#idk this has just been my experience of the debate

[owenthetokencishet]

[pynkhues]

https://x.com/pixielayer/status/1818003659675869381

since you're in your smut writing renaissance era... i'll just leave it here and hope it sparks the creative juice flow *wink-wonk*

(ok that sounded weird. i'm out)

Lmaooo, anon!! LOOK, I will keep it in mind.

[perseidipity]

Hello I am alive. I haven't really drawn much since August due to BG3 brainrot (and this month I've been learning how to mod the game) but this morning my brain decided I wasn't allowed to look at computer screens so I did a little sketch of Shel. She was originally supposed to be like a miniboss for a friend's campaign but it never happened so I ended up making her in BG3.

[gentlethorns]

gotta get back into like spirituality. i lost touch w it bc like life happens and i got busy and distracted but one of my friends who's very gifted gave me a tarot reading yesterday and it made me remember that like. i have that power too. i just have to build it back up like a muscle

[esote-rika]

lose some, win some | Spencer Reid Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Waldorf!Reader Category: Hurt/Comfort, Smut 18+, MDNI Summary: COLLEGE AU! When your debate team loses the national championship, you and Spencer return to your shared room and find a productive way to take out your frustrations. Content: Waldorf!Reader is a sore loser, lots of dialogue in the beginning, Sassy!Spencer, some talk of misogyny, Spencer makes up for it by being a munch (so f receiving oral), virgin!Spencer but he’s also a little shit, they are both little shits but it’s cute I swear, handjob, raw p in v but reader mentions she is on the pill, creampies, multiple orgasms for both of them (they’re frustrated and horny give them a break) Word count: 4.8k (it's porn with a plot for once) A/N: Not really frenemies or rivals, they’re just really angry young adults. Idk what Spencer’s actual age was in college, but he studied several times so for this fic, he’s on his third degree and is 21. If the debate stuff is incorrect, I'm sorry. I did do some research but there's so many different rules and styles lmfao. My friend who competes says it’s fine and understandable so :) also massive thanks to @just-call-me-by-yn @mggslover and @notlongtolove for helping me brainstorm and @wheresmacoffee because she was there JK  ILY ANDY their banter during the filthy part is for you <3.

Spencer Reid doesn’t particularly care about the prestige that comes with winning. Most people crave it for the validation, or because it’s another impressive thing they can slap onto their resumes, but being a genius his entire life allows him not to worry about that. His academics speak for themselves. He doesn’t need to pad it with extracurriculars. Instead, he enjoys the skills that are honed from debate—learning to listen to arguments, finding the perfect way to rebut, memorization and reviewing with like minded individuals. The university team is a well oiled machine composed of four people— him on his third degree, two other male juniors, and you, the only woman.

Over the span of two semesters, he’s memorized the quirks of his teammates. It’s essential to building rapport, after all, and he’s eager to get something good out of this. Something less academic, and more social. Friends, perhaps. While he’s formed a bond with the other members, you have always been an enigma. Stoic and ambitious, you remind him of a statue. Cold and oh so beautiful. You’ve often kept to yourself. And after several rejected attempts at friendship, he’s learned to just observe from afar.

He knows from experience that observing allows you deep insight into people, and so he knows after two semesters that you’re perhaps the most competitive out of the entire team, the most hungry for a win. This drive, he suspects, comes from a deeply rooted desire to prove yourself, though he’s unsure why. What else do you have to prove? You have everything, as far as he’s concerned. Keenly intelligent, beautiful, with a circle of friends that adore you. You aren’t like him, who has to sink his claws deep into this debate team in order to get a dose of social interaction. No, you have a life, no matter how marblesque you may seem.

And yet, somehow it’s still not enough for you.

He thinks it’s utterly ridiculous, and absolutely fascinating.

The weekend of nationals is taxing. You’ve been fighting for the opener role since the semis, but it would require too much adjustment, which no one is willing to risk so close to nationals. Not only does he not want to give up his spot, he also knows how ruthless you can be as a rebuttal speaker. He's meek, and you have a tendency to be aggressive, it's why the original roles go so well. 

Your adviser agreed, and there’s been tension ever since. 

To make matters worse, hotel arrangements somehow have placed both of you in the same room. The force of your resentment is palpable even to a normally clueless guy like him. Distracting. Pages being turned in your exaggerated annoyance. He’d complain of dramatics, but he doesn’t want to start anything. 

The fact that you’re rooming together also doesn’t help him. Sure, there are different beds, small twin mattresses on either side of the room, but still. Proximity to a woman his age has him anxious for reasons entirely unrelated to nationals. 

So when you lose the championship, his concern for your reaction behind doors overwhelms the regret of losing. 

No one is happy with the results. It is obvious from the set of his jaw, the tenseness of your shoulders. Spencer tries to calm down, accept defeat with a modicum of grace, at least in front of other people. He can tell the rest of the team is trying too, but quite unconvincingly. Onstage, accepting the medals for second place—mockingly silver, and no trophies—the team’s smiles are forced, plastic. 

Back to the hotel rooms are a different story. When you slam the hotel door shut, it echoes down the hall and makes even your debate adviser flinch. It would have made Spencer flinch too, if he hadn't already expected it. He's grown accustomed to how bad of a loser you can be. Like a tornado, your anger spares no one from its destruction. It is in these moments that your stoic resolve crumbles, no longer unfeeling, but rather fully human. Hurtful. Ruthless Unfortunately for him, he's directly in your line of fire.

He catches bits and pieces of your muttered diatribes. He’s used to those too. Normally, he would have ignored them. Losing sucks the energy out of a person, regardless of how uncompetitive he is. Besides, your ranting is mostly harmless, until one sentence snags his attention.

“— knew I should have been the opening speaker —”

He is clawing at his tie, trying desperately to get it off, but the words make him stop immediately. He whirls around, brows furrowed, “What?”

You pause as well, “What?”

“What did you say about being the opening speaker?” He watches you roll your eyes. It does nothing to calm the bitterness in the back of his throat. The normal song and dance goes like this: he’d say a string of words in an attempt to soothe the fire burning in your nerves, and you'd say something so vitriolic he'd refuse to speak to you for the rest of your time together. 

But today, having just lost the biggest championship after working so hard, he's a short fuse and your words are incendiary.

“I said I should have done it, like I asked—”

“Ah, as usual, you're mad that you didn't get what you wanted.” 

An offended scoff. He's almost proud he managed to pull that out of you. “You take too long—”

“Nationals isn't the time to suddenly alter the roles,” he tells you, shaking his head. He manages to loosen the tie, finally, tossing it on his bed with so much aggression it misses the mattress and lands limply on the floor, “I've always been the opening speaker.”

“Yes, and one would think that after going through so many debate competitions,  you would learn to be more succinct,” you snap, shoes making harsh clacks against the tiled floor, “The goal isn't to let us know you're the smartest person in the room, Spencer, it's to set up the tone and groundwork of—”

“I don't need you to lecture me about being the opening,” he interrupts, “I know what my role requires of me.”

“Do you?” Eyes flashing, you walk to him until you're almost chest to chest, “Because we still lost.”

“And you blaming me?” he hisses, leaning down. He hates doing this, stooping to your level of pettiness. Normally, he would choose to be the bigger person, refusing your verbal sparring; he likes to focus his energy on the actual debate, the opposing team, not his own teammates. But your words cut deeper than normal; it isn't the fault the team lost, that's just a flat out lie, “We advised you multiple times to memorize the statistics—”

“Something you're better at!” You look physically pained to admit his superiority, but the words spill anyway, “You'd be so much better to do the rebuttals since you have your stupid photographic memory, and I can set the tone better, but nobody on this little boys club ever listens to me!”

He's surprised at the choked tone your voice has taken. In his mind, you're a complete equal—you made it to the team through hard work and impeccable skills, like the rest of them did, after all. It didn't matter that you are a woman to him, so of course his instinct is to deny. “That’s not true.” but even his voice sounds weak. 

How would he know if it’s not true? He’s never been in your shoes before, never had to reckon with what comes with being the only woman in a team of men.

“Isn’t it?” he flinches at the venom in your voice, “You all act like I'm an afterthought—I get the shittiest positions even when I know I can be more effective in a different one, no one ever asks me for strategy, hell, you never invite me to your stupid chess games.”

His mouth opens and closes foolishly, latching on to the one thing he has a full response to, “I thought you hate chess.”

A sharp laugh, petulant and bitter, “I do, but it would have been nice to be included.”

He doesn’t know what to say. You’ve turned around, yanking off your pristine maroon blazer so roughly he’s afraid it might rip. The silence that grows makes him itch, hands balling into fists as he tries to think of what to do. Social dynamics have always been a thing of mystery to him. 

He wonders if he is part of this problem. He’s no stranger to feeling different and on the outs, and it pains him to think that he inadvertently caused someone else to feel that same, unpleasant exclusion.

But, no. Quickly, he recalls every single time he’s tried to include you—a museum trip that you’d declined because you had a party you wanted to attend. His extra tickets to the Nutcracker.

“That’s not true,” his voice is firm now, following you until he’s standing right behind. Lavender hits his nose and his brain registers the scent of your shampoo. Definitely too close if he can smell that, but he refuses to back away, intent on getting his point across, “That’s not true, I’ve tried to— you were always too busy.”

“What, I’m a liar now?” you spin around, pretty features twisted to somehow express both anger and hurt. He almost falters. Almost. 

But he’s too worked up, even though he knows he should back off, to not trivialize your experiences in order to defend himself. He should know better than this, but the sting of your accusation spurs him on. So he pushes, eyes narrowing, “Last year, September 14, 21, and 29, I invited you to come with us for several casual chess tournaments, you declined all invitations because you claimed you hated chess. October 29th, I told you about the new exhibit they were displaying—”

“It was Halloween weekend, I already had plans—”

“December 19th, I offered you Nutcracker tickets and you said you’d already seen it—”

“I have,” your voice has grown quiet now, and if he stops speaking for a single moment to look, your features have relaxed into something gentler. But he’s on a roll, and you have always been right about things; his inability to be succinct is one of them.

“Even this year, I invited you to study multiple times, but you’ve always had prior plans,” the words are spoken with neutrality. He isn’t even angry anymore, just eager to list everything down and let you know how hard he’s tried with you. Even after the numerous rejections, he’s made an effort, but of course, you have other friends, other plans outside your nerdy debate team. He’s never held that against you, but if you wanted to point fingers, he has the means to defend himself. And sure, he wants to prove you wrong on some level too, but that’s the lesser point. “Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re better than me, and just accepted, you wouldn’t be feeling so excluded.”

“I don’t act like I’m better than you.”

“You just said you would have made a better opening speaker.”

You scoff, “Oh my god, you’re infuriating, I can’t believe I’m stuck with you!”

Spencer bristles at that, “I’m giving you the facts, it’s not my fault you can’t handle them.” he says, leaning closer, trying to make her see his point, “You’re always so closed off and the other guys have just given up trying. Maybe if you—”

“What? If I smiled more? Acted less like a bitch?” you sneer, eyes narrowed dangerously, “I thought a genius like you would know better than to use misogynistic language like that.”

“Wha— no! Don’t put words in my mouth.” Spencer replies, shaking his head. The conversation is devolving into something dangerous, the air crackling with something electric. He assumes it’s anger. They will never get anywhere, so he sighs, softening slightly, “I never said that. I’m just pointing out that you weren’t blameless in this, you know?”

You’re silent. He watches you, takes in how the resentment in your eyes have been dulled by something more contemplative.

He continues, “Listen, I’m sorry if we’ve made you feel like you were on the outs. I’m sure we have to do so much reflection as a team and as individuals about how we treat each other, but it’s unfair to say that we never include you when I have actively been making efforts to—”

Your lips are upon him. 

That’s inaccurate. 

You are upon him, arms flung around his neck, body pressed flush against his. He feels the entire world tilt, and he’s unsure if it’s because you’re pulling him down or because your lips are so pillowy he’s instantly eager for more. Wants it like a man starved. Needs it, needs more, but his body betrays him. Whether it’s his inexperience or surprise or a combination of both. He freezes, blinking rapidly at the sight of you. Eyes shut, and face so close to him; so, so close he can count each individual eyelash, see the tiny freckle on your eyelid that gets hidden if your eyes are open.

And then you're gone. The freckle disappears as you look at him with wide eyed mortification. 

“Shit, Spencer, I—”

It’s his lips that cut you off this time, seeking out the velvety warmth of your mouth. Your lips part under his, and he registers a sound, soft and whining. It takes him a moment to realize it came from him, from the back of his throat and muffled by your lips and tongue and oh you’re both falling.

Literally. He must have leaned too far into you; you’re suddenly collapsing, forcing him down because your arms have him in a vice grip and he’s too busy chasing after your lips. The next thing he knows is he’s on top of you and you’re sprawled on the bed beneath him. Time stands still; he’s painfully aware of how cliche that is, but every sense of eloquence seems to have been expelled from his brain as he takes you in; lips swollen and wet from his kisses, pupils blown wide. Every breath you take pushes your chest up against his, and he can feel your heart thrumming against his body. 

“Well, that was one way of shutting you up,” you chuckle with a cockiness that makes his heart speed up, though it isn’t borne out of embarrassment. Every single physiological effect of your body is evidence that you’re enjoying this, telling him you’re just as worked up as he is. The breathiness in your voice, the quickness of your heartbeat. 

The fact that you’re pulling him down again, legs hooking around his hips. He surrenders to it, lips meeting yours once again, deeper and more desperate this time.

He closes his eyes, relishing this, kissing you, touching you, an act he had believed is reserved for attractive jocks and charismatic art nerds. Not him, quiet and lanky, shifting to avoid his angular bones from digging into you, and to place himself more comfortably on the bed. Inexperienced, ungainly, and yet here he is, his tongue pushing into your mouth in his first forays into something that his peers have experienced years ago.

Spencer Reid isn’t used to being the one behind, doing the catching up. Child prodigy, genius, the words aren’t meaningless. He’s been ahead academically—which, up until this point, has been his whole life. But feeling warm lips beneath his own has him reconsidering some of his life choices. 

The kiss is messy. Sloppy from his clumsy attempts to keep up with your eagerness. You’re tugging at something, and he realizes it’s to untuck the rest of the crisp shirt you’ve donned for the debate tournament out from your skirt. His hands settle on your waist, finding smooth, heated skin from where your shirt has ridden up. Careful fingers help push it up, burying under the fabric until his palms are mapping out the slopes of your body. 

Soft. So damn soft. 

Not cold marble after all. He theorizes you must be soft everywhere, and he decides to test it out with his lips, laving kisses along your jaw, down the sweet, musky skin of your neck where your perfume still lingers. Instincts take over and he allows himself a taste, tongue darting out. You shudder, so he does it again, greedy for your pretty moans and gasps. 

He can’t help the smile that tugs at his lips, “Thought you were mad at me?” he mumbles, trailing his kisses down the column of your throat. 

You’re all mhms and ohhhs right now, so far from the usual image you present to the world, a preppy, manicured woman who wrestles for control over everything. You must hate this, he thinks, being beneath him physically, caged within his arms which are deceptively strong for how fragile he looks. 

“Shut up,” you grumble.

“Make me.” His grin is dopey when he lifts his head to meet her gaze.

Something brushes against his crotch, and now he’s the one gasping, jerking in surprise at the friction. You’ve slotted your thigh between his, and his traitorous body responds by grinding down on it shamelessly. The look on your face is smug, triumphant.

“Huh,” saccharine and mocking, you blink up at him innocently, “That was easier than I thought.”

His head drops to your neck again, but he isn’t kissing you anymore. Just open mouthed breathing as he rubs himself on your thigh, hands tightening on your sides, “Mhm.”

“Are you gonna come? Spencer, I haven’t even touched you yet.”

He sinks his teeth into your flesh to fight the needy whines because yes, he’s so embarrassingly close and you’re both still fully dressed. He hears a hiss, and he backs off immediately, murmuring apologies, “Didn’t mean to—”

“‘S okay,” you tilt your head back, give him more access to your neck, “Just don’t leave marks.”

Permission to bite. He gulps, heart beating wildly, before ducking back down. Chapped lips run over your neck, finding a soft spot to bite, forcing himself to soften the way his teeth sink into your skin. All the while rubbing himself on your thigh because it’s probably the closest thing to heaven a man such as him will ever experience. 

He hears your laughter, your mocking cooes of, “You’re so fucking needy” but he can’t bring himself to care.

You’re correct, he decides, as you usually are. He’s needy, desperately so, eagerly chasing the delicious pleasure of dry humping your thigh. 

“Hold on, Spencer.”

You push him back gently. A whine rips from his throat, “Mhm—why?”

He gets his answer soon enough. Your hands undo his belt and he swears this sets his whole body on fire. Nobody’s ever seen him like this. Never has another person touched him so intimately, seen him so out of control, so brainless. He’s babbling incoherently as your hand strokes up and down his length, his hips rutting into your hand. It’s out of sync. Two dancers on entirely different rhythms.

Your laughter rings in his ears, one hand tangled in his hair as the other does unspeakable, tantalizing things to his aching cock. 

“Mhm, can’t— I’m gonna—” and he’s spilling into your hand, hot, viscous liquid overflowing from your hand and staining your skirt, “Ah, shit.”

He collapses against you, head on the crook of your shoulder as he tries to catch his breath. “‘M sorry, I’ll– I’ll pay for your dry cleaning.”

Your chest shakes as you laugh, “Would you? I think you owe me more than that.” The heat in your voice makes his breath catch in his throat.

Soft kisses press upon your neck as he gathers his thoughts, willing his brain to work again. Anatomy, female anatomy. Female pleasure. What does he know about this? A lot, surprisingly, though mostly from books. Mostly in theory, but that’s a start. He can put them to practice right now. His hands drag down your sides until they catch the waistband of your skirt. “May I?”

“Okay.”

He pulls gently, exposing the rest of your thighs and legs. Honey brown eyes devour the expanse of your skin, hands clutching at the softness. He marvels at the way your flesh accepts his own, bright red splotches imprinted from his fingertips.   

He thinks of poetry, the uncountable amount of words and phrases written to immortalize women and love and sex, and he finds himself wishing he has the skill to compose something as beautiful, something worthy of you right now, radiant and half naked and somehow all his. 

But he is no poet, so he touches his lips upon your body instead. Pretty words will escape him, but his lips can speak even without them, he’ll make sure of it. He kisses down your abdomen, making sure to pay attention to every hidden freckle and birthmark he comes across. Your reactions make him feel drunk, to the point of affecting him physically. Messier kisses. Hands tugging and nearly ripping the lace of your panties because he’s unaware of his own strength. 

“So pretty,” he mumbles, “So pretty.” It’s all he can repeat, but then his tongue lands on your slick heat and suddenly words are forgotten in favor of vague groaning. Because how can he accurately describe the sensation of this? Tasting you. God how has he gone so long without this? Your nails scraping his scalp, his fingers sinking into your thighs as he keeps you still. He’s halfway off the bed, legs dangling off the edge, your thighs squeezing his face. 

There’s nowhere else he would rather be. 

He laps at your folds like a mad man, tongue pressed flat and dragging up slowly to get as much of you in his mouth as possible. His feet find the floor, allowing himself more stability to once again rub his growing erection against a solid object. The poor mattress is going to be ruined once they’re done.

“Faster,” you gasp, jerking your hips into his face, “Spencer— oh, yeah like that!”

Spencer Reid is a quick study, and when he hears the positive reactions, he doubles down until he feels you convulse against his tongue. You jerk so violently he has to hold you down. He pushes his tongue past your entrance experimentally, and feels you tug roughly on his hair in response, gasping his name and God’s name in slurred phrases as you ride out your high.

It’s the hottest damn thing he’s ever experienced.

 “Jesus Christ,” you gasp, and he has to repeat that ridiculous sentence again, because it’s true and he feels you deserve it.

“You’re so pretty.” He fears you might be some kind of magnet, because his lips keep getting drawn back to your skin. He lets his kisses travel up your hip bone, before grinning up at you, “Even when you’re being insufferable, you’re still so beautiful.”

“Gee thanks,” you huff, pulling at his arm, “How romantic, I’m swooning.”

“Might not be swooning, but you did just come on my face.” brilliant rows of teeth flash at you as he smiles smugly.

“Asshole.”

“Is that how you say thank you?” he drags his body up lazily, draping himself over you.

“I’m not— wait, are you hard again?”

“Uh…”

“Needy, needy boy.” you pull him down to you, and he almost protests, his chin and mouth still covered with your slick. But you don’t seem to care, so he follows your lead, God at this point he would follow you anywhere at all. You’re shifting beneath him, and the next thing he knows is your legs are wrapped around his waist again, your heat completely exposed and pressing against his cock.

“Mhm,” he pulls back, eyes wide, “I—”

“What?” you whisper, lifting your head to continue giving him kisses, teeth playfully nipping at his jaw, “It’s fine, I’m on birth control.”

“It’s not that,” he can’t deny you, his body relaxing back down over you. His lips catch yours for a moment, slow and achingly tender, “I’ve just never really done this before.”

He waits for the inevitable laughter. Here he is, at 21, and somehow still the same person he had been when he first entered college at 14. But you continue to look at him with heavy lids, breathless and flushed. 

“Okay,” your voice is kind, sweet, “Take it slow then.” your hand wraps around his length again, the movement slower this time, as you align him to your entrance. He hisses as the sensitive tip grazes against your folds, as he feels your entrance slowly give way to him and envelop his cock. 

“Oh,” he sighs. With your help, he sinks halfway into you, one hand gripping your hip, the other bracing himself on his elbow. Eyes squeezed shut, he stills and manages to ask, “Are you okay?”

You don’t speak, and so he forces his eyes to focus and look at you. The sight has him twitching inside you. Mouth agape and eyes hazy, you’re nodding up at him wordlessly as your hips rock up into his. “More.”

It’s exhilarating. He’s known you for the past year, worked alongside you but respected your need for distance. And now, here you are, not merely close, but one. Spencer sighs, and thrusts shallowly, eyes zeroed in on you and your reactions. He doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want it to end too soon, so he moves slowly, dragging out his cock until only the tip rests inside you, then sliding into the hilt.

It elicits the most mellifluous sounds from you, making him smile in relief. He lets his forehead rest against yours, thrusts growing more confident, but still in that slow, almost dreamy pace. He memorizes every detail of this moment, from the way your eyes flutter closed, to the quiver of your legs as they wrap tighter around his thighs. 

“So good,” he hears himself say, “God, you feel so good.”

“Mhm,” you nod, nails digging into his back, even through his clothes. In the heat of the moment, you’re both still half dressed, only getting rid of your bottom clothes in order to get what you need from each other, “More, Spencer, I need more.”

He nods, letting his thrusts grow faster, rougher. It’s an awkward angle, he’s afraid his knees will start cramping, but the feeling of being surrounded by your warmth, drowning in your moans has him reckless. “There?” he grunts, angling just so, and he can’t help the smirk on his face when he feels your walls clenching around him.

“There, there, yes!”

He’s not sure how he manages to last as long as he does. Maybe it’s the sheer desire to feel you fall apart, for his cock to be drenched in your slick that keeps his release at bay. Maybe he has too much pent up sexual energy that’s just been dying to come out. Whatever it is, he’s thankful for it, because it means he’s spending more time inside you, hips moving with so much impact he’s pushing you forward with each thrust. 

“Yes, just like that.” you’re shuddering beneath him, and he moves his arm to the top of your head, creating a barrier between you and the headboard so you don’t hit it. He could stop, readjust your positions, but he doesn’t have it in him. 

No, he wants to stay inside you, forever if there’s an anatomically feasible way to do it. But unless he invents it, he’ll settle for right now, settle for the heat between your bodies, and how you’re practically melting into the mattress, arching so prettily against him.

“You close?” he murmurs, one hand finding your clit, drawing gentle circles with his fingertips.

“No fair,” you whine, bucking into him, “That’s cheat— Spencer!” 

You come undone in the most enthralling way, eyes squeezed shut, bottom lip bitten by your own lips. You squeeze and flutter around him, and he’s helpless to stop his own release, spilling deep inside you with a broken cry from his own mouth. Your name is whispered, over and over again, until he stills, his vision blurry as he collapses against you.

He curls around you, trying to get as close, “You—that was—wow.” 

You giggle, still breathless and glassy eyed, “Are you sure that was your first time?”

“Yes,” he gives you a series of kisses along your temple, “Yes, it was. You—wow.” he carefully pulls out of you, hissing quietly when the cool air conditioned air hits his sensitive flesh. “Was that enough of an apology for not including you to our chess nights?”

“You’re making jokes now?”

“No,” he smiles, leaning away to look at you, all starry eyed and boneless, “Not a joke. Because if it’s not enough, I can do it again.” a kiss to your cheek, “And again.” one on the tip of your nose, “And again.”

When you laugh in response, he cups your cheek, “I mean it.” he says with all the seriousness he can muster.

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“Does this mean you’ll accept my invitations now?” he lights up, a large smile splitting his face.

“Only if it’s a date.”

"Then it's a date."

[wehelddarkness]

x

[g4rvez-r3id]

Naughty Boy

Post Prison! Spencer Reid x Unit Chief! Fem Reader

Synopsis: You and Spencer are trying to have a little fun in secret until Emily walks in… Spencer decides to make it a little more interesting underneath your desk.

Category: Smut

Warnings: established relationship, power dynamics, reader and spencer keep their relationship private so it’s a bit of forbidden love trope, kissing, smut warnings: lowkey sub!spencer, and also lowkey perv!spencer, spencer has a boner, straddling, stroking, cunnilingus, getting caught, exhibitionist kink? fingering, cumming in pants, use of ‘sweet boy’, ‘good boy’ and ‘naughty boy’, spencer lowkey pathetic- idk that should cover it

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! lowkey this one kinda sucked but i wanted to write a smut oneshot 🤭 got this idea watching a sitcom lmao anyways post prison sub spencer supremacy 🛐 debating on writing a part two to this one where reader punishes spencer hehehe let me know! please enjoy this one!! <3

A lot of changes happened since you’d become unit chief of the BAU. It wasn’t your intention of becoming unit chief but Emily Prentiss believed otherwise. She passed down the tassel to you since you’d had so much experience on this team for years. And she also knew Hotch would’ve wanted it, too.

After Barnes tried to take the BAU down, Emily was given back her job and hiring authority. Feeling as if you’d earned the spot, she promoted you. Of course, you were a little anxious taking charge at first but Emily assured she’d stay every step of the way and even offered to take over when you felt the power to be a bit too much.

You and Spencer’s relationship had become more balanced since he got back from prison and you felt the need to keep your relationship under wraps for as long as possible. Nobody knew you two were together, you both were very careful when it came to your relationship. You’d only been dating for a year and a half since he got back from prison where he’d finally confessed his undying love for you and that he’d show you just how much he loved you when he got out.

You’d both been pining after each other for years before the fact. And since then every moment you’d shared together has been wonderful, despite keeping it hidden from your colleagues. It was for the better, especially now that you were a higher power. If it wasn’t strictly forbidden before, it definitely was now that you were unit chief.

You were lucky that you’d chosen someone that was usually good at keeping secrets. You both never arrived to work together, you both left work at separate times and only ever spoke in a professional manner to one another. Of course, nothing too far as to not speaking to each other entirely. You were surprised that no one had suspected a thing for the year and a half you’d been together.

Today, you were in your office, filing everyone’s paperwork and signing off on them one by one. You’d just finished JJ’s when there was a knock on your door. “Come in.” You spoke and behind the door had been your loving and doting boyfriend.

“This a bad time?” Spencer asked as he waited for your okay to come in. “No, no, not at all. Come in.” You smile and turn towards your already closed blinds. If you hadn’t already closed them, it definitely would’ve looked suspicious if you closed them now.

As soon as he shut your door, you stood up from your seat with a sly smirk and walk over to him. “So, what can I do you for?” You ask. “Oh, nothing, I just—” Spencer rests his hands on your hips. “I just missed you.”

You smile as you hold him close. It’d been a minute since you had a moment together. Cases were often disrupting already what little time you two had together.

“I missed you too, my love.” You say, looking into his eyes with a loving smile. “Why don’t we go out for dinner tonight? I’m working on the paperwork now so I won’t have to stay here too late tonight.” You suggest and he smile right back at you. “I’d like that. We could use a date night.”

You pull him closer to kiss you on your lips and as you pull him flush against your body, you feel it. It’s definitely unmistakable that he’s hard in his pants.

“Uh, baby?” You ask, pushing him a bit. “Yeah?” He asks as he leans his head down towards his collarbone. “Are you… hard just from a few kisses?” This wasn’t the first time he’d gotten an erection just from a few simple kisses from you. He pretty much gets turned on by anything you do. And you secretly love it.

“I can’t help it, Spencer admits into your neck. “You’re gorgeous.”

You blush at his words and smile, “Aw, thank you, my love.” His mouth stays on your neck, sucking on your pulse point. You pull him towards your chair and push him into it, getting on top of him and straddling him with a smirk etched on your face as you lean down and kiss him on his lips.

He tries to speak into the kiss, pushing you away for a brief moment. “Wait, wait, wait.” He says and you look down at him, your index finger tapping on his plump pink lips, staring down at them. You had a bit of an oral fixation when it came to Spencer Reid. Whether it was for yourself or for him.

“What’s wrong?” You ask. “I just don’t want us to get caught, that’s all.” Spencer stated and you smile, “I know, sweet boy. But you let me worry about that, okay? Right now, I just want to take care of my boy.”

You run your hand towards the front of his slacks and palm his hard cock through his pants. He moans a little too loud and you are quick to clasp your free hand over his mouth. “If we want to this to work, you’re gonna need to be a good boy and be quiet, okay?” He nods vehemently into your palm.

You stroke him a few more times through his pants and you check and see that your sweet boy’s eyes are rolling to the back of his head. You wonder how long you can keep him on the edge, how long you can make this until he’s shouting that he can’t take it anymore, how much he’ll—

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You and Spencer look at each other in horror before you quickly usher him underneath your desk and fix yourself up to the best of your ability, sitting in your seat. Surely, you could’ve explained that Spencer was just in here for a moment but you acted quickly and couldn’t risk whoever was coming in to talk to you to see what you two were doing. You two didn’t exactly have the best poker faces in the world.

“Come in.” You say, attempting to sound as normal as you can. The door opens and in walks Emily. “Hey, Y/n. Care if we talk for a moment?”

“Of course, come right in.” Emily nods, shutting the door behind her and sitting in the chair in front of your desk.

As Emily begins to talk with you about your most recent case paperwork and begins on giving you pointers on how to handle it quickly, Spencer is crouched underneath your desk and he has a perfect view up your skirt.

You’re too distracted with Emily being in the room to feel how his hands — his gorgeous hands — glide up and down your calf and they begin to reach in a higher place and you flinch as his nimble fingers touch your underwear.

Your eyes widen as Emily furrows her brows at you and seems to notice you’ve flinched. “Are you alright?” She asks and you nod, “Oh, yeah, super. Just too fidgety today,” You hold up your mug. “Too much coffee.”

Emily continues her advice as you feel Spencer removing your underwear down your thighs. You don’t see how he stuffs them in his pocket. He bunches your skirt to the best of his ability and you look down just for a brief moment to see that he’s become in a trance as he gawks at your wet pussy.

You’re so lucky that your desk is too high up for Emily to see what you two are doing. This is so wrong. You should definitely try and stop him but the fact that he could be caught underneath your desk — it just turns you on even more. Who knew you were such an exhibitionist?

“Another thing that I recommend that you do is—” You hardly listen to Emily as you try your best to give your undivided attention to her but it’s really difficult when the man you love is underneath your table, lapping at your pussy with his useful tongue.

You feel everything as he begins to suck on your clit and sticks his fingers into your hole and you try your best to keep a straight face. You bite your lip and try and keep yourself as hunched over as you can to not draw suspicion.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Emily asks, once more. “Uh, yeah,” Your cheeks redden. “I’m… just not feeling very…” You feel as he rolls his tongue in a figure-eight on your bundle of nerves. “Well at the… the moment.”

“If you need to go home, I can take over the rest of the day.” Emily offers and you think about it. You definitely need the time to punish your sweet boy for being needy and impatient, so maybe going home would be a good idea.

“Uh, that’s probably a good idea.” You say. “Why don’t you let the rest of the team know?” Emily nods and leaves the room and you wait for the door to shut to finally gasp and whimper.

As Emily exits the room, she walks away from the door and shudders. Yeah, she knew what the hell was happening. The team pretty much knew you two were together already. You guys didn’t have the best poker faces in the world.

“Oh, you naughty boy.” You back your seat up a bit as you run your hands through his hair. He takes his mouth off of you for a second to breathe. “I like seeing you in an authoritative position. It’s sexy.” With that, he dives back in, running his tongue through your folds again.

You take your hand through his locks, pushing him impossibly deeper into your pussy. “Oh, my God!” You exclaim softly, eyes rolling back as he finishes you off. “Come on, cum for me. Please. Please. Baby, please.” He pleads in your pussy, moaning and sending vibrations through your body as he sticks his fingers back inside.

You bite your lip to contain your moans in your office and you feel yourself gush over his face and look at him, his eyes blown with lust and love. “Did I do good?” Spencer asks, wiping his mouth of your essence and you smirk.

“You did.” You admit. “Now, that Emily’s gone, maybe I should finish what we started.” Spencer looks down and shakes his head, “No, I, uh, actually don’t need help with that anymore.”

You furrow your brows, look down and sure enough, Spencer’s slacks are a shade darker near his crotch. You should’ve expected this, he’d cum at the slightest touch.

“Somebody definitely wants to get punished tonight.” You tease, dragging a finger to his chin and he holds his arms up in surrender. “Hey, sorry I wanted to look good for my boss.”

You shake your head with a chuckle. He can be so impossible sometimes.

So, you tell him to exit the office as discreetly as he can with his blazer over his crotch to hide the evidence and to call in for the rest of the day, making an excuse that there’s a bug going around so you can edge him for hours on end when he gets to your apartment.

[oceanwithouthermoon]

ok thinking abt this again, a lot of the popular and more experienced blogs on here are really fond of vague posting and bullying smaller blogs "subtly" so thats probably a big part of where it comes from, its mainly what made ME think it was okay to vague post about people on here which is so embarrassing to look back on ☠️☠️☠️

i used to try really hard to like rationalize things online and figure out exactly what people meant and who anons were, but the amount of times people have tried to do that and made up a really elaborate literally evil plot about ME that didnt happen made me be like... yeah im not doing that anymore

[sherbertquake56]

okay I’m dropping some of my fable arcane au thoughts before the new episodes drop tomorrow even tho most of it is based on season 1 anyway—

so some basic taggings for you that I based the AU around:

1. Icarus as Jinx.

powder vs jinx is just the sherbert vs icarus name thing. toxic father. unhealthy relationship with sibling. a lil crazy and maybe evil. thinks that they are at fault for the things around them. lil bombs? nah- little SPLASH potions. hearing and seeing mylo and claggor? it’s Haley- it’s literally Haley—

2. Fable as Silco.

okay fable’s design WAS partially inspired by silco— they literally look the same— they’re both a man with two priorities: take over and make his own nation & care for child.

you know the ending scene of season 1? where they’re sitting at the table? THAT. With Jinx assuming that he’s gonna give her up to topside and him getting the first chance to talk and saying “her name is JINX!” i could write an essay on that for icarus. they’re so toxic and it’s so perfect. also that scene at the start of s2 ep2? YEAH THAT—

3. Centross as Ekko

This one is controversial and up to debate but i will die on this hill— SO THE S1 BRIDGE FIGHT. I am so willing to put aside any possible prison duo gay-ness in this AU for that rivalry/fight. they were friends!!! they were so good!! and now they wanna KILL EACH OTHER!! it’s great.

It’s also specifically thinking of Ekko’s tree home as solstice— older Ekko very much has the vibe of Violet specifically-

4. Arisanna as Sevika

I DONT KNOW WHY BUT IT MAKES SENSE TO ME. It’s specifically vexed Ari during the coworkers era but idk it just feels right— I look at her relationship with Silco and Jinx and go ‘hmmm this could be something’

[I will also say there is an argument here for swapping Centross and Ari tho— big tree city as Ari rebuilding the records goes hard, and angsty fighty toxic with jinx centross is also good— it’s like 50/50 for me]

5. Isla as Vander

LET ISLA BE A BADASS IN THIS AU. SHE DESERVES IT— something something raising vi and powder alone, something something the backstory with silco— there’s something there and it hits really hard in scenes where vi sees vander and helps her get back up— also I look at jinx and vander and I go “mmmm this is in fact how icarus sees Isla”

6. Rae as Vi

This was obvious given the above but LISTEN— in this ALTERNATE UNIVERSE OF EVENTS I think it would be fun- do I think that vi perfectly fits canon rae? no. But in this world it would KICK ASS. rae deserves to beat some people up— got kicked out of the overworld (zaun) by fable (silco) and had to go to the end (piltover) to get away from him?? rae end prince aus are already here so why not end rae also punching people huh??? also. gay people.

———

Okay— here’s where I need some help, thoughts, and opinions from you all…

1. Caitlyn.

POLYAMORY IS HARD TO TAG AND I DONT KNOW WHO FITS BEST?? For me, season 1 Caitlyn fits best as Caspian, but season 2 Caitlyn is more for Fenris— so I’m very stuck. yes absolutely give thoughts on this please—

2. Viktor as Aax (but how does that work)

Viktor absolutely should be Aax— mr. Scientist / lab experiment / turned religious figure vessel for god is CORRECT. But honestly the rest of Piltover gang is really hard with Rae as Vi— Jayce/Viktor/Mel is yelling at me to be the polycule but aGH— ya know??? very stuck on this so I instead look at the coworkers and go “mm good yes—”

Random other tags I think also make sense:

- Ulysses as that Telchin looking mf Stev— mans took out one lil medical device as his fish self and I said YUP

- The hexcore big orb thing underground as Quixis— big white glitch orb room make things go wack. couldn’t be easier than that.

———

Anyways that’s all— I’ve been rotating this in my mind for like a week and have had way too many thoughts about it thank you for your time—

[himluv]

I agree with you on the Solavellan ending. I love the angst and tragedy and I'm eating the idea of Solas and Lavellan having a lot to unpack once in the fade. Dramatic confrontations, tears, breakdowns and a slow road to forgiveness,. Delicious food. But I'm really annoyed with a portion of the fandom that seems to just gloss over the fact that Solas killed Varric, someone who was always kind to Lavellan and was even her friend. And even if you don't like Varric personally he is in canon a relatively decent person who tried to reach out to Solas on a compassionate level. Then he used a blood magic puppet of him to manipulate Rook... IDK the way that seems to mean little to nothing to a lot of Solavellans kind of bothers me. I'm not here to tell anyone how they can or can't play but the takes have been so bad. The infantilization, excuses and woobification of our boy are so egregious. Solas is complex and morally gray. Why would we be going through the effort of redeeming him if he wasn't doing things that would require redemption in the first place? I've felt really disconnected from the rest of the fandom because of all of the softening of his character people have been doing and it's refreshing to hear a take from someone who loves Solas but doesn't want to defang him.

Thanks for this thoughtful reply to this post! Sorry this took awhile, but I've been thinking of what I wanted to say. Long and spoiler-riddled reply below, and I don't even know how relevant it is to your reply, Nonny. Sorry!

I think A Lot of folks have spent the last 10 years rotating him in their heads like one throws a clay pot, molding him into something he could be based on what we knew about him. But, we didn't necessarily account for the other forms he could take. And some folks are very resistant to who he's canonically become by Veilguard. Because it's not a good form, he got Worse™ in his decade away from friends and love (shocker!), and it's hard to reconcile this version of him with the ones we may have made.

I get all of that. But I also LOVE that. It means he could still surprise me, and I got to experience this weird duality of love/hate I didn't expect to feel toward him. I got to see his lies in real time, know he was lying because I KNOW HIM, and go, "oh, you little shit (affectionate)". Like, that's just FUN! Which, last time I checked was in fact the point of video games.

I love that he is unpredictable and dangerous in this game. That we finally see him go all out, and use every skill and trick he has. That is THRILLING, especially because he's more dangerous and lethal and ruthless than I personally expected. Which... Is my fault. I should have expected it, because look what he did to Felassan. Look how he so easily killed all those Qunari in Trespasser. Look what he did with those spirits of chaos and disruption. Look what he did to the Titans! I should have known better, the games and books showed me time and again what he was capable of. I just didn't want to believe it.

I've seen some posts talking about how Lavellan approaches Solas at the very last confrontation. How carefully she goes up the stairs towards him. I've seen several interpretations of it, but there's one I haven't seen (which could be because I'm not hanging out in the Solavellan tag much these days).

She takes those stairs slowly, as if approaching a spooked horse, because the last time someone climbed a set of stairs to talk him down from his ritual, he killed them. And I don't think for one second Lavellan believes, if she handles this poorly, he won't do the same to her.

And I think she is 100% right. He would, perhaps on "accident" as he claims to Neve was the case with Varric (debatable - seemed pretty intentional if maybe a bit impulsive from here). But I firmly believe there is a world where Solas would stab his vhenan if he had to and certain conditions hadn't been met (and yes that would utterly destroy him).

She walks up those stairs to him, her vhenan, knowing this is it. Their final stand. She will save him from himself, whatever it takes, and she is prepared to die at his hands if it comes to that. And it so easily COULD HAVE.

I don't know. I just think that Veilguard gave us SO MUCH more insight into Solas and there's so much there to chew on. I think we're going to be able to go back through all the games and codices and so many little details are going to fit together and complete a puzzle we didn't even know we were making.

After all of this, I still have so much to think on 😂. I'm going to be living in Thedas for another decade at this rate!

Good. I don't ever want to leave.

[ifangirlalot]

I'm back in my miles Fairchild supermency (idk if I spelled that wrong) Anyways can I request a miles Fairchild x reader smut whatever you want to do with it

˗ˏˋ 𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐎𝐍𝐄 ˎˊ˗ | starring miles fairchild

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

*~smut!*~ [𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘:] oral (male receiving), hand play (male receiving), kinky thoughts (miles' pov)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

[Name]'s POV

While Miles and I have been together for a while now, we've yet to do anything super serious. We've gotten about as close to fucking as you can get without actually getting undressed, though. See, the thing is, I'm a little intimidated by the idea of sex. I haven't ever done it before, but Miles told me that he's done it a handful of times. (He's never specified what "a handful of times" translates to with a concrete number, but taking a look at him tells me everything I need to know, really.) And while I'm not exactly thrilled about it, I can't really say I'm surprised.

The thing is, I wouldn't know how to please him. Not just with the main course, so to speak, but also in the way of appetizers. Reading smut isn't what I'd call a reliable teaching method. That's more or less just something to read when you're horny. So, I guess that's why I'm here now. In Miles' bedroom sitting in front of him, seeing him lean against the wall (because his bed is literally just a goddamn mattress for some fuckin' reason) and tastefully unhook the front button of his jeans and pulling down his fly, like he does this everyday.

Lessons start now.

Miles' POV

I don't outwardly express it, but the way [Name] is staring at my dick like it's some sort of predator she has to conquer is rather amusing to me. My pride is telling me it's because my dick is huge, but I think more likely than not it's just because she's never actually seen one up close before. I'll probably die telling myself the first one, though.

While seeing her nervous, almost terrifed face is fucking hilarious, it's not really getting me riled up. So, while she's having her quiet nervous breakdown, I let my eyes flicker to the opening in her shirt and thinking about pressing my palm against her tits. Maybe giving them a nice, hard squeeze, getting her to cry out if I'm lucky. That does the trick and pretty soon I'm at full mast and ready to get started with teaching her.

Oh what a fun little lesson this will prove to be for me.

After some quick debate, I decide maybe hand shit is where I should start. Save the best for last. "[Name], give me your hand." I urge, not waiting for her to comply and just picking it up myself. I pull it closer to my lap and wrap her tiny fingers around my shaft.

Immediately, she grips it and I have to surpress the urge to scream. Not in pleasure, but in pain. This shit fucking hurts.

"Ow- Hey, hey- Loosen it, loosen it.. that's it.. good girl.." I sigh in relief when she complies but keeps her hand in a loose circle around me. "Okay, we're gonna try jerking me off, alright?" I tell her when the breath finally reenters my system. Could have sworn my life just flashed before my eyes from that experience.

"Oh, that's easy. I read about that, I can do it!" [Name] exclaims, almost excited to try out her knowledge from books. I'm immediately cautious. From that first moment, I'm kinda scared she's gonna break my dick off. Don't think that would be good. I kinda need that.

Turns out I was right to be cautious. One second everything's fine, the next, I've died, and my dick feels like I'm fucking a succulent vacuum. And not in a good way. "Ouch-! Fuck- [Name]-! When I said 'Jerk it off' I didn't mean jerk it off my body!" This is not going at all like how I envisioned it in my head. Like at all. This lesson is so unsexy my boner keeps leaving. I have to keep giving it a couple pip-paps just to keep it up. Which in turn is making [Name] feel bad, which is also making my boner go down. Ugh, this is a nightmare.

Finally I sigh and gently move her hand. "Okay, darling. That's not working. So, instead you're going to use your mouth." When she starts moving down, I stop her by touching her shoulder. "Now before you go down and inevitably bite my cock off, listen carefully. Don't use your teeth, make sure they're just barely grazing me. And wrap one hand around the base and hold it steady. Move it in the opposite direction of your mouth so that it meets in the middle, got it?" She nods and moves down again. I hold my breath and lean back against the wall, eyes closed, half expecting to feel a sharp pain as her teeth sink into my length. But that doesn't happen. Instead, my senses are being sweetly invaded by euphoria. Her tongue is wet and warm around my dick, and her teeth are barely even noticeable. Her hand is moving the perfect speed to contrast her mouth and it feels like heaven. A wet, warm heaven. "Oh- fuuuuck-"

The sounds coming from me are foreign to me. But she's pulling them out of me faster than I can stop them. Normally I'd be embarrassed, but right now I don't have enough time to register anything that isn't pleasure. "Fuck, fuck, don't you stop-"

And then suddenly, she's doing shit that I didn't tell her about. Her mouth pulls off my cock with a soft pop and her tongue laps around me, licking, grazing, making me twitch and buck my hips. When her tongue presses against my bright red tip, my eyes roll back in their sockets and a loud groan resonates around the room. Whatever books she's been fucking reading are definitely my favorites now. Don't know who wrote them or what they're called, but goddamn do I love those books. Then, all too soon, I'm coming and it's over. It has been about two minutes. Fuck, I feel so pissed with myself. Two minutes? Fucking seriously, Miles?

I watch her, my cheeks flaming red, while she takes her time lapping up my mess like a dog under the dinner table. "So," she asks casually, licking her fingers. "When's lesson two?"

[A Note From Zee]

I'm genuinely so sorry this took so damn long- I got caught up in other things, but I hope it was at least passable.

[k-zuzulibrary]

창빈

seo changbin 𖹭 gn!reader

dating scb.

content: headcanons, eventual smut mdni, sucking him off, mention of pda, changbin courts you, me simping, kinda weird timeline i was too lazy to fix, not proofread, lowercase intended.

zuzu's note: purely for self indulgence.

i have been so obsessed with him! he's my ult bias but he's just been hitting different lately, especially in the recent lollapalooza concert. his hair, his lines in the ATE album, omg, he's so hdjakskzkkwe!!!@;#&@*

the video of him with chaeryoung was sooo cute, it was so nice to see him being so chill in a different way, u get me? also chaeryoung was so cute and funny there 😭😭😭

he would be such an amazing best friend but at the same time such A GREAT BOYFRIEND!

imagine dating him? you'd literally got the best jackpot ever. he's literally the perfect boyfriend. he's so mature and such a charming, gentle, lovable soul!!!

he's known for always being the one people go to for comfort and advice and i just love that about him<33

he'd prioritize you sooo much! he's a kind man, but the type where he can distinguish romantic and platonic interactions. for some other people there isn't much of a line so you can't tell if they like you

to changbin, you're special asf.

if you're into pda: wrapping an arm around your waist, feeding you some of his chips or fries while you're using your phone/distracted, hand holding, visiting your workplace/last class, and such.

friendly bickers with him would be so funnn! i do not limit him as a sweetheart (even though he is) he is SOOO loud. i thought about this while watching the skz code where he and hyunjin debate on whether the egg or the chicken came first, or if the butt was one or two butts. idk why changbin argued it was two. a butt is clearly one and has 2 cheeks! hyunjin's argument when he compared a butt to an ear was actually valid — if a butt is two then, an ear would just as well be two because what they had in common was that a hole seperated them.

he always takes you out on dates! it's important to him to keep the romance alive. gym dates, amusement park dates (never on a rollercoaster), history museum dates, candlelit dinners, studio dates, picnic breakfasts, bed breakfasts! he also feels kind of like a little academic library date kind of guy. sidenote: taking pics of each otherrr!!!

also, 3racha wrote the lyrics of the song "I Like It" and changbin was very passionate while defending the definition of the lyrics againdt hyunjin and seungmin on spot-on. so it's a given that changbin is no stranger to the concept of romance regardless of his lack of experience (at least to our knowledge).

so it doesn't take long for changbin to realize that his feelings are all but platonic. the question is; what would he do about them?

well, personally, i think changbin is the type to pursue. he's a little shameless (in a good way): all of the members know about his feelings for you and he doesn't hide them!

he never pressures you at all. he makes sure you're comfortable before making any advances. of course you allow him to court you.

he does everything, gift giving (buys you anything he sees that reminds him of you), acts of service (he's such an acts of service man!!!), quality time (plsss), physical touch (PLSSSS!!!!), words of affirmation (OF COURSE HE WOULD). everything.

one time, you noticed he was slowing down and you wondered if he was getting tired of waiting, but when you visited him at the dorm you realized he was sick. (why didn't he tell you?) you stayed and you took care of him.

immediately, he was better the next day. (maybe you were a magic cure for him).

the next week, you visited him in the studio and he was really stressed about his recent project. you offered to distract him and he accepted it (if it was even possible).

what he didn't expect was for you to kiss him. why did you kiss him? everything he did for you was building up to the moment he could kiss you.

a kiss turned into a make out session, into you grinding on his lap, into you sucking him off so he could relieve some of the stress he was feeling.

his words were adamant on not letting you because he wanted to be able to make you cum first, but his body spoke otherwise as his hands gently met with the top of your head and his legs spread wider.

he let out small whimpers and sighs, trying his best to stay silent because he might do something embarrassing but you were so good and you took him so well. you were moaning louder than he was as his fat cock went deeper down your throat and he finally met his release.

he tried to pull your head off of him, but you insisted he came down your throat.

"fuck." he whispered. too tired to fight you as his balls emptied, he came wayyyy too much and it was taking a little too long until he was done cumming.

finally pulling his dick out with a soft pop, you stood up, kissed his cheek and left like nothing happened.

well, it's safe to say he was done courting you and you finally started dating after that.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆.˚

main masterlist.

©️ 2025 k-zuzulibrary All Rights Reserved.

[im-literally-just-an-olm]

You know, I wanna say I remember seeing a James somerton video a while back, it was on asexual erasure in the Queer community, and like it was so unbelievably clear how just it wasn't thought through, and just kinda blatantly acephobic. One of the first things said was the co-host (think he was the co-writer somerton hired but he deleted the video and his entire channel so I am unsure) was part of a pride organization, where they had a debate if ace people should get a spot, and if they were queer enough to be in this organization, then somerton go onto say "there's no persecution like gay people have faced." right after giving an example of persecution specifically toward asexual people. They also say its currently classified as a disease which hasn't been true since 2013, which never should has but whatever. They then go onto say that there's never really been asexual-based conversion therapy which is just untrue period. (there's actually a source I found that says ace folks face it more, source further down) I was like 20 minutes into this like hour long podcast at this point and I had to stop, because it was just hard to watch. As an Ace dude this blatant acephobia just pisses me off beyond all belief, and as a not horrible person, the rest of this mans plagiarism, sexism, and transphobia is just Horrific to me as well. I'd figure id add my experience with this mans content into the discussion. Idk what this is its midnight and im tired Source btw:

https://assets.publishing.service.gov.uk/media/5b3b2d1eed915d33e245fbe3/LGBT-survey-research-report.pdf this pdf, section 5.7, specifically 5.7.1 "Amongst cisgender respondents, there was not much variation in who had undergone or been offered conversion therapy by sexual orientation. Bisexual respondents were the least likely to have undergone or been offered it (5%), and asexual respondents the most likely (10%)"

[thrashkink-coven]

(should this post be NSFW?? Idk. Tread with caution I guess)

Got to talking to Lucifer about god spousal and astral sex, his thoughts on it, its function. Early this morning, maybe 5-6am I went into a trance. We were sitting on sand, in what kind of looked like a temple, but also some kind of pool. There were swans in the pool. It was dark. Lucifer was braiding my hair, he's never done that before.

And Lucifer, straight to the point as always, asked me directly if I wanted to marry him.

Lol, I don't think so. At least not right now. I think I need to marry my boyfriend before I can even think about marrying my Patron. I get everything I need out of the relationship we have right now. and for some reason my brain finds it kind of strange for us. I don't know if I would ever want to.

Then I asked him what the benefits are to him as the God anyways.

"It's different for everyone, there are bounds that you and I have crossed that others reserve for marriage. If you and I were to be wed it'd be because you wanted it."

I told him that I assumed that all of this, (in reference to our affectionate relationship in general) was mostly because I wanted it."

And he kind of disagreed, which surprised me.

"It's not all you. Remember when Hermes rejected you?"

Yes, desire is needed on both ends I suppose. To which I promptly asked, so why do you...? why with me?

"Do you think a God can experience pleasure?"

I guess I don't really know. Do gods have types, preferences in humans, either aesthetic or even sexual? Beyond intellectually or spiritually, I guess I wouldn't really think so. You don't have a body or the organs that produce sex hormones, you don't have a nervous system. So I don't know what intimacy does to you.

He laughed at me. "Do you not experience these things when you are outside of your body?"

Ironic because this conversation took place in an astral trance. My body is laying in bed, yet I can feel the sand and smell the water. I can feel Lucifer braiding my hair.

Yes but, only through the scope of my understanding, my senses. Right? I cannot gain senses beyond what I am equipped with while in the trance. I feel you, see you, only because I have had a body to feel and see with. You communicate with me through my senses.

"Bravo, my boy. Consider though, that you were born without understanding. These senses you have that I manipulate, you forget, are only energy. Complex energy simulated from your understanding, the feedback from your body, yes, but still, in the end, just a complex wave. A good vibration. It is the only thing your psyche truly understands. The universal language, the vehicle of information. Now comes the debate of the ages, do Gods have psyches? Are archetypes created or discovered? If you want to know the benefit for me, I'd ask you why you want to be loved. Your lover is offering you a complex sequence of energy when he loves you, and you offer it back. I suppose in the end it is all just exchanges, but I like to believe the first part in loving is sharing. He likes what you give to him, I like what you give to me, that's the basic fundamental."

I guess that makes sense.

He tugged my hair. "Now ask me what you really want to know."

???? I did.

And then he starts smiling. "Humans like to be desired, lusted after."

I don't know how to even put into words how it feels to know that a deity is reading your mind. I doesn't matter so I didn't think I should ask.

"You wanna know what my type is? You want to know if I find you attractive? I'll tell you this. You know that I am not a human, I am not sexually attracted to you in the way your reproductive system simulates. But your body, as you know and have learned, is, truly, one of the most hated bodies on Earth. It is a body that fundamentally goes against every doctrine, a body that has historically been systematically controlled and oppressed. One that carries generations of scars and curses, and you've experienced it. Being outcasted, black sheeped and discriminated against for this body. For the space it occupies, for the energy it exudes. And you have somehow still survived, by pure will of pride and determination. And you have made and will continue to make this body into your finest work of art. That turns me on. When you love it, you honor me. When I have the opportunity to indulge it, I revel in it. Every smile on your cheeks is rebellion, every orgasm, every day you grow older, satisfies me. I get off on your freedom."

wow...ok. cool answer ....

[jamethinks]

Chapter 111... let's talk about it.

Firstly, that is not Anya's real mother. That is her birth mother. Biological if you want to get technical. While I don't think anyone is going to turn their backs on Yor as Anya's mother, language is still important. Resist the nuclear-monogamy family propaganda. No hate no shade but this is touching on very triggering territory for me and I am weary of what I will have to suffer through. The batfam fandom has been pissing off as it alright. Wrap it up.

Now for the actual chapter

Died 852 Born in like 1950s/1940s. Welcome back Eren Yeager

Theory: Anya's mother was experimented on during the second war (during WW2 we say a lot of unethical practices and experiments going on so who's to say). At some point she would have gotten pregnant (likely not on purpose) and had Anya. Then she would have broken Anya out or something.

Questions: Can Anya's mom read minds? We know Anya can and that the scientists were interested in this ability but also there does not seem to be any interest in finding her. No easter eggs or discussions. Seems rather odd to just let something like go unless you had something more interesting/valuable in your possession ie Anya's mother.

Alternatively, given the nature of the story it is possible nobody gave a rat's ass until. And by nobody I mean Endo. This could be the intro into unraveling the story behind Anya and finally going into the actual mystery of the story. I guess now that they have decided what that mystery is we will look into it. But it would have been nice to have a few easter eggs but have it your way

There is a way this could work. They just thought Anya was dead. Her mom killed her setting her free like a butterfly and stayed with them so her daughter does not have to go through that torture anymore. Granted she didn't actually kill her but that is what she wanted them to believe hence why they never looked for her.

One of Ashe's powers was the ability to make people see illusions. Within the context of the story they are treated a truthful premonitions. If we assume her mother had these abilities then that would make for a lot of interesting possibility regarding Anya's escape. Would also link her to Bond but who cares.

Farfetched theory: she is a clone and that woman is her mother but also not really get freaky with it idk

The existence of an adult telepath does open up an alternative possibility. In one of my fics, Anya's mother is a Russian spy who would use her telepathic abilities to help the country advance in war and such and Anya was created in hope of giving Ostania access to that ability. I think that may be what happened here as well. Anya's mother was used as a tool by the Ostanian government to help sniff out spies and shit. Given the high rates of espionage and distrust, it does seem likely that they would want a telepath in their bank to advance their own war efforts. This could also explain why Donovan may seem like he can read thoughts. He could use her to read the thought of people he suspects or whatever and report back to him. It's a farfetched theory but anything to prove he can't read minds.

Lastly, it seems Melinda's delusions are affecting Twilight a bit. The way he reacted to Yor seemingly reading Anya's mind is interesting. Even though he may not necessarily believe Melinda it does seem like it made him debate his understanding of reality. He's a skeptical man by nature so I think he might just become more observant of the people around him. As if he himself is debating the existence of telepaths and mind readers. This not only puts Anya in awkward position but also Yor. Even if he doesn't devolve into a paranoid man convinced that everyone can read his minds, it will make him question her more and possible bring those early day suspicions of who Yor truly is.

Besides he's also getting close and attached to them. It won't surpise me if in defense he starts making up insane scenarios and explanations to forcibly detach himself from them. One trait he has always shared with Donovan is paranoia and distrust of others. Of course we have seen what that distrust can do to you.

(Side note: Yor immediately clocking his confusion and clarifying for him is so cute. Like she knows her paranoid little man. Granted, it will come to bite her in the ass if he starts to spiral out of control)

[velvetvexations]

wasg going to send a more coherent ask but it became. this. thanks for listening if you do and have a nice day :)

i really really dont want to assume anything but sincerely a lot of the gender discourse sounds really really fuckin american. like im not trying to say that everyone dismissing t-androphobia is american but it is sincerely kind of breathtaking how many people think bigotry is this kind of inherent brainworm that transcends culture, context, and all physical boundaries

when sometimes it is literally necessary to understand that a lot of this Is just a distribution issue. the world and people's lives are massively narrow and patchy. posts like "you never see x happening" drive me bonkers because literally doesn't mean anything? it's the black swan paradox all again. i feel like it's done me a world of good to realize that i could run around at a speed of 10 mph for the rest of my life and still not be able to see 90% of what people experience and know to be real

also a huge part of this debate leaves me scratching my head because there's this assumption that someone who does not experience some sort of oppression is forever unable to understand such oppression...and then as this idea evolves we get all sorts of fun varieties like "trying to relate to some sort of oppression with your own experiences is presumptuous appropriation" (odd to me because at least as i've been taught sometimes this can be helpful to comfort and connect to people) "doing so means you're jealous of the perceived attention oppressed people get" (this one is silly to me) "everyone different from you can never actually ever be your friend because your oppression is central to your identity and if they don't understand it they will tear you down" (just downright not true, in my experience, though of course, it's also entirely possible that for someone else's experience, it HAS been true.)

i don’t necessarily think that anyone who buys into the tma/tme divide is just someone who has never experienced oppression before, though. honestly, some of the blogs vilest towards transmascs are, from what ive seen, run by people who are struggling or isolated currently. i can’t help but feel like this rhetoric is preying on people who feel alone and perceived as an animal by everyone around them by telling them that this is true, but that this time their isolation can be self-imposed to keep all those enemies out. it all leaves a really fuckin bad taste in my mouth that it especially targets vulnerable people.

(failed coherent ask anon) more rambling idk if this would have fit into one asks’ wordcount. people are bringing up past ace discourse and i agree. almost all of the posts are also phrased in a similar way, just kinda funny to me. anyways, it’s actually a really cowardly maneuver every time. it goes like this: we have determined group A is mathematically less oppressed than the umbrella group we have determined that us, group B, are mathematically oppressed more for a multitude of reasons, we bully and belittle group A bonus steps: find discussions that are naturally happening around the oppression of group A and convince people that these discussions are silencing, proof of jealousy of oppression, proof of some uniting whinyness/cringyness/personality defect of the whole group, or proof of oppression towards group B people react to us bullying and belittling group A no matter how vile the bullying, no matter how harmful the bullying proves to be, no matter how much proof of real oppression group A may provide, you can brush it off because of the main mantra, “group A is not oppressed but group B is.” we can structure every conflict between the two as inherently oppressive because A are always the oppressors, and B are always the oppressed. final step: if anyone from group A calls out the bullying, we can again go to bonus step 4 and use this as proof that A are trying to make themselves out to be oppressed, which is ridiculous, because A are and always have been oppressors it’s such a lazy, automatic argument. ace attorney would eat those chucklefucks up. (i know nothing about ace attorney)

My Ace Attourney fan friend probably agrees lol. Such circular fucking logic.