#rip my work ethic

[ghostsy]

hey baby, do you accept requests?

why yes baby, i do. ^^

[unproduciblesmackdown]

among the boundless billions zaniness like laugh track as it definitely has that moment of expressing "rolling my eyes as The Left makes a kerfuffle of Acting like they have a stance as a veneer over the true belief that [xyz] is cool & chill actually" like what, approximate 0.000% chance wendy isn't, as usual, given the Objective Stance of "yeah yeah ohh we are cancelling involved parties talking about how we Don't watch this But. we all love this damn epic movie & already have it memorized so shut the fuck up, kids today" like. don't wanna really delve into how much billions thinks taylor or anyone is "really" trans / nonbinary like not too much benefit of the doubt in this material including what does provide info abt that specifically

& the general like [head in hands. what do you think any of this could possibly be about (you're the one that made your show at all about Power)] of "yes, it's bad/wrong to be someone that someone has done something to / victim of something" like that to be anti misogyny All Women Must Be Epic Winners b/c there's something to be proved: that they don't Deserve to be victims (of misogyny), not taken as a Given. while when we see some epic winner men stepping on other men (who need not all be guaranteed Winners so as to say misogyny is wrong), that's often Good, well beyond any assumption that various forms of basic disrespect / violation / patterns of emergent/entrenched power difference as Bad (for being things done to people, not for there being people they're being done to), & generally billions has to take an extra step when ppl get shitted on & tell us the Specific Cases when it was undeserved actually & someone was being mean to a specific person who didn't deserve that. & the specific cases when hey guess it wasn't that bad(tm) or when hey It's Okay that you're someone something was done to, in this case. & tell us what we were supposed to know all along like when someone who something was being done to (wrong Of Them, whether b/c they inherently deserve it no matter what, &/or b/c they failed to be someone who could make it Impossible to do anything to them, which, how do you do that besides being The Authority / Superior yourself, exactly? nonrhetorically? what if the in group vs out group / fascism / authoritarianism protected Me?) was actually being treated Too Well b/c ah well the abuse meant you were getting any attention, maybe it meant you were claimed as any superior's property, maybe it meant you weren't Already disposed of, as all Losers were in the end, You're Welcome.

obviously referring to winston where it's spelled out all the abuse towards him was deserved, & More than he deserved in the case of rian having more access & taking advantage of that, all for billions' enjoying its own sendoff there of, again, maximizing violation & violence short of [real violence is physical & leaves bruises / draws blood / Literally kills] which would be distasteful in general But doesn't it make wags look like the winner & winston the loser is that the former's completely unrelated completely impersonal ego blow gets way amplified taken out on winston, the most vulnerable recurring character when spyros as [first & ultimate Everyone Hates Him role] is more entrenched in there & billions still magnanimously pities tuk, as it does winston too, just not quite as much. again that like completely surface level realized power fantasy of forcing the mirror up to the Inferior so they're like nooo my inferiorityyyy & in doing so like, the projection in that lmao, we get it re: the valuing of & need(tm) for such Power Tripping & Reaffirming My Superiority & My Ego Restored; Everyone Claps like good god. & then for all ben & tuk are the slightly softer Two Too Nice Boys duo to the rian & winston quant duo, also like too nice i guess but not as much, ben is in charge of tuk but Any instance of rian being in charge of winston outstrips them in that "yay interpersonal abuse" dynamic, like then in the end billions may be like "yeah it's possible to be mean to them unlike how being mean to winston is actually Nice b/c he deserves everything he gets, we only vicariously enjoy it vs Feeling Bad for tuk & ben sometimes (still magnanimously & it's Not That Bad / just goofin)" like ben & tuk still Fail by not being people it's impossible to do anything to. & not Exceptions who anyone is really being Too Mean to. like if they were women, in which case, no problem surely with a "positive" kind of victim blaming where there is something Inherent that Will be victimized so hey how about to cancel that out there's this special Paternal Protection you Need always, Or Else? :) but instead they are men who are asian & is ben gay & w/tuk & winston nobody mentions glasses or fatness but billions doesn't really do much or very in depth textual mentioning of Anything, even w/nonzero mention that there may be gender & race in this world. a gay man, once. no disability. we just Know who are the inferiors who deserve it when they're treated inferiorly, or if they don't, they start deserving it when they fail to stop/avoid it, but if you start mentioning the factors behind who we all totally agree is inferior like whoa nobody was Saying any of that? being the real agent of oppression on the basis of the factors only You spelled out, much? nonbinary? i never say anything about the Gender Binary when i'm subscribing to it, sounds like You've created & enforced it. obfuscation & deflection onto [so Just Normal nobody has to label, explain, or argue it] couldn't serve a purpose & protect the existing power differences as they are. maybe You're the problem? perhaps you brought it upon yourself & now you're causing too much trouble standing up for yourself while everyone else's criticism is laser focused on you as the prior & continuing negative actions done to you are taken as a given / unquestioned / covertly protected to overtly encouraged?

anyway so wild if the Completely Normal(tm) Victim Blaming is uncritically recreated & oft embraced for "if you're watching this & don't wish you were axe / find him appealing" [billions as a sequence of vicarious power trips] purposes in this series....but a bit wild considering like this is your multiseason show that wasn't just purporting to be those power trips for [enough demographic & apparently specific personal tastes overlap w/creators] & was at all purporting to question the matters of power at play in the material, or yknow, at least to not be completely superficial material while said material is textually & thematically all about power difference being leveraged, how, the consequences, & so on. thus i will have to intermittently talk about it forever like this like lord unbelievable. & the funny little & sometimes less funny less little characters it has trapped in there so that those of us who were never meant to be in the audience can be cursed with this knowledge. like i have some feedback. "imagine not victim blaming" & "imagine adjusting your perspective can go beyond superficial layers added to politely defer to some other ppl while they're present but really like cmon do they deserve that. am i not just saying what we're allll thinking"

[georgespaniel]

i am the worst gifmaker on the planet </3

[tapewyrm-talks]

This is something I actually feel very strongly about. The only places this would possibly work are the absolute most exploitative work places that have a revolving door of employees because the work environment is shit. Even then the odds of it working aren't great. This is not just a problem for when you don't get hired anywhere via online applications, it is a problem for people who can't access online applications at all. People who don't have access to phones or internet are put at an extreme disadvantage because we have built such a reliance on this kind of hiring system. There are so many things that go into this and it makes me so angry.

no one:

parents giving job advice: well if you don't get hired via online application just keep showing up in person with your resume and annoying the shit out of everyone. what do you mean you don't think that will help? what, do you have no work ethic?

[evilminji]

Ooooh~ Drink mix up? >.>

Because! Wes DID, in fact, get that dream job. HAS learned... after many, many hours of "beat about the head and shoulders with an ethics pamphlet by his great aunt", to keep his mouth shut! Family curse of Sight? WHAT family curse?

He doesn't see shit! Mind your business.

What're you? A cop?

Look, he sent Fenton a gift basket. He was a shitty, shitty "I have to be RIGHT and nothing else matters!" Stubborn lil asshole of a kid. He got better. Grew up. No one is there best Self during puberty. He DOES, in fact, regret it.

Which is WHY, he is deliberately ignoring Kent's terrible, awful, paper-thin, "who meee~?" Aw shucks BULLSHIT excuse of a disguise, like it isn't blatantly obvious he's Superman. Yep. Nothing to see here! Nothing but us chickens! Mmmmm, morning coffee! Delicious.

But see, here's the THING.

The Itty, bitty, teeny lil PROBLEM...

Wes grew up in Amity "Totally Not Supernatural Hotspot For Centuries" Park. He is... to put it mildly, genetically? A freak. His biology is ALL fucked up. Everyone's is. And it WAS NOT made better by the Fenton's playing fast and loose with their hell basement. The Ectoplasmic NUKE that was that portal.

There is a REASON his morning coffee? Is COVERED. Contained. Fenton brand, LEAD LINED, specialty cups. The sort that can't be EATEN from the inside out. Eroded after a few uses. They're ugly as sin, but they work. He even ordered a few covers from Star's etsy shop. (Apparently he wasn't the only one who hated how ugly they looked. Good for her though, he heard it was doing well.)

He SAYS this? 'Cause his morning brew is less... straight COFFEE... and more... how to put this? A blend? Brew? Potion, really. Like an energy drink. From hell. Or, partially at least, the Zone. It's the combination of roots, seeds, and a few dried berries. Kinda like a tea, actually!

Tasty. Adds this nice fruity, warmth. A zing. Goes GREAT with the coffee. And it really perks you up... if you are Limnal. If you AREN'T? It'll desolve your esophagus like swallowing straight acid. And that's not TOUCHING the... witch-y, more Seer specific bit of the blend.

That stuff is medicinal. You know, "calm the mind" and "mental clarity". That sorta thing. With a good ol helping of "don't blurt out everyone's secrets, you spacey bitch! For the love of God, those are our INSIDE THOUGHTS!". Which? Really helpful! Infinitely less likely to get decked. It's a family staple.

Poisonous, though.

They're fine cause they've basically developed an immunity to that part, but like? Wouldn't recommend. It's why he NEVER shares his drinks. Food? On occasion. If he PLANS it and knows not to add and interesting spices. But DRINKS? Never. Weston family brews are basically NEVER safe.

Which? Begs the Very Important Question ™!

Who's Coffee Is This?

Cause it SURE AS FUCK AINT HIS!

You never realize quite how fast you can go from "completely calm and kinda sleepy" to "bomb strapped to my chest, primal panic AWAKE" until it happens to you. His coffee was ON HIS DESK. People have passed by. He talked to them. Cups put down and picked up. Lazy early morning. He doesn't even register, really, as his chair crashes to the ground.

He's shouting.

People confused. They don't realize yet. His head whips around, looking for that distinct cover. Before it's too late. Before someone takes that fatal sip. He spots it. Bolting from his desk. Crashing through coworkers, over desks. Chaos and outrage. "It's 'just' coffee!" They cry.

Kent turns, confused. Pretending. Raises his (HIS! Oh god!) cup to his lips, unknowing. Wes SCREAMS a warning. But he doesn't listen. "It's 'just' coffee" They never listen. Curse of Cassandra. God's damn it. This is why his family fucking CONVERTED!

He TACKLES the man of steel.

RIPS his cup away from him, knows his eyes are frantic. How much have you had?! Spit it out! Wes voice ECHOES in the sudden silence. I'm a META, Kent! It could KILL YOU!

And oh, Oh NOW they get it. Or perhaps it is the burn in his mouth that finally registers. He rolls, spits oil slick nebulae that eat away the floor. There is blood mixed within it. It took mere moments. Superman stares, transfixed and horrified, as Wes shakes. He... he should probably get off of him.

He'll move in a moment.

When his legs no longer feel weak from terror.

The news room is in chaos. Lane kneeling by her husband, Perry trying to do damage control. He... he's probably gonna lose his job, isn't he? Wes wants to cry. Protection laws only go so far, after all. And warning his boss about his dietary needs means jack shit, after an incident like this. Beloved as Kent is. Not that anyone likely believed him.

They never do.

And now he's nearly killed Superman.

@hypewinter @hdgnj @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @lolottes @babbling-babull @mutable-manifestation @dcxdpdabbles

[justjudethoughts]

"yOu'Re nOt GeRmAn, yOu'rE AmErIcAn"

Okay, bestie, let me explain something to you that is very important to American culture — very, very few of us are ethnically American. When an American says they are "German" or "Irish" or "Italian" they aren't talking about citizenship. They are talking about ethnicity.

The U.S. is primarily a country of immigrants. Everyone says we "don't have a culture" or we have a "bastardized version of *insert culture*" but that's not true!!!! Our culture is made up of American Immigrant Culture!!!! American Italian food isn't "fake Italian food" — it's the innovation of Italian Immigrants who used traditional Italian food along with the ingredients that were more accessible to them in the States. It might not be the food "of Italy" but it is the food of proud sons and daughters of Italy who are also proud Americans. And you can be both.

When American culture is treated as a rip-off of every other culture, we are essentially dishonoring the memory of very brave men and women who chose to leave their homelands under unfortunate circumstances. Men and women who didn't have much money, but did what they could. Used the materials they had. And still managed to make something beautiful out of it. When you leave your home, it doesn't stop being part of your identity — it just looks a little different now. You pass on your old traditions to your children and your children's children, and along the way, new ones are created. Cultures mix and create subcultures. And it's beautiful. It's good. It's primally human.

If I'm not "German" care to explain to me my pasty white skin? Or my last name? Or all the post cards written to and from Germany that we have upstairs in a box? Or the name of my town? Or my grandparents' first language? Or the fact that my American Church, in the year 2024, still sings "Stille Nacht" at every Christmas Eve mass? Sure, I'm not fully German, but the awareness of where I have come from makes up a huge part of my understanding of myself and my place in this world. I was raised in a German Catholic farmtown, and it shows. It shows in the way we worship, and our work ethic, and our reverence for family life.

When an American calls themselves "German" or "Irish" or "Italian" they mean that's where their blood comes from. And it's okay for them to care about that. It's okay for them to care about their roots. It's a major part of American culture.

If you want to "respect" world cultures, you can't just pick and choose which ones are "real" according to you.

[prael]

WYR-0573: Dirty Little Student Wang Yiren And Her Sexy Secret Camgirl Life Tempts Horny Teacher Into Rough Fuck and Creampie!

Everglow Yiren x male reader smut

Thankyou @co-reborn for allowing me to spiritually succeed this fic (Everyone read it if you haven't already.)

Masterlist word count: 4,221 Kofi(donations/commissions)

It seems like everything these days is a fucking ethics issue. It's not like you're trying to do anything that's going to hurt somebody. You're not ripping off old people, you're not laundering money, you're not putting lives at risk.

Shit, it's just a bit of fun, but if anyone finds out you've had your cock inside Wang Yiren, then the ethics committee is going to eat you alive. It doesn't matter if she wants your cock in there just as badly as you do.

You have to get creative to make it work. First thing is first: get her out of your office. Sure, it's not unusual for a student to take some office time with her thesis advisor, but walking out in the state she does? Her cheeks flushed, and her blouse dishevelled, with a slight, satisfied smile on her face and her panties stuffed into the front pocket of her backpack.

People are going to notice, and that can't happen.

There's a part of you that wishes you could make it stop outright, but you can't. Every time she uploads another one of those videos, your eyes are locked to your computer screen and your cock's locked in your hand.

Maybe it's the novelty of knowing that the girl on the camera's not just any other girl on the internet; it's perhaps the fact that she's the girl that you've had inside your office. Maybe it's that her body's incredible; her tits are small and pert, her ass tight, and that little slit of a pussy is just begging to be fucked.

Or maybe, it's how openly she will sit across from you at your desk and ask you so casually what you thought of her latest video with the same sort of inflection that a student would use to ask you about the latest reading. "I wasn't really sure if the whole clamping my nipples thing worked. I mean, it was kinda hot, I guess. And I got off pretty hard, so there's that. What'd you think?"

What do you think?

You're a good guy—a good professor—so you give her honest feedback, "I thought it was hot, Yiren, but it took a while for you to get into it. Was that your first time? Playing with your nipples that way?"

"Mhm." You can see the little smirk curl up on her face, "I was hoping it wasn't obvious that I was nervous. It's tough getting started with some new kinks, you know?"

It's a strange little world the two of you inhabit. On the surface, it's the relationship of a graduate student to her thesis advisor: a mutually respectful relationship based on academic mentorship and intellectual discourse. Under the surface, it's the sort of thing that gets both of you expelled: the sort of relationship that's built on her need for you to see her get off in front of her webcam and your need for her to keep uploading videos.

But as you look at her now, you think about what she's doing. She's a twenty-something grad student who gets her rocks off by playing with herself on camera for thousands of strangers on the internet. It makes her hot. It makes her cum. And you're only too happy to be there for her. It makes you hot, it makes you cum, and there's a bit of you that feels a sense of pride knowing that even though the whole world gets to see what her face looks like when she climaxes, only you have managed to fuck her to one.

"Don't get me wrong, Yiren. It was hot. I'm sure everyone got off to it."

There's a slight cockiness to her smirk—she already knew it to be true. "And you?"

"Do you really need to ask every time?" you reply.

"Mm. Yes," she leans back on the chair in front of your desk and raises one leg over the armrest. "I like to know that you liked what I put out."

You don't miss a beat, and the words come out as casually as if you were critiquing an assignment: "I jerked myself raw, Yiren."

"I'm glad," her fingers are tracing little lines down the inside of her thighs. You lean in closer, elbows against the desk. "What part did it for you?"

"Yiren, I know what you're doing."

She starts to pull up the hem of her skirt while flashing you faux innocence with her blinking eyes. "What's that, Sir?"

"Seriously. We can't. Not here."

"I'm just showing you, Sir," her skirt is around her waist now. She's not even trying to hide her desire. Her pussy's wet. Glistening. "Looking for a little feedback. Was it my pussy? My fingers? How wet I was?"

You want to grab her, throw her onto the desk, and fuck her until the entire floor hears her scream. You want to feel your cock sink inside of her pussy, feel your skin slap against hers, feel the wetness of her desire as you thrust into her. But that would be the end of everything. "You're killing me here, Yiren."

"You know, people keep asking for more stuff with a guy. I could put it on pay-per-view, make a killing." She runs her fingers along her slit and you hear that soft little moan that's driven so many guys to bust on their keyboards. "What'd you think about that, Sir?"

You're starting to breathe hard. It doesn't matter that you've fucked this girl before. All you know is that you can't have her now. And she knows that drives you nuts.

Her finger's on her clit now and she's rubbing in circles. Her head tilts back slightly, her mouth parts, and you know she's going to cum right here if you let her go on. "Yiren," your voice is almost hoarse.

Her finger is a blur, and her voice is a half-moan, "Mm, Sir?"

"You're going to get us in trouble."

"I think I'm worth the trouble." Her chest's heaving. She's going to go off any second. "Sir," her eyes look straight at yours and there's something about that direct stare that sends a shiver through you, "Are you hard?"

You nod. There's not much else to do.

She takes her hands away from herself, leaving her pussy on the edge. You know that it's aching, throbbing. She bites her lip and stares at the growing bulge in your pants. "Maybe you can show me how you jerked yourself off the other day."

"Yiren. Fuck. Not here."

"Then where?" She snaps, clasping her legs closed and pushing her skirt back over them, "You won't do anything in your office. You won't take me home. Where, then, huh? Maybe I should just go to the headmaster and tell her what you—"

She doesn't finish that sentence. Your hand is gripping her arm tightly as you yank her up off her seat, "Come with me."

You lead her down the hallway. She's struggling, but she's grinning too. She knows she's getting her way.

Your eyes dart from left to right. It's late and the chances of running into anyone is pretty low, but still, there's always the chance.

"Sir, what's the deal?" she's laughing now. "What's your plan?"

"I don't have one."

It doesn't matter. You've been in the same spot before with her. She's been begging for it, you can't do it in your office, and you need someplace quiet, someplace private, someplace where the two of you can be alone for a while.

You lead her to the parking lot and she realizes your plan. Her voice is almost mocking. "Sir, that's not exactly original, you know. A parking lot? Your car?"

"It'll do, Yiren." Your voice is firm, almost angry, and she's eating it up—you know what gets her going. "And maybe it's a bit clichéd, but we won't have any of these pesky problems of you being too loud and giving us away." You stop her at the passenger door to your sedan, lean her against the car and press yourself against her. "And trust me, you will be too loud, Yiren."

She grins up at you. She likes the sound of that. "What're we doing here, Sir? I thought you didn't want to fuck me anymore. Not after last time."

"I never said that." Your fingers run down her side and you feel the familiar thrill of touching her again, feeling her body under your fingers. "I said no more fucking in my office, Yiren," you slide your hand over her ass. "So we're here." You lean down and kiss her, and she moans as her body leans into you.

She pulls away from the kiss, panting, "But, Sir, you know what else I want." You feel her fingers reach down and run across the bulge in your pants, and her breath catches. "Mm. I want this. I want to film you, Sir. I want to film this."

It's a bad idea, you know. The riskiest of ideas. You can see her in your mind's eye: the way her face looks when she's cumming, when she's biting her lip to hold in the scream, the way her body shudders, and her eyes shut tight, the way that she gasps for air afterwards. You want her to be able to share that with the world, to get her off by getting the world off. "Fine."

"Seriously?" She looks at you in disbelief, but you've already opened the door and nudged her inside. She climbs in and crawls to the other end, tossing her purse in the front seat after she pulls out her phone. "It's not ideal but it'll have to work." You're on her in an instant, pulling her skirt up around her waist, pushing her down against the seats, kissing her, and sliding your fingers into her.

She squeals, then gasps, and then giggles as you thrust your fingers in and out of her pussy. "Mm, Sir," her moans are punctuated by each thrust of your fingers, "Fuck. Wait. I haven't even got my phone set up yet. Fuck. Wait."

You slow, just a little, just enough, then you concede and pull out. You know she wants it, needs it. You watch her hands shake as she rushes to set the phone up, she's got it in selfie mode and it's the best she can do.

"The lighting's all wrong, but who cares, right? They're here to watch you fuck me. They don't care about lighting." She's talking to herself as much as to you, but you know how she is. You know that she wants you to play along.

"Let's show them how pretty you are, Yiren." You pull out your fingers, then press your palms against her legs, pushing them apart and sliding in closer between them. You watch as she tries to hold the camera steady. Her breaths are shallow. "Show them what your pussy looks like." She turns the camera down and focuses it on her pussy. She spreads herself for the camera, showing her audience her soft pink pussy. She's so wet, you can't wait to feel her on your cock, feel that heat, that wetness, and that tightness.

"God," you groan. You've watched her videos so many times, but seeing it up close and in the flesh is always different. You run your fingers down the inside of her thigh until they brush her pussy lips, and you spread her wide. Her hips buck slightly and you watch the juices of her desire drip down the crack of her ass. You push your fingers into her, and you feel the warmth of her insides. She cries out, "Mmf! Oh god."

You take it slow. She's filming it all. You want this video to be hot. You pull out your fingers, then push them in, watching the wetness cling to them as you thrust them in and out of her pussy. "Fuck, Sir. Oh god." You curl your fingers up and press your fingertip against the spot you've learned to find. You feel the rough skin against your finger and you press into it. Her head tilts back, her eyes shut tight, and you watch as her body shudders. You push your finger harder against it, rub it, and her moans get louder.

You pull your fingers out, then push them in, slowly, rhythmically. She whines, but you don't give in. "Tell the audience how it feels, Yiren." You're teasing her now. She doesn't want you to go slow. You know she's aching for more.

"Feels so fucking good." She pants, holding the camera steady. "God, Sir. Don't stop."

"Why?"

"Mm." She whines, and you can hear that she's on the edge, "Feels so good, Sir. Your fingers feel so good in my pussy." You pull your fingers out of her, then press the palm of your hands against her thighs and spread her wider.

You take your time. Your fingers brush down the length of her pussy, from her clit down to the juices on her asshole, and you press against that tight little pucker. She gasps and you hear her moan. You press your fingers against her hole, feeling it tense and tighten against your fingers.

She lets out a sharp, shocked whine as you tease her asshole and you can't take it any longer. She knows just what you want. You lean down and press your lips against her clit, and you hear her squeal as you lick her clit. You suck her clit, tasting the juices that flow from her, and you feel her body tense up. She's so close. You pull yourself away from her and grin up at her.

She's panting hard, staring up at you. "God. I need you to fuck me." Her voice is a whine, a needy whine. You can hear her desperation.

"I know you do, Yiren," you reply, unbuckling your pants. You pull your cock free and stroke yourself a few times as she stares down at you. "I know how much you want this."

She nods, her mouth open and panting. "So much. God, please fuck me with that." You press your cockhead against her pussy, rubbing it between her lips. "Fuck, Sir, please. I love a big hard cock in my tight pussy."

You grin and whisper, "Tell them what you need, Yiren."

She looks right into the camera, "Please fuck me, Sir. I need you to fuck my pussy. I need to feel you stretch me wide. Fuck, Sir. Fuck me." She's begging and her breath is a desperate pant. "Please, I'm so wet. I want to cum with your cock inside of me. I need to."

You press yourself against her entrance, just enough to push her open, then you pull away and watch her cunt quiver at your touch. You can tell she wants to be taken, needs to be fucked hard and fast, and she knows you can give it to her.

You push your hips forward and thrust your cock into her, and you watch her pussy open and spread for you. "Fuck," she cries, her hands trembling, but you don't slow down. You thrust hard, pulling her hips into you, and you slam your cock deep into her.

"God, your pussy feels so good." Your fingers grip tight on her thighs, spreading her wide as you pound into her, and her cries fill the car.

She tries to keep the phone steady, filming you thrust into her. She can barely keep herself together. You can see the camera shaking, "In his fucking car. You hear that? He couldn't even wait to get me home. He needed to fuck me. He spends all day watching me in class, thinking all these dirty little thoughts about me, and then he just can't take it anymore and he fucks me right in the parking lot. And you know what? I'm gonna fucking cum because of him."

You're going hard and fast and she's so fucking tight. You can hear her moaning and groaning with every thrust, and her pussy is clenching around you. You can tell she's on the edge, her pussy is trembling around you, and she's screaming for more. You know that the video is probably a mess, a shaky, poorly framed mess of her tits shaking, her face pulling the dirtiest of expressions and her pussy getting fucked.

Her words are getting more erratic. She can barely keep it together, so you snatch it from her hand, record the way you thrust into her, how your balls slap against her cunt. She moans louder when you do and you realize she likes that you're the one recording her.

The camera pans up to her face. You want to see her cum. You want to film it. "Cum, Yiren." Your voice is loud and commanding. "Cum on my cock. Let them see you cum on your teacher's cock."

Her hands are above her head, grasping at the leather seats. Her back arches beneath you and her head is thrown back, pressing into the very same upholstery that her fingers do. Her hips shudder and you feel her insides squeeze around your shaft as she cries out, "Fuck!" The sound of your flesh slapping into her flesh fills the car, and she's a writhing, whimpering, cumming mess as you pound her through her orgasm.

You keep filming as you reach down, and with one hand, rip open the buttons of her shirt. Three of them come flying off, pinging around the car and leaving a lopsided mess of fabric and bra that exposes the flesh of one of her pert tits. It doesn't take long before your hand is gripping her breast, pinching at her nipple, tugging at her flesh as you keep pounding into her.

Yiren gets the message, pulling the rest open on her own and pulling down her bra, exposing both tits. Her fingers are on her own nipple, tugging at it and pinching. You watch the way she teases herself, the way her body reacts, and the way she's still shivering from her orgasm. She's a mess and you love seeing her that way.

If there's something painfully obvious from her videos, it's that one is never enough. So Yiren doesn't even need to ask, you're already guiding her onto her knees and then pushing her forward so her face is against the glass. "Show them your ass, Yiren."

You hold the camera in your hand and record the image of her reaching back and pulling her skirt over her hips, exposing her bare ass and pussy to you. You record as she reaches back and spreads her cheeks for the camera, letting her fingers pull apart her wet pussy and letting your audience see that tight, puckered asshole.

"Sir," you watch her face pressed against the window. Her breath leaves an opaque cloud against the cold glass, "How does my ass look?" You can't help it, your free hand comes crashing down against her skin and you watch it ripple under your palm. "Oh!"

You grin at her reaction, "You look like a naughty little girl who needs a good spanking."

"Oh, Sir," she moans, "What did I do?"

You slap her ass again, and again, watching it redden under your hand. "Such a naughty little girl. Making a mess in my office." You're slapping her again, watching her ass jiggle and turn pink.

Yiren whimpers, "I did. I was so naughty."

"What did you do, Yiren?"

"I was so fucking wet. I couldn't stop touching myself."

"Why were you wet?" You spank her again and you watch as her hips press back into you, "Tell your viewers what made you so wet that you needed to touch yourself."

"I needed you." Yiren's panting hard, her voice a needy moan, "God, I need you to fuck me. I was thinking about your cock. How good it felt when you fucked my pussy. I wanted you to fuck my pussy again."

You push her forward, letting her hands come down against the foggy glass. Her ass is up in the air and you're pressing your cock against her pussy. She's still wet from her cum and it takes no effort at all to thrust deep into her.

You're so deep in her wet folds. Her soft embrace is warm, tight, and you feel yourself slide deep inside of her, and you watch as her face twists and contorts in pleasure, in desire.

"Show them what they're doing to you, Yiren. Show them how they make you feel." You pull the phone up to her face, filming her moans, her cries, the faces she makes as you fuck her. "You like it when they watch, don't you? You like it when I fuck you like this and they have to watch."

She's panting, moaning, and nodding. Her hips press back into you as you pound into her and you watch her ass ripple and bounce with each thrust.

You reach around and grab her tie. She always wears it loose, but it's still enough to pull it up tight against her throat, pull her back into you. You wrap it twice around your hand and it yanks her up straight, her body against your chest. She's panting hard as her hands come up and try to claw at the tie around her throat.

She can't stop moaning, crying, and she can barely breathe, and you watch as she struggles to hold on, her head tilting back and resting on your shoulder. You film her as she struggles to hold it together. She can barely keep her eyes open and her voice comes out as a desperate, choked moan.

You let go of the tie, and it unravels in your hand. You watch her slump forward and her hands come down to the seat. Her face presses into the leather and she's whimpering. "You're such a good girl, Yiren." You press yourself deep inside her and grind your hips against hers, "Such a good girl for taking my cock."

She groans, "Thank you." She's still pushing back against you and her eyes are shut tight. "Thank you, Sir."

"Good girls get a treat, don't they?" You grin and you run your fingers against her asshole. "I bet you like a nice treat for being such a good girl."

Her breath hitches, and her eyes flutter, "Please, Sir."

You press your finger against her hole, and she pushes her ass back, and you feel her ass relax and open for your finger. Her tight asshole squeezes your finger tight and you hear her moan, and her pussy clenches your cock. "Fuck."

"Oh god, Sir," she moans. She's a needy, whining little mess, "Please cum in me."

Her words are like music to your ears. Her body is trembling under you, and she's moaning for you to cum. Her words are so desperate. She's begging, and you can't resist. Your hand is gripping her ass, with a finger slipped inside, and you pound into her, feeling her tight, wet cunt squeeze around you.

"Fuck, Sir, please," she begs. "Breed your favourite little student. Fill her up with your cum." She's crying out, her voice echoing inside the car.

Your hips shudder as you thrust deep into her and feel your balls clench, you can't take any more, and your cock is pulsing, throbbing, and your cum is filling her, flooding her insides, and her ass is trembling around your finger. Your chest is heaving, and your heart is pounding, and you can barely breathe. She's still pushing her ass back against your hand and her body is shivering with every pulse of cum that your cock pumps into her. You keep thrusting, feeling her pussy tighten and milk your cock.

When it's all over, you watch as she slowly pulls away from you, and you see the thick white seed drip from her hole and onto her thighs. She sits back on her knees and looks right into the camera. Her chest is flushed and heaving. Her hair's a mess, and her shirt's hanging open. Her makeup's running and there are tears on her cheek. But there's a satisfied look on her face.

She's grinning from ear to ear and you can't help but grin along with her. "That," she pants, still trying to catch her breath, "is how I get a good grade in class." Her words are followed with a giggle and then she leans forward and shuts off the camera. Her hand finds the back of your neck and she pulls you into a kiss. Her lips are hungry and her tongue presses into your mouth. Your hand wraps around her head, and your fingers get tangled in her hair as you pull her closer and deeper into you.

She pulls away, a smile on her face, and a twinkle in her eye, "You're a natural, you know. You really know what they want. Makes sense, you are one of them."

"Thanks." You laugh. You can't help but notice that her hand's between her legs, rubbing and stroking. She's unsatiable.

"Sir? Since I'm such a good student, does it mean you'll take me home and fuck me in your bed?"

[amorre1989]

strange visit and a date night

pairing: Spencer Reid; reader; Derek Morgan

word count: 3,8k

story?: After Spencer runs to the grocery store to buy some things to have a date night with you, but, to surprise of both of you, agent Derek Morgan suddenly shows up at his door.

"alright so, eggs, flour, garlic, wine and tomato sauce, is that it?" he asks checking on the list you just gave him.

"perfect" you answer smiling.

"alright, I'll be back in a second" he says, kissing you softly while holding the back of your head gently. You smiled and let him get out of his own apartment. While waiting for him, you decided to do a little cleaning, you had already become a master in "Spencer Reid's ethics for deep cleaning a house", so cleaning the way he likes was easy as pi (as he would say).

While you were trying to get rid of a stain of sauce from a plate you heard a knock, honestly you just walked to the door you didn't even think about the knock not being Spence, so you opened it. There, standing in front of you, was a dark skin man, very tall and ripped, and bald.

You smiled and he looked surprised.

"uhm, I'm sorry, I think I got mixed with the numbers..." he said, checking again the number of the door. "mhm..weird"

"are you looking for Spencer Reid?" you asked, then you saw his face changing from confusion to super confusion.

"I am, yes"

"this is his apartment, he went grocery shopping"

"are you?...staying with him? or are you maybe being tutored or something?" "tutored?" you thought.

"no, I'm his... something" you said, you haven't discussed it yet...so it would be better to just leave it there.

He burst out laughing and held himself in the doorframe, you smiled, thinking it was funny.

"sorry, are you his friend?" you asked

"I'm Morgan, yes, I work with him" he said exchanging hands with you.

"oh!" now it all made sense "yes! of course, he always talks about you, come in please, if you wanna wait for him"

"I do! yes, thank you baby".

You closed the door and waited together for Spence while sipping coffee and chatting, being interrogated too "how'd you too meet?, how long have you been seeing each other?, do you live together?, why hasn't he said anything before?". So many questions you didn't know how far you could answer.

Then, you hear the sound of the keys opening the door.

"inflation is crazy, and old women should learn to calm down, that woman thought I wanted her stupid cat sand and we don't even-" he stood still, observing the image, you, his now 6 month old not girlfriend, and his womanizer attractive coworker, sitting on his couch together while apparently have been drinking the coffee he bought for you.

"hey pretty boy" says Morgan smiling "you didn't tell me you have a girlfriend"

"I uhm...what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to ask you if you- don't avoid my question!" he says standing up, are they gonna fight?, no, he'll finish Spence.

"it's private" he says leaving the bags and looking at you, you just smile, agreeing, it is private...well not so much because everyone knows but it's not like it's official.

"would you like to stay for dinner?" you ask.

"no!" shouts Spence from the kitchen, you and Morgan look at each other and chuckle.

"no, we had a date night planned" he says coming back to you both.

"alright, alright, I'll leave you too alone then...I came because I wanted to ask you where you buy your clothes, I need to wear something like your shirts to an event" he says.

"I'll send you the info later...just leave" he says pushing him out of the house, you laugh.

"goodbye princess" he says and you wave at him.

Spencer closes the door behind him standing with Morgan at the hallway.

"that's a pretty one you have there" says Morgan smiling

"she is, yeah, she's beautiful" Spencer says blushing

"why didn't you tell me?" Morgan asks

"it's just...I wanted to check this was real and not insignificant before saying anything"

"are you gonna ask her to be your girlfriend?" he smiles, he thinks Spence is such a girlfriend dude.

"I will...yeah, but I need to confirm she wants me to be her boyfriend first" he says

"I bet she'll say yes...so, date night huh?". Spence nods "what will your dessert be?" he asks laughing, Spence blushes but smiles and pushes him towards the elevator.

He waves goodbye to Morgan from outside the elevator and then comes back to you (as usual).

When he opens the door you're the first thing to his sight, taking out the groceries.

"so inflation is crazy?" you ask getting closer.

"yeah, and old ladies" he says pouting. "this was horrible, I never imagined Morgan would come to our house".

You smile at the sound of "our" house.

"let's start cooking for our super fun date night" you say and kiss him.

After Morgan leaves, you too start to cook. Tonight's menu is pasta! which you both love, now you're teaching him how to play with the seasonings and discover new flavors, you've made that since you got into Spencer's life, teach him how to experience, not only in cooking, in sports, your culture, places, and a lot of things Spencer always brought up when talking to the team unconsciously.

Now he's chopping garlic next to you, while you open the tomato bottle and pour it in the pot.

"you know? garlic is a great cleaner for the liver, in women it can help with vaginal infections, bloating from menstruation, it can even help the blood flow and It can help reduce bad cholesterol and triglycerides, and increase good cholesterol" he says while putting the garlic into the pot, you smile and kiss his cheek.

"good for me then, how about for you?"

"Garlic may help reduce the risk of cardiovascular disease, strengthen the immune system, as it contains antiviral, antibacterial and antioxidant properties, It can help fight skin infections, such as athlete's foot and ringworm, as well as intestinal infections" he says smiling at you.

"sounds good, we should eat lots of garlic then" you say and kiss his cheek. He smiles and blushes and starts to chop some carrots and meat. You open the cabinet and give him another board for the meat, then you open the drawer and give him another knife.

"different knives and boards baby" you say while taking the pasta from another cabinet.

"right" he says, not in a bad mood though, in a way that shows he understands and listens to you.

When the pasta finishes cooking you mix it with the sauce together, then you both set the table and he runs to the living room.

You take a peek but you aren't able to see anything besides the door, then he puts a red candle on the center of the table and lights it on, you smile and he smiles.

"how prepared" you say teasingly.

He smiles and kisses you, so sweet and comfortable, his lips are where yours should be stored always.

You have dinner discussing a book you read together and how pretty both of you look tonight.

"your friend Morgan's cool" you say.

"yeah, he's funny" he says. You wipe a stain of sauce from his lips and he smiles, almost spitting the pasta from his mouth as you laugh, then he laughs along.

"you make me nervous..." he mumbles looking down at his plate.

"why?" you ask giggling.

"you just do" he says smiling, he leans and kisses you.

After dinner comes dessert, which was shared ice cream while laying on the couch watching a movie, you interrogate him with questions like "what would you do if..., or what do you prefer?..." which makes him laugh but think.

That's your night, those are your nights, as usual, filled with love and laughs, while he strokes the skin he's able to reach. Once he told you he was a germophobe, now you can't believe it because how can Spence, the man that's all day with his hands on you, when you cook, when you get dressed, when you're brushing your teeth at the same time, when you're sleeping, even unconsciously, be a germophobe?.

Soft strokes on your bare leg, his index finger stroking your thighs, then your calves that he pulled on his thighs, then kisses, kisses on your legs which he says he loves so much. Suddenly he's above you, soft kisses from the ice cream and the warmness from his skin covered in a shirt.

You can hear the credits of the now finished movie, but that's not something that's gonna be the principal of your attention, you focus on his lips on yours, on your neck, then on the feeling of his fingers brushing against your skin while unbuttoning your shirt to after feeling him kissing and licking your chest, you focus on thinking about how he's leaving marks on you that say "Spencer was here". Morgan was right, you were gonna be the dessert afterwards.

[hemipenal-system]

If I consent to a man breaking my jaw and ripping out my nails, the man who agrees to do it is a bad person. An extreme example but it should drive the point home, no?

Doesn't matter if I consent to being choked. Whoever WANTS to choke someone out to get off is a bad person.

Whoever wants to pretend to be raping or abusing someone to get off is a bad person.

"an extreme example but it should drive the point home, no"

no?? if you know the risks and accept them and give unhindered, clear and informed consent, then no, there's actually nothing wrong with someone doing that stuff to you. because, and viewers at home can say it with me, THAT IS HOW CONSENT WORKS

but y'know, what we're *actually* gonna look at here is the assumption that the person doing that to you is a man. maybe y'all would stop seeing kink as an inherent expression of patriarchy if you internalized the fact that not every man is dominant and not every woman is submissive. also, you know, that there are gay people.

but no, because that would require you to actually deconstruct the ideas you have in your head about how every man has to be an aggressor and how testosterone makes people violent and how every man secretly wants to do this kind of thing to every vulnerable, weak woman, the implication being of course that any woman who engages in this kind of thing by choice has something wrong with her

which is fully just misogyny but thats a tangent from the actual point here

"Doesn't matter if I consent to being choked. Whoever WANTS to choke someone out to get off is a bad person."

furthermore, i think you should also deconstruct this idea that kink spaces are all dominants who want to hurt their submissives, when in reality it's a dominant doing those things because they know their sub likes it just as much if not more of the time.

let's look at that "doesn't matter if i consent to being choked" line. um. yes it does?? knowing your risks and giving informed consent is literally the entire thing here. you do know that there are safe* ways to choke someone that are legitimately taught to people in an attempt to minimize permanent harm from that sort of thing, right? when you see things like "don't use thin metal handcuffs on your partner" and "keep safety shears within arm's reach when doing ropeplay" and "drink gatorade and go pee after sex" you know those are all things people do to reduce risk, right?

(* no form of breathplay is 100% safe! know the risks and do research on how to minimize them before you play!!!)

"Whoever wants to pretend to be raping or abusing someone to get off is a bad person."

hey look at that key word i italicized in that quote for your ease of reading! it's all pretend! because, once again, viewers at home say it with me, THAT IS HOW CONSENT WORKS

there's no actual rape or abuse happening if you have proper consent and safe word setups in place. the key to this whole thing, which is why any of this stuff is actually possible to do ethically, is the fact that, at any time for any reason at all, either the dominant or the submissive can stop the scene. literally all kink is, is an ongoing, revokable agreement between at least two people to do things that might not be ethical irl.

(before y'all toss another strawman at this, yes there are people who break consent rules, and yes they get tossed out of kink spaces for it)

kink is fucking theater. when hamlet stabs polonius, you don't accuse hamlet's actor of being a murderer. this is morally the exact same thing as going to the theater and watching people talk in iambic pentameter and stab each other.

there's also kinks that have basically negligible risk of temporary or permanent harm, just so you know, but of course you're not going to mention those ones. you know, because you're a weirdo who just wants to police what people do in the bedroom

[natalievoncatte]

Kara knew something was wrong from Lena’s heartbeat. That alone, the barely detectable change in rhythm and tempo, was enough, but her breathing was erratic and as Kara drew nearer, drifting through the afternoon air, she could hear the soft sobs.

A bad feeling had come over Kara. Things had been quiet between the two of them ever since the wedding; there had been a strange tension between them on that happy day and Kara couldn’t say why

(she knew what she wanted it to be but didn’t dare hope)

and with Alex and Kelly away on their honeymoon, Kara had mostly been on her own. Nia was spending most of her free time with Brainy and Kara sensed a proposal coming, and she was busy preparing for her public interview with Cat Grant. She was going to rip the bandages off and reveal her identity. There was a great deal of work involved, and Kara had spent a lot of time fretting over the details, and in the back of her head she was worried about the ramifications of years spent reporting on Supergirl and using “her” as a source. It was a massive ethical dilemma, and thought it always made sense at the time…

Right now all that mattered was the heartbeat. Kara had been giving Lena the space she sensed she needed, but Jess had called Kara from the Foundation and told her that Lena hadn’t come to work in three days, and no one had heard from her. It was uncharacteristic of someone who ran her life with almost military precision. Kara had even asked Alex to text Lena, but they’d gotten the same single word replies.

Kara pulled in a big breath, feeling her stomach churn as she lighted on the balcony and slid open the door, knowing it would be unlocked. She wished Lena would stop doing that, but also felt a little tilt in her chest from knowing Lena hadn’t locked her out.

She was on the sofa, curled up on her side and asleep. She’d probably had the same pajamas on for two days and there were empty bottles of wine in a neat row on the table in front of her. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her cheeks a little raw. Kara felt an instant pang and reached for her, before stopping to deactivate her suit.

Kneeling next to the sofa, Kara touched her fingers to Lena’s shoulders. Lena woke instantly with a start, head jolting up as she sucked in a reedy breath and her heart raced explosively, sending a shock of terror up Kara’s spine.

“Oh fuck,” Lena blurted, kicking out her legs as she bolted upright. “Oh God, Kara what…”

“Hey,” Kara said softly. “I was… I’m sorry. Are you okay? I came in through the balcony. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lena’s chest heaved as she gasped for breath, staring at Kara with watery eyes. “Are you real?”

“What? Yes, of course I’m real.”

“I must have been dreaming. It was a dream. Just a dream. I was dreaming,” Lena muttered.

Kara rose from her knees and sat down on the couch.

“Come here.”

Lena almost crashed into her, wrapping her arms tightly around Kara and squeezing hard. She smoothed her fingers over the soft dark waves of Lena’s hair and pulled her in as she began to sob into Kara’s shoulder.

“I dreamed he killed you,” Lena choked out. “He came back again and he killed you and I couldn’t stop it. It felt so real.”

“I’m fine. I’m right here.”

Lena continued to sob, her entire body shaking with the force of it. Kara wrapped her in a fierce hug, trembling as she did.

“Every time I close my eyes he’s there, and when I’m awake all I can think about is that I killed my brother.”

“That didn’t happen in this timeline.”

Lena choked out an angry, frustrated sob. “It happened for me. I aimed a gun at my own brother’s chest and I pulled the trigger. And he came back! He came back and he almost killed you two or three fucking times, I can’t count.”

“He’s gone. He’s not coming back.”

“You can’t just say that!” Lena screamed into Kara’s throat.

Stunned, Kara softened her grip on Lena, only for Lena to pull her in harder, like she was trying to climb inside her.

“Why can’t I stop mourning him? He ruined my life. He was the person I trusted most and he turned out to be a monster. He used me my whole life and my emotions were just a game to him. He tried to to kill the woman I… tortured you, took you away for months and I thought I’d never see you again. I just wanted to tell you how sorry I was and how much…”

Lena cut herself off with a sob.

“I know it’s not the same,” Kara murmured, “but when I was a little girl I worshipped my father. I wanted to grow up like him and do what he did. I was going to be a scientist too.”

“You’d have been a good one.”

Kara shook her head. “My father was responsible for the Medusa virus. A bioweapon designed to eradicate non-Kryptonian life. A weapon of genocide.”

Lena shuddered.

Kara swallowed, hard.

“My world wasn’t a paradise. It felt that way because it was simple for me. There wasn’t all the pain of learning alien ways and an alien language and controlling superpowers and everything else. My father taught and protected me and my mom maintained order. But it was wasn’t a paradise. My people were… Krypton was… I think in a lot of worlds out there, we were the bad guys. Okay, the Daxamites were slavers, but on Krypton people were born into the labor guild and did menial jobs their whole lives, while people like me were born into privilege. Is that much better?”

“I don’t understand.”

“I don’t judge you for mourning Lex, Lena. He was your protector and your friend, and it was real to you. If there’s anything I hate him for, it’s hurting you.” Kara swallowed. “The one thing I can’t abide is anyone hurting you. I’ll break all my rules to keep you safe.”

Lena’s breathing eased and Kara could feel her relax.

“I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I figured you needed space. I wasn’t sure why but I trusted you to tell me if you need to.”

There was a long, heavy pause, and then Lena said.

“Kara, I can’t do this. I can’t share you.”

“Share me?”

“When you reveal your identity,” Lena pulled back, “you’re going to be the most famous person in the word. Everyone is going to be all over you. The press, politicians, everybody, and everyone who has a grudge against you or your cousin is going to know exactly where to find you, all the time.”

“I’ll keep you safe, no one will…”

“I didn’t say anything about me. You, Kara. What about you?”

“I’m Supergirl. I’ll be fine.”

“And what about me?” said Lena.

“I told you…”

“No. What about me when I have to watch you getting beaten to a pulp by another alien? What about me when you’re in a coma on the sun bed? What about me when I see on the news that a bomb went off in your apartment and I have to wonder if it was laced with Kryptonite shrapnel? I’m not worried about people coming after me. I’m a billionaire with magic powers. I could put on a goofy costume and join the club if I wanted. I’ve already lost you so many times and I can’t do it again.”

Stunned, Kara sat with her eyes wide, not sure when exactly she’d lifted Lena into her lap.

“It’s so selfish of me,” Lena went on. “You don’t belong to me. I don’t get to make demands of you. But don’t want you to out yourself. I don’t want to lose you again. As soon as you do this you’re going to be hounded by the whole world and they’ll claw you away from me again.”

Kara’s own heart raced now, hammering in her chest. Lena sounded so desperate and so sure, clinging to a Kara like she might disappear.

“I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It’s your choice and I have to respect it. It’s okay,” she was clearly telling herself.

“No,” Kara choked out, “no it’s not. I can’t believe how stupid I’ve been.”

“Kara,” said Lena.

“No. I have been. I can’t believe I said what I said to you at the wedding, about not being my authentic self. To you, of all people.”

Lena swallowed hard. Kara drew back and looked at her, really looked at her, drinking in the soft beauty of her eyes as she swept back a tear with a brush of her thumb. Lena’s eyes were huge, her lips trembling, and Kara felt an almost painful pang of sorrow and regret and a powerful stirring, long thrust down and buried and now clawing its way forth as Lena stared back, the deep sadness and loss in her own eyes tinged by a hint of forlorn hope.

“I can’t believe that I can see through walls and I’m so blind.”

“Kara?” Lena whispered.

“I’m calling it off. I’ll keep my secret.”

“You don’t have to do that just to please me.”

“I don’t need them. I need you. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”

Lena’s heart raced so fast that Kara briefly thought she might have to fly her to the hospital. Instinctively, she slipped one arm under her knees and the other around her shoulders and stood, lifting Lena as if she weighed nothing.

Eyes wide, Lena bit her lip.

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean when you say you’re mine? I need you to say it, Kara. I was too scared at the wedding. I can’t do this. I need you to.”

Oh.

Kara shifted her Lena’s weight in her arms, bring them closer together. She’d danced this dance before; she thought of the day she came back from the Phantom Zone, when she held Lena in her arms and felt the sun again and she almost did it, she almost just fucking did it…

And she did it.

She kissed Lena, already ready to sputter an apology and find a way out of this, but her words were lost when Lena’s soft lips met hers and Lena was ready to devour her, happily rocketing past chaste first kiss as she grabbed Kara with both hands and pulled her in.

Kara’s stomach flipped. She didn’t know what to do. She’d been kissed, she thought she’d been intimate, but she could see now that those things had been mere stimulation and nothing more. Something soared inside her as she had soared in the sky the very first time she flew. Joy unbridled swelled in her chest and she could feel Lena laughing exultantly into her mouth and even as tears mingled on her cheeks.

She wanted this. She wanted this. It was right here all along.

“Kara,” Lena whispered. “I…”

“Should I put you down?”

“On the bed.”

[weirwoodsugar]

lil jon things i am obsessed with/think are hilarious in the order they occurred to me at 3 am

-spends the first book telling anyone who will listen that he’s Not Afraid To Die and then a wight shoves its whole hand down his throat and he’s like wow that was actually extremely scary and never says that shit again

-always got little Things he says to himself but they’re all awful. very bad affirmation game no wonder morale is low

-“did lord eddard father you on a fish wife”

-the doubts that plague me can’t catch me if i just keep making Decisions!!! let’s hear it for Decisions!!!!

-arguably contender for top woman respecter but batting absolute zero at successfully comforting crying women. unless you consider “making her mad at you instead of upset” a success

-i’m not a wolf! i’m not a wolf!! i’m not a wolf!!! while warging like almost constantly with zero control. babe i don’t think your affirmations are working you’re experiencing non consensual smells at an alarming rate

-i wish mormont was my dad wait no i wish benjen was my dad wait no i wish qhorin was my dad wait no i wish donal noye was my dad. will someone be my dad please i just keep making decisions

-constantly having Agonies over ethical decision making while the rest of the continent hasn’t even really invented the concept of ethics yet? on the verge of a nervous breakdown due to his constant Agonies

-related: love is the death of duty but having strong ethical convictions/clear moral vision is also kind of the death of duty oops! aemon didn’t warn you about that one!

-stannis wants to davosify this kid mega bad

-“jon felt like he was fifteen again” (said when he’s literally sixteen)

-has a terrible violence in his heart but it’s kind of the least of his problems tbh. like yeah my fire and blood levels are a little elevated but i’ve got paperwork i need to take care of

-RUNNING DOWN THE TABLE AT YOU WITH A KNIFE!!!!!

-last of the giants fixation. god he’s gonna be so mad when he comes back and wun wun is dead. this one isn’t hilarious it’s deeply moving and endearing

-an eagle almost rips his eye out and he’s like well i guess i have no choice but to have sex with ygritte at least one dozen times. it’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it

-just a crazy amount of anime main character pre-loaded swag (bastard of winterfell skin changer with an albino direwolf and a cool sword which he can really SWANG and cool facial scars etc etc) and is actively working against it. rolled super high on charisma and is trying to balance it out by being as much of a boring fuddy duddy as he possibly can. the devil works hard (at making me cool) but i work harder (at being very uncool). it is an honorable thing to be swagless by choice…….

-pretty sure he actively enjoys saying no to people. just for love of the game (the game is being disagreeable). very capricorn coded. likely brushes his teeth in the shower.

-REMEMBER WE KNOW WHERE YOU SLEEP 😈

[fellshish]

I have a question, and my name is Sal.

I grew up watching Coraline as a kid. It was my jam. I loved that movie, and I will forever say Henry Selick deserved more attention for making it.

I like the Dresden Dolls and Evelyn Evelyn (Amanda Palmer projects) I still have the songs stuck in my head. You know where this is going.

I know you said that fans of works should still enjoy the work even if the creator sucks. And I can do that with Kubrick and Aaron Fechter, but that’s because Kubrick is dead, and most of Aaron Fechter’s IP got ripped away from him and is gladly in the hands of the public (despite how much he likes to sue).

Gaiman (and Palmer) are still alive and/or profiting off their stuff. Not to mention, I want to bring attention to the situation and help bring justice to the victims. Yet everytime I post about it or reblog what someone else put into words what I think, I feel like I’m virtue signalling.

How do I handle it and is it bad that I keep thinking of the art that influenced me by them instead of what they did (in a way to soften the blow to how horribly they abused these women)?

(You can respond to this publicly, as I am sure people are thinking the same thing somewhere. I am sorry for dumping all this on you.)

hi sal!

sorry, this got long. your ask was so genuine and i was afraid of getting it wrong. 

i want to start this off by saying i am not the boss of anyone’s fandom experience. everyone gets to decide for themselves how they proceed after learning about the numerous women who have come forward against neil gaiman.

the things you mention are things i’ve struggled with too — last year when i first learned about it, when i listened to the podcasts and recently again reading even more detailed (and horrifying) news reporting.

these are also struggles shared by many fans in many fandoms of creators who were accused and/or controversial and/or convicted. for example many (trans) people i know have grown up loving harry potter, and have had to deal with their favourite writer waging a vendetta against trans lives. some still participate in the hp fandom without supporting her. they can’t help their hyperfixation and still find a lot of good and a lot of friends in the fandom. 

because yes, i do believe that someone can stay in such a fandom as ethically as possible. as in: i try the best that i can to make sure no further financial gains go to the creator. that means i avoid watching official streams, buying official merch, going to official cons, going to plays based on his work etc. i also amplify the women’s voices by spreading the article. 

the thing to keep in mind is: there is a difference and a distance between a creator and a fandom of what they created. a huge wall even. fandom is about community, friendships, creativity, … i am on a playground playing with the characters with my friends. sharing art and fics and gifs etc. and what those characters and stories mean to me are positive things. 

the core is this: if you have to live your life only consuming art by morally pure people (and who determines that?!) then you will have very little left to enjoy. 

and of course i understand the urge to want to help the victims, and the guilt/worry about virtue signaling. i’m going to break those down separately.

i think the idea of ‘helping bring justice to the victims’ is good but it also puts an unreasonable amount of responsibility on your young shoulders. here’s what’s already happened: the women’s voices have been heard, there is now more widespread media covering, he has lost his reputation, hasn’t been on his platforms since last summer, he’s losing (film) projects of his work, … what else consequences are yet to come, legally or otherwise, we’ll have to see. the responsibility for that lies not with you as one single fan but with lawyers etc. and you might find it important to keep vigilant that the story doesn’t get buried (again). in that case reblogging isn’t virtue signalling but useful.

but it’s also unreasonable to expect someone to continually do that for days and days. that’s a quick ticket to depression. ultimately tumblr is, to many, a fandom space. some people use it only for pleasant fandom activities. and what if they do? you can’t know a person’s whole life: maybe they are survivors who are too triggered to participate, maybe they’ve donated to causes that help survivors, maybe they have shared the story on other platforms etc

you asked “is it bad that I keep thinking of the art that influenced me by them instead of what they did”, and i found that the most heartbreaking part of your ask. it isn’t helpful to you or to anyone to keep torturing yourself with guilt. you’re aware of the allegations, and that’s good. but don’t burn yourself out trying to live up to the impossible standard of a morally pure activist that doesn’t exist. please stop being your own thought police. 

i think the fact you struggle so deeply, shows what a beautiful person you are.

now you’re going to be reading a lot of opinions. some very different from mine. am i right in continuing in fandom? i don’t know. this is my first time living life too. but i AM right that you’re a good person.

that said: protect your heart. block freely and curate a fandom space that makes you happy. avoid engaging in endless internet discourse that is bad for your mental health. step away for a while if that is what you need.

these are some intense days but i promise it gets better. the kid who loved coraline can still love coraline, but is just more informed now. 

the main rule of fandom is: does it spark joy? if yes, embrace it, because that’s a wonderful and rare thing to have.

[theartofcollapse]

Behind the Screen - Casey Novak

a/n: i'm taking requests, so feel free to dm me :) summary: you meet someone online who seems to get under your skin more than you'd like. At the same time, Casey Novak does that too... pairing: Casey Novak x female reader warnings: none word count: 2K

masterlist

You didn’t know why you bothered joining the debate forum in the first place. Maybe it was boredom, or maybe you were sick of venting to the void of social media about the injustice of the legal system, only to have your posts drowned out by pictures of pets and brunch.

The forum had a fitting name: Justice Anonymous. It was a chaotic meeting ground for legal professionals, students, and justice enthusiasts, all discussing ethics, case law, and courtroom strategies. Pseudonyms kept things anonymous, which was good for you. You’d joined under the name “Justice4U,” and the forum quickly became an escape where you could blow off steam after particularly frustrating days.

But one member of the forum had a way of getting under your skin, “AmicusCuriae.” Their posts were always smug, self-assured, and irritatingly well-written. No matter the topic, they managed to counter your arguments with logic so airtight it infuriated you. It didn’t help that they seemed to enjoy needling you.

And yet, you kept coming back.

In real life, your days were plagued by someone equally infuriating. Casey Novak.

You were both Assistant District Attorneys, often working adjacent cases. She was ambitious, brilliant, and absolutely maddening. Every encounter left you seething, her sharp wit and condescending remarks burrowing under your skin.

Today was no different.

“Late again, Y/N,” Casey said, leaning against your office doorframe with her arms crossed, a smirk playing at her lips.

“Not now, Novak,” you snapped, balancing three case files and a lukewarm coffee as you tried to navigate your chaotic desk.

“You know, organization is key to success,” she added, unbothered by your glare.

“And minding your own business is key to not getting punched.”

She laughed, as if your irritation was the highlight of her day. You hated how pretty her laugh was.

That night, after yet another frustrating day of dealing with Casey, you logged onto the forum.

Justice4U: Hypothetical: A defence attorney argues that a confession obtained without an explicit waiver of rights should still stand if the suspect “implied” understanding. Thoughts?

AmicusCuriae responded almost immediately, as always.

AmicusCuriae: Oh, please. That’s hardly hypothetical. It’s lazy lawyering at best. A competent prosecutor would rip that apart in five minutes.

You rolled your eyes, fingers flying across the keyboard.

Justice4U: A competent prosecutor would recognize nuance instead of resorting to blanket dismissals. But what do I expect from someone who hides behind anonymity to sound smart?

AmicusCuriae: Nuance? Or excuses? Sounds like someone’s been on the losing side of too many cases.

Your blood boiled. But beneath the irritation, there was something thrilling about these exchanges. You hated how much you looked forward to them.

Over the next few weeks, your online conversations with AmicusCuriae grew complicated. You still argued, but the debates started feeling less antagonistic and more like sparring matches. You began sharing hypothetical scenarios, trading strategies, and even cracking jokes. It felt easy in a way that nothing else did.

Justice4U: What’s your take on prosecutors pursuing harsh sentences for first-time offenders?

AmicusCuriae: Depends. What’s the crime?

Justice4U: Let’s say possession with intent to distribute, but they’ve got no priors and a sympathetic backstory.

AmicusCuriae: Ah, the classic moral dilemma. My instinct says to prosecute, but… maybe I’d offer a deal. I’m not heartless.

Justice4U: Oh, so you do have a heart. Shocking.

AmicusCuriae: Don’t spread that around. I have a reputation to uphold.

You smiled at your screen. It was strange, but you were starting to feel connected to this person. Whoever they were, they understood you in a way no one else did.

In real life, things with Casey weren’t improving. If anything, the tension between you had grown worse. The smallest disagreements escalated into full-blown arguments. Today’s fight had been over a witness’s credibility.

“You’re impossible,” Casey snapped, slamming her hand on the table during a meeting.

“Says the queen of impossibility,” you shot back, your voice rising.

“Why do you always have to fight me on everything?”

“Because you’re always wrong!”

The room went silent, the other attorneys awkwardly avoiding eye contact.

Afterward, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. Why did Casey get under your skin so much?

That night, you logged onto the forum, hoping for a distraction.

Justice4U: Ever deal with someone so infuriating that you can’t decide if you want to strangle them or—

You hesitated, deleting the second half of your sentence.

AmicusCuriae: Or what? Kiss them?

Your heart skipped a beat.

Justice4U: I was going to say “sue them.”

AmicusCuriae: Sure you were.

You stared at the screen, cheeks burning.

The turning point came one rainy evening. You and Casey had been assigned to work late on a joint case, combing through evidence in tense silence.

“Pass me that file,” she said, her tone clipped.

“Please,” you shot back.

She glared at you but didn’t argue.

Hours passed, and somewhere along the way, you both let your guards down. The conversation drifted away from the case, and you found yourself laughing at one of her stories about law school. For a moment, it felt easy.

But then you remembered who she was, and who you were, and the moment shattered.

Justice4U: Ever feel like you’re falling for someone you can’t stand?

AmicusCuriae: Funny. I was just thinking the same thing.

Your breath caught.

Justice4U: Do you think it’s possible to hate someone and like them at the same time?

AmicusCuriae: Hate is a strong word. Maybe you just don’t understand them.

Justice4U: What if I don’t want to understand them?

AmicusCuriae: Then why are we having this conversation?

You stared at the screen, heart pounding.

Justice4U: Who are you?

There was a long pause before the response came.

AmicusCuriae: Let’s meet and find out.

You agreed to meet at a coffee shop, your nerves fraying as you sat at a corner table, waiting. The door jingled, and you looked up, freezing as Casey Novak walked in.

She spotted you instantly, her expression shifting from surprise to realization to something unreadable.

“No way,” you said under your breath as she approached.

“Justice4U?” she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.

“AmicusCuriae?”

You both stared at each other, the weight of your online connection crashing into the reality of your real-life animosity. And yet…

“I can’t believe it’s you,” Casey said finally, a small, almost shy smile tugging at her lips.

You laughed, the sound edged with disbelief but also something else, relief.

“Of course it’s you,” you said, shaking your head.

The silence stretched between you and Casey as you sat across from her. The air was thick with tension, the kind that had always defined your interactions but this time, it felt different. Charged.

Casey was the first to break the silence, her fingers nervously toying with the sleeve of her coffee cup. “So… this is awkward.”

You huffed out a laugh, crossing your arms. “That’s the understatement of the century.”

She tilted her head, studying you with those sharp green eyes that you suddenly realized were more mesmerizing than maddening. “I can’t believe you’re Justice4U.”

“And I can’t believe you’re AmicusCuriae,” you shot back. “You’re smug online, but in person? Wow. Next level.”

Her lips twitched into a smirk, and despite everything, you felt your stomach flip.

“Okay, fair. But you’re no saint either,” she said, leaning forward slightly. “You’ve been driving me insane for weeks.”

“Funny, I was going to say the same thing about you.”

You both laughed, the sound easing some of the tension. It felt surreal, like stepping into a parallel universe where Casey Novak wasn’t the bane of your existence.

“So,” she said, her voice softer now, “what do we do about this?”

“About us?” You winced as the word left your mouth. It felt too intimate, too soon.

“About this,” she clarified, gesturing between the two of you. “About the fact that we’ve been arguing online like crazy, but somehow…” She trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Somehow, it worked,” you finished for her.

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. “I mean, I still think you’re insufferable in person.”

“Right back at you.”

“But…” She hesitated, then smiled, a real, genuine smile that made your breath catch. “I think I like insufferable.”

Justice4U: Well, this is weird. How do we go back to arguing now that I know who you are?

AmicusCuriae: Who says we have to stop arguing? You love it. Admit it.

Justice4U: You’re delusional.

AmicusCuriae: You’re still talking to me.

Justice4U: Shut up.

AmicusCuriae: Charming as always.

Justice4U: Serious question: Why are you always such a pain in the ass at work?

AmicusCuriae: Serious answer: Why do you rise to the bait every time?

Justice4U: That’s not an answer.

AmicusCuriae: Fine. Maybe because you’re the only person who can keep up with me.

Justice4U: …

AmicusCuriae: Speechless? Wow. Marking this day on my calendar.

At work, the tension between you and Casey became almost unbearable. It wasn’t just the usual clashing of egos; it was the way her hand brushed yours when you reached for a file, the way her eyes lingered on you during meetings, the way she smirked when she caught you staring.

One afternoon, you ran into her in the courthouse hallway. She leaned casually against the wall, her blazer perfectly tailored, her confidence maddeningly attractive.

“Hey,” she said, her tone light but her gaze intense.

“Hey,” you replied, trying to sound unaffected.

“I’ve been thinking…”

“Uh-oh.”

She rolled her eyes, but there was a glint of amusement in them. “What if we tried something new?”

“Like what? Not arguing for once?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, grinning. “No, I mean dinner. You and me. No pseudonyms. No forums. Just us.”

You stared at her, your heart racing. “Are you asking me out, Novak?”

“Yeah,” she said simply, her confidence faltering just slightly. “I guess I am.”

You considered teasing her, drawing it out just to see her squirm. But the truth was, you wanted this.

“Okay,” you said, your voice steady. “Dinner. But if you start an argument over appetizers, I’m walking out.”

“No promises,” she said, her smirk widening.

Dinner was… perfect.

You met at a cozy Italian restaurant, the kind of place where the lighting was soft, and the wine flowed easily. For once, there was no case to argue over, no professional stakes, no courtroom

drama. Just you and Casey, talking like two people who had spent weeks falling for each other without realizing it.

“Okay,” you said after your second glass of wine. “Confession time. When did you figure out you liked me?”

She tilted her head, pretending to think. “Probably around the third time you called me a pain in the ass.”

“That’s not specific enough.”

“Fine,” she said, leaning closer. “It was the night you sent me that hypothetical about sentencing. You were so passionate, so relentless in your argument, I couldn’t stop thinking about you after that.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away. “Your turn. When did you realize?”

You hesitated, then smiled. “Honestly? Probably the same night. I just didn’t want to admit it.”

Casey laughed, and the sound was warm, genuine. It wasn’t the sharp, mocking laugh you’d come to expect from her. This one was different, softer, more vulnerable.

As the night went on, the lines between the Casey Novak you’d clashed with and the AmicusCuriae you’d fallen for blurred completely.

By the time she walked you to your door, you were already thinking about the next date.

“So,” she said, her hands in her pockets, a rare hint of nervousness in her posture. “Is this the part where you slam the door in my face?”

“Not tonight,” you said, stepping closer.

“And tomorrow?”

“We’ll see,” you teased, leaning in.

Her smile was the last thing you saw before her lips met yours, soft and certain.

When you pulled away, you couldn’t help but laugh. “I still think you’re insufferable.”

“Good,” she said, her eyes bright. “Because I’m not changing.”

“Neither am I,” you replied.

“Perfect,” she said, kissing you again.

And for once, you agreed.

[genderqueerdykes]

So recently I’ve been getting into the punk culture, but I can’t dress punk or listen to punk music because I have adhd and it triggers my sensory issues. Do I have to wear punk clothes or listen to punk music to be considered punk? How “punk” do I have to look or act to be considered punk?

good question!

fortunately there's no dress codes or anything like that for the community. most punks don't really even dress punk- a lot of people who behave in very punk ways wear plain clothes. many librarians, food kitchen workers, homeless outreach workers, social workers, and other people are punk and dress just as plain as anyone around them

punk is in the behavior and the beliefs- if you behave in a way where you actively break down oppressive structures that we participate in on a daily basis and learn to accept and help our communities and the people who are most heavily affected by that oppression (people of color, mentally ill people, neurodivergent people, addicts, homeless people, sex workers, intersex people, trans people, poor people), you are fitting the part

i also don't listen to a lot of punk music due to sensory issues from autism, so don't feel too bad. i did listen to quite a bit when i was living in a house venue, but it's not something i seek out on my own due to my sensory problems with sound. it's not necessary to be into the punk music scene unless that's something you actively want to participate in and enjoy. many people are just in the punk music scene and that's totally okay. some people really enjoy that, and some don't. artists will express in what ways they see fit, and others will focus their attention elsewhere. there are many ways to be punk

the only way to not be punk is to be a nazi, cop, or other type of fascist- being racist, queerphobic, ableist, intersexist and their enablers is also a great way to not be punk.

many punks are punk in the sense where they do their best to be their for their local community, provide resources and aid where possible, teach others to unlearn racism, queerphobia, ableism and other forms of internalized oppression, and generally try to provide a helping hand to whoever may need it. many punks hand out water and snacks to homeless people in their area. many punks are nurses. many punks work in social services to help disabled and homeless people. many punks dedicate their time to helping the environment, learning how to sustainably garden and take care of the earth while doing so, compost, and other ways to provide sustainable, responsibly and ethically sourced foods

there are punks all around us, even if they're not dressed in battle jackets and ripped jeans with chains and spikes and patches and pins. sometimes a punk is the person standing on the sidewalk in a T-shirt and jeans smoking a cigarette, but you'll never be able to guess or tell just by looking that they spend hours out of their week participating in protests and writing anarchist zines. much like any other group of people there's no way to tell if someone is punk just by looking at them or gauging their interests- it's about how they behave and how they treat people around them

dismantling structures that are designed to keep marginalized and targeted people down is what the punk community is about. you don't have to be an activist, either- as long as you take the time to learn how to treat demonized and outcasted people with decency and respect, and how to support your community in whatever ways you can, you're doing what you're supposed to do. you don't have to volunteer or spend hours handing out resources to people in need. but what is important is to refuse to participate in holding down people who cause no harm who are just trying to live their lives

hope that helps! feel free to ask any more questions you may have

[yesimwriting]

Without Faith

a/n giggling and kicking my feet rn btw, this is meant to be a set up for something longer! lmk if you're interested in part 2 :)

Summary: After a news story that was only meant to be an internship assignment spirals into a crime story that earns national attention, you feel conflicted enough about your involvement to join a criminal psychology class despite being a journalism major. Despite your good intentions, the universe seems to have it out for you considering your slightly older professor is extremely attractive and the only person that seems to understand what you're going through.

Warnings/info: age gap (reader is of consenting age tho!!), future student-professor relationship, slow burn, slight changes to how college works for the sake of plot, a surprising amount of lore (i got carried away), me writing for a character for a first time on here so be kind 😭

----

It's not often one finds their enemy crumpled up and lying helplessly next to an overflowing garbage can. It's even rarer to see that and still feel the bitter sting of defeat.

"He didn't text me back, which is weird because when I ran into him on Friday--" Carlie, who might know you better than you know yourself, pauses.

You turn your head away from the trash in an attempt to abandon the newspaper as completely as the person who had thrown it away. "You saw James last week? You didn't tell me."

She watches you for a moment, her eyebrows pulling together in a way that tells you she won't accept your lie just because you're offering her an opportunity to re-dissect her most recent interaction with her latest target. "You know I did."

Carlie shifts her weigh from one foot to the other, her eyes drifting towards the ground. "It's there because it's old--it's over."

It's over. The words crack themselves against your skull. More than a sentence, more than a promise. The only consolation the state's attorney could offer grieving families. The sound ringing in your ears as a mother gave into her agony, a choked sob ripping its way out of her throat.

It's over--the catalyst that sent the mother to you in a parking lot illuminated by stale, synthetic lighting. They're the reason for her confession, that in some off-kilter way she thought the verdict would make her feel better.

It's over--the syllables that accompany the sound of the needle leaving Josh Robinson's lifeless body. Killed by the justice system or the media?

"You didn't do anything wrong." Carlie's voice is careful in its unflinchingness. "He was a serial killer. You--you wrote the truth."

And while this awareness has bound itself to your bones, it is rarely enough to make you forget what you did wrong. Journalists are impartial, they don't--they're supposed to understand, they're supposed to be careful. You took it a step further.

"I know."

You don't need to look up to know that you haven't convinced her. However, you must have sounded okay enough for Carlie to accept moving on. "And you're doing more than anyone else would do to make your true crime even better."

It's an exaggeration. Journalists have done a lot more for their careers than request to join a class that belongs to a department unrelated to their degree. But Carlie seems so happy to be able to compliment you, you decide to go with a less sentimental correction, "Not true crime."

"I know, journalism." She sighs, but continues to walk forward in a way that feels oddly optimistic. Maybe even relieved. "Make sure you point out the difference to the professor. I'm sure he'll love that."

You roll your eyes at her sarcasm, but follow her lead anyway. You've already perfected the elevator pitch you're planning to present to Dr. Spencer Reid. A brief but genuine description of the importance of ethical journalism, especially when it comes to writing about serial killers.

You're well practiced and far from worried about winning him over. Academic authority figures have always taken well to you...it also doesn't hurt that you spent all night googling him just to be safe.

"Actually," she begins, pulling open the door to the psychology building, "I bet there's no room for original material in the interaction that you've already imagined, planned, and mentally rehearsed."

You scoff as you step past the door's threshold. "No," the word is dismissive and entirely unconvincing. You instinctually move past it. "Go talk to your advisor about your thesis, I'll meet with Dr. Reid, and then we can order food or something."

The reminder of her own meeting seems to kill the mood, her smile morphing into something more focused. Carlie lets out a small breath. "Right. We got this." And with one final assuring nod, Carlie turns towards the stairwell.

----

The thought is a dull ache that wedges itself into your chest before you can bring yourself to knock against the door. It'll follow you forever.

When you step into the room, Dr. Reid will inevitably ask why you want to join his class. And then you'll have to answer.

You exhale as you extend your arm, knuckles rapping against the wooden surface before overthinking can hurt you any further. After a brief silence, you hear a slightly muffled, "Come in."

You reach for the brass handle, pulling the door open before stepping past the doorway's threshold.

The office is comfortable, a large desk and two plush chairs manage to share the space without seeming cramped. There's a pencil holder and several stacks of papers on the desk's surface. If one ignores the degrees--and the age of the recipient when he received them--on the walls, the office seems normal. Almost suspiciously so. There's even a partially wilted plant sitting on the windowsill.

After taking in the room, you let your attention fall to the individual behind the desk. He's--he--while you've read enough about Dr. Reid to already respect him, and are fully aware that he is far from your peer, you're also now looking at him.

Last night, you did stumble onto a few pictures of him that forced you to reluctantly make a mental note of the fact that he's aesthetically pleasing, but those occasionally blurry snapshots did him and his sharp features little justice.

"Hello," the word is an instinct, slipping past your lips before you're ready to speak.

"Hi," his response is as sudden and lacking in context as your own--a fact that immediately eases you.

Dr. Reid shifts, back straightening against his seat. "You're here for your appointment." You barely have the chance to nod in confirmation before he's continuing, "Come in, take a seat."

In all honesty, you're more glad for the direction than the excuse to sit. You enter his office fully, approaching the plush chair in front of his desk. You sit down, lips parting before you're ready to speak. All structured thoughts have abandoned you.

"Hi." You realize your mistake immediately. You blink, a sound between a self deprecating laugh and a sigh escaping you. "I already said that."

If Dr. Reid thinks anything of your mistake, he gives no indication of it. His expression remains steady, with the exception of the corner of his mouth briefly tugging itself upwards.

Your hands come together on your lap, one of your nails pressing into the nail bed of the thumb on your opposite hand before forcing yourself to relax. You've read enough about his work with the FBI to know that he's so adept at analyzing behavior, you don't need to make it easy for him by giving into obvious signs of nervousness.

"Like I mentioned in my email, I'm interested in joining your class even though it's not an elective and in an entirely different department than my degree." This part is easy, a perfunctory explanation of what he already knows. "However, there is enough overlap that my advisor is supportive of the idea and has already signed off on it."

He shifts again, his pointer finger tapping against the surface of his desk. "Right, she mentioned that, but she didn't mention why."

Okay. This is the part that matters. "I'm a journalism major, and I've recently completed an internship with The Washing Sun." In an act of total self betrayal, you study his expression for any hint of recognition. Finding absolutely none makes it easier to breathe. "And spending time in such an active, journalistic environment has made me fully aware of the way that morals and personal views can complicate ethics."

You pause, pressing your lips together. "I'd like the opportunity to learn about certain behaviors in order to develop a perspective separate from my own.

Though still politely neutral, something behind Dr. Reid's eyes implies an uncertainty that has the rest of your pitch jamming itself down your throat. Whatever's changed doesn't feel like disbelief, and you're far from worried about being accused of lying. You were careful to comb through your mess of emotions before you had even pitched the idea to your advisor--you do feel those things, they're just not the only things you feel.

How delusional had you been to assume the same answers that hid their vagueness behind a heavy layer of altruism that worked on Mrs. Carol would work on a FBI profiler?

"I um--" The sound of your own voice surprises you. "I know what it's like to write something when you can't feel anything for the person everyone's already rooting against, and I'd like to not feel that again." Another glimmer of honesty, barer than your curated story, but still not exactly everything.

Dr. Reid is quiet for a moment, studying you with an openness that should make your skin crawl. "What did it feel like?"

The question throws you. Friends, family, strangers--they've all asked you things about the case, about your article, about hundreds of other things so barely connected you couldn't fathom an answer. No one has ever asked you about that feeling.

"Uh..." You're not even sure you have an answer. "Weird." Your blankness feels like such a cop out, you feel the need to try again. What did it feel like? A hybrid beast made of a festering not-quite-guilt, an over awareness of your every action, all held together by an uneasy pride...that only served to further aggravate the not guilt. "Like I was doing something right and wrong, with no way of knowing what it was more of."

You squeeze your hands together, allowing yourself to focus on the action instead of him. "I'm sorry, that probably doesn't make much sense."

When you finally lift your head, Dr. Reid is already looking at you. A moment passes, the somberness of his features growing heavier in the silence. Maybe he's looking at something past you. "It does."

The affirmation is a small, fragile thing, so faint and far away it almost feels like an intrusion to have heard it. Some selfish part of you latches onto that, his unexpected understanding a lifeline you can't let go of.

You almost thank him before realizing that you have no idea what you'd be thanking him for. "I'm glad," you settle on, fingers carefully coming apart on your lap. "The writing thing's no good if I don't make sense."

The attempt at humor seems to pull him back from wherever he had gone. "Then you have nothing to worry about." He doesn't exactly smile, but there's something easy about the way he's looking at you. "I'll approve your enrollment request."

Relief floods through you immediately. "Really?"

"Maybe it'll help you feel less...weird." From him, your too plain adjective feels a lot more fitting.

You nod once, the motion quick and polite. "Hopefully." The beat of silence that follows comes closer to kinship than anything you've ever felt in someone's office. You're also fully aware of the fact that you've gotten what you came for and that Dr. Reid is likely a very busy man. "I shouldn't take up anymore of your time."

His fingers tap against his desk. "Right. I'll see you in class."

You smile as you stand. "See you then."

The walk towards the door is a lot less intimidating now. Still, once you reach it, you can't bring yourself to immediately reach for the handle. You pause, letting out a breath before turning around. "Dr. Reid?"

He looks up, nodding once in a way that's meant to prompt you. Maybe it's overkill, but it feels necessary and it's too late to back out now. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He doesn't look away from you after responding.

There's nothing left to expect, there are no words or anything else meant to be said. That's not enough to stop some unknown feeling from wedging itself between your ribs, urging you to something, to say anything that might come close to offering him the same kind of understanding he's given you.

"I hope you find a less weird, too."

He doesn't respond, but something about the look behind his eyes and his slight nod makes you feel okay about leaving him.

----

There are few ideologies that have clung to him, and even fewer that have managed to bind themselves to some integral part of his being that exists beneath his skin.

The pursuit of knowledge is one of the few constants Spencer Reid allows himself to rely on, one of the only things he allows himself to consider a saving grace. However, circumstance has prevented his views on the subject from skewing. The irony of the fact that some things are better left unknown is not lost on him.

For example, the girl that walked into his office and immediately saw through him, is better left a mystery. He'd see her in class, he'd answer her questions, he'd grade her work and offer her necessary feedback--but he will not know her.

It's a mantra, a promise that he repeats in his head again and again as his attention falls to the desktop in front of him. He attempts to grasp onto this lack of knowledge, to transform it into a tangible entity to keep him from typing your name into the search engine.

----

a/n spencer entering his garcia era while googling reader 💻🧑‍💻

anyways in ur interested in part 2 or would like to be tagged let me know!!

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝Oh, oh-oh❞

Konig x male!reader | nsfw, smut | sub. bttm. reader (AMAB) | wc: 3,747

warnings: public sex, crossdressing, feminization, anal fingering, blowjob, slight sexual humiliation towards reader, light degradation, dacryphilia

in an attempt to win an argument with your boyfriend, you hit a few low blows but he bests you by bringing up how pathetic you were from a few nights ago.

"God, it is freezing out there" A large hand brings you closer to Konig's side. He rubs your arm though the pressure is barely felt through the thick coat you wore but the gesture is sweet. "I thought the Earth was supposed to get warmer, you know I'm starting to believe that that's just a scam" Konig chuckles. "You are just not built for this weather, babe" He teases as he slings a heavy arm around your shoulder to reach towards your covered face. "Well, I'm sorry I'm not built to survive inhuman levels of temperature, I'm sorry only one of us can be an operator for a private military contractor — Mpfh!" The same gloved hand that offered you comfort mere seconds ago was now planted over your face, tugging your knitted cap down and over your eyes in the process. "Schatz", he warns. [Darling.] His tone is still light despite it. The streets were more or less bare due to the weather but the shops were still aglow with lights. Those poor, poor, retail workers. The only thing staving off feeling completely guilty for stepping into one of the shops and making the already miserable worker have to work in horrid weather was the fact that due to Konig's work relocating the both of you here, your wardrobes were in desperate need of attention. "Hey," He greets them with a nod, his eyes squishing in a façade of a grin. His face was hidden with a mask which he finds a lot of comfort in not only for the fact that he worries someone from work finds out about his face and finds him (or worse, you) but it was less straining to mask his expressions in a conversation.

You rip his hand away from your face with a huff, walking ahead of your boyfriend as a way to show your obvious displeasure. Konig just chuckles and follows along, grabbing a basket. The shop wasn't that big but the brand was a household favourite.

It was a little pricy but Konig had more money than he knew what to do with at times, he can indulge. Plus, the quality and longevity of the clothes were worth it — it was all ethically made as well! A win in both of your books. "Schatz, you can't be mad that I remind you not to speak of my work aloud" his accented voice chides as you look for the basics of a wardrobe. T-shirts in neutral colours, jeans, underwear, and a new winter jacket since yours was doing shit at keeping you warm. "Yeah, yeah, because secret service assassins are constantly listening to you" An arched brow is thrown your way as your larger-than-life boyfriend shadows you. A sigh escapes you and with a dramatic wave of your arm, you place the back of your hand on your forehead and bemoan; "You're so important, schnucki". [sweetie-pie] "A real James Bond, I'm so lucky to be with you". Konig bursts into laughter. The pop song playing on the speakers do little to cover how gleeful the sound was. You stubbornly look ahead, finding immense interest in the different shades of green the t-shirt was made in. He all but towers behind you as he wraps an arm around your shoulder, pressing his covered nose to the top of your head as his chest rumbled with amusement. "You're extremely silly, hübscher". [handsome] "Compared to you? Everyone is, obviously" his eyes gleam and his arm squeezes you closer. It makes you halt your movement. That familiar pressure against you, the aura of heaviness suddenly draping over you. Konig can't help but think of how truly lucky you are. How many soldiers, mercenaries, and lowly scum had he crushed with his bare hands just like this? Too many to even count. He preferred keeping his thoughts of work and you on very different sides of the fences but whenever you throw a silly fit he can't help but coo inwardly at it. The blood he's knee-deep in, the strength in his sinewy muscles, and the rank he's earned by his sheer brutality and determination all purr in delight at your stubbornness. At your brattiness. You feel something poking at your back. A feat only Konig's cock could manage despite the thick coat you're wearing. Well, this wasn't a complete shock. After his return, the two of you would spend hours annoying your neighbours, however, your upheaval from your last house was made in haste.

Konig managed to squeeze in some frottaging in the shower last night but jetlag won over. Perhaps that's why it took so little to rile Konig up. He sways and you do too. Konig eyes his peripherals, noting the workers were pretending to look busy reorganizing some jewellery on a gondola so he leans down to whisper in your ear.

"Let's look in a different section," he knows you're about to retort so he grabs your chin and tilts your head backwards that way he can leer down at you.

"Command, not suggestion". He enjoys the way your eyes scan his. The flicker of emotions, the way you wet your lips and a hint of your teeth brushing over your lower lips. He knows the blood pooling around your cheeks isn't just from the cold. Your eyes flutter close then open and he grins behind his mask as he releases your chin/neck.

Konig guides you towards the women's section with a steady gait. A worker gives an apprehensive glance but admittingly got far too embarrassed to stare once you stopped in front of the more...sexy bedroom set display.

Silk lingerie didn't last long in your bedroom sessions with Konig. He's gentle when he wants to be — those lazy morning sex with his tongue working you open and his hands stroking your dick to completion until you're limp and boneless was bliss — but his fetish for dressing you up in delicate lingerie sets always ends with your legs and hips needing a few days to recuperate. His size was another reason why sex with Konig was utterly satisfying and sore inducing but it's not like you dislike it (quite the opposite). "Which one, hm?" This time his arms are circling your waist. It was a shame that he was so covered up because the sight of his veins across the back of his scarred, calloused, hands always made you shiver. God, you can practically see the way his biceps are flexing as he continues to sway again. The silk clothes are all much too raunchy. Suddenly, it's too warm under your layers but that's not the exact reason you're squirming.

Most of them are cute. Feminine-cut clothes that would hang too low on your hips with thin straps that would slip down one shoulder. The ones that weren't cute were the classic lingerie dresses. Their length is so short you knew it would tickle the back of your thighs and hide nothing once bent over. The way it was tailored to hug just under the breasts was meant to give it definition but seeing as you were lacking in that department you'd think Konig wouldn't be a big fan? Wrong. He's as horny as an animal in heat when it came to you but he did have a thing for the way your "tits" couldn't fill out the certain clothes he got you. Maybe he just has a "thing" for you in general. He was insatiable. Konig stops swaying. You snap back into the present and furrow your brows. "Schatz", he purrs. "Yeah, yeah, I'm..." The black silk set catches your eye and you reach for it to feel the lace that lines the bottom hem. Pleased by your choice, Konig reaches for the hanger to pluck it from your hands and into the basket it goes. "Changing room...Mein König?" [My King?] His mask hides his sharp grin but his eyes darken from that warm coffee-coloured eyes to pools of sin.

The changing room was foreign. New country, new city, new surroundings. A sense of relief washed over you as you noted the wooden doors, glad they weren't just curtains held together by some loose velcro straps or hooked onto the opposite wall. The changing room hallway was dimmer than usual but once Konig had opened the doors to the room, it was clear why. He let out a low whistle at the sight of the floor-to-ceiling mirrors backlit by LED strips. The dimension of the space was large enough to not feel too claustrophobic — those mirrors seemed to increase the space as well. You shed your jacket, spotting a stool in one corner of the room meant to be a place to put your clothes, bags, or perhaps someone's horny partner to sit on as they look at you expectantly. The sight of Konig sitting on the tiny seat was comical, you pursed your lips to stop laughing but it couldn't be helped. Konig took off his cap and mask, effortlessly reaching towards the hooks on the wall to hang them before he leans back and tilts his head at you. His long, toned, legs stretched out before him. It invades your space. Overwhelming the room with more of him until the giggles fade away. Unwilling to accept his silence, you prod further. "What? You look cute, okay. All awkward in the corner, is this how you were in high school? All limbs like a spider, bet you were an eye-catcher, baby" He doesn't seem phased by your teasing. With his mask off, you can now ogle his face. That scar on the bridge of his aquiline nose, those strong jaws and sunken eye-sockets that give his eyelid a more hooded look. His top lip is thinner than his bottom, with a prominent cupid bow. Feeling emboldened you shed your knitted cap then your jacket and let it drop to the floor. The scarf twirls around your wrist as you walk forward and bend over to level your eye line with Konig. His downward-facing lashes almost always tickle his cheek — well, when they haven't been burnt off from his close proximity to explosives and fire. Thankfully, they're intact this time and you brush your thumb across his cheek, admiring their length. "You're the cutest little boy, you know?" his eye twitches. Still, he does nothing. Konig simply keeps his eyes on your face. You lean in, breath ghosting along his lips while you grin. "Come on, nothing to say, Mein König? Usually, you're the one that's so fucking loud, whimpering, growling, grunting —" Konig jerks forward. You hold your ground. His silence was both nerve-wracking and gratifying. "Ausziehen. Na." [Strip. Now.] He knows you know what he's saying. There's recognition in those perfectly shaped eyes. Leaning back, he adjusts his broad shoulders and eyes those shapely legs impatiently. "Ich werde nicht zweimal fragen." [I will not ask twice.]

He likes this changing room. Not only could he see the expressions on your face as you strip, but he could also see the view from behind thanks to the mirrors. The lights cast you in an almost angelic glow, a rim lighting that makes your skin all but glimmer. You're bent over, pulling your pants down, when the sounds of your moans fill the room. You nearly split your skull open in your haste to grab the phone from Konig's hand. He lifts his leg and his boot pushes onto your stomach, knocking you back and making you stumble onto the floor. You're almost naked, completely defenceless. Konig does not stand. He simply sits and knocks the toe of his boot to your thigh and jerks his chin to the basket close to you. Meanwhile, your moans are still playing. The wet noises of skin slapping against skin, the mattress creaking and the headboard slamming on the wall. "Konig! That's way — That is way too loud!" He splits open your thighs with the same boot and you squeak as he applies pressure to your crotch. The icy coolness from the outside has you shivering as you clamp your thighs around his ankles but he simply presses. Your high-pitched moan elicits a chuckle from Konig. That motherfucker mimics your moan, his stoic face turning annoyingly expressive as he mocked yours. His giddiness is hard to contain. He turns the screen to you and keeps on echoing the noises you're making. "Oh, oh-oh! Oh fuck! Konig! Right there!"

"Point taken!" You plead, blindly reaching behind you to grab the silk dress. You hear the shuffle of feet in the changing room hallway, hushed whispers but Konig does not pause the video. He simply lets it play as you hurriedly slip on the outfit. What a sight you were.

On the floor, pathetically slipping on a raunchy outfit while your crotch was still being stepped on. The straps are falling off your shoulders and your flustered state does little to assist. Your hair is askew and your cheeks are warmer than the fucking sun. The video stops just as you reach your orgasm and Konig removes his boot. "Strip. Fully."

He tosses the phone on the floor and leans forward. His elbows are on his knees and he gazes down upon you like a hungry wolf. After an awkward shimmy, the only thing protecting you from the wooden floors of the changing room was the thin silk. Your cock was tenting the front and no amount of tugging the material down was going to help you. "I think I may have been gone for too long, yes? My slut is much too disobedient as of late and getting more and more perverse. You're so hard after letting everyone in the store hear how pathetic you are when you take my cock, have you no shame?" Konig clicks his tongue on the roof of his mouth when you avert your gaze. When you meet eyes, he's unbuckling his belt with one hand. "Do you even deserve to see my cock?"

You shake your head. No, no, of course, you don't! You're just a whore, a perverted boy who belongs to be on the floor. Even the lingerie you wore was too modest for you. Konig could tell you were edging towards that cloudy state. His cheek twitches as he suppresses a knowing grin. "That's right. You don't. But I'm allowing you to" "Th-Thank you, Mein Konig" He spreads his legs and pats his inner thigh after he had unzipped and pulled his heavy cock out. You gulp at the sight of it. It was damn near monstrous — a cock a few people could only ever see in pornography. Crawling on all fours, you nuzzle his thigh as thanks before grabbing it by the base. God, it was so hefty. A delicious pink tip and a few delicate splatters of moles decorated Konig's cock. The mouthwatering veins were given kisses and yet Konig remains silent as he watches with rapt interest in how you worshipped his big dick. "Perk your ass out. More" You're confused as to what he intends to do. Perhaps he wanted to see your asshole winking back at him in the mirror while you suck him off? That seems likely. You spread your knees and arch your back as you suck on his tip, loosening your jaw and covering your teeth as you close your eyes. Konig removes his glove. It doesn't take long for you to start drooling. He swipes two fingers under his dick, around the ring of your mouth, then leans forward to slip them in. Your choked reply is ignored by Konig. It's hard to breathe. You can feel his fingers scissor your muscles open all while he envelops you in his scent, his warmth, his everything. You feel like he's consuming your every being. His cock is halfway in, your jaw is aching and anyone unlucky enough to walk into the changing area would most definitely hear you gagging on it. Your eyes are watering, huffing through your nose as you feel your hips jerk without any conscious thought behind it. He's fucking you open on his fingers and he knows where to aim to make you all but spineless. There's this distinct dick-shaped bump in your throat. Konig is silent. When he pulls out his fingers and cock you cough, cushioning your face on his thigh as you catch your breath. One of the straps is falling off your shoulder and the dress hangs off your chest in a whorish display thanks to your flat chest. Konig's breathing is faster than usual but he is wordless as he grabs your wet chin.

"Kuh...Konig — Ngh!" You're looking at your reflection. Legs as wobbly as a newborn fawn as he holds you up. The dress is bunched over the curve of your ass. You're jerked forward until you slam into the mirror. A pained whimper is replied with a harsh slap to the back of your thighs. He uses his boots again. This time to kick your ankles apart. The fingers on your chin force you to look forward as Konig's heavy cock is placed on your back.

His face places itself on the crook of your shoulder. Those dark eyes swallow the lights from the mirror as he takes pleasure from your melted expression. You still taste his precum on your tongue, jaws still slack and lungs still desperately trying to swallow air. His thumb on your hole can feel the way you clench around nothing and Konig finally breaks his silence. "You are so filthy" You don't deny him of this fact. His cock pushes on the tight ring of muscles and you moan, fogging up the glass as he pushes, pushes, and pushes until he's inside and oh fuck. Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. He fills you up so well. Every inch violated, comforted, by him. The pressure is so overwhelming but so familiar and you're getting on the tip of your toes to perk your ass out more. He watches the way your ass swallows inch after meaty inch. "Mein Süßer" [My sweet one] Konig groans into your ear. He's gripping onto your waist so tightly you know bruises will bloom and that thought alone makes you press your cheek on the mirror so you can look at him from over your shoulder. "Mein Konig, please...please, please, please" He's been far too mean and you're begging so sweetly. Konig thrusts in and out of you so harshly that your breath is being knocked out of you. He's kissing you, you're barely there to reciprocate. It's messy, it's hot, it's too much. His hand thumps onto the mirror and the lights flicker but neither of you cares. He's fucking into you so good you can't think. Konig is mouthing your neck, one hand on your waist while the other is groping everywhere, anywhere — as long as it was you. That's all that mattered to Konig. You're being far too loud. Both of you. There's no way no one knows what you're getting up to. Your breaths are fogging up the mirror and there's a ripping sound as Konig tugs on the strap too harshly. "Buh-Baby!" he shushes you. "I'll pay, fuck, I'll pay for anything you want, this boypussy is worth it. So fucking good, so tight " he snaps his hips into you and you choke out a cry at his name. "Fühlt sich gut an, nicht wahr?" [Feels good, doesn't it?] Your chest is now in full view and so Konig grabs at it, twisting your nipples harshly. You're sobbing, tossing your head back as plead for him to slow down. Tears are now streaming down your face, lashes clumping together as you groan out, hand prints being left on the smooth surface as you desperately attempt to grasp at anything to ground yourself. "So sehe ich Dich gerne". [I like seeing you this way.]

Konig grins wickedly. He knows you're close, he can feel it in the way you're tightening up around his cock. He's not that far behind and he was determined for the two of you to cum at the same time. Thankfully, Konig knows just what to do to push you over the edge. Not that it would take much. All that foreplay, that humiliation, already made you a stroke away from jizzing on the floor. His sharp canines sink into the juncture of your shoulder and neck and you yelp as you paint the floor and mirror with your cum. "Ah, fuck!" you tightened around him like a vice and Konig stills as he empties his balls into you. His thighs twitch and his hips jerk a few times as he pants to catch his breath. "Woah!" Konig holds you up, laughing breathlessly as he hugs you. Your head is lolling to the side so he gently leans your head back, stroking your neck and chest until you're able to sharpen your eyes back into focus. "Are you alright, Schatz?" he's flattening his palm on your chest to feel the way your heart thuds against your ribcage. You nod, gulping and panting as you try to form sentences. He's patient as he carefully maneuverers you to lean fully against him. "Fuck, why'd you have to cum in my ass" Konig snorts as he lets you peel away to brace yourself on the mirror. He would say sorry but he's not. The sight of his cum dripping out of your hole has his cock twitching all over again. While you're catching your breath he reaches for his phone. The sound of his camera going off makes you roll your eyes. He's always taking pictures or videos. Says it keeps him occupied when he misses you a bit too much while he's deployed. Who are you to deny your boyfriend his needs? Wordlessly, you jut your hips back and spread your ass for him. He thanks you. It was silent as you both clean up (as much as you could) and when everyone was dressed you try not to limp on your way out. The workers all avoid looking in your direction and you groan as you hide your face in Konig's side. He simply tosses an arm around your shoulder, feeling smug despite the bashful blush under his facemask. "We can never shop here again" you mutter "There are more shops" Konig comforts.