#literally the exact same except different people. the same line on the hand and all

[huesofvioletandpurple]

[ID: two screenshots. The first is taken from Danganronpa Despair Time's 13th episode, where Arei smiles and takes David's hand. It is shown from David's perspective. The second is from the Literature Girl Insane MV, where the shot is framed exactly the same way except with a different person in Arei's place. end ID]

hey David what does this mean. hey. hey David. hey Da

[elswing]

i hate posting discourse it's pointless and doesn't do anything for me except prolong my annoyance but i'm Tired™ and feel like shouting into the void. apologies to my beautiful feanorian mutuals please look away i love u

i neeeeeeed everyone to stop claiming they like elwing if their characterisation of her is completely made-up biased bullshit that paints her as an immature and disdained ruler (?????) who couldn't balance her responsibilities with the husband she married too young (at 22. practically a child bride honestly) and the children she never wanted (where. where does it say this). she's clearly such a bad mother that she abandoned them at first opportunity (she knew the feanorians were more than capable of killing a pair of twin boys because they literally already did that. that's very much a thing that already happened. to her brothers) and it was her selfish nature that made her soooo eager to flee (she had no reason to think ulmo would save her it was literally a suicide attempt. she wanted to make sure the deaths of her people and presumed deaths of her sons weren't in vain by ensuring they never obtained the silmaril)

like i'm gonna touch your hand as i say this. it's okay if you hate her! just don't pretend that you weren't thriving in the 2016 era of silm fandom where everyone pushed all their male fave's negative traits onto any other woman in a 5 mile radius to grab Poor Little Meow Meow status for war criminal #1 #2 and #3 to then turn around and spout the exact same (factually untrue) sexist rhetoric concealed under seven layers of buzzwords just because it's the year of "unlikable and complicated female characters" like buddy who are we talking about here. have you perhaps considered making an oc?

and i'm NOT saying i want the whole fandom to mimic my exact opinions and thoughts about elwing i realise that one of the best parts of the silm is how divisive it is and how you have so much wiggle room to come to your own interpretations because of how VAGUE the source material is but i'm genuinely convinced everyone's just parroting shit they saw in ao3 fanfics where maglor is secretly lindir and the premise is elrond sneaking him into valinor and elwing yells at him for slaughtering her people. TWICE. and this is framed as a category 5 Woman Moment so elrond disowns her and calls maglor his real dad

(eärendil misses this entire ordeal because he went on a voyage to save the world that one time and no one's let him live it down since because the whole fandom as a collective decided he did this because he's a terrible dad and not because the whole continent was at war and about to be wiped out and maybe he came to the unfortunate but reasonable conclusion that leaving is the best thing he could do for his family if it meant there was a chance his sons could grow up safe in a world that wasn't ruled by Fucking Satan so now his whole Beloved Sacrificial Lion: The Thin Line Between Doomed and Prophesized Hero™ shtick is tossed out in favour of.... *checks notes* Guy Who Forgot To Pay Child Support? oh and they're a lot louder about this because he's a man so no one can call it misogyny that's why no one ever goes the #girlflop #ILoveMyBlorbosNastyAndComplicated route with him and he gets dubbed as that one asshole who just wanted fame and glory even though that goes against the general themes for tolkien's hero characters. and tolkien loved that dude to bits that was his specialist little guy so you can't seriously tell me you think that's what he was trying to portray???????? is that seriously what you think he was trying to portray????????? babe????????????

also there's a BIG difference when it's a character that's only named in one draft and doesn't exist in the rest or gil-galad who has like three and a half possible fathers but ELWING??????? the only possible way you could be coming to these conclusions is if you read the damn book with your eyes closed. FUCK.

[tomuchabotme]

The level of delusional kths need to be to think Taehyung is better than Jimin is astronomical. Like seriously, give me one way in which Taehyung is better than Jimin. Jimin is a better singer. The only reason people don't obsess over Taehyung's singing is because it's irrelevant. There's plenty of clips of him singing badly, but nobody cares to bring it up because Taehyung is not known as a singer, he's know as a pretty face and half of a made up ship, that's why people care about him, so his singing is neither here nor there. There's a reason Jimin debuted as a lead vocalist with 6 months of being in the group and being given no vocal lessons while Taehyung who had lessons and had been there for longer debuted as a sub-vocalist. Jimin is a much better dancer, not even his haters would try to say otherwise. He's overall a better performer and has better stage presence, especially since Taehyung's idea of stage presence is either making weird and repetitive faces or not doing anything and looking like he doesn't want to be there. Jimin's music is and has always been better. They both released songs at the same time, in the same album, with the exact same treatment, so people can't say Jimin had any sort of advantage or privilege, and every time Jimin's songs were more popular. Lie over Stigma, Serendipity over Singularity, Filter over Inner Child, Promise over whatever song Taehyung had on soundcloud. And now Like Crazy over Love Me Again and Who over Friends. FACE and MUSE are both better albums than Layover, literally everyone who isn't his fans agree. Every single time, without exception, people have preferred Jimin's music over Taehyung's. And let's not forget how despite tricking his fans for years into thinking he was gonna make music, he still needed other people to make it for him and he couldn't be bothered to write a single line. By the time Taehyung was handed his first album, Jimin had already made two, and he did it in silence, cause he's not one to brag about what hasn't been finished yet. And that's another thing, Jimin is more humble than him. Kinder and more caring then Taehyung ever was. Even he admitted in that letter that he wrote that Jimin always did more in their friendship, that Jimin gave while Taehyung only received. Just like when Taehyung completed ignored that Jimin had just released his first album only for Jimin to be the only member to go watch Taehyung perform when he released his album. And he did it again for Jimin's second album. While other members congratulated Jimin, he said absolutely nothing about it and instead decided to randomly post pictures that are over a year old of him and Jungkook traveling when he knows Jimin and Jungkook had just recently announced a travel show together, because god forbid something isn't about him. And of course, he just had to sneak in a McDonald's picture, just like he had to mouth the n word or put a durag on his head during a livestream. And in the same day he posted those pictures Jimin talked about being careful about what he posts on social media. The difference couldn't be more clear. The point is, Jimin is better than Taehyung in every conceivable way, and deep down his fans know that, which is why they are way more bothered by Jimin than we are about Taehyung.

anon, you said it all.

[egg-emperor]

WHAT DID I FUCKING SAY Y'ALL????

Eggman isn't the overly physically affectionate gushing and throwing arms around people type, it doesn't suit his demeanor and behavior and I'm glad to see that hasn't been suddenly forced with Sage. And that's even aside the way she's still actually not a physical being in the way she's a digital program so he'd surely just phase through her anyway since I'm pretty sure there isn't a solid physical sense of touch actually going on here between them, but again that's besides the point anyway-

This isn't over the top and uncomfortable OOC like in fanon. I like how it's a subtle and small gesture, with him extending his arm with hand out to her but looking away and forward. He's quiet, solemn, and reserved. His demeanor and body language is very important. He takes a breath that seems like a "sigh well, here goes" kind of way then mumbles it, not much, just small words of praise towards her doing the very things he created and praised her for before- doing what he wants her to and serving her purpose as his protector like she protected him in the fight, and calling her his daughter also has the same effect in encouraging her and he knows it, as well as how it's appealing to him for his pride as he said in the memo.

Also wow his bear paws are so fucking big do you see what I'm saying god damn lol I wanna hold them so bad too ahhgufdbkgshj 🥰 Speaking of, this is literally exactly how I imagine such gestures with him in my self sh!pp!ng too and I think anything different would be OOC, this is the way that works in any form I think

It's very important to acknowledge that he's not shy at all, that's the last word to describe him. He has the highest self esteem, self love, and confidence and it's all genuine. It's just that hyper affectionate super warm and mushy gushy-ness, be it through feelings, words, or actions isn't his thing. The most he's ever going to hype someone up close to it is in a performative manipulative way to urge them to continue doing what pleases him, and he forces it in some cases more than others, you get varying degrees.

But I like how it's on the more subtle side here a lot because it's even more telling of his true character. When he's acting like this it aligns with that reasoning again but with a new look at his style of showing it in a physical subtle manner, with his behavior being similar to the scene where she saved him in Cyber Space and said he was proud of her for it- only it was only through words then. We've now seen how he can show this verbally and physically and I like it a lot, it's the only way this can work and they did it. This is the best outcome.

Let me elaborate further; I truly believe that he doesn't know how to feel the typical conventional idea of "love" for anyone but himself because he is the biggest egotist and narcissist in all of existence and is extremely selfish and y'all seem to be forgetting what that entails for his behavior and personality feelings, and mindset with his self absorption and low empathy. There are no sudden exceptions to this, Sage is literally just another perfect example of it, nothing has changed with him.

The only way he can value anyone that isn't himself is in what they can do for him, what's in it for him is always his mindset, so it's the same thing of self praising, self serving, and self-centered, just being served through another person appealing to that through serving him, agreeing with his outlook, and having a willingness to serve and good use to him. And guess what? That's still the exact reasoning behind it with Sage. This is known and true in the prequel comic, memos, and Flynn's words and hasn't changed.

And why wouldn't he be pleased with her for this and praise her for it when it goes along the exact lines of that?

It's in character because Sage is the one giving some thing to him, protecting him, serving him, and showing loyalty, support, and respect for his desires. She does exactly what he wants as she's created for and is genuinely willing and enthusiastic about it unlike a lot of other creations of his. Eggman still hasn't done shit for Sage except praise her when she does what he wants but then becomes grumpy and snaps at her every time she does something he doesn't.

In fact he does it again in this scene too where he's seemingly really jealous and pissed when he notices her looking at Super Sonic with admiration lol

It's selfish on Eggman's side and selfless on Sage's side, so it works.

That's why I still wouldn't put the word "love" to Eggman's side of the dynamic because I feel it has connotations that don't accurately define his feelings. Though you could at least say he "loves" and "cares" for her "in his… own way" as Sonic put it, because there's actually selfish and unsettling reasons behind it as Flynn himself put it too. But it's not hyper affectionate, unconditional, or genuinely selfless like people are acting like it is. And it's so much more interesting that way and fun to analyze.

Eggman commending Sage for her work and for serving her purpose makes sense and is in character. It's nothing different to the reasons I said the standard base game ending was. The only difference is a hand hold presented in the best way. He finally has a creation genuinely enthusiastic and willing to serve him and being her creator and father gives him a lot of pride for being the one to create her and make her that way and his success and pride in doing so with the ways she benefits him and values his selfish desires are what his value is factually rooted in in the game.

So overall yeah, I really like how Eggman and Sage and their dynamic were handled in this update. They'll probably be a lot more in depth thoughts to come because I'm short on time right now, this is a mini essay in itself but l have tons more like always lol. But for now, since nobody seems to understand my take on their dynamic despite me just relaying what the game itself showed and repeating what Ian Flynn says, let me just remind you of my actual summarized take on how I see it is and how I cleared up misconceptions people have about my take on it here.

And everything we saw in this update aligns with and doesn't contradict any of what I've perceived and analyzed and discussed throughout my Sonic Frontiers tag on my blog! Very pleased. 👏

[stormofbats4224]

Gonna be a grumpy old man for a minute, ignore if you want and take everything I say with a grain of salt, but DP&W has reminded me of my least favorite thing ab my boy Timber:

Why The Fuck Does He Look Like That.

When I say this, I’m talking mostly about his stupid copycat relationship with Wolverine, partly about his ever changing appearance compared to some of the other Legionnaires (not to say they don’t change, but most of the others feel like more subtle shifts then, idk, YOINKING HIS EARS, CROOKED NOSE, AND HAIR STRIPES ALL IN ONE FELL SWOOP), and the disappointing blankness of humanizing a character who’s backstory is one of being experimented on.

I mean this with all the love in my heart when I say that we don’t need another fucking Wolverine clone. Timber never should’ve been associated as one to begin with, especially considering he’s technically the original of the two (and by roughly 10 years, no less). Their stories are both exceptional in their own rights, and there was absolutely room to make characters that both filled the niche of “grumpy, animal-themed science experiment with claws” for their universes while still allowing them to flourish. And for Wolverine, that’s exactly what we’ve seen happen, a character set up to rise above his base and become this figurehead of franchise.

And then there’s Timber.

It genuinely feels like they have no fucking clue what to do with this man, and it kinda feels like he just flip flops around like an emo fish in the background sometimes. He gets his moments (The show comes to mind first, as does his and Phantom’s side plot in The Legion, and what I’ve seen out of Legion Lost so far) in the limelight, but other then that…where tf is he? Half the cast line ups, he’s near the back (fuck, he exists for half a second as a statue in both JLU and JL V. FF, and has, like, three lines in The Movie I Want To Burn) or off to the side, and every time it takes longer and longer to find him bc HE ALWAYS LOOKS DIFFERENT.

It’s like Where’s Waldo, but Waldo is bright orange and can shapeshift. Fucks sake, the man changes so often that I drew him with 9 canon versions and one of mine, and I STILL left out at MINIMUM 4 other iterations for one reason or another, not counting the newest version of him (the one that looks like pouty-lipped Hugh Jackman) bc it didn’t exist.

On one level, I get it, different stories and authors can warrant different appearances, and the Legion is kinda just one of those random IPs that most probably don’t care ab, but that argument falls apart when so many other secondary and tertiary DC characters don’t get fucking overhauled every three years on the whims of new writers and artists. Keeping something recognizable is a way to bring people back, and that doesn’t just go for emblems (which are also horribly inconsistent for the Legion and it Makes Me Want To Scream).

Back to the topic at hand though, squinting at a successful character and approximating their likeness a little to the left is not the way to do shit. The first time, you could argue it might’ve been the other way around, bc Timber’s first “Wolverine”-esque look debuted before Wolvy existed, and it stuck for a bit. And then they diverged from it, and things were beautiful. And then they went back. And split again. And now they’re back to basics with a man that is literally Hugh Jackman and Mark Wahlberg fused.

And Wolverine has stayed almost the exact same through that stretch, maybe with minor things like costume changes or aging.

It feels like the only times Timber gets something creative or sensical to his appearance is when he steps into the hot seat, and when he’s in the background, they just need a space filler that says “hey, I’m basically this guy, that’s all you need to know”.

Again, not something you would “need” if you kept everything at least semi-consistent.

Wrapping around to my least favorite part of all this shit, STOP MAKING TIMBER SO HUMANOID. Fuck’s sake, would it kill people to give him back his teef? Or his white streak (tho, looking at Jason, even that might be too much to ask)? Let this man’s past affect his design, I BEG of you. Show that he went through some fucked up shit instead of randomly blaming his asshole personality on said fucked up shit and la-Dee-da’ing away like you did something. Slap some not-so-human features on him besides easily hidden shit; fangs, ears, literally ANYTHING that makes someone think twice about assuming he’s just some dude.

If it sounds like I’m describing some specific versions, good, bc I am, and it’s Reboot Timber from the early 2000’s and Show Timber from later 2000’s.

These bitches had it ALL, the appearance, the act, everything was instantly recognizable, and almost entirely unconnected from his Marvel counterpart. You can glance at them and never once think ab Wolverine, while also piecing together why they’re called Timberwolf. They’re beautiful, just the right amount of scruffiness and non-humanity to convey backstory and general character, while still maintaining strong human aspects to help it all along (and make him consistently redrawable without needing to learn a whole other skeleton).

Anywhozzles, that’s my midnight brain spit from being hyped up on the high of DP&W, this is all the conclusion paragraph you get for reading through all that. Thanks and feel free to let me know your thoughts, I’m probably wrong about several things 🤷‍♂️

[rayclubs]

Ever since watching Live Action One Piece, I can't stop thinking about how good the writing is in the actual show, so I'm going to seriously analyze it for my own fun and pleasure.

OP is kind of notorious for being nonsensical, whimsical, goofy and not particularly loaded with themes and heavy-to-grasp concepts, so a lot of people think of its arcs as mere sequences of events without an underlying thematic structure. This is what the Live Action gets wrong, but to the original show's credit, the formula is so intricately woven that you can't easily define it like in other serialized media. It's also a bit more... Nebulous? Okay, I can explain.

At least four of the earliest arcs follow the same formula. I'm sure it applies to later arcs too but they get longer and things become muddled down the line - not in a bad way, the core concepts still apply, just differently, so I'm only going to talk about the first four important ones. The formula is this:

The main character, Luffy, is introduced to another character who, in one way or another, displays a character flaw that prevents them from achieving their goals and dreams.

They encounter a foe who displays the exact same flaw in a different way.

Luffy confronts the foe on moral grounds and demonstrates a virtue that overcomes and overpowers the villain, leasing him to victory.

The newly introduced character, inspired by Luffy's example, experiences a change of perspective, which helps them overcome their own flaw and take a step towards their goal.

If you're thinking that sounds about right, then holy shit, our wavelengths. If, more likely, you're thinking "this is kinda far-fetched", then oh boy do I got proof of concept for you.

It's incredible how clear and well-executed the parallels between heroes and villains are. Like, okay, listen, here's Zoro's arc.

The villain, Axe-Hand Morgan, is a self-assured, self-centered tyrant who treats his comrades and subordinates as expendable tools and has no loyalties except to his own greatness.

Zoro isn't a tyrant, he's kind-hearted and has a strong moral compass, but he is still flawed: like Morgan, he doesn't have any loyalties except to himself. He's self-assured as hell. We learn later that he used to have mercenary friends but they went their own separate way at some point, and when they meet again, Zoro shows no clear loyalty to them - he's kind-hearted, so, of course, he cares, but he was never bound by their alliance and obviously considered the three of them to be drawn together by coincidence.

And to be clear, in the world of One Piece that is a flaw. Most characters swear allegiance to factions - pirate crews, marines, revolutionaries, other groups - and draw strength from them. Villages and towns are shown to survive hardships through unity and companionship.

Even Zoro's ultimate goal, the person he swore to defeat in mortal combat - Mihawk - although he appears solitary and not "bound" to a crew or a cause, we learn later that he is affiliated with the government. But that's a bit off-track.

While trying to save Zoro from execusion by Morgan, Luffy demonstrates a stubborn determination to work together. As soon as he recognizes that an injustice has been done to Zoro, he works not to solve the problem by himself, but to help Zoro deal with it. While another character tries to free Zoro from captivity directly - literally untie the ropes that are holding him - Luffy hands him his swords first.

Notably, Zoro is the only main character who defeats the main villain of his arc, all others are defeated by Luffy. I say "notably" because Zoro specifically is ony able to achieve this through cooperation with Luffy.

As the show goes on, Zoro's loyalty quickly becomes one of his core traits.

That's just one of them, so let's do Usopp's arc next.

The villain, Kuro, is a pirate captain who gave up his name and title. He is trying to turn away from who he is, remake himself into someone new through deception and trickery.

Usopp is doing the exact same thing, albeit in a decidedly more innocent way. He lies about his heroic feats and achivements, about his strength and the size of his crew, about practically everything. His lies aren't a flaw per se, as he never stops lying in the future. It's not his cowardice, that doesn't change much either. It's his conflict with himself. He's a pirate but he isn't. Pirates are coming but they aren't. He's proud of his heritage but he doesn't really get to be proud all that much until Luffy comes along.

Luffy defeats Kuro by being a better pirate, or by being better at being a pirate, or by being a pirate at all. Luffy has simple, clear-cut views and ambitions, he knows what kind of person he is and what kind of person he's trying to be, and he lives by it. That's the virtue.

As Usopp says his goodbyes before leaving his village, he gathers his little "crew" of kids together and makes them state their ambitions - one wants to be a writer, another dreams of owning a bar, etcetera - this is him imparting a lesson he just learned himself, on knowing who you want to become and living to be that person.

Usopp's best friend Kaya, inspired by him, resolves to become a doctor.

All this is also a showcase of Usopp's legacy, but don't get me started on legacy in One Piece, we'll be here for an hour.

So there we go. Let's do Sanji's arc next, it's way easier than Usopp's 3D chess pirate-gender.

The villain of the arc, Don Krieg, engages in malicious dishonesty to secure advantage in battles because he doesn't believe himself to be prepared enough for the journey he's undertaking.

Sanji is exactly the same but without the trickery. He justifies his inaction with the vague concept of being indebted to his mentor, even though his mentor considers the debt fully paid and sincerely wants him to live his own life.

Luffy defeats Don Krieg via stubbornness, bravery, endurance and ingenuity. It's similar to his other fights and not emphasized enough, which is probably why it's always been one of the more boring parts to me personally, though it's still wonderfully executed.

More importantly, Luffy reduses Sanji's mentor's journal, stating he wants to have his own adventure, not follow in someone else's footsteps. This is almost word-for-word the lesson Sanji needs to learn. Get out of there and do your best, you're ready, you'll never be more ready than you already are.

And finally, Nami's arc.

The villain, Arlong, believes himself to be inherently superior to those around him. If he recruits help, it's out of convenience, not necessity. If he forms bonds, they're business, not camaraderie. He does care for his fellow fishmen but that has more to do with the extended fishmen backstory and politics than anything so I won't touch on it.

Nami is equally flawed by hubris. She thinks she's better, more competent, more capable than the people around her, she has that complex you get when you don't have any friends in high school and end up doing all the group projects by yourself.

While fighting Arlong, Luffy makes a point out of stating and showing his own reliance on his own crew, and even lists off the skills they excel at that he himself doesn't possess. It's very on the nose but still awesome to watch.

He then absolutely fucking wrecks Nami's old prison-slash-workshop, demonstrating symbolically that, while her skill is great and important, it's not the main reason he values her as a crewmate and friend.

Nami gets over her hubris, begins to rely on others as allies more than assets, and relaxes a little about her paranoid hypercompetence. Good for her.

Okay so hopefully this convinced you. This was also going to be the part where I go on a long tangent about why Live Action One Piece fails on so many levels but then I realized I'd need a whole separate post for that, so I'm just gonna state the main point and leave it at that.

Netflix screenwriters seemed to have watched One Piece (roughly up to episode 130) and decided the arcs did not have any thematic uniting element even though they clearly did, as per above. They proceeded to rework the plot to introduce what they thought would work as unifying elements (introducing Baroque Works early, having Coby in every episode, cutting out Don Krieg and replacing him with Arlong) which inadvertently undermined the story structure and ruined the show.

Anyway, there's more. One of the earlier arcs is Buggy's arc which follows a different format. It doesn't see any new additions to the crew but it does see Luffy's worldview challenged by an outside force. This is an early example of a Luffy arc. Other examples include Loguetown, Jaya/Skypiea, and Foxy's arc (regrettably). Also Marinford and the events prior but that's, like, self-evident, I think. This story format borrows from classic romance literature and is way more straightforward. Buggy being an early example of it in the show, while being a comedic element himself, also introduces a lot of these story concepts. His journey could also be considered somewhat parallel to Luffy's, but that's a bit of a stretch, to be honest.

I completely forgot how I was going to end this analysis but hopefully reading it was worthwhile anyway. Live Action One Piece sucks. Cheers!

[youmissedone]

{out of smokes} Okay, time for a rant because I haven't complained about this in a long time, haha. L.J. bugs me so much as a person. Let's discuss, heh.

In Apocalypse, he gave Carlos shit for getting bitten and not saying anything. "Shoulda told me you got bit, motherfucker, I'm hangin' wit' you 'n shit." It's a very funny line, we all laughed. But what he's really saying there is... "if you had told me, I would've abandoned you." Or maybe worse, he might've just shot Carlos. I think the former, but even so, he's admitting that he wouldn't be hanging with him if he knew he was bitten. Not... "you should've told me so I can help you," or "so that we can try to find a cure." Nope, he just wanted nothing to do with infected for his own personal safety.

And then in Extinction, he does the exact same thing... gets bitten and doesn't tell anybody. Except there's a few big differences. Nobody really knew what the hell was going on in Raccoon City. Not much was known about the virus, everything was chaos, it was an immediate survival situation. It was also a few hours. Carlos didn't know if he would become crazed like other people, he probably didn't even realize those people were dying and being reanimated. He could've just thought it was something like rabies but with an accelerated incubation time and symptom progression. He was also focused on helping/saving people and wasn't a complainer by nature. So for him to complain about being injured when he had a job to do just wasn't like him. He did make one complaint to Nikolai that the bite wouldn't stop bleeding, but that was in private to a comrade, not around easily frightened civilians. He might not have realized he was contagious either. He was more focused on doing his job and helping people than he was on himself.

L.J., on the other hand, knew exactly what was going to happen to him and why. He knew he was contagious. He knew he'd turn and then endanger his friends. And he didn't care. I don't know what he thought was going to happen, like there was no way to cure him, so... he knew he was going to die. So he literally just put everyone around him at risk because he wanted a few more hours to live himself. I guess he thought they would just shoot him on the spot, which might tell you something about what he thought about his friends. But regardless, he knew full well what would happen to him, and then potentially to whoever he's around when he turns. Also, he kept it a secret for what, an entire day? The rest of a day, all night, and into the next day. A note on inconsistency of incubation times for the T-virus is warranted here, but... I'll let it slide for now, heh.

Maybe I can understand hiding the bite for a little while, none of us knows what we’d do in that situation and people legit get scared if they think they've contracted something fatal, I get it. But after that little while, L.J. should have disclosed it to the convoy because 1) he knows he’ll turn and put people in danger eventually, 2) he’s massively contagious even before that occurs, and 3) he's interacting with other people in close quarters. He was having dinner with Betty the same night he got bit. Did they share drinks or utensils or anything? Because now she’s infected too. Did they hook up at all? She’s even more infected. Like. Did he stop to consider this? He seemed to genuinely care for Betty but then at times he also seemed to not really give her safety a second thought.

And that’s not even the worst of it. He had the chance to be a hero and save lives during the raven attack. He could have at that point been like look, I’m already infected, you guys go and be safe, I'll hold 'em off. But nope, he lets Betty and others take the fall while he’s whisked away with the others and kept safe. Really? You’re gonna let other people die for your safety when you know you’re as good as dead anyway? That's a special kind of selfishness, right there.

Contrast this with Carlos, who never hid the bite he got from L.J. from anyone, and who almost immediately came up with a plan to use his death for something good that would benefit everyone. That was the first thing on his mind… not his own safety, not denial, not dishonesty, not himself over others… but how can I use this moment to everyone’s advantage? What the best outcome of this situation? How can I go out on my own terms? And he doesn’t even hesitate to take one for the team to help everyone else possibly reach their goal of getting to Alaska. Like. Hero material doesn’t even cover this, it makes my heart hurt.

But what hurts even more is… Carlos never once badmouths L.J. for what he did. There’s no… "what the hell" or "thanks a lot." Nothing. Okay, he calls him a "sneaky sonvabitch" when he finds that extra joint in the truck, but I think we'll all agree that was a term of endearment, heh. But... side note... we can add liar to L.J.'s list of character flaws, because how many people asked him if he had any smokes or "alternate" and he said no? Again, L.J. was only thinking of himself. Getting back to Carlos, he bears L.J. no ill will whatsoever for infecting him. If I know Carlos, he was really sorry to lose who he considered a dear friend, and that was it. Even right after L.J. bit him, he didn’t react with… "you asshole!" or something, he just says… “L.J.” And you can hear in his tone that he’s already mourning him. There’s no animosity, no blame, nothing. That’s a serious indication of character right there.

No point to this rant other than that every now and then my feelings bubble over on this subject, heh. I wanted to like L.J. so much, I really did. I found him to be funny, entertaining, and interesting. But I just will never forgive him for what he did in Extinction. Regardless of how pissed off I was to lose Carlos and how sad it was for Alice, Claire, K-Mart, etc. to watch him die that… explosively… what L.J. did is still by itself just such a glaring indication of cowardice, selfishness, and disregard for the lives of others, and it makes me so annoyed I could angry-eat a whole cheesecake myself, heh.

[singsongraptor]

A Rant As A Visual Artist

AI art is not art. It cannot, and will never, be art. It is powered by the theft of millions of hours of hard work by thousands of artists, not including the time they spent to learn and polish their skills to the level they're at. AI art is a travesty, nothing more than a glorified copy-paste-transform tool.

Using AI art actively contributes to the continued theft of people's labor and skills. You are actively facilitating the derision of the arts and the belittling of artists. You are contributing to their continued, widespread poverty, labor rights violations against them, and the overall decline of respect and appreciation of art and artists. How? Well, if they are not valued as the skilled labor they are, then they will not be protected like skilled labor. In much the same way that, despite the fact that custodial, retail and other service work is integral to the functioning of society and which society would collapse without, they are not valued and their rights and safety are constantly stepped on and they are forced into poverty in many places.

You cannot get genuinely get real art out of an AI anyway. It knows nothing about it, it is simply twisting actual art into something somewhat passable. Just look at the hands on anything and AI generates.

I saw an especially insulting comment on Twitter today, basically insulting the entire field of photography as an art form in order to try and justify that AI art is "Fine Actually" and I'm going to break down why it's bullshit.

First of all, photography is not merely "selecting optical components and settings". Any jackass with a smartphone can take pictures, that doesn't make it art. That's like saying painting or drawing are merely choosing colors and making lines. Both are simplistic to the point of absurdity and vastly insulting to the education and practice needed to cultivate these skills. The *camera* is not what's producing art just because it captures an image. An AI stealing art to create an image isn't making art either. Example time! The first two images below are pictures my six year old took (in an ironic twist, one captures me taking a photo). The one of the family cat, my husband took. Using my camera, which is not a walmart point-and-shoot but a mirrorless DSLR. None of these is art, much as I love my husband.

Obviously the photo my husband took is better than what my child did, because he's a graphic designer and a grown ass man and can manage a camera better than a six year old. However, he is not a photographer and his lack of skill with a camera shows. Now, my actual art.

As you can see, there is a huge difference between the first four images and my *actual* art. The flowers my child took pictures of are the same flowers as example 3 and 4 of my most recent art, to really hammer home the difference. All of these pictures were taken with the exact same camera. The first two on the camera's automatic settings, while I use manual mode for all of my photography (since I actually know how to use that). The camera is not generating art. And I, as a photographer, am not merely making some decision about camera settings and what to take photos of. My kid took pictures of the exact same flowers that I did and mimicked the way I framed the shots. I even set the camera settings up for her. Yet, she is not making art. I'm literally making the decisions *for her* with the exception of letting her hit the actual shutter button. She still isn't making art! She's being a cute kid who will one day *become* an artist. The difference between my skill and hers is obvious to the point of absurdity.

The same is true for AI art. It is not creating art. It is mimicry, and unethical mimicry at that. That you would insult photographers to try and push that AI can create art and that it shouldn't be criticized as the theft and bullshit it is is infuriating.

I work hard at my craft. I work hard to learn new things about photography and cameras and post processing every single day. I work hard to learn how to make the mundane and tiny beautiful, especially because I am Black, and I live in an urban area and those places are belittled as ugly and incapable of producing art or artists.

I don't want some machine that understands *nothing* about art stealing from my peers in any visual art genre. I don't want my work and theirs mocked and derided and devalued by lazy, stingy, thieving pissants who think it's just a jpg, just a drawing, just a photo. (I mean the AI creators and those trying to justify its use for the most part.)

My *camera* is not creating shit. My camera is doing what I told it to do, within it's hardware and software capabilities, but it is *I* that does the work. The camera's back doesn't hurt at the end of a shoot. It isn't cold or hot or sore by the time it gets home. It didn't hike anywhere, fly anywhere. It didn't climb a tree or wait days in the snow.

My camera is not where the art is coming from. It is the medium through which I create art, in the same way that a paper and pencil cannot make art, even though it's the medium through which the art takes form. The AI is not creating art. It is warping & pasting already made art.

Neither you nor anyone else is entitled to art or the labor that goes into it just because you want it. I'm sorry you can't afford it, but artists also need to eat, and demeaning and trashing their trade, a trade *you cannot do and yet still want the results of* makes you a terrible person that doesn't deserve their work.

You are literally going to contribute to the worsening of movies, music, video games and other media, because you refuse to value artists and that allows their exploitation and eventual burn out. AI art not only actively steals from their hands but further contributes to taking food from their mouths, because "why pay for a truly original work when I can just starve thousands of people for 8 dollars for a soulless amalgamation of art components."

Stop feeding the AI.

[pa-pa-plasma]

okay, I didn't see this until now (& op turned reblogs off apparently) but I'll address some stuff under a readmore just to clear stuff up.

"one piece has multiple queer characters" One Piece literally has a gay club that hands out free transitions to transgender people. I am not making this shit up. Also, Luffy is asexual & aromantic. "multiple" doesn't really do it justice

"the whole "tumblr crossing the picket line" thing in promoting it (i think? i've heard people talking about it at least)" tumblr didn't cross a picket line. tumblr is allowed to advertise, as they (as in the website & the people who run it) are not planning to be part of the writer or actor unions. this is just regular advertising that other movies & shows have done & are doing.

"the strangeness of what things tumblr decides to promote and in what intensities they do for which things" again, tumblr was paid to promote One Piece. yes, there are problems with what tumblr pushes & what it hides, but it was paid to do this. it isn't favouring One Piece for no reason. it is favouring One Piece because it was paid to. if Our Flag Means Death wanted to advertise on tumblr, they could.

"the fact that what little i know about the original one piece is sexism" the series started in the 90's in Japan, so yes, there is a lot that isn't great, but for a lot of us it was our first experience of seeing openly queer characters & women who can beat the shit out of you. for the bad stuff (basically just out of date shit) the live action series does fix this, but I think it would be good to consider that it was 90's Japan when Oda wrote it with queer & strong (as in, power level type shit) women in mind. this isn't fucking Harry Potter we're talking about, where all the bad shit is a fundamental part of the creator's worldview & personality. this is like, some old shit that didn't age good like everything else that exists ever. his art style is kinda fucky & I won't defend it but like. we're talking about the live action which negates all that. also, as someone else pointed out, the women are drawn sexy, but so are the men. have you seen Zoro's massive tits?

"and the fact that netflix remakes in the past usually aren't well received." the One Piece Live Action series not only has fans involved, but the creator of the original series working on it. they also made the physical sets (most of which are ships on the water) & only used CGI when they literally couldn't use practical FX (Luffy stretching, for instance). if you looked into it at all, you would've seen that this is not the same as, say, The Lion King. people tend to forget that it isn't the "live action" itself that is bad, but the execution. One Piece Live Action was executed very, very well with what it had to work with, & we could see this ahead of time, not just when the show came out. I literally teared up at parts because I felt like I was watching One Piece again for the first time. All the important scenes were 1:1 with the original, & they even played the original theme song We Are (instrumental version). That is how good it is. It was made with love & you can clearly see it.

I appreciate the apology, but the fact that you didn't know anything about it (you're allowed to look stuff up) before putting this post in the main tags is like. why. people (not just the op in the screenshots, as I've seen this multiple times in different fandoms) need to learn that if you hate something, block the tag, don't go into tag complaining about what you think the series is. this is how you ruin the experience for fans--& yourself. you are doing the exact thing you are complaining about tumblr doing, except worse, because you're just ignorantly shitting on it, & not even in a funny way.

anyway, go experience some childlike wonder & watch OPLA, or don't. I literally don't care.

[wander-wren]

let me go through this one line by line rq. i did talk more about wolfwood and rollo in a different branch of this post, but it was less well-written/thought out bc i did it more on the fly so let’s not worry too much about it. also, disclaimer, i love all of these guys, especially vash, and that’s why i’m being a little mean to him right now. dude’s complicated. ALSO this is only based on stampede, i do not know enough about the original story yet to comment.

i will also acknowledge that this steps pretty close to some real-world issues/debates/etc that are very important to me, so i care perhaps more than i should.

anyway! let’s break this down.

“rollo didnt want to die though. yeah i know wolfwood says it was mercy. wolfwood is projecting”

maybe, and also yes. crucially, we don’t KNOW what rollo wants. wolfwood IS projecting onto him, but equally vash is imposing what he wants, not what rollo wants, because rollo literally does not speak except to say vash’s name and once, his own. his younger self seems pretty attached to the idea of living, yes, but it’s been more than a decade since then (i’m not sure how old rollo is meant to be, but i wouldn’t say more than 8).

he has been modified and turned into a monster, he apparently drove out or killed his entire town, and it’s unclear if he’s been isolated in the village for a while or if he only arrived recently—my headcanon is the former, especially since the success of wolfwood, livio, and elendira would’ve rendered him an outdated model, but they could have still used him. regardless, he’s hardly living a normal or happy life. given his limited speech, it’s not even clear if he has the same level of cognitive function he used to—he definitely doesn’t have the education or socialization of you average 20-year-old.

i’m not advocating for killing rollo at all. i’m just saying we don’t KNOW what he wants. in an ideal world he would have been taken somewhere safe, treated like a person, and made as comfortable as possible while they worked out how to communicate with him and figure out what he actually wants. but they do not have the resources or the time for that, wolfwood and vash are both very biased, and rollo is semi-invulnerable and trying really hard to kill them.

i’m not really sure there’s another way for that story to end, honestly. and that’s the tragedy of it.

“i do agree vash does impose his will on other people, to a degree that’s not a million miles off from knives’s bullshit. and yes vash is also a hypocrite - he can forgive anyone but himself.”

cool! 👍 again, i’m not saying vash is bad and evil, or even that he’s not good. he’s just a guy with 150 years of trauma doing his best, but the thing about unresolved trauma is you don’t always make the best decisions.

“but vash does not want to use people. he wants them to have autonomy so they can choose for the better. and death is a denial of autonomy.”

okay, this is the one where i’m a little less nice. i agree that vash doesn’t consciously want to use people, objectify them, put his needs above theirs—that’s his brother’s deal. i do, however, think he’s so desperate to not have anymore blood on his hands that he is willing to “use” people to get to that end, and he isn’t even aware of that. hurt people do this all the time, when their pain and fear and suffering is so great that all they can focus on is trying to mitigate it, and they completely steamroll “the right thing to do.”

we haven’t seen vash do this yet, really, at least in stampede. i’m being purely hypothetical. i’m saying i see this instinct in him, in his actions, and it only hasn’t happened yet because this is a fictional story and he’s the protagonist and there isn’t really time to explore this yet. vash is also very willing to use himself, his health, and his wellbeing in the exact same way, which also separates him from knives.

i agree that vash wants people to have autonomy. sort of. he never says this that i remember, he’s a lot more focused on their right to be alive (also very necessary), but it’s in line with his belief system so yeah, for sure.

here’s the thing, though: so they can choose for the better? where is this coming from? the only thing i can think of is luida and the “flora” project, but it’s meryl and roberto who learn about that. vash presumably knows, but i don’t think he ever mentions it. meryl is the one who argues (with zazie and conrad) that humanity can be better, with time.

vash doesn’t want people to be free and safe so they can choose to be better. he wants people to be free and safe because they are people. and also because he can’t stand the idea of having more blood on his hands. he also does want them to be better, true (see: nebraska, rollo, nai, wolfwood), but that’s not his primary motive.

because really, “better?” who is vash, who are any of us, to decide what’s “better,” or that the only people who deserve to live are those who are working towards it? vash’s whole fuckin’ deal is that he doesn’t kill anyone, no matter how bad they are. he’s not out here weighing their goddamn ability to redeem themselves. ironically, this is a deeply (culturally) christian way of thinking, in a story where vash is allegory jesus, one of the most misinterpreted guys of all time.

finally, death as a denial of autonomy? mm, no. here’s the thing about autonomy: it allows people to do “bad things” to themselves. assisted suicide, regular suicide—that is autonomy at work. keeping someone alive against their will is a denial of autonomy. that’s not to say you shouldn’t try to help a suicidal person, because damn, please do that, but also: people have just as much a right to die as a right to live.

we’re not even talking about vash anymore, i got sidetracked. my point here is that we never actually see vash in this situation, due to the nature of the story. we never see him forcing someone to be alive that no longer wants to, etc (except himself, potentially). what i’m saying is, based on what we are shown, i think there’s a good chance he would in the right circumstances.

vash is a good guy. he’s not out here running around thinking that other people’s wants and needs are less than his own. but he’s got a big gaping hole in him and he’s very good at justifying the ways he tries to fill it. just because it hasn’t gone badly so far doesn’t mean it can’t in the future.

was talking last night about nai’s obsessive tendencies and the way he views everyone, even vash and tesla, as an object. he keeps tesla alive, in pieces, immediately after the fall and presumably for the next 150 years given all the technology he has, despite the fact that killing her would be kinder, just because he wants her. he nearly leaves vash a hollow shell of a creature just because he would rather that than a vash he can’t keep close.

he’s selfish and cruel and so isolated from the world that what he wants is more important than what anyone else wants.

but also…

vash has a little bit of that tendency in him, too. we saw it with rollo especially, and a bit with livio and the sand steamer—though those ones worked out for him in the end. vash is so full of guilt over the idea of killing anyone, even indirectly, that he will keep them alive to spare himself the grief.

and that’s a nobler pursuit, and i think a lot of people also instinctively don’t want to think about death being a mercy sometimes, but it’s still going to get vash in trouble if it hasn’t already in the last century.

i think it’s interesting, too, in light of the fact that vash himself is sort of passively suicidal at times. he’s pretty close to immortal, but he has no sense of care for his own wellbeing. vash doesn’t believe he deserves to live, but i don’t think he believes he deserves to die yet, either. which implies a double standard in his belief system—death is too good for him, but a tragedy for other people.

“an independent must fix what an independent has done. this is my atonement.”

[jeremy-ken-anderson]

Forced/Suggested Behavior

So there’s a suggestion channel on Idle Champions’ discord and I dislike one of the folks there. Throughout the Winter Season event they popped in and said something like, “STOP letting rerolls of ‘Do a new quest in xyz campaign’ land on another of the same kind of quest! You are forcing me to HALT ALL FORWARD PROGRESSION WHEN YOU DO THIS!!”

There’s a lot to dislike - from the “equivalent-of-shouting” caps, to the posting of demands on a suggestion forum, to the fact that they are objectively incorrect.

As little as I like them, they’re close to right on a few things and one of the things they’re wrong about is...complicated. Because of this I expect I wouldn’t dislike them at all if they didn’t come off as rude. Lemme talk a second about those complications:

First of all, there is something nonperformant if you have a button that grants a reroll from a big list of quests and it allows you to reroll to literally the same quest. From a mechanical perspective it’s fair, sure. It’s a reroll, and the quest you’re currently on is one of the possible rolls. And if we were doing a d20 roll for a saving throw and got a second nat 1 in a row, that’s just how it goes sometimes. BUT. When you’re rerolling from a quest list the whole reason you added a button for a reroll was to let people do dailies even if something simply wasn’t possible for them in the time they had. It’s functionally an accessibility feature for people with different amounts of time to spend. From that angle, the new result has to be different from the old result or you have made a button that, x% of the time, literally does nothing. Also, when you have a button that sometimes does nothing it feels bugged.

I think this person was asking for the ability to dodge the entire category of quests (that is, they’d still be mad if they clicked reroll on “Do an Icewind Dale quest” and got “Do a Baldur’s Gate quest” as their result. I don’t agree with that at all. On the other hand - again because of the idea of it as a pseudo accessibility feature - I think because they have a pretty wide variety of dailies on their list of dailies they should have your original roll each day be recorded and off the list for that day on all 3 quests. That is, if I roll off of Icewind Dale on quest 1 and then reroll quest 2 and get the quest I just rolled off of I’ll feel robbed.

Second of all, the whole “forcing me to halt all forward progression” thing. Their premise is that they’re not sure they can complete the higher-level quests, and therefore they save the lower-level quests to have as fodder for these dailies. Do you see the problem? They’ve made a prediction based on limited data and they’ve altered their behavior to try and compensate and that is what’s halting their progress. To most players, the presence of “do a quest from your main-line quest list” in the dailies recommends and incentivizes progression. It does the exact opposite of “halting” progression.

I do sympathize with the idea of feeling “forced,” even if I recognize that they’re objectively incorrect about it. There are a lot of behaviors in the same game that I only take because they feel optimal to me. Nothing in the game is critical, even within its own context. All the things in it can be repeated, returned to, or picked up later (I guess there’s an exception or two in the skins you can purchase for real money, but I never touch that). But once I start a quest with difficult parameters to match - maybe I only have exactly 9 champions who fit its requirements, and there are 9 slots in the formation - I don’t ever quit out of it to use those champions on other quests. I always see it through, even if it means putting off the other quest (also, for a bunch of these quests I could get away with starting one three hours after another and not filling its whole roster, and finishing the harder part of the quest later with the people freed up from the earlier quest finishing. But I don’t generally do that either. I only start if I think I can finish with the resources I have when I start). I’m not required to, but I feel like I’m required to. It’s a weird feeling, especially when I’m able to back up and look at it objectively from outside!

[alyjojo]

Past Life ☯️ Karmic Spread February 2023 - Gemini

Gender I’m Picking Up On (in the past life): Male

Who You Were: 5 Pentacles, 3 Cups, The High Priestess, 9 Wands

What You Did: King of Swords, 9 Swords, 9 Cups, The Magician, Ace of Cups rev

How It Ended: 3 Wands, Death, The Devil, Judgement

What Karma Was Brought With You: Queen of Cups, 4 Cups, The Lovers rev

Who You Brought With You: King of Cups, 4 Wands, 6 Swords, 4 Pentacles rev

Additional energy: 3 Pentacles, Page of Pentacles rev, 10 Pentacles, Strength

Past Life Oracle: Galactic & Greco/Roman

Dreaming Way: Stork, Ring, Sun

Charm:

Fractal Moon 🌙 on The Devil

Crab 🦀 on Queen of Cups

Youth Butterfly 🦋 on 3 Pentacles

Grapes 🍇 on Stork

Broken Heart 💔 on Ring

I am having a slight internal giggle fit over this one, not at you, or the difficulties and sadness you endured. I can just see myself clearly in this reading, as can the rest of us astrology, philosophy & religious fanatics. It’s a very fine line between philosophical and radical, genius and madness, and much of that is often determined by public opinion, at least when you’re trying to gain public approval, or spread the word, which seems like what you tried to do. You were an ancient astrologer, I get Greek specifically, which is amazing btw 🫡 I don’t get “astronomer” by trade, more along the lines of mathematician, facts and figures were your trade initially. Astronomy was involved in some way, and with research…all three titles were combined when describing an astrologer at the time, it was “the” thing then, but your method of working was numbers, and the stars were just the part of that you worked on. A very logical & facts driven person, in a philosophical way.

I don’t get you being very popular or well known, I tried to research a bit, because this was the most popular thing back then, fairly common, but details of these people, their lives and actual characters or personalities are lacking from what little I could find. More like…this person wrote a book, or a pamphlet, and there’s no more than that, just the facts. There’s a rabbit hole for you if you get more curious, maybe one will call out to you 🐇 You were an extremely intelligent man that ended up becoming so fanatically involved in negative astrology, beliefs, and doomsday type of predictions, that you kind of lost yourself. You lost friends & supporters too. The public did not favor your “secrets of the universe”, and you may have even faced some level of public shame, based on something I guess was either too far fetched for even them or a doomsday type of thing that didn’t come true. When you died, you were still waiting for literal stars to align into some exact ultimate & universal Judgement. Probably had some religious implications as well, though I’m not sure of what who how when exactly, etc. Fractal Moon shows the many different layers to your astrology/practicality/beliefs, and The Devil is showing you were so obsessed and caught up on things like mathematical details & calculations, alignments, doomsday, that the whole of the picture was lost to you. Your exacting and precise method of calculating xyz kept you stuck. It’s like you were too smart. Hand a genius philosophy and they’ll lose their mind trying to fact and figure what can’t be fact or figured. You believed it could 💯

You lived in a frame of mind where negative destinies or exactly timed events signaled doom. You eventually avoided doing everything, anything, ever, except obsessing over topics like death, the second coming of Christ (if that even applies here idk, but same vibe), a great plague, a flood, etc. It kept you from things you could and should have done, dreams of yours even, and finding love. You were a recluse and spent most of your time thinking during the night, obsessively trying to understand the world and exactly pinpoint its’ destruction. These events terrified and excited you, you probably had some heavy Sco/8th House energy, because the questions that plagued you were not “When will I find love?”, more like “When will the Earth be sucked into The Sun?” Which I also find fascinating, so lemme just subscribe to this guy’s fan club 😆

In the past, friends and the public and general turned away from you, you didn’t have many supporters. They saw you as the half naked guy screaming about the end of the world, which…yeah, but a brilliant one, possibly with some level of mathematical or scientific achievements too, and probably pants, you were not at all “dumb”. Fanatical…to everyone else, yes, not initially but eventually. In this life, it’s your family that’s not very supportive of you, you don’t have many deep connections in that sphere and you can’t really relate to each other more than superficially or politely. You’re the black sheep. You’ve brought someone with you, probably a Cancer being Queen of Cups with The Crab 🦀 even. Either they leave you or you leave them, there’s no genuine “choosing” each other, it’s just blah, apathy, you’re together and then you’re not. It could be a case of unrequited love, or one person loving the other one more. This is most likely a spouse or lover with Broken Heart on Ring. They may have broken your heart. You may have children with them or they have them, children are involved. This was all karmic and meant to happen.

You’ve also brought a King of Cups, could be a Scorpio or water sign, likely a family member with 4 Wands, could be someone you’ve lived with. They had to leave, move away, travel in some way, and you had no choice but to release them. That connection was deeper than the average person, possibly one of the few family members you did deeply bond with, and it feels more like you followed them here than them following you, someone older. This may also be the person your ex married, or their soulmate, maybe who they hurt you with, and there’s a karmic tie between you all. After separating from the Queen, you may not have been or be much involved with your child/ren, if they’re yours. I don’t get how many, definitely one and if there are more apply them too, it’s children that are specified.

Perhaps it’s when they grow up, with this particular Butterfly 🦋 showing more of a “growing up” and youthful sort of transformation, but they’ll be very successful, maybe not initially but eventually, and they’ll want to be around you. I don’t get ties are completely severed, maybe just difficult to maintain because of the ex, I don’t know. When they’re grown, they’ll make you very happy, and you’ll bond with them more than anyone you’ve ever known whether family, friend, or lover, it’s a kind of love that transcends everything else. Like the family you never really had or bonded with, it’s them. They are the ones that will change your life, and every way is for the better, it just takes some time to get there.

[egophiliac]

Can you give like, a "style guideline" for how you do the unique magic posters? It can be as rough or developed as you want, I'm just curious about your thought process

I'm not sure if I can explain it very well, but I'll try! there's definitely a skill to being able to explain The Process in a way that makes sense to other people, so apologies in advance if this just ends up a confusing mess of words!

since these are about each character's unique magic -- though some of them are. looser. than others -- that's a pretty obvious starting point. I try to stay away from a literal "here's a picture of them using their magic" and go for more of the tone and feeling of it. like...the ones I did for the twins don't really have anything to do their magic at all, because I decided it was more interesting to make it about their twinny-ness and their eyes, and having them bookend Azul. so...their magic got relegated to the background as the teeth/tails from the kanji, rather than anything relevant. :') but they look nice and creepy, which was more important to me!

I always start by doing a bunch of thumbnails to get the idea down and figure out what exactly I want to do. for these I go to colors straight off the final thumb instead of doing a tighter sketch; things tend to change a lot and get moved around and shapes and silhouettes get refined as I go, so I just try to get the idea and the important shapes down and worry about fixing my wonky anatomy later. the style is so flat and minimal that it's fun to lean into that, use a lot of symmetry and lack of depth to push the shapes a lot further than with lines! my only rules for it are that 1) the character should be prominent, and 2) facial features are in limited supply and only to be handed out when necessary (both eyes? don't be greedy). other than that it's anything goes!

here are the final thumbs I went with for each if you're interested! some of them stayed pretty close, and some of them still ended up changing a lot during painting:

once I feel good about that, I come up with two or three main colors + an accent color + a "black" and a "white". (I don't use pure black or white for these, I use dark and light shades of other colors. like for the poms, the "white" is a super pale green and the "black" is a super dark blue. it looks richer and blends better with the rest of the palette that way!) I try to use the same colors within the dorm groups (except for the scaras) to keep some internal consistency, but they don't have to be exact or anything.

color is something I tend to really struggle with so I like to have a palette to start with, even if I end up getting away from it. :x I don't restrict myself from adding more shades and colors as necessary, but I try to be mindful about it -- pops of contrasting color immediately become a focal point, so I don't want to overuse those and make it distracting. the little rimlighting highlights are in the "white" color, and just there for fun and to make things a little less 100% symmetrical for some of them! they're easy to overdo though so I try to use them sparingly.

the actual process of painting is mostly thinking about shapes and silhouettes. because there's no lines and no real depth, clarity is really important; a lot of it is making sure the shapes all look satisfying and there aren't any weird little messy areas or anything. and pretty much all of the fonts I go over to add bits too or change slightly, to make it less stock-looking and integrate it more! there's just a lot of trying different stuff and havin' fun, seeing what happy accidents happen. (like...the heart shape in the milk on Trey's was not planned, it came out kind of heart-shaped by accident and I went YESSSS PERFECT and cleaned it up to make it look more intentional. stuff like that!)

uhhh what else. I do everything with one brush (except for some of the little grungy font touchups on the twins), constantly check my values with an adjustment layer on top at 0% saturation, and horizontally flop the canvas to make sure it isn't looking weird or skewed. the paper textures are a final thing, they're a couple of paper layers on top set to soft light and are mostly the same across the board (just slightly adjusting for each) so they don't take a lot of thinking about. the nice thing about doing a series like this is I only have to figure out sizing/borders/etc once. >:)

so...yeah! I don't know if that all made sense or was satisfying, but that's the way I can think to express it! and if nothing else you can enjoy my stupid doodle of Rook making a weird clown face. 👍

[star-mum]

Good Mythical Morning to all you degenerates <33

Enjoy this meme moodboard:

Anyways let's go <3

When I opened this I literally went "what the fuck" under my breath, DUDE ?????

"the limbs and jaw are missing" just the jaw ? (ik this isn't case centered BUT still)

"Is it just cause you think I’m the gross one?” SKSKSLSK

“The body’s been sittin’ out here in the sun for three hours. I’m not doin’ it.” I feel like many a rock paper scissors battles have happened in the past over who has to touch the dead body

“God, it’s like a fucking fleshlight in here,” KSKSKSK the imagery I did not need

"Don't you mean flashlight?" oh boy 😋

SKSKKSS MORGAN JUST TRYING TO CARRY ON

OMG I COULD "UPDOG" REID !!! HE MAY BE A SUPER GENIUS BUT HE WAS A SENIOR AT 12, HE DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT UPDOG

OR LIGMA !!! And they're such different words that I'm SURE he would fall for both <33

"what a ‘blumpkin’ was" ...... what's a blumpkin ...? do I wanna google it? I don't think I do.... I'm googling it

... i didn't even consider that a thing people did... alright KSKSKSK jesus

did I just get updogged ? But a even more terrible 18+ version of it

"You had gotten a degree in mortuary science before you became a Profiler" THIS IS SUCH A COOL READER BACKSTORY/DETAIL

"L/N, please, don’t-” EVERYTIME I FORGET ABOUT THE EXTENSION AND EVERYTIME I SEE MY GOV NAME IM JUST FILLED WITH EUPHORIA (my legacy has to be getting as many ppl on the InteractiveFics Extension as possible)

"You haven’t washed your hands yet!”

“I wore a glove, Reid!”

JAIL !! JAIL FOR READER FOR A THOUSAND YEARS !!! I was legit thinking when she took the glove off like "that's not enough of a barrier" sksksks

"The two of you played Gin Rummy" new drinking game for all the cool kids out there, take a shot everytime I have to Google something today

"There were no particular statistics about this that came to mind, because it was never something he had directly read a study about" well maybe cause you're a fucking amateur, Spencer, ever consider that?

"The antithesis of a dildo" SKSKSSKS SO THEATRICAL AND DRAMATIC I LOVE THIS LINE

"Because of his inexperience, it had lasted a whopping three minutes" I mean,,, would you really wanna suck a dick soaked in chlorine for any longer than that?

"PhD in chemistry" THAT'S WHAT HIS PHD IS ON ???

'slipping into something more comfortable’ and then came back in a latex nurse’s outfit and six inch red heels" the concept of a bucket list has never interested me much until now

"he had chosen instead to simply sit at his desk and reread the same book over and over again because he had wanted to keep you company" well I hope he has an extra 3m14s to spare cause I'm sucking his dic-

"The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot" you know what time it is ! everyone take a shot

"easy to clean" it comes with a comically oversized version of those metal straw brushes/cleaners

"What he did next nearly sent you into orbit" I HAD THAT EXACT SCENE IN MY HEAD !! I KNEW HE'D DO THAT !!

"When he dipped two of his fingertips into the opening of the toy" sick and twisted

"And when the words fully penetrated your ears" hah nice

"Spencer nodded vigorously at this. 'Of course. Yeah - yeah. You’re right'" there's very little I wouldn't let him get away with

"You held back from telling him the true title you desired" 👀 which would be? 👀

“Come where?” I HAD FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS LINE!!!!

‘Cum’ is the fluid. As in: ‘I want your cum inside of me’.” OUTSOULD WITH THIS LINE OH MY GOD

“Will you let me?' Spencer asked nervously, sheepishly" I could never be a  strict Dom with him KSKSKS what he wants he gets, I'm sorry

“I want you to take off all your clothes. Except for your glasses and your socks” REAL

"clenching his fists by his sides because he figured that you wouldn’t like him trying to hide from you" he is so good tho, like actually such a good boy (I want him)

"you might as well slick him up beforehand" I mean sincE WE'RE HERE

"He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy" 🚨🚑🚨🚑

“I don’t? Is - is that bad?” I need him

"Again, feeling the devil rise up inside of you" a natural state for me at this point

"a few thick white spurts even dirtied his glasses when you angled his cock that way" this has forever changed me as a person

"That’ll be a lesson for next time" me, who Knows 😈

“Of course you can, baby.” I'd have SUCH a hard time NOT talking to him like this in public, he would not have a name anymore (honey, baby, angel -> those are his names now)

"Your stomach fluttered when he kissed the top of your head before you felt his body relax into the mattress" SOBBING

GOODNIGHT MY SWEET PRINCE 😩💕✨

I don't think I have to say how much of a banger this was, but I will cause I want to

I just love the BANTER !! i mean obviously I'm also an avid pwp enjoyer but... there's just ✨ something ✨ about getting to see fun banter and multi characters interactions before getting absolutely destroyed

Sub Spencer is an angel and I love him and I must kiss him

OH YEAH ! We didn't kiss him ;-; like not once ;-; (on the lips I mean) he deserves to be kissed (I'm prepared to make that sacrificed)

Also goes without saying that I really love Reader's personality, like I think it's so much fun when R has a very clear like past and personality/mannerisms even if those completely differ from me (it doesn't really break my immersion)

BUT it just so happens we have a very similar sense of humor, so I feel right at home with most (if not all) of Sunny's readers

We SHALL TALK ABOUT THE EARTH SHATTERING SMUT IN THIS FANFIC !!! LIKE HELLO ????

I really wanna take all of Spencer's firsts and that's not something I just think about in general

Everyone say "Thank you Sunny for this delicious meal" and PAY YOUR FUCKING BILL ! (aka reblog and comment)

Lessons For A Genius - Lesson One

Sub!Spencer Reid x Dom!Fem!Reader

Lesson One: Slick Silicone

(aka the one with the pocket pussy)

Summary:

What could a certified genius possibly have to learn from someone like you? Turns out - a hell of a lot. 

And the real ‘teaching’ started when your graphic explanations of slang toward Spencer for the sheer shock value of it turned into something a lot more… hands on. 

Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.

Word Count: 17,200

Criminal Minds Masterlist | AO3 Link

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Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: A lot of general stuff pertaining to an average Criminal Minds episode - mentions of death, mentions of murder/killing, mentions of possible trauma from being in the BAU, somewhat graphic descriptions of a dismembered corpse; this is not a casefic but there is a small section where Reid, Morgan, and the reader are at a crime scene and details of a case are mentioned (not a case in the canon, one that I made up); the reader sticks her hand inside of a corpse to get something out of it for the purpose of discovering evidence; making inappropriate jokes about dead bodies - the reader character uses dark humour to cope with the trauma of the BAU job; Spencer doesn't understand sexual slang and the reader has to explain it to him (warning for slightly awkward moments because of this?); the reader calls Spencer 'honey' (could be considered condescending); use of Y/N and L/N (meaning Your Last Name); Reid struggling with his sexuality/Reid has some internal biphobia; mentions of anal sex/anal stimulation but it does not take place during the fic; passing mentions of Reid being bullied in school; mentions of past Spencer x Lila Archer (in this fic, she blew him while he was working that case but they didn't keep contact when he left LA); mentions of the reader going to a sex shop; mentions of the reader dressing feminine/wearing lingerie; mention of Spencer being taller than the reader - but I think he would be taller than most people.

This is primarily a smut fic; there is sub/dom dynamics - Reid is submissive and much more inexperienced (he is 'learning' about sex from the reader character, but he is not completely a virgin, he has had one singular sexual experience before); the reader is dominant and much more experienced sexually; the reader has a vagina and uses she/her pronouns; mentions of Reid being 'innocent' (it's more so that sex is an under-researched area of his life and he is too shy to explore it by himself); undertones of corruption kink; use of a sex toy - the reader gifts Spencer a fleshlight/pocket pussy and they use it together; hand kink - the reader admires Spencer's hands; undertones of corruption kink - the reader is enjoying 'corrupting' Spencer and showing him these things for the first time; BDSM/kink negotiations, possibly under-negotiated kink; the reader teaches Spencer BDSM terms.

Everything in this fic is fully consensual and safe for the characters; Spencer calls the reader 'Miss'; mentions of Spencer cumming inside the reader (does not actually happen during the fic); passing mentions of Spencer being insecure (about his sexual skills and his looks); Spencer is very obedient; the reader calls Spencer: 'good boy', 'baby', 'pretty boy', 'dumb baby'; most of this fic is Spencer being fucked with a fleshlight while it's controlled by the reader; heavy praise kink (from the reader toward Spencer); light bondage - Spencer's hands are bound behind his back; edging - orgasm delay/orgasm denial (from the reader toward Spencer); the reader makes Spencer ask permission to cum; some size kink - big dick Spencer is too big to fully fit inside of a fleshlight; Spencer does a lot of begging in this; slight crying kink - the reader thinks Spencer looks pretty when he cries from being overwhelmed/edged a lot; degradation kink, dumbification kink, reader is condescending towards Spencer; some overstimulation toward the end; slight cum kink - Spencer cums all over himself and the reader enjoys it. I believe that's it. There is descriptions of aftercare!

A/N: fair warning - a lot of this fic is build up/sexual tension (my speciality). and there is a long section before the smut where the reader is teaching Spencer BDSM terms and teaching him how to pick a safeword, but I think it's interesting and I enjoyed writing it. and it's worth the pay-off imo. also remember, if you want me to continue this series, please give me some feedback on it! I would love to hear what you thought of this fic before I start writing another one! I highly resisted the urge to put Mommy kink in this, but I feel like it would be unrealistic for a shy Spencer to be comfortable calling his partner Mommy during a first time (he would have a Mommy kink but he would be way too uptight/uncomfortable to admit it).

...

Being an FBI Profiler meant there were some rather… strange parts to your day. 

Things that were once in a lifetime tragedies for other people that had become intensely casual routines for you. Things like - looking at gruesome crime scene photos, seeing a dead body in person, facing down a killer. 

You liked to thank your nihilism and dark sense of humor for keeping you sane, working a job that would have driven others insane in such a short amount of time. You also liked to distance yourself from the darkness of it, and preferred to think of the people you helped, rather than the people you couldn’t. 

Especially during moments like this, when you were exiting the car at yet another crime scene. It was a dump sight for the body of another young woman, adding to the trail of victims this newest killer was challenging the BAU with. 

“Just like all the others… the limbs and jaw are missing. Eyes gouged out. This guy has one hell of a compulsion.” Morgan commented, looking down at the body… or rather, the torso, with intense disdain. 

“I would say it’s less of a compulsion, and more of a fractured sense of reality.” Reid commented. “It’s likely that the UnSub sees these corpses as pieces of art. It’s why he was frustrated when the first four weren’t found soon enough, that they weren’t discovered when they were… ‘fresh’, so to speak. That’s why he started leaving the clues for law enforcement. He wants his ‘art’ to be seen in a timely manner.” 

“Couldn’t the guy just take up painting or something?” You replied, looking at the body, still slightly shocked by how brutal the whole thing was. 

“Looks like we got another one.” Morgan pointed out, crouching down beside the body, motioning toward a large gash between the victim’s ribs. “Another clue, that is.” 

For the last three victims, the UnSub had cut a hole into their torso and left some kind of object inside. Something small that hinted at where the next victim would be found. 

Morgan looked over his shoulder at you, as though waiting for you to make a move. When you turned to Reid, he was looking over the rim of his coffee cup at you with very expectant eyes, the thick lenses of his glasses making his stare all the more imposing. 

You quickly realized that both of the men wanted you to stick your hand inside the corpse and pull out whatever was inside. 

“What?” You chuckled. “You want me to do it? Is it just cause you think I’m the gross one?” 

Your reputation for having a strong stomach preceded you. 

You were shy or squeamish about anything, socially or functionally, and the team often took advantage of this. They would throw you into an interrogation with a suspect who made crude comments and you would end up grossing the man out with even more graphic words. They would have you sifting through a suspect’s trash looking for receipts or pieces of evidence and sometimes you would laugh at the things you found, rather than gagging at the smell. 

It was rare that anyone on the team saw you flinch. 

“The body’s been sittin’ out here in the sun for three hours.” Morgan said, glancing from the corpse up to the bright sky overhead. “I’m not doin’ it.”

You chanced another look at Reid. The small smirk he wore told you that he wouldn’t have to give some lame excuse about how he was squeamish and had just eaten in order for you to truly give in. 

“Ugh, fine.” You said. 

You naturally met Reid’s hand when he came out of his pocket with a blue latex glove for you to wear. You put it on, switching places with Morgan so you could kneel down beside the body. You put your ungloved hand on the ground to support yourself, and then inserted your fingers into the cavity - the hole between the ribs that the UnSub had made. 

Luckily, you didn’t have to reach too far inside before you felt something. Though, because of the slight decomposition of the body and the bloat from the sun beating down, you did have some trouble getting a good grip on the item to pull it out. 

Naturally, your discomfort with the situation caused your dark sense of humor to act up. You needed the comfort and you barely thought about the odd joke before it left your lips. 

“God, it’s like a fucking fleshlight in here,” You groaned, disgusted laced through your voice as you finally hooked your fingers around the object and managed to pull it out of the wound. 

Morgan chuckled at the joke and held out an evidence bag for you (which he had gotten from one of the uniformed officers on the scene). Before any of you could truly analyze the item that you had just pulled out of the body cavity, a voice trampled over your thoughts as you dropped the item into the plastic bag. 

“Don’t you mean flashlight?” Reid piped up, so eager to correct you, as always. “Also, how is that comparable?” 

You looked up at Reid with awe. 

For a moment, you wondered if he was fucking with you. 

But the look of genuine confusion plastered across his features - something so rare for the certified genius. That look made you realize that he genuinely didn’t know what a fleshlight was. He had no idea what you were talking about. 

Your insides tingled with glee at this realization. 

Morgan sighed when he saw the look that you and Reid exchanged. You, wearing filthy, smug dawning and Reid painted entirely with cluelessness. He hated where the exchange was going, knowing how shameless you always were in conversation. He quickly tried to distract from the interaction. 

“So, this looks like a horseshoe-” Morgan said, motionting to the object in the evidence bag. 

“No, I meant fleshlight.” You said, quickly trampling over Morgan’s words. “F-L-E-S-H-L-I-G-H-T. Fleshlight. Do you not know what that means?” 

This caused Morgan to sigh sharply and shake his head. 

You took off the glove with a snap and tossed it away, happy to be rid of the smell. 

You stood back to your full height, entirely intrigued by Reid’s continued confusion. 

“It could represent luck. Maybe a casino?” Morgan tried in vain to distract the two of you from the conversation once again. 

Maybe he was trying to preserve Reid’s naive innocence, something you were determined to dismantle piece by piece because it gave you intense joy to see the shock cross his features whenever you explained outrageous concepts to him. The time you had explained to him what a ‘blumpkin’ was, you hadn’t stopped laughing for hours when he could hardly believe you. 

“The nearest casino is 45.6 miles away, it’s far outside the UnSub’s geographical comfort zone.” Reid said, quickly dismissing Morgan’s thread of conversation before he turned back to you. “And no, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Is it a coroner’s term?” 

You let out a harsh snort at this. You had gotten a degree in mortuary science before you became a Profiler (likely something to thank for your strong stomach). But it was your other area of ‘study’ that made you an expert in this. 

“No, honey, it’s not.” You quickly answered. 

There was a slight flash through his features when you called him ‘honey’. You weren’t sure if it was shock or displeasure, but either way he quickly straightened his face and went back to intrigue. He stared at you with his full attention, ready for you to explain it to him. He was ready to learn and catalog the information in that big brain of his.

It was something you found entirely endearing. 

“L/N, please, don’t-” Morgan begged you not to explain it any further, once again wanting to keep Reid in the dark. 

Mostly, he wanted to save himself from the embarrassment of witnessing the interaction between the two of you. 

“What?” You chuckled sharply, turning to Morgan. “There are some things the genius still needs to learn, apparently.” 

Reid rolled his eyes at this. He didn’t want to admit that it was true. 

“The other night I had to explain to him what the distinct difference between a Butt Dial and a Booty Call is,” You continued, giving an example to prove your point. “Because he walked into the bullpen and loudly announced to JJ and Elle that he was sorry that he booty called me at 3am and woke me up.” 

Morgan choked on his laughter when you explained this. 

“Dude, seriously?” He posed, raising a brow at Reid. 

“I fell asleep with my phone in my back pocket when I was reading Voltaire.” Reid explained, a heavy blush falling over his cheeks. “I thought - I thought -” 

“Okay, playboy, I’m gonna go call Hotch about this,” Morgan announced, motioning toward the evidence bag. “And I’m gonna pretend not to hear anything that’s happening over here.” 

Morgan walked off to the car, and Reid turned to you with a defeated look cast over his features. 

“I do appreciate when you explain these kinds of things to me.” He told you softly. “It… it saves me from future embarrassment.” 

As much as you enjoyed the shock factor of watching Spencer’s innocence melt away when you explained such crude things so abruptly - that was also part of your motivation. You knew that as much as he was a genius - had stunning intellect on paper, could recite statistics by heart - he didn’t have the kind of social skills or social knowledge that you did. 

“Do you really wanna know what I was talking about before?” You posed, giving him one last chance to preserve that innocence. 

He nodded, ever thirsty to chase an unanswered question. 

You held back a giggle. 

“A fleshlight is also called a pocket pussy.” You told him, launching into a quick, efficient explanation for his confusion so that he could have his question answered. 

“What?” He gaped, having the most beautifully dumb look on his face as the words left his lips. 

“It’s a sex toy.” You told him. 

His face scrunched even further into bewilderment, and you knew that now he was simply jumping through mental hoops, wondering what kind of sex toy a ‘pocket pussy’ could be. So you decided to make your explanation a bit more detailed. 

“It’s a…” You thought for a moment about how to explain it to someone who had never seen one before. “A kind of tube? Usually in the shape of a large flashlight, and on the inside there’s a silicone vagina, or sometimes a silicone anus, and it’s meant to simulate intercourse the same way that a dildo can simulate intercourse by going into a vagina. Or an anus, of course. You do know what a dildo is, right?” 

Reid quickly nodded his head - that bright flush even fresher on his cheeks as a deep thoughtfulness came over his features. 

“Yeah. Y-yeah. I got it.” He quickly stuttered out, assuring you that he now fully understood. 

“Cool.” You said, walking by him and thumping him on the shoulder for reassurance that the conversation was over. 

“Wait, is that the hand that you - inside? You haven’t washed your hands yet!” 

“I wore a glove, Reid!” 

… 

Turns out the horseshoe had a unique stamping on it from a closed down metalworks business. Four thousand square feet of abandoned building, perfect for the UnSub to make his ‘art’ inside. He had intended for the clue to lead the team to a barn where he had staged the next corpse, but you broke into the building and caught him in the act of drugging another woman before she was killed. 

The state of the building was horrifying - the limbs of the other victims strewn about, a lot of them put on display like trophies. 

Overall, you would call it a good day. There was a life saved. 

On the way back home, Spencer could barely make eye contact with you while on the jet. His eyes constantly flickered away from you with purpose whenever you looked near him. The two of you played Gin Rummy and you had to remind Reid to take his turn several times. There was even one point where he won a hand and you had to tell him so - he claimed that he had ‘forgotten the rules’. As if. 

You couldn’t figure out why he was acting so strangely. You wanted to chalk it up to the harshness of the case, the graphic nature of things - but you both had seen much worse. The ‘fleshlight’ conversation was so minimal on your radar, such a shameless moment for you. It was something you considered so entirely regular as an interaction on the rollercoaster of all things bizarre that was Spencer Reid. You were barely even thinking about it. 

You had no clue that it was racing through his mind at top speed as he remembered your words from earlier that day. 

… 

Spencer couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

He wasn’t sure why it had never occurred to him before. Sure, there were plenty of things he didn’t know, like you said. Plenty of things he was curious about, but far too shy to look up. Plenty of things he didn’t want to get caught looking up out of fear of embarrassment. 

He knew some things about sex toys. He knew far more about the history of sex toys than he did about modern sex toys. He could tell you that Cleopatra had owned one of the first rudimentary vibrators, made from the shell of a hollowed out gourd filled with bees. But if he walked into a sex shop today, he probably wouldn’t know what half the stuff was or what it was used for. 

When he thought about what you had told him, it only made sense. 

Of course there would be some kind of solution, some kind of ‘opposite’ to a silicone penis used to simulate sex inside a vagina. 

(“Or an anus, of course.”) 

Those words flying out of your mouth so casually had sent Reid’s imagination flying into an array of interesting directions. Of course he knew that plenty of men liked to partake in anal stimulation for pleasure. There were no particular statistics about this that came to mind, because it was never something he had directly read a study about. 

It was something Reid had always been curious about, because he did know that prostate stimulation was often considered to be the height of pleasure for men. 

(Spencer’s attraction to men was a can of worms that he would leave untouched and attend to another day. The innate warmth that he felt when he looked at Morgan was something he always felt the need to suppress. Even though it was quite literally impossible for him, he was still trying to forget the involuntary reaction he had when he looked at a gay porn magazine that his classmates had left in his locker as a joke when he was thirteen.) 

For the most part, his mind was hyper-fixating on your explanation of that object he had never even heard of before. The antithesis of a dildo, the supposed inversion of the male genitalia in a more portable form. 

A pocket pussy. 

You talked about it so casually, explained it so perfectly. You spoke about it in such a way that it left Reid’s mind whirring, wondering what such an object could specifically look like. Of course, he knew what a vagina looked like. In theory. 

Yes, he was a virgin. 

He actually wondered if he fit that definition exactly. He knew that most people considered virginity to be a milestone passed once they had participated in full blown intercourse for the first time. But he wondered if what he had done would ‘count’ as losing his virginity. It was something he would have asked you, would have wanted your social colloquial opinion on - if he wasn’t so embarrassed about being a virgin in the first place. (Or maybe being a virgin, he still wasn’t too sure.) 

He had been touched by a woman before, but only once. 

After he and Lila Archer had climbed out of the pool, before the team had arrived, she had kissed him on the mouth again and continued to thank him for his ‘bravery’ and ongoing protection in a very interesting way. And before he could truly process it or stop her (due to the intense unprofessionalism) - his pants were down and her mouth was on him. Because of his inexperience, it had lasted a whopping three minutes. (According to Spencer’s impeccable memory and the fact that he had been glancing between the top of her head and a clock on the wall, worried they would get caught, he knew for a fact that it had been three minutes and fourteen seconds to be exact.) 

Which, at the time, was lucky. Because as she licked off her lips and looked up at him through her lashes, Morgan called out his name through the house, finally looking for them. He had rushed to straighten his clothes and look normal - but because Morgan caught them both looking incredibly guilty, he had hounded Reid for days about the ‘details’. Reid gave him none. 

But that had been his only experience with a woman sexually. His only experience with anybody, for that matter. So any of his knowledge about vaginas was based entirely on pictures; scientific diagrams, and renaissance art. He was never gutsy enough to buy porn for himself. 

He tried to imagine what a silicone vagina would look like - how one would fit molded into a plastic tube. He tried to imagine how it would feel to stick his penis into one. 

Of course, he had plenty of experience with masturbation. 

His instincts had taken over at the right age for that. Even though his brain was always advanced well beyond his years, puberty kicked in just the same. He had been a hormonal teenager just like everyone else. (Of course, he was the only one going to CalTech getting a PhD in chemistry, but he was right on track in terms of his physical development.) 

And naturally, his imagination often ran away with him whenever he had the time alone to masturbate now that he was an adult. 

One of the things he thought about most often when he masturbated was you. 

The fact that you were so self-assured, so confident, the fact that nothing could shake you. It always made Spencer imagine you pinning him down, taking control of him, kissing him hard. He had orgasmed in his hand a great many nights, imagining you on top of him - imagining what you might feel like around him, on top of him, riding him. 

He found it intensely difficult to pay attention to Gin Rummy when all of these thoughts were running through his mind. 

… 

You barely remembered the fleshlight conversation at all. Barely remembered it, that is, until you were on your way to work the next morning. 

There was a small fender bender between two cars on your normal route and the traffic build-up around it caused you to deviate. Because of that, you just happened to drive by your favorite sex shop. The sign caught your eye, and you figured: you were already late. There was a great coffee place across the street. You could grab yourself a latte if you parked. 

You were surprised that a sex shop would be open so early in the morning, but you were glad that you made the stop. Usually, you would have taken your time to browse. You liked to see what was new, especially in terms of costumes and lingerie. 

You didn’t have a long term partner to impress, but sometimes you did like to strut around the house in lingerie (in your fleeting free time away from the BAU) just to make yourself feel good. That, and it was always fun to see the look on a date’s face when you gave the sensual promise of ‘slipping into something more comfortable’ and then came back in a latex nurse’s outfit and six inch red heels. 

Unfortunately, today you were low on time and very set on what you wanted. 

You went straight to the wall of toys and zoned in on the selection of fleshlights. You picked out the most ‘basic’ one you could find. You didn’t want to assume Spencer’s preferences, but you picked one that resembled a pussy rather than an ass. 

It was on the expensive side, but you knew the look on Spencer’s face when you gave it to him would more than pay it off in your mind. That and imagining him using it, knowing that it would be far too tempting of a gift. He would never be brave enough to buy something like this for himself and once it was in his hands when he was alone, he would be far too curious not to use it - yeah, it was definitely worth it. 

You walked past a rack of lube on your way to the cash register and realized that it would be rude to give this kind of gift without a bottle of lube in accompaniment. So you bought a bottle of your favorite water based lubricant. An unscented one, knowing that Spencer was a no-frills kind of guy, even though you usually bought a strawberry scented one for yourself. 

You got the items put in a discreet, labelless black bag and then got yourself a latte. And you couldn’t help but to grab an almond croissant for Spencer because when you spotted it in the pantry case, you did think of him. 

Of course, when you walked into the office (the black bag safely in the backseat of your car) Hotch just happened to be walking by with a handful of files on the way to his office. 

“You’re late.” He commented, not looking up from the paper he was reading. 

“Traffic was hell.” You fired back. 

“Yeah, and I’m sure that latte just magically transported into your hand.” He said, his tone blank and unreadable as usual. “I want all your reports about the case on my desk by tonight.” 

Usually, there was a grace period of two or three days to get the reports about a case done. But clearly, Hotch didn’t like your tardiness. You considered it worth it. 

“Yes sir.” You mumbled under your breath. 

He didn’t say anything else after that, simply retreated off to his office. 

You figured he couldn’t be that mad. He knew the job could be an emotional strain, and it was okay to deviate from such a hard routine every now and then. Especially because now you were going to be spending the next five hours writing out all the gory details of how you had pulled a horseshoe out of a woman’s dead torso in order to catch a killer. 

You walked over to your desk, which was right in front of Reid’s, and placed down the paper bag with the croissant on top of one of his files. This easily distracted him from whatever he had been writing - most likely one of his reports about the case. 

“Almond croissant,” You said, placing down your coffee cup and placing your purse underneath your desk. “Your favorite, right?” 

“It is.” He grinned at you. “Thank you.” 

It was that sweet little smile, those big kind eyes staring up at you through the lenses of his glasses like you hung the stars in the sky - it was that bit of sweetness that got you through writing your reports. So yeah, it probably wasn’t just dark humor and nihilism that helped you keep your sanity. It had a lot to do with the pretty boy you got to sit across from every single day. 

You worked on your reports. And yeah, you took too many coffee breaks, including a long lunch break with Elle, Penelope, and JJ where they insisted on discussing your ‘crush’ on Spencer. 

You denied it. 

Elle profiled your lie (which you insisted was not a lie) and JJ laughed about it. Penelope started humming wedding music under her breath and you threatened to spit in her salad. 

By the time you actually got the reports done, it was late. Everyone else had gone home - except for Spencer, who was still sitting at his desk across from you with his lamp on and an air of quiet concentration. When you got finished with the last report, you slammed the file closed and let out a sigh, leaning back in your chair and running your hands harshly over your face. 

“Finally done?” Spencer’s delicate voice inquired, peeking up over the median between the desks to look at you. 

“Yes, finally.” You grinned back at him. “You done too?” 

You couldn’t help but to ask. Spencer was always incredibly quick with his reports, simply by the nature of the speed at which he could read and compose writing. You wondered what exactly he had been doing at his desk for the past few hours. Perhaps he had been looking through old case files, possibly unsolved ones, thinking up new leads while there was no pressure looming over his brilliant mind. 

“I finished up at three o’clock.” He said. 

You glanced at your watch - it was getting close to nine. That made you entirely curious about what he had been doing, sitting at his desk for that many hours. What had he felt the need to stay so late for? 

“So what has been keeping you busy this late into the night, Doctor?” You asked. 

“I was reading.” He told you honestly, motioning toward a thick novel that he had in his hands. 

“How many books do you have over there?” You chuckled. 

Again, you knew that because of the intense speed he was capable of reading at, it would take a lot of books to keep him busy. 

“Just one.” He answered, easily catching your eye and maintaining eye contact. 

Both of you knew what this meant. 

For a while, he had been rereading through old case files. But, not wanting to haunt himself with those gory details, he had chosen instead to simply sit at his desk and reread the same book over and over again because he had wanted to keep you company. 

What you didn’t know was that his mind had still been heavily plagued by thoughts of your sex toy discussion from the other day, so he wasn’t exactly reading at lightning speed as per usual. Instead - letting his imagination wander, thinking about where he would get a silicone vagina if he wanted to buy one and if a toy would feel as good as yours. What yours would feel like around his penis if he ever got the minuscule chance to actually experience it. 

“The Hollow Men by T. S. Eliot - but um, I was waiting for you, actually.” Spencer announced, making his intentions entirely clear, just in case you hadn’t already figured it out. “I was hoping maybe we could get dinner together? We haven’t - we haven’t hung out in a while.” 

He seemed nervous asking you this, even though you were always enthusiastic in welcoming his invitations to spend time together outside of work. 

Last month, he had brought you to a conservatory housing and actively breeding endangered species of butterflies in order to save the populations from extinction. It was a building full of plant life, an indoor jungle filled with the beautiful insects that took your breath away. Listening to him ramble on about the different species and their latin names, the patterns on their wings and their purpose of camouflage - it had been one of the most pleasant, most romantic non-dates of your life. 

You didn’t understand why others on the team acted like his presence, especially his ramblings, could be a bother. 

“Sounds good.” You told him with a smile. 

He smiled back at you fondly. 

“I have to drop these on Hotch’s desk and then we can go.” You explained as you stood up and began gathering your files. “But uh, I don’t really feel like going out? I’m way more in the mood for take-out and a comfy couch.” 

“There’s a good Chinese place a few minutes away from my apartment.” He told you. “If you consider my couch comfortable?” 

You resisted the urge to tell him that you loved his apartment because the smell of books penetrated every inch of it; the scent of yellowing, worn paper living there like the comfort of a library. But you held that back - choosing instead to say something else. 

“The comfiest,” You grinned at him as you walked by with the armful of files. 

… 

You weren’t entirely sure when you were going to give the ‘gifts’ to Spencer. 

A large part of you thought that it would be best to have an out, in case he got embarrassed, or hated it. Most likely, you would wait until after dinner and hand him the bag on your way out without telling him what it was. Which was why you shoved the black plastic bag holding the lube and the sex toy into your oversized purse while Spencer was distracted with carrying the takeout bag toward his apartment. 

One thing that had not surprised you about Spencer when you found it out: he didn’t have basic cable. Part of you was surprised that someone who was so pro-book and anti-technology even had a TV at all. But apparently he had some favorites that he couldn’t stand to miss out on, like Doctor Who and Star Wars. So he had a DVD player hooked up to a very small TV that was banished off to a corner of his living room. A device that was dwarfed by bookcases, which did make a lot of sense. 

He said that he spent so much time reading and away at work, traveling for cases that it just didn’t make sense to pay for cable. He said that he could get his mental enrichment from reading, and his nerdy pleasure from rewatching his old favorites, and apparently he got the news from listening to the radio. The radio. Sometimes you wondered if he was Benjamin Button - an old man who had somehow gotten into the body of a twenty five year old. It truly mystified you. 

Either way, it meant that you spent dinner with season three of Friends on as background noise. Friends being a box set of DVDs that you had gifted him because you considered it to be classic television that he needed to see. The first time he had asked Morgan to his face if a girl had ‘friendzoned’ him with full confidence in what the term meant, you knew that Spencer had been watching it in his free time. 

You easily fell into the comfort of your surroundings, enjoying the comforting canned laughter of the show, paired with the delightfully greasy food and Spencer’s ongoing commentary - both about the show, and about other, completely unrelated things. You were so relaxed that you had almost completely forgotten about the gift you had waiting in your bag for him. 

It was such a strange coincidence that he had been the one to bring it up. 

He offered to take your plate into the kitchen, leaving behind a waft of soy sauce as he went. You were wonderfully full and reached to the small side table where you were nursing a half empty (now warm) diet coke. You took a few sips from it, and heard Spencer’s footsteps shuffling back into the room. He hovered behind you as you watched Monica rush out of her bedroom with her phone pressed to her chest, concerned about calling Richard. 

You were so focused on the show that you almost didn’t hear Spencer’s shy, tentative voice when he spoke. 

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He said quietly. 

“Hmm?” You looked over your shoulder at him, wondering what he meant. 

He was rather nervously fidgeting with his hands, standing in the white glow of the TV in the dimly lit room - the only other source of light being a small lamp on the side table and dimness of the light above the stove shining in from the kitchen at his back. 

You grabbed up the remote and paused the show, silencing the characters and their temporary problems in order to address the stress that Spencer was very clearly feeling - his whole body tight, hunched over, his face quite tight with worry. 

“I’m sorry about the other day.” He repeated himself, slightly louder this time - perhaps not more confident, but simply not drowned out by any further noise. 

You didn’t want to butt in, and gave him the room to explain himself slowly. 

“I - I didn’t mean to put you in such an… uncomfortable position. If I don’t understand the things you say, I should just pull you aside and ask you privately what you meant.” He sighed. “I - I know that I need to learn to keep my mouth shut sometimes. It’s something I’m working on.” 

You became flooded with peril at this. Had he really thought that he had inconvenienced you? Put you in an ‘uncomfortable’ position? 

“Come sit down.” You told him, beginning to feel annoyed with craning your neck back to get a proper look at him. 

Like a dog being beckoned, he couldn’t help but to follow your order. 

He sunk down against the other arm of the three seater couch, leaving quite a bit of space between the two of you. He had his arms folded - closed off, clearly nervous. His eyes were focused on the leg of his pants, distinctly refusing to look at you. Perhaps he was afraid he would find disgust or disappointment among your features. You turned off the TV completely then and angled your body to face him before you continued speaking. 

“First of all, you don’t need to learn to keep your mouth shut.” You told him easily. “I’m not sure who, or what gave you that impression, but it’s not true. Whenever you open your mouth, something brilliant comes out, and we’re all better for it.” 

Reid’s lips flexed into a smile at the intense direct praise, and this made you happy. 

“Second, you didn’t make me uncomfortable the other day.” You told him honestly. “I meant what I said - despite you being a genius, there are still some things you need to learn. And I’m more than happy to teach you.” 

These words sent a shiver down Spencer’s spine. 

There were so many things that he would beg for you to teach him if given the chance. But he didn’t want to embarrass himself. And most importantly, he didn’t want to come off as creepy or desperate toward someone as perfect as you. 

When he dared to glance up at you, you were boldly staring him down. You wore a small smirk across your face. Heat began to stir in Spencer’s gut, and he couldn’t help but to wonder if you were thinking the exact same things that he was. 

You couldn’t be. You couldn’t possibly want someone like him. You couldn’t possibly want a nervous, inexperienced ‘virgin’ like him. 

Oh, but you did. 

You were thinking all of the same things that he was. You were imagining giving him the most intricate ‘hands on’ lessons for everything he had ever been curious about. Giving him the most close-up, detailed tour of the female anatomy he ever could have asked for. 

“Spencer,” You called out his name gently. 

This forced his attention up from fiddling with a loose thread on the edge of the couch cushion - clearly something out of nervousness - and got him to look at your face. You wondered how someone who was six feet tall could look so delicately small, purposefully slumped over in his seat like that. You wondered what his pretty features would look like warped by an orgasm. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” You asked him. You had to know if he was truly on the same filthy wavelength as you. 

He knew he had to make up a lie. Because he wouldn’t be brave enough to speak the words out loud. He was too shy to actually tell you that he was wondering what it would be like to bury his face between your breasts, that he wanted to drown there. 

“You… you did get me curious.” Spencer admitted quietly. “About the… the - uh-” 

He trailed off, clearly too nervous to say the word for himself now that he knew the filthy implications behind it. 

“About the fleshlight?” You finished the sentence for him, wanting to encourage him. 

You wanted to make him feel brave about the topic. You were too curious about where this interaction was heading - you couldn’t bear to have him get shy on you now. 

“Yeah.” He nodded, nervously clearing his throat. 

He went back to fidgeting with the edge of the couch cushion, once again purposefully looking anywhere but at your face. You stared him down with purpose, all too intrigued by whatever might come out of his mouth next. Especially with the tense, thoughtful expression dipped along his eyebrows - the same one he got when he was reading or staring at maps. 

“I was thinking - I was curious - curious about - about where someone might get one of those.” He finally announced. 

He put intense stress on the word ‘where’ - his voice low, almost a lulling whisper in the already quiet apartment. He was speaking as though he was asking you about something incredibly illicit. Like a college kid asking where he could buy weed or a lonely man in his thirties inquiring about a prostitute. Though sex toys were perfectly legal, you guessed that for someone like Spencer, this was just as trepidacious. 

You felt a sense of eager giddiness stir within you. You resisted the urge to bounce on the spot like an excitable, hyper kid on their birthday waiting to open their present. Even though he wasn’t looking at your face, you forced yourself to hold back a grin. 

You didn’t want to ruin the surprise, after all. It was just too perfect. 

“Well… lucky for you, Doctor Reid,” You told him, easily capturing his attention with the use of his proper title and the fact that you shifted slightly in your seat, reaching down by your feet to grab your bag. “I happen to have a spare one right here.” 

Spencer watched you cautiously, his neck still sloped with anxious shyness. He almost had to believe that this was a prank, and you would pull a tape recorder out of your bag and laugh because you had captured his perversion for everyone to know about. 

But of course - you weren’t that cruel. You were honest, and you were definitely not half as shy as he was. In fact, he would go so far as to say that you didn’t have a bashful bone in your body. 

So of course, it made sense that it was not a big deal for you to walk into one of those stores and simply purchase that kind of toy. 

Spencer watched eagerly as you pulled out a cardboard box. He heard the rustle of plastic inside your bag and guessed that it was a shopping bag. But he couldn’t be too focused on that once your arm extended out to him, showing him what the rectangular box was. 

Spencer had never seen a sex toy in person before, but he quickly realized that they were packaged similarly to any other product. A clean, white background with a picture of the product on it, several claims and promises (‘new and improved design!’) (‘easy to clean!’) (‘soft and durable!’) - and a picture of someone smiling on the front, unconsciously promising a good user experience. In this case, it was a stereotypically beautiful woman in lingerie holding the… item, as though it were comparable… to her… to her parts. 

“Open it.” You encouraged him, wagging the box in his direction. “Unless you don’t want it. I could return it.” 

It was then that Spencer realized he had been sitting with his hands numbly in his lap for several silent moments, staring at the box in your extended hand. 

“Oh!” He said quietly. “No! I mean - yes. I - um.” Rather than trying to articulate it, he reached out and grabbed the item, finding it surprisingly heavy. It easily compared to the weight of a good book in his hands. “Thank you.” 

You would be lying if you said that watching him inspect the sex toy as though it were an object from an alien planet wasn’t the hottest thing you had seen in your entire life. Doctor Reid approached this the same way that he approached everything else in life: with intense scrutiny. Clearly his analytical mind was working hard as he carefully peeled back the cardboard flap of the box and slid out his prize. 

You had to wonder if that mind of his ever shut off. 

You wondered if you could make him dumb and cum drunk, make his head completely empty. You wondered what he would look like mindlessly chasing an orgasm, begging for release with absolutely no statistics or scientific papers running around inside that big brain of his. You wanted to see him completely worn down, just his base instincts at play. You wanted to see him with just the need to fuck and cum and have his release pounding between his ears as he whined desperately for more. 

There was a sharp pain between your legs, intense arousal at the thought of it. 

That arousal only increased when Spencer dropped the box in his lap and then - like man walking on the moon for the first time - he held the toy delicately in one hand and popped the cap off with the other. Clearly, it was a big discovery for him. Watching his eyes widen with shock did bring you an intense joy. It also immediately made you wonder if seeing the silicone pussy was his first time seeing a pussy so up close and personal at all. That thought only made your own cunt throb with need. 

What he did next nearly sent you into orbit. 

He gently placed the cap down on his lap, and without looking at you, his thoughtful eyes still entirely focused on the fake pussy - he reached toward it and oh-so-gently stroked his fingers across it. From your perspective, with the angle he was holding it at, you had a perfect view of his gorgeous hand delicately exploring the toy. Your cunt fluttered, clenching around nothing, and you knew that at this point you were definitely sitting in soaked underwear. If you didn’t know Spencer any better, you would have guessed that he was doing this on purpose, to tease you. 

But that’s what made it so perfect - he was just naive, just exploring these things for the first time. 

When he dipped two of his fingertips into the opening of the toy, you had to consciously hold back a moan. It was almost too hot watching his strong, thick fingers get swallowed up by the soft entrance of the toy. Of course, imagining how those fingers would feel dipping into your pussy with such tender grace. 

“Wow.” Spencer said quietly, almost a gasp under his breath as he pulled his fingers back, in pure awe at this new discovery. “I didn’t expect it to be so soft.”

“It’ll feel even better when it’s wet.” 

The words came so naturally from your lips, you couldn’t have stopped them if you tried. 

Spencer looked up at you with a distinct pinkness spreading over his cheeks, clearly imagining that tight, soft wetness wrapped around his cock. 

You dared to take a glance downward and surely enough - beside where the empty box was sitting in his lap, a bulge was forming in his slacks, pressing harshly against the zipper. You deeply resisted the urge to reach over and grope that bulge, not wanting to scare him by coming on too strong. Instead, you put that grabby hand back into your purse to get the other thing you had to give to him. 

“Another lesson for the genius,” You announced, extending out the bottle of lube for him to see it. This time he was quicker to grab it, bringing it up to his face to inspect it with thoughtful eyes. “Water based lubricant is best. It’s water soluble, so it’s easy to clean up. And unlike other kinds, it won’t wear down the silicone of the toy over time or wear through the latex of condoms.” 

You bringing up condoms caused a jolt in Spencer’s chest. Were you just giving him some friendly advice about safe sex or - or did you actually intend to have intercourse with him? Would there be a need for condoms between the two of you in the future? 

The words gave him a temporary bold streak (that and the sexual adrenaline pumping through his system) and he decided to voice his thoughts before he became too shy. 

“Can I ask you something?” He asked quietly, his voice taking on that sweet, mousy quality that it usually did whenever he got nervous. 

“Of course.” You nodded. 

You thought that he might have more questions about the lube or the toy. But what he said next - combined with the fact that he looked at you shyly through his lashes like a doll, like he knew exactly what he was doing - absolutely knocked the wind out of you. 

“You… You said that you like teaching me things. So - do you think-?” 

He paused for a moment, clearing his throat. 

“Could - could you give me a demonstration?” He asked, his voice still shy and sweet. 

Your lips gaped in shock - at first you thought you had misheard him. And when the words fully penetrated your ears, you thought that you had somehow misunderstood him. He couldn’t possibly mean-? He wanted you to use the toy on him? 

You were shocked that Spencer Reid was openly asking for something like that. 

Seeing the shock and slight confusion across your features, Spencer’s mouth raced past his better judgment. His lips plowed over that thing in the back of his brain nagging at him to shut up - and he kept on going. 

“It only seems logical that, when tackling something new, especially something this… skill-based, I would need to be shown what to do.” He explained, his mouth running off in that way it always did when he sounded far too much like he knew what he was talking about. “It seems advisable to be shown by someone with more experience. Experience that I don’t have. I need you to show me. Please.” 

The last word came out as a breathy plea from him. You could have easily gotten stuck on the fact that he had basically just admitted to you that he was a virgin. But instead, him simply saying that word: ‘please’, begging to you like your attention was the most precious thing in the world; it kickstarted something in your brain and switched on the dominant persona that you had always wanted to use with him. 

The air shifted in the room then, and you both knew it. It was like a fire crackling around you. Spencer didn’t know what to do with it, but luckily, you did. He waited with anxious breath for your guidance, your instruction. 

“You need me to show you?” You repeated his words, using the buttery sweet voice that you usually did when you had someone so willing and pliant for you. 

Instinctively, you reached over to him and gently cupped his cheek. He easily leaned into the touch, shuddering with delight and letting out a small sigh as you made contact with his skin for the first time. It was the first time you had really touched him, aside from casual hugs of comfort after stressful situations that the job naturally gave the two of you. But this was entirely different. 

He hummed in affirmation to answer your question, his eyes growing large with lust, pupils blown out as he melted into you. 

“What do you want me to show you, pretty boy?” You asked, running your thumb along his bottom lip, admiring how absolutely pink his mouth was. 

You hoped that you could prompt a genuine answer out of him - get him to say the words. You had never heard Spencer talk about anything crude before, and you wondered if he was even capable of talking dirty. You hoped that if he wouldn’t say the words on his own, you could coach him into doing it. You could only imagine the satisfaction of getting that smart mouth to utter such filthy things. 

“I want…” Spencer swallowed harshly, clearly having a difficult time with his mouth drying out now that you had a hand on him, even though the touch was fairly ‘innocent’. “I want you to show me… everything.”

The intense emphasis that he put on the word sent sparks flying inside of you. 

It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a ‘demonstration’ of the toy. It sounded like he wanted a lot more than just a one night stand to get off. 

Intense want flared up of you. 

The temptation to own him, to make him yours… the temptation to take all of his first and have him tied to you like a lost puppy because of it - it was an intense one. But you wouldn’t hurt him, no. You would do it right. You would own him in that way because he wanted it just as badly as you did. 

“Spencer,” 

You said his name suddenly, harconing for his attention with it. You stroked your thumb along his cheek before you pulled the touch away completely. His head bobbed forward slightly to chase your hand, but he let you go without protest. 

“If we’re going to do this, there has to be rules.” You told him firmly. “If I’m going to be your teacher, you have to listen to me. Teachers need rules, right?” 

Spencer nodded vigorously at this. 

“Of course. Yeah - yeah. You’re right.” He eagerly agreed. Then of course, he asked the obvious question. “What are the rules?” 

You beamed a smile at him, loving his enthusiasm. 

You knew that he would be a good boy. He was so eager to follow rules, to learn. Your body began tingling with delight at the thought of him looking up at you with hazy eyes, asking for his next command. 

You had to forcibly clear your head. Right now you had to be level headed in order to teach him the rules. 

“Okay the first rule - the most important one,” You prefaced, causing Spencer to straighten up slightly, showing his attentiveness, an eager student ready to learn. “Is that you need to pick a safeword. A word you can say during the scene so that I can know if you’re uncomfortable or if you need to stop.” 

“‘The scene’?” Spencer asked, repeating back the phrase to you. “Also - why can’t the safeword just be ‘stop’, or ‘no’? Wouldn’t you just stop things if I said ‘no’?” 

You decided to tackle his questions one at a time. 

“Calling it a ‘scene’ - it’s lingo.” You said. “You know that everything comes with its own set of linguistics.” You told him, playing into his pre-existing knowledge. He nodded at this. 

You then continued your explanation. 

“A ‘scene’ means… any type of sexual play. Some people call it ‘playtime’. It’s lingo that exists because for a lot of people, sex is much more than just intercourse. It can start with speech and behavior and any interactions that they have with their partner when they’re alone. Like foreplay. So a safeword needs to be included in those moments too, in case someone needs to call timeout.” 

Spencer nodded at this. It made him wish that he had developed a safeword with Lila Archer. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed the oral sex - but because to this day, he still shuddered at the possibility of being embarrassed by someone walking in on them, or the consequences if someone found out about the improprieties of it all. 

“As far as the safeword being ‘no’, or ‘stop’...” You took the time to find the right words to explain it. 

Spencer waited patiently, feeling curious about this. 

“I will always look out for your safety, and if you seem uncomfortable, I’ll ask you if you’re okay.” You assured him, giving him a gentle pat on the knee. Spencer smiled at this, and you enjoyed that you had comforted him with these words. 

“But sometimes ‘no’ doesn’t work.” You went on to explain. “Like… if I asked you something like ‘do you want me to stop?’ and you say ‘no’, that is a positive affirmation to continue what I’m doing, but it uses a negative word. Same thing with the word ‘stop’. If you told me ‘don’t stop’ - but your voice was too quiet on the first word or I didn’t properly hear you, then I may stop when you wouldn’t want me to.” 

For the first time, Spencer felt as though he was the one being schooled. 

You telling him ‘I may stop when you don’t want me to’ had him drawing an image up in his head of you vigorously riding him, taunting him while you were so well composed and he was reduced to a stuttering mess because of your wetness clenching around him. With you mistaking his words for a signal of distress, and taking away your beautiful body before he got to orgasm. It would be tragic. 

He easily understood what you meant. 

“The point of a safeword,” You continued on. “Is that it stands out. It’s a word you would never otherwise say during playtime. A word that would never come up during sex - except for you signaling your discomfort. So when I hear that word, I know that we need to shift gears into aftercare.” 

“What’s aftercare?” Spencer asked, eager to learn another new term as it was introduced to him. 

Again, you were puzzled about how to explain it, how to put it into words for someone who had no clue what the word meant. 

These were things you had known about for years, words that were a natural part of your vocabulary now. Things you had been doing before you even knew the terms for it. It was strange having to explain it to someone so fresh. 

“It - um…” You thought for a moment. “Aftercare is what happens after a scene. It’s the period of time when you mentally and physically wind down, in order to take care of your body and mind. Because of the physical exertion and the endorphins, sex can be exhausting and mentally tedious, as much as it is fun. So - aftercare helps transition the body and mind back into non-sexual activities. Different people need different kinds of aftercare, but usually it’s things like: drinking water, eating a snack, cuddling, words of affirmation.” 

“That sounds nice.” Spencer said quietly. “Would you do that for me even - even though I’m not your boyfriend?” 

You held back what you instinctively wanted to say - that you wanted him to be your boyfriend. That you wanted to own him like a cute little pet and didn’t want any other woman (or man) to touch him. 

Instead, you went with the diplomatic answer. 

“Of course I would.” You told him. “Aftercare is part of being a good - a good teacher.” 

You quickly cut yourself off from using the word ‘dominant’ and replaced it with ‘teacher’ instead. You didn’t want to scare him with the idea that you would be intimidating, mean, cold - traditional ideas behind the term ‘dominant’. 

“I want to be good to you, Spence.” You quickly added on. 

His cock throbbed inside of his pants at this. 

“So, you have to pick your safeword.” You told him. “Something that stands out, something that will easily come to your mind.” 

Spencer took a moment, and you saw him take a sideways glance at the coffee table. The chess set that was there caught his eye, and that didn’t surprise you. 

“Bishop?” Spencer posed, looking at you with eyes that said he was absolutely searching for your approval. “Is that good?” 

“Yes, baby, that’s perfect.” You told him. 

If you did your job well enough as a dominant, then he wouldn’t need to use the word. 

You would be able to tell just by his body language and him voicing his enjoyment how far you should take things. And when he was comfortable enough, you would discuss other sexual acts, and what else you should try. Though, for tonight, you had a feeling you should take control without telling him too much of what you wanted to do. You didn’t need him getting shy on you just because of some dirty talk. 

“You said that was only the first rule,” Spencer mentioned, remembering what you had said. “What are the other rules?” 

“Well, the second rule is: you listen to me. You listen to everything I say. You do everything I say. You don’t question me.” You told him firmly. “Because I’m the teacher, I’m in charge.” 

Spencer wanted to question you then. He wanted to point out that this sounded like multiple rules, but the way you said ‘I’m in charge’ caused something inside of him to quake, and he easily fell under your authority. 

He nodded. 

“The next rule is: you speak when spoken to, Spencer.” You told him, your tongue sharp on the words. 

You were heavily enjoying ordering him around now. 

These were two roles that the two of you fell so naturally into: he was soft and submissive under your dominant energy, and he only wanted more as your ego thrived off his eager submission. It was the start of a beautiful relationship forming. 

“Yes.” He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” The title came flying out of his mouth before he could stop it, and then he instantly wanted to backpedal. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I like that.” You told him with a grin. “Though, if you want to give me a title, call me Miss.” 

You held back from telling him the true title you desired. Again, not wanting to scare him away. Perhaps it was something you could ween him towards on another day. 

“Yes, Miss.” He corrected, nodding. “Uh - Miss? Is - is there anything else?” 

“Only two more things.” You told him. Of course, you didn’t want to overload him, but you wanted him to know your most important rules up front. He looked at you expectantly, waiting for you to explain. “You can’t touch me without asking first. And of course, you can’t touch me unless I give you permission.” 

This news cast the saddest puppy look across his features. Clearly, he was deeply disappointed by the thought that he wouldn’t be able to grope and grab at your body freely. He was upset by the thought that you would deny him access to touching you. You could definitely use that if he ever misbehaved. 

“And the last thing is: you can’t cum without my permission.” You told him, almost as if it were an afterthought. With any of your other partners, it would have been. Because it would have been a basic ground rule. 

“Come where?” Spencer asked, his brows knit together in the most adorably confused manner you had seen yet. 

Of course, he was confused. He had never before heard someone use the term ‘cum’ to refer to an orgasm. He was used to hearing that word - ‘come’ - paired with something else like ‘come here’. So he wondered what the hell you possibly meant by it. 

You found yourself grinning like the cat who ate the canary as you realized that you would also have to explain this piece of slang to him. 

“No, Spence, not C-O-M-E, like the verb. It’s C-U-M. It’s slang used interchangeably with the word ‘orgasm’.” You explained to him. “Sometimes it can be a verb. Like the act of cumming, it means orgasming. Or sometimes it’s a noun. Sometimes people use the word ‘cum’ instead of saying semen. ‘Cum’ is the fluid. As in: ‘I want your cum inside of me’.” 

You intentionally teased him with this example, saying it as casually as a straight forward grammar lesson, looking him in the eyes the entire time. His eyes lit up at your words - obviously, he had no clue that such a simple sentence could turn him on so much. But the words immediately painted a picture in his mind of that white, sticky fluid dripping down your inner thighs, put there by him. It was so perfect that it almost made him dizzy. 

When Spencer didn’t say anything, you continued with your ‘lesson’. 

“When I said that you can’t cum without my permission, I meant that you can’t have an orgasm unless I say so.” You told him with finality.  

He looked struck with worry at this. Partially at the idea that he wouldn’t get to have an orgasm if you didn’t give him permission, and partially at the thought that if he accidentally orgasmed without your permission, you would be angry with him and cut off all further sexual contact. 

“What’s wrong, Spence?” You had to ask. 

“How - how does that work?” He asked, all too curious at how he could stop himself from orgasming or how he could get your permission first. 

“Well, you know what it feels like when you’re about to have an orgasm, right?” You asked, really hoping that he at least masturbated regularly. You didn’t think you could have the burden of giving him his first ever orgasm. He nodded and this and you felt a small breath of relief leave you. “So, when you feel like that, you simply ask me if you’re allowed to cum. Ask me if you can cum.” 

“Will you let me?” Spencer asked nervously, sheepishly. You distinctly noticed how he avoided the word. He didn’t say the sentence as you had. You yearned to hear him say ‘will you let me cum?’ - but you knew you had to give him time to shake off his shyness. 

“If you’ve been a good boy, then yes.” You told him. “Good boys follow the rules. But I don’t think you’ll have any problems, Spence.” 

You saw him relax at this - any tension leaving his muscles. 

You conveniently left out the part where you might edge him, might not let him cum just for your own amusement. 

“I think that’s all for now.” You told him. “Now that we have the rules set - do you wanna play with your new toy?” 

Spencer’s face absolutely lit up at this. 

“Yes, please.” He said, his voice somehow still shy and quiet. “Yes, please, Miss.” 

Your stomach jolted with intense pleasure at his declaration. 

Spencer thought that you would simply grab the toy from him and unzip his pants. He was surprised when you stood up, and began looking around the room as though you were looking for something. But in alignment with the rules, he didn’t question you. He didn’t ask what you were looking for or why. Instead, he just sat there quietly and waited for your instructions. 

When you seemed satisfied with your idea, you then began moving around. You leaned down and pushed away the coffee table, pushing it as far back as it would go. This made a fair amount of space in front of the couch. And before Spencer could become truly curious about it, you turned to the side of the room - toward a space where he had a small table. 

It was meant to be a sort of ‘dining’ table, suitable for one or two people in an apartment like his. It had two chairs, but one of the chairs was piled up with books and the surface of the table had some files on it that he had taken home from work. He did sit on the other chair to eat occasionally - during the rare times he actually sat down and had a meal at home. 

You grabbed the empty chair - which was a wooden chair with a round back and decorative wooden bars coming off the seat, holding the back of it up. (Something Spencer had picked up at a yard sale.) And then you put the chair in the middle of the room, right in the space you had cleared from moving the coffee table. The chair was facing the couch - and it became apparent to Spencer then that this was a stage. 

You were either going to sit in that chair and watch him, or he was going to be the thing on display in the middle of the room. The idea of that happening - the idea of you watching him like a show, like he was something to admire - that put a twist in his stomach. It was something almost too daunting for him to conquer. He found himself swelling with shyness again, wanting to back down from this. 

He feared that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. He feared that he was gangly, thin, undesirable. He feared that his experience would steer him wrong somewhere and he would mess up terribly and turn you off. 

He thought that he wouldn’t be able to impress you. 

But he wanted to impress you so badly. He wanted you. He wanted your touch. He wanted to be a good boy for you, like you had said. 

“Give me your belt.” You said, turning to him expectantly and holding out your hand. 

“My - my belt?” He asked. 

Then, he immediately scolded himself inside as he realized that was questioning you, and against the rules. 

You let that one slide. He was still getting used to this, and it must have been an odd, confusing instruction to hear right off the bat. 

“Yes, your belt. I need it.” You said, still holding out your hand. “Come on.” 

Spencer stood up then, his hands and legs shaking slightly from nerves and the overwhelming lust. Although he was taller than you, he felt so entirely small as you stared at him, waiting patiently while his shaking hands struggled to undo the buckle and then slip the leather out of the belt loops.

When he finally handed it over to you, you took the belt in hand and inspected it for a moment before you quietly said ‘perfect’ under your breath. You then looked between Spencer and the chair - he was still wearing his work attire. A cardigan, a button up shirt and tie, his usual slacks, and his adorable dorky glasses. He had taken off his shoes at the door, revealing his oddly sweet mismatched socks. 

“Spencer,” 

You called his name, capturing his attention from where he was swaying on the spot, nervously fidgeting with the buttons on his cardigan to avoid looking at you. As soon as he looked up at you with those big, wet eyes, you felt confident in giving him your next instruction. 

“I want you to take off all your clothes. Except for your glasses and your socks.” You told him, giving him his first proper orders. 

He held his voice in his throat when he felt the need to question you about it, to ask you why. 

You wanted him to keep the glasses on because they brought an entirely dorky charm to him - you wanted to see if they would fog up when he became heated with lust. The socks? You thought they were cute, but it was mostly a test to see how closely he would follow the instructions. To test how well he would listen. 

He did as he was told. He stripped off his sweater, and then his tie, and then his watch, leaving his wrists nice and bare for you. His fingers began to shake slightly as he descended on the buttons of his shirt - clearly, he was feeling nervous once again, so you decided to give him some encouragement. 

“You’re being such a good boy, Spence.” You told him. “So good for me.” 

He let out a quiet breath at the praise - a precursor to a moan. It was something that compelled him to strip faster, and gave him a small boost of courage when reaching for the zipper of his pants. After he unzipped them - his erection clearly fighting to be freed of the fabric - your mouth began watering at the sight as he reached for the waistband of his pants and his underwear all at once and slid them down. 

A snake of surprising length popped out of his pants. His dick began bobbing around carelessly, smearing shiny precum all over his skin as he unhooked himself from the legs of his pants and put them aside. 

You had to marvel at it. 

You had never really thought about what Spencer might look like naked before. You had never allowed your mind to venture there. But now that you were seeing his cock: nine inches long, skinny and lean like he was, pale with a bright pink tip, sprouting from a thick thatch of dark pubic hair - it just made sense. He was tall and gangly, and so was his cock. It would be an impressive sword to impale yourself upon - but that would be for another day. 

Spencer caught you staring, of course. 

He had the urge to cover himself with his hands, and found himself clenching his fists by his sides because he figured that you wouldn’t like him trying to hide from you. 

He wondered if it looked weird. He wondered if you didn’t like it. He wondered-

“You’re beautiful, Spencer.” You said, your voice so drenched in utter sincerity that you almost broke into a gasp trying to get the words out. “So fucking beautiful.” 

Again, he wanted to question you - but didn’t. He wanted to be a good boy. He would follow the rules. 

“Th-thank you, Miss.” He muttered out quietly, almost unable to accept the compliment. 

“Come here, sit down.” You told him, motioning toward the chair. 

He nodded, his legs feeling rather numb as he moved to follow your instructions. When his ass made contact with the wooden surface of the chair, he let out a gasp at how cool it was compared to his heated skin. You quietly giggled at this, and then grabbed the belt from where you had put it down. He grew tense and curious once again when you walked behind him. 

You grabbed one of his wrists and began to guide it behind him, but he was so tense that you knew it would be uncomfortable for him. You eased your touch with a flat palm up his forearm and bicep, across his shoulder until you could press the weight of your thumb into the base of his neck. He moaned lightly at this, melting into the touch. 

“Relax, baby.” You urged. Spencer relaxed even further at the nickname, absolutely blooming with affection inside because of it. “I’m not gonna do anything to hurt you. I just want to make you feel good.” 

To drive home this point, you leaned in and planted a simple kiss on the back of his head, and then one on the side of his neck. Spencer let out a fluttering moan at this. He wanted more of those kisses, but he couldn’t work up the nerve to ask for it. 

He could find no faults with what you had said, so he did his best to do as you instructed. He relaxed, leaning back fully against the chair - which was slightly uncomfortable while he was completely naked and throbbing hard, waiting for you to touch him more. But he trusted you. 

You grabbed one of his wrists, and then the other, and guided them behind his back. 

It was much easier now that his muscles were softer, more pliant to you. 

You knelt down and used the belt to tie them simply. You looped the belt through the wooden slats so his hands would be held to the chair, and then placed both of his wrists into the loop. You didn’t want it to be so tight that the material would cut into his wrists painfully or cut off circulation, you just wanted to restrict his movement. 

Which would absolutely be the case when his arms were bound behind him, awkwardly tied to the back of the chair. You hooked the buckle into the smallest notch, giving him a bit of room to move, a bit of a gap to put your finger between the belt and his skin. However, it put his shoulders at an awkward angle so he would need your help getting out of it. 

“Is that okay?” You asked. “Not too tight? Be honest.” 

Spencer thought that he should feel slightly afraid or too vulnerable - being completely naked and tied to a chair like this. But with you, he felt safe. 

“It’s good.” He told you honestly. “Not too tight.” He assured you, moving to show off that wiggle room, demonstrating that the material wasn’t cutting into his wrists. 

“Good,” You sighed quietly, standing up once again. 

You walked around him like a predator circling their prey, making graceful, careful moments as you took in the sight of him. 

He was absolutely, beautifully sinful in this state. 

Stripped entirely naked, except for those glasses and those adorable, mismatched socks, sitting in the chair with his hands bound behind his back. All while he stared at you with his wide, expectant eyes, waiting for whatever your next move would be. While his heavy, hard cock leaked freely against his stomach, smearing a trail of sticky precum across his skin. 

You reached forward and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up slightly to look at you. Having someone as tall as Spencer look up at you for a change was entirely powerful. You held him there while you asked him a very important question. 

“You gonna be good for me?” You asked him. 

Instinctively for him, there was only one answer. 

“Yes.” He whimpered out. “Yes, Miss. I want to be good for you.” 

The pure sincerity of his declaration caused another wave of wetness from your aching pussy. For now, you would ignore your own needs. You would take care of him, make sure that this was a pleasurable experience for him. 

“Good boy,” You praised him, giving him a light kiss on the forehead - to which he sighed quietly in delight. 

Then, you let go of his face completely and turned to grab the item that had started this whole thing. 

You were excited to finally use it on Spencer. 

Spencer watched with awe and intrigue as you grabbed the toy and then the lube - you peeled off the plastic shrink wrap on the lube bottle with your teeth, and then popped the cap. And you turned so Spencer could see as you poured a generous amount of lube into the opening of the toy. 

“Don’t be afraid to use too much lube,” You told him, being a proper teacher. “In my opinion, there’s no such thing as ‘too wet’. But ‘too dry’ can cause skin irritation from friction. Or tearing if you’re trying to insert something like fingers or a penetrative toy. Like a dildo. Adequate lubrication always reduces the risk of both those things,” 

Spencer wanted to ask if there were other kinds of penetrative toys aside from dildos, but he figured that would be a question for another time. 

“Yes, Miss.” He nodded in understanding, absorbing what you had told him. 

You looked between the toy and his cock, and realized you might as well slick him up beforehand. 

You took a step closer to him and put the thickness of the fleshlight between his thighs, propping it there while you quietly mumbled ‘hold this’ - which caused him to tense his thighs in order to keep it from falling. He became enraptured by the sight of the silicone pussy, lubed and wet as a real one would be. He was so distracted by the sight that he almost didn’t take in you pouring lube into your hand before you capped the bottle and put it aside. 

“This is probably gonna be cold,” You warned him quietly before you used your lubed hand to take a hold of his cock. 

It was. And he let out a harsh gasp - from the shock of the cold wetness, a sound that quickly turned into a strangled moan as you formed a loose grip around his cock and began spreading the wetness over him with purpose. The lube soon warmed between your palm and the throbbing skin of his cock, and he unconsciously bucked into your touch, almost knocking the fleshlight out from resting between his thighs. 

“Stay still.” You ordered sharply, shoving his hips back down with your free hand. 

The harshness behind your voice, and your thumb pressing into his hip bone sent him reeling. He was so pliant under your touch. Between your commanding authority and the slickness of your lubed hand moving in a slow rhythm in lazy pumps up and down his cock - he was already way too fucking close. 

You knew it. You could see the way his stomach muscles quaked, the tensing of his thighs. Those little lilting gasps like music to your ears. 

You wondered if he would spurt cum all over your hand before he warned you. (If he did, you would likely pump him through it just to see if he would get hard again.) 

“Miss-!” He hollered, choking on the word. 

You abruptly stopped then. You stiffened your grip around the base of his cock - which was now nicely lubed up, and throbbing even harder as you effectively used your fingers around his pelvis like a cockring, causing his orgasm to fade dully back into his muscles. He let out a wounded sound, a confused moan from deep in his chest, his stomach shaking even harder as if he was trying to force the orgasm out past your gatekeeping touch. It was almost cute. 

“Yes, Spencer?” You asked, looking at him dumbly as though you had no clue what he had been trying to say. 

“I - I was getting close.” He completed the thought breathlessly. “C-close to orgasm.” 

Damn. If he was this fucked out now, you couldn’t wait to see what he would be like when you were done with him. 

“Well, good boys only cum with permission, right?” You said, grinning at him fiendishly. 

“Yes, Miss.” He said quickly, his voice dull with disappointment, but agreeable. 

“Good boy.” You praised once again. You felt his cock twitch in your hand at the words. “Besides, you haven’t even gotten a chance to try out your new toy yet.” 

You then grabbed up the toy and turned it over, using your hand on the base of his cock to feed his length into the fake pussy. More cool lube came rushing down to meet him, and his lungs shook once again and his heated skin was shocked by the feeling. It was strange, but pleasurable as his cock was enveloped by the soft, wet walls of the toy. It was so, so very tight around his cock - and oddly cool, far wetter than he had expected thanks to the amount of lube you had used. 

Spencer reasoned that it might be like sticking his cock in a watermelon, if that watermelon were also made of rubber bands. 

You knelt down in front of Spencer, looking in awe between the spot where his cock disappeared into the fake leaking pussy to his face. Seeing his reaction to this was utterly beautiful - the way his jaw naturally fell open, his eyes half closed as the pleasure overtook him. 

“Oh!” Spencer let out a sudden, high startled sound as you shoved the toy down onto his cock fully. 

Your eyes once again flickered between his dick and his face, and you came to an utterly stunning realization. 

He didn’t fully fit inside of the toy. 

There was about an inch of his cock that was still sticking out of it at the base, and with the resistance your hand had brought up into, you knew that he was fully seated inside of it. Well - as fully seated as he could get, apparently. 

It was one of the hottest things you had ever seen, and it sent a dizzying wave of endorphins through you. The sight of his cock not fully fitting into the silicone pussy was a stunning visual that made you realize just how deep he would go inside of you. It made your throat dry for a moment, forced you to swallow hard before you could speak. 

“You’re right here, baby?” You asked, tapping a finger on the top of the toy, knowing that he would feel it as a vibration through the plastic. 

He let out a gasp and bucked his hips up slightly, something that made you smile. He was too hazy to answer you already, something that you forgave for now. He was just too beautiful to scold in these moments. 

“Fuck, you don’t even fit into this thing all the way, do you?” You gasped quietly, still absolutely marveling at the sight. 

“I don’t?” Spencer gaped, finally looking down to where the toy was swallowing his cock, seeing as your words had captured his attention. “Is - is that bad?” 

He was struck with worry. He thought that perhaps his cock wasn’t right - that he shouldn’t be doing this, that you wouldn’t like him. 

It was in that moment that you realized what a treasure you had come across. A beautiful, intelligent man with a huge cock who had no idea how to use it. Someone who needed to be taught from scratch. Someone who could be molded into anything you wanted him to be. (At least in the sexual sense.) That, and he seemed to be naturally submissive and derive pleasure from following your orders. 

You most definitely weren’t going to let him go anytime soon. 

“No, baby, that’s a good thing.” You assured him. “That’s a great thing.” 

Spencer smiled at this - an expression that slacked off into a moan when you made your next move. 

You gave the toy a slow half-pump before you seated it on his cock again, seemingly knocking the wind out of them. Then, you let go of the toy completely, letting him sit there with the fleshlight on his cock, bobbing in mid-air. It began to rise up slightly as the tightness of it hugged his cock, and unconsciously, he bucked up his hips, seeking more friction. But of course - the object was simply hanging there, seated on his cock, unmoving. It was an entirely fruitless venture. 

With his hands tied behind his back, he needed you. It was an adorable struggle to watch for a moment, especially when his face knit with frustration and his thighs began to quiver from the effort. 

“Please,” He begged. He was so pretty when he begged. “Help me.” 

“You want me to help you fuck your toy?” You teased, reaching for it again. 

“Please, Miss.” 

When he whined like that, you couldn’t bring yourself to deny him. 

You took a good grip on the plastic then, and began a quick, smooth rhythm. You were eager to see his reaction to being fucked well, being fucked without hesitation. 

Spencer immediately shuddered and began letting out harsh whimpers. He bit his lip, but it didn’t keep the sounds from wailing out of his throat as you pumped the toy up and down on his cock. 

His chin was tilted down onto his chest, keeping his eyes locked on the place where the toy was devouring his hard cock. This caused his glasses to slip down his nose bridge slightly, something so entirely adorable to you in the moment. With his thighs tense and his stomach quaking, with that pool of artificial wetness leaking onto his pubes and slowly creeping down over his balls - he was so beautifully fucked out, the most perfect picture you had ever seen in your life. 

“Oh - oh, oh, oh god!” His mouth fell open once again and an array of sounds fell out, a beautiful little choir that you could have only dreamed of coming from him. “Oh, please!” 

You had to wonder if he was the type of person to swear when he came. Spencer was never the type of person to swear during other extreme situations. You had never seen him let out a single curse, not even with a gun to his head. 

You had to wonder if you could be the one to make him swear. 

“Please, Miss!” He squeaked out, sounding entirely wrecked and desperate. “Please, I’m close-!” 

You couldn’t resist the temptation of stilling the toy completely, abruptly cutting off his orgasm once again. Spencer let out a broken sound as his muscles jolted and the feeling ebbed through him - so close, but not quite there. It was like a terrible ache in his muscles. Like a deep, terrible thirst with nothing to drink. 

“Please,” He begged, his eyes shooting to lock onto you. “Please! Please, Miss.” 

“Please, what, baby?” You teased him, reaching up and gently carding your fingers through his hair, brushing some of it off his forehead. He had a light sheen of sweat going, his body clearly strained. It was delightful to witness. 

“Please,” He rasped out brokenly, so entirely desperate.  “I - I need it.” 

You bit your lip, holding back laughter at how perfect this was.

“Need what, baby?” You continued to tease him. “Come on, use your words.” 

He swallowed hard, and stared at you with glassy desperation in his eyes. Either he was shy, or had no clue what exactly it was you wanted him to say - so you decided to guide him along. 

“Say: I need to cum.” You told him, hoping that he was desperate enough now that he would simply repeat the filthy words. 

“I - I need to cum.” He repeated, only mild hesitation on his lips. 

“Say: I need you to make me cum.” You told him, pushing it a bit father. 

“I need you,” He said, pausing slightly to catch his breath. “Need you to make me cum.” 

“Good boy.” You praised him, running his hand through your hair once again. 

You stood up this time, and put one hand on the back of the chair behind his shoulder for leverage, leaning over him as you took the toy in hand and started moving it once again. This gave him a perfect view down your top, and his lustful gaze locked onto your swaying cleavage as you worked on jacking the fake pussy on his cock. It was a maddening suction that had him grunting lowly with every thrust, letting out whines, flexing his hips to fuck his cock up into the toy. 

“Does it feel good, pretty boy?” You asked, so heavily enjoying the sight of him so messy, so wrecked. 

“Yes!” He easily replied. 

“What are you thinking about? Hmm?” You couldn’t help but to ask. 

“I - hnng - I - I don’t know!” He gaped. 

Either he was lying, and simply didn’t want to tell you what was on his mind, or you had truly fucked his head empty. If it was the second, then you would heavily enjoy that fact. 

“You don’t know?” You asked, your voice absolutely teasing once again. “Well, that’s a first.” You chuckled. 

Spencer panted harshly, filling the space for a moment - along with the wet squelching of the toy moving up and down on his cock as your wrist continued to work. And then you became bold enough to ask the question that you truly wanted to. 

“You thinkin’ about my pussy?” You prodded. “You imagining that this toy is me? Wondering what’s gonna be like when I finally sit on your cock?” 

“Yes!” He was suddenly very eager to admit to this. Clearly it helped that he didn’t have to say the words for himself. “Yes! Yes, Miss! I want you. I want your-”

He cut himself off suddenly, moaning sharply as the tip of his cock brought up in the end of the fake pussy once again. It sent a jolt of pleasure-pain through him that had his skin boiling even hotter. You wondered if he would be bold enough to say the word ‘pussy’ or if you would have to heavily prompt him. 

But that thought left your head completely with his next words. 

“Oh! Oh, please! I’m so close!” 

Again, feeling the devil rise up inside of you, you stopped off his orgasm. 

This time, by pulling the toy away completely. You lifted the fleshlight off his cock, and watched with lustful joy as his cock slipped out of the opening with a wet pop. His thighs quaked with bitter agony and his long cock bobbed in the air, dripping thick waves of precum and lube as it separated from the toy. 

Everything was so wet. 

It was honestly a gorgeous sight, like a mini tidal wave dripping down onto the chair as the toy continued to leak the generous amount of lube you had put into it and his cock let out pathetic little spurts of precum. His pubes were glossy and matted together, his inner thighs were absolutely slick. He was glistening and whining harshly as the ruined orgasm crashed through his body, making his mind somehow even hazier and more desperate. 

“God!” He choked out. “Please!” 

He blinked harshly and a few tears escaped the corners of his eyes, making him look even more gorgeous somehow. 

“Please - please! I need - I need - oh god!” He began sobbing nonsensically, begging you for release as he was practically on the verge of madness. 

Your cunt throbbed at seeing him so wrecked - so utterly dependent on you. 

“Hey, hey, shh.” You reached your free hand out and thumbed under the edge of his glasses - the thick lenses only magnifying his glassy eyes and lustful, broken tears all the more. You soothed your touch across his burning cheek, reassuring him. “You’ve been such a good boy. I’m gonna let you cum now. Okay?” 

“Please!” He sobbed. 

Hearing his voice so broken and needy probably shouldn’t have turned you on so much, but you absolutely loved it. 

“Hey, shh,” You continued to rub his cheek, and he leaned into the touch. “I just need one thing from you first.” 

“Anything!” He easily declared. 

“I need you to say: ‘may I cum, please?’” You told him. 

It was a start on the scale of filthy things that you wanted to hear from his mouth, but it would definitely be oh so satisfying. 

And then - as if he knew exactly what he was doing to you, he blinked his big eyes and looked up at you through tear wet lashes, giving you the most pouty, fuckable look as he leaned into your hand before he said the words. 

“May I cum, please?” He asked. And then, like the wet dream that he was, he seamlessly added on. “Please, Miss. I-I’ve been a good boy.” 

“Yes, you have been.” You told him. “I’ll make you cum now baby.” 

You used both hands to get his cock back inside of the toy - the sound of his cock fucking back into the fake pussy was so much wetter, the whine he let out made your knees weak. 

You doubled your efforts now, even going so far as to squeeze your grip on the outside of the plastic - which made the silicone grip his cock just that little bit tighter as you slammed it up and down on him. Your movements were hard and fast in the effort to make him cum for certain this time. 

“Oh, oh, oh, you - oh!” Spencer began babbling nonsense, his words barely broken up by harsh breaths being sucked into his lungs and whimpers emanating from his throat at the intense pleasure. “Oh, Miss - you - you’re so - ah!” 

“Where’s that big IQ now, boy genius?” You taunted him, keeping up the brutal pace. “Did I make you all stupid? Did I melt your big brain? Huh?” 

Spencer all but confirmed this as truth when he gurgled out nothingness as a response. 

You felt slightly bolder, and you became slightly harsher in your degrading words. You almost couldn’t help yourself. You loved tearing him apart so much, having him melt under your touch. You couldn’t help but to brag about the amazing job you had done. 

“Just a dumb little baby now, aren’t you?” You cooed, your voice entirely condescending. “Just a stupid little boy for me. So cumdrunk you can’t even think now, huh? There’s no boy genius here now. Just a dumb baby who needs to cum.” 

He only inflated your ego with his next words. 

“Yes!” He shouted out, entirely confirming what you had said - if he had even properly heard it through the blood pumping in his ears. To him, it might have just been the raw hum of your voice in the background, like an undertone with no true words to it. “Yes! Need - need t’ cum!” 

It was the most incoherent you had ever known Doctor Spencer Reid to be. 

You stared on eagerly as you watched his stomach tighten up, his lungs struggling for breath. 

“Y/N-!” He gasped out your name right before it hit him. 

And when it hit him, when he finally tumbled over the edge into the abyss - boy, it was a big one. 

It was an intense, full body orgasm. His legs shook, his body arched off the chair as though he were having a seizure, actually putting a strain on his bonded arms for the first time. He wildly bucked up into the toy as you continued to work it over his cock, his mouth dropping open wildly as a strain of high pitched, needy whimpers poured out from between his pretty pink lips. 

You were feeling selfish, and you wanted to see him cum at least a bit. 

So knowing that he was riding the wave, you ripped the toy off him, causing a wounded noise to come out of him as his spurting cock fell from it. But you didn’t leave him hanging. You immediately replaced the toy with your hand, and put a tight grip around him, pumping viciously over his throbbing cock, wanting to milk the rest of the orgasm out of him by hand. 

The sudden, shocking overstimulation sent his body into overdrive. 

His thighs shook so hard it could have been mistaken for electrocution, he gasped like a drowning man - he would have begged for mercy, but he couldn’t catch his breath. 

It was the best feeling he had ever experienced. It was pure euphoria, it was heaven on earth. It was an icy hot fire running through his veins that he didn’t even know was possible. 

He had never experienced an orgasm like this before. He knew the feeling of an orgasm to be more like a dull tickle in his groin. But now that he had done this - he didn’t think he could go back to anything else. 

Large spurts of cum blasted from his cock, so overpowering then that painted his stomach, his chest, and much to your delight - a few thick white spurts even dirtied his glasses when you angled his cock that way and kept viciously pumping him. 

His cock was so hot that it felt like it could have burned your hand, so needy and bloated with blood from how long you had edged him. Eventually, when the tip of his cock began to weep out a pathetic clear liquid, and he was on the verge of sobbing once more, you let him go from your grip, finally giving him a moment to breathe. 

You knew for certain that you would never be able to look at Spencer Reid again without seeing this imagery: him, completely fucked out, his face flushed red, mouth agape as he struggled for breath. His naked body, limp cock laying against his pelvis, painted in his own cum - including dirtying up his own glasses. 

You loved those glasses even more now. 

You couldn’t get him to swear - but fuck, that was really something. 

“Thank you.” He said meekly, still struggling for breath. “Th-thank you, Miss.” 

“Good boy.” You leaned in and kissed his forehead. “Such a good boy for me.” 

Now, it was time to take care of him and make sure that he had a good come down. 

You put the toy on the coffee table, placing it with the opening up so it wouldn’t leak everywhere - you wouldn’t clean it later. You also took off his glasses and placed them aside. Again - you would clean them later. 

You rushed to untie his hands, and eased his arms back around his body by gently rubbing his shoulders, hoping that the muscles wouldn’t be too sore or stiff from being in the same position for so long. 

“Such a good boy.” You assured him. “You did so well for me honey.” 

He hummed in acknowledgement. Clearly, he was absolutely exhausted from the ordeal. You hoped you could get his tall, gangly self to his bed on your own if he was so fucked out and weak. You walked back around to his front and laid your lips on his forehead again, murmuring more praises against his skin as you continued to rub his shoulders and run your fingers through his hair. You told him how good he was, how perfect he had been for you, how beautiful he was. 

After a few minutes, you felt his hands on your hips as he came out of the haze. He ran a thumb along the waistband of your pants, and his first words after that haze surprised you. 

“What - what about you?” He asked. 

Clearly, he meant that you should have an orgasm. Your cunt was aching dully between your thighs, and you were sure that you had soaked through your underwear. But that had been a lot for him, and you didn’t want to overwhelm him during the first time. 

“That’ll be a lesson for next time.” You told him quietly. He hummed quietly at this. He felt assured by you simply saying ‘next time’. “I have to clean up your toy now, so you can use it again later. Then I’ll clean you up and tuck you into bed, okay, baby?” 

He nodded. “Yes, please. Thank you.” 

You hesitantly broke away from him and grabbed the toy, and as you moved to leave the room, you paused at him mumbling out more words. 

“Can - can I have a glass of water, please?” He asked quietly. 

“Of course you can, baby.” 

You went into the kitchen and ran the toy under hot water - which you left going as you got a glass and filled it with cold water and ice from the dispenser. You were lucky to find a straw in the takeout bag from earlier - you put it in the glass and, while the hot water was still running in the sink, you rushed out to give Spencer a drink. 

You held the glass while he chugged gratefully from it, and after a few moments, you ensured that he could hold it with his sex tired hands by himself and then you left to finish cleaning up the toy. You set it on his empty dish rack to drip dry (which was quite a sight). And then you went to the bathroom, coming back with a warm cloth to wipe him down. He was only slightly unsteady on his legs as you guided him to bed - his muscles shaking and tired after the whole amazing ordeal. 

You found it endearing that his bed was unmade, surrounded by stacks of books that were lined up on the floor, rather than on any shelf. 

You pulled back the covers completely and helped him get in, and you were tucking him in nicely when he asked the sweet question. 

“Will you cuddle with me?” He asked quietly, looking up at you with those adorable, expectant eyes once again. “You know, for - for the aftercare?” 

You likely would have done it simply because he asked, even if you didn’t deem it ‘necessary’ for aftercare. But because he asked, it was part of good care. 

“Of course.” You answered. “I don’t have any pjs, so do you mind if I sleep in my underwear?” 

You had just tucked him into bed naked, and he was asking you to lay down beside him like that. But still, you wanted to ask how comfortable he would be if you were in a state of undress. 

His eyes shined with interest at the idea of seeing you at least partially undressed. 

“I don’t mind.” He told you. 

You nodded, and stepped back slightly to begin undressing. 

“So - did you have fun?” You asked. You suspected that he had entirely enjoyed himself, but you did want to hear him say it. 

Spencer grinned at this. “I think what we just did has changed my definition of ‘fun’ entirely.” He told you. “In a good way. So you know.” 

You preened at the idea that you had shifted Spencer’s worldview. Someone who most likely spent his free time reading research papers and playing through chess games entirely on his own and called it ‘fun’ would now be thinking about spending his free time playing with you instead. 

You stripped out of your pants, socks, and work blouse, which left you in your simple cotton underwear, a thin cotton camisole and your bra underneath. You decided to take off your bra underneath your shirt and just sleep in the cami and panties for comfort. You knew your underwear was stuck to your cunt from your previous burning arousal, and Spencer’s eyes did focus hard on that, and then focused even harder on the outline of your bare breasts as you ditched your bra off to the side. 

If he had the ability to get hard again after that spectacular orgasm, he probably would have been throbbing at the sight of you. 

You lifted up the covers and crawled into bed with him, cuddling into his side as he tentatively wrapped an arm around your waist. Your stomach fluttered when he kissed the top of your head before you felt his body relax into the mattress. 

“Thank you.” He said quietly, clearly exhausted. “I love it when you teach me things.”

...

If you would like to see a sequel to this fic, I would like to see 15 reblogs and 10 comments to know that a sequel is wanted!

(This includes anon messages - and I always have the anonymous option turned on.)

In order to make a second part, I need to have comments including feedback to know what people liked about the fic and why it is worth continuing. Even if the 15 reblogs are from the same person, showing their enthusiasm for this fic, then that counts for me. I just want to know that my work is appreciated before I post more of it!

[tittyblade]

tumblr etiquette 101

a list that is nowhere near exhaustive, from yours truly.

First off, welcome! Whether you’re a twitter veteran looking for anything but whatever twitter is, or a new user just done signing up, glad to see you in our ranks beloveds! Welcome home. Refer to this quick tour to make sure your fandom experience (or tumblr experience in general) is a positive one!

Disclaimer: I know it’s long, but please try to read or skim through til the end if you’re new here! This is by no means meant to be a rule book (for the most part lol), only a guide to help you get settled easier!

1) Your blog

This is where people will see and interact with you, so put some effort into it!

Try to choose a name (url) that’s simple. You can see it as your brand, it’s how people will perceive you and remember you. If you’d like to interact with other users here (and not use the site just for the content) it’s better to have something short and sweet, preferably without spaces. (Of course, these are only suggestions.) Rest assured, you can change it literally any time you want.

Have a theme. Utilize the tool that lets you edit your blog’s color or the font of your bio! You can make it match your profile picture, or your blog if it has a theme of its own. Make it feel homey :]

Fill in your bio. People will be checking out your profile probably more often than you think. Don’t leave it empty! Put in any information you’re comfortable with sharing and isn’t too personal (like your age if you’re a minor, or other TMI that can be found on other people’s carrds). It’s always better to add a name/nickname people can use to refer to you by, but feel free to use your blog description to shitpost still.

You can have an intro post. More often than not, you’ll see a blog have a pinned post, a post permanently appearing at the top of a blog until you pin another post or unpin it. You can make one of those, if you’d like to introduce yourself in more length, link any other socials or a carrd, and show others visiting your blog how you tag things so it’ll be easy for them to navigate. Not an obligation.

Keep your anonymity and your safety. It should go without saying, but there’s no harm in repeating it just in case. Your comfort, privacy and safety has the utmost importance. Don’t share any information you don’t want to. Don’t share your age if you’re a minor, or any other incredibly personal info. I’d encourage you to go by a nickname that’s not your real name, (blog name, your brand, remember?) since there’s safety in anonymity, and that’s lowkey one of the big deals of tumblr, but that’s up to you still.

Choose what you want to be visible. Your liked posts and who you follow are all things you can set to keep to yourself and hide from the publics eye, how handy! You should go through all the setting while you’re at it, set it to your comfort.

Side blogs are a thing. You can have multiple blogs that you can use for different things (see: different fandoms, art blog, etc) to keep them organized or away from your followers. Just remember that the replies and off-anon asks you send will be from your main blog, as well as where you follow other blogs from.

2) Interacting with others

You’ve set up your account, now comes the fun part!

Follow to your heart’s desire. If you care about others seeing who you follow, fear not! In tumblr, usually only two types of blogs keep their following visible to others: newbies, and big blogs using it to point people on other good blogs’ direction. Just turn it off, and go ham following people.

Customize your dashboard. Gonna mention just two things here: this is another reason why it’s really important that you follow blogs without sparing, your dash will collect dust otherwise; and you should turn off “best stuff first” in your dashboard settings, to have a better community here and all.

Follow tags. You can set it in your settings that posts with your followed tags appear on your dashboard.

You can check the og post for edits and context. When you see a reblogged post you don’t understand the context of (or don’t recognize the character in case of fanarts), click on the profile so it will take you to the original post. From there you can check the original poster’s tags to get the context, or see if there have been any edits made to the post, since when you edit a post it doesn’t update any past reblogs.

Send people asks... This is how you make mutuals, people! Do it off-anon if you’d like them to know your blog, or anon if you’d rather not! (You can still end your messages with a signature to show you’re the same person, -[name] is one example.) Send them nice messages, ask their opinion on something, discuss things, or just straight up shitpost lol. Go wild. The sky’s your limit and it’s definitely more than 280 characters.

...and let them ask you! You can set your preference in the settings, do it on desktop tumblr to access more settings tho! What you can customize on mobile is limited (like letting people ask you things anonymously, that’s only on desktop settings). In my personal opinion, it’s always better to tag their username (or a nickname you give them, if they’re a friend) on that post, since you wouldn’t want your interactions with your friends to get buried in your blog forever.

Comment on posts. If you have something to say but don’t want the post to appear on your blog you can add a comment. The owner of the post will get a notif for it, but for anyone else you need to tag them.

For the love of god, reblog. People will only see your liked posts if you have it visible to public and they specifically go on your blog to look at them. You like something? You reblog. It’s already hard for posts to circulate properly, if you don’t reblog them literally no one will see them. If not for anything do it for the artists. Just hold and drag on mobile to fast rb.

3) Your Posts

Finally here! Don’t be a lurker, post and engage!

Make use of “read more”. If your post is long, add it. That’s what you clicked on earlier to expand this post. On desktop leave an empty line and you’ll see three dots appear, and on mobile type :readmore: on that empty line.

Draft a post to come back to it later. Pretty self explanatory.

Queue your post. Whether it’s your own post or you’re reblogging, make use of the queue feature to a) not spam reblog and fill up the dashboard of people following you and b) keep your blog active while you’re gone. Mess around in the settings, it’s fairly easy to set up.

Schedule your post. Same as queueing, the only difference is you get to choose the exact time your post will go up. Handy if you want to schedule a post for certain dates like april fools, or 5 years in the future for some reason. 

Format your texts. You can do all kinds of fancy stuff here (that’s a link, try pressing on it). Twitter doesn’t have this, make use of it. Changes depending on whether you’re on mobile or desktop. (Desktop has less features.)

Check your stats. If you’re trying to understand the algorithm better or want to look at some pretty graphs you can get your data on that on desktop tumblr.

@ people in comments. You’ll get all the notifs when people comment on your posts but they won’t see your reply unless you tag them in your message.

4) Tags, and tagging a post

This is where my earlier statement “this isn’t a rule book” stops being applicable. It’s not a war crime to go against these, I won’t come chasing you (don’t take my word for this) but you’ll work up a bad rep. Just saying lol.

Do NOT crosstag posts. It’s really tempting to add unrelated tags to increase your posts’ interaction, I know, but that’s not what tumblr is about. Don’t be a dick and make other communities’ experience worse for them.

Always tag your posts with “crit/critical/discourse/etc” if it calls for it. There’s no exceptions to it. This is the reason you see people migrating to tumblr. Let people enjoy things.

Don’t main tag a critical/negative post. If your crit post is about “Thing”, you add the “Thing critical” tag, but not the “Thing” tag. People block crit tags if they don’t want to see it, don’t shove it in their faces by main tagging it. 

If you don’t want to see something, just block it. Another reason why people are able to survive on tumblr. You don’t start discourse, you don’t make call-outs, you block. You can find something for every community you can think of if you go looking for it. The worst of the worst probably won’t ever appear on your dash, but if you’re worried or feel the need for it, you know where the block button is.

Feel free to shitpost or ramble. More often than not you’ll see people rb a post with a comment, and their elaboration will be in the tags. The tags are only visible on your profile and the notifications of the owner of the og blog. Just a thing people do.

Reblog artists’ posts with nice comments in the tags! Commenting on a drawing is usually done through the tags (Not an obligation, again, just a thing people do. Feel free to add your comment on the rb itself if you’d want other people to see it tho!) and leave nice messages for the artists! It’s a win-win for everyone involved. 

If you have more than a single follower, always use the common tw warning tags. You don’t need to tw everything, but tw’ing some common things is the bare minimum human decency. Keep it safe for others. 

Tag a post “long post” if it’s really long. Pretty self explanatory. Don’t make people scroll through all that please lol. 

You can use them to organize your blog. This is more of a pro tip, if you’d like to not miss a post in your blog, cause they will start pilin’ up soon enough.

#Liveblogging is pretty fun. If you’d like to talk to people during streams, don’t forget to add the relevant tags still! Again, you won’t show up on people’s dash otherwise.

Whew! That got out of hand. Hopefully I didn’t bore you too much. Check out blogs like @heritageposts and @hellsite-hall-of-fame to honor our past o7. @mcytblr-hall-of-fame too maybe :eyes:. Anyways, don’t forget the most important rule of them all:

Enjoy your stay! You’re meant to have fun on here while also making friends (if that’s your thing). Just be kind and respectful of others, you’ll get the hang of the rest! <3

[hansensgirl]

i’m in the water.

summary. | He’s in the wind, and you’re in the water. Nobody’s son, nobody’s daughter.

warnings. | non/dubcon, smut, angst, protectiveness, kidnapping (implied), stockholm syndrome, obsessiveness, death/violence, dark themes, DDLG undertones, creampie kink, choking, piss kink (both pee), degradation, pet play undertones, p in v sex, Master kink, dacryphilia, crawling, slapping, hair pulling, face fucking, boot riding, orgasm denial, spitting, gagging, manhandling, praise, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI.

word count. | 8.5k

pairings. | Dark!Winter Soldier x Naive!Reader.

a/n. | please heed the warnings! i hope you enjoy, and please don’t forget to reblog! if you take ANY inspiration from my fics (and i’ll know, trust me) and you don’t give credit, you will be blocked and i’ll let others know. they’re both very hydrated! this takes place in the 90’s! thank you so much @asadmarveltrashbag and @mypoisonedvine for proof reading for me ilysm!!

From the day you were born, you always felt as though your legs are broken. Always needing crutches throughout your life to hold you up, always needing support. But you never really had these crutches, so you'd always drag your hands against the brick walls to support yourself. Vulnerable, breaking away at the edges, falling down. Nothing kind ever came, and it stays the same for a while.

So maybe that’s why you lean into his icy cold touch. So abrasive and yet so caring. His aspects are juxtaposed to each other, just like in those Magritte paintings your art teacher would show you. She was always a kind lady, but you don’t care enough about her to wonder where she is in life now. She was kind to you, though, so you hope that she isn’t suffering like you are.

Your goosebumps raise for the fifth time in this painfully slow hour.

“Are you cold, кролик?” he asks even though he knows the answer. You hum. You always do. Your voice doesn’t raise in an affirmation. It stays flat; he knows what that means. “Thinking again?” he gruffly presses, squeezes your bare arms. The thin, grey shirt with torn sleeves does nothing to protect your body. But why do you ask for protection against the man who has done everything for you?

“Why… Why do people believe that grey is a boring colour?” you ask him, looking around the dark cell that surrounds you. Soldat grunts, not knowing what to say. “I think it’s quite beautiful. All colours have different shades, yes, but there’s something about grey. Each shade comes with a different emotion. Don’t you think so?” you ask him, looking down to your lap.

A carrot toy sits there. It’s filled with cotton balls from the medical room, by his request. “Yes…” He bites the tip of his tongue, not sure what to say because the Soldat only has a few emotions and a few words. “Why can’t we get a different wall colour?” you question him, turning around to face the man.

“It’s not allowed,” he reminds you. You feel like you’re experiencing déjà-vu, but then again, the days have blurred together so well that you can’t tell if the tape is being put on rewind already. You have to assume that your celluloid scenes are fading away along with your sanity. It’s torn at the seams. Threads hanging that just need to be ripped or cut out.

“Beige would look lovely…” you point out solemnly. The Soldat doesn’t know what shade of beige you’re thinking of, but he believes it would be beautiful nonetheless. “I… have a mission,” he tells you after a while. You hum in that same monotonous tone again, so he squeezes your arm even tighter. “When, Master?” you curiously ask, only now taking in his words.

“Tonight. Approximately at twenty-one hours,” he informs you in that mechanic voice of his that you hate. It makes you feel more trapped and vulnerable, even though there’s quite literally a chip in the back of your neck. “How long?” you ask him softly, a frown already beginning to display itself on your face.

He doesn’t like it when you frown. He prefers the lines that your smile provides over the lines your frown forces. That innocent glint in your eyes shines a bit, flickering like a dull light on the verge of completely blowing. Though it’s not much, it’s still something. And when it goes away, his entire being is filled with darkness.

You’re the light of his life, the fire of his loins.

“Not sure. Extraction of information. Senators and mayors…” He begins to ramble, and you shake your head. “Sorry, кролик,” he apologizes as he notices how uncomfortable you’re starting to get. You hum again. He wonders if you were a bird in your past life, perhaps a hummingbird, to be more exact. Or maybe even a swan or a dove because you’re just as beautiful as they are, if not more.

“You know how to behave, right? Потому что ты мой хороший маленький кролик?” he asks, and you don’t understand the second question, but you understand the former. “I know, Master,” you breathe, an airy ending to your words. “You’ll be good, кролик?” he questions one more time, and you lazily nod. You’re tired. Your body moves at a drowsy pace, and you don’t like it.

You don’t want to sleep, though. Scared that if you shut your eyes for too long, the monsters will come back, and Soldat won’t be able to save you. He always saves you. You’re his damsel, constantly in distress, locked away in a gilded cage. But he tells you it’s not a gilded cage. It’s not a run-down cell built in the fifties. It’s your home, even though you haven’t known what home is like for a while.

“I’ll always be good for you, Master. Please don’t leave for long. I get lonely easily,” you express in small bits of sadness and distress. “I know, кролик, я знаю,” Soldat says as he hugs you closer. You tilt your head backwards and let it lull on his shoulder. “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he promises, and you know it’s not true because he never fulfills it. “But my carrot can’t keep me company for all those hours… Please stay? Please?” you plead with tears welling in your eyes.

“Я могу составить ей хорошую компанию,” the soldier standing outside the cell mutters under his breath, earning a few snickers from his coworkers. I can keep her in good company, is what he said. And it’s truly unfortunate that the guards have forgotten that the Soldat — the Asset — has super-hearing. Their laughter dies down into sighs, and Winter’s chest begins to heave.

He puffs up like the big bad wolf he is, and he tosses you to the side like a rag doll. You watch him as he strides his way over to the guards. Each step carries the weight of the Winter Soldier, the one who’s ready to kill whoever is in his sight. Except for you. His bionic hand reaches through the metal bars that separate him from the outside world.

He wraps his fingers around the guard’s neck, and he squeezes his throat tightly. As Winter crushes the guard’s windpipe, you watch him behind slightly squinted eyelids. Tears blur your eyesight, and you remember that time when you were holding off the tears so well, you couldn't see the HYDRA van driving ahead of you.

Maybe if you could control your emotions a little better, you wouldn’t be here.

But then again, where would you be without the Soldat? Miserable, stuck in the worst parts of town without anyone. Having to drag your hands across those brick walls, again and again. Surviving on your own, teetering on the edge of death. Just like these men at the hands of the Soldat.

The crunching of bones and the screams of men are all blocked out for you. You focus on Soldat’s arm whirring in the most satisfying harmony you’ve heard in the past two years. Other than the orchestra you both have managed to make almost every day. But you still cup your hands over your ears.

Winter pulls a knife from the guard’s limp body. That very same knife ends up inside his heart, stopping it from pumping. The guards begin shooting at Winter, but he easily shields himself with the metal arm. It goes silent, but you keep your hands over your ears. Muffled talking steps in place of the silence, and you look up to see members of HYDRA staring at your Winter and you.

“Солдат, Что ты натворил?” One of the head agents asks. You believe his name is Vasily Karpov because that is what Winter has told you. “The… The guard said something about my кролик. He’s not supposed to,” Winter explains, looking to the ground. Karpov mutters a chain of curse words under his breath that you’re not too happy about. One of the other agents asks him to speak up, and he snaps.

“Just get him to the armoury! We need to prep him,” he shouts before stalking away from the scene. They all stick around a few more seconds before scurrying off like little mice. The dead bodies still lay on the floor, but nobody seems to really care. What’s happened has happened, and there’s no changing it.

“Привести с собой солдата!” A rough voice blasts through the intercoms, and suddenly, more guards show up at your cell. You curl up into a ball and rest your forehead against your knees. You can’t bear to watch them take him away. You wait until the cell door swings shut, and then men stomp away. But even then, you cannot look up.

Bring the Soldat.

He wears that mask of his. The last time you saw it, it was caked with dirt and blood. You can hear his hard breathing behind it, almost sounding as though he’s just run a marathon. He sits in the edge of the cot — the left corner, to be exact — and he watches you. The Soldat states as you look down at the array of snacks he’s provided you with.

“Kролик,” Winter gruffly calls, and you turn around. You hum and your voice raises at the end. You haven’t done that in a while, so it startles him a bit. “Which one?” he asks, stretching his neck out just a bit to see what snack you’ve chosen. “N… Not sure,” you shyly whisper, ducking your head down in fear.

“Green one,” he says after a while, and you place your hand on it. “I don’t know what it is?” you confusingly say. The Russian text on it confuses you, so you hand it to Winter. “ Sour Patch Kids…” Winter reads out loud, knitting his eyebrows together in confusion. “Oh, I like those!” you eagerly cheer, sitting up on your knees. You turn around and reach your hand out for him to give them to you.

They’ve wiped him. You know it, and you hate it. They’ve taken all emotion away from him, and now he’s just an empty shell of a man. His softness from just a few hours ago has now gone away, and you don’t know what to expect of himself. But then again, you never do.

Hesitatingly, he hands it over. “Don’t eat now. Sugar will keep you up,” he warns, and you nod. Your father would say the same thing when you were younger. The only difference is that your father had more love in his voice than Winter ever will. “We need to go over the rules,” he speaks up after a few seconds. You hum again, and he continues. “Do you remember your rules?” Winter asks, and you hum once more.

“Кролик,” he growls, and you look up. “Do you need me to repeat the rules?” Winter questions and you shake your head in objection. He doesn’t listen, though, because he knows you don’t remember them. You never seem to remember the big, important parts of the puzzle. Only the small corner pieces that don’t really matter. “I’ll tell you them anyway, and you’re going to listen to every word I say. Understood, кролик?” he raises his eyebrow, not leaving any room for protesting.

You gulp thickly and nod. “Don’t make any noises, don’t touch yourself, don’t talk to the guards, don’t let anyone touch you, don’t hurt yourself and don’t even think of escaping,” he lists, and the last one makes tears sting your eyes. “I won’t escape. ‘S not like I can even do anything in here,” you whisper under your breath, and he stands up. Metal fingers grip your chin tightly, and Winter slowly kneels down in front of you.

You’re watched like a pet. You always have been. Not even a pet, more like a possession. Seen as an object with no feelings and no emotions. As though you don’t have a heart that pumps crimson blood and lungs that expand with each breath you take. “Don’t ever speak like that again. I can easily stitch those pretty lips of yours shut, кролик,” he threatens, and you feel your tears beginning to leak.

No, no, no, no, no. Not now.

He laughs. He fucking laughs, and you want to cry even more because you need him. You need your support, but he doesn’t want to give it to you. You should’ve just kept your mouth shut. “You’re so fucking… precious. Especially when you shed those tears of yours,” he tells you with a hidden smile behind his mask. He squeezes your jaw even tighter, and you whimper out a small ‘thank you, Master’ to him.

“I wasn’t finished listing the rules, so keep your fly shut,” Winter sneers, and you nod your head slowly. “When I get back, which will be in around three hours, you have to finish drinking all those bottles of water,” he stays, snapping his fingers to grab your attention. Your eyes follow those very same fingers as they point at the four bottles of water sitting by the bed.

You never noticed them until just now. “Oh, and you can’t go to the bathroom until I say so,” he adds with a slight humorous chuckle to his voice. Your eyeballs nearly fall out of their sockets. “Don’t worry, кролик, I’ll be back so quickly, it’ll feel like a few minutes,” he promises, and you feel a wave of relief wash over you. It reminds you of when you were young, and your parents would take you to the beach.

Your parents would build sandcastles with you until they got tired. You would beg your father to piggyback you into the sea, and he would do exactly that. Your mother would carry her disposable camera with her just to take photos that would end up in the green photo album from the thrift store.

And when you got a bit older, you’d go by yourself—older in the sense that you have to start paying the bus fare of $3. You’d head to the beach after dinner and before your parents came home from work. The sky would either be a dark, dark grey or a lovely mix of pastels. The water would wash beneath your feet, pulling and loosening clumps of sand.

Taking it away the same manner Winter took your innocence.

“And remember, if you break any of these rules, I’ll know. And the outcome won’t be as pretty as your face or that pussy of yours, кролик,” Soldat warns, and you nod your head. “Yes, Master,” you shyly say to him. You want to look down at the concrete flooring so badly, but his iron-clad grip on you doesn’t loosen until a minute after your words. He looks down at you, and you look away. His strong gaze is just as powerful as the summer sun that would beat down on your skin.

“Прощай, кролик.”

You never realized how thirsty you were until just now. You’ve finished all four bottles in the span of two hours, and now you’re counting down the minutes until Soldat arrives. There are no guards standing outside your cell, so you’re all alone. Not even your intrusive thoughts have visited, and you wonder if the water was spiked.

You were never that good at telling time. It would always take you a few seconds to find the minute hand and the hour hand. But the digital clock that is on the wall across from your cell is quite helpful. It even has seconds on it, too. So you count down out loud, trying to ignore the full feeling in your stomach.

Stomping echoes down the hallways, and you don’t know if he’s close by or meters away from you. You never could tell. Russian words fall off the agents’ tongues, and sometimes you wish you could understand them. Maybe then you wouldn’t feel like such an outsider even though you’re trapped in their home. “Ты свободен, солдат,” one of the agents say, and you can hear Winter grunt.

You’re free to go, Soldat.

His big, heavy feet stomp down the hallway. The sounds bounce off the greyish-green walls, stained with different things such as blood and dirt. You can hear his metal arm whirring, and your heart jumps with fear. You’re not scared of him; you’re scared of what he’s capable of.

Oh, who are you kidding? You’re terrified of him.

The guards open up the cell door, and you look up, locking eyes with his. They’re dark and empty as they usually are. “Кролик,” he growls, and you whimper. You run up to him and hug him, feeling the water slosh inside of you. You slow your breathing down the same way your elementary school nurse told you to when you were younger and try your hardest not to throw up.

“Missed me, hm?” Winter questions and you nod meekly. Though you didn’t want to admit it two years ago, you do now. “Missed you lots, Master,” you tell him. The leather is cold against your warm skin. If you focus just a bit more, you could feel the creases of the fabric as well. But you’re too busy with him, so you ignore it. “W- Was the mission good, Master?” you nervously ask him, only out of curiosity and nothing more.

“As always. Were you good, кролик?” Soldat questions in return, rightfully so. You nod eagerly and fiddle with your fingers behind his back. He acts like he can’t feel it, just for you not to stop hugging him. “Good girl… You seem like you want something. Out with it,” he orders, and you gulp in fear.

“I… I was wondering if I could go to the bathroom,” you meekly tell Winter, looking down to the ground. His boots are shiny and polished. Cleaner than anything you’ve seen before, and it’s confusing. He usually comes in covered with dirt, sweat, tears and blood. “You need to go to the bathroom, кролик?” he asks as if he didn’t hear you beforehand.

You shyly nod and unwrap your arms from around his broad torso. You wonder if he left the mission unscathed or not. Winter chuckles. It’s breathy, airy, sly and dark. “Aw, кролик, you’re adorable, the cutest кролик of them all. It’s too bad I’m not going to let you,” he sneers in that faux fantasy tone of his. You furrow your eyebrows and so desperately want to beg him, but it’s out of line, and he never asked, so you stay quiet.

Winter grabs your hand and drags you to the cot, reminding you of the way you’d pull your parents to the shore so they can play in the water with you. They’d both laugh before your father would tackle you in the water, and your mother would push him down in retaliation. You’d always resubmerge from the water with a smile on your face and laughter bellowing throughout the beach.

You miss those times.

You let him guide you to the bed you wish wasn’t yours. “What did you do while I was gone, кролик?” Soldat questions, sitting down on the canvas of the bed. You’re placed on his lap, almost as though he’s forcing you to reclaim a throne you need. And it’s true; you need him. His hands fall to your waist, and Winter holds you in place. “I drank all the water as you asked, and I just sat here, Master,” you recount to him, leaving out the parts of the past three hours he doesn’t need to know.

He hums in the same manner as you. “That’s all?” he questions, and you slowly nod your head. “Good, I’d hate to have to punish you this late in the night,” he says, pinching the skin on your torso. You don’t whimper because you’re used to it. He calls it affection, and so do you. Winter’s hands move from your sides to the front of your stomach, caressing you with a bit of pressure being put on your bladder.

You whimper and try to play it off with a cough, but you know deep down he doesn’t buy it. Soldat continues to run his hand against your stomach the same way you’d run across the shore. Slow, wary, yet with care from the ground beneath you. You like to think of the simpler, more happier times. You know if Winter pushes a little harder, you may not be able to control yourself any longer.

The pressure in your bladder grows every few seconds, so you squirm around in his lap. Your weight shifts from his left thigh to his right thigh, over and over, and he knows exactly what’s wrong. “Кролик… Are you feeling all tingly?” he asks you. You nod your head, but you take in his words. Meanings and implications are always lost with you. They fly over your head the same way birds do, and you only see them with someone's direction.

“N- No, Master, I just have to pee really badly…” you clarify to him, and he nods his head in understanding. You smile as a spark of hope lights inside of your heart. “I don’t think you do, кролик, I already told you,” he assures, and you sigh. “I- I know, Master, I’m sorry,” you apologize and drop your head down. “I think you’re having those tingles, кролик, is your little cunt wet?” Soldat questions even though you don’t have to answer.

His hand travels between your legs and to your pussy, cupping it tightly. You whimper and involuntarily grind against his hand. “You’re absolutely soaked, кролик! Were you thinking of me?” he interrogates, and you just go with it. “Y- Yes, Master, was thinking of you all the time,” you whisper to him. He squeezes your cunt tighter and purrs in your ear. “Then why didn’t you tell me beforehand, кролик?” Winter presses, and you feel fear pump through your veins.

“I- I knew you were tired from the mission, so I didn’t want to bother you, Master. I’m sorry, please forgive me!” you plead, and he clicks his tongue in disapproval. Your heart sinks to your stomach with each sound he makes, and you want death to take you right here, right now. The Soldat pushes you to the ground, and you fall with a loud ‘thud!’. Your knees hit the concrete hard, and you can feel your old scars open up a bit.

One was from a poor fall at the beach. Your father carried you home, and your mother tried to soothe you. You were only six at the time, but it felt like your world was ending.

Winter’s metal hand grabs your hair and tugs on your locks painfully. You bite back a pained moan as he yanks your head back. It’s not the first time he has nearly given you whiplash. He changes moods faster than anyone you’ve ever met. The Soldat walks around you, and you follow him with your eyes. “It’s okay, кролик. I’m not mad at you. I’m gonna treat you so well; you’re gonna love me even more,” he promises with a dark glint in his eyes.

He wedges his boot between your legs and underneath your cunt. “Get comfy, шлюха,” he orders. You shift yourself a bit, trying to alleviate any aches you feel, but it seems as though he wants you to be uncomfortable. Your pussy rests on his foot, and you wonder what he’s up to. His hand tilts your head to look up at him. You want to look away, just like when you’d look at the bright sun on a hot summer day. It was always too much to look at, but the sight was so captivating you couldn’t turn away.

“You said you wanted to go pee, right, маленькая потаскушка?” he questions, and you confusingly nod. “Then go ahead, do it,” he orders. You gasp, quite loudly, in fact. The reaction doesn’t please your Master, so he yanks on your hair a little tighter. “What’s wrong, сука? I thought that’s what you needed?” he interrogates, and you nod. “Yes, Master, but not like this,” you reason, and he growls. “I give you protection, I give you food, I give you my cum, I give you everything you need. What’s wrong now? Don’t you love me?” Winter asks.

Your heart quite literally breaks in two.

“I do, Master! I love you so much!” you promise, feeling those stupid tears of yours starting to well up. “Then why aren’t you listening to me, you dumb baby? Hm?” he presses, and panic begins to rise in your chest. The tears stream down your face the same way the waves would engulf you at the age of 7. “It’s just uncomfortable, Master, that’s all…” you reason with him. “Well, I don’t care. You’re gonna do it anyway, okay? I thought you were a good bunny for me…” Winter trails off as if he’s lost all hope and cause.

It makes you want to cry even harder.

Sniffling, you wipe your tears and try not to give up. “I am your good bunny, Master. Please don’t make me do this. I don’t want to!” you beg once again, and he grows weary of your patheticness. Winter bends down, and his flesh hand goes to the front of your flimsy shirt. Thin cotton rips away easily, with barely any strength coming from his behalf. The grey cloth is in two pieces, and he pushes them off your shoulders.

Your nipples harden as soon as the cool air brushes against them. Winter’s hand leaves your head, and you feel alone without his touch. “Seems like you forgot your place, кролик… You don’t get what you want; you get what you deserve. And what you deserve is to be put in your place,” he tells you, and your bones rattle with fear. The sound of a belt clinking and a zipping being pulled down grabs your attention, and you hold back a hearty sigh.

The Soldat stares you down as he throws his belt to the side just like he did you a few hours ago. “I can’t believe you, honestly. Думая, что ты так выше меня, пытаясь помешать мне делать то, что я хочу. After this, you’re going to regret ever talking back to me like that ever again,” he rants under his breath like the mad man he is. Your tears have dried up, but your bottom lip starts to wobble again. He huffs, tired of seeing you cry.

Winter halts his movements and goes to remove his mask, the one thing that’s been hiding that sinister smirk of his. The dark, matte material is clutched between the tips of his cut-up, bruised fingers. He carefully places the mask on your face, covering your mouth and nose. The action shuts you up, just like how he wants. You look up at him without blinking your tears away. You let them fall and soak the mask, staining it with your waterworks.

The Soldat pulls his big, thick cock out of his tactical pants. His cock is as hard as a rock, blooding pumping down to it, and his veins throb on the side of his shaft. Beads of precum drip down from his tip, rolling down his cock. He’s a raging red, desperate to be inside of you. His metal head returns to your head, and he brings you higher up in your knees. Your neck cranes at such a painful angle that the ache in your knees is ignored.

“You better fucking look at me while I teach you your lesson, шлюха,” he warns, and you listen to him easily. Through your haze of pained tears, you manage to look into his eyes. You’re not sure what he wants to do and what he’s going to do. You never do. The Soldat is unpredictable, and even in your two years of knowing him, you’ll never understand how the gears in his mind turn.

“Not so dumb after all, huh,” he chuckles before shaking his head. Winter sighs and smiles down at you. “One last chance, шлюха,” he tells you in a sing-song voice. You don’t say anything, and the Soldat clicks his tongue. Suddenly, instead of the delicious precum, he would usually make you lap up like a kitten, clear streams of warmth hit your chest. You gasp behind the mask, but it comes out as muffled nonsense to him.

“Stop!” you cry out to him, but your words are once again muffled. His pee soaks your chest as he relieves himself from the pressure in his bladder. Your hands bat at his stiff thighs, hitting them just so that he can stop humiliating you and treating you like you’re all but human. Winter growls, and his metal arm drops your head, and he slaps your hands away. His pee covers your tits and drips down your skin, staining you with disgust and humiliation.

The streams soon stop, and you’re sobbing even louder now. “Oh shut it, this isn’t even as bad of a punishment. I’m going easy on you, шлюха, I could easily do worse,” Soldat growls as the slightly tinted liquid drips from the tip and onto the ground. Your chest stutters with sobs, and you can barely breathe. You’re covered and coated like a freshly bought canvas, and Winter’s just ruined you. Almost in the same manner that you’d destroy your father’s canvas with your cheap, dollar store paint.

Winter bends down and grabs what was once your shirt and is now just a piece of cloth. Kind of like how your mother would give you any leftover scraps of fabric to make something for you. She’d never let anything go to waste. He uses it to wipe the drops of urine that still drip from his cock, and then he throws it at you like you mean nothing to him. You let it fall to the ground because there’s no possible way a piece of cloth that was once on your back can fix your honour.

But who are you kidding? You lost your honour the moment you gave into the Soldat, just like you always do.

You stretch your arms out to him, silently pleading for comfort from him. But he shakes his head with a sly smile on his face. “Aw, you want your Master to help you out, мой питомец?” Winter questions, and you eagerly nod your head. His metal hand goes to remove the mask, but he stops as soon as he touches it. “Say please,” he orders with faux sympathy in his voice. “Please, Master,” you beg to him, and he smiles.

Winter places his hand back on the mask and yanks it off of your face. The sides scratch your cheeks a bit, but that’s not what matters. “T- Thank you, Master. I love you so much,” you tell him before struggling to put a smile on your face. At the end of the day, no matter how brutal he is with you, you’ll always love him. ...Right? “You’re welcome, кролик,” he says as he throws the mask to where his belt lies.

Your cheeks are sticky and stained with tears, much like your chest. Winter’s flesh hand cups your left cheeky lightly, and he’s back to being the gentleman who has killed for you on numerous occasions. He wipes away the wetness on your cheek as his other hand goes to his cock, grabbing the base of it. “Say ‘ah,’ моя маленькая шлюшка,” he orders before you can even register his signature Cheshire smirk.

His cock is shoved inside your mouth without any warning. He always does that. No heads up, no preparation, nothing. Zip, zilch, nada. Winter wiggles his foot that’s underneath your cunt, and the sudden friction is startling. He calls you bunny because of this reason. You can get off on anything, and you’re always needy for him. “I can see how wet you are, шлюха. You’re soaking my boot with that little pussy of yours,” he coos.

You don’t realize how wet you are until he points it out. You’re absolutely soaking, and you’re not sure why. But for the utmost incomprehensible reason ever, you don’t care.

His cock slides down your throat until your nose nuzzles against his pubic bone. His balls touch your chin, and your saliva coats his cock thickly. Your throat and side of your kissable mouth both hurt horribly, but you ignore the pain just for him. “You’re my good little bunny, right?” he questions, and you nod while his cock rests on your tongue. “And good little bunnies like you always listen to their Masters, right?” Winter asks, and you nod again.

He smiles. His hand on your cheeks moves to the back of your head slowly, returning to its newfound home. “I bet you want to come, don’t you, кролик?” he interrogates, and he’s not wrong. You really do want to come, and you’re a bit ashamed of it. “Master will let you come, don’t worry. I’m gonna let you have cummies, кролик,” he promises, and you happily giggle around his cock.

“Go on, hump my boot like the little bunny you are,” he pushes, and your eyes nearly fall out of their sockets. You want to protest so badly, but the memories of what he just did to you freshly flood your mind like the memories from when you were younger. “Are you that stupid that I have to explain how to get yourself off? Or are you just not listening to me, кролик?” he asks in a tone that reminds you of subdued thunder.

You shake your hand and try to move your hips around a bit. Your soaking wet pussy grinds against the leather of Winter’s shoe, and your clit throbs at the feeling. Winter’s cock slides out of your mouth until the fat tip of it is all that’s left, and then he quickly shoves it back in. Your loud gags and his moans fill the room like music. Your loss of oxygen makes you see stars, and you can recall how much your father loved to paint the midnight skies until he couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Your old toothbrushes would serve as the home of the clouds of dust that the stars would be born from. His fingers would be covered in white paint that would fall off in the water and swirl down the sink. His black t-shirts would have white freckles on them, and your mother would always suggest for him to turn the cloth into a galaxy. He’d always tell her one day, and you’d always remind him of that day whenever you’d catch him painting.

“Fuck, you always do look even prettier with my cock in your mouth, кролик,” he swears, and you smile around his cock. Oh, well, you at least try to smile. You continue to rub yourself against his boot as he uses your throat as he pleases. Your hole drools with want, and your slick gives his shoe a shine that is unmatched by any other substance. The burning, fiery feeling on your clit spreads to your abdomen, and you can feel yourself being brought closer to the edge.

You’re moaning around his thick cock, sending sinful vibrations throughout him. “Fuck, are you gonna come, кролик?” he questions as he feels you hug his leg. You nod around his cock, and he begins to push your head back and forth of his cock, matching your desperate movements. He uses you like a fleshlight, and you’re used to it. “Well, too fucking bad, шлюха, you’re not allowed to come,” he spits, and your hips freeze in place.

“I didn’t say stop, did I? No, I didn’t, continue, шлюха,” he sneers, and you listen to the Soldat. You’re not sure how you’re going to stave off your orgasm, but you’ll do anything for him. You slowly begin to grind your hips back and forth on his boot again, trying to slow your breathing down, and Winter fucks your face sloppily. “Fuck, you want my cum, don’t you, кролик?” he questions, and you squeeze his leg tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out abruptly and pinches the base, staving off his release only for a few seconds. “I said, don’t you want my cum, шлюха?” he asks once again, and you nod. Saliva coats your mouth, and you can barely catch your breath. “I- I really want your cum, Master, please! Please give me your cum,” you plead to him with a ditzy look in your eyes. You wiggle your hips side to side just to give off the impression that you’re getting yourself off.

But you can’t fool the fooler. Nobody can.

“I’m going to give you all my cum, шлюха, and you’re going to take it all like a good girl,” he moans as he shoves his cock back into your mouth. Winter shoves himself deep inside your throat until you can’t take any more of his length. You swallow around his cock, and he moans loudly, swearing in Russian. The words roll off his tongue skillfully, and you feel yourself getting even wetter.

He grabs your head even tighter and bobs your skull up and down his cock a few more times before finally hitting his release. His balls tighten up, and a deep, throaty moan leaves his mouth in the best way ever. Hot, sticky ropes spurt down your throat before you can even register the way he throws his head back. Winter’s long hair spills on the sides of his head as his cum spills down your throat. You have no choice but to swallow, but it’s not like you want to spit his seed out anyways.

Winter lets out a deep moan that goes straight to your core, and his hand pats your head in a praising manner. “Good girl, such a good fucking girl,” he praises as he slowly pulls his sensitive cock out of your mouth. Your cunt flutters with sensitivity, and you want to come so badly, but you just can’t. The Soldat takes a few steps back, slipping his foot away from your aching pussy. You let out a whimper, and he smiles.

“I’m not done with you, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and your heart flutters. You’ve managed to ignore the building pressure in your bladder, but now it seems to come back stronger. “C- Can I go pee first, Master?” you politely ask him, still on your knees. Even that ache has returned, but it’s the least important thing as of now. He ignores your question as he works on the numerous straps on his battle uniform.

Skillful fingers take off the leather vest he wears, revealing a bulletproof protectant that saves him from certain dangers. “Get on the bed, кролик,” Winter orders as he continues to strip himself. You begin to stand up on your wobbly, scarred legs, but he tuts. “Uh uh, not like that,” he interjects, walking back to you. He pushes you back onto the floor, and you fall with a sob. “On your knees, because that’s what you deserve. Nothing more, шлюха,” he sneers, and you sniffle.

You slowly crawl to the bed. Each time your knees touch the ground, you burn up with both arousal and humiliation. And it’s not like the action is making your need to go to the bathroom any better. The abrupt movement makes the liquid slosh inside you, and you want to burst out in tears, begging Winter to just let you relieve yourself. Your hands have slight scars from your nails, and it reminds you of when your father would encourage you to do the monkey bars.

You’d always try to swing yourself to the end with all your might. But you never could do it. You’d fall down to the ground and leave the park wailing. The scars and blisters on your hand would make your parents so upset, but that never stopped you from wanting to go back and try again. Eventually, you got too old to try, and it would always upset you. Maybe one day you’ll be able to try again— one day.

You hear zippers unzipping and velcro cracking behind you as you get on the bed. The coolness of the sheets is so refreshing against your hot skin. It soothes you for a few seconds, but it eventually loses its worth. You turn around and face him with a sort of dumbfounded look on your face. He fucking loves it; Winter always does. He’s naked, fully naked, and even his signature tactical boots have been discarded.

If you squint, you could see the way your wetness shines on his boot. “Good girl, such as good little bunny,” he praises, and you can feel yourself get flustered. Winter climbs onto the bed, staring you dead in the eyes. He kneels in front of you with a wicked smirk, and he brings his flesh hand up to your throat. You let out a gasp as he squeezes your neck tightly before he leans in closer to you.

The Soldat’s face is just a mere few centimetres away from yours. You can feel each breath that he takes against your skin. His hard cock rests against your sticky chest, and he’s still hard as fuck. “Open your mouth, кролик,” he orders, and you instantly do so. You wait for his cock to be stuffed in your mouth once again, but it never comes. You watch as he puckers his lips up before spitting right by your mouth.

You choke in surprise as his saliva slowly drips into your mouth, landing on your sore tongue. You whimper at the feeling, and Winter has a proud smile on his face. He pulls his head away from yours, in the same manner your father would whenever he’d finish one of his masterpieces. “Swallow it all, кролик, I know you want to,” he orders in a sing-song voice.

You follow his demand obediently. You can’t lie; the sheer act of him spitting in your mouth and forcing you to swallow it makes you even wetter. You’d take anything he gives you. “You’re such a good girl, you know that right?” he questions, and your chest heaves. Winter’s cock twitches against you, and you so desperately want him inside you. But there’s nothing you want more than to go relieve yourself.

His metal hand comes up to your face, and you think he’s going to lovingly hold you. You absolutely adore it when he strokes your cheeks. The Soldat’s thumb touches the soft yet slightly sweaty skin of your face and moves back and forth. Chills run down your spine, and you smile into his touch. He suddenly pulls his hand away, and he strikes you roughly. You let out a cry as your skin stings and prickles from the hit.

He does it again and again until your tears soak his hand. Your cheek is practically numb from the pain. You can feel his cock leaking with cum, and you know that he’s going to fuck you, just like you want him to. “Did you forget your manners?” Winter harshly questions, and you quickly shake your head. “T- Thank you, Master,” you whisper to him, and he smiles.

“Master… Can I please go to the bathroom? Please, it hurts,” you beg to him, but he just shakes his head. “P- Please, Master? I’ll be a good girl, I promise!” you plead to him as your tears run down your face even quicker. He ignores your cries for relief, and he instead slams you onto the bed. Your mind is a mess as he combs on top of you, and the aches you have only get stronger.

The hand that was slapping some sense into you finds a new home on your stomach, right above your swollen bladder. He pushes down on your stomach slightly, and you kick your legs. “Shh, none of that, no, stop it,” he shushes, and you try your hardest to not let go right there and then. “Master knows what you need, okay? And right now, you need my cock, маленький кролик,” he tells you, and you sob.

The hand on your throat moves to his cock, and he grabs his thick base. The veins on the side throb with need, and in one thrust, he bottoms out inside you. You barely have the time to register what’s just happened. The painful stretch of his cock radiates throughout your core, and you dig your nails into the scarred skin of your palms. His tip nudges against your g-spot, and you coat his cock with your wetness.

Winter is buried inside you to the hilt, filling you up to the brim. His swollen, heavy balls rest against your ass, and you both try to get used to the connection. The painful stretch dulls down to an exquisite pleasure, and Winter loves the way your tight cunt gets used to his thick cock. He’s splitting you in two, but he simply does not care. His hand returns back to your throat, and this time, he squeezes the sides of your neck even tighter.

Winter pulls his cock out until his fat tip is the only thing resting inside of your pussy. He slams back into you roughly, and you let out a cry. Your jaw falls slack as the Soldat begins to fuck into your relentlessly. His balls slap against your ass, and your loud, short-lived moans fill the cell that you’ve grown to love. “Fucking hell, кролик, your pussy feels so good,” he growls, slamming into you even harder.

Your tits bounce with every movement he makes. The pleasure sears through your body as Winter hammers against your poor g-spot with each thrust he makes. “Master, please, I need to go really badly,” you beg to him as he continues to fuck you. He shakes his head in objection before pushing down on your stomach even harder. You let out a wail and try to squirm away, but you only worsen things for yourself.

“No, you don’t, кролик. The only thing you need is my cock,” the Soldat tells you, and you upsettingly toss your head back. “No, Master, please, I don’t wanna make a mess,” you reason with him, but he just doesn't seem to want to listen. “I know that, кролик, but you need to listen to me, okay? You don’t need to go; you just need me,” he growls lowly, and you can feel him pushing harder on your bladder.

“No- Wait, Master, please stop pushing on me,” you implore to him as a moan follows your words. Your silky, wet cunt hugs his cock as the tingly feeling in your bladder becomes stronger. You want to cross your legs and stop it from growing, but you can’t. Pressure builds up in your core, and you’re not sure if you’re going to come or if you’re going to make a mess and humiliate yourself.

“Let go, мой тупой ребенок, I know you want to so badly. You can make a mess, do it,” Winter urges, and you shake your head. “No, Master, please stop it,” you cry to him, but he only fucks you harder. One specific thrust hits your cervix, and you yell out in pain before even realizing what’s happened. Warmth trickles down your thighs and onto his cock. You let out a wail as humiliation blossoms from your soul.

Though there’s nobody else watching, you’re still embarrassed. And that wicked smirk on Winter’s face does nothing to help you out. The sound of it makes your back sweat, and you want the ground to open up and take you home. Your urine wets the sheets beneath you, and your tears wet your face. “God, look at you. You finally got what you wanted, and here you are, crying like a fucking brat. You’re so ungrateful. Do you even deserve my cum?” he questions with disgust on his tongue.

You struggle to nod, but you do it anyway. The last thing you need is to have your Master upset with you. “‘M sorry, Master, please forgive me,” you plead to him. You continue to relieve yourself, and he continues to fuck you despite the mess you’re making in his shaft. “Такой грязный, глупый малыш. Ты такой жалкий, ты же знаешь это, да?” he questions even though you only know one simple word of Russian. You moan loudly as you slowly stop making a mess and begin to feel your orgasm building up.

“Aw, are you gonna come, кролик?” Winter asks you in a condescending tone, one that makes you even wetter. The lewd sounds that come from your pussy as just as humiliating as what you’ve just done, but you don’t care. You’re too busy getting fucked stupid. “Fuck, I can’t wait to fill this pussy up with my cum; watch it leak out of you. You always do look prettier when you’re filled up with my cum,” he moans as his thrusts grow sloppy.

“Master, ‘m gonna c- come,” you whimper to him, laying in your own piss. “Go ahead, шлюха, come on my cock. You already made a mess on me twice, might as well do it for the third time,” Winter growls, moving the hand that lays on your stomach. He grabs your hips roughly and pulls you closer towards his cock. Hot flames lick at your abdomen as you hit your climax, seeing stars in your vision.

Your reality is warped as you can barely make out the look on Winter’s face. Darkness takes over your vision in the same manner as the clouds would take over the skies on those hot summer days. They would hide the pretty sun for a few minutes, and then they’d leave eventually. Your pussy clamps down on his cock tightly as you coat him with your juices, making him moan.

You wail loudly as you clench around him, making him groan. “Fuck, you like that, don’t you?” he asks without waiting for an answer. You nod as he fucks you through your orgasm, not even caring about how overstimulated you are. His cock slips in and out of you with ease and his thrusts begin to grow sloppy. “Tell me how much you want my cum,” he demands, fucking you even slower.

“I- I want your cum really badly, Master. I need it so badly; please fill me up with your cum!” you politely beg to you as you come down from your much-needed high. “Fuck, I’m gonna fill you up so nicely, кролик, you’re gonna beg me to fuck you again,” Winter husks as his balls tighten up. A string of Russian words leave his mouth, and you have to assume that it’s all foul language.

Warm, white ropes of cum paint your walls as he pushes deep inside your cunt while coming. Winter’s blue eyes squeeze shut, and you both moan at the feeling. He fills you up just like he promised, and you bite down on your lips. Everything has dried, and you feel disgusted, so you try to focus on the way his cum pumps inside you. His cock stays inside you, but he doesn’t soften at all, and you know what that means. Winter falls on top of your sticky chest with a sigh, and tears sting your eyes.

Though he says you need him, you wonder if that’s really true.