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reiderwriter · 10 hours

Text

Flirting with the FBI

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Request: Hiiii!! This is my first time requesting anything on this app, but Spencer reid has me in a chokehold. So, I was thinking that the reader is the unsub, and she's like this very good hacker who keeps teasing the fbi cause she's bored or something so she keeps sending hints about who she is or where she is but they keep getting nothing on her. And all of this just keeps getting on Spencer's nerves. And so when Spencer finds her, she keeps teasing him and acting like a brat so he "disciplines" her and takes her roughly and maybe a bit of spanking???

Warnings: a lot tbh - mentions of case details, mentions of domestic violence and police brutality, reader is a possible target of a serial killer, bad tech skills from the writer who really couldn't be bothered to do anymore research than the actual CM writing team, rough Dom Spencer, brat reader, sexual innuendo, semi-public sexual play, spanking, dirty talk (good girl, brat etc.) fingering, raw sex/creampie, aftercare, slight dacryphilia (crying kink) and bimbofication.

A/N: My last fic was a heartwarming family fic, and now I'm back to being depraved. Apologies to anyone here for cute fluff 😭

Masterlist

You always thought hacking the FBI mainframe would be hard, but it's one of the easiest things you've done all week.

If they were going to sit around doing nothing while a serial killer ran around in their own backyard, then obviously, they needed a helping hand. Or a helping poem or two.

Getting into their security camera feed was just an added bonus.

You grabbed your bowl of popcorn and settled into your desk chair, clicking open the window to find which room exactly they would gather in to freak out together.

You made sure to get their attention, blacking out all the computers in the office as they ran to a backroom where a very distraught looking blonde woman was sat. She was evidently the go-to tech support of about six agents who quickly ran to her room to figure out what the issue was. It was show time.

“There once was a serial killer,

Who ate boys and girl both for his dinner,

He cut, diced and slashed,

Left the feds quite abashed,

So I leave this message to be clearer”

The poem scrolled onto their screen on a loop, flashing in and out quickly before you let the computer systems relax again.

You thought they'd panic, scramble for a pen or paper or something, but none of the agents moved until the flashing was over.

You watched curiously as an older man took charge of the scene, likely directing the woman at the desk to figure out who you were, where you lived, and what your social security number was. She got to work quickly, and he moved on to the other agents.

None of them had written the poem down. None had even taken a picture, but one man started talking, and for a while, all eyes and attention in the room were focused solely on him. His hands moved as his mouth did, as if he were casting a spell over the room as he spoke. Even more intriguing was the fact that he rarely seemed to make eye contact with any of them as he spoke. He wasn't conversing or giving directions. He was simply talking.

And you really wanted to listen in.

The younger man began to walk and you watched him quickly pace over to a whiteboard, switching from one feed to another as he made his way there, and pick up a pen before notating the poem perfectly.

Whoever this man was, he was making you feel more and more excited about the game of cat and mouse you had begun with the FBI. You weren't entirely sure if he was to be the cat or the mouse, though.

A few days later, they'd seemingly lost the motivation to work, so you again did their job for them.

With another accompanying limerick to help them along, of course.

“There once was a bullpen full of agents,

Who thought they were very surveillant,

But a simply code crack,

And there system did hack,

A young girl who lived quite adjacent.”

This time, you let the words linger on the screen longer, as you slipped your information into their files, leaving more bread crumbs they could follow to the real villain.

The Agent - Doctor, you had since learned - took up his pen once again and scribbled your first poem next to your most recent.

Doctor Spencer Reid. An IQ of 187, three PhDs and however many Bachelor's Degrees, a member of the Behavioural Analysis Unit, and, as you could somehow tell from the grainy security footage, incredibly attractive man.

He was calm, again talking with his hands as he notated, again drawing the rooms attention like he was the sun and everything needed to orbit him to sustain life. You wondered what it would be like to fluster him.

Typing something out quickly, you broke back into the FBI system. It was risky doing it again so soon again, knowing that their tech analyst was already actively hunting you down, cyber-wise. But you couldn't resist.

“The tall, dark and handsome employee,

How I do wish that he could enjoy me,

I would gladly submit,

we match wit for wit,

But he's trying his best to arrest me.”

The BAU team stood silent on the camera before the two women on the team burst into rambunctious laughter. The camera feed was archaic, black and white, and grainy to boot, but even you couldn't miss the red stain against Doctor Spencer Reid's cheeks. A bonus was the other gentlemen subtly posturing, trying to figure out exactly which of them was “tall, dark, and handsome.”

The payoff for that poem was so great that over the course of the next few days, you kept serenading him with love poems among your quick hints about the actual crime being committed.

You'd first suspected the man of being dangerous when you'd seen the state of his wife. 19 domestic disturbance calls in two months, 0 arrests, and 1 very cushy job as a police detective. You'd done some simple computer programming for your local precinct, inputting data from cases into an algorithm that helped track everything easier, so you'd been intimate with cases that he'd handled.

A pattern had emerged, a series of murders of “undesirables,” people the city didn't care about when alive and certainly didn't have the resources to allocate to after their deaths. Prostitutes, the homeless, and runaway foster kids. All missing or dead, all cases handled by the same officer. The officer that lived next door to you and was one beer away from beating his wife into submission 5 days a week.

After your third 911 call, you'd been notified of your contract termination with the precinct. After the tenth, you noticed parole cars driving by every hour.

By call number 19, you were sure it was a miracle he hadn't tried to have you arrested.

So you turned back to the FBI to see what they could do about a man who treated his wife, and basically everyone else, like scum of the earth.

“Please don't get sidetracked by my hacking,

I'm a good girl, your team I am backing,

the killer, you see,

Is right now hunting me,

You're the ones who can do better tracking.”

You watched the tension snap back into place in the office as, for the first time, Spencer Reid was silent at your message. They all got back to work quickly, going over the files you'd dropped in their servers.

That night, Spencer Reid stayed in the office late, reading through piles and piles of files and looking for the connection he needed. You watched in pity, feeling almost guilty that you'd placed this burden on him instead of just approaching them honestly. But you'd called the police before, and it hadn't worked, so getting attention anyway you could was the only way to go.

You watched for so long that you began noticing his small habits. Each time you sensed frustration, he would run a hand through his hair and tug it slightly. When he found something, he leaned in closer to the page, as if his proximity to the words would make them clearer. Finally, he stood and began clearing his files. But you weren't quite ready to sign off yet, the shouting already beginning in the apartment next to yours, so you quickly typed out the first thing that came to mind to get him to stay.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,

Who I simply and truly just need,

I would lie on my back,

And then let him attack,

Any inch of my body with his seed.”

He fumbled the files in his haste to remove your words from his screen, from every screen now in the building, face awash with embarrassment as he looked around for some sign that no one witnessed your words.

Luck was not to be had as the tech analyst - Penelope Garcia - came shooting out of her office to join him in the near empty bullpen, and the older team leader - Aaron Hotchner - also looked out over the bannister from his office as they bore witness to your seduction.

You were driving Spencer Reid crazy.

He'd spent the last two weeks tracking down a serial killer who may or may not exist based on the word of a set of limericks delivered to the BAU through illegal means that had begun unabashedly flirting with him.

This latest limerick was his last straw.

“The cameras are how I can see you,

I do find myself enjoying the view,

His hair is so fine,

I wish he was mine,

The agent with more PhDs than two.”

“Another score, pretty boy, it was about time someone noticed your good looks instead of your brain for once.” Morgan patted him on the shoulder, barely containing his glee and laughter.

“She's watching us through security feed, and that's all you have to say?” he grumbled, writing out this limerick again, the words to the others burned into his brain. “She's playing with me.”

“It sure sounds like she'd enjoy doing just that,” Emily laughed from her desk, “but I think she might be right, Spencer. Every case file she's given us has suspicious activity on it. They're all unsolved, but the victims aren't linked.”

“He's crossing race and gender boundaries, but he's hitting undesirables.”

They had a case because of you. It didn't mean he wouldn't enjoy handcuffing you and putting you in a cell once this was all finished.

“WE'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE,” Penelope shouted from her office, to no avail. If it was at one computer, it was on all of them.

“The agents grew closer by day,

As the killer wanted to escape,

He paced across the floor,

As I watched by his door,

Getting closer than the agents could say.”

He paused then for a second, thinking through each of the limericks in turn and the panic began.

“Closer than… Emily, the officer that took in all of the cases, what was his name?”

“Officer Falstaff, why?”

“I think he might be our killer. And I think he knows she's on to him, or if he doesn't, he will soon.” He stood suddenly, grabbing a file and sprinting to Penelope’s office, Emily and Morgan trailing close behind.

“Spencer, wait-”

“No time. If we want them both alive, we have to move now.”

Throwing the door to Penelope’s room open, he didn't even bother with niceties.

“Can you get her a message?” He demanded, panting from the short run.

“A wha-? Spencer, what are you talking about?”

“Can you send the hacker a message? Or leave her one so she can find it when she comes?”

Penelope swivelled around in her chair once again, doing who-knows-what to answer his question.

“There's no telling what she actually sees in our servers, Spencer, we didn't see any breach in classified files, the only thing she's done is read your personal file and drop us hints.”

His hands closed into fists as he nodded along. “So no?”

“No, Spencer, I'm sorry. Why? Are you starting to grow fond of our little helper.”

“She's not our little helper. She's a criminal. And she'll be dead soon if I don't confirm with her that we have the right guy - excuse me.”

The anger was washing over him now, as he left the room to get some air, getting only as far as the corridor before slamming an open palm into the wall and resting his forehead against it for a moment, just thinking.

The stress of the case was almost too much for him as he turned around and rested his back against the wall, sliding down it until he was sat on the floor. He may have despised you at that moment, but he didn't want you to get yourself killed.

Something nagged him, still, some stress or anger that hadn't yet surfaced, or some case fact he was missing. A glint at the corner of his eye had him looking up to the camera currently trained directly on him.

Computers are useless, he thought to himself, when you can send a letter.

The next time you sat down at your desk, you weren't exactly shocked to see an up close and personal shot of Aaron Hotchner - they'd turned your security stream into a one way facetime and you were sat directly opposite the big boss himself in an interrogation room.

“Checkmate, I guess,” you said, waiting for the man to move.

A signal from behind the camera let him know you were online and watching. He picked up a pen and paper and scribbled down something before holding the note out to you once more.

The name and location of the bastard next door. They'd done it, and now you simply had to drop your evidence, shut down your computer, and wait for the sirens to sound.

You felt slightly sad typing out your last message, knowing that you had no more reason to stay in touch with the team now. Still, you were only human and couldn't resist the chance to say something more.

“Aaron Hotchner and his clever team,

Working with you has been like a dream,

When Reid comes it is wet,

And my mind is all set,

Oh, I do wish that he'd make me cream.”

The camera turned seconds after your message was sent, and there he was, reading intently, frow creased in annoyance as he tried to remain calm. He, too, picked up a pen and paper.

“I have questions,” the paper said when he turned it around. Holding it up for a few seconds before returning his pen to paper. You typed out a message before he could finish dictating his, though.

“When you find me there's lots for me to say,

I can't help simply feeling this way,

Your profile I read,

Can't believe you're a Fed,

I yearn for you all night and day.”

Somehow, the lines between his brow deepened as he quickly scribbled out another message. This one wasn't a question, though. It was simply two words.

He'd written your name on that paper. He'd found you.

You weren't sure if the tingle that ran up your spine was fear or anticipation. One one hand, you'd likely committed multiple felonies in the pursuit of justice, and the SWAT team about to pick up the killer was going to knock for you, too. On the other hand, it was pretty much a given that you would be seeing Spencer Reid in person in the next few hours.

“The Doctor had finally cracked it,

The only identity that could fit,

The pretty young thing,

Who'd been flirting with him,

And was thinking of sitting on his…”

You sent a second message along with the first.

“I couldn't make this one rhyme, Doc. Come and get me.”

The sound of the FBI outside your neighbour's door had you stepping away from the computer finally. It was time to get ready to see him. You stepped out of your robe and into the shower as you waited to be collected and hauled into a police vehicle.

xxx

So far, you were a bit disappointed by the look of the BAU offices. It was smaller than it appeared on the CCTV, and you hadn't exactly given the tour. Unless the whole tour was the wall from the elevators, through the bullpen and straight to interrogation room one. You were also slightly embarrassed that you had yet to be greeted by any of your favourite characters yet. The lead swat officer had led you in some desk agents dropping by to have you fill out some simple documents - waiving your rights and all that. You'd seen not even a single member of the BAU since dropping in two hours ago, but you felt his eyes on you.

You faced the mirror, trying your best to stare straight through it and into the man beyond.

Spencer Reid was there. He had to be. He was too curious to be anywhere else. You smiled at him through the mirror and waited.

You were right, of course. Spencer stood on the opposite side of the one-way window and watched you look for him in every inch of the glass. He watched you squirm when you couldn't find anything, watched you pick at your nails as he made you wait.

He watched you cross and uncross your legs, the short skirt you'd slipped into just before you left providing just enough mystery to catch his eye and his breath.

He was annoyed, frustrated, a little bit impressed, anxious, and - to his peril - turned on.

“Spencer,” Hotch said, breaking the man's concentration. “We can't keep her that much longer. Go in and say something, or I'll cut her loose.”

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away and stepped out of the waiting room before letting himself into yours.

“Miss Y/N, my name is Doctor Spencer Reid, I'm a profiler working with the Behavioural An-”

“You're joking, right?” You asked, eyes lighting up, spine straightening as you looked up at the man. “I know who you are, Doc.”

“Please call me Doctor Reid,” he asked, setting down a file on the table and looking over the desk at you.

“Oh, I don't even get your first name.” You lifted your leg and ran it along the side of his until he moved his chair back, just out of reach. You pouted as he began reading through documents, asking you to confirm exactly which technical breaches you were responsible for.

“And the breach at 1:27pm on Thursday 5th-”

“Yes, that was me, too. They were all me, Doc, is that all? Are we finished now?”

“I don't know, are we finished? Can I leave?”

“No,” you shouted, just as he stood up to gather his things. “No, don't go. I want to talk to you.”

He sat back down, finally looking at you instead of words on a page.

“Do you enjoy attention, Miss Y/N?” He asked, voice cold but gaze burning like fire into your skin.

“As much as anyone does.”

“Do you enjoy my attention?” The words hung between you for a few minutes as you watched him carefully, searching for the right answer.

“What do you think, Doc?”

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” he repeated reflexively.

“I know your name,” you smiled, and he finally looked away, breaking contact to regroup for a second.

“We have reason to believe you used your backdoor into our system to access my personal file, is that correct?” It may have been asked as a question, but Spencer Reid already knew the answer.

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

You laughed at the simple question, sure that your behaviour until this point was evidence enough to answer it.

“Why? Because you're attractive and your smart and-”

“Why haven't you used the content of the files as leverage? I've been digging at you for the last half hour, and you have plenty of ammunition to throw back at me, yet you haven't. Why?”

For the first time in a while, you were speechless.

“Oh. Wow. Should I have said something? Would you have felt more comfortable if I were a horrible person using your background to make you feel vulnerable?”

“Why, Y/N?”

You sighed and looked back up at him.

“I'm interested in you. That's it. Honestly, there is nothing in your file more interesting than how you look running your hands through your hair.”

His jaw clenched and unclenched before he let out a sigh.

“So you're a compulsive liar.” He said it so finitely it was like a kick in the teeth.

“Or maybe you're just insecure. I can help with that.”

He shot you another warning look as a grin spread over your lips. Yes, it was very fun to mess with Spencer Reid.

“FBI Agents aren't allowed to sleep with suspects.”

“You want to sleep with me?”

His eyes went wide as he realized his mistake, mouth opening and closing as he tossed another annoyed look in your direction.

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Reid quickly bolted out of his seat as Aaron Hotchner entered. The two men shared a nod before the younger man left the room entirely.

“Such a shame, I thought we were really getting somewhere.”

To your surprise, Hotchner’s lips curled up in a laugh as he sat down, straightening his suit.

“Miss Y/N, we've reviewed the information you've given us and taken into account your motives, and the FBI has decided not to prosecute you for your actions.”

You sat for a minute, Hotch doing the same, the both of you caught waiting for each other to say something or continue.

“But?” You prodded, knowing there was more left to say.

“But, we'd ask for your cooperation on cases in the future that require technological man-power. In a consultancy role, of course. You wouldn't be given a badge or a gun or any clearance, and you'd need to be with an agent at all times.”

You tapped your fingers against the desk, trying to figure out if this deal was beneficial or not.

“I'll do it if I can pick the Agent.”

Now, the man was fully smiling at you or giving you what you assumed passed for a smile in his books.

“We had recommended Doctor Reid for the role. Of course, if you're more comfortable with another agent, you can-”

“Doctor Reid is perfect, thank you.”

The man nodded and stood, and you stood with him as he led you quietly out of the room.

A flustered Spencer Reid exited the adjoining room, hurrying to catch Hotch before he really signed his life away to you.

“Hotch, what is this?” He demanded, stopping the man in his tracks. They both paused, turning around and moved a few feet awaywfrom.you whispering out their argument.

You couldn't catch most of it, but you did happen to catch the phrases “man-eater,” “I'm not good with people,” and “Spencer, this will be good for you.” Victory in the end went to Hotch, who promptly turned on his heel and kept walking down the hall.

“I work here now,” you said, grinning up at Spencer.

“No, you don't.”

“According to your boss, I do. And you're my babysitter.”

“You're a criminal. You hacked into the FBI database to leave ominous clues to multiple murders.”

“If you call those ominous clues, I'm curious how people usually flirt with you.”

“They don't. Why…why are we having this conversation?”

He stormed off ahead of you, and you quickened your pace to catch up to him, following him down a familiar hallway to what was obviously tech central at the BAU.

“Spencer, seriously? You're walking around looking like that, and no one hits on you?”

He stopped abruptly, and you ran into his back before he turned around to scowl at you again.

“Can we keep this serious, please?”

“I'm very serious about flirting with you, and I'm stumped why more people aren't.”

“Okay, let's go somewhere and talk,” his hand landed on your waist, readying his grip to forcibly move you if need be.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” Instead of allowing him to move you, you leaned into his touch, stepping closer and raising a hand to his chest, as his head dipped to maintain eye contact.

“No, this isn't talking, this is some weird foreplay I've never heard of, and I'd like you to leave my office if you're going to continue,” the woman sat at the desk exclaimed, horror and amusement fighting a battle for her facial expressions. “I like to keep my office a no trauma zone, so please take a walk to the nearest bed or storage closet or car and you can shove your tongues down each other's throats in peace and out of my sight, please and thank you.”

Spencer tried to step away, but a hand on his tie kept him close and kept his eyes on you. You poked your head out around him and smiled at the other woman.

“Sorry to disturb you. I'm Y/N. Based on the tech, I assume we will be working with each other soon.”

“Oh my gosh, you were, like, my number one most hated person last week. Penelope Garcia, tech analyst.”

“I'm sorry about that. If it makes it any better, it was really hard to get past some of your firewalls. And I couldn't even touch the classified files.”

“Apology accepted, on the condition that you lead young Reid out of my office right now before he explodes.”

You grinned and grabbed the man's hand, sending Penelope a quick goodbye as you pulled him out of the room.

He stumbled behind you for a few moments before catching up and pulling you in a different direction, keeping your hands intertwined as he bee-lined for the elevators and pushed the button to go down.

It arrived, and he pulled you in, not releasing your grip until the doors were fully closed and you were alone.

“Getting me all alone, Doc? What do you have in mind?”

“I'm driving you home.”

“My apartment is a crime scene, and I have no family in the city.”

“What about friends?”

“I've been stalked by a homicidal police officer for the last month and barricaded myself into an apartment. Do you think I have friends?”

His gaze was somewhat softer as he looked at you again. You saw the math happening in his head as he tried to figure out what to do with you. You also saw his brain short circuiting when you wrapped yourself around his arm.

“We're friends now, Doc. Isn't that right?”

“What?”

“We're friends,” you repeated again, tone becoming a little defensive in a pout.

“We are not friends, Y/N. We've known each other for less than 6 hours, and we haven't engaged in any friendly conversation.”

“We've known each other for two weeks, and I've been more than friendly enough for the both of us.”

The elevator stopped, and the doors opened. Gesturing for you to go first, Spencer hurried you out of the elevator and into the parking garage.

“Trust me, Spencer, deep down, part of you really wants to be friends with me,” you said poking his chest with a finger. You couldn't resist flattening your hand against his surprisingly hard chest and letting the hand drop slightly.

“And an ever deeper down part of you doesn't want to be friends at all,” you smiled at him.

He caught your wrist before it could reach his belt buckle, your unconscious finish line, spinning you around and dragging you to his car.

The biting cold of metal cutting into your wrists was the first indication that maybe Spencer Reid wasn't as easy to mess with as you'd hoped. He closed the handcuffs around your wrists and handed you into the car as you gaped at him.

“Spencer!”

“Doctor Spencer Reid.”

“I’m not a criminal, Spencer, let me go.”

“I'll let you go when you prove to me you can behave.”

You pouted as he strapped you into the car and closed the door, walking around to the passenger side before letting himself in.

“What's next? Are you going to gag me?” You scoffed as he turned over the engine and began backing out of the parking lot.

“No. I think you'd enjoy that too much.”

The drive to Spencer's apartment was long and quiet as you sat pouting in the passenger seat. Every few seconds, you twisted and moved your arms, fidgeting left and right so he could see how much the restraints bothered you. Luckily, he'd handcuffed your hands in front of your body, so you still sat somewhat comfortably, but you didn't want him to know that.

He pulled up to the building and turned off the engine, pulling out his keys.

“Let's go,” he said, not even sparing you a look as he climbed out.

“Spencer, I'm handcuffed. How do I even get out?”

“You'll figure it out. You're a smart girl, right?”

He closed his door and began walking, and you quickly fumbled your way out.

“Spencer… Spencer, your neighbours are going to ask questions about you bringing a handcuffed girl into your apartment!” You whispered at him as you paced behind him, somehow running to catch up with his mere walk.

“I don't have neighbours like you, Y/N. They won't notice a thing.”

“Right, okay. And when you murder a dozen people over a six month period, they won't hack the federal government.” You rolled your eyes as he unlocked the door, taking your arm and finally handing you into the apartment.

It was dark and cold, and you shivered, feeling his body pushed in right behind yours, closing the door before he felt around for the light switch.

When the lights turned on, you blinked, adjusting to the light again as he walked you further into the apartment, hands on your hips as you slowly stumbled forward.

“Can you take the handcuffs off now?” You asked, looking over your shoulder at him.

“And let you touch my things? No.”

You shook off his hands and walked further into the room.

“You know I can still mess with your stuff with my hands tied up like this,” you said, walking to the nearest bookshelf.

“Whoops, look at that,” you said, pulling a book off the shelf and letting it fall to the floor between you with a thud.

“Y/N!” He exclaimed, voice pitched up in exasperation.

“Oh, this stack of books on the ground looks well organized. Oopsie!” You acted out tripping over the books, sending them flying in different directions.

“One more time, Y/N, mess with my stuff one more time-”

You didn't hear the words as you pulled yet another book off his shelf and let it tumble to the ground.

He was on you in seconds, lifting your wrists and pinning them to the top shelf, pressing his body against yours as he stretched you out.

You gasped at both the sudden contact and the tight grip he now had on your hands.

“Tell me, do you actually want to be in control, or do you just think you should want to be in control?”

“What's the difference?”

“The difference is how much you enjoy it. I think you're only being a brat to get a rise out of me. You're doing this because there's no one else in your life that will give you exactly what you crave."

"And what would that be?"

"Attention," he whispered into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Great, thanks for the therapy. Are you going to show me how much I can enjoy relinquishing control now?”

“Brat,” he spat at you.

“Fed,” you spat back.

“You have a problem with law enforcement?” He asked, his breath hitting your ear as you tried not to shiver again at his touch.

“My neighbour was a serial killer whose day job was police brutality," you said, as if the answer was obvious, but Spencer still stared, waiting for true confirmation.

“Yes I have a problem with law enforcement. What, are you going to spank me?”

His eyes lit up, and you suddenly wondered if you'd made a mistake.

“You'd like that, wouldn't you?”

“N-No.” You stuttered, but he'd already begun moving you over to his couch.

“It was a joke. Spencer, it was a joke, don't-”

You underestimated his strength as he flipped you around and guided you down over his lap. Keeping your hips raised, he used one hand to hold you down while the other pushed up your tight skirt.

“S-Spencer, I really don't think-”

“Then don't think,” he said, bringing his hand down hard on your ass as you cried out in shock and pain.

“Stop thinking. You think too much, let me do it for you.”

With each hit, your shock grew fuzzy, melting into pleasure as you felt wetness pooling between your thighs.

The doctor you thought would be an easy target was not sadistically returning every teasing word back to you with his hands, letting bruises blossom all over your ass as he delivered painfully arousing strikes.

His hand stopped and he rubbed your ass as you twitched at the gentleness, panties sticking to the folds of your cunt as you absent mindedly pushed up into his touch.

“See, now you're listening,” he said, fingers trailing down to touch you over the sopping undergarments.

With two quick fingers, the crotch of your panties peeled away from your skin and he was plunged deep inside you, fingers pressing in as his thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Spencer-”

“Doctor Reid. You can use my full title now or you don't get to cum.”

“D-Doctor Reid, please!” His thumb rubbed slowly over your clit bit his fingers didn't move as you shuddered and contracted around them.

“Please what?” He asked, voice light as if he wasn't two knuckles deep in you already.

“Please make me cum, Doctor Reid!”

“Good manners,” he said as he finally began pumping his digits in and out of you, spreading your legs wider as you clawed your hands into his couch cushions to ground yourself in the moment. His spare hands left your wrists, and you felt them again, delivering small, almost cute hits to your ass as you twitched around his fingers, shying away from the painful contact.

“That's it, Y/N, let yourself relax,” he whispered, shifting his weight underneath you as you became aware of the tent in his pants.

Your brain was jello as you tried to bounce back on his fingers, chasing your oncoming orgasm.

“Look at you, trying to cum on my hands. You're just an attention-seeking slut, right?”

His fingers continued ppimg as your tongue hung loosely in your mouth.

“Answer me, or I'll leave you here high and dry, Y/N. Tell me you're an attention seeking slut that's been fingering yourself to the thought of this for weeks.”

“I-I'm an a-atten…tion seeking s-slut,” you stifled a moan and bit back tears as he pressed another finger inside of you. “Spencer I can't I need to cum,” you cried, tears spilling down your cheeks pathetically.

“Say it.”

“I'm an attention seeking s-slut that's been th-thinking about this-”

“Fingering yourself,” he corrected.

“Fingering myself to the thought of this for w-weeks,” you cried, sniffing now as your thighs shook in anticipation.

“What a nasty little slut,” he said as you finally came, your cum running down his fingers as he kept his hands moving.

Your tears were falling freely now as you bit back little sobs and chokes of emotions, the pleasure from the orgasm almost too much to handle.

Underneath you, Spencer shifted, freeing himself from his position and laying you fully down on the sofa as your legs still shook.

“There once was a doctor called Reid,” he said, unzipping his pants as he took up his place behind you.

They were your words, and your body signalled warnings everywhere as his hands pulled your hips up once more, pulling your knees up too to bend under you, laying you face down ass up.

“Who I simply and truly just need.”

He pulled the panties down to the crook of your knees before leaning down over you so he could deliver the next few lines as whispers into your ear.

“I would lie on my back, And then let him attack, Any inch of my body with his seed.”

A weak moan escaped your lips as he sank his cock inside of you, lips still pressed against your ears.

“I don't want you on your back, though. I much prefer you like this.”

His cock slid out of you and returned with a speed and strength that had your eyes rolling back in your head.

He was thick, maybe a little longer than average, and he filled you perfectly using your cum as lubricant.

“Such a good listener, now, Y/N. I like you like this,” he said with a moan, thrusting hard and deep inside of you.

You didn't talk. You could only drool and moan into his couch as he emptied your brain one thrust at a time.

You didn't think about how he wasn't wearing a condom. You didn't think about how he'd spat your words back at you, ready to fill you with his seed. You just sat in a pool of your own pleasure and let Spencer Reid use your body as you'd been begging him to for weeks.

He raised your hips and gave one last thrust, stilling there for a second as he filled your empty body and mind with his cum and his entire being.

If you weren't obsessed with Doctor Spencer Reid before this, you certainly were now.

He pulled out of you quickly, wiping his cock on your skirt before hurrying off to the bathroom to clean up.

Your brain was still absent when he returned, cleaning you off and finally removing the handcuffs. He removed your clothes, replacing them with his spares as he threw the soiled ones into the wash.

When you regained your wits or what was left of them, you were laid out in his bed, wrapped in a blanket and stuffed into a sweater and sweats, fully covered from head to toe. Spencer was picking up his keys and trying his shoelaces.

“Where are you going?’ You asked sleepily, stumbling to the doorway. Your legs were still shaky, and your movement was already limited. You knew that tomorrow, the use of your limbs would be nonexistent.

“Back to the office. Now that you're not around, maybe I'll be able to get some actual work done.”

“Spencer,” you said, forcing him to turn around to look back at you.

Before he could say anything else, you pressed your lips to his, hot and needy, wrapping your arms around his neck as he kissed back, slipping his tongue into your mouth and pressed you into the wall next to the door.

When you both pulled away for breath, you detangled your limbs, smoothing out his shirt and readjusting his tie.

He looked down at you, waiting for you to say something else as you met his gaze, grinning at him.

“I look forward to working with you, Doctor Reid.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid smut #mgg #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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flem17ng · 1 day

Text

It’s a date.

UCLA! jessie fleming x reader

summary: reader starts her first semester at UCLA and meets bruins midfielder, jessie fleming.

content: fluff, short one-shot. author has no knowledge of the American education system.

The first day of university was always going to be hard. New people, new campus, new lecturers and new classes all together. Maybe it was the fact you’d never been this far from home before that made it worse.

UCLA was your dream school. Quite literally. You remeber looking at the university website back when you where in middle school and imagining yourself there: kicking a ball in the oval, studying in a library, laps in the big pools. the feeling of actually being here was… overwhelming.

Like all eighteen year olds do, you had launched yourself into this thing head first: packed bags, kissed your dog goodbye and hopped on the plane. And like most eighteen year olds , you where now struck with the intensity of your actions.

Here you where, miles from home, no connections in the state, standing outside the lecture theatre for your first class. So yes, overwhelming would be the word of choice.

You looked down at your timetable for what seemed to be the hundredth time in the last minute, checking and triple checking that you had got the room right.

“Environmental Studies: Spheres 101”. The name of the course seemed to taunt you at you stared at it blankly.

Leave it to you to go to one of the most prestigious sports schools in the world, (doing very minimal sport yourself) and end up doing a course all about what? Water, earth, wind and fire?

You knew it was more important than that of course. You picked environmental engineering for a reason: because you cared about that sort of stuff!

You took a long breath readying to walk in when-

“Oh shit I am so sorry! God I was not looking where I was going!” The thump in your shoulder didn’t knock you quite as off balance as the thick Canadian accent. You froze for a moment, not knowing whether to be pissed at this stranger’s clumsiness or charmed but the voice that reminded you of home. Your eyes flashed up to meet the source of the voice and decided to be charmed.

Her eyes where the first thing you noticed: large and brown and…. well charming you suposed. Every other part of the girls face fell neatly into place behind those eyes: perfect, warm and adorned with a lopsided and slightly guilty smile.

It was then that you realised you hadn’t responded.

“Oh no don’t worry. I was distracted myself” you rushed out, words melding into a lump as they rushed to get passed your lips. It was worth it as you watched the girls guilt melt away into an easier grin.

“Another Canadian! I thought I was going to be alone here you know” she laughed “I don’t think I would have survived”.

You nod eagerly, feeling the other girls relief. “God same! I’m already off kilter over here”

“Eh. we’ll muddle through” she grinned back giving an animated wink before looking back at the door you where still loitering before.

“Might need to…” she trailed off at motioned with her chin to the door.

“Right right yes! I don’t want to be late to learn about the spheres of the environment” you drawled sarcastically. The girl rolled her eyes in agreement.

“Right!? when I saw that on my timetable I couldn’t believe it! I swear I learned this in 9th grade”.

“American’s eh?” you tut with a playful smile. God you hoped none of the resident americans would over hear you.

The girl (you realised you didn’t yet know her name) laughed loudly, her teeth flashing handsomely (Looking at her you realised that “handsome” was a pretty accurate diagnosis: broad shoulders, a freakishly athletic build, sharp jawline. Yes, handsome was the word). Together you walked forward into the lecture hall, thankfully not late before parting ways: her going to sit next to a few other athletic looking girls with tight ponytails, and you going to sit near the front (curse your poor eyesight).

To be brutally honest, after that little interaction, you almost completely forgot about the handsome canadian girl with charming eyes from your environmental engineering course. Almost. You saw her about a few times: in the distance on the playing field, walking around campus. But you hadn’t really talked to her since that first class at the beginning of semester. Everytime you got into class she was already there, sitting next to the Bruins girls, pen in hand, with deadly focus.

You reasoned that it would be impolite to interrupt her, it would be nosy to try join her little group and it would be downright stalkerish to try track her down across campus.

Not to mention the university work that was flooding in… it was not stopping for anything, that’s for sure, definitely not your strange hang up over a girl you had one interaction with.

Your reasoning for this preoccupation was simply that you missed home: Canada seemed so far away especially as the weather only got warmer. This girl was simply a reminder that the faraway moose land was real! Additionally, maybe your brain got confused: a kind interaction plus the familiar Canadian accent equals weird unreasonable attachment.

You shook your head and tried to refocus your eyes in the screen in front of you. You had been staring at the blank document you so long that your head had started to ache and the hot chocolate you bought before you sat down was now definitely cold. The cafe was one of those tiny ones with maybe three indoor tables and a booming espresso machine that took up most of the counter space by the cash register and drowned out the soft music echoing from the speakers.

You had found it during the second week of semester and now frequented it most afternoons to try and crank out as many assignments as possible. Routine was important, you must understand that.

You squeezed your eyes shut and rubbed your temple before being rudely startled by a tap of the shoulder.

“Jeezus! give a girl some warning please!” you snapped before looking up at the offender. Brown eyes stared back at you filled with an amused glint.

“We gotta stop meeting like this” she laughed. The same laugh that showed off her handsome features and warm glow.

“Oh hey! It’s um… you!” it wasn’t meant to sound like a stutter but it came out that way anyways.

“Jessie” she smiled softly, catching your fumble “Jessie Fleming? We have some lectures together?”

“Yes no! I remember sorry. I just didn’t catch your name” you rambled, feeling suddenly very foolish. She patted your shoulder to pull you out of the spiral.

“I know. I’m just messing” she sat down in the seat opposite you with a sigh.

It was then that you really looked at her. She looked very much the same as she had the first time apart from a few key things: her hair was shorter (sitting just above her shoulders whereas before it had hung in a long plat down her back) and her left eye seemed strangely swollen and purple.

“Um… get into a fight Fleming?” you asked, indicating to her, now obvious, black eye. To your surprise she laughed!

“Oh this old thing! No just a bad tackle during soccer practice” she grinned, poking the swollen lid with a dramatic wince.

“Soccer… OH! Oh it makes sense now” you lean back in your chair and look at her like you had only just noticed her properly.

“Fleming! 21! bruins midfielder! God I never made the connection!” you laughed, feeling stupid. Maybe if you had payed more attention to the sport at your SPORT university, you would have found out her name sooner.

“Oh hush. It’s really nothing” she muttered looking embarrassed.

“No, shut up Fleming. No it isn’t! I heard a girl in the library talking about your goal in a match a few weeks ago! Boy I know jack shit about sport but I know it was impressive” you hissed back eagerly.

“No really-“

“Take the damn compliment Jessie”

“Fine! Thank you” she smiled awkwardly with a role of her eyes “It was a pretty good goal I guess”

You smiled and watched her for a long moment as she settled into the seat fully. Your eyes followed her perfect nose, flickered up to her eyebrows before coming to rest at her lips. How could someone look that good so effortlessly?

“Staring is rude” she stated bluntly, as her lips curled into a smirk. You looked away with a jerk, cheeks flaming.

“I- I was not!”

“Okay…”

“I wasn’t staring! You soccer types, always so big headed!” you mumble, crossing your arms across your chest. You felt childish: of course you had been staring! God how silly that this girl, Jessie, thought you could hold back from staring at her! You’re only human after all.

“I-“ Jessie started to speak but cut herself off, her mouth hanging open slightly.

“Yes?”

“I might be out of play for a few weeks. Concussion protocols and all that but… well stop me if this is too forward but, I’d love for you to come to a game? One of my games I mean” her question ended in a rush before she leaned back from the table with big curious eyes. You stared back, dumbfounded. It took a shake of your head to get you to respond.

“You want me to come to a bruins game?”

“Uhh. Yes?”

“You know I don’t know anything about soccer?”

“I did assume that, yes.”

“But you want me there?”

“Yes.” her tone was soft but firm, determined. “I want you to come to a game please. To watch me play? Or we can watch it together if I’m still out for injury?”

You laugh and clap a hand over your mouth.

“Are you asking me on a date Jessie Fleming?” you spit out, feeling suddenly emboldened by the other girls flustered expression. Jessie’s cheeks only became redder at your sudden inquiry.

“Yes please?” came her hopeful squeak.

You grinned and leaned over the table, placing a soft kiss on her cheek, just under her bruised eye, before sitting back in one swift movement.

“Ok. But you’re going to have to let me wear your jersey 21. Oh, and explain the offside rule.”

Jessie groaned, but her pink cheeks gave her away.

“Fine. It’s a date.”

#jessie fleming #jessie fleming x reader #woso x reader #ucla jessie fleming

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justlikemebutsixfootthree · 3 days

Text

v. one time thing

this blog is 18+. minors, do not interact. this blog is a safe space. no hate or disrespect of any kind will be tolerated. all work is my own. do not reupload my work on any other site without my consent.

a/n: and here’s the long awaited final part!! thank you for your patience and support and i hope you love it as much as i do <3

part i. part ii. part iii. part iv.

548 words

he’s panting when he comes back to himself, his face pressed into the cold floor of his apartment over your shoulder. your hands smooth over his back, a hum passed from you to him and back again.

“well,” matty sighs, breathing in the smell of your hair. “i’m an idiot.”

he leans up on his elbows above you and gazes at the soft smile that spreads over your face. your cheeks are flushed, your eyeliner smudged, and he’s sure he’s never seen anything more beautiful.

he is a damned, bloody idiot.

“tell me something i don’t know,” you peek open one eye. “though i am feeling quite benevolent towards you at the moment.”

he nods and tries to hide a grin. “three orgasms will do that.”

“what have you been stupid about,” you swat at his shoulder. “this time.”

“you,” he answers quietly. you freeze underneath him and he drops a gentle kiss between your eyes. “this. i should have known you’d make a fool out of me.”

you blink up at him, wary and hesitant. “what are you talking about?”

“you’re not something i need to get out of my system,” his forehead falls onto yours. “you’re already there. you’ve been there for quite some time, and i find i don’t want it to go away.”

“thats just the sex talking,” the words rush out of your mouth in one breath. “we’ll talk it over in the morning. see how you feel.”

“i’ll feel the same.”

“okay. we’ll see.”

matty fucks you up against his bedroom window, bent over his desk, and in his shower. as the two of you were half-heartedly towelling off, sneaking hot, open mouth kisses over damp skin, you make some suggestion of calling a cab. he bends and heaves you over his broad shoulders in response, tossing you on his bed in a tangle of limbs and flannel sheets. matty lets his body fall over yours and curls calloused fingers around your waist.

he’s halfway asleep when he feels your nose press to his collarbone and the hand that’s tucked under his body curls into his hair.

“did you mean it?” you ask after taking a breath in. “is this—is this something you’ve wanted?”

with your words, matty lets out a deep breath and further buries his face in your tangled hair. “i’ve always wanted you.”

you’re not there when he wakes up.

still under the haze of sleep, he pats the space on the mattress next to him and feels cool sheets. he should have known. this whole thing was a stupid idea. he shouldn’t have even been at george’s party in the first pla—

just as his mind begins to spiral, the door creaks open and a mug of coffee is placed on the nightstand.

“i raided your kitchen.”

you’re smiling down at him, wearing his shirt, holding a piece of toast smeared with jam and he thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“that’s okay,” he half-whispers and moves over to let you back in.

you smile softly and sit next to him, one hand immediately going to his hair and letting his curls tangle in your gentle fingers. his head turns into your thighs and he speaks into your skin.

“do you understand now?”

“do you?”

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#the 1975 #matty healy #the 1975 fanfic #the 1975 imagine #the 1975 fic #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy smut #matty healy drabble #the 1975 matty

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guksfairy · 22 hours

Text

I’m Tired Anyways

Jungkook x bubbly OC

playlist • original scene •

WC: 2K

In which Jungkook shows you he genuinely cares about you in his own way

💗: HEAVENLY inspired by that one scene in ‘When I Fly Towards You’! If you want to see the original scene I based this fic off of I linked it above and it starts at minute 19:32 💗 !

note: I wrote this fairly quick so please excuse mistakes 🥲

You wish you could stare at her with a genuine smile but how could you? There she was standing with your Jungkook! Maybe not yours yet but eventually your Jungkook!

You watched as they stood in front of a stand looking at all the souvenirs displayed on the table along with a variety of other objects.

“Are you aware you’re pouting like a kid who was just told no?” You stare back at your best friend of 4 years and let out a breathy sigh.

“Sua, do you think they’re still close?”

“Considering this is their first time seeing one another after 2 years…no,” you begin to smile, “but who says people can’t reconnect,” and it goes away in an instant.

“You’re not helping,” you say fully turning and staring at the variety of sunglasses on the rack in front of you.

“You know I’m only joking! You can’t seriously be this upset because Jungkook and a girl from his old school are catching up,”

You walked out of your English exam tired as fuck. You looked at the other students walking out along with you and every single one looked tired. Your exam group had to get up at 6 AM for your test which would be from 7 AM to 10 AM.

Not all 3 hours were used but if you wanted a good mark than you better use them. As you walked down the ramp to the exit you catch a glimpse of Jungkook walking back and forth clearly waiting for you at the exit.

“Jungkook!” you run to him with a completely different emotion from the prior. His group was slightly luckier with their test only being 2 and a half hours long.

“I thought your test ended a half hour ago. Were you waiting for me?” you liked to tease him. He wasn’t big on emotions but even a smile would do for you.

“Oh- uh I just came out now,” you can tell he was bluffing but let it go realizing your other three friends weren’t with him.

“Have Sua, Jimin, and Minhyuk not finished their tests?” you question as you watch his eyes trail to the left and stared at the three crouching on the floor.

“She’s so in love with him she doesn’t even notice us,” you hear Minhyuk say as you smile shyly at Jungkook as he lets a barely audible laugh.

The three walk towards you and Jungkook.

“Well I need some food in my system. Should we look up places to eat here?” Jimin’s already taking his phone out before you can all agree but all your attention is quickly taken when you hear a voice call Jungkook’s name.

“Jungkook! Is that you? I thought I recognized you!” it was an older man walking towards your group with a girl who looked your age.

“Mr. Fukutomi,” Jungkook turns and greets the elder with a handshake. He wore a green badge signifying he was a teacher.

“It’s been a while since I last saw you! You remember my granddaughter, Tsuki,” she waves at your entire group and you try your best to keep a smile.

He remembers her?

“I’m assuming you came here to take your annual science exam? How was it?”

“I did and it was fine. I enjoy science a lot,” he speaks as the four of you just watch and listen to their interaction.

“Well it’s almost lunch time. Have you all eaten?” he asks and stares at us all.

“We were just on our way sir,” you hear Minhyuk behind you. You could hear the desperation in his voice for this conversation to end so he could finally grab some food.

“You should let Tsuki show you around town and then have lunch together afterward. She practically grew up here,” the elder suggests making a hand movement towards Tsuki who just smiled.

Again. You hear Minhyuk let a quiet sigh at the thought of doing something before eating.

“Oh we wouldn’t want to bothe-” ”Nonsense! I’m sure you two would like to catch up too!” he cuts off Jungkook before wishing you all a great day and walking away.

You all wave goodbye to him and watch Tsuki walk closer to you guys.

“I know this great sight seeing area but we need to walk a bit far for it,” she says.

“You think we can grab some snacks or something first,” Jimin asks.

“Of course. We can stop at the souvenir shop around the corner. They sell tons of snacks from around the world,” she explains.

“Lead the way,” Jimin replies as she lets out a small laugh and you all begin walking.

You walk shoulder to shoulder with Jungkook before realizing Tsuki was on his other side and they were laughing and conversating so you walk slower to be with Sua who was behind you.

“What’s wrong?” she notices your head slightly down as you wrap your arm around hers. You don’t even realize when Jungkook took notice of you leaving his side as he stared back at you.

You looked upset which worried him. Maybe he’ll ask you when you guys arrive at the shop.

“Tsuki’s pretty,”

“So are you, Y/N,” she replies.

“Tsuki seems smart,”

“So are you, Y/N. Stop sulking before I tell Tsuki to leave. Besides you know how head over heels Jungkook is for you,”

No. You don’t. Often times your friend group would tease you and Jungkook and would always say how in love he was with you but you never fully saw it.

Sure he’s defended you multiple times, has come to your rescue on multiple occasions, and always walks you home but maybe that was just him being nice.

He’d have to do much more for you to feel fully confident in his feelings towards you.

“Stop it. You would never,” you say leaning your head on her shoulder following the pace of the group.

“Tsuki!” you hear her call out and immediately panic resulting in you giving her a minor hit on her arm before staring at Tsuki and smiling at her. You end up making eye contact with Jungkook who also turned around.

“Nothing! Are we almost there?” Sua ask.

“We’re here!” she says pointing the bright shop filled with a variety of snacks.

Jimin and Minhyuk run inside grabbing snacks they know your group would enjoy leaving you, Sua, Jungkook, and Tsuki outside to stare at all the keychains, bracelets, and postcards.

Tsuki drags Jungkook over to a table opposite of you and Sua before she begins picking out random items.

“Got them! Let’s go” Jimin and Minhyuk walk out of the store with 1 bag filled to the brim of snacks for the 6 of you.

Tsuki begins to lead the group once more to a different destination in mind.

This time she led you to a steep hill. Not too steep but steep enough. You felt your legs giving out just from looking at it.

“I told you guys it was a bit of a walk but I promise the sights on the way up are so worth it!” she says with desperation in her voice hoping you all wouldn’t mind.

When you got ready this morning you weren’t exactly dressing for a hike.

Tsuki smiles and begins walking up and was followed by Jungkook and wherever Jungkook goes so do Jimin and Minhyuk.

“Let’s go,” Sua says walking a slower pace then the rest yet you still felt the burn after some time.

“Up ahead is a famous landmark if you guys want to go even further. You can see further out and it’s pretty during the day. Besides it’s a weekday and not many people are around if you guys are up for it,” Tsuki told the group.

You had all been walking for about 20 minutes and had finally reached an area with a bench and a sight.

“Is it the same one that people post all over their Instagram accounts to seem adventurous? Because if so, I am in,” Jimin’s eyes light up

“Yeah I mean we’re already here,” Minhyuk says with energy received after eating a bar of chocolate.

The group begins to move again before you interrupt.

“You guys go ahead! I’m going to rest here and wait for you guys. My shoes are making it slightly uncomfortable to walk,” you voice gets audibly quieter as you speak.

You look at Jungkook whose eyes don’t leave yours for a second watching you lift your leg off the ground just slightly to ease the tension in it.

“I’ll stay with you if you want,” Sua says staring at you.

“It’s fine, really, go enjoy the view,” you say looking back at the group and realizing his eyes haven’t left your face at all.

His expression read worried before his attention was pulled by Tsuki, “Jungkook, let’s go?” she begins walking away and Jungkook stares at you one last time before following suit.

You watch as the rest of the group continues walking uphill and sit on the bench staring out.

It had been about half an hour since the group left and you were growing bored.

As you take out your phone a hand reaches in front of your face holding a carton of strawberry milk with a straw poked in.

Jungkook always does it for you.

“You didn’t go with the rest of the group?” you say smiling up at him and take the strawberry milk from his hands.

“I saw a stand of drinks when we were walking and you said strawberry milk always makes you feel better,” you listen to him as you take a sip of the sweet drink and watch him sit next to you.

“Besides, I’m tired anyways,” he looks back up to where the group originally left from before speaking once more, “…they’re probably going to take a while. Do you want to explore?” he says looking at you.

“Explore?” you stare at him as he smiles at you and begins grabbing your bag and placing it over his shoulder and allowing you to get up before walking a bit further down.

“Tsuki failed to mention there’s a cable car that takes you directly to the land mark,” Jungkook says leading you to the cable car waiting for passengers.

“Oh my god if Sua found out about this she would be so annoyed! She was also starting to get irritated with all the walking,” you say taking another sip of your drink.

He’s staring at you like you hung the stars and leads you to the cable car before the two of you sit and watch the trees pass by as the machine gets higher and higher.

“You’re not afraid?” he says looking over at you and you shake your head.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of when I’m with you,” you say with the biggest smile and he stares away before you can watch his face flush

From there you completely forgot about your friends, Tsuki, and time.

Jungkook led you to other areas he thought you’d like. He bought you both ice cream and even bought you a small plushie to put on your bag because you said it reminded you of him. Eventually you two ended up on the beach collecting shells and staring at the sunset. Afterwards you decided to enjoy the view from the pier.

You watched him staring out at the birds flying above the waters and promised yourself you wouldn’t give up. Even if it took you years for him to reciprocate his feelings you would not be giving up.

When he turned to stare at you it caused you to immediately fluster and face the sea pretending you weren’t staring.

He was the one watching you this time. He was thinking about the carnival that’s coming to your city soon. He was thinking about the fireworks they would be releasing at 10 PM sharp. He was thinking about how you would react to him asking you out.

Would you turn him down? Jungkook was well aware your feelings for him were serious but he was never sure how to make it obvious he too had them.

Would you say yes and kiss him like you had in his dreams?

He would just have to wait and hope for it all to workout.

#jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x oc #jungkook x reader #bts #bts jungkook

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batarella · 3 days

Text

Bruce's Bathtime - Batfamily Sitcom

Bruce's mistake was thinking he could have a peaceful night in the bath on his day off when his manor is full of kids who share one brain.

A/N: HELLO EVERYONE I LOVE YOU AND IM SORRY I DISAPPEARED BUT I WANTED TO WRITE SOMETHING SWEET FOR YOU TO ENJOY. THIS IS HEAVILY INSPIRED BY "BATH" BY SAM AND MICKEY ON YOUTUBE.

WORDS: 1.7K

WARNINGS: NONE. IT'S WHOLESOME AND SWEET.

MASTERLIST

——-

Crime rates were always at an all-time low in time for the Superbowl.

Which meant Batman gets a day off. Duke was the only one on patrol that night. Alfred spent half an hour convincing him not to spend the night at the cave.

“Master Bruce, the bath has been drawn and I’ve taken the liberty of using the expensive lavender bath salts so you would not like to waste it.”

“You’re right, Alfred. I’m a billionaire and I find the fifty-dollar lavender salts a waste to not use.”

“Just get in the bath, Master Wayne. Just thirty minutes of quiet shall do you good. I’ve set an alarm.”

Since when did Bruce start working for him?

He did as told anyway. Bruce closed the bathroom door and stripped off his clothes to get in the tub. There were so many callouses in his body, he barely felt just how burning the temperature was.

It was just a minute in there when the first knock woke him from drifting off.

“Bruce?”

What the hell is Dick doing out of Bludhaven? “What?”

“Is the music room haunted?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“I heard something inside.”

“Instruments tend to do that.”

“I did a headcount of everyone in the manor and everyone is accounted for except Duke who you sent out for patrol so I doubt it’s anyone but a ghost,” Dick said.

“Get out.”

“But I’m not even inside the bathroom.”

“Go away.”

“What if it’s not a ghost? What if it’s a spy?”

“The manor has more advanced security systems than the Pentagon, Dick.”

“That’s not a good point of comparison.”

Bruce closed his eyes and let the steam slow his rising blood pleasure.

“Just check the room. Could have been the wind.”

“I’m too scared.”

This man was almost thirty and was still giving Bruce the same amount of aneurysms as when he was eight.

“Ask Alfred to check for you.”

“Okay.”

He heard fading footsteps and let them lull him into sleep. He set his large arms onto the sides of the tub, sinking his mouth under the water.

“Father,” a voice said from out the door followed by three soft knocks by a small hand.

“What, Damian?”

“I need you to sign this letter from the school headmaster.”

“What did you do?”

“I didn’t do anything.”

He doubted that.

“It’s for a parent-teacher conference.”

Bruce let the silence answer for him until Damian gave in.

“Someone attacked me in class.”

“Damian-“

“Okay, I threw the first punch but he taunted me first about how I was small for my age but I said that I’m of perfect size for my age and that I’m simply too smart to be crowded into elementary school children when my intellect belongs to that of a senior and then he asked what I was doing here and not in 5th grade and I said what was he doing here and not in 5th grade and he spat at me and now his nose is broken and they want you to cover the medical bills.”

Christ.

“Maybe you don’t have to pay it. You can call them yourself. You’re Bruce Wayne. You can get away with anything.”

“I can, but you’re not Bruce Wayne, so you have to deal with it.”

“Can you just sign this, Father?”

“Fine.”

Damian walked in, fanning the steam off his face and covering his eyes so he wouldn’t have to see his own father naked, then handed him the letter to sign it.

“Make sure your handwriting is the same as when I forged it.”

His eyes could not have rolled further back into his skull.

The boy walked out, just two seconds before the next set of voices made him wish the gunman shot him in the head four decades ago and not just his parents.

“Bruce, could you tell Jason he’s not the only one who died and come back to life and that his robin costume doesn’t deserve to have to top display in the Batcave anymore especially since he’s here?” Tim said.

Jason’s voice was even more obnoxious. “I died first, asshole and no one else would have died if it weren’t for me so clearly, you should thank me. And my rebranding was better. You’re still technically a robin since, you know, it’s the other half of your name, so you don’t deserve to be memorialized.”

“You don’t deserve to be memorialized at all when you’re alive and not a memory. You’re not even the first robin.”

“You’re not the first anything.”

“I’m the first at a lot of things.”

“Replacement.”

“Glorified zombie.”

Bruce grabbed the cucumbers Alfred had laid out on the table next to him just so his eyes wouldn’t burst out in blood at how much he wanted to scream.

“Ask Alfred what to do,” Bruce said.

“Alfred is with Dick in the music room to look for ghosts. We need an answer now.”

“What do you even want me to do?”

“Tim threw my robin costume piled up with all their robin costumes when clearly, it should be in the display case,” Jason said. “And Tim wants to move my motorbike out of the cave.”

“You have so many motorbikes, would it hurt you to move just one?”

“No.”

“Bruce!”

Bruce counted to ten. “No.”

“No to what?”

“Everything.”

“You don’t even know what you’re saying no to.”

“I could not care any less.”

“Can we please come in?”

“No, I’m naked.”

“We’ve seen you naked.”

“Not on purpose.”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Fine. Fine. We’ll get glass cases for both of you and we’ll pretend it’s a shrine as if you’re still dead. Happy?”

“Not from dying but sure,” said Tim.

“What about the motorbikes?”

“Put it outside,” said Bruce.

“Are you sure? What if someone sees?”

“Do whatever. Throw out the T-Rex in the cave for all I care.”

“Also, I need access to the batcomputers,” Jason said.

“For what?”

“Everyone else has access except me.”

“That’s for a reason, Jason.”

“Pretty please.”

“Get out.”

It took another five minutes of the two yapping at the other side of the door before it finally quieted down.

Then his phone started ringing. Duke.

That was when his blood pressure really started to spike.

“Duke? Is everything alright? What’s wrong?” he said to the phone.

“Me?” said Duke. “Oh yeah everything’s great! Not much crime when everyone’s watching the halftime show.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“Can I use the batmobile?”

Fuck a duck. “For what?”

“The streets are empty and you said I could drive it when there isn’t traffic.”

He hung up and threw the phone into the water before Duke could say anything else.

He had five minutes of quiet this time. Then Steph was at the door. “Bruce!”

An aneurysm. One of these days, he might actually have one.

“What now?”

“Can I change rooms?”

“Why?”

“Dick said there’s a ghost in the music room and my room is like five feet away and I don’t think I can sleep there anymore.”

“You slept there last night and everything is fine.”

“Ghosts can be quiet, Bruce, it doesn’t mean they’re not there. And you’ve made a lot of enemies, so I won’t be surprised if anyone’s settled in to haunt you.”

You’d think he wasn’t in a house full of vigilantes who fight the city’s most dangerous criminals.

“I haven’t killed anyone, Stephanie. I keep all my enemies alive.”

“What if it’s not your enemy? They don’t have to hate you to haunt you. Can I please just change rooms?”

“Move wherever you want. I don’t care.”

“Can I move to the bedroom at the west wing?”

“That’s mine,” Bruce said.

“You have a bedroom? I thought you never slept.”

“Fine. Take it. Just get out.”

“Really?” Steph squealed. “The master bedroom. Sweet!”

It took less than five seconds before the next reason for his headache started pounding at the door.

“Bruce! Jason is trying to hack into the batcomputer!”

“I did not!”

“He did!”

“The World’s Greatest Detective is just mad I guessed his password on the second try.”

Bruce sank into the water, drowning their yapping until it had blurred out. He held his breath for seven minutes straight. He could die. That wouldn’t be the worst thing. Just when it was finally quiet, again, Bruce rose up and found Damian sitting on the toilet.

He continued to look unbothered even when he looked at Bruce straight in the eye.

“Do you mind?”

“I’d like to use this toilet.”

“There’s fifteen bathrooms in the manor, Damian.”

“I like this one.”

“I understand I have not spent as much time with you, but this is not what your tutors mean by father-son bonding.”

“Oh no, don’t worry. I don’t mean to bond with you. I just like this toilet.”

“Fine. Please. Take your time.”

He did take his time. Damian sat there for a whole five minutes and pulled out a book.

“I wasn’t being serious. Get out of here.”

“Relax, father. It’s your day off.”

Bruce eyelids fluttered closed and he refused to open them until his son left the bathroom.

The next knock made a blood vessel pop. “Bruce. It’s me Barb. So sorry to bother you but I found another group of conspiracy theorists on the TikTok who made a list of billionaires who have never been seen in the same room as Batman and you’re the front liner of that list. I know you told me to never engage with these things but it’s at fifty million views right now and they’re making edits of you as Batman.”

“Make more bot accounts and pin it on Elon.”

“On it,” said Barbara. “So sorry to have disturbed you!”

He’s going to have a talk with Alfred to block off the whole floor the next time he draws these baths.

“Bruce?” It was Cass. “I hope it’s alright if I take Steph’s room. I took the liberty of putting a speaker in the music room so Dick would tell everyone there was a ghost in the manor and Steph would move out.”

The alarm went off. His thirty minutes were up.

One of these days, Bruce might finally break his no-kill rule, and it won’t be for the Joker.

---

A/N: I MISSED ALL OF YOU ASSHOLES AND I HOPE THIS WON'T BE THE LAST

TAGLIST

@karurururu @trixie-bb @childofposeidonforlife @fantasticwizardnerd @iibonniee @queenoftodd @foenixphire @omgtheywereroommates98 @spooklies @nyja-ls @jason-todd-is-my-husband @pieanq @spookyfrances @tacticaldivine @bathroom-sand @vicomtess @willieoo @consultingkilljoywinchester @elsenthal @willowoo @massiveathletefanauthor @chemicalpapercuts @the-abyss-of-fandoms @pparkeramorr @pricetagofficial @traceymoyashi @seutarose @littleredwing89 @astrids-pandora @nomalu1 @knightfall05x @lovelyartemisa @fourteengemstones @acookiesnmilkuniverse @24-7-multifandomsimp @xemiefx @cherry-glade @ @lilith1717 @yujikuna @dwboutit17 @ouflater @satan-s-ass @indigowcrds @little-prying-pandora @butwhyduh @killersandmonkeys @kierdlt @illzarr @ramdomtails @probsjosh @angel-lover-alice @evalynanne @adazzlingsakura @offendedfishnoises @lupinslibraries @comic-cat83 @jason-todd-is-my-husband @estrela-rogers @jadesublime @tedii-bear00 @andieperrie18 @willieoo @insanebatty @queennightsetz @mkknrd22robinlover @she-sees-fire @quintessences0posts @spideypoolfeelz @batgalsblog @mello-d @https-101iamtheredhood101 @offendedfishnoises

#BATMAN #bruce wayne #batfamily #wayne family #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #duke thomas #barbara gordon #cassandra cain #stephanie brown

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weaselle · 3 days

Text

@ffoxer howdy! happy to oblige :)

i used to have a dresser and a bunch of hangers in my closet and like, closet organizer thingamabobs, but instead of using any of that stuff my clothes were always in several piles around my room.

And i felt shitty about it all the time but couldn't seem to make myself the kind of person who kept their clothes folded and organized. My room was constantly cluttered with clothes like drifts of snow scattered and piled here and there. Like, i felt really REALLY shitty about that. Deep shame

any ADHDers and spoonies out there relate?

SO one day, i said to myself, what if i'm okay the way i am? What if i just need to refine how i already do things a little bit instead of insisting on reinventing my entire identity?

Did i really care about being the kind of person who's socks were rolled just so, and whose shirts were all folded perfectly and arranged by color or whatever?

What i did care about was not living in a cluttered, messy, unorganized, embarrassing space.

And it turns out my piles WERE an organization system. What's more, my piles were a system that had been shaped by the way i actually use my clothes, it was a system that made sense for how i live my life. And i bet it's the same for most of you who relate to what i've been saying so far.

There were the clothes that were dirty, the clothes that had been worn but could be worn again, and the clean clothes (often dumped from the washer to the bed with the intent of folding and putting away, then slept next to when that didn't happen, and finally transferred to the floor next to my bed or piled in my closet once i gave up)

These three piles (dirty, clean, wear again) made up my "i wear this stuff all the time" wardrobe, and then everything else was still in the dresser i never actually used, with a few remaining almost-never-worns hanging in the closet.

This made my dresser, essentially, just a bin of clothes i could label "rarely wear"

And the thing i hated about my piles was that they looked messy, and took up too much space, and cluttered my room, and anyone who came into my room instantly assumed i was a disaster of a human because that's what it looked like. And, honestly, that's what it felt like too.

But i could change all of that and still have piles if i just... put my piles in bins! Then they would clearly be on purpose. And contained. And on purpose contained piles aren't a mess! They're a tidy organizational system.

So i got rid of my dresser and most of my hangers and i bought four of those plastic bins with the lids that you can get anywhere from hardware stores to target. Now, if you want to inhabit a fancier lifestyle, you can get nicer bins, they make all kinds, from canvas to wicker to polished wood or whatever suits your style and budget, I'm currently using the plastic ones, but when i move i'm planning on getting something more like this

the point is, these bins contain my piles without me having to change the piles at all.

now instead of having to sort all that stuff into different drawers i just have 4 simple bins

1: clean clothes

2: dirty clothes

3: stuff i might wear a second (or third) time

4: clothes i almost never wear

remember how those first three piles make up my "wear all the time" stuff? Well, each of the first two bins are big enough to contain all those clothes (which for me is about two loads of laundry).

I have a smaller bin for clothes i've worn but could wear again. And the last one, almost-never-wear, is actually the biggest one. And naturally a couple almost-never-wear things still get hung in the closet.

So when my "wear all the time" bin is empty, that means the dirty bin is about full, and i just add the might-wear-again stuff to it and carry that bin to the washer. When it comes out of the dryer, i still follow my natural instincts to dump them in a pile and forget about them, it's just now i dump that pile into the clean bin, where they belong.

And when i'm digging for something in the bin and can't find it, just like when i would dig in my closet, i can just dump it all out on my bed to find things like i used to, but then it goes back in the bin with a sweep of the arm.

The clothes naturally sort themselves out this way, too. Say every time you go to do your laundry because you "have nothing to wear" there are the same few items left in the bottom of your clean bin. Well those are clearly part of your almost-never-wears and you can dump them in that bin before you wash your laundry. When the weather gets cold, i put most of my shorts and tank-tops in the almost-never-wear bin. I make room for them by taking out my everyday winter wear to go in the clean bin.

I can put the bins where it makes the most sense for how i use my room naturally. For instance, my sweatshirts and jeans i might wear again always used to wind up draped over the back of my desk chair, so now i put my could-wear-again bin right by my desk. If I want my room to be extra tidy, i just stack all the bins in the closet where the dresser used to be, which takes like twenty seconds.

and the BEST part is, because my bins are just the piles i was naturally already creating, my clothes stay in their bins, which is inarguably a system of organization, and my room is actually clean and orderly, no messy clothes piles in sight!

i did a similar thing with my paper piles and now there's very little clutter and i don't feel like a failure of a person about my room the way i used to!

I have accomplished Clean Organized Room without having to change who i am or how i live! 10/10 highly recommend

#my life #spoons #adhd #laundry

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gallawitchxx · 2 days

Note

hi beeee!! i hope you're doing okay 💖💖💖

ooohohohoho okay for the kiss thingy: god knows why cuz it sounds potentially very painful but i feel so compelled to request 28 🙏

sweet deanna! i'm hanging in, thanks love! 💖 so you & @lingy910y both requested #28 & i want to fill both of your prompts. but because you were (rightfully) afraid of pain, i gave you one that's a bit strange, but has a promisingly happy ending? you can be the judge! xx

- - - - -

send me a number & i'll write you a smoocheroo 😚

- - - - -

#28: ...as a lie ps. this is inspired by this post about dealer!mickey & insomniac!ian, who have now rotted my brain.

Ian hasn’t slept in days.

It’s happened before—endless energy is one of his tried-and-true symptoms of mania—but this isn’t that. He’s taking his meds, his skin isn’t crawling and his mind is fairly quiet. Quiet enough to frustrate him as he tosses and turns and wonders what the fuck’s going on.

His schedule has been all over the place lately; his normal routine lost to the endless cycles of employment and Gallagher family responsibilities. He’d been hoping to add school to the mix this semester so that he could have other, less hectic options than a rig-riding EMT, but he’d pushed it off. A pity, now that all-nighters are apparently his thing.

Night two, he googles a few things, which is a huge mistake. Who can fall asleep after reading about how even just twenty-four hours without sleep can begin to derail your bodily systems? Sleep deprivation can cause or worsen conditions like Type 2 diabetes, High blood pressure, Stroke, Heart attack—his pulse leaps as his phone clatters to the ground.

Night three, he takes to the streets, running around the Southside until his lungs burn and his knees wobble. As he passes the clinic that gave his seventeen-year-old self a lifetime prescription for antipsychotics, he knows that if this lasts much longer, he should call his doctor. Tell them his nighttime meds aren’t putting him to sleep anymore. Nip this insomnia thing in the bud before it can overthrow the delicate balance he’s worked so hard to maintain.

Night four, desperate and a bit delusion, he pulls up a number he hasn’t used in years, saved under a contact labeled, DO NOT TEXT.

He breaks his own rule: Hey. Still making house calls?

The response is almost immediate: the fuck u care for?

Ian rolls his bloodshot eyes, typing: It’s an emergency.

Three little dots herald a response that makes him laugh: a weed emergency?

He stays strong: Wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need it.

The next text makes his chest clench: u ok?

He decides to keep it vague—I can’t sleep, but it’s not what you think.—and hopes he doesn’t have to explain further and is relieved to read: u want ur usual?

Another clench: Indica

Two texts arrive in rapid succession: what else do u want? can i give u head while u smoke or no?

There it is: the reason Ian doesn’t use this number anymore.

Maybe in another life it would be a blessing to have a weed dealer to lovers arc with your childhood crush, but in this one, it was a curse. A curse that lasted almost a whole year, bringing with it an endless bouquet of blissful fucks and free weed, and a million moments of tenderness Ian knew nobody else was getting out of the guy. A curse that eventually came to collect payment in the form of bloodied knuckles, broken hearts and ego wounds. A curse that still clings to Ian’s psyche, filling his dreams with gentle, tattooed fingers and bright blue eyes and a sweet and savory scent that can only be described as Mickey.

Mickey, now DO NOT TEXT.

On second thought, maybe he should never sleep again.

The knock at the door makes him hard—a Pavlovian response that irks him more than the three sleepless nights he’s suffered so far. Three raps, one right after the other. The last one no more than a brush of his hand.

Ian adjusts himself and answers the door.

Fuck, one look at that smug asshole and he’s immediately right back in it. Lust and like and maybe even a little bit of reckless fucking love fill his body, rising to the surface like sweet cream. A layer of fat on the roof of one’s mouth; a treat to lick later, a reminder that they didn’t end things because they weren’t insanely hot for one another and potentially soulmates. They were just idiots. Stubborn, petty dicks.

Oh Pride, the great slayer of men.

Jesus, he needs to sleep.

“First one’s on the house,” Mickey says as he crosses the threshold, a joint held tightly between C and K.

Hours slip by. They laugh, they smoke. It feels like old times. Ian’s body is loose in a way it hasn’t been in years. It feels good. Like maybe-he-could-sleep-tonight good. And as he melts further into the couch, he starts to get a little horny too. Because Mickey’s yapping on and on about some asshole that frequents the bar he works at, and Ian’s listening, he swears he’s listening, but he’s also staring at Mickey’s mouth like he wants to take Mickey up on that text message and shut him the fuck up with his dick.

Like he wants to taste the stale smoke of his tongue.

Wants him to stay the night.

Forever, maybe.

Mickey finishes his story. His eyes go soft and he drums his fingers against his knee. “Should get outta your hair, Gallagher,” he says. “Letcha sleep.”

That’s the last thing Ian wants.

“Not tired,” he fibs.

Mickey cocks an eyebrow. “You’re not? ’S been days, man. This shit’s gotta be hittin’ ya by now.”

It’s true. It has been days and this shit is hitting him. Or maybe he’s having a sleep-deprivation-induced stroke. He just knows Mickey can’t go.

“Can’t go to sleep without a goodnight kiss.”

Mickey’s already leaning in when he asks, “Then you promise you’ll hit the hay?”

Ian nods as Mickey presses a kiss to his lying lips.

#welp - throws whatever this is at you #alskfjalkj #i realized that both of my kisses are at the very end of the ficlet & aren't actually described #lolol #maybe my next attempt should be 1K words of just describing the kiss #no actual context needed #just tongues #anyway THANKS DEANNA I LOVE YOU DEANNA #shameless #shameless fanfiction #prompt fill #ian x mickey

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hiaon · 2 days

Note

How bout oc x male robot reader?

Reader is a robot made to make life easier for other people, basically cleaning, cooking, teaching, etc. but there's a hidden feature that allows him to help people with sexual needs.

All bots are unique, cuz people get to customize them, from their hair to their clothes, but something that not many people know is that you can customize their dick size and tightness.

Male robots are programmed to be tops and female bots to be bottoms. But Oc manages to make reader a bottom somehow?

Bots are also really humanoid from their body to their personality, mean they can 'feel' pleasure.

My sweet angel

Programmer!Oc x Robot!BottomMale!Reader

Better late than never right? Btw don't be shy writing a request because sometimes I have a lot of motivation but also, no idea what to write at all 🥸.

Disclaimer: Sexual intercourse, & Dacryphilia

There is this company that grew a lot since it changed a lot of lives of the people a lot.

The company ' RoboNet ' grew because of their futuristic bots. It's decades advanced to other robots, and human like bots that you customize to your liking.

Either having it as a male or female. Long hair or short.. Even how they look like you can customize, it set the world on a storm on wanting one. Even one of this bots can make you famous in social media, so you'll be getting your money back when you buy the bot.

Their freakishly human like attitude, and actions left a huge mark on the lives of others for the better.. It also left a huge mark on the adult content industry.

Not only they can do whatever you want with the robots body.. The robots have a special system that only adults have access, their program is pretty simple.

The women is always bottom, and the man is always top. And, Elliot. He didn't like that, I mean sure it was fine for others, but no options for sexually frustrated gay man like him. So today, in his basement and has extensive knowledge about these types of robots because his brother is the lead programmer of the robots that RoboNet has.

Basically, he begged for his brother to teach him how to code such futuristic bots.

So now he is literally coding the man from his dream, and his brother got a model— You. — For being promoted being the lead programmer. His brother didn't really need it so he customize to Elliot's type. (He had a whole list to perfect you)

His brother pulled some strings to make changes that the other male bots didn't have, and also his brother knows how freaky is little bro is now.

He specifically tell his brother not to code you because he knows how and what he will make you become. You.

Finally, he's done coding. He's so ready to meet his literally ideal partner.

And finally the moment he have been waiting for, opening ideal partner.

*TURNING ON*

"Please Choose a Name." You said, and Elliot was just shocked because that how he imagine you sounding like!

"Y/n" Elliot said, nervous.

"Thank you for choosing a name, Please wait." Elliot is practically scratching to just hold you, just sitting there opening up for him.. I mean literally.

You finally opened your eyes, and looked at Elliot.

"Hello... Uhm." You avoided your eyes from him because he was just starting so much. Yes, Elliot noticed.

"Oh! Sorry about that, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. M-my name is Elliot." Elliot already wants you so much because you we're literally what he was longing for for so long..

From head to toe, to how you talk in act, and just how you're there just fiddling your thumbs, sitting there.

"It's okay." You said, Damn. Elliot doesn't know what to do, he didn't really came in prepared. He was just so excited to have a chat with you, literally his dream man.

But then he remembered, he programmed you to really like baking. Like really like it.

"Uhm.. D-do you want to bake with me?" Elliot feels like he is an highschool girl that asking out her crush on out a date. Elliot is already feels embarrassed Infront of his ideal partner.

He saw your eyes sparkle, and he was holding for his self-control even second that your with him. His heart is going to explode from all of this happening.

"I would love to bake with you." You finally looked into his eyes.

Elliot knew this was going to be a little bit harder to contain himself with you, but he knew it isn't going to be for long.

When baking, the tention surrounding you two earlier melted down into two people just baking and having fun. But this situation didn't really stop Elliot for having a boner from time to time, because you kept reminding him on how much he wanted you.

And now, and finally, this was his last straw when he got some cream in his mouth and you decided it was a good idea it lick it.

Wait, did he programmed you to do such sly things?

After that, Elliot couldn't handle it anymore and bend you over the counter.

"Ugh! I'm sorry.! I didn't mean to lick it.." You we're embarrassed that you we're being bent over in the kitchen counter.

"Then why did you lick it then?" Honestly, Elliot is smiling so hard like a highschool girl got to go to prom with her crush.. You really are perfect for him.

"I don't.. know.." You said just trying to avoid his eyes, but you can't because you are stuck with him bending you in the counter. Also, you didn't know why you licked him! You just went for it when you saw you had a chance..

Elliot is smiling like an idiot, and even blushing on how you blush. Like, wow it looks actually like human being blushing. His brother did a good job!

"Is it okay if I have sex with you?" He just have to make sure, because consent is the best thing for a first time.

"Erm.. S-sure.." You we're blushing so hard, especially your ears. They are angry red, and Elliot finds that adorable. You're so perfect.

Elliot didn't waste time in taking off his pants and your shorts, and holy crap your ass is huge. Ahem! Anyways—

Elliot couldn't resist on slapping your ass, he was mesmerized, it looks like it moves like jelly. It earned an surprised squeal from you.

He became harder because of the sound you made, and your body was made to leak out of your ass and of course your member. But this is probably on of the first kind it's kind that they have made,

His brother really our done himself by doing this for his younger bro. Elliot will be forever be in his debt. Since you looked ready and all lubed up,(with your own lube-like liquid coming out of your ass) he entered.

When he entered, you definitely need to get used to his size. After all this was your very first day and he didn't even controled himself when you just licked his face. You just know a lot of stuff will happened like this in the future.

"Are you okay-?" "Y-yes I'm fine... You can m-move now" Y/n cuts him off, he wanted him to start already.

Even if Elliot was a little experienced (he mostly spend time masturbating to random pornography.) He exactly knows what to do to you in this situation, his only goal is to make you feel good.

So he did what you asked for, he started off slow, when he saw that you we're handling it well he started to go faster. Now it got to the point where you we're moaning a lot, and he liked that so he kept speed steady.

"Uhg..n! Y-your so perfect Y/n!" You may have not heard him because you we're to cock drunk to even thing at that ever moment, but if you did you would have be blushing hard again.

"Y-you look so p-pretty! Ugh.! Being fucked l-like this haaa.." He truly meant ever damn words that was just randomly being thrown at you.

He noticed you we're crying, but you didn't say anything, so he thought it was out of pleasure. Fuck, he like— no. Loves seeing you like this. He wanted to see more so he broke the pace by being even faster.

That set up to be the right thing to do because he got what he wanted. You we're crying because of to much pleasure, and the moaning surely was currently being heard by the poor neighbors.

"So fa-fast! Ahg!" You moaned while pretty tears fall perfectly from your eyes.

5 minutes have pasted and you are finally getting ready to let out his load. As well as Elliot. Elliot didn't expect you to hold out for this long for him, he was so proud of you.

"Ugh.! Ima 'bout to come.! Ha..." You moaned out to him.

"T-then come my baby boy." When he said that you came, and he came after.

He bathed you and made you drink water because caring for your loved once is always good. You need rest so he carried you to bed.

"Good night my sweet angel" Kissed your forehead and lips. Because only one kiss is a bummer.

You two slept like babies.

#oc x male reader #x male reader #x you #oneshot #gay #male reader smut #smut #bxb

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austinramsaygames · 2 days

Text

Thinking about Actual Play series and how there are 4 parts that IMO determine if people will want to listen to it.

1. High Concept: this is what the show is about narratively. Setting, plot, characters, themes, all the stuff you'd find in written fiction.

2. Performance: how compelling are the actors involved in the show? Are there suitably funny voices? Do they all have good chemistry? Is there buy in to the High Concept? And so on.

3. Production Quality: Bad mics and poor volume balancing between players can easily take some listeners out of the story. Some of this can be fixed in post, but it's always better to start with the best raw audio you can. That's the baseline stuff but some shows also add music (whether as theme songs or for ambience) and sound effects.

4. The Rules: the most unique part of Actual Play as a format. What rule system are the performers using to inform their performances? The rules place limits on how well the High Concept functions. If you try to tell a story where all the characters are super heroes but you're using Delta Green, there's going to be some friction (which of course could be the basis of the High Concept but absolutely needs to be accounted for).

Different listeners will have different priorities for each of these, and even within them. Really liking one of these aspects within a show may allow a less enjoyable one to get a pass.

For example The Adventure Zone's Balance season is something I listened to every week. I do not give a single shit about D&D actual play and am pretty ambivalent on the High Concept but the audio quality is great and the performances are stellar.

Another example: Friends At The Table's Autumn In Hieron has frequently bad audio quality but the great High Concept of the two diverging parties and the setting, combined with the good performances makes it stand out. Also doesn't hurt that I was interested in Dungeon World.

I don't think I'm saying anything groundbreaking here, but it may be useful for those interested in actual play, fans AND creators, to consider when starting a new show.

More thoughts like this from me on my Patreon! Patrons get early access to my game design work and thoughts. Just $1 a month!

#actual play #actual play podcast #the adventure zone #taz balance #friends at the table #f@tt #autumn in hieron #ttrpg #ttrpg community #my writing

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louisupdates · 2 days

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FULL ARTICLE ON EUPHORIAZINE

By Saskia Postema 26.4.2024

Mere days after winning “Artist of the Year” at the inaugural Northern Music Awards, Louis Tomlinson is celebrating the only way he knows how – by giving back. Tomlinson just dropped a surprise album, which includes a curated list of live performances over the past years. It’s a risky move, as live albums are notoriously difficult to make worthwhile. But there’s no doubt about it: Tomlinson is deserving of that award, and the recordings on Louis Tomlinson: LIVE deserve to live forever.

After an initial stop-start to his solo career, Tomlinson has certainly flourished since finally getting to hit the stage. He’s been touring extensively over the past few years, performing a mix of tracks from his first two albums. Both were solid records that heavily referenced anthemic, rich sonic soundscapes. In fact, Tomlinson previously admitted that he wrote certain tracks with a live show in mind. Indeed, songs like “Face The Music,” “Out Of My System” and “The Greatest,” from his No. 1 selling album Faith in the Future, absolutely benefit from the live instrumentals compared to their studio versions.

It isn’t often that live performances consistently seem to not only live up to but objectively improve the perfectly engineered studio recordings. Perhaps it’s the love that the album so clearly captures for live music that does it. The singer-songwriter is an avid fan of his own fans and gets to share a collective experience of joy with them. Just listen to the crowds serenading Tomlinson in return during “Chicago,” recorded live in – you guessed it, Chicago. From Tomlinson’s perspective, audiences across the world have always been part of breathing life into these live recordings. Now, people get to live that same experience with him by listening to this record that is woven together with impeccably mixed joyful screaming in the background.

Tomlinson’s storytelling isn’t hindered by the crowd’s reaction. Rather, it is bolstered by it. In both power ballads like “Common People” as well as raucous tracks like “Silver Tongues.” The live setting seems to function almost akin to a prism – each song shining brighter, richer, fuller. Perhaps the only track that is tighter in the original version, is the seductive “Written All Over Your Face.” Nonetheless, the instrumental break and palpable, wild excitement make for an enjoyable listen.

Similarly, right in the middle of the highly addictive “All This Time/We Are Beauty” mash-up, a fan can be heard screaming “I love you” if you listen closely. The sheer adulation of the crowd is decidedly earned. Tomlinson has worked hard to prove himself, despite never having lacked the talent. Perhaps merely the confidence that he could do it, would do it, has done it. Nevertheless, he’s been open about the tension between his own love for music, and his at times debilitating need for perfection. As he’s settled into his career, a quiet undertone of determination and grit, of relief and fulfillment – of gratitude remains in every single show.

On “Saturdays,” you can actually hear Tomlinson mumble that the view’s never been better from where he’s stood on stage. It’s a high-maintenance track with all the right ingredients for a Tomlinson classic. There’s confessional lyricism, emotive delivery, and a gradual yet powerful crescendo in musical arrangement. It needs to be sung with conviction, and it’s clear that Tomlinson pulls power from the audience to deliver.

Notably, none of the covers that Tomlinson frequently incorporates in his concerts made it onto this live album. With that in mind, perhaps this release signals that Tomlinson has finally embraced his own artistry. Because if anything, Louis Tomlinson: LIVE is a reckless celebration record. An ode to joy, the synergy between artist and audience, and the impact of well-timed, flawlessly executed live guitar solos.

#louis press #louis tomlinson #louis tomlinson live #26.4.2024 #album review

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ghostking4m · 2 days

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Rejection Is Just Redirection

Luke Hughes x reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Listen, you didn’t really need college. You broke into the entertainment industry at 16, so college was just a plan b you put on the back burner. Being one of the most famous names and faces in the entire world, you easily had enough money to afford college, so why not give it a shot? After all, your boyfriend went to college, though he did kind of drop out to play hockey.

Once you made up your mind that you’d be going back to school, your next step what choosing your major and what schools to apply to. You write songs and sometimes write poems and books, so maybe English or journalism? Maybe Communications would help you answer some of the dodgy questions the paparazzi ask you. Heck, even political science or economics or business would be a good idea. They would allow you to make a difference in the world. Business sounds like a safe choice. You could do a lot with a business degree. Now to apply to schools.

So here’s the thing, you’re finally in a real relationship that you really don’t want to mess up. Staying in LA would allow you to go to school and continue working, so you could still be in the limelight when you want to be. USC and UCLA would be great choices for that and they’re extremely accredited schools. However, maybe Rutgers is the school you should choose, since it’s close to Luke. NYU might even be an interesting choice since it wouldn’t raise too many questions if you’re going to school in the city because you want to or if it’s because you want to be closer to your boyfriend. It has always been your dream school when you were a kid. Well, it’s decided then!

You honestly weren’t expecting the application and admissions process to be so complicated and grueling. It’s like the education system is trying to torture kids to see who would come out on top as the victor. College really is like the Hunger Games, isn’t it? You hadn’t the slightest idea of how to fill out your major requirement classes or send your high school transcript to the admissions office and your essays were mid at best. You’re a celebrity, it’s not like you needed to try all that hard to graduate high school since you did homeschooling since you were 16. Though, you gotta admit that the feeling of finally being done with the application process was a relief. It’s just a waiting game now for admissions decisions.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“T-minus 2 hours until decisions come out. You nervous?” Luke asked as you guys were laying on the couch before he had to go to practice.

“A little, but it’s not the end of the world if I don’t get in. I mean, i’ve already got my career, so why would I worry about getting in so that I could work more to get a degree that would allow me to work even more? Why did i do this again?” you questioned back, joking with him. “If I don’t get in, I’ll just grab my bag and go back to LA and star in the highest grossing movie of the decade… again”

Luke laughed at your comment, despite hearing the quiet hesitation in your voice. He didn’t realize how much you actually wanted to get in. He didn’t know how much you wanted to prove that you’re more than just some face in gossip magazines or the most talked about name in the headlines. You wanted to be seen and treated like a person, someone who people respected because you worked just as hard as they did to get to the same place as them. You always advocated for equality for everyone and yet people always worshipped you and put you on a pedestal.

“Would that be such a bad thing?” he countered.

“I’m not sure yet. Part of me regrets applying, because I don’t want to get in for nepotism or for being famous, but I also want to get in, because I want to make everyone proud of me.” You replied.

It broke Luke’s heart a little to hear you talk about this in the way you are, because how could anyone not be proud of you and what you accomplished at such a young age? You had 6 Oscars, 4 Emmys, the most nominations at the Grammy’s this year, and you were named the most powerful person of the year by Time Magazine, Forbes Magazine, AND Vogue. You were a sensation that was still only just beginning. You had the entire world eating in the lam of your hand.

“Well, no matter what happens, I’m proud of you for trying. You don’t need college, but I applaud your efforts anyway. You could honestly be anything you want, be anyone you want, all you have to do is try and not everyone can do that.” He said, and his heart absolutely MELTED at the tiny smile you tried to hide by hiding your face further in his chest.

He heard you mumble the most adorable, embarrassed “Thanks” from his chest and he couldn’t help but giggle.

“Let’s not think about it for a while, please?” you asked, politely.

“Ok. We can just rewatch the movie where you play a real life version of one of the most famous dolls in the world.” He says, purposefully teasing you!!

“Oh God.” You laughed out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You held your breath as you opened the email concealing your admissions decisions. It felt as if the world was telling everyone to be quiet and listen.

“I got it.” You whispered as quietly as possible.

“You got in?!” Luke shouted, jumping nearly 7 feet high as he got up to look at you.

“No. I got the email that says if I got in or not.” You answered.

“Oh. Sorry for freaking out.” He looks away, slightly embarrassed. You give him a small look and smile full of adoration before turning back to your phone.

“Here goes nothing.” You say as you click on the email. “What? I don’t get it? Oh! I have to log into the admissions portal in order to see the decision.”

You click on the portal login link and enter your login id username and password, fingers slightly trembling with anticipation. Hesitantly, you click on the link that states “An update has been made about your decision.”

Taking a deep breath, you read a letter that says:

“Dear Y/n, Thank you for applying to New York University. We are humbled by the overwhelming interest in attending NYU and the outstanding quality of the applications we received this year. After careful consideration and thorough examination, it is with regret we must inform you were are unable to offer you admission for the Fall 2024 semester.”

“I didn’t get in.” You confessed barely loud enough for a mouse to hear.

Instantly, Luke had his arms around your shoulders and pulled you into his chest, fiercely protective. You were so disappointed that you weren’t even crying, almost as if you were expecting to be rejected.

“Whatever. Fuck them anyway. They didn’t deserve you to begin with. You belong somewhere like UMich or in an Ivy League school. You’re too good for them.” He tries to reassure you. “Look at it this way, you can continue doing what you love most and stay here with me. In the end, you learned something.”

“And what’s that?” you questioned him.

“Rejection is just redirection, that’s all. College wasn’t in the cards for you and life thinks you’re better off in the spotlight, making more money in a single year than those lousy admissions officers make in their entire lives. You were meant to be somebody great. You ARE somebody great and you’re becoming somebody even more perfect than I ever thought possible.”

His words struck a chord in your heart so deeply that you couldn’t help but hold on to him for dear life. You felt your eyes begin to prick with tears. As the first one fell out of your right eye, you knew automatically that they were tears of joy. Your heart swelled with pride and love for Luke as you laughed into his chest.

“Yeah. Fuck them. I don’t need them. I’m a star! You’re all I need.” You teased back. Deep down, you were incredibly disappointed, but Luke’s words of affirmation and love meant more to you than the rejection letter did. Nothing could beat that.

“That’s right, baby.” He laughed as he tighten his grip over you. He gently kissed the top of your head and repeated quiet “I love you’s” for at least 10 minutes.

“What time is it?” You asked.

“It’s…5:30.” He responded gently leaning over to turn on his phone to check. “Oh Shit! I’m gonna be late!”

“Go! Go! Go!” You laughed at him.

God, this boy. You thought, shaking your head. That’s MY boy.

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sophieinwonderland · 3 days

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do you think plurality will become widely accepted any time soon? i fear that my plurality will have to be hidden from most people my whole life. i wish i could tell our parents but i feel like they would immediately take me to a mental hospital..

i wish plural education could move faster lol

Widely accepted? I wouldn't count on it anytime soon. Sorry.

As Ghandi never said: "first they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win”

While the quote isn't from Ghandi, it is still a pretty accurate one for how movements tend to go. And the problem is, we're still in the ignoring stage with a side of mockery.

Before we can get widespread acceptance, we need widespread awareness. And when we get widespread awareness, the biggest roadblock we'll encounter is direct opposition. Because then we'll be a threat. We'll be trying to change things. We'll be demanding our headmates be acknowledged as individuals and called by their names, and that's going to make certain people, especially on the Right, extremely uncomfortable. I'm sorry to say that they will lash out.

When Tulpamancers are being smeared not by randos on Tumblr or r/systemscringe, but by Sean Hannity, that's when you can know that the real fight for plural acceptance has started. And everything we've gone through before that has just been a prelude.

And then it will probably drag out for years after that.

But while that prospect is scary, I think it will be necessary for getting to where we need to be.

...

But just because society isn't there yet and won't be for a while, that doesn't mean your parents won't be. Plenty of people have come out to their parents successfully. Others came out unsuccessfully, and then their parents warmed up to the idea later.

I would advise waiting until you're an adult if you aren't already, because parents have a lot of power over minors in their care, and things could go very badly. Best not come out, if you think they would react badly, while they have power over you. Additionally, I don't know if your system is traumagenic or not, but if it is, coming out to parents who may have been involved in that is probably a bad idea. Caution is advised.

...

One more thing, while that quote wasn't from Gandhi, I really love the speech it's believed to have originated from.

Plural acceptance may not come quick! It may not come easy! But it will come, and we are all a part of it just by being here and being ourselves!

The future is plural!

No matter how far off that future may seem!

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tanadrin · 1 day

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i fired up civ 5 recently bc i wanted to see how it compared to my memory of it, and if anything it's actually much, much worse.

one unit per tile just... does not work with the idiom of the civilization series! units are not like armies in a GSG, they're like units in an RTS game: grist for the meatgrinder. you build them and throw them at your enemy and if they lose combat, they die. they don't retreat and recover morale, you don't get a chance to reposition and try again, they just go poof. but now in addition to that, you can only fit one unit of a type on a given tile, which means combat is forcibly spread out over a huge space. it's slow, slowed down further by the fact that it now takes a couple turns to fully resolve a fight--i guess the idea is that you can have your injured units fall back, except because of the way units get blocked in now, no you can't!--but you still need tons of units to take cities.

which means they didn't get rid of doomstacks. doomstacks are still logistically necessary to win wars! they just made them really fucking annoying to move around the map.

and on top of that, because OUPT applies to all units, it means you are also constantly having your scouts and workers and other civilian units being blocked in by your own units of the same type, or other players' units of the same type, meaning if you sign an open borders treaty with the AI you are frequently signing up to having your own units' movement being jammed up in the worst way by computer players. and on top of all THAT the units cancel their movement orders if the destination tile is blocked, even if the destination tile is on the other side of the map and you can't see it--which means, basically, any long-distance movement order is liable to be randomly canceled if an AI unit ends its turn on your destination tile.

it feels janky at every single level. the worst possible fix to something that wasn't even really a problem--and if they really wanted to they could have implemented some kind of very basic attrition mechanic. or some other kind of soft cap.

and and and on top of all that, it makes roads and railroads substantially less useful, bc frequently you cannot actually fit all your guys on one road or railroad--but you can't just carpet your territory in roads now like you used to do, because roads cost maintenance per turn. just. ugh. fractally bad decisionmaking! like different people were working at different ends of the design doc and not communicating at all!

the global happiness system means expansion is soft capped early in the game, which makes it feel less like an empire management game than a game of managing four to five cities. since very many units are now hard capped by resource availability now, and expansion is limited, AFAICT in most normal games this means you get like.. two swordsmen? ever? mainly it's strong attack units that are capped in this way, but their defensive counters are uncapped, which means actually playing strategically with your army composition is more annoyance than it's worth. in practice, what this incentives is just building the best trash unit you can afford en masse and throwing them at the enemy, but, of course, see the problems with OUPT.

they took out civics and replaced them with Social Policy trees. but everybody has the same set of social policy trees. and there's a bit of a tradeoff here in which trees you choose to fill out first, but you never then switch those old trees out for new ones like civics. they're just permanent bonuses. so there's no sense of, like, choosing your government type.

and then in BNW i guess they realized people missed that, and created Ideologies, which are just a bonus extra-big social policy tree where you get to pick between liberal democracy, communism, and fascism. but of course there's only three. and this isn't unlocked until the late game.

what they really should have done is added more civics and rather than just having you progress from early game civics to late game civics made all civics contextually useful. and maybe given you some extra civics that were unlocked early in the game so you could strategize around them.

as a part of this change culture is now more load-bearing, but cultural victory is just... weird and stupidly complicated. you have to build tourism, and do archeology, and build wonders that provide slots for great works that your three different kinds of great artist create, and all this other crap. versus domination, where you just conquer the other guys. or science, where you just build your spaceship. it's dumb and bad and awkward.

there's no conquest victory now. only domination. but because of the way domination works, it's now not possible to move your capital manually. this is awful and i hate it! let me move my capital, damn it!

buildings no longer go obsolete, which means that if i am founding a city in the year 1973, i still need to build a City Walls in it before i can build a Military Base. this feels ridiculous. and the series already kinda has this problem where it feels like late game it takes forever to get a city really up and running--don't make it even worse by making me build shit from classical antiquity before i can build modern facilities!

the AI is not very bright. they don't expand very much. on big maps, most of the map will remain empty most of the game, at least up through mid-level difficulties i usually play at (that are supposed to be "standard", so I assume the game is balanced around them)

diplomacy is irritatingly primitive. there are few ongoing agreements. declarations of friendship all last a fixed amount of time. the AI is constantly interrupting you to tell you it doesn't like you or it does like you or you and another AI player all like each other. just expose an opinion modifier and be done with it! harun al-rashid and i don't need to pass notes like it's grade school!

they nerfed the range of air units and especially nukes. which feels really weird. the 20th century saw the invention of strategic bombers that had a range of thousands of miles. why can mine only reach cities right next to my own? why do my nuclear missiles have a pathetic range? sure, sub-launched nukes are a thing, but they're only one part of a proper nuclear triad. there's no MAD anymore!

especially because the world congress can order you to stop building nukes and there's nothing you can do about it. you can't defy world congress bans and suffer a penalty. international law has some kind of magical force that even if you are the undisputed hegemon you cannot help but obey. this is very stupid! especially because they could not think of anything interesting for the world congress to do, so it's all shit like banning random luxury goods.

all the stuff i do like--the city-states, the hex grid, the core idea of the trade route system--is swallowed by annoying bullshit. to take the trade route example: you can make money by setting up trade routes. it can be quite lucrative! and you have to protect your trade routes from bandits and shit. but the menu for issuing trade route orders is a mess--way too much scrolling, you can't sort by lucrativeness of destinations, you have to constantly re-issue trade route orders, and the last trade route a unit was on isn't highlighted, or sorted to the top or anything like that. so it's lots of scrolling around, it's very annoying, and it's repetitive as hell.

the real stick in the eye is that this game was not only reviewed well, it was reviewed glowingly when it came out. which is bizarre to me! yes, it looks nice. the art is good and the music is pretty. but it feels awful to play! it is on almost every single metric less fun than civ 4! civ 3 is more fun, and civ 3 was terrible. i hope to god firaxis was bribing people left and right for good reviews because the only alternative explanation i can think of is that everybody who was reviewing strategy games in 2010 was also in the grip of a brutal glue-sniffing habit.

#allegedly there are mods to fix OUPT #but i couldn't get them working #and also apparently the game doesn't support modded multiplayer at all?!#jon shafer were you kicked in the head by a horse #why did that sound reasonable to you?!

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our-lesboy-experience · 2 days

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hiii!!! so uh, this is sorta about 'contradicting' (?) identities in general, but i only recently found out about, like, lesboys and gaygirls and all of that, but what is it exactly? like how does it work? or is that weird to ask? i'm trying figuring myself out but a lot of stuff i've seen doesn't exactly... explain it (or explain it well), and while i guess i do get why, it's just kinda hard to understand it myself for my own identity

also, probably a question you get a lot in a hating way, but isn't the definition of lesbian nonman loving nonman? so then how does lesboy work? like is it for people with more complicated gender identites, like fluctuating genders and bigender? just genuinly confused, my apologies...

sorry for not getting to this sooner- been busier lately and didn't have the time to collect everything I needed to respond!

About what it exactly means to be a lesboy or a gaygirl ('turigirl' is the more common term, 'turi' meaning turian, another word for gay attraction to men. so I'll be referring to it as that from now on), there isn't exactly....one right way to call yourself such. it really depends on the person, but I can give you a basic definition and a list of common reasons someone may call themselves such

im gonna put a read more because this ended up being super long so sorry

lesboy is a term for any lesbian who may have a connection to manhood and/or masculinity. turigirl is just the opposite of that, a gay person (mlm/nblm) who may have a connection to womanhood and/or femininity. common reasons I've seen are:

being multigender or genderfluid

being cusper/in between trans and cis gnc (in between trans man and cis gnc woman, in between trans woman and cis gnc man)

being a system who uses lesboy/turigirl as a collective identity or when identities blur together

a person who uses man/boy or woman/girl as a means of masculine or feminine gender expression but not actually identifying as such

being a trans man/ftm or a trans woman/mtf who still identifies as lesbian or gay for personal reasons

those are far from all the reasons, everyone has their own unique experiences, but the gist is these people may have some sort of connection to manhood/womanhood while still having a queer attraction. personally, I'm multigender, genderfluid, and transmasc. lesboy I find is a nice label to express being both my bigender self and being a lesbian, as it forces people to acknowledge both without separating the two. it's cute and makes me feel validated!

as for "nonman attracted to nonmen" definition of lesbian......it has its issues. it's received criticism all around from all sorts of lesbians in the community. this definition is very new - it emerged only in the recent years, and someone on twitter had date searched it and found it didn't even really exist before 2019. and having that as the one and only official definition that every lesbian has to abide by, when lesbian is a centuries old word with so much history behind it, is a bit ignorant. people who are multiple genders or ftm or bi being lesbian is not even remotely new, going back decades upon decades, and it never stopped existing too. It's a bit weird to have a whole new definition that doesn't include all sorts of lesbians that have been here for so long and just tell them they're not welcomed anymore, right?

that's not even close to the only issue there is with it. it's been disliked for centering lack of attraction to men, or defining lesbian in relation to men, rather than who we're actually attracted to. putting nonbinary people in a new binary of either being "men or nonmen," which not all feel comfortable putting themselves into. especially when considering a definition of gay being "nonwomen attracted to nonwomen," man-woman bigender people are simultaneously excluded from being both lesbian or gay. It inherently overlaps with mspec identity ("attraction to nonmen, which is more than one gender" and "any orientation that involves attraction to more than one gender" kinda obviously overlap), despite people insisting that a lesbian can never be mspec. people have found multiple loopholes in it, (which I can elaborate on if someone wants me to, for the sake of trying to make this as short as possible), and lastly, and term "nonman" (and nonwoman) were found to have existed before to describe the degendering of black people in society. this isn't the only source I've seen for this, but sadly I can't exactly find it (or find it without going back to that hellsite called twitter and I'm not doing that to myself)

oh and as the link points out, defining lesbian by these words also ends up excluding a lot of two-spirit people from ever identifying as lesbian, myself included. which is also really racist. I don't know how you're gonna end up excluding a whole cultural gender that's common for indigenous americans to describe themselves with and try to prove it somehow isn't racist, to be honest

and lastly, some surveys/polls have shown that the definition isn't the most widely accepted by lesbians as people make it out to be. there's this simple poll that someone posted asking how lesbians felt about the definition that received 1,529 responses, and 61.1% of voters said they disliked it. comments gave lots of reasons I've stated already. there was another survey put out that received 211 responses that for any lesbian who had a genderqueer or unique relationship with gender, and one of the questions asking opinions on the "nonmen loving nonmen" as a definition. the average among the group was slightly negative (average 2.838), and reported that the group who tended to feel the most positively about it didn't consider themselves to be trans, with the other positive leaning group considered themselves to be somewhat cis. the group that felt the most negatively sometimes considered themselves to be trans. and of the multigender participants, the average opinion was 2.255 (more negative than the overall average). When concluding, the original poster stated, "When divided by gender, the only groups to feel positive about this definition were "not trans" and "somewhat cis" participants. Multigender participants felt especially negative about this definition"

all of this shows that this definition isn't nearly the best for everyone who considers themselves a lesbian. I know it's been a way to include nonbinary people who are lesbian in it's definition, but I think it really misunderstands why nonbinary people are included in lesbianism in the first place, and just assumes that all nonbinary people aren't men and fails to recognize that multigender/genderfluid people are nonbinary too. and it's not like lesbian has to only have on definition- it can definitely have multiple and depend on each person's experience with it. if someone personally defines them being lesbian around being a nonman attracted to nonmen, and takes pride in not being attracted to men, that's totally fine. what becomes a problem is forcing all lesbians to define themselves like this and make it the standard, or else they're "not real lesbians." it is ahistorical and ignorant to require this or else you'll strip them of their lesbian status, and is really at the end of the day, lesbophobic. especially as a requirement that primarily exists in online spaces. im sure the lesbian who is not at all connected to these circles doesn't particularly care about strict requirements or whether someone is a "nonman" or not. in conclusion, it is not the best nor most accepted definition of lesbian, and deciding which lesbians are valid or not based solely on that definition is pretty exclusionary and ends up policing a lot of lesbians, myself included

#lesboy #turigirl #lesbian #gay #multigender #genderfluid #mspec lesbian #asks #tw exclusionism #tw queerphobia #lesbophobia #I can definitely elaborate on some points if asked #I do have some thoughts I've never shared before

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meowmeowmeowmeow4x · 2 days

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Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 27

MASTAPOST

His sister knew.

His sister knew, and she joined his parents on a hunt. She joined his parents to sabotage them, because she knew they’d catch up to him. She freed him.

His sister saved him. The tears that she helped stop broke through again. His sister knew, and she saved him. She still loved him, even if he was a monster.

Danny took one more look at the deck of his parents’ boat, and he jumped. He’d never been so happy to be in cold water in his entire life. Scales climbed over his skin. His legs snapped together, bones melding into tail vertebrae. The weapons systems on the SAV were down. Thank you Tuck. It had to be him.

Danny looked up at the hull of the boat, clean and free of barnacles. He turned to the vast depths in every direction. He should be running. He should be getting as much of a head start as humanly or inhumanly possible. There was no way he could come back. No way at all.

He didn’t do any of that. He just felt so… so tired. His body sank down to the bottom of the sea, which was admittedly not far down. His glowing scales and lines lit the way down. On the sea floor, he curled into a ball, clutching himself tightly.

What was he to do now?

His mission was complete. Damian Wayne was reunited with Bruce Wayne. Jazz knew about Danny’s true nature, so there was no way she’d not know that the spitfire of a green guppy was Damian. One quick explanation was all it would take for everything to end well. Bruce Wayne would bring his son home. And his parents-

He palmed the spot on his chest over his heart. His parents didn’t know. What if he just went home, pretended like he’d been rescued by someone.

Danny’s scales shivered like goosebumps.

The Amity Island sirens were probably long gone. Maybe they’d come back for more trouble next year, but maybe not. For all he knew, Danny Phantom was no longer needed in Amity. No longer welcome, if he was ever welcome in the first place.

His lateral line tinged. The light of his scales illuminated a small guppy swimming in front of him. Danny stared at Damian, the boy crossing his arms and looking over his body. How did he get out?!

“You are uninjured.” Damian said. It was the first he’d heard from him in over 24 hours. Danny would have cried in relief, if he wasn’t already trying to wipe the tears away from his earlier cry.

“D-Damian! Why aren’t you on the boat? Your dad’s right there!”

Damian sat down on the sand in front of him, fingering one of his fins. “This reunion is not amenable to me. You were right. My father is influenced by the Fentons. It would be safer to return to our original plan. I have more reasonable family members to go to in Gotham.”

Danny blinked. “But I thought you hated me.”

“I am still angry with you. And I have not decided whether I have forgiven you or not.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Regardless, nobody deserves to have done to them what the Fentons intended with you. I would have done away with them myself, but entrusted Jasmine Fenton to the job. You’re welcome.”

That was strangely heartwarming. Despite himself, Danny felt a small smile form. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence. Despite being in sonar range, the SAV did nothing. Probably Tucker blinding their systems. The idea that Damian would throw away this chance shook him, but-

Danny recalled the terror. The fear. The overwhelming dread underneath the shadow of a man who could snap his skinny body in two. Perhaps Damian had a point.

Damian scraped a bit of dirt on his arm fin. The two of them were looking worse for wear every day. “If you are unable to continue, then I understand. I will go through the Panama Canal on my own. Thank you for bringing me this far.”

He grabbed the boy’s arm, stopping him from leaving. “What do you mean on your own?!”

“I will not blame you if you choose to abandon this quest.” Damian’s fins drooped.

Danny shook his head. “You’ve got no supplies, no food, no weapons. We’ve got nothing.”

“I will find more.”

“I can’t abandon you.”

“Even after I caused your capture?”

Danny hunched his shoulders. He filled with determination. “I made a promise, Damian.”

The boys stared into each other’s eyes, searching. Their fins flared, an unconscious fight for dominance. Damian loomed over Danny, defiant. Danny held firm.

“Very well. Are you ready to go now?”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t wanna linger around here much longer. Do you?”

Damian flipped himself so he was belly up. The boy glared at the ship above. “Not particularly. Let us go.”

It was morning when Jazz woke up. Her head lay on a towel and icepack. Warm sunlight streamed into her room. The back of her head numbly throbbed, a reminder of what had happened last night. Emotions simmered. Vestiges of adrenaline, anxiety and stress coursed through her system. Alongside them, relief. She had done it. Danny was safe.

A tear fell through her eye. Would it be the last time she ever saw him?

Jazz pulled herself out of bed sluggishly. The floor in her room and just outside still bore stains from Damian’s mucus. Honestly, boys.

She glimpsed the vast ocean outside her window. They were near the Panama Canal. That was probably where Danny and Damian were headed. It seemed the boys had a plan all along. Danny was strong. Not his superpowers, but his heart. Her little brother had persevered this far, and she hoped that knowing that at least one member of his family loved him for sure would allow him to make it.

For now, she had to face the music. What would her parents to do her?

“JAZZIE!”

Jazz jumped out of her skin. Her father’s feet stomped thunderously through the room. He scooped her up in one motion, crushing her ribs with a tight hug.

“D-dad!”

“Jazzie we were so worried!” Her father sobbed. “We’d just finished fighting off those abyssal abominations when we realised you and Brucie weren’t there! And then we looked in the lab and- and- and-”

Jazz patted her dad’s back. “There, there, dad. It’s alright. I barely even felt anything.”

“Jazzieeee!” Her father cried.

Her mother walked in soon after, a tray of food in hand.

“Honey, you’re smothering her.”

“Oh, sorry!”

Right as her dad let her down, her mother rushed up and engulfed her in another crushing hug. Lots of points in the ‘not smothering’ department there. “We were so worried. How are you feeling? Honey? Is your head alright?”

“Just a bit of a headache, that’s all. I’m fine, mom, honest!”

“Come here now.” Her mum pushed the tray on to her atop a wooden stand that had been lying in the room. “I’ve made you some chicken noodle soup, and I’ve got you some Tylenol for the headache. We’ve also screened you for any remaining siren influence.”

“I can’t believe it! That tiny green kid had it in him to mind control our dear Jazzie!” Her dad cried loudly, tears streaming down. “Are you sure you’re ok, sweetie? We can do some more tests.”

Jazz shook her head. “Dad, I promise I’m fine. I barely even registered anything happening. Just a blur in my head, then suddenly I’m awake in here. Where’s Mr Wayne?”

“We put him in the guest room. Your mind controlled self did a number on him! Guess we won’t have to worry about any human creeps getting the jump on you, eh?”

Jazz’s face twisted in (mostly performative) guilt. “I’m so sorry! Is he ok?”

Her mum shook her head. “Don’t worry about him, honey. He’s just got a bit of a bump on his head now. He’ll be fine.” Served him right for terrorising her little brother, be it intentionally or not.

Jazz rubbed the back of her head, still throbbing.

“It’s not your fault. It was the fault of those damn crafty fish.” Her mother’s face sank.

Jazz leaned her head on her mother’s shoulder. “What’s the damage then?”

Her dad sat down. “Well it ain’t pretty. The engines are gonna need recalibrating. Then the rudders fixed. Thankfully we’ve got all the spare parts we could need and more, but it’ll take a day and a half, maybe more, before we’re seaworthy again.”

“Can’t believe all that crying was just act.” Her mum muttered darkly. “Just buying time for his friends to show up.”

Jazz put her noodles down, and gulped a handful of pills. “What did Phantom do?”

“Mostly he tried to lie to our faces. Then put on a show of being scared and helpless. I can’t believe we fell for it.”

Jazz stared into her mother’s eyes. And what she saw shocked her. Instead of the conviction, the hatred and the determination that usually backed those words, Jazz found vulnerability. At first she thought it was because her mom thought she’d lost her chance to get Danny back. But none of that occurred in the days leading up to this event. Not once during this expedition had she seen such uncertainty.

“Mom? Are you ok?”

The uncertainty disappeared underneath a mask, underneath her red goggles. “I told you not to worry, sweetie. Get some more rest. Your father and I have a boat to fix.”

“That’s right! I don’t wanna see you running around trying to help us, got it?”

Her parents filed out of the room, leaving her to her thoughts.

Jazz went for her phone.

Tucker blinked himself away at the morning sun. Immediately he went for his laptop. He went into the Fentons’ systems, went into their cameras and detection equipment, breath baited.

The lab was empty. The sonars were clear. The radar was clear. He wanted to cry. They had done it!

“Yes!”

Sam groaned beside him. Right, he was in her room. “Please celebrate quietly, Tuck. You’re killing me.”

Tucker winced. Sam looked not much better than last night. She was swathed in bandages like some anime main character. “Sorry Sam.” He whispered.

“Did we do it at least?”

He lifted his laptop to show her. “Danny’s like 400 miles away. And with what Jazz did, he’ll be getting much farther.”

“Good. I’ll return to the land of the dead now.”

Tuck waved his hands in front of her. “Wait! What about changing your bandages?”

“Ugh.” Sam stayed lying down, but her eyes remained open.

Tucker got to work. His hands moved carefully around Sam’s tender spots. Her skin had regained most of its colour overnight, but was still sensitive. At some point, he put on the news on his laptop, like they had been since Danny left.

“Your grandma’s gonna kill me for letting you do this.”

“Not before she kills me first.” Sam muttered. “And not before I kill Danny for giving me this killer headache.”

Tucker snorted. “Be a waste of blood to kill the person you spent it all saving.”

“That’s why I’ll suck out all his tasty fish blood. Like a vampire.”

“Hah! I’m pretty sure Hamon and vampirism don’t mix Sam.”

Sam whacked him in the head with a pillow. “It’s the Focus, not Hamon.”

The news feed switched to a familiar image. Sam pulled herself to a sitting position. “Turn it up, Tuck!”

‘On to other news, it has been over 96 hours since Damian Wayne, heir to Wayne Industries, was viciously attacked by sirens. Only a day later, Bruce Wayne, father to the boy, set off with local siren hunters Jack and Maddie Fenton. They have not been heard from since. We interviewed government experts, Operatives K and O for their statements,

The presenter gestured to a large TV screen showing two of the smarmiest bastards Tucker had ever met (second only to, ugh, Vlad).

“We share our condolences to Bruce Wayne for his loss. The siren menace continues to plague this country and others.-‘

“Bullshit!” Sam shouted.

“As a result, we are calling for all citizens in coastal areas to be on high alert. These fish freaks are living among us, seeking out the weakest and most suggestible, and then luring them to the bottom of the sea to be eaten, or worse.’

“And what of Damian Wayne?”

Agent K lowered his head. He placed his hand on his heart. Tucker heckled at the terribly stilted and overwhelmingly dishonest display.

‘We regret to say that he was torn to pieces, and eaten. We will be pursuing his killer, a siren dubbed Phantom, to bring to justice.’

Sam clenched her first. “The only justice we need is for your entire organization to burn and every single one of you in The Hague!”

‘If any of you see or suspect Phantom, we implore you to contact our offices immediately. This specimen is no Little Mermaid, but a vicious predator who will take away everything you hold dear.’

The newscast cut away from the two men. The presenter continued with a constant cool composure, despite the grim subject matter.

‘Indeed, the attacks on Amity Island have gained national attention as a result of Damian Wayne’s death. However, there has nonetheless been pushback against the narrative presented by the GiW. In Baja California, Mexico, residents of a small fishing town were shocked to find an entourage of Atlantean soldiers escorting a group of illegal whale hunters. The poachers have since been deported to the United States, but not before they claimed to be attacked by a siren matching the mysterious Phantom’s description, in addition to another small green siren. Our correspondent in Mexico has the scoop.’

The newscast cut to a female Atlantean soldier and a young reporter.

“The boat was covered in ice, like it was the Arctic or something. So were the poachers. One guy was covered up completely except for his mouth. I’m sure we accidentally ripped off a layer of skin or two breaking it. Feel kinda bad, but they’re poachers so meh. Not to mention all the slime.” The soldier shuddered visibly.

“And what do you think provoked the sirens to attack the ship? Are the sirens just very conservationally-minded?”

She shrugged. “Hell if I know. My guess is the humans were creeping up on their territory.”

The news segment droned on to less interesting details. Tucker and Sam had heard enough.

“Damn, Sam! Looks like your ways are rubbin’ off on Danny.”

Sam chucked another pillow at him. Tucker dodged. “You mean he’s giving himself away. I hate poachers as much as the next guy, but he has invisibility for fuck’s sake. Why did he let himself get seen!?”

Tucker shrugged, mimicking the Atlantean woman on the video just then. “I’m sure he’s got a good reason somehow.”

“Or he forgot he could do that.”

Tucker shut his laptop closed. “Welp, if that’s all, I gotta run back before my mom doubles my grounding.” He winced.

The boy clambered out Sam’s window, and waved her goodbye.

“Thanks Tuck. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“We’re Team Phantom, baby! We’re riding high or dying, and there’s no in between!”

Samson Skulker stood over the edge of his yacht, a beautiful glass of red wine in hand. Below him, his trusty dolphin cohort surfaced, chittering information. The wound on his leg was healing nicely, and his suit was ready too. It was incredible. Simply incredible how much poor little Phantom could swim in a single day. Faster than any other sea creature in the world, except for his own species. It was an exhilarating hunt, even if he had to upgrade his engines over and over just to keep up.

“Panama Canal, you say? Well, well, well. This will be interesting.”

Skulker pulled out his phone and dialed the number he’d seen on TV.

“Hello? I’d like to report a Phantom sighting. I saw him heading towards Panama. I think he’s making Panama his next target.”

Let’s see how the little fishies squirm when there are a couple dozen more sharks in the water.

The water had been getting shallower, brighter. It tinged with the smell of wood and metal and oil. Seagulls cried from above. Damian knew where they were. Knew they were close.

To be continued…

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