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gustavorodriguezsugdorzeugovatri · 1 year

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Romancing the Soul

The birth of a romance begins when a boy writes about breasts, lips and pupils within prism set stones. It dies when pen strokes, key strokes and

mindful joys are only about what can only be felt within graffiti tagged labia walls;

The brick and mortar of belly button ring flesh, licked down to her eternal grout skin overlay of calcium bone; That carnivorous pre-natal channel.

He’s a poetical virgin afraid to be inspired by anything other than female glands, her dyed hair. The shaven flesh of any woman.

But after her sacred periodical pomegranate plumb stains deny his admittance for gratification, he moves himself to seek another romance. This one with words. This affair wades deeper in the waters of lithium paint thinner lacquer and combustible flammable thoughts. Loosed now from the umbilical cord of her,

he’s birthed into a smorgasbord apocalypse of ideas and words

to search out his darkness, his light to throw away or keep away self. To expound on the shame and hurt of his people he sees being as birds bathing morose in the mud of politics and religion. Words that make elementary ears wax eccentric. To expose popularity polls as prepared presidential hikes for approval. Slicing minds that are inbred with patriot

conservative parrot or radical leftist rights; Questioning the ingredients in religious raisin bran bread. The holy rolled psychological tablets of commandments swallowed by sheep and ad-ministered

by wolves on pulpits of lies.

He has time now to contemplate the spelling of or how to annunciate words like,

Believe & Perceive I before E, except after C?

Bold type lie; I before E, Except after C. I before E is, I am before Eden, so are you, accept and see.

A – C – C –E – P – T Another Creation Consciously Evolving Past Trees

The first acronym of the species of man.

For as once he was blind he now perceives that,

If Jesus’ blood was spilled once for the souls of all living, I suppose a woman must bleed once a month to rescue an unborn soul from possibly not having the chance to decide what to believe in.

Now he writes understanding why sex is so over-rated. Not as an act to enjoy but in comparison to what it can birth;

an Einstein, the next Luther King Jr the next Lennon or Marley, Van Gogh, Cesar E. Chavez, or Juarez. The other half of these a rib most believe; yet to him, he perceives it’s the feminine soul’s destiny to walk in the footsteps of Madam Currie or Keller, Kahlo or Joplin, Earhart or Angelou.

So not all women are whores and not all men in power are war mongering, soul caging scoundrels.

If we are to turn back toward Eden, the young poet asks; What are we to believe in?

If not in Our highest of self, should we perceive us blasphemous?

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exweirdkid · 23 days

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too sweet 𐙚 abby anderson

a/n: smut!! fingering & oral (r|receiving), implied strap usage // men & minors dni!

imagine being a fem little girlblogger in all of your free time. always at the library, or a local coffee shop, leeching off of the free wifi just to make girly posts on tumblr. the pretty blonde barista stands nervously behind the counter, glancing up at you every now and then.

abby writes her number on your cup that day, and keeps her phone within earshot so she can be the first to hear the beautiful ding of your phone texting hers.

you talk, and talk, and talk, and eventually you're texting so much you don't have any time for your girlblog. you know how much you love being girly and creative and how easy it is to do it online, so you offer to stop by the cafe so when abby clocks out you can leave together.

something about being so feminine around such a boulder of a woman makes you clench around nothing all night, until abby finally clocks out.

on the drive to her little apartment, you can't help but rub your thighs together, trying not to alert abby to the growing wet spot in your panties. you chew on your lip, hoping for a moment of peace as abby pulls into her parking spot.

if abby noticed, she never gave you any indication of it.

inside, abby presses a heavy kiss on your lips before she changes and settles into the couch. you feel the throbbing in your cunt grow heavier, louder, as she casually spreads out on the couch.

"coming?" she asks, and you can't help inwardly shrink at the double entendre.

there is a lazy, bored smirk pulling at her lips as you sit beside her, clearly worked up and just begging for relief.

"what's on your mind?" she questions, as if unaware of the flush of your cheeks and the heat radiating from you. she flicks through netflix boringly.

you shrug, words failing as that incessant clench of your cunt around nothing nearly chokes you. you manage to whisper, "just thinking."

"about?"

the glint in her eyes sparks something deep within you—in a place only she's ever touched. no way were you going to let her win this easy.

"i haven't blogged a lot recently, i might have to stop at the cafe tomorrow, too."

"are you sure its for the blog?" she raises a brow. "i think i saw your eyes on me more than your computer screen."

"so why don't you do something about it, anderson?"

"cause i think i want to hear you say it first." she drops one of her hands to your thighs. she grasps a handful of the flesh and squeezes it before smoothing your skin flat

"i-" she squeezes your thigh again, tight, before her fingers drift higher. you swallow hard.

she drops her head so that her lips are right by your ear. "if you say it i'll fuck you right here."

"i want you to. please." you sound desperate as you finally answer.

"want me to what?" the tips of her fingers ghost along the apex of your thighs. your throat tightens.

you inhale sharply as she puts pressure right above your clit. she removes it as soon as a wave of pleasure fills your belly. "jesus, abby. i want you to fuck me."

her lips ghost your earlobe before she begins placing soft kisses along the side of your face, your cheek, your lips, your neck. as she trails lower, she slides further down the couch. your breath catches in your throat as she presses your back against the arm of the couch.

"that's all you had to say, baby. wasn't that hard, right?"

you shake your head desperately, shimmying your pants to your ankles as she settles her thick hands on your thighs. you nearly choke at the sight of abby already splitting you open just by being in between your legs.

she squeezes your thigh in reassurance before her tongue ghosts your panty-covered core. you whine. it's so good, but nowhere near enough for you. she kitten licks your cunt once more before she flattens her tongue against you. her hands hook under your ass, thumbs pressing your inner thighs away from your heat.

with one finger, she pulls your ruined panties to the side, almost marveling at the sight of you dripping before her.

she wastes no time before diving in, tongue exploring and caressing every fold and crevice of your hot mound. you can't help but whine and moan, can't hold it in anymore. you've been pent up all day, you and abby know it isn't going to be much more before your first orgasm.

she pulls your hips impossibly closer to her face just as she dips her tongue into your dripping hole. a heavy moan rips through you as she works the thick muscle in and out again. her nose rubs up against your clit so perfectly you thread your fingers through her hair.

she groans as you tug her hair, the sound reverberating through your cunt. you moan again, bucking your hips against her.

when she removes her tongue from you, you feel the pad of her middle finger press against your warmth. she circles your clit with her tongue as she slides her finger in.

she works it in slowly as you tug harder at her hair. she lets you grind into her face, whimpering and whining for the release you've wanted all day.

"such a good girl waiting for me, asking me so nicely." abby mutters, hardly able to take her mouth off your pussy long enough to get the sentence out.

you moan sharply as she presses another finger into you. "please, abby—" she works the two in and out of you, feeling your walls clench tight on her.

"so fucking wet for me."

you can't find it in you to but do anything but sob as she sucks on your clit and curls her fingers deep in you. you are so, so close. you could see stars behind your eyes and feel the heat of your climax as she pounds into your sensitive spot.

"my pretty girl." and you nearly break.

you come with a shout, abby's hand never stopping, her tongue still on your clit. you buck your hips against her and ride out every delicious wave of pleasure that hits you until you ache and have to wrap your hand around abby's to get her to stop pounding into you.

"so fucking pretty, baby." abby leaves sloppy kisses against your thighs, cleaning your release with her tongue before catching you in a soft kiss, still tasting of you. "c'mon, open up, pretty."

her wet fingers press against your lips and you open your mouth for her, letting her slip her fingers inside. you lick yourself off her fingers, savoring the weight of her on your tongue, the taste of you.

as she leans forward and presses her covered cunt against yours, you feel a bulge tickle your clit.

"are you thinking what i'm thinking?" she asks teasingly, pulling her fingers from your mouth.

#abby anderson smut #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson #tlou #x reader #abby tlou

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eideticallys · 1 year

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You Think I'm Delicious?

pairing: spencer reid x reader

summary: all your dreams and hopes of getting cuddly with spencer were shattered when he uttered those six words.

“i don’t like your new perfume.”

genre: fluff & crack

word count: 1.9k

author's notes: here's a spencer reid fluff without plot, just crack (i tried so i hope you'll laugh while reading this). anyway, enjoy reading this one! also posted on ao3 (spencereids).

THE THING ABOUT DR. SPENCER REID IS THAT HE’S A VERY SENSITIVE PERSON. He's very particular about stuff like his dislikes for certain textures and not knowing about something—making him a good researcher by the way, because if he doesn't know something, you'll find him poring through books—and even certain smells aren't an exception. One might think that this is normal with his job because, of course, he does. He has probably smelled dead bodies more than he has smelled fresh flowers. Of course, he hates smells like rotten flesh. Disgusting, honestly. But, what can he do? That is part of his job.

So, when he suddenly tugged you to his side one day to hug you, you were excited for him to take note of your new perfume and love it. No, you were certain he’d love it just as much as you did when you first took a whiff at the store. You just had to buy it because you were sure he’d go crazy over your smell. He’d tuck his face into your neck and shower you with pecks. Because despite what everyone else thinks they know about Spencer having an aversion to touch, he was quite the cuddler when he was in love. And yes, you were the lucky recipient of his comforting hugs 24/7.

However, all your dreams and hopes of getting cuddly with Spencer were shattered when he uttered those six words.

“I don’t like your new perfume.”

Your jaw dropped as soon as he said that distressing sentence. Meanwhile, Spencer was quick to move away from you and continue what he was doing previously—playing chess by himself. Sometimes, if only you didn’t love your boyfriend and didn’t have to face charges, you would strangle him for a lot of things. One of which was being nonchalant after just dropping a bomb like that. What does he mean by you smell bad? You bought a citrus-scented perfume that hurt your pockets; you’ll have to give up your afternoon snacks at the cafe near the FBI headquarters. So, like any good partner out there, you just had to instigate a little argument over your new perfume.

“Excuse me?”

Your boyfriend looked up at your incredulous tone, merely raising a brow at you as if to ask, “What’s up?” This almost got your eye twitching, but you refrained. Taking a breath, you plastered a sickly sweet smile on your face and clarified your previous question.

“What do you mean you don’t like my new perfume?”

Spencer started reddening at your accusatory tone and shrugged halfheartedly, which made you raise one perfectly formed brow at your boyfriend. Now, you’re curious why your boyfriend blushed at your question.

He may be quite shy, but Spencer wasn’t the best when it came to social cues. He rarely gets embarrassed about something unless you blatantly point it out. You could probably count on one hand the number of times he flushed pink. A funny memory you have of him reddening like a tomato was when the BAU were out interviewing streetwalkers. Despite his social awkwardness, Spencer was propositioned by all the women he talked to. You could still remember the exact look he had on his face when he had to pull his tie away from the woman, who was busy rolling it on her fingers.

God, he’s so precious, you’d keep him in your pocket if you could. But right now, he isn’t your favorite person, and you’d love nothing more than to figure out why he was blushing. You were sure there was something behind all those burning cheeks.

“Spencer,” you slowly enunciated the syllables of his name, making him look at you once again. He tilted his head in question as you sighed dramatically, “Out with it.”

“What?”

“You’re flushed pink. You’re picking at your nails, and your right knee just started bouncing.” You pointed it out, and Spencer tried to remedy every single thing you mentioned. “Baby, for a profiler, you’re not doing great at hiding stuff. Tell me what’s going on.”

He scowled and crossed his arms like a petulant child, definitely wishing you weren’t a profiler, and a damn good one at that, like him. You merely chuckled at his antics and crossed your arms in retaliation. No, you weren’t backing away from this one. You spent money on perfume, hoping your boyfriend would love it. But no, he hated it, and now, you have to know why.

You could hear the ticking of the wall clock—if you focused hard enough—with the way not a single sound could be heard from the both of you waiting for the other to cave—not even a phone call from Garcia telling you that you have a case and, you have to be in the office in fifteen minutes could disrupt your focus right now. You could say the same about your boyfriend right now, who is intently staring at your phones on the table. He was probably hoping a work call would come through to save his ass from getting interrogated by you. It’s kind of sick that one would want to hear a new body was found, but at least you’d be out there catching another bad guy and locking them up, never to see the light of day until their last breath. He would rather have a face-off with a murderer than his girlfriend, whom he’s pretty sure is close to resorting to violence for borderline calling her stinky—not really, you’re just dramatic like that.

“Well, for starters, I think it’s strong like I’m drowning in it,” Spencer emphasized the word strong, making your brows furrow. He didn’t have that problem with your previous perfume, and it was stronger—he’s hiding something. You stared pointedly at your boyfriend now, who was fidgeting like crazy under your scrutiny.

“Are you sure that’s it? You didn’t have that problem with my previous perfume, which I’m pretty sure is much stronger than this one.” You clarified, tilting your head to the side as you explained further. “Garcia loved the smell of flowers, but she told me she sneezed every time I passed by. She had to ask me to change the scents immediately. And despite the complaints, you loved it so much that you would tuck your face into my neck.”

At this point, Spencer looked like he was about to burst from an aneurysm with how red he had gotten. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry, but you also had to make him suffer.

“Tell me, Spencer. Or else, I might just have to resort to other tactics.” You almost cackled at the way your boyfriend looked like he’d rather start digging a hole for him to bury himself in. “And you know, I’m a great profiler. I always get what I want.”

However, as soon as you said those words, you noticed Spencer’s eyes drifting towards a half-full bottle sitting on his little desk filled with heaps of paperwork.

Oh. That’s the problem.

“Baby, I think I know what the problem is here.”

Spencer quickly leaped off your couch to avoid getting teased by you—which wasn’t your plan at all, by the way—and was about to run into your bedroom, but you were quick on your feet and were able to catch his arm and pull him towards you. Yep, unfortunately for your boyfriend, you were better when it came to physical activities.

Although you were better at that angle, you still weren’t able to properly estimate the way you pulled him into you because both of you ended up toppling over on your couch. Luckily, it was the couch, because you’re sure Hotch would have your heads served on a platter if both of his agents were injured and there was a sudden case.

You both landed unceremoniously, with Spencer squeaking as he ended up face-first into your chest, and you groaned as you cushioned his fall. Choosing to pause for a moment, you ran your hands through his brown curls as you both tried to catch your breath. Spencer seemed to agree with that idea as he started inhaling your scent, which made you smile a bit.

“You know, it’s not that I hate your perfume because it smells bad.” Spencer started explaining in a hushed tone, “I just liked it better when you smelled like me.”

Your eyes widened at his confession. This was the first time Spencer had ever said something possessive. Despite not being the usual alpha male girls go for, Spencer had enough confidence in himself that you chose him out of all the guys out there you could’ve gone for. At the start of your relationship, you made it clear to him that he was the one you wanted to be with. Not someone as domineering as Hotch or someone as bold as Morgan.

No, you wanted Spencer.

You wanted to be with Spencer.

So, you were shocked at your boyfriend’s display of possessiveness, but at the same time, you found it cute that he wanted you to smell like him. It wasn’t every day that he wanted to engage in a public display of affection. And just like any other girlfriend out there who enjoyed the attention you got from your boyfriend, you laughed as you tried to pull Spencer’s face towards yours.

“God, you’re so adorable, Dr. Reid,” you exclaimed as you peppered his face with pecks and pinched his cheeks as he tried to dodge, embarrassed after saying he wanted you to use his perfume, “I could eat your face!”

“We don’t want that." Spencer said, "The BAU would lose two of their best agents with me inside your gastrointestinal tract and you in jail for cannibalism.”

You rolled your eyes at him as he blinked at you innocently. Sometimes, you hate his brain.

“Stop taking things literally!" You exclaimed to your boyfriend, "You know what I’m talking about!”

“I don’t.” Spencer frowned. You could hear the cogs in his brain start working, meaning he was about to spew out some facts. “Actually, our senses of smell and taste are directly related. They both use the same types of receptors, so if you smell something that you think is delicious, this triggers the same area of the brain that activates our salivary glands. Wait, you think I’m delicious?”

You facepalmed yourself. For a guy with an IQ of 187, your boyfriend could be an idiot.

“You’re an idiot.”

“No, I’m not!” Spencer protested and explained some more, “Seeing an object, food, or even a person that is pleasing to the eye can cause people to salivate. Pleasant smells such as your favorite food, your partner’s natural scent, or smelling perfume on your partner can stimulate the production of saliva more than looking at that person. This process can initiate feelings of wanting to eat or bite.”

Despite his protests, you simply clucked and pinched his nose. Wanting to retaliate, Spencer continued spilling his tangents.

“Aha! You like me so much, my smell makes you want to bite me!”

“You know what, Spence?” You asked sweetly at your boyfriend, who was now listening intently to you. He’ll never know what hit him. “I love you so much, but I preferred it when you got embarrassed about wanting me to smell like you.”

By your admission, Spencer started blushing profusely again as he tried to bury his face in your neck.

“Shut up!”

“I love you too, Spence.”

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