..I Fear Thunderbolts Bought Out The Most Annoying John Walker Fans..ever.

Ain’t no way I’m seeing people forget about Peeta. “All 3 victors have a bird representing them” “all district 12 victors weren’t reaped fairly” “did you know that all 3 of the victors from 12 actually cheated in the games” “it’s so cool that all the victors are from the Seam or are Covey”. Like omg what about Peeta?!?! Mans did not almost die like 10 times just to be tossed to the side!! He won the 74th games alongside Katniss, she wasn’t the only one who won it!! Just please put some respect on his name

Hi jo sorry if this isn’t what you normally write and you can ignore it if you want. I would just love a sort of comfort fic of reader losing their virginity to art but she’s uncomfortable and wants to stop and he’s sweet about it

No pressure I love everything you put out ♡

don't apologise pookie this is sweet :) <3

warnings: 18+ sex (p in v), insecure/uncomfortable reader, loss of virginity, very quickly (+ poorly) written apologies x

This is decidedly not how you expected losing your virginity to go.

Art was a gentleman. Waiting patiently for months, never pressuring you into anything despite the fact he'd spent countless nights leaving your dorm blue-balled and in dire need of a cold shower. Even when you suggested taking that next step, he made you insist several times that it was really what you wanted.

No, he wasn't the problem.

It took fifteen minutes with his head between your thighs for you to cum. That part was great. It was what came next that made things awkward: Art perched above you, one hand entwined with our own while the other guided him into you. The stretch was overwhelming, enough to render you breathless for the next few seconds as he eased in slowly. Each thick, solid inch has your toes curling and your lungs desperately gathering air.

An affirmative nod of your head to confirm that you were okay (you weren't) and he was rocking into you, groaning about how tight and good you felt. Everyone always said it gets better. But it's been two minutes of him thrusting into you, jaw slack with pleasure and eyes screwed shut while he babbles praises senselessly about how well you're taking it, and things are decidedly not better.

You can't take it anymore. The discomfort of having another person so deep inside you, the stretch, the burning pain...

"Art, stop."

He doesn't hear you at first. You're quiet, drowned out by the sound of skin slapping against skin and his ragged sounds of pleasure.

"Art." Your free hand finds his shoulder. Fingers curling into the sweat-slick skin, face strained in displeasure. "Stop, please."

Now you've got his attention. His eyes snap onto yours again, hips slowing to a halt. "What?" He blinks lamely. Despite his initial obliviousness, at least he's stopped moving.

"I just... I can't," you explain weakly, choking on a hitched breath.

It's not the most eloquent reply ever, but what are you supposed to say? This is awful. It's nothing like I expected. I'm having a terrible time. It hurts, it's uncomfortable, it's—

You could say all of that, actually. You just don't want to hurt his feelings.

"Okay," he says, brows furrowing. "Are you, um... are you okay? I'm sorry, was I going too fast?"

His hand moves to push your hair gently out of your face. Sweet boy. You can't find it in yourself to be upset.

"No, you're fine," you reply, trying for a smile. It falls terribly flat.

"Are you—" A pause, hand squeezing yours as he braces himself up on his other one. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," you reply, embarrassed by the way his eyes are searching your face with such genuine concern. You wish you could just melt into the mattress and pretend this never happened. "Can you just... can you get off, please?"

"Oh!" He blinks, glancing down. "Right. Yeah, yeah. I'm sorry."

The process of him pulling out is far less agonising, and you breathe a sigh of relief, body relaxing beneath him. He's still watching you with that same worried look as he lays down next to you, fingers twitching by his sides uncertainly.

"Too much?" He asks tentatively. You nod sheepishly, eyes averted. "I'm so sorry, baby. I didn't—did I hurt you? Are you okay?"

It feels like the hundredth time he's posed the question, but he's panicking inwardly about your apparent state of discomfort as you shift restlessly, eyes fixated on some point over his shoulder. You feel embarrassed. Guilty. Like a failure.

What's the point in him dating you if you can't even handle sex?

You don't voice any of that out loud, but he can see it in your eyes; the way your bottom lip quivers slightly as the all of the emotions cross plainly across your face. Or how your eyes glisten with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, voice cracking.

"No, no, no. Why are you apologising?" He replies instantly. He lifts a hand, pausing before he makes contact. "Is this okay?" When you nod your head, his hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing tenderly over your skin.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, baby. It's okay."

Your head shakes insistently. "No, I should be able to do it. I mean, what's the point if I can't?"

His knuckles linger against your cheek, and then he laughs. Just a soft huff of amusement, but enough to have you knitting your brows at him.

"What's the point?" He repeats softly, eyes crinkling down at you. "It's just sex, babe."

"Sex is a very integral part of a relationship!" You argue, wiping feebly at your eyes.

"Maybe," Art says, shrugging noncommittally as he watches your aborted attempt sympathetically. "Doesn't mean we have to have sex right now. There's always room to try again in the future, right?"

You hate that he makes sense. It's hard to wallow in your own self-pity when he's looking at you so tenderly, still caressing your cheek. "Right," you mumble reluctantly. "And if the future is never?"

"We'll tackle that hurdle when we get there," he says, dipping his head to kiss the tip of your nose. "Stop stressing. Let's just put a movie on and relax, 'kay?"

You pout at him for a second longer before relenting. Your head falls back into the pillow with a sigh as he settles back beside you, an arm draped across your middle to reach for the remote. A few more sniffles can be heard as you settle down.

"Thank you."

It's quiet, but he hears it. He sends you a soft smile. "You don't need to thank me."

"Well, I am," you reply, shifting to rest your head against his shoulder. All you get in reply is a light chuckle.

A few moments pass as he flicks through the channels before you speak up again. "Can you maybe put your boxers back on? I don't want to see your dick."

He snorts, tilting his head to press a kiss into the top of your hair. "Yeah. Yeah, okay."

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

The MCU don’t deserve Sam Wilson. Never have. Never will.

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."

girl they're literally us btw

MY SHAYLAS THEY R SO CUTE omg i forgot they were friends #topgun

literally Us. the danny to my lewis

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

“Why does Sam care about suing the thunderbolts but doesn’t care about Kamala’s team?”

Because Sam isn’t doing it for petty reasons. He’s doing it to stop the government from having any control over the legacy HE helped build.

Kamala isn’t assembling a team of child traffickers, murderers, and self centered people unlike a certain other team. Kamala is assembling people that Sam would also choose in a heart beat.

Next.

Head empty just Liv Hewson

This specific clip of them stays in my mind💥

it's been a while since i've seen this picture on my tl so here, may it bless y'all's tls, too