#but I needed it to so my plot works so. yeah

[itsnothingofinterest]

While I’m on the subject & to talk a bit more lighthearted about it: my goodness, if we really are a part of Team Knight's plan, how convoluted is that plan that getting one of their guys possessed by an otherworldly entity that opposes the plan is somehow “worth it” and a net positive to their goal?

Like yeah we can see some benefits even before any big reveals; they inserted one of their own among the 3 prophesied heroes, hypothetically control our ability to seal fountains and beat Titans, and Kris can assert control to muck up the Delta Warrior's plans...so long as they aren't seen ripping their soul out.

But the cost of this scheme (even without considering the risks of anything resembling Snowgrave) is that Kris spends like 90% of their day controlled by an otherworldly entity, which they hate on principle. And let's look at just how hard they need to try and keep this plot secret; this entity is working against them, knows Kris is working against Susie & Ralsei, and thus Kris has to jump through so many hoops to keep us from learning as much as possible as well as keeping us from conveying what we do know. Their plan involves letting one of their enemies know they've been infiltrated and are banking everything on that enemy's inability to communicate it to other enemies. Deception 100.

Heck, both times you can prove to be more competent than expected in chapters 3 & 4 led to what could have been huge risks where Kris had to throw in front of Susie.

To say nothing of stuff like how much they're banking on the soul playing along with little to no direction, or that no one gets too suspicious of “Kris” acting out-of-character, or how often this save-scummer fights the Knight and risks involved there, and let it be said that I don’t think Kris tearing out their soul so often is good for their health while we’re at it. It just seems wildly risky from almost every angle.

They must be really banking on the unbreakable nature of the prophecy to keep everything in line is my only guess.

[mountainsandmayhem]

F*ckin’ Forty - Part 2

40 year old reader x young Frankie

18+ || Minors Do Not Interact

Summary: Men your age don’t do the way a twenty five year old future helicopter pilot can.

A/N: once again, all p*orn, no plot. This is written first person and there’s a few minor description of reader. Listen, I don’t know when I turned into a cougar BUT HERE WE FUCKIN’ ARE!!! This is in no way proofread or beta read; much like 40 yr old reader, we don’t care.

T/W: subby Frankie, pet names (baby, sweet boy, etc), I don’t speak Spanish but googled told me Mi Reina means My Queen (just ignore it if that’s not right, there’s bigger problems right now!), teasing, dirty talk, masturbating, Frankie being whiny (but in a good way)

Word Count: 2.5k

I love my job, and that’s not something a lot of people can say. But, as an owner of a small romance bookstore, I am not only living my dream but countless others as well. However, this week, when all I can think about is the weekend and Frankie’s never-ending hard cock? Yeah, I hate my job.

After work on Thursday, I went to buy some sexy lingerie. The last time I put something like this on was for my ex-husband about five years ago. He took one look at me and went, “I think we are a little too old for pyjamas like that”.

Too old? We were fucking thirty-five! And pyjamas? I went back into our bathroom to change and did the worst possible thing I could have - I looked in the mirror. My eyes instantly went to the imperfections of my body and I promptly went on a spiral. Stretch marks from being pregnant three times. Breasts that didn’t sit as high as they used to. Thighs that touch. Bits of cellulite dimpled my ass and hips.

But when I put on this delicate baby blue lace bra, panty, and garter set, I felt powerful and sexy. None of the things, including the few extra pounds I gained in the last five years of my marriage, jumped out at me this time. I don’t know if it was just the way the fabric hugged me just right, or the small “BEG” that was embroidered along the front of the thong (which, yes, is crotchless) but I couldn’t wait for Frankie’s reaction.

While having sushi last Sunday, I told Frankie that I’d prefer to keep all communication to just the weekends since I'm not looking for a relationship or to make this more complicated than just sex and sushi. His response gave me yet another reason to keep fucking younger men, “I’m not looking for anything either, so that is more than okay with me, but if you need me for anything, I’m here.”

Friday had finally arrived. Around noon, I checked my phone and had a text from Frankie.

Frankie: I can’t wait to be buried in that sweet little pussy all fucking weekend

You: now, now, is that any way to talk to a lady? Be nice, or I’ll make you beg for it, sweet boy.

Frankie: I’ll get on my knees and bark like a dog if that’s what you want.

You: that so?

Frankie: woof woof, mi reina

You: see you in a few hours

After an everything shower, I pace in my kitchen nervously while sipping a glass of red wine. I’m in just the baby blue barely there outfit and a short silky black robe that sits mid-thigh when Frankie knocks on my door right at nine o’clock. The soft rapping of his knuckles sends sparks across my skin.

I let him in, his soft brown eyes meeting mine, and the world melts away. No bills, no shitty ex texting me about parents weekend next month, no worrying about the event for local writers coming up at work. Just Francisco “Magic Tongue” Morales.

“Hi, baby,” he says, then brings his lips to mine in a heated kiss. I let him take me, let him close the door and then turn us and press me against the thick white wood that keeps us tucked away from the world.

I kiss him back feverishly as if he’s charging me back up after an entire week without him. I bring my hands to the nape of his neck and scratch gently at his scalp. His grip tightens on my hips. He’s already hard behind his jeans as he grinds into me.

“You look so fucking hot,” he hums between kisses and I remember that I had a plan tonight, so I bring my hands to his chest and push him back just enough so I can see his face.

“Get on your knees and keep your hands to yourself. Then I’ll show you what’s underneath this robe.” I don’t command him or say it harshly. It’s soft and flirty. My words tug a smile at the corner of his cheek, showing off his dimple amongst his patch beard.

“Yes ma’am,” he whispers, his hands giving me one last squeeze before he steps back and lowers himself to his knees.

I run my hands along my thighs, and his eyes track every inch of skin that I expose to him. I lift the sides of my robe, then let it flutter back down around my legs as I reach for the delicate tie around my waist. His breathing speeds up as I play with the fabric.

“What’s the matter, Francisco?”

“N-nothing,” he stammers, watching as my fingers trace the lapels of the silk.

“That so?” I coo, pulling the robe open so he can see part of the light blue bra. I do the same to the other side, showing my cleavage, but not fully letting my breasts out. The fabric is thin enough that you can see my nipples through it, and he hasn’t earned that yet.

His big puppy eyes flick up to my face. He licks his lips before saying, “Please stop teasing me.”

I laugh seductively, shaking my head as my hands pull the tie of the robe. Frankie is nearly panting in anticipation, but I don’t let what’s keeping me covered from him fall open just yet. “I’ve only just started playing with you though.”

“Fuck,” he whimpers when my hands move away from the knot. I use one hand to push his curly hair back. Just as he leans into my touch I grip his soft chocolate brown hair and tug back so he’s looking at me. He hisses, but his eyes are practically onyx with desire when they meet mine.

“That what you want? Me to play with you? Make you work for it?” He looks so goddamn hot on his knees that it takes everything inside of me not to abandon my plan and just let him fuck me senseless.

“Yes, mi reina. Whatever you want. Just please let me see you. Please.”

“You sound so good when you whimper like that,” I bend down and kiss him hard, nipping at his bottom lip as I pull away. “Such a good listener, keeping your hands in your lap like the good boy I know you are.”

He looks wrecked already, whimpering when I stand back up and release his hair. My fingers work the loose knot that’s holding my robe closed. I stop when he looks down.

“No, no, baby. Eyes on mine.” He groans in frustration and then looks back at me. As I continue, I open the robe the rest of the way. “That’s my boy. I’m going to let you look, and touch, but only after you do one tiny little thing for me.”

He nods, his breathing quick and shallow. My eyes flick down to my panties then back to him, he doesn’t break eye contact, so I do it again. “Read them, sweet boy.”

He lowers his chin slowly, his eyes branding my skin as he takes me in. He blinks at the three letters embroidered on the panties just above my clit - BEG. I let the robe slip off my arms and fall to the floor.

“Oh fuuuck,” he breathes. And then, on his knees, his face level with my pussy, he does exactly what I want. “Please, my queen. Let me touch you. Let me make you come so many times you forget your name.”

I step my feet apart so he can see that the lacy blue panties that he’s salivating over are open where the gusset would usually be. His face goes soft, lips parting as his hands ball into tight fists on his lap.

“You can do better than that,” I taunt.

“Fuuuuck me. Your pussy is so damn beautiful. Shining for me already. I’ve been craving your taste, missing how soft you are against my tongue. Please. Let me lick your perfect cunt.” His voice is airy and desperate and I can feel myself getting wetter. He looks up at me and continues, “I’ll stay clothed. I’ll stay on my knees. Fuck, I’ll stay right here all weekend with my tongue out if you want. Just please. Please let me taste you.”

“Open.” That heaven-sent tongue of his wets his lips before he opens his mouth. “Tongue out.”

I place the pads of my pointer and middle finger on the flat of his tongue and a whimper bubbles from his throat. “Here’s what you’re gonna do, baby. You’re going to get my fingers nice and wet, then you’re going to take out that pretty little cock so I can watch it while I touch myself. After I come all over my fingers, assuming you’re my good boy, you can clean them off.”

He hums a sound of agreement, nodding his head as I push on his tongue, watching the saliva pool in his cheeks. I lean down, sponging my lips to his right eyebrow, feeling him gravitate towards my caress.

“What are you waiting for, Francisco?” I whisper, my voice full of love and encouragement. He sucks eagerly, bobbing up and down on my fingers, swirling that perfect tongue along them. For a moment, I wonder if he’s ever sucked a cock before, and for some reason, the thought of that turns me on more than I expected it to.

“Fuck, you’re such a good listener,” I coo, and he preens at the praise. “Okay, that’s enough now, Frankie”

His lips release with a pop. “Please, I need to see you spread out for me.”

“Take off your shirt,” he whips his white t-shirt off so fast and I laugh silently. He’s so fucking cute. “Show me your cock. I haven’t stopped thinking about it all week.”

His hands scramble to his belt. Then he fumbles with the buckle and the button fly of his jeans because he’s wholly focused on my nearly exposed cunt. He tugs his jeans and boxers down just enough so that his cock springs free and I feel myself melt into the door behind me.

“Beautiful,” I murmur and he smiles up at me. “Ready?”

He nods, “Yes yes, I want to watch how you make yourself come, mi reina.”

I press my shoulder blades into the door, lifting my left foot and resting the arch on his shoulder, letting my knee fall open before rolling my hips forward. He’s so close that I can feel the heat of his shaky exhales on my skin. I bring my wet fingers towards my center, stopping just before they make contact with my swollen clit.

“Hold onto your cock for me, sweet boy. Right at the base. But don’t stroke yourself.”

“I - I c-can’t,” he stammers.

“Yes, you can, because you’re my good boy. Right?” I say, my voice equally encouraging and taunting.

“I’ll break. I can’t.” He whines.

“Francisco Morales,” I bark, “Wrap your fist around that pretty cock or I won’t let you cum all fucking weekend.”

He looks up at me through his lashes, eyes dark and pleading, then does as I ask. He squeezes his cock and a bead of pre cum leaks from the tip.

“That’s my boy,” I whisper, then drag my fingers along my cunt. I was never this wet for my ex-husband. I start at my entrance, gathering my arousal and spreading it up towards my clit. I gasp as my fingers touch where I’ve been needing them; swirling a little circle around my most sensitive spot before repeating the motion.

“Fuck, your pussy is so incredibly beautiful. All needy and flushed pink,” Frankie murmurs, the heat of his breath making me a jerk. “Get more of your juices for me. Coat your fingers. Make a mess. Make me clean your entire hand.”

“Oh my god, Frankie,” I’m already right on the edge, white blurs the side of my vision as it gets tighter and tighter behind my navel. I slip my fingers inside myself easily, feeling the way the walls of my pussy grip and pull, desperate for more. “Hnnnng, fuuuck.”

“Yes, my queen. Shit, I’m so hard for you right now.”

I pull my fingers from my cunt, looking down as I spread my arousal up my pussy and then focus on my clit. I rub tight, fast circles along it. My legs start to tremble.

“I’m…oh god…I’m gonna-“

“Show me,” he whispers, then blows cool air along my aching cunt and I fall over the edge. My pussy clenches around nothing again and again, but I don’t stop my ministrations. I let the moans fill my apartment, uncaring that anyone walking past my door would be able to hear me. It’s just him and I, the rest of the world doesn’t exist.

“Keep going, baby. I know that must feel so good.” Frankie’s praise feels like the sun, warming my skin and revitalizing me. I keep teasing myself, my body jerking through the aftershocks.

My wrist goes limp, my eyelids falling shut as I catch my breath. After a few quiet moments, I find it in myself to lift my foot off Frankie’s shoulder. He’s still got his hand wrapped around the base of his cock. I stumble slightly, his free hand coming to my hip.

“Easy, baby. Go slow.”

I both hate and love how soft he’s being right now, but then I look back down at his dick. The tip is red and leaking cum; it looks almost painful.

I lift my hand to his lips. “Clean them,” I croak, my voice already hoarse just from one orgasm; I must have been moaning louder than I thought.

Frankie sucks my fingers into his mouth. His eyes rolled back at the taste of me.

“Does that taste good, my beautiful boy?”

He groans in agreement, his breathing changing to be erratic. His hand releases his cock, and I watch as it twitches before he cums on the floor in front of me without even being touched. He releases my fingers, then falls to his hands.

“I’m sorry. Oh god. I’m sorry,” he says through his panting breaths.

I start to laugh, not in a cruel way and definitely not at him, mostly because I don’t know what else to do. Frankie’s big brown eyes look at me.

“I’m sorry,” I say through my laughter. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just…I’ve never done something like that before. I don’t know what came over me.”

Frankie gestures towards where his cum is pooled onto the tile of your front entrance. “Well, I clearly liked it.”

“Take me to my room,” my voice is a hum and then Frankie shows me once again why fucking a younger is superior when he hoists me over his shoulder as he stands; strong, no lower back or bad shoulders. I squeal, watching as he shuffle steps to my room, his pants pooling around his feet. “Don’t you dare drop me.”

“Never, baby. Never.”

[hazard-haze]

Eddie and Volt headcanons (no player)

Soooooo

My brain has decided this shit is my new hyperifxation

And that these are my new comfort characters

But I heard that everyone was getting a hate ending with them and guess who got friendship with them first tryyyyyy! So uh, skill issue/j heres some headcanons for ya'll :)

-He doesn't do it often because he knows Eddie hates it, but Volt can 110% pick up Eddie and will abuse this power if he needs to

-Eddie is Volt's anger translator. It usually goes something like this:

Volt: "We are sorry you weren't satisfied with our service, but this is the best we can do and I'm going to have to ask you to leave now."

Eddie *passing by behind him*: "Pay your fucking tab and get out!"

-Volt cannot keep his hands still, he tries to play it off suave-ly (?) by just tapping his fingers and running his hand through his hair repeatedly but when he gets really excited or angry about something he will wave his hands with big, fast, eccentric gestures.

-Volt wears eyeliner, sometimes Eddie helps him put it on.

-Eddie is very talented at most things he does, fixing, building, mixing drinks (he can even do some tricks with shakers), and there's a plethora of odd things he's picked up throughout the years. However this makes him get pretty frustrated when things don't work out the first couple times he attempts something. While not the main reason, this is part of why he was so frustrated and irritable during most of his main plot. Volt sometimes has to remind him that it's okay to not have everything figured out immediately, or pull him from his work if he's starting to stress out or exhaust himself too much.

-On the topic of pulling Eddie from his work, that is a feat. Volt full well knows he can't just ask Eddie to take a break, usually he has to either ask him to do something easier as a favor, or blame the break on himself.

"Oh Eddie, I know your in the middle of something but could you wipe the bar down? I have no time before we open."

"Eddieeeee, I have no one to watch the new season of Cougar vs Cougar with! Would you take a break to and come watch it with me? Please! Just for a little bit! Just one episode!" (They got through like 2 1/2 before Eddie passed tf out)

-Oh yeah, Volt loves reality TV and Eddie pretends to not be at least a little invested.

-Eddie can draw. Volt cannot. Volt is very jealous of Eddie in this regard.

-Infodumpingggggggg. They infodump to one another without even realizing it, it is so much of how they communicate. They will ramble and bounce ideas off each other, mostly about the club but about other stuff too.

-On the flip side. They can also communicate by saying pretty much nothing, just through brief glances. I think it would partly be because they are literally split from the same thing but it's more in that way when you widen your eyes slightly at your bestie and that equates to like a full paragraph of text.

-Eddie is short af, Volt is tall af.

-Volt makes fun of Eddie for being short

-Like seriously ya know that audio that's like "I know we don't always see eye to eye" "that because your too short to do so"

-Eddie will get revenge. He can kick/punch really hard but he can also come up with some other very clever ways of revenge. Do not mess with the guy who has access to the tools.

-Neither of them really like just hard liquor. Volt likes sweeter drinks and Eddie likes quality craft beers. If either sees the other drinking something like scotch/whiskey they can usually assume somethings wrong.

-Volt has sooooo many ideas for the club, several of which are not exactly... possible. Eddie has to be the one to break the news to him that No Volt we can't break down the retaining wall of the bar and turn it into an inanimal fish tank. Why? Because without it the roof would collapse!

-Volt's love languages are physical touch and words of affirmation

-Eddie's love language is acts of service.

-Going deeper into that, Volt loves physical touch, as previously mentioned. Eddie however does not. But they make it work, Eddie can tell when Volt needs a hug or just to have someone next to him, Volt can tell when Eddie is getting overstimulated or just needs space.

-They both have their ears pierced. Volt did it for both of them.

-Eddie actually quite likes talking to people, I mean he's definitely tended the bar at some point, he just doesn't like talking to annoying people. He's sarcastic and his humor is a bit deadpan and he's more reserved, but he 100% can be very funny and hold conversations very well with patrons and even better with friends.

-That being said, bro does not chat while he works on maintenance. If anyone, including Volt, is working with him, he isn't saying shit unless its telling them what to do, or looking over their work. If someones lucky they get a "Good job."

-Neither have ever been a fan of the dark, but they especially would not be after the black out.

-They both hate silence, I mean they work in a night club, at this point it just feels unnatural.

-Kinda already mentioned this but Volt gets quiet angry and Eddie gets loud angry. If Volt goes silent, you know you fucked up. On the opposite end, it will sometimes be assumed that Eddie is mad because he's being quiet but that just how he is, if Eddie actually is properly yelling you know he's upset.

-Nerve damage babyyyyyy. It is all up Eddie's arms, contributes to why he's not super touchy because his arms get that awful pulling, itchy, pain when something touches them.

-Volt can get some nasty fatigue. The electricity fluctuates? Bro is immediately drained, head rush, migraine, the whole shabang.

-Not really headcanon but neither of them are good at admitting they need help or at accepting it when its offered.

-They both know each others triggers tho, and make sure to tell the other to rest when they need to. Neither take their own advice.

-Eddie hyperfocuses like crazy. If he sits down with his tools, something to fix and no one around he will not move from that spot for hours.

-Volt is always jumping from project to project, person to person, never slowing down. There's a lot to do in the breaker box and he is more than happy to juggle all of it.

-Both of them forget to sleep because of these facts. and eat (do they eat?). and talk to other things. and talk to each other. and-

-They would be cat people. Volt has definitely brought up getting an inanimal from Mateo but Eddie is always hesitant (even though he would 100% end up loving it to bits if they got one)

----

Ya'll I think I'm a loser. Instead of being out on a night off I am sitting in my bedroom writing headcanons about an actual breaker box in a dating sim that I'm not even attracted to, I just think their silly. What is my life T-T

[absolutelyb4tty]

Secrets and Surprises || Spencer Reid PART II

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!BAU!reader Category: Smut 18+ Summary: Reader and Spencer go to a kink party sending the tension between them to the boiling point. (Part 2) Word Count: 8.2k

Where to read part 1

CW: Spencer Reid/ fem!bau!reader, mutual pining, self doubt, idiots in love, plot and porn, slutty thoughts, reader wears a dress and heels, unprotected p in v (please wear protection), “forced” proximity, kink/bdsm, one bed trope, dry humping, masochism, soft dom Spencer (I’m not sorry, I am merely a sub), discussion of kink dynamics, descriptions of kink scenes, biting, nipple play, praise, impact play, little bit of size kink, Spencer absolutely has a thing for having his hair pulled, Cunnilingus, ooc Spencer A/N: so nervous about this one tbh. I tried to write this for part one but got to 3.5K words and decided to make a part two lol still with season 6 Spence of course. This is entirely self indulgent and I’m not sorry, I know someone out there will match my freak.

Not proof read, sorry

It had been a few weeks since the burlesque show and things between you and Spencer hadn’t been bad but they also hadn’t been normal. At times he seemed more comfortable around you, he was able to touch you without apologizing like he used to, but at other times he couldn’t hold eye contact and seemed to avoid you. You worried that because of all the things said and done the last time you hung out that he wasn’t comfortable with you anymore. 

One night, as the team was heading home, you cornered him near his car. 

“Hey, what’s been going on with you,” you questioned. 

“Oh. Uh nothing,” Spencer's eyes dart away from you. His tense posture told you what you needed to know. 

“Something’s up and you’re making me nervous,” you reply sharply.

“I’m sorry I just didn’t know how to address what happened the last time we hung out,” he slouches and presses his arms over his chest nervously.

“We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to Spence, I know some things were said that we didn’t mean.” Spencer looks almost disappointed for a second before blinking the expression off his face.

“Yeah you’re right,” he says softly, “you never did tell me about that secret event though.” 

Your face pales slightly, “uh what?” 

Spencer laughs, “is it that big of a secret? Now I’m intrigued.”

“No,” you laugh, “it’s just a part of myself I don’t share at work or anything. It kind of clashes with what we do.” Spencer’s eyes twinkle with curiosity, waiting for you to go on.

“Sometimes…my friends and I,” you speak slowly, stalling, hoping he’d cut you off and tell you to forget he asked, “we uh we go to kink parties.” 

Spencer blinks down at you. He tilts his head slightly, “is that it?” 

Now it was your turn to blink in confusion at him, “uh yeah? Is that not concerning to you?” 

“Uh not really, I mean I don’t go to those or anything but I know they exist and I know that with how many of us are on the team at least one of us is likely involved in that scene,” he says matter of factly, “in recent years studies have shown that 56% of people experience BDSM related fantasies.”

You laugh now, “good way to rationalize it Spence. Well yeah that’s the party that’s this weekend. You absolutely don’t have to come if you don’t want to but my friends did invite you.” 

His gaze grew intense, “are you inviting me?”

A soft blush creeps onto your face, “I’m certainly not against you going…so yes. I’m inviting you Spencer.” 

Spencer smiles wide, “then I’ll be there! I’m interested to see what you’ve been hiding from everyone.” 

He had no idea what he was in for.

You smile back at him, trying to will yourself to not blush more. 

That weekend Spencer met you at your place. The party was in a town about two and a half hours away so you planned to road trip together and get a hotel room and then come back the next morning.

You loaded your things into the car as Spencer tried to help.

“You’ve got a lot of things,” he says innocently.

“I have a lot planned,” you chuckle to yourself.

Spencer inspects a couple of unusually shaped, wrapped items that aren’t in your two bags. Once on the road you give Spencer a run down of how these events work in between showing each other music you like. 

“So one of the friends that you met does impact with me, I bottom for that so that’s the plan for tonight. If that makes you uncomfortable you can absolutely hide out in the social area and I won’t be upset,” you explain as you drive. 

Spencer was blushing slightly and staring ahead with wide eyes, “so impact is like…”

“Spanking, hitting, etcetera,” you say casually, “does that make you uncomfortable?”

Spencer felt quite the opposite as he pictures you bent over with your friend smacking your ass. His cock jumps at the thought, “no that sounds interesting actually.” 

As the drive went on you explained dungeon rules and how certain things in the community work.

The drive went quickly and once you were checked into your hotel you decided to check out the room, drop off your belongings, and then prep for the event.

You swing the door to the hotel room open and drag your items in only to be greeted with one bed. You look over your shoulder at Spencer then back to the bed. 

“Okay I swear I reserved a two bed room,” you say, throwing your hands up dramatically.

It wasn’t an issue to share a space, you often roomed together on cases, but sharing a bed was different. You march to the lobby to figure out the mixup while Spencer waits in the room with your things. The clerk at the counter helps you discover the problem. Something had gone wrong during the booking process and you had been downgraded to one king size bed instead of two queens. It was normally an easy fix but the hotel was full so you’d both just have to cope with the shared space. You explained this to Spencer when you got back to the room. He looked away, seemingly contemplating something, and took a seat on the edge of the bed. 

After a moment he looks up at you with a smile, “I’m sure we can make it work.” 

With that you smile back and begin settling in.

Once you’d unpacked everything you ordered food to recover from your drive. You lounged on the bed and aimlessly flipped through channels from the bed.

“You know the food won’t be here for twenty minutes, we could nap,” you stretch out and yawn.

“You could take a nap, I’m not particularly tired,” Spencer chuckles.

“Works for me,” you laugh before curling up on the bed next to him. 

You awoke to find yourself wrapped around Spencer. One leg and arm was propped up on his torso and leg and your head was resting on his arm while he played with your hair delicately. You shifted a little to look up at him, slightly embarrassed that you ended up here while you slept but reassured by him playing with your hair, surely he wouldn’t do that if he hated you touching him.

“Good morning sunshine,” Spencer chuckles down at you.

“Sorry,” you murmur groggily, “I totally invaded your space.”

“It’s okay,” he says, softly smoothing your hair, “clearly I did too.” 

“I suppose that’s fair,” you giggle.

“The foods here if you want any,” he shifts to move his arm out from under you.

You slightly swat at him, “and you didn’t wake me?” 

“Hey! I think the guy knocking is what woke you up so I didn’t exactly have time,” he laughs, swatting you back.

You enjoy your Chinese food and some cheesy rom com on cable together while you wait for the time to get ready.

7 o clock rolls around and you drag yourself out of the bed, stretching onto your tiptoes and reaching your arms above your head. 

Spencer watches you pad across the room to the bathroom. He decides to get changed too, swapping into a black button up and matching trousers before sitting back down in bed to wait for you. The bed is still warm from your presence and the sheets smell faintly of your perfume and it’s all he can think about. Spencer spreads out and buries his face in the pillow for a moment. He daydreams about what tonight would be like, what you would wear, you dancing like you had at the burlesque show, his hands all over you. The bathroom door clicks open, snapping Spencer out of it. 

“Are you ready,” you call from the bathroom.

“Yep,” Spencer responds, smiling in anticipation. 

You step around the corner, hands thrust out at your sides to present your look to Spencer. Your hair is pulled back in a messy high ponytail, highlighting your facial structure. You’re wearing a leather mini skirt, sheer tights, big black high heeled boots, and a metallic handkerchief top. Your arms are decorated in silver bracelets and you wear boot chains on your ankles to match. Your eyes are smeared with dark eyeshadow and eyeliner in an intentional seeming way with delicately layered glitter on top. Your lips are covered in a sheer black lip gloss to match. You are a vision. Spencer stares with his jaw slack.

“Wow,” he whispers.

“Is that a good wow or a bad one,” you giggle.

“I’m going to be so underdressed,” Spencer laughs. You break out in a wide smile and hold up one finger, signaling him to wait.

“I actually thought of that,” you say, spinning around towards your bag. You pull out a tie made of a matching metal mesh to your top and pad back over to him.

“Oh wow, you got this for me,” he looks up at you, his eyebrows pulled together like this was the most touching thing anyone had done for him. He reaches out and grabs it, running it between his hands to feel the interesting texture and movement of the chainmail piece. 

“Let me help you put it on,” you smile softly before climbing onto the bed behind him. You kneel behind him, your chest pressed against the back of his head as you reach your hands out over his shoulders. Spencer hands you each side of the chain and you start to clasp it behind his head. Spencer was distracted by you being so close and how much he wanted to turn around and give you something else to do while you’re on your knees. 

“Is that too tight,” you whisper, your breath hot on the nape of his neck. Spencer nearly chokes being ripped out of his fantasizing by that. 

“No, that's good,” he whispers back.

Your hands linger on his back for a moment before you scoot and slide back off the bed.

“Okay! Are we ready,” you ask peppily.

“Yep,” Spencer says with a wide smile. He tries to bury the thoughts he’s having about you but then you bend over to grab a bag off the floor and he nearly tackles you. He spies just a peek of the underwear you’re wearing under your tights, black and lacy with little hints of metallic thread sneaking through to match your top. He wonders why you’d match your top and underwear since no one would see those but shook the thought from his head as you stood back up. You throw on a long jacket you’d brought to cover your outfit and then throw the bag over your shoulder. 

Pulling up to the venue you go over the rules with Spencer one last time, he nods and repeats them after every one. You giggle slightly.

“What,” he asks, smiling at your laugh.

“It’s just cute how you’re so invested in the rules,” you laugh.

“Well yeah I want to make a good impression,” he smiles.

You pat his knee, “you’ll be fine.” 

Walking in you are met with a perfectly normal hallway with a table at the end. A woman in a pink sparkly gown sits at the table with a cash box. You show her your tickets and she waves you in. Opening the door you’re greeted with quite the sight. People walking around in gowns and lingerie and kink gear and some of them in nothing at all. Spencer is overcome with awkwardness, not knowing where to look, so he grabs your hand and interlocks your fingers.

“Are you okay,” you lean over and whisper.

“Just grounding myself,” he nods.

That makes your heart soar that holding your hand grounds him. You try to not do a little jig from pure happiness. 

You wander around the venue showing Spencer the different areas and introducing him to folks. You both used fake names on account of your highly sensitive jobs, but luckily you knew that tons of the other patrons were using fake names as well.

You meet up with your friends and introduce Spencer to one of them again.

Spencer interrupts you, “I already met her.”

“I know, but that was as my friend, now I’m introducing her as my Top,” you laugh.

“Oh,” he thinks on it for a second, “oh!”

Your friend reaches out and shakes his hand, “I’m the one that gets to smack your little girlfriend around,” she says with a big grin.

You swat at her, “oh my god, shut up!”

You and Spencer mill around the dungeon space watching different scenes. Self suspension, needles, electro, and more. As you walk around you explain what’s happening to Spencer and he eventually loosens the grip on your hand. Once you’d watched some scenes that particularly interested Spencer, and were shocked by how interested he was in rope and suspension,  you went to the social area. You got some snacks from the food table and took a seat off to the side away from the strangers in the room.

“How are you doing,” you check in on him.

“I’m doing really well actually. This is very interesting and I’m having a good time,” he smiles softly.

“Good, maybe you can go to more of these with me in the future,” you laugh lightly. You watch Spencer’s eyes as he gets distracted by something across the room. Your gaze lands on a couple sitting off to the side with a group of, presumably, their friends. The man is dressed in a sharp suit with a leather harness under his suit jacket and colored glasses, he looks almost vampiric. The woman is kneeling between the man’s thighs in lacy purple lingerie, only covered by a tiny pleated black mini skirt. She has a collar on and the man holds the leash attached in his left hand while his right strokes her cheek. They look at each other with such adoration that it feels like you’re interrupting something just by being in the room. The woman rubs her cheek on the man’s hand as he speaks softly to her. You couldn’t hear him over the music and general noise in the background but whatever he said made the woman smile. 

“They’re cute,” Spencer says quietly to you without looking away from the couple. 

“They usually come to these. I think they have such a cute dynamic,” you reply, glancing at Spencer.

“Do you have a dynamic,” Spencer asks, finally looking at you.

“Oh no,” you laugh, “I don’t even date nowadays so I haven’t even started that process.” 

“Do you want something like that,” he gestures with his head at the couple.

“Oh yeah, that’s goals right there,” you laugh, “but I’m fine on my own too.” 

Spencer nods and then looks away to watch the couple again, seemingly lost in thought.

Your friend wanders into the social room, looking from side to side, she perks up when she lays eyes on you.

“Are you ready,” she juts her thumb behind her towards the dungeon space.

You turn to look at Spencer and when he nods you turn back to your friend, “let’s do it!” 

The three of you walk up to a spanking bench your friends are waiting in front of. 

You turn to Spencer, “are you sure you want to see this?” 

“Yep, I’m excited to see whatcha got,” he smiles and nods. 

“Okay,” you say sing-songy, “but if you get uncomfortable you can just wait for me in the social room.” Spencer nods and gives you two thumbs up.

You approach the bench and take a deep breath. Spencer watches as you unzip your skirt, eyes widening as he realizes what you are doing. This was why your top and underwear matched. He didn’t know you planned to disrobe, he obviously noticed other people wearing little or even nothing around him but figured you wouldn’t be joining them, not that he was complaining. Your skirt slid down over the globes of your ass and Spencer had to force his jaw to stay closed. There you stood, tights and underwear and nothing else between him and your pussy, a situation he’d wanted to be in for so long. You climb onto the bench and lay your chest down to get into position, arching your back slightly and getting comfortable. Spencer’s jaw tenses and his cock twitches in his trousers. Your top stands next to you and starts rubbing her hand over your raised ass. She leans down and whispers something to you that Spencer can’t hear but you nod your head in response. Then she rears her hand back and lands the first smack. Spencer jumps slightly and tries to peer at your face to see your reaction. After a second of pause you wiggle your butt and shout, “is that all you got,” with a laugh.

“Oh is that how it’s going to be,” your top laughs back at you. She begins smacking with more force and frequency. Spencer finds himself blushing and nervous but unable to look away. His body reacting differently than he had expected and he didn’t know what to do about it. One of your other friends hands your top a small coffin shaped paddle and your top immediately smacks you with such force that Spencer worries for a second before he hears you. You let out a loud moan at the impact and arch your back more. 

“Is that enough warm up,” your top chuckles.

“Yessss,” you hiss back. 

After that it was a bit of a blur for Spencer. The hits kept coming and with every one you let out a moan, a squeak, a squeal, or a gasp. In response the bulge in his pants grew. The top swapped between implements and Spencer named them to keep himself grounded. Paddles, floggers, evil sticks, and more. Spencer saw the redness spread across your cheeks, little specks of purple appearing in spots that had been hit over and over. Setting down her tool, your top slips her fingers under the waistband of your tights before delicately pulling them down your thighs. Spencer’s pants somehow felt even tighter suddenly.

“Y’know,” she says lightly, “I would normally just tear these but then I’d have to buy you new ones.”

You laugh, sounding out of breath.

Spencer was now staring at your ass, and thinking about your pussy, barely covered by that lacy piece of fabric he saw earlier. He felt like he would burst out of his pants if he saw any more.

Your top pokes a small purple spot, “does this hurt,” she asks in mock concern.

“Yess,” you whine out pathetically, accenting it with a wiggle of your rear.

That was it for Spencer. 

He reaches down and adjusts himself, his cock jumping at the tiny amount of friction he got, before leaning over to a friend standing next to him, “I’m going to step outside for some air.” 

The friend nods and smiles, assuming this was too much for him.

Spencer steps outside into the cold air and lets it fill his lungs. 

“You need to get a hold of yourself,” he hisses out, staring down at the noticeable bulge in his pants. 

Once your scene had ended your top slid your tights back up. You inhale sharply as they make contact with your developing bruises. Your top walks you over to the aftercare section of the facility after helping you back into your skirt. Once comfortable you notice Spencer was nowhere to be found. You drink your water and let your top play with your hair for a bit before getting up to find him. 

Eventually you track him down outside. The cold felt like another smack to your mostly undressed frame. 

Spencer turns to face you and waves meekly, “hey. I just needed some air.” 

A pang of guilt hits you.

“I’m sorry Spence, are you okay,” your eyebrows knit together in worry as you wrap your arms around you for warmth. Without hesitating Spencer pulls off his jacket and places it on your shoulders.

“No, I’m totally okay, I actually left for a different reason. You didn’t do anything wrong,” his voice was dripping with sincerity but his face and body language seemed worried.

“What’s up then,” you ask, preparing for some worst case that you couldn’t even come up with.

Spencer pauses, glancing away from you before opening his mouth to speak again.

“I just don’t want to mess everything up,” he whispers.

“You won’t,” you reach a hand out and give his arm a reassuring rub.

Spencer looks to the side and then to the sky in exasperation before his gaze finally lands on his shoes.

“I liked it too much,” he says so quietly you almost don’t pick it up, “more accurately I like you too much and it was clouding my judgment and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I really enjoyed it, more than I think I should have, I just don’t think you’d want me looking at you that way.” 

You tilt your head to the side, “what way?” 

Spencer’s eyes go wide, still staring at his shoes, and he gestures down to his crotch. His face was burning red and he seemed overwhelmingly flustered.

“I’ve liked you for a really long time. I’ve been burying it inside me so it wouldn’t be a burden on our friendship and I guess seeing you like that was too much. My body reacted before my mind could and so I excused myself. I think you’re beautiful and I love being around you but I know we’re just friends and I respect that. I just like you so much and I don’t want to lose what we have because I can’t be rational when you’re bent over like that making those noises.” 

Spencer tried to continue rambling but you grab his other arm to interrupt him.

He glances up at you anxiously before straightening up to look you in the eye better.

You speak quietly, in shock from his confession, “I like you too.” 

Spencer’s jaw tenses and he glances down at your lips before finding your eyes again. Without hesitation you both lean in and suddenly his lips are on yours. Warm and soft and gentle at first. After a second he pulls his head back slightly. Still staring at your lips he whispers, “I’m sorry I should have asked.”

“It’s okay Spence, just kiss me.”

His arms find your waist and pull you into a kiss that felt like he needed you to breathe. Your fingers tangle in his hair and pull his face down into yours, pressing your lips together harder. Spencer was a greedy kisser. It felt like he needed every ounce of you and he needed it now. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip and you let him in without a second thought. Your tongues dance against each other and you can feel one of his hands sliding up to the back of your head. Before you realize what was happening he’s walked you back enough that he’s now pressing you against the nearest wall. The kiss deepens and you swear you could keep doing this forever, there was no need to breathe when Spencer Reid was kissing you, he was all you needed. He lightly nips at your bottom lip causing you to let out a choked gasp. Spencer’s chest rumbles as he groans in response. With your bodies so close together you get a physical representation of the feelings Spencer mentioned having earlier pressed against you. You grind your hips forward against him and he moans into your mouth.

The door to the building swings open interrupting you. 

You must look ridiculous. Spencer cornering you against the wall, his hair a mess and your dark lipstick all over his mouth and glitter from your face smeared on his. Not to mention that you had both frozen staring at them like you’d just been caught doing the most scandalous thing ever. The couple that walked out wave goodnight and head to their cars. Spencer moves his hand from behind your head and places it on your waist opposite the other hand while you both gasp for air. 

You lock eyes, both full of lust and pupils blown wide.

“Wow,” Spencer murmurs.

“Yeah,” you breathe back, “I can’t believe we just did that.”

“You’re a bad influence on me,” Spencer laughs. 

“I’m the bad influence,” you gasp in mock shock, throwing your right hand over your chest, “I mean I did bring you here and tell you to kiss me I guess.” You point at him accusingly, “but you kissed me first!” 

“I think we kissed each other,” Spencer chuckles, hands sliding around your back to pull you close again.

“Touché doctor,” you giggle before reaching up to kiss him again.

You hands find his face and you kiss him hungrily.

“Should we go back to the hotel,” you ask, backing up slightly and gazing into his eyes.

“Oh no, we shouldn’t just leave your friends wondering where we went and I doubt you had much time for aftercare before you came to find me.”

“How do you know what that is,” you giggle.

“Maybe I have my own secrets,” Spencer whispers, pressing a light kiss to your lips.

You wipe your makeup off Spencer’s face as best you can and go back inside to finish up with your friends and say goodnight. The whole time you cuddled with your top and chatted, Spencer was watching you hungrily. You tried to not squirm under his gaze but it was hard. When it was time to leave you hug your friends goodbye and pile back into your car.

The tension in the car weighed on you, you didn’t know what the future held and you weren’t positive where you stood after what happened. You were stuck in your thoughts until you opened the door to the hotel room and stepped in.

As soon as you both cleared the doorway Spencer was on you. His lips slam into yours, hungry and desperate. He grabs the back of your head as he eases you against the wall, kicking the door shut with his left foot. You wrap your arms around his neck so he can reach you better. The height difference wasn’t too much but it was certainly noticeable when you were kissing. He tucks his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to him, arching your back away from the wall so your chest is pressed against him. He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth and you let out a small moan. His hands slide down your back to rest on your ass. His tongue slips into your mouth as he begins kneading your ass. You squeak at the pain from your bruises that Spencer has completely forgotten about.

“I’m sorry,” he pants.

You look him in the eyes with such intensity it draws him back a bit.

“Do it again,” you smirk at him.

Something in him snaps awake at that and he grabs your ass hard. You keen and try to lean your head away from him but he catches you with his lips and kisses you even harder.

You bury your hands in his hair and pull slightly making him whine against your lips. You wrap one of your legs around his so you can grind yourself against him. 

He slides his hands to the top of your thighs and speaks so lowly it sounds more like a growl, “jump.” 

You listen immediately and he lifts you up onto his hips. You wrap both legs around him and are immediately pressed harder against the wall as he kisses along your jaw. He starts rutting up against you as he kisses and nips down your neck. You moan at the friction and grind down on him to meet his thrusts. A deep groan rumbles out of his throat as he attacks yours. He presses and drags his tongue up the side of your neck before biting down. You let out something like a gasp mixed with a squeal and he chuckles against your neck. 

You tap his shoulder desperately, “bed, bed, bed.”

“Sorry,” he mutters, still rutting against you with his face pressed against your clavicle, “I couldn’t wait.” 

You bite back a moan at that, thinking it would be embarrassing to let him know how much him wanting you turns you on.

Spencer carries you to the bed, kicking his shoes off on the way, and gently lays you down with him on top of you. He sits up and starts to unclasp his tie so you prop yourself up on your elbows to watch his hands work.

Spencer starts unbuttoning his shirt as you watch.

“Do you like watching,” he asks with a chuckle. His question ends your trance and you reach down to unzip your boots.

“You have really nice hands,” you say bashfully. Once your boots are off, you scoot to a sitting position and take over unbuttoning his shirt. You pull it down, off his shoulders, and throw it to the floor. You reach to undo his belt but Spencer grabs your hand, stopping you.

“Your turn,” he says with a glint of mischief in his eyes. He reaches behind you to unclasp the chains keeping your top on, pressing your face into his warm chest. Your top slips off from the weight of the metal and Spencer backs up to look at you. You rest your hands at the hem of his pants while he takes in the view.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, hands just ghosting over your form.

“It’s a little late to get nervous about touching me,” you giggle.

Spencer laughs, “true, I suppose.” 

With that he grabs your breasts and pushes you back down to the bed. Spencer squeezes and toys with your tits as he kisses you, hard and desperate. He starts to grind against you again. You try to remember to breathe as he begins pinching and lightly pulling at your nipples. You let out small noises against Spencer’s mouth only fueling his movements. Spencer kisses down your jaw to your neck, leaving little bites and licks as he makes his way to your sternum. He sits up and you groan at the loss of contact. Spencer hikes your skirt up to your waist before you pipe up, “let’s just take it off.” Spencer nods and moves his hands off so you can move. You spin and sit up on your knees so he has access to the zipper on the back. Spencer unzips it slowly, an idea spinning in his mind. He gently pushes you face down into the bed to take the skirt down your legs. As he pulls the skirt off your feet and chucks it to join your shirts on the floor you slip your thumbs under the waistband of your tights. Spencer leans down to your ear, his body covering yours as he does so, and whispers, “I’ll buy you new ones.”

Before you can react Spencer tears a small hole in the crotch of your tights. He then takes both hands and rips them completely open, exposing your lacy underwear and bare thighs. 

“Oh my god Spencer,” you squeal and giggle.

Spencer then flips you back onto your back.

“What? I said I’d buy you new ones,” he feigns innocence as he finally cups your pussy. You gasp and flush slightly.

“God you’re so wet for me,” Spencer groans.

“Just for you,” you sigh.

Spencer slides your underwear down and off your legs, tearing through the tights further. Now face to face with your bare cunt, Spencer’s cock throbs in his slacks. Spencer’s hands glide under your thighs, lifting your legs onto his shoulders as he ducks down to kiss your pubic bone. Spencer hovers inches from you. Your breath shutters as you feel his breath against your wetness.

“Spencer, you don’t have to,” you breathe out, nervous he was hesitating because of how long he sat there without doing anything.

Without a word Spencer abruptly licks a wide stripe up your folds, “I don’t have to, but I’m going to.” 

You let a moan slip past your lips, “oh god.” 

Spencer laps at your core, drawing moan after moan out of you. Your hands find his hair and tangle amongst the strands, tugging slightly. Spencer whines quietly so you do it again and you’re rewarded with a whimper emitted from the back of his throat.

Spencer removes his left hand from your leg, letting it drop to the side. He moves to focus on licking and sucking on your clit. You feel him drag his fingers down through your folds to gather your arousal before slowly easing a finger into you. You gasp as pleasure washes over you.  You clench around him and Spencer chuckles, sending vibrations through you. He begins thrusting his finger in and out of you. You pitch one hand to the bed to grab onto the sheets, holding on for dear life.

“Oh my god Spence,” you cry out.

Spencer continues licking and sucking your core as he picks up the pace of his finger.

“You said you liked my hands right,” he asks before blowing cool air over your soaked clit.

“Yessss,” you hiss, tugging at his hair again. Spencer moans and stills for a moment.

“Y’know,” you look down to make eye contact with Spencer as he speaks, “if you keep pulling my hair then I’m not going to have the patience to make you cum on my face and I really want to make you cum on my face.” His eyes are dark with lust and you almost don't know how to process this side of him. He starts to devour your cunt again and you let out a high desperate moan.

“Fuck Spence, oh my god,” he leaves you gasping, the suddenness of his mouth on you knocking the air out of your lungs.

“Mmf, love how you taste,” Spencer mutters, his finger picking up the pace again. You start to grind yourself on his face, pressing down on his head to get more of him. He chuckles against you and sneaks a second finger inside you, immediately starting to curl his fingers. 

“Oh my- fuck- god,” you whine out, bucking your hips slightly to chase the feeling. Spencer flicks his tongue against your clit and sucks, pistoning his fingers in and out of you. 

“You gonna cum for me, beautiful,” he looks up, trying to hold eye contact with you as you struggle to look down at him. His beautiful amber eyes grab your attention but the pleasure is so overwhelming you have a hard time sitting still.

“Yes, yes, please,” you whine, “d-don’t stop!”

The pressure that had been building in you was reaching a breaking point as your eyes squeeze shut.

Spencer chuckles and clamps down to suck on your clit again only coming up for air to say, “Look at me when you cum all over my face, pretty girl.”

He moves his fingers faster, occasionally adding a beckoning motion, and licking you in a frenzy. 

You look down at him, “gonna- oh god,” you scream his name as your climax crashes into you. You lock eyes, him peering up at you with an obvious smirk even when his mouth is busy with other things. Pressing his head down and clamping your thighs around him, a distant part of you worried you might suffocate him but you were too absorbed in the all consuming pleasure racking your body to stop. 

Spencer works you through your peak, fingers gently slowing as you come down. Slipping his fingers out of you he spreads your thighs back open and plants soft kisses on the plush skin. Your body buzzing and Spencer’s soft laughter is all that could be heard over your panting. 

“You did so good, Angel,” he speaks softly.

Despite just cumming seconds earlier you’re still desperate for him.

“Your turn,” you pant, gently pulling his head toward you. 

“Are you sure? I’m okay, really, you need a minute to recover,” Spencer says, very sweetly, but you’re in no mood for sweet.

“Fuck my face or fuck my pussy, your choice,” you challenge. 

Spencer’s eyes darken as he climbs back up to your face, “fine,” he plants another deep kiss, bruising and starved, on your lips. He sits up and starts to unbuckle his belt. You swat his hands away and unbuckle it yourself then proceed to pull down the zipper and undo the button. You pull his pants open and slightly down, greeted with the bulge in his briefs. 

“Are you ready,” you look up into his eyes, looking for any hint of hesitation.

“Absolutely,” he replies with a smile.

You pull down his underwear, his cock springing out of the waistband.

“Oh my god,” you whisper. It’s much bigger than you expected, you also feel slightly bad for not addressing him sooner with how red and hard it is. You just stare for a moment, it’s pulsing, flushed with red, and huge.

“Are you okay,” Spencer asks, voice heavy with concern, “we can stop if you’ve changed your mind.”

“No, no, no,” you shake your head, “I just wasn’t expecting you to be so…big.” 

Spencer laughs, “is that a problem for you?”

You shake your head, “just nervous about the stretch a little, it’s been awhile since I’ve been with anyone,” you laugh.

“We’ll make it fit,” Spencer says, looking down at you almost sinisterly compared to his usual demeanor.

Spencer kicks his pants off and turns to face you again. You grab his shoulders and throw him down on the bed, immediately positioning yourself between his legs. Spencer yelps in surprise at the sudden position change.

“Heyyy,” he murmurs, “you said I got to pick.” 

You giggle, “so you don’t want me to show you how good I am with my mouth?”

“You can show me that later but right now I’m feeling impatient,” he chuckles deep in his chest. 

You climb up his body to straddle him, pressing his cock flat against his stomach underneath you. You settle on top of his hips with your hands resting on his chest and slide against him, watching his reaction. Spencer hisses and grabs your forearms.

“Want to be inside you,” he grunts.

“Just give me a second, still sensitive,” you say, grinding yourself against him, his hardness sliding between your folds.

Spencer’s jaw tenses as you ride him, watching you use his cock for your satisfaction. Finally having contact with this part of him sends little bolts of lightning through you. You let your eyes fall closed as you roll your hips down on him. 

Spencer whispers your name, it turns into a whine as he says, “please, I need you.” 

Your pussy clenches around nothing at that and you decide you can’t handle teasing him anymore. You lift your hips and grab the base of his cock, he doesn’t need it, but you pump it a few times just in case. Pressing your thumb to his slit, you smear his precum over his tip before lining yourself up. Finally feeling him press into you, you let out a soft gasp. You start to lower yourself, feeling every vein and pulse of him against your walls as you go. Spencer chokes out a gasp and fists the sheets next to him. You finally seat yourself against his pelvis, a slight burn accompanying the stretch of him inside you. You slide your hands down to his stomach, trying to remain relaxed as your body adjusts, you shut your eyes tight and point your face downward. 

“Are you okay,” Spencer asks, clearly struggling to remain composed himself as he rubs his thumbs across your forearms in reassuring circles.

“M fine,” you barely get out, “just adjusting.”

Spencer waits for a moment, watching you. You lift up slightly and give a tentative pump with your hips, letting out a high pitched moan at the friction.

Spencer whimpers and grabs the sheets with one hand again. You start moving, letting out a constant stream of gasps and moans as you pick up pace. Spencer tilts his head back and moans, deep and thankful like you just offered him relief. The hand on your forearm tightens as Spencer lets out a groan, looking down at where you’re connected.

“Oh god,” he moans. His hands leave their positions to slide up your stomach to your chest. He palms your breasts, “so beautiful, so, so beautiful,” he mutters to himself.

You roll your hips down on him, tearing a groan out of his parted lips. He rolls one of your nipples in between two fingers and tugs slightly. You claw at his chest, unable to control the noises escaping your mouth. He just fills you so well and you’ve waited so long for this. 

Spencer starts to buck up into you, meeting your movements and driving you crazy. Your hips stutter slightly as you approach your peak, pressure building in you, ready to snap. Spencer notices your breath hitch and your movements grow sloppy, he grabs your hips hard and starts fucking up into you. 

“Oh- oh god,” you cry as Spencer takes the lead. 

“Look at me,” Spencer says firmly. 

You fall forward, slamming your hands on either side of his head, trying your hardest to hold eye contact. Spencer looks at you, intensity burning in his eyes, his grip on your hips tightening as he rams into you. 

“Are you gonna cum for me,” he pants. You nod furiously in response, leaning to rest your forehead on his. You gaze into his eyes, his honeyed irises scorching you with their focus.

You practically scream his name as you come undone on top of him, the last thing you see before screwing your eyes shut is the pleased look on his face as he continues to fuck you through your high. You slump down onto his chest as his pace slows but doesn’t stop.

“Spencer,” you moan out quietly.

“Yeah,” he sighs and presses a kiss to your temple.

“Too good,” you say slowly and softly. 

“We’re not done yet,” he chuckles at you. Before you have time to react he’s flipping you both over so you’re pressed under him. He sits up and hauls your legs up to wrap more solidly around his waist. 

“Mmf Spence,” you whine, “I’m sensitive.”

“You can give me one more, can’t you,” he chuckles as he moves his hands up to your waist. 

“You’re just so tight and pretty with my cock in you, I just can’t help myself.” 

“Holy f-fuck,” you moan at his sudden change in demeanor.

“Do you like it when I talk to you like that,” Spencer asks, looking deep into your eyes. 

“Yess,” you whine, squirming under his gaze.

Spencer pulls out of you slowly so only his tip is left inside you. He starts to slowly slide back into you, moaning as he bottoms out.

“F-fuck,” his moan ends in almost a growl, eyes squeezed shut. Your eyes snap between his mouth and his eyes, realizing you’ve never heard him say that word before. Opening his eyes he gives you a puzzled look, “you okay? Look shocked,” he murmurs.

“You said fuck,” you say, cocking an eyebrow.

“You’re just that good baby,” he laughs. With that Spencer starts moving again, pumping himself in and out of you. His hands find your tits, rolling your nipples between his fingers. You let out a choked moan, “Spence.”

He glances up to find your eyes, a question knitted into his expression.

“More.”

Spencer groans and picks up the pace of his hips.

He leans down to suck a mark onto your left breast. As he sucks you mewl at the building pressure in your core. Spencer bites into your flesh, the sting of his teeth shocking you into a yelp you don’t even notice letting out.

Spencer’s eyes shoot up to yours, “m sorry,” he murmurs, licking a stripe over the faint bite mark. 

“No, don’t stop,” you moan. Spencer smirks and continues nipping and biting over your breasts. Your hands look for purchase in his hair, tugging and pulling lightly. 

Spencer’s hips stutter, “baby if you don’t stop that this is going to over way quicker than either of us want.”

You don’t stop though, you giggle and tug harder. Spencer snaps upward, grabbing both your wrists in one hand and shoving them onto the bed above your head. He’s now just inches from your face.

“Is that how you want to play this,” he whispers, his hips having stopped moving. You whine and try to fuck yourself on his dick, struggling under his body pressing you into the bed.

“Fine,” he growls. Spencer snaps his hips, abruptly sending pleasure shooting through you. You keen at the overwhelming sensation, throwing your head back into the mattress. Spencer’s hand that isn’t holding your wrists finds your throat, delicately wrapping around it.

“Are you going to be good for me now or do I have to fuck some sense into you,” his voice rumbles from deep in his chest.

You nod frantically, trying to move your hips to match his movements.

Spencer fucks into you harder, his lips landing on your earlobe before he pulls it between his teeth and bites down. Your brain shuts down, sparks shooting through your body as Spencer ravages you. Spencer’s hand loosens its grip on your throat, sliding up to brush his thumb over your bottom lip. He drags his face above yours, smashing his lips into yours. Your mouth falls open at one swipe of his tongue, allowing him access. He kisses you like you’re oxygen and he’s been buried alive. His hips snap against yours, his cock hitting parts of you that you swear have never been touched before. He kisses you frantically as his right hand travels down your body, his lips on yours makes the room spin. You tighten your legs around his waist.

“Are you close,” Spencer murmurs huskily against your lips.

“Almost,” you’re barely able to whine out before another moan rips out of your throat. Spencer slows down his hips slightly, focusing more on hitting you deeper and harder rather than faster.

“Oh fuck,” Spencer whines, throwing his head back. “You feel so good baby, doing so good for me,” he rambles. You push your hips against him, trying to encourage him to speed up again, whining when he looks into your eyes.

“Oh what? You want to cum now? I thought you were too sensitive,” he chuckles between moans.

“Please,” you whisper.

Spencer leans down, pressing his lips to the shell of your ear, “I’m kidding, I want to feel you cum around me again.”

You almost sob out a moan as his thrusts speed up again.

“Where do you want it,” Spencer grunts.

“Inside, inside, inside,” you practically babble, so overtaken with the feeling of him in you and on you. Spencer thrusts into you hard and it causes all that pressure in you to release as you clench around him. Spencer whimpers and moans as you clamp down on him, cumming hard enough that you think you feel yourself ascend for a moment.

“There it is,” he moans, “there’s my girl, you’re doing so good for me, taking it so well.”

You start whining at the overstimulation and Spencer shushes you gently.

“I’m almost there darling just hold on,” he whimpers. His hands slide to the back of your thighs, lifting your legs and pressing them to your chest. His large warm hands hold you down as he slams into you. His hips stutter ever so slightly as he approaches his own high.

“F-fuck, oh my god,” he moans.

You whimper under him, squirming slightly.

“You can take it baby, I know you can,” he grunts, “fuck you feel so good.”

“Take it angel, take it, take it, take it.” warmth fills you as he spills inside of you with a moan. He slows his thrusts and slumps down on you, pressing soft open mouth kisses to your chest and clavicle. 

He lets out a laugh between pants, “oh my god, darling that was amazing.”

You both pant and laugh together in the quiet of your hotel room.

“I can’t believe it took us so long to do that,” you laugh, finally pulling your arms from Spencer's grip to wrap them around his neck. Spencer eases out of you and rolls both of you so you are laying next to each other.

“That’s the power of two anxious introverts I think,” he says with a quiet laugh.

“Thank you for talking to me about your feelings Spence,” you murmur, caressing his cheek as you speak.

“Thank you for not rejecting me,” he replies softly.

“How could I? You’re one of the most amazing people I know.”

Spencer pulls you into a soft kiss, it’s warm and sweet and everything you’ve been wanting.

“Do you think the team will notice,” Spencer murmurs, breaking the kiss.

“God I hope not,” you laugh, “honestly though they’ve probably already placed bets on when this would happen.”

Spencer laughs, “you are so right.”

Thank you for reading!! Any feedback is appreciated, let me know if you want me to continue this with more kinky spencer shit ♡

Requests open!!♡♡♡

[presidentdisastraofgallifrey]

Doctor Who is Better When it is Monster-of-the-Week

(I have evidence for my opinions, but obligatory disclaimer that these are my opinions, it's fine if you disagree but do not yell at me about it)

Doctors 1-3: didn't really have arcs of any sort, only Situations and character development. Even the unit thing was more a setting-situation than a story arc. There were excellent stories and really bad ones

This makes the Key to Time the first real plot arc, and while it could be worse it's largely agreed upon that it was unnecessary to tie these episodes together into a Mission. And as it was, they were barely even connected otherwise. So yes I enjoyed them, but they didn't need to be an arc

The rest of Four was generally very good with some obvious misses

Turlough was sort of a halfway attempt at an arc, but I'm not sure if I should even count it because we didn't really see the moment when he shifted from an assassin to a companion

This makes the next real, complete arc Trial of a Timelord, one of the most disliked eras of classic who, and it wasn't for Colin Baker's acting ability. Even so, they tried to have it both ways here, both an arc and a series of unconnected stories, and it didn't really work. The courtroom scenes were fun, though

No more arcs for the rest of classic who

The only arc-adjacent thing in Nine's season is the Bad Wolf foreshadowing, which might have been cool but ended up just being foreshadowing and then a conclusion that only kind of made sense

Ten's I think was both overrated and genuinely good, as both Moffat and RTD are better at singular stories than ongoing arcs and he didn't really have much in the way of season-long plot arcs. Again, just foreshadowing and then conclusions

Eleven #1: The Cracks in the Universe. There are Eleven episodes I like, and his characterization is fun. But I don't think any of his arcs worked because I don't think they were thought out as stories so much as a collection of things that sounded cool. Cracks in time eating history might have been cool, but then the answer was that Amy had to stay in stasis for 2000 years, Rory basically willed himself into being real instead of an automaton, and they wrote themselves into such a corner the only way to fix the universe was to have Amy be able to inexplicably remember a Doctor who no longer existed. I maintain that if they did this today as a way of resetting the history of alien invasions, instead of when the whole fandom was lusting after Matt Smith, it would be a wildly unpopular decision

Eleven #2: River. I love River as a character, even on the show. I hate absolutely everything about her backstory. She could have been a mystery in her own right, someone cool and unusual and with no ties to the Doctor before meeting him out of order and marrying him. I would have liked that. Instead, it was apparently necessary to make the Doctor's wife the child of the woman who's been clearly in love with him most of his life, and oh yeah she's only in love with him because she was brainwashed to be obsessed with him in a murderous way then spent years listening to her mother (!!) as a kid obsess about his mysterious perfection. And that's not meant to be creepy at all. I am bonus extra annoyed about this because they actually do have good chemistry and I like their dynamic, but this mess was unnecessary. And don't even get me started on how they'd had him meet so few friends and allies that when they tried to do a reunion like they did for Ten, they had to make a bunch up in the moment and pretend you should know them

Eleven #3: Clara. She's an intriguing mystery to the Doctor because he keeps seeing her throughout history. You're supposed to agree because she's cute. That's the whole arc.

Twelve #1: Clara and Danny. I actually enjoy a lot more of Clara's character and the stories here, but making her fall in love with someone the Doctor hates for no good reason, lie to both of them to balance her life, kill him off because they wrote themselves into a corner again and need her free to travel with the Doctor, and then never mention him or how that broke history again was not needed

Twelve #2: Missy's redemption. Ok, I actually liked this one. I do think they waited too long to do the reveal and didn't leave time to do it properly, but I enjoyed it anyway

Thirteen #1: Timeless Children. I don't feel like I should really count this as an arc in quite the same way, but someone will point it out if I don't mention it. It feels more like the earlier things, more individual stories that have some foreshadowing towards a big conclusion

Thirteen #2: The Flux. I like a lot of the storytelling here, but making it one big stakes-raising, universe-ending story was completely unnecessary

Fifteen #1: Ruby. One of the worst arcs, as so much of this season was dedicated to questions about Ruby's origins that are never answered in a way that makes any sense

Fifteen #2: Returning Belinda to Earth. This one is better purely because it leaves more room for monster-of-the-week stories between the arc plot. And yes, until the finale it remains one of my favorite seasons. But again, they built up a compelling mystery and then answered it in the worst way possible that didn't even address what was happening in a satisfying way

So basically, I think Doctor Who as a show functions better when it is made up of adventure stories that remember previous continuity but don't try to link together into a bigger, higher-stakes overarching plot because no one who writes for this show can keep track of more than two plot points at a time and usually even if the arc was good I would argue it wouldn't add that much to the story or character

[cherry-amores-blog]

Title: “The D-Word”

❥︎Pairing: !Platonic Father Figure Wade Wilson/Deadpool & Reader

❥︎Content Warnings: !Briefly mentions bruising and blood under the cut.

❥︎Summary: You accidentally called him Dad and know he's as obnoxious as ever.

❥︎Author notes: If you like this work and would want to see more, my requests are open. Currently, I have more works with a similar plot to this, including Matt Murdock, Bruce Banner, Wanda Maximoff, and Hank McCoy. (Reader accidentally calls them Mom/Dad), most will be published soon if you're interested.

In your defense, Wade had been talking nonstop for ten minutes-something about glitter grenades, lost tacos, and the inherent betrayal of almond milk. You were elbows-deep in some field kit that desperately needed reorganizing, and when he asked for the fifth time if you were listening, you snapped.

“Just give me a second, Dad!”

Dead silence.

You blinked, realizing what you said.

Wade, meanwhile, froze with the slow, dramatic precision of a cartoon character in mid-fall. His head swiveled toward you inch by inch, wide-eyed behind the mask.

“Did…” he said slowly, voice thick with exaggerated awe, “did my child just acknowledge me?”

You groaned and buried your face in your hands. “I didn’t mean that. It was an accident. I meant-dude. Or Dead-Deadpool. I was going to say Dead-”

“Dadpool?” he offered, clasping his hands over his heart. “You shouldn’t have! I mean, it’s true, I’ve raised you with violence and sarcasm and questionable morals-but to hear it out loud? Truly, I am blessed.”

You tried to escape. He followed.

“You hear that, world?” he shouted to no one. “My offspring has spoken!”

From that moment on, it became a running joke. You were never safe.

In public? “Ah yes, my child and I will take the combo meal-extra fries for my sweet little disappointment.”

In private? “As your father, I’m legally obligated to annoy you until one of us dies, and I’ve already died once, so good luck, kid.”

He made up stories about your childhood that never happened. “Remember when you were five and tried to sell me on Craigslist?” “You were such a cute baby-always crying when I left the room. Or maybe that was me.”

It was stupid. It was exhausting. And annoyingly-it was kind of… comforting.

Because underneath all the drama and jokes and bad parenting impressions, he never let up on being there.

When you needed backup, he showed up. When you had a bad mission, he brought you takeout and dumb movies. When someone made you cry, they disappeared for a suspiciously long vacation.

He never said he cared—not seriously. But he didn’t have to.

Then there was that one night.

It had been a bad one. A mission gone sideways. You came back with blood on your hands that wasn’t yours, and bruises that were. You barely made it through the door before your legs gave out.

Wade caught you.

He didn’t make a joke. Didn’t even say anything.

He just lowered you to the floor and held you against him, his arms strong and still for once. The mask stayed on, but you knew he wasn’t smiling.

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

“You’re not,” he said quietly. “But you will be.”

You stayed like that for a while, curled against him, not talking.

And then, softly, like the word was asking permission to exist,

“Do you really see me like that?” he asked. “As… your dad?”

You hesitated. Then nodded.

“…Yeah. I think I do.”

Wade let out a slow breath. One of his hands gently patted the back of your head. “Guess that means I gotta start setting a better example.”

You blinked up at him. “Please don’t.”

He grinned under the mask and ruffled your hair.

But even after that moment passed, things were never quite the same. He still joked, still teased, still acted like your chaos guardian angel—but sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, he watched you like he was trying to memorize your every move.

And every time you accidentally said "dad" again and it happened more than once, he didn’t laugh anymore.

He just responded, soft and quick, “Yeah, kid?”

And this time, he meant it.

[yeah-sure-amanda]

I have nothing of importance to add. This early release episode thing makes it harder to comment since everyone leaves a comment while I’m at work! 🤣

So all I have to say is:

Aaron’s words, while they hurt, weren’t as bad as I thought it was going to be. I read it as, “I’m not your home. You need to go.” Also, Aaron is just parroting John and well…poor Aaron seems to be missing a backbone right now.

Also, Aaron threw a god damn wrench at Robert once. These words don’t and won’t matter down the line. Something to add to the angst because Aaron was soft with him at first. He can’t help it. His real husband is home and he had to fight it.

I’m now calling Aaron, Bigfoot, because he was staring at Robert as he stomped across that yard and everyone was oblivious. Bigfoot. Also, I agree. It was tragic, Aaron. It was tragic because he wasn’t kissing you. I get it sweetie. Your hands are tied (and not in a fun way) by the plot.

Ryan came back extra cute, no? Like adorable. Robert is at his lowest right now and fully open about it. I’m in the camp of “Robert is getting a special episode where he goes to therapy.” So he can start to settle his mind and get it back into shape or a better place. Btw, I have never seen the GA so pro-Robert. It’s a weird sight. I’m enjoying it. My heart hurt though that he got drugged and then stolen by crazy ass. The shot of his butt in the murder van of doom though was extra and I want to thank the director for that shot.

John is an asshole. I can’t stand him. This plot has a long way to go so got to get used to him on screen. As long as Aaron stops saying he loves him over and over and over and over. It’s annoying. He and his murder van of doom now with action syringes is making me angry.

So, California Dreaming will be a trigger for Robert, I assume. The song is about thinking of better places as you are stuck in the dark and cold. Could stand for a positive thought for Robert and a negative one for John. Robert just wants to get better and build a new life. John wants to keep his life by getting rid of the people who threaten it.

Victoria is doing well! Standing up for older bro! I’m glad she remembered that Robert was there with her since birth. John is a…Johnny come lately. Will it last? More tuna likely not. No one is safe from the plot so, I’m going to enjoy it. I love how she called John out. He is insecure. If the marriage started out healthy and strong, Robert showing up shouldn’t cause all this bother! Just saying…

I think I’ve been obsessively trying to figure out the plot because I’m rusty at it now and I just want to move it along. Get Robron back together. But it’s important to remember the journey is the point. Got to enjoy it. Aaron won’t be sour for long. Robert won’t always be down and out. It’s not a matter of if they get back together, it’s a matter of when.

I feel that we are getting a slight reverse on the Gordon era. Robron learning to be friends again but the feelings are way deeper because so much as happened since then. Also, a slight reverse of reunion 2.0? Aaron now feels like Robert. “You left me. I mean, I get it, you had to but you left me.”

I need Robert to get friends outside of Aaron. Caleb was fun with him. *sigh* I need Aaron to find his voice for himself. Remind John that it’s not just about him. Marriage is a partnership. Not the hero worship show. Robert gets it. So does Aaron. We will get back there. We just need to enjoy the ride back.

So, yeah. So far so soapy! Tomorrow should be interesting. Now that we have no spoilers to follow.

On a totally random note, I’m so excited to see everyone talking, joking, writing great fanfiction again. It’s keeping me sane in the middle of truly shitty times.I truly appreciate the Robron fandom (tumblr edition).

Oh and…fuck Bob. 🤣🤣🤣 (I’m still angry about his comment 🤣)

[quibble-auk]

Nah I really gotta get a name for this. But I suck at them. So part… I actually don’t know… like six I think? Maybe it’s five?

Yeah, more of that one thing where Jeopardy and Dropmix are being dysfunctional little guys.

@thebrokenmechanicalpencil

—

It had been six days.

Six long, dragging, excruciatingly polite days, and he was not any closer to figuring out how much Jeopardy knew. Dropmix was still grasping at strings, trying to piece together what the medic had figured out.

Each interaction was tense, too professional, and suffocating. Each attempt Dropmix made to connect, to bridge the gap, was turned down with a calculated and cool response. The dark mech was never ignored, shunned perhaps, but always acknowledged to some extent.

He was turned down, locked out, and rejected. He had gained no ground with Jeopardy, but he hadn’t lost any, not exactly—the void between them got deeper instead of getting wider.

Dropmix had finally been deemed well enough to work again, his imprisonment in the private room was finally over. It gave him more opportunities to reach out, Jeopardy couldn’t avoid him as easily. They had to interact, had to speak and be around each other. It should have given Dropmix an advantage, he should have been repairing the damage and effortlessly slipping back into the normal routine. They should have talked about the incident and given Dropmix the opportunity to clear any suspicions.

Jeopardy never brought up the mission or the gas. Not even once. But he hadn’t really spoken, either. Not to Dropmix, not in the way he used to.

The large mech was starting to feel like he was bleeding out in silence.

Not literally—his systems were fine. No leaks. No critical errors. His ventilation systems were almost as good as new. But there was something in his chest that felt cracked open, raw and exposed, like every time Jeopardy passed him in the corridor without really looking, it carved a little deeper.

Dropmix felt like he was shouting across a canyon that swallowed up his attempts to reach out rather than echoing and amplifying them.

It stung, each failed attempt tore at something deep in his core, it buried its teeth deeper than humiliation or shame ever did. Every excuse and polite decline made a primal desperation rise in him, it clawed up his throat and tore into the seams of his mind. His mask slipped and cracked, and he was left fumbling for rehearsed lines, reading over the script he knew so well.

Dropmix was caught trying to dance with a partner who refused to move. Each attempt to dip or spin was met with resistance, so Dropmix improvised. He did what he must to keep the show going, he performed. He played his part, put extra effort into each smile and friendly chuff, forced tame works in hopes that something would spark and they could continue as a duet.

Nothing was working.

They still shared space—barely. Handovers, medbay tasks, and reports, each interaction swamped in a tension so thick it buzzed under Dropmix’s plating like faulty wiring. Jeopardy hadn’t been cold. Not exactly. Just... formal. Efficient. Controlled.

Distant.

Dropmix hated it more than shouting. At least yelling meant fire. Fire meant fuel.

With Theremin it had always been like that, things bubbling up under the surface until one of them snapped. They yelled, told the other what was wrong through harsh words and bitter feelings. Then they would split, dwell, simmer in the aftermath as they processed and eventually come together again.

They would talk, sort things out, explain. Apologize. But they would move on, try to do better, have the weight off their chest. Maybe not the healthiest, but it worked. They communicated, told the other what they did wrong or how they made them feel instead of leaving the other to guess.

This was not that, there was no fire.

This?

This was a vacuum.

Now, the medbay was quiet again—late shift, lights dimmed to that same tired, blue-toned glow. The music hadn’t been on in days. Jeopardy had shut it off and Dropmix had resorted to his internal comms to play it. The few attempts he made to turn the music back on the speakers were efficiently shut down. Jeopardy was never rude or crass, suggesting rather than demanding.

Dropmix almost didn’t listen, he wanted the music to be on, he didn’t want to deal with the additional effort it took to keep it running on his comms. This was his medbay, he was in charge, he would not be ordered around by Jeopardy. But he didn’t want to strain whatever was left with the other medic, so he listened.

The music was shut off without any further questions. Neither of them said anything about it, but Dropmix noticed the silence like a missing tooth. He saw the refusal for what it was, an act of defiance, a constant reminder that everything wasn’t alright.

The quiet was screaming at him in Jeopardy’s place.

Tonight was no exception, it seemed. The silence gnawed at Dropmix’s thoughts, picking apart the last threadbare hopes he hadn’t quite admitted he was clinging to.

He’d finished the inventory cycles two hours ago. All the supplies were aligned. All the data was clean. There wasn’t a single damn thing left to fix, except the one thing he couldn’t touch. The one thing that was most important.

Dropmix sat alone on the edge of a diagnostics berth, flexing a rag through his fingers. He mindlessly wiped down the surface in front of him, trying to keep himself busy. It was already clean. Everything in the medbay was clean. Immaculate, actually. Jeopardy had gone through earlier and done a full sweep, his movements efficient, surgical.

He hadn’t said a word the entire time.

Now, Jeopardy was gone again. Off shift. Probably in his quarters, or perhaps socializing with the other mechs on base. He once may have lingered with Dropmix, accompanying him even though he was free to go. Not anymore. Jeopardy only lingered as long as he had to.

The dark mech huffed, eye narrowing at the berth before him like he could somehow intimidate it into spilling all of the answers he needed. The music in his comms swelled, sweet strings echoing the melody with dainty steps as the woodwinds fluttered along. A gentle song, hailing from a distant organic planet. This one had been a part of Theremin’s personal collection that was left in the ruins of the Pits.

It was one of Jeopardy’s favorites.

Dropmix didn’t hear the door until it hissed open and boots stepped inside. He looked up too quickly. Some part of him still stupidly hoping—

But it wasn’t Jeopardy.

Rumbleclutch.

Massive, dented, always smelling faintly of ozone and engine grease. He ducked through the door like the frame was too narrow for him, his plates slightly flared with practiced discipline—they always were, it was a show of rank. It was not an angry display, but a confident one, it demanded respect. By all means, the hulking frame of the outposts Commanding Officer was an intimidating sight for most.

Not Dropmix. He could pinpoint each weakness within seconds of seeing the other, he saw the slight limp, the exposed seams, the restrictive armor. Rumbleclutch was a force to be recorded with—any military frame of his stature was—but so was Dropmix.

There always seemed to be a mutual understanding of that between them.

The mottled gray and navy mech was holding something in one large hand, a datapad, military-standard. His expression was unreadable, not warm but not unfriendly either. His amber eyes swept the medical bay once before lingering on Dropmix.

The dark mech straightened, reflexively. Quelling down any natural desire to challenge or defend what was his. The display was not meant to provoke or challenge, simply enforce—it made his plating itch regardless, the numb static of his mind buzzing obnoxiously in his skull.

“Sir,” Dropmix didn’t smile, but he carefully crafted his expression to be warm, welcoming and respectful. Rumbleclutch wasn’t one to drop by unannounced, and he wasn’t due for any maintenance either, “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

Rumbleclutch didn’t answer immediately. He glanced around the medbay like he didn’t quite recognize it, then gave a grunt, half-thoughtful. “No music?”

The darker bot shrugged, ignoring the way his plates flared under his armor. “Wasn’t in the mood.”

Rumbleclutch grunted again, noncommittal. His optics slid to the speakers overhead, then back to Dropmix, expression still unreadable. His steady voice was as emotionless as ever, “Hm. I’ll have to inform Saberfire to update her betting pools.”

Dropmix blinked, single eye widening. “I’m sorry?”

The mottled mech’s mouth twitched. Not quite a smile—he didn’t do those unless someone was dying or just got promoted, sometimes both—but the lines of his jaw eased. “She had money on you playing music until the war ended or you were physically incapable of doing so.”

“I’ll be sure to send my condolences.” Dropmix’s voice was flat, but he let a sliver of warmth seep in. A blanket of familiarity and fondness wrapped around each word as he continued, “You didn’t come down here for banter, I assume?”

“No,” Rumbleclutch agreed, stepping closer, datapad still in one thick hand. “I didn’t.”

The medic’s fingers twitched around the rag. He set it down slowly.

A beat passed. Two.

He extended the datapad, holding it out the same way one might offer a weapon mid-duel—neutral, cautious, with the understanding it could change everything depending on how it was received.

Dropmix took it.

He scanned the screen, expecting… something routine. A roster change. A new supply intake. A requisition order, maybe, or disciplinary notice for one of the rowdier interns who’d knocked over the coolant monitors again.

He didn’t expect the header—his vents hitched.

The slightly larger mech straightened—if at all possible—as his amber eyes looked over Dropmix. His plates flared more, just enough to almost be unnoticeable, the only tell the CO had. “With the reason specified it’s customary for me to analyze the subordinate’s officer and ensure that they are still fit for their role.”

Dropmix nodded mindlessly, the datapad oddly heavy in his hand. His armor pressed into him more, suffocating, making his straining vents hiss with effort to suck in air. His jaw tightened, dull teeth grating together as he stared down at the offending screen.

—

TRANSFER REQUEST: JEOPARDY.

Outpost: 06—Aubris Ridge.

Junior Medical Officer.

Requested Reason: Personnel Conflict (unspecified).

Status: PENDING CO APPROVAL.

—

Dropmix’s thumb hovered over the screen, the pad of his finger resting just above the edge of Jeopardy’s signature. Two days ago.

He’d submitted it two fragging days ago.

Dropmix’s spark gave a stuttering twist behind his plating. The silence of the medbay roared in his audials again, louder this time, more personal—hollow and accusatory. The music in his comms reared, amplifying and squandering any rising emotion. It stung, a migraine blossoming across Dropmix’s processor. His jaw tightened further, blunt fingertips gripping the datapad harder in an attempt to stabilize himself.

The betrayal twisted deep, hollowing out his compressing chest. His spark thrummed loudly, twisting into something cruel. That primal desperation and need roared, beating painfully against the armor that encased it, like a beast in a cage. An overwhelming possessive anger rooted in his frame, recoiling against the music. It spread like an infection, burning and unforgiving.

He looked up slowly, eye locking with Rumbleclutch’s. Somehow, he managed to keep himself composed. The CO didn’t look away. He never did. His gaze was a solid wall—one Dropmix had crashed into more than once, but tonight it was different. Not hostile. Just... braced. The way a structure braces before a blast.

"He's serious?" Dropmix asked, though his voice barely passed as a question. It was too even. Too calm.

Rumbleclutch didn’t answer right away. He glanced at the datapad still clenched in Dropmix’s hand, then slowly brought his gaze back up. “I was rather surprised, you both always seemed close.”

Dropmix’s hand twitched. He didn’t flinch. Didn't crumble. His entire frame was too practiced, too well-trained for that. But his plating shifted under the surface like a storm was building inside him, and only a brittle shell was keeping it contained. The music pressed against his helm, drowning out the rising unwanted emotions.

There was anger, hurt, betrayal, and fear—Dropmix hated it, the relentless terror that gripped his spark at the idea of Jeopardy leaving. It hid among the rising rage, seeping through the cracks of his anger.

It hurt, electricity running through his frame as programs fought to keep him compliant. His internal temperature rose as his vents struggled and the electrical current strengthened. He let himself lean against the berth in front of him, acting as if he was just shifting his weight.

"Two days," Dropmix murmured, the words bitter in his mouth, fingers flexing. “He couldn’t even—”

He cut himself off. His vents hitched again, his entire torso stuttering with the effort of breathing through it. Rumbleclutch watched him in silence.

“I’m assuming you came to assess if I’m the problem,” Dropmix said eventually, voice sharp around the edges now. Still not angry. Just dangerously close.

“You’ve never given me a reason to doubt your work, and I respect your privacy,” The CO’s tone remained level, voice sturdy and unwavering, “The evaluation has already been run, you have a perfect record, Dropmix, where he does not. There is no reason for me to inspect further, I’m simply here to inform you of the pending decision.”

Dropmix didn’t move.

He felt like if he did—if he shifted so much as a fraction of an inch—something inside him would break loose and start to burn. Like letting himself speak too much, move too fast, would mean the entire dam would give way and drag everything down with it. All his pride. All his restraint. Everything he'd spent cycles building just to stay functional.

He stared at the datapad again.

TRANSFER REQUEST: JEOPARDY.

He knew the phrasing. He’d read and signed enough of them over the years—transfers, resignations, post-battle reallocations. He knew what it meant when someone didn’t list a specific conflict. It meant there was one. And that the person on the receiving end of it would never be told the full reason why.

The dark mech would never get to know what pushed him away, just that something did. Some unraveling of the truth that he failed to mend would cost him Jeopardy—Dropmix would lose everything.

He couldn’t let that happen.

Dropmix’s voice, when it came again, was low. Flat. “What happens if I reject it?”

Rumbleclutch didn’t answer right away. Not because he didn’t know, Dropmix was sure—but because he knew exactly what that question meant, and what it didn’t.

He crossed his arms over his broad chest, hydraulics whining faintly with the motion. “If you reject it, the request goes up the chain. I will have to do a more thorough evaluation of the situation and your suitability for your current position.”

The mottled mech’s voice wasn’t a warning. It wasn’t a threat. It was fact—solid and irrefutable, like the weight of a locked door. The implication settled between them like a thick, choking fog.

Dropmix knew what it meant.

He knew how thin the wire was. How close everything had been to unraveling since the mission. Since the gas. From the moment Jeopardy started looking at him like he was a stranger.

It didn’t matter how hard he worked or how perfectly he performed—if it came down to a thorough search, revealing his secrets… he’d lose.

He’d lose Jeopardy anyway.

The datapad still trembled faintly in his grip, the flicker of his internal stabilizers barely compensating. His thumb dragged just above Jeopardy’s signature, not quite touching it, but tracing the shape like it would offer answers. It didn’t. It never did.

Dropmix inhaled, a deep, calculated vent. His optics dimmed briefly, a false calm washing over him like a shutter between stormfronts. When he spoke, it was quieter than before, but no less steady. “Let me talk to him.”

Rumbleclutch was quiet again. Not in hesitation—he didn’t do hesitation—but in consideration. Watching. Calculating.

And Dropmix could feel it.

That measured, tactical silence, the kind that could either open a door or seal it shut. It slid under his plating and curled around the back of his neck like ice. If Rumbleclutch said no, that would be it. No more careful silences. No more eye contact in the halls. No more Jeopardy in his medbay. Just a blank space where something vital used to live. Something fragile and strange and important.

Jeopardy would be gone forever.

The thought alone made his engine stall and his spark stutter.

After a few long seconds, the CO inclined his head, just barely.

“I’ll give you until tomorrow,” Rumbleclutch said. “You have one conversation. You don’t change his mind, I process the request.”

The words weren’t sharp, but they were heavy. Steel-clad and absolute.

Dropmix nodded once. He didn’t argue. He didn’t push. He just accepted the terms with a quiet dignity, like a soldier handed a weapon too old and worn for a clean shot.

Rumbleclutch didn’t linger. He turned with military efficiency, boots echoing once on the polished floor, before the door hissed shut behind him.

Then the silence returned.

It felt different now. Heavier. More final. Like a looming threat, the silence that would consume his life if Jeopardy did leave.

Dropmix stared at the datapad for a long time before he finally set it down on the berth beside him. He exhaled, long and trembling, and let his frame slump forward just a little, shoulders bowing like the weight had finally sunk claws into his joints.

One conversation.

One shot.

He couldn’t screw this up.

[emero0]

In relation to my “how dare project sekai have shows within a game that i wish were real” post i have decided to do the same thing lmaoo

And by that i mean ive had this cinematic universe in my head for a fic i need to write and part if it involves leo/need writing songs for the musical movie (think like how mary poppins has songs in it—old disney movies to reference something more popular)

Which has led me to wanting to write a song for the movie in my fic—

This is what my multifaceted brain gets me—multi media projects woooo

[xxplastic-cubexx]

not to be myself on main but im still here

[thats-a-lot-of-cortisol]

I've been thinking about Corentin pre-tadpole...dude meets one (1) guy who wouldn't jump at the chance to stab them and immediately falls hard

[movinglikebeautifultruth]

There was no fucking point of making them an item sooooo either Josie is playing Cruz knowing her gay ass is so weak for beautiful hopeless ladies oooooor there’s still a chance that aaliyah might come back and season 3 is gonna be a love triangle

[thegreatyin]

And thus, with the passing of 24 hours, Caeru's ambition truly comes to an end. Major Nemesis spoilers below the cut- we're talking endgame ambition business here. Mostly on a character RP front.

The Doomed Scientist made quite a few... choice decisions, in the end. Killing Cups once and for all, recording his story as one of grief-

And sparing what little remained of Mr Mirrors, leaving it free to roam Parabola as it sees fit.

Some of them, he can explain. Others, he's still left to feel... discontent.

Cups needed to die. That much was certain from the start. It was a tyrant, as all Masters are, and complicit in the bargaining and eventual destruction of four (potentially five) cities, as all Masters are. It was an obstacle. A murderer. A petty monster that felt no remorse even on its deathbed, and it went out of its way to ruin multiple lives just because it felt owed its own sick and twisted idea of revenge.

It killed his first love. It looked him in the eyes and he knew what it had done and he knew from the start it was going to die.

Perhaps, in the end, it knew too. And yet it still pleaded, and wanted to live, and-

It made a bargain.

A bargain Caeru didn't take.

Not because he didn't want to. Gods, he wanted to. He wanted it. He wanted it more than anything else in the world. To have Greylu back, to give him the gift of life, of love, to show him the wonders of the Neath and the beauty of the correspondence and all of the people Caeru has met and loved and found home with along the way-

But. He couldn't.

Because Cups was a monster. And no matter what, it deserved to die. And he could not, in good conscience, allow it to live.

Even if sparing it meant everything he's ever wanted.

So he's left here, now. With a bloodied traveling coat, and a bloodsoaked knife, and a favor finally fulfilled.

And nothing to live for. No resurrected lover, no charming visits to Helicon, no slow dances in the living room, no memories to rebuild and lives to live and he won't live again-

Nothing. All he has is a coat born of obligation, not to his love, but to people he's never even met. To lives he's never even touched. To a paramour, still alive, with hair of rose-pink, who doesn't even remember her own brother's existence.

Cups didn't die for Caeru's sake. Cups died for the sake of all who wanted it dead. For the revenger's court, and the ghost screaming in his ear, and the reckoning that will not be postponed indefinitely.

And Caeru, who acted as a tool to carry out their wills? Who all but betrayed his own lover, just to satisfy a cause he never knew existed?

All Caeru is left with, is regret. Regret-

-And grief.

[can-a-tuna-fish]

Don’t let him fool you, she has the worst case of senioritis you’ve ever seen.

[vaguely-concerned]

"I'm rather lucky," said Wimsey, with that apologetic air which seems forced on anybody accused of too much wealth. "I have an extraordinarily faithful and intelligent man, who looks after me like a mother."

I love it when a book looks me in the eye and goes 'yes my friend you are so completely and utterly correct and valid and always right well done'. bunter DOES look after him like a mother I am literally always saying this!!!!

(that note from peter's uncle where he describes bunter like... peter returned from the war with the man bunter, who was and is devoted to him. I have been thinking about this for weeks now. what a thing to say. what a way to sum up a situation a man and a relationship. *gazing pensively into the air with my chin resting on my interlaced fingers* was and is devoted to him.....)

[waitineedaname]

the experience of writing fic for svsss has been absolutely insane so far. I posted a fic less than 24 hours ago and it already has twenty comments. I have been in so many fandoms where you have to BEG to get comments, where you'd be lucky to get more than ten comments and the ratio between hits and kudos/comments/bookmarks was vast, but so far the scum villain fandom has been super responsive! The hits/kudos/comments/bookmarks ratios have been super tight, even on my fics which have all been oneshots under 10k!

And it's not just me! I regularly see fanart for svsss fics, which was a rare sight in a lot of other fandoms I've been in. People reblog minifics that get posts to tumblr and leave tags and replies on them. I've written for a lot of fandoms in my time, and this a shocking amount of fic engagement compared to many other fandoms I've been in!!

I can't help but wonder if it's because of the nature of scum villain itself? Other people have talked about how the story uniquely appeals to writers, and it ultimately is about the relationship between a writer and reader, especially in a fan space. I can't help but wonder if the combination of this being a fandom with a high density of writers and it being a story about engaging with writing encourages a fandom culture that is super engaged with fanfiction!