#I am turning insane on main

[sodabranch]

Halo here to say that sketch, from my last ask was the cutest thing I've ever seen! Compliments to the chef! But goodness, you like my long rambles, but decide to cut your own ones short?! How dare you not simp to your heart's content?! "I simp, therefore I am," I tell you!

(But really, if there's more stuff you want to say on past asks, I want to hear it all!)

*Clears throat*

1. A short idea on Justice flustering the employee unintentionally. It remembers handholding. It helps two people stick together, especially when trekking through dark and uncertain terrain. At first, it's when guiding an employee through a foggy or dark area, or pulling them out of water/quicksand. But soon enough, Justice kind of does it instinctually.

Then, it starts doing it because it feels nice, though it can't quite understand why. The other employee isn't holding anything, and Justice doesn't need it's rifle out, at the moment, so why not? Crew mates stick together, right?

The camera duty guy watching that red dot following the employee much more closely than usual, again. And they just say to themself, "it's doing it again? Kind of a simp, ngl... But I ship it."

(Now I thought of a new scenario, where a different employee teaches Justice how to rizz up the master. Their motive would probably be for the laughs, though.)

2. Fluff with some angst. Think of all the mental baggage these guys have to put up with. Not out of the ordinary for an employee to suddenly scream or gasp awake, on their bed, because they had another nightmare of the hell they have to be subjected to again soon. Sure, it's probably normalised by the other employees; just part of the job. But Justice is always irked by this.

They deserve as much comfort as possible, right? A pat on the head or their hand gently resting up on their torso, a touch reminding them they're not alone. Maybe Justice is thinking of the past, again. It was back when the master's child was scared from a nightmare, storm, or a (reasonably sized) spider, and they sought out it to be the hero of their plight.

Or, if you want fluff with extra angst, everyone else dying and leaving only Justice with one employee. They made it to the ship, and are in orbit, but now what? Justice is trying hold it together, like it's about to snap, but notices the last employee just sitting on the floor and trembling.

Really, all it has left to do is to crouch down to their level and reach out to them, soon finding themselves holding each other to find some comfort.

3. Justice's original master having kids, but when they get in trouble, any confiscated tech and such go under and inside Justice's hat! I highly doubt you would beat Justice in a wrestle to take it back, though it is tempted by the pleading eyes of the children.

And Justice continuing the practice today! An eyeless dog nearby? You needn't the walkie-talkie, now into the hat! Robot toy not shutting up? The hat can at least muffle it! Cool mask you found... Into the hat!

But I'm not done, yet! Justice getting a mischievous idea, as it looks upon its favourite, orange suited master. The crew is enjoying their rest upon Gordion, when suddenly—

"Justice, give that back!"

Why did Justice take their flashlight?! As the confused employee jumps up, trying to retrieve it, Justice gently holds them away. Then, it takes a different item from out under the hat...

It's the dress!

As everyone else is frozen, knowing exactly what's to come of this, another employee casually walks back to the ship: "I'll get the record player..."

Later on, during another mission, the employee is on camera duty. They see a red dot, with a yellow triangle, approaching the ship. They switch to another, as it's clearly Justice coming back to drop off some stuff, as indicated by the sounds of it coming inside, placing the items down, and—

The employee yelps, suddenly being twirled around in a brief dance. Keeping it short, as not to distract the employee too much from their duty, it quickly ends and Justice gives a peck on their "cheek". It leaves, waving goodbye, like nothing happened.

~ Halo

HJASJHDSAHJDSAH I LOVE YOUR RAMBLES HALO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1 I just am ashamed of overtalking myself and beeing seen as a fool u_u;;; Ooh the pain of loving a character so much...

If I get any new ideas I'll post them,, still trying to free myself from the cringe (which is dead ofc!). So just for you, you're getting all my thoughts:

-- I am always thinking of all the human rituals and quirks Justice may have noticed (an picked up) in its life. The way their faces lit up with demonstrations of affection, it's only natural that it would want to make the team happy too!

Hand holding is a useful resource at first, without a voice box it is unable to communicate in a more efficient way than trying to play charades every time there's danger nearby,,, so it has noticed it's a lot easier to just pull its crewmate out of a nutcracker's line of fire.

Then it started doing it when it noticed someone needed a little more support or was feeling down. For example, when traversing a dark hallway when their flashlight would run out of battery, always staying as close as possible to try and calm the anxious crewmate down <3

As time goes by it just keeps doing it more and more, taking a liking to the warm touch of its mate. Using the situation as an excuse to hold them close. It is not sure why, but there's just some feeling of safety and belonging attached to such a simple gesture...

Comforting sketch I made some days ago that I deemed too shameful for the public eye (read it from left to right):

AND THE RIZZING UP PART GAVE ME AN IDEA,, like first, do you think Justice, being able to feel emotions, would be able to also fall in love with their favourite crewmate??

Eitherway, imagine the camera duty guy just growing tired from just watching their constant displays of affection. Like, they can just feel the tension even through the cameras, so one day they pull Justice aside and tells them to PLEASE do something about it;; and it just sitting there like "huh wuh...?", so they now have to help the nutcracker win over the other employee... just chuckling from the side watching it go so horribly wrong but somehow working out in the end...?????? Lucky bastard.

-- As for the fluff with a bit of angst: YEAS Justice will always be there for a friend in need, even if it hurts to see them reach that state, it will always be by their side through thick and thin.

Justice won't ever mind you needing some extra support. Holding their hand until they fall asleep would become part of their night routine. Or if they prefer to have more space, it will stay close enough, guarding them from anything that could its master.

And for the fluff with EXTRA angst: I'm going to hit you with a hammer;;; both of them finding comfort on each other like NNGHNGHHNGNHHN I will literally burts into tears right now oh my lord... I imagine that would be a sleepless night for the employee, or maybe Justice would let it fall asleep on its arms... hearing the hum of gears turning as it caresses their back.

-- Now I can just IMAGINE the scene,, Justice finding something the employees should not be toying with,, confiscating it and hiding it under the hat, so far out of their reach... they better learn to behave before they get to have their stuff back!

And oh, it guesses they also need some rest from all the hard work they've been doing... why not lighten the mood with some fun!, Justice thinks as it approaches the oblivious employee, snatching the torch before they can say something and giving them the pretty dress in return;; watching them with "puppy eyes" (or rather, eye) and getting so joyous when they agree to it <3<3<3

OUGHHH it's always teh last part, it's always that part I tell you;; Justice grabbing the distracted employee and doing a lil silly dance before placing them back in their spot and then giving them a peck on their cheek???? AGH- god I wish that were me...

Them just standing there in the same position as Justice left them, flustered and incredulous... just watching its silhouette dissapear into the fog as many thoughts rush through their head;;;

[luxrayz64]

like we were so fucking robbed of seeing perez in the wake of saw vs events I want to see her getting out of the hospital and flipping tables and pointing a gun in ericksons face after being told that strahm is the lead suspect. I want to see her having a breakdown after strahms fingerprints come back dead. I want to see her hand twitching over her gun everytime she sees hoffman. I want to see her fucking losing it and desperate to avenge her friend and partner and to clear his name. I want to see the thought process that lead to her inviting known serial killer mark hoffman to the basement lab just so she could torture him psychologically before she had a legitimate excuse to shoot him. I want to see more of her and I want to see how strahms death impacted her the way the reverse impacted him.

[fellhellion]

sorry i need to expel the demon that is comicsverse thoughts from my head w a weirdly structured ramble ive been trying to articulate fdsjkfhkjds

-> miguel is initially alienated from his body post transformation - not just due to the nonconsensual nature of being spidered - but because he views the transformation as alienating him from a claim to humanity

-> however, the identity of spiderman and the ideals that represents seems to be in big part the means by which miguel reconciles himself to the nature of his physical body. not only do his abilities become naturalised to his understanding of himself as Miguel (rather than being thought of as alien) but they enable spiderman to be that force for good and change that miguel so desperately wants to see in himself

-> but miguel simultaneously depersonalises himself from his spiderman identity. he thinks of it as the better half of himself, as something almost ephemeral, that he doesn't quite have a claim to or is able to reconcile completely to Miguel The Human Being and all his associated baggage

-> and that's an interesting internal conflict to have when he simultaneously can never escape the lived reality of his own body and where it diverges from those around him, even as that lived reality eventually becomes something he can reconcile himself to far more easily

-> and what overhangs across this entire discussion is context of (and thus how Miguel would be influenced by) Nueva York's hypercapitalist society and thus the understanding and conception of your physical body in that lens. how much or little your body is owed by you yourself. the access you are told must be permitted to it by others/corporations. how the physical body is policed and politicised. the commodification of the body in the most literal sense via Vulture's cannibalism.

[xshimaeraxx]

okay but Burn by David Kushner is so early cc!cupbros's relationship w devildice. 2nd verse is mugman to dice: "you can use it [your pain] as a weapon / but i won't ever let it pull me back under again / i let'chu fool me once, but now i'm dead and gone". mugsy's sympathic to dice's plights (him wanting to know dice's past, dice's pains - maybe in an attempt to relate more/get over his leftover fear of dice?), WANTS to know the man even though he killed and hurt him (mugs), but he's still standing strong in the fact that you hurt me, you KILLED me - i can't just unlearn three years of fear and hatred at the drop of a hat. he "won't ever let it pull [him] back under again"/fool him.

the 1st verse is cuphead to devil: "all you ever caused was pain / you can say you're sorry, the evidence is on my body / but i never complain / i wear it as a lesson, a curse and a blessing". cuphead DOES wear his scars as a lesson, because while he's a wild fuck and does chaotic shit, we've never seen him do anything to threaten his or mugsy's life after the fights in cc. hell, HE'S the one saying they (him & hilda) needa make a plan before bursting in to save cagney from the flower gang; HE'S the one who's suspicious of gabriel while mugman's the one who's being too trusting. he's cautious about the shit that matters to him, and that is BECAUSE of the fights, BECAUSE of the devil.

and he never, ever 'complains' about ("the evidence is on my body / but i never complain"), never actually SAYS "i learned my lesson, now praise me for it" - he doesn't expect brownie points or anything, he just does it BECAUSE he cares. and sure, cuphead's grateful he learned that lesson, but it still HURT. still scarred and pained and killed him even at the best of times, still does, to an extent, and he can't just ignore that. NEITHER OF THEM can ignore that.

anygays the main 4's dynamic is so much more complicated then just the plain old "awwww classic enemies to found family" trope, which i LOVE, don't get me wrong, but. ihhh. there's SO MUCH MORE & dear god but this song just PERFECTLY catches that, that mix of hatred/fear but still caring for the person(s) & aAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

[seventh-district]

laying here in bed at 5pm on the 4th of July listening to the storm outside and seriously debating bulk-buying 90 coffee cakes. as one does

[tkachukisms]

hey this isn’t meant to be pressuring or demanding an update so apologies if it comes across like that!! Genuinely curious after the whole events of this series and stuff are you still planning on finishing ur mattdrai fic?? V v not meant to be a pressure for an update, (it’s literally been such a short amount of time since u posted the first bit) it was just that I rlly enjoyed it, so if it was going to be unfinished I was just going to accept that now lol

it doesn't at ALL don't worry 🫶 and yeah haha no I do plan on finishing it don't worry! (: chapter two is at like 13k right now, two sections are just giving me major grief (funnily enough the final section being one of 'em!) — the series is SO funny overall because I started her in early march? so tail-end of reg season but very much before people starting clinching shit, and I don't think I'm the only one who never could've fucking imagined this being the scf outcome, lol. due to how I want to end it (and because that section is already 6k and I'm [not] rewriting its entire plot, unforch), we will be experiencing some hashtag canon-divergence, as my attempt to be Ambiguous with who won bit me in the fucking ass, apparently!

a screenie or two be upon ye <3 wip wednesday tuesday if you would.

[villafordefeatedvillains]

good morning internet i have drank a cotton candy bang energy and now i am seeing capcom's true original plan for resident evil village and that plan is just "yeah make a weird lumpy fish man who turns into an even bigger and lumpier fish man. now make him FUCK." i know that the one nine inch nails song about fucking like an animal came out before resident evil village however they travelled forward in time and saw re village and went "i need to write a song about moreau from resident evil village." just like the original doctor moreau (known for his island), everybody want him. tumblr slept on him in favor of heisenberg and lady dimitrescu and even donna whateverthefuckherlastnameis. but the REAL residetn evil sexyman is SALVOATR MOREAU. he gets SO MUCH BITCHES it is UNRRAL. yes i have been awake since 230 morning my time. and yes i did just chug a bang energy. and yes i may be losing my mind but the truth COME OUT. SALVATORE MOREAU *DOES* IS GET BITCHES. not me. i dont want him carnally or in any other way he is my least favorite character not just in resident evil village but in the series asa whole. he's so narsty and slimy. however i think in universe he gets so much bitches. and i think that should extend to out of universe. everyone wanted to fuck the duke when resident evil village came out. or maybe there was like one very vocal person that i s

post cancelled the person who wanted to fuck the duke also had the hots for moreau iirc. ok cool post cancelled i can rest in peace knowing SOMEONE sees my vision of moreau getting mad bitches. i dont even know if tehy still have a tumblr but i remember seeing selfship moreau art on my dash and i didnt know who he was but fuck yeah you go you fucking funky litele fish fucker. i guess.

[franeridan]

focusing on that one panel of apoo being downright shocked and offended about the fact that law would help luffy since law's known for being ruthless and luffy's gonna be trouble for all supernovas in the future anyway to avoid thinking about the horrors

[taardisblue]

.

[autism-swagger]

What's your dream career?

Acting. I started acting over a decade ago, but haven't been able to do anything in a couple years now. It's one of the things I love most in the entire world, and unfortunately with my health being the way it is (read: chronically bad), it's honestly pretty unlikely I'll ever be able to do it again.

[kyatra]

are u hyped for the next madoka magica movie

YES

[dokjaism]

[idiosinkratico]

back to hell (i been replaying fnv and have started Dead Money again)

[sugarcubetikki]

I’m genuinely surprised that people are getting this riled up over Cait x Maddie. I mean I think it’s pretty obvious that this is just Cait trying to cope aka making another bad decision to do so.

I mean…just look at how differently their scenes are depicted…and it’s done beautifully too.

Caitlyn and Maddie are never shot or positioned level to the camera indicating how they’re on different emotional pages in contrast to Cait and Vi who are almost nearly always shot level to each other.

Caitlyn doesn’t make eye-contact with Maddie. In most of their interactions, her back is turned to her. I mean compare that to the number of face-to face interactions that we have with Vi and Caitlyn where their noses are pretty much inches away from each other.

It’s actually pretty laughable how insane the contrast is. I mean there’s plenty more screenshots of Vi and Caitlyn’s intimacy versus how Caitlyn seems so disconnected from Maddie. I don’t think the show could’ve made it more obvious that Caitlyn isn’t interested in Maddie and she’s just simply using her to fill up the void that Vi left.

It does make you feel awful for Maddie as she is the one who initiates most of their interactions and physical touches whilst Caitlyn isn’t even looking at her. I am not sure why twitter is hating on her so much when she genuinely seems to care for Caitlyn as a person too. If we should be feeling bad for anyone here then it’s her. She’s in love with someone who doesn’t love her back.

Maddie has the death card written over her but I hope she and Caitlyn get to talk it out. And honestly I hope Caitlyn apologises for pretty much using her romantic advances as a rebound.

ACT 3 SPOILERS BELOW!

If you’re reading this after watching Act 3, I may have gotten a few points off (about haha sympathising with Maddie) but my main point still stands: there’s no need to worry about a rebound. (I mean Vi literally said “idfc” jdjdjjddk)

[gojoskellington]

watching people consistently mischaracterize certain characters (and stories as a whole) because they a) don't like them or b) want to turn them into something they're not or c) turn them into stereotypes genuinely makes me insane. i may like/hate a certain character but i won't turn them into something they're not like?????

[incognit0slut]

Lesson learned

PART 3 OF KINKTOBER | MAIN MASTERLIST

Unit Chief!Spencer x BAU!Reader Your boss decides to teach you a lesson when you question the motivations behind a certain case.

Content: (18+) 6k, breath play, fingering, a little case description, BDSM discussion, softdom Spence but borderlines to dom because hello this is breath play and reader being judgy judgy but don’t worry he’s here to teach you a lesson or two a/n: The initial plan was to make him a hard dom but breathplay is already overwhelming so I decided to go the educational route. I am, by all means, not as smart as him, so there might be some inaccuracy

You would think that after joining the BAU for two years, you’d start to understand the twisted logic of a criminal’s mind. But you don’t. Not really. You’ve dissected motives, uncovered patterns, and profiled suspects more times than you can count, and yet this case makes no sense. 

Your eyes go over the photographs pinned to the board again. And again. And again. It’s become almost a ritual now, like maybe if you look at it just one more time, the pieces might finally fall into place. But all you find staring back at you are three victims with the same marks on their necks. There was clearly a sign of struggle, but not one of fear. Not one that fits any pattern you know.

“I don’t get it,” you say. “The profile suggests the victims knew their attacker, but this doesn’t look like anything close to rage. Or brutality.”

Spencer shifts beside you, his shoulder brushing lightly against yours as he leans closer to the board. “It might not have been an act of violence,” he observes thoughtfully. “Not in the traditional sense, anyway.”

You furrow your brow. “If it wasn’t violent, then what was it?”

“The bruising pattern is too symmetrical, and there’s no sign of panic or defensive wounds on their hands. I think there’s a chance the victims might have willingly participated.”

“Willingly?” Your eyes snap at him. “What do you mean, ‘willingly participated’? No one willingly gets strangled.”

He meets your eyes for a second before looking back at the board. “I know it sounds unlikely,” he admits, “but not impossible. See how the bruises are evenly spaced? They wrap around in perfect circles. The pressure is distributed just enough to leave a mark but not to crush the windpipe.“

“Spencer, that’s exactly what happened. The windpipe was crushed.”

“Yes, but not immediately. That’s the point.” He turns towards you again. “The intention wasn’t to kill them outright. The unsub wanted to bring them to the point of unconsciousness but not over it. At least, not at first. He was counting on their trust before pushing it too far.”

You let out a huff. “That’s insane.”

“It might seem that way to you, but it’s not unheard of. Sexual asphyxiation is a consensual act for some people. The lack of oxygen when someone’s airflow is restricted can trigger a euphoric sensation which intensifies pleasure."

You stare at him like he’s just spoken a different language. “So, you're saying they get off on... not breathing?”

“More like they find excitement in giving up that control."

You cross your arms and study him, tilting your head with a skeptical frown. “How do you even know this?”

The corner of his mouth twitches in a half-smile. “I read,” he says simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You have a book on sexual asphyxiation?”

“It’s more comprehensive than that. The book covers a wide range of kinks, fetishes, and other forms of sexual exploration which are considered extreme by societal standards.”

"You’re telling me you read up on BDSM practices in your spare time?”

"I think of it as research,” he replies. “It’s part of understanding human behavior. You can’t afford to be ignorant about the complexities of people's desires."

"Huh." Your eyes travel back to the images again. "You know, I still don't understand. I mean, willingly letting someone cut off your breath? That’s not just trust that’s… I don’t know, crazy?”

His eyes narrow towards you as if he's carefully considering how much to say.

“It's not crazy,” he insists carefully. “For people who engage in it, it’s not only about losing control. It’s about reaching a heightened state of awareness, finding excitement in walking that line.”

"But what if that line gets crossed? What then? How could anyone think that sounds… fun?”

“Well, have you ever tried it?”

“Of course not!” you reply quickly, almost laughing at the absurdity. “Why would I?”

“Then you wouldn’t know,” he counters, his tone calm but pointed, like he’s presenting a fact rather than an opinion. “You can’t really understand the mindset until you’ve experienced it. It’s not something you can fully grasp from the outside.”

"I don’t think I could ever trust someone enough to do that to me."

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person to trust.”

You scoff. “What? Are you offering?”

You laugh at your own joke, and you expected him to do the same. Or perhaps a quick “Of course not”, even some rambling about how he didn’t mean it that way. But when all you’re met with is silence, your laughter dies down, and your eyes dart back to him.

Spencer’s not looking at you, his eyes are fixed on the photographs pinned to the board. He’s studying the bruises, the faces, the details like he always does, but there’s a stillness in his expression, a tension in the set of his jaw that makes you think he’s considering something else entirely. And for a moment, you’re not sure if he’s really thinking about the victims or the case at all.

Maybe you shouldn’t joke about things like that. He is your boss, after all, and even though there isn’t exactly a strict superior-subordinate dynamic between the two of you—he’s always been more of a peer than an authority figure—you wonder if maybe this time you crossed a line.

Spencer’s eyes remain on the photos for a long, agonizing second, and you think maybe he’s not going to respond at all. But then, slowly, he turns his head and looks at you, and the room suddenly feels impossibly small.

“If I were to offer,” he says quietly, “Would you take it?”

His words knock the breath from your lungs, and all you can do is stare back at him. You don’t know what to make of the question. Was it a dare? A test? Or perhaps something more?

There’s a part of you that wants to laugh it off. The conversation was absurd to begin with, so brushing it away like it’s nothing would feel like the safest option. The easy way out. But there’s another part—one you don’t want to acknowledge—that can’t help but wonder what it would mean to say yes.

What if you did? you ponder.

What would it feel like to trust someone like that?

What would it feel like to trust him?

But before you can reply, the door to the meeting room creaks open, the noise echoing through the dimly lit space of the police precinct. A uniformed officer pokes his head inside.

“Dr. Reid, we found a new lead on the vehicle.”

Spencer’s eyes stay locked on yours for just a beat longer as your heart hammers in your chest. Then, without a word, he nods to the officer, and any trace of whatever passed between you dissolves like it never happened at all.

The next few days turn into a blur. The lead on the unsub’s vehicle takes you across town, a chase that ends with the suspect cornered in an abandoned old house. It’s almost anticlimactic how quickly it all happens—sirens blaring, doors kicked in, and in less than an hour, the unsub is in handcuffs. The case is finally closed, and it’s the kind of victory that usually brings a sigh of relief.

But today, you can’t find that peace.

Back at the precinct, the rest of the team has already moved on to debriefing. You’re left cleaning up the mess of photographs and notes scattered across the table. But your movements are slow, distracted, your fingers fumbling over the papers. There’s a prickling awareness that makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, and you know exactly why.

It’s because Spencer is watching you. You don’t even need to look to feel the weight of his gaze. He’s leaning casually against the doorframe, hands tucked in his pockets, but there’s nothing casual about the way his eyes track your movements.

You pause, photos in hand, and finally address him. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he pushes off the wall and starts walking toward you. He stops just short of arm’s length.

“Have you thought about what we discussed the other day?”

You feel a rush of embarrassment, and the awkwardness of the moment makes you shift uncomfortably. Clearing your throat, you turn your attention back to the table, hastily grabbing a stack of photographs and shuffling them into a folder.

“We didn’t discuss anything,” you mumble, avoiding his gaze. “It was just a joke.”

“Was it? You don’t joke about things like that unless you’ve thought about them at least a little.”

You let out a dry laugh, keeping your eyes firmly on the table. “I wasn’t being serious. We were in the middle of a case, and we were all exhausted. I just said whatever came to mind.”

Spencer tilts his head, the way he does when he’s analyzing something, his eyes flickering over your face as though he’s cataloging every twitch of your expression.

“Maybe,” he concedes, and takes another step forward. “But the offer wasn’t a joke, and you didn’t say no.”

Your fingers freeze over the photographs, the papers crinkling under your touch.

“I didn’t say yes either.”

You mentally wince at how weak that sounds, almost as if you’re trying to convince yourself. You slowly look up at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, but all you find are those intense brown eyes staring back at you.

It unnerves you how calm he is, how easily he’s holding this conversation when your mind is spinning in a million directions.

“You do realize what you’re offering?” you start to press, feeling the need to put it out in the open. “What this means?”

Spencer doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break eye contact for a second. “I do.”

“Do you? Because it seems to me like you might be taking this too lightly."

“I’m not taking it lightly. I’m acknowledging that there’s more to it than what you’re seeing on the surface.”

“And what makes you think I want to see beyond the surface?”

He leans in closer. Close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, but not enough to cross any boundaries. “I’m offering a perspective, not forcing you to accept it. Understanding doesn’t always come from reading about something. It comes from experience.”

You can’t quite decide if his words make sense or if they’re completely absurd. It’s like he’s challenging your logic, your assumptions, but at the same time, there’s a strange clarity to what he’s saying.

“Why does it matter so much to you?”

Because he’s your boss? Because someone in his position always tries to make sense of everything for everyone else?

“Because shaming people for their interests, for something they might find pleasure in… it isn’t fair, and it isn’t right.”

Now that was something you didn’t expect him to say.

“I wasn’t shaming,” you protest quickly, the words coming out defensive even to your own ears. “I was just…”

“Curious,” he finishes for you. “And curiosity isn’t a flaw. Neither is wanting to understand, and if you’re willing to explore that curiosity, then I’d rather you experience it in a way that’s safe. That you know is controlled.”

“So what?” you snap back. “You want to prove me wrong? Show me I’ve been looking at this the wrong way?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, but it’s not playful. It’s gentle, almost thoughtful, as if he’s carefully weighing each word. “No,” he says softly. “I don’t want to prove you wrong. I want to teach you.”

You blink at him. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out at first, the words tangled somewhere between shock and disbelief. It takes a few seconds until you manage to find your voice.

“You… want to teach me?”

“A lesson, if you will,” he explains, and the way he says it—so calm, so certain—makes your heart stutter. “Not to prove you wrong, but to help you understand. You have your perceptions about… control and trust. I think the only way to really understand is to experience it yourself.”

You don’t know what to say, what to do, and all that comes out is a shaky, barely-there laugh.

“A lesson,” you repeat, trying to make sense of the concept.

He nods, and there’s no pressure in his voice, just an offer. Simple and clear. “But only if it’s what you want.”

You aren’t sure what to feel, much less what to say, and the uncertainty must show on your face. Sensing your hesitation, Spencer takes a step back, giving you space.

“It’s a lot to consider, and I’m not expecting an answer now. But the offer still stands… whenever you’re ready.”

And with that, he gives you one last smile and turns away, leaving you alone with your conflicted thoughts.

You’re pacing in your hotel room, your footsteps muffled by the worn carpet as you make the same path back and forth over and over again. Every time you try to sit down, your leg bounces with restless energy, so you’re back up again, moving without purpose but unable to stop.

You tell yourself it’s just stress. The case, the pressure, the weirdness of being in a small-town motel with creaky walls and awful lighting. But you know better. You know exactly what’s got your mind spinning and your stomach doing flips.

Spencer. And his damn offer.

You scoff to yourself, trying to laugh it off like you always do, but the joke doesn’t land when it’s just you, alone with your thoughts. And, really, what’s the harm in admitting the truth—to yourself, at least? That maybe the whole concept doesn’t seem as insane as it did a few days ago. That maybe you’ve found yourself wondering what it would feel like to trust someone that much.

You stop pacing, staring at your reflection in the mirror across the room. There it is, that nagging curiosity, that flicker of intrigue that Spencer saw before you even knew it was there. You let out a sigh, the weight of the realization hitting you.

God help you, but you’re actually curious.

And that might just be the scariest part of all.

You slip into your shoes and take a deep breath before stepping into the hallway. The motel’s quiet, most of the rooms dark as you walk past, and for a moment you hesitate, wondering if this is a mistake. The team’s staying one more night here, the last bit of downtime before flying back tomorrow. A chance to decompress, to shake off the adrenaline of the case. Yet here you are, anything but relaxed, heading out because you can’t stand one more second of pacing back and forth.

Your footsteps come to a stop outside Spencer’s room, and you stare at the numbers on the plaque for a moment. You could turn around right now. You could pretend you didn’t walk all the way down the corridor with his words echoing in your head. But as much as you try to convince yourself that walking away is the logical choice, your hand moves on its own, and you knock.

Spencer doesn’t look surprised when he opens the door. Without waiting for an invitation, you push past him, barging into the room before you change your mind.

“If we’re going to do this, I have some ground rules,” you blurt out, the words rushing out all at once. “I don’t know what you think this is going to be like, but I need control over some things. Non-negotiable.”

He closes the door with a soft click. “Of course,” he responds calmly. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“First,” you say, spinning around to face him. “I’m in control of when this starts and when it stops. If I say no, then we stop. Immediately. No questions, no convincing, none of that.”

“Absolutely.”

“Second, I need to know exactly what we’re doing. No surprises. You explain everything to me before we do anything.”

He quickly nods.

“And third… this doesn’t leave this room. We don’t talk about it to anyone else. Not tomorrow, not next week, not ever.”

He takes a step forward towards you. “This stays between us.”

You let out a shaky breath, the adrenaline settling into a nervous, thrumming pulse beneath your skin. “Okay,” you mumble, more to yourself than to him, trying to process the reality of what you’ve just laid out. “Those are my rules.”

Spencer takes another step forward, close enough now that you can smell the faintest trace of him. A mix of something clean and warm, like soap and worn cotton, an understated scent that’s distinctly him.

“Then those are the rules we follow,” he reassures you. “Your terms. Your pace.”

“Thank you.”

He nods his head again. “Is there anything else you want to discuss?”

There is, actually. There’s a question that’s been hovering in the back of your mind. It feels awkward to say out loud, but the uncertainty gnaws at you, and finally, you force the words out.

“Are we… are we going to have sex?”

He holds your gaze. “Do you want to have sex?”

You go quiet again, letting the silence settle around you as you think about what you want, what you came here for. You slowly shake your head. “No,” you reply. “No, I don’t.”

“Then we won’t. There’s more to explore in this than just sex.”

“Right, that’s—good.” You clear your throat. “I have… one more question.”

He gestures for you to continue.

“You’re not going to fire me for this, are you?”

His soft chuckle fills your ear, and it’s the first time you’ve seen him genuinely smile tonight. “No,” he confirms, amusement flickering in his eyes. “I’m not going to fire you. Whatever happens between us won’t affect your work, I promise.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling a little of the weight lift off your shoulders.

“Okay, so… now what?”

“Now,” he says gently, “We take it slow.“

He guides you toward the edge of the bed, and you find yourself moving automatically, sitting down on the mattress. The bed creaks slightly as he settles beside you.

“If we’re going to do this,” he starts, turning slightly to face you. “I want you to be comfortable. And that means talking. You can start by telling me what you’re thinking. ”

“That’s… it? We’re just going to talk?”

Spencer’s mouth lifts into a soft smile. “Yes,” he confirms, “If that’s what you want. There’s no pressure to do anything else.”

The idea of just talking feels safe, but there’s also a flicker of curiosity that you can’t quite shake. You shift on the bed.

“What if I want to do something more?”

Spencer’s eyes search yours, and he doesn’t move closer, doesn’t do anything that could make the moment feel rushed. “If you want to, then we can. Something simple to start.”

Your fingers trace the fabric of the bedspread. “Like what?”

“Something small. It could be as simple as letting me guide your breathing. A way to practice trust without anything overwhelming.”

You swallow, the idea feeling both intimidating and oddly… reassuring. There’s comfort in the way he talks about it, the lack of pressure, and the way he makes it feel like there’s nothing to fear.

“Okay,” you agree softly. “Let’s try that.”

He moves a little closer to you. “We’ll take it slow,” he promises. “Try to focus on your breathing and follow my lead.”

You close your eyes, feeling your breath shallow and quick, your heart racing as you try to find a steady rhythm.

“Take a deep breath,” he instructs softly. You inhale deeply, feeling the air fill your lungs, and when you open your eyes for a moment, you find his face inches from yours.

“Good. Now let it out… slowly.”

You follow his lead, exhaling, and you can’t help but notice he’s mirroring your breathing—his chest rising and falling in time with yours. It’s oddly comforting, and a little unnerving, like he's syncing with the rhythm of your pulse.

“Again,” he guides. “Deep breath in… hold for a count of three… then let it go.”

You do as he says, feeling your nerves steady slightly with each breath. In, hold, out.

“You’re doing really well,” he murmurs, leaning just a fraction closer. His lips are so close that you can feel his breath brushing your skin. “I’m going to ask you something, but I need you to know you can say no. At any point.”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

“Can I touch you?” he asks gently, his words so soft they almost melt into the air around you. “Just on your shoulder, or your hand. I want to see how you feel about being touched while you focus on your breathing.”

Your heartbeat thuds in your ears, but you manage another nod. His hand moves carefully to rest on your shoulder, but even with the light pressure, you feel your body stiffen. Spencer notices immediately.

“You’re tense,” he observes, his thumb brushing lightly against your shoulder.

You let out a small laugh, one that comes out more like a nervous exhale than anything close to amusement. “It’s kind of hard not to be,” you admit. “I guess I’m a little nervous.”

“That’s okay. It’s completely normal to feel nervous.” He pauses for a second before continuing, his tone thoughtful, like he’s considering what might actually help. "There are a few things that can help when you’re feeling this way. One of them is focusing on your breathing, which we’re already doing. But there’s also physical touch."

"Physical touch?”

"Kissing, for example," he explains, “can actually help regulate your nervous system. It releases oxytocin, lowers cortisol levels. Basically, it signals your body to relax."

Your eyes fall on his lips. "Really?"

A flicker of a smile plays at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, but it’s only helpful if it’s something you feel comfortable with.” He tilts his head slightly, studying you. “Would you like to try?”

You meet his gaze again and, before you can overthink it, find yourself nodding, swallowing the nervous lump in your throat. “Yeah… okay. We can try.”

Before you even finish the sentence, Spencer leans in, his lips brushing yours with the kind of gentleness that catches you off guard. It's soft at first, like he’s testing the waters, and you can feel the slight hesitation in his movements as if he’s making sure you’re comfortable. It’s sweet, almost too sweet, and for a second, you wonder if this is how he kisses—gentle, thoughtful, deliberate.

But as the kiss deepens, you feel the warmth of him pulling you in. Your heart’s doing this erratic thing where it skips every other beat, and your mind’s racing to catch up with what your body’s already starting to enjoy. And sure, maybe the science behind this kiss makes sense after all, because there’s a part of you that’s actually relaxing, even with the buzz of nerves still humming beneath the surface.

Then he pulls back, just enough for your lips to barely part, his breath warm against your skin. “How are you feeling?”

It takes three heartbeats to find your voice. “Uh... yeah, good,” you manage, a little breathless, a little more flustered than you’d like to admit.

“Do you want to keep going?”

You pause, thinking it over, and despite the swarm of nerves in your chest, curiosity wins out again. You nod, maybe a little too quickly. The moment you do, Spencer leans in again, and this time his kiss is deeper, more intent. The softness is still there, but there’s a quiet intensity in the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand lightly cups the back of your neck.

Then his tongue brushes lightly against your lower lip, and a ripple of goosebumps spreads across your skin. You part your lips for him, and the sensation of his tongue slipping past m has you gripping the fabric of his shirt a little tighter.

Just when you think you’re getting used to it, his hand shifts, sliding up to wrap gently around the front of your neck. Not tight, not restricting—just enough to make you aware of it. The warmth of his palm against your throat sends a jolt of something sharp right through you. He seems to notice instantly, and without pulling his hand away, he breaks the kiss.

“Are you okay?” His thumb gently strokes the side of your neck. “I don’t want to push you, if it’s too much—”

But before he can finish, you shake your head quickly, surprising even yourself with how fast the words leave your mouth. “No, I… trust you.”

His eyes soften at your words, and his grip on your neck stays gentle, almost protective. “Would it be okay if I touched you more?”

Your pulse beats rapidly beneath his fingers, a rhythm you’re sure he can feel, as if your heart is answering for you. “…yes.”

“Do you want to lie down? Would that be more comfortable?”

You feel the heat travel along your veins. “I think… that would be good.”

Spencer nods as he helps you shift back onto the pillow. He stays close but doesn’t crowd you, his hand returning to rest lightly on your neck, that same soft pressure that keeps your heartbeat thrumming in your ears.

“Remember, focus on your breathing,” he reminds you. “The way your body responds is tied to how much you let yourself feel. Trust that.”

His other hand begins to move. His hand trails up toward your shoulder, then lightly brushes over your breast. It’s barely a touch at first, like he’s testing the boundaries, waiting for your body to tell him how far to go. Your breath catches for a second, but when you don’t tense up, he takes that as a sign to continue.

“Is this alright?”

“Yeah,” you manage to whisper, your voice a little breathless than you expected. And, God, you mean it. It’s more than okay—it’s… unexpectedly good in a way that feels almost too intimate to think about.

His hand moves lower now, tracing a path down your side, before sliding gently across your leg. You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you feel his fingers brush against the inside of your thigh.

“How about this?”

You nod, biting your lip as you meet his gaze.

Spencer’s lips curls into the faintest smile. His hand inches higher, moving up your thigh with excruciating slowness until his fingers finally reach the heat between your legs.

Oh. Oh.

Your hips instinctively tilt toward him, your body responding before your mind can even catch up. The heat pooling low in your belly intensifies as his fingers press lightly against you.

“Still with me?”

You nod, but internally, your mind is spinning. He begins to move in slow, circular motions, his fingers dragging against the fabric in a way that makes you bite back a moan. The friction sends jolts of pleasure through you, and you can feel your arousal sticking uncomfortably to your panties. It doesn’t shock you—you know understand how being touched like this will make you wet—but what surprises you is how much more intense it feels when his grip around your neck tightens.

Your breath hitches, and before you can stop yourself, a moan escapes your lips.

He pauses for a moment, his grip relaxing just enough for you to catch your breath. “I want you to feel the difference,” he explains. “The pressure changes everything. It makes you more aware of every sensation, more focused on how your body responds. But if it’s too much, you tell me, okay?”

You nod, your breath still coming in uneven gasps. “I’m good.”

His thumb traces the outline of your jaw. “Do you want me to continue?”

“…yeah.”

His hand travels towards your hips, fingers toying with the waistband of your pants. “Should we get rid of these?”

You don’t have to think about it for long. The answer is already there.

“You can take them off.”

Spencer’s fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants before tugging it down. But as the fabric pools around your ankles, you hesitate for a second before your hand instinctively reaches for your shirt. You fumble with the hem, glancing at him as you pull it halfway up, your breath coming out in a small, awkward laugh.

“I mean, it’d feel weird to be naked from the waist down and still… you know, fully dressed on top.”

His eyes linger on you, and his reaction is subtly amusing. “Whatever makes you comfortable.”

Without thinking too much about it, you tug the shirt over your head, tossing it aside. Your bra follows, quickly joined by your panties, and before you know it, you’re lying naked on your boss’s bed.

Or, technically, the bed he’s been sleeping on these past couple of days.

Spencer’s eyes move over you slowly, lingering on the curve of your perky breasts, your smooth skin, and the unmistakable wetness between your thighs. His gaze is careful, appreciative but never lingering too long in one place, like he’s taking you in while still giving you space to breathe.

“You’re so pretty.”

Pretty? The word feels almost quaint given the situation, but the way he says it makes it feel like it’s more than that. Like he’s seeing all of you, the parts you don’t often reveal, and he still thinks you’re beautiful.

And somehow, that simple compliment leaves you more exposed than the fact that you’re lying naked in front of him.

“I can’t believe we're doing this,” you admit, the words slipping out before you can stop them.

His hand brushes along your arm. “You don’t have to overthink it. You’re in control here. We can stop whenever you want.”

“I know.”

He tilts your head with his hand. “Is this okay so far?”

You offer him a smile. “It’s okay.”

His other hand lands on your knee. “Can you spread your legs for me?”

You feel the nerves buzzing beneath your skin, but there’s also a warmth, a curiosity, a pull toward him. You inhale deeply, letting the breath steady your nerves, and then, without letting your mind spiral any further, you slowly part your legs.

His palm glides along your inner thigh, and then he touches you again, only this time, there’s no barrier between you. You can feel the rough pad of his fingertips as they gently caress your folds that it pulls a sharp breath from your lips.

“Does this feel good?”

You nod. It’s more than just good—it’s everything. The way he’s paying attention to every inch of your body is overwhelming in the best way. His fingers trace a slow path along your skin, finally pausing as they brush against you between your folds. Without hesitation, Spencer slides a finger inside you. The sudden stretch pulls a gasp from your lips.

The slick wetness between your thighs coats his fingers almost instantly, and you feel yourself responding to him, opening up in ways you didn’t even know you could. He studies the way his finger moves in and out of your cunt, and the more he touches you, the more your hips begin to move on their own.

He takes your response as a sign to continue.

"I'm going to wrap my hand around your neck again," he tells you, without waiting for more than a slight nod of your head, his fingers curl around your throat.

"The pressure here," he begins, his thumb lightly pressing at the side of your neck. "Isn't just about cutting off your air, it also means restricting blood flow to your brain.”

He pushes another finger inside you, and the increased fullness draws a sharp intake of breath from you.

“By limiting the blood flow like this,” he continues, applying a bit more pressure around your throat. "It triggers your body to release adrenaline and dopamine. That rush you’re feeling? It’s your body chasing euphoria."

Euphoria. You never really thought about it like this before, how something so controlled could unlock a part of your body that felt so overwhelming. The feeling isn’t just pleasure, it’s a raw intensity that borders on something deeper as your cunt clenches around him. Your breath stutters, caught in a sharp contrast between the slow burn in your throat and the urgent heat flaring between your legs.

He’s unraveling you, pulling you apart thread by thread, yet leaving you desperate for the moment he puts you back together again.

You need more.

“You’re doing so well,” he murmurs soothingly. The words send a new wave of heat rushing through your body. Your hips move restlessly, and you can hear the soft whine escaping your throat, growing louder with each thrust.

Spencer notices immediately, his fingers slowing just for a moment. “Too much?”

You quickly shake your head, almost frantic, the last thing you want is for him to stop. The moment you do, his grip on your throat tightens slightly and your eyes flutter closed as a wave of euphoria washes over you. Head falling back against the pillows, your vision starts to blur. You feel the air restrict in your throat.

“I need you to breathe for me, sweetheart.” His thumb strokes lightly against your neck. “The more you control your breathing, the better it’ll feel.”

That word alone almost undoes you. It rolls off his tongue like it’s meant to be soft and soothing, but instead, it sends a bolt of pleasure straight through you. Your chest rises and falls as you do exactly what he says, because apparently, being called sweetheart with his fingers wrapped around your neck makes you want to obey him, more than you’d care to admit.

"That’s it, keep focusing on your breathing."

You force your eyes open, but everything feels hazy, unfocused. You’re not sure if it's from the lack of air or the way he’s looking at you, but you can feel yourself losing control. Your eyes flutter half-closed again, lips parting in a breathless moan, and before you realize it, your tongue slips out, barely grazing your lower lip.

Spencer knows you’re close. His thumb presses just a little harder against your throat, not enough to stop you from breathing, but enough for your inner walls to grip his fingers tightly.

“I know, I know, I've got you,” he whispers. “You’re doing so good, sweetheart. Just let go whenever you’re ready."

You can’t decide if the sound of his voice is making it easier or harder to hold on. There’s a brief moment where you think you might hold it together, but then your body betrays you. Your muscles tense, your breath catches in your throat, and all the control you had slips away in an instant. It’s as if your brain is giving in to exactly what he said it would—a surge of chemicals that makes your limbs feel heavy and light all at once.

Your orgasm slams right into you, the most intense thing you’ve ever felt. It floods your senses so completely that your lungs struggle to catch up. The tremors rack your body, and it’s only when your legs give a final, uncontrollable shake that he finally releases your neck, allowing the air to rush back into your lungs in a dizzying, breathless moment of relief.

Before you can fully recover, his lips are on yours in an instant. He moves against your neck, kissing the very spot where his hand had held you. “Shhh, it’s okay, you’re okay.”

When you manage to catch your breath and blink through the lingering haze, he lies down on the bed and pulls you into his arms. It takes a whole minute before your breathing fully steadies, his hand stroking your hair the entire time.

“How are you feeling?”

You don’t know what to make of it all, so you laugh breathlessly instead, the only response you can muster.

“Like I’m about to pass out.”

“What?” He looks at you in alarm. “You are?”

You shake your head quickly, offering him a small smile. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s just… it was really intense.” But the worry doesn’t completely leave his face, so you try again, placing your hand on his chest. “Good intense. I’m okay, I promise.”

He lets out a slow breath and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “So I take it you liked it?”

A flush of embarrassment washes over you, and you can’t quite meet his eyes as you nod. “Yeah… I did,” you admit, your voice soft, almost sheepish. “Go ahead, you can gloat. Tell me I was wrong.”

Instead of taking the bait, he gently traces his fingers along your neck. “It was never about proving you wrong. The judgment you made that day, about not getting why someone would like this… it’s hard to fully grasp until you feel it yourself.”

“I wasn’t judging,” you murmur, feeling a need to defend yourself.

“Maybe not intentionally,” he says thoughtfully. “When it comes to BDSM, there’s a lot of misunderstanding or assumptions people make from the outside, it’s really more than just control or pain. There’s trust, communication, boundaries. And I think, in a way, that’s what happened tonight. You trusted me enough to let go.”

You’re quiet for a moment, processing what he’s saying. “Are you suggesting I could be into all of this?”

“Not necessarily,” he replies carefully. “But I think it’s possible that there’s more to it than you realize. You trusted me tonight, and that’s the most important part. That’s where it all starts.”

You chew on his words for a second. It’s not something you’d ever considered before, but now that he’s brought it up, you can’t deny that the thought has sparked something.

“So you think I might want to explore this further?”

His lips curl into a soft smile. “It’s not about what I think. It’s about what you want. If you’re curious, then we can explore it together.” He leans in slightly. “Is that you want?”

The spark you felt moments ago? It flickers stronger now. The idea is both thrilling and terrifying, but with him, it feels… possible. Safe, even.

You feel a tightness in your chest.

“I think… maybe, yeah.”

His smile deepens just a fraction. “We’ll take our time,” he reassures you, his thumb brushing lightly over your throat. “We can talk about this when we get back. You need to rest for now.”

You shift closer to him, feeling the rustle of his clothes against your bare skin. “Can I stay here tonight?”

His chin lands on top of your head. “You can stay with me as long as you want.”

What a dangerous offer, you think as you sink further into his arms. But not as dangerous as the way your heart flutters at the thought.