Stanford!art

ballerina!tashi who is recognised as one of the best ballet dancers in all of america. she flows across the stage with such gracefulness that the audience is left bewitched by her delicate beauty. at times, she is still sharp and controlled with her body, leaving you intimidated by her movements. having so much talent only made it much more tragic when she suffered her knee injury, turning to ballet instructing after recovery. she's still known for her most successful and alluring role of odile, the black swan.

ballet dancer!art who has every dance company falling at his feet, begging for him to sign with them. his skills alone are admirable, but his looks are every casting director's wet dream, it's almost unbelievable how perfect he is for the stage. art is almost always casted as some sort of handsome prince, carrying himself with poise and elegance. he's a lean and athletic man, spent years of his life building his physique into the perfect vessel specifically for ballet.

ballet dancer!patrick who is never seen putting much work into his craft yet is one of the strongest male dancers in his company. he carries his dance partners over his head with ease and pulls off some of the highest leaps his instructors have ever seen. patrick secretly stays in the prop and costume room of the dance studio, refusing to ask for help unless one of the pretty ballerinas offers him a place to sleep for the night.

sam wilson has become one of those characters that i was pretty neutral on when they were first introduced but people give them so much unwarranted hate that ive been pushed into being an avid defender and now they’re genuinely my favorite character

Everyone acting like Sam fans are just humorless bitter meanies is killing me tbh 😭

Ummm sorry, but I think we’ve been pretty chill for a good ten years now lol. I mean, they didn’t even let the man be a social worker from Harlem for goodness sakes!! Erased his comic history with Steve and significant chunks of their friendship, largely forgot about his family and friends, sidelined and forgot about Sam himself too. For years! Gave him a show instead of a movie, and hired a guy who clearly hates him to write it. Then years of zero cameos, not even a shoutout or two. Finally gave him a movie, that was really good by the way, but then when they do manage to finally acknowledge him in another project it’s just to insult him. And, whole time that all this is happening, they’re glazing the hell out of a whole slew of other characters who objectively deserve the hype less than Sam.

Actually, yeah, we’ve been gracious af.

ugh jo you're always exceeding expectations

virgin art x patrick hcs i’m begging you

i KNOW it didnt just stop after their little jerk off sesh

warnings: 18+, handjob, gay and REPRESSED

oh yeah no absolutely not.

i think as they grew up there was def a lot more. like to the point where they can't even jerk off without each other in the room because they can't finish otherwise. but both of them are very much subject to the "five feet apart cause they're not gay" rule. it doesn't count if they're in their own beds and not touching!!! totally normal

and then one of them (i'm gonna say art) sprains his good wrist. nothing long-term damage, just a few weeks without tennis. and he's sooo pent up and patrick feels kinda bad just getting off on the other side of the room while art looks so forlorn with his pyjama bottoms tenting comically. bottom lip trembling, like on the verge of tears because he just wants to touch himself soooo bad

"do you want me to—"

and the question isn't even finished before art is nodding eagerly like a bobblehead. patrick practically leaps to his bed like an olympic sprinter. then he's braced on top of art who's still nursing his sore wrist (poor baby), holding out his palm expectantly. art's confused, brows furrowed and bottom lip still jutted out.

"spit. i'm not using my own. that's weird." because jerking off your best friend totally isn't weird in the first place!!! but art obliges and spits a generous amount of saliva into patrick's outstretched palm (because he's literally been drooling watching him touch himself for the last five minutes.)

when patrick's hand slips down into his chequered pants, he almost orgasms instantly. the feeling of his rough palm and thick fingers, all slicked up with his own spit, wrapping around him... ugh. he dies on the spot. and normally they talk about the girls at the academy, whether it's just seeing some girl's tits in a sports bra after practice or whoever they've made out with that week under the bleachers.

but their room is utterly silent other than the sound of heavy breathing and the obscene sound of a wet hand pumping up and down art's cock. intense eye contact, patrick's breathing just as rough as his own. he knows if he looks at him any longer he's going to cum so he ends up shutting his eyes, head thumping back against his pillow.

his uninjured hand balls into a fist to bite down on and patrick is sorely tempted to move it away so he can actually hear him. but that'd be too much so he just settles for listening to the stifled sounds art makes. he's a lot more whiny when someone else is touching him. he also looks a lot prettier up close—brows pinched together, nose scrunched up as his teeth sink into his knuckles.

when he finally does cum, that muffled little, "oh-oh, f-fuck, patrick—" is criminally hot. he cleans art up and climbs into his own bed, ignoring the fact he's hard again after jerking himself off before art.

for the rest of art's recovery, patrick lends him a helping hand (literally). and then even AFTER that they end up jerking each other off regularly. like patrick comes back to their room after a failed hook-up, grumbling about wanting to get some so art says 'let's just jerk it out' and they end up kneeling in front of each other, hand wrapped around each other while patrick groans about her being a prude. art couldn't care less when he's being touched like this but he nods along anyways.

it gets to the point where they’re so used to hearing each other groaning that they have pavlovian reactions on the court. art’s more of a whiner so it isn’t as bad for patrick but the way he grunts is so reminiscent of the sounds he makes when he’s close, it has art adjusting his stiffy at least once per set. but it’s okay bc as soon as they’re back in their dorm patrick’s there to take care of it under the guise of “wow you must have been looking at amy’s tits bounce all practice.”

it's always just handjobs. patrick drunkenly suggests using his mouth once and art vehemently denies him bc that'd make it too real. no kissing (even if they stare at each other's mouths the entire time). they dry-hump a few times and afterwards patrick always hears art sniffling in his bed guiltily. but handjobs don't count!!!

moral of the story that's why they make awkward eye contact when tashi asks if they've ever done anything together. bc the cum rag art threw on the pillow before she came in is stained with BOTH of them.

YAY JAMES ON THE WAY (at some point...)

the way i report to your asks the second something crazy happens on cai is embarrassing but i was testing your new james bot and OH!!!

in conclusion i need more jamie bots baby bc tiktok showed me abhay verma as james and something awakened within me

ABHAY VERMA JAMES IS SO IMPORTANT TO ME!!! i used atj picture purely bc i made a folder n couldn’t find enough pictures of him for consistent icons 💔 but yeah james potter brown boy is canon to me 🙏

i have 2 james drafts rn (fics not bots) but i’m currently incapable of committing to finishing anything i fear

SAY THAT AGAIN.

summary: Spencer is known to talk a lot, always spluttering facts and analysis to people. Everyone always gets annoyed at him for that, except you, who thinks it’s so hot of him. So what happens when you start to flirt shamelessly with Spencer and tell him to use that mouth between your legs?

pairing: spencer reid x afab coworker.

cw: +18. mdni. 1.4k words. praise. submissive spencer. soft dom reader. oral sex (reader receiving). workplace setting. semi-public. light hair pulling. soft mocking & teasing. dirty-talking.

taglist: @blastzachilles @lvve-talks @jordiemeow @strfallz @222col @soulxinxthexsky @diyasgarden @jinxedbambi @lexiiscorect @religionlost @bluestrd @jclolz22 @magicalmiserybore @destinedtobegigi @fwaist @talsorchard @lovefaist @shahabaqsa0310 @prismozo @jesuistrestriste

The bullpen was always a little too loud on Fridays. Even with the weight of the week dragging on everyone’s shoulders, the team still found ways to stir up banter between case files. You were on your third coffee and second round of edits to your victimology when Spencer started talking again.

"Actually, there’s a statistically significant link between victims who are last seen leaving bars alone and offenders who grew up in households with substance abuse. It’s often a subconscious association—they target vulnerability they recognize from childhood experiences."

You didn’t even look up from your computer screen. You didn’t have to. You could see him in your periphery, perched on the corner of your desk like he always did when he felt like talking but didn’t want to be annoying.

Everyone else groaned.

"Reid," Morgan said without looking up. "No one's trying to psychoanalyze the bar scene, man."

JJ gave him a tired smile. "Maybe just let us finish the file first?"

But you? You bit the inside of your cheek to keep from grinning. Because while everyone else rolled their eyes at Spencer’s endless supply of facts, you were quietly, wildly obsessed.

You liked the way he talked. Not just the cadence, fast and breathless, but the certainty in it. The pure, unfiltered excitement he had about things most people barely noticed. It made your brain light up.

It also didn’t hurt that he was cute as hell, with his tie always slightly crooked and his curls getting messier as the week went on. You’d had a crush on him since your third day at the BAU. That was eight months ago, and somehow you were still holding it together.

Sort of.

"Keep going, Reid," you said casually, eyes still on the screen. "You were saying something about behavioral mimicry?" Spencer froze, blinking like he wasn’t sure he’d heard you correctly.

Then he leaned in, voice lower now, almost conspiratorial. "Right—uh, yes. Behavioral mimicry. So there’s this phenomenon where serial offenders, especially disorganized ones, subconsciously recreate aspects of their own trauma. So if, say, they were abandoned at a train station, they might pick their victims from transit centers or leave the bodies there as a symbol of—"

You looked up slowly, smiling as your eyes locked on his. "God, that mouth of yours."

His lips parted. "What?"

You tilted your head. "Nothing. I just like hearing you talk."

His brows pulled together, confused. You watched the blush crawl up his neck and knew exactly what you were doing. "Actually, most people find it annoying," he said, a little too fast.

You stood up, brushing against his knee as you moved to grab another file. "I’m not most people." He swallowed hard.

By the end of the day, he was visibly short-circuiting.

You weren’t mean about it. Just a little flirty. Soft touches on his arm when you passed by. Compliments about his tie, his lecture from the week before, the way he’d handled the victim’s family. Spencer, being Spencer, didn’t know what to do with it.

It wasn’t until the two of you ended up alone in the briefing room, long after the others had left, that he finally broke. You were leaning against the table, flipping through photos, when he hovered near the door.

"You, uh… you keep complimenting me today," he said quietly. You looked up with an amused smile. "Is that so weird?"

He ran a hand through his curls. "Kind of? Yes? I mean, not—uh—not in a bad way. I just—"

You dropped the photos and stepped closer. He stopped talking immediately. You looked up at him—he was taller—and reached to tug lightly at the knot of his tie. "You want me to stop?" you asked.

His eyes flicked to your mouth, then back up. "No."

"Good." You pulled him in by the tie and kissed him.

He made the softest, most surprised sound, mouth moving eagerly under yours. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging gently. He melted into it. You pulled back slightly, grinning at how he was acting. Almost like a puppy.

"You ever kissed someone who wanted to shut you up and hear you talk at the same time?" you murmured. He looked wrecked already. "I… I don’t know."

"Well," you whispered, brushing your lips over his again. "I’ve thought about that mouth between my legs more times than I can count. So maybe it’s time you give me a little demonstration, Dr. Reid."

He blinked, stunned. "Y-You want me to—"

"Use that brain and that mouth," you said. "Be a good boy for me, yeah?"

You didn’t even make it out of Quantico.

You pulled him into one of the unused consult rooms, the door locked behind you. There was a couch along the back wall, and it was just big enough. The room smelled like dry-erase markers and stale coffee, but all you could focus on was Spencer kneeling in front of you, hands shaking slightly as you guided him.

You sat back, thighs spread, skirt pushed up.

"Take your time," you said softly. "But I want you to look at me the whole time, okay?" He nodded, so eager it almost broke your heart.

And then he leaned in.

His hands rested on your thighs like he didn’t know what to do with them, until you grabbed one and laced your fingers through it. "Start with kissing," you said. "Everywhere. Take it slow."

And he did. Lips brushing your inner thigh, trailing higher, then back down again. He paused at the waistband of your underwear, kissing right through it, a little tremble running through him.

"You're doing so good," you murmured, stroking his curls. "Don’t be shy."

He licked his lips, eyes wide as he hooked his fingers into the fabric and tugged gently. You lifted your hips to help him, watching as he pushed them down and stared like he’d never seen anything so perfect.

"You smell so good," he whispered, blushing immediately after he said it.

You laughed softly, brushing his hair back. "Do I, now? Why don’t you show me how much you like the smell?"

Spencer lowered his head.

The first drag of his tongue was cautious—gentle, exploratory. He moaned, actually moaned, into you, like the taste had short-circuited his brain. He licked again, slower this time, then circled your clit with delicate, deliberate pressure with the pad of his tongue. Taking his time with you were his last meal on Earth.

"Just like that," you breathed. "Yes, Spencer—just like that. God, you’re so good at this."

The praise made him whimper.

You kept a hand in his hair, guiding him when he needed it. He settled into a rhythm quickly, a little desperate, his tongue working you open like he was memorizing every reaction. When you gasped, he did it again. When your thighs tensed, he moaned against you.

"Such a quick learner," you said, voice breathy. "No wonder you finished multiple PhDs before thirty."

His groan vibrated against your clit. You tugged his hair gently. He looked up at you, mouth glistening, pupils blown wide. "You like when I talk about how smart you are while you eat me out?" He nodded, dizzy.

"I knew it. God, Spencer, you’re a mess down there. So eager. You could lecture me on criminal psychology while making me cum, couldn’t you?"

"I-I could try," he mumbled, voice muffled against your thigh. You smiled, pulling him back in.

He sucked your clit this time, tentative at first, then harder when you moaned. You let your head fall back against the wall, hips grinding against his mouth, hands gripping his curls with just enough pressure to let him know you were in charge.

"Don’t stop," you whispered. "I’m close. Be a good boy and keep going—make me cum, boy genius."

He moaned like it was his name.

You came hard, thighs clenching around his face, his tongue working you through it with unrelenting devotion. He didn’t stop until you pulled him back by the hair, gently, catching your breath. His mouth was red and shiny, chin soaked.

"You okay?" you asked, brushing his hair from his face.

He nodded quickly. "Yes. Very okay." You pulled him up onto the couch with you and kissed him, tasting yourself on his lips. He melted into it again, arms winding around you like he never wanted to leave. "Spencer," you said between kisses, "if you want to do that again sometime… just start talking."

He grinned shyly, breathless. "I usually can’t stop."

"Exactly," you whispered, nipping his lower lip. "That’s what makes you so good at it."

me with your posts

i always read the most diabolical shit on this app when i’ve just woken up

jo!!! your laurie is on her period!!! id on't liek it. svae me. lesbians shouldn't get periods. save masc lesbians from periods 2025.

^^^how i look begging for your help

nooo pookie i am So sorry. fighting your uterus for you right now we'll get thru this together

*kiss*

ohh This is a tragedy…