#Reflex Machine

[bentothuglife]

The culture clash between the rural can-crusher and the urban can-returner

[zincbot]

finally something rotten is talking about a game i've already played! disco elysium!

.... listening is making me want to replay it

[a-concert-just-for-me]

in the ortho officed. Straight up “Jorkin it” And by “it” haha well. let’s justr say. My foot

[gay-victorian-astronomer]

someone who’s only played disco elysium encountering pinball machines for the first time: man this is just like disco elysium

[bosspigeon]

...

[wachi-delectrico]

we shouldn't have let the internet have the phrase "there is no ethical consumption under capitalism"

[mostbrilliantidiot]

what i should be doing: my taxes. or baking cookies what i'm doing: putting together the beginnings of an essay (with citations!) covering how controversial subject matter of the musical hits of yesteryear are ignored or forgotten by the pearl clutchers of today

[grayfxce]

❝ …I wish I had Muso Tensei… ❞

[kitasuno]

dating the love and deepspace boys | domestic moments

featuring: rafayel, xavier, and zayne x gn!reader

(´• ω •`) ♡ modern au! can you guys tell raf is my favorite..?

rafayel

a year younger than you. lies to everyone (including you) that he’s actually two years your senior. you only found out he was younger than you when you met his parents, who have his birth certificate framed. 

hates cats. despises them. they fill him with rage (fear). says he’s allergic (he’s lying).

“oh shit raf, this sucks! i guess you can’t move in with me.. i have cats”

“...you have cats?”

“yeah. 3.”

“i’m not allergic. i can move in tonight.”

chronically online. minoring in marine biology and majoring in annoying you. texts you over 200 times a day and if you don’t respond, he’s faking a horrible chronic illness. again. it’s amnesia on wednesdays, appendicitis on thursdays, chronic migraines on fridays… etc..

he has 2 followers on his private twitter. you and thomas. 

over 700k followers on instagram for some reason? he sells paintings on depop (he says it's depop but you’re convinced he sells them for heinous prices on the black market) 

cooks on occasion? has an apron that says kiss me im irish (he's not irish?) made you a tuna cupcake once?? 

pescatarian. not in the vegan/vegetarian way where he refuses to eat red meat but because he’s absolutely feral over fish. (is this cannibalism? he says its not)

lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with you but doesn’t use his bedroom. says your bed is comfier. turned his bedroom into a painting studio (IT’S for the black market you say!!) and sleeps with you. 

“raf,” you sigh. “don’t you have.. homework or something?” 

he sits between your legs, back against your chest as he scrolls through his phone. 

“yeah,” he says. you flick the back of his head because you know he’s smirking. “it’s called assignment: you. due in two minutes.” 

with his free hand, he reaches back mindlessly to grab yours. you sigh, fingers intertwining with his, a reflex as he leans his head back. his eyes meet yours and you can’t help but laugh. 

“well?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he squeezes your hand. “what are the assignment details?” 

he chews on the bottom of his lip as he thinks, humming while his eyes wander across your face. he swings your interlocked hands in circles. it’s raining outside, the heater is on, and rafayel is warm like hot chocolate. 

“what?” he says, his cheeks a tinge pink. “you’re looking at me like that again.” a pause. he turns, his head now buried in your chest.

“just studying my homework.” you say, hands instinctively wrapping around his back. the laundry machine is running in the background, rain is falling against the window, and you faintly hear your rice cooker dinging in the kitchen. home, you think, is with rafayel.

“i can hear your heartbeat.” he says, voice muffled. “it’s super fast. you like me or something?” 

“i really like you.” you say, without skipping a beat. rafayel groans into your chest, sighing in discontent. 

“no fair. i’m supposed to be the flirter.” 

you press a kiss onto the top of his head and you feel his body melt into yours. the two of you fall into a warm silence, his breath steady as he traces paintings into your neck. 

“raf?” you mumble, eyes drooping. he hums in response. “did you pass your assignment?” 

he smiles. “with flying colors.” 

xavier

chronic napper. (yapper?) 

has 100 late assignments. failing all of his classes yet got into the top university in your country because he got a perfect score on his entrance exams. you thought he was a nepo baby (turns out he’s just.. smart?)

his procrastination rubs off on you… he is the WORST distraction and he knows it. so smug about it and uses it to his own advantage. will perch on top of you when you’re studying and kiss down your neck until you go to sleep with him. 

lives in the apartment on top of yours but is at your house most days, if not all. you ask him to move in.

“am i not already.. living with you?” 

“don’t you still have your apartment, though?”

“yeah..?”

 is that good for the economy?? is it financially smart? not at all, but he’s too lazy to move out and put his apartment up for lease. 

xavier sleeps with his legs entangled with yours and his arms wrapped tightly around your chest. the air conditioning hums in the background as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, dimming the brightness as you hear xavier stir. 

“sorry xav, did i wake you up?” you ask. he doesn’t respond, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he glares at your phone. 

“xavier?” you question, swallowing a laugh at his ruffled hair and disheveled clothes. 

“phone down.” he says, voice raspy with sleep and an octave lower than usual. you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“can i get a pretty please in this economy?” 

xavier’s eyes narrow as he snatches your phone away, snoozing the device and placing it on the nightstand next to you. his lips ghost your neck, pressing kisses against your skin as he mumbles incoherently in the dark of your bedroom. 

“xavier-” you breathe, giggling at the sensation. “that tickles!” 

he nips at your neck. 

“bedtime. now.” 

zayne

3 years older than you 

he literally has his whole life together at 27 which scares you so much

“my credit card is your credit card” typa boyfriend

cooks. cleans. has a 9-5. you’re interning at the hospital that he works at (he’s head doctor!!)

you’re just a sweet little intern and zayne is the big bad monster!! everyone at work thinks he hates you because he’s extra strict on you. doesn’t give you any special treatment, ‘ignores’ you most days (but also slips meals into your locker and hands you heat packs on cold days in the hospital)

no one knows he’s dating you until one day someone sees you leaving in zaynes car. 

“oh, you carpool with doctor zayne?”

“huh? no, we live together.”

“you WHAT???”

he’s a virgo……. erm……

the two of you get ready together in the morning. his guard is down when he’s sleepy and he’ll cling to you as he brushes his teeth and does his hair.

you wake up to the cold night breeze, blinking the sleep out of your eyes and shivering as you scan your surroundings. you yelp as you meet the attentive gaze of your boyfriend. 

“huh? whuh? huh?” you splutter, squirming as zayne holds you tighter. he’s carrying you bridal style in his arms, his jacket around your shoulders as the two of you walk to his car. you see the bright lights of akso hospital fading away behind the two of you. 

“it’s two am,” he says calmly, placing you down gently as he opens your car door for you. “you waited for my shift to end. again.” 

you smile bashfully, rubbing the back of your head. “well, i didn’t wanna just leave you!” 

zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed but gaze warm. he guides you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt in place. 

“you can nap on the way home,” he says, closing the door and sliding into his side of the car. 

the heater’s on already- courtesy of his super expensive electric car. he fastens his own seatbelt and hands you a hot tea and bread from the hospital vending machine. 

“drink up. doctor’s orders.” 

you grin before he leans over to press a kiss on your lips. 

“thank you for waiting for me.”

[abbuniverses]

server icon for november! i literally finished this days ago and forgot to post it here

[andypantsx3]

LOADS OF FUN : TODOROKI x READER

SUMMARY: After moving into your first apartment together, Shouto seems more amorous than ever. You're not sure why—but when he comes home to you doing a load of laundry, more than your clothes are about to get tumbled. TAGS/WARNINGS: nsft (18+ only, minors please dni!), pro hero au, gn + afab reader, established relationship, fluff, emotional sex, table sex, cunnilingus, the shouto domesticity kink agenda goes absolutely crazy in this one lol (2.8k) NOTES: This piece is part of my pretty boy summer Shouto x Reader collab! Please go check out the other incredible fics people have written over the course of the summer; you will absolutely die over how good they are. This fic was also made possible through donations to the Fics for Gaza project. I cannot thank everyone who donated to one of the charities enough, as well as those who organized, reblogged, discussed, and got the word out. Lastly, I am so grateful for your immeasurable patience with me as I take time between fics to manage my workload, I hope I'm not too out of practice here lol. In summary: thank you, thank you, a million times thank you.

The sound of the door opening was hidden in the thump and glug of the washing machine starting its spin cycle.

Halfway across the house, you were oblivious—you had the clean laundry spread out on the kitchen table, hunting through the pile trying to match one of Shouto’s socks to another that seemed to have vanished into that mysterious void which opens somewhere between the laundry basket and the dryer. One of his shirts was half-folded over your shoulder, abandoned in favor of the sock search.

The rest of your things were still mostly tangled together on the table, warm and fresh and cottony, the few shirts you’d already folded sagging off the kitchen chairs.

It still gave you a little thrill—even several weeks after you’d moved in together—to see Shouto’s things twined up with yours—his enormous socks dwarfing yours, your sweaters clinging to the occasional piece of his hero suit that hadn’t seen enough action to need his agency’s industrial cleaners.

It all added to your sense of satisfaction with your afternoon—a frosty weekend day you’d spent cozy indoors, moving slowly and leisurely through some chores. A pot of soup simmered on the stove, and your favorite playlist worked itself through in lazy loops. Shouto was due off his rotation soon, and you hummed contentedly to yourself, entertaining pleased little fantasies of curling up with him for the rest of the weekend.

Which of course is when something moved in the corner of your eye. Your hum sawed up into a strangled screech, and you whipped around, flailing. Shouto’s sock launched itself full force at the intruder before you even registered you’d thrown it. In your shock, your leg caught against the table and you went stumbling—

—right into a pair of warm hands that caught you about the waist.

Your hands were on the man’s shoulders to push him off before you realized you recognized the touch—and that you’d caught sight of a distinct mop of scarlet and white hair as you’d whipped around.

“Shouto! Again?” you scolded reflexively, even as your heartbeat stuttered out of its wild kick into high gear. You tipped your head back to stare your boyfriend in the face, shoulders slumping in relief, letting him take some of your weight.

Shouto peered down at you, that tiny scrunch between his brows that indicated concern. “Are you alright, love?”

Your heartbeat pounded thunderously in your chest. “I’m—fine. But my god we need to get you a bell. I almost peed.”

Shouto’s mouth shifted minutely into something that might not have registered in anyone else’s face but was most definitely a regretful downturn on his. He looked even more unfairly beautiful than when he’d left you this morning—a little flushed and windswept from the unseasonable cold, that full mouth pink and pretty.

Your mind flicked momentarily off and back on like a circuit breaker, the way it always did when you had to process Shouto.

You’d understood he was once-in-a-generation levels of beautiful before you’d even met him, his face staring up at you from the glossy pages of various tabloids over the years. But in person, even after years of knowing him and several more dating him, Shouto’s appearance still managed to cross all the wires in a person’s brain. His features were an incomprehensible blend of aloof and elegant, sensual and warm—like a cold masterpiece of a marble sculpture had suddenly found himself with a consciousness and human desires and miles of warm skin.

“I did not mean to startle you,” he said, his voice low and warm. He sounded sincerely regretful.

You knew he hadn’t meant to—you’d long suspected his silent tread was habitually ingrained in him from years of hero work. And, in your most private and ungenerous thoughts, you suspected from years of making himself unobtrusive in his father’s home. The thought sat sour in your mouth, like a slice of pickled lemon.

You resisted making an equally sour face, shoving the thought away to make space for the reflexive flush of pleasure seeing Shouto always brought you.

“Welcome home, Sho,” you said instead, smiling up at him. Shouto’s hands moved on your waist, sliding gently beneath the hem of your tee-shirt to rest on the skin there.

He was still in his hero uniform, and as usual you felt a little goofy in comparison, in nothing but a tee and a well-loved pair of fraying sweatpants, which were this afternoon decorated with little flecks of soup from a brush with the pot.

But Shouto’s eyes were warm where they rested on you, and that perfect mouth crept back into a contented set. His long fingers smoothed over your skin as he watched you, thumb brushing your hip. He did not look like he found you at all goofy.

In fact, as his eyes dropped down to your ankles, slowly dragging back up to your face, you rather thought he looked a little appreciative. He even took a rather ungentlemanly step back, still holding you, to better take in the whole picture. His eyes wandered over the swell of your hip, the lines of the shirt against your chest, before darting to his own shirt, still folded over your shoulder.

His fingers flexed tellingly on your waist, and those heterochromatic eyes were both a little bit darker as they flicked back to yours.

His obvious regard made you feel warm. You shifted on your feet, shuffling.

“I was just—doing laundry,” you said for something to say, your mouth feeling kind of dry. Something about him always made you feel sort of shy and light-headed, even after all this time together. “And I made soup. I was thinking we could eat on the couch and watch one of those horrendous old All Might films?”

Shouto’s eyes darted to the stove, then beside you to the pile of your laundry, lingering for a long minute. His long lashes dipped, almost fluttering as his gaze traced over the tangle of your things together. His eyes flicked back to you. He was still for just a moment, watching you assessingly.

And then all of a sudden the world spun in front of your eyes. The hands at your waist lifted you clean off your feet, and you let out a startled “oof!” as you found yourself laid out in the pile of laundry on the table, sheets and sweaters bunching beneath you.

Shouto moved over you, stepping between your spread thighs, right at the edge of the table.

“You have no idea,” he intoned in a deep, delicious tone that went right down your spine, “what it is to come home to you like this.”

You wondered at that, feeling a strange combination of confusion and flattery, when Shouto’s mouth descended onto yours. His mouth was soft and sweet and insistent and absolutely perfect. The table groaned as he laid some of his weight out over you, pinning you into the laundry as he kissed you.

Your fingers clutched at him immediately, curling in his silky-soft hair, cupping his face to yours. One of Shouto’s own hands shifted to your thigh, holding you against him as he pressed himself harder into you.

You heard yourself making little gasps of appreciation as Shouto’s mouth moved down to your neck, laving hot kisses down your throat. You reveled in the feeling of him over you, broad and strong, his shoulders blocking the glow of the overhead light, casting shadows over you.

He’d been a lot like this lately, ever since you’d moved in together. He’d been adequately amorous before, of course, and blessed with a pro hero’s strength and unflagging stamina. But a few weeks after you’d moved in together you’d actually decided you needed to reactivate your gym membership given the amount of incredibly athletic sex you were suddenly having over almost every surface in the house.

One of the only spots yet to be touched was the table though, which Shouto seemed determined to rectify at this very moment.

He pulled back from you, his mouth flush from your kisses, looking a little entranced as he stepped out from between your thighs. You made a little noise at the loss of weight and heat over you, but Shouto caught the fabric of your sweatpants, gently but determinedly tugging them off of you. Your underwear was tossed right over one broad shoulder as Shouto went to his knees, and then his mouth was right back on you.

A wave of wild heat licked up your stomach at the noise of appreciation he made before sealing his mouth over you, strong fingers clutching your thighs to keep them apart.

“Oh my god!” you said, pleasure zinging right up your spine with the first lave of his tongue over you. “Shouto!”

Shouto let out a deep, pleased hum, two long fingers sinking into you embarrassingly easily as he worked your clit with his mouth. Your back arched and you could feel your clothing shift with you, Shouto’s shirt balling up under your shoulder blade, still half-draped over your shoulder.

“Oh, oh!” you heard yourself saying as your fingers twisted in the clothing, shuddering with every lick and suck of Shouto’s perfect, amazing, talented mouth.

He worked you with the expertise of long, dedicated practice—everything about him calculated to drive you insane. One moment he was excruciatingly soft, mouth slack and the touch of his tongue as fleeting and light as the brush of a butterfly’s wing. Then the next he was sucking relentlessly, teasing firmly with the tip of his tongue as his fingers played with you.

Your first climax hit you mortifyingly quickly, and Shouto seemed to know it before you did. His grip tightened on you, holding you down as you bucked against his mouth. Shouto looked more than a little smug as he got to his feet again, unbelting himself and laying back out over you.

He kissed you some more, the taste of yourself always a sort of shock to your system. But Shouto never seemed to mind, and if anything only seemed hungrier for you, mouth pulling at yours like he meant to devour you.

You felt the touch of his hand between your thighs as he lined himself up, then sank into you easily, groaning appreciatively like he’d just sunk into a hot bath. He bit carefully at your neck, one large hand pressing your stomach down to keep you pinned against the edge of the table where he wanted you.

“I always want to come home to you like this,” he intoned into the skin of your neck, his mouth sucking dizzying patterns into your skin. “Always.”

You could barely think past the slide of him inside you, thick and full and blissfully exquisite. He really was the most perfect man on earth, and he always felt like it too.

You barely managed to blink your eyes open to watch him, trying to catch his meaning in his face. Shouto watched you back, those blue and grey pinned on you like he couldn’t bear to look away from you as he moved inside you.

“You—” you panted out, trying to cling to the thoughts threatening to wiggle out of your grip. “What do you—? Of course you’ll always come home to me.”

Shouto bucked into you harder, the slap of his hip against the bottom of your thigh echoing loudly over the burble of soup on the stove. His eyelashes fluttered, mouth softening, and a realization struck you almost dizzy.

Oh, he really liked that.

You suppressed a wave of giddiness, charmed and helplessly pleased that he seemed to like the idea so much. Was that why he’d been so especially ardent this past month? Was it really because you’d moved in together?

Shouto’s arm hooked under one of your legs, drawing it up firmly over his shoulder so he could press even further inside of you. He looked so good like that that you nearly lost the thread of your thoughts, especially when his next thrust felt like that. Your eyes nearly rolled back in your head.

“Ah!” escaped you. “Fuck, Shouto. Like that, please!”

Shouto’s thumb pressed down on your still-sensitive clit and he had to dig the fingers of his other hand into the flesh of your leg to keep you from bucking him right out of you with the way you squirmed. Sweet fucking gods he was unreal.

Shouto fucked you harder, the sound of your skin slapping together obscene in the quiet of the kitchen.

You tried again, struggling to watch his reaction with the way you wanted to throw your head back and babble nonsense instead.

“You’ll always come home to me,” you repeated, gratified when Shouto’s grip on you tightened, a soft sound escaping him. “You want me right here for you?”

“Ah—yes, love,” Shouto panted, staring down at you again. He looked like he knew what you were doing but didn’t care. “Yes,” he hissed.

“Just like this?” you prompted, trying not to slur the edges of your speech when he gave another particularly mind-bending thrust of his hips. His chest rose and fell heavily and he looked a little wild-eyed, gazing down at you.

“Like this, for me,” he said. “In my home, in our home—”

You could hear the table squeal and groan with the force of his next thrust, and then you had to grip the sides of it to steady yourself as he fucked you, looking blissful. Your nails scrabbled at the edges of the table, caught in between a million sensations—the glorious fullness of Shouto inside you, the gentle grind of his thumb against your clit, the way he looked all flushed and beautiful and panting and wanting—

You squeezed your eyes shut, too overcome with the sight of him to look at him anymore, but it was no use. Your entire body trembled as you came, and Shouto let out a low swear at the way you clenched up around him, hunching over you and pressing himself so impossibly hard against you as he came too.

He slumped down against you, weighing you into the soft-smelling cotton of the laundry you were now definitely going to have to rewash. You could feel his chest rise and fall as he panted, his breath tickling the skin under your ear. He left an unbearably soft, sweet kiss just under the lobe, at odds with the near-wild way he’d just been fucking you.

You warmed, petting through his hair with a helpless affection.

“Well now I know what time I should always do our laundry,” you said.

Shouto huffed into your neck, but you could feel a tiny smile curve his mouth.

“It is not just that,” he said, but did not elaborate for some minutes until you elbowed him gently. He peeled himself off of you just enough to look down into your face. “It is the thought of our life together. Our clothes piled together. You in the home we chose and we made…” he said, trailing off.

But you thought you got the sentiment. It was about how easy it was, how uncomplicated. A safe place to come home to, no expectations, just soup and a pile of sweet-smelling laundry and someone happy to see you. It was something far away from what he'd grown up thinking a home was, possibly something he’d thought he’d never have—something you were determined to make him realize now that he always would.

You let your fingers pull through his hair again, smiling up at him. “I am going to have to do our laundry again, though,” you teased. “In case that interests you.”

And despite what he’d just said, Shouto did in fact look a little too interested. You watched his mismatched gaze trail over to the closet that opened onto the washer and dryer. A contemplative look snuck across his handsome face, carefully curling the corner of that plush mouth.

“There is another place we have not yet broken in,” he said slowly, voice dipping low. He looked down at you with an earnest expression completely in contrast to what he was suggesting.

You couldn’t help but laugh, and that was all the permission he needed to pull you up, gathering you up in his arms and layering a fat handful of laundry on top of you. His belt buckle rattled loosely beneath you where he'd barely done it up in his haste, and you laughed harder when he turned off the stove as you passed it.

Though it turned out to be a needed precaution—as neither of you found yourselves free to sit down to dinner for several hours yet.

[g0dlyunsub]

under pressure.

getting strapped up to a lie detector as part of a bet wasn’t exactly in your plans, nor was exposing your deepest secret to spencer reid.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: fluff! confessions, coworkers to lovers, cheesiness overload 

word count :: 1.6k

author’s note :: three weeks since i last posted a fic?? absolutely unacceptable *presses post button*

accompanying song :: more than friends by aidan bissett

“there’s a reason why that thing’s admissible in court,” you murmur to derek, watching as the officer packs the polygraph back into a cabinet.

derek chuckles.

“you think you can beat it?”

“i know i can beat it.”

you cross your arms and look up with a challenging smirk.

“there’s actually a lot of skepticism surrounding the validity and accuracy of polygraph testing, especially since it’s only an instrument that measures physiological changes like heart activity and perspiration. people often mistakenly assume they’re trying to deceive a machine, when really it’s all about the polygrapher, who oversees and administers the examination.”

you don’t even have to turn your head to know it’s spencer who’s just made his way into the room, derek’s lifted brow a confirmation of his presence.

“ah, look who’s finally found us. i was starting to miss you a little, kid.” 

“what are you guys up to?” spencer asks in return, his gaze shifting from you to derek, before slowly making way back to you. 

“l/n thinks she’ll pass the test with flying colors.” derek points at the cabinet and looks at you with a winsome grin.

“i won’t even have to try.” you shrug, placing your hands on your hips confidently.

“wanna bet on it?”

“loser pays for dinner. reid, you in?”

“i uh, i think i’ll just watch,” spencer politely declines, his hands nervously burrowing deep into his pockets.

derek bursts into laughter. “oh come on, kid, it’s free dinner for the both of us.” 

spencer chuckles quietly. “we’ll see.”

you make your way over to the cabinet, kneeling to retrieve the bulky device, and set it down on the table behind you. 

taking a seat, you lift your arms to secure the straps above and below your chest, and attach the blood pressure cuffs to your right arm. 

“nuh-uh.” 

you hear derek tut a sequence of disapproving clicks.

“hey kid, check to see if it’s around her securely.” derek tilts his head at spencer before nodding in your direction, adding, “don’t want you deceiving us in other ways.”

you roll your eyes before raising your arms in surrender. “go ahead, i’ve got nothing to hide.”

spencer slowly approaches you, hesitant steps overtaking his stride as he moves to stand in front of you. positioning a hand on your back for support, spencer sticks a finger between the gaps of the sides of your chest and the straps.

the straps tighten ever so slightly, causing your breath to hitch in the back of your throat. almost like an unconscious reflex, you release a breathy exhale.

“is that too tight?”

it’s barely a whisper, and he’s close, so close — his lips hover practically right beside your ear that you can feel his breath tickle the hairs on your neck.

“no,” you let out, “it’s good.”

your heart’s pounding now, and you’re thankful that you’re not hooked up to the monitor rate, at least not yet. 

“just slide your finger into the clamp,” spencer instructs, his hand guiding yours into the plate where the electrodes lightly pinch your fingertips.

“is that comfortable?” spencer asks once again, his furrowed brows an indicator of marked concern as he searches for any signs of discomfort.

“yup.”

you bite your bottom lip as spencer hooks the cords to the monitor. his attentive eyes gloss over your strapped arm and flick downwards, stopping once they take note of your bouncing legs. you still your legs almost immediately.

“alright l/n, here’s a tester.” derek approaches you and lays his hands on the table, leaning forward. “have you ever lied to get out of trouble?”

you don’t even need to think twice. with a daring grin, you respond, “yes.”

“it’s stable,” spencer nods.

a mischievous smirk plays on derek’s lips. 

“have you ever lied to hotch before?”

you huff an amused chuckle, one laced with throaty disbelief. “no.”

derek rolls his eyes, but spencer nods in your direction. “steady.” 

“oh come on, not even once?”

you raise an eyebrow as if to challenge him. “why… have you?”

“this is about you, remember?” derek wiggles a finger disapprovingly. “next one… have you ever had any romantic feelings for anyone on our team?”

it's a question you were most definitely not expecting.

it’s only a brief pause, but it’s long enough to have you doubting – are your eyes widening? are your parting lips betraying you? is it actual sweat that’s starting to coat the tips of your fingers or are you imagining it?

“no, i have not.”

you feel heat start to creep into your cheeks, but try your best to remain unfazed as you await spencer’s judgment.

“give me… one second.”

the air suddenly feels ten times heavier.

a nervous chuckle escapes from your lips as you glance around. 

“try not to bounce your leg up and down,” spencer finally calls back, and you have to physically restrain yourself from sighing in relief. 

“alright, let’s try again,” derek announces as he finally takes a seat across from you. “have you ever had feelings for… doctor spencer reid?”

your instantaneous scoff overlaps with spencer’s. before you can respond, however, spencer chirps up first.

“y/n, don’t – don’t answer that.”

you, too, try to dodge the question with a dismissive wave. “come on, derek.”

thankfully, he rests the question aside. “fine. have you ever passed your files to someone else without them knowing?”

“yes.”

“to who?”

“to you, actually,” you boldly assert, leaning back into your chair.

“oh, she’s a rebel,” derek slyly retorts back, his gaze unflinching as spencer affirms your claim.

“did you, at any point, lie during this test?”

“no.”

“alright,” derek continues, “last question.”

“bring it.”

“do you currently have any romantic feelings for spencer reid?”

“seriously?” you swivel your head back and forth between derek and spencer, your eyes widening in disbelief at the fact that he’s repeating a previous question, merely adjusting a couple words.

it’s a question that you can’t answer. no, that you shouldn’t answer.

but this time, spencer’s quiet.

“you’re kidding me,” you laugh, “we are not being for real right now.”

“oh i’m being very real right now.” 

your heart thumps like a wild drumbeat, your pulse echoing through the veins marking the side of your neck. 

you start to lace your fingers together nervously as a thin layer of sweat covers your palms. the more you think about your moist hands, though, the more you start to sweat. it’s a constant feedback loop, feeding off of your deeply-buried secret.

slowly, you take off the straps and set the electrode in front of you, on the table. 

radio silence falls over the air disturbingly, like the entire room’s tuned to the wrong frequency. 

then, “reid, did you get that?”

it takes another five seconds for sound to fill the room once again, but the gravity of the silence is almost too heavy for you to register – your wordless confession strikes the back of your mind like an unpleasant storm, raining down on your thoughts with regret and humiliation.

“y/n, um, there’s a lot of environmental factors that can impact physiological response-”

there’s no going back anymore. 

if you don't say it now, it'll linger in the depths of your mind forever.

“i do like you.”

when there’s no response, you decide to fully commit to your confession. “you said so yourself, this isn’t about fooling the device, it’s all about the polygrapher. so, spencer, what’s your judgment?”

you swear you can hear your own pulse drumming against you and shaking your body. with the faintest whisper, spencer utters, “i think you’re telling the truth.”

after hearing his response, you shove your hands into your pockets and prepare to leave, but not without throwing a glance at derek, who’s guiltily tracing the edges of his beard.

as you approach the door, however, a hand hooks around your elbow, stopping you dead in your tracks.

spencer’s hand.

“that’s it? you’re not going to hear my response?”

you don’t look up. “no, i… fine, tell me.”

if only you knew about the collective swarm of thoughts swimming in his brain, the thoughts that are denaturing all his senses of rationality and self-control. he has so much to tell you, words that he’d spill almost instantly if he’d been better prepared.

his hand moves down to envelop your own. 

you do nothing to stop him. 

slowly, he drags your hand upwards, until it rests against his chest.

against his speeding heart.

“spencer?”

the glow in his eyes is unmistakable – his dewy orbs gaze into yours lovingly, the exchange almost a confession in itself.

“i don’t think that either of us can beat the test,” spencer softly murmurs, his breathy chuckle sounding like music to your ears.

you don’t know how to describe it – it’s a bittersweet concoction of emotions that continues to spread throughout your body the more spencer nuzzles up against you.

“no,” you voice after a pause, “i don’t think we can.”

“very cute guys, but i’m waiting on my victory dinner, so if you two can-”

“oh shush, derek, you’re ruining the moment,” you say as you break into laughter, and bury your head against spencer’s chest when you fail to recover your composure.

“and you’re gonna have to pay me extra if you want me to keep my mouth shut in front of all the others,” derek retaliates, his smug grin causing you to roll your eyes. 

“i think i can wrap the straps around his mouth if you hold him against the door,” you start while looking up into spencer’s eyes, speaking loud enough to draw derek’s attention.

spencer returns with a wide smile, one that tugs at your throat to release another hearty laugh.

“yeah, i’ll grab his arms first.”

[docgold13]

Heroes & Villains The DC Animated Universe - Paper Cut-Out Portraits and Profiles

Elseworlds Addendum - The Flash (Barry Allen)

Barry Allen was a forensic scientist who worked for the Central City Police Department.  Late one night when he was at his lab, a freak lightning bolt struck a nearby shelf dousing Allen with a strange concoction of unnamed chemicals.  In some bizarre fashion, the result was that Allen could connect to ‘The Speed Force.’  

As such, he could now run at supersonic speed, had matching reflexes and could heal rapidly from injury.  Furthermore, this Speed Force also protected Allen from the frictional velocity of moving at such extreme speeds.  With these newfound powers, Allen donned a crimson bodysuit sporting a lightning bolt and dubbed himself ‘The Flash’ becoming a crimefighter patrolling the streets of Central City.  

The Flash would go on to help form the first iteration of The Justice League and also married his longterm girlfriend Iris West.  Allen perished in a valiant effort to save the multiverse during the Crisis of Infinite Earths; at which point his former sidekick, Wally West, stepped in to become the new Flash.  Allen returned from the dead several years later thanks to some complex machination of The Speed Force.  Reassuming the mantle of The Flash, Allen returned to protecting his city and serving on The Justice League. 

Wally West was the main Flash of DC Comics at the time that the Justice League animated series debuted.  As such, Wally became The Flash of the DCAU continuity (with elements of Barry Allen’s backstory incorporated into Wally’s character).  Although a colleague of Wally’s at the Central City Police Department who resembled Barry did make a cameo in the Justice League Unlimited episode, ‘Flash and Substance.’ 

The Barry Allen version of The Flash first appeared in the pages of Showcase #4 (1956).  

[not-terezi-pyrope]

In case you're still reflexively on the fence when I proclaim that the conversation about AI has progressed to a truly batshit level of reactionary mythology, people on twitter are currently calling out the animators for Spiderverse for using a digital interpolator to assist with lining, because a documentary used the term "machine learning" to describe it.

Apparently using digital tools is taking work away from real artists. I am excited for 6 months time when the discourse has evolved into "all movies should be hand-inked on the inside of Palaeolithic caves to escape the corrupting labour-stealing influence of the pencil".

(Yes this is currently a minority opinion in this instance, largely because people just really like Spiderverse. But the fact that these arguments are being seriously made shows how far off the deep end this conversation has gone. These types of arguments for blanket technology bans already made little to no sense due to the double standard applied, and this demonstrates that by removing the double standard and taking them closer to their logical conclusion - all labour saving tools are bad, especially if they involve a spooky computer algorithm).

[k2ntoss]

currently thinking about jason getting his girl pregnant after weeks of talking about how comfortable they both feel with the thought of forming a family together and i couldn't help but picture this.

after a couple of months of trying to conceive jason comes back after a particular hard night of patrolling, he smells like sweat and something else besides that lingering smell of gunpowder that lingers on his forearms and sometimes on his chest after he uses his guns; the guy is too tired to get totally undressed and go shower himself so when he sees you laying comfortably on your bed he collapses next to you, his arms by reflex reaching for you and pulling you into a vice-like grip until you start stirring from your sleep, nose tingling at the smell of the gunpowder that suddenly made you nauseous.

he's stood up and still on the doorway of the bathroom the second you darted in there and hunched over the toiled, the sense of alarm in jason's mind is flaring and he can't help but kneel next to you, one hand holding you hair and the other one on you waist to try and comfort you and after you are steady he's quick to ask "are you okay? do you still feel sick, princess?" his voice low and concerned, his eyes seeking for any sing of discomfort on your face as he leans in closer.

"jay, you smell too much like gunpowder" you croak as your nose scrunches at the spicy odor that hits you again, making you hold a subtle gag that lights something in jason's mind and after having you think about it there's not a single person you could think of that would be a better father than jason.

the guy is quick as a lightning to go shower, he takes his sweet time scrubbing his skin until he is 100% sure there's no lingering smell from his patrol and it's not until he has put his clothes into the laundry machine and changed into something clean that he crawls back into bed with you. because jason might have his flaws but he's always making sure you have what you deserve.

[hoshifighting]

LYLA

https://x.com/aludraexe/status/1845120324351951317?t=aB8NiLuW2HNoolbzIJWLrw&s=19

woozi + face slapping, the fact that i was just waiting for this request lmfao!!! slap me in the face woozi-ya!!! 🙏

warnings: smut, face-slapping (both receiving), penetrative sex, rough sex

jihoon always had a way of putting his hands to use, like he was born to make your body melt. he’d use those strong, long fingers to stretch you out, making sure you were ready for the size of him—he never liked rushing. he’d make you wait, teasing you with slow strokes, and you’d be squirming by the time he slid inside, whining for him to just go faster, go deeper. but nah, he was too good at keeping control, too good at making you beg for it.

and omg—hair pulling!!! every time he’d fist a handful, tilting your head back just so, you’d feel the pull all the way down to your pussy. you loved that. he loved it too. would smirk at the way your breath hitched when he did it, how you’d arch your back without even thinking, how you grow insanely wetter around his cock.

slapping your ass was his thing too. he’d do it at random, mid-thrust, like it was just a reflex or something. you’d never complain about it either, the sting of his palm paired with the pressure between your thighs had you moaning like a damn mess.

but there was this thing—this one thing—you’d been thinking about asking him for a while. it made your stomach twist a little ‘cause it felt kinda embarrassing, even though with the way he fucked you, you shouldn’t be embarrassed about anything anymore. but still, you’d kept it quiet, kept it locked up in the back of your mind.

until, one night, you just couldn’t hold it in anymore. you knew that he drove you crazy enough to pull this from you one day. you couldn’t help it—you just blurted it out, voice shaky, barely loud enough for him to hear over the sound of your moaning.

“slap me,” you whispered.

he didn’t even miss a beat, hips still working like a machine, as he tilted his head, like a curious kitten. “where?” you could feel the heat creeping up your neck. you bit your lip, looking away for a second, the words caught in your throat, ‘cause this wasn’t something you just casually asked for.

he wasn’t having it though, wasn’t gonna let you off that easy. “where?” he asked again, sharper this time, thrusting faster, shallow, but enough to make your breath hitch, make your legs shake.

you knew what he was doing. he was making you say it, making you feel every inch of him until you couldn’t stay quiet anymore.

“jihoon—“ you tried to keep steady, but your voice broke when he thrust deep this time, substituting the shallow and quick thrusts, rolling his hips, the pressure inside you reaching the g'spot, a spot that made you want to scream. it would always make you cum or... scream, or both.

“say it,” he growled, grip on your hip tightening, and you knew you couldn’t hold it back.

“my face,” you finally screamed, heat rushing to your cheeks, even though every part of you was already flushed from how hard he was fucking you.

you heard him chuckle, like it was something dumb, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment. his hand came up before you could even think about it, connecting with your cheek—stinging, but also so fucking hot.

“like that?” his voice was so cocky, so self-satisfied, but all you could do was nod, your mouth hanging open as another slap came, this one harder, and you felt yourself getting even wetter from it.

“fuck, ji!” you moaned, body shaking, but he didn’t stop, didn’t let up. he kept hitting that spot inside you with each thrust, his pace punishing now, his hand gripping your chin after each slap to make sure you were looking at him.

you couldn’t even form words at that point, just nodding, moaning, body trembling under him as he kept fucking you like he owned every single part of you.

“answer me,” he demanded, his hips slamming into yours with this ruthless rhythm, and you felt yourself spiraling, your orgasm building so fast you could merely keep up.

“yes—fuck, yes, jihoon,” you cried out, your voice cracking as your whole body tensed.

his hips are still rolling, those deep, slow thrusts that make you feel every inch of him, make your body quake every time he bottoms out. he was savoring the way your walls clenched around him, the way you’d whimper his name without meaning to. “can’t believe you wanted this,” he muttered, mocking. “you wanted me to slap you, hm? wanted me to treat you like the dirty little slut you are? why would you like this?” the words fell from his lips so easily, like he was saying the filthiest things and expecting you to break apart just from hearing him.

your mind was spinning, lost in the haze of it all, but somehow—somehow—you managed to catch enough breath to respond. or, at least, to show him exactly how much you wanted it, why would you like something like this. with a rise of boldness you didn’t even know you had, you lifted your trembling hand and slapped his face. the slap isn’t hard—not as hard as he slapped you—but it’s enough to make his head snap to the side, his dark eyes blinking in shock for a split second.

jihoon froze. his hips stilled inside you, deep, so deep it made your entire body shake. your legs jerked uncontrollably against his sides, your back arching off the bed as the pressure of him not moving—just staying buried inside you—made you sob.

you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. he wasn’t moving. he just stayed like that, still, heavy inside you, his breath coming out in rough pants, like he couldn’t believe what you’d just done.

“you really slapped me,” he said, socked, but inside, he fucking loved it. his hand gripped your waist tighter, fingers digging into your skin like he was holding back from losing control. “you’re really gonna act like you can handle more of this? ‘cause trust me—” he leaned down, lips brushing against your ear as he spoke, “—you can’t.”

his words put up in the air, daring, taunting. but his hips stayed completely still, your body was shaking, trembling against his, desperate for him to move, to do something, but he wasn’t giving it to you.

your breath hitched, your back arching again, trying to shift against him, trying to get some kind of friction, but he wouldn’t let you. he wouldn’t fucking let you.

“what’s wrong?” he chuckled, that dark, teasing tone creeping back in. “thought you wanted this? thought you liked it when i fucked you hard, slapped you around a bit. now look at you, falling apart when i’m not even moving.” he paused, letting the silence stretch, feeling how tight you were around him. “pathetic.”

he rolled his hips, just barely, making your eyes roll back from how deep he still was. your walls clamped down on him immediately, body reacting without you even thinking, but he didn’t give you anything more.

“tell me why you wanted this,” he demanded, voice firm. “tell me why you wanted me to slap your pretty face, hm?”

you whimpered, legs trembling against his sides, your body practically begging for him to start moving again. but he wasn’t going to give you what you wanted until you said it. you could tell by the way he stayed still, by the smug look on his face that made your stomach twist.

you mumbled it almost absentmindedly, like you were lost somewhere between pleasure and exhaustion. “i love it when you discount your stress on me.” it was quiet, but he heard you. jihoon paused for a second, then bit his lip, eyes narrowing slightly before he chuckled.

“baby,” he started, “if i ever really discounted my stress on you, you wouldn’t be able to walk for a week.” his eyes, a merge of humor and threat, making you snort despite yourself.

you laughed, breathless and weak, your body trembling under him, and he laughed too. “nah, i’m serious,” he continued, his thumb tracing soft circles on your cheek, his gaze still locked on yours. “you laugh too much, you know that?”

you were still smiling when his hand came down on your face again, harsher this time, the sharp sting making your breath hitch.

smack!

his bottom lip was caught between his teeth, eyes focused on the way your cheek turned pink from the hit. he was still smiling, that same smug look on his face. you gasped when you felt your body respond, your pussy tightening around his cock squeezing him like a fucking vice, and he moaned, nearly losing himself right there as his cock slid just a little out of you with a slick squelch.

“fuck, i felt that,” he groaned. and then, without warning, his hand came down on your face again—another slap—this one harder, making your head jerk to the side.

your skin stung, your breath hitched, and your eyes fluttered shut “look at me,” he commanded, grabbing your chin and turning your face back toward him. his fingers pressed into your skin, forcing you to meet his gaze, and you could scarcely keep your eyes open. “you’re gonna be my good girl and take all of it, huh?”

you nodded weakly. “yes, ji…”

“fuckin’ right you are.” he didn’t waste a second after that. his hand slid down to your throat, wrapping around it slowly, squeezing just enough to make your breathing uneven. he started to rock his hips again. his cock slid in and out of you, so deep, each thrust making you choke on the air you were trying to pull in.

“s-so good, ji! shit—” you whimpered, barely able to get the words out, your voice strangled.

“nah, don’t talk,” he grunted, hips slamming into you harder, making the bed creak. his hand tightened around your throat, his thumb pressing just under your jaw, making your head spin. “just take it. take my cock like the good little slut you are.”