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joelalorian · 5 months ago

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Fevered Flame

Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Summary: When Marcus Pike lost himself in work after that debacle with Theresa, he didn’t expect to take on a sizzling new case in the quirky town of Truth or Consequences, New Mexico. Nor did he expect to meet you, an up-and-coming agent also looking for a fresh start. An unprecedented heatwave, mind-boggling art thefts, ancient Aztec legends, this case had the works. How would he ever solve the case with the temperature rising between you both?

This fic is my contribution to @iamasaddie's Little Lady Kinky May writing challenge. Prompts were Marcus Pike and Temperature. This is my first time writing Marcus Pike and I hope I did him justice. I learned a few things about myself during this process, the most important being that I am incapable of writing porn without plot, or a romantic angle, apparently. This story turned out waaaaay different than intended because of that. I apologize now for the plot heaviness between sexy bits.

WC: 10.4k – I’m sorry, I have no idea where all these words came from

Warnings: Explicit 18+, too much plot, heat making people cray cray, sexy sweatiness, lots of cursing (I’m from New Jersey, I can’t help it), nonsensical crime stuff, a plot that came straight outta left field, protected and unprotected sex (p in v), pussy eating and cock sucking, inappropriate use of an ice cube and hot springs. No use of y/n. Reader has a nickname and boobs, otherwise, I tried to keep her a blank slate. Some terms of endearment. IDK, there’s probably more but I can’t think right now.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this utter ridiculousness. Dividers by the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Moodboard by me.

Masterlist

Still reeling from the aftermath of Theresa Lisbon choosing that pontificating windbag Patrick Jane over him nearly a year ago, Marcus Pike buried himself in work. The transition from Texas to DC and adapting to leading a whole new team took his mind of his misery. However, the lonely nights in his new home, the one purchased with hopes of building a life with Theresa in mind, were untenable and he took on more fieldwork than someone at the director level typically would. Hence why Marcus found himself driving through the desert to some quirky small town in New Mexico called Truth or Consequences.

What the fuck kind of name was that for a town, he wondered idly as his right hand pumped the rental car’s AC to full blast. Having already stripped off his suit jacket and tie, Marcus sweat clear through his lavender dress shirt within minutes. The heat was ungodly. Surely it couldn’t be normal. How could people live like that?

Eyes scanning the dashboard display of the mid-size SUV the agency rented for him, they nearly bugged out of his head at the temperature reading. Lit up in glaring red, the numbers 121°F taunted him as sweat dripped down his temples.

Jesus Christ. Death Valley had nothing on this place.

Marcus steered the vehicle toward his hotel, opting to change into something a little more suitable for the local climate before checking in with the agent representing the local field office. The FBI put him up in a supposedly nice hotel, though he didn’t have high expectations of what that meant in a town like this. As long as the AC worked, he’d survive.

Thirty minutes later, Marcus took his second shower of the day, this one much colder than the last, and jumped back into the SUV in an outfit more typical of a golf outing than an FBI investigation. It was the best he could do with what he packed. The local agent texted him the address of an art gallery, the first in a series of apparent crime scenes, and he plugged the address into the GPS.

Normally, you didn’t mind the heat, preferring that to cold winters, but this current heatwave was beyond ridiculous. You sweat just by simply existing. You never experienced anything like it in the five years you’d been stationed in Albuquerque, and you suddenly found yourself longing for the bone-deep cold of a northeastern winter as you waited for the DC agent to arrive.

The chilling sea breeze of a New Jersey winter sounded like heaven right now.

A sleek silver SUV pulled up next to your government-issued sedan and you watched with an assessing gaze from the driver’s seat as Director Marcus Pike exited the vehicle clad in khaki shorts and a turquoise polo, trendy aviator sunglasses shielding his eyes from the glare of the desert sun. His dark brown hair was short and styled back off his forehead, and a neatly trimmed scruff lined his top lip and jaw.

You knew from a quick glance at his FBI profile that he was a decorated agent, but his government photo did not do him justice. The man was fucking gorgeous in person. Exiting your own vehicle before he caught you staring, you introduced yourself.

He flashed you a smile full of boyish charm when you gave him your name, causing your heart to thump double time. “You can just call me Jersey, everyone else does,” you finished, holding your hand out to shake his.

“Marcus Pike, Director of the Art Crimes Squad in DC,” he replied, his larger hand engulfing yours in a firm, yet not overbearing, shake. “Just call me Marcus.”

The two of you gazed at each other, the sun beating down on you both like laser beams. Holy fuck, Marcus was even hotter up close. Yeah, his FBI file photo did not do him any justice at all. Not wanting to make things uncomfortable by staring too long, you gestured toward the door to the gallery.

“Shall we?”

Marcus cleared his throat and nodded, following behind you as you strolled casually through the entrance. “Wanna give me a rundown of what we know so far?”

“Sure,” you replied. “We’ve had paintings stolen from several galleries in town. Despite its odd name and small-town status, Truth or Consequences has a rather robust art scene. Lots of expensive art showcased in these galleries.”

Marcus nodded as you gave him some background. He likely read most of this in the file on his flight out here, but you could appreciate the necessity of running over it again verbally. Repetition was the mother of… whatever the fuck that saying was. Your brain was already too fried from the heat.

“The thefts started almost a week ago, not too long after the start of the extreme heatwave this area is currently experiencing. There has been one painting taken every other day so far, always at the peak heat of the day when the townsfolk are too overheated and tired to pay much attention. No eyewitnesses and the thief artfully avoided any surveillance or security cameras so far.”

You watched Marcus jot down some notes, tapping the end of his pen against the small notepad as he reviewed the information.

“So, three paintings taken so far, and it’s still early in the day. I’m guessing we can expect another theft today?” You nodded and Marcus tapped the pen against his bottom lip this time, causing you to avert your gaze before he caught you ogling the plump flesh.

“Have there been any patterns identified?”

You could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Just in the types of paintings taken so far. They all depict scenes of cool, serene landscapes.”

Dark brown eyes held your gaze. “So, the exact opposite of the current weather situation.”

Again, you nodded. “That’s the only pattern so far. We haven’t been able to determine any order to the galleries hit and, unfortunately, this town doesn’t have the law enforcement manpower to guard all of the galleries and still attend to their normal duties. We do have unis posted at the galleries that haven’t been hit yet, just in case. That’s the best the townies could do though.”

Humming in thought, Marcus walked around the gallery, causing you to scramble to keep up. It was fascinating watching his mind work, his big, brown eyes taking in every minute detail around him. When he stopped in front of the empty spot marking the first stolen painting’s former home, you paused next to him, debating on sharing the only other piece of information you had so far.

“There’s, uh, something strange that may or may not be related to this case.” That got Marcus’ attention and his eyes shot to you once again, brow arched curiously.

“Do tell,” he replied with an encouraging smile. You blinked slowly, trying in vain to maintain your concentration in front of such a handsome man.

“I will on the way to the other galleries. Just… just promise to hold judgment until I finish telling you everything. It’s a little… unorthodox compared to what we’re used, I’d say.” You led the way back to your car, gesturing for Marcus to get in on the passenger side. It made more sense to ride together. Thankfully, you left it running while inside the gallery, making the interior still nice and cool.

Once seated, his head cocked to the side endearingly, the tilt of his lips bordering on an indulgent smile. ��Ok, I promise.” The cadence and depth of his soft-spoken voice set you aflame and you had to practically shake yourself to not fall to your knees in praise of this man.

Jesus Christ, Jersey, have a modicum of professionalism and self-respect, will ya, your inner monologue chided. Your libido hyperfixated on the veritable stud before you whether you wanted it to or not. It’d been too long since your last tumble in the sheets, apparently. Recentering your focus, you pulled out onto the main road heading to the next crime scene.

“Good,” you croaked. Feeling the heat creep up your already overheated flesh, you cleared your throat. “I’m sure you can tell, the weather here is ungodly hot – hard to miss it. This is not entirely normal, from what I understand. It’s tempting to chalk it up to climate change, except for one strange thing. Drive twenty or thirty minutes outside of town and the temps are far lower, though still hot by some standards. The temps within the surrounding towns are in line with the more normal averages.”

Brows furrowed, Marcus’ dark eyes searched your face, clearly looking for more context clues. “The heat certainly seemed excessive on the ride over from the municipal airport. I had to stop at the hotel and change or I would have melted to the pavement in my suit.”

You chuckled. “I know the feeling. The average temperature here is supposed to be in the low 90s this time of year, not thirty degrees higher. And the usually cooler desert nights haven’t existed for the past couple of weeks. It’s very strange.”

“And it’s just this town, you say?”

Pulling to a stop in front of the next gallery, you nodded. “Strange, right?”

“Very,” Marcus replied, deep in thought as he followed you inside.

It carried on like that the rest of the afternoon until the heat became just too much after checking out the last crime scene. Like everyone else in town, you sought refuge in the coolest place you could find, which happened to be a hole-in-the-wall pub just off the main street.

Just when Marcus thought things couldn’t get weirder with this town, you led him into a dark and dingy little pub, settling right up to the aged bar. If you weren’t a certified agency employee, he would be terrified that you were luring him to his untimely death.

As it was, the scraggly old barkeep gave him the creeps when he shuffled over, eyeing the pair of you with the same attention he would three-headed aliens. “Coldest beer in town. Two pints?” The man’s voice as rough as he looked, he didn’t wait for an answer.

Marcus shot you a look, eyes wide and uncertain, but you merely shrugged in return. He didn’t normally drink on the job, but between the heat and the early start for traveling, Marcus decided his day was finished. He chugged at the frosty draft when the barkeep placed it in front of him. The old man was right, the pint glass was frozen and small chunks of ice floated in the foamy beer.

“Damn, that’s good,” he nearly moaned, feeling refreshed.

“I know, right?” you replied, nearly half done with your own pint. “I don’t normally like beer, but I could drink it all day long when it’s ice cold like this. Especially in this heat, you know?”

The first round went down easily, and quickly, and the old barkeep, whose name turned out to be Harry, placed another round down before Marcus even thought to ask. The pair of you settled into easy conversation, getting to know each other outside of the job. The more you drank, the more your Jersey accent started to peak through. He found it cute and kept asking you questions just to keep hearing you talk.

Soon enough, any thought left in his mind about Theresa evaporated. How could he still think about his ex-fiancé when a hot, smart, sweet little thing like you sat before him, chatting, and flirting away the evening. Theresa had nothing on you.

It took exactly a fraction of a second to be struck by your beauty that morning. Confident and intelligent, not mention damn good at your job, he quickly realized your natural beauty served as icing on the cake. You were the entire package, and he was trying his damnedest to not charge ahead trying to get you into bed.

Turned out you both had similar relationship history, married too young and divorced, no kids, longed for a dog if only your job didn’t call you away so often. You were practically the female version of him, Marcus thought. It made him all the more curious about you.

Before long, you both ordered some bar grub and went back to talking about the case. Neither of you could make sense of what you had so far. There were vital pieces of the puzzle missing, that much was apparent.

Harry unceremoniously dropped plates full of burgers and fries in front of you, not even trying to hide the fact that he eavesdropped on your conversation.

“You think your case has something to do with the heat?” the old man questioned, leaning heavily on the bar top.

You and Marcus shared a look before you nodded.

“There’s some local lore you might find interesting, then,” Harry said, pausing for dramatic effect and you gestured for him to continue. “Well, as the legends go, the Flame of Quetzalcoatl was hidden somewhere in town centuries ago. They say it was a gem gifted by the Aztec god Quetzalcoatl himself, but who the recipient was no one knows. The gem is said to hold the power of the sun and the wielder of it has the ability to control heat.”

You and Marcus sat there in silence, absorbing the tale Harry just shared. After a few minutes, Marcus glanced at you, doubt clear in his expression.

“This town just gets fuckin’ weirder by the minute, I swear,” he said, sipping at his pint once again. “I might actually believe that little story if I was a few more beers in.”

You laughed, but your face didn’t hold the same doubt as his. “I don’t know, Marcus. If living out here for the past few years has taught me anything, it’s that these Aztec legends are often too close to the truth to blow off.”

Harry harrumphed. “I’d say so, little lady.”

“Besides, it’s the best we’ve got right now,” you said, nudging Marcus’ shoulder with yours. “Couldn’t hurt to play that angle until a better lead pops up.”

Marcus found himself agreeing, much to his surprise.

Over the next few days, you and Marcus researched as much as possible about local lore related to Aztecs, searching for any hint of what Harry told you. In that time, three more paintings were stolen. The thief started leaving little clues as if to goad law enforcement.

The first cryptic clue further convinced you of the potential voracity of the Aztec legend. Written in drip red paint in the spot where the fourth painting had been located, Marcus suspected the thief meant it to look like blood.

When the feathered serpent sheds its skin, the heat will rise.

“Holy shit,” you gasped when you first read it. Turning to Marcus, you declared, “Quetzalcoatl was known as the Feathered Serpent.”

His dark brown eyes widened, meeting yours in shock. “No way.”

You nodded, flipping through your notepad to find your most recent notes on the case. “Yes way. That book we borrowed from the Historical Society talked about it. Remember?”

Marcus nodded slowly as the information came back to him, his eyes searching yours, trying to make sense of this completely bizarre case. “Didn’t the book say something about Quetzalcoatl being a signal of transformation? Think the clue has something to do with that?”

“Yeah, could be.”

The pattern continued the next day with another clue left behind.

Where the earth boils and the water steams, the gem of the sun awaits.

The pair of you debated the meaning of the second clue over cold beer at Harry’s pub. As the case evolved, so did the connection between you and Marcus. You both flirted unashamedly when you weren’t talking about the case. It turned out the agency put you both up at the same hotel – your rooms on the same floor even. You were beginning to hope that he would make a move, yet completely terrified of that happening at the same time.

Despite your best efforts, the thief remained one step ahead of law enforcement, somehow managing to steal from galleries you had actively guarded. How in the world was this guy doing it?

Things were slowly coming together once a third clue was discovered.

Seek the place where fire and water dance, and there you will find the sun’s heart.

Without a local FBI office to work out of – the Albuquerque one you worked out of was over two hours away – you’d decided to setup camp in a quiet booth at Harry’s. He kept you full on pub grub and refreshments – soda and water during work hours, of course – and chipped in with his local knowledge whenever he thought it needed.

In fact, it was Harry who guided you toward understanding the latest clues.

“Have you two heard about the hot springs? This town is famous for them.” The old man dropped the nugget of knowledge along with a plate of fries and shuffled away, leaving the two of you to stare after him.

Marcus turned to you; his lips pursed in thought. You ached to nibble on the plump flesh of his bottom lip, to feel the gentle scratch of his facial hair against your soft skin as you did so.

“Where the earth boils and the water streams,” Marcus recalled the second clue in that delicious, soft-spoken voice of his, sending a wave of gooseflesh over your skin. “Seek the place where fire and water dance.”

Shaking your head free of naughty thoughts, you focused on the clues and the knowledge bomb Harry dropped, picking right up on Marcus’ thought process. “Fire, heat, and water... The hot springs!”

Marcus beamed at you; eyes sparkling as he came to the same realization. “It has to be. Makes sense, right?”

“Sure does,” you agreed, grinning back at him. “But there must be a ton of them. How would we ever find the right one?”

Sitting back in his seat, Marcus shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll have to keep digging. Do you still have that book from the Historical Society? Maybe there’s something else in there to help us.”

“It’s back in my room,” you reply. “Fancy ordering room service at the hotel while we go over the clues again?”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What was he thinking, agreeing to go back to your room to continue working on the case.

An unwitting temptress already, how was he supposed to control himself when you invited him into your room for dinner, drinks, and after-hours casework?

In the already excessive desert heat, Marcus was sweating bullets as he followed you into your room, conveniently located only a few doors down from his own.

“I have a bottle of cab, is that good?” you questioned, kicking off your shoes with a sigh before reaching for the screw cap bottle.

Audibly gulping, Marcus squeaked out an assent and wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts. He glanced around the room to distract himself, noting happily that you were a tidy traveler, much like himself.

“I have bottled water as well. Would you like one?” Marcus nodded. With an indulgent smile, you held out the small ice bucket. “I like mine over ice. Would you mind?”

Eager for a moment to clear his head, Marcus grabbed the bucket. “No problem.” The echo of your chuckle followed him as he rushed out the door.

“What is wrong with you, dude?” he whispered to himself as he strolled down the hall to the ice machine. “You don’t even know if this woman wants anything more than just reviewing the case. Calm the fuck down.”

Feeling a little calmer and more under control after his private pep talk, Marcus knocked on your door with the full ice bucket in hand. You let him in with a broad smile that nearly made his heart stop.

“Perfect.” Plucking the bucket from his hands, you returned to the makeshift kitchenette area to fill two cups with ice and water. Two glasses of cabernet were already sitting on the tiny table in the small designated sitting area of the hotel room.

Marcus joined you on the couch, case file in hand, seated close due to the limited space. You dove right in to discussing the case, easing his nerves. The pair of you compared the facts of the case, debating theories and potential connections. Without any physical evidence, you still didn’t have any viable suspects, which was incredibly frustrating for both of you.

“I’ve never had a case like this,” Marcus said. “It’s hard to believe that this could all relate to a myth about an ancient god. It feels weird even saying that aloud.”

“I know. It’s giving me Twilight Zone vibes.”

With the lack of viable suspects serving as a brick wall in furthering the investigation, conversation switched to other topics.

“You’re from New Jersey?” Marcus asked. “What brought you out here?”

“Yep, born and raised at the Jersey Shore,” you replied, that northeastern accent peeking through as you drank more wine. “Classic reason for relocating – I followed a guy, the one I told you a little about. We got married young and one day he woke up and decided he wanted a change of scenery. I followed along without argument, and we wound up out here. Biggest mistake of my life.”

“Ahh,” he said with a nod. “That asshole.”

“Yeah, that asshole.”

From what you told Marcus about your ex-husband, he knew the guy was a real piece of work. Classic narcissist who beat you down emotionally the entire time you were together. Marcus was happy that you kicked the guy to the curb two years ago and the divorce finalized last year. No one deserved to be treated like that, especially you.

“Are you going to stick around here now that’s all over with?” He found himself curious about your future plans.

Shaking your head, you laughed. “Hell no. I put in for a transfer already, for anywhere on the east coast closer to home. I’m no picky.”

Marcus perked up at that. The DC headquarters always had openings. He’d get to see you again if you were transferred there. “I could put in a good word for you, if you’d like. You’re a great agent from what I’ve seen so far.”

Ducking your head bashfully, you peeked at him through your lashes. “That’s pretty high praise coming from a director,” you deflected.

“I mean it, Jersey.” He kept his voice low, using your nickname for the first time, and watched in delight as you shuddered.

The air in the room shifted, sexual tension thick and nearly overpowering. Marcus watched as your pupils dilated, lust overtaking the previous sparkle. He gulped when your tongue darted out to lick your lips tantalizingly.

Shifting ever so closer, your scent washed over him. You smelled fucking delicious, hints of cocoa butter and salty sweat, reminding him of the beach. His shorts suddenly became tighter, his cock twitching to life. He wanted to devour you.

The next thing Marcus knew, your lips were pressed to his as you basically ripped the clothes from each other’s bodies, the now empty bottle of wine knocked from the table to the carpeted floor in the process. Despite the cool air pumping from the air conditioning, your skin felt hot to his touch.

Licking into your mouth, savoring the taste of you mixed with the bite of wine on your tongue, Marcus steered you backwards until your hamstrings bumped against the mattress. He eased you down onto the bed, detaching his lips from yours to take in the electrifying sight of your naked body splayed before him.

“You’re breathtaking,” he murmured, his fingertips tracing down your smooth skin slowly, teasingly from your neck to your toes.

Your eyes, blown wide with need, burned into his before dipping down to take in his naked body with a gasp. His cock bobbed eagerly as you stared.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” Marcus said, his soft voice filled with awe, matching the wonder in his eyes.

“Me either,” you replied, “but I’m happy it is. You are so fucking gorgeous, Marcus.”

Marcus couldn’t help the blush that pinkened his cheeks. Reaching behind him to the bucket, he plucked a large ice cube from the slowly melting pile. His eyes remained locked on yours as he popped the frozen cube into his mouth, sucking lightly before his tongue pushed forward and his lips puckered as a portion of the ice cube stuck out.

The breath left you when he dipped his head down to run the cube along your clavicle and down across your breasts. Your nipples pebbled beneath the chilly wetness as Marcus directed the ice cube back and forth a few times. He watched delightedly as goosebumps peppered your skin when he moved the cube down your belly in a zigzag pattern.

“Oh, fuck.” Your chest heaved and fingers tightened their grip on the bedsheets when Marcus dipped further down, running the quickly melting cube over your mound and through your slit. The cold nearly shocking to the overwhelming heat of your labia.

Using his tongue to increase the pressure, Marcus circled the ice cube over your clit until you cried out, one hand loosening its grip on the sheets to tangle your fingers in his thick hair. He shifted, plunging the cube into your entrance, pushing as far as his tongue would extend, then leant back to watch your pussy suck the cube further until in melted into mere dribbles of water.

You laid there panting, eyes hooded and wanting, as Marcus dove back in, using his tongue to continue the work he started with the ice cube. He lapped and sucked at your clit, two thick fingers slipping inside you, until you became a blubbering mess, blurting out unintelligible words and moans, finally falling apart beneath his ministrations.

Marcus slurped at the evidence of your long overdue release, savoring the sweet, tangy taste of you. His hips thrust against the mattress of their own accord, his body seeking any sort of friction against his aching cock it could find.

“Your mouth is a lethal weapon, Marcus,” you said breathlessly, hands reaching under his shoulders to drag him up your body. “Now let’s see what you can do with your cock.”

His hair flopped forward over his forehead from your fingers tangling in it and he grinned in satisfaction at your comment. His boyish charm proved too much to handle, and you yanked his face down to yours, tongues tangling in a scorching kiss. You nibbled on his plump bottom lip between fervent kisses, savoring the plushness between your teeth.

Whining when he pulled away suddenly, your fingers grasping for purchase to pull him back, Marcus winked at you when he slid off the bed. “Don’t worry, baby. I’m coming right back.”

Digging in his shorts to find his wallet, Marcus pulled out a long-forgotten condom from the tri-fold leather and checked the date on the foil packaging to make sure it hadn’t expired. Content with the remaining half-life, he ripped the package open with his teeth and slid the latex material over his cock.

You beamed at him when he climbed back onto the bed. “I knew you were a smart man.”

Marcus slid up beside your body, turning you so your back pressed snug against his chest. “Safety first, baby. Wrap it before you tap it, right?”

Your laughter became strangled when he slid inside you, splitting you open on his cock. “Oh my god. You feel so good!” you cried when he began to move inside you after a long pause to let you adjust to the sheer size of him.

Marcus started at a slow pace, getting a feel for the way your walls tightened around him. Gripping the bed covers with your right hand, you reached your left hand up and around to tangle in his hair behind you. He picked up the pace as you tugged gently on his locks, his lips peppering your neck with soft, wet kisses.

When, at last, Marcus began pounding into you, you reached between your legs with your right hand to rub your clit. Despite the cool air blowing over your bodies, the heat between you had your skin glistening with sweat. You cried as Marcus hit a particularly pleasurable spot deep within you, his own moans morphing into grunts as you clamped down on him.

“Fuck, baby. You’re so tight around me. I can feel you clench every time I hit this spot.” His words were murmured into your ear, barely audible over the sound of skin slapping against skin. Marcus plunged forward to hit your g-spot, proving his point when you clenched tightly around him once again. “Yeah, just like that.”

You plunged clear over the precipice then, crying out his name and any number of praises as an orgasm overtook you. Marcus talked you through it, his voice like sugary syrup, while he never once let up on his thrusts. Minutes, hours later, he followed you into the overwhelming bliss with a shout of your name followed by a string of curses.

“That was amazing.” Marcus nuzzled your neck as his hips slowed, the last shots of his cum dribbling into the condom. “You are amazing.”

Lost for words, you just hummed in agreement. Knackered from the excessive heat, long day of investigative work, the alcohol, and the mind-blowing sex, you hovered on the edge of sleep while Marcus got up to dispose of the condom. He returned with a wet cloth and cleaned you up with tender dedication. Tossing the cloth aside, he paused, standing naked and uncertain next to the bed.

“Do you want me to stay?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” you replied sleepily, tossing the covers down so you could both slide under them. “I hope you like to cuddle, Mister.”

Grinning at you, Marcus wrapped his arm around you, curving his body around yours. “You bet your ass I do.”

You both fell into an exhausted sleep feeling hopeful and satiated for the first time in a long time.

Waking up in Director Pike’s arms was not something you expected would happen on this case. You fantasized. You hoped. Sure, all of that. But you never, ever expected it would actually happen. But it did and it felt fucking incredible.

You already knew he was damn good at his job. It was impressive to see that his single-minded focus and massive talent carried over to his skills in the bedroom as well. You replayed the night before in your head as you showered, remembering with fondness all the ways Marcus surprised you, how cherished he made you feel, the sheer pleasure he brought you.

How were you supposed to focus on the case now when your mind was completely overcome with thoughts of Marcus. You were almost relieved when he slipped out of the room after sharing a cup of hotel room coffee with you. You weren’t sure you could keep your hands to yourself if he stayed much longer, the rumbled, sleepy look proving almost too adorable to resist.

Marcus met you in the hotel lobby, two large cups of iced coffee and a brown paper bag clutched in his hands an hour after waking up together. “Good morning, Jersey girl,” he greeted you with a wink, dark brown eyes sparkling in the soft morning light filtering through the windows.

You chuckled at the variation of your nickname, already knowing that would become his signature endearment for you. “Good morning, handsome. Long time, no see.”

His grin grew wider. “Come on. Let’s ride together. No sense in taking two cars anymore.” He handed you one of the iced coffees and the paper bag, pulling the keys to his SUV out of his pocket.

Clad in gray cargo shorts, blush polo shirt, and a pair of boat shoes, Marcus looked ready for a day spent on the water rather than investigating art theft. The sight made your mouth water and you gulped at the iced coffee. As he drove, you both munched on the bagels he picked up along with the coffees while waiting for you.

“I figured we’d start taking a look at some of these hot springs to get a feel for them and see if anything else in the clues pops out at us,” Marcus explained between bites. He always chewed with his mouth closed and waited until after he swallowed to speak. You loved a man with impeccably manners.

“Great idea. I put a list of them in the file.”

“I know,” he beamed at you. “I saw it last night, before… It’s what gave me the idea. Thought we’d start with La Paloma and work our way down the list. What do you think?”

You nodded, sitting back in the passenger seat contentedly. Much to your surprise, there wasn’t an ounce of awkwardness between you two after last night’s surprising turn of events. Everything felt natural, like it was meant to turn out this way and you basked in the effortless interactions between you and Marcus.

Marcus spoke to the manager upon your arrival at La Paloma Hot Springs & Spa and the gentleman gave you a quick tour of the facility before allowing the two of you to investigate on your own. You split up to cover more ground, the scent of mineral-rich water tickling your nose as you worked your way through the facility.

Searching the private soaking tubs, you ran your hands along the edges looking for evidence of hidden compartments that might contain the artifact. Still uncertain if that was what you were actually looking for, it didn’t hurt to search. When you found nothing, your focus shifted to the vintage décor including the old photographs hanging on the walls, looking for any signs or symbols that might be a clue.

An hour later, you and Marcus reconvened at the front desk, disappointed that you both came up empty, yet undeterred in your drive to figure out this case.

You visited a number of other hot springs, conducting the same kind of searches yet never finding additional clues or evidence.

“It’s like we’re missing something,” Marcus said as you both climbed into the SUV, burnt out and sweaty, after your latest search came up empty. You’d spent the entire day running from hot spring to hot spring across the small town to no avail.

“Yeah, but what could it be?”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s not just any old hot spring? We need more to go on.”

Just then, your phone buzzed with an incoming call from the TCPD. Another painting stolen right under their noses – or rather, right behind the officer’s back as he turned around while patrolling one of the galleries. The thief had lightning-fast reflexes, apparently.

“Alright, thanks Chief. We’ll head over there now.” You ended the call and relayed the information to Marcus.

“This guy sure is brazen. I’ll give him that,” he lamented, carefully spinning the SUV around to head toward the latest crime scene.

“He’s got some balls, nicking a painting while an officer is standing right there. It’s like he’s begging to be caught.”

“That or he’s just a fucking lunatic.” Marcus met your gaze for a long moment after parking the vehicle. “Is it wrong that part of me hopes we don’t catch him too soon?”

Your heart thumped in your chest, lips quirking upwards into a shy smile. “No, not after last night…” you admitted. “We could always stay a few days after solving the case and explore this.” You gestured between the two of you.

Shutting off the car, Marcus bobbed his head. His previously styled hair fell across his forehead, the heat having worn away the product he used this morning. “I’d really like that.”

The TCPD officer met you at the door and led the way to the scene of the latest theft, his shoulders hunched in shame. “I never saw him; he was there and gone in seconds. Managed to leave this behind though, taped where the painting had been.”

Marcus accepted the paper, holding it up so you could read it.

Where the serpent bathes in earth’s warm embrace, beneath the soothing waters, the heart of the sun lies hidden.

“This message is different. Different, but the same. I mean… I don’t know what I mean,” you sighed frustratedly.

Marcus patted your shoulder in a manner appropriate for a professional audience. “No. I get what you mean. It’s tying the clues together in a different way. Giving us more hints at once.”

Heaving a sigh of your own, you nodded. What a great relief to feel understood. “Exactly.”

Conferring with the forensics team first, you and Marcus departed when they confirmed the thief left no trace evidence behind. No fibers, fingerprints, or hair. Nothing to clue you in on who the thief could be. Nothing, not even on the adhesive used to tape the clue to the wall or the paper itself. The perp was either lucky or extremely tidy.

Seated once again in the corner booth at Harry’s dingy pub, Marcus devoured his burger while you daintily nibbled at your fries. The extremely high temperature ruined your appetite. The case file sat open on the table as you placed sticky notes on a photocopy of the latest clue.

“’Where the serpent bathes’… that has to refer to the hot springs, right? And the serpent would symbolize this Quintessential guy?”

“Quetzalcoatl. The god’s name is Quetzalcoatl, for Christ’s sake,” Harry chimed in as he dropped off a fresh round of cold draft beers.

“Yeah, that guy,” you said, pointing a fry at Harry in thanks. Marcus laughed at your adorable ridiculousness. You made investigating this mind-boggling case fun.

“Right. And ‘in the earth’s warm embrace’ refers to the warm waters of the hot springs as well. That’s caused by geothermal activity, is that correct, Harry?” Marcus questioned.

The grizzled old barkeep lingered by your table, too caught up in his own curiosity to return to his duties. “Mmhmm, that’s what they say. I’m no rock scientist, mind.”

“You mean a geologist?” you chirped, a shit-eating grin gracing your pretty face.

“Yes, you mouthy little shit. Don’t sass me or I won’t help solve this case,” Harry grumbled. For a moment, Marcus worried you would be offended by the old man, but your tinkling laughter convinced him otherwise.

Marcus stifled a laugh when you rolled your eyes playfully and re-focused his attention on the clue. “That could be the earth’s warm embrace part, then. And ‘beneath the soothing waters’ refers again to the hot springs.”

“Uh huh,” Harry chimed in again, pulling the case file closer to him, aged eyes squinting to read your notes. Neither of you would normally let a civilian get so involved in a case, but Harry proved himself integral to solving this particularly challenging and unusual case. Pointing an arthritic finger to the final line of today’s clue, beneath the soothing waters, he added, “It refers to the artifact being hidden there, beneath one of the hot springs.”

Harry slipped into the booth on your side, and you flashed Marcus a smile. The old man was fully invested now. Thankfully the bar was empty but for a few regulars who could help themselves as far as Harry was concerned.

“Ok, so to summarize, we know the hot springs are involved,” you stated, processing the facts aloud as well as in your head. “And we know that the artifact is hidden beneath one of them. The question we’ve been chasing all day is which one, right? So, do any of the known hot springs have a serpent symbol or painting or something along those lines associated with it?”

Marcus shook his head as you flipped through pages of notes. “Definitely didn’t see any in the ones we checked out today.”

“Oh, for the love of all that is holy, you two idiots will be my age by the time you figure this out,” Harry stood from the booth, his voice gruff with annoyance, though whether that was from dealing with the two of you or the effort it took to stand with aged, arthritic bones was anyone’s guess. “You’ll want to check out Riverbend Hot Springs in the morning. You’re welcome.”

Mouths agape, you both watched the cantankerous old man shuffle back to the bar, grumbling to himself the whole way.

“Did he just solve the case for us?” Marcus asked when his gaze shifted back to you.

“I think so,” you laughed. “Thank fucking goodness. My eyes were starting to cross from looking at this file so much.”

Looking it up on his phone, Marcus confirmed that the Riverbend Hot Springs were closed until morning. Knowing their work was done for the day, he flashed you a heated look. “Want to go back to my room? Maybe cool off in the shower?”

Marcus had a nicer room than yours, the walk-in shower encased in glass and large enough to fit a few people. The perks of being a director, you guessed.

You barely glimpsed at the room before Marcus backed you against the already deadbolted door. His mouth pressed against yours, tongue dancing along the seam of your lips, begging for entry. You let him in eagerly, tongues tangling and teeth clashing with urgency. His hands were everywhere, stripping away your clothes and sliding against already bare skin in turn.

Once you both gave into the spark, stoking the fire into flames last night, the want turned into a blazing inferno that neither of you could extinguish. Not that you wanted to, anyway. No, you were content to burn to a crisp as the fire raged.

Marcus had you stripped naked within minutes, his mouth having never left your own in the process. Eager to return the favor from last night, you sunk to your knees, undoing his belt and shorts as you stared up at him. Marcus tore off his shirt while you shoved his shorts and boxer briefs down his slim hips to pool at his feet.

“Oh, fuck,” Marcus moaned as you wrapped your hand around his hardened length, testing the girth and weight of it in your grip. You tugged playfully a few times, getting to know the feel of him. Still staring into his lust blown eyes, you slowly leaned forward to glide the head of his cock around your plump lips before slipping him inside your mouth. A delicious whine fell from his lips when your tongue lapped at the little droplet of precum without breaking eye contact.

Not wanting to torture him unnecessarily, you began to move, taking more of his cock into your mouth until he bumped the back of your throat. Bobbing your head, you soaked his cock with your saliva, sucking every now and then to increase the sensation. Your left hand tugged the base of him where your mouth couldn’t quite reach, twisting with each upward stroke to further enhance his pleasure, as your right hand massaged his balls.

Panting heavily above you, Marcus slapped his palms against the door to support himself as you continued sucking his cock. Experimenting with how far you could take him, you hollowed your cheeks, easing farther down his length and breathed through your nose.

“Jersey girl… ungh. Please, I’m gonna come down that pretty little throat if you don’t stop.” You could feel his thigh muscles flex and twitch with the effort of not blowing his load down your throat as he stuttered out the words.

Taking pity on the man, you eased back until his cock audibly popped out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you until Marcus severed the link by stepping backwards on shaky legs.

“You are too good at that, my little minx. Come here.” Marcus helped you up, leading you into the shower once you regained your balance. He kissed you deeply as the cool water from the shower head cascaded over you both.

The water felt good on your overheated skin and Marcus pressed you backwards against the sturdy glass. Hiking a leg up around his waist with one hand, he gently cradled the side of your face in the other. Your gazes locked as he reached around your thigh and teased your clit.

“So wet for me, my Jersey girl.” Already on edge from sucking his cock, you were drenched and ready for him. “Did sucking my cock turn you on that much, my Jersey girl?” You mewled and, with the slightest shift of his hips, Marcus notched his cock at your entrance, feeding you inch by inch until your walls gripped his entire length tightly. “Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

Droplets of water rained down your bodies as he thrusted into you, your lips pressed open-mouthed against each other, noses bumping, exchanging breaths and moans without actually kissing. The stretch was intense but pleasurable, and you could feel every ridge of him inside you.

You suddenly realized why that was.

“Shit, we forgot a condom,” you said in between moans, your hands grasping his plump ass to make certain he didn’t stop.

Marcus showed no signs of stopping, his hips almost seemed to pick up the pace. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Fuck no!” you gasped; eyes fluttering shut as he nudged that spot inside you just right. “Please don’t ever fucking stop.”

“Ok,” he breathed against your lips. “I’m clean and it’s been a while since I’ve been with anyone.”

“Same,” you replied. “And I’m on birth control, so please, come inside me.”

Marcus groaned deeply at that, his head shifting so he could nip at your neck, soothing the sting with little kitten licks of his tongue. Pulling back, he murmured, “Turn around.”

You did so, whining as he slipped out of you. With a gentle hand, Marcus pushed your upper body against the glass and pulled your hips closer to him so your back arched perfectly. Your tits were pressed up against the glass wall of the shower and, just beyond it, you could see your reflections in the mirror. Only a slight mist of steam swirled in the air from the temperature of the water, and it didn’t hinder your view at all as Marcus closed in behind you, slipping his cock back where it belonged.

You watched your reflections, mesmerized, as he fucked into you, his wet hair flopping over his forehead when he bent forward to kiss along your shoulders and neck. Your hands came up on either side of your head to brace yourself against the glass, hoping that the strength of his thrusts wouldn’t cause it to shatter.

Marcus reached a hand around your thigh, slipping between your legs to pluck at your clit as you fucked you. Every single cell in your body felt aflame, ready to burst at the pleasure racing through you. It didn’t take long for you to explode, eyes squinted shut as you keened.

“That’s it, baby. Just like that. Come on my cock, my little Jersey girl. I can feel your cum gushing around me. Fuck, baby.” Once again, Marcus talked you through it in the soft voice of his. He continued thrusting as your walls trembled around him, driving him right over the edge after you, rope and rope of cum splashed your walls as he made the loveliest sex sounds in your ear.

You stayed like that, pressed up against the glass with the weight of Marcus leaning against you, chests heaving, until you both came back down from the high. Taking a few minutes to actually wash the day off each other, you settled on the bed wrapped in towels afterwards.

The two of you talked long into the night and, unable to keep your hands or mouths off each other, you had sex twice more before falling asleep.

Unable to come to an agreement on whether backup would be necessary at this point, you and Marcus finally decided to bring one officer to investigate the Riverbend Hot Springs with you. An extra pair of eyes could be useful, on that you both agreed.

Known for its scenic outdoor pools on the banks of the Rio Grande, visitors usually flocked to Riverbend. The facility not only had the hot springs, but hotel rooms and spaces for recreational vehicles as well. The manager was less than pleased when Marcus informed him that any guests present would have to stay in their rooms and out of both the common and private pools during the search. The last thing the investigation needed was public interference or contaminated evidence.

Searching the private pools first to appease the guests and resort manager, Marcus swiped his hand over his sweaty face when you found nothing.

“Let’s check the common pools now,” he sighed, wondering if it would be another fruitless adventure.

Another two hours of searching – lifting stones, moving decorative displays, going inside the pools themselves, even going so far as to request a shovel from the grounds crew to poke around in the landscaping – turned up nothing.

“At least there’s only one pool to go,” you said, trying to stay positive about finding something. “This has gotta be the one, right?”

“Let’s hope,” Marcus replied. Drenched in a mixed of sweat and mineral water, he wanted nothing more than to slip between cool sheets with you and an ice-cold drink. This case sucked.

Located at the far end of the property, overlooking the Rio Grande, a rock wall encased the final pool for support given the topography on the side along the river dipped lower. Marcus directed the officer to start at one end while he joined you in working your way up from the riverbank. Thorough in your search, you left literally left no stone unturned. One particular large slab placed in the landscaping next to the pool like a decorative display required your and Marcus’ strength combined to lift, and you gasped when you saw what sat in hiding beneath it.

“Is that a fucking trap door?” Marcus asked with a grunt as he glanced down and pushed the rock slab to the side.

“Yeah, it fucking is.” Bending down to open it, Marcus stopped you.

“Wait a second, Jersey girl. We don’t want to just go rushing down there.” He called the officer over for a quick chat, asking him to find the manager and see if anyone knew anything about where the trapdoor led.

Minutes later, the manager and resort engineer joined the group. No one knew a damn thing about what they found. It wasn’t depicted on the as-built drawings or any other schematics the engineer had on file. That did not bode well. Turning to the officer, you asked him to call for back up.

“We’ll head down to scope it out. Come down once backup gets here. In the meantime, please keep the guests away from this area,” Marcus directed the officer and manager before turning to you. “Ready, Jersey girl?”

Pulling your service weapon from its holster, you nodded confidently. “With you at my side, I’m ready for anything.”

Marcus flashed that boyish grin before wrenching the trapdoor open. As suspected, narrow steps carved into the stone descended down into darkness. Before Marcus could ask for one, the facility engineer handed him a flashlight.

Stepping carefully down the steps with the flashlight held high in one hand and his service weapon in the other, Marcus descended into the dark unknown with you right on his heels. At the bottom, a pathway led through more rock, dim light visible in the distance. You reach out while walking along the pathway to find the rock is surprisingly warm.

“I expected it to be cool to the touch,” you murmured, not wanting to make too much noise in case someone or something waited in the shadows.

“Hmm?”

“The walls,” you pointed when Marcus turned around. “They’re warm.”

Directing the beam of light in the direction you pointed, Marcus touched the back of his hand to the wall and looked back at you with a questioning brow. “How?”

“I have no fucking clue,” you shrugged.

“Latent heat from the surface?” he took a guess.

“Your guess is as good as mine. We’re below ground deep enough that it shouldn’t be this warm.”

Marcus continued on down the path, the rock walls growing warmer the farther you progressed. Finally, you turned a corner into a dimly lit chamber, the air filled with oppressive heat making it hard to breathe. You both scanned the room for threats, finding none. The chamber was oddly free of spider webs or bugs or people, aside from the two of you, but a pool of water bubbled inside a ring in the stone floor. Above the pool, an abnormally large, fiery opal appeared to float in the air, the glow from it the only source of light in the chamber aside from the flashlight in Marcus’ hand.

“What the fuck?” you questioned, confused as all hell why the gem just floated in air. “I’m getting some real X-Files type vibes and I DO NOT like it.”

Marcus couldn’t help the twitch of his lips even though he was just as confused as you. “This must be the Flame of Quetzalcoatl.”

“Ya think?” Your nerves made you snarky, a trait Marcus found profoundly adorable and endearing.

Stepping closer to the artifact, Marcus shielded his eyes from the fiery glow. He reached out with one long finger, nearly touching the object when the grinding sound of rock against rock reverberated through the chamber. Jerking back instinctually, both you and Marcus drew your pistols on the sudden intruder.

“Who the fuck are you?” you blurted at the man, your nerves shot to shit, your FBI training the only thing holding you together at that point.

Wild-haired, with oddly composed attire, the man practically vibrated with energy, a glint of insanity in his eerily green eyes. Under one arm, he carried another landscape painting, likely just stolen from another gallery. As if by magic or something equally befitting the utterly odd nature of this entire case, the other stolen paintings appeared, strategically placed along the rock walls rounding the chamber.

“I really don’t like this, Marcus,” you said through gritted teeth. His concerned gaze met yours briefly. “Me either, Jersey.”

It happened, as these things tend to do, suddenly and unexpectedly. The man lunged forward, dropping the painting without thought, and reached a trembling, emaciated hand toward the artifact. Marcus matched the man’s movement, reaching for him rather than the floating, glowing gem. In the process, a glass pedestal you didn’t even know was there, nearly invisible but surely the reason the artifact appeared to be floating in air, toppled over, sending the artifact flying.

You watched, awestruck and frozen in shock, as Marcus tackled the crazy man to the hard ground and the artifact shattered against the rock wall, simultaneously. Almost immediately, the temperature plunged until a damp coolness filled the formerly stuffy chamber, and the man shrieked in despair.

“No! No! No! You’ve ruined everything!” The man continued screeching. Moments later, TCPD officers rushed into the stone room, a few assisting Marcus with securing the thief in cuffs.

Among the backup that just arrived, the police chief stepped up to your side as you gave Marcus a hand in getting back on his feet. “Strangest thing,” the thick-bearded, squat man in uniform said, “the temperature dropped at least twenty-five degrees out of nowhere, just as we started making our way down here. Am I to believe it had something to do with whatever happened down here?”

You and Marcus shared a look before shrugging at the police chief. “I have no clue what even happened down here,” Marcus admitted. Tilting his chin in the crazy man’s direction, he added, “Your boys will bring him in for questioning? We’d like a shot at him, too.”

“Of course. We’ll get him processed. Come by the station whenever you’re finished up here.” The chief followed the officers escorting the man from the chamber, leaving behind a forensics team to gather evidence.

Standing above the shattered artifact, you sighed. “How the hell do I write this up in a report?”

“Very carefully and creatively,” Marcus replied with a smirk.

The interrogation didn’t take long, the man caving like a deck of cards in the wind. His name was Edmund Fawkes, a local starving artist driven mad by the excessive heat. Already obsessed with ancient mythology and local lore, he discovered the hidden chamber containing Quetzalcoatl’s Flame and, seeking the power and prosperity described in the legends, decided to take possession of it by appeasing the ancient god with landscape paintings.

It didn’t work, clearly, but Edmund was relentless in his insanity, continuing his thievery until you and Marcus caught him.

None of it made sense and there were so many things that could be attributed to entirely coincidental circumstances that you didn’t really care how the pieces fit together. The thief had been caught, the paintings returned to the appropriate galleries largely undamaged, and the town was no longer in the clutches of a deadly heat wave. That was all that really mattered.

On your way out of the police station, the case solved as far as the bureau was concerned, you turned to Marcus. “How long are you sticking around?”

Gazing at you with those chocolate puppy eyes, his lips twitched into a grin. “I have several weeks of PTO saved up. Figured I’d use some of that. Maybe all of it if I have a reason to.”

You grinned back at him. “I’m sure we could find a reason for that.”

An hour later, the sun dipping past the desert horizon, you found yourselves naked and neck deep in the soothing mineral water of a private hot springs pool. Given that business was completed, you checked out of the hotel the bureau set you both up in and reserved a room at the best resort in town for a couple days of relaxation.

“I’m going to miss this odd little town, especially Harry and his dingy pub,” Marcus said, pulling you closed to his side as you soaked in the soothing water.

“Me, too. I’m going to miss you most, though. I’ve really enjoyed getting to know you, both professionally and otherwise,” you admitted, leaning your head against his bare shoulder.

Marcus stilled for a moment before tightening his hold on you. “Why don’t you come back to DC with me?”

“What?” Your head tilted back to meet his eyes.

“You said you put in for a transfer back to the east coast, right?” You nodded and he continued. “Well, come back with me and we’ll have that transfer fast tracked. I’m certain there’s a position for you in DC. We won’t be on the same team, but that’s probably a good thing.”

You giggled at the boyish grin he flashed you. “If you’re sure, I’m game. I just don’t want you to feel like we’re rushing into anything.”

“Pssh, rushing, smushing. I’ve waited long enough to find someone like you. Now that I have, I’m not letting you go,” Marcus insisted. Gesturing between you, he added, “I mean it. There’s something amazing here, I know it. We can leave in a few days, spend a week or two exploring the city and each other before getting back to work.”

At a loss for a worthy response, you pressed your lips against his. The soft kiss quickly turned heated as you spun, straddling his lap, with your hands gripping the stone edge of the pool. Marcus ran his fingertips down the slick skin of your bare back as you squirmed into place, his cock swelling to life at the feel of you above, against, around him.

“I haven’t gotten a chance to ride you yet,” you murmured against his lips, grinding your bare pussy down on him.

“Now’s your chance, Jersey girl,” Marcus gasped through a moan. “Take me and use me, baby.”

Overheated despite the contrasting bite of cool air on your damp skin and warm water engulfing half your body, you eased yourself down onto his cock. You’d never get used to the exquisite stretch as he split you open. Drawing out the anticipation, you slid down his length with agonizing slowness, eliciting delicious whines from Marcus.

“Don’t torture me, baby. Please,” he begged to no avail. Peppering his handsome face with kisses, you kept the pace slow and torturous until he writhed beneath you.

At last, you took his full length inside you and started to move, bouncing eagerly on his cock with your head thrown back in pleasure. Marcus’ eyes stared at your breasts, bobbing along the water line and glistening from splashes of the mineral water as you moved on him. Mesmerized, he could look nowhere else, and his fingers shifted to pluck at the hardened peaks of your nipples.

The air temperature continued to drop as night set in, steam rising up from the warm water of the pool, dancing along your skin in beautiful swirls of water vapor. The clear, starry sky the perfect backdrop to your love making – for that’s what it was now, so much more than sex this time as you gave your whole self over to this wonderful, unexpected man who changed your life in a matter of days.

Overwhelmed with feelings, you keened as his cock nudged at all the right placing, your clit stimulated by grinding on his lap. “Fuck, Marcus. I’m gonna cum.”

Marcus thrust his hips upward at that statement, eager to drive you straight over the cliff into that beautiful abyss. “Do it, baby. Come all over my cock, my beautiful Jersey girl.”

Always good at following instructions, you did just that. Your eyelids slipped closed as you spasmed around him, head thrown back in ecstasy, his name falling like a prayer from your lips.

“That’s it, just like that,” Marcus crooned, pressing soothing kisses to the sensitive skin of your neck. “You’re strangling my cock, baby. Gonna make me come too, sexy girl.”

A few more erratic thrusts upward and Marcus came with a fury, cock pulsing with rope after rope of his spend deep inside you. Breathless and exhausted, you clung to each other until shivers settled in from the plunging temperature.

“Let’s get inside, my Jersey girl. We’ll clean up, climb under the covers, and cuddle while we make plans for the future.”

fin

#little lady kinky may #writing challenge 3.0 #iamasaddie game #marcus pike #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #marcus pike smut #marcus pike fluff #mystery #aztec myth #nonsensical plot

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topguncortez · 1 year ago

Text

Hold My Hand | Jake Seresin x Shy!Wifey

Opposites Attract Masterlist | Main Masterlist

synopsis: Y/N notices a change with her body, and Jake is there to give her the support she needs.

word count: 1.8k

warnings: mentions of a c-section, postpartum, breastfeeding, unprotected sex, shower sex, fear of doctors, mentions of breast cancer

Y/N felt like she knew more about how a woman’s body changes during pregnancy than her own doctor. By the time she was having baby three, she was an old pro and could tell you exactly what stage of development the fetus was in, how the mother’s body was changing, and the size of the baby. Y/N knew that every pregnancy was different, and each one of hers was different than the last. She knew that being pregnant with twins was going to be vastly different than being pregnant with just one. However, she never accounted for how different it was going to be.

A C-section was never in the cards for Y/N, but she didn’t really have a choice when she was whisked away by doctors and nurses and taken to an operating room. She didn’t really remember much about it, she could remember being cold, feeling exposed, the scent of burning flesh. But she did remember the feeling of her baby boys being placed on her chest for the first time. She remembered the feeling of Jake running his fingers through her hair and telling her she did a good job. She remembered the bright faces of her other three children when they got to hold the last Seresin babies in their arms.

Ever since that day, Y/N vowed to do things how she did for the last three pregnancies. She chose to breastfeed the best she could. It was a challenge at first, her milk didn’t come in right away from having the twins early, and due to the c-section. But it got easier once she did start producing, in fact, she started over-producing and woke up most mornings with sore breasts. Jake was great help, waking up during the night to help her feed the twins, and getting her breast pump ready for her.

The first time she felt the lump was in the middle of the night. Jasper had woken up and was hangry. Y/N told Jake to stay in bed, and that it was just one of the twins that wanted attention. She had gotten him situated to feed when she felt the painful lump on her chest. Y/N had brushed it off, thinking it was just a clogged milk duct. She made sure to feed Jasper on that side, hoping that he could get the clog out. When Jasper was done feeding, Y/N burped him and wrapped him back up in his swaddle.

Y/N didn’t think anything of it, until about two weeks later.

She and Jake had finally gotten a private moment to themselves. The older three Seresins were at school, and the twins were down for a nap. Y/N placed the baby monitor on the shelf next to the shower and dragged her husband in there with her. Sexy time with Jake was something as few and far between as the passing of Halley’s Comet. They had gotten good at mastering the art of quickies; in the shower, in the garage, in the back of Y/N’s Cadillac SUV.

Jake’s hands were roaming Y/N’s wet skin, as his mouth was on hers. His cock was gently thrusting in and out of her, trying to make their private moment last as long as it could. Her hands were tangled in his hair, pulling on the blonde locks that had grown way past acceptable for the Navy. Jake was clearly enjoying his time off as much as Y/N was; not having to wake up early, shave every single day, and get constant weekly haircuts.

“Fuck, sweets,” Jake groaned, as he pressed kisses to her neck. His strong hands held her up against the shower wall, “I love you so much.”

“I love you too,” Y/N moaned, tilting her head back. Jake’s tongue moved across her skin, down to her breast. The moment his tongue came in contact with her nipple she let out a hiss and pulled him back by his hair.

“You okay?” Jake asked, his eyes full of concern, “Is it mas-”

“Please,” Y/N groaned, “Do not talk about mastitis while your cock is inside me.”

Jake chuckled and kissed her. He didn’t waste any more time, knowing that at any moment the babies could start crying and want attention. He brought his hand down between their bodies, circling her clit in slow tantalizing circles, bringing her over the edge with his name falling from her lips like a prayer.

“I’ll go check on, ‘em,” Jake said, as he slipped on his sweatpants. His hair was still damp from the shower, and Y/N still stood in front of the mirror, wrapped in only her towel. She hummed in agreement, and Jake kissed the side of her head before going towards the twins’ nursery.

Y/N stared at herself in the mirror, waiting for Jake’s voice to come over the baby monitor. She let out a shaky breath as she dropped her towel, and ever so gently, ran her fingers along the side of her breast. The moment her fingers came in contact with what she hoped disappeared weeks ago, she let out a small sob.

— — —

One of Valeria Bates-Machado’s favorite things was being able to take care of her friends’ kids. It brought her joy seeing them year after year and seeing how much they have grown. She always made the check-ups less scary for parents and kids. Val had been the Seresin kids’ doctor since they were born and knew probably as much about them as their parents did. This was why Val found it a bit odd that Jasper and Maxwell Seresin were on her schedule for the day.

“Y/N,” Val said, as she entered the room, “What brings you in today?”

Y/N gave Val a small smile, “Nothing, just a check-up.”

Val nodded, “I just saw them three weeks ago.”

“Well, Jasper seemed to be a little congested.”

Val nodded again, still not believing the smile on Y/N’s face. It didn’t reach her eyes like it usually did, and she never just showed up like this when her kids had the flu. Y/N was a mom times five, she knew what to do when her babies showed signs of congestion.

But Val did the check-up either way, and confirmed what Y/N thought, that Jasper did have some congestion, but it was nothing that warranted a visit like this. Val ordered some medicine for the little boy, and held him while Y/N got Maxwell out to feed.

“So how are things?” Val asked, “When does Jake go back to work full-time?”

“Next week,” Y/N mumbled, looking down at Maxwell, “He’s excited-”

“And you’re not?” Y/N took a deep breath, trying to swallow down the tears that were welling up in her throat. Val’s eyes softened as she looked at her friend, “What’s going on?”

“I…. I need your help with something. I know you’re a pediatrician, but you’re one of the only doctors I trust and you know I don’t trust doctors, and I-”

“Shh,” Val said, reaching for her friend’s hand, “I got you. Whatever it is, I got you. We’ll get through this.”

— — —

It had been a week.

A slow, dreadful, anxiety-filled week.

Every call, every email, every text message had sent a tiny jolt of anxiety through Y/N’s body. Val said she would reach out to her the second that she got the results back. They had agreed to take it one step at a time, starting with taking some scans. Y/N tried her best to remember that they couldn’t do anything else without getting those scans back, but it didn’t stop her mind from jumping to the worst-case scenario.

Jake had noticed over the past week that something had been off with Y/N. He couldn’t quite explain it or put his finger on it. She was quieter than normal, shying away from his touches. She had decided to switch to bottles full time, instead of breastfeeding. And every time she held her babies, she would squeeze them just a bit tighter and hold them just a bit longer.

“What’s going on with you?” Jake asked, as he set down a bowl of ice cream with a caramel brownie in front of her, “You’re never this quiet.”

“Just tired,” Y/N answered, running a hand over her face, “Having Eli home this week has been a change.”

Jake nodded, still eyeing his wife. The kids had long since been put to bed, after bathtime and several bedtime stories. It was just the two of them, each having an extra slice of the desert, revealed in the quiet house and alone time. Jake let the silence stretch out a little longer, the only sound was the quiet hum from the baby monitor and the clinking of spoons against the bowl.

“Alright,” Jake sighed, taking the bowl away from his wife, “Talk to me. What’s going on?”

“Noth-”

Jake gave her a look and Y/N returned it with an irritated glare. But the facade only lasted for a minute, before her eyes turned glassy, and her cheeks heated up. Jake’s jaw dropped slightly, as the tears started to flow down her cheeks. Y/N buried her face in her hands and quiet sobs escaped her lips.

Y/N Seresin was not a woman who cried.

Y/N Seresin was a tough woman, who hid her tears and walked through hell with a smile.

Jake Seresin was at a total loss on what to do as his wife cried in front of him.

He waited for a moment, letting her get her tears out. He grew up with sisters to know that sometimes, you just need to cry it out. That asking questions and trying to figure out why at the moment could make it all worse. Jake waited until the tears had somewhat subsided, before grabbing one of her hands and pulling it away from her face. When her sobs turned into sniffles, Jake squeezed her hand, letting her know that she had the floor to talk.

“I found a lump,” Y/N whispered, her eyes closed. Jake’s eyebrows furrowed, “I found it a couple of weeks ago, I thought it was just a clogged duct. I went to see Val for some scans and I… They want to run some tests.” She opened her eyes and looked at her husband

Jake didn’t know what to say.

What do you even say in a situation like this?

Jake swallowed thickly as he leaned forward in his chair, squeezing her hand. He opened his mouth several times, racking his brain for things to say.

‘It’ll be alright.’

‘We’ll figure it out.’

‘How bad is it?’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

Everything Jake was thinking of saying, just didn’t sound right to say out loud. So instead, he sat there, and held her hand.

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burrowbabe · 22 days ago

Text

Give and Take - Chapter 10

Hello hello ;) I got bored and decided to write the next chapter tonight! (not thoroughly proofread)

** trigger warning

Intense smut ... absolute filth. Inspired by 'Can I' by Kehlani.

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It was becoming increasingly difficult to take things slow with Joe. Every glance, every sly smirk and every secret kiss made you want to jump his bones. And you almost never got alone time to take things further, even if you wanted to.

Playing with yourself when thoughts of his naked body over came you, could only do so much. You needed real release.

Tana's birthday was coming up, and while you had every intention of making her day special, you couldn't help but selfishly look forward to the trip to Las Vegas you all would be taking in honor of the occasion. That meant, private hotel rooms.

You booked the penthouse suite at Ceaser's Palace for your friends, and a separate room on another floor for yourself claiming there wouldn't be enough room to sleep everyone comfortably.

"You prude! No one will be getting any sleep this weekend if I have anything to say about it." Tana exclaimed, sitting on her overly full luggage to zip it closed.

"You do what you want, but I need my beauty rest." You quip, pretending to throw your hair over your shoulder.

With an annoyed eye roll, Tana joins the rest of the crew outside to load up the car.

You resume gathering the last of your things before making your way down the hall. Before making it to the top of the stairs, a hand grabs your elbow, pulling you to the side of the dimly lit hall. Joe looks down at you with a small smile before pulling you in for a kiss.

With a sigh, you melt into his body, dropping your bag and wrapping your arms around his neck.

"Do you really think we're going to be able to sneak away this weekend?" Joe asks, biting his lip.

"I hope so .. we deserve some proper alone time." You smirk.

"Oh yeah? What does that entail?"

"Hmm ... I'm thinking room service, fuzzy robes, champagne ..." You raise your eyebrows and look at him with sultry eyes.

"I like the sound of that." He replies, leaning down to the crook of your neck to inhale your perfume before landing a kiss right under your ear.

You're interrupted once again by a holler from your brother in the distance.

"We're gonna miss the flight!" He yells.

Disappointedly, you and Joe are broken out of each other's embrace and quickly make your way down to the garage.

Everyone had already claimed their seats in the large SUV, leaving only 2 open spots in the very back of the vehicle. Joe's size made it difficult to clammer into the last row, not without Ja'Marr razzing him. You didn't mind the close proximity though, you're able to clasp Joe's hand for the whole ride without any of the others noticing.

-----------

After a quick, booze filled trip on the private jet you had chartered, everyone was ready to throw their things down in their respective rooms, and get ready for the night ahead of them.

Joe had claimed he got his own room as well as he would need to "hit the gym in the morning and maybe call it an early night", to which resulted in merciless teasing. You couldn't help but stifle your own laugh when he broke this news, learning that he is a terrible liar.

"Football is over man! You gotta cut loose." Ja'Marr clapped him on his back giving him a look in disbelief.

"We don't win championships with that attitude." He slyly remarked, earning a groan from his best friend.

"OK Sheisty ... wouldn't want to throw you off your 8 p.m. bedtime." Ja'Marr rolls his eyes in good fun but finally dropping the subject to Joe's relief.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach knowing you'd have all his attention tonight.

Touching up your smokey eye in the mirror, you heard a knock at your door. Assuming it was one of your friend summoning you for the dinner reservations you had made, you quickly grabbed your purse and threw on your short black heels.

"Coming!" You call out, trotting over to swing open the door to meet Joe's shocked expression. His eyes roamed your whole body. Your micro skirt showed off your perfectly tanned legs, while your black lace top exentuated your full chest.

"I - you ... I was just ..." He was lost for words.

"Just come here." You say, pulling him in for a glossy kiss.

"God, you're gonna kill me having to look at you all night." He sighed, moving his hand down your waist.

"You'll just have to wait." You smirk and pat the side of his cheek. "We're gonna be late"

You strut off towards the elevator, with him chasing after you like a puppy.

The rest of your friends were waiting in the lobby roaring with laughter.

"Holy shit!" Tana interrupts the conversation she was having with Nick when her eyes land on you. "Now that's what I'm talking about! You'll have guys falling from trees for you looking like that!"

You couldn't help the blush that crept up your cheeks. She was the most blunt person you had ever known but she never failed to hype you up.

"I think you need a jacket." Your brother complains, earning an eyeroll from you.

"Enough about me! It's your weekend." You wave Tana off and the crew moves for the car to drive you all to the restaurant.

After running up a handsome bill at the most expensive restaurant on the strip, gambling was next on the agenda. You hated the thought of throwing money away, especially with high stakes. So you sat yourself at the penny slots and went to town. You kept looking around to make sure you kept tabs on your group, always making eye contact with Joe who was sat at the blackjack table with the others.

He gives you a sublte motion with his two middle fingers to come over to the table. The motion alone sending a jolt to your nether regions. You cash out quickly, earning a mere $10, before making your way over to Joe.

"I'm rich!" You wave your winning ticket in front of his face.

"Look at you, high roller." He laughs. Unknowingly you snake your arm around his shoulder, leaning into him, giggling. Ja'Marr makes a confused face making you stiffen and straighten up, stepping away from Joe.

"Sorry, I get touchy-feely when I'm drunk." You joke, trying to back pedal, awkwardly making eye contact with Ja'Marr again. A blush creeps up on your cheeks and you throw back the rest of your drink to distract yourself from the budding tension.

"This is boring, lets hit the club!" Tana says, breaking the silence - thank God.

"I second that. I need me some phone numbers." AJ shimmies his eyebrows suggestively.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. Surely you were more nervous than you needed to be.

You needed another drink, and ASAP.

The club was loud and busy. Sweaty bodies grinding all over each other as house music shook the floor. AJ flagged down a bottle service waitress and arranged a VIP section for all of you in the corner of the room.

It seemed like every round you all ordered, required a toast to Tana's birthday. Each proclaimation more outrageous and hilarious than the next. Each tequila soda was going down like water. Every glance in Joe's direction more sexually charged. The world was starting to disappear around you.

"I need to dance!" You announce, but fallen on deaf ears as everyone was engrossed in their own conversations.

You manage to get into a standing position and stumble slightly into the crowd of people. You didn't care, you swayed your body to the music. Closing your eyes and running your hands through your hair, you felt invincible.

Some flashes indicated fans taking photos of you, but you didn't care about that either, you were having a blast.

A pair of hands snake around your waist, pulling you into a tent in their pants. You allow them to move with you to the beat.

"You're so fucking sexy." The man shouts in your ear with his hot breath. You look up to see its a total stranger towering over you, and not the man you wanted it to be.

Suddenly, a hand clasps over yours, pulling you away from the stranger and down the hall towards the bathrooms. You're pushed into the wall, meeting Joe's eyes that have darkened. His cheeks are flushed slightly from the alcohol and his lips are plump from biting down on them.

"Are you OK?" He asks, searching your face for any type of concern.

"I'm better now." You say, sliding your hands up his abdomen.

"You drive me crazy you know that?"

Joe pulls you close and smashes his lips to yours, moving desperately against you.

"Let's go home." You huff in between kisses.

You follow Joe's lead as he pulls you through the crowd of people, expertly avoiding your table full of friends.

Your panties are absolutley soaked and you're both practically running to the exit to get the next cab to the hotel.

The ride back is silent but so sexually charged, it was palpable.

It took major restraint and self-control to keep from doing it right there in the car or even the elevator up to the room.

Bursting through the door and locking it behind you, you pounce on Joe. Backing up towards the bed before the back of his knees hit the edge of the bed, making him fall flat on his back.

Finally making contact with Joe's soft lips again made a shiver run down your spine - so wet, so plump, so right.

Moving in sync with one another, your lips stay attached, only breaking slightly to introduce your tongues.

Joe groans at the taste of sweet liquor on your mouth, pulling your hips closer so you collapse into his lap, straddling him on your bed.

Running your hands through his soft blonde hair, you sigh in relief at the contact he makes with your ass, grasping it in his big hands. Pulling you closer to the bulge in his pants, your pussy grinds against him offering you at least some relief.

Joe pulls back slightly to quickly grab the hem of your shirt to take it off, exposing your black lace covered breasts. Before diving in to kiss your neck, you push his shoulders back to get off of his lap. A look of panic washes over his face, thinking you were changing your mind. But that was far from true. Wasting no time, you spread his knees apart, kneeling down in between them.

With a sigh of relief and a groan accompanying it, Joe watches you work on his zipper, pulling down his grey jeans. A tent in his boxers was an understatement. The outline of his hard cock looked bigger than you ever imagined. Looking up at him through your eyelashes, you hook your fingers under the band of his boxers, slowly pulling them off to be thrown in the pile with his jeans. His cock springs up in front of your eyes, making your jaw drop slightly.

"Fuck." You mutter, eyeing his member standing at attention. Taking your hand, you wrap it around the bottom of his shaft, looking to meet his eyes again to see his pleased reaction. His tip leaked with pre cum, which you happily wiped with your thumb before attaching your lips to his pink, throbbing tip. Giving it a small kiss, Joe watches you intently before you lick a stripe from base to tip causing him to roll his head back in pleasure.

"Holy shit ... fuck me." He groans.

Spitting on his tip, you watch it drip down before taking his whole cock in your mouth. With a hiss, Joe grabs the back of your head gently with one hand, silently begging you not to move.

"Fuck ... keep doing that and I'm gonna cum already." He mutters defeatedly.

Pushing down further, you let his tip hit the back of your throat, earning another loud groan from Joe. Slowly sucking all the way up to the top, you come off his tip with a 'pop' sound.

Joe looks down at you with a darkness in his eyes that you had never seen before.

"C'mere baby." In one swift motion, he grabs your hips to lead you back up to the bed, pulling you back into his lap to unclip your bra and taste himself on your lips. Flipping you over onto your back, Joe pulls on your lower lip with his teeth mid-kiss, pulling off your skirt and underwear and quickly tossing them over with the rest of the clothes. Completely exposed now, Joe breaks from the kiss to stand back and look at your naked body.

His mouth parts slightly, shaking his head in disbelief.

"So perfect." he mutters, looking you up and down.

Grabbing your ankles and pulling you closer to the edge of the bed, he kneels in front of your dripping center, licking a stripe from your entrance to the top of your throbbing clit earning a loud moan from you.

"Joey!" you exclaim, already writhing from the contact.

Moving his hands to grip under your thighs, he holds you open to devour you. He starts with small kitten licks on your clit, kissing and sucking on the sensitive nub.

No guy had ever gone down on you before, let alone knew where the clit was. So, to have someone be so attentive to your pleasure first was shocking and amazing.

Moving faster circles on your clit, Joe introduces two fingers into your entrance, sliding them in slowly.

Your back begins to arch and you feel that coil in your stomach.

"Joe ... oh my God.. y-yes please don't stop" you cry out. His assault on your clit is merciless as his fingers pump in and out of you faster and faster. His free hand won't let you rise far off the bed, he pins you down as you writhe beneath him in pleasure.

"Oh God Joey ... I'm gonna cum." you whine, egging him on to add a third finger inside of you.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you choke out a string of moans. Joe continues licking your clit softly as your orgasm tears through you. With your legs shaking, and breath hitched in your throat, Joe makes a string of kisses up your inner thigh as you come down from your high.

Flipping you over, he pulls your hips so your core meets his throbbing cock. Grabbing a condom from his pants pocket, he tears it open with hi mouth, adjusting it over himself.

With a smack to your ass, you jolt forward from the contact, moaning loudly.

"So wet for me." He growls, sliding his tip up and down your entrance.

"Please, Joe." You whine, moving to your elbows to arch your ass higher in the air.

In one swift motion he penetrates you, earning a shocked gasp from you. You choke out a moan as you adjust to his size. He pumps in and out of you deep and hard, your bodies smacking together with each movement.

Your eyes flutter shut in pure bliss. There was no stopping the loud moans coming from you no matter who heard. And Joe's sweet affirmations about how tight and beautiful you were made it even harder not to cum right then and there.

Joe suddenly pulls out to your dismay causing you to whine. He sits with his back against the headboard. "C'mere baby."

You crawl over to hima nd straddle his lap, taking him in your hand to position him at you entrance once again. Sinking down on top of him, you both moan in unison.

"So good for me." He says, grpping your hips and grinding up into you. Your clit rubs against his lower stomach perfectly, adding to the already overwhelming sensation. He sucks on your right nipple making you cry out, digging your nails into his shoulders.

"Cum for me baby." He demands in a low, husky whisper.

You core tightens and your body begins to shake. Joe forces you down harder on him and moves your hips faster against him.

"Fuck - yes!" You whimper, slowing your movements and shuttering against him. Joe growls and tips his head back against the head board as he jerks up into you, reaching his own climax.

You collapse into him meeting his lips one last time before pulling off to lay beside him.

You find it hard to catch your breath as you come back to reality.

"You still think you're broken?" He asks with a cocky smile.

You rapidly shake your head and bite your lip. "Where have you been all my life?"

#cincinnati bengals #joe burrow #au #joe burrow fan fiction #fanfiction #smut

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bittersweetarts · 1 year ago

Text

How to Disappear - Chapter 1

Soldier Boy (The Boys) x OC

Word count: 2389 words

Summary: Eden Reid can't help her curiosity, and Soldier Boy can't help but take advantage of that curiosity.

WARNINGS: Some depiction of violence, misogyny, and the usual TW for it being The Boys (Amazon)

Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - AO3 Page

Chapter 1: An Act of Kindness

Eden Reid was at the start of her daily fucking crack ass of the dawn morning jog across Laurance Harbor Beach, sandy-brown hair up in a high pony, dressed in her usual bland sweats and black running shoes, when she came across him, unconscious along the shoreline, the waves repeatedly caressing him, gently, before retreating.

As she stared at him, the young woman noticed his tattered costume and the bruising littered on his face and skin, and that he did not appear to be breathing. For a moment, Eden contemplated what to do, because she knew that she couldn’t take him to any emergency room or call 911.

Because she knew exactly who he was.

Of course, she knew exactly who he fucking was, pretty much most of the world knew who exactly he fucking was.

He was Soldier Boy, the old leader of Payback, fought in all those important wars in the last century, America’s first and greatest Supe, a man who was supposed to be dead and yet somehow was now alive, lying on the beach in front of her.

And apparently now a Super-Terrorist, according to the news outlets, who for the past week have only been reporting on the attack on the Seven Tower, and how Queen Maeve had successfully saved the country with her sacrificial takedown of Soviet-brainwashed Soldier Boy; his defeat was supposed to be symbolic of a new age for freedom and safety for the masses.

Unlike most of the people Eden knew though, she wasn’t blinded by the lies fed to the masses on a silver spoon by the media and corporations like Vought International.

Eden knew, Eden knew all too well that Supes were nothing but selfish bastards at best, and that none of them give a single fuck about saving others. Eden knew that the mainstream media hyperinflated the heroism of ‘heroes’, and failed to report the deaths of normal civilians, who were nothing more than simply collateral damage. And Eden knew that if she was told that unconscious man lying before her was nothing but a villain, then that was not the full story.

And she knew this all this because if her abilities were not so weak, she would have been just another Supe on Vought or some other fuck’s payroll, spouting the exact same bullshit.

But no, her ability of super strength was, ironically, too weak to even be considered as a D-list Supe, despite her family’s dreams for her, and now in her mid-twenties, she wastes her days away as a receptionist at a private clinic in East Brunswick. So much for the glamorous life of the ‘super-abled’.

However, her abilities were not weak enough apparently to carry the heavy ass man before her. Although he did not appear much taller than she was, he was at least twice her size, and as she lifted him up into her arms, Eden gave a silent prayer, hoping that she wouldn’t see a single living soul as she carried the unconscious vigilante to her car, and that the oversized grey zip that she draped over him concealed his appearance well enough.

What the fuck was is my problem? Eden thought as she dropped Soldier Boy into the trunk of Mazda, a black SUV she bought years ago when she moved out of her childhood home.

Eden didn’t need this shit. It’s been years since she dropped out of Godolkin and left behind the world of fucked up Supes and drugs, and she was at peace living in solitude at her cabin by Norvin Green Forest. She didn’t need to get herself involved in dangerous shit. So why had she gotten herself involved by kidnapping the unconscious man who was lying in the trunk of her vehicle?

Eden couldn’t explain it. To call it a curiosity would be an understatement; it was more like a compulsion. She had acted thoughtlessly, as though she were possessed by something, and now, on her half hour drive back to her home in the woods, Eden began to regret what she had done.

Days passed and life continued as normal for Eden. She kept her unconscious house guest in a spare bedroom of her small cabin, and went to her 9 to 5 throughout the work week as usual.

In a way, Eden hoped that if Soldier Boy woke up in her home, he would simply leave, and that she would not have to meet him or explain anything. But every evening, following her commute, Eden was greeted by her dark home, and when checking on her guest, she found him unconscious, but still alive and in her spare bed.

Eden often thought about whether she should call the cops or to dump the unconscious Supe back at the beach (or literally anywhere else). But she did not do that, because she knew that by this point, it would simply make her a walking target either for Vought or the government, and really, it was a miracle that she had not been caught transporting him to her place from the beach. For all she knew though, some government entity or Vought was spying on her this very minute.

So instead, the young woman resigned herself to the guest bedroom, where she left Soldier Boy to lay on the queen-sized bed, most of its real estate which he occupied. As he lay there motionless, Eden would periodically cleanse his face and exposed skin with a damp wash cloth (not knowing what else to do that would help him), before covering him with a light blanket. For the rest of the night, Eden would sit on the cream armchair by him, mindlessly watching the news on the small TV set in the room, on low volume, while thinking about anything and everything.

It's not that Eden did not have anything else to do, or that she had no one. Eden prefers to consider her lifestyle as a self-imposed exile, because she knew that she could not rely on anyone. Disconnecting herself from the world, being in nature, was healing to her, and even if she wanted to, she couldn’t get herself to trust anyone, not anymore.

And so, Eden spent several weeks like this, working during the day, going on her daily runs (though now in the forest rather than the beach), and barely sleeping at night, passively watching the news and her unconscious guest, who’s bruising slowly faded away. Soldier Boy looked exactly as he did in his old film, Red Thunder, Eden noticed, and had not aged in the slightest, which bewildered her.

But despite being the vision of health, Soldier Boy did not wake, and Eden did not know what to do.

More often than Eden would like to admit, Eden watched Soldier Boy, observing his long lashes and the way his now steady breathing never wavered – not even when Eden would wipe a damp wash cloth across his body – and she noticed how quickly his stubble grew into a fuller beard, but never to the point of the point of overgrowth, despite the lack of grooming.

Eden also noticed how humorous it was that practically the only topic on the news channels was Soldier Boy himself, and how it was reported that he was not a Super-Terrorist anymore, but an odd dichotomy of hero and victim to Soviet radicalization. And so, the narrative shifted, not that she believed it to be the full truth. Yet something Eden knew to be true was not on any news channel or online forum: Soldier Boy was not dead but alive, albeit unconscious in some cabin hidden away in the mountains.

Or rather that was the truth, until Soldier Boy regained consciousness.

It happened so quickly, and Eden was not entirely awake to even process exactly what happened.

One moment, Eden was drifting into sleep, in her usual seat on the armchair, with the lamp lights dim, the moonlight from the window behind filtering into the room, and the TV white noise drowning out the silence. The next moment, Eden found herself gasping for breath, suffocating, as two strong hands wrapped around her throat, pinning her to the armchair.

Eyes still half-asleep but now tearful, Eden met the vicious stare of her now-awakened guest, and suddenly, she came to her senses. Mustering up all her strength, Eden pushed against his chest, the supe-strength of which took her attacker by slight surprise. His hold on her throat relaxed slightly, and Eden quickly grabbed his wrists to keep his grip loose.

“Let me go –” Eden choked out, trying to breath.

As though confused, Soldier Boy tilted his head, but his expression remained in its remorselessly neutral expression. Fear shot through her veins when Eden realized that her strength did not affect him but rather spiked the smallest amount of curiosity.

“I was just trying to help you.” Eden sputtered out incoherently as she felt the grip began to tighten again. Soldier Boy narrowed his eyes at this, and then right on cue, something else caught his attention.

The tiny TV in the room switched to midnight rerun of The Cameron Coleman Hour on the Vought News Network, and broadcast invaded the room, with the image of Soldier Boy plastered over the screen.

“Good evening everybody, welcome back …” Cameron Coleman’s voice echoed throughout the room.

As it did, Soldier Boy loosened his grip on Eden’s throat, letting her go. Eden’s hand shot up to her neck, strands of her sandy-brown hair falling to her face as she gasped for more air. Her skin felt sore, and she knew that if she were a normal person, she would have been dead by now, at the very least from a broken neck.

“… and please welcome our guest of the evening, Defense Secretary Chris Barney.” The cheering track played on TV bounced off the walls in the guest room, while the camera panned from Cameron Coleman onto a burgeoned man his early-thirties, already balding, and Soldier Boy’s attention was entirely captivated by what was on TV.

“Mr. Secretary, thank you so much for joining us.” Chris Barney, in his mechanical voice, thanked his interviewer as well, and Eden, with her hands on her tender neck, watched as Soldier Boy was entirely captivated by the TV interview.

“I want to kick off by asking you to directly respond to the idea that Soldier Boy and this new age of Super-Terrorism, which involves Supes living in our country, should be the Pentagon and American public’s top concern.”

“See Cameron, I am not going to beat around the bush. Soldier Boy’s attack in Manhattan is an isolated incident, and the FBSA has taken great strides in tackling this matter, and in the mere weeks past, there is already a significant reduction in the number of violent incidences within the public, both super-abled and not. So to answer your question, no it is not a concern for both the Pentagon and America, especially as Soldier Boy is an isolated incident, and dead at that.”

Chris Barney��s voice bounced off the walls, and as it sounded off, and he answered follow up questions relating to terror attacks, which Soldier Boy ignored, as he began to speak over him, his voice both low but loud, full of contempt.

“So that’s it, huh – I’m dead. I’m fucking dead to the American people. Again.”

Eden did not know what to say, and took a step back, the back of her legs now pressed to the wooden side table by the bed.

“I fought for this country. I fucking gave up my life for this fucked up country, and what do I get in return? Fucking nothing.”

As he spoke, spitting out each syllable, Eden noticed how Soldier Boy clinched his fists tightly, and wondered whether he would just destroy her home, or kill her as well. She remained silent, not daring to even breath too loudly as though that would set him off. But Eden’s heart was beating at a million miles per minute, and she was sure that Soldier Boy could hear it.

Reminded of her presence, Soldier Boy turned around and glanced over Eden, as though he were a predator contemplating whether his prey was worthy of slaughter. His deliberation lasted only a few moments. With only two tall strides, Soldier Boy, in his tattered costume, came face-to-face with the young woman stood before him, brushing away a thick strand that had fallen in front of her eyes.

“What’s your name doll?”

Soldier Boy’s voice was deep, and though he did not swear or say anything malignant, Eden was still frightened, but willed herself to not shake in her fuzzy slippers.

“Eden,” Eden responded quietly, but Soldier Boy’s furrowed eyebrows made her paranoid that he either hadn’t heard her, or that she hadn’t actually said anything.

“Eden Reid, um, Sir.” Eden said once again, only slightly more audibly, while looking to the ground, so as to avoid his burning stare. At this, Soldier Boy chuckled and gently took push a hand to her chin, tilting her face upwards, making her look back at him again.

“Well, aren’t you sweet, Miss Reid.” Soldier Boy spoke, the side of his mouth tilting upwards. Inching his face closer, he continued speaking, his breath blowing over Eden’s face. “Have you got any pills, sweetheart?”

Eden shook her head slowly, now shaking slightly and regretting her personal stance on being drug-free.

“Weed?”

Eden shook her head again, and she felt her heart speed up anymore. At this, Soldier Boy turned away to let out a frustrated sigh, before facing her again.

“A good girl. Surely you can be resourceful and find something, doll. Age of feminism and all.”

Soldier Boy’s tone was condescending, but thankfully, Eden knew that her co-worker, Matt, had an affinity for her and substance abuse, so she might be able to score something from him. Pressing her lips together, Eden nodded, which made Soldier Boy smile. Letting go of her chi, Soldier Boy turned around and sat on the armchair to his right, paying attention to the TV again, which was still playing the Cameron Coleman interview rerun.

“Well then, chop-chop sweetheart. And afterwards, you can tell me where the fuck I am and why the fuck I’m here with you.”

Author's Note: This is an AU story where rather than getting captured, Soldier Boy/Ben ends up projecting himself into the Hudson River. I am not a Geography or Physics major, so none of this actually makes sense or is realistic.

– Chapter 2

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highqueenofelfhame · 2 years ago

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rowaelin // 5.2k words // masterlist an: i'll add tags later tonight after work, but I wanted to get this posted before i leave <;3 tw: brief mentions of abortion, language

The bathroom counter was entirely covered with various types of pregnancy tests. After the first four showed positive, Aelin had gone back to the pharmacy and bought every type they had available. HCG tests that were no more than skinny bits of paper, typical plastic ones, digital ones. Not a single one had given her the negative she was looking for. Paper results from an emergency room visit yesterday morning showed the same thing, only this time it was there in her blood.

She hadn’t gone to the ER for pregnancy results— that would have been silly. She went at the urging of Lysandra because since finding out a few days ago, her anxiety made her symptoms even worse. Aelin hadn’t been able to keep down liquids of any sort and dehydration quickly set in. A quick prick of a needle had fluids and anti-nausea medication flowing into her bloodstream. Discharge paperwork referred her to an OBGYN and had a script written for Zofran, a stronger nausea medication so she could keep food and water down. It had become her best friend.

The thought of an abortion had crossed her mind, even in the moments before Lysandra had asked if she wanted to keep it. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a mother— she did. But it was a dream that happened after she was more settled in her career and in a fully committed relationship. Not while she was opening the second office and had so much hard work ahead of her, not when she barely knew the father.

It wasn’t an idea she could fully entertain without talking to Rowan first, to see where he stood on it. But she already knew what her choice was, even if he didn’t want the responsibility. She would keep it. As much as her anxiety felt like walking on the wooden slats of a rickety rope bridge over a gaping canyon, a deep love was already blooming in her heart the size of a sesame seed. It would only get bigger with each passing day, that what-ifs of it all dancing behind her eyelids while she slept.

What are you up to tonight? I’m in Doranelle and if you can swing it, I want to see you

She shot off the text and stared out her office window while she waited for a reply. It had been a lie, she wasn’t in Doranelle. But she needed to see Rowan and talk to him about everything as soon as possible. With a mind full of racing thoughts and unanswered questions, of the half truths she’d given him about her life… the only thing that could truly calm her nerves was talking it through with him.

All yours after 6.

A heavy sigh fell from her lips as she glanced at the time— 4:30– then rubbed at her temples. It was going to be a long night.

~*~

It was the first time Aelin had been to Rowan’s house in Doranelle. All of their time had been spent at her apartment so far. In fact, she had only been over to his apartment in Varese a single time, just long enough for him to grab something before they went out on their downtown adventure.

The apartment was nice, of course, but didn’t seem to hold a candle to the house she was parked in front of. When pulling down the long and winding driveway, her eyes darted between the numbers on the house as soon as it appeared and what she had entered into her GPS. Rowan’s SUV in the driveway assured her it was the correct home, but…

How the hell did a man on a coach’s salary afford this house plus a luxury apartment in another major city?

It was new construction, a contemporary home made of dark wood and ebony stone. It was nestled back off the road and surrounded by towering oak trees in every direction. Long curtains were drawn inside, hiding which rooms had walls of floor to ceiling windows. She imagined him laying on his couch after a long day with the curtains open, gazing out at the setting sun beyond the trees.

It was beautiful. The tranquility of it was amped up to a thousand when she opened her door and stepped out. Somewhere in the tree line a stream trickled along, the soft sound of moving water enough to calm her nerves if only a little.

Almost as soon as her toes touched the bottom step that led up to the porch, the front door swung open. Rowan grinned at her, a dish towel in his hands while he dried them. Scents of garlic, onion, rosemary, and other spices wafted out the front door. Thankfully her stomach only growled in response and didn’t have her bent over the railing to empty her stomach into the bushes.

“Hey, you,” he said softly, meeting her halfway across the porch. Long fingers tilted her head back so he could press a sweet kiss to her lips.

“Hi,” she whispered back, standing on her toes to kiss him again. Rowan took her hand and led her through the door and toward the kitchen. Even though she offered, he insisted she sit at the bar while he finished dinner.

“Wine?”

“Water, please.” Thankfully it didn’t raise any questions about why. He filled a tall glass with ice water and slid it over the counter to her before turning to resume dinner.

“How was your day?”

“Long,” she sighed, nervous fingers drumming against her stomach. One of her legs had taken to bouncing on the wooden footrest and her breaths became shorter, more frequent. Nausea swirled in the pit of her belly but this, she knew, wasn’t morning sickness. Aelin didn’t realize she was biting her lip until she tasted metal, nor did she realize Rowan had moved to her side.

“Hey,” his bent forefinger guided her face to look at his, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“We need to talk.” Those four words, four measly syllables were all it took to douse the room in cold tension.

“Okay.” Rowan nodded, taking a moment to turn the burners on the stove down. He guided her into the living room where he sat her down on a plush gray couch that she seemed to sink into.

“Can I just—” Aelin leaned forward and kissed him softly, then sat back with her legs folded beneath her. As if on instinct, her hands folded in front of her stomach protectively.

“You’re starting to frighten me.” He murmured, hand resting on her knee to give her a comforting squeeze. Aelin wanted to laugh, and almost did. Instead she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, pulled her phone out of her pocket and pulled up one of several images of her bathroom counter and handed him the device. “I’m pregnant.”

Rowan was silent while she swallowed down her emotions, forcing everything to stay buried under an exterior mask of calm. His green eyes stared, and stared, and stared at the picture, fingers zooming in on the dozens of tests on her counter.

“Is it mine?”

“I–” Aelin tempered her frustration. It was a valid question. If she were in his shoes, she would have been asking the same thing. “Yes. You’re the only man I’ve been with in the last year.”

It was a little embarrassing to say out loud. The last few years had been busy and she’d seldom made time for a personal life. It was exactly the kind of thing her mother was referring to when she meant that Aelin had a knack for having absolutely no work-life balance.

“How? We used protection. You’ve told me before you’re on birth control.” More valid questions that she herself had voiced to Lysandra in the minutes after taking the first few tests.

“My guess is that it broke? The condom, I mean. I haven’t missed a single dose of my birth control. I triple checked.” Aelin’s knee began to bounce, that anxious ocean ready to swallow her up whole from not knowing the outcome of this situation. She hated not knowing things, not being able to predict how a person might respond.

Locking the phone, he placed it on the sofa between them, a muscle feathering in his clenched jaw. Rowan didn’t meet her eyes as he stared forward and tensely asked, “Are you doing it for money.”

“What?” She sputtered, immediately standing and crossing the room from whatever bullshit that question had been. Of all the ways she had anticipated him reacting, this had not been on the list. All of the nervous energy roiling through her quickly turned to something hot. Like some struck a match and threw it on a puddle of kerosene.

“Are you doing it for my money?” He repeated, voice flat as he finally looked up at her. Rowan didn’t move from the couch as he stared at her, all the softness she was used to on his face gone. Any of the mirth and joy in his eyes she’d become accustomed to was gone.

The butterflies he usually filled her stomach with had turned into white-hot rage pouring through every vein of her body. Aelin’s face was hot, eyes stinging as she did her best to force her tears away. It had been a long while since she’d become so angry that she jumped immediately to crying about it.

Something had changed in Rowan’s face, too, as he looked at everything written across her face as plainly as if she had shouted at him. His eyes softened a little, his hands clenching against his thighs.

“Why the fuck would I want your money?” She didn’t let him finish before saying, “Ask me what my last names are.”

“You have more than one?” Confusion had his brows pulled together and wrinkles stacked up his forehead. Rowan stood, taking a handful of steps toward her. Aelin retreated with her fingers pressed against her stomach. “Are you married or something?”

“Ask. Me.” She demanded of him, voice and hands shaking. Tears started to fill her eyes and spill over, her skin so warm they were cool as they ran down her cheeks. Even the tips of her ears had gone crimson, evident in the way they burned beneath her hair. It was the exact opposite of how she had felt the first time she saw those two pink lines on that pregnancy test. A sea of wild, unchecked flame lived within her, pumped through her heart, burned the back of her throat, her cheeks, her ears.

“What are your—”

“Ashryver Galathynius. My name is Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.” Each of her names was punctuated with that fire, her entire body trembling with so many emotions at once. As much as he was into the stupid fucking sport, he would understand what it meant.

And he did. Rowan’s entire face went slack, those wrinkles disappearing from his brows, his jaw popping open. Even his arms fell motionless to his sides.

“As in— shit.”

“My grandfather and my father,” she added for extra clarification, so that he knew it wasn’t a distant connection. It was direct. “Ask me again if I want your fucking money,” she spit the word at him like it burned her mouth to say it. It kind of did. Never in her wildest dreams did she think that his reaction would be so callous and cold, that he would accuse her of getting knocked up for money. What fucking money? Why the fuck would she go after a teacher’s salary when her own checking account was so loaded she, and her child, would ever want for anything?

“Aelin–” Rowan took a step forward, hand raised as he reached for her. Aelin held up a single finger and shook her head, recoiling from him.

“Don’t.”

“I need to–”

“You need to go fuck yourself, Rowan.” Her footsteps chased her like thunder rolling in for a storm, punctuated by the window-shaking slam of the front door. To give him one ounce of credit, he did follow her, but by the time he made it outside, she was already in her car, pulling a u-turn in his yard, and speeding down the driveway. Nothing but a cloud of dust remained in her wake.

In the rearview, Rowan’s form was blurry from her tears, his arms on top of his head while he watched her leave.

~*~

It was late. Like, the bar had been closed for an hour already, late. The Neon Moon was empty, save for Rowan, Fenrys, Connall, Vaughan, and Lorcan. They had an off weekend, and a drink was desperately needed by all. When Rowan arrived at the bar half an hour before closing and pounded back enough drinks that it was almost alarming, everyone decided to linger until he started to talk.

“Dude.” Fenrys poked his arm with an outstretched hand. The response was a slurred grumble in the old language that not even Lorcan managed to pick up.

“What’d you do?” Connall asked, bracing his arms on the counter. Rowan lifted his head, room spinning like he’d just finished doing ballerina turns. Aelin liked to dance. He hadn’t ever seen it but he could imagine her in tights and a leotard, a tutu around her waist. She probably didn’t get dizzy when doing turns.

Nausea hit him in a wave and he took a deep breath in through his nose, out through his mouth. Closing his eyes made it even worse, so he kept them open and fixed on Connall’s face. Ballerinas did that, didn’t they? Focused on one spot so they didn’t get dizzy or fall out of their tight spins?

As the nausea abated, he remembered holding Aelin’s hair back for her while she was sick a couple weeks ago. Neither of them knew it then, but she was pregnant. He wondered if she was still feeling sick all the time or if it was getting better every week. A frown took over his whole face, eyes dropping to focus on a dent in the counter. Someone had carved a heart there, and he wanted to scribble over it.

“She’s pregnant.” Was all he managed to get out, trying his hardest to enunciate his words. Everyone went utterly still and silent, Lorcan moving to sit in the chair beside him.

“Did she fucking–” he started, leaning his head down to try to look at Rowan’s face. The silver-haired man waved his friend off, shaking his head like an indignant child.

“I’m not drinking because of the baby. Or the woman.” It was true. Rowan had always wanted to be a father, it was a dream of his. Sure, it would have been nice if it happened in a more ideal way, but that wasn’t why he took so many shots as soon as he walked through the door. No, it was the look on her face when he coldly asked if she wanted money. The betrayal that slowly leached over her features, the way she bit back tears until she couldn’t anymore. “I monumentally fucked up.”

“That does usually lead to a baby,” Fen quipped, a sly smirk starting to appear on his lips. As quickly as it started to form, though, it vanished after a hard smack! against the side of his head, courtesy of Lorcan. The fair side to Connall’s dark coin groaned, blindly slapping his hand against his attacker’s shoulder. Another searing look from Lorcan had Fen’s hands falling back into his lap.

“In what way?” Vaughan had leaned forward to see around Lorcan’s head while he spoke. The wood was cool against Rowan’s cheek as he laid his head on the bar, desperate to stop the spinning of the room.

“She told me she was pregnant, showed me all the tests from a photo on her phone,” Rowan waved his hand toward his phone that he frowned at, “And then I asked her if she did it for money.”

“Oh, you bloody wanker,” Fenrys mumbled, shaking his head. The man in question was sitting up on the counter, legs dangling over the edge. His foot twitched like he debated kicking him in the knee. Rowan wouldn’t have blamed him. He deserved worse than that.

“It’s a valid question.” Lorcan’s voice was sharp enough that Fenrys twisted his mouth to the side, eyes narrowed like he might disagree with him, but wouldn’t to avoid further physical injury. Instead, he offered a shrug of his shoulders and kept his mouth firmly shut as Rowan laid his head back down. Something was damp beneath his cheek, cooling his whiskey-hot skin.

“It really wasn’t. Not when she told me that Ciaran Ashryver is her grandfather and Rhoe Galathynius is her godsdamn father,” Rowan growled. His anger and irritation was pointed to no one but himself. “She doesn’t need my money. I’m pretty sure she still thinks I’m a soccer coach because she was absolutely mind boggled that I’d even ask her such a thing. I don’t even know why I asked, either. The fear of it all, of–”

“Her father is Rhoe Galathynius?” Lorcan cut in, and Rowan wanted to kiss his forehead for cutting off that spiral.

“Yep,” he replied, the p sound popping more than it normally would. And her cousin is Aedion bloody Ashryver! How did I not see it? They look nearly like twins! They have the same face!” Rowan shouted, palm slapping against the counter between each revelation. Fenrys jolted, eyes widening as he slipped off the bar and an entire seat away. Rowan was too drunk to shoot him an apologetic look for coming so close to his leg.

“I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out,” Connall said smoothly, grabbing an empty glass and filling it with water.

“Are you telling me you fucking knew?” Rowan said through clenched teeth, lifting his head so he felt like he was seeing the room through a kaleidoscope. Despite the whirling of the world, he met his friend's gaze. A bit of mirth twinkled in Connall’s eyes, a match for the anger in Rowan’s own head on. Clearly Connall only had loyalty to his brother and himself, if he just threw Rowan to the wolves like that.

“I didn’t know her exact relation, I just assumed. They look too much alike to be anything else. Did I know she was a football princess? No, but she knew too much about the sport when you talked, I figured she was involved in some way.” With a shrug of his shoulders, Connall slid the water toward Rowan. “And she definitely doesn’t know who you are. Earlier this week she was asking me if the boys had any games this weekend because she wanted to see you but didn’t want to interfere with your coaching. She’s never pried about what you do for a living, always took it at face value and assumed you were being honest.”

“I want another drink,” Rowan grumbled.

That was the other thing, wasn’t it? Sure, she had been lying. But so had he. In that initial moment of shock, where he felt like history could be repeating all over again, he’d lost it. Deep down, he knew that wasn’t the case. How timid and nervous she was, how sick she had been, the evidence in the picture of dozens of tests covering her bathroom counter. Rowan had seen it all with his own two eyes and still taken the shitty, cold, asshole route.

If he was being honest, at the time it felt like the easier road to take. Aelin clearly had a temper hiding under her skin, though. Those remarkable eyes of hers had glowed with the anger he sparked. It had been fire in her eyes, white hot and raging. Maybe it had been the light playing off the tears that welled in her eyes, making her eyes glitter, but he had never seen anyone quite so angry, or quite so devastatingly beautiful.

That was the mother of his child. A stunning, spit-fire of a woman that it was all too easy to imagine a future with. A life with. Even before finding out about the baby Rowan had imagined ways he could make the long distance work when she went back to Orynth in a few months. Now, it felt stupid. A bomb had been detonated and it was entirely his fault. Because he was the bomb. Ruining everything good that touched him.

Perhaps he should have been drunk when she delivered the news. Drunk Rowan would never have said that to her.

“She’s so pretty,” he mumbled aloud, finger dipping into the puddle his ice glass made and beginning to write her name across the bar. Lorcan nudged his shoulder, shaking his head. Right. That was pathetic. Rowan Whitethorn was not pathetic. To prove it, he picked up the glass of whiskey Connall handed him and downed it in one go.

“I can’t believe you asked Aelin Galathynius if she wanted money.” It seemed that Fen could no longer restrain his smart mouth. His chest shook with suppressed laughter. “Hate to break it you, mate, but I’m pretty sure–”

“Fenrys,” Lorcan growled, immediately shutting the pup up. Even the laughter in his face was quick to die off. Drunk Rowan was grateful for it. Right now he was toeing the line of punch first, ask questions later. “Let’s get you home. We’ll start to figure this out tomorrow.”

Despite his words, Lorcan still sounded tense. Like he, too, was clenching his jaw with frustration. Rowan imagined it had to do with him not believing Aelin, thinking she knew and was chasing his money or fame. That didn’t make sense, though. Drunk or sober, it didn’t make sense for her to want his money or his fame.

Rowan’s mind wandered on the drive home. If she wanted the fame, it would be easy enough for her to get it on her own. Rowan had learned in the hours after she left that if she had wanted to, she could have been a socialite. She certainly didn’t need Rowan’s help.

Back when she attended matches there were hundreds of pictures of her cheering in her family’s suite, of her on the field offering the players high fives, of her family out to dinner. If it was fame she wanted, she already had a clear shot at it. Besides, she was already a national treasure to Terrasen. The following she on the Fireheart social media pages and her personal instagram alone was more than some of his teammates had.

Money didn’t make sense either. She was on good terms with her parents and after minimal digging he discovered she wasn’t teaching dance and piano. Maybe she did sometimes, but recently her name and picture had been scattered through the headlines because she was opening a new office for her foundation that she founded, the Fireheart Foundation. There were already multiple locations throughout Terrasen targeting underprivileged youth, to enhance the art programs both in and out of school. Now she was doing it in Varese, her mother’s home city.

Aelin didn’t need money. She didn’t need fame. It wasn’t about any of that, and he fucking blew it by being a coldhearted bastard.

“Thank you for the ride,” Rowan slurred to Lorcan, who was probably his best friend all things considered. Maybe he should tell him that. Of all the people in the world, Lorcan was usually easiest for Rowan to talk to. He seemed to understand him a little better than the others, even if they were all pretty close. Rowan decided then that if he ever got married, if he could fix this thing with Aelin, Lorcan would be his best man. Yes. That was an excellent decision.

Rowan hauled himself out of Lorcan’s car, feet stumbling on the street. He barely caught himself from face-planting on the sidewalk, recovering by swinging himself around a street sign and throwing a mock salute toward Lorcan to indicate that he might have stumbled, but he was good. He didn’t need help. Rowan had this.

His best friend looked at him drily, quirking an eyebrow as Rowan turned to walk to the door and–

Walked directly into the marble exterior of his apartment building. Double over, Rowan rubbed at his stinging face to ease the pain. A glance at his fingers told them there was no blood. Thank the gods he didn’t break his nose.

“For fucks sake,” Lorcan’s voice was suddenly a hiss in his ear, throwing Rowan’s limp arm around his shoulders.

“You’re really fast, y’know that? And tall. You’re gonna dislocate my shoulder,” He slurred, eyes focused on the ground so he could get one foot in front of the other. Lorcan told him to shut the fuck up and walk. Wisely, Rowan did.

By the time Lorcan half-carried him up to his apartment and dropped him unceremoniously into bed, he was saying silent prayers to whatever god that would listen for him to be able to fix what he had so easily shattered.

~*~

“I know we’re anti-Rowan right now, but I want to know what my niece or nephew is going to look like.” Aelin gave her bestfriend flat look through the camera, but Lys merely shrugged her shoulders. The angle of her phone changed and Aelin knew she was on the hunt. Honestly, she should work for government security. The woman could find anything on anybody. “What’s his last name?”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t ever find the right moment to tell him what mine were, and his just never came up. I never asked.” Aelin rolled onto her side in her bed, frowning at just how puffy her eyes were from crying the last several days. It was ridiculous. If he wanted to be a prick about it, fine. Aelin didn’t need him. It would have been nice, but…

No. That thought was quickly tucked away elsewhere, somewhere at the back of her mind where it wouldn’t pick and poke at her sensitive emotions until she cried.

“What did you say he does? A teacher?”

“Soccer coach in Doranelle. He doesn’t have social media as far as I’m aware. I’ve never seen the apps or anything on his phone.” Rowan didn’t give off social media vibes, either. It was hard to imagine him coming up with a witty caption for a vacation photo, or having the desire to post pictures of his life at all.

“Rowan, Soccer, Doranelle. Lets see what that gives us,” Lys hummed, fingers flying furiously across the screen. From this point of view, Aelin had a great shot up her nose. If she wasn’t feeling so morose she would screenshot it and save it for a rainy day. “Oh my– Aelin Ashryver Galathynius.”

At her full name, Aelin propped herself up on an elbow, frowning down into her phone as she said, “What?”

“Rowan Whitethorn. Google that and tell me if that’s him.”

“Why does Whitethorn sound familiar?” It both was and wasn’t a question for Lysandra. It was definitely tinkling a bell somewhere in her brain, the name. And as soon as she typed it in and pressed search, she understood why. “No fucking way.”

“That might be why he asked if you wanted money,” Lys said. Millions of search results came back. Photos, articles, interviews, the works. Thousands upon thousands of pictures loaded when she hit the images tab, and her jaw nearly hit the floor.

Pictures of Rowan in a dark blue uniform with Doranelle’s logo across the chest, a number seven and his name across the back. Images of him from the side, his silver hair french braided with the rest pulled into a bun. There were pictures of him held on his teammates shoulders, of Rowan making a match-ending goal, Rowan squirting water into his mouth on the sidelines.

“He’s got personal interest in the game, is all,” Connall had told her that first night. A vague memory of Rowan giving the bartender a flat look entered her mind briefly as she closed the tabs and looked back at her best friend’s face.

“Why is the soccer world so incestuous?” Lys asked her, laughter in her voice.

“It’s not funny,” she hissed back, but there was no bite to it. Maybe it would be a little funny in a few days. There was no doubt in her mind that Aedion and her parents would find it absolutely hilarious.

“The money thing makes sense now, though.”

“It does,” Aelin agreed, rubbing the heel of her palm into her eye. “But I thought what we had was different. Regardless… even if I had known about all of this I wouldn’t have thought he would react that way.”

“Maybe it’s happened before. Maybe you need to hear him out and let him explain.”

She did and she knew it. The shift in his behavior happened so suddenly, had blindsided her entirely. It had to mean there was a reason for him to snap like that. It still pained her heart and soul, though. Even if he had the best reason in the world, it didn’t take away the betrayal and hurt she had felt.

At the same time, she felt silly for feeling so upset. They barely knew each other. Of course he would be cautious of her motivations. It made sense. If it had been going on for longer, would his reaction have been more mild? Would it have been sweet kisses and promises that things would be okay? Did Rowan even want kids? Probably not, given the status he currently held in the soccer world. The man showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon. A baby would just complicate that.

“That baby is going to be the most beautiful fucking thing.” Lys may have been mostly talking to herself, but Aelin found her lips tipping up at the corners because it was true. It would be.

Almost against her own will, her fingers pulled up Rowan’s text thread. He sent dozens of messages throughout the week. Most of them were begging for a conversation, asking if he could call her. Some of them from last night made no sense whatsoever, words strung together in a way that made her believe he was drunk. There were six in a row from last night in the old language. If she had been able to read around the typos, maybe she could figure out what they said. The spelling was so badly butchered, though, that some were different words altogether. Complete gibberish, utter word salad.

Then there was the single one he sent her today that simply read: I’m sorry. For all of it.

There had been other apologies that requested the chance for him to explain, but none of them felt quite as barren and hopeless as this one did. Almost like he was ready to throw in the towel if she didn’t want to speak to him ever again. Though she was angry, it didn’t sit well with her. Maybe she felt a flicker of anger in her chest because he hadn’t been willing to fight for her for more than a few days, or maybe it was because she was frustrated he would stop because he believed it was what she wanted. Either way, she didn’t like it.

It was then that she decided she would give herself a few more days. A few days to process the pregnancy, his reaction, her counter-reaction, all of it. And then maybe… maybe she would be ready to talk.

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