb frontier. Here's where we got to after an hour or so of back and forth, an 11kb demo after compression:

It would occasionally spit out some fairly questionable advice, like trying to remove GLUT dependency by deleting every line with a GLUT command using sed, even though... those commands do stuff. For the sake of the purity of the exercise, I did not attempt to make my own modifications to the code it spat out.

It was able, however, to take its minified codegolfed program and rewrite it as something pretty readable. That's quite an abstract operation for a chatbot to do. And the rate of bad suggestions was overall low.

Using Lambda.chat did have some curiosities. Sometimes the model would be quick to spit out tokens, but sometimes it would freeze, not generating any tokens for a long period. Since so far as I know LLMs are basically constant in the number of operations to generate a token (is this actually true?), I assume this has something to do with the backend they're using. At the end, the system just froze completely, so I'm not sure what was going on, but it seemed like a good moment to end the experiment and do something else.

Here's the full chat transcript if anyone is curious.

Overall I think this proves the effectiveness of LLMs as a coding assistant to a much greater degree than I expected - they can do a lot more than merely efficiently look up docs. By rubber duck standards, they're pretty damn good at quacking. That said, to get an actual 4k intro - even a bad one! there is little to see here - humans are evidently still needed. For now... :/

can an LLM write a demo?

ongoing LLM probing efforts: I tried giving them a challenge to "write code for a 4k demo to render an ocean scene".

note, in demoscene parlance, a '4k demo' refers to a demo that fits in 4 kilobytes, not one that renders to a 4k monitor. this is a stupidly difficult high-context problem and I didn't expect to really get perfect output. well, shocker, the output was largely not all that impressive in human terms.

Here's the best result I was able to get after a fairly extended dialogue with DeepSeek R1 70b, a 300kb demo using opengl:

many wave, very ocean

I'm kind of wondering why I did this at this point, but I think the main reason was that I started to buy a bit of the hype and wanted to reassure myself that LLMs are still a bit daft?

first I tried two LLMs on lmarena.ai but the site bugged out when I rated them rather than tell me which bots I was talking to.

Both generated what looked like a valid OpenGL program (though I did not attempt to compile either), however, looking closer the output was flawed in various ways. The left one decided to do some limited raytracing in the fragment shader rather than displace a mesh. It claimed to be using Gerstner waves, which would be cool, but a closer look at the output showed it was actually just sines. I'm also not sure quite what it thinks it's doing with the projection - it just seems to take the fragment position as if it were the 3D position.

The second AI does better, generating a plausible-looking vertex and fragment shader file with sine-based vertex displacement. There are some oddities, though, like the fact that it doesn't actually use the generated vertex and fragment shaders as external files, writing them out again as strings in the actual program. Overall, I could believe that if I compiled this it would look like a basic sinusoidal ocean with Phong shading. Old-school but reasonable. Unfortunately I closed the tab so I can't actually test it anymore.

Curious about what might be going on inside these models, I tried asking DeepSeek R1:14b the same challenge. Predictably this smaller model did worse. Its chain of thought prompting gave it a pretty coherent description of how you would write a demo like this, but also revealed some interesting confusions, for example multiple times referring to 'example code' that didn't exist, or quoting things I didn't say ('the user mentioned OpenGL and Vulkan').

When it came to output, though, it only gave me a list of steps to follow and omitted actual code:

There is no 'detailed response provided'.

After issuing some clarifications, DeepSeek R1:14b came up with the idea of creating a text-based demo instead, and generated some plausible-looking code in C++. I figured I might actually compile this, but it used a header file conio.h without explanation. Asking it to clarify led to it figuring out this is an old Windows header, replace it with standard library code, and actually spontaneously add a conditional compilation check for a Windows/Linux difference.

I tried compiling the provided code and ran into some missing libraries. A little coaxing gave a lot of blather to tell me 'you need to #include <cmath>'. A little more coaxing got it to tell me what compiler flags would be needed.

Thus I can present to you Deepseek R1:14b's demo:

Beautiful. Sure to win first place. The 'press q to quit' thing doesn't work. And the compiled binary definitely doesn't fit in 4kb (though it might if I stripped it etc.). But... it tried?

For fairness sake, I'll flood my RAM to try the 70b version as well. To its credit, its 'think' block immediately understands what a '4k demo' is supposed to be. Unfortunately it then goes off the rails and decides to do it in pygame, which is... babe you ain't gonna make a 4k demo in pygame lmao. As the output continued, it forgot that 4k referred to binary size rather than resolution, resolving to test the pygame program which is... not something an LLM can do.

Curiously (and this is something I have noticed a couple of times with DeepSeek), the 'actual' answer after the <think> block basically ignored all that Python stuff and wrote me a basic 'hello triangle' OpenGL program in C. So what was the point of all that thinking? Apparently when it maps from the 'think' LLM path to the 'final output' LLM path, DeepSeek can just... ignore what it was thinking about? The shaders it generated were pretty limited, it basically generates one big triangle over the screen with a scrolling sine wave on it, but I decided to see if it would compile anyway.

I tried asking it for advice on setting up GLFW and GLEW with MinGW and its answer was mostly quite good... but garbled some details (suggesting inconsistent places in where to put the libraries), which luckily I know enough to be able to spot. In the end we get this as the resulting demo:

I've lowered my expectations a lot by this point, but I will give DeepSeek a lot of credit for helping me get a working MinGW/OpenGL build environment. Given that it's a long time since I've fucked about with C/C++, and there's nothing so nice as cargo in this ecosystem, it was a lot faster than figuring it out from the docs.

The executable was more like 400kb than 4kb, so I thought I'd see if I could coax DeepSeek R1-70b to make it smaller. The chain of thought generated here was a genuinely solid discussion of sizecoding techniques, but the real proof would be whether DeepSeek could apply the ideas it pulled out concretely. In the end it gave me a list of ideas to try, including a couple of compiler flags - with this I shaved off 100kb, but it's still far too large.

(Ironically it suggested using "minimalistic frameworks often found in demoscene communities".)

I think I've spent as much time investigating this as I want to. Overall, DeepSeek R1 70b did a pretty good job of understanding what I wanted and generating relevant output, and tbh I could definitely imagine a LLM being useful if I needed to quickly reference info while writing a demo, but evaluated on the original question of 'can this LLM write a 4k demo depicting an ocean scene', the answer is a pretty emphatic no.

Running this on my computer, this took ages to generate the full output token by token - the full interaction ended up taking a couple of hours. But if I did this from scratch, having to look up docs and everything with zero experience with the APIs, I think it would probably take me about the same time to get a working OpenGL program.

Could the 'full size' models do better? Quite probably, but I ain't spending money on this shit.

[themeraldee]

Awkward sex prompt: homelander figuring out how to control his strength with a human reader, who still wants rough sex, but would prefer to be alive at the end of it.

[Masterlist]

18+ Only | 1.2k | Homelander x gn!Reader | Realistic sex. Communicating during sex. Choking. Penetration (but not specified). Fluff at the end.

“I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“But I want you to.” 

It really should have been no surprise to Homelander when you requested he goes a little rougher on you in bed. At first he was taken aback, stopping the pace he was fucking into you with, jerking his head back as if offended, choking on his breath in surprise. You know who he is, bringing up the use of his strength is no small ask. But you’ve shown the signs before. He could hear the spike in your heart rate anytime he’d showcase the incomprehensible strength he possesses. Whether it was him moving heavy objects, accidentally bending steel frames in his penthouse or breaking furniture—like that one time he ripped the headboard off during a particularly fine blowjob—you loved it. Though he never thought that your dirty little thoughts went straight to him using that strength on you. 

“What if I can’t hold back?” He looks down where you’re right below him, all flushed and spread out for him. He’s been giving you a damn good time but it’s like you can never get enough of him. Always wanting more, more, more.

“You can. You’ve been doing it your entire life. Adding a tiny bit more pressure isn’t gonna change anything.”

The one thing Homelander loves about you the most is the pure trust you have in him. After all you’ve seen of him you still believe that there’s no world in which he would purposefully hurt you. So to hear you all but beg for him to use strength that has more than decimated many gets his heart soaring. The feeling of acceptance and unconditional love blooms warm in his chest spreading all the way out to the fingertips currently wrapped around your neck.

“Come on, what’s the point of being the strongest man in the world if you can’t rough me up a bit? I’ll tell you if it’s too painful okay?”

Your hand sat on top, your fingers tracing over his as you squeezed your hand.

“A little more.” You guide him verbally and manually. Your hand is still squeezing around his own until you reach a point where you’re satisfied with his confidence to do this himself and you pull your hand away. “Yeah, that’s it.” You squeak out a little breathlessly as he restricts your airflow.

“That’s good?” He asks, choking on his words halfway at the way you squeeze around him while he’s still lodged firmly inside you. He jerks with his movement, giving you a very short snappy thrust but after your little intermission where you taught him how to choke even this little sensation made you moan.

Homelander’s eyes widen when he realizes the sheer potential of your request. Not only could he hear your heartbeat, your shaky breaths and moans, he could now also feel them. Right against his fingertips. The moan vibrated against his hot skin, your heartbeat constantly thrumming all around him. He felt it in the way you were tight and clenching around him and now he felt it under his grip.

He released his hand a little, settling the palm of it in between your collarbones.

“See? Wasn’t that good? I love feeling your strength, let me have a little more of it.” You say it with such conviction, inviting him in, accepting him exactly—no, especially—because of the way he is.

The last thing Homelander wants is to not be able to fulfill your needs. As much as the thought of hurting you—actually hurting you—kills him, if it’s something you find excitement in he’ll be damned if he doesn’t deliver.

He pulls you down the length of the bed a little bit to give himself more space and with a grin he pins your wrists above your head, holding them down against the mattress with little effort. He knows he’s doing something right when that startles you, you let out a cute yelp that quickly turns into a moan. God, he could eat you up with the way you’re looking at him. But he’s gonna need to leave that for round two. Now he’s here to fulfill a wish.

He slowly picks up the pace. He’s thrusting slow and deep while his other hand freely explores your body underneath him, giving it generous squeezes as he goes. He’s testing the give of you. Learning where he can apply the pressure you so desperately crave. 

He’s fucking into your faster now, grunting at the sheer heat of you surrounding his cock with every slide. His hand glides up your body, settling back on your neck. He gives you a look as if he was warning you of what’s to happen. Yet he still manages to catch you off guard. With the snap of his hips and the iron-clad grip of his hand your eyes widen in what Homelander only translates to fear.

Immediately, he lets go.

“Why did you stop?!” You look at him, your own hand gliding across where his hand was squeezing a second ago, as if to chase the phantom feeling, recreating it yourself.

“Why did I stop? You got scared and I don’t want to fucking kill you!” He sounds angry but it’s mainly to hide the genuine worry that comes with this irresponsible play. It’s already hard for him to hold back anytime you’re having normal sex. Wanting him to rough you up conjures very different imagery in either one of your minds.

“Baby, the scary part is the best bit. I know you’ll stop before it’s too much. You can feel the give of my body. Let yourself feel that, okay?” You say softly, soothing his fears. In your entire relationship he’s not managed to hurt you, you don’t imagine it was about to start now.

“Now come on, I wanna cum with your hand around my neck.” You give him a cheeky smile that breaks him out of any doubts he had about manhandling you the way you’ve requested.

He’s given you exactly what you’ve asked for. Just enough squeeze and pressure that you feel so overwhelmed with the greatness of his presence pinning you down and nearly squeezing the life out of you that you succumb to your release. Homelander follows you there, unable to hold off after seeing the way you look at him with such adoration right after he let your airways open fully and you regained your senses. 

After you’re both beyond blissed out you snuggle up to one another, locking the jigsaw pieces of your bodies together.

Homelander traces a finger across the bruised finger marks wrapping around your neck. Part of him relishes in the way he’s managed to brand you where you won’t be able to hide it easily. Even with a scarf or a turtleneck, any slight move of the garment will expose the impressive size of your lovingly placed bruises. 

The other part of him isn’t that happy about it.

“I hurt you.”

“Duh! I wanted you to!” You scoff as if it was the most obvious thing.

His fingers trace over them some more before he leans in, placing a soft kiss against the marred skin.  

“You’re fucking crazy.” He lets out a little disbelieving laugh as he pulls you closer into his arms.

“Yeah, you’ve been rubbing off on me.”

“Nope, this is all you.” 

“Maybe. Hey, can we try spanking next?”

Taglist (you can add yourself to be tagged anytime I publish a new Homelander story): @infinetlyforgotten  @rafecamsgirlll @nervoussystemss

[hollowedhusk]

Alright, I'm gonna say something, and I take no criticism.

Is it just me or do Commander Fox (clone not the furry) and Noble Six give off some similar trauma vibes.

[sleepsucks]

Not sure if you really do asks but I wanted to know; how you do your little comics?

They’re so high quality, with the painterly style and all, and you seem to make so many of them!

my ask policy is i'd like to do em better but generally if i dont reply instantly or have an easy answer i'll let them gather dust in the box and fail to ever get to it

luckily for this one i have an easy way out since i can just point you to the post i made on that a while ago which is pretty much entirely still valid

[loverboybrightsideghost]

it's always good to have a break. i don't know how non-music college compares, but music school is A Lot Of Work, constantly practicing, rehearsing, playing. lots of homework. there's also the mental and emotional aspect; being an artist you need to separate your art from your sense of self and self worth, and it's pretty difficult sometimes. not to mention, it is a competitive field, so there's always wondering about how you measure up to others, auditioning, if you'll even get the job or into the festival or whatever.

the past two semesters have been rough for me, even though i had a great summer in between, it was a lot of change (not just bc of first/second year of school) in a short amount of time and a lot of that change was bc i wanted it and it was on my shoulders to work to practice to prove i can do it. and i did! i can! i still have a long way to go, but i can do it. i often think or worry i don't deserve to be here, but it's reassuring to know that 1) lots of other people, even people i look up, feel that way too and 2) i AM here, so enough people who know what they're doing think i can do it, and who am i to argue?

however, to my original point, it is good to have a break. i love music, and i would not be doing this if i didn't. but i think i really burned myself out this semester, and as soon as i was on break, i stopped practicing at all for like a week and a half, and then after that i practiced only a bit at the end of the day just to play my instrument.

what i've been doing instead is sleeping in a lot, watching a lot of tv and reading lots of comics, and also just Reading and listening to music. i've also been drawing a lot.

it's good to take a break. i am a musician, and always will be, but i am also a person who likes to sleep and eat and who is obsessed with superman and likes hanging out with my friends.

[simonbrain]

it doesn't matter how quietly you attempt to get off at night; your lieutenant is always listening, always grumpy about the pretty sounds disturbing his slumber.

you were embarrassed when he brought it up to you (keep it down, can't fuckin' sleep with oll tha' racket), so you opted to not use your vibrator the next night, instead using your fingers like some lady from the 1800's. it wasn't as efficient, but it did the job, and you were knocked out after a few orgasms.

you think you're doing good, as he doesn't confront you about your nightly activities for a few days after that. not until one morning when he pulls you over to an obscured area outside, not paying any mind to your stumbling and hissing.

even with the mask on, you can tell he's scowling. "how many times do i 'ave to tell you to keep it down?" he grumbles, peering down at you through golden eyelashes. his head tilts as he speaks, and you have to force yourself to not squeeze your thighs together in front of your superior officer. "i can hear tha' wet cunt through the walls every night—are you tha' thirsty for it, pet?" a finger clips onto your belt loop, and you're being tugged closer, a chuckle rumbling from him when he takes notice of how flustered you're getting.

you've never wanted to explode into tiny pieces more in your life than this moment. your cheeks feel hot, and you can only stare up at him and watch as his gaze roams down your body. heated. predatory.

"i— i don't want—" you try to deny what you know is inevitable because ghost always gets his way, but it's thrilling to watch how he pushes his body against yours, the smell of him overpowering your rational thoughts. he only peels the mask high enough to free his mouth before he's shoving his tongue down your throat, a gloved hand finding its way to the front of your pants.

that night, when you crawl into bed with a fully charged vibrator, warmth already swirling in your belly, you think about how ghost's hands felt on your body. how he so meanly nudged the fat head of his cock in until he was fully sheathed, stretching you so thin you swear he was going to split you apart.

("there we go," he coos—or rather snarls at you, thick fingers filling up your mouth because you were whining too loud for his liking. "knew you wanted this fuckin' cunt stuffed full o'me," he groans while pawing at your chest, harsh pants hitting your ear. "tha's why you're so loud, innit? nasty fuckin' thing.")

how he kissed you like he was trying to consume you, licking into your mouth with such fervour, you were surprised he hadn't already burst into flames. he resembles a brick more than an actual human sometimes, but patience has always been his strongest quality.

you really shouldn't be surprised when ghost pours into your room while you're making yourself dizzy with thoughts of him, your brain liquifying on the pillow from the constant delicious vibrations against your throbbing clit. the sound of the door being kicked shut behind him startles you as he stalks over to your bed.

"i'm starting to think you like pissing me off." he growls softly, the bed squeaking underneath his weight. the vibrator is still buzzing against you, and you swallow when his eyes drop down to the soft, wet mess between your legs. "get on your fuckin' knees, girl."

[teaboot]

This is gonna sound rather conceited but I feel like it highlights an issue we have in Art.

I'm good at art. I've never had a hard time making art. I started using crayons before I could walk. Painting, Beadwork, sculpture, sketching, stippling, whatever- once I have a feel for the material, it doesn't take long to start doing what I want with it. It's been a common theme my whole life.

(Y contrast I'm awful at things like dancing, performance, sports, etc- in all things there is balance, right?)

Now, I've taught myself to use so many artistic mediums now that I KNOW how to most efficiently integrate them into the brain database. Once you really *understand* a material, it's much like memorizing the layout of your house, or flexing a muscle, or something in-between- it becomes PART of your brain in a way I cant quite articulate. But to get there involves just fucking around for a bit doing nothing in particular.

And I've found, especially in group settings, that nobody seems to be able to see you make something badly and leave you alone. Even if you say you're fine, you don't want help, you're happy, you're having fun, it's fine, they gotta ride your ass and hover.

I was at a class the other day for something I hadn't done before. The medium was one I've never used, so once the instructor told us the basics I started experimenting with weight, gravity, texture, viscosity, saturation, temperature, etc. The instructor had given enough info to know what was dangerous and what was safe, and beyond that I just wanted to absorb what I could about it.

And no insult to the instructor, but they kept checking in. Which was fine the first few times.

But then, without asking me what I was trying to do, started giving tips. That I told them I was grateful for but didn't really need just yet. If I had a question, I'd ask.

But they kept coming over. And touching my shit. And manipulating my project. And touching my hands. And using my tools. Without fucking asking.

And this happens every time. EVERY TIME. And by now I know the best way to get them to fuck off is to make something way beyond their expectations so they know I'm capable, then go back to doing what I want.

So I did. I wanted to keep having fun and learning, but instead I made something beautiful that I really didn't want to make, and wasted my time, and really didn't learn what I wanted to learn at all. I knew the formula to create a beautiful thing, so I followed that formula the same way I have a hundred times before, and didn't get to try anything spontaneous or ugly or exciting, just so I could be left alone.

And I know when I was a kid, I was aware aware people saw me puttering alone on something ugly assumed I had a special issue and treated me like I was stupid because of that. (I was neurodivergent.) And at at time I knew that I could do a neat trick for them like a trained pony and they'd go, "Oh, surely they aren't defective if they can do something like that!" And piss off.

But what if I hadn't known how to do that?

What if I hadn't been talented, or "special"?

What if I'd been just any other average kid trying to learn, and I couldn't pop something pretty out of my ass to get them off my back?

My problem my whole life has been that I haven't been allowed to make anything ugly in peace. I'm capable of beauty, so I have to make beauty, or get stepped on. And once people see what I can do, they get loud about it. "Look at this! Look what they did! We all know who the best is, don't we?". And that used to feel good, but it's tiring.

And how many people like me just wanted to play? Just wanted to have fun and experiment? Who were having fun with no goal in mind, or just took longer to learn, who gave up because of all the obnoxious helpers breathing down their neck with no way to shake them off?

How many of us are made to feel defective because we aren't doing things beautifully?

I have a lovely piece of art I didn't want to make.

I think I'm gonna frame it.*

(*I think I'm gonna burn it in my yard.)

[mostlysignssomeportents]

All bets are off

When unions are outlawed, only outlaws will have unions. Unions don't owe their existence to labor laws that protect organizing activities. Rather, labor laws exist because once-illegal unions were formed in the teeth of violent suppression, and those unions demanded – and got – labor law.

Bosses have hated unions since the start, and they've really hated laws protecting workers. Dress this up in whatever self-serving rationale you want – "the freedom to contract," or "meritocracy" – it all cashes out to this: when workers bargain collectively, value that would otherwise go to investors and executives goes to the workers.

I'm not just talking about wages here, either. If an employer is forced – by a union, or by a labor law that only exists because of union militancy – to operate a safe workplace, they have to spend money on things like fire suppression, PPE, and paid breaks to avoid repetitive strain injuries. In the absence of some force that corrals bosses into providing these safety measures, they can use that money to pay themselves, and externalize the cost of on-the-job injuries to their workers.

The cost and price of a good or service is the tangible expression of power. It is a matter of politics, not economics. If consumer protection agencies demand that companies provide safe, well-manufactured goods, if there are prohibitions on price-fixing and profiteering, then value shifts from the corporation to its customers.

Now, if labor has few rights and consumers have many rights, then bosses can pass their consumer-side losses on to their workers. This is the Walmart story, the Amazon story: cheap goods paid for with low wages and dangerous working conditions. Likewise, if consumer rights are weak but labor rights are strong, then bosses can pass their costs onto their customers, continuing to take high profits by charging more. This is the story of local gig-work ordinances like NYC's, which guaranteed a minimum wage to delivery drivers – restaurateurs responded by demanding the right to add a surcharge to their bills:

https://table.skift.com/2018/06/22/nyc-surcharge-debate/

But if labor and consumer groups act in solidarity, then they can operate as a bloc and bosses and investors have to eat shit. Back in 2017, the pilots' union for American Airlines forced their bosses into a raise. Wall Street freaked out and tanked AA's stock. Analysts for big banks were outraged. Citi's Kevin Crissey summed up the situation perfectly, in a fuming memo: "This is frustrating. Labor is being paid first again. Shareholders get leftovers":

https://www.vox.com/new-money/2017/4/29/15471634/american-airlines-raise

Limiting the wealth of the investor class also limits their power, because money translates pretty directly into political power. This sets up a virtuous cycle: the less money the investor class has to spend on political projects, the more space there is for consumer- and labor-protection laws to be enacted and enforced. As labor and consumer law gets more stringent, the share of the national income going to people who make things, and people who use the things they make, goes up – and the share going to people who own things goes down.

Seen this way, it's obvious that prices and wages are a political matter, not an "economic" one. Orthodox economists maintain the pretense that they practice a kind of physics of money, discovering the "natural," "empirical" way that prices and wages move. They dress this up with mumbo-jumbo like the "efficient market hypothesis," "price discovery," "public choice," and that old favorite, "trickle-down theory." Strip away the doublespeak and it boils down to this: "Actually, your boss is right. He does deserve more of the value than you do":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/09/low-wage-100/#executive-excess

Even if you've been suckered by the lie that bosses have a legal "fiduciary duty" to maximize shareholder returns (this is a myth, by the way – no such law exists), it doesn't follow that customers or workers share that fiduciary duty. As a customer, you are not legally obliged to arrange your affairs to maximize the dividends paid by to investors in your corporate landlord or by the merchants you patronize. As a worker, you are under no legal obligation to consider shareholders' interests when you bargain for wages, benefits and working conditions.

The "fiduciary duty" lie is another instance of politics masquerading as economics: even if bosses bargain for as big a slice of the pie as they can get, the size of that slice is determined by the relative power of bosses, customers and workers.

This is why bosses hate unions. It's why the scab presidency of Donald Trump has waged all-out war on unions. Trump just effectively shuttered the National Labor Relations Board, unilaterally halting its enforcement actions and investigations. He also illegally fired one of the Democratic NLRB board members, leaving the agency with too few board members to take any new actions, meaning that no unions can be recognized – indeed, the NLRB can't do anything – for the foreseeable future:

https://www.npr.org/2025/01/28/nx-s1-5277103/nlrb-trump-wilcox-abruzzo-democrats-labor

Trump also fired the NLRB's outstanding General Counsel, Jennifer Abruzzo, who was one of the stars of the Biden administration, who promulgated rules that decisively tilted the balance in favor of labor:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/06/goons-ginks-and-company-finks/#if-blood-be-the-price-of-your-cursed-wealth

Trump is playing Grinch here – he's descended upon Whoville to take all the Christmas decorations, in the belief that these are the source of Christmas. But the Grinch was wrong (and so is Trump): Christmas was in the heart of the Whos, and the tinsel and baubles were the expression of that Christmas spirit. Likewise, labor rights come from labor organizing, not the other way around.

Labor rights were enshrined in federal law in 1935, with the National Labor Relations Act. Bosses hated – and hate – the NLRA. 12 years later, they passed the Taft-Hartley Act, which substantially gutted the NLRA. Most notably, Taft-Hartley bans "sympathy strikes" – when unions walk out in support of one another. Sympathy strikes are a hugely powerful way for workers to claim value away from bosses and investors, which is why bosses got rid of them.

But even then, bosses who were honest with themselves would admit that they preferred life under the NLRA to life before it. Remember: labor militancy created the NLRA, not the other way around. When workers didn't have the legal means to organize, they organized by illegal means. When they didn't have legal ways of striking, they struck illegally. The result was pitched battles, even bloodbaths, as cops beat and even killed labor organizers. Bosses hired thugs who committed mass murder – literally. In 1913, strikebreakers working for the Calumet and Hecla Mining Company started a stampede during a union Christmas party that killed 73 people, including many copper miners' children:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Italian_Hall_disaster

Workers didn't take this lying down. Violence was met with violence. Bombs went off outside factories and stately mansions. There was gunfire and arson. Bosses had to hire armed guards to escort them as they scurried between their estates and their fancy parties and their executive offices. The country was in a state of near-perpetual chaos.

The NLRA created a set of rules for labor/boss negotiations – rules that helped workers claim a bigger slice of the pie without blood in the streets. But the NLRA also had benefits for bosses: unions were obliged to play by its rules, if they wanted to reap its benefits. The NLRA didn't just put a ceiling over boss power – it also put a ceiling over worker militancy. Von Clausewitz says that "war is politics by other means," which implies that politics are war by other means. The alternative to politics isn't capitulation, it's war.

Trump has torn up the rules to the labor game, but that doesn't mean the game ends. That just means there are no rules.

The labor movement has many great organizer/writers, but few can match the incredible Jane McAlevey, who died of cancer last summer (rest in power). In her classic A Collective Bargain, McAlevey describes her organizer training, from a tradition that went back to the days before the National Labor Relations Act:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/23/a-collective-bargain/

McAlevey was very clear that labor law owes its existence to union power, not the other way around. She explains very clearly that union organizers invented labor law after they invented unions, and that unions can (and indeed, must) exist separately from government agencies that are charged with protecting labor law. But she goes farther: in Collective Bargain, McAlevey describes how the 2019 LA Teachers' Strike didn't just win all the wage and benefits demands of the teachers, but also got the school district to promise to put a park or playground near every school in the system, and got a ban on ICE agents harassing parents at the school gates.

This wildly successful strike forged bonds among teachers, and between teachers and their communities. These teachers went on to run a political get-out-the-vote campaign in the 2020 elections and elected two Democratic reps to Congress and secured the Dems' majority. McAlevey contrasted the active way good unions involve workers as participants with the thin, anemic way that the Democratic Party engages with supporters – solely by asking them for money in a stream of frothing, clickbait text messages. As McAlevey wrote, "Workplace democracy is a training ground for true national democracy."

Militant labor doesn't just protect labor rights – it protects human rights. Remember: MLK, Jr was assassinated while campaigning for union janitors in Memphis. LA teachers ended ICE sweeps at the school gates. Librarian unions are leading the fight against book bans.

The good news is that public opinion has swung wildly in favor of unions over the past decade. More people want to join unions than at any time in generations. More people support unions that at any time in generations.

The bad news is that union leadership fucking suuuuuuuucks. As Hamilton Nolan writes, union bosses are sitting on vast, heretofore unseen warchests of cash, and they just experienced a four-year period of governmental support for unions unheard of since the Carter administration, and they did fuck all with that opportunity:

https://www.hamiltonnolan.com/p/confirmed-unions-squandered-the-biden

Big unions have effectively stopped trying to organize new workers, even when workers beg them for help forming a union. Union organizing budgets are so small as to be indistinguishable from zero. Despite the record number of workers who want to be in a union, the number of workers who are in a union actually fell during the Biden years.

Indeed, some union bosses actually campaigned for Trump, a notorious scab. Teamsters boss Sean O'Brien spoke at the fucking RNC, a political favor that Trump repaid by killing the NLRB and every labor enforcement action and investigation in the country. Nice one, O'Brien. See you in hell:

https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2024/08/teamster-union-trump/679513/

Union bosses squandered a historical opportunity to build countervailing power. Now, Trump's stormtroopers are rounding up workers with the goal of illegally deporting them. Fascism is on the rise. Labor and fascism are archenemies. Organized labor has always been the biggest threat to fascism, every time it has reared its head. That's why fascists target unions first. Union bosses cost us an organized force that could effectively defend our friends and neighbors from Trump's deportation stormtroopers:

https://prospect.org/blogs-and-newsletters/tap/2025-01-28-trumps-lawbreaking-also-aimed-at-workers/

Not every union boss is a scab like O'Brien. Shawn Fain, head of the UAW, won an historic strike against all three of the Big Three automakers, and made sure that the new contracts all ran out in 2028, and called on other unions to do the same, so that the country could have a general strike in 2028 without violating the Taft-Hartley Act (Fain was operating on the now-dead assumption that unions had to play by the rules):

https://pluralistic.net/2024/11/11/rip-jane-mcalevey/#organize

A general strike isn't just a strike for workers' rights. Under Trump, a general strike is a strike against Trumpism and all its horrors: kids in cages, forced birth, trans erasure, climate accelerationism – the whole fucking thing.

A general strike would build the worker power to occupy the Democratic Party and force it to stand up for the American people against oligarchy, rather than meekly capitulating to fascism (and fundraising), which is all they know how to do anymore:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/10/smoke-filled-room-where-it-happens/#dinosaurs

But before we can occupy the Dems, we have to occupy the unions. We need union bosses who are committed to signing up every worker who wants workplace democracy, and unionizing every workplace in spite of the NLRB, not with its help. We need to go back to our roots, when there were no rules.

That's the world Trump made. We need to make him regret that decision.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2025/01/29/which-side-are-you-on/#strike-three-yer-out

[mariasont]

Early seasons Spencer’s gf joining the team and quickly realizing just how used to Spencer she is bc the rest of the team’s reactions to him are so different from hers

Cinnamon Sticks - S.R

a/n: obsessed with the idea of baby spencie having a gf who just gets him while he's still an awkward, nerdy little genius! thanks for requesting bestie so sorry it took so long i am the worst LOL

masterlist

pairings: early!seasons!spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings: established relationship, secret relationship, relationship being exposed bc these two are just so in love

wc: 1.7k

Garcia burst into the bullpen like some sort of whirlwind that was painted in neon, her scarf fluttering behind her almost like a cape. She juggled a precariously full cup of coffee, while her phone teetered between ear and shoulder as if testing the limits of human dexterity.

"I swear to all that is holy, if my life doesn't slow down in the next five minutes--"

The sentence derailed as she misjudged her pace, the coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim of the cup. She stopped abruptly, her arms a flurry of motion, but not quick enough to stop the scalding liquid from spilling over and searing her fingers.

"Oh, fantastic! Just what I needed!" she huffed, waving her hand like it might stop the sting.

She threw herself into the closest chair with a huff, slumping back and fixing the coffee cup with a murderous glare, like this was just another tally in a long line of grievances.

Your eyes darted up from your work, only for a moment, enough to confirm what you already knew. You hadn't been working here long, but it was long enough to recognize the phenomenon that was Garcia: a blur of motion and words, mid-rant before anyone had the chance to catch up. It was like clockwork really.

You risked a glance across the desk at Spencer, who was so absorbed in his notebook it was a wonder he even remembered to breathe. If Garcia's antics registered as white noise to anyone, it was him. But then, almost like he had a radar for being watched, he looked up, catching your gaze.

His eyebrows lifted into a subtle what can you do? expression, and you couldn't help but smile back.

That was the thing about Spencer. He had this uncanny knack for knowing exactly what you were thinking, almost as if he had a cheat sheet for your brain. And maybe he did--like his brain worked three times faster than everyone else's in the room (which, let's face it, it definitely did). But instead of that being intimidating, it was oddly reassuring.

"At this rate, I'm one bad email away from alphabetizing my entire pantry for stress relief."

Spencer's notebook hit the desk, and there it was--the shift. His shoulders drew back, face lighting up--the kind of thing that signaled his mini-lecture was incoming.

"Organizing your pantry is actually a practical stress management technique. By categorizing items, you create a structured environment that reduces decision fatigue. Its why people feel calmer in tidy spaces, it's psychological."

Morgan held up a hand. "Psychological, huh? Sounds like you’re just trying to justify your weird love affair with labels, pretty boy.”

“Don’t forget,” you added absently, flipping a page in your report, “it also saves time when you’re cooking. I think you called it practical efficiency."

The words slipped out without much thought, but as soon as they did, the bullpen stilled. You glanced up, heart sinking as you saw every face turned in your direction.

Morgan’s grin was the first thing you notice--wide and knowing, stretching across his face. He tilted his head, eyes bouncing between you and Spencer like he was putting pieces together in real time.

“Wait a minute,” he said, sitting forward with a gleam in his eye. “Did you just quote him? Like, word for word?”

Your cheeks heated instantly. “What? No. I mean—maybe. I don’t know.”

“Pretty sure you did,” Morgan shot back, smirking. “Man, what else has he been teaching you? You got the periodic table memorized too?”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back in your chair. “Oh, please. If you’ve been around Spencer long enough, you’re bound to pick up a few things. He’s like a walking encyclopedia.”

“Well,” Spencer said, his head tilting slightly as he spoke, “your cinnamon sticks always end up at the back of your pantry. That’s why I figured you might appreciate the idea of organizing by use frequency. Like I said, practical efficiency.”

The moment the words left his mouth, you knew he’d made a tactical error.

Garcia gasped, her eyes lighting up like she’d just been handed the juiciest piece of gossip of her life. 

“Oh. My. God. Spencer Reid, how exactly do you know what the back of her pantry looks like?”

You froze, rooted to the spot as the realization hit you like a cartoon anvil. This was bad.

Spencer’s expression mirrored yours for half a second—wide-eyed panic—but he quickly scrambled for an answer. 

“It’s, um… a logical assumption,” he stammered, his fingers toying with the pen in his hand, a nervous tell he couldn’t quite suppress. “Spices like cinnamon sticks always seem to migrate to the back of the pantry unless there’s an intentional system in place.”

Morgan let out a long, low whistle, rocking back in his chair with enough force to make it creak. His grin was insufferably smug, the kind that practically begged for something to be thrown at him. 

“Nice save. But I don’t think Garcia’s buying it.”

Garcia tapped her chin, clearly enjoying herself far too much. “Oh, no, no, no. This is too good. I mean, logical assumption my fabulous behind! Cinnamon sticks in the back of her pantry? Really? What’s next? A detailed analysis of how she stacks her cereal boxes?”

You laughed, though it sounded more like a bark than anything natural. “You’re all reading way too much into this. Spencer just knows weirdly specific things about, well, everything. That’s kind of his thing, remember?”

“Mmhmm,” Garcia hummed, clearly unconvinced. “Alright, genius, I’ll let it slide this time. But I’m watching you.”

“Please don’t,” Spencer muttered under his breath, earning a round of laughter from the team.

Garcia spent a solid ten minutes in full interrogation mode after that, her eyes narrowing with each and every pointed question she lobbed your way. Morgan, of course, was no help. He leaned back, grinning like a kid with a front-row seat to the circus, his smirk practically screaming that he knew they were this close to striking a nerve.

Spencer and you had been so careful. You'd been dating long before you joined the BAU, but the moment Hotch had called to offer you the position, you both knew you'd have to keep things under wraps. Dating a coworker was one thing; dating Spencer Reid, a genius with an accidentally too-honest mouth, was an entirely different challenge.

You hadn't expected it to be this hard, though. Keeping the secret wasn't the worst part--it was pretending he wasn't the center of your universe every time you walked into the room. It was keeping your hands to yourself when all you wanted to do was smooth out the messy strands of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was biting your tongue when someone interrupted his long-winded tangents because the truth was, you loved hearing him talk.

The hours stretched on, and the bullpen slowly thinned out. Garcia was the first to leave, blowing a kiss to the room. Morgan left soon after, pausing to flash you one last grin before disappearing. Even Prentiss packed up for the night, muttering something about needed an extra shot of espresso tomorrow morning.

"You handled that well."

You looked up from your report to find Spencer by your desk, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other skimming lightly along the edge of the divider. His expression was surprisingly soft, almost bashful, as though he had been waiting to get you alone.

"Handled that well?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow. "You were the one who almost blew it, Spencer. Cinnamon sticks? Really?"

He smiled, lips twitching upward as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Okay, I'll admit that wasn't my most subtle moment. But in my defense, they do end up at the back of most pantries."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair. 

"We're lucky Garcia got distracted. If she'd pushed any harder..." Your voice drifted into a soft sigh. "That could've been bad."

"That was a close one."

The quiet that followed wasn't uncomfortable, but it felt a little more substantial, if that was the word, filled with that soft ache that always bloomed in your chest when he was near. 

Spencer stepped closer, his hand brushing against the edge of your desk. His body angled toward you, like even when you weren’t touching, he couldn’t help but gravitate toward you.

“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “I don’t think she actually suspects anything. But we should probably be more careful.”

"Probably," you replied, drawing out the word in a teasing, sing-song tone. “Unless you’d rather keep showing off how ridiculously well you know me.”

His cheeks flushed a soft pink, but he didn’t look away. Instead, that shy, boyish smile—the one that always made you a little breathless—spread across his lips.

"That's going to be hard," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "I noticed a lot about you."

The words hit you like they always did--soft enough, but with the force of a thousand butterflies taking flight in your chest. You could feel the flush creeping up to your neck, and you mentally cursed him for how easily he was able to do this to you.

"You're lucky I like you."

His smile widened, and his eyes crinkled at the corners in that way they only came out at specific moments. Like when he successfully performed a card trick for the team or when he stumbled across an original copy of a book at a library sale. 

The same one you'd seen when he talked about his mom on her good days, or when you asked him on a date. 

You leaned forward. "And since I like you, any chance you'd want to kiss me right now?"

"How could I not, with you looking at me like that?"

The angle was clumsy--your chair too low, his frame leaning awkwardly over--but all of that melted away the second his hands found your face. His thumbs brushed soft circles against the place where your cheek met your jaw.

His lips were soft against yours at first, testing, before growing firmer, more sure. The kind of confidence that came with a hundred familiar kisses before. 

Time seemed to slow, or at least for you it did, the rest of the world nonexistent.

The sound of a throat clearing broke the spell, and you jerked back from Spencer, your chair wobbling slightly as you turned toward the sound. You immediately regretted it--your lips felt swollen, your face hot, and there was Prentiss, leaning against the doorframe.

"We were... uh, testing something," you blurted, avidly avoiding eye contact. "You know, like... oxygen exchange! For scientific purposes."

Spencer blinked, then mumbled, "Oxygen exchange? That's the best you got?"

"Shut it," you hissed through gritted teeth, not daring to look at him.

Prentiss arched a brow. "Relax, lovebirds. If this is your idea of scientific research, I'll make sure Garcia doesn't find out. You're welcome."

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[redsray]

i do love the idea of the wayne kids giving bernard shovel talks about taking care of tim and all that but also give me batfam who are just as protective of bernard as they are of each other.

give me bernard, attending his first wayne gala as tim's significant other. having a suit custom tailored and funded by bruce even if bernard insists it's not necessary because he already has one. arriving at the gala anxious because of course he is, it's a goddamn socialite event, but being protected from every side by the wayne kids even when tim is dragged away.

Socialite: Oh, and who might you be?

Bernard: Oh, um, hi. I'm Bernard Dowd, nice to meet you.

Socialite: Dowd? I've never heard of your family before. Who...?

Bernard: I'm not here with my family, miss, I'm here with my boyfriend.

Socialite: ... Boyfriend?

Bernard: Yeah, I'm here with Tim.

Socialite, frowning: Tim... as in Drake-Wayne? He has a boyfriend?

Dick, coming up next to Bernard: He sure does! Bernard here is practically one of ours now, aren't you? He matters to Timmy, so he matters to us.

Bernard: Dick—

Dick: C'mon, let's get you back to Timmy. Farewell, Mrs!

Bernard: I could've handled that.

Dick: All the rules that apply to my siblings during galas apply to you too. I'm sure you could've, but you shouldn't have to. I've got your back too, now, yeah?

Bernard: ... Yeah. Thanks, Dick.

Jason, coming up to Bernard at the bar: Not to freak you out, kid, but there's a guy starin' at ya from the other side of the bar. Y'know him or should I encourage him to look away?

Bernard, startled: Huh? (looks around) Oh. No, I don't know him. Why... is he looking at me like that, actually?

Jason, scowling: 'S just how the slimy fuckers at these events are. Can't keep their eyes off anything that's small, young or pretty. Disgusting. I'll deal with him— where's your annoying other half gone, inferior blondie?

Bernard: Tim? He got pulled away for quote; 'something important' by some lady. He said he'll meet me here after he's done, so I've been waiting.

Jason: Huh. If I see him I'll point him yer way. Hey, don't be 'fraid to ask any of us questions or for help if ya need it. We know the best how daunting this shit can be.

Bernard, genuinely touched: ... Thanks, Jason.

Jason: Yeah, yeah. Don't tell Timmers I said that, though, he'll call me a loser.

Bernard, laughing: I won't.

Bernard, being talked to by several people at once and a bit overwhelmed by the attention: Uh— I'm—

Damian, stepping between him and the socialites: Dowd. I require your assistance.

Bernard: Um— hi, Damian— with what?

Damian: You will see when we get there. Follow me, Drake's more tolerable half.

Bernard: Okay... so what do you need from me?

Damian: Nothing. You seemed to dislike the attention from all of the nosy adults over there. It was the most efficient way of extracting you from the situation.

Bernard: Oh. Thanks, Damian.

Damian: Tt, don't thank me yet, Dowd. I am still criticising your choice in romantic partners.

Bernard: Didn't you threaten me with a katana to not dampen Tim's mood in any way shape or form?

Damian: Slander. I said quote 'if you make Drake more annoying by breaking his heart I'm going to maim you.' I don't see how you got the message you did from that.

Bernard, grinning: Sure, Damian. Sure.

[1327-1]

i need money so i don't actually disintegrate during my actual job but every single idea for making passive income makes me want to pursue radioactivity in ungodly ways

[thoughtssvt]

nanami kento had one condition when it came to fucking you.

he was to always see your face.

cw : gn!reader (no detailed depictions or implications to readers genitalia), mix of dynamics (soft and gentle to rough), cum eating, oral sex (reader receiving), squirting

missionary was always good. he liked touching as much of your body as he could with his. he loved keeping you close, putting almost all his weight on you as if to say i'm here. he'd cup your cheek, keep you from pressing the back of your head too far into the mattress that he wouldn't be able to watch your blissed out face. always swallowing your moans because, god, he had to taste you. his tongue always yearning for both sets of lips.

having you on top awakened something primal in his chest. the way you'd struggle to stay upright with the force of his strokes like it was actually his goal to throw you off. the only down side to this position were the moments you would throw your head back. he loved the idea that he was fucking you into a blissful arch, he wouldn't trade it for the world. "play with those pretty nipples, darling." he'd command through gruff pants, jaw slack as he examined the way your brows would knit tight. your body naturally curling forward as your hips began moving with his until you were forced to plant your hands on his chest.

on rare occasions your schedules refused to line up he was happy to take advantage of the sliver of time you actually had together under a weak veil of efficiency. the mornings when you were half naked in front of the sink, dutifully brushing your teeth as he stepped out of the shower. he couldn't help the way his arms wrapped around your middle, pulling you close, taking in your scent. he'd ignore your incredulous expression as he began kissing your neck, rough fingers running under the waistband of your underwear. "just keep doing what you're doing. don't mind me." you never really knew how you'd get from one point to the next on mornings like these. toothpaste suddenly running down your chin as he pumped into you from behind. a firm arm keeping you upright, your chin fitted between his thumb and forefinger as he compelled you to watch. watch how good he made you feel. how good you look while he does. it's one of his favorite sights if not number one. his voice drawing your focus no matter how much you wanted to roll your eyes back as he lifted your leg up onto the sink's expanse, hammering into you impossibly deeper.

with the same intention, it was the only reason you had a full body mirror in your shared bedroom. his hand tugging the hair at the nape of your neck just enough to keep your head up, providing a delicious sting. when he's feeling rougher he especially liked you on his lap, your legs draped over his thick ones as he sat on the edge of the bed. spreading you wide so he could see all of you. his arms looping around your shoulders until he could intertwine his hands behind your neck. the only way to keep your head from drooping as he bullied your sweet spot. relishing the sight of your spasming body as you splashed against the glass. his eyes would darken, guiding your jellied body to your reflection to clean up your mess. chest rumbling with a reminder to keep your eyes open.

the only time he allowed your head to dangle uselessly was when he was pinned beneath you, his mouth working dutifully between your legs. nothing mattered when you were riding his face. not his lack of breath, not the way his cock twitched painfully in his slacks, not even the way his eyes burned and threatened to close. he'd keep his eyes on you. the view so divine that he could cum untouched to which he has, unashamedly, done in the past.

he'd keep pictures and videos of your fucked out face on his phone if it wasn't so risky, so please don't blame him for all the positions he put you in at the end of the night.

A/N : the creation of this piece was a possession, i fear.

nanami x reader masterlist

mdni banner + heart chain divider by @/adornedwithlight

[xbellaxcarolinax]

Cállate

Miguel O'Hara x f!reader

Summary: Miguel thinks you talk too much.

S m u t. P in v, dirty talk, Miguel being mean? Cream pie, cum eating. Jfc.

Minors DNI. I'm warning you 😤

It's not that he hated you.

Miguel O'Hara could never hate you. You just annoyed him to no end. Pushed his buttons. Teased him.

"Miguelitoooo," you'd sing in that stupid tone, "you need to relax. You brood too much. Such a broody man, hmm?"

Miguelito.

The goddamn nickname drove him up the wall, though at this point he wasn't too sure if it was irritation, or the lust that's been grabbing hold of his cock lately. What was it about you that had his head spinning with a feral need to sink his teeth into your flesh? To shove his cock so deep inside you you'd be rendered speechless for once?

Fuck, you were annoying. While he was a man of few words, you spoke as if on a fucking time limit, spewing nonsense every chance you could get. Everytime he looked at you it was a rush of emotion, and he didn't know whether to punch something or grab you by the shoulders and shut you the fuck up himself with his lips.

He decided on the latter.

You sauntered into his private headquarters in that tight little suit of yours, already running your mouth a mile a minute about...something. It might have been important, but Miguel wasn't listening, too busy watching the way your hips swayed.

"Miguelito, are you listening? Or are you too busy brooding as usual?" You were looking down at your watch, pressing on a few buttons distractedly, "Honestly, I don't know how you became the brains of this operation."

You stood in front of him, such a little thing compared to his massive size, your eyes still on your watch. "Have you been ignoring Lyla?"

"I put her on do not disturb."

You snorted, finally bringing your eyes to his intimidating ones, "Oh, so I guess I'm disturbing you too, huh?"

"Always." With a grunt, Miguel snatched you by the waist, losing his patience completely. You gasped, surprised by his actions, but you smiled knowingly, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. Finally.

"A first date would be nice, Miguelito-"

"Shut up." He growled, baring his glistening fangs. "Cállate, por Dios."

He wasted no time, immediately surging forward to capture your lips, silencing you efficiently. It was a hungry kiss, sloppy, more tongues than anything else. He pulled moan after moan from you, stripping you both down in a matter of seconds before nipping at the delicate skin of your neck and shoulders.

Miguel had you up against the wall, his brute strength holding you up with ease. You quickly wrapped your legs around his hips, eyes rolling as he slid his large cock over your slippery folds.

"M-miguel," his name fell from your mouth beautifully as you held on to his broad shoulders for dear life, "Miguel, p-please."

"When are you gonna learn to shut up, hm?" He groaned, his arousal igniting from the obscene sounds of your slick cunt coating the underside of his length, "when are you gonna learn to keep your mouth shut for five seconds?" You were cock drunk already, mouth hanging open and tears threatening to fall from your pretty eyes.

"I-"

"Cállate, hermosa, just shut up and take this cock," Miguel muttered over your lips, lining his cock up carefully before nudging your pussy open with the fat head of his dick. You choked, tears finally bursting from your eyes, dampening both your faces as he held you close. Your cunt clamped down on his cock with every inch he pushed in, causing you to cry out.

"Shh, I got you, just let me in," he cooed in the most gentle way he'd ever been with you, "I know you can take this cock, mhm, así, just like that, open that pretty pussy up for me."

You moaned whorishly, your head falling back against the wall with a thump as Miguel began a merciless pace, immediately reaching the place where you needed him the most.

"Ohhh fuck, Miguel," you cried, your juices coating his thighs with every stroke of his cock as he pounded and pounded and pounded into you, "you're so d-deep." More juices leaked from your cunt, giving Miguel easier access into your slick channel.

"Quiet hermosa," he heaved, holding you tight against his merciless hips while clamping a large hand over your mouth, "don't want the others to know how good I'm fucking you, ehh?" The only sounds heard in the room were your muffled cries, his grunts, and his balls slapping against your ass as his cock slipped in and out of you.

You wanted to say something, anything really, to shove him off his high horse, but you couldn't, too far up in cloud nine to do anything but drool all over his palm and let his thick cock kiss your cervix repeatedly, bruisingly, deliciously.

"Asi, hermosa," Miguel sticks out his tongue, lapping at the salty tears streaking your cheeks, "calladita se ve más bonita, hm?" He knew you were close, he felt it in the way your pussy tightened on his cock. He kept ramming his hips into you, grunting with every stroke.

"So fucking tight," he groaned, dropping his head on your shoulder, "I imagined this so many times, stuffing you with my cock, but fuck, who knew it'd be like this?"

"M-miguel, please," you whined, ripping his hand away from your mouth, "p-please."

He pierced his fangs into your neck, and that was when the dam broke. You gushed all over his cock, eyes rolling and mouth open as you silently came. Your pussy spasmed, fluttering over Miguel's cock as he lapped up the blood beading from the tiny wound he inflicted.

"That's it," he cooed, holding you tightly in his arms as you shuddered, "that's my girl." His strokes were sloppy now, too lost in your delicious wet heat to be as precise. After a few more thrusts, he buried his head in your neck again, releasing a growl from the very pits of his stomach, deep and aggressive, as he pumped his seed inside you.

Miguel held you for a moment, the both of you catching your breath. You were like a ragdoll over him, and he chuckled, nuzzling you with his nose. He released you, letting his cock slip out. His cum ran down your leg, white and hot as he gently set you on the ground. He hummed, taking two of his large fingers and scooping up some of the mess he made between your legs before smearing it over your lips.

"Open." He commanded, and you obediently did as told, opening your mouth and curling your tongue around his digits, savoring the taste of your combined juices with lidded eyes. You moaned at the tangy taste, your hands flying to skim down the length of his chiseled abdomen.

Miguel watched you, caging you in with one arm against the wall, mesmerized at how your mouth worked over his fingers.

You looked absolutely fucked out, skin flushed, hair a mess, but most of all, quiet.