Everyone Acting Like Sam Fans Are Just Humorless Bitter Meanies Is Killing Me Tbh 😭

OMG I JUST CHECKED THE SNEAK PEEK AND A PETER BOT???? OH I'M EATING THIS UP THE SECOND I GET IT (on a seriosu note good luck with the acc issues i'd lose my mind)

pretending i’m not going insane maybe it’ll make them email me back faster

PETER BOT PETER BOT

No, the captain America mantle should not be thrown around like a hot potato during Doomsday, are you stupid?

Only time Captain America should ever be named in the movie is if someone is trying to get Sam Wilson’s attention.

The only other acceptable names to address Sam include “Cap” “Captain Wilson”

I hear you suggest any bullshit like that again, I’m coming at you with a shovel.

people who restrict themselves to one music genre or one movie genre or one fav colour scare me so bad

Hello tumblr i have been So lazy maybe ill post today

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

julien baker being a butch lesbian with top surgery who still uses she/her pronouns means so so so much to me

hello stranger in the void??

how do people make friends on here, i feel so isolated.. hi everyone! hello! talking into the void here

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."

CODE GREEN!! RIFF JUST MENTIONED THE WORDS PWOOSAY ON THE BOT!! HERE YE, THE FILTERS ARE STARTING TO SLACK 🥹🫶🏻🫶🏻

sub!art taking strap and begging the reader to cum in him

summary: art begging for that strap.

pairing: ftm!art donaldson x afab!girlfriend.

cw: +18. mdni. 1.3k words. submissive art. praising. begging. strap in v (art receiving). fake fluids. disgusting dirty-talking. drooling. oral sex (art receing).

taglist .ᐟ @blastzachilles @lvve-talks @jordiemeow @strfallz @222col @soulxinxthexsky @diyasgarden @jinxedbambi @lexiiscorect @religionlost @bluestrd @jclolz22 @magicalmiserybore @destinedtobegigi @fwaist @idyllicdaydreams @sohighitscool

The sound of rain against the window filled the room, soft and rhythmic, blurring the city outside into streaks of gold and grey. You were curled up on the couch, a throw blanket tucked over your lap, a half-finished movie playing low on the TV. Art sat beside you, long legs tucked under himself, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, like he wasn’t sure how much space he was allowed to take up—even here. Even with you.

He always got like this after a match—withdrawn, tightly wound. His body ached, and not from the training. From the pressure. From everything unspoken.

You nudged him gently with your knee. “You good, baby?”

Art turned his head toward you, the softest smile tugging at his lips. His eyes lingered on your face for a moment too long, and then drifted down—neck, chest, lap—before he caught himself and looked away, ears turning pink.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… tired.”

But the way he said it wasn’t really tired. It was restless.

You reached over and combed your fingers through the dark strands falling over his forehead. “Want me to help you wind down?”

His breath hitched just a little. He nodded, once.

The first twenty minutes were nothing more than touch. You moved to straddle his lap, lips brushing his jaw, your hands roaming under his hoodie—slow, reverent. You kissed the column of his throat until he sighed into you, until his hips shifted beneath yours, until his fingers bunched in the hem of your shirt like he needed to anchor himself somewhere.

“Fuck,” Art whispered, head tilting back. “You always touch me like you’re afraid I’ll break.”

“I just like taking my time with you,” you murmured against his skin. “You’re worth it.”

That made him shiver.

By the time you peeled his hoodie off, he was already flushed. You worked him out of his sweatpants next, mouthing along his stomach as you slid them down. He let you, pliant and quiet and trembling just a little. His briefs were dark with arousal, a wet spot already blooming through the front.

“God, look at you,” you said, brushing your fingers over it. “You’re dripping.”

He whined. Actually whined.

You tugged his briefs down slow, inch by inch, revealing the slick shine between his thighs, the soft curve of his hips. His cunt was swollen, flushed, begging for attention. And when you kissed the inside of his knee and looked up at him, his mouth was parted, a thread of saliva already gathering at the corner.

“Baby,” you breathed, settling between his legs. “You need it, don’t you?”

Art nodded fast, biting his lip. “I need your mouth,” he mumbled. “Please. Just—don’t make me wait.”

You didn’t.

Your tongue dragged through his folds, slow and flat, savoring the taste of him. He gasped and curled inward, one arm over his mouth, trying to muffle the broken sounds that spilled from him. His hips bucked when you sucked his clit into your mouth, and when you kept going—lapping him open, tongue fucking him until his thighs shook—he moaned so loud you could feel it echo in your core.

“Don’t hide from me,” you whispered, pulling back just long enough to say it. “Let me hear how much you love this.”

Art whined again, hand curling in your hair. “Feels so good,” he choked out. “Your mouth—fuck, I can’t—” You gave him one more deep lick, then pulled away. His whole body trembled when the air hit him.

“Don’t worry,” you said, rising to your knees. “You’re gonna get more than my mouth tonight.”

His eyes fluttered open, and when he saw what you were doing—reaching into your drawer for the harness, lube, and the soft pink silicone cock he liked best—the special one, his pupils blew wide.

You strapped it on slow, letting him watch, letting him see the way it jutted from you, slick with lube before you even got close. Art reached between his legs and touched himself, fingers dipping back into his slit, gathering the slick you’d left behind.

“I want it,” he said, voice raw. “Want you.”

You grabbed a pillow and slid it under his hips, guiding him to lie back against the couch. His legs spread willingly, shamelessly, cunt glistening and twitching as you moved between them.

“You sure?” you asked, rubbing the tip of the strap through his folds, coating it in his slick. “I want you begging for it.”

“I am begging,” he groaned, arching. “Please—just fuck me. Fill me up. I want you to cum in me.”

That made your stomach flip.

You pushed in slowly, the head of the strap breaching him with a thick, wet sound. Art gasped, hands clutching the couch cushions, every muscle going tight as the fake cock stretched him open.

“That’s it,” you murmured. “Take it, baby. You look so good like this.”

Art whined through his teeth, breath ragged. “So full already—fuck—feels so fucking good.”

You bottomed out and leaned over him, pressing kisses to his flushed face, his damp hairline. “You’re doing so well. Look at you—so pretty when you’re stuffed full.”

His hips jerked. He loved being called pretty. Loved hearing how good he was.

You started thrusting, slow at first, just enough to make him squirm. Every inch you pulled out left him gasping; every push back in had him drooling, lips parting in a wet, blissed-out moan.

“God, yes,” he babbled, head tossing back. “More, please—I can take it—”

You gave it to him. Deep and hard, until your hips smacked against his ass, until his thighs trembled and his cunt made obscene squelching sounds every time you drove into him. You leaned over him again, catching his mouth in a kiss, and were met with spit-slicked desperation. He kissed like he couldn’t breathe without it, mouth open and tongue needy, drool trailing down his chin.

“You’re drooling for it, baby,” you growled, fucking him harder. “You want me to cum in you that bad?”

Art let out a broken, shattered moan.

“Yes, fuck—please, please—I want it in me, I want you to fill me up, I need it—”

“Gonna pump you full,” you rasped, one hand gripping his hip, the other coming down to rub his clit in messy, frantic circles. “Gonna make a mess in you, baby.”

Art was gone. His eyes rolled back, hands clutching your wrist, hips slamming up to meet your thrusts. His whole body was trembling, slick gushing from him in waves as the toy plunged deep inside over and over again.

And then—you pressed deep, grinding your hips, moaning his name like a prayer. “Cum in me,” he begged again. “Please—please, just do it—I want to feel it, want to be full of you, I—”

You gasped as the fake cum released inside him, thick and warm, the fluid filling the toy's reservoir and spurting into him in slow pulses. Art cried out, back arching, body locking up as the sensation tipped him over the edge.

He came hard, cunt spasming around the strap, hips jerking helplessly as he sobbed your name into your mouth. His thighs were soaked. His chest heaved. And when you pulled out, slow and careful, the fake cum dripped from his stretched hole, glistening down his ass and thighs in sticky white rivulets.

You kissed his stomach. His chest. His open mouth.

“You did so good,” you whispered, wiping the drool from his chin with your thumb. “So perfect for me.”

Art blinked up at you, dazed and blissed out. “Love you,” he mumbled.

“I love you too.”

You curled up beside him on the couch, pulling the blanket over you both, and kissed his temple while the rain kept falling outside.