#i am so grateful to the person who gave me the code

[dailyreine]

uh... by the way...

drops Rie's toyhouse profile and runs

[dumbseee]

bro code. pt3.

part 1. part 2.

carlos sainz jr x reader.

fc: bruna marquezine.

note: sorry for the mistakes this might have, english isn’t my first language and this is the longest fic i’ve ever written :) btw this will be the last part.

liked by landonorris, y/n, charles_leclerc and 1 589 008 others.

carlossainz55: happy birthday to the person who owns my heart. you helped me experience true love, and for that i’ll forever be grateful. your heart is pure and you always want the best for people, i love every little detail about you, like the way you always count to three before jumping into the pool because you were afraid of it when you were younger, or the way you always kiss my forehead before every race because you say it’s my lucky charm. you are my lucky charm, mi cielito. i love you so much y/n, thank you for giving me the chance to show you how you deserved to be loved.

_

y/n: how dare you making me cry on my birthday carlos sainz :( i love you more <3

carlossainz55: @.y/n not possible, i’m bigger than you so i can hold more love for you.

fan1: I JUST FELL TO MY KNEES

fan2: WHEN IS IT MY DAMN TURN

fan3: god it’s me again…

fan4: im going to kms in front of them to change the trajectory of their lives istg

fan5: GOOOOOOSH CARLOS IS ABISDODLLD

landonorris: damn sainz, even i am tearing up

fan6: just get married already

fan7: after n*ymar, y/n deserved a man like that

liked by marquinhosm5, carolcabrino, neymarpai_ and 3 788 082 others.

neymarjr: my heart is empty without you, you’ve blocked me so i can’t wish you a happy birthday privately but please y/n come back to me. you succeeded, that stunt you pulled with that random driver hurt me, you can stop now. i know that you miss me and want to comeback so please y/n be reasonable. i made a huge mistake and i’ll never forgive myself for what i did to us.

_

comments have been restricted.

your day went terribly, it was your birthday and you were excited for it but your day was completely ruined with neymar’s post. because of course, you saw it the second he posted it. your agent called you, panicked and told you to avoid social media, but it was too late. you were home when you saw it and had a huge panic attack. you didn’t tell carlos and you prayed that he didn’t see the post which was very unlikely since neymar mentioned him. you were more mad at the fact that he disrespected carlos because he didn’t deserve it. even if your relationship was fake to the world, carlos was nothing but a sweetheart to you. you even hoped that the moments you shared with him were true.

carlos texted you to come at his house to have a small party with some friends but you almost had a heart attack when you entered the house and saw all those people screaming "happy birthday!" filming you to have your reaction. carlos had a very different definition of « small party ». you saw him walk towards you with a huge smile, he was breathtaking, wearing nude pants and a blue shirt, letting the top buttons open, showing a bit of his torso. you were completely mesmerised by him, that was the effect carlos had on you.

"surprise cielito." he said after kissing your cheek, he wrapped his arm around your waist and gave you a hug. you melted in his touch and smiled at him. "you didn’t need to do all that, carlos." you said. "nonsense, it’s your birthday after all." you smiled at him and kissed his cheek before some friends of yours came to greet you and wish you a happy birthday. carlos’ purpose was to make your birthday special, especially with what happened earlier with your ex. he knew how this whole situation affected you deeply, even if you tried to hide it from him, carlos saw right through you. he could tell if you were upset just by looking at your face.

"umm, carlos?" lando’s voice took him out of his thoughts, he looked at his friend but frowned when he saw the look on his face. "look who showed up." lando whispered as if the whole room didn’t see who came uninvited. you gotta be kidding me. carlos turned around to see where you were and his heart tightened when he saw the look on your face, pure sadness. anger took over him immediately, that son of a bitch made you sad on your special day. carlos wasn’t going to let that slide. the spaniard quickly made his way to neymar who was asking people about where you were. the driver roughly turned the brazilian around so he could face him. neymar was about to say something to the person who just interrupted him but he only rolled his eyes when he saw carlos.

"what do you want sainz? where is my girl?" he asked, looking over carlos’ shoulder. neymar looked very drunk. carlos could feel anger buildup inside of him. how dare he? "you’re in my house so, i’ll ask you once and once only, leave before i make you leave." carlos said through gritted teeth. neymar scoffed before taking a step closer to the spaniard, being almost forehead against forehead. "are you threatening me, hijo da puta?" carlos was about to respond when charles and lando quickly appeared to separate the two of them. "okay, it’s enough now boys." charles said trying to lighten the mood. "move! i’m not done with him!" neymar pushed charles away which made carlos even more mad. "listen here, little boy. first you steal my woman and then you disrespect me in front of all these people. you think i’ll let that slide, coño?" the brazilian added while pushing carlos with his finger. at this point there was nothing charles or lando could do to stop them. "let me clarify one thing, junior, she was never yours to begin with. and trust that now that she has tasted true love, she’s never leaving." carlos said with a smile, which made neymar go crazy. the footballer grabbed carlos’ collar. "you made her cry for weeks, you destroyed her completely, and now you dare to show your face and claiming her as your woman? how dare you call yourself a man and make the woman you’re supposed to love and cherish, cry?" the spaniard said before getting closer to neymar’s ear. "if you dare to even whisper her name in your sleep, i’ll come for you, neymar da silva santos junior."

neymar finally let go of carlos before leaving quickly. the driver was now concerned about where you were hiding. as he was looking at the crowd of people, who were still talking about what just happened, lando approached his friend. "she’s with luisa and charlotte, they’re on the balcony." carlos nodded before patting his friend’s shoulder as a thank you. he quickly made it to his balcony where the girls were talking, luisa noticed him and patted charlotte’s shoulder to tell her that they needed to go. carlos sent them a thankful smile before walking towards you. your back was facing him and you were too lost in your thoughts to even notice his presence. he gently hugged you from behind which made you jump before you recognised his fragrance. "carlos." you simply said. "yes, cielito, are you okay?" he asked, resting his chin on your shoulder. you sighed before looking up at the moon, shining on the both of you. "i guess? is he gone?" you asked with a small voice, feeling the tears threatening to fall again. "yes, for real this time." you frowned before turning around to face carlos.

you were still extremely close as his hands were on your waist and your hands on his chest. he looked ethereal under the moonlight. "carlos, what am i to you?" you finally asked the question you were scared to even ask yourself. carlos smiled before moving his face closer to you. "you’re the love of my life." and then he kissed your lips. he kissed you like you’ve always dreamed to be kissed. with love, respect and passion. carlos was the first one to break the kiss, he looked at you and replaced a wild strand of hair behind your ear. "none of this was fake to me, every word, every attention, everything was real to me."

liked by carlossainz55, landonorris, charlottesiine and 1 789 007 others.

y/n: thank you everyone for all the birthdays wishes! and thanks to my amazing boyfriend for throwing this party for me. i love you to the moon and back, handsome and i thank god everyday for giving me the chance to be your girlfriend.

_

comments have been disabled.

_

taglist: @mjaudrey @champomiel @lorarri @watersquirtpewpewboomm @ndunad @shrimpyshrimp @gaviypedrisbride @little-angel-07 @ironmaiden1313 @leclerc16s @xjval @elijahslover @hearts4esmee @love4lando

thanks for the support 🤍🥹

[hpowellsmith]

Honor Bound is in copyedit!

I’m delighted to let you know that I’ve sent the full draft of Honor Bound to my editor Abby!

Play Chapters 1-3 of Honor Bound here, and read all about the game here.

More about the testing and revision process, and wordcounts after beta testing, below:

Beta testing started in mid-August and since then I’ve added around 50,000 words to the game. Some of this was expanding things throughout the game, and most of it was expanding the epilogue sequence to include LOTS more detail about where the PC is living at the end, their career choices, who they’re living with if anyone, letters from friends and loved ones if they’re living in different places, and rundowns of what major characters are up to if the PC’s living in the same town/location as them but not living in the same house.

That whole section ended up incredibly branchy and complicated, but I’m really proud of it - I think it caps off the game nicely. Yesterday I played through several of the ending scenes and felt really good about them, which is a nice feeling to have.

Honor Bound is now going to copyedit, and it’s looking like the release should be somewhere in early December, depending how long the copyediting takes. Copyediting is certainly a big job, because right now the game stats are:

Total wordcount: 592898 words Average playthrough: 98553 words

So each playthrough sees about 16% of what’s there, which means a ton of variety from playthrough to playthrough… and there’s a huge amount there to see even on one playthrough.

I’m incredibly grateful to all the testers from start to finish and everyone who has cheerled, supported, and given feedback that’s helped get this game into shape. I massively appreciate everyone here who subscribed which gave me a real helping hand, and who gave feedback on early versions of the drafts.

I’ve learned a huge amount from making this project, and have stretched out of my comfort zone in a variety of ways. It’s interesting seeing what writing-process-mistakes I didn’t do because of learning from Royal Affairs, and where I committed whole new coding crimes. (Next project, I am going to go easier on the nested *gosubs so it’s easier to troubleshoot and read. I am sure I will do something else that makes the code horrid to read.)

It’s the largest and most ambitious of my CoG games, and I’m proud of how the plot’s paced and pulls together. I’m incredibly fond of the characters - even if I put them through horrible things. It was so different writing characters who were older and more mature in various ways than the teenagers in Creme and Royal Affairs (and the young adults in Noblesse Oblige, who are all going through… a lot), but still with plenty of flaws, foibles, and hangups. I was delighted when characters surprised me, as well as when I could feel “oh, this is classic [character]” and their dialogue came naturally. There are some personality nuances that I’m not sure anyone will end up noticing, but felt lovely to put in because I had such a strong sense of who the characters were.

I’m also really pleased with how much I’ve personalised the PC’s dialogue and internal voice. When the PC speaks in the text (and often in the dialogue options), their tone and vibe is almost always informed by how their personality has been expressed by the player, which works with the choices the player’s making to make the PC feel their own. I really wanted to make the PC feel like an adult who’s gone through Some Major Stuff and is in a position of figuring out their principles and purpose because of it: there are a ton of different ways in which they can respond to what’s happened to them and to what happens throughout the game.

I’ve really loved exploring a new part of the Creme de la Creme setting and show such a different culture to Westerlin. I hope you all enjoy Honor Bound once it’s out!

(and… please wishlist on Steam if you haven’t already - it really helps!)

[writergeekrhw]

I just want to offer an alternative take on Kira’s behaviours being queer coded (Is it the short hair? The anger? I don’t know what people mean tbh, sounds… stereotypical and rude to queer women tbh), I never got those vibes as a young person watching her, never would have occurred to me at the time. I’m not judging I just have a very different view the character let me explain.

What I did get from her was that she was young and female and religious and angry and she was ALLOWED to be all those things. And I was ALL those things too, and it meant, and still does mean, the world to me that she was like that but ALSO competent and respected and loveable even though she was so, so angry, frustrated, and DONE at the injustice in her life. I (also some close friends) was going though some dark times myself when I was young, and Kira was a beacon of hope. And as she grew in her character arcs, and faced her own prejudices from Marritza to everything else, to me that was saying you can do it. If Kira can do it, can look her shitty past in the eye and say I will break this cycle and do better and unlearn and grow, you can do it too. Back to dark stuff and queer coding - I’ve seen people blast Kira getting more “feminine” (again, what? The hair? Softer personality? She learned to be gracious, is that so bad? Angry redhead stereotypes aren’t great) over time as bad and anti-queer, but to this young person it was… sometimes young women go through things at the hands of oppressors and making yourself unappealing and masculine is a choice for safety. Men don’t want ugly. So seeing her grow past that too, seemed like a culmination of her safety and maybe by extension bajor’s as metaphor.

Maybe this is a stupid interpretation but I did not see kira queer, I saw her as a hurt person who was allowed to heal and that gave me hope. I’m sorry if this is not what you intended but Kira kinda saved me from giving up and I want to thank you (and all involved) for her. Sorry this isn’t super well organized thoughts. I really am grateful for all of ds9. It was a very good show.

Without getting too deep into critical theory and Writer Intention vs. Viewer Interpretation, this is also a perfectly valid interpretation of Kira's character and it's yet another lens through which we saw her/wrote her, probably even the dominant one (and the one I suspect Nana drew most from for her performances).

Which is not to invalidate people who saw her as queer/repressed or people who saw her as a colonized woman wrestling with her ambivalence about her new, arguably more benevolent colonizers, or people who saw her as a person of faith struggling to see past her religious prejudices, or people who saw her as a terrorist trying to overcome her past sins.

Over 172 episodes, multiple writers wrote her thinking about different things. Sometimes the very same writers would draw from different inspirations from episode to episode or scene to scene or even line of dialogue to line of dialogue. And of course, Nana and the various directors would bring their own takes to every moment.

All of which, IMHO, helped make her a terrific character.

Also thank you for the kind words and I'm glad we helped! LLAP.

[tetsunabouquet]

Just asking, do you write for nash gold jr? If you do could you do some nsfw headcanons or a scenario?

Also I hate how shallow they made jabberwock in the movies, I know they're meant to be like the typical antagonist but I personally don't think nash is as shallow as he seems

A/N: Here is a Nash Gold Jr X Reader one-shot considering the lack of Jabberwock content! Considering there wasn't any specification about the reader's gender or the scenario being an NSFW, I wrote it female coded and non-NSFW.

Nash Gold Jr's hands were aching. After the game they lost in Japan, they had left back for the US. Silver had been rageful the entire time, and didn't seem to calm down until he beat Nash Gold Jr. Nash Gold Jr fought him, knowing he needed to vent. This wasn't the first time Silver would beat someone up, nor, would it be his last. Unless Silver were to work on his anger issues, and Nash Gold Jr did not see Silver do such a thing in the near future. So Nash Gold Jr drifted alone on the streets, preparing what to say to his mother, who undoubtedly was extremely worried for his emotional state and had probably been baking like a madwoman. She had a tendency to keep baking cakes for him to the point where the entire kitchen was bursting with an abundance of cake whenever he was sad. It was a habit she had developped ever since his father's disappearance. His father was a proud soldier who had gone missing last year. He had been sent to the conflict in Afghanistan, and neither his mother or himself, even knew whether he was still alive or not. As he reached his house, he could see your bike parked in their tiny small garden. 'Great, I should have known y/n was here to pester us.' Nash Gold Jr sighed. It had been this way too, for a while. You were his long-time study buddy. You had saved his grades countless of times. You'd noticed his mother's unstable emotional state after his father had went missing and would often help her with things around the house Even now the two of you had graduated, you had remained a pesky presence, always making sure his mother was okay. He wanted to be grateful for you, but you snapping about the risks he always put himself in was frankly annoying. 'She really should stop offering me help all the god damn time. Doesn't she have her own life?' Nash Gold Jr sighed as he went up the steps, unlocking the door with ease. "Mother, Y/n, I am home." He lazily called out as a greeting. You entered the hallway, carrying balloons in your hand and a sour, disappointed expression on your face. "We wanted to surprise you!" You whined, and Nash Gold Jr slightly melted. His mother stood in the doorway of the living room and said, "We had planned a party for you. We thought it was important to celebrate your first competition abroad, even if the second one didn't went so well." Nash Gold Jr couldn't help but smile ever so slightly. Probably your idea, to turn his mother's baking obsession into a operation. He chuckled and ruffled your hair, and as you pouted he greeted his mother, glancing into the living room to see even more balloons, decorations and a plethora of cakes, but not as many as his mother would have baked otherwise. He held his mother tightly to himself, whether to reassure her, or himself, he had no idea. "I will admit, there's some foreign potential, alright." He omitted another small sigh, and felt your hand slapping him across the back. "Well, now you know what to expect and how to prepare, right?" You asked enthusiasitcally, and Nash's slip of smile broke way for a bigger one. You always did this, you were always there to pump hope into his veins. "I hope you haven't stuffed yourself full with too many cakes already, because you're totally helping me with those," Nash said instead of telling you how much he appreciated you, but he figured you knew anyways. You always seemed to know the question to every answer. "Of course I haven't, I figured you needed my assistance. I gave any cake your mother tried feeding me over the past days to my own family so I could spare my stomach." You declared, ever so knowingly. Sometimes, when Nash dared to allow himself to think about his growing feelings for you, he couldn't help but think; 'If I am the Magician, Y/n is my Oracle.' Perhaps someday he'd say them out loud, but not now. Now, he would eat cake with you and his mom and celebrate his first opportunity to basketball overseas. His mother started blasting one of his childhood favorite songs, and began dancing in the living room as you cheered her on and Nash did feel grateful for what he had indeed.

[dotthings]

So this is it. Last episode of Gotham Knights.

Thank you to James Stoteraux and Chad Fiveash for a fantastic finale. And to all the writers and cast and crew who made this beautiful DC series.

Season one gave us a taste of all the places this could go and what this show could be and it was SO GOOD I'm sorry there won't be more of it. There's only a few DC live action TV series that have worked for me over the years, Gotham Knights is among them.

"Batman chose well. Gotham needs its Robin." I LOVE this. Carrie's mom trusting her to look after herself, to stay alive, having seen her daughter in action as Robin, and asking her daughter to go save lives and trusting her to survive in return.

Commissioner Soto!! Knew!!! So...maybe she was the Gordon analogue in this continuity. All this time.

What finally made Harvey give himself over to the Two Face personality, what finally made him fully snap -- HE DID IT TO SAVE HIS DAUGHTER AND THOUSANDS OF LIVES IN GOTHAM. This is a really brilliant re-imagining.

With Turner's parents, I got that there was more to the story. Batman was defending himself from assassins. I didn't expect this version to have Batman actually have killed them, because the Batman doesn't kill idea is so seminal in most continuities including this one--this Batman also had the do not kill code.

He's a precise highly trained fighter, who has a strong code about not killing. So in that fight, something went wrong, he was in deadly peril, or, in defending himself, did something he didn't intend to be a kill, but wound up killing them.

Misha Collins and Olivia Rose-Keegan are hitting it out of the park in all their scenes. Duela with Harvey, Duela with Two Face, two very different dynamics and both riveting.

Misha getting to play Harvey as a regretful father who wants to save his daughter and thousands of lives and make amends and then Misha getting to play completely unhinged scarred, murderous Two Face and Misha floors it in both directions.

GIVE HIM AWARDS I'M NOT KIDDING HE DESERVES NOMINATIONS.

Sadly, because it's the CW network and a superhero show, the critical awards people won't even look at it. But I'm betting industry folks will take note anyway. Bravo, Misha.

I didn't expect Turner to actually be dead, and that tactical team had French accents so I expected Henri Ducard. Still enjoyed that reveal at the end. Guessing they're going with the comics background as inspiration (and would put their own twists on it--and not Nolanverse.) Henri Ducard trained Bruce Wayne. He's not a good guy, but he helped Bruce. I like how this show's plan was to have him train his son too.

And Turner, who wants to live up to his father's legacy, becomes a legacy and inspiration for his friends, to Duela, to keep fighting for Gotham, like Bruce did, like Turner wanted.

I can only guess what the S2 plans were. It's hinting Turner becoming a new kind of Batman eventually, not sure by S2.

The Knights are going to be pissed he didn't tell them he's alive.

The Two Face and Duela stories I'm sure would be riveting.

Steph/Harper and Duela/Turner getting more development and drama. Harper enrolling at Gotham Academy. Cullen would get a boyfriend.

Beyond that, it's a wild card. Two Face likely as a significant villain, but perhaps one who goes after other villains, who ultimately acts to preserve Gotham. Maybe some Owl remnants would be in play?

As it stands, I'm grateful. I got to have this, as a DC fan. I didn't go into this solely as a Misha fan. The bulk of my perspective of this show was as a DC fan, and it was good and I am going to keep saying it was good.

I love the team, I love its beautiful, candle-lit, aged, gothic, old stones and hidden dark corners and dirigibles and pre-war towers Gotham style. It gave, in my opinion, what is the best filmed take on Harvey Dent I've ever seen. The most nuanced and compassionate and unhinged and heartwrenching and frightening and gloriously fun to watch.

And it gave me this amazing and wonderful version of Carrie Kelley's Robin and I think I will miss her most of all.

[pineapple-coffee]

Unfit To Lead: Thoughts On Growing Up, Queer History, And Feeling Unprepared

A short essay, written by Elliott (@pineapple-coffee, aka me)

(As context, I am a bisexual, genderqueer/gender questioning individual. I use they/she pronouns.)

In every community, there are elders. These elders pave the pathway for the generations that come after them—creating literature, sharing stories verbally, and educating the new generations on history and culture. Elders are essential beings in all communities, and their presence cannot be understated. Without those who came before us, history is lost, and the new generations, who will one day teach others, will have nothing to go on.

So what do you do if your elders died in the AIDS epidemic of the 80s? What do you do when queer history is often so underrepresented, so rarely accessible without proper guidance? Where do you go from there?

That's not to imply that there aren't elders. I know a man online named Ian—early 20s, not quite "old"—who taught me about queer cowboy culture, both of the Old West and of the modern day. Through video essays and documentaries, I learned about the true lives of notable figures, such as Oscar Wilde and Eleanor Roosevelt, instead of their more sanitized media portrayals. Thanks to queer artists and educators on social media, I proudly display a sticker of a green carnation on my laptop, still using it as a queer signaling device even over 120 years after Wilde's death. But most of the elders that I've looked up to online have two things in common: they're younger—typically between 21 and 40—and I know them only online. Rarely in my life have I physically met a queer person over the age of fifty. Only one person immediately comes to mind.

This came to a panicky culmination a few weeks ago when I realized, "Oh, damn. I'm nearly old enough to be considered a 'queer elder.'"

This thought freaked me out. I'm a young adult. I have so much to learn. I don't have a lot of elders to teach me. I've only ever been to one Pride festival in my life. Yet, to the youngest pre-teens out there who are just coming into their identities, I might be perceived as someone older and wiser.

Let me be abundantly clear: queer rage is the most powerful emotion that I have ever experienced. My queer elders did not "fail" me or anyone else—the government did. It was the government who let my queer siblings die slowly, whilst they did nothing but spit in the faces of the queer community and take the chance to spread their visceral hatred. Every day, I am filled with rage that generations of queer people have been ripped away due to the neglect of the government. I mourn the artists, musicians, partners, siblings, and activists who passed away. Every single AIDS victim deserves to tell their stories.

In my melancholy, I turned to the Internet. And through the Internet blogs, decades-old archives, and unsanitized history books, I found community.

I am thankful. I am grateful to those who archive gay and trans magazines, newsletters, zines, and adult magazines. I am grateful to those who survived, who share their stories about queer culture in memoirs and blog posts. I am grateful to those who keep history documented and make detailed accounts of each subculture and pivotal moment. I am thankful for those who create queer and trans sex education, relationship advice blogs, and provide information for trans people who want to physically transition. I am grateful to the AIDS Memorial for keeping memories alive. I am thankful for queer lawyers who debunk the nitty gritty details of anti-queer and anti-trans legislation so that everyone can understand the letter of the law.

I’ve learned about the culture of gay and lesbian bars. I learned about the Hanky Code, Hays Code, and Flower Codes. I learned about pre-Internet queer dating, the ways that people lived, and the subcultures that exist within queer communities. I learned about the brave trans women of color who gave us our rights through protests and riots. I learned, and I learned, and I learned. And at some point during my learning, I found myself with tears streaming down my face.

Never before had I learned the other side of history. The sides that include the radical activism via art and music, subcultures full of passionate people who yearn to share their craft, and the history that wasn’t touched by the mainstream.

I may feel unprepared to lead future generations, but the communities I have found have filled me with nothing short of euphoria. I feel proud to say that I’m queer, that I’m a fag, that I will be the elder one day. I display my Keith Haring merchandise with glee, sing Freddie Mercury’s songs at the top of my lungs, and abide by the motto that a day without lesbians really is a day without sunshine.

And in the times of uncertainty, perhaps community is the drive we all need. Whether you’re young, old, or somewhere in between, the queer community is always there to rally behind you.

Maybe being the next generation to lead others won’t be so scary after all.

[beevean]

Top 10 reason why Hecula is best ship, go!

Oh, but what a fortuitous coincidence :) I vaguely imply that I'd like more asks about Hecula, and lo and behold :) it's almost like you're in hell with me :)

I'm not sure I can rank them, but if you know me, you know which ones are the peak reasons I'm suffering from terminal brainrot <3

I am very weak for the narrative of a person trapped in an abusive relationship who manages to escape and learn that they deserve more. Fits Hector to a T :)

And yet Hector can't fully escape from Dracula. He's still cursed. He's forced to re-learn Devil Forging, the art taught by him from Dracula. He still lost much of his childhood and youth in Dracula's castle. He has to unlearn everything he has learned about being a weapon.

Hector is Dracula's specialest little boy and I love all the hints of how he was favored <3 because he was talented? Because he was cold and efficient like Dracula strives to be? Because he doesn't beg for love like Isaac does? Because he kinda looks like him? You decide. Point is, the mentor/protégé dynamic is very <3

But no, really, Dracula being possessive and overprotective of his precious Hector makes me swoon <3 it's both creepy and lowkey cute <3 he'd gouge the eyes of anyone who deludes themselves to be worthy of looking at Hector's splendor <3 only he can <3 because he deserves the best <3

I love to imagine that Dracula feels ownership towards Hector because he infused him with his own magic. Yes, same goes for Isaac, but... well, he's just not as good at using it :) Hector always makes Dracula proud <3 he's his very precious perfect weapon <3

Hector would care about his Lord. Dracula cherishes him like no one else does... like no one else would, because Hector only knew hatred before running to Dracula, and he welcomed him, and Hector is so grateful to his Lord and would obey him with pride <3 ... up to a certain point.

The symbolism of blood sucking meaning giving away your life, whether you want it or not. Hector threw his life away for Dracula because he needed it, or so he would feel. That's what my idea of Hector having bite scars all over his throat symbolizes. That, and a metaphorical collar he can't get rid of.

Dracula doesn't need any magical tricks to keep Hector on a leash, unlike someone else we know :) He knows his boy well enough to know what to say to him to keep him in line :) I like to think it as psychological warfare, Dracula expertly manipulating Hector, his feelings and what he craves to keep him nice and obedient vs. Hector's unbendable moral code and budding sense of pride (that I imagine that Dracula himself caused by spoiling him too much lol)

In short, I love that there is the potential for two "main" narratives. The one where Hector is groomed from youth to be as perfect and pliable as Dracula wants him to be, and while at first he naively trusts his Lord because he has zero world experience and just wants to be loved, he slowly but surely takes a stand and confirms his worth as a human being. Or the one where there are mutual, genuine feelings between the two - the relationship can never be truly healthy due to the massive power imbalance (which is a big 🥰 for me), but maybe, before Dracula went completely insane, there was a window of time where the two were fond of each other, Hector of his Lord who is always so kind to him, and treasures him, and gave him a reason to live, and Dracula of his strong knight who does his will and is so intelligent and devoted and whose valor may remind him of Leon.

Size difference :P Hector is very pickable in CoD, he gets picked up by normal enemies like the Red Ogre and the Harpies and also by Isaac (which is pretty chad ngl), but ofc, he looks especially small when Drac sips from him :)

I will spam my screenshots until people understand my Vision 😤

There was no need to do this, Drac. No need at all. You just missed you boy. Understandable, but really. yes this does things to my brain

and remember guys: Hecula canon <3

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 Martinaise, Terminal B

3. "I'm not opening this door for myself. I'm opening it for all working men."

+1 Communism

CALL ME MAÑANA- "I knew this man was a commie." He smiles, tilting his head. "And it's a good thing you're doing too. Thanks."

"What you're looking for is a basement door behind the greenhouse -- that's behind the Whirling-in-Rags -- that's all I know. Our organisation is what you call *compartmentalized*. Means we keep out of each other's business."

KIM KITSURAGI - "Okay, but where did you get the key from?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "The janitor gave it to me. Nice fella. We talked about life and things that really, *truly* matter." His gaze wanders off into the distance.

"None of this mess we're in. This jivin' and jugglin'... What's it for?" He doesn't wait for your answer. "To feed our children I guess."

"*Anything* else I should know about this task? This weasel person? When he'll be home?"

"Got it."

CALL ME MAÑANA- He shakes his head. "I'm more of a philosophical dockworker. I like to talk about the big picture stuff. Who I am. Who you are. What we are fighting for..." The man takes a big sip from his flask.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - Who *he* is and what they're fighting for? This is interesting.

"Why are you striking?"

"Any idea who killed the hanged man?"

"Good talking to you. Gotta run." [Leave.]

CALL ME MAÑANA- "We're negotiating our share."

"Your... share?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "Aye." He seems pleased with himself.

"Wait, so not wages or pensions or..."

"How large a share would you like?"

"Oh, okay. Economy stuff. I get it. I want to talk about something else."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "This stuff -- they already covered."

"Shouldn't you be grateful then? It's a lot more than most people have."

"At least you got the benefits, that's something."

"However much you feed the wolf..."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "... the wolf always wants more. I like wolves."

"How large a *share* would you like?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "All of it. However, right now we want all the harbour workers to be on the company's board, so they could take part in *the decision-making process*."

"Are you a... communist?"

"The bossman, Evrart, what can you tell me about him?"

"Got the picture. Let me ask you something else."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "No," he pauses to think for a moment. "I don't think I'm a communist. Seeing something of value and saying *I want it all to myself* is a much older and simpler notion. No science to it at all..."

Even a weak child can think it. The only things holding someone back are *I can't* and *I shouldn't*."

"But the stuff you do aligns admirably well with the World Republic, why not call yourself a communist?"

"Right on, brother."

"You shouldn't take what's not yours."

"Cool. I don't have anything to add to that."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "I have nothing against communists, they are honourable boiadeiros." He takes a swig from his flask. "And they have good analysis."

"But my own code serves me well. If my code starts failing -- a code can fail a man as well as a man can fail a code -- then I will have to submit to a new one. Which may well be communism."

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He knows who he is. Firmly grounded -- has no need to reinforce or elaborate his political identity to himself or others.

"I guess I understand..."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"It sounds like you're a communist who thinks he isn't doing well enough to call himself one."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "See, I am primarily a lazy person." He looks very amused, as if thinking about some private joke or mystery.

2. "The bossman, Evrart, what can you tell me about him?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "I think it's best you make up your own mind, now that you've met him." He shrugs. "In my eyes, he is a capable organizer and a decent businessman."

"What does bossing the Union entail anyway?"

"I guess you're right, I should." (Conclude.)

CALL ME MAÑANA- "I guess you kinda get to be the village chief. He oversees the harbour, makes deals with the owners or other relevant parties. Watches out for his own."

KIM KITSURAGI - "By that you mean corruption?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "By Heavens, why would he not be corrupt? We live in a harsh and disordered world, see. And in this world..."

"… the old man is corrupt for our *benefit* and we know it. Appreciate it, even. He is, personally, not too lavish."

"That desk seemed lavish to me."

"You're right. He's very ascetic."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "He is *reasonably* lavish, sure. That's his prerogative. It's not like you want a saintly demeanour on a corrupt motherfucker. That would be a manipulative illusion."

"Besides, there are no non-corrupt systems in the world anyway. And *moralism* is the most corrupt of them all."

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Not you, you would like to say... But then there's that weasel door.

3. "You seem to have spent a lot of time thinking about the political situation."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "Sure, I've had the necessary free time." He spreads his arms wide, using the reach to show how much time he has. "Fortunately, there's always time."

COMPOSURE [Easy: Success] - The look in his brown eyes conjures up an understanding: for him, having command of his time is the most important thing.

CALL ME MAÑANA- The man sits on the railing, his hands reaching far and wide, yet it feels as if he could effortlessly go even wider, if need be. An endless torrent of time.

2. "Any idea who killed the hanged man?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "The mercenary, aye?" He shrugs. "Who could have killed him, that's indeed the question. Why even do such a thing?" He shakes his head solemnly.

"The harbour is a prime area of suspicion. In your opinion -- are the dockworkers involved in the killing?"

"Let's change the topic."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "What a thought!" He scoffs, looking shocked. "Why would noble workers resort to such a thing. Unless they were *pushed*, of course."

"Pushed how?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "Your dead guy -- was an enemy combatant."

"Hold up, what does that mean?"

"Did you kill him?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "He was an agent of the opposition, attempting to undermine our honourable efforts."

"Did you kill him?"

CALL ME MAÑANA- "I ain't the murderin' type. But that's just me. Large organizations like our Union have all sorts of men -- with all sorts of skills."

+5 XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "Understood." The lieutenant takes a note. "This has been of limited use -- still, thank you."

CALL ME MAÑANA- "No problem. I wish the best to you in your search. Sure am glad it's not *my* search..." He takes a sip from his flask.

3. "Good talking to you. Gotta run." [Leave.]

Now we're going to keep heading towards the crime scene - but as we do, we're going to make sure to look at everything with our newly Medium level Perception and Visual Calculus.

GRAAD FACTORY OF MAGNETS AND MIRACLES U49 - A lorry stuck in the traffic jam. This big, heavy Graad-made machine is well kept for such an old machine.

Look in the window.

GRAAD FACTORY OF MAGNETS AND MIRACLES U49 - The windows are clear, they've been recently washed. You can see a lorryman's cabin with personal belongings, stickers, insignia...

PERCEPTION (SMELL) [Medium: Success] - Fumes of heavy fuel oil waft over you, making your eyes sting. The odour mixes with cigarette residue.

What kind of stickers and insignia?

GRAAD FACTORY OF MAGNETS AND MIRACLES U49 - The driver has adorned his space with a substantial collection of peculiar paraphernalia. Proclamations about *honour*, *strength*, and *purity* are glued to various panels.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - A large metal pendant hangs from the rear view mirror. The pendant features a sun crowned with wavy rays.

Nothing else new here.

ABANDONED LORRY - A lorry, abandoned by its owner, stuck in the interminable traffic jam.

Open the door.

ABANDONED LORRY - The smell of cigarettes and perfume welcomes you. The cabin inside is plastered with old movie posters, actresses smile from the walls. There's a radio transmitter in the front and a toolbox tucked under the driver's seat. Some tools lie scattered near the pedals.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - There's something odd about the passenger seat... The seating fabric has been pulled tight over the lower side of the seat where the toolbox should be.

4. Peel off the cover on the passenger seat.

ABANDONED LORRY - Voila! A stack of neatly folded papers has been stashed behind the seating fabric. You see three maps depicting a large metropolitan area. It's Revachol, some of its routes and highways have been outlined with a pen.

KIM KITSURAGI - "*Bonne prise*," the lieutenant commends you as you shift through the treasure -- well worn and folded into neat squares.

Fold open the topmost map.

Return the papers under the seat.

ABANDONED LORRY - This large map displays the elevated motorway called 8/81. The intake leading to Martinaise is marked with a blue X. There's another X on the off-ramp at a place called the Old South.

Tollbooths at the intakes are marked with a circle. It looks like there are scant few ways of getting onto the elevated motorway that runs over Jamrock -- and this person knows them all.

SHIVERS [Easy: Success] - There, hundreds of thousands of motor carriages roar on the 8/81, high above the mass of brown and red roofs that is Jamrock. The commuters don't even look down; the world ceases to exist outside the windshield.

Where does the road lead...

Fold open the second map.

Return the papers under the seat.

SHIVERS - To Couron, through the middle income neighbourhoods there -- by the river -- and then to Stella Maris and La Delta, for work. While the men and women of Jamrock scuttle to their fates below the road.

Fold open the second map.

ABANDONED LORRY - This municipal map from the Thirties displays a complex system of storm sewers underneath a sub-district called The Pox (Old Military Hospital), right adjacent to the 41st Precinct.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - No storm will ever drown Revachol, the great solution to the riddle of history.

Look at the third map.

Return the papers under the seat.

ABANDONED LORRY - The final map displays a labyrinth of service tunnels left over from the construction of Motorway 8/81. A few routes have been marked with a pen -- where the tunnels and sewers surface near the Eminent Domain and a traffic island in Central Jamrock, by the lake.

"What does this all mean?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "It means that the smugglers are secretly using the motorway to transport their goods and materials. They've infiltrated East Motor Tract, most likely..."

"The RCM patrols most of these auxiliary roads, though apparently not all of them."

"Where does the contraband end up?"

"Who do you think is behind this?"

Return the stack of papers under the seat. (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Hard to say. This distribution network looks certainly large, yet still vague enough... It doesn't reveal much about the *besmertie* behind it."

2. "*Besmertie*? That sounds vaguely familiar."

KIM KITSURAGI - "A besmertie is a Revacholian crime syndicate. They see themselves as the inheritors of the 14 Revacholian indotribes, but really they're just violent gangs vying for control on the West side of Revachol..."

"...with *cool* names," he adds with contempt. "Like *La Puta Madre* and *Ahura Mazda*. It's a dark parody."

3. "Who do you think is behind this?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "It's definitely not the Union. They just do *some* logistics. This operation has spread everywhere in Jamrock. If it's that widespread, then Madre remains the most likely suspect."

"He's *bad news*." The lieutenant removes his glasses and polishes them with a handkerchief. "There have been attempts at a serious investigation before, but they… haven't ended well for those involved."

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Lieutenant Kitsuragi is a brave man for saying Madre's name without the winces and whispers that usually accompany it.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Challenging: Success] - Somewhere on a hidden field, a flash of light, a whirring sound. Camera lenses focus on a man in a ragged police uniform standing in a field of blood-red poppies. A blurry figure dressed in white stands right by the camera...

The bedraggled cop is holding a manure fork. "Don't hurt me," he whimpers.

"But why... why would I hurt my own *peone*?" asks the man in white. "What kind of an *animal* would do such thing?"

4. Return the stack of papers under the seat. (Conclude.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "Best not to disturb the scene." The lieutenant nods. "I'll have Forensics go over the lorry and pick these up later."

The stack of maps looks just like before -- barely noticeable. The movie stars look silently by and the pull-out toolbox has a rubber handle, worn from years of use.

6. [Close the door.]

ABANDONED LORRY - You close the rusty old lorry door.

HORSEBACK MONUMENT - An old monument stands in the middle of the traffic island, pointing toward the sea. It looks as if it's been reassembled piece-by-piece, secured and mounted in the air with the aid of numerous ropes and rods.

Who is this?

HORSEBACK MONUMENT - A silver plaque on the statue's pedestal reads: 'I am Filippe III, the Squanderer, the Greatest of the Filippian Kings of Revachol; Son of Filippe II, the Opulent; Father of Filippe IV, the Insane.'

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Not a good track record of mental health in that family.

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Medium: Success] - As you look up, you notice something about the statue. There are some odd indentations on the king's chest piece...

2. What indentations? What do I see?

PERCEPTION (SIGHT) - Something with great kinetic energy seems to have impacted the cuirass... around where the 'heart' is. A bullet?

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - Someone's shot him in the heart. Interesting.

"Lieutenant -- has someone *shot* the king?" (Point to the indentation.)

Don't mention it.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Okay..." He cleans his glasses before looking up. "I can't see it. But I'll take your word for it."

"What do you think?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Well... Martinaise is riddled with bullet holes. This place saw a lot of action during the Revolution. But the statue *is* recently renovated -- so maybe a joke? Target practice? Or a political statement?"

[cosleia]

Balance

Originally written for a kiss prompt on Twitter. Anise (twigbelly) asked for Yoda and Maz Kanata, "lazily".

--

Maz liked younger men. They had a lack of world-weariness, a lack of experience, that refreshed her. Hope was a hard thing when you had lived for nearly a millennium and seen what Maz had seen.

Maz also liked men who were nearing the end of their lives, because often at that point they started to recover their youthful joy.

It was the men in the middle who were difficult.

Yoda wasn't young enough when they first met. He was obviously interested, but he was also still clinging to his misguided interpretation of the Jedi Code, and Maz didn't feel like trying to talk him out of it. He had his chance, and he blew it.

Maz spent her Coruscant vacation running around with Dexter Jettster instead.

When the Force drew her to Dagobah some hundred years later, though, there Yoda was, seeming far older and far less certain of everything.

Maz liked when a person could admit they didn't possess all knowledge in the universe.

"I'm not sure why I'm here," Maz told him, settling down on a stool in his cozy little hut. "But it's a nice coincidence that you're here as well. Unless it's not." She gave him a wink.

To his credit, Yoda laughed at her terrible joke. "Moves in mysterious ways, the Force does," he agreed, stirring the pot he had going over the cookfire. "Expect to see you again, I did not." He glanced at her, looking almost shy. "Grateful, I am, for this second chance."

"So am I," Maz said, pleased.

They ate soup together in comfortable silence. When Yoda had cleared the bowls away, he told her he'd had a vision.

"Know not do I what it portends. Believed, I did, that I knew what to tell him. Wrong, I was. Happened differently, it could not have." He cocked his head to the side. "You, I saw, with his father's lightsaber."

"I believe you've made me wait long enough," Maz told him. "Tell me about the vision after. I may be nine hundred and seventy-six years old, but that doesn't mean I like wasting time."

Surprise sent Yoda's wispy eyebrows up his forehead. His nose wrinkled in a rather cute way.

"Kiss me," Maz clarified. "And you can take your time with it. Kissing is time well spent." She put a hand on Yoda's knee, and Yoda swallowed, then leaned in.

It was, Maz soon realized, his very first kiss. She did her best to make it a good one.

He in turn quickly learned how to take her breath away with soft, slow, gentle touches.

They spent several highly satisfying hours at it. When Maz felt she could no longer ignore her purpose here, she finally disentangled herself from Yoda. Regretful but also happy, she smiled at him. "So am I to bring this lightsaber to you?" she asked, getting right back down to business.

Yoda blinked at her. He had a wide, silly smile on his face. "No," he replied after a moment, seeming to gather his wits. "Return here, Skywalker will, yes. But no longer for him, that lightsaber is. Keep it you must, for someone else."

The Force did indeed move in mysterious ways. Maz set off to Cloud City to retrieve the lightsaber Obi-Wan Kenobi had given to Luke Skywalker…the lightsaber with which Anakin Skywalker had slain dozens of Jedi in the name of the Dark. That same fearsome blade would one day save the future of the Light.

And Yoda hadn't been ready, before, but he was ready now, when Maz returned to him.

Balance.

~The End~

[brianyololau]

December 14, 2024

I feel responsible for someone's death today. I had my second code blue yesterday. The patient was able to achieve ROSC, but she ended up expiring in the ICU. I met her daughter. She was a sweet person, and I could tell she really loved her mother. I'm ashamed that her mother, my patient, died today. Her name was Li Shuyuan. I can't help but feel responsible for death. What could I have done? How could I have prevented it? How much grief did I cause?

I didn't mean for her to die. I wanted her to live. I'm so sorry for her death. I wish I could have done better and prevented it. I don't know much about Mrs. Li, but I know that she was loved. I can't help but feel partially responsible for this outcome. I didn't want this to happen. What could I have done better? How can I do better for the next time something of this matter occurs again? I want to be able to tell her loved ones that I did everything I could to the best of my ability. I want to know that I did everything I could.

I don't know why I'm in anguish over this. I don't even know the patient. I just wish I could be a better nurse. I wish I knew exactly what to do without hesitation. I wish I could tell her daughter I did everything I could.

I felt like I played god in the past 24 hours. An individual's life was in my hands, and I failed to get her out alive. I gave her daughter reassurance before my patient coded. It was so out of the blue. How could I have expected this?

She was supposed to live. She was supposed to see her daughter again. She deserved to live.

How could I have faced her daughter? All I could have done was apologize her for what happened.

My heart hurts. I wish I could be a better nurse. I wish I had more experience.

I'm grateful for this opportunity, but at the same time, I'm crushed over my lack of experience. I feel like I don't know anything. I feel so dumb and useless.

I'm sorry.

I made a promise to myself to become a better nurse so that the next time this happens, I'll know I did the best I could in the greatest capacity to save my future patients.

I guess this experience taught me that I still have a heart.

I care. I love. I feel pain just as much as other people. I bleed just as much as anyone else. I'm no better than the individual next to me. We all face life and death the same. I'm glad that Mrs. Li was loved until the end.

Watching my patient go from living to death full cycle was such a tremendous experience for me. I don't feel that my integrity to saving lives was impaired, but I can't feel like I had a part in killing this patient. I know that this patient had her own long history of other conditions contributing to her decompensation, but I wish she lived. I wish the scenario had a better outcome.

I couldn't face her daughter with the same heart I had for every other patient. I told her I was sorry. I wish I hugged her while telling her I didn't intend for any of this to happen, but I didn't feel worthy enough.

Losing a loved one is hard, especially if that person is your mother. I can't imagine losing mine.

I care. I feel. I came into this career wanting to help other people. Why do I feel like I wasn't able to today?

I want to be a better nurse. I want to help more people. I want to be great at what I do, and I want to inspire other people to do the same.

I'll continue to work each and every day to improve myself. I'll do everything I can to learn how to save lives better. I'll keep loving and caring for others. This is who I am. I'm capable. I'm new. This is only the beginning. As long as my intentions are pure, more people are bound to be saved and healed from here.

I'm grateful for this life. I'm grateful for the opportunity to make an impact on other people's lives. This job is hard, but it's going to be very rewarding. I just have to keep pushing to get better and better each and every day. I'm proud of myself

[ldysmfrst]

Reciprocal Synergy (2) - Enigma

Status: Ongoing series

Chapter number: 2 of unknown

Word count for Chapter: 2,393

Work count for Story: 4,246

Genre: Omegaverse Au based off KinnPorsche: Thai BL Drama

A little about the author: I am a mother of two beautiful children, one of whom has special needs, and the other loves everyone. I started a Patreon, and I would be grateful if you donated to help me make ends meet while I am out of work.

This is the very first story I wrote. I posted it here in July 2023, but I have now edited it and finally decided to add it to my library. I hope you enjoy it. I only have two chapters written so far, but I may get back into it... once I am healed up from my hospitalization and almost dying at the start of August 2024.

Each chapter starts with a definition. (thought it would be cool) 💜💜💜

Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! This chapter does have guns, violence, Alpha, and motorcycles.

Library of LdySmFrst / Reciprocal Synergy Master List

E·nig·ma

/I’nigMuh/

noun

a person or thing that is mysterious, puzzling, or difficult to understand.

“I saw the video from the alleyway,” my father informed me while sipping his tea and looking over the gardens. “You trusted, asked for protection, and gave protection to a stranger. Wait… not just a stranger but an Alpha stranger. Now, you have Arm looking for him to give this Alpha stranger money you promised after he stole your watch, which is worth more than triple what was agreed upon.”

I knew all of this already, but my father…oh, my father loved to point out every flaw that he could just to show his displeasure in the turn of events. Couldn’t he at least be happy that I was trying to correct it discreetly?

“Tell me, Anikinn, what is the point of wasting resources?” With the last question, my father looked me square in the eye, the challenge simmering just beneath the surface.

“I want to uphold our honour, Pa. We never go back on a deal and who knows, he may still have the watch.”  My father nodded his head slightly, always the ever-present helicopter parent.

“Fine. Find this Alpha stranger, and pay him the agreed rate, but then you must get him to work for us. It seems he is a strong Alpha, and it is always good to have someone like him on our payroll.” My father breathed as if to say more, then stopped to take another sip of tea, seemingly to maul over a thought before stating, “Not only will he work for the family, but he will also work for you.” 

The challenge had been given. 

I may have been getting the family’s business partners to accept me in my new position. Still, I need not forget that by codes, I cannot take over fully until I have proved myself to the current head of the family, my father. 

“Understood, Pa. I don’t know if he will, but I will find a way.” I reluctantly agreed, standing to take my leave. I give a slight bow to my father, which he ignores. 

I walk out of my father's balcony and into the hall, only to be greeted by Arm with a tablet. “What is it, Arm? Did you find Jom?”

With a hasty bow and handing over the tablet, I see first a picture of some other, not good-looking male Beta named Jom, who works as a bartender at Hum Bar. 

“Who is this, Arm? You saw the footage from the alleyway. This is not the right man. He is a beta on top of it all.” I glare at Arm, who is avoiding looking at me.

“Yes, Khun Kinn, this is the only Jom that works or lives in a 15-mile radius of where you were assisted in escaping, Hum Bar. Please look at the second dossier.” He quickly states as he clicks on a different document on my tablet. 

My breath catches slightly at the picture of the Alpha stranger. 

It is only from the chest up, and he is dressed in a white, thin, and sheer sleeveless shirt failing to cover his chest, brass buttons, and a Chinese high collar. His ears are covered in a tasteful amount of brass chains. His smiling lips are covered in the same earthy brass color shimmering in the light. His eyes are done with a slight smokey shadow, which brings out the deep yellow amber of his Alpha shining through. Finally, his hair is artfully styled with white highlights striking against his deep brown natural hair color. 

Name: Porsche Gender class: Alpha (potentially Feral) Status: Bartender at Hum Bar Siblings: Porchay Gender class: Not yet presented.

Next to this one is an equally devastating photograph that seems to be of a completely different person, yet with the same amber eyes and face sneering back. 

There is no makeup, artsy hair, or see-through shirt this time. 

The photo is just him, again from the waist up but gleaming in sweat, muscles tense, taking a classic martial arts stance. The only mark on this photo is a busted lip. 

Taking a deep breath and clearing my throat, I read the dossier. 

Name: The Phoenix Gender Class: Feral Alpha Status: Former Taekwondo National Champion and current underground fighting headline contender Status: $7.8 Billion in debt collector unknown.

If I thought my breath caught on the white photo, then my breath left me with this one.

Who is he, really? 

The Phoenix or Porsche… maybe he is both.

“I want you, Pete, Big, and Ken. Then anyone else would fit in for this venue for recon. Where is he tonight? Bar or ring? I need to pay a debt and collect a life.”

“Ring, Khun Kinn, at the old condemned swimming stadium. He is headlining tonight and is up against some heavy hitters. Seems he is past due on his payment and was added to the roster for tonight while you were speaking with Khun Korn,” Arm states, taking back the tablet and tapping on the screen. 

The guards are undoubtedly being notified of their new assignment for tonight. Within moments, a loud screech is heard from the floor above.

Hanging my head, I glance at Arm, “Khun No is not having a good day I take it?”

“Well, he set up a marathon of Tale of the Nine-Tailed Fox for Pete, Pol, and myself to watch with him, and now it will only be Khun No and Pol, Khun Kinn.” Arm timidly says. 

Since he was kidnapped, my elder brother, Thankhun, has been unique. He lives his life through his dramas. His personal guard consists of Pete, Arm, and Pol. 

He will tell you that he does not trust anyone other than his family, which is not always accurate. If he didn't trust them, he wouldn’t be so dramatic when his “useless” guards get into different rotations. 

“Fine, take yourself off the list. I will have Tay and Time join me as it is in Tay’s boundary. That should be enough to make an impression and get what is needed.”

The fight does not start until late evening, and the headlining match, where The Phoenix is rostered, won't start until midnight.

That gives us time to find additional information about the venue and the other fighters. The venues are picked and announced on the same day of the fight, which does not allow any fighters to gain the upper hand or hide anything to aid them in the ring. 

However, it will take a little longer to find out who is rolling out the cash for these fights. Since the fights are being held within Tay’s boundaries, it won’t be someone out of reach. 

Then again, for the Theerapanyakun family, nothing was out of reach.

Pulling up the parking lot, the venue is a 5-minute walk to the south. The sounds of a live DJ start flowing through the air, and the lack of mixed scents on the wind with the undercurrent of peaches let us all know that they must have hired a decently large Omega Den to help keep the crowd in check. 

Omegas have a unique ability to release a calming pheromone in the air that calms everyone. It is one of the reasons why I had Pete placed on the team tonight. His scent is more like apple pie and ice cream and decently strong. 

He always comes in handy when getting answers with minimal bloodshed or calming down Khun No when his panic attacks kick up. 

Big, Mew, Beam, and Mok are all Betas. 

Tay and Time are Alphas and a mate-bonded pair. 

However, with how pretty and delicate Tay looks, you would think he was a “high-class Omega baby,” which tends to be everyone’s, sometimes fatal, mistake when dealing with Tay and Time.  

Tonight Tay is laying it on thick in an all-white suit with a thigh-high layered slit which only shows when he walks… well, more like sashays around flashing some skin. His white high-waisted jacket only closes with a single silver button, and he wears a silver lace bodice. His hair is teased up and back with silver highlights, tasteful silver and glitter dusting around his eyes, and glossy lips that would make anyone want to have a taste. 

On the contrary, Time is dressed in a deep blue suit typical for any businessman with silver accents with his watch, pocket square, and chain necklace. 

They match, but not overly so.

They have been a couple for several years now. Still, it always amazes me how well Tay puts up with Times roaming eyes and rushing fingers, but who am I to judge a mate-bonded pair. They are hard to find and rare when they are the same gender. 

I played it down tonight. I am simply dressed in tan suit pants, black penny loafers, and a black dress shirt open to mid-chest without makeup or jewelry, aside from the family ring. 

That ring is my key to everything and anything or anyone. 

It never comes off, and it never will. 

The team has opted to dress more for the outing than to be spotted as security, dressed in jeans, t-shirts, hoodies, and the like.  Everyone has been given orders to drop the formalities for the night and play as if we are all old acquaintances or work buddies when they need to come and impart any information or take direction. 

The closer we get to the venue, the louder the music plays, the stronger the scents toxify the air, and the energy of the ring creeps across your skin. 

A quick look at the team and a few of them split off in pairs, jogging through the crowd. Others hang back but never lose sight of Tay, Time, and myself. 

Looking around, the crowd is a mix of mid-game players and bottom feeders, and there is no one high-end like the three of us; so much for effortlessly blending in. 

“A’Kinn, why are we here again. This is NOT your usual scene,” asks Time, looking around with a slightly disgusted look and clinging a little tighter to Tay.

“I have a debt to settle with someone, one of the fighters, but he won’t be on til a bit later. For now, try to enjoy your beautiful date tonight. I am sure Tay will have many eyes on him.” I say while showing my heated gaze, enjoying Tay's view from his heeled shoes to the smoky silver eyes.

“Oh Kinn! You are such a tease,” Tay preens under my gaze, a slight blush dusting his cheeks. “You always know what to say to make someone feel wanted and know the work they put in to look nice pays off. If others learn the same thing, the world may not be so insecure.”

“Come on, babe, you know you look good. You always look good. Can’t you see it when I look at you too?” Time whines while burying his nose into Tay’s neck, scenting him along his mating bite and causing a small gasp to escape Tay’s lips.

“Fine, yes I can see it but sometimes words also help.”

I just shake my head. 

I never understood the point of bonds and mates.

My father always acted as if being a mate-bonded pair was the end of the world because they could make you weak and give your enemies a target with neon flashing lights how to bring you to your knees. In fact, my brothers and I are pretty sure that our mom and dad were in an arranged marriage and that mom died because she found her bonded mate and father had him murdered. After all, it would make him look weak to lose her as a wife to someone else, bond or not. 

“Hey Booouuudy.” I roll my eyes as I look at Mok, the newest bodyguard on the team. He almost slipped up calling me boss, but it was a decent save.

“Oh hey, Nong Mok, what are you doing here? Don’t you work tomorrow?” I asked to keep up the preset relationship roles assigned when everyone was briefed on the way over.

“Yeah but I switched the afternoon shift with P’Tank because I didn’t want to miss out on the Special Event tonight. Its not everyday that the main match is six to one.”  Giving Mok a slight tilt, I process what I was just told. 

Special event, six verse one, and who is Tank?

“You mean it's a gang-up on one guy?!” Time interjects, “What did that one guy do to earn such a match?”

“Word has it that Jay set this up. Apparently, the poor sap of a guy is behind on some payments, and this is how he is to catch up. The deadman’s name is ‘The Phoenix’. The dudes he is up against look like they have more than enough muscle to put down anyone here,” Mok offers, glancing around, looking like he is bored with the conversation but is really just doing safety checks.

“You mean to tell me it is one Alpha against 6 others? Are they all Alphas too, or is it a mix?” I ask, trying to keep the pit of worry and concern that has now formed in my stomach from leaking into my voice.

“Well, the match has been named ‘All-out Alpha.’ So, I am sure you can guess the answer to that question, bud. I would love to chat, but I see an old college hottie. Peace out!” Mok says as he starts to jog over to Beam, who looks stiff and cannot find a way to relax and blend in. Hopefully, Mok can get Beam to chill, or people will start to wonder.

“Umm... A’Kinn. If Phoenix is against six other Alphas, this isn’t a match. Is it a cover-up for a reminder or a beatdown, and why do I feel it's Phoenix that you owe a debt to?  Could it be because your face paled just a hint when Mok said his name?” 

Damn, Tay.

He has been my friend since primary school, and almost nothing gets by him. However, he is not wrong with anything he says. 

I am here for Phoenix. 

I owe him a debt, and we may have just got front-row seats to his murder.

Previous / Next

Tag List - OPEN

@bethanysnow @braveangel777 @danielle143

[tinylittlecubby]

Okay I need to journal real quick cause I can't sleep and my mind is going.

First of all, as usual, my lack of discipline and work ethic is causing a few problems and I can leverage my perseverance to get through them but whew chile it is whooping my ass.

Speaking of perseverance, I have a whole ass mentor for my program that is literally going to help me with everything and I can literally feel myself enter into my anime trainee arc ala tkd. A part of me is so grateful and excited but a part of me is feeling some survivors guilt AND another part is feeling fucking pressure. Talk about needing to lock in.

Damn this isnt even what I was planning on writing about but its what's coming soooo.

Hmmmmmmm whats really bothering me is that if I am being very honest. It is tiring trying to pretend that I am emotionally invested in software engineering. Its actually a lot like tkd. Was I emotionally invested in tkd as a practice? Sure I even had some parts that I was very good at and preferred. Did I train outside the context of class? No.

I also didn't grow up wanting to do it and after 7 years I quit. I went far beyond then I thought but what I loved most was that it was a physical activity cause I love running around and the people were amazing.

SE is similar in that I didn't exactly grow up wanting to do it. There are parts I like, like systems analysis for example and python. The people have been a mixed bag but this new chapter has people that are very much on my side. And I do like solving problems.

I need to accept that I dont have to be emotionally over leveraged in order for the discipline and work ethic to be there. I can just start from a place of curiosity for the craft. It just feels awkward communicating with people that are emotionally over leveraged in it cause it is there passion. This must be how people feel talking to me when I talk about business and labour. That's actually the areas that im most interested in. Yada Yada Yada, software unique positioning for larger goals you get the picture. And the funny thing is once I get good at something,and I mean really good at it, I absolutely love doing it. Tech support was an acception due to the customer service aspect and being sick but yeah thats my usual brain. And I get so happy when I write code that works,especially if I had to troubleshoot it,its literally like a tiny mental orgasm it's amazing! I just need to foster that because thats how you get passionate. It's like im dating the craft and im expecting all this romance with no rapport.

Something I also need to keep in mind is that because I persevere and now have people on my side and am learning more and more, just like tkd, the craft is going to start loving me back. Tkd the sport AND the people gave me soooo much and made me into such a better person all around that it is still a big part of who I am (especially in regards to how I socialize and tend to carry myself)

I wonder how SE will shape me, but I need to show up in everyway to find out. So far, especially recently, I am very confident that it will me for the better.

[wawerrell]

Vaughan Mazursky, the Czarina

Those souls brave enough to phone the lady who ruled over middle schoolers with an iron fist probably found it disconcerting to hear that Vaughan Mazursky’s voicemail greeting was a low-quality recording of ABBA she had made by holding the receiver up to the stereo: "Mamma mia, here I go again!" In that musical limbo before the beep, former students might be forgiven for pondering the absurdity of having to reconcile the piped-in Swedish ballad with scenes of remembered terror from GAWA: the Czarina charging, at almost a 45-degree angle, toward the disobedient student’s desk, gaining momentum and fury as she closed the distance. Personally, my thoughts waiting for the beep hovered not over her classroom by the Ashley but over the land of ABBA — Stockholm in particular: I had come to deeply love my captor.

Outré incongruities were the A’s and T’s, C’s and G’s of Ms. Mazursky, who was nothing if not surprising, contradictory, weird, and beautiful. After all, one does not become the Czarina by having even a single fleeting worry about what others might think.

Ms. Mazursky died this morning, threading a cosmic needle: she held on just long enough to see her Democrats succeed in Kentucky, Ohio, and Virginia — and left just early enough to avoid the Republican debate.

No teacher ever challenged me in the precise way the Czarina did. So unabashedly herself — it was the Czarina who, just a few years ago, broke the indecisive lull on the dancefloor at my sister’s wedding, rushing out after just a few chords of Marvin Gaye — Ms. Mazursky had no patience for artificiality, conformity, or normality. Her mere existence gave weird kids the permission to be themselves. Indeed, so far removed from the normal and typical was she that she frequently ignored normal, typical things like bells and closed doors. Sharon Tate had fewer unwelcome guests than Dr. Slayton, whose classes the Czarina — more often than not halfway through a sentence before the door had fully opened — routinely annexed with talk of NCAA shakeups or political shakedowns.

Thinking of her as I look out at my own students writing essays, I am grateful that among the most critical skills she taught generations of eighth graders was how to distinguish between reliable and unreliable sources, invaluable for navigating messy global affairs. Such a practice feels extra handy today, though, because it can be hard to distinguish between fact and legend upon hearing any Mazoo story: Did she once extol the value of Hammurabi’s Code as a classroom management device? (Yes.) Did she swear us to silence while she went to the copy room only to hear us talking upon her return and proceed to ask each student, one by one, to swear, on their mother’s life, that they had not violated the silent sanctum of the Czarina? (Also yes.) Had she indeed pioneered the medically inadvisable no-water-only-TAB diet? (Probably yes.) Did she antagonize a Soviet tank to spark a revolution? (Absolutely yes.)

A rule of thumb I’ve found helpful over the years is a simple substitution: if the story still sounds feasible after having swapped out “the Czarina” for “the Trunchbull,” then, with few exceptions, the story is probably true.

Teaching us the poetry of the Enlightenment, Wesley Moore began with a stunning visual: Alexander Pope clocked in at four-and-a-half feet of bone-crunching fury. In short, as it were, we sophomore English students should imagine Alexander Pope as an Augustan Vaughan Mazursky. But, while Pope was many things, to my knowledge he never insisted that flocks of middle schoolers swear an oath of undying fealty to serve him as his boyars, never arranged his social and academic schedule around the ‘Hoos, and — despite his fair share of quirks and eccentricities — did not grow up in the splash radius of a nuclear power plant.

Vaughan Mazursky, the Czarina of Porter-Gaud, did.

More than anyone else, Ms. Mazursky taught me that the political is personal. Uninformed or unexamined political belief was not ideology, she taught us, but instinct. (She did go on to explain that, because many of us were genetically undifferentiated from the apes of Borneo, instinct was, in fairness, the closest we could get to an actual ideology.) When I thought that I could skate by on cruise control as a fellow liberal, the Czarina put an end to any such illusion. For Latin, I had made a poster of politicians I admire — in a reactionary, teenaged kind of way, I decided to paint with too broad a brush — the Czarina ripped it from my hands, took a sip of Diet Coke, pointed out Ted Kennedy, pointed at me, pointed back at Ted Kennedy, and, squinting up at my face, said: “Werrell, you dingbat. He killed a woman. Read a newspaper or open a book before you decide to admire someone.”

Politics was the backbone of her life and of her classes. George McGovern, sun-faded and looking down from the bulletin board, was the perpetual teacher’s aide in the classroom, part of each conversation: “Well, George, how about that?” A few years later, she emerged from Senator Obama’s speech cistern yard at College of Charleston and landed on national newspapers, arms triumphantly up and looking like she was in a montage from “Rocky.” 

Despite the urban legends generations of eighth graders shared with younger students, I feel like I can confidently say that Ms. Mazursky never killed any student — though even that would not curtail my admiration for her.

[chromalogue]

Multi-factor authentication at my new German bank has been kind of a nightmare.  They don’t require it for online account access; it just takes a string of numbers to log in to my account.  But every single transaction requires separate multi-factor authentication. 

Normally this is done by smartphone, but it requires you to download the app.  But the app runs only on newer operating systems, and my current phone is too old to install the new operating system.  For about a month, the only way to check whether I’d been paid or not was to either make the trek down to the bank and ask a teller for my account information, or to use a bank machine.  And because that bank’s machines don’t have a balance inquiry function, the only way to find out was to withdraw money and see how much of a balance I had left. 

After that first month, one of the tellers told me about an alternative, something called a chip-TAN.  It’s a credit-card-sized device with a slot, a small display screen, and a keypad.  You stick your card in, chip-first, and it wakes up.  Then you can either proceed manually, in which case the bank website will prompt you to key a series of numbers and some information about the transaction into the chip-TAN, or you can do this weird optical thing where the site gives you a QR code that the chip-TAN will scan.  I switched to manual because if the optical thing doesn’t load right, the field where the QR code is supposed to be starts strobing in a way that is mightily vexing, and I could picture triggering seizures in someone with photosensitive epilepsy. 

The result of either of these actions is a six-digit code that you enter to complete the transaction.  Every.  Single.  Transaction. 

Normally, a chip-TAN unit costs 15 Euros.  I am unbelievably grateful to the teller who gave it to me for free. 

But because I access online banking from both home and work, I carry it around on my person, wrapped in the piece of paper that contains my login numbers.  So it doesn’t really make my money any more secure, unless the goal is to annoy thieves out of even bothering. 

resharing this oldie because i just got a new laptop and the number of times i am being required to login to things, login to a DIFFERENT app/program/password manager/authenticator, provide a number, and then login again is making me fucking INSANE

[sunlight-moonrise]

Satisfied Curiosity (Reid Imagine)

Summary: Bartender!Reader does everything she can to get the cute FBI agent’s attention. 

A/N: This wasn’t suppose to be so long or late, but my mind got the best of me. Big Thanks to @spencer-reid-in-a-pool and @reidetic​​ for being amazing Betas (you guys are precious!). This story would be utterly unintelligible without them. Also thank you to everyone who showed love to my first fic. I didn’t expect for it to receive half of the attention it was given. I’m super grateful and I hope to provide more for you all. Enjoy!

Category: Smut

Content Warnings: Sexting, Oral (Male Receiving), Fingering, Penetrative Sex, Rough Sex, Degradation

Word Count: 9.1K (sorry, not sorry)

Masterlist

I’d like to think that I’m able to read people pretty well. Since working as a bartender for the past five years, I can examine an individual and have their personality down pat. Facial expressions, body language, posture, gestures. All these things are basically words to a story that I am able to put together.

My thought process was cut off when I noticed these two guys sitting at the end of the bar. I regarded them momentarily. They don’t look like the typical bar patron, their clothing a little too unseemly for a place like this. They were surveying the area as if looking for something. 

I got a side profile of the tan Hispanic man. He had dark curly hair and trimmed facial hair. He was talking lowly to the man he was sitting with, their eyes still skimming all over their surroundings. I couldn’t get a good look at the other guy since his back was to me.

They sat tall, their bodies alert to any movement. It was as if it was their first time at a bar, but I know they were not uncomfortable here. There were no jittery movements from what I can see; no telltale signs that they were nervous. They also were not paying much attention to the people around them, focusing more on random spots within the place. Weird. Are they inspectors? Nah, that can’t be. Drew always gives us a heads up when visitors come. Plus, we got checked a few weeks ago.

The two finally turned towards my direction, and I was able to see the other guy. Wow, he was hot. Like very hot. Loose brown curls sat wildly on his head, looking as if he just rolled out of bed. He had a light stubble going on, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw. Damn, I bet I’d cut myself just touching it. He had a beautiful pair of pink lips. I quickly turned my attention to his left hand, noticing the lack of a ring. No wife, good. Now I need to make sure he doesn’t have a girlfriend or fiancée waiting for him at home.

I trailed my eyes upward, noticing that he was staring at me as well. I felt my face heat up when I saw him smirk. Damn, he caught me checking him out. His companion was also looking at me expectantly. They probably have been trying to get my attention for a while now, most likely to order some drinks. I made my way towards them, smoothing my hands over my jeans.

“Evening fellas, would you like to see a menu?” I asked as I placed some napkins in front of them.

“No thanks, but my partner and I would like to ask you some questions…” said the Hispanic man with a small pause. He quickly looked at my name tag before looking back at me “…(Y/N)”

The fuck? Partners? I didn’t think they were a couple. I did a quick glance over at them. Two Alpha males in a relationship rarely ever work out. They were not physically close to one another either. Sigh, you always fall for the ones you can’t get.

I didn’t answer them, still mentally distraught over this taken man. I’m sure they took my silence as confusion because the Hispanic man went on to explain, “I’m Luke Alvez and this here is Dr. Spencer Reid,” they flashed their badges, showing me some credentials. “We’re with the FBI.” Oh. I glanced toward Dr. Reid, a smile tugging on my lips. Score, we’re back in business.

I figured I might be here for a while so I got myself comfortable. Well, as comfortable as I can get standing behind a bar. I leaned towards them, my hands resting on the bar top. “Well, in that case, fire away.”

“Have you noticed any males here who arrived by themselves? This man likely sits alone, only interacts with women. He presents himself as a charming gentleman. His head would be facing downwards if he were sitting at the bar and he would probably wear some kind of hat to shield himself,” asked Luke.

“That’s roughly 50% of my male patrons, you’ll have to be more specific.”

“Yea, I should have figured that is not much to go by.”

I turned my attention back to the doctor who has yet to say a word, noticing that he was once again looking at random spots around the bar. “Your friend here is awfully quiet.”

At my comment, Spencer finally looked at me. I am sure that time stopped as his honey-colored eyes stared deeply into my own. If it wouldn’t come off strange, I’d stared at them all day.

He eventually turned away from me, “This place has a lot of blind spots.” He pointed to one corner by the back and another near the billiards table. It took a moment for me to comprehend what he was saying since I was distracted by the sound of his voice. He could probably recite Shakespeare and I’d think it was erotica.

He continued talking, oblivious of my swooning. “The man we are looking for does not want to be seen, he’ll know where to be so that the camera can’t spot him. He’ll likely bring the woman he’s talking to there or even over there,” he pointed to another spot, this time it was a small crook partially hidden behind a wall.

“The area by the restroom entrance also has no camera at all so he’ll possibly spend some time there as well,” he finished.

“I’d think I’ll notice some creep hanging near the bathrooms all night,” I remarked. “However, we have a security room in the back if you want to look over some footage.” I pointed to a door opposite the kitchen’s entrance.

“That’ll be very useful, thanks,” Luke reached into his pocket and took out his phone. He turned to Spencer saying “I’ma call Garcia, see if she can run some facial recognition on this guy.” With that, he walked to the security room.

I focused my attention back on Spencer, hoping he’ll stay here a bit longer. “May I ask you a question?”

“You just did,” he said, the damn smirk on his face once again. Smartass. 

“Haha, I’m serious,” He didn’t say anything, which I took as my cue to continue. “What exactly does someone like you do in the FBI?”

“Someone like me?” he repeated.

“Well, you do not look like a typical agent,” I stated, and he just raised a single eyebrow at me. “Not to say that you’re probably bad at your job. I’m sure that you’re amazing at whatever it is that you do. I’d just like to know exactly what it is. Like what does your job entail…” Great, out of all times for my motor mouth to talk off, it chose this moment.

Spencer didn’t say anything and the awkward pause was killing me. I wanted to grab his gun and shoot myself in the foot. He probably thought I was insulting him. He continued to watch me as I fidgeted under his stare.

Finally, he decided to show me some mercy. “I use psychology to profile and find people,” he put it simply.

“That’s it?” I questioned.

“Pretty much,” he stated evenly, focusing his attention on the napkin in front of him. His body was slightly tenser than before, telling me that he was uncomfortable. I decided to drop the topic.

I scanned his being in an attempt to find something, anything that would allow me to continue talking to him. He beat me to it. “Which Sherlock portrayal are you a fan of?”

I was momentarily confused as to how he knew I was a fan. “Um, I started watching BBC’s Sherlock but I find the books to be much more interesting than the show. Are you a fan?”  

“Of the books, yes. I haven’t had the chance to watch any of the series or films. I always find that reading offers a better experience. That’s a nice pin you have by the way.” 

Pin? I looked down and remembered my “I am Sherlocked” pin clasped next to my name tag. Gosh, I feel like an idiot. Just when I was going to reply, I saw Luke stepping out of the security room. 

I turned back towards Spencer, who was digging his hand into his pocket. He pulled out a card and gave it to me. “The number of the precinct we are helping is on here. If you have any further information, you should contact them.”

What, no. I don’t want him to leave yet. “But what if I want to talk to you more?”

“My number is on the back.” I flipped the card around and was greeted by a ten-digit code sprawled out in blue ink.

A smile adorned my face as I looked back at him. “How did you do that?” There’s not even a pen near his hands. Unless he carries all these cards with his number on it, which I severely doubt.

“You ask a lot of questions,” he stated.

“I’m a naturally curious person.”

He paused for a moment to dart his tongue across his lips. He made sure to look into my eyes before saying “You know that curiosity killed the cat.”

“But satisfaction brought it back.”

He gave a low laugh, “Touché.”

Just then Luke walked back to us, his phone to his ear. “C’mon man. The team needs us back at the station. There’s been another victim.” 

“We’ll talk later,” Spencer said to me. My heart skipped a beat at his words. I felt like a kid who had a childhood crush.

Spencer got up and with one last glance at my direction, the two of them headed out the door.

Well, there goes the best part of my day. I’m being selfish wishing that he would have stayed behind. The man is here to find a criminal, not get his dick sucked. I folded the card and slid it into my pocket before grabbing a rag. These shot glasses aren’t going to clean themselves.

●The Next Day●

I spent the last few hours debating on whether or not I should text Spencer. I tried to distract myself with mundane activities. I watched TV, did my chores, even attempted to read a book, but nothing kept my interest. I grabbed the card that was sitting idly on my dresser, pondering on what to do.

You shouldn’t. But I’m bored and he’s cute. He’s an FBI agent for crying out loud. He got important things to do. What’s the worst that can happen? You could get arrested for obstruction of justice. Or I can get closer to him and find out more about him.

It is settled. I added Spencer’s number to my contacts and perched myself on my bed before sending a short text.

‘Hello Dr. Reid.’ I waited a minute, then two, then three, anxiously hoping for a response back. This was a bad idea, he’s probably at another bar trying to catch this guy. I should just delete his number and make myself a sandwich.

Right when I was going to do just that, my phone vibrated. I never opened my messages so fast in my life.

‘(Y/N). Is everything okay?’

A smile broke across my face as I pondered on what to send him. Should I keep everything cute and sweet? Nah. That’s boring. Should I send some salacious texts? No, he’ll probably think I am some kind of skank. Perhaps I should go for the playful persona?

I finally decided to type out a message, not wanting him to wait any longer. I don’t need him thinking that I’m in actual danger because I don’t know how to respond to a simple text.

‘I’m more than okay now that you’re here.’

I didn’t have to wait long before his next text came in. ‘Is there something that you need?’

Oh Spencer, if only you knew. However, what I want cannot be attained at the moment. I quickly typed across my keypad, ‘That’s a loaded question.’

Apparently he did not like that since his next reply was, ‘I don’t have time for this. I am working right now.’

Well shit, should I stop? Hell no, we are in too deep. Besides, he could always choose to ignore my messages instead of responding. And he did give me his number instead of just leaving me with the precinct’s. With that in mind, I typed out a text and quickly pressed send before I started second-guessing my choices again.

‘So you don’t want to talk to me?’

Again, I didn’t have to wait long for his next message to come through. ‘You should only contact me if you have information pertinent to the man we are looking for.’

That’s bullshit. Why give me your number if you didn’t want me to talk to you? ‘You said we’ll continue the conversation later. It’s later.’

‘Later, When I am not working.’ he clarified.

If I were a smart girl, I would have left this alone so that he could work peacefully. But I’m not. ‘All work and no play makes for a grumpy doctor. Don’t you want some entertainment?’

‘You’re acting childish.’

I couldn’t help but grin at his statement. If only he knew. Well, I could drop him a hint or two. ‘I’ve been compared to a brat before.’

‘I’m not surprised.’

‘I’m a glutton for punishment, agent.’

‘Do you want me to deliver?’

My breath caught in my throat. Could it be? Does Dr. Reid have a darker side to him? Or maybe I’m reading too deeply into this. I don’t care, I’m having too much fun at the possibility of this man having a more unhinged side to him. I wanted to see it. I decided to be cheeky with him, ‘You’d like that, wouldn’t you Sir.’

‘What are you trying to get at?’ One step forward and two steps back. I guess profiling and mind-reading are not one and the same if he has to ask me this. Or maybe he isn’t used to someone asking him to dick them down without outright saying they want him to dick them down.

‘I said it already, I just want to talk to you.’

It took a couple of minutes for his reply to come through. ‘We’ll talk later.’

I decided to give Spencer a break. I got what I wanted with his earlier comment. I ended everything with an ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ and put my phone down. I looked at the clock on my bedside table and saw that an hour had passed. I guess time really does fly when you’re having fun. I might as well start getting ready for work.

●●●

Four hours into my shift and the crowd near the bar was barely manageable. I’m not a big fan of working Friday evenings. I easily get annoyed with the sloppy drunks who think they could hook up with any of the workers but the tips usually make up for it at the end of the night.

I was grabbing some bottles of beer when all of a sudden I got a twisted feeling in my gut. I felt the hairs in the back of my neck stand up, and not in a good way. Call it a sixth sense, but I suspected that something was wrong, very wrong. I placed the bottles down and looked at the countless customers littered around the bar top. My eyes landed on this man who was giving off some creepy vibes.

I’d like to think I had a pretty good memory and this guy was definitely new. He was hunched over, eyes looking at the menu on the table. He was rapidly tapping his finger on top of the table, so I assumed he was feeling uneasy. Every once in a while, his head would peek up, as if he was searching the crowd for someone. He had a baseball cap on, the hat pressed tightly down on his head, his blond hair barely peeking through.  

From what I can see he was attractive enough. A full-on beard decorated his face. He had on a leather jacket and a fitted shirt; seemingly trying to give off bad boy vibes. I started making my way towards him, “Is there anything you’d like to order?”

“That depends, are you on the menu?” Ugh. Gag. If I had a dollar for every time some Casanova wannabe used that line on me, I could pay for two months of my rent. He had a smile on his face that could be charismatic but I just found it downright disturbing.

“Food and drinks only. Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s fine sweetheart, I’ll have whatever beer y’all got on tap.” As I walked away, I could feel his eyes leering at me. Should I text Spencer? No, I dealt with creeps before, this is nothing new. 

I turned back to where Mr. Creepy Guy was previously sitting but he was no longer occupying the seat. Fuck. I took a look around the crowded pub, hoping to spot him. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on how you see it, I did. He was near the bathroom entrance talking to some girl who hardly looked like she could keep herself up.

Shit, I should get Spencer right now. I pondered on whether I should call him but figured that he wouldn’t be able to hear me over the volume of the crowd. I hurriedly pull my phone out of my pocket, trying my best to send the message as fast as my shaky hands can manage.

‘I’m pretty sure the man you’re looking for is here. You should bring some officers ASAP.’

Come on, Come on, Come on, have your cell on you. My phone vibrated, alerting me of a message. Oh thank god yes. ‘Are you serious?’ it read.

What the? Does he think I’m pranking him or something? I angrily typed on my screen, ‘This isn’t exactly something I will joke about Spencer.’

‘We’ll be there soon’ came his simple response. Okay, good. Now I just need to make sure that this guy doesn’t try to escape.

I looked back up and saw Mr. Creepy Guy still near the restrooms. One of his hands was holding on to the girl’s arm and I just knew he was trying to get her out of here. Spencer and company won’t arrive fast enough. I have to do something to make him stay longer.

I turned to my co-bartender, Manny, “I am going to take a 10 minute break.” I didn’t give him a chance to respond before I opened the small door dividing us from the crowd and made my way to Mr. Creepy Guy.

Once I got to the two of them, I spewed the first thing that came to mind, “Uh, excuse me. You um, forgot your drink. You know, the beer. That you ordered. At the bar earlier. About 10 minutes ago.” God, I looked like an idiot, but I couldn’t risk saying something that made him apprehensive.

Mr. Creepy guy sneered at me, “Yeah. I didn’t want it anymore.” Well, who shit in your cereal, mister. Oh right, that would be me. I gotta keep him a bit more distracted.

“Well if you order something, you gotta pay for it. Bar’s policy.” He continued to glare at me upset that I was being a cockblocker. Or more appropriately a murderblocker. Realizing that I wasn’t going away soon, he pulled a bill from his pocket before throwing it at me.  Wow I wonder where his pleasant attitude disappeared to.

I turned my attention to this poor girl and noticed she wasn’t looking too good. I assumed she was drunk but she looked way off it; as if she had been drugged or something.

Fucking hell, she probably has been. She can’t stand on her own two feet and she could barely stop her eyes from drooping downwards.

“Your friend here doesn’t look too good,” I commented, my hand already going towards the arm he wasn’t currently holding on to.

“She’s fine. We were just about to leave, right Sarah?” he asked the girl. ‘Sarah’ didn’t say a word, too busy trying her best to not crash down on the floor.

“Nonsense, we can’t have you leaving in such a state, it would look bad on us,” I improvised. “We’ll give her something real quick to help sober her up.” I hastily scanned the room, spotting Hannah, one of my coworkers, a few feet away.

“Hey Hannah,” I shouted, garnering her attention. I gestured for her to come here and she started walking over. When she stood in front of us, I pried ‘Sarah’ out of Mr. Creepy Guy’s hold and gently ushered her into Hannah’s arms.

“This is Sarah and she’s not feeling all that well. Can you tell Manny to give her the Queen’s special?” Hannah instantly knew what was up. The Queen’s special is our code name for helping those who we believe are in an uncomfortable or dangerous situation. Most of the time, the person is coherent enough to ask for help, but for these kinds of scenarios we’ll have to rely on our own wits.

The two walked, or in Sarah’s case, stumbled away. Hannah managed to give Mr. Creepy Guy a glare which he openly returned in my direction. I gave him a small smile, hoping he didn’t get suspicious and try to leave.

“She’ll be right back, would you like that beer while you wait?” I asked. 

“No, you did enough,” He jeered, taking slow steps back. I could have sworn he muttered ‘fucking bitch’ as he disappeared in the crowd, no doubt hightailing it out of here.

Crap, I should follow him. At least I’ll be able to tell the cops what direction he went or what his license plate number is. I started walking to the exit, shoving my way through the sweaty mass of people.

Once I got to the door, I pushed it open feeling the cool air hit my face. I looked around, trying to see if I could find Mr. Creepy Guy but to no avail. I walked a few steps down, searching to see if he went down an alley or something.

The place was eerily quiet and my nerves were starting to get the best of me. I suddenly felt a hand roughly grab my shoulder and let out an ear-piercing scream. I whirled around, my hand already in a fist to punch the living daylight out of this person.

Right when my hand was going to make contact, a hand closed around my fist. No problem, I’ll just kick you in the shin. My leg was about to leave the ground when I heard a stern “Calm down (Y/N).”

I know that voice. For the first time, I looked up and saw that it was Spencer behind me. I never realized beforehand how easily he towered over my form. He released my hand and I leaned my body against the wall next to me. The adrenaline from earlier leaving me.

“What the fuck Spencer, a little warning next time,” I angrily shouted at him. “You could have said my name before grabbing me or just tapped my shoulder. I don’t like being manhandled.”

“I severely doubt that,” he whispered. Wait, what. “Is the man still inside?” he asked in a louder voice than before.

“Um no. That’s the reason why I came out here. I was trying to find where he went.”

“And you decided to check an alleyway.” I casted my eyes down, paying attention to a piece of gravel on the floor. The tone of voice he was using made me feel as if I was in trouble. “Do you know what kind of danger you just put yourself in?  What if it was him behind you instead of me just now?” he chastised.

“I was fighting back,” I retorted.

“And you were losing that fight. You had no weapon of any kind to help defend yourself. You are no match for a fully grown male who sees girls like you as nothing but property,” Spencer snapped.

I felt miffed that he was scolding me about my safety but a pathetic part of me was turned on as well. I decided to switch this conversation back to what was important. “He’s a Caucasian man. About 5’9 with dirty blonde hair and facial hair. He had a Salem Red Sox cap and a faux black leather jacket. Burgundy henley shirt with black washed jeans and white Adidas,” I recounted from my memory.

He recited everything word for word into his radio. “Go back inside, we’ll take care of it from here.”

“You’re fucking welcome by the way,” I sarcastically stated. Before I could blink, Spencer slammed his hands on either side of my head and was staring intently into my eyes. I felt my heart rate pick up instantly. I didn’t know whether to be scared or horny so my body decided on both.

He had a carnal look in his eyes and I felt a light shiver run down my spine. His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. It was as if it happened in slow motion, my eyes hungrily following the movement. He opened his mouth to speak and I was eagerly anticipating his words.

“Reid, come in. We need you for backup.” What the..? It was then that I noticed his comms were still on and one of his team members was trying to get his attention.

“Go back inside,” Spencer repeated, “We’ll continue this later.” Yeah fucking right. This is the third time you’ve told me this in the thirty hours I’ve known you. Nevertheless, I obeyed but it wasn’t because he told me; it was because I got paid by the hour and I was already gone for over fifteen minutes. At least that’s what I kept telling myself as I walked back inside.

I turned around to get a glimpse of his retreating form but he was already gone.

●●●

It was past midnight and I had about forty-five minutes left until my shift ended. The place was a lot emptier right now, which is pretty shocking. However, I’m guessing no one wanted to be around and get wasted when the cops were roaming about barely an hour ago.

I was pouring some shots for this couple when I felt a vibration in my pocket. I finished serving the duo before fishing my phone out, opening my messages straight away. ‘We caught the guy.’

I didn’t bother reading the name, knowing already who it was. Is it wrong of me to be a bit upset? I’m happy there’s one less criminal on the streets but I wanted to see Spencer some more.

Hmmm. There’s still a chance to make something happen, but I can’t mess it up. I quickly typed, ‘I should get a reward. I did help you catch the guy.’

I assumed that I’d have to wait a few minutes for him to respond but that was not the case. ‘And what is it that you want?’ It’s now or never.

‘You.’

I’m guessing he had his phone glued to him right now because his reply was immediate. ‘You don’t know who you’re dealing with.’

‘I’m not scared Spencer.’ If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he didn’t want me. But all the heated moments we had shared thus far had to have meant something.

‘You should be, I’m not the man that you need.’ was his reply.

I decided to be a bit cheeky, remembering that it gave me some results when I was messaging him earlier today. ‘You’re a man and I am in need, that’s more than enough for me. Save the rest for the pillow talk.’

I didn’t even get to put my phone down before his next text arrived. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’

Damn, this man is a hard nut to crack, but he has made me stubborn for him. I guess I’ll have to use my ultimate weapon.

Taking note of my surroundings, I dimmed the brightness of my phone and made sure to keep it close to my body. I don’t need any of the customers or coworkers to have a sneak peek into my secret album. I opened the app that holds all of my inappropriate photos, pondering on which one I should send to Spencer.

My eyes landed on one I took pretty recently. I’m not trying to sound conceited or anything but I looked fucking hot. It was erotic and sensual, but not overly so.

I was lying on my bed, one hand holding onto my chest while the other held the phone up. My fingers were spread apart, allowing for the taunt nipple of my left breast to peek out. The dim lighting of the lamp helped accentuate the curves of my body. The picture includes the lower half of my face, where I was biting down on my lower lip. I was wearing a white lacy thong that barely left anything for the imagination.

I quickly clicked on the photo and made it so that he’ll have to download the image before seeing it. I added the caption Warning, it’s a bit NSFW, before hitting send. Crossing my fingers, I hoped for a reply soon.

I waited and waited but my phone did not notify me of any new messages. Five minutes have passed and I was shit out of luck. Welp I tried. Now I gotta pick up my pride from the floor.

Suddenly, I felt my phone vibrate and I felt happiness immediately taking over. At first, I thought it was a text message, except the vibrations kept going and going. Realization hit me, it’s an incoming call. I grabbed it quickly, a small squeal leaving my mouth when I saw Spencer’s name appear. I accepted the call and put it towards my ear.

“Hello Dr. Reid, to what do I---“

“When does your shift end?” he interrupted. Well hot damn, no waiting around now huh.

“20 minutes,” came my simple reply.

“I’ll be outside,” and with that, he hung up the phone. Wow, I can’t believe that actually worked.

The next 20 minutes were by far the slowest time has ever went. I kept glancing at the clock, watching as each minute passed at a pain strikingly slow pace. Once it was 12:58 A.M, I already had my bag on my shoulder with my hand on the dividing door.

I made a quick mental check on the inventory I had in my purse. Wallet, check. Phone charger, check. Travel toothbrush, check. Bobby Pins, check. Condom, check. Deodorant, check. Extra panty, check. Yup, I’m ready. I’ve had too many spontaneous sleepovers to not be prepared for evenings like this.

I looked at the time and saw that it was finally 1:00 A.M. I zipped right out of here, making sure to shout my goodbyes as I made my way to the exit. Once out the door, I turned towards the corner and immediately spotted Spencer waiting for me.

I made my way towards him with the biggest smile on my face. “Hi, Spencer.”

“Get in,” he demanded.

“Why the haste?” I asked with a teasing tone behind my words.

“I’ve wasted enough time when it comes to you.” That’s a good enough reason for me. He got in the driver seat while I made my way to the passenger’s side, placing my bag on the floor near my feet.

“My house is a 20-minute drive,” I informed him. “You’ll just have to make a lef—“

“No,” he cut me off. “The hotel I am staying at is 10 minutes away from here.” And this is why I always pack the necessities.

“Alright, you’re in charge, Sir.”

Spencer didn’t respond to my little quip, choosing instead to turn the car on. Fine, play that game of yours. As soon as I put my seat belt on, he pulled out and started driving.

We’ve only been in the car for a couple of minutes before I got a bit antsy. I never did like quiet rides. I turned to him “What took you so long to get Mr. Creepy guy?”

His eyes fleetingly dashed towards my direction before focusing back on the road. “Who?”

“The man that you were looking for,” I clarified.

“We had to be sure it was him,” he stated.

“My description wasn’t enough for you.”

“It was helpful but we had to be certain. He eventually confessed to the crimes while under custody.”

“Oh,” I said. “Umm do you have a girlfriend?” A girl gotta make sure that she wasn’t becoming a homewrecker.

“A. What,” he asked. I’m pretty sure he heard me but I repeated myself anyway.

“A girlfriend. Or a boyfriend. Somebody waiting for you at home?”

“I do not. I am not in a committed relationship.”

“That’s cool. Neither am I if you’re wondering,” I said. “So did you like my picture?” Apparently, my mouth does not know when to stop. Although I must admit, I’m curious to know what he thought of it.

We stopped at a red light and he gazed at me before saying “I was with my team when I got your little message. They were wondering why I got quiet all of a sudden.” I would have laughed if he didn’t have such a dark look on his face. “I did not appreciate their curiosity as to what was going on.” The light turned green, and he started driving faster now. Do FBI agents get speedy tickets for booty calls?

“Does that mean you did not like it?”

Spencer didn’t respond and I was about to ask him something else when I realized the car was parked. Oh we’re here, that was fast. He got out and went to open my door for me.

“Wow, what a gentleman.” Still no response from him. I picked up my bag and hopped out while he closed the door behind me. He made sure to lock it before grabbing my hand and leading me to the hotel’s entrance.

I couldn’t even appreciate the interior of the place since Spencer was dragging me to the elevators. He finally spoke after pressing the button for the doors to open. “I’m giving you one more chance to turn back.”

“And miss out on the fun, no way.”

The doors to the lift opened and we stepped inside. They didn’t even close fully before he pushed me against the wall and crashed his lips against mine. Fuck, the moan that left my body was embarrassingly loud; I am sure the receptionists heard it.

I went to put my arms around Spencer’s neck but he grabbed my hands and pinned them to the wall before my fingers could even touch his shoulder.  His knee drew my legs apart, resting in between my thighs. A shudder ran through me, which caused him to tighten his hands around my wrists. I liked that he was releasing the wilder side of him; the side that he kept hidden from others.

He sucked my bottom lip between his and bit down on it. Instinctively, I opened my mouth which he took as a green light to plunge his tongue inside. It was sloppy, it was raunchy, but I loved it.

I was about to start grinding my pelvis against his knee when the elevator doors dinged open. As quickly as he came upon me, he pulled apart. Spencer grabbed my hand once again and tugged me down a hallway. After a few steps, we stopped in front of the door and he went to grab his key from his pocket.

I took the moment to admire him. He was still wearing what I assumed to be his work clothes. His hair looked even more messy than usual. I’d like to think that he was running his hands through it while debating on what to do with me. His eyes seemed darker, no longer the honey orbs I was captivated by the day prior. Nonetheless, they were still beautiful. His lips, my god those lips of his. Puffed out and more pink than normal. I just wanted to kiss him again.

Spencer opened the door to his room holding it open for me. Once we were inside, with the door fully closed this time, he pulled me into another hungry kiss. One of his hands held my face as the other landed on my waist. I dropped my purse on the floor, my hands promptly losing themselves in his hair.

My mouth immediately opened up, wanting to feel his tongue pressed alongside mine once more. He used the hand that was holding my waist to pull me closer until I was flushed against his body. I felt hot. Too hot. I wanted to rip off my clothes and his at this very moment.

Suddenly his face pulled away, much to my disappointment. We were trying to catch our breath as we looked at one another.

“I want you on your knees,” he rasped. I’d love nothing more but we wouldn’t be here if I were obedient.

“And if I say no?” I asked.

“Don’t pretend you’re some kind of bad girl because we both know that is far from the truth.”

“Your profiling skills need some work if you think I am a good girl who follows the rules.”

He tightened his grip on my waist. “I never said you were a good girl.”

“Then what am I?”

“You’re a cock hungry dirty whore who is going to get on her knees or be bent over mine. Your choice.” Well, who am I to argue against such logic. Although the idea of being spanked by him is exciting, I rather see him come undone by me. And on me.

I slowly sunk down to my knees as Spencer started removing his belt and unbuttoning his slacks. I helped him drag his pants and boxers down, low enough to unveil his hard dick. My mouth salivated at the sight of him and I pressed my thighs closer together. Maybe I am a cock hungry dirty whore.

I placed one hand on him, feeling the heated skin against my cooler palm. His dick gave a slight twitch at the difference in temperatures. I closed my hand, delighted by the fact that I couldn’t fit my whole first around his cock. Leaning forward, I placed a small tentative kiss on the head. I glanced up, seeing that he had his poker face on.

Now that wouldn’t do, I want to see Spencer Reid lose control because of me.

I pulled my hand back and brought it to my face. I licked the length of my palm before placing it at the base of his cock again. My opposite hand settled on his thigh to help balance myself. I leaned forward once more and lightly licked the tip before placing it inside my mouth. I sucked gently while firmly grasping the base. He rewarded me with a small grunt.

I moved down, slowly taking him inch by inch. I made sure to get him as wet as I can while gliding my lips against him. My hand pumped the remaining length that couldn’t fit in my mouth. He started to become more and more erect.

“You like this don’t you?” Spencer groaned out, “You’re such a filthy slut for me.” How is it possible that the sound of his voice is making me aroused? He placed his hands on my hair, fisting his fingers among the locks.

I moaned at his words, bobbing my head up and down at a faster pace. I moved my hand to cup his sac, giving him a gentle massage between my fingers. He gave out a choked sound as he started to slowly thrust his hips.

I drew back and kissed my way down his cock until my lips met my hand. I placed my mouth on one of his balls and gave one a light suck before running my tongue around it. “Fucking hell,” Spencer loudly exclaimed, as I returned the same ministrations to the neglected one.

I pulled away with a small pop and dragged my tongue from base to tip. My eyes looked up at him, and the sight was sexy as fuck. His mouth was opened as he was trying to catch his breath, his face slightly flushed. There was a light sheen of sweat on his forehead and the veins on his neck were more prominent.

I made sure Spencer’s eyes landed on mine as I wrapped my lips around his now full length. He started thrusting more earnestly this time as my hand went back to massaging his balls. I continued eye contact as I bobbed my head up and down on his cock.

He tightened his hands on my hair harshly, which made me more wet. Great, on top of being a cock whore, I am a pain whore. This man is bringing the worst out of me and I’m loving it.

I made sure to hollow my cheeks and swirl my tongue around his head every time I returned back up. I didn’t think I’d have this much fun with a cock in my mouth. Once I dipped my tongue against his slit and firmly clasped my hand over his sac, it was over for him.

Spencer took over and held my head in place as he started to thrust within me. I tried my best to maintain eye contact, despite the tears swelling up. My other hand clutched at the skin of his thigh, raking my nails over him. His groans were a sweet symphony to my ears. Just when I thought he was about to release himself, he stopped and pulled away from me.

“Why’d you stop?” I pouted, my lips feeling very sensitive as they moved against each other.

He panted heavily and loudly, “I don’t want to cum yet.” I couldn’t stop myself from smiling at the sight of him. He was a mess and it was all because of me.

“But I wanted to taste you.” My hand went back to grab him but he stopped me with a sharp tug of my hair.

“Behave or you won’t get a reward for sucking my dick so well,” he said flatly.

Ohh, I’m curious as to what a reward from Spencer Reid entails. He pulled me up and I had to place my hands on his chest for balance. As my legs were regaining feeling, he was staring at my face. I can already imagine what he sees. Tear stained face with puffy eyes and swollen lips. Apparently, he liked the sight because he pulled me into another kiss.

This one was much more tender than our previous kisses. His lips were soft, as if afraid they would irritate my already swollen ones. His hands cradled my head, gently tilting it up so he has better access. His tongue swirled against mine and I was surprised he wasn’t repulsed by his taste on me. So many guys would find this to be disturbing.

Spencer slowly pulled away from me. He looked into my eyes as he said, “I want you to strip then bend over the bed.”

“What if I don’t?” His once gentle hands on my face are now gripping my cheeks, making my lips pucker. He continued to stare at me and it took everything within me not to moan at his actions.

“I think you know what would happen if you don’t, do you really want that?” As much as I would have loved to mess with him some more, I did not want it at the expense of my orgasm. I’m too horny to be acting recklessly. 

I started stepping away from him, doing as he requested. I would have taken my time removing my clothes, but I was too impatient. As I pulled down my panties, I noticed how damp they were. This man has made me wanton and soaked without even touching me yet.

I went over to the bed, placing myself in the desired position. The bed was tall enough where my feet were still firmly on the floor but I didn’t need to bend my knees to keep my stomach flat against the mattress. 

I watched Spencer strip out of his clothes, making note of the mismatched socks he had on. Aww cute. Once he was bare, he walked up behind me and placed his hands on my hips. For a few seconds, he did nothing while I was readily anticipating his next move.

Finally, I felt his hand cup my mound and I gasped at the feeling. “You’re so wet. All of this because you had my cock in that dirty mouth of yours.” I shuddered at his words, the hairs on my arm rising up.

He started rubbing at my lower lips, spreading the arousal that has already formed all over me. “You have nothing to say now that I got my hands on you huh,” he continued, stroking his fingers against my core.

Just when I was about to say something, he sunk a single finger inside me. I inhaled sharply and buried my head into the sheets. I tried my best to move against him but the hand resting on my hip kept me at bay. He was methodical with his actions, pressing his finger against my walls as he moved in and out.

“Your pretty little cunt is taking my finger so well. You think you can handle another one?” I still couldn’t reply to him, too busy trying to even out my breathing. He then entered another finger. I moaned as he started diligently working those dexterous digits inside of me. My pussy was throbbing while he was working wonders.

A loud moan was torn out my body as Spencer’s fingers curled against my G-spot. “Oh you liked that, dirty girl,” he growled out. He curled his fingers once again and I let out an equally loud whine. He continued this every time he returned his fingers back inside of me; my throat releasing a moan whenever he did so. You’d think with all the time I spent staring at his hands that I’d be ready for him but that’s a big no.

My body was warming up and I could feel the heat pooling within me. I was a goner when a third finger entered me. He tightened his hand on my hip and I prayed that it would leave marks. I wanted to admire the bruises when this was all over.

I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the pleasure racking my body. I was so close to finding my release. The way I was pulsating around his fingers was a telltale sign that I was upon my release.

“You want to come, dirty girl, you want to come all over my hand?” he fiercely whispered. All I could do was nod against the comforters, my voice long gone by now.

I felt myself pulse and tighten around him. With just one more curl of his fingers, I was about to climax. But he suddenly pulled out and released me.

“What the fuck?” I screeched, voice coming back with a vengeance. “You said I was going to get rewarded you teasing bastard.”

“And you are. Now shut up before I change my mind.” For once, I stayed quiet, only because I really wanted an orgasm. It is the least he could do after making me all hot and bothered.

I turned my head back, wanting to see what Spencer would do next. I whimpered when I saw him put his fingers in his mouth, licking my essence off of him. I watched as he took his time, my pussy continuing to throb at the sight.

“You taste pretty good for such a whore,” he remarked once he was done. I saw him walk towards the nightstand and grab a foil packet. Excitement coursed through my veins, my body barely staying still.

He was behind me once again, and I was ready for him. I felt him rub the head against my lips, pressing down when it met my clit. He continued doing this, moving up and down against me, making sure to coat himself in my arousal. I started to wiggle my hips against him, hoping to gain some more friction.

A loud moan was torn out of my throat when Spencer suddenly grabbed my hips and buried himself inside my pussy. He let out a groan as he stilled within me. We had a moment to adjust to one another before he started rocking against me. He was hitting me deep, touching places that I didn't know were possible.  

“Spencer, you feel so fucking good,” I mewled out, enjoying the feel of his cock against my walls.

He kept a steady rhythm, making sure to pull halfway out before pushing back in. Small moans left my mouth as I tried my best to return his thrusts. His hands on my hips did not allow for much movement, reminding me that he was the one in charge of my pleasure.

My body moved rhythmically against the bed, my sensitive nipples rubbing against the sheet, adding to this blissful feeling. I was burning up from the sensations wrecking my body.

“I want you to touch yourself,” Spencer growled out. I let my hand trailed down my stomach but paused when they got to my lower abdomen. I felt a bump form at my lower abdomen every time he entered me, which only added to my desire. I tightened around him and he let out a groan before giving me a powerful thrust as a warning.

My hand continued its descent to my clit, fingers rubbing against it once they met. Spencer increased the pace, slamming his hips against my ass. My legs started to tremble, my orgasm looming over my body. My hand continued to play with my clit while the other gripped the sheets tightly. I bit down on the comforter, trying my best to quiet down my moans.

One of Spencer’s hands grabbed my hair and pulled my head up. “None of that, I want to hear you. I want everyone in this hotel to know what a filthy little bitch you are. My filthy little whore,” he grunted out.

It was all too much for me. His voice, his cock, his hands. I felt wave after wave of pleasure as my release washed over me. I cried out his name; submitting to the ecstasy my body was experiencing. My muscles went limp as I attempted to return air into my lungs.

I heard Spencer grunt as my pussy pulsed and creamed around him but that did not stop his relentless pace. “Keep touching the clit of yours, I want you to come one more time.”

“I can’t,” I whimpered. I was still recovering from the powerful orgasm I just had. I won’t be able to have another one so soon.

But Spencer Reid was nothing if not diligent. “You can and you will.”

His hand that was in my hair joined mine between my legs. His fingers were so much better than mine. He pressed firmly against my clit, keeping a steady motion against me. He snapped his hips harder, the slight pain making me feel that familiar coil in my stomach.

“I know you have one more in you for me. I want you to give it to me” he uttered. I’m not sure how he is able to do it, but I felt my body start rising again.

“Sp-Spencer. Please.” I didn’t know what I was begging for as I stammered those words out. His hand between my legs pressed harder and his rhythm against me started wavering. I knew he was close to his release, but I was right there with him.

When he pinched my clit firmly against his fingers, I mewled out his name once more. The coil snapped and I couldn’t help the way I trembled once more. My body quaked against his as the shock waves overcame me. I felt as if lightning was running across my nerves.

Spencer thrusted three more times before tensing against me. I felt him jerk and spill himself inside of me. He dropped down, pressing his chest against my back and whispering my name in my ear. We both tried to catch our breaths as we came down from our high.  

After a few minutes, Spencer pulled out of me and walked to a door which I assumed led to the bathroom. I’m guessing he went to dispose of the condom. I continued to lie on the bed, trying my best to catch my breath. My body was still on an all-time high, still reeling from the aftershocks of my climax. I fought against the drowsiness of my eyes, wondering how the hell I am going to stay alert on the cab ride home.

“How are you feeling?” I couldn’t even jump in surprise. I had no idea he returned and was standing right next to me. “I wasn’t too rough?”

“Best. Sex. Ever,” I drowsily responded. Spencer picked me up and maneuvered my body so that I was lying on my back. He grabbed a bottle that was standing on the nightstand; squeezing some cream into the palm of his hand. He rubbed his hands together and started massaging the lotion onto my legs. He focused his attention on my knees and thighs.

“Do you want some water? He asked. I nodded my head and he immediately went to the snack bar area. He grabbed a bottle and what looks to be a granola bar. He uncapped the bottle and gently fed the water to me.

“Do you want some food,” I shook my head at his question. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Cuddles” came my whispered response. Spencer smiled at me before settling on the bed next to me. He draped the blankets over our bodies and wrapped his hand over my waist, pulling me close.

“Goodnight Spencer.”

“Goodnight (Y/N).”

The last thing I felt was the press of his lips against my neck as my body surrendered itself to the sweet bliss of slumber.